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Against the Tide - Twenty-Two

Rating: Explicit Pairing(s): Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez x Original Female Character, Silvio Ricci x Original Female Character Characters: Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez (Bleach), Silvio Ricci (Ikemen Prince), Olivia DuBois (Original Female Character of Color) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergent, Pirates and Princes, Slow Burn, Action/Adventure, Worldbuilding, Angst, Some Subtle Racism, Sexual Tension, Political Subplot

Previous Chapter: Twenty-One

Chapter Masterlist

Summary:

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did, you know,” Thalia replies, nodding her head sagely. “Go off with him, I mean. If you really love him, there must be something really good about him.”

“Thank you, Tati,” Olivia smiles. “And you’re right. There is something really good about him - there are lots of good things about him.”

Thalia looks at her sister with interest. “Livvy, is he really a pirate? That kind of pirate?”

“Who can say?” She smirks at her sister. “I know that he sometimes acquires rare goods from foreign countries. I hear he’s a fairly successful merchant.”

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“Oh,” Thalia exclaims, looking at Olivia’s ring. “I haven’t seen you wear that in a long time… I thought you might have gotten rid of it.”

Olivia laughs. “I may not wear jewelry often, but I never get rid of any of it.” She thinks then of the little wooden chest full of jewelry upstairs in her old bedroom at her parents’ manor. “Though there are some pieces I probably will never wear again,” she adds softly.

“What made you decide to wear that one again, after all this time?”

She looks down at the ring. It is a very pretty ring, made of seaglass in a bluish-green color. For a time many years ago, she had taken to wearing it on her index finger, but it was always a little too snug there. Today, she wears it on her ring finger.

It fits perfectly there.

“It just felt right,” she says simply, with a smile.

Thalia looks at her a little sadly. “I can’t believe you’re leaving for a whole year.”

“I am,” Olivia agrees, “but I won’t be far, and I’ll be back for your wedding. I promise.”

“Mama says you’re not coming back to Clario even after the year is up.”

Surprised, Olivia stares at her younger sister. “She told you that?”

Thalia nods. “She says you’re going to go off to sea with… the Captain.” Thalia whispers the last bit, looking furtively around as if afraid someone will hear her. It almost makes Olivia laugh.

“She would say that, wouldn’t she,” Olivia murmurs. She sighs. “I don’t know what will happen in a year, Tati.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did, you know,” Thalia replies, nodding her head sagely. “Go off with him, I mean. If you really love him, there must be something really good about him.”

“Thank you, Tati,” Olivia smiles. “And you’re right. There is something really good about him - there are lots of good things about him.”

Thalia looks at her sister with interest. “Livvy, is he really a pirate? That kind of pirate?”

“Who can say?” She smirks at her sister. “I know that he sometimes acquires rare goods from foreign countries. I hear he’s a fairly successful merchant.”

This makes her younger sister laugh. “Oh Livvy, I’m glad to see you haven’t changed at all. I’m really going to miss having you close.”

Olivia gathers her in a tight hug. “You’re welcome to come visit Vora anytime,” she tells her. “And like I said, I’ll be back for your wedding in a few months. Try not to let Mama drive you crazy with the planning in the meantime.”

“She’s already starting to.” Thalia rolls her eyes. “I think she’s planning the wedding she always wanted for you… and even though it’s not a political marriage, she’s still making a really big affair of it.”

Olivia clicks her tongue sympathetically. “Now I feel even worse for leaving you alone with her at a time like this.”

“It’s ok,” her sister smiles. “I’ve got Papa on my side to keep her from getting too out of control. And I want to hear all about your adventures in your letters, alright?”

“I’ll write to you often,” Olivia promises. “Long, boring letters filled with every little detail about where I am and what I’m doing. You’ll get sick of me before long.”

“That will never happen.”

“I see you’ve been filling Tati’s head with all sorts of fables,” Olivia remarks dryly.

“Fables?” Mirelle looks curiously back at her. “What do you mean?”

“She said you told her that I was planning to go off to sea with the Captain.”

“Well, aren’t you?”

“I haven’t planned anything beyond what I need to do for the year that I’ll be helping Vora reestablish their government.” Olivia laughs. “What brings you here anyway? I thought you said you’d never come to my… how did you put it?” She taps a finger against her chin. “My filthy little hovel… I think that’s the way you described it.”

“In my defense, I didn’t know what it looked like at the time,” Mirelle protests. “And you can’t imagine the picture my mind conjured up when you told me you’d be living in a room down at the docks.”

Olivia raises both eyebrows questioningly, a wry smile pulling at her mouth. “And now?”

“Now what?”

“What do you think of it, now that you’ve seen it?” She’s expecting criticism and braces herself for it.

“It suits you,” Mirelle says after a moment, taking her daughter completely by surprise. “Has… he been here?”

Olivia can’t help but to laugh at the way her mother has phrased it - Mirelle is looking furtively around as though someone will hear her, not unlike the way Thalia looked when she made mention of ‘the Captain.’ “Of course he’s been here,” Olivia answers reasonably, as she folds clothes and sets them aside in piles to be packed. “He doesn’t always sleep on his ship, you know.”

Her mother tries not to look scandalized. “And he’s going with you to Vora.”

“He’s taking me to Vora,” Olivia corrects her.

“Couldn’t you just go with Prince Silvio on his vessel?”

Olivia sighs. “You know very well why I can’t.”

“But---”

“Mama,” she interrupts, trying not to sigh again. “It’s my last night here… I don’t want to fight.”

Her mother is quiet for a moment. “I don’t want to fight, either,” she confesses. “And you may not believe me when I tell you this, but… I am proud of you.”

“Why?” Olivia snorts. “Aren’t I a colossal disappointment? I’m not doing any of the things you wanted me to do.”

“You’re not,” her mother agrees. “But you’re doing the things you want to, and that’s why I’m proud of you.”

Her words leave Olivia speechless. She’s still struggling to find the words to say when there’s a knock at her door. “Come in,” she calls.

“Olivia!” The word comes out as a hiss. “You don’t just invite people into your home without first checking to see who’s at the door!”

“I know who’s at the door,” she laughs, as the knob begins to turn.

“Oh,” Grimmjow says, standing in the doorway. “Didn’t know ya had company. I can come back later---”

“Stay,” Olivia says, motioning him in. “My mother isn’t company - she’s my mother.”

“It’s nice to know what you really think of me.” Mirelle stands. “It’s quite alright,” she goes on, her words addressed to Grimmjow. “I was leaving soon anyway. The carriage is waiting for me out on the road.”

“I’ll walk ya,” he offers.

Her mouth is set to refuse him, but one glance at Olivia and she reconsiders. “If you’d be so kind,” she says gracefully.

Olivia reaches out, pulling her mother into a tight embrace. “Thank you,” she whispers. “For what you said.”

“I meant it,” her mother tells her sincerely. “And whatever… whatever you decide to do once you’ve finished your time in Vora, make sure it’s what you really want to do.”

“I will,” Olivia smiles. “I promise.”

“There’s my carriage.” Mirelle turns to face him. “I’d like to ask a favor of you.”

“Me?” Grimmjow chuckles. “Ain’t sure what I could do for ya, but whatever it is, I’ll try.”

“Take care of her, please,” Olivia’s mother requests, her voice soft. “Olivia is many things, but she’s never been foolish. If she loves you… if she trusts you, I know it’s because you’ve done something to earn her love and her trust. So please,” she goes on, “take care of her, even when she isn’t taking care of herself. Especially when she isn’t taking care of herself.”

Her words seem to surprise him. He recovers quickly however, flashing Mirelle a charming grin that makes her think she’s getting a little glimpse of what Olivia sees in him. “I give my word, M’Lady,” he offers. “Me, I might be a lotta things ya don’t agree with, but I can tell ya I’m a man of my word. I’ll look after her.”

“Thank you,” Mirelle replies, her smile relieved.

Grimmjow waits until she’s safely in the carriage before he turns away.

Olivia is waiting when he gets back. In just the quarter of an hour or so that he’s been gone, she’s managed to get all of the piles of folded clothes packed away and her bags set by the door.

“All ready to go, I see,” he observes with a smile.

“Mmhm,” she agrees. “Did my mother give you an earful?”

“Nah.” Grimmjow chuckles, reaching out and pulling her by the waist until she’s flush against him. “She told me to take care of ya.”

“She did?”

“Yeah.” He wraps his arms around her. “Told me that if you love me and trust me, I musta done somethin’ to earn it.” He leans back, tilting her chin up with his hand so he can look into her eyes. “Did I do somethin’ to earn it, Sae?”

Olivia looks back at him, her eyes lit up with amusement. “You mean to tell me you’ve been going along all this time without knowing?”

She expects him to laugh too, to make some clever joke about it. Instead, his eyes are serious and searching, and it makes her realize that he legitimately wants to know. “Come here,” she says softly, taking his hand in hers and leading him over to sit next to her on the bed. Even when they’re settled there, sitting side by side, Olivia doesn’t let go of his hand. She links her fingers with his, raising her left hand to his eye line so he can see the ring there. “Do you remember this?”

Grimmjow squints. “I bought ya that.”

“You did,” she agrees with a smile. “It was one of the very first things you brought me back from Vora.” She looks down at the ring. “Why did you buy it?”

He considers her question but not for long, and it makes Olivia think the answer is something he’s already thought about. “You seemed so happy whenever I would bring shit from Vora for ya,” he starts. “I just liked seein’ that little smile on your face… the way your eyes would light up when ya got excited.” He chuckles. “You’re always pretty Sae, but ya look prettiest when you’re happy.”

She can feel them - the little butterflies that haven’t left her stomach since she’s embraced what she feels for this man. “That,” she says quietly. “Since I met you, you’ve been trying to make me happy. Even when I didn’t realize that’s what you were doing, you were only trying to make sure I was always smiling. That I always felt my best.

“Sometimes that meant bringing me beautiful things from Vora,” she goes on. “Little pieces of home, things that reminded me of the place I loved and missed so much. Sometimes it meant teasing me in a way that would make me forget whatever was troubling me in favor of a laugh. It often meant sharing a drink with me, or letting me cry on your shoulder - sometimes both at the same time.” She pauses, remembering something specific.

“I woulda kicked his ass if you’d needed me to,” he interjects quietly, and it’s then that she knows he’s thinking of it, too.

“I know,” Olivia laughs, even though there are tears in the corners of her eyes. “But what happened back then wasn’t his fault, and I loved that you respected that fact enough to let it be.” She turns to face him, bringing his hand up to her lips and pressing a kiss to each of his knuckles. “I love you, Grimmjow. I love everything about you… even the parts of you that you think I wouldn’t.” She reaches up with both hands, cupping his face and bringing him close for a kiss.

One kiss turns into two, two turns into three, and it isn’t long before they’ve shed the thin layers of fabric separating their skin. As she always does when he’s fully sheathed inside of her, Olivia marvels at how good he feels.

Grimmjow holds her close, his hands tightly gripping her hips as she moves on top of him. He is hard-pressed to take his eyes off of her even to blink.

It makes her feel like a goddess.

Afterward she rests her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat and feeling the way his chest rises and falls with each breath he takes. “I’m always happy when I’m with you, no matter what we’re doing or where we are,” she tells him, her voice solemn and hushed. “I trust you with my life, and I…” She trails off, her gaze dropping once more to the ring on her finger. “I wouldn’t mind spending the rest of that life with you. Wherever that takes us.”

“Even though you deserve better?”

She stares up at him. “What I deserve,” she starts, her gaze never leaving his, “is a man who loves me the way that I am and who is happy with me. Are you saying you’re not that man?”

It makes him laugh, the intensity of her stare. “You are one fuckin’ scary woman when you wanna be.”

“But am I wrong?”

He shakes his head, still chuckling. “I want ya, Sae, more than ya know. And if you’ll have me, I’ll stay with ya until I get old and ugly.”

“I can’t ever see you being old or ugly,” she laughs. “And even if you are, I’ll still want to be with you.”

“Might live to regret that,” he warns her, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief as he shifts in bed to hover above her.

“Somehow,” she giggles breathlessly, “I doubt that will ever happen.”

A/N: Here we are, at the end of this little tale. If you've made it this far, thank you for being patient with me (especially while I worked up the nerve to finish and post this last chapter). I had so much fun writing this fic this time around, because I let the characters tell me how the story should go.

Fear not - this isn't the end of Grimmjow and Olivia's adventures. There will be more of them to come, hopefully in the not-so-distant future. I have ideas for them, and I hope you'll stick around to see those ideas come to fruition.

Thank you for all the likes, kudos, comments, and reblogs - I appreciate each and every one of them.

Val 💙

Previous Chapter: Twenty-One

Chapter Masterlist

Tag list: @chrissie2003 @kryptoniteforsale @pamakali

#tinywoodenrobot fics #black oc #bleach fanfiction #bleach grimmjow #bleach #grimmjow jaegerjaquez #grimmjow jaegerjaquez x oc #ikemen prince #ikemen prince fanfiction #ikepri #ikepri silvio #silvio ricci x oc #ikepri silvio x oc #olivia dubois

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tiny-wooden-robot-fics · 2 days

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Me, listening to Bleach Soundtrack 3 on repeat and shotgunning coffee like a madwoman while I aim to make the last chapter of Against the Tide 10k words and becoming more and more unhinged with every paragraph

I'm ok I swear I'm just determined to finish it today

#writing #bleach #I love how it has once again overtaken my life #almost like it's 2012 again

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Voyager - Six

Rating: Explicit Pairing: Oda Nobunaga (Ikemen Sengoku) x Original Female Character Characters: Oda Nobunaga (Ikemen Sengoku), Eri Davidson (Original Female Character of Color) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Grief/Mourning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Flirting (so much flirting), Teasing, Oda Nobunaga is a huge flirt and a huge tease, Angst with a Happy Ending, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, Slight Timeskip Near the End

Previous Chapter (Five): The Chatelaine of Azuchi | Next Chapter (Seven): A Special Event

Chapter Masterlist

Summary:

The shoji slides open, revealing Haru. “Oda-Sama sent me to summon you,” the young maid tells her, bowing slightly.

“Go?” Eri raises her eyebrows.

Haru nods. “”Have you beaten him yet?” She asks, curious.

“I haven’t even come close to beating him,” Eri laughs. “That’s probably why he insists on playing me. It’s an easy conquest.”

Haru looks at her strangely. “I don’t think Oda-Sama is interested in easy conquests,” she says thoughtfully. “Perhaps he just enjoys your company.”

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Chapter Six: No Easy Conquest

Eri has just finished the last two-strand twist in her hair when there is a knock on her door. She opens her mouth to tell the person knocking that they’re free to enter, then remembers that she isn’t quite decently dressed. “Just a moment,” she calls, as she quickly throws on her sleeping robe. “Come in.”

The shoji slides open, revealing Haru. “Oda-Sama sent me to summon you,” the young maid tells her, bowing slightly.

“Go?” Eri raises her eyebrows.

Haru nods. “Have you beaten him yet?” She asks, curious.

“I haven’t even come close to beating him,” Eri laughs. “That’s probably why he insists on playing with me. It’s an easy conquest.”

Haru looks at her strangely. “I don’t think Oda-Sama is interested in easy conquests,” she says thoughtfully. “Perhaps he just enjoys your company.”

Eri snorts. “I doubt that even more than the easy conquest bit.”

***

“I think I shall teach you to ride.”

His words catch her off-guard; she is concentrating on her next move, trying to decide where best to place the smooth white stone in her hand, when he speaks. The words register in her head, and her modern brain takes them to mean something very different. She looks up at him in shock.

“What,” he teases. “Are you going to tell me that horses frighten you, too?”

The meaning of his words sinks in then, and she shakes her head, trying to hide the embarrassment on her face. “I’m not.”

“Very well, then. We start tomorrow.” He places a smooth, black stone on the board. “It will be a welcome distraction for me.”

“Is there something you need to be distracted from?”

He looks up at her, his expression hard. “My information sources tell me that more of my enemies have begun to mobilize against me,” he starts. “I find no rest in my desire to unify this country.”

What must it be like, to have to always think about war? Eri can’t fathom it. She knows that she is a product of her environment, just as he is a product of his. Sitting here in the tenshu with him night after night, playing this game and engaging in casual conversation, has sometimes made it easy for her to forget what sort of world she has been unwillingly thrust into.

“Oda-Sama…” She trails off, trying to gather her thoughts. “Why do you want to unify Japan so badly?”

The question seems to surprise him. “You are, perhaps, the first person who has ever asked me that question.”

Eri smiles. “Then maybe you need better friends.”

“I have no friends,” he laughs. “My vassals are loyal to me because they feel it their duty to be, and because they support my goal.”

“Well… I find that sad.” She places a white stone on the board, knowing that this is another game she will lose. “I can never win…” Her words die in her throat when she looks up at him.

He’s staring at her, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“Sad,” he repeats, narrowing his eyes. “You find it sad. Do you mock me?”

Confused, she shakes her head. “No, I’m not mocking you. But everyone needs friends.”

“Do you have friends?”

His question makes her laugh. “Of course I do,” she starts. The laughter fades, though, when she thinks of how she has, over the course of the last four years, distanced herself from those friends. “Although… if asked, they would probably tell you that I’m not a very good friend.”

“Why?”

“Friends are people you should spend time with if you can,” she shrugs. “People that you should show you care about. I… haven’t been very good at that lately.”

“I see.” Thoughtfully, he studies the board. “You’re going to lose this game.”

“And that’s different from all the other games, how?”

He chuckles. “You want to know why I desire to unify Japan,” he starts, placing his last stone on the board and looking up at her. “Quite simply put, I want to see a Japan where all people have access to the resources that they need. Where there are no wars over land, no unfair taxes, no one group of people being oppressed by another.”

“That’s… admirable.”

“You think it impossible.”

“To the contrary,” Eri says, thinking of the modern-day Japan she’s used to. “I think it’s highly possible. And I think if anyone can do it, it’d be you.”

He raises an eyebrow at her. “You don’t need to flatter me.”

“I’m not.”

He studies her a moment, searching her face with those intense eyes. “You’re not,” he finally says.

“I told you I wasn’t.”

He reaches up toward her face then. Eri flinches, and his hand stops in mid-air. They stare at each other for a moment. He drops his hand.

“You…” She starts incredulously. “You were going to touch my hair.”

He nods, his expression unreadable. “I was.”

It should annoy her, she thinks. It should make her angry, the way she was angry when once, while visiting Eastern Europe, she was waiting in line at a public bathroom and a woman walked up behind her and put her hands in Eri’s hair. Eri had been livid then, turning on the woman to give her a piece of her mind. The diatribe she’d been planning had died in her throat then when she saw the cheerful way the woman was smiling at her. That woman didn’t think there was anything wrong or weird about putting her hands in my hair without permission. “I guess some things really don’t change with time,” she murmurs.

He looks at her curiously. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t like it when people touch my hair without asking,” she tells him. “But sometimes, people do it anyway.”

“So you prefer someone to ask first, before they touch it.” He leans forward, seemingly fascinated, and Eri is once again reminded of the woman in Europe.

“Well, it depends on who it is,” she says truthfully. “And why they want to touch it. My hair is… I know that it’s different from what you’re used to seeing. Different even from Yasuke-San’s, in a way. But touching my hair is… well,” she considers her words carefully, “for me, it’s more of an intimate thing that I don’t feel comfortable letting just anyone do. That being said, if someone’s curiosity is genuine, and I know them well enough, I might let them if they ask.” She pauses. “So… so if you really want to, and you ask nicely, I suppose you can.”

He seems to be mulling over her words in his head. “No,” he says finally. “I won’t. Not yet.”

Quizzically, she looks at him.

“I will wait,” he goes on, flashing her a cocky smile, “until you invite me to touch it of your own accord.”

“How can you be so sure that will happen?” She crosses her arms over her chest, raising an eyebrow at him.

He simply smiles at her again. “Perhaps tomorrow, you will best me in a game of Go.”

***

Oh no, she thinks, glancing down at the plastic blister pack in her hands. She has just taken the last burgundy-colored pill in the pack, and all that is left are white pills - placebo pills.

“Shit,” she mutters under her breath. “Shit, shit, shit…”

Okay, don’t panic, she tells herself sternly, taking a deep breath. You still have some time to figure this out. She rifles through her purse, breathing a sigh of relief when her hand brushes against the patterned fabric pouch she’s been looking for. This pouch, she knows, is going to be her saving grace over the course of the next few days. Quickly, she unzips the pouch to take inventory of what’s inside.

Five pads.

Seven super tampons, three ultras, and six super-pluses.

Six feminine wipes.

Two clean, folded pairs of panties.

Briefly, she curses herself, thinking of the brand new, unopened menstrual cup sitting on her bureau back home. She’d put off teaching herself how to use it before her vacation in Kyoto, reasoning that she’d rather stick with what she was familiar with instead of trying something new right before going on a trip. “Dumbass,” she mumbles, irritated. “That could have been your lifesaver here.”

She does the calculations in her head. “Six to seven days of bleeding,” she murmurs. “One light, one medium, three heavy, then back to light again.” She isn’t sure if what she has will be enough to get her through this upcoming period, but she doesn’t know what her alternatives are. “Counting the pair of panties I came here wearing, I have three altogether,” she calculates. “If I can wash them the morning after I wear them, then I should be able to rotate them out enough to wear for the duration of the cycle.”

It still doesn’t solve the problem of what she will do next month, with no birth control and no supplies, but for now, she can only worry about this month.

She’s still contemplating her options when Haru knocks on her door.

“Come in,” she calls, stuffing everything back in her pouch and putting it into her purse again.

“Lady Eri,” the young woman says cheerfully with a slight bow. “I’ve come to bring you an invitation.”

“An invitation? Is it from Oda-Sama? I’m not due to meet him for another hour, I think.”

Haru shakes her head. “No, it’s from Yasuke Ermias-Sama.” She holds out her hands, a folded piece of parchment on her palms.

Eri takes the parchment, unfolding it to read the message inside.

Lady Eri,

Please accept my apology for extending this invitation with such a delay. The children have been ill, and my wife and I have been busy making sure they are fully recovered.

If you are available, we would love for you to join us for tea tomorrow afternoon. If this is agreeable, please send word by way of your maid and I will dispatch a servant to retrieve you tomorrow and bring you to my estate.

Respectfully,

Yasuke Ermias

“Oh,” Eri exclaims, tickled at the invitation. “Yes, I’m very much looking forward to this,” she tells Haru. “If you don’t mind waiting, I’ll write out my response so you can take it to him right away.”

Haru waits patiently as Eri sits down to write. Writing with a brush and ink is difficult, and Eri still hasn’t quite gotten the hang of it, but at least her writing is becoming more legible after many hours of practicing. She signs her name to the bottom of the note with a flourish, blowing on it to dry the ink before she folds it and hands it back to her handmaid.

After Haru leaves, Eri decides to dress herself for her riding lesson. The seamstresses have been kind enough to make clothing cut and sewn to her measurements, true to what the Lord of the castle said. They have also obliged her request for a few hakamas that she can wear. She still isn’t quite used to wearing what is essentially a skirt all the time, but they are infinitely more comfortable than the somewhat confining kimonos that the women of Azuchi are wont to wear.

She dresses herself in her makeshift riding wear, tying her hair up into a puff with a piece of ribbon. After checking the mirror to make sure nothing is out of place and that her garments are all tied securely around her body, she decides to make her way to the stables.

***

He is already there, waiting for her when she arrives. Curiously, she peers at him. “Am I late?”

He’s dressed simply in black and white, leaning against the outside of the stable with his arms crossed over his chest. Even at rest, his presence is a commanding one, and Eri wonders briefly how many hearts he has broken with his good looks and that same commanding presence.

“You’re right on time,” he tells her, pushing himself off of the wall and motioning for her to follow him. “Come, let’s choose your horse.”

***

“Oh.” She utters the word softly, her heart nearly leaping into her throat when she sees it. Valerie doesn’t know much about motorcycles, but she knows that this machine in front of her is beautiful. The metal is painted a vivid, electric blue in places, its sleek design making it look like something out of an action movie.

“Have you ridden on one before?” Shinichi asks, coming up behind her.

“Never,” she breathes, “but I’ve always wanted to.”

“I was thinking,” he starts, “that we could do a picnic.” He motions to the basket tied to the back of the bike. “I’ve packed everything we need. There’s a nice spot outside of the city that I like to go to… it has a lake and everything. And the roads to get there are all nice, back roads that cars rarely travel on.”

She tears her eyes away from the pretty machine in front of her to look at him. He’s smiling at her, in that almost-bashful way he has, and Valerie can feel her heart melting.

“Only our first date since I moved here, and you’re already putting me to shame,” she teases him. “It looks like I need to step up my date-planning game.”

He laughs. “Well… I figured we needed something good after all the long-distance dates,” he tells her. “It’s hard to plan nice things to do over Skype.”

She smiles at him. “You are so amazing.”

Walking over to the motorcycle, Shinichi retrieves one of the two helmets hanging off of the handlebars. “For you,” he says, handing it over to her along with a piece of black fabric.

Valerie looks down at the fabric. “Is this what I think it is?” She asks, giggling a little.

“Yeah…” he looks up at her a little sheepishly. “The padding on the inside of the helmet is there to make it more comfortable, but this will help in case the material the padding is made of snags. Plus,” he adds, “it’ll gather all your hair in one place so it doesn’t get too squished while you have the helmet on.”

It is characteristic of Shinichi, this thoughtfulness. Buying a satin bonnet for her to wear under her motorcycle helmet to keep her hair from being damaged and snagged. Planning a picnic as a date so they could spend time together.

“You really are amazing,” she says again, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek.

Previous Chapter (Five): The Chatelaine of Azuchi | Next Chapter (Seven): A Special Event

#tinywoodenrobot fics #black oc #ikemen sengoku #ikesen #ikesen nobunaga #oda nobunaga #oda nobunaga x oc #ikesen fanfiction

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Voyager - Five

Previous Chapter (Four): Journey to Azuchi | Next Chapter (Six): No Easy Conquest

Chapter Masterlist

Summary:

The young maid is waiting patiently for her. “Please don’t be shy, my lady,” the girl starts. “I have waited on a host of residents and guests at Azuchi. Some have been women, but most have been men. I think I have grown quite accustomed to seeing the human body in all its forms.”

Eri isn’t sure why this strikes her as so funny. “You poor thing,” she murmurs. “I’m sure you’ve seen much more than you’d like to.”

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Chapter Five: The Chatelaine of Azuchi

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

The words repeat themselves in Eri’s head, over and over again like a mantra. “I have to do this,” she murmurs to herself, “before the water gets cold and it’s even worse.”

She stares down at the large basin of water and the small pouch of herbs and exfoliant she’d been given. For the umpteenth time, she curses the lack of modern technology available to her - no Google search to tell her how this is supposed to work - as she picks up one of the squares of fabric that acts as a washcloth.

“You can do this, Eri. If you can pee and poop in the woods, you can bathe from a bowl of water. You have to do this if you want to get clean.” Indeed, she is filthy from the trip from Honno-ji to Azuchi, and the basin of water and the pouch are her only tickets to getting clean. With a sigh, she begins bathing herself, trying not to think about how badly she wants a modern-day shower.

When she has finished, the water in the basin is brown, but she feels cleaner than she has in days. The maids said they would come back and retrieve the dirty water, she remembers. But I’d hate for anyone to see this…

And then there is the matter of the clothes.

Eri didn’t miss the strange looks she received as she followed Ishida-San to the quarters that had been prepared for her. Her tunic and leggings, she’s sure, must have caused quite a stir. She has been given a few kimonos to wear, but Eri has very little experience dressing herself in the traditional Japanese clothing. She’s standing in the middle of the room with several pieces of clothing in her hands when there is a knock on the shoji.

“My Lady?” The maid is calling from outside of the room. “Excuse me, may I come in?”

Frantically, Eri opens the kimono in her arms and drapes it around her, trying to cover herself as she moves behind the bathing screen once more. “Yes,” she calls. “You may come in.”

She hears the shoji slide open and then clack shut. Eri peeks her head around the edge of the screen. The young maid is standing in the center of the room uncertainly, and when she catches sight of Eri, she smiles almost shyly. “I-I’ve come to retrieve your bathing water,” the girl says. “If it pleases you.”

“Oh, right,” Eri scrambles to move aside and let the girl behind the screen. In her haste, she bumps the basin. Dirty water sloshes over the side of the bowl, spilling onto the tatami, and Eri feels the curses bubbling up in her throat.

“Don’t worry,” the young maid smiles at her reassuringly. “I’ll bring something to clean up the spill.” She turns to go, but Eri’s hand on her shoulder stops her. Puzzled, she looks back at Eri.

“Please,” Eri says, bowing slightly. “When you return, would you… would you be so kind as to help me with my clothes? I’m… not used to wearing the kimono.”

The young woman seems surprised, but there is kindness in her eyes. “I would be happy to, My Lady,” she smiles after a moment. “I will return shortly.”

***

True to her word, the young maid comes back quickly, carrying a bundle of cloths and a small basket of what appear to be oils. After wiping the spilled bath water from the tatami, she holds the basket out to Eri. “Please forgive me. We forgot to bring them in when we brought your clothes,” she explains. “They’re oils and creams, for your skin…” She hesitates. “And your hair, if you need it.” She looks shyly at Eri’s fluffy, tight curls.

This makes Eri laugh. “I’m very grateful,” she says candidly.

“I will wait, if you wish to apply the body oils before you dress.”

Nodding, Eri ducks behind the screen again, taking the basket with her. There is a large assortment of bottles and pots, none of which are marked, and so she opens the tops one by one, smelling them for an indication as to what’s inside. She uses the creamier concoction on her skin, pleased with the warm, spicy fragrance. I’ll do my hair later, she decides, looking wistfully at the combs that have been placed in the basket. She comes out from behind the screen, once more wrapped loosely in her kimono.

Eri isn’t sure why this strikes her as so funny. “You poor thing,” she murmurs. “I’m sure you’ve seen much more than you’d like to.”

The girl shrugs, motioning for Eri to remove the kimono. “It’s all part of being an Azuchi maid, I suppose.”

She watches and listens carefully as the young lady explains each piece of clothing and what it’s for before helping Eri don it. Eri is surprised to learn that there is no equivalent to panties here - there is merely something called a hadajuban. Eri compares it to a modern-day slip, though it’s much shorter. She is less surprised to learn that there are no bras; the young lady helping her dress offers her the option to lightly bind her breasts. Eri declines - the idea of a Sengoku-era sports bra does not appeal to her - but asks if there’s any way for her obi to be tied tightly and higher up to provide some semblance of support.

Once the young maid has finished helping her dress, she leads Eri over to the full-length mirror in the corner of the room. “There you are,” she says, satisfied with her work. “I know that there are a lot of pieces to remember, but you’ll get used to them in no time at all.”

The fit of the clothing is much more snug than she would like, she notes. She supposes it can’t be helped - the woman who either made them or owned them before her was obviously of a different body shape and size. Still, they are clothes that she didn’t have before - clean clothes- and she is thankful for them. Gratefully, she turns toward her helper. “I can’t thank you enough,” she says, clasping the girl’s hands in her own. “Please tell me, what is your name?”

Surprised, the girl looks up at her. “Miya Haruka,” she answers politely with a bow. “I like to be called Haru, if it pleases you.”

“I’m pleased to meet you,” Eri says, offering her own bow. “My name is Davidson Valerie, but please call me Eri.”

“Lady Eri,” Haruka smiles. “It’s a pleasure to serve you.” She bows slightly again. “Oda-Sama would like to see you when you are ready.”

“Oh,” Eri exclaims softly. “Will you show me where I can find him?”

***

Of course his rooms are up here, she thinks to herself as she climbs the steps to the tenshu. Powerful man on top of his game chooses to live in the highest part of his castle.

She pauses in front of the room Haru had told her Oda Nobunaga spends most of his time in. It’s lit from inside; she can see the soft glow of lamps through the thin paper of the shoji.

“Do you plan to stand there all night, or are you going to come in?” His deep, heavy voice reaches her through the door, and it makes her jump. Of course, she realizes. He can see my silhouette. The shoji is thin, after all.

She slides the door open and enters the room, sliding the shoji closed behind her with a soft clack . “Oda-Sama,” she addresses him, bowing slightly.

“Come, sit.” He commands her without looking up at her. As usual, he is reading - this time, a thick book.

She suppresses a sigh, moving over to where he is sitting and positioning herself on the cushion across from him. After a minute more of reading, he sets his book aside and raises his head to look at her. “I trust you’ve been shown to your quarters and given what you need.”

Eri nods. “Yes. Ishida-San and Haru - the young maid he assigned to help me - were both very kind.”

“Good.” He looks her over. “I’m quite fascinated by you,” he says openly.

“I’m not sure how to respond to that.”

“I wish to know more about you.” He leans back, reclining on his armrest. “You appeared in the temple at Honno-ji just in time to save my life, yet you say you have no recollection of how you got there. You wear strange clothing. Your skin color and your hair are different. You speak fluent Japanese. You did not know who I was when you saved me.” He cocks his head to the side, studying her. “And you seemed to be offended when I asked about your husband.”

“I told you, I don’t have a husband.”

He laughs. “Yes, you did tell me that. Three times now.” He raises an eyebrow, his gaze turning serious, thoughtful. “And yet you will tell me nothing else about yourself.”

You wouldn’t believe me even if I did. “Respectfully, Oda-Sama, I don’t know what you wish to learn about me.”

“Where do you come from? Yasuke says you are not of his land.”

“I’m from the West,” Eri says vaguely. World history was never her strong suit, but she’s fairly certain that the America she comes from is a long way from existing in this world. “But I have been living in Japan for many years now.”

“‘The West’,” he repeats. “Someday I should like to know more about this West.”

She falls silent.

“Do I frighten you?”

He asks it casually, and briefly Eri wonders if it’s a trick question. She inhales deeply, considering her words carefully before speaking again. “I don’t believe that you mean me any harm,” she starts thoughtfully. “You’ve never been… cruel to me. You’re letting me stay in your home and giving me a large measure of responsibility.”

“But still you do not say whether or not I frighten you.” He laughs again. “You are, I have discovered, very skilled at answering questions without truly answering them. I should warn Mitsuhide,” he continues, “that his job may be in danger.”

Eri isn’t sure what that means, and she isn’t sure she wants to know.

“You should go and see the seamstresses tomorrow,” he says, turning his attention back to his book. “They will sew clothes made for your measurements.”

Her face flushes with embarrassment. “I—”

“The women of Azuchi are shaped differently,” he interrupts her. “It will not do for the chatelaine of the castle to continue to be seen wearing ill-fitting clothing.”

Fuck you, she thinks. Her face is still warm with embarrassment, and she feels hot, angry tears prick at her eyes. Asshole—

“Have I offended you again?” He’s looking up at her.

“Yes, actually, you have,” she manages. “Don’t you know that it’s rude to comment on a woman’s body that way?”

Once again, her words seem to genuinely surprise him, and he sets his book aside. “You seem to be under the impression that I was commenting negatively on your body.”

“Weren’t you?”

He seems to find this amusing. “No, I wasn’t,” he says simply, holding her gaze. “If you must know, I find your body quite fetching.”

She falls silent again, unsure what to say. He studies her for a moment more, then turns back to his book. “You may go.”

***

It isn’t until their server has returned to the table that Valerie realizes she and Shinichi are the only patrons left in the restaurant. Glancing down at her watch, she gasps, realizing they’ve been sitting and chatting for just over three hours.

“Excuse me,” the server says apologetically. “We are closing soon.”

“I’m so sorry,” she says, rifling through her purse for her wallet. “We didn’t mean to…”

“You can put them both together on this,” Shinichi says, handing his credit card to the server. “We’re very sorry for overstaying our welcome.”

The server bows slightly, promising to return quickly. Shinichi turns to face Valerie. She’s gaping at him, eyes wide. “You didn’t have to,” she manages.

“I wanted to,” he reassures her with a sweet smile.

“I— thank you.”

“I should be thanking you,” he says, the sweet smile still in place. “I don’t think I’ve had a conversation that enjoyable in a very long time.” He hesitates. “I know that you’re just visiting here,” he continues, “but would it be alright if we exchanged email addresses?”

Oh, she thinks. Is he…? She considers his question for a split second, and finds she would like to see him again, to talk to him again. “Yes,” she says, flashing him a smile of her own. “I would very much like that.”

Previous Chapter (Four): Journey to Azuchi | Next Chapter (Six): No Easy Conquest

#tinywoodenrobot fics #black oc #ikemen sengoku #ikesen #ikesen nobunaga #oda nobunaga #oda nobunaga x oc #ikesen nobunaga x oc #ikesen fanfiction

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tiny-wooden-robot-fics · 3 days

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🙋🏾‍♀️ Would read and reblog, I think some of my mutuals are Shuuhei simps

If I start dropping chapters of my Shuhei fic would anyone read it?? :))

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Voyager - Four

Previous Chapter (Three): Lucky Charm | Next Chapter (Five): The Chatelaine of Azuchi

Chapter Masterlist

Summary:

"Have you any experience managing a household?"

"Lots," she says confidently. "I've been managing my own household for years now."

"And your husband?"

The question catches her off-guard. The bowl of broth in her hand slips slightly. She catches it, setting it down on the table. "I don't have a husband."

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Chapter Four: Journey to Azuchi

The next two days are two of the hardest days of Eri’s life.

She has never ridden a horse before now, and being thrust into it without any preamble is jarring. She rides with Nobunaga, and even though her only job is to hold on to him to keep from falling, she is always exhausted and sore whenever they stop riding for the night.

***

Date Masamune is the name of the warlord who cooks, Eri has discovered. He is a jovial man, devastatingly handsome with a dashing air that makes Eri think of a Disney prince. There is always an eyepatch covering his right eye, but the remaining, uncovered blue eye is bright with mischief and amusement.

“Well, I don’t really need the help,” he tells Eri, when she offers to assist him in cooking for the camp that night. “But I won’t turn down an extra set of hands if you’re willing.”

Gratefully, she nods at him. “I can’t fight,” she explains, “and I can barely even stay on a horse even when I’m not the one doing the work. If you let me help you, it will make me feel less useless.”

“Everyone has their value, Lass,” he says, flashing her a sympathetic smile. “If it weren’t for you saving the Lord’s life, our little caravan would be very different right now. But if helping me cook will make you feel better,” he goes on, “who am I to deny you?”

For the most part, Eri really is just a second set of hands for him. He’s like a whirling dervish as he spins from place to place, stirring a pot here, adding a spice there, frequently checking the soup to make sure it doesn’t boil over or burn. He has a comfortable, easy going way of chatting with her that doesn’t make her feel like she’s being put on the spot. She contemplates this deeply as she helps him distribute the food among the tents. I expected more of them to be weirded out by me, she thinks. But maybe Yasuke-San being here sort of paved the way for them to more willingly accept someone who looks like me without question.

In truth, it seems most are confused, not about her skin color, but about her motives. Toyotomi Hideyoshi, the warlord with the green armor, has made it abundantly clear that he still does not trust her and he thinks she has some ulterior motive for attaching herself to his Lord. Akechi Mitsuhide - the oily warlord with the golden eyes and white hair - frightens Eri and puts her on edge; he strikes her as the sort of man who is always up to no good. She tries to steer clear of him.

The absent-minded and studious Ishida Mitsunari is always pleasant to her whenever they interact, but he is often absorbed in various reading material and rarely even notices her. Yasuke is kind and gentle, but very reserved, and a man of few words.

Even Lord Oda himself has been surprisingly aloof.

She’d worried, the first night he’d summoned her to his tent, when he declared that she would be under his protection. He’d advised her to sleep in his tent that night, and Eri had been terrified that it meant he wanted something physical in return for his protection. She wasn’t sure how long she’d lain there in the corner of his tent, curled into a ball frozen with fear, before he spoke to her.

“I do not wish to harm you,” he’d said, slight annoyance lacing his voice. “And forcing you would bring me no pleasure.”

She’d breathed a sigh of relief then, hot tears clinging to her lashes as she closed her eyes.

Still, traveling this way is unbelievably hard. She is tired from lack of sleep, sore from the riding, and filthy from the dust and dirt they’ve picked up along the roads they’ve ridden. I would sell half my soul right now for a hot bath and a warm, soft bed.

“Date-San,” she starts, watching him ladle soup into a bowl and place it on a tray for Lord Oda, “how far are we from Azuchi now?”

The one eyed man considers her question thoughtfully, and she can see him working out time frames in his mind. “I would say perhaps a half-day’s ride,” he answers finally. “If we leave at dawn tomorrow, it’s very likely we’ll reach home before the sun is too high in the sky.”

Relieved at the news, Eri flashes her first genuine smile in days.

“Well, isn’t that like a ray of sunshine,” Date Masamune chuckles as he finishes arranging the tray of food. “Be careful with this, Lass,” he warns her. “Not only is it hot, but it’s heavy - I’ve got food for both you and Oda-Sama on there.”

She nods, carefully picking up the tray and balancing it in her arms. “Thank you,” she tells him quietly, sincerely. “For the food… and for letting me help.”

“Anytime, Kitten,” he smiles at her. “It’s nice to have the company while I work.”

***

“Oda-Sama,” she calls at the entrance of the tent. The flap is open. “Excuse me, I’m coming in,” she adds, before ducking into the tent.

He’s where he usually is at this time of day: reclining on his cushions with parchment spread around him, thoroughly engrossed in reading what’s written on the thin, yellowed pieces of paper.

“I have food for you,” she offers hesitantly.

“Yes, I see,” he replies, without looking up. “You may set it on the table there.”

She obliges him, then stands off to the side, waiting.

Sensing her hovering presence, he looks up at her. “Is there something you’re waiting for?”

She shifts from one foot to the other. “Well, it just seems rude to start eating without you,” she starts. “And you should eat while it’s still warm.”

He raises one dark eyebrow at her, but says nothing, instead turning his attention back to the document in his hand.

“Fine,” she mumbles, moving over to the table to sit. “Itadakimasu,” she says softly, before separating the food on the tray.

She is halfway through her meal when he seats himself across from her at the table. Surprised, Eri looks up at him.

“Perhaps it’s still a little warm… hm?” He isn’t smiling as he looks at her, but the usual harshness with which he speaks to her is gone. He clasps his hands together. “Itadakimasu.”

They eat together in silence for a few minutes. Eri sneaks glances at him every once in a while, trying to guess what he’s thinking.

“Valerie.” His voice startles her, and she jumps.

“Yes,” she says uncertainly, looking up at him.

He seems to be contemplating her. “What sort of skills do you have?”

What kind of question is that?

“Skills?” She shakes her head. “Well, back home… where I’m from, I’m a teacher. I teach small children to read and write. I teach them about shapes and colors, and animals as well.”

He looks at her with interest. “Is that so? Do you enjoy it?”

“Very much,” she answers immediately. “I’m not… exceptionally skilled at a lot of things. Just average at most things. But I enjoy what I do, and I love the children that I work with.”

He accepts this quietly with a nod. “Have you any experience managing a household?”

“Lots,” she says confidently. “I’ve been managing my own household for years now.”

“And your husband?”

The question catches her off-guard. The bowl of broth in her hand slips slightly. She catches it, setting it down on the table. “I don’t have a husband.”

Curiously, he stares openly at her. “Are you not of childbearing age?”

Heat flares in her chest. “Isn’t that an inappropriate thing to ask?” The question comes out sharper than she intends.

Her question - and her obvious anger - seem to confuse him. “I merely wish to understand,” he tells her with a shrug. “I know nothing of the customs where you’re from. It occurred to me that perhaps the reason you were in the temple at Honno-ji was to escape some fate that you were not happy with.”

The statement makes her hesitate. “I don’t have a husband,” she repeats firmly, after a few seconds have passed.

He looks as though he wants to press the issue more. He opens his mouth to speak again, but seems to change his mind.

“I’m not exceptionally skilled at many things,” Eri says again, her eyes on her bowl and her hands folded in her lap. “But I’m a hard worker, and a fast learner.”

He nods. “When we arrive at Azuchi castle, I plan to make you my chatelaine.”

What the hell is a chatelaine? Briefly, she looks away, her eyes searching for her purse. A quick Google search will tell me— The train of thought stops in its tracks when she remembers that her cell phone will most certainly not work in Sengoku Japan.

She sighs.

“Does the thought displease you that much?” He’s raising those dark eyebrows at her again, a challenge in his tone.

“It isn’t that,” she admits. “I’m just not quite sure what a chatelaine is.”

“The Lady of the house,” he tells her. “Azuchi has not had one in many, many years.”

Confused, she shakes her head. “Isn’t that the sort of responsibility the actual Lady of the house would get?”

“I have no wife,” Lord Oda says simply. “And I have no plans to take one anytime soon. You will be the chatelaine of Azuchi castle. I will have Mitsunari explain to you what that entails.” That air of finality is in his voice again, and Eri bites back another sigh.

She isn’t sure what kind of misalignment to the stars caused her current predicament. And she isn’t sure those same stars have any plans to re-align themselves and set things right so she can get back home. As much as she would like to protest this decision of the stern, cold warlord in front of her, she remembers that she is essentially at his mercy.

At least until I can figure out what happened and whether or not there’s a possibility I’ll get sent back to my time. For now, being the chatelaine of Oda Nobunaga’s castle at Azuchi is my safest bet.

“Alright,” she says finally. “Understood.”

***

True to Date Masamune’s words, the caravan arrives at Azuchi castle town in less than a half-day’s ride. There is a welcoming party at the gates of the castle, waiting to bestow well-wishes on Lord Oda and his vassals. Eri notes with interest the crowd of women that gather around and fawn over Toyotomi-San. He seems to be quite popular with the ladies.

“Mitsunari will have a room prepared for you,” the Lord of Azuchi castle tells her as they dismount. “See him for your needs.”

It’s as much of a dismissal as any, and as he turns away from her, Eri looks around for the warlord in question. She finds him near Toyotomi-San, in the thick of the crowd of admirers cooing over the tall warlord in green. Eri stands off to the side, unwilling to insert herself into the chaos.

“There’s always a crowd of hens around that one, waiting their turn to peck at him.” The voice in her ear startles her, and she whirls around to find herself face-to-face with Akechi Mitsuhide. “If you want to talk to them, you’ll have to push your way in.”

She looks up at him, trying to keep her face schooled into a neutral expression. This may be unfair of me, she thinks to herself, but the man makes me uncomfortable. “Thank you, Akechi-San,” she offers politely, bowing and turning slightly away from him, hoping her body language conveys her desire for him to keep moving and not try to prolong conversation with her.

“Anything for the savior of my Liege Lord.” He flashes her a cryptic smile, and much to her relief, moves on.

“My lady, is there something you need?” Yasuke-San has materialized in front of her, his kind face a welcome sight.

“I was just… waiting to talk to Ishida-San,” she tells the quiet man, her eyes on the scene in front of her. “But it seems like he’s busy,” she adds with a laugh. She turns to look back at him. “Do all of the warlords live at Azuchi?”

“Oh, no.” He shakes his head. “Most have their own, smaller estates nearby. Close enough to be present at Azuchi for Oda-Sama’s daily councils, but far enough to have their own households.”

Eri nods, looking up at the gorgeous castle in front of them. “It’s a beautiful place,” she remarks.

“That it is.” He pauses for a moment, seeming to contemplate something. “Oda-Sama may seem like a cold, unfeeling man,” he says quietly, “but he is a good man and a fair Lord. You have nothing to fear under his care.”

She absorbs his words, chewing on her lower lip thoughtfully. “If you don’t mind me asking,” she starts, “what is it like living in this place, with the color of your skin being different from everyone else’s?”

The question seems to surprise him, and she can see that he’s taking a minute to really and truly consider it. “I came to Azuchi three years ago,” he tells her. “No one was used to seeing people with my skin color here. When I arrived, it caused quite a spectacle. People crowded around to see the tall, dark-skinned samurai. I felt like traveling entertainment. Even now,” he goes on thoughtfully, “I think some don’t know what to make of me. They’ve gotten used to seeing me around, and they respect that I’m in Oda-Sama’s service, but they are still curious. They still stare, and some still ask intrusive, uncomfortable questions.”

Eri nods, understanding exactly how he feels. “And what about the other warlords? Do they treat you any differently?”

“No,” he answers immediately, flashing her a kind smile. “Oda-Sama is a fair, reasonable man. As such, he has chosen fair, reasonable men to be in his service. Toyotomi-San was suspicious of me at first, much as he has been of you… but that comes from his undying loyalty to his Lord, and does not reflect on you as a person. He will warm up to you once he sees you mean his Lord no harm.”

She breathes a sigh of relief. “That makes me feel much better.”

He nods at her. “When you’ve been settled in Azuchi,” he starts, “please send word. My wife is foreign as well, and would love to entertain the company of another lady. I’m sure she would enjoy having you over for tea.”

“I would like that,” Eri smiles back.

He bows to her politely before taking his leave, and as she watches him go, Eri thinks to herself that she may have just made her first friend in the Sengoku period.

Previous Chapter (Three): Lucky Charm | Next Chapter (Five): The Chatelaine of Azuchi

#tinywoodenrobot fics #black oc #ikemen sengoku #ikesen #ikesen nobunaga #oda nobunaga #oda nobunaga x oc #ikesen nobunaga x oc #ikesen fanfiction

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Voyager - Three.

Previous Chapter (Two): Waking Nightmare | Next Chapter (Four): Journey to Azuchi

Chapter Masterlist

Summary:

“You were asleep for quite some time,” he tells her. “My Lord wished to speak with you upon your awakening.” She hears a hiss, and suddenly there is a lantern in front of her.

“Oda-Sama,” she says softly, thinking of the cold, demanding man she’d pulled from the burning building. “That is his name, right? Oda-Sama?”

“Yes,” Yasuke affirms. “Oda Nobunaga-Sama.”

Read on AO3

Chapter Three: Lucky Charm

A/N: Long sections of italics denote flashbacks. Short sections of italic interspersed with dialogue denote Eri's inner thoughts. :)

The man at the next table over is looking at her again.

Valerie knows that he thinks she can’t see him; after all, whenever she casually turns his way, he has the grace to look away. The second she turns her head away from him again, however, she can feel his eyes on her once more.

It doesn’t surprise her anymore now, when people stare at her. That isn’t to say that she’s comfortable with it. But she knows that people who look like her aren’t that common in this part of the world, and so that makes her a bit of a spectacle.

She has been trying to get used to it. Somehow she doubts she ever will.

The server approaches her table again, smiling and bowing slightly as he asks if she’s ready to order. She nods in the affirmative, listing the things she’d like to eat and thanking him before handing the menu back to him. He asks if there’s anything else she needs while she waits.

“No, thank you,” she answers politely, and he dashes off.

The man is staring at her unabashedly now. He seems to be in shock.

She turns to him, offering him a friendly smile. “Hello,” she says.

“Hello,” he responds. “I---” He stops then, and falls silent.

He’s cute, Valerie thinks, suppressing a smile of amusement as she watches the tips of his ears turn red.

“I’m sorry for staring,” he starts. “But I think your hair is cool.” He pauses. “I hope it’s not offensive for me to say that.”

She laughs in earnest then. “No, I’m not offended at all,” she says, reaching up a little self-consciously to pat the aforementioned hair. “I was actually just thinking I should have stopped by my hotel first to pin it up. It’s… a little wild, I know. I did a lot of walking today, and it’s been so humid and a little windy...”

He shakes his head. “I like it,” he offers, almost shyly.

Valerie flashes him a sincere smile. “Thank you.”

He fidgets a bit in his seat then. The look on his face is contemplative, as though he wants to ask her something but isn’t sure if he should. When it’s clear that he’s decided not to ask, Valerie speaks again.

“Do you eat here often?”

“More than I should,” he laughs. “My brother says it’s going to catch up with me eventually. But this is one of my favorite places.” He looks at her. “What about you?”

She shakes her head. “This is actually my first time here,” she tells him. “I suppose I should have talked to you first, to ask for recommendations before I ordered!”

“Oh,” he laughs softly. “Well, you really can’t go wrong with anything on the menu. I’ve never had a bad meal here.”

“That’s good to know.”

He fidgets again, and Valerie bites her lip, once again resisting the urge to laugh. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“I don’t mind,” she tells him honestly, “as long as it’s nothing too personal.”

He looks scandalized. “Oh… well, I hope it’s not too personal,” he muses thoughtfully. “I just wondered how you came to be fluent in Japanese.”

“Oh, that’s an easy one to answer,” she tells him, her eyes lighting up. “The story actually starts with a song. There was this Japanese pop song that I stumbled across years ago, and I thought it was so pretty but I couldn’t understand a word that was being said. It’s weird,” she goes on, “I probably could have just looked for a lyric translation on Google or something. But I guess it was a good time in my life to learn something new. I started studying it on my own, but some things were very hard to understand, and I wasn’t making very much progress trying to go at it alone. So I hired a tutor, a native Japanese speaker. Once I started working with her, my grasp of the language improved tremendously.”

He’s leaning forward now, thoroughly engrossed in her story. “Wow… that’s amazing. So… are you visiting here?”

“I am,” she confirms. “I’ve been dying to visit, and I was finally able to save enough money and get the time off of work to do it.”

“And what do you think of it so far?” He starts then, and the look on his face changes from excitement to worry. “Wait, I’m sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “I’ve been so rude, I haven’t even introduced myself. And you’re probably wanting to just enjoy your food in peace.”

“Actually,” she starts, “It’s nice to have a full conversation with someone. All I’ve been able to do so far is order food and ask for directions. My name is Davidson Valerie. I know it’s a bit against the custom, but please feel free to call me Valerie. It’s nice to meet you… please take care of me.”

“Valerie,” he repeats. The name rolls off of his tongue strangely, but she finds that it sounds pleasant when he says it.

“Valerie. Like the Steve Winwood song,” she says. It’s a habit she has, whenever she introduces herself to anyone back home, and she realizes a half-second too late that he might not get the reference. “Sorry,” she adds sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

He smiles at her anyway, inclining his head to the side curiously. “I don’t know the song, but I’ll be sure to look it up. My name is Satou Shinichi.” He pauses. “But if I’m to call you Valerie, you should call me Shinichi. It’s nice to meet you,” he goes on. “Please take care of me.”

***

She comes to in darkness. “Shinichi,” she whispers, the dream-memory still very fresh in her mind. She’s lying down, on a surface that is harder than a bed but softer than the ground. A sleeping bag? She shifts, moving to sit up, and the darkness bends and swims around her, bringing her dizziness and disorientation back with full force.

“It’s all right, you’re safe here.” The voice floats to her in the darkness, and its soft, mild tone is slightly familiar to her. She squints, trying to see who is speaking to her.

“Where…?”

“About two days’ ride from Azuchi,” the unseen man answers. “For saving his life, Oda-Sama declared you his lucky charm and decided to bring you back with us.”

It comes back to her then, with crystal clarity: standing at the stone monument at Honno-ji, the thunderstorm, the man in the fire. So it wasn’t a dream, she thinks miserably.

“My lady?” The disembodied voice is speaking to her again, and Eri realizes that she remembers who it belongs to. Yasuke. “You were asleep for quite some time,” he tells her. “My Lord wished to speak with you upon your awakening.” She hears a hiss, and suddenly there is a lantern in front of her.

“Oda-Sama,” she says softly, thinking of the cold, demanding man she’d pulled from the burning building. “That is his name, right? Oda-Sama?”

“Yes,” Yasuke affirms. “Oda Nobunaga-Sama.”

The cold fingers of panic are clenching at her throat again; she tries to focus on evening her breathing out and tamping the panic back down. “Yasuke-San,” she starts, wondering if the man can hear the tremors in her voice. “Would you be so kind as to tell me what the day is?”

He tells her then, and Eri wonders if she will faint again.

1582. Her brain is screaming the numbers at her, trying to make sense of them. She sits there, dumbfounded, breathing shallowly until Yasuke speaks again.

“My lady? You’ll find Oda-Sama’s tent just across the way from this one. He’ll be expecting you.”

***

She stands outside of the tent, wondering what the protocol is. How do I knock when there’s no door? The thought strikes her as ridiculous, and she can feel hysteria bubbling up in her throat. She takes a deep breath, trying her best to push the hysteria back down.

“Oda-Sama?” She calls softly.

“Come in.” The voice that responds is the one Eri remembers: deep, heavy, and commanding. She only hesitates a moment before parting the flap of the tent and moving inside. The flap falls shut behind her, and she stands near the entrance, taking in her surroundings.

“So you’ve awakened.” He’s reclining on cushions, a piece of parchment in his hand. “Come, sit.”

Eri obliges him, her heart hammering against her chest. She waits for him to speak, but he largely ignores her for a minute or two as he continues reading the parchment in his hands. Finally, he looks up. “Have you recovered?”

She isn’t quite sure how to answer him. Recovered from what, exactly? The smoke inhalation? The adrenaline rush of saving someone’s life? Or the shock of realizing that somehow, I’ve landed almost 500 years in the past? “I feel a little better now,” she says carefully, measuring her words.

“Have you eaten?”

As though in response to his words, her stomach churns emptily. When was the last time I ate something? She tries to remember. She isn’t sure how long they’ve been traveling, but the last thing she remembers eating was lunch in Kyoto. “I haven’t,” she tells him. “Honestly, I can’t remember when I last ate.”

He looks up at her and motions to the table a few feet away from him. It’s laid out with fish, vegetables, broth, and rice, and the sight of it makes Eri’s stomach churn even harder with hunger. Hesitantly, she looks back at him.

“It isn’t poisoned, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He doesn’t look up from the parchment in his hands, but amusement has turned the corners of his mouth up into a smile. “You should know that a man’s lucky charm is only lucky if it’s still useful. You’d be useless to me dead.”

It doesn’t instill much confidence in her, but she’s so hungry she feels lightheaded. She moves over to the table and seats herself there. “ Itadakimasu ,” she says softly, clasping her hands together.

From her vantage point at the table, Eri can feel him watching her over the edge of his parchment. She looks up once, and their eyes meet.

“Your constitution is quite weak,” he says to her, conversationally. “We’ve been traveling for hours and you didn’t wake up once.”

She chews and swallows the food in her mouth silently, unsure of how to respond.

“I took the liberty of looking inside of your satchel,” he goes on.

It takes her a moment to realize he means her purse, and her eyes go wide. “I—”

“You possess some very strange belongings, ones I have never seen before. But you have no weapon.”

“No, I don’t carry a weapon.” It’s the only thing she feels safe voicing.

“And your clothing is quite strange.” He looks pointedly at her pants.

Her hands begin to shake and she lays her chopsticks down. “Oda-Sama…” She isn’t sure what she’s opened her mouth to say, but she keeps talking anyway. “You probably won’t believe a word that comes out of my mouth from this point on. But somehow I get the feeling that despite me being your lucky charm, as you say, you’re still a bit suspicious of me.” She pauses. “And even if you aren’t, I know some of your men are.”

“My men are loyal to me and would not hurt you if I did not wish it.”

That isn’t the point, she wants to say. Instead, she takes a deep breath. “I don’t know how I ended up here. I mean, I don’t know how I ended up in that building with you. I was…” The thought of trying to explain herself is overwhelming, and her eyes well up with tears. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles.

“I don’t know who you are, or where you came from,” he tells her quietly, setting aside what he’s been looking at. “But you’re obviously frightened and have no allies to look after you.” He pauses. “It’s dangerous for a woman to travel alone. As I owe you my life, I have taken it upon myself to see to your safety for the time being.” He looks up at her then, and Eri’s eyes meet his. She is surprised to find there is no cruelty or harshness there, only stern acknowledgment. “Have you any objections to this?”

Part of her wants to argue, to tell him that her first priority needs to be figuring out how to get back to Kyoto so she can get home again. She wants to go on a rant about how she’s been traveling alone for most of her adult life and hasn’t encountered this kind of problem in all her years of going to different places. She wants to tell this cold, demanding man that it isn’t fair for him to decide where she goes and what she does simply because he owes her a debt of gratitude for his life. She wants to square her shoulders and be badass, the way she knows a movie heroine in her situation would.

But Eri is not a badass movie heroine. She is a regular woman who is tired and frightened, and this man is offering her a modicum of security in this unfamiliar world. She tries not to let him see her cry as she shakes her head and softly murmurs her answer.

“No objections.”

She can only hope she doesn’t live to regret it.

Previous Chapter (Two): Waking Nightmare | Next Chapter (Four): Journey to Azuchi

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tiny-wooden-robot-fics · 3 days

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Voyager - Two

Previous Chapter (One): Kyoto | Next Chapter (Three): Lucky Charm

Chapter Masterlist

Summary:

"What are you staring at?" The man demands, his mouth turned up in a smirk. "Surely you know who I am."

"I--I really don't," she answers candidly.

This seems to surprise him. He peers at her closely, as if trying to determine whether or not she is telling the truth. He must see something in her eyes that puts his doubts about the candor of her statement at rest. What is your name, woman?"

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Chapter Two: Waking Nightmare

This has to be a dream.

It is all she can think, as she watches the building they’d just come out of be engulfed in flames.

“You there. Woman.”

In her shock, it takes her a minute to realize the man in armor is addressing her. “Y-yes,” she answers, ripping her eyes away from the burning building.

He’s looking at her curiously.

I know that look. Eri sighs, deciding to head the conversation off at the pass. “I’ve been living in Japan for several years,” she starts, the explanation coming as second nature to her. “That’s how I became fluent in Japanese.”

He narrows his eyes at her, as if confused by her statements. “You saved my life,” he asserts. “You may be some woman the monks snuck in for amusement, but I owe you my thanks.”

“Monks?” She shakes her head, confused. “No, I---” She takes a deep breath, trying to calm her hammering heartbeat. In the time it takes her to inhale, she has once again taken in the clothing of the man in front of her. Did I stumble onto the set of some sort of period drama?

“What are you staring at?” The man demands, his mouth turned up in a smirk. “Surely you know who I am.”

“I--I really don’t,” she answers candidly.

“Davidson Valerie,” she answers.

“Davidson… Valerie.” The name fits strangely in his mouth, as it often does whenever she tells it to someone whose first language is Japanese. “That isn’t a Japanese name.”

“No,” she agrees, smiling a bit. “It isn’t. I have a Japanese nickname, though. It’s Eri.”

“Nickname?” The man shakes his head. “What is a nickname?”

He can’t be serious, right? “You know, a name people call you that’s shorter than your given name. So you can call me Eri, if you’d like.”

“Eri.” He inclines his head to the side curiously. “You are strange,” he starts thoughtfully, studying her. “Your name is not a Japanese name. The color of your skin tells me that you are very clearly not from Japan. And yet,” he goes on, “you speak Japanese very well.”

“Yes, I am aware of how strange that is,” she quips, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “I hear that from people a lot.” And I’ll thank you to keep any rude comments to yourself, she adds silently.

Strangely enough, though, his face doesn’t display anything other than mild curiosity. She has been stared at openly before in her time as a foreigner living in a new place, but this is different. There is no fear in his gaze, no suspicion or distrust. He is merely curious.

Before she can ponder it further, she hears a noise like thunder. She turns her head up to the sky, wondering if another storm is approaching.

“Ah, and here they are,” the man beside her laughs. She follows his gaze and sees in the distance four men on horseback riding quickly towards them.

Horses? The thought makes her feel a little faint, but she can’t figure out why. Why are they riding horses?

They are all dressed much like the man in front of her - in what looks like traditional Japanese armor. Frightened, she edges closer to him, unsure of the newcomers’ intent. Eri may not feel one hundred percent safe with the cold, demanding man in front of her, but he owes her his life, and she hopes he won’t forget that anytime soon.

“Oda-Sama,” the fair-haired man in green armor calls, dismounting his horse before it’s even come to a complete stop. She watches in wonder as he approaches them, his facial expression stormier than the clouds that trapped her in a downpour just a little while ago. “I’m relieved to see you alive and well,” he says, looking past them at the burning building. His eye falls on Eri. “Who is this?” He asks, bristling.

Eri is going over his words in her mind. Did he just say ‘ Oda-Sama’? Like Oda Nobunaga? She shakes her head. I must have misheard him.

The man she rescued turns to her and smiles. “This woman saved my life,” he tells the man in green. “I owe her a debt of gratitude. Her name is Eri.”

The man in green is looking at Eri with open suspicion. Before he can speak, however, the rest of the men dismount. A silver-haired man with pretty violet eyes and a friendly face speaks to her. “It seems, then, that we all owe you a debt of gratitude, for saving our Lord’s life.” He offers her a smile. “I am Ishida Mitsunari. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

As Ishida Mitsunari is the only man thus far to introduce himself properly, Eri recalls her manners and returns in kind. “I’m pleased to meet you. My name is Davidson Eri. Please take care of me.” She ends her introduction with a slight bow, raising her head again just in time to see the other two men dismount their horses and approach.

“Oda-Sama.” There it is again, that name paired with that honorific. The words are spoken by the man with blonde hair so pale it’s almost white. His golden eyes sparkle in the moonlight as he looks over at Eri. “And what have we here?” He asks. Something about him makes Eri uneasy; he pins her under his gaze, his voice slick and oily.

“This woman allegedly saved our Lord’s life,” the man in green speaks up, still gazing suspiciously at Eri. “We’ve yet to hear the tale of how it happened, exactly.”

“I just happened to be in the right place at the right time,” Eri murmurs. Or, more accurately, the wrong place at the wrong time. She keeps that last thought to herself. “He-- he was unconscious. And I woke him up. The fire was spreading, and it didn’t feel right to leave him.”

“Then I suppose you expect to be handsomely rewarded,” the oily man grins.

“No,” Eri sighs in frustration. “Why is that the first thing that comes to your mind? I wasn’t helping him just to be rewarded. I was helping him because I didn’t want to watch him die knowing I could have helped him. Is that so hard to understand?”

The man in green narrows his eyes and opens his mouth to speak, but the sound of his Lord’s laughter stops him. “A fiery one indeed,” he bellows. He looks to the fourth and last man in the entourage, the only one that has yet to speak. “Yasuke, are all of the women where you come from as spirited as this one?”

The man he addresses is tall, Eri notices - at least a head taller than she is. His skin is almost as dark as hers, and he wears his hair in a long braid that hangs over one shoulder. “In truth, my Lord,” he starts, and Eri is surprised at how soft-spoken this giant of a man is, “I do not believe her to be of my country.”

“Oh?” The Lord raises an eyebrow.

“With respect, Oda-Sama, her accent is unfamiliar to me.” He looks at Eri, but his face is friendly. “Perhaps she hails from a different part of the continent.”

She wonders how long they intend to stand around discussing her as though she isn’t there. Her head has started to pound, likely from the smoke inhalation, and she suddenly feels very dizzy.

“Are you well, my lady?” The soft-spoken man - Yasuke, his name is Yasuke, she remembers - peers at her closely.

“Actually, I don’t think I am,” Eri admits. “My head hurts, and I feel a little sick. I think I must have inhaled a lot of smoke.”

“Come,” the Lord of the group says, an air of finality in his voice. “Let us return to Azuchi. The cowardly men who staged this attempt on my life have gone back into hiding, it seems. We’ll not learn anything new here tonight.”

Eri opens her mouth to speak, to tell these men that she only needs someone to point her in the direction of the nearest train station so she can get back to her hotel and out of what is very clearly a waking nightmare. But the words seem stuck in her throat, her feet frozen in place. For the first time, she takes in the scene around her, really looking closely at her surroundings.

There are no streetlights. No cars, buses, or trains. No modern buildings anywhere in sight. She can feel panic closing in on her, digging its sharp claws into the reasonable part of her mind that tries to protest that this can’t be happening. Her heart hammers in her chest, the blood in her ears pounding in a crescendo that makes her head swim.

Desperately, she digs the fingernails of her right hand deep into the palm of her left, twisting them into the skin hard enough to draw blood. The black curtain over her eyes recedes, but only slightly. Just before the curtain falls completely, she can hear a voice as though very far away.

“Catch her…”

Previous Chapter (One): Kyoto | Next Chapter (Three): Lucky Charm

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tiny-wooden-robot-fics · 3 days

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Voyager - One.

A/N: This is an older story. I'm in the process of making sure my AO3 fics are posted here.

Next Chapter (Two): Waking Nightmare

Chapter Masterlist

Summary:

The pain was crippling at first: a sharp, searing thing that seemed to be the only constant in her life for more days than she could count. It was like a tooth that had been pulled, leaving sensitive, exposed nerves behind. Waking her up in the middle of the night to remind her, to make her remember what she'd lost. Showing up to knock her down with random crying jags in the middle of the day. Her grief was overwhelming, overpowering... the only thing she could see for miles, for a very long time.

Read on AO3

Chapter One: Kyoto

Day 1,460.

Malbec is always a good choice; not too sweet, not too dry. It’s nice enough to not make her feel cheap, but inexpensive enough to afford on a regular basis.

Her earbuds are sitting on the desk now, set there when she went into the kitchen to refill her glass, and abandoned even after she’d returned. The music is still playing, but the sound is so far away that it sounds tinny. She can’t hear the bass line, can’t feel the subtle changes in the time signature. Despite the absence of this, the song is still a masterpiece, and she enjoys it from afar. ‘I felt you more on Sundays,’ Sylo Nozra croons. She smiles a little at the lyric.

1,460 days. 35,040 hours. 2,102,400 minutes. An endless number of seconds.

On day fifty-nine, she’d finally stopped crying herself to sleep. She’d traded the tears for sleeping pills instead, and that lasted until day seventy-seven.

She’d left the chain off at night until day ninety-two. It was a force of habit - there was never any need to put the chain on at night because Shinichi would always put it on himself when he came home. He’d always get home after she did.

It wasn’t until day ninety-eight that it sank in: Shinichi was never coming home.

The song goes off, and just for a few seconds, everything is silent and still… almost peaceful. Then she takes a deep, shuddering breath, and the illusion of calm is broken. The next song shuffles up, and the memory associated with it comes at her so swiftly and powerfully that she’s momentarily stunned.

***

“You know,” she starts, the corners of her mouth twisted up into a sly smile, “you’re pretty skilled on the dance floor for someone who claims he has cinder blocks for feet.”

"It’s all just counting,” he shrugs nonchalantly, but she catches - just for a second - the corners of his own mouth twitching up.

“Mmhm,” is all she’ll say. She inclines her head then, resting it on his chest and closing her eyes. Faintly, she can feel his heart beating, and the sound is reassuring. “Forever, huh?” She murmurs it softly, thinking the music will drown out the words.

“Yes,” he replies, lifting her chin so that he can look her in the eyes. “Forever.”

***

Forever was taken away from her, in the blink of an eye.

The pain was crippling at first: a sharp, searing thing that seemed to be the only constant in her life for more days than she could count. It was like a tooth that had been pulled, leaving sensitive, exposed nerves behind. Waking her up in the middle of the night to remind her, to make her remember what she’d lost. Showing up to knock her down with random crying jags in the middle of the day. Her grief was overwhelming, overpowering… the only thing she could see for miles, for a very long time.

Day 1,460, and the grief has become a dull ache. She often wonders if it’s to be this way for the rest of her life: if she will spend all of the days until she dies mourning the loss of the only man she has ever loved.

The buzzing of her phone shakes her out of her thoughts, and she turns her attention to the device, peering at it closely to see who’s calling. She smiles a little at the name that flashes up on the screen.

She swipes her thumb across the screen to answer, putting the phone up to her ear. “Hello?”

“Eri-neechan,” the warm, familiar voice on the other end of the line greets her. “Didn’t think you would pick up - shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“Ryu, hi.” She glances at her watch. “It isn’t that late, is it?”

“Well,” her friend points out, “it’s a school night… although I suppose that doesn’t matter to you much because you’re not working tomorrow. But aren’t you catching an early train to Kyoto?”

“Not that early,” she laughs. “Besides, I was planning on turning in soon. I was just…” She pauses, biting back the words. I was just wallowing in old misery and thinking about your brother, my dead fiance. “I was just having a glass of wine to help me get sleepy.”

“Neechan...” The unsaid words are heavy in Ryu’s voice, and she closes her eyes, willing him to leave them unsaid. As if he can hear her thoughts, he sighs. “Will you be okay in Kyoto, alone?”

“I’ll be fine,” she tells him, hoping she sounds cheerful enough to make him think she means it. “Kyoto is one of the safest cities in the world.”

“I know, but---” He pauses. “That’s not what I meant. I know you’re taking this trip because you wanted to get away for the anniversary of Shinichi’s---”

“Ryu, please.” She cuts him off softly, her words a plea. “Don’t.”

“Eri…” There’s hurt in the way he says her name. She tries to ignore it.

“I’ll be fine,” she repeats firmly, her voice quiet. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

He wants to fight her on this. He can hear the pain in her voice. It’s slightly different from the pain in his own voice, but it is there nonetheless. He still mourns the loss of his older brother, and she mourns the loss of her fiance. It has been four years, and though the pain is not as fresh as it once was, it is still very much there. The two of them are connected by their pain, joined forever by the event that took away the most important person in both of their lives. He wants to scream at her to let him in, to talk to him about how she’s feeling, to stop tucking her grief away like some embarrassing secret.

Instead, he sighs again. “Well, please be careful.”

“I will,” she assures him. “I’ll text you as soon as I arrive in Kyoto, okay?”

It’s good enough for him; it’s all she’s willing to give him, and so it has to be good enough. “Okay,” he relents finally, urging a smile that he doesn’t feel into his voice. “Okay.”

***

Well, this is nicer than I thought it would be, she thinks to herself, stretching her arms above her head. It’s only been half a day, but she’s already enjoying herself in Kyoto. The city has thus far lived up to its reputation as the cultural capital of Japan and a hot tourist destination. It was a good idea, she commends herself, deciding to come during the off-season. As it is, there are lots of people here - I can’t imagine what it would be like during peak tourist season.

She pulls the guidebook out of her purse, chuckling a little to herself. A Traveler’s Guide to Japan’s Hottest Warlords. She’d bought it on a whim at the Visitor’s Center, mostly because the title had made her smile, but partly because the guidebook promised information on some good sightseeing spots. Her knowledge of said warlords was very limited; being a foreigner and not having had access to the history lessons taught in Japanese schools, much of what she knew about the country’s history had come from documentaries or research motivated by curiosity on her part about some name she’d heard in passing. She flipped through the book, trying to remember the name of the monument nearby.

“Honno-ji,” she murmurs, when her eye falls on the page. “A stone monument at the temple’s original location… oh, I do remember this guy. Oda Nobunaga - the man who supposedly almost unified all of Japan under his rule.” She peers up at the monument standing a few yards away. “This is it?” Looking down again, she reads on. “In the year 1582, betrayed by Akechi Mitsuhide, Oda Nobunaga committed suicide amidst the fiery wreckage of Honno-ji.”

I wonder if Oda Nobunaga would be disappointed with the monument, she thinks absently. She thinks of Shinichi then, and the simple headstone he was buried under. I wonder if Shinichi would be disappointed with his headstone. She cuts the train of thought off before it can go any further, shaking her head to banish it. It’s only then that she notices she isn’t alone at the monument.

A young man is standing off to her left, and Eri immediately puts herself on guard, quickly scanning him up and down. There doesn’t appear to be any malice in his serious face, but he’s wearing a lab coat, and the strangeness of it is enough to keep her on-guard.

He doesn’t seem to be paying her any mind, however; his eyes are fixed on the stone in front of them, staring intently at it. Eri opens her mouth to ask him if he knows anything about the monument itself, but a cold raindrop lands right on her nose, stopping her voice in its tracks.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she mutters, looking up at the sky. Dark gray clouds gather in sheets above them, ready to burst. “There was no rain in the forecast---”

Before she can finish her sentence, the heavens open up into a downpour.

“What poor timing,” the young man beside her finally speaks up. “Are you all right?” He turns to address her. “Do you have an umbrella?”

“I do,” she gasps miserably. “But it’s back at my hotel. I took it out of my purse earlier because it was making my bag unnecessarily heavy… and the weather report wasn’t calling for rain.” She looks up at the man sheepishly, ready to speak again, but the booming sound of thunder and a crack of lightning kills the words in her throat.

The noise is deafening, and when she turns back to where the lightning struck, her mouth drops open. The stone monument has been shattered, fragments of rock scattered around where it once stood.

“Oh my god--”

“Be careful,” the stranger in the lab coat warns, holding his hand out to her. Against her better judgment, she moves forward and reaches out to take it. Then the ground rushes up at her, and everything seems to bend and warp into the darkness. Vertigo? She thinks faintly as she closes her eyes to ward off the dizziness taking over her. What’s happening?

The dizziness passes, and she opens her eyes, intending to check on the stranger to see if he felt it, too.

She can’t see anything.

In all directions, her vision is obscured by heavy smoke. She takes a step forward, trying to get her bearings again, and it becomes immediately obvious that she is no longer standing in front of the destroyed monument to Honno-ji. Her feet land on ground that is softer than concrete, but firmer than carpet. It doesn’t take long for the alarm bells to go off in her head once the smell of smoke catches up to her.

She is inside of a building that is burning down very, very quickly.

Trying not to panic, she looks around for the young man in the lab coat, but can’t see him anywhere. Instead, her eyes fall on an unmoving lump on the other side of the room. Squinting, she moves closer.

“What the hell?” When she gets close enough to make out what the shape is, her eyes widen.

The lump is a man, dressed in a suit of ancient Japanese armor.

And he appears to be unconscious.

Eri acts without thinking, sprinting across the hot floor to the sleeping man. “Wake up!” She screams, leaning down and shaking him hard, with all her might. He opens his eyes, blinks at her once, twice, then sits up slowly.

“Who are you?” He asks, his voice deep and commanding. It startles her a bit, the intensity of his gaze coupled with the power of his voice.

“That-- doesn’t matter right now,” she stammers, motioning to the smoke around them. “We need to go before we both burn to a crisp in here!” She grabs this new stranger’s hand, pulling him up and towards the only exit she can see. She thanks the stars that he can run on his own - the armor and the man both look heavy, and she isn’t sure she would be able to drag him out on her own. The two of them run for their lives, not pausing even once to look back at the destruction behind them.

Next Chapter (Two): Waking Nightmare

#tinywoodenrobot fics #ikemen sengoku #ikesen #ikesen nobunaga #oda nobunaga #oda nobunaga x oc #ikesen nobunaga x oc #black oc #ikesen fanfiction

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tiny-wooden-robot-fics · 10 days

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Against the Tide - Twenty-One

Previous Chapter: Twenty | Next Chapter: Twenty-Two (coming soon)

Chapter Masterlist

Summary:

“I owe you a thank you,” she says to him. “For persuading your father to hear Barnes out.”

It’s Silvio’s turn to shrug. “I don’t need your thanks.”

His words are cold, and it twists something small and painful inside Olivia’s chest. “Silvio?” She calls his name softly, speaking to him the way one might speak to a wounded animal they’re trying not to scare away.

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As expected, Jarron Barnes doesn’t look happy.

“You should wipe that look off your face,” Silvio tells him. “You got off easier than I was expecting you to.” He spares a quick glance at Olivia. “And you’re lucky she decided not to mention anything about the kidnapping.”

Barnes doesn’t reply, but his sour expression tells them both everything they need to know about how he feels.

“It’s not forever,” Olivia says, her tone slightly more sympathetic. She understands how frustrating this must be for him; though his methods were wrong, his motives were not. “Silvio’s right - you were lucky not to get any time in prison, and since probation is just a few short years, you can still enjoy life on Vora and be there to witness the birth of its new government.”

“Small comfort that is when somebody else is taking credit for my ideas,” Barnes mumbles, shooting a pointed glance at Silvio.

“Nobody’s taking credit for your ideas, asshole,” the prince snaps. “And even if everything you suggested comes to fruition, you won’t be solely responsible for making it happen. Have some self-awareness, why don’t you?”

Barnes opens his mouth to respond, but Olivia speaks first. “We could go back and forth like this all day,” she sighs, “and nothing would come of it.” She turns back to face Barnes. “Like I said, it’s not forever. Take care of your restitution, be on your best behavior for the next five years, and do what you can to help Vora and support it.”

Once again Barnes falls silent. Then, without warning, he turns to Olivia. “I guess I do owe you a thank you,” he starts sullenly, his words quiet and his eyes looking at the ground somewhere near her feet. “For not saying anything about the kidnapping.”

Olivia shrugs. “There was no harm done in the long run,” she explains, “and while you went about getting things done the wrong way, your intentions weren’t all bad.”

For some reason, her words make him chuckle. “Yeah… I can see why you’re such a hot commodity around here.”

She’s still left wondering what that means after Barnes is led away, leaving her alone with Silvio.

“I owe you a thank you,” she says to him. “For persuading your father to hear Barnes out.”

It’s Silvio’s turn to shrug. “I don’t need your thanks.”

He isn’t looking at her. She can see his jaw twitching, evidence of the way he’s clenching his teeth. For a moment silence hangs between them, and then he speaks again. “What the fuck do you even see in him, Livvy?” The question comes out quickly, the words jumbled together almost as though he’s forcing them out.

Olivia’s first thought is that he’s questioning her about Barnes. When what he really means sinks in, however, she draws in a sharp breath. “Do you really want to know?”

“Yeah,” Silvio replies. This time he does look at her. “At least tell me what I lost to.”

“It isn’t like that, Silvio.”

“It is, and you know it is,” he scoffs. “So tell me what you see in him.”

“He’s kind,” Olivia starts quietly. “It may not seem like it to you - or to many other people - but he is. He looks out for the people in his care. He remembers all the little details about the men on his crew. He knows all the things that make up who they are, and he treats them accordingly. He’s generous, he’s clever, he’s thoughtful… he’s more prone to sentiment than you might think---”

“You’re right,” Silvio interjects. “I shouldn’t have asked. I guess I didn’t really want to know after all.” He shakes his head. “But what now? How do you build a life with someone like him?”

She raises her eyebrows. “Is that another question you don’t really want to know the answer to?”

Her question gives him pause. He looks briefly away from her, his eyes on his parents standing at the other end of the large meeting room where Barnes’ inquest was held. The room is starting to empty out, and he sighs as his gaze lands back on her. “I never got over you,” he says. There is something he’s let creep into his voice, something Olivia wonders if he’s aware of himself. It sounds like pain. “I never let myself get over you because I always imagined you’d come around. I thought…” He trails off, then starts again. “I thought the life you have now was just something you needed to get out of your system. Something you’d enjoy for a few years until you’d had a sufficient taste of what it was like. I should’ve known better than that, I suppose. You were never meant for a life like this.”

“But there was always a part of me that was thinking you would come around,” he continues. “Or maybe that part of me was just engaging in wishful thinking. I slept with other women, but I never wanted anything serious. I couldn’t, because what if you changed your mind and came back? What if you decided one day that you did want to marry me?”

His words are like a knife, seeking out the most tender parts of her heart and slicing them to ribbons.

“Don’t give me that look,” he mumbles grouchily. “That looks suspiciously like pity, and I hate that shit.”

“I’m sorry,” she says softly.

“I know you would’ve been miserable with me,” Silvio admits with a sigh. “I knew that back then, and I know it now. Nothing has changed about any of this except the fact that even though I never really had you, I lost you to a man everyone kept telling me was better than me in every way. I lost you to a man who, on paper, should never even be able to compete in the same league as me. He’s a fucking pirate, Livvy. Do you know how humiliating it was to lose the woman I love to a fucking pirate?”

His present-tense use of the word ‘love’ doesn’t escape her notice. “I wish you would stop saying it that way,” she tells him. “I’m not a prize to win or lose, Silvio. I’m a human with feelings - feelings that even I couldn’t predict.” She inhales deeply and lets that breath out in an exhale, hoping that it doesn’t sound too much like a sigh. “You have to know that I didn’t foresee things turning out like this.”

“I know,” he relents, grudgingly. “But a whole hell of a lot of good that does me now… right?” He sighs, and before Olivia can respond he’s speaking again. “I suppose if nothing else, I have him to thank for my closure.” To her surprise, he offers her a bitter smile. “So thank him for me, yeah? Thank him for being the reason I could finally move on and let you go.”

Olivia isn’t sure what to say to that. He’s smiling, but it’s bitter and full of sadness, and it makes her heart ache. “Silvio--”

“Let’s make a success of this - Vora’s new government,” he interrupts her breezily, already turning away from her. “One last thing we get to do together, right?”

He doesn’t wait for her to answer.

“You know,” Prisca starts, “I seem to remember not long ago, there was a headstrong young woman that worked for me who swore up and down that she wasn’t interested in anybody. Less than a year ago, that was… But rumor has it that that same young woman’s part of a set now.” She smirks at Olivia over the rim of her coffee mug. “You happen to know anything about that?”

“‘Long months in close quarters make for unpredictable events,’” Olivia mutters, echoing her mother’s words from what seems like a long time ago. “God, I can’t believe my mother was actually right about me… though not in the way she thought she’d be.”

Her expression makes Prisca laugh. “Mothers have a way of doing that, you know. It’s purely to piss us off.”

“I’ll say.” She takes a sip of her own coffee. It isn’t quite dawn, and the tavern is still quiet, most of its patrons having stumbled up to their rooms or back to their ships less than a quarter of an hour ago. Olivia knows the peace and quiet of this time will be short-lived; soon Prisca will have a morning rush, and the cycle of business will begin anew.

“Wasn’t hard to see it coming though, Livvy,” Prisca asserts. “He’s been head over heels for you since that first day he asked me if you were for hire.”

“I’m sure that isn’t true.”

“It is,” the older woman insists. “A body only had to look at him whenever you were in a room to know how he felt about you. He may have busied himself with other girls, but I’d bet everything in my money chest he was just passing the time until you came around.” She looks past Olivia’s shoulder, to the open door of the Sundance. “And if you don’t believe me, why don’t you ask him yourself?”

Puzzled, Olivia turns and follows Prisca’s gaze. “Oh,” she says softly, when she spots him standing in the doorway.

“Come on in, Grimm,” Prisca calls, as she pushes away from the table and stands up. She addresses her next words to Olivia. “I’m gonna get started on peeling the potatoes,” she tells the younger woman. “Take your time - I’m just getting a head start and there’s no need for you to rush and join me.” With one last knowing look and a smile, she heads in the direction of the kitchen.

“Hi,” Olivia says, when he’s seated himself in the chair Prisca vacated.

“Hey, beautiful.”

The way he looks at her when he says it makes her want to cover her face. She raises her mug to her face instead, taking another sip of her coffee. “Would you like some coffee?” She asks, poised to go to the kitchen and pour him a mug.

“Don’t mind if I do,” he smirks, reaching over and plucking her mug from her hands. He never breaks eye contact with her even as he raises it to his lips, and Olivia has to once more fight the urge to cover her warm face. When he’s taken a sip and pushed the mug back into her hands, he speaks again. “She’s right, y’know.”

“Hm?” She’s busy looking down at the mug in her hands. She lifts it to her mouth, placing her lips over the place where his lips were just seconds ago. There is something about the gesture that makes it feel almost as intimate as the things they get up to when they’re in bed together.

“She’s right,” he repeats, when he has her full attention again. “Thought it would hurt my ego to say it, but I guess I’m not the man I used to be.” He chuckles. “I wanted ya from the day I met ya, and not just to have in bed. I knew if you’d have me, I’d never touch another woman… wouldn’t even wanna look at another woman.”

“I’m sorry it took me so long to come around,” Olivia replies softly.

“What for? It was worth the wait,” he grins. He reaches out, and Olivia thinks he means to swipe her coffee again. He bypasses the mug and lifts her hand to his mouth to press a kiss to the back of it. “Don’t ever let me wake up from this dream, yeah?”

He stands, letting go of her hand to cup her cheek in his palm. Olivia knows what’s coming when he leans down, but it’s still a pleasant surprise when he presses his lips to hers in a gentle kiss. “I’ll come find ya later,” he promises, the words whispered into the corner of her mouth right before he pecks her there.

“Try to stay out of trouble,” she smiles after him as he leaves.

He smirks back at her from the doorway. “Now why would I do that?”

“Livvy!” Prisca calls from the front. “You got a visitor.”

Her first thought is that perhaps it’s Grimmjow again. She knows it hasn’t quite been two hours since she saw him last, and she is almost loath to admit that even the smallest bit of time spent away from him now feels like an eternity.

“Coming,” she calls back, rinsing the soapy plate in her hand and setting it carefully in the drying rack with its mates. Quickly drying her hands on the towel hanging from her apron, she makes her way to the front.

She lets out a gasp of surprise when she sees who her visitor is. “Daisy!”

The young woman beams back at her. “Hello, Lady Olivia,” she says, dipping into a curtsey. “I wanted to see where you worked.”

“You came all the way here by yourself?” Incredulously, Olivia looks around. The tavern is only about half full, and no one seems to be paying the younger woman any mind.

“Kenny brought me,” Daisy answers.

“Oh.” She tries not to let the word sound like what it is - a sigh of relief. “Where is he now?”

“He went on, to the Hellcat,” the younger woman explains. “Said he was going to go see the Captain, but that he would come back and collect me after a little while.”

Olivia nods in understanding. “Would you like something to eat or drink?”

“Some coffee would be nice,” Daisy says shyly. “It smells really good.”

“Wait right there,” Olivia smiles. “Actually, pick a table. I’ll bring coffee and join you for a bit.”

When she gets back with the tray of coffee, she finds Daisy sitting at a table in the back corner, her hands folded in her lap as she quietly observes the other patrons. Olivia joins her, pouring coffee and pushing one mug towards Daisy while keeping the other for herself. “Help yourself to whatever you like,” she says. She points at the small silver pitcher and the bowl. “Cream and sugar if you take it that way.” Daisy thanks her and prepares her coffee. “Ahhh,” she breathes, after the first sip. “It tastes even better than it smells.”

“Prisca’s been making this coffee for years,” Olivia smiles. “She’s got it perfect.”

“I’ll say.”

“So… things seem to be going well with Kenny,” Olivia starts.

Daisy’s cheeks flush pink. “I really like him,” she admits, her voice soft. “And he… he really likes me.”

“I can tell.” Olivia resists the urge to laugh, thinking of how inseparable the two of them were on the journey home from Vora.

“He’s gone down to talk to the Captain about something,” Daisy reiterates. “And I came to ask you something.”

“Oh?” Curious, Olivia raises her eyebrows and inclines her head, indicating she’s ready to hear whatever it is.

“I wanted to ask you,” Daisy fidgets in her seat a bit, looking down into her coffee. “If it would be okay for me to come with you when you go back to Vora.”

Surprised, she stares at the younger woman. “With me?”

“Yes,” Daisy nods. “Maybe not as your lady’s maid if you don’t need one. Just as… a helper.”

Still a little stunned, Olivia shakes her head. “But… Daisy,” she starts gently, “you know I’ll be there for at least two years, right? This isn’t just a visit where I’ll be staying for a few weeks and then coming back to Clario. This is,” she pauses, the gravity of the words hitting her hard. “It’s not a permanent stay, but it is long term.”

“I know,” Daisy nods with a smile.

“What about your mother? And the queen? Weren’t you training to take over for your mother before you left Clario?”

“I was. But in my absence, my mother began training my sister. She’s only a year younger than me, and she would have learned anyway.”

Olivia chuckles; she can’t help it. “Oh, Daisy,” she sighs helplessly, when her laughter has subsided a bit. “It seems I’ve rubbed off on you in more ways than one, and for that I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Daisy chirps brightly. “My mother wasn’t upset, you know. She says life at sea must have done me good because I’m less timid and mousy now than I was when I left.” She smiles. “And believe it or not, she really likes Kenny too.”

“I’m glad to hear it, on both counts,” Olivia says sincerely. “And if coming to Vora is what you want, then I’ll be happy to have you along. Is that what Kenny’s gone to see the Captain about?”

Daisy nods. “He wanted to ask if it was ok for me to come along on the Hellcat.”

“I’m sure the Captain will be alright with it,” Olivia tells her. “He’s very fond of you.”

“Though not as fond as he is of you,” Daisy laughs.

“Now I’m sure of it,” Olivia laughs with her. “I’m definitely rubbing off on you.”

Previous Chapter: Twenty | Next Chapter: Twenty-Two (coming soon)

Tag List: @chrissie2003 @kryptoniteforsale @pamakali

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tiny-wooden-robot-fics · 10 days

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Against the Tide - Twenty-One

Previous Chapter: Twenty | Next Chapter: Twenty-Two

Chapter Masterlist

Summary:

“I owe you a thank you,” she says to him. “For persuading your father to hear Barnes out.”

It’s Silvio’s turn to shrug. “I don’t need your thanks.”

Read on AO3

As expected, Jarron Barnes doesn’t look happy.

Barnes doesn’t reply, but his sour expression tells them both everything they need to know about how he feels.

“Small comfort that is when somebody else is taking credit for my ideas,” Barnes mumbles, shooting a pointed glance at Silvio.

Olivia shrugs. “There was no harm done in the long run,” she explains, “and while you went about getting things done the wrong way, your intentions weren’t all bad.”

For some reason, her words make him chuckle. “Yeah… I can see why you’re such a hot commodity around here.”

She’s still left wondering what that means after Barnes is led away, leaving her alone with Silvio.

“I owe you a thank you,” she says to him. “For persuading your father to hear Barnes out.”

It’s Silvio’s turn to shrug. “I don’t need your thanks.”

Olivia’s first thought is that he’s questioning her about Barnes. When what he really means sinks in, however, she draws in a sharp breath. “Do you really want to know?”

“Yeah,” Silvio replies. This time he does look at her. “At least tell me what I lost to.”

“It isn’t like that, Silvio.”

“It is, and you know it is,” he scoffs. “So tell me what you see in him.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Is that another question you don’t really want to know the answer to?”

His words are like a knife, seeking out the most tender parts of her heart and slicing them to ribbons.

“Don’t give me that look,” he mumbles grouchily. “That looks suspiciously like pity, and I hate that shit.”

“I’m sorry,” she says softly.

Olivia isn’t sure what to say to that. He’s smiling, but it’s bitter and full of sadness, and it makes her heart ache. “Silvio--”

“Let’s make a success of this - Vora’s new government,” he interrupts her breezily, already turning away from her. “One last thing we get to do together, right?”

He doesn’t wait for her to answer.

Her expression makes Prisca laugh. “Mothers have a way of doing that, you know. It’s purely to piss us off.”

“Wasn’t hard to see it coming though, Livvy,” Prisca asserts. “He’s been head over heels for you since that first day he asked me if you were for hire.”

“I’m sure that isn’t true.”

Puzzled, Olivia turns and follows Prisca’s gaze. “Oh,” she says softly, when she spots him standing in the doorway.

“Hi,” Olivia says, when he’s seated himself in the chair Prisca vacated.

“Hey, beautiful.”

“I’m sorry it took me so long to come around,” Olivia replies softly.

“Try to stay out of trouble,” she smiles after him as he leaves.

He smirks back at her from the doorway. “Now why would I do that?”

“Livvy!” Prisca calls from the front. “You got a visitor.”

She lets out a gasp of surprise when she sees who her visitor is. “Daisy!”

The young woman beams back at her. “Hello, Lady Olivia,” she says, dipping into a curtsey. “I wanted to see where you worked.”

“You came all the way here by yourself?” Incredulously, Olivia looks around. The tavern is only about half full, and no one seems to be paying the younger woman any mind.

“Kenny brought me,” Daisy answers.

“Oh.” She tries not to let the word sound like what it is - a sigh of relief. “Where is he now?”

“He went on, to the Hellcat,” the younger woman explains. “Said he was going to go see the Captain, but that he would come back and collect me after a little while.”

Olivia nods in understanding. “Would you like something to eat or drink?”

“Some coffee would be nice,” Daisy says shyly. “It smells really good.”

“Wait right there,” Olivia smiles. “Actually, pick a table. I’ll bring coffee and join you for a bit.”

“Prisca’s been making this coffee for years,” Olivia smiles. “She’s got it perfect.”

“I’ll say.”

“So… things seem to be going well with Kenny,” Olivia starts.

Daisy’s cheeks flush pink. “I really like him,” she admits, her voice soft. “And he… he really likes me.”

“I can tell.” Olivia resists the urge to laugh, thinking of how inseparable the two of them were on the journey home from Vora.

“He’s gone down to talk to the Captain about something,” Daisy reiterates. “And I came to ask you something.”

“Oh?” Curious, Olivia raises her eyebrows and inclines her head, indicating she’s ready to hear whatever it is.

“I wanted to ask you,” Daisy fidgets in her seat a bit, looking down into her coffee. “If it would be okay for me to come with you when you go back to Vora.”

Surprised, she stares at the younger woman. “With me?”

“Yes,” Daisy nods. “Maybe not as your lady’s maid if you don’t need one. Just as… a helper.”

“I know,” Daisy nods with a smile.

“What about your mother? And the queen? Weren’t you training to take over for your mother before you left Clario?”

“I was. But in my absence, my mother began training my sister. She’s only a year younger than me, and she would have learned anyway.”

Daisy nods. “He wanted to ask if it was ok for me to come along on the Hellcat.”

“I’m sure the Captain will be alright with it,” Olivia tells her. “He’s very fond of you.”

“Though not as fond as he is of you,” Daisy laughs.

“Now I’m sure of it,” Olivia laughs with her. “I’m definitely rubbing off on you.”

Previous Chapter: Twenty | Next Chapter: Twenty-Two

Tag List: @chrissie2003 @kryptoniteforsale @pamakali

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tiny-wooden-robot-fics · 13 days

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Against the Tide - Twenty.

Previous Chapter: Nineteen | Next Chapter: Twenty-One

Chapter Masterlist

Summary:

"Olivia, watch your language," her mother frowns disapprovingly. "A lady shouldn't speak that way."

"I'm not a lady, and it's not like you haven't heard me say worse," she sighs. She looks at her father, who's still gazing with interest at the fabric in Grimmjow's hands. "But I'm starting to feel a little like an outsider here."

Read on AO3

“Oh,” Olivia exclaims softly. “You look fancy.”

He grins at her. “Clean up nice, don’t I?”

And he does. Grimmjow is always handsome, but Olivia notes the dress jacket she’s never seen him wear before and what looks like a new shirt beneath it. His pants are crisply pressed, his boots are clean and shiny, and his hair has been neatly pulled back into a braid that hangs over his left shoulder.

“Yeah,” she agrees with a smile. “You really do.”

“Ain’t so bad yourself, Princess,” he smirks. “So this is what ya look like in a dress, hm?” He eyes her up and down in a way that makes her feel like she’s wearing nothing at all. “With m’lady’s permission, I’m gonna eat you up later.”

“Stop that,” she fusses, flustered. “Don’t get me all worked up right before we go to my parents’ house.”

He just shoots her a knowing look.

It’s then that she notices the wrapped bundle he’s set aside. “What’s that?” She asks, pointing to it.

“That’s a secret,” he grins, hoisting the bundle in one arm and holding his other hand out for her to take. “Ready?”

“As ready as I’m going to get, I suppose.” She takes his hand, linking their fingers together. “Thank you for doing this,” she adds softly.

He looks back at her, mischief in his bright eyes. “How bout ya thank me later? I know a couple different ways…”

“Grimm!”

“Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez,” her father repeats. “That sounds like a Jeleian name. Is that where you’re from?”

“That’s right,” Grimmjow replies. He seems to be pleasantly surprised. “Not many folks care to know that.”

To Olivia’s own surprise, Antoine smiles. “I used to go to the Jele islands a lot when I was a young man,” he admits. “I have fond memories of them. Which one do you call your home?”

“Cyrenia is where I hail from.”

“Ah, the mainland,” Olivia’s father replies. “You’re a long way from home… Do you get to go back often?”

Grimmjow shakes his head, a shadow passing briefly over his face. “Ain’t been home in over ten years,” he confesses. “Respectfully, my memories of the place ain’t so fond as yours.”

Antoine nods in understanding. “Then, I won’t ask you any more about it.”

A brief silence ensues. Olivia steals a glance at her mother. Mirelle’s expression is closed off, unreadable. She hasn’t said much so far - only her name when making introductions and a short thank you to Grimmjow for sparing time for them. She doesn’t seem particularly keen to join in their current conversation, either.

Olivia tries not to sigh.

Grimmjow is moving on the sofa beside her, lifting the bundle he carried with him. Her curiosity about what’s in the bundle intensifies. Her eyes are on him as he unwraps it, so she doesn’t see the surprise on her mother’s face; she only hears the quiet gasp.

“Mama?” She looks up, concerned.

Her mother is staring at the fabric in Grimmjow’s hands. Olivia peers closely at it. She can see nothing out of the ordinary in it - it’s simply a length of fabric woven together with yarn of different colors. Confused, she puts a hand on Grimmjow’s arm. “Is… that a gift for my mother?”

He looks back at her, that tender smile that he reserves just for her on his face. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Gift for your pop, too… for both of ‘em.”

Mirelle is on her feet in one instant, crouching over the fabric in the next. “How did you know about this?” She breathes the question softly, hesitantly - almost as though she’s afraid of the answer. “I haven’t seen one of these in many, many years.”

Grimmjow chuckles warmly. “I spend a lot of time on Vora,” he answers. Olivia can see the way Antoine perks up at the way he pronounces the name of the island they come from. “Been doin’ for years, every time I pass through.”

Mirelle shakes her head. “But how did you know?” She stares at him. “You’re barely over forty, if at all.”

“I’m sorry,” Olivia waves a hand in the air. “Does someone want to explain to me what the hell is going on?”

“Olivia, watch your language,” her mother frowns disapprovingly. “A lady shouldn’t speak that way.”

“I’m not a lady, and it’s not like you haven’t heard me say worse,” she sighs. She looks at her father, who’s still gazing with interest at the fabric in Grimmjow’s hands. “But I’m starting to feel a little like an outsider here.” She looks to her lover, but he’s looking to her mother - deferentially, Olivia notices.

“A long, long time ago,” Mirelle starts, “this is what we called a life-weaving fabric.” Her expression is nostalgic as she runs her hands delicately over the fabric. “It’s created out of a special kind of yarn that’s only made on Vora. It… Well, depending on the colors of the yarn that you use, it can tell a story.”

Olivia leans closer to look at the multicolored fabric. “Oh, I see. So is this one telling a story?”

“White,” Mirelle says, pointing to the fabric that coincides with the color. “Respect for the wisdom of your seniors. Purple: homage to a person in a position of leadership or authority. Blue: a promise to protect. Red: a confession of love. And green,” she finishes, “the desire to unify hearts.” She looks back up at Grimmjow again, as if she cannot believe what she’s seeing. Her gaze shifts to Olivia then. “I haven’t seen a life-weaving fabric since…”

“Since the day I brought the one I'd had made for her to her parents,” Antoine supplies. “It’s an old Voraen tradition that had started to die even by the time your mother and I met.”

Respect for the wisdom of your seniors.

Homage to a person in a position of leadership or authority.

A promise to protect.

A confession of love.

The desire to unify hearts.

Understanding of what it means starts to sink in, and Olivia turns to look at him. “How did you know about this?” She asks, echoing her mother’s question.

Grimmjow is silent for a few moments, and Olivia can tell he’s thinking about his words. “I pass through a lotta places,” he starts, addressing not just her, but her parents too. “And I know it might be I seem like the most uncultured bastar--- eh… uncultured man you’re ever gonna meet. Couldn’t care less about the politics of a place, but I like people, y’know? It’s why I move around so much. I like people, and there ain’t nothin’ that teaches ya about people like culture does. That means now-culture and past culture.

“I hold no love for Jele and its islands,” he goes on, “but there’s a whole lotta places I do have love for… and Vora’s one of ‘em.” He chuckles, and to Olivia’s ears it sounds a little self-deprecating. “Even before I met Sae--Livvy,” he corrects himself, “I knew I’d have one of these made if I ever met a Voraen lady I loved enough to do it for… but I won’t tell ya how quick I had it made after she walked into my life.”

Olivia can see the way her father’s brows jump when he hears Grimmjow say Olivia’s middle name. “Well,” Antoine says, unable to help the laugh that escapes, “it seems like you know all sorts of secret things.”

“I know what ya think of me and what I do,” Grimmjow says somberly. “And I ain’t gonna sit here and lie and tell ya I’m the world’s most honest, upstandin’ man. But if truth is what’s bein’ asked for, I’ll tell it to ya. I ain’t never loved anybody as much as I love her. This,” he goes on, motioning to the fabric in his lap, “ain’t meant to convince ya I’m a good man - though I’m workin’ on bein’ better. It’s meant to tell ya I’m serious about your daughter, and I plan to stay serious.”

Olivia and her parents are shocked speechless. To their credit, her parents seem to recover from their shock a lot faster than she does.

It’s her mother who speaks first. “Well. I still can’t say that I approve of this relationship.”

“Mama---”

“But,” Mirelle continues, holding up a hand, “it seems I may have misjudged you, and for that, I’m sorry.”

Grimmjow laughs good-naturedly. “Happens a lot,” he says.

“Why don’t the two of you stay for dinner?” Her father suggests. “I’d like to hear more about your adventures at sea - the ones you can tell me about, anyway.”

Olivia looks at Grimmjow, letting her eyes meet his and telegraphing that she’ll leave it up to him. He flashes her a grin, then turns to Antoine. “Sounds good to me.”

When she wakes, the darkness outside tells her that she hasn’t been asleep long; night is upon them, and the lamp in her room is lit. She shifts under the sheets, her body no longer trapped beneath the heavy mass of muscle that is Grimmjow.

He is still in bed, lying on his back with his eyes on the ceiling.

“Hello,” she calls softly to get his attention.

He looks over at her, flashing her a smile. “Wore you out, huh?”

“In a good way,” she smiles back.

He lets out a low chuckle. “Good.”

She moves closer to him, and he automatically reaches for her to pull her close. “Did you sleep?” She asks.

“Nah,” he tells her. “Didn’t feel like it. And it’s more fun to watch ya flail around in your sleep like some kinda kid.”

“I do not,” she protests indignantly.

“Yeah ya do,” he laughs, tickling her in the side. “Decked me in the stomach a couple times too. You gonna pay for them damages?”

As much as she tries to hold them in, girlish giggles escape her. “If anything,” she gasps around her laughter, “you should be paying me for damages. My entire body is sore.”

“Told ya I was gonna eat ya up, didn’t I?” He kisses her temple. “Never lied to ya before, don’t plan on startin’ now.”

She knows his words are meant as a lighthearted joke, but she goes sober at the truth of them. “You surprised me today,” she says softly.

“Hm? What, didn’t think I’d know which fork to use?”

She swats at him. “That isn’t what I meant, although I was quite surprised to see you exhibiting table etiquette that even my hard-to-please mother was impressed by,” she laughs. “But I meant… I meant the other thing. The life-weaving fabric. That’s,” she pauses, unsure if she should say what she’s thinking but unable to keep the thought to herself. “Isn’t that a pretty serious thing?”

“Yep,” Grimmjow agrees easily.

“And that’s… you… you meant to do that,” she goes on. It isn’t phrased as a question but she’s asking anyway.

Something in her tone makes him chuckle. “Sae, I get the feelin’ the word husband makes ya wanna crawl outta your skin. Am I right?”

“I… don’t know,” she starts slowly. “I think before, I always associated that word with a specific person.” She knows better than to say Silvio’s name while she’s in bed with Grimmjow. “And the thought of that person being my husband came with a long list of things that made me panic. Responsibilities I knew I’d have, behaviors I’d have to exhibit, standards I’d have to uphold. It all just made me so anxious,” she admits.

“Hm,” he hums thoughtfully, gently running his palms up and down her arms. “And how about when you think about that word outside of that person?” He’s following her lead, not bringing Silvio’s name into their bed.

Olivia takes a moment to think about it - to think about that word in connection with the man who’s with her now, the one whose arms are wrapped tightly around her, making her feel safe. “Well, it certainly doesn’t make me want to crawl out of my skin,” she smiles. “I guess it makes me think of… of what kind of life I might have if I decided to build it with a husband. If he and I decided to build it together.” She looks tentatively up at him. “And what about you? What does the word ‘wife’ conjure up in that brain of yours?”

“Never thought much about it til now,” Grimmjow confesses, his voice quiet and low. “Livin’ as wild of a life as I been doin’ all this time… never thought anybody’d put up with it.”

“But suppose there was someone who would,” Olivia muses. “Someone who… wanted to. Then what?”

He looks down at her. “Then I’d do whatever I needed to make her happy,” he replies. “Maybe even do a lot less of that wild shit… keep her close, take care of her til she gets sick of me.”

There are butterflies in Olivia’s stomach. Not even the vague, casual way they’re speaking about something so significant can calm them. “I’m not built for life as a diplomat, or a politician.” The words are spilling out of her before she even has a chance to consider how to say them. “I want to help Vora and its people, and I’ll do all I can to help them… but that isn’t the life I was meant to live forever. I want… I want to be with you.”

Grimmjow is offering her that tender smile again - the one that’s only for her. “You makin’ a pass at me, Princess?”

“Yeah,” she laughs, as he pulls her closer. “Yeah… I think I am.”

Previous Chapter: Nineteen | Next Chapter: Twenty-One

Tag List: @chrissie2003 @kryptoniteforsale @pamakali

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tiny-wooden-robot-fics · 16 days

Text

Against the Tide - Nineteen

Rating: Explicit Pairing(s): Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez x Original Female Character, Silvio Ricci x Original Female Character Characters: Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez (Bleach), Silvio Ricci (Ikemen Prince), Olivia DuBois (Original Female Character) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergent, Pirates and Princes, Slow Burn, Action/Adventure, Worldbuilding, Angst, Some Subtle Racism, Sexual Tension, Political Subplot

Previous Chapter: Eighteen | Next Chapter: Twenty

Chapter Masterlist

Summary:

Olivia inclines her head to the side. "You really believe that?" She asks, after a moment.

"Of course I do," Mirelle says, a little exasperated. "Why would I say it if I didn't?"

Olivia falls silent for a few seconds. Then, “So if I told you that there was someone I loved enough to want to be with, then… you would support that and encourage me to be with him?”

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“You’re back!”

It’s the way Thalia greets her, along with a bone-crushing embrace. Olivia hugs her younger sister tightly, then leans back. “And you’re different,” she remarks, peering closely at Thalia. “Did something happen while I was gone?”

Thalia smiles up at her shyly. “I was going to write to you, but Mama said I should wait to tell you in person.”

“Oh?” Olivia raises an eyebrow curiously. “So you have some news for me?”

Thalia ushers her over to the sofa in the sitting room. Once they’re seated, side-by-side but facing each other, she speaks. “Prince Alessio asked me to marry him.”

Shocked speechless for a moment, Olivia stares at her. “Well,” she says, when she’s regained the power of speech. “That’s certainly news.” She takes a deep breath. “What did you tell him?”

Her younger sister shakes her head. “I haven’t told him anything yet,” she confesses. “He said he wanted to talk to Prince Silvio about it too… But,” she goes on, her eyes falling on her hands in her lap, “I think I’m going to tell him yes.”

Olivia absorbs this. “Is marrying him what you want?” She asks, her tone light and neutral. She doesn’t want Thalia to think she’s trying to influence her one way or another.

There is no hesitation in her tone when Thalia answers. “It is.”

“In that case,” Olivia smiles, still keeping her tone light, “I’m happy for you.”

“Welcome back,” her mother says, after they’ve embraced each other. She looks Olivia up and down. “You look the same, thankfully.”

Olivia laughs. “Were you expecting me to look differently?”

Her mother simply shrugs, and Olivia will never understand how Mirelle manages to make such a nonchalant gesture look elegant. She joins her mother on the bench in the garden.

“Tati told me Prince Alessio asked her to marry him,” Olivia says after a moment.

“He did.”

“I was sure Prince Silvio sent word ahead about the proposed changes to Vora’s government.”

“He did,” her mother says again, her eyes on the garden.

Olivia fidgets. “So you know that if the King accepts the changes and sets things in motion, Vora will have its own government - its own ruling party. There won’t be a need for a political union between the two countries any longer.”

“I know that,” Mirelle says patiently. “But this would not be a political union.”

Incredulously, Olivia stares at her mother. “It wouldn’t?” She shakes her head. “Then why on earth are they planning on getting married?”

Her question makes her mother laugh, but she can’t understand why. Finally, Mirelle turns to face her. “Because they love each other,” she states simply. “And if two people love each other and there are no obstacles in the path of their love, they should be able to be together.”

Olivia inclines her head to the side. “You really believe that?” She asks, after a moment.

“Of course I do,” Mirelle says, a little exasperated. “Why would I say it if I didn’t?”

Olivia falls silent for a few seconds. Then, “So if I told you that there was someone I loved enough to want to be with, then… you would support that and encourage me to be with him?”

Her mother looks curiously at her. “I thought you said Prince Silvio wouldn’t ask you again.”

“I did say that,” Olivia agrees. “And he didn’t.”

The look of confusion on her mother’s face makes Olivia’s mouth twitch up with the urge to laugh. She fights it, waiting patiently for things to click in her mother’s thoughts.

“Olivia, no,” Mirelle gasps, when the revelation has dawned on her. “You can’t be serious.”

“Why can’t I?”

“Because he’s a pirate, for god’s sake,” her mother replies. “That cannot be the kind of life you want for yourself.”

“He’s a merchant,” Olivia rebuts stubbornly. “Furthermore, he loves me and I love him. Didn’t you say less than five minutes ago that if two people love each other and there are no obstacles in their path, they should be able to be together?” She grins. “Or did I dream that up?”

“That is not what I meant and you know it,” Mirelle sighs. “You’re blatantly disregarding all the obstacles that would be in your path if you attached yourself to that man in a permanent way.”

“What obstacles?”

“Do you really want to spend the rest of your life at sea? Getting into god knows what, facing all kinds of danger and putting yourself in unnecessary harm?” Her mother narrows her eyes. “And how do you know he’ll be faithful to you?”

“I’ve seen proof of that last part with my own eyes,” Olivia murmurs, her face flushing warm.

The look on her face doesn’t go unnoticed by her mother, and Mirelle frowns. “Whatever he’s told you - no, whatever you think he’s shown you - how do you know that isn’t just a temporary thing meant to lure you in? How do you know that once he knows you’re not going anywhere, he won’t go back on his word?”

“He isn’t that kind of man,” Olivia insists. She pauses, heaving a sigh. “Mama… whatever else he may be - and I’m not going to argue with you about what he is and isn’t - he’s never been a liar. He’s always been truthful with me in word and in deed, and I have every reason to believe he’ll continue to do so for as long as I’m in his life.”

Her mother is still frowning, brows tightly drawn together and her mouth turned down sourly. “Olivia… you can do so much better---”

“Isn’t that for me to say?” Olivia interrupts her gently. “Mama, I know the kind of life you’ve always wanted for me. I know how disappointed you were - and still are - that I didn’t marry Silvio. But that has never been the kind of life I’ve wanted, and forcing myself to live it would only make me miserable. You realize that, don’t you?”

Her mother refuses to answer her. Her eyes are back on the garden.

“Mama, please,” Olivia pleads with her. “Can I ask you to at least give him a chance? To meet him, see for yourself?”

“What could I possibly learn about him that would make me change my mind?”

She opens her mouth to answer her mother, but a voice behind them speaks first. “Tell me, Livvy-Love,” her father starts quietly, putting a hand on her shoulder and waiting until Olivia looks up at him to speak again. “Does this man love you?”

“Yes,” she answers unhesitatingly. “He tells me that he does… but more than that, he shows me that he does.”

“Does he respect you?”

“He does,” she says. “He… I asked him not to change anything about who he was on account of me. But he’s changing anyway… he says he wants to be the kind of man I can be proud of.”

“Hm,” her father hums thoughtfully as he processes her words. “And does he take care of you?”

The question makes her smile. “He came all the way to Vora for me,” she replies softly, the smile still on her face. “And when he thought I might be in danger, he ran himself ragged trying to get to me. He knows I can take care of myself in most instances, and he lets me do that… but when I need protecting, he’s always there.”

Her mother rolls her eyes. “Antoine, you cannot seriously be thinking of entertaining this delusion.”

Antoine DuBois laughs. “Is it a delusion though?” He moves around to the front of the bench to join his wife and his daughter. “Love comes in many different forms, and not all of them are the ones you would pick for yourself - or that someone else would pick for you,” he adds.

Olivia stares at him, her eyes questioning.

“To answer your unspoken inquiry,” Antoine says, “I don’t wholly disagree with your mother. If the man you speak about is the one I’m thinking of, then I’ve heard some bad things about him. But,” he goes on, holding a hand up when Olivia opens her mouth to protest, “I know that you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. If you see something - or some things - good in him, I’d be smart to try and see it too.”

Mirelle huffs indignantly. “Are my words just air now?”

Olivia turns to face her mother. “Just meet him, please… Can you do it as a favor to me?”

“And what if I still don’t like him, even after meeting him?” Her mother looks at her shrewdly.

“Then I have to respect your opinion,” Olivia answers gently but firmly. “But I don’t have to agree with you.”

“Hmph,” her mother sniffs, rising to her feet. “You’re just as willful as ever.” She doesn’t wait for Olivia to respond before walking away.

Antoine and Olivia sit in silence for a long time after she’s left, both of their gazes trained on the garden that her father takes so much pride in caring for. It’s Antoine who finally breaks the silence.

“Is it true what you said?”

Olivia laughs. “I said a lot of things, Papa.”

“The part about him changing,” he clarifies. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

She considers her words carefully before she answers. “I’m not sure what you’re thinking it means,” she starts slowly. “But he… he says I make him want to be an honest man.” It feels strange, revealing those words to her father. It feels like an admission of guilt - perhaps for vehemently clinging to her refrain that Grimmjow has always been an honest man.

“I see.”

“Nobody’s perfect,” Olivia sighs. “And I know he’s done some things that are… less than savory. I’m sorry for making you believe otherwise in the past.”

This time it’s her father who laughs. “Oh, Livvy-Love, I never believed that.”

“Fair,” she mumbles. “I guess I wasn’t very convincing.”

“Well,” Antoine starts. “We’ve all done things we’re not proud of. Although in his case, he’s probably done things he’s proud of that the rest of us wouldn’t be proud of. Anyway,” he continues, “whatever the man’s profession, whatever his life choices, I need to know that he’ll never put you in danger. I need to know that he loves you more than he loves his own life.”

“Is that fair to ask of anyone?” Olivia shakes her head. “Would you ask that of me, were the tables turned and he was your son? Would you want me to be ready to die for him?”

“I’m not saying he has to die for you,” Antoine reaches out, taking her hand in his. “I’m saying he needs to love you more than his own life. That encompasses a lot of things, Olivia. If the life he leads - which I assume he loves - is something that makes you unhappy or puts you in peril, he has to weigh that against it.

“If he’s already changing for you,” Antoine goes on, “then I believe he does love you more than he loves his own life… or that he’s well on the way to it.”

Olivia chews over his words for a moment. “Does that mean you’re willing to meet him?”

Her father smiles, pressing a kiss to her hand before rising from the bench. “Why don’t you set something up?”

“You mean it?” She’s almost afraid to ask.

“Of course I do,” he says. “Leave the task of convincing your mother to me.”

“If I asked you to do something for me, would you do it?”

Grimmjow looks up from the open ledger he’s been working on. “Name it.”

Olivia crosses the threshold of his cabin and closes the door behind her. “I want you to meet my parents.”

Surprised, he leans back in his chair to look at her. “Me?”

“You,” she confirms with a laugh. She takes the few steps necessary to close the distance between them. His arms meet her, reaching out and pulling her into his lap.

“Sure that’s what ya want?” He tips her chin up so he can meet her eyes. “I know what your people think about me.”

“That’s because they don’t know you,” Olivia points out, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I want to give them the chance to change all their preconceived notions about you.”

“That so?” He dips his head, burying his face in the fabric of her shirt.

“Mmhm,” she murmurs. She runs her fingers through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp the way she knows he likes.

“Ain’t fair, askin’ me when ya doin’ that,” he groans. “I’m liable to say yes to anything.”

“I’m counting on it,” she laughs. “I told them that I love you,” she goes on. “And that… that you love me too.” She pauses. “Although I might have been making an assumption with that last bit,” she adds, a little sheepishly.

This time he laughs, raising his head to look up at her again. “No assumptions made,” he smiles, before pressing his lips to her neck. “I love ya… and I’ll tell anybody who asks.”

His words make her heart tingle. “Now who’s not playing fair?” She murmurs, more bashfully than she’d like to admit.

Grimmjow doesn’t answer. He’s too busy kissing all the bits of her that he can reach. He squeezes her hips with his hands, thumbs rubbing gentle circles on her skin through the fabric of her pants.

“Grimm…” She tilts her head back, eyes closed. “If you keep that up, I’m not going to want to stop.”

“Who says we gotta stop?” His words are muffled, said into the skin right above her left breast.

“You--- were… working,” she manages, her words stilted as he lifts one hand to cup that same breast in his hand, gently thumbing her nipple through the fabric of her shirt. “I didn’t mean to distract you.”

“I might believe that,” he chuckles, nudging her arms out of the way so he can lift her shirt over her head, “if ya had left the door open.”

Olivia doesn’t get a chance to answer; his mouth is on her now, his lips closing around one nipple as he gently swipes his thumb back and forth over the other. She reaches up, cupping his head in her hands to keep him close, and to tether herself to something.

He keeps lavishing attention on her that way until Olivia starts to squirm in his lap. She’s wet, her skin so hot and flushed she feels like she’s sitting in the sun. “Grimm…” She calls his name again, tugging lightly on his hair.

Grimmjow looks up at her, his blue eyes dark with desire. “Somethin’ ya want, Princess?” His words are playful, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“Yes,” she says bluntly. She wiggles her hips, grinding on his obvious erection and offering a satisfied smile at the sharp breath he draws between his teeth.

“Tease,” he growls. His hands encircle her hips once more to keep her still. “Ya gonna come outta these, or am I gonna have to rip ‘em?” He asks, tapping a finger on the waistband of her pants.

Without a word, she sheds what remains of her clothing, taking extra time to fold it neatly and place it on top of his desk. Grimmjow never takes his eyes off of her, even as he unlaces his own pants and frees himself from their confines. When she’s completely naked, he pulls her onto his lap again, her legs straddling his hips.

“What if someone comes in?” Even as she whispers it she reaches for him, pumping him in her fist just twice.

“Like I said,” he grunts. “Door’s closed. My men know what that means.”

She puts one hand on his shoulder to anchor herself as she raises her hips, feeling his hands steady her.

“Do ya need---”

“No,” she cuts him off, knowing what he’s planning to ask her. She smiles down at him. “At least, I don’t think so.” She concentrates on lining him up just where she wants him. She sinks down onto him slowly, her muscles trembling ever so slightly from the effort of holding herself up, until her backside is resting on his thighs.

“Fuck… just like that,” he groans. He reaches up, his palm against the back of her neck to bring her close. Olivia shudders as the angle of him inside of her changes with the movement, her nipples brushing against the rough fabric of his shirt. He brings her near enough for their lips to meet in a kiss.

She braces her hands on his shoulders in preparation to move, but his other hand on her hip stops her. Quizzically, she breaks the kiss to look down at him.

“Just stay like that for a little bit,” he tells her, that indolent grin she loves so much on his lips. “Be still and let me touch ya.”

She obliges him, watching him watch her as his hands roam over her naked skin. Slowly, almost reverently, he cups her breasts in his hands, lowering his gaze to watch his thumbs moving over her nipples again.

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he murmurs. It makes her twitch around him.

She’s briefly disappointed when one hand falls away from her left breast, but the trembling in her muscles begins anew as he begins tracing patterns along the sensitive skin of her belly. It takes her a minute to realize that the patterns are words - he’s writing his name on her skin.

He’s watching her, and he can see the exact moment she realizes. “Mine,” he says, his voice low.

“Yours,” she breathes, her heart fluttering. “All yours, and only yours.”

Grimmjow doesn’t verbally respond, but she can tell he’s pleased. He continues his featherlight series of touches down her body, wherever his fingers take him - her neck, her breasts, her stomach, her swollen outer lips. She’s trying hard to be still, but she can’t help the way she’s been rocking into him ever so slightly. When he licks his thumb and passes the pad of it over her clit, back and forth, she starts to shake. She bites the inside of her wrist, but a whimper escapes her anyway.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he coos, his other hand gently stroking her back as she comes. “God as my witness Sae, I could die like this. You in my lap, all wet and tight and hot around me…”

Olivia is still trying to catch her breath when she feels him brace his heels against the floor. “Hold on tight, baby,” he rasps in her ear, and she has just enough time to wrap her arms and legs around him before she finds her back flat against his desk and his hips pushing into hers. There is very little finesse to his fucking, and it makes Olivia realize just how much control he was exercising over his own pleasure to see to hers first.

The thought elicits a new wave of wetness between her legs, even as she still feels her walls fluttering around him from the aftershocks of her climax. He fucks her through those tremors, his grunts low and and interspersed with praise about how good she feels and how much he loves it. It isn’t long before he’s crested the peak of his own pleasure, spilling into her with a long, satisfied groan.

“So,” Olivia says after a moment, her chest rising and falling with the effort to pull oxygen, “was that a yes?”

“Bleedin’ hell, woman,” he pants around a grin. “I’ll do anything you want.”

Previous Chapter: Eighteen | Next Chapter: Twenty

Tag List: @chrissie2003 @kryptoniteforsale @pamakali

#tinywoodenrobot fics #black oc #bleach fanfiction #bleach grimmjow #bleach #grimmjow jaegerjaquez #ikemen prince fanfiction #ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri silvio #grimmjow jaegerjaquez x oc #silvio ricci #silvio ricci x oc #ikepri silvio x oc #olivia dubois

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tiny-wooden-robot-fics · 17 days

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Against the Tide - Eighteen

Rating: Explicit Pairing(s): Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez x Original Female Character, Silvio Ricci x Original Female Character Characters: Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez (Bleach), Silvio Ricci (Ikemen Prince), Olivia DuBois (Original Female Character) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergent, Pirates and Princes, Slow Burn, Action/Adventure, Worldbuilding, Angst, Some Subtle Racism, Sexual Tension, Political Subplot

Previous Chapter: Seventeen | Next Chapter: Nineteen

Chapter Masterlist

Summary:

He turns back to face her. "You gonna go see him?"

She knows the 'him' he's referring to. "I suppose I should," she starts slowly. She looks down at their linked hands. "I… I know it's probably going to sound silly, but I feel like he at least deserves an explanation. I would want one if I were in his shoes."

He offers her that gentle smile again - the one that seems to be just for her. "Just one more thing I love about ya," he murmurs against her forehead before pressing a kiss there. "I'm gonna go back to the Cat for a while," he adds. "If ya feelin' up to it later, feel free to join me."

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“Have you seen Olivia?” Bluntly and without any preamble, the Prince asks Daisy the question, catching her slightly off-guard.

“Not since we docked this morning,” Daisy answers truthfully. “She told me she was going to visit someone, but she didn’t say who or where that person would be.”

He sighs. He isn’t at all familiar with the island of Vora and would have no idea where to begin searching for Olivia. “If you see her, tell her I’m looking for her.”

“I will,” she promises with a smile.

The sun is starting to set by the time Olivia and Grimmjow get back to the port. They run into Daisy first, finding the young lady with Kenny, enjoying dinner at the inn they’ve put up in.

“Oh, Lady Olivia,” she exclaims, just as Kenny straightens up in his chair and says, “Cap’n…”

“At ease,” Grimmjow laughs, dropping Kenny a knowing wink.

Daisy’s face brightens when she sees the way Olivia’s fingers are twined with the Captain’s. “Oh,” she remembers suddenly, the smile dropping from her face. “I’m supposed to tell you that Prince Silvio was looking for you.”

Olivia and Grimmjow exchange a glance. Something unspoken passes between them, something Daisy can’t quite pick up on. “Where is he now?” Olivia asks after a moment.

“He’s in his room, I believe,” Daisy says. “Number nine.”

“Thank you Daisy, I appreciate it.”

Kenny is still sitting ramrod straight, eyeing his Captain curiously. “Cap’n? You need me?”

Grimmjow shakes his head. “Have a good time,” is all he says, grinning mischievously.

Olivia looks back at them as they walk away. “She really likes him,” she sighs. “I hate that they’ll be separated soon.”

Grimmjow shrugs. “Might be they won’t,” he counters. “Both of them are free to do what they please.” He turns back to face her. “You gonna go see him?”

She knows the ‘him’ he’s referring to. “I suppose I should,” she starts slowly. She looks down at their linked hands. “I…I know it’s probably going to sound silly, but I feel like he at least deserves an explanation. I would want one if I were in his shoes.”

He offers her that gentle smile again - the one that seems to be just for her. “Just one more thing I love about ya,” he murmurs against her forehead before pressing a kiss there. “I’m gonna go back to the Cat for a while,” he adds. “If ya feelin’ up to it later, feel free to join me.”

Olivia watches him walk away, bracing herself for the conversation she knows is coming before heading in the direction of the stairs.

He answers the door after the first knock. When he sees it’s her, he says nothing - he just steps aside to allow her entrance.

“Daisy told me you were looking for me,” Olivia says quietly, standing in the center of the room.

“Where were you all day?” He motions to the table in the room, and she sits in the chair across from where he’s apparently been sitting.

“I went to see my old governess,” she explains.

He joins her at the table, filling the glass on the table with rum from the bottle sitting there. After a moment, he reaches for the other glass and pours a generous amount of rum in it too, sliding it across the table to her.

“Thanks,” she says, taking a sip.

“So. You’ve been fucking him.” His words are quiet, his tone flat.

“That’s a crude way of putting it.”

“But am I wrong?”

Olivia takes a deep breath, her eyes on the amber liquid in the glass. “Will you listen to what I have to say before you respond? I need… I need to get all of it out. Before I lose my nerve,” she adds, that last bit whispered so low he barely hears it.

“You? Lose your nerve?” A smile twists at the corners of his mouth, bitter though it is. “I doubt the odds of that happening. But if that’s what you want,” he goes on, “then that’s what you’ll get.”

“I never wanted to be Queen,” Olivia starts. “I had this idea in my head that I wasn’t equal to the responsibility that involved. I kept thinking about my father and the burden he carried when he was Prime Minister, and how difficult it was for him when Vora and Clario were at war… being the only one to make decisions, being the sole bearer of responsibility for Vora’s political well-being. It was all I could see whenever I thought of being your wife. It felt heavy, like I was being suffocated under the weight of that title. It was all I could see, so much so that I let it get in the way of how much I loved you.

“I still don’t… think it’s something I could do, to go into something knowing one day that responsibility would be mine. And I don’t know what you think of all this, what Jarron Barnes is suggesting for Vora’s future,” she goes on. “But I hope you wouldn’t think less of me for wanting to be a part of the group that decides on that future… on my terms.”

His mouth twitches as if he wants to say something, but he holds his tongue and keeps his blue eyes trained on her.

She’s grateful for his silence, because it is this last part that she needs to say the most. “I’m really and truly sorry for what I did to you, Silvio. Despite all the years of bitterness and every ugly word that we’ve thrown at each other, I don’t hate you. I never have. I buried my feelings for you, even when those feelings were of the love I should have shown you. I was sure you wouldn’t want anything to do with me after I jilted you, and for that I can’t blame you---”

“Be quiet,” he cuts her off. “Just… be quiet.”

“Silvio?”

“If all you’re going to do,” he starts, enunciating every word slowly and carefully, “is tell me that you regret what happened between us in one breath only to tell me you’re choosing him in the next breath… then don’t. Don’t do that. Don’t fuck around with my heart, Olivia.”

For so long now, she has been accustomed to the way they interact with one another - hateful words thrown at each other, their tongues dripping acid as they hurl vitriol up in the air between them and wait for the aftermath of those emotional bombs. She looks at him now, and there is an honest vulnerability in his expression that she has not seen in a very long time.

“Oh.” The word falls from her mouth softly, followed by silence. She isn’t sure how to respond to what he’s said. She looks down at her glass. “I just… I thought you deserved an explanation.”

He looks away from her. “Don’t blame me if he fucks it up,” he says bitterly. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I’m sorry,” she says again, an ache in her chest.

“You do realize that we’re going to have to work together,” he goes on, his gaze focused on some point behind her. “If things go as planned with Vora’s new government… and you decide you really want to be a part of it, you and I are going to have to work together.”

“I know,” she concedes. “And I was hoping that we could. Without…” She takes a deep breath. “Without animosity.”

“I would assume all your training taught you how to separate your personal life from your duties,” Silvio says flatly. “If you can’t remember that, I can’t help you.” He lifts his glass to his lips, downing the contents in one big gulp. “Get out,” he says softly, and it’s sadly reminiscent of the same words he said to her not long ago. “I don’t want you here anymore.”

She’s crying quietly into her hands, and he pulls her close to him, enfolding her in his arms.

“I’m sorry,” she sniffles, her words muffled. “It’s awful of me to be here with you, crying about another man.”

Grimmjow shakes his head. “Cry if ya need to, Sae,” he tells her, rubbing her back soothingly.

“I made a mess of everything, didn’t I?”

He laughs in that easy going way he has. “Wouldn’t say that.”

She’s grateful for the lie, even though she knows that’s exactly what it is.

“So you chose the pirate.” It’s the way Barnes greets her when she joins him at his table the next morning. “I guess that means you jilted the prince… again.”

She ignores his jab. It hurts. “We have a lot to talk about,” she says, seating herself across from him.

“Will you at least let me finish my breakfast?”

“You’re smart enough to do two things at once, aren’t you?” She raises an eyebrow at him. “And anyway, I’ll start - you don’t even have to talk. Just listen.”

He looks back at her warily, but says nothing.

“I’m going to accept the offer to be a part of Vora’s new ruling party,” she starts. “But not under your conditions.”

“What makes you so sure I’ll agree to anything but my conditions?”

“Your hands are tied,” Olivia tells him reasonably. “If you want anything resembling a normal life in light of everything you’ve done. And by ‘everything you’ve done,’ I mean all the laws you’ve broken. Your choices are limited. You know it, I know it, and Prince Silvio knows it.”

He narrows his eyes at her. “So what exactly are you suggesting?”

“The same thing I’ve been suggesting this whole time,” Olivia laughs. “Come back to Clario and present your case to the King. Let him hear you out. Be prepared to accept punishment and give restitution for the ships you burned and looted.”

“You want to see me in a cell for the rest of my life,” he grumbles.

“I don’t,” she answers truthfully. “I want to see Vora get what you want it to have. But if you want to be a part of the group responsible for its well-being, you need to set a good example. You need to be the sort of person who can own up to his wrongdoings. The people won’t trust you otherwise.”

“That’s all well and good to say, but you know as well as I do what will happen once the King passes judgment on me.”

Olivia shakes her head. “Lucky for you, I won’t mention anything about the kidnapping. And I heard from a reliable source that whenever you looted and burned a ship, you let the crew go - either so they could become your men or so they could go elsewhere. If you haven’t killed anyone, it may just be a matter of restitution.”

Barnes doesn’t look fully convinced, but he says nothing in rebuttal.

“In addition to that,” Olivia goes on, “Prince Silvio might be able to get the King to be more lenient on you than previously implied.”

“And then what?”

She sighs. “I’m giving you what’s probably going to be your best-case scenario right now,” she points out. “This could all have the potential to go horribly sideways, and despite what you think of me, I don’t want to see that happen.”

“You really mean that?” He leans forward, his gaze riveted to her face.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Barnes shrugs. “You don’t have anything to gain from offering me the best-case scenario.”

“Not true,” she counters. “Like I said before, I think what you want for Vora is a good thing. And while I may not agree with the way you initially went about trying to get it, I don’t think it’s too late to rectify that.” She pauses thoughtfully. “Being here again has made me remember what it was like to live here. No amount of years spent living in Clario can erase the fact that this is home to me. So if you really want to do what’s best for Vora, and you want to go about it the right way - which doesn’t include threatening to plunge it into another war it can’t win - then why wouldn’t I do everything I can to see that through?”

He’s quiet for a few seconds, assessing her. And then to her surprise, he starts to laugh. “I wonder what might have happened if your family hadn’t left Vora.”

Olivia shakes her head. “I stopped thinking about that a long time ago.”

“Why?”

“Because,” she shrugs, “thinking about that would’ve driven me crazy.”

When she gets back to the room, Grimmjow is exactly where she’s left him: still naked and half-buried in the sheets. His gaze follows her as she crosses the short distance from the door to him.

“You got up early,” he remarks lazily.

“Mmhm,” she agrees, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I went down to talk to Jarron Barnes.”

“Yeah?” He raises his pale eyebrows at her. “Good talk?”

“Good talk,” she agrees. “I’m starting to get the hang of this, I think.”

“Natural born leader.” He says it as he reaches for her, curling his arm around her waist and pulling her closer. She lets herself be pulled, finally ending up on her side, nose to nose with him. “Bed was cold without ya.”

“Was it?”

“Yeah,” he smirks. He rolls onto his back, taking her with him until she is resting on top of him, the sheets bunched between their bodies. He looks down at her. “I been thinkin’,” he starts.

Olivia reaches for him, her fingers laced together behind his head to bring him nearer to where she wants him, inviting him to stay in that narrow space between her thighs that, if asked, Grimmjow would say feels like his own little slice of heaven. “Tell me,” she whispers, right before closing the last bit of distance between her lips and his.

“Tryin’ to make every thought fly right out my head, I see,” he chuckles, when they’ve broken the kiss for air. His mouth is smiling, but Olivia notes the seriousness in his eyes. “I wasn’t lyin’ when I said you make me wanna become an honest man, do right by ya,” he asserts.

“Grimm…” She trails off. “I told you, you don’t have to---”

“Yeah, I know,” he interjects. “But I wanna. Sae, you’re a proper noble lady. Might not act like it most of the time---”

“Hey,” she butts in warningly.

“---but that don’t mean I ever forget it,” he continues, playfully nipping at her earlobe. “I ain’t sayin’ I can completely give up this life I’m so used to,” he goes on with a wry smirk, “but I wanna do less of the kinda shit that might make people look sideways at ya if they know I’m yours.”

“I don’t care what other people think of me,” she says stubbornly.

He smiles at her. “I know. But I do.”

Olivia opens her mouth to protest, but one look at his expression and she closes it. It’s clear that he’s made up his mind, and trying to change it would be an exercise in futility.

“Fine,” she relents finally. “But promise me you won’t give up all the naughty things you do on account of me.”

This makes him laugh again, a quiet rumble this time. “Naughty things?” He repeats, drawing back from her to look at her suggestively. “Like what I’m plannin’ on doin’ to ya now?”

“How naughty is what you’re planning to do to me now?”

“Come outta these,” he grins, tugging lightly at the laces of her clothes, “and I’ll show ya.”

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tiny-wooden-robot-fics · 18 days

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Against the Tide - Seventeen

Previous Chapter: Sixteen | Next Chapter: Eighteen

Chapter Masterlist

Summary:

"You must've come straight here," Olivia remarks, as Grimmjow sits up to make room for her.

"I always do," he answers, that grin still on his face. "Knew you'd come lookin' for me here, too."

"Am I that predictable?" She mock-pouts, crossing her arms over her chest.

It makes him laugh, and he pulls her closer, tucking her under his arm. "Nah… I just know ya." He looks down at her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as she leans into him. "Well? Ya have a good talk?"

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Their diplomatic discussion takes place at a tavern Olivia remembers but has never set foot inside of. She sits on one side of a table near the back, Silvio next to her. Jarron Barnes sits alone on the other side, casually shifting his gaze between the two of them.

Silvio speaks first. “So what’s your plan?”

“First and foremost, we stop paying taxes to Clario,” Barnes answers unhesitatingly. “It isn’t fair that you take our resources from us, turn those same resources into profitable merchandise, and still tax us for goods and services that we could provide for ourselves if we were able to keep those resources. Clario is rich enough with all the other islands it’s feeding off of - you don’t need to make money off us.”

He makes a good point, Olivia thinks, even as she keeps her mouth shut and waits for Silvio to respond. As the only legitimate diplomat with authority present, this is his show. She glances over at him.

He appears to be deep in thought, mulling over what Barnes has said. Finally, he looks up. “Alright, so condition one: no more taxes paid to Clario, and you use that money to provide for yourselves the goods and services Clario is providing now. Is that right?”

Barnes nods. “Medicine, science, and technology have advanced on Vora just as much as they have on Clario in the last twenty years,” he explains. “We’re caught up to you now - what we once had to rely on you for, we can now do for ourselves.”

Silvio acknowledges this, albeit a little reluctantly, with a nod. “What else?”

“That being said,” Barnes continues, “money still needs to be regulated and controlled. So Vora goes back to having a governmental system of its own in place. Maybe not a monarchy, but something that lends itself more towards a democratic approach. One where the people have a lot more of a say about what happens.”

This time around, Olivia does speak. “What exactly do you mean?”

Barnes turns his attention to her. “What you said started me thinking, you know? Maybe having a succession of rulers from a line of nobility twenty years ago was what Vora needed at the time. But now, I think it needs something different. Maybe what it needs is a group of people ruling, not just one person. People with different life experiences, who can all bring something different to the table. That way---” He pauses. “That way no one person with singular life experience is responsible for making decisions that impact an entire country full of people. No one person has to take the blame - or the fall - if something happens. If a decision is made that negatively impacts the country as a whole.”

His words shock her. It isn’t at all what she’s expecting him to propose, and she’s at a loss for words.

Silvio looks at Barnes shrewdly. “How would you decide who rules, then?”

Barnes hesitates, but only for a split second. “I won’t lie to you and say that I don’t want to be one of the ones chosen,” he admits candidly. “I still do, because these are my ideas and I’m the one who’s taking action to implement the changes. And to some degree, I think I should have a say in who else is part of that ruling group - along with the rest of the country.”

“So you won’t just be choosing a group of your friends?” Silvio raises his eyebrows questioningly.

“No,” Barnes replies indignantly. “After all,” he adds with a glance in Olivia’s direction, “I’m trying not to behave like a spoiled child with a grudge.”

“Oh, so you do listen to me on occasion,” Olivia grumbles. “Nice to know my words don’t just go in one ear and out the other.”

This makes him laugh. “Well then, I guess you won’t be surprised to know that I’ve been thinking of recommending you to be a part of that ruling group.”

She isn’t sure she’s heard him correctly. “You what now?”

“I was thinking of recommending you,” Barnes repeats. “Of course, there would have to be elections, and the people would have to want you to… but I would want your name in the running.”

She scowls at him. “Why the hell would you want that?”

Her ire seems to genuinely confuse him. “Because I think you would be good for it,” he answers matter-of-factly. “Not only do you have a history and a relationship with both countries, you were raised by a politician and a diplomat. You have all the knowledge of politics and the formal education to be good at it. And,” he admits grudgingly, “believe it or not, I think you’re good with people. You could help us navigate the early stages of re-establishing our own government and serve as a bridge between two countries if there’s a need for negotiations.”

Olivia feels like her head is spinning. She stares at him, mouth agape, unable to formulate a single response to anything he’s said.

Silvio is quiet, looking at her to gauge her reaction. When it becomes clear she isn’t going to reply, he speaks. “And how will you go about choosing the other members of the ruling party?”

“Simple,” Barnes shrugs. “Like I said before, elections. It might take some time, but I think it would be worth it to be able to gather a group of qualified people who can speak for the rest of the citizens. Speak from a place of varied experience,” he adds. “So there needs to be diversity in the group.”

“Well,” Silvio starts after a moment, “I have to admit that I wasn’t expecting much in the way of your intelligence---”

“Oi,” Barnes interrupts.

“---but your plan is a surprisingly sound one,” Silvio finishes. He glances over at Olivia, who is still reeling from Barnes’ previous suggestion of making her a part of the ruling party. “I still think she was right - you should come to Clario and present your case to my father. Tell him everything you’ve told me, and make it an official formal proposal.”

The other man leans back, heaving a sigh. “And how do I know that once I get to Clario, you won’t have me arrested and put in jail?”

Silvio considers his question. “Well. That I can’t guarantee, especially on account of the fact that you’ve been looting and burning my - and other people’s - ships. You also kidnapped the family member of a Clarion diplomat and conspired against the government. That doesn’t look good on paper, you know.”

Barnes scowls.

“But,” Silvio goes on, “the punishment might be less severe if you can assure us that this won’t go any further with the threat of war, and that you will graciously turn down any attempts to elect you as a member of Vora’s new ruling party.”

Barnes’ scowl deepens. “That isn’t fair,” he protests. “These are my proposals. Why shouldn’t I be involved?”

“If you’re really after this for the good of the country,” Silvio counters, “why should it matter whether or not you’re actually a part of the ruling group? As long as your ideas are being implemented and you’re given credit for them - to the betterment of Vora - wouldn’t it be fine?”

The Crown Prince of Clario has Barnes over a barrel, and he knows it. He stubbornly keeps his mouth shut.

“Well,” Silvio goes on, when it’s obvious Barnes doesn’t plan to answer him. “In five days, I plan to return to Clario. You have until then to think about it.” Without waiting for an answer, he pushes his chair back from the table and leaves.

“Is he always like this?” Barnes asks, after he’s gone.

Drawn out of her thoughts by the question, Olivia turns to look at him. “What?”

“Is he always like this?” He repeats the question, his tone no less surly for it than the first time he asks.

“You’ll have to elaborate on what you mean by ‘like this,’” Olivia laughs.

Barnes shakes his head. “Dismissive. Unyielding.”

“Well, he is a prince,” Olivia points out. “The Crown Prince, to be exact. And on top of that, he made some valid points. You looted and burned ships. You kidnapped me. If your proposal wasn’t so solid, he probably would have had you arrested as soon as you stepped off the Sea Queen.” She pauses. “In fact, I think that’s what his intention was before I ran into him and convinced him to hear you out.”

“Hmph,” Barnes mumbles. “Well then. I guess I can give thanks where thanks is due.”

“What are you going to do?”

He huffs out a breath. “Why do you care? Like you said, I kidnapped you. You’d probably be happy to see me in jail.”

“Not necessarily,” she counters. “And I care about Vora.”

Barnes shrugs, still sullen.

“Well,” Olivia says, rising from her chair, “I do think you should think about it. Think about what’s best for Vora. If you really care about it, put your own ambition aside to do the right thing.” Much like Silvio, she doesn’t wait for an answer. She doesn’t think he would give her one anyway.

“I had a feeling you would come here,” Carine Hudson remarks with a smile when she opens the door and finds Olivia standing there. “The question is, did you come to see me, or are you looking for someone else?”

Olivia smiles back. “Can it be both? I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” her former governess replies, enveloping her in a bone-crushing embrace. “Letters are nice, but they aren’t nearly enough of you.”

The woman who was responsible for much of Olivia’s early formal education still speaks to Olivia in that warm, friendly tone she remembers from so many years ago. And looking closely, she realizes that perhaps ‘Old Lady Hudson’ isn’t quite as old as she always imagined her to be. Looking at Carine with adult eyes, Olivia would guess that she’s only a few years older than Grimmjow - that the older woman was likely only about twenty when Olivia’s family left Vora twenty years ago.

“Come in,” Carine implores her, stepping aside to let Olivia cross the threshold.

And there he is, just where Olivia expected him to be, stretched out on Carine’s sofa. His boots are near the door, and he’s lying on his back. When he hears Olivia’s voice, he turns his head. “There you are,” he says lazily, his mouth curling up in a grin.

She isn’t sure why she suddenly feels bashful under that gaze. Perhaps it’s because her governess from so many years ago is eyeing her closely, a soft smile on the older woman’s face as she watches the brief interaction between her former student and the man she is so obviously smitten with. “I’ll go make some coffee,” Carine says after a moment, leaving the two alone.

“You must’ve come straight here,” Olivia remarks, as Grimmjow sits up to make room for her.

“I always do,” he answers, that grin still on his face. “Knew you’d come lookin’ for me here, too.”

“Am I that predictable?” She mock-pouts, crossing her arms over her chest.

It makes him laugh, and he pulls her closer, tucking her under his arm. “Nah… I just know ya.” He looks down at her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as she leans into him. “Well? Ya have a good talk?”

“I guess so,” she sighs. “It seems like Barnes is finally starting to see reason.”

“That’s a good thing, yeah?”

She nods her agreement. “It is, but…” She trails off, unsure of how to broach the subject of Barnes’ plans to recommend her as part of Vora’s new ruling party.

Ever observant, Grimmjow notices her hesitation. “Somethin’ botherin’ ya?”

“Not bothering, exactly,” Olivia murmurs. “But Jarron Barnes says he’s going to recommend me for the elections. If his proposal is accepted by the King of Clario, he wants me to be a part of Vora’s new governmental party.”

He absorbs this for a moment. “Meanin’, you’d come back here for good?”

“Maybe… although it sounds more like I’d be splitting time between here and Clario,” she says thoughtfully. “Acting as sort of a go-between for getting Vora back on its own two feet and negotiating between the two islands.”

“And what does Lady Olivia think about that?”

She pinches his arm lightly, laughing. “Stop that - it sounds weird for you to call me that.”

Grimmjow shrugs, but he’s laughing along with her. “Just thought I’d try it out, see how it tasted on my tongue.”

“Well?” She raises an eyebrow at him. “How does it taste?”

His answering look is smoldering. “I’d say I like the taste of this better,” he answers, wiggling a single finger into the space between her thighs.

“Grimm!” She hisses, covering her face.

He just chuckles.

“To answer your question,” she goes on, when he’s withdrawn his hand and her face has cooled a little, “I can’t lie about how exciting the prospect of it all is. To be a part of a new era of life for Vora? To be instrumental in giving the people of Vora the chance to govern themselves, to show the rest of the world what they can do when they stand on their own two feet.”

Grimmjow nods in understanding. “So… ya gonna do it?”

“I don’t know,” Olivia says truthfully.

Carine re-enters the living room at that moment, setting a tray of coffee and mugs on the table.

Her former governess peers closely at her. “Do you want to do it?”

Olivia looks up at her in surprise. “You… heard all that?”

“Yes,” Carine laughs. “All of it.”

“Oh god,” Olivia gasps, remembering everything that’s been said. She buries her face in her hands.

Grimmjow just laughs again.

Carine inclines her head to one side, an amused grin on her face. “You seem to forget that this one here has been coming to see me for years now, and there isn’t much he hasn’t told me… including the latest developments between the two of you,” she adds meaningfully.

“You didn’t,” Olivia groans, her words directed at the man beside her.

He shrugs. “Spared her the details, but yeah.”

“So,” Carine smiles, setting her mug down. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, tell me: do you want to be a part of Vora’s new ruling party?”

“Part of me wants to, but the thought of being in any political situation also terrifies me,” she admits softly. “It’s…” She trails off, casting a quick glance at Grimmjow. His blue eyes are on her, the soft little smile on his lips encouraging her to continue. “It’s the reason I ran from Silvio’s marriage proposal, and the reason why Jarron Barnes’ suggestion of me being involved makes me so uncomfortable.”

“What scares you so much about it?”

It’s a question Olivia has often pondered the answer to on her own. “The responsibility,” she replies. “Knowing - firsthand - how many lives can be affected by a bad decision. I may not have understood it completely at the time, but I still remember how it tormented my father to leave Vora. To hold the fate of the entire country in the palm of his hand. People don’t forget things like that,” she adds. “Not if what Barnes says is any indication of how they feel.”

“But you won’t know that for sure until you’ve talked to other people,” Carine declares. “Yes, he may have the right idea in wanting Vora to have its independence, but I don’t think he’s the right person to carry that through… and I wonder if he’s embellished just how many people feel as vehemently as he does about what happened in the past.

“I don’t disagree with any of his reasons for thinking you should be involved,” she goes on. “You’re intelligent. You have empathy for others, and can listen without bias. You were taught to be open-minded… to put yourself in other people’s shoes and try to see things from their point of view. Your parents and I made sure of that.”

“What about them, though?” Olivia asks fretfully. “I’d be leaving them. I’d… also be leaving the life that I love and the freedom that comes with it.” She looks at Grimmjow again. “I worry that it would start to feel stifling. That I would start to feel stuck.”

Carine stands, crossing the short distance between them and kneeling down in front of Olivia. She takes the younger woman’s hands in her own. “You, my dear, are more than capable of finding a way to do all the things you want to do, and more. I firmly believe that, and I think this man here does, too.” She casts her own glance at Grimmjow. He nods in agreement but says nothing, letting her continue. “You wouldn’t be doing this alone, and I think if there’s any part of you at all that wants to do it, you should do it on your terms. It’s the only way you’re going to be happy.”

The words, Olivia realizes, are exactly what she’s been needing to hear without knowing it. As they sink in, she somehow feels much lighter. “I really have missed you,” she says quietly.

Carine pulls her up into another embrace. “I’ve missed you, too.”

Previous Chapter: Sixteen | Next Chapter: Eighteen

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#tinywoodenrobot fics #black oc #bleach fanfiction #ikemen prince fanfiction #bleach #ikemen prince #ikepri #bleach grimmjow #grimmjow jaegerjaquez #grimmjow jaegerjaquez x oc #silvio ricci #silvio ricci x oc #ikepri silvio #ikepri silvio x oc #olivia dubois

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tiny-wooden-robot-fics · 20 days

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Against the Tide - Sixteen

Previous Chapter: Fifteen | Next Chapter: Seventeen

Chapter Masterlist

Summary:

Familiar laughter behind her cools all the scathing words on her tongue, and she turns to find a highly amused Grimmjow leaning against the taffrail. “Careful there,” he starts lazily, directing his words at Barnes. “Ya might not realize it, but she can kick your ass. And she might even do it if ya make her mad enough.”

“I don’t doubt that,” the other man calls back. “Carter’s still nursing a broken nose because of her.” He looks at Grimmjow, then back at Olivia. “Like you said, we’ll be pulling into port at Vora soon. Hope you’re ready to see the home you claim to love so much again.”

A/N: Chapter contains some sexual content.

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The remaining days on the Sea Queen pass as the previous ones have - with the vessel moving smoothly through the water, the Hellcat not far behind.

More often than not, Daisy runs off with Kenny in the evenings under the guise of reading with him. Olivia suspects it’s partly because her lady’s maid wants to give her the time and privacy to spend with Grimmjow, but also partly because Daisy genuinely enjoys the young man’s company.

“You don’t look nearly as miserable as I expected you to,” Jarron Barnes remarks when Olivia joins him on the upper deck one morning. “I wonder what accounts for that?”

She knows he’s trying to goad her into snapping back at him. Instead of rising to the bait, she ignores it completely. “We’re a day out from port at Vora,” she starts. “And I think it’s about time you tell me what your plan is for when we get there.”

“Why?” Barnes looks sharply at her. “So you can figure out a way to foil that plan?”

“No,” she tells him truthfully. “Look… you’re smart, and I’d love to see you use that intelligence for more than just starting a pointless war you can’t win.”

“You think it’s pointless?”

“I think it’s pointless if the only reason you go to war is because you don’t get your way,” she declares. “Doing that doesn’t make you any different from all the other assholes who have done the same thing before you. I think if what you’re after is something that’s really worth fighting for - which, in this case, should be Vora’s ability to stand on its own two feet - then the smarter thing to do would be to figure out how to get it without war.”

To her surprise, he actually seems to consider her words. “Alright then,” he says finally. “What would you do if you were me?”

“Take my case to the King of Clario, like I told you before,” she reiterates. “But first, I would produce viable solutions to all the problems presented. If you want Vora to be able to govern itself without outside help, you need to come up with all the ways to make that happen… and you need to prove to Clario that it’s in their best interest to make it happen.”

Barnes leans forward, his curiosity piqued. “And how would you suggest I do that?”

“Find someone who’s capable of ruling the country,” Olivia answers bluntly. “And if you insist on doing it yourself, get a good advisor… or, even better, a team of advisors. People who are versed in the complexities of government, but also diplomatic enough to be useful in negotiations. People who will tell you the truth, and not just what you want to hear. Best of all, they need to be people who are not only willing, but also able to help you turn Vora into an independent nation with a solid government of its own and a system in place for regulating its natural resources.”

He mulls over her words for a while. “And you think the King of Clario would actually go for that?” He asks finally.

“I think it would be a more palatable solution than just threatening him with a war he knows he can win,” she replies. “It makes you look more like a capable adult than a petulant child with a grudge.”

“You really don’t hold back, do you?” He grumbles. “You could be less blunt.”

“What exactly would I gain by being less honest?”

“I was gonna say people would like you more,” he laughs, “but based on the way you’ve got those two men wrapped around your little finger, and the way your lady’s maid practically worships you… I think people like you plenty the way you are.”

She scoffs. “Mind your own damn business.”

“I have been,” Barnes retorts. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve said nothing to you about the ruckus your loud-ass pirate makes whenever he visits your cabin at night. And I won’t open my mouth about it to the prince when I see him either,” he adds, casting her a meaningful look.

“Is that supposed to feel like a threat?”

He shrugs. “It isn’t, honestly. You told me to mind my business, and I’m telling you I am.”

Without waiting for a response, he stalks off.

“What crawled up his ass?” Grimmjow asks, watching him go.

Olivia shrugs. “I just told him what he needed to hear,” she says quietly. “I don’t think he liked my honesty very much.”

“Hm,” Grimmjow hums thoughtfully. After a moment, he moves closer to her. “Well? How’s it feel, knowin’ you’ll be home soon?”

“I don’t really know,” is her candid response. “I think that I spent so many years putting the idea of coming back to Vora out of my head that it almost doesn’t feel real. And I guess…” She trails off, chewing her lower lip anxiously. “I guess I’m a little nervous about it.”

“Why?”

“Twenty years seems like a long time, but it really isn’t in some ways,” she explains. “What if there are other people who feel the same way about my family that Jarron Barnes does? What if there are people who think we’re traitors and want nothing to do with any of us? How am I supposed to help those people if they feel the way he does?”

“Wouldn’t that be more of a reason for ya to help’ em?” Grimmjow asks reasonably. “If what they think about ya is bad, prove to ‘em that it ain’t true.”

He makes a valid point, she knows, but the nervous fluttering in her chest won’t subside.

“Listen, Sae,” he says, his voice taking on a warm, soft tone that makes her chest flutter in a different way. “You ain’t never been the type to be scared of anything - no man, no place, no task. I’ve watched you best a lotta things just by rollin’ up your sleeves and gettin’ to it.”

“But I’ve never done anything like this before,” she protests. “This is… it’s all new to me. I’m not sure what I’m doing.”

“Yeah, but you got the know-how in your head,” Grimmjow points out. “Remember? All them hours of burying your head in books and bein’ bored to tears learnin’ about the life of diplomats and how politics works?” He flashes her a grin. “Now’s your time to shine, Princess.”

Despite the worries still swimming around in her head, she laughs. “I keep telling you, I’m not a princess.”

“Maybe not,” he shrugs, “but that don’t mean you can’t act like one sometimes.”

She contemplates his words - not just those, but all the ones he’s said to her. “Thank you,” she says after a moment, her voice quiet. “I think I needed to hear that.”

“Anytime, anywhere,” he answers good-naturedly, that grin still curling up the corners of his mouth. After a moment, he goes serious. “I came here to tell ya I won’t get in the way when we get to Vora.”

Curiously, she looks up at him. “What do you mean, ‘get in the way’?”

“You got a job to do,” he says, dropping her a wink. “The less distraction you have, the better. So if ya want me to go, I’ll go. But if ya don’t mind me stickin’ around, I promise I won’t keep ya from doin’ what ya came here to.”

Once again, Olivia finds herself unexpectedly touched by something he’s said. “You really are making a habit of this,” she laughs after a moment. “Being sweet and all.”

“Tch,” he scoffs. “Tell anybody and I’ll call ya the filthiest liar that ever lived.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she smiles back at him.

Later, she tosses his words back at him. “I-I thought… you said,” she huffs, trying to catch her breath, “you wouldn’t… d-distract me.”

He laughs, though it comes out a bit strained. “We ain’t there yet,” he says, punctuating that last word with one long, slow roll of his hips. It presses him into her more deeply. “‘Sides,” he continues, dropping his head to nip at the tender skin right above her collarbone, “it’s our last night on this ship. Feel like that’s somethin’ worth celebratin’... don’t you?”

Olivia doesn’t answer him right away; her entire focus is solely on the onslaught of physical sensations he’s giving her. Her body feels heavy and sluggish, nearly spent from their first round. And while Grimmjow seems to be suffering only slightly from the energy lag she’s feeling in full, she’s grateful that their lovemaking this round has been lazy and slow. “Celebrate? Yes, I think you’re right.” She reaches out, cupping his face in her hands and bringing his mouth to hers for a languid, sloppy kiss.

“Sweet as honey,” he whispers into her lips once they’ve parted. “Ya laugh at me when I say this, but I ain’t ever gonna get my fill of ya.”

She pulls him closer.

Under his ministrations, she comes twice more before he finally lets himself spill inside of her. He stays just the way he is for a long while after, until Olivia can feel him softening inside of her. When he becomes soft enough to slip out, her body mourns the loss of him.

He rolls to one side, reaching for her and pulling her into the tight circle of his embrace. They stay that way for a while, their breathing synchronized. Olivia is warm and sated and sleepy, and she’s started to doze off when Grimmjow speaks again.

“You make me wanna be an honest man, Sae.”

Groggily, she chuckles. “Why?”

“Just like you to ask the question nobody else would,” he laughs with her. “Thought ya might ask when I’m gonna do it - make an honest man of myself.”

“Grimm, I didn’t fall in love with you because you were an honest man,” she says softly. “And doing… whatever you think makes you an honest man, wouldn’t change how I feel about you.” She pauses. “So I want to know why. What is it about me that makes you want to be an honest man?”

“You’re fixin’ to do somethin’ great,” he says solemnly. “Somethin’ important, that’s gonna change peoples’ lives.” He clicks his tongue in a quiet scoff. “Me? I ain’t the kinda man who belongs with a woman like you. I’d only drag ya down.”

“Oh?” She turns her head to face him, curiosity in her eyes. “And what kind of man do you think I’d need… to do these alleged ‘great things’ you speak of?”

He’s tempted to look away, but her brown eyes hold his blue ones in place. “You know,” he says after a moment, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

Olivia considers those two words for a moment. “I think I know what kind of man you think I want - or need,” she starts slowly. “And while I can understand why you might think so, I’m tempted to tell you in a not-so-nice way why you’d be wrong about that.”

Despite the weight of the conversation they’re having, he laughs. “Just another thing I love about ya,” he murmurs before pressing a kiss to her temple. “That bastard out there might not like it, but ya always tell it how it is.”

“I’m not a diplomat,” Olivia sighs. “I just happened to be born into a diplomatic family. I never wanted a life of politics and arranged marriages and never-ending duties. I just wanted to be able to do work that was good, spend time with the people I love, and never be too far away from the sand and the sea.”

“Sounds to me like ya might like life at sea,” he chuckles.

He expects her to laugh with him. She doesn’t - her face is solemn, deep in thought. “Maybe you’re right,” she says finally, a wistful note in her tone. She shifts, burrowing deeper into his arms. “I’m trying my best to think of a way to help Vora, because it’s my home and I love it. But this isn’t… this isn’t how I wanted my first time back after twenty years to go. And it feels a little bit unfair that I didn’t really have much choice in the matter.”

Grimmjow makes a sympathetic sound. “How can I help?”

His words make something warm and sweet bloom in her chest. “You’re already helping,” she smiles, reaching up to brush an errant lock of hair out of his eyes. “But I don’t ever want to hear any nonsense about you not being the kind of man I belong with, or the kind of man I need,” she goes on. She’s still smiling, but there is a weight to her words that lets him know she means what she’s saying. “Okay?”

“Yes, m’lady,” he answers, reaching between them to make the sign of a cross over his heart.

“Hm,” Olivia says thoughtfully. “I usually don’t like titles, but something about the way you say that…”

Pulling into port at Vora is perhaps the most surreal experience Olivia has ever had.

Everything is both familiar and dramatically different all at once. She remembers the sounds and smells and sights of the island she once called home, but there are little variations of the places she used to know so well. The faces at the portside markets are not the exact same ones she remembers, although she thinks she might recognize some of the features of those vendors that have taken over for the generation before them.

“So this is Vora,” Daisy breathes beside her. “This is where you were born?”

Olivia nods. “This is… home.”

Her lady’s maid looks closely at her. “I can’t tell what you’re thinking,” she remarks. “You have this odd combination of happiness and sadness in your expression.”

“Nostalgia,” Olivia laughs quietly. “That’s called nostalgia.” She turns her head to watch as the crew of the Hellcat disembark. She spots Silvio among them, his face twisted in a characteristic scowl. When he gets close enough for her to speak without shouting, she greets him. “How was the voyage?”

“Long,” he answers simply. His eyes stray from her to take in their surroundings. “Where’s that son of a bitch Barnes?”

“Still onboard the Sea Queen,” she tells him.

Silvio turns from her abruptly, making his way towards the vessel in question.

“Wait,” Olivia calls. “Where are you going?”

“Where the hell do you think I’m going?” He calls the question over his shoulder, without stopping.

His rhetorical question stirs panic in her gut, and she hurries after him. “Wait,” she calls again, when she’s caught up to him a few strides later. She puts a hand on his arm, and this time he does stop. “Maybe we should talk about this.”

“Don’t tell me you want me to have mercy on the asshole who forcefully abducted you?” He raises his eyebrows at her, his tone challenging.

“That’s… not what I’m saying,” she starts slowly. She knows that his temper is running hot, and her words can either put out the flames of his anger or pour more fuel onto them. She chooses carefully. “I think that maybe you should hear him out.”

Silvio stares at her incredulously. “Are you an idiot? This man is ready to start a war if he can’t get what he wants.”

“While I don’t agree with his methods,” Olivia says firmly, “I don’t think what he wants is a bad thing.”

“Explain.”

“He wants Vora to have an independent government,” she asserts. “With the ability to control their own resources, trade, and taxes.”

“And how exactly does he propose to make that happen?”

“A lot has changed in twenty years. You said it yourself: back then, Clario needed resources Vora was in possession of, but instead of finding a way to make it a partnership between two countries, your father chose to flex his muscles and forcibly take them. If Vora is now able to manage those resources and is still willing to share with Clario, war doesn’t need to happen.”

“What makes you think that’ll all play out the way you think it will?” Silvio asks. “The minute Clario lets Vora govern themselves, Vora will snatch all those resources back and we’ll be right back where we started.”

“I don’t think so,” she counters, gently but firmly. “I think we can convince him to come up with a solution that will satisfy both countries… and one that doesn’t result in Vora challenging Clario to a war they can’t win.”

Silvio looks her up and down. “You really believe that,” he says incredulously after a moment.

“I do,” she nods. “I’ve spent the last twenty-one days stuck on a boat with this man. He’s an asshole and he’s going about this the wrong way, but I… don’t disagree with his ideals. And I’d like to find a way for him to make what he wants to see happen peacefully.”

He stares at her. “You really are an idiot.” His words are harsh, but his tone is fond. It makes a little bloom of guilt sprout in Olivia’s chest, and she pushes it down. “Alright then,” he goes on. “What do you suggest?”

“Diplomacy,” she laughs. “Not ass-kicking.”

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Against the Tide - Fifteen

Previous Chapter: Fourteen | Next Chapter: Sixteen

Summary:

Grimmjow laughs again, his long legs carrying him the short distance to her in just a few strides. “Hey,” he says softly, reaching out and stilling her hands just as she’s about to pick up the bottle of rum on the table. He takes the bottle, pouring a generous shot in each of the glasses before setting it back down on the table. “Look at me.”

She does. Her brow is furrowed in an expression that’s not quite a frown, and he reaches up to smooth the wrinkles on her forehead. “You nervous?”

Olivia wants to tell him no, but he’d know she’s lying anyway. “A little,” she admits.

A/N: Chapter is full of explicit sexual content. You've been warned.😌

Read on AO3

He’s watching her, and it makes her nervous.

He leans against the closed cabin door with his arms crossed over his chest, that customary indolent smirk on his face. “You scared of me, Sae?”

“Of course not,” she huffs indignantly, her eyes focused on what she’s doing.

“You sure ‘bout that?” He laughs. “Your hands are shakin’.”

“Then stop staring and you won’t see them,” she mutters.

She does. Her brow is furrowed in an expression that’s not quite a frown, and he reaches up to smooth the wrinkles on her forehead. “You nervous?”

Olivia wants to tell him no, but he’d know she’s lying anyway. “A little,” she admits.

“Hm,” he grunts softly, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement. “Didn’t peg ya for a blushin’ maiden,” he teases.

“I’m not,” she insists. She picks up one of the glasses and downs its contents all in one gulp. When the fiery path the liquid burns in her chest has dulled a little, she speaks again. “But I just think you should know that I’ve… I’ve only ever been with one man.”

“Well… shit.” He seems genuinely surprised.

“Now you know,” she murmurs softly. “So if you’re disappointed, well… at least you won’t be surprised.”

“Why the hell would I be disappointed?”

She shrugs, her eyes on the floor, avoiding his gaze. “I’ve only ever been with one man,” she repeats. “The difference in my experience and yours is probably as vast as---”

“Fuckin’ hell, Sae,” he exhales. “I ain’t interested in your skill set. If I want a woman who’s gonna offer me a menu, I’ll go to the damn whorehouse. I don’t. I want you.” He takes her empty glass from her and sets it on the table.

Then he kisses her.

The kiss is just as breathtaking as she’s imagined kissing him would be: assertive but not aggressive, his mouth slotting over hers perfectly, his tongue coaxing her to part her lips and let him explore her mouth with it. He pulls her flush against him by her hips, the contact oddly soothing to her jangled nerves.

She is trying hard to think less and feel more, the way Daisy so wisely suggested she do. The result is that every part of her is attuned to him, until her senses feel nearly overloaded.

The way his lips feel against hers, slightly chapped from the salt and wind of the sea. She can feel the tiny, raised ridge of his scar creating a delicious sort of friction against her mouth.

His hands on her hips, fingers splayed atop the rough fabric of her pants even as his skin warms hers through the thin material.

He pulls his mouth away from hers only to latch it back onto the skin at her throat. Olivia gasps softly, feeling his teeth nipping at her and his tongue following to soothe and suck at the skin. She knows that there will be a mark there later, but she can’t force her fuzzy brain to care at the moment.

Her mind is in the midst of processing this when Grimmjow stops somewhat abruptly and looks down at her. “Where’s the little lady?”

It takes her a moment to catch up. “Daisy?”

“Yeah,” he starts. “Not to ruin the mood, but I imagine it’d be a helluva surprise for her to walk in on me goin’ balls-deep in ya.”

“She won’t,” Olivia replies, trying not to laugh and failing miserably. “And if you really want to know the truth, she’s been expecting this for some time.”

Grimmjow raises a pale blue eyebrow at her. “So I shouldn’t look for her to come bustin’ through the door anytime soon?”

“Or at all tonight,” Olivia admits. “She’s with Kenny.”

“Hm,” he grins. “Well, he’ll look after her. He’ll keep her safe.”

Her brain is still trying to catch up, only halfway to forming a sensible response when he reaches down to tug gently at the laces on her trousers. “Come on outta these, Sae,” he whispers into her skin, “and let me see you.”

There is only a bit of hesitation in her movements as she obliges him. When her clothes have become simply a pile of fabric draped over a chair, she looks back at him. “Well, here I am.” She makes the quiet declaration while motioning vaguely at her bare body.

“Yeah.” He looks at her appraisingly. It’s almost like a physical caress, the way his bright blue eyes slide up and down her body, and Olivia marvels at how instead of making her feel self-conscious, it does the exact opposite. His gaze makes her feel powerful, beautiful, and a little breathless. “There you are,” he continues, “just as pretty as I been imaginin’.”

Once again, he closes the distance between them, advancing on her until he’s backed her up against the wall. “And,” he adds as he drops to his knees in front of her, “I can’t wait to taste ya.”

And taste her he does.

He lifts one of her legs over his shoulder, turning his face toward the inside of her thigh and dragging his lips along her skin in a series of slow kisses. Every now and again, she feels the tiny pinch of his teeth nipping at her, until finally that trail of kisses finds its end at the dark patch of curls hiding her from him.

“There’s my treasure,” Grimmjow whispers into her skin. He looks up, making sure she can see him lick two fingers before he gently pushes them into the folds between her outer lips and her clit. Her sharp gasp makes him smile. “Oh, I like that sound,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. “Wanna hear more of it.”

Still gentle, he parts her lips with those same two fingers, using his middle finger to make slow, feather-light circles around her entrance. There’s wetness pooling there, and he lowers his head to catch some of it with the tip of his tongue. “Yeah,” he grins up at her. “Tastes just as good as I thought it would.”

Olivia raises one hand to her mouth and bites down hard on the skin between her thumb and wrist in an attempt to keep quiet. It is a failed attempt, and the muffled little whimper that escapes her elicits a chuckle from him. The result is a quiet vibration that adds another layer to what he’s doing, sending a tremor through her and making her shudder at the puff of warm breath that hits her exposed skin.

He slides a finger into her, up to the second knuckle, lifting his head again to gauge her reaction. Her face tells him what he already knows: it feels good, but it isn’t enough. He withdraws that one digit only to add a second to it, and he fingerfucks her that way for a while… slowly, relishing the wet sucking sounds her body makes every time he pulls his fingers back.

The only hands that have touched Olivia in an intimate way since Silvio have been her own. This is nothing like when I touch myself. The thought is fleeting, but the feelings it leaves behind stay put. Grimmjow’s fingers are longer, thicker, and canted at a different angle. A more satisfying angle. When he lowers his head again and licks a long, slow stripe from the tip of her clit to the root, her legs start to shake.

Olivia’s other hand wanders down to the top of his head, fingers threading their way through his hair in an attempt to keep herself grounded. And while she is trying her level best - unsuccessfully - not to make a sound, Grimmjow is as unabashed as ever. His grunts and satisfied moans and the wet slurping sounds he’s making as he ravages her with his mouth have her skin feeling so flushed and hot she wants to come out of it. If anyone walks by, she thinks to herself, the thought almost disconnected from her, they won’t have to guess what’s going on here.

One flick of his tongue here, a little twist of his wrist there, and she’s coming undone. The muscles in her thighs shake and go taut as she cries out, and for a brief moment, she thinks her legs will spill her onto the floor below.

“I gotcha,” Grimmjow laughs, utterly delighted at her predicament even as he tightens his grip on her to keep her from falling. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he coos, the term of endearment pooling heat low in her belly. “Go on and come apart so pretty for me…”

She starts to panic when he lets her leg down, but her fears are unfounded. He simply lifts her and carries her, depositing her on top of the neatly made bed so he can turn his attention to his own clothes.

Her focus is split between trying to catch her breath and willing her legs to stop shaking. Still, she watches his every move when he starts to disrobe. Shirtless Grimmjow is a familiar but not unwelcome view: a broad expanse of sun-kissed skin over hard planes of muscle. There are scars, too - some she knows the story behind and others she doesn’t. Her eyes fall on his hands as they undo the laces to his trousers. Even before he pulls them down she can see how big he is - flushed red, rock-hard and dribbling precum.

“Well,” he smirks, mimicking her previous motion at his body. “Here I am.”

“There you are,” Olivia breathes, feeling an anticipatory throb between her legs even as her heart races with slight apprehension.

Grimmjow laughs. “You look nervous again, Sae,” he teases her, as he saunters over to join her in bed. “I ain’t gonna hurt ya, y’know.”

“I know,” she laughs quietly. She pauses, glancing down at his dick again. “Well… you might.” Despite the trepidation she expresses, she opens her legs for him and lets him settle his hips between her thighs. “I… need you to go slow.”

“I will,” he promises solemnly, looking her dead in the eye and lifting her hand to his mouth to press an unexpectedly tender kiss to her palm. “I told ya… I just wanna make ya feel good.” He pauses for a moment, and then: “I wanna say somethin’.”

Quizzically, Olivia looks at him, inclining her head to the side as an indication that she’s ready to hear whatever it is.

“You know I get around, Sae,” he starts seriously, his eyes on their hands as he links their fingers together. “I wanna make it clear I never go bare with the inn girls, no matter where I am.” He looks up at her. “So ain’t no need in you worryin’ about what I got. And if you need me to---” He motions in the general direction of her abdomen, and Olivia catches his meaning.

“Oh,” she says, biting back a soft smile at his thoughtfulness. “I promised my mother I wouldn’t come back with a belly full of a pirate’s child, and she made sure I had what I needed before I left… just in case.” Her words are accompanied by a quiet laugh. “So no… there’s no need for you to worry about… that, either.” She looks up at him a little shyly. “I would be ok with it if you… if you went bare with me.”

It’s the assent he’s looking for, and he flashes her a grin that has no right to be as sexy as it is. He reaches down into the pouch lying near his discarded clothing to take out a small bottle.

Even after he’s coated himself in the lubricant, Olivia’s apprehension gets the better of her and makes her tense up when she feels his cock rubbing against her entrance. Grimmjow notices her tension and stops moving, dipping his head to bring his lips to hers in another searing kiss. When he breaks the kiss and looks down at her, his smile is gentler than she’s ever seen it.

It takes her breath away.

“Hey,” he whispers, cupping her cheek in his palm reassuringly. He brushes his thumb back and forth over her cheekbone. “I promised I wasn’t gonna hurt ya. Ya trust me, Sae?”

“With my life,” she answers unhesitatingly.

“Good girl.” Her face warms at the praise. “Then do me a favor… relax your hips a little bit, hm? So I can come in slow?”

She takes a deep breath and then nods, doing as she’s told and widening her legs a bit.

The second time he nudges at her entrance, she closes her eyes as she feels the head of his cock pushing into her. He pushes in a little more and then slowly, very slowly, pulls his hips back. In again, a little further this time. He continues that way for a while: pushing into her slowly, a little deeper each time, giving her a chance to adjust to him before he pulls back out again - until he’s fully sheathed inside of her, his hips flush against hers and his balls resting against her backside.

“See?” He says, his shallow exhale belying his outward composure. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“No,” Olivia agrees, her face warm under his gaze. “It wasn’t.”

She wants to say so much more than just that. She wants to tell him how good it feels - not just the way he’s snugly nestled inside of her and how full it makes her feel, but how warm and safe she feels in the circle of his embrace. She wants to tell him what he looks like from where she’s lying beneath him - the expression on his face, all breathless and adoring and sexy. None of the words in her head seem like enough, and she can’t string together anything that would properly express the feelings in her heart.

She doesn’t have to; he can read everything she’s feeling on her face. “You are one fuckin’ dangerous woman, Sae,” he murmurs, nuzzling her cheek with his nose.

“Dangerous?”

He grins down at her. “Lookin’ at me with them big, soft eyes… liable to make a man get lost in ‘em, forget his own damn name.” Without giving her brain time to form a response, he pulls his hips back and thrusts into her.

Again.

And again.

And again, until her head is stuffed full of nothing but the way he feels. He has one of his hands on each of her thighs, keeping her pinned under him and spread-eagled around him. With every drag of his cockhead against her walls and every brush of his pubic bone against her swollen, sensitive clit, she feels herself getting closer and closer to a second orgasm. She wants to cover her face at the lewd wet sounds her body is making, but she keeps her arms tightly wrapped around him, keeping him as close as he can get.

Grimmjow, for his part, is just as vocal in this setting as he is at any other time, and Olivia is almost relieved at the thought that any sounds she’s making are most assuredly being drowned out by his grunts and moans.

Then, without warning, he pulls completely out of her.

“Grimm,” her voice comes out as a high, thin whine - she’s feeling the loss of him very keenly.

He wraps one hand around the head of his cock and squeezes, pushing his other hand into the space between their bodies to stroke at her. “Ain’t ready to end this just yet,” he laughs stiltedly. “You feel too damn good.” He looks down at her, giving her that soft smile again. “Sides… don’t you wanna come for me one more time first? Hm?”

It isn’t really a choice, Olivia knows. He’s got two fingers buried inside of her now, and though they come nowhere near to filling her the way his cock does, she’s already close enough that it doesn’t matter. The second he presses his thumb to her clit to drag it back and forth, she starts to shake and clench around him, her bottom lip caught in her teeth and her head falling helplessly back onto the bed.

“Just like that,” he murmurs, withdrawing his fingers from her mid-climax and pushing his cock into her all in one go, letting her ride out her orgasm on it. Her aftershocks are his undoing, and this time he does not stave off his own climax as she pulses and spasms tightly around him. He buries his face in her shoulder, and even the way he sinks his teeth into the tender bit of skin there does not muffle the long, satisfied groan he expels when he comes inside of her.

Olivia lets him stay where he is even though she’s too sensitive and tender where their bodies are joined… even though she’s overstimulated, even though his skin is too warm now and he’s too heavy and her thighs are too sore from being pushed apart from each other for so long.

She wraps her arms more tightly around him, fingers playing in the sweat-dampened hair at the nape of his neck. When he raises his head to look up at her again, he frowns. “Shit, Sae… did I hurt you?”

“No,” she answers softly after a moment. “It was perfect.”

Grimmjow doesn’t ask her about her tears, even as he watches her attempts to get them to stop. “Sure ya ain’t hurt nowhere?” He asks instead, reaching out and running his thumb over the faint teeth marks he’s left in her shoulder. “Mighta got a little carried away near the end there.”

He hasn’t meant for it to be funny, but she laughs anyway. “Hurt? No,” she says after a moment. “These aren’t… these aren’t the hurt kind of tears. Although… places I didn’t even know could be sore will probably ache come tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll pay ya for the damages,” he laughs, relieved that her tears are not evidence of pain, physical or otherwise. “How ‘bout that?”

Olivia is suddenly craving nearness to him again, and the few inches of space between them feels like a valley. She moves closer to tuck herself into his side, relishing the warmth of his skin even as she feels his seed spilling out of her with the movement. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything you want,” he says, putting his arms around her and absently letting his hands roam over her soft bits.

“Are you always that… vocal?”

“Only when I’m havin’ a good time,” he smirks down at her. “And I gotta say, I could get used to the sight of you under me, all soft and wantin’ and blissed out.” He pauses. “It’s cute.”

“Don’t be silly,” she mumbles. She reaches up and tweaks his nipple. “Or I’ll tell everyone how mushy you are.”

He lets out a low chuckle. “Only for you.”

Her fingers trace one of the bigger scars along his side. “Do you really mean it when you say things like that?”

There’s fondness in his blue eyes when he looks down at her. “‘Course I do,” he answers right away. His tone grows serious when he speaks again. “You know what I do, Sae. I steal shit. I sell that shit for money. I’ve killed men when the occasion called for it. You pretend not to know that, but I know ya do. And still you never look at me different. You look at me like all the other women look at me when I pay ‘em to.”

“I know that you sometimes acquire rare goods from different countries,” Olivia maintains with a laugh. “I’ve never asked you exactly how you acquire those goods, and I never plan to. As far as I’m concerned, you’re a merchant - and that’s what I’ll tell anyone else who asks.”

He whistles softly. “Damn, woman… you make me wanna lay a claim on you.”

“Oh, don’t pretend I could tame you,” she scoffs.

“Why not? I respect you, Sae. If anybody could tame me, it’d be you.”

She turns her face up to look at him, expecting to see that familiar teasing glint in his eyes and finding herself surprised when his face is unexpectedly sincere. It renders her speechless for a moment.

He takes advantage of the moment to shift in bed, letting go of her to switch positions and hover over her. “Hope ya don’t mind me bein’ a little selfish with ya for a while.”

Even if she had protestations - which she doesn’t - they would die in her throat when his lips meet hers.

Think less, feel more.

She pushes down her tidal wave of thoughts and reaches for him, pulling him closer. He kisses her until she feels almost lightheaded, and she wonders if his ability to narrow her focus down to what he’s doing is a matter of natural skill or a knack he’s developed from having taken so many women to bed.

He pulls back to look at her with a lazy grin. “Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

“You’re not supposed to ask me that,” she laughs, still trying to catch her breath. “Isn’t it against the rules?”

“Don’t recall it bein’ so,” he declares. “I’m just curious about that look on your face.” He brushes his thumb over her bottom lip. “Wanna know what’s in that pretty little head of yours.”

“How can you be so persuasive without even doing anything?” She mock-pouts. “Fine… if you insist on knowing, I was just admiring your ability to scrape all the other thoughts out of my head. The only thing on my mind right now is you, and that’s a feat not many can lay claim to.”

“That’s how it should be,” he laughs. “If you’re thinkin’ about other shit while I’m doin’ this, means I’m doin’ it wrong.”

Well. He has a point there.

Further proving his point, he lowers his head to hers once more to resume the business of taking her breath away with his kisses. His kisses go beyond his mouth, deeper than just his lips and teeth and tongue. They’re hungry, meant to consume and to sate the desire he so clearly feels for her.

Drowning is not nearly strong enough of a word to describe the way his kisses make her feel. She’s being devoured, bit by delicious bit, and enamored with every second of it. He leans back again, this time reaching up to tug gently at a single curl of her hair. “Can I?” He asks, his voice low and raspy.

Olivia looks back up at him wryly. “I don’t know what you think will happen here,” she laughs. “If you try to run your fingers through it, they might get stuck.”

He smirks. “I don’t care about that. I’m askin’ on account of the fact you might not want me puttin’ my paws in your hair even though I want to.”

“Suit yourself… I don’t mind if it’s you,” she shrugs after a moment of contemplating what he’s asked. She watches him, equal parts amused and enraptured at the way he buries his hands in her hair, fingertips gently massaging at her scalp. Upon realizing that what he’s doing is actually intended to heighten her arousal - and that it’s working - she lets out a soft moan. “Why are you never around when it’s time for me to wash my hair?” She laments jokingly, her eyes fluttering shut with pleasure.

“I can be, if you want me to.” He shifts a bit, nudging her thighs apart with one knee. When her legs are spread to his satisfaction, he rubs that same knee up against her.

“Not fair,” she complains. “I thought dual assaults on the senses were against the rules, too.”

His eyes crinkle with mirth as he looks down at her. “Didn’t figure you to be so big on rules,” he teases her.

“Only when I’m at a tactical disadvantage,” she manages, her voice strained.

Grimmjow chuckles, forgoing words in favor of continuing his dual assault on her senses - heedless of Olivia’s clearly half-hearted complaints. It isn’t long before she’s started to squirm beneath him. She’s only a little reluctant to come to terms with the fact that he apparently doesn’t have to use his fingers or his mouth to bring her to orgasm, but she will never admit that to him. The thought is fleeting, and a moment later she’s shaking and gasping and clenching emptily around nothing when she comes.

He makes a quiet noise of satisfaction when he looks down and sees her trail of sticky fluid on his skin. “Know what I love about ya?”

Out of breath, she shakes her head. “What?”

Closing the distance between their faces, he pecks the corner of her mouth in a kiss that is much too chaste for what he’s just done. “The way your body responds to everything I do,” he tells her when he leans back. “Don’t think I’d ever get tired of the way you can talk to me without speakin’.”

Her whole face goes warm, and though she isn’t visibly flushing, she covers it up anyway.

“Don’t do that,” he laughs. “Let me see how cute you are.”

“Tactical disadvantage,” she mutters, her voice muffled through her fingers.

“Mmhm,” he murmurs agreeably. He pries her hands away from her face and brings one of them down between their bodies so she can feel how hard he’s become, all over again. “Who’s got the advantage now?” He raises his pale eyebrows at her as she tentatively wraps her fingers around him.

“I’d say you’re still holding onto it by quite a… sizable margin,” she exhales. She squeezes him lightly in her palm, delighted with the strangled noise he makes in the back of his throat. “If I asked you to get on your back, would you do it for me?”

He does without a single word of protest.

“Oh, I see,” she teases him, wrapping her hand around him again. “This is how I get the tactical advantage, is it?”

Grimmjow looks at her, amused. “That’s one way.”

She doesn’t answer him, focusing all her attention on how to approach the task of getting him in her mouth. She dips her head, tongue darting out to taste his tip. One look at his face after she does so tells her it isn’t nearly enough, but he doesn’t push. He simply watches her, blue eyes dark with desire. “Well?” She raises her eyebrows at him. “I want to ask you how you like it, but I’m afraid of the answer.”

It makes him laugh. “Sae, I like it however you wanna give it to me,” he tells her. “Or not at all… be just as happy to feel you sit on it---”

His words are cut off abruptly when she puts her mouth on him, and this time he doesn’t speak again. She takes as much of him as she can, until her eyes water and saliva dribbles down her chin and she feels she can’t go any further down without gagging on him.

“Oh… fuck,” he groans, loud and long. He wants to close his eyes at how it feels, but he can’t drag his gaze away from her: big, wild, curly hair reaching in different directions around her head; dark eyes closed as she focuses completely on what she’s doing; her hand wrapped around what she can’t fit in her mouth and her cheeks hollowed out as she sucks on him. He watches her for what feels like a small eternity, completely mesmerized by everything she’s doing. When she reaches around with her other hand to play lightly with his balls, he thinks it just might be his undoing. “Sae, stop,” he grinds out urgently. “You gotta--- shit, stop, stop---”

Just for a moment she’s tempted to keep going, to see what happens if she doesn’t stop. She does though, mouth sliding off of him, a thin line of spit trailing from his cock to her lips. “Just when I was really getting into it,” she grins.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he exhales. He isn’t exactly baffled at how close he’s gotten to spilling himself down her throat - he knows what makes the difference between this time and any other time he’s gotten his dick sucked is who’s doing the sucking. Olivia isn’t just some tavern girl paid to know his pleasure for the night, and suddenly the distinction between any other woman in the world and the one he loves is very clear.

He comes just short of manhandling her, his catlike reflexes quick enough that before she knows it, she’s on her hands and knees with her face pushed into the pillow and her ass in the air. “Oh,” she laughs softly, turning her head a little to look back at him. “I thought you might not have liked that, but I guess I was wrong.”

“I’m gonna say sorry now,” he grunts. “Might be a little while before ya can walk without a limp.”

Seconds after that announcement she can feel him nudging at her, pushing her open for him. He presses into her differently this time, a welcome intrusion that she feels slightly more prepared for than the first time around. The guttural sound he makes when he’s fully sheathed inside of her makes her skin flush hot all over.

And she hasn’t figured it out before now, but she likes it this way.

The way his hips slap against hers every time he pushes into her. The way this position lets her feel him inside of her in places she couldn’t before. The way his rhythm is slightly uneven because he’s worked a hand around her waist to toy with her clit as he thrusts into her. The sounds he’s making, the sounds she realizes she’s making, the smell of their bodies mingled together, the way it’s so hot she can almost see steam rising from their skin.

It’s like nothing she’s felt before, and she likes it.

“Could I ever get enough of ya, Sae?” He whispers hoarsely to her afterward, his limbs tangled up with hers. “Could I ever have my fill?”

Her first response is a quiet laugh. “I’m sure you could,” she adds after a moment.

He raises his head to look at her, serious. “Dunno about that.”

Oh. The way he’s looking at her tightens something in her chest. And deep in her heart, there is an answering call.

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