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no-droids · 4 years ago

Text

Ask Me Again Tomorrow

gif credit @pedros-pascal

Part Sixteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 16.3K

Warnings: SMUTTTTT, following/stalking, some fluffy moments but mostly just a lil action and interaction, I don’t think there’s any other warning besides language and the smut (comm sex WITH A TWIST YALLLLL) but if you happen to find something else that warrants a tag, please let me know and I will do so accordingly!

A/N: The response to this story has grown beyond anything I could’ve ever imagined and I genuinely thank you all from the bottom of my heart for the privilege of writing for you. Hope this one ends up being okay and I’ll get to work on the next chapter soon!

***

Headstart—12:17pm:

The sky is so pretty. There isn’t much to look at on the surface—rolling hills and plains, grassy but with dry bare spots breaking up the green stretches, but the sky. It’s an oil painting above you, pastel swishes of yellows and pinks and purples with an enormous ringed planet taking up half the horizon and another sizable moon hanging high.

You should probably be running. Like, for real sprinting, but you can’t push yourself to go faster than a brisk walk. It’s so… free out here, more hills springing up every time you get to the top of the next, warm air filling your lungs. Even though you know realistically that the beginning will likely be the hardest—where you need to focus most on running and putting distance between you instead of hiding—truth be told, you’re not foreseeing making it more than a full day. You’re going to try, obviously, but in the grand scheme, you wouldn’t be surprised in the least if he finds you tomorrow. So, instead of wasting all your energy going as fast as you physically can right out of the gate, you just decide to stroll and think for a little bit.

You know what your goal is. Obviously, to last as long as you can, but more specifically… well, if Din is going to chase after you, then he’s going to try to think like you. Anticipate your movements, if he can’t already see the tracks you leave plain as day. Very soon, he’ll be walking this same exact pathing, following the footprints you’re leaving behind, but if you’re ever able to shake him or throw him off course, he doesn’t have a tracking fob. He doesn’t have any mechanical device that points him in your direction—if you can lose him with the footprints, then he’ll have to rely solely on predicting you. Which means you need to think… exactly the opposite of yourself if you want to outsmart him.

That’s harder than it sounds though, because… is he going to predict you predicting him? At what point does it stop? You somehow have trouble seeing this as an advantage the way he said it would be—you almost wish you had someone else chasing you, someone you didn’t know and someone who didn’t know you if only so this paradox could end before it begins.

You’re walking for about ten minutes before spotting a dirt road in the distance. There’s a person following it in the direction of the sun—you don’t know this planet’s magnetic field but you do know it’s after noon and the sun would set on Arvala-7 in the west, so that’s what you’ll call it for now. You call out to them as soon as you’re in range, and the stranger turns to you.

“Excuse me!” It’s a woman, you see it as you get closer. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but can you tell me where this road leads?”

She removes a sheer yellow shawl covering her dark hair and gives you a friendly smile. “Hello,” the lady greets, before spinning around and pointing back the way she came. “Osiruu is a few hours that way. There’s not much there, but it will take you to G’ila, a transport hub with many opportunities for drifters, or Nariss, the capital. I’m on my way to Shabeth,” she points in the other direction. “It’s far—a day’s walk, but it’s a holy place and offers quite the view. I would be glad for the company, but I understand its lack of practical appeal.”

So this place is safe enough to be inviting strangers along on your travels, noted. You’re going to have to make the decision right now, then. Which path should you take?

Something deep inside you tells you that you want to see this holy place, and just from a few sentences, you already like this woman and feel safe with her. But then all of a sudden, you remember something.

Last known locations tell you a lot about a quarry, Din’s voice drifts back to you, sounding soft and distant from the dark forests of Naboo. Smart ones go to populated planets, planets like Coruscant, planets that make it nearly impossible to find people. Brave ones go to dangerous planets, suicidal ones try their luck in the Unknown Regions, idiots continue to go about their business on their homeworld without caring. But planets like this—like Naboo… those are the pacifists. The ones that don’t ever put up a fight.

You suppose you should decide what kind of quarry you want to be. Friendly company and a view is something you normally crave—it’s something your soul speaks to after going without it for so long during your previous life. You never pictured yourself as the fighting type. When Din first asked you, you told him you wouldn’t run from him if he was chasing you, and choosing to accompany this kind stranger to her destination is essentially just that. Sacrificing a chase for a pretty view.

“Does Shabeth have a sizable population?” You ask her, and she shakes her head.

“It’s the sight of an annual pilgrimage that happens in a few months, but it’s beautiful there and I like to go whenever I can,” she tells you with a soft smile. “But there’s nothing for miles outside it, I’m afraid.”

Your footprints will lead directly there. He’ll find you easily.

“It sounds very nice, but I need to find somewhere with a lot of people,” you give her an apologetic smile. Truly, you think she would’ve made for a nice friend. “Thank you for your help, though, and good luck with your journey! I hope we meet again.”

“Do you need any food or supplies?” She asks you, and you stop short of passing her by. “I don’t have much with me, but know what it’s like to be a newcomer to Sanctuary II. I’d be glad to help.”

Good Maker, is this how everybody is here or did you just hit the jackpot with this lady? She seems like… you, almost. Her voice is gentle, she looks like she’d give nice hugs. You’re about to politely turn her down, but then you realize the brilliant opportunity that’s presented itself in her image.

“Actually, this might sound like a really strange question, but…” you tell her, before looking down at her feet. “Wanna trade shoes with me?”

***

Headstart—6:12pm:

You don’t think it’ll work, but as you walk into a small settlement a few hours later in a unfamiliar and worn pair of sandals, you decide that you’ll need to do this as often as possible. You can’t come up with anything else that’ll throw him off your physical trail besides constantly switching shoes—is that bad? Are you just an idiot with no hope? You’ve had—you check your watch—like, five hours to think of a game plan, and all you’ve come up with is shoes? You’re screwed.

At least there’s food here. Plenty. There’s vendors stationed along the street, multiple people passing by and going about their business. Osiruu, that nice woman said—not much here, but you think she was wrong. There’s children giggling and jumping rope on the corner, a shopkeeper sweeping her storefront, a graying man with an empty cup plucking an unfamiliar melody on an unfamiliar instrument—and while your tummy growls and you know you should quickly buy supplies and be on your way, you still stop for just a few minutes to listen.

It’s a lovely tune. You drop a few credits in his cup after he finishes and find yourself humming it as you look at the plethora of goods being offered by the vendors. Water, food—you buy enough of everything to sustain you for at least a couple days, not wanting to go hungry but also feeling realistic over optimistic. The cuisine is foreign and you just point to things that look appetizing since you’re not sure about the name or pronunciation, but after paying and taking a bite into a rather large piece of purple fruit, your eyes nearly cross at how sweet and tasty it is. Holy Maker, that might just be the best thing you’ve ever tasted. You ask for two more after you finish the first, tucking one in your backpack next to your blaster and munching on the other as you keep browsing.

Suddenly you see shoes—yes. Fucking shoes, your salvation. You take a good look at all your options, of which, there aren’t many. Generic men's, women's, and children's, all in the same color and design. It’s good in a way—you see most people walking around in the same type of clothing here and you pray there’s not a way for him to track your gait or the whole thing is a bust, but truthfully, what you’re most worried about is the fact that you’ll create a brand new set of footprints wherever your old ones disappear. Unless you trade with someone else, you won’t ever have a back pathing, you know that Din will probably be able to easily spot it.

“Three pairs of these, please,” you point to the correct shoes and tell him your size, but then—“Oh wait, actually, can I actually have one of them that’s the next size up? And another that’s the same but in men's?”

The man behind the counter gives you an odd look but acquiesces, measuring the size of your preferred pair to multiple men’s shoes to find one that looks roughly the same—you doubt he’s ever had a request like this, but you’re also a generous tipper. His smile is grateful when you tell him to keep the change and then you’re stuffing the new shoes into your backpack and moving onward.

Would there be some kind of map here, you wonder? One that shows distance so you won’t waste time trying to reach a place you won’t be able to walk to? That lady said a transport hub and the capital are through this settlement, but she didn’t provide much information beyond that. You don’t want to be in the middle of nowhere when he finally catches up to you, you’ll need some place to hide.

When you stop to ask an elderly gentleman as he passes by, he freely provides you a basic gist. There’s a large forest beyond Osiruu—after it will be a road that passes through a few notable places, with a town called Sijua to the west that leads north to G’ila, and Devain to the east that leads northeast to Nariss. Both are within walking distance, though it may take a couple days to reach your destination.

Alright then. Through the forest, you suppose. You probably should’ve asked which way is east, but he’s already leaving and you don’t have the nerve to ask him to stop again. You have a finger point, that’s all you need. Making sure to use one of the small restrooms near the square before heading out, you eventually decide to make your way towards the direction he said this forest would be.

***

Headstart—6:58pm:

A bus.

You’re not going to take it, of course, but it’s the perfect solution to the problem you’ve been mulling over. It’s at the very edge of the small settlement, and you quickly speed up into a half-jog as soon as you hear its engine running.

“Last call for the seven o’clock!” A large man stationed near the doors yells as you approach. “Last bus to G’ila until tomorrow!”

The sun is setting and you have to extend your hand out in front of you to not be blinded by it. “Hello,” you give him a smile, before grabbing one of the handles on the side and stepping up onto the metal platform.

“Ah!” The man quickly stops you, moving to stand in front of the open doors. He’s as wide as he is tall, big enough that he blocks the entire exit. “That’ll be ten credits, miss.”

“Oh,” you say, patting your empty pockets and pulling your eyebrows inwards, trying not to move too much in case the sizable amount of credits you have stashed in your backpack happen to rattle. “Oh, no. I think I lost my wallet.”

He sighs. “Off the bus then please, miss. Come back tomorrow if you find it.”

You nod, leaning your forearm against the paneling and beginning to take your shoes off. “Will it be parked in the same place exactly?”

The driver looks curiously at you, clearly confused at both the strange question and your strange actions. “I’m sorry? Please—off the bus.”

“One second,” you tell him, now barefoot on the platform and digging into your backpack for the slightly larger sized shoes you bought earlier. The sound of credits clink against your blaster, but you hope he takes your lead in purposefully ignoring them. “Does the bus to G’ila park in this spot every single day?”

“Yes,” the man tells you impatiently, eyeing the way you’re stepping into the new pair with a subtle look of distaste. Everyone is polite here, it seems. “It will arrive back at seven am sharp with passengers from G’ila, in the same exact place. Please get off the bus.”

“Thank you, sir,” you tell him with a smile, watching him step to the side to allow you to drop down into the dirt again and continue on your way.

Brilliant, if you do say so your fucking self. Eliminate the need for a back pathing. All footprints facing this direction are going to be the first footprints, and all of them facing the opposite way are going to be the last; if Din manages to figure out you didn’t take the bus, then he won’t be able to tell which new set are yours and which belong to the other passengers. You pray the helmet can’t track gaits, but while you’re still paying enough attention, you make sure to keep your steps just slightly longer and even try placing more weight on the edges of your feet to make it look like you have a slightly higher arch than you actually do. You’d put a pebble inside of them or something, but you know you’re going to be walking through the night and you don’t want to commit to having your feet hurt more than you already know they’re going to.

Eventually the quaint shops and small houses disappear behind you, and the sun setting over the horizon turns the clouds above turn more dusty green and brown than yellow and pink. You hope Din opened up the ramp after you left. You want him to see the sky.

***

Headstart—9:34pm

The forest here is different from Naboo, too.

Maybe it was because you only saw it while you were in crisis-mode, but that forest seemed much scarier and darker than this one. The vegetation there was thick and overgrowing, but these trees look like they’ve never had leaves on them at all. No twigs or small branches that sprout from the trunks—the branches are all thick and gnarly, criss-crossing with each other with how close they’ve grown together. You bet their roots are practically one at this point, stretching for miles and miles but all sharing the same system.

Because there aren’t any leaves, there's nothing to block the moonlight shining clear and crystalline through the twisting maze of branches. Sanctuary II appears to have a sister moon—Sanctuary I, perhaps?—that’s likely a similar size, because it’s the same one you've seen all day and it’s barely moved a few degrees that you can tell. It must orbit incredibly close and be tidal-locked with this one then. Two massive satellites swinging around each other as they circle a ringed gas giant, but it makes a stunning view and reflects more than enough light to see.

The sky is deep blue and maroon and you’ve been walking in a straight line for hours, using the stationary moon overhead as your guide. The only issue with this plan that you’ve been able to come up with is that there’s no widely traveled path through the trees—even you can see your footprints and the clear trail you’re leaving behind. You’ve been trying for a while to figure out another clever evasion tactic, but it’s harder than it sounds. Can’t just change shoes again, that’ll be a dead giveaway. How do you lose him?

You stop for a second, reaching into your bag to grab some water and stay hydrated. Looking up once more at the beauty of the swirling colors peeking through the branches above you, you find yourself pausing after returning the bottle to your pack. There are… an atrocious number of branches up there, and all of them are long and tangled and thick. Sturdy.

You’ve… never climbed a tree before.

Without thinking much beyond that, you decide to bend your knees and jump, grabbing hold of one of the strong wooden tubes over your head and then swinging your legs up. Ouch—the bark scrapes against your palms and you have to hold on tight with your thighs while you shimmy yourself upwards, but at least the wood is solid as fuck. It takes you a minute or two, but you’re eventually able to shuffle yourself around so you’re straddling the thick branch, and then you look out to see the large collection of them criss-crossing in every direction around you.

Oof, this is dangerous. You know it even before you start. The gaps leading to the ground are bigger and more numerous than your potential pathing forward, but the only thing that gives you reassurance is how thick the wood is—you’re almost certain the branches aren’t going to break as long as you’re careful.

Okay. Shoes, these are too big for the kind of dexterity you’re going to need. You take them off slowly, being extra careful not to drop them, and then exchange them with the better-fitting pair you bought earlier, making a mental note that the sandals and the larger shoes are the two you’ve already worn. If your pursuer manages to catch on to the multiple footprint changes, your most recent ones should ideally just… disappear right there, shouldn’t they?

You grin, before struggling into a low crouch and looking around your wooden cage for a safe way forwards.

***

Headstart—11:37pm:

Water.

A blessing, and not because you’re thirsty. You have clean water in your bag and decades of habits formed in the desert to ensure you’re taking breaks and drinking enough—what you need is a way to disguise your footprints once you get back on the ground again. This was good; scuttling your way along thick and twisting branches for as long as you have was time-consuming and exhausting, but it allowed you to avoid touching the ground for at least a mile or so, which means he’ll have to comb that entire radius to look for your drop.

And it was fun.

You even found yourself giggling as you ducked and scooted, ignoring the bark scraping your skin and your panting breaths, the way your face got sweaty and hot. You had to do some brave maneuvers at tricky spots—jumping, balancing, hugging—but it almost just felt like an exciting little obstacle course for you and you’re honestly having a fucking blast right now.

Water, though. Water is an unexpected beauty, even more than you’ve always considered it to be. Water is an eroder. Not only powerful enough to smooth down the rough edges of strong elements over time, but it will hide your footprints as soon as you create them and leave no indication that you were ever there.

Eventually you see it—a babbling stream cutting a considerably wide line through the trees. You creep forward and hang tight to a branch above you to make sure you won’t fall, wiping the sweat on your brow with your other hand as you study the terrain. The water is… a considerable distance below you, maybe about ten or so feet, and there’s quite a few branches on either side that extend and hang out over it. You could probably find your way to the other side somehow, but something tells you to avoid the road beyond the forest if you can. It leads to multiple places, it would be better to follow the stream until you can eventually merge with it later.

That means you’re… fuck. You’re going to have to jump, aren’t you?

It’s the only way—you can’t leave footprints which means you’re going to need to land in the water. The trees clear too far from the shoreline, so you can’t shimmy down the trunk of one for a shorter fall. You’re going to have to climb out on one of those long branches until you’re suspended over the stream, and then you’re going to have to lower yourself as far as you can and then let go. With your height already accounting for at least half the distance plus the length of your arms as you hang, you should only have to drop two or three feet before reaching water, and then maybe another two feet to the floor under it. It looks forgiving enough—the moonlight shines and the stream is clear and you can mainly just see sand at the bottom, no sharp rocks or other potential dangers to be found. This… this is doable.

Okay. If you pull this off, you’re a badass. If you don’t break any bones or seriously injure yourself in any way, you deserve some kind of commendation. This is probably kiddie shit to Din, who keeps literal rockets strapped to his back and jumps out of ships flying thousands of feet above the ground, but this is a challenge for you and you’re feeling just excited enough to be up to it.

You’re eventually able to climb onto the thickest, sturdiest branch you can see that happens to hang over the water, straddling it and beginning to scoot. Your thighs are killing you at this point but you’re holding deathly tight to the wood, your movements becoming more and more cautious the further away from the trunk you get.

You’re directly above the water now, but you need to go out a little further. Aim for right in the middle so you don’t accidentally leave any tracks or prints on the shoreline if you need to catch yourself. The unfamiliar wood in this forest is admittedly sturdy, but the branch begins to subtly sag with your weight as you keep slowly scooting forward, and you’re just about to the correct spot when—

Day 1–12:00am:

“Sweet girl.”

—You nearly fucking fall.

“Maker,” you gasp, suddenly scrambling to catch yourself on the branch before you can plummet. It creaks and groans under your weight but supports you nonetheless, and when you’re one hundred percent certain it isn’t going to break, you jerk your head down to the communicator and see that it’s midnight, on the dot.

Shit.

Your heart slams against your ribs and your arms shake with adrenaline while you study it for just a moment longer, trying to calm the fuck down.

“Hey,” Din’s voice comes sharply from your wrist, crackling and tinny through the comm, nearly scaring you again. “Answer me.”

You don’t want to sacrifice your grip right now, but you have no doubt he’ll fly the Crest out to you if you don’t respond. So you quickly let go to press a button on the front face and then latch onto the branch tight once more, raising your voice because you can’t risk bringing your wrist up to your mouth to speak. You hope he’ll be able to hear without the microphone picking up the sound of the stream below. “Uh. Ahem. Hello. Yes?”

“You’re too quiet,” Din’s disembodied voice immediately informs you. “Or something on your side is too loud. There’s an earpiece built into the side of the communicator, take it out and use it instead.”

You study the wrist brace without moving, until you finally see what he’s talking about. It’s a small, wireless piece of machinery hidden on the left side of the electronic display, and you quickly pop it out and stuff it into your ear just in time to hear the sound of hydraulics clanging through the speaker as you clutch the branch again. You’d know that sound anywhere, it’s the ramp of the hull closing.

“Are you already on the move?” You ask him incredulously, your thighs starting to go numb with how deathly tight you’ve been squeezing this tree.

“Can’t sleep,” Din murmurs, sounding so much closer and deeper than before. Does he have his earpiece on under the helmet or something? Stars, is that why his voice sounds that good? It’s like it’s coming from inside your own head, bassy and rough. “Ready or not.”

You huff, your tummy going warm. Of course he can’t sleep, of course he’s going to look for you as soon as he’s allowed to. If he waited until morning, you’d probably be slightly offended. You try to slow your heart rate into something acceptable, but being this far above water and hearing his baritone murmur directly in your ear make it difficult. “But I’m… sleepy.”

“You’re always sleepy,” he tells you, and though you can’t actually hear him walking, the sound of his footsteps shake through his voice just slightly as he speaks.

“Hang on,” you huff, ducking your head to drag it against your shoulder, keeping the sweat from your eyes without using your hands, “you’re gonna make me stay up all night just because you do? This isn’t fair—”

“Fair wasn’t part of the rules.”

Well. Fair.

Stars, you can’t stay here. You don’t know how long he wants to check-in for, but you’re also not confident with this branch’s ability to hold you for an extended time when you’re this far out from the trunk. You need to get in that stream one way or another, but now that he’s here, you have an extra problem. Din is going to hear you no matter what.

“Um. Can you give me a second?” You ask him, glancing around to make sure there’s no better way of doing this. Nope, you realize very quickly—this is the best idea you’ve got, and you don’t really know what that says about the quality of all your other ideas.

“What?” Din grunts shortly, but you just clear your throat.

“I need to… mute myself. Give me like… five minutes.”

“What are you talking abou—”

“You of all people cannot be upset about asking for five minutes of quiet,” you return testily, looking down at the distance to the stream once more. That’s a long way. You… you can’t swim obviously, but again, the water doesn’t look too deep. Just a couple feet likely, shouldn’t go past your knees.

It’s fitting that he doesn’t say anything, which you eventually take as disgruntled acceptance, so you quickly press the proper button on your wrist to silence the mic and then take a few deep breaths. You have a time limit now, you have to do this.

With incredible patience and precision, you eventually slide until you’re clutching the branch upside down like an only slightly quicker and less coordinated sloth, before slowly dropping your legs and hanging over the water.

It’s… admittedly a bit further down than you anticipated, or maybe that’s just you making things worse than they actually are, but you’re committed at this point and there’s no going back.

You close your eyes, count to three, and then you let go.

The sandy floor meets your feet with considerable force and you make a hell of a splash doing it, nearly falling but just barely managing to keep yourself balanced and upright at the last second. The water is cool and comes up just over your knees, your backpack miraculously didn’t get wet and all your limbs remain shaky but unbroken.

Okay. Okay, fucking success. It feels… thrilling, accomplishing a dangerous feat, and you quickly let out a loud whoop before clearing your throat, trying to sound normal as you press a button on the communicator’s face once more.

“Mando?” You ask, slightly out of breath. “Sorry about that, I’m back.”

Okay, now which way do you go? Downstream seems like the easier path after getting in so much unexpected exercise, so that’s the one you go with. As soon as you lift your foot from the sand bed, you watch your footprint almost immediately disappear through the moonlit water, and you bite your lip at just how well everything turned out for you.

After a moment though, you realize he hasn’t answered you. You look down at the communicator again to make sure you pressed the right thing. “Hello? Shiny?”

“Did you trade shoes with someone?” Din’s voice suddenly comes through the earpiece, sounding absolutely incredulous.

“Shit,” you tell him, trying not to smile. “Hoped that was gonna buy me more time.”

“It… might’ve, if you kept walking in the same direction as they were,” he informs you after a moment. “Your shoes went south, but this other pair got all the way out here just to turn back around again? Good idea, but the execution needs work.”

Maker, he’s smart. It was the first attempt at a footprint change so you weren’t thinking much beyond tricking the tracking mechanism in his helmet, you ignored his logic completely. Essentially, the exact opposite of what he told you to do. You like to think you’re getting better at it by this point, thinking beyond just the original exchange, and you’re hoping you’ll be able to trick him with at least one of the other fifty times you changed shoes today. You’ll have to see tomorrow night, if you can make it that long.

Also, the road you were on apparently goes north-south, that’s important information you make sure to take note of. The man in Osiruu said Devain and Nariss are to the east, and that Sijua and G’ila are westward, right? Remembering that you thought south was west earlier, you do some quick calculating and immediately come to a stop in the moving water as soon as you figure out your positioning, turning around and walking upstream instead.

You want to go to Nariss. The capital, and the biggest city in walking distance. Smart quarry go to populated places, places that make it nearly impossible to find people.

“Alright. Mando: one, Me: zero,” you finally acknowledge, swinging your backpack around and unzipping it to dig inside for another piece of fruit. You’ve been hungry for hours but had to use both hands to stay safe and far above the ground, it’s the perfect time to eat. “How’s the baby? Behaving himself?”

“He kept trying to follow you after you left,” comes Din’s response, and you stop with just your teeth piercing the flesh, wondering if you heard him right. You actually open your jaw and pull the fruit away with just a bite mark in it.

“You’re joking.” No fucking way, not that little demon.

“Wish I was,” he tells you solemnly. “Made a fuss, tried to open the ramp a few times. Didn’t cause any trouble after, just… pouted.”

That’s… that’s exactly how he responded the very first time Din left the kid on the ship with you instead of bringing him along. He threw a fit, tried to ditch you for his dad multiple times, and then ultimately just looked cute and mopey with his limp ears until Din came back. Do you think it’s just him rebelling against change? That has to be it, right?

“He better not be giving you any hints about where I am,” you warn his father. “I’d tell you to put him on but I don’t want the earpiece getting lost forever.”

You hear it. The softest laugh—barely a breath, coming after years of learning to make it just quiet enough not to be registered by the helmet. It gets picked up by the communicator in all its understated beauty when normally it’d be silent, and it’s just jarring enough to make you careless.

On your next step, you accidentally lift your foot too high and make a splash, and you already know you fucked up before he can say a single word.

“What’s that sound?”

You immediately stop moving, allowing the cool water to move as silently as possible past your stationary knees. Shit. “Uh. What sound?”

You think he purposefully doesn’t say anything. Probably because it feels a little like cheating, doesn’t it? It’s to your disadvantage, having him be able to catch hints from your environment when he’s the one who made check-ins mandatory, but then again… how smart do you think he is? Something tells you that he might not need to track you at all—what are the chances he stumbles upon this little stream and just naturally assumes you were clever enough to use it to hide your trail? Did you waste time trying to engineer a vanishing act when it’s not going to matter regardless?

Oh well, too late now. You quickly decide to change the subject.

“You should try the big purple fruit that one vendor sells when you get into Osiruu, by the way,” you tell him pleasantly, taking a big chomp out of it and then letting out an extended hum of delight that only really fucking good food or sex causes a person to make. “I’m eating one right now, it’s so good. Be the best thing you’ve ever tasted.”

“Mm. Doubt it,” immediately comes his low response. Fucking immediately.

“Mando,” you gasp, scandalized and giddy enough that juice dribbles down your chin a bit.

“Are you having fun?” Din asks, instead of pushing the conversation any further in that direction. You don’t know if you’re thankful or disappointed with how quickly he decided to abort, but you take a moment to consider his question while swallowing and wiping your mouth. Not the answer, you know the answer—but why he bothered to ask. Did he know you were going to enjoy yourself as much as you have? Your only possible lament is how you’re talking to him through a communicator instead of having him next to you.

“I am,” you say warmly. “Be… be better if you were here, though.”

“Give me your coordinates,” Din proposes, and his voice is just low and rumbly enough to make you pause.

You’re really, really proud of yourself for only considering it for a few seconds before scoffing. “Psh. Nice try.”

“Was worth a shot,” he sighs through the earpiece, and you smile, taking another bite of fruit.

“Ask me again tomorrow,” you offer, grinning at the implication.

“We’ll see,” you hear him return, and though his tone doesn’t really change, you know he’s probably rolling his eyes. He won’t have to ask for your coordinates because he’ll already be there, but it’s nice to pretend for a while longer.

And then you both walk all through the night, sharing casual banter with each other for hours. He never once implies he wants to disconnect, even when you hit him with more nonsensical questions—

“What’s your favorite food?” (“I don’t have one.”)

“Okay, well what about just a food that you like?” (“I don’t like food that much.”)

“What do you mean? Everyone loves food.” (“Not me.”)

“Alright, well um. What’s your favorite color, then?” (“I don’t have one, either.”)

“Come on, you must have some kind of color you like.” (“What’s your favorite color?”)

“…Brown.” (“Then that’s my favorite, too.”)

—until the sun rises and you both say your goodbyes.

***

Day 1–6:15am:

You resolve to waiting until you see another person to allow your feet to touch dry land, figuring the longer you stay untraceable, the better off you’ll be. Your toes are wrinkly and your pantlegs and shoes have been drenched for hours, but then you finally spot a few fishermen standing upstream with their backs to you, speaking to each other in the dawning light. Two look to be full-grown, but there’s a smaller one in the middle, maybe a teenage boy, and you pause for a second, looking at the riverbank next to them. All their valuables—water, food, bait, extra rods, but also… their shoes.

Quietly, you reach into your backpack and remove the pair of men’s shoes you bought earlier. The ones closest to you on the shore seem to be the smallest, so you sneak over as silent as possible and rapidly make an exchange, fitting the new ones on your wet feet before allowing yourself to touch dry land and then speed walking away.

The ones you left him are newer and roughly the same size anyways—yikes, maybe slightly smaller now that you’re thinking about it—but at least you have a back pathing. If that kid decides to take your offering and the shoes fit, Din will follow him, and if he decides to go barefoot instead, he should still follow him, right? You’re not really aiming to trick him outright, mostly you just want him to waste more and more time. This likely wouldn’t work if there wasn’t a time limit attached to this hunt, but you’re going to do everything you can to disappear while he’s still far enough behind you.

***

Day 1–7:06am:

You get to Devain remarkably quickly after finding the correct road. The pit stop is much bigger than Osiruu, big enough to call an actual town instead of just a settlement, but still not large enough to feel concealed. You want a city. This place at least has cars and ships moving about and overhead respectively, but you’re looking for somewhere with lines. Somewhere that feels as cramped and busy as possible.

Still, you find a restroom to use and then decide to grab some more food for your trip, happily spotting your new favorite purple fruit in one of the shop windows. As you’re reaching out to hand the storekeeper the appropriate amount of credits, Din’s gruff voice comes through the earpiece so suddenly that you jump, nearly dropping them all on the counter. “Hey.”

“Holy shit, what?” You gasp, earning a confused look from the lady in front of you. You quickly shake your head at her and mouth an apology while Din grumbles in vexation.

“You were supposed to stay on foot.”

Ah. So he got to the bus, then. Okay.

“Oh,” you answer ambiguously, exchanging the money for your bag of food and giving her a polite smile. Din stays completely mute while you grab your snack, stuffing the rest of the goods in your backpack and then turning to leave—mute for so long that you have to double check you didn’t accidentally do it yourself.

“…Smart girl,” you finally hear him say. Quietly muttered under his breath, half proud of you and half frustrated for making his job more difficult. “Which one of these is yours then?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you announce, before taking a large bite as you leave the establishment and talking with your mouth full. “You really gotta try the purple fruit, it’s great.”

The communicator abruptly clicks to silence on his end without anything else and you laugh so unexpectedly that a few pieces of it fly out of your mouth.

***

Day 1–1:32pm:

Somewhere miles away from you, Din jerks to a halt in the middle of a forest.

He looks around the dirt floor, walks a few paces and hears the kid coo gently from his cradle. Behind the visor, the red footprints he’s circling are the last ones around for hundreds of meters, as far as his display can read.

His helmet slowly tilts upwards, and follows the endless maze of thick branches overhead.

With the beskar hiding his face, no one can see the way he slowly breaks into a beautiful grin.

***

Day 1–9:51pm:

Oh. Oh stars, you’re tired.

You’ve been walking all day without really seeing anything, not having any place to disguise your tracks in the wide open plains. You could’ve stuck to the road, but you started to feel the exhaustion creep in during the early afternoon and you wanted to be far away from other travelers and potential danger if you needed to rest. You knew this would be a long journey when you left Devain earlier—over a day’s walk, a group of children told you—you even tried skipping or jogging a bit to see if that would inspire more energy in you, but it didn’t help much.

The large cup of caf you bought while in town was drained hours ago and it didn’t help much either, probably because your exhaustion is more physical and not necessarily mental. It just felt like a sweet warm drink to sip before you go to sleep, that’s how much the caf helped. Still, you kept walking, kept moving forward even as you squinted in the setting sun, your feet aching from traveling for this long wearing unfamiliar shoes. The last time you changed them was hours ago, pulling another bus maneuver but with an air shuttle instead. Still, you don’t think it’ll be enough. You don’t even know where Din is but you already feel like you’re losing ground just knowing that he’s the one in pursuit.

You feel it—the hair standing up on your neck, the tingles in your hands, the stirring of your tummy—whatever the incessant gogogo that your instincts happen to scream when you’re in first place but you know the person behind you is quickly closing in. It’s day fucking one, it’s day one and you feel him in the wind as it brushes through your hair, you can’t even pause to rest because nobody knows better than you that he’s an absolute fucking machine when he wants to be. The kid may have powers beyond that which can be explained by the laws of nature, but Din is a force all his own. He drives you forward when everything inside you is telling you to stop. He keeps you awake and determined when you just desperately need to rest.

But that only goes so far. You’re bordering on two full days without sleep, and though you’d normally be able to suffer through, the constant movement is just brutal after being confined to a stationary ship for so long.

There’s a lone tree in the distance, you think. It’s hard to see. Not because it’s dark—well it is, just a bit darker tonight compared to last, but mostly because your eyelids have grown heavier and more burdensome than the bag around your shoulders. That looks like a good place to just sit for a second, right? Maybe eat some more food, try and wake yourself up? Yeah, that’s a good idea, you’ll head towards the tree and just… sit…

***

Day 2–12:00am:

Completely dead to the galaxy and sitting on your ass with your back against rough bark, the comm clicks and Din’s voice comes through the earpiece.

“Wake up.”

It startles you enough to make you lurch forward and jerk your head around in a panic, looking for any flash of beskar so you can instantly break opposite to it. You scramble on all fours to look around but you don’t see anything, not even behind the trunk when you crawl, and then you take a deep breath and use the bone of your wrists to rub your eyes vigorously after a moment, knowing your hands are filthy. “Fuck, how’d you—”

“You’re always sleepy,” Din repeats, and you collapse back into the tree with an exhausted groan, not entertained but not even having the energy to get mad about it.

“I… I gotta sleep,” you tell him, already feeling your body let go of its tension and search for the darkness of unconsciousness once more. “Shit. How d’you… mm. Stay awake all the time…”

“Sleep,” Din encourages, you can still hear him walking. “You need rest. I’ll see you soon.”

No—

“No,” you whine like a child, moaning and shoving yourself upright. Maker, you’re trying to focus, but asking that of yourself is almost impossible right now. Everything swims—you were dreaming, you think, but you can’t remember and it’s not important other than to emphasize how woozy you are. Things still feel like a dream, somehow.

You think he can hear your struggling through the comm, because the sound of his footsteps pause. “Go to sleep.”

“You go to sleep,” you tell him bluntly, giving your head a violent shake to try and wake you up. You want to slap your own cheek but you don’t want him to hear it. “I can’t sleep if you don’t.”

“I’ve have at least a couple more days in me before that happens,” Din murmurs, and you bet he knows exactly what the fuck he’s doing to you. You start to slouch, hearing the voice he uses when he’s curled around your body in the darkness of the hull. So warm, so gentle. If you use your imagination, you can feel his fingers drawing slow circles on your back, the vibration of his low voice rumbling against your ear as you lay your head on his chest. “If I hunt you the way I’d hunt a quarry, I’m going to find you before you wake up.”

“Then I’ll jus’ have to… not let tha’ happen,” you slur. Even this close to unconsciousness, you try your best to throw in a misdirect. “Already… paid for the bed an’ everything.”

“Sure you did. You in another tree?”

You immediately frown even as your eyes drop closed, too tired to fight but still managing to sound upset. “You makin’ fun of me?” You ask him with a harumph. Genuinely, you’re not smart enough to figure it out right now.

“Not hardly,” Din sighs, sounding… you don’t know. Is that displeasure or not? It’s not immediately clear. Does it sound that way because you’re just dumb stupid right now? Or because Din can’t actually decide how he feels about it? “Lucky I heard water over the comm last night, I would’ve wasted hours in that forest.”

“Noooo,” you whine in response, trying to push yourself off the tree but tipping sideways in the process, “that’s not fair—”

“Fair wasn’t part of the rules,” he repeats himself again and… nope, you don’t even have the energy to snark something back. You just grumble your best imitation of him while you do everything you can to heave yourself upright. It’s pitiful, you lose your balance not even halfway through and just plop on the grass for a second and groan.

“Stop,” Din eventually orders through the earpiece, tired of it. “What’s sixteen times itself?”

You’re loopy to the point where you don’t even question why he decided to ask you that. You just furrow your brows for a second and try to think about it, before suddenly realizing you… don’t know, you can’t remember. Multiplication tables and squares up to twenty are elementary to you, you know them by heart. Sixteen times sixteen. One forty-four. No… no that doesn’t sound right, is that twelv—

You take way too long answering what would’ve been an immediate response two days ago.

“I’ll stop here for tonight,” Din tells you with a resolved sigh. “I won’t move until you wake up. Go to sleep. You’re putting yourself in danger, you can’t even do the basics.”

Later, this moment will come back to you. That problem isn’t basic, not many adults would be able to tell you very quickly that the answer is two fifty-six. You don’t even think Din would. You would, though. On Naboo, you used rapidly applied trigonometry in your head to find his location, and that was barely two minutes after waking up. You should know this. And he knows you.

But for right now, you don’t pay it a single lick of attention.

“You promise?” You ask quietly, voice incredibly small as your head tilts back towards the sky, already feeling yourself beginning to fall back into the darkness again.

“I promise,” he vows in return, gentle but a promise nonetheless. He doesn’t have to do this. You wouldn’t be able to keep going even if he didn’t offer up this temporary truce, but knowing he isn’t currently gaining ground on you makes the idea of sleep so much more welcoming, something you want to seek out instead of fight.

“Will you, um…” your expression furrows. How do you say this? You sigh, giving up before even trying to figure it out. “I’m… not in a bed. I’m outside.”

Din doesn’t say anything when you pause, and even through the haze wanting to take over, you know it’s going to sound needy. You want him to stay. Even in the midst of an adventure, you want him to stay, you want to hear him breathe as you rest, but there’s not really an integrous way to ask.

You don’t need to ask.

“I’ll keep the comm open and wake you when the sun rises,” comes his lulling baritone before you can elaborate anymore, enveloping you in comfort in this dreadfully uncomfortable bed of grass and dirt. “Sleep, sweet girl. I’m right here.”

***

Day 2–5:34am:

The sun shines over the hills and you lift your head up to squint your eyes at it, confused as fuck. Looking down at your wrist to check the time in the warm rays, hands and clothes dirty from laying on the ground that long—you stay groggy and clueless for just a moment longer, before your heart lurches when you remember Din’s promise to you.

You open your mouth to address him but then catch yourself just in time. Wait. Don’t panic. Listen.

Breathing. Slow and relaxed through the earpiece, a rhythm now branded into your memory from months of nights spent in pitch black. He’s… asleep.

Din is asleep? Seriously?

You can count like… twice that this has happened, and one of those was because he got you to touch him just right after closing up a wound on his back, and his body couldn’t handle the strain and passed out. You’re never awake when he’s asleep—you’re just not, it doesn’t happen. Din… sleeps like it’s just a choice for him, he doesn’t ever really need it. Almost like how he used to eat before he started sharing meals with you, he said he doesn’t even like food that much. You think he just severed all of those things long ago, things that are basic fundamentals of survival and operated like a bounty droid that lost its voice box. It’s… nice, feeling like you’re somehow giving back some of the things he lost. Unintentionally encouraging him to find sleep again. Making sure he eats more, listening to him speak.

You struggle to your feet as quietly as possible, hearing him continue to breathe slow and relaxed through the communicator. This isn’t purposeful, you don’t think he actually allowed it. He promised you, and Din doesn’t take shit back. If he tells you he’ll do something and he doesn’t follow through, it’s either out of his control or a mistake, it’s never been purposeful. He didn’t mean to fall asleep.

And, in other circumstances, you most definitely would not find some way to take advantage of this. You’d let him sleep and do other things in the meantime—make some food for you and the kid, find something on the Crest that isn’t spotless and clean until it is, or just… lay there next to him until he woke up. But… these circumstances are their own. You have to capitalize now, this is your chance. You passed out last night around… ten pm, you think it was, and then he promised to stop at midnight. That means you have to walk at least two hours before he wakes up if you want to prevent any loss of ground—you don’t know where he stopped, he could be a few miles back even.

You have to find Nariss—you have to. It’s your only option, if you keep trying to run, it’s just going to make it so much easier for him. Now is the time to hide. You know it hasn’t been long, it’s barely been two days since you first left the Crest but it feels like you’re already in endgame, already making moves in self-defense instead of actually planning your maneuvers ahead of time.

The capital should be half a day’s walk from here, then. As long as you get there, you think you’ll be okay.

***

Day 2–8:28am:

Din’s groan suddenly comes through your ear.

You immediately stop, seeing a busy road in the distance and glad you haven’t quite made it there yet, before trying to disguise your voice as drowsy. “Mm?”

“Shit,” he breathes, and you hear him get up, the sound of beskar moving as he grunts.

“Mpph,” you groan back, squinting your eyes to see if that’ll help sell the act. “I thought you… Mando, fuck, y’said you’d wake me when the sun came up.”

“I… fell asleep,” he admits, voice rough with it, sounding just as confused as you felt earlier.

“You said you had days in you before that happened,” you murmur, taking a deep breath and stretching your arms up above your head. Stars, your back hurts, how does he possibly manage to carry a fucking jet pack around all the time?

“Yeah, I…” He pauses for a moment and you bite your lip, not liking the quiet as soon as you hear it. “How long have you been up?”

Op. Not good. “Wha?”

He’s not falling for it. “How long?”

How in Maker’s name? This is impossible. How can you hope to hide from him when you can’t even manage to hide the smallest fucking truth from him? Can you salvage this somehow? “…Like ten minutes.”

“Least a few hours, then,” he sighs, and you get ready to hit him with the same line he used when you complained about his leg-up, opening your mouth as soon as you hear him speak. “That was smar—”

“Fair wasn’t part of—”

Oh. Well. Apparently you didn’t have a reason to feel shitty about deciding to haul ass while he was passed out even though you kind of ended up doing so anyways. There was no agreement besides that he wouldn’t move until you woke up. Reason is on your side, but it still feels a bit like you fucked him over. Is that valid or are you just so used to being nice that putting yourself first feels like a wrong you’ve committed?

“Don’t feel bad,” Din tells you, and you hear a soft coo in the background. It makes you smile the smallest bit, your shoulders relaxing even as they ache from carrying your pack around. “You should feel bad about stealing that poor kid’s shoes, though. He walked home barefoot.”

You smack your forehead. “It was just….”

“Yeah,” he scoffs when you don’t finish your sentence, and you can’t keep back a giggle. “Alright, I’m up now. See you when you get here.”

And then the communicator clicks, and you’re…

Uh. What the fuck was that?

No. Nope, you’re not going to get played. That was a brilliant attempt at fucking with you, but you’re not falling for it this time. You’ve grown since that night on Canto Bight, you know him, he can’t just say shit to fuck with your head and then smile at your flailing response from under the helmet anymore. You normally would stew in that last comment until it got to you, made you make a mistake most likely, but the more you think about it, the more certain you are that he has nothing. He was just trying to see if you’ll abandon your entire plan just by implying he already knows it. That’s beginner shit, you’re not falling for it. Din wanted to leave the conversation with the upper-hand since you gained at least an hour of extra ground while he slept. You’re certain of it.

***

Day 2–12:35pm:

Nariss is big. Nowhere near the size of Coruscanti sectors of course, where billions of people are packed from surface to exosphere and require oxygen recirculation towers to breathe at the very top, but just slightly bigger than you expected. It’s bustling and you haven’t even made it through the city gates yet—you’re approaching them and the large number of people waiting in line, seeing buildings stretch out for miles in front of you and grinning. Yes, this will work nicely.

As you peek over shoulders in the sizable crowd, you see only two or three people allowing people to enter one at a time… is that a biometric scanner?

Oh. That looks good and it also doesn’t look good at the same time. If Din’s safety meant nothing to you, you’d have no trouble whatsoever getting in line and waiting to do a retinal scan, but you immediately pause and consider the potential consequences.

Your dumb ass almost weighs the option of clicking the communicator on and asking his opinion. You’d give away your location in a heartbeat (if he doesn’t know it already) just because you’re worried he’d… what, exactly? Stand in line for an hour, take his helmet off in front of a crowd of people, have the system ping his scan, and then hang out and wait for New Republic reinforcements to show? You have to stop worrying about him. He’s not a baby, he can handle himself and you need to stop considering the possibility of taking a loss just so he doesn’t have to, even if the self-destructive sentiment feels ingrained in your nature to do so.

So you wait in line, moving at a slow pace but at least moving. While you’re standing there quietly, a man in front of you decides to strike up a conversation. You don’t come from a place with an excess of people, but the ones in your sector were friendly and did this kind of thing often, so perhaps for that reason, you decide to chat.

“Do you have some place to stay?” He asks at one point. So far the conversation has revolved around him—every time he asks about you, you deflect. He doesn’t need to know. “Nariss isn’t kind to drifters.”

This catches your attention, though. This is relevant. “What does that mean?”

“It’s expensive?” He scratches his blonde hair, giving you a soft smile. “Food, housing, all of it is way out of my price-range. I stay with my uncle and work overnights at the eastern docks. It’s not much, but it’s enough to keep a roof over our heads. We used to live in Gibrath, but then we moved to the city because he’s a good architect and they’re always expanding. It’s nice, of course, but really expensive.”

He’s handsome, you think… in kind of a boyish, charming way. Blonde hair, sparkly blue eyes. He doesn’t look much older than you, and maybe in another lifetime you would’ve found him appealing, but… you like darker features, you think. Someone a little less expressive. This guy… talks a lot.

“I thought this moon was a safe world for people displaced by the Empire,” you offer, taking a step forward as the entire crowd shifts.

“Sanctuary II is,” he comments. “The capital is safe, too—what, with all the orangies walking around,” he tilts his head to two jumpsuited guards trying to organize the glob of people so the line can move faster, rolling his eyes as if they’re some kind of joke. “But not… welcoming, not if you’re looking for a place to settle. You would’ve been better off in G’ila.”

“Is there anywhere you know that would take me for free?” You ask. You have quite a few credits left, but you don’t think it’s a good idea to stay in an inn. It’ll be the first place Din checks.

“Are you a virgin?” He returns, and you immediately pull back at the unexpected question, your heart thudding at the possibility of danger. The man’s sandy eyebrows shoot up at your response and he quickly apologizes—“Heavens, I’m so sorry to ask like that! It’s just… the only place I know is the Holy Keja Orphanage on the northern outskirts. Their signs say they only house children and teenagers, but I’ve heard from other girls your age that they’ll accept any woman as long as they’ve stayed pure in the eyes of the Maker.”

“Oh,” you say after a moment, leaning sideways to see just a few people standing in front of him. Good, this is almost over. “Um. Yep. That’s me.”

He smiles at you once more, giving you a nod. “When you get to the city, just go straight through. It’s about a mile outside of the gates, no more than a day’s walk from this side of town.”

Okay, that’s… interesting. You think about it while you thank him and begin to exchange polite goodbyes, moving up another step until he’s next in line. That might actually be a good move. Din could spend a long time in the city without ever finding you. Smart quarry go to populated places, but… smarter quarry defy the expectations placed upon them, right? He knows you’re smart, and even though you’re confident his “See you when you get here” was purely psychological fuckery, that also implies… at the very least, that he’s assuming there is a here to get to. Meaning, he knows you’re not going into the wilderness to evade him. He’s not going to comb the outskirts when there are so many places to hide within the city gates, with an entire perimeter of New Republic guards stationed around it. Even if he does, the signs will say only children and teenagers—categories you do not fall into.

The unnamed man is soon ushered forward but you stop him quickly. “Oh, by the way. I doubt this will happen, but if a man in a big metal suit with a tiny green baby happen to ask you the same thing, please don’t tell him what you just told me.”

He furrows his eyebrows at you and cocks his head, but smiles and agrees nonetheless.

***

Day 2–5:43pm:

You have an idea.

You’ve been working on it all afternoon, but you were hit with it the second you were looking for another pair of shoes to buy and find a clever way of putting on.

The cheapest ones were ridiculously overpriced, blonde dude was right. You blinked down at the tag and asked the salesman where the cheapest shoes in this part of town were, and then he just wrinkled his nose at you and shooed you out of the store. Granted, you slept in dirt and spent two days walking—you bet you reek, but he didn’t have to be like that.

Though, the man’s displeasure with you had an upside. You were holding a possible pair of pants and a shirt to buy when he threw you out, not yet having checked the atrocious pricetag on them, but it appeared as if he’d rather let you have them for free than rip them from your… admittedly, pretty filthy arms. Oh well, you weren’t complaining. Fancy clothes for free, score.

But now you’re here, and you have the best idea. You don’t need to change shoes, not yet. Why? Because you’ve figured out how to turn your incessant detriment into an advantage.

You’re in the middle of downtown, you think, maybe just some random crowded square, and there’s an inn in front of you. It’s fucking enormous, and you already know it’s gotta be incredibly expensive just looking at the sheer number of stories. It’s an eyesore, it sticks out. But that’s okay, because you’re only planning on staying for a night.

It’s also… right next to New Republic headquarters. Or fuck, at least a station of some sort, because they’re swarming in and out of the constant crowd, passing by the valet doors.

At first you naturally wanted to steer away from the jumpsuits, since you know they’re bad news for Din, but then you remember what he said before you left. I’m only telling you so that you’ll know your advantage and find a way to exploit it. I can’t be seen by any officers, or they might arrest me.

It’s to your advantage, he said so himself. Everything lines up perfectly—the street is bustling, the inn is well protected, it’s nice—it’s everything you’re looking for.

And there’s another upside, see. An omnipresent, omniscient ghost in the form of a communicator clipped to your wrist right now. If Din is always going to be able to predict you, he’s always going to know when you’re lying, always be able to read you… then you’ll just have to let him.

Let him know. Let him know exactly where you are. Right in the middle of the most populated street you’ve seen thus far, a constant barrage of people walking by and New Republic officers patrolling. If you were planning on staying in the city, this would probably be your best option to hide. He could waste days here if you’re smart about it.

The concierge doesn’t appear too pleased with your lack of cleanliness and neither do you, honestly, but at least he allows you to book a suite for the night. It’s… not as bad as you were originally assuming, credits-wise, but it’s worth more than half your stash and you’re going to have to conserve from this point on. It shouldn’t be too bad—your destination is a holy orphanage, you’re sure they’ll have some extra food and a bed for you even if it won’t be ideal. Still, you think you’re going to enjoy some lavish experiences for once in your life before you go.

***

Day 2–11:54pm:

Alright, so this was the best idea ever. This is the shit.

You’re leaning back against a fluffy stack of pillows, squeaky clean from an absolutely glorious bath and watching the flickering drama on the large holonet display in front of you. You don’t have any idea what’s going on, as it’s being broadcast in Rodian, but you haven’t been able to change the frequency because it’s so fucking intense—somebody’s sister is their mother, you think? No, that must be a mistranslation, right?

You’re also in a robe. Yes, there is a motherfucking robe in here. And… and slippers, it’s like a dream. Do people normally wear slippers in bed? You do. Hell, maybe you should stay here, screw the credits and the chase. This mattress is even better than the one on Naboo and you’re basking in the luxury after being outdoors for so long.

The lights are off other than that and you’ve opened the drapes wide, knowing you’re on something like the fifteenth floor and nobody would be able to see you anyways. You just like being able to turn your head and look out at the sky. Violent and periwinkle tonight. You wonder if he’s looking, too.

Luckily, you snap yourself back out of it and glance down at the time on your communicator, quickly pressing a button on the remote to mute the Rodian show and then opening the line the moment the hour changes.

Day 3–12:00am:

“Hiya, Shiny,” you say before anything else, laying back and running a few fingers through your damp hair. Your eyes close against the flickering light, taking a slow, relaxed breath. Maker, this feels nice.

“You sound happy,” Din comments. Astute, you feel happy. Well… you’d obviously feel happier if he was here. Your eyes flick over to the open bathroom door, still steamy from your bubble bath earlier, imagining him walking through it completely naked and then climbing over you on the covers. You can only really picture it from the neck down—no, hang on… you can see his shaggy brown curls, that one spot on his forehead you know, how his facial hair would be dark and frame his mouth. No face, though. Missing just one fraction of him from your imagination, feeling incomplete but also somehow… complete in a way.

“I feel better after sleeping last night,” you tell him, purposefully leaving out the softness of the sheets underneath you, the sheer comfort of all this extravagance. You don’t need it, you’ll never need it, but it feels nice to have for once.

“I do, too,” he replies quietly, and your eyes flutter closed. You… miss him. This mattress would feel softer with him next to you. He’d probably be able to translate this show for you, even though you already know he’d fucking hate it. You can imagine it—you with your eyes closed, him propped up on an elbow next to you and grumbling vague descriptions of the nonsense happening on screen just to hear your chuckles. Adventures are great, but maybe they aren’t as great by yourself, you think.

“You should sleep tonight, too,” you encourage, but he scoffs.

“Not a chance,” Din mutters. “Oh, before I forget, we need to charge the communicators today.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” You ask him, glancing at all the multiple wireless charging outlets stationed around you. “I’m in the middle of nowhere.”

He doesn’t even take a fucking second before responding. “Good one.”

You grin up at the ceiling, warmth flooding you. You love him. Literally every single time, he just knows. Your curiosity is too overwhelming after this happening so often. Your plan to distract him relies on him being able to read you, but that doesn’t prevent you from wondering how he does it so accurately, time and time again. “How do you know?”

“You slept outside last night,” he immediately tells you, like that should mean anything to you.

Does he… does he truly know you well enough to know how much your back and shoulders hurt today? How much you were aching for a shower and clean clothes? A bed to sleep on that isn’t dirt or metal? You give into the accurate prediction with shameless honesty, not caring if he knows it’s the truth.

“This bed is soft,” you murmur gently, dragging your hand across the mattress next to you. “You should be here. I’d make you feel good.”

Admittedly, your comfort is making you a bit drowsy and you said it in the easiest way possible, but you didn’t necessarily mean it sexually. Well… you sort of did—you’d make him feel so good in this bed—but what you meant was more… comforting. He could take a bath, or a shower, and get all the grime off him. He could feel clean and unburdened, take a break instead of constantly moving around. The baby could have a whole bed to himself if he wanted, though you know he’d probably want to be on this one instead. You could all look at the sky together.

Din is quiet for a little bit, before his voice comes back through the earpiece. “Are you in an inn?”

“No,” you say, a little too quickly. Perfect, that sounded just right for a lie. You are lying, you absolutely are in an inn, the only difference is that you want him to catch on that it’s a lie, so… why does he take way too long before responding?

“Hm.”

What the fuck—why… how is it even physically possible? He read you that deeply from one single word? You’re not sure if he’s somehow psychic and figured the whole fucking thing out or if he just knows there’s something off, but it’s still enough to blow you away.

“Are you doing this on purpose?” You blurt without thinking.

“Doing what?” He grunts, sounding like he’s stepping over something, his breath changing intensity as he walks.

“If I look out this window right now, am I gonna see you standing out there just messing with me?” You don’t even know what to believe anymore. How do you beat this? If you don’t want him to know the truth, he’ll figure it out, and if you do want him to know the truth, he’ll still figure it out. His perception is unbelievable.

After a moment of silence, he murmurs gently through the comm. “I thought you said you were in the middle of nowhere.” It sounds like he’s smiling.

“I…” your eyes shift around awkwardly, “am…”

Din lets out a deep sigh. He’s right, that was bad, even for you. “I found your bed a few hours ago,” he admits. You close your eyes as you listen to him make his way closer to you, step by step. “I’m nowhere near the city yet. You have time to sleep.”

Your expression furrows and you frown. “Why are you helping me?”

“Why do you want me to think you’re in an inn?” He tosses back, and you huff.

“Because I’m trying to outsmart you but you make it really fucking difficult,” you grumble, not happy about him catching on so quick.

“You’ve also gained about four hours on me since we started.” His voice is gruff. You don’t know if he thinks it’s a good thing or a bad thing. “You should give yourself more credit. I thought I would’ve found you by now, never expected you to get all the way to Nariss. It’s… not good for me.”

The honesty creeping in makes you go soft. It makes you want to reciprocate, even if it’s dumb and you haven’t thought it all the way through. “Wanna know a secret?”

“Tell me.” His voice is a bed all its own, deep and gentle and safe.

You say it before you lose the nerve. “I might just turn around and walk back.”

His footsteps stop and you hear a small sound in the background, a quiet little baby noise that suddenly makes your heart ache. You’re comfortable but incredibly aware of how alone you are. People pass by on the streets below, cars and hoverbikes honk in the distance and you’re by yourself. For the first time in over a year, like you have been for years, you’re by yourself.

“Sweet girl,” Din sighs, and all of a sudden… you can feel his arms around you with it. You feel so… known, somehow. Every sentiment you could’ve possibly given in your last sentence, he relays his understanding back with his. He makes you feel loved with it. “Never wants to run.”

You don’t say anything, because you suddenly realize you’re totally fucking whipped, up down and sideways for his metal ass and the little floating grimlin that follows him around, and you would throw away the fifth quarry, adventure, the sky—literally everything if you could be with the both of them right now.

But again. You don’t have to say anything, he already knows. “Give me your coordinates.”

Your eyes pop open and you bite your lip. Oh, stars. You hate that you do genuinely consider it. He could be here, and very soon. With the jet pack, both of them could be here in less than an hour, probably. He could take a shower. Watch these stupid shows with you all night without needing to be on the move, help you build a bed of pillows for the kid on top of this one. You could be with both of them again, even if it’s only for a little while.

“Ask me again tomorrow,” you finally whisper, looking down at the soft white fabric of your robe, the way one of your slippers is falling off your foot as the holonet program continues to play on mute.

Din’s footsteps eventually start up again, and you both relax in silence together. You, squinting at the screen because your eyes are getting heavy; him, continuing to travel step by step and gain ground on you. Let him come. You’ll be long gone by the time he even makes it to the gates.

It’s been about ten minutes of shared, quiet existence before you hear him bite into something and chew, and your face suddenly lights up.

“Are you eating the purple fruit?” You ask, your slipper falling off with excitement. You don’t know why, but it’s like… you’re stoked for him. Just as proud of him for doing normal things as he does when you step out of your own comfort zone. You like to think you’re both better that way. Balanced.

“Mm,” Din replies with his mouth full, and you grin down at your bare legs peeking through the robe while he swallows.

“Is it not the best thing you’ve ever tasted?” Your voice goes a little breathless with it, and you hear his footsteps stop once more.

“Close,” Din murmurs lowly, sending a small shudder through you. It suddenly feels a bit warm in here, doesn’t it? This morning was one of the rare times you were awake while he was asleep… it’s almost always the other way around, and just from the implication in his tone, you’re reminded of the thing he likes doing most when you’re resting. Maybe he’ll let you do it to him, next time around. The thought gets you hot enough to warrant the other slipper falling to the floor.

“You’re alone, right?” You whisper, knowing he must’ve pulled the helmet up to take a bite of the fruit. He must still be following your path through the hillside, then, not yet reaching the road.

“The kid is awake,” Din tells you, sounding like he’s trying to stop everything before anything starts. His words are short and clear in their meaning, but…

This has a very small chance of success, you already know. “…Do you want to—”

“No,” he responds quickly, already way ahead of you. “We can’t.”

Something in his voice… you don’t know, there’s just something there that makes you feel just a little reckless. Should you push it? You’re by yourself in this suite, what can go wrong?

“You can’t,” you correct him quietly, shifting around on the bed just a bit and biting your lip. It’s a thrill—being able to tease him without having him in front of you, drive him crazy knowing you’re just out of his reach. “But I can do whatever I want, can’t I?”

There’s a pause, a tense and knowing silence suspended between you before he eventually speaks.

“I’d be real careful,” Din mutters low in warning, but what is he gonna do?

“What are you gonna do?” You whisper to him devilishly. Quiet and breathy, beginning to snake your hand down. Stars, your heart is already pounding. You’d only likely mouth off like this in person just to see how hard he’d fuck you, but this feels extra dangerous for some reason. He’s stuck, he can’t do anything about it right now, and you know it’s playing with fire. “You could hang up if you don’t want to hear me. Or you could find me before I’m finished. Come make me stop.”

Din doesn’t say anything but he very much does not hang up, nor does he come busting into your room like you imagine he’d like to. The sheer fact that your door is still closed and locked tells you for sure that he isn’t just hanging out in the hallway, just letting you have your fun.

You start pressing your fingers against your robe at the apex of your thighs, humming at how nice the pressure feels. You don’t even spread your legs or push the fabric away, you just sigh into it and wiggle your hips a bit, pressing hard against your clit and listening to him breathe.

“Do you want to listen?” You ask quietly after a moment, and Din still doesn’t respond. Likely because there’s not a real answer, both yes and no would imply the wrong thing. “I’ll talk.”

Still, nothing from him. Dead silence through the comm. You’re starting to understand. For two days, you’ve felt like he could read your every thought just by the cadence of your voice. He’s staying quiet so you can’t even attempt to do the same to him—if he doesn’t talk, you can’t find a weakness and pounce on it, you can’t feel any more confident or reassured about your own ability to read him.

You’ll just have to push a little harder, then.

“Hm. If only this fancy communicator could…” you pause to look down at your wrist for a second, studying the menu. You don’t think you’ve ever really looked at it, you never had the time.

Din’s growl is sudden and sharp through the earpiece. “No, don’t even think—”

“Ah,” you smile, tapping the face and immediately finding the correct screen. “Take pictures.”

He’s deadly quiet for a moment, and you bite your lip with excitement. When he does speak, his voice is a pure threat, chilling you to the bone as much as it burns deep in your tummy. “…You wouldn’t.”

Ignoring him, you suddenly locate a menu option that sounds phenomenal right now. “Oh shit, does this holocall? Or is it a video option?”

“Holo,” he says very seriously while you study the lack of complexity of the built-in camera in skepticism, “and the kid is awake, so you can’t—”

“Oh, it’s definitely a video,” you unclip it from your wrist and he curses as you sit up, and then you press a button and wait impatiently for him. “Pick up.”

Din takes forever before responding, and you hear the continuous beeps as it attempts to connect, before his quiet baritone rumbles in your ear. “What if I don’t?”

You feel your mouth pull down at the corners, not so much frowning as you are dubious. He’s going to turn down the opportunity to see you and your surroundings when his whole goal is locating you? Really?

“You sure?” You ask softly, raising an eyebrow. “You’d get to see me, where I am. What I’m…” your eyes dip down to the loose robe riding your curves, your skin glowing against the white fabric, “…wearing.”

The beeps continue on for a few more seconds, until they finally stop. You frown down at the black screen of the communicator, not seeing anything at all. Did he decline the transmission request? No… there’s a little red light next to the small lens that wasn’t there before. Why can’t you see him?

“Why can’t I see you?” You ask. You want to look at him looking at you, you don’t want to always be stuck on the other side of a one-way mirror.

“I… have it linked to my helmet, but it only has a front-facing camera,” Din tells you after a moment, and he sounds… slightly out of breath. “Easier to see, the watch is useless now besides the controls.”

Wait, does that mean you’re… being shown on the inner-display of his helmet instead of his wrist? Right in front of his eyes, as if he were actually here with you?

“Nobody can see me but you?” You clarify, and when he doesn’t respond, you bite your lip and lean back into the pillows. You lift the watch up slightly, extending your arm out until you can get the angle as wide as possible. “Can you see… this?” You ask softly, before hooking your fingers in the collar of your white robe and slowly pulling it open for him.

“Where are you?” Din asks instead, and you hear his footsteps through the earpiece, as if he’s walking away from something very quickly.

You don’t answer him, parting the soft fabric until your breasts are completely exposed and you sigh, closing your eyes and snuggling back into the pillows once more. “I’ll tell you where I am if you keep watching me.”

“Why?” Din grits in frustration, coming back around to the same dangerous question he had earlier. “Why would you do that?”

“I don’t know.” You slowly tilt the camera down until you can spread your legs and the robe falls open with the movement, letting him see your pussy peeking through in the flickering light of the muted screen in front of your bed. “Can you see that?”

“Yeah,” he says shakily on the end of a breath, and you feel yourself get wet. Fuck, he sounds so fucking tempted, the sight making his voice come without any of the self-assuredness as it usually has, but… he could also just be saying that. How do you know he’s telling you the truth?

“What am I doing?” You test him, lifting your knee just the slightest bit so you really give him something to look at.

“Spreading your legs for a camera,” Din responds without hesitation, voice scraping against your ear, making you shiver and your nipples harden. Fuck, the way he says it, like it’s wrong and bad even though he’s the only one who can see or hear you do it… it makes you feel even more naughty and emboldened.

You bite your lip and reach your hand down to spread your lips for him, too, hearing his breath immediately catch on the other end. Already your pussy makes your fingers slick against your soft skin, the sash of your robe still holding the fabric together on your body but also loose enough to allow it to part in the right places and reveal everything you want him to see.

“I am in an inn,” you whisper teasingly, letting your finger drop to brush against your clit and then sighing in soft delight. Oh stars, that feels nice, it feels so good to treat yourself after being completely nomadic for two days, getting to be clean and soft and comfortable while you feel this pleasure, and Din’s voice growls through your communicator like you’re doing something painful to him.

“Fuck,” his breathing picks up while you begin circling your clit. “Where?”

“Nariss,” comes your quiet moan, turning your head on the pillow to blink slowly at the camera. Wanting him to see your eyes as well as your finger slowly dip into where you’re the hottest, caressing the sensitive skin there knowing he’s watching.

“Where in Nariss?” Din’s voice is as pleading as it is sharp, desperately trying to keep either you or himself on track.

“I don’t know,” you say again. Truthfully, you don’t—you don’t know the cross streets, you don’t know the part of town, you don’t know much of anything at all besides physical descriptors. You quickly move the camera to the side as far as you can hold it and let him see you from a different angle with the window as a backdrop. “But the window is open. And there are lots of people outside.”

“Can they see you?” Din immediately challenges. Of course they can’t, you’re fifteen stories up and the room is darker than it is outside with all the city lights and swirling colors of the sky, but you suppose he doesn’t know that. You think he just needs to relax—if this is what he’s always like during hunts, you now know exactly why he comes back to you all riled up and tense.

“I don’t know,” you murmur back, starting to rub your clit a little faster, trying to make it feel like him. It doesn’t—your fingers aren’t large or strong enough to give you those perfect circles; you just feel like you’re meandering yourself towards ecstasy instead of picking you up and hauling your ass there like he does, but it’s okay. Hearing Din’s rough breathing come through the earpiece, knowing his hands are probably clenched tight into fists, wondering if he’s hard yet… all of it culminates into a power trip unlike any you’ve experienced recently. It makes you bold, tells you to open your mouth. “Does it matter? I’d still let you fuck me against it if you were here.”

“Stop it,” comes his growl, but what is he gonna do?

Your leg lifts a little wider so you can slowly slide your fingers down and push two of them inside yourself, and Din swears as you moan, “Come find me.”

“Give me your coordinates—”

“Are you giving up?” You offer breathlessly, lifting your eyebrows and your hips up slightly at the question, but you’re… not expecting the extended silence following. You assumed a growled no would immediately come next, or just another empty threat said with enough force to make you tremble with excitement, but not… nothing.

The response makes you pause just for a second, easing your fingers out and dragging them across your thigh to clean some of the wetness off before extending your arm out towards the communicator. Din stays quiet while you navigate through the menu with trembling fingers, eventually finding your coordinates and hovering over the unchecked share location box.

You wait with your lip bit, confident he knows what you’re doing and you don’t have to narrate or repeat yourself. Fuck, you knew you were considering abandoning this entire adventure just to be next to him again, but you had no idea. No fucking idea that it could ever be a thought in his own mind as well. You… assumed he likes this, hunting is what he does for a living and he’s the one who conceived of the idea in the first place. Is he just that aroused by you? Or is there something more?

“No,” Din eventually murmurs, and you immediately navigate out of the menu so you don’t accidentally press anything catastrophic, before pulling your hand away from the communicator with a resolved hum and settling back into the pillows again. Making sure to look directly into the lens even if your eyelids are heavy with heat and desire, you slowly lick your fingers and then reach down once more.

His deep, shaky breath is so telling. Exhausted after all this, but still not hanging up, still doing his hardest to tough it out when he’s only miles away from you and has jets attached to his back. You don’t want to drag it out but you also do, you want to be kind but something about Din makes you also want to be as formidable as possible. You’ll never be able to threaten like he does, you’ll never have anyone cower just because you walked into the room, you’ll never be as powerful or strong as he is, but you can still put up a fucking fight against him in your own way.

You whimper softly, your breathing beginning to find a quicker pace as surely as your fingers do. It begins to spark and build, a red hot flame being kindled by the knowledge that he’s as close as possible without actually being close, right here with you when he always seems so far away.

“Mando,” you whisper, though your expression pulls inwards just slightly because it… in a scenario as sensual and intimate as this, it almost doesn’t sound righ—

“Din,” he whispers back, so quiet you almost don’t hear it, like he almost doesn’t want to but has to anyways, and then you just start to fucking burn.

“D-Din,” you whisper instead, trying to keep your voice as quiet as possible through the rising swell. He’ll be able to see it, you think. The way your tummy and chest start to heave, how your body begins to brace for it—and yeah, Maker, he sees it, because his voice suddenly changes.

“Stop,” Din growls roughly, knowing exactly how you cum—knowing exactly what it looks like, the way it sounds in your breathing, what it tastes like, how it feels on the inside. It’s been so long since you’ve touched bliss without him, months and months since you brought yourself to completion on the floor of the Crest by yourself, and though he’s rarely ever denied you, your own high on newfound control causes it to slip. He barks your name and tells you to stop once more, but it’s too late.

“I’m gonna cum, Din,” you breathe out—

“Don’t—”

It tears through you, rapid and surging, and he snarls a curse, something loud snapping and thudding and… did he just punch something? You can’t think, it’s delicious and hard as fuck and everything you needed after two days of near constant movement and thought with little rest, and you bite your lip to keep quiet but a pained whimper still shoves its way out of your tense vocal cords regardless. It sounds like it hurts because it does hurt; the orgasm shatters your body into pieces and you’re left trembling by yourself on this soft bed, wishing he was with you on a metal one.

You sink into the mattress in the moments following, sluggish and exhausted and just conscious enough to keep the watch facing you. You bet the camerawork was terrible, shaky at best, but you can’t find it in yourself to care right now. You just lay there and listen to his harsh breathing while you work to slow your heart rate, reveling in the filthy little show you just gave him and wanting to finish it out properly.

“Come find me,” you breathe out once more, lazing soft and naked for him, blinking dazedly at the watch as you pan it over you. Your thighs are still twitching and there’s a thin sheen of sweat clinging to you, but you drag a finger through your swollen lips and carefully wipe the wetness across one of your nipples. “Clean me up.”

“Fuck,” Din suddenly spits through the earpiece, furious. “You think—y-you think—”

“What?” You hum, basking in the afterglow and so, so curious. Truly, you’re dumb as fuck, you have no clue what you’re thinking, but if anybody would be able to tell you, it’s him.

There’s a moment where his breathing stops. It’s completely silent on the line, before you hear another few heavy footsteps on his end pick up and then halt just as quickly.

“You think you can taunt me?” He murmurs, dangerous and deadly quiet. “Show me exactly where you are, disappear and then make me waste forever trying to get there? You think that’s gonna work?”

Your eyebrow lifts, considering. He… may or may not have predicted your strategy perfectly, but his insight has stopped surprising you by now. “Maybe…”

“Maybe you shouldn’t fall asleep tonight.”

Ooh. That one sends goosebumps down your arms, but you’ve gained four hours on top of a twelve hour headstart. He can’t scare you with that tone, not when you’re still woozy with pleasure and he isn’t right in front of you. Instead of wilting beneath the hard threat, you just blink gently at the communicator, finding strength in being the only one to get him this mad when he’s always so composed, this talkative when he barely says a word. “Maybe I’ll just stay here then?”

“Maybe you wanted me to know you’re in an inn because you already found someplace to hide that isn’t one,” Din reasons very, very adeptly. Stars, your heart subtly begins to pick up, your legs continuing to tremble as the small red light next to the lens stares you down. “Can’t be planning to stay with someone you just met because you’d already be there, can’t be going to a hostel because you found the one city on this moon built for commerce and not aid. Not staying in another inn, you can’t afford it—the view looks high up, that robe is expensive, and you already bought food and at least five pairs of shoes in two days. I don’t think the place you found is even in Nariss. You think you can outsmart me, sweet girl?”

The chill down your spine doesn’t reach your eyes, you won’t let it. You just feel yourself smile, tilting your head at him and licking your lips while your finger brushes one of your nipples, but Din doesn’t accept your silence the way you’ve always accepted his. He wants an answer from you, right now, and it’s clear in the dark rumble of his voice, the danger slowly brewing beyond what you originally planned for.

“Tell me,” he orders, unamused and leaving no room to disobey. “How long do you think you can keep running?”

Your eyelashes flutter, suddenly deciding… why not? What have you got to lose? Nothing that you didn’t already go into this situation completely expecting to lose anyways. What’s the worst he can do? Find you?

You close your eyes, pinching one of your nipples and wondering if you might just go for another one since he’s still here. “Ask me again tomorrow.”

But then, instead of immediately responding, you just hear Din’s footsteps suddenly pick up, faster than any pace you’ve been able to keep over the past few days. You don’t think it sounds like a run necessarily, but you know that his legs and strides are far longer than yours and it’s probably pretty much equivalent to a run for you. You hear the rhythm of your demise speeding up, coming closer and closer, and everything in you both fears it and welcomes it.

“We’ll see,” he tells you, and then the red light vanishes and your earpiece clicks to silence.

***

Day 3—2:23am:

Even though it takes you much longer to do so than it normally would on a bed so large and comfortable, after such an exciting interaction and not being used to flickering light when you try to sleep but wanting to experience the rarity anyways, you’re eventually able to pass out.

But, not even a few minutes into a restless dream, you turn over and accidentally knock your communicator off the wireless charging station on the side table. It blinks with four percent battery life.

***

To be continued!!

#the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x you #the mandalorian #smut #reader insert #fanfic #rough day #no-droids #tw: stalking

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jinmukangwrites · 4 years ago

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@damianwayneweek 6 (6-18): Baby Damian | Family bonding | First crush

Warnings: none

Notes: Short, sweet, barely edited cuz it's 1am. Please enjoy some de-aged Damian and frazzled Dick. Yes I'm back on my Damian and Dick bullshit. I just love them so much.

-o-o-o-o-

Three days, according to Zatanna. The magic that hit Damian isn't permanent, and should wear off on its own within three days.

Dick already doesn't know what to do with himself. He was hardly prepared to take over and raise a ten year old, let alone a toddler.

But here he is, sitting in the manor living room watching as a small version of his already little brother toddles around on chubby baby legs. He can't be more than two. He can walk around on his own well enough—though Alfred did block off all of the stairs in the manor anyways—and every so often he'll point at something and say... Something that sounds like a demand.

Dick wasn't really ever good with understanding baby gibberish. It doesn't help that Damian seems to have reverted in memories as well... so the things he's demanding probably aren't in English as it's not his first language.

Damian wobbles up to Dick, holding out a toy train that Alfred dug out from the attic that used to belong to Bruce. Dick takes it and thanks him, but Damian pays him no mind and returns to his toys, babbling about something only he understands.

It's so weird seeing him like this. All small, chubby, soft, and bright eyed. Dick doesn't know everything Damian has gone through... growing up in the League... and as much as Dick dislikes Talia, he knows she was the best mom she could be to him. She's raised him to be a smart, strong young man, and taught him to be able to protect himself in his dangerous surroundings... and of course Dick has known Damian long enough to have gotten through his walls and see the wonderful boy underneath, but as he watches this toddler squeal as another toy train turns on and runs on its own...

He cannot help but mourn the child Damian could have been. Should have been if every child in the world had the privilege of growing up in a safe home and no worries besides homework.

He shakes his head. He cannot think like that. Whatever child Damian could have grown into if he hadn't been raised by the League is still in there. Just a bit harder to bring out. Dick can feel himself getting closer every day.

Damian notices him shaking his head and makes a curious ah sound. He walks over to Dick, lifting his arms, and Dick assumes he wants to be lifted. He smiles at the kid and grabs him under the armpits and lifts him into the air perhaps a bit quicker than what he was expecting. The kid screeches as Dick lifts him over head and let's go for just a moment to catch him and bring him back down to his face.

Damian scowls a familiar scowl and hits Dick on the nose with his stubby little fingers.

"Bah," he scolds, and a laugh bursts from Dick's throat.

Yup, Damian is still in there.

-o-o-o-o-

"I'm beginning to understand why B adopted all of us when we were already in elementary," Dick complains as baby Damian screams in his wooden high chair—yet another thing dug up from the attic that probably belonged to Bruce.

Alfred hands Dick a rag with a smirk. The thrown bowl of mac-and-cheese is all over Dick's shirt.

"Master Bruce always had a tenderness for infants," Alfred replies as he uses another rag to wipe off the still screaming and complaining Damian. "He always found joy in finding whatever excuse he could to hold and play with a baby. We used to go to a church when he was still a child himself, and there was a woman there without a husband who would always bring her infant. He would always offer to hold the child for her during the sessions to give her a break."

There's a twinkle in his eye when he looks over at Dick. "I imagine that if this had happened to you, or your other siblings, when he was still around, he would have loved every second of it. Food throwing, tantrums, and all."

Dick can't help but smile. He looks over at Damian who's now kicking his legs and waving his now clean hands in a fit. "Still, I wonder what's making him so mad."

"He might not like the taste," Alfred says, "or the texture. Perhaps some experimentation is due."

After some expiration and a lot of screaming through baby lungs that couldn't possibly hold that much air, they find that Damian really likes tomato soup, apple sauce, and broccoli.

-o-o-o-o-

"Master Dick," Alfred speaks up on the first evening while they were showing Damian Pooh's Heffalump Movie. Dick was relaxing and watching the movie, trying to remember if he's seen this one or not, while Damian was on the floor playing with an old kitten stuffed animal.

"Yeah?" Dick asks. He looks over at Alfred, only to see Alfred raise an eyebrow down at Damian. Dick follows his look, then his stomach drops when he finds that under the recently shopped for infant clothes, is a full looking diaper.

Dick looks back up at Alfred.

"Please, god, no."

Alfred drops a diaper, a bag of wipes, and a cloth into Dick's hands. "Good luck, sir."

-o-o-o-o-

Dick's about to lose his mind. He did everything Alfred told him to. He read a bedtime story—Where the Wild Things Are, as it was Dick's personal favorite as a child. He made sure his diaper was clean. He turned on some white noise. He even gave him Zitka. Yet, everything he did, Damian would scream and sob in his borrowed crib until Dick picked him up and started to sing the lullabies sung to him as a child. He sings the ones from his own native language, and even though there's no way Damian understands Romani, the kid calms down and reduces to exhausted little hiccups and almost seems to fall asleep with his little fingers curled in Dick's shirt.

And the second Dick puts him down, the crying rekindles.

Dick doesn't know what to do. Damian cries and cries until he's held and sung to, but Dick can't hold and sing to him all night. He paces Damian's room, bouncing the aforementioned kid-turned-infant in his arms, mumbling tunes to whatever lullaby decides to leave his lips.

Alfred told him he has permission to wake him up if he needed anything with Damian through the night, but Dick can't bring himself to. Alfred already works so hard during the day and night, keeping the manor in shape and making sure Dick doesn't get himself killed during patrol... He shouldn't have to be relied on to take care of a grumpy baby that won't go to sleep.

No, no Dick can handle this. Damian is calm when he's held and sung to, so that's what Dick will do. He walks to the cradle and pulls out Zitka, then goes to his own bedroom to sit on his bed and holds Damian close to his chest, singing and bouncing him gently.

Eventually, Damian goes completely still against his chest, snoring slightly, but Dick's too fearful to risk anything now. He stops singing though, resorting to simply holding Damian and trying to keep his own eyes open.

He fails, but he wakes up in the morning with Damian laying on his chest, still fast asleep and drooling all over his shirt.

Dick doesn't look a gift-horse in the mouth. He shifts into a better position, then allows them both to sleep in a little longer.

-o-o-o-o-

Alfred discovers the problem quickly when Dick tells him how hard it was to get Damian to sleep. Turns out, Damian's teething. By noon, Alfred had returned from the closest grocery store with a few tools to help with that. He puts a few water filled plastics into the fridge, then gives Damian one to chew on in the meantime. And chew on it, Damian does. He gets slobber everywhere, but at least he's no longer so upset, especially once a cold one is exchanged into his grubby little hands.

-o-o-o-o-

"That's absolutely adorable," Barbara says over the phone. Dick's just finished sending her a massive amount of pictures he's taken of Damian after taking him outside to play in the backyard with the dogs. He's sent her the pictures mostly because he needs people to see how cute Damian is while trying to tackle a dog twice the size of him... but also partly because he gets the feeling once Damian's back to his normal age, he will make sure all evidence of this is destroyed.

Barbara is someone Dick's sure can keep pictures hidden in a safe place... just in case Dick wants to see them again after lying to Damian he deleted them.

-o-o-o-o-

Dick's beginning to understand why people like babies. Like, they're cute, yes. The sounds they make are cute sometimes too. The things they find funny are usually very goofy and enjoyable to watch. Their laughs are contagious, and their babbles are enjoyable to try and decipher...

But nothing beats watching them sleep, curled up against your chest. Full trust in you that you'll keep them safe. It's nap time, and instead of trying to peel Damian off from him and put him in the crib, he's decided to just let the kid pass out in his arms and use the opportunity to take a nap himself.

Apparently it's bad to always let babies sleep with you, but Damian's not going to be this small forever. Might as well enjoy holding him like this in pure peace while he can.

-o-o-o-o-

It seems Zatanna was generous with her prediction, as he wakes up with his breath being knocked out of him. Damian, his rightful age and dressed in his full Robin uniform, scrambles off of Dick's chest. It's all knees and elbows, and Dick's left rubbing his ribs as Damian pats his body, as if making sure he's really a 10 year old boy and not an infant.

"Good to have you back," Dick grunts, rubbing his eyes and holding back a grin.

Damian whirls on him and points an accusing finger. "I don't remember what all happened," he hisses, "but you will delete any photos immediately."

Dick bursts into laughter, grabbing Damians pointed hand and tugging him into a proper hug. Damian squawks just a little, but relents when Dick squeezes him tighter than what he would to an infant. Yes. This feels right. Baby Damian was cute and cuddly, but he really missed the prickly attitude of this rascal.

"Okay," he says, releasing his charge. "I'll delete the photos, after we tell Alfred you're back and you've changed out of the suit."

Damian huffs and nods. "That was horrible."

"I don't know, I thought it was fun," Dick teases. Damian glares at him and Dick grins back.

Yeah, he missed his kid.

#damianwayneweek2021 #damian wayne #robin #dick grayson #Nightwing #dc comics #jin writes #fanfiction

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koguri3108 · 3 years ago

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PROFESSOR LAYTON BORROWER AUS???? consider me extremely interested, i am listening very intently and would very very much like to hear about these (if you are comfortable sharing them ofc!!) i’m playing through the games right now and would love to hear about your aus!!!!!

hOLY SHIT MY SUBLIMINAL MESSAGES HAVE FINALLY DRAWN AN AUDIENCE!

I'm joking. Halfway joking XD

I have been desperate to talk about these ever since I came up with them, which was in the latter half of 2019, I just really wasn't sure how to bring this up to the internet at all, BUT NOW I HAVE AN EXCUSE TO TALK ABOUT THEM THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR SHOOTING ME THESE ASKS!! godIamsuchapatheticlittlecreature

Ok, here we go, I'm gonna give a brief rundown of both of my AUs. I have two AUs in total, one in which Luke and his family are borrowers, and one in which The Professor and his family are borrowers. The main goal I generally have with these AUs is to keep all the major plot related stuff in place, but mold the stuff around it a bit so that the characters new size also still works, yknow, basically just put an interesting G/t spin on the whole series.

Continue under the cut cause this got really really long X| BTW MASSIVE MASSIVE SPOILERS!!!!!!!! FOR ALL THE GAMES!!!!! (Mostly in the second section though) (Some pics at the very bottom)

So the LukeAU: Misthallery has a pretty tight knit community of borrowers, most of the black market boys being borrowers for example, Luke and his family also are borrowers, currently living in the mayors house. (the mayor in this AU is Doland btw, I thought, like, he still sorta belongs w/ the Tritons, but borrowers don't have butlers so yadayada he's the mayor) So Descole starts searching for the Azran here too, so naturally the Phantom appears and the borrower community as well as the human community is very distraught about it, so Luke goes to investigate this mostly on his own, with the assistance of his animal companions or course. So he figures out how to predict the attacks and leaves the mayor letters in his type writer about it, (with toppy's help, because he's to lightweight to press the keys properly on his own) which the mayor takes into account because he really has nothing else to go on. Luke also goes to spy a little on the human townsfolk, looking for someone that could help him with this mistery and giant monster, though he mostly comes to the conclusion that most of the townsfolk aren't really cut out for the job since they need to meet three criteria: 1. Smart (most people need to have their puzzles solved for them so nope) 2. Not completely lost when things get a bit hairy, ie fight etc (Most of them are average people so nope there too) 3. Trustworthy to borrowerkind (hard to gauge but the general consensus is not to take the risk for most of them) So Luke turns to a particular gentleman that he's often read articles about in newspapers (when he can get them) Solves difficult cases when noone else can and has a general knack for puzzles, Nr. 1 check Is an experienced fencer, so should be athletic enough to take some of what this investigation will throw at them, Nr. 2 also check Is considered a true Gentleman (TM) by most people and him going out if his way (Uni work) to go solve cases for other people already speaks of his goodwill, though if he's trustworthy to borrowerkind is a bit of a different thing, Luke figures he can bring him here to check for himself, and if that point turns out to be a bust the Professor will hopefully stay and start investigating the case by his own accord. So he sends the Professor a letter via his Pigeon friends, under the guise of the mayor of course. When the Professor (and Emmy, she was kind of a variable Luke didn't expect, her attitude seems a bit worrying but she's okay for now) arrives and asks the mayor about it, the mayor gives him the expected rundown and offers the two of them stay at his house (since this was the Triton estate in the original he has a lot of room that he doesn't need), where Luke confronts him in the evening with a puzzle to test him (from behind a conveniently large alarm clock, the Professor suspects speakers and a mic at first), then gives him the hotel where the Spectre will attack next as a meeting point. Next day they go there, first meeting scene plays out that I won't describe here, this is already getting way too long X/ I'm going way too much into detail

This is most of the story stuff I've got figured out so far, Luke might be letter pals with the Barde kids, Descole kidnaps Lukes Mom and tries to get info about the Azran out of her for reasons I will explain later, uh, yeah. The main reason why I'm not further along is because I still haven't replayed the games since I've done for the first time years and years ago, I wanted to play them together with my best friend but that goes really slow X/

Anyways, the LaytonAU: So the very fist thing I have to explain here is that borrowers are incredibly connected to the Azran civilization in both these AUs. Basically, in Azran times both Humans and Borrowers lived together peacefully, and this shows in a lot of written records, murals and also the way things are built in ruins and such. The general population and many archaeologists believe though that either the tiny people died out with the Azran or that all these things are either symbolic in nature or coincidences. But of course the tiny people still exist, and Targent knows this, Targent is branded to the public as an extermination Company, but they use this to drive out borrowers of peoples homes and capture them. Targent believes that borrowers are still very heavily connected to the Azran civilization, that they are either legit Azran people that survived or that they are Azran constructs or technology of some kind or yadayada, they MUST know SOMETHING about the Azran, so what Targend does is perform experiments on borrowers, torture them in any way imaginable and other horrendous things just to get SOME kind of info out of them, which they can use to further their goals. The Borrowers of course aren't in any way more Azran than the normal human population is so the most that Targent can ever get out of them is vague legends and stories that were passed down by word, but that little useless info still keeps them fixated on their borrower case, convinced that they know far more than they tell them, so they keep this whole thing going unfortunately.

Now enter the Bronev family, a family of borrowers living somewhere near the Gressenheller Uni. They get found out by one of the Targent exterminator teams and attempt to flee, both parents get snatched up almost immediately, though Hershel and Theo make it a bit farther Hershel knows they cannot both escape, so he sacrifices himself to buy Theo some time, and he does indeed make it out and manages to escape. Theo just runs and runs and runs, until he can't anymore and collapses in some bushes somewhere. There he gets found by the Laytons, also Borrowers, who live in one of the Side buildings of Gressenheller Uni. They take Theo in but a difficulty early on is that the boy can't seem to remember anything that happend to him, or his past, not even his own name. He does remember A name though, and that is his brothers, Hershel. Theo does know on some level that this isn't his own name but it's the only one he remembers, so it kind of must be, right? So that's what the Laytons call him from then on, his name is now Hershel Layton. Back with Targent, the rest of the Bronev family is locked up in some cages, the mother having already been taken off to be experimented on, when Raymond, then an engineer employed by Targent comes by the open Lab door and sees the borrowers in the cages, and he's shocked to see a very small child among them. He'd seen children before, but never this young, so he rescues them, unfortunately leaving Rachel Bronev behind. Shortly after he leaves the Company. He tries to help the Borrowers in any way he can, so he ends up building a human sized mech suit for Leon, who wants to go infiltrate Targent to rescue his wife, though upon finding out that he was too late, he decides that his Rachels death should not have been in vain and so in his delusions he ends up working his way to the top of Targend to further the goal that his wife head to die for. Meanwhile Hershel is disgusted with his fathers decision and learns engineering from Raymond to build his own human Mech suit, he becomes Desmond Sycamore an Archaeologist, begins research about the Azran, he eventually gets his own place, meets the borrower that lives there and starts his own family, though when Targent comes to him about his Archaeological work, they get to his family and gets them abducted and also killed. He follows Descolés path pretty beat for beat after this. Now Hershel meanwhile decides that he wants to go live in the main Gressenheller building, away from his parents, and he ends up running into a book about the Azran, opened on a page about the small people, on one of his borrowing trips in Dr. Schraders office. He is enamored with the idea that his people have an actual history and he starts coming back to Dr. Schraders office regularly in hopes of learning more. One day he ends up falling asleep mid read though, and Dr. Schrader finds him the next morning, Dr. Schrader approaches the whole situation very reasonably though, he recognizes that Hershel is indeed a Person and pretty much still a kid at that, so all he does is gently wake him up and let him go on his way, though he recognizes that the Kid has taken an interest in Azran history and leaves books out for him to read. Over time the two actually start interacting a little bit and a small relationship forms, though a very hands off (literally) teacher-student relationship. Then one day, Randall (Being here either a bit older than we see him in MM or just skipped a few grades and is earlier than expected at Gressenheller, haven't decided yet) decides to disregard Dr. Schraders visiting hours and just barges into his office where he finds Hershel currently on the desk reading a book, a very hands on first meeting scene follows, and they become palls. :) Randall eventually wants to take Hershel on adventuring trips, but he wants Hershel to be a bit more independent and not need to sit on his shoulder all the time so he does two things: 1. He teaches him how to fence 2. He designs a flying machine for him (Like, a backpack unfoldable plane thing, I have concepts if anyone is

interested ) Some testing phase shenanigans ensue but unfortunately MM "Randall falls into the chasm"-scene also ensues :( So some time later Hershel gets acquainted with the Tritons, and Claire, the whole explosion thing happens, Hershel gets there with his flying machine and ends up showing himself to a crying Clive in an alleyway to console him (that's how Clive knows him haven't figured out how he gets a letter to him later though...) Uhhh, Clark gifts Hershel a sharpened letteropener sword, looks very cool How Hershel actually becomes a Professor is kind of an inofficial thing, but basically he does all the stuff he has to do for that under Dr. Schrader, makes friends with the Dean at some point and becomes secret professor basically I ALSO had this idea that he teaches classes remotely with a prewritten chalkboard and speakers somehow, maybe he is just straight up under a Box on the desk that is open towards the chalkboard, maybe he builds an elaborate machine, idk, this is not decided but I thought it would be funny if he somehow DID teach classes, maybe some of the students at Gressenheller even know that he's a borrower and it's kind of an in-joke that noone else understands idk XD Now, how he gets to meet Luke is basically this, Luke sends his letter not to Hershel but to Dr. Schrader, who, having gotten assigned Emmy as an assistant shortly before that (Emmy does know Hershel exists, being Dr. Schraders assistant will do that to you), responds to it instead, though he does take Hershel with him also, upon learning that the giant monster is very much real, Schrader basically goes, "Welp, I think I left the stove on, you two've got this, right?" and promptly exits the scene, leaving Emmy and Hershel to do this on their own.

From here on out I don't have much figured out, I need to replay the games but yeah, that's most of what I've got, this got way too long lol, have some concepts!!!

Lil borrower Luke sitting on a book in Hersh's office while he's still working, look after your child, Professor! >:( (from 14th Okt 2020)

Smol Layton handheld that I have a digitized version of too, but that one deserves its own post, have a sneak-peek ;) (from 6th Apr 2020) (Also he looks bigger here than he really is because Luke has tiny child hands XD)

hOLY SHIT MY SUBLIMINAL MESSAGES HAVE FINALLY DRAWN AN AUDIENCE!

I'm joking. Halfway joking XD

Continue under the cut cause this got really really long X| BTW MASSIVE MASSIVE SPOILERS!!!!!!!! FOR ALL THE GAMES!!!!! (Mostly in the second section though) (Some pics at the very bottom)

From here on out I don't have much figured out, I need to replay the games but yeah, that's most of what I've got, this got way too long lol, have some concepts!!!

Lil borrower Luke sitting on a book in Hersh's office while he's still working, look after your child, Professor! >:( (from 14th Okt 2020)

hOLY SHIT MY SUBLIMINAL MESSAGES HAVE FINALLY DRAWN AN AUDIENCE!

I'm joking. Halfway joking XD

Continue under the cut cause this got really really long X| BTW MASSIVE MASSIVE SPOILERS!!!!!!!! FOR ALL THE GAMES!!!!! (Mostly in the second section though) (Some pics at the very bottom)

From here on out I don't have much figured out, I need to replay the games but yeah, that's most of what I've got, this got way too long lol, have some concepts!!!

Lil borrower Luke sitting on a book in Hersh's office while he's still working, look after your child, Professor! >:( (from 14th Okt 2020)

hOLY SHIT MY SUBLIMINAL MESSAGES HAVE FINALLY DRAWN AN AUDIENCE!

I'm joking. Halfway joking XD

Continue under the cut cause this got really really long X| BTW MASSIVE MASSIVE SPOILERS!!!!!!!! FOR ALL THE GAMES!!!!! (Mostly in the second section though) (Some pics at the very bottom)

From here on out I don't have much figured out, I need to replay the games but yeah, that's most of what I've got, this got way too long lol, have some concepts!!!

Lil borrower Luke sitting on a book in Hersh's office while he's still working, look after your child, Professor! >:( (from 14th Okt 2020)

hOLY SHIT MY SUBLIMINAL MESSAGES HAVE FINALLY DRAWN AN AUDIENCE!

I'm joking. Halfway joking XD

Continue under the cut cause this got really really long X| BTW MASSIVE MASSIVE SPOILERS!!!!!!!! FOR ALL THE GAMES!!!!! (Mostly in the second section though) (Some pics at the very bottom)

From here on out I don't have much figured out, I need to replay the games but yeah, that's most of what I've got, this got way too long lol, have some concepts!!!

Lil borrower Luke sitting on a book in Hersh's office while he's still working, look after your child, Professor! >:( (from 14th Okt 2020)

#KoguStuff #Corrupted #Taking all the tags off this post cause I don't want people to see this horribly corrupted version of the post #if you found it anyways congrats I guess #Only keeping it up cause it's kind of funny XD

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fruitcoops · 4 years ago

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hey babes (can i call you babes?), could you write remus pranking sirius by walking around the house with tremzy’s jersey because he knows that is an irrational jealousy trigger, sirius going crazy about it and remus laughing his ass off? love your fics btw 😘

You can absolutely call me ‘babes’ if you like, thanks for asking! Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove <3 Welcome to the shameless smutfest, everyone! This is the longest smut I’ve ever written, combined with the prompts below:

1. Coops aftercare

2. Sirius teasing Remus

3. Coops trying something new in bed

TW for subspace/ subdrop (fairly mild), light spanking (over clothes), smut, praise kink, and lots of teasing

There were a few things Sirius Black prided himself on above all else, including (but not limited to) winning a Stanley Cup, becoming Harry’s godfather, and scoring Remus Lupin as his husband. However, when it came to actual talents, the one he was proudest of was his kissing ability.

Sirius Black was a damn good kisser and he knew it. He had plenty of experience, after all, and thoroughly enjoyed it; now that the recipient was his drop-dead gorgeous husband, he took even more pleasure in brushing up once in a while. In fact, his entire plan for the day revolved around his ability to make Remus fall to pieces with just a few touches of his lips.

They woke up slow and lazy, letting the July sunlight warm their backs through the window as the replacement fan they bought rattled away downstairs. Remus’ fingers were cold as he traced Sirius’ jaw—of course they are, Sirius thought with a smile—but he watched him with soft, sweet caramel eyes.

With gentle pressure, Sirius pushed him onto his back and captured his lips, carding one hand through his mussed curls. Remus draped his arms over his shoulders as Sirius splayed both hands over his ribs and drew those pretty noises out.

Remus took an unsteady breath, already too addled to nip and suck at his lips—Sirius doubled down and slid his thumb along the dip of Remus’ collarbone, rubbing it in the hollow of his throat until he felt a tremor rock through him and a leg come up to wrap around his hip.

“This is a—oh—a good way to—unh—wake up,” Remus panted, his shaky hands tangling in the grown-out hair at Sirius’ neck. He hummed in agreement, scraping his teeth along that pillowy upper lip; Remus let out a keening sound and ground his hips up, drowning in kisses.

Sirius pulled away with as much self-control as he could muster and rolled back to his side of the bed, trying his absolute best to look casual. “Morning, mon loup. The market opens in about half an hour, so we should get a move on before it gets too crowded.”

A heavy beat of silence passed as Remus blinked at him, his mouth still open and lips redder than ripe strawberries. “Huh?”

Sirius didn’t laugh at his voice crack, but it was a close call. “The farmer’s market, remember? Those cantaloupes you like are in season.”

“Huh?”

“Cantaloupe. It’s the same in English and French, I checked.” He leaned over for the most chaste and quick of kisses, grinning at the heat still radiating off Remus’ body. He looked absolutely befuddled and more than a little desperate as Sirius sat up with a pat to his hip. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Wait, wait, come back!” Remus hooked his fingers in the waistband of Sirius’ sweats to bring him back, but Sirius just calmly stepped out of them and headed into the bathroom to wash his face, studiously ignoring the pathetic groan from the other room. “You’re gonna leave me like this?”

“I’m heading out in twenty minutes,” Sirius called through the door, pausing to laugh silently. “You’re welcome to join if you like!”

“This is cruel and unusual punishment!”

He raised his head from the sink, half-blind around the water. “I gave you kisses!”

“Oh, fuck you!”

“I love you!”

Muffled grumbling answered him, along with the rustling of sheets as Remus clambered out of bed on—yep, there’s the stumble—very shaky legs to get dressed. “You’d better get in here and finish what you started, or I’m getting myself off.”

“Do that and you won’t get what I’m planning to give you tonight,” Sirius singsonged.

The bathroom door swung open; Remus’ murderous glare was somewhat lessened by his thoroughly kissed dishevelment. He paused for a second, then jabbed his pointer finger at Sirius. “It better be fucking good. Also, good morning, I love you.”

He grinned around his toothbrush. “There it is.”

“Is this payback for something?”

“Maybe I just like seeing you squirm for once.”

Remus wrinkled his nose and threw Sirius’ sweatpants at him. “This is definitely payback for something.”

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

The farmer’s market was lovely, partially because of the sunny day and partially because Remus let him keep his hand in his back pocket the whole time. They strolled down the sidewalks, chatting with vendors about summer plans and figuring out what to eat for the rest of the week so they wouldn’t need to pick anything up at the grocery store.

And every once in a while, when he felt like Remus was getting a little too comfortable, Sirius would give his ass a light squeeze.

The reaction was predictable: a catch in the throat, a clench in his jaw, a small, shocked exhale as his eyes fluttered shut for a half-second. Sirius had the decency to wait until he wasn’t talking to a vendor; he wanted to make him horny, not humiliated.

Once Hattie started to get tired and they had collected a variety of necessities, including two cantaloupes that made Remus’ whole face light up, Sirius took his wrist in his hand and pulled it toward his face. Remus’ knees visibly went weak as Sirius checked the time on his watch, skimming a thumb over the perfectly-healed tattoo below it.

“Just past noon. Right on time, mon amour.”

“Sometimes, I think you like that watch more than I do,” Remus muttered, clutching the bag of vegetables in his other hand with white knuckles.

Sirius hummed noncommittally and kissed the sensitive skin of his pulse point, holding his lips there until Remus looked like he was having a hard time swallowing. “Ready to head home?”

“God, yes.”

“Great!” Sirius put his most chipper smile on and linked their fingers together, internally reveling in the clumsy, clammy grip of his husband’s hand. Round two is a success.

As soon as the door to their house closed and Hattie flopped down on her bed by the fan, Remus gave him an expectant look, tugging on the front of his shirt with a glance toward the stairs. He was flushed with anticipation—Sirius almost felt bad when he kissed him sweetly and carried their groceries into the kitchen to fill the cabinets.

There was a frustrated huff from the hallway and, just as he was finishing with the fruit bowl, two arms wrapped tight around his waist as a mouth slid along his neck. “Hey, sweetheart.”

“Hey.” Remus pushed his hips against Sirius’ ass and started sucking a hickey just below his ear, but Sirius turned around and headed toward the living room before any mark could appear.

“I’m going to fix the fan in the backyard, okay?”

“Fine,” Remus gritted out.

“You sound tense, honey.” He grinned over his shoulder as he hefted the box fan and knocked the backdoor open with his hip. “Ça va?”

“I’m just—” Remus waved his hand around for a second. “I’m just gonna finish putting stuff away. Maybe take a cold shower.”

“Make sure to drink something, too. It’s hot outside.” With a quick, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it wink, Sirius headed into the backyard.

Forty minutes passed, during which time he almost forgot about his plan while he wrestled with levers and bolts. Just as his forehead began to itch from a mixture of sweat and gear grease, he felt eyes prickling the back of his neck from the house and raised an eyebrow, grabbing his shirt off the ground to wipe the back of his neck.

“Bonjour.”

“What’s going on out here?”

Sirius shrugged, watching Remus’ eyes track the movement of his shoulders. “Trop chaud.”

“Really?”

“Quoi?”

Remus tilted his head back, muttering under his breath, before he leveled Sirius with a look that crackled like lightning down his spine. “Will you at least tell me what I did to deserve this?”

“Qui a dit—”

“Nope, nope, nope.” Remus made a timeout motion, though Sirius noted the high blush on his cheeks. “The kissing and the groping was…” He pressed his lips together for a moment and satisfaction bloomed in Sirius’ gut. “It was something, but is the French necessary?”

“C’est ma langue maternelle!” Sirius protested around his smirk.

“Yeah, I know it’s your first language,” Remus groaned, resting his forehead on the doorjamb. “I need to take another shower.”

“Non, mon loup, revenir!” Sirius laughed, reaching toward him.

Remus gave him a playful glare as he crossed the yard. “Are you going to be horrible to me again?”

“Peut-être.” Perhaps. He nudged the fan away with his foot as Remus straddled his lap, brushing his sweat-soaked bangs out of the way for a lingering kiss. “Salut, mon coeur.”

Remus’ smile got bigger and he pressed closer, nibbling his lower lip. “There it is.”

“Le francais? C’est t’a excite?”

“Peut-etre,” Remus mimicked. “The French always gets me, but the nickname tells me you’ll be nice.”

“Vraiment?”

He let his head tilt as Sirius mouthed along his neck, toying with the hem of his shirt. “Mhmm. We should go inside.”

“I have to finish the fan,” he murmured, biting down just enough to make him gasp.

“Finish it later.”

“We’ll get too hot if I leave it.”

“Don’t care.” Remus’ breaths were coming faster and shallower. “Come on, baby, don’t leave me hanging.”

Sirius hummed and moved back to his mouth, feeling him turn to putty in his palms. He kissed him deep for a few seconds, then pulled back just enough that Remus leaned in for more. “You’re a good boy, you can handle it.”

A whole rollercoaster of emotions crossed Remus’ face: shuddering arousal at the pet name, then confusion at his words, then utter shock, and finally heartwrenching disappointment when he realized. “No.”

“Oui.”

“No.”

Sirius kissed him once more. “Combien de fois que j’ai été patient?”

A small whine slipped through his plush lips and he squeezed Sirius’ waist between his thighs. “Can’t translate, baby, please—”

“How many times have I been patient for you?” Sirius repeated, forcing himself to be calm even though his hands wanted to shake as they slid along smooth, freckled skin.

Remus tensed as he began tracing his ribs and leaned into the touch. “A lot,” he finally admitted.

“A lot,” Sirius agreed. “Do you want me to remind you what happened on Valentine’s Day?”

“Very good things,” Remus said with a devilish grin. “As I recall, you were the instigator and I only made you wait ten minutes.”

“Eleven and a half, actually.” Sirius licked a stripe up his shower-fresh neck and he shivered, even in the mid-afternoon heat. “What time did we get up this morning?”

“Fuck—uh, um, eight? Nine?”

“Eight forty-five.” Remus’ knees slid further apart on the grass. “Can you use that big brain of your to do some math for me?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Eleven and a half hours from eight forty-five is…?”

Remus’ eyes snapped open. “You’re kidding.”

Sirius made a buzzer noise. “Wrong.”

“If you make me wait until eight fucking pm—”

“Eight fifteen, actually.” Sirius blew a breath over the slick side of his neck and Remus’ jaw tightened. “Think you can make it?”

“No.”

“I think you can. You’re very stubborn, you know,” he said conversationally as he tried to detangle Remus’ limbs from his own.

“I’m not letting go until you promise to fuck me before eight pm.”

“I will shake you off me.”

“Do it. I dare you.”

With a groan, Sirius got to his feet and prayed the neighbors wouldn’t see them as he tried to pry Remus off him; he gave up after thirty seconds, when they were both laughing too hard to keep going. He cupped that impish face between his hands and squished his cheeks. “I promise we’ll go to bed before eight.”

Easy as pie, Remus unlocked his ankles from Sirius’ lower back and slid down with a satisfied little smile, kissing the hinge of his jaw. “Merci beaucoup.”

He stuck his hands in his pockets, making the fatal mistake of turning his back on Sirius while still within arm’s reach—he yelped at the sharp smack of Sirius’ palm on his ass, whipping around with wide eyes.

“Neighbors!”

“Worth it.”

“And you call me insatiable,” Remus laughed, shaking his head. “I’ll be inside when you’re done, waiting patiently like a war widow while our dog tries to eat socks.”

“It’s a beautiful day!”

“I’m not getting sunburned, Sirius!” he called over his shoulder. “We have plans that don’t involve aloe, remember?”

“They could!”

“Nope!”

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

Sirius caught him once more before going upstairs for a shower; despite the grease streaking his skin and the sweat making him sticky, Remus let himself be pushed against the kitchen counter with a moan. In all honesty, Sirius was getting a little tired of the game—a significant part of him was considering bending Remus over the cool marble then and there. It wasn’t like he would get any sweatier.

But, no, the whole point of this was to make Remus the one who begged for it for once. Make him wait, give him a taste of what Sirius felt every single day while he wandered around looking the way he did. And then…then it would be so much sweeter.

It was barely four pm, after all.

“I need a shower,” Sirius mumbled, dipping back in for one more taste. Just one more, he promised himself as Remus’ hands slid along his back. Just a little bit, as a treat.

“No, you don’t,” Remus breathed. He pushed himself onto the counter and tilted Sirius’ face up for a new angle, tugging lightly on his hair.

“I’m covered in—mmm—grease.”

“Don’t care, god, fuck, Sirius.” He could feel Remus’ bulge pressing against the well-worn denim of his jeans and slid a hand down to press over it; Remus whined at the pressure and buried his face in the hollow of Sirius’ neck, biting and sucking at the small tattoo there.

“It’ll be so much better if you wait—”

A sound tore from Remus’ chest and he squeezed Sirius’ waist between his legs. “Bend me over the table, I don’t care, just come on—”

His mouth came off Sirius’ neck with a soft pop. “Shower.”

Sirius hurried upstairs before he could fall victim to those honey eyes that threatened to pull him under like some helpless bug. I am in control here, he thought as hard as he could under the freezing shower spray. He’s going to beg for it and then I can give it to him.

And the best part was, Remus liked it. He had seen the darkness of his eyes with each short-changed kiss, had heard the edge of lust beneath his frustrated grumbling. Sirius was well on his way to taking him to pieces without ever getting past his zipper.

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Bubbles popped and slid between Sirius’ fingers and he winced at the slimy feeling, but at least it took his mind off the clock. Six forty-five pm—less than two hours before he could finally, finally give Remus what he wanted. The pleading need had turned into a dangerous game, and Sirius wasn’t sure whether that was good or bad. Remus had refused to break eye contact while they talked at dinner; nobody had ever asked Sirius about his day with such aggression, and even fifteen minutes later his pants were still uncomfortably tight. The night was supposed to end with Remus a babbling mess, but he would not object to getting a taste of what he had been dishing out all day.

Sirius was halfway through washing a casserole dish when two familiar hands slid up the front of his shirt and narrow hips pressed him against the edge of the sink. “Wash your hands,” Remus said, brooking no room for argument.

“I’m not done with the dishes.”

“Sirius.” Hot breath fanned over the side of his neck and he suppressed a shiver. I. Am in. Control. “Wash your hands.”

Sirius washed his hands.

He felt a smile spread across Remus’ face and a kiss brushed against the top notch of his spine. “Thank you.”

“It’s not even close to eight, sweetheart.”

“You might change your mind about that.”

“Will I?” He reached for a towel to start drying dishes when he suddenly found himself facing the opposite direction; he barely had time to blink before Remus’ mouth was on his own, plush and warm and wonderful. Sirius started running his hands down Remus’ back, making a beeline for something he could grab a handful of, then stopped short.

“Told you so,” Remus murmured against his lips.

The pleasure center in the corner of Sirius’ brain erupted into cheering as he rolled the familiar fabric between his fingers, gathering a fistful of the jersey in his hand to drag Remus even closer. “That’s a dirty trick.”

“A dirty trick is kissing me within an inch of my life and then making me wait.” Remus licked along his jawline and soothed it with a light bite.

You know how I get when you wear my jersey, he thought with a grin, cracking one eye open to admire the red and gold lining. He opened his mouth to make a joke about the last name, but his words died in his throat. “What in the unholy fuck are you wearing?”

“The same jeans I’ve owned since I was eighteen. Why?” The little shit was smug as the cat that got the canary.

“Remus.”

“They make my ass look fantastic. Sue me.”

“I’m not talking about the jeans.” His hand was officially trembling.

Remus pulled back and met Sirius’ gaze with a challenge in his eye. “You like it when I wear jerseys.”

“You did this on purpose.”

“Wear clothes? Yeah, actually, though I’d rather not if it’s all the same to you.”

“Take it off, then, or I’ll bend you over this countertop.” Sirius’ blood hummed in his ears as Remus crossed his arms over his chest, taking a step back.

“No, you won’t.”

“Why the hell not?”

Something sparked over his face. Sirius almost regretted cornering him in the kitchen before his shower. “Because it’s not eight-fifteen pm and you hate letting me win.”

“Okay, now you’re just fucking with me.”

Remus barked a laugh, short and sharp. He was smiling at Sirius; clearly, he could tell his resolve was crumbling. “Oh, honey, I haven’t even started. I’ve got about nine hours to catch up on.”

“Where’d you get that?”

“I was saving it for a special occasion. Are you going to do something about it, or should I finish weeding the garden?” Sirius had him over his shoulder in half a second, and Remus laughed the entire way up the stairs before he was dropped on the mattress with enough force that the bedposts creaked. “That was aggressive. You could’ve asked, you know.”

Sirius took him by the hips and flipped him over, pointedly ignoring the playful wiggle that showed off the jeans that were practically glued to his legs. “Whatever I do, you’re going to take it, and you’re going to like it.”

He felt Remus’ breath catch under his palm as he pressed down between his shoulder blades. “Oh, I’m sure I will.”

The sight of the loose neckline showing a large section of bare skin did things to Sirius.

The large TREMBLAY stretching across his back did…other things.

He bunched the extra fabric up and hoisted Remus onto his hands and knees, drawing an oof from his mouth before he closed a hand around one side of his ass and squeezed. “Did Logan give this to you?”

Remus’ mischievous smile was all the answer he needed.

The first smack mixed with Remus’ gasp of surprise and Sirius rubbed small circles over the denim his hand had just connected with. “Did Logan give this to you?” he asked again, slower and deeper. Remus nodded. “Was that okay?”

“Yes,” Remus huffed, leaning into Sirius’ hand. “He thought it would be funny.”

“Do you think it’s funny?” Sirius murmured. Remus’ eyes fluttered shut as he released the jersey and moved his other hand down to knead the muscle of his upper thigh.

A grin curled the side of his mouth and one golden eye stared up at him in challenge. “Yes.”

The next smack made Remus’ mouth fall open and pulled a broken whine from him. “You think it’s funny that seeing you in someone’s else’s jersey makes me upset?”

Remus snickered at that, devious and long enough that Sirius paused for a second. “Baby, you’re not upset. I think it’s funny that seeing me in Logan’s jersey turns you on.”

He didn’t make any noise when the third spank came, just arched his back into it with a low hum; Sirius took a moment to admire the curve of his body, then smoothed his hands along the sides and front of Remus’ legs until he could hold the inside of his thighs and cup his dick through his pants. “Seeing you in jerseys always turns me on.”

“What if I wore Pots’?”

Sirius grumbled against the back of his neck and slowly undid the zipper; under it, he could feel Remus’ pounding pulse.

“Or Talker’s?”

“No.”

“It would turn you on,” he singsonged. “I could wear Finn’s jersey. It might still be a little big on me, but—”

He cut off with a breathless moan when Sirius gripped his narrow hips with one hand and slid the other into his underwear. “You were saying?” he prompted with an openmouthed kiss to the exposed bit of his shoulder. Remus’ summertime freckles were in full bloom, speckling him with a galaxy of his very own. He closed his hand around the shaft and ran the pad of his thumb under the head—it was dry still, just barely, but he felt a tremor in Remus’ thighs.

“Logan asked me to return this when I was done with it.” Remus pressed his cheek harder into his shoulder when Sirius dragged his jeans down to his thighs. “He might not want it back now.”

“That depends on whether or not you can keep it clean,” Sirius said as he grabbed the lube from their drawer and slicked his palm; he sped up a bit, and Remus’ eyebrows pitched upward.

“I’ll have—god, fuck—a better chance than you.”

Remus’ nose scrunched on the next smack to his ass and Sirius hesitated, putting both his hands on Remus’ ribcage. “Not good?”

“Meh. I liked it better earlier.” He shifted, kicking his jeans off the rest of the way. “Maybe a different time?”

“You got it, sweetheart.” He leaned down for a kiss—it was a little awkward until Remus sat up further, but they were both smiling into it before his lower lip was tugged between sharp teeth for a quick, sharp moment. “What was that?”

“You’re being sweet again.”

“You like it when I’m sweet.”

“I love it when you’re sweet,” Remus corrected. “However, you’ve already broken your goal, and I’m not letting you back out of this bed until you atone for your sins today.”

“My sins?” Sirius laughed.

Remus cleared his throat and held a hand up, counting down on his fingers. “Number one: copping out of morning kisses. Number two: public indecency at the farmer’s market. Number three: improper use of watches. I’m pretty sure they aren’t supposed to be kissed like that. Number four: Looking sexy with your shirt off in front of the neighbors. Number five: leaving me high and dry three times on purpose. Do I need to get my other hand, or do you get the point?”

Sirius shook his head in disbelief. I adore you. “You’re firing on all cylinders today.”

“It’s a miracle I have any braincells left after that torment. If you don’t make an honest effort to break this bed before eight pm, I’m keeping this jersey on for the rest of the day.”

“I love you so fucking much.” Sirius snapped the band of his boxers. “Though I don’t want to break you.”

“I’d love to see you try.”

Sirius twisted the jersey up to kiss the shallow dips of Remus’ lower back in response. They were nowhere near as deep as his own—Remus had a penchant for leaving kisses and light thumbprint bruises there—but they caught the light just enough to melt Sirius’ heart. He sucked a dark hickey on the bend of his hip, then uncapped the lube and set to work.

For all of his teasing confidence, Remus had terrible control over his own limbs when he was past the point of no return. Sirius crooked the two fingers he had worked in, stroking over his prostate again and again until Remus’ legs shook so hard that they almost slid right out from under him.

Sirius’ arm was starting to get a little tired from holding him in place by the back of his jersey, so he pulled his fingers out and let Remus hold his own weight for a moment while he shimmied off his sweatpants.

Remus shivered in the cool air; every few seconds, a ripple of pleasure washed over him. “Come back,” he pleaded. “I didn’t do anything.”

Sirius shushed him softly and dragged his thumb over the lube-slick muscle before lining himself up. A series of cut-off keening noises slipped out of Remus’ mouth as he pushed in, slow but unrelenting. He bunched the jersey up toward his shoulders until the black-letter name—fuck, seeing that on Remus really did get him going in a strange way—was almost completely hidden in the folds and Remus’ back was on full display.

“Can I—can I—ah.” Remus tucked his elbows under his chest as he dropped to the pillows, twitching as the motion changed their angle. I’ll show you an honest effort, he thought.

“Color, sweetheart?”

“Green, fuck, can I see you?” he panted.

Sirius pulled out and turned him over, then set one leg over his shoulder before entering him again with deep rolls that made Remus clench his fist in the bedsheets. He kneaded the insides of Remus’ thighs until he started rambling, fragments of words that Sirius couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

Remus’ lower back arched with a pillow-muffled shout and his newly-freed leg knocked against Sirius’ side. “There!”

“What?” The sudden change startled Sirius out of the white-hot haze that had gathered.

“No, don’t stop,” Remus begged, grabbing Sirius’ forearm. All his foxlike smirking had vanished, replaced by something almost feral. He was still the most beautiful thing Sirius had ever seen. “Sirius, please, it’s so good.”

“Like this?” he asked, picking up the pace once again with one arm under Remus’ thigh; his eyes rolled back for a moment and Sirius’ chest stuttered at the sudden tightness around him. A moan answered him, louder than the protests of their poor bedsprings.

Red lips, mussed curls, a disbelieving smile…everything on Remus’ face was blissful as he clutched Sirius close. “It’s so good,” he repeated, half-sobbing, half-whining. “It’s—It’s so—Sirius.”

All three syllables of his name tripped off his tongue individually, and Sirius lifted his hips up an inch, pulling him against his skin for as much contact as he could manage. “Was it worth it?” he asked, breathless and sticky and alight with energy. Remus’ skin was salty with sweat but sweeter than sugar; he smelled fucking incredible, though Sirius couldn’t focus on anything but the catch-hold-release of his muscles beneath his hands. “Was waiting worth it?”

“Uh-huh.”

Sirius grinned against his collarbone, snapping his hips forward; Remus gasped and scraped his fingers along his back in shock. “Told you so. God, Re, you were so patient today. I didn’t think you’d make it past noon.”

“I tried so hard,” Remus said as he threw his head back. “Wanted it so bad.”

“You were pretty naughty there for a bit, weren’t you?” Sirius teased, slowing down and tilting his face over with a hand on his chin.

Remus’ glazed eyes filled with heartbreak. “I just wanted it, wanted you.”

“Oh, honey, I know,” he soothed, kissing his cheek. “You did really, really well. I shouldn’t have kept you waiting so long, huh?”

Remus said something, too quiet for Sirius to hear.

“Could you be good and say that again? A little louder?”

He nodded, slow and hazy. “I fucking loved it, Sirius.”

The last miniscule knot of tension in Sirius’ gut that wondered whether he had taken it too far unraveled. “There’s my good boy. Do you think you can be on top for a bit?”

Remus gave his shoulder a clumsy push with about as much force as a baby koala; he settled in Sirius’ lap when they rolled over and pressed their foreheads together, his chest heaving with the effort of catching his breath. “How do you do that?” he groaned.

“Do what, mon coeur?”

“You’re so sweet.”

“What are you talking about?” Sirius murmured as he rocked his hips up and Remus let his head fall to the side. “You’re such a sweetheart. I love you so much.”

“I’m never this nice to y—” Remus’ sentence cut short as he tightened his grip on Sirius’ shoulders with a gasp; the jersey fell back down, covering his front.

“Raise your arms for me, mon amour.” Remus leaned forward slightly, and within moments the jersey was on the other side of the room while Sirius increased his pace and wrapped a palm around Remus’ shaft. “For the record, I think you’re amazing. And sexy, and funny, and far too mischievous for your own good.”

Remus’ jaw went slack, and he seemed torn between rising on shaky knees and pushing into Sirius’ grip; after a noise of distress, he sat down hard and found the ideal in-between spot to circle his hips.

“Look at you, my clever love,” Sirius panted, cupping his cheek with one hand as precome spilled over his fingers. “Just dripping for me, aren’t you?”

“I’m sorry,” Remus blubbered, blinking hard while he tried to focus on Sirius’ face.

“Don’t be sorry, Re. I’ve got you.”

He moaned, wobbly and frantic—his rhythm became erratic and Sirius steadied him with a hand on his hipbone. “Close, close, close—”

“Me, too.” Sirius swallowed hard and quickened his hand until Remus’ abs clenched and he dropped to his elbows, burying his face in the side of Sirius’ neck with a wounded noise. “Are you alright?”

“I’m so fucking close,” was the muffled answer.

“Let go, sweetheart.” Stars were popping at the corners of Sirius’ vision—he had been so focused on Remus’ reactions that he hadn’t realized how fast he had been barreling toward his own edge. “Let go, I’ve got you.”

Remus sucked in a harsh breath, then spilled over Sirius’ hand. His whole body went hot; Sirius pulled out and quickly jacked himself until he shuddered beneath Remus’ weight, holding him against every inch of skin he could reach.

Their bedroom was humid with the heady warmth of a day’s worth of pent-up tension, finally released. “Re?” Sirius asked, his voice scratchy with fading euphoria. There was a faint buzz against his shoulder when Remus hummed his acknowledgement, though he felt no other movement.

Remus wrapped his arms around Sirius’ back and kept his face hidden as his legs straightened unsteadily. “Did I—did I take it too far? With the jersey? Was that weird?”

Sirius combed his fingers through his hair. “Not at all, mon loup. That was really, really hot. Can you turn on your side for a moment so we can cuddle?”

Remus made a quiet noise of assent and dragged himself off Sirius’ front; they were both sticky from sweat and come, but Sirius gathered him close with a few slow kisses to his flushed face. “I don’t like this part.”

“I know.” Sirius rubbed a wide oval from the small of his back up to the tense spot between his shoulders, tracing the small scar there. “It’ll be over soon, though. Did I push you too far?”

Remus shook his head with a tired smile. “That was awesome.”

“You haven’t spaced out in a while,” Sirius mused, talking to himself more than anything. He knew Remus liked the rumble of his chest and his post-sex voice, and let him slot their legs together in contentment. “It happened fast.”

“Yeah.”

He glanced down. “Can I go get some water and a washcloth for us? It won’t take long.”

Remus hesitated, then nodded. “You’ll come back?”

“Two minutes, tops,” Sirius assured him, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

One minute and twenty-four seconds later, he sat down next to Remus and guided him into a sitting position so he could drink some water while Sirius wiped his torso clean. Once the glass was drained and they were both significantly less sticky, he pulled him back down to the mattress and ran a finger down the slope of his nose. “You’re so pretty,” Remus said quietly with half-lidded eyes.

“So are you.”

“We should check on Hattie.”

“Right now, we should cuddle, and then we can take her for a walk once you’re feeling better.”

Remus smiled, soft and sated. “I’m already feeling better.”

“After a nap, then.” He kissed him gently. “No headaches.”

“I love your shoulders,” Remus said out of the blue as his eyes slipped shut. “Great to hold on to, and perfect for cuddles.”

“Thanks,” Sirius laughed. “I’m pretty fond of them myself.”

“I always forget how big you are until we do this. You completely cover me. It’s really fuckin’ hot, baby.”

The flattery made Sirius’ heart pound with affection and he nudged their noses together. “I’m glad you think so.”

“Today was so good.” Remus’ voice was sleepy and thick; Sirius rested his chin on top of his head and sighed. “So good. Thank you.”

“Love you, Re.”

A soft puff of air cooled his sternum, just below his tattoo. “I love you, too.”

204 notes · View notes

bbugyu · 4 years ago

Text

of all the views you had seen, there was little that could compare to him.

6.2k | cavalry captain!jeonghan x gn pyro!reader, genshin impact au, fluff, adventure, drinking, so much flirting, mentions of trauma, honestly this is the sweetest i'm ever gonna write jeonghan

happy inazuma release day!!! it's your local kaeya trash, because i predictably fall for gay bastards that lie straight to my face (example: jeonghan), and i'm here to give you a fic i wrote AGES ago and just polished up a bit to celebrate the release of what is likely going to be my FAVORITE region in genshin impact. i'm japanese so 😅 i have a soft spot. if there's any other gaymer carats out there, enjoy this one. if not, sorry! you can actually probably still read this and understand it for the most part, though you might miss a bit of context of the landscape and the lore.

ps. go tell @babiemingoo that wonwoo xinqiu 🤭

your work with the adventurer's guild was always efficient. you received your commissions, you carried them out, then returned for your reward, usually before the sun had even peaked. the rest of your day was generally spent either basking in the eternal sun of mondstadt, feeding cats in inazuma, or enjoying a hard earned meal in liyue, depending on where you decided to stay that week, finding board and paying for it with the commission you had earned that day. your tendency to wander came less from choice and more from nature - you could call yourself a nomad, but generally, you just got bored, and preferred seeing everything teyvat had to offer rather than settling in one place. adventuring was simply what you were meant to do, your mother had told you at a young age.

she, too, had wandered for most of her youth, and didn't stop just because you had come into her life. you remembered getting scooped up because you had wandered off a bit too close to the railing at wangshu inn as a toddler, playing with dogs at the docks of liyue harbor. you remembered the ludi harpastum and the first time you had ever had a sweet honey roast, and the way it made your eyes grow ten times in size before you dug in for more.

when your vision was bestowed upon you, you already knew how to use a sword. it was important, your mother told you, that you knew how to protect yourself. she had a vision as well, younger even than you had, and you had come to recognize the static in the air as a sign that she was angry - whether it was because of an altercation with someone on your journey or because you had secretly eaten the last hashbrown without consulting her first.

she used her vision and a sturdy blade she had owned since before you were born to protect the two of you on the road, but when she felt you were old enough, she taught you how to weild. a two handed weapon that was far too big for you when you were only fourteen, but when your reckless abandon got paired with a spark, you suddenly became far more dangerous than even your own mother. she scolded you for nearly starting a forest fire when you tried to pair the two skills for the first time after receiving your vision, and you both agreed that training was a beach activity from then on.

your mother settled eventually, after you were old and skilled enough to take on the road alone, pulling the many favors she had gathered in her travels to build a home in a small neighborhood south of liyue harbor, nestled in the foothills of mount tianheng, where you visited as often as your wandering allowed.

you had become much better with your vision. more careful but just as hot. quick to scan situations and strategize in the moment, hardly taking a second before jumping into action, slaying hilichurls like you were getting paid. well, you were, you supposed, but you had been doing this long before you had discovered the benefit of joining the guild. you were good at it. you were built for adventure, but revelled in leisure. there was good reason you were able to take afternoons off, and you milked every last second of it.

"you're back in town?"

you grinned, leaning your sword against the wall and dropping your bag off your shoulders before settling at the bar. "for now."

rubin often served you alcohol - when you were in mondstadt, at least, however often that may be - but never questioned you deeply. he would ask how your travels were, and listen to your stories from regions beyond his knowledge, of the cultures that he had only heard of from people like you. he enjoyed them just about as much as any, if not a little more, purely because your tenacious personality brought something more to the table. he wondered, though, how long you intended to keep living day by day, sleeping in different beds every week.

"what's wrong with sleeping in different beds?" you teased, laughing into your wine glass. "if i didn't know any better, i'd think you were shaming me, rube."

rubin simply laughed, knowing your tone by now. "i just wonder if you ever intend on digging in your roots, or if you'll continue travelling forever."

"if i dig roots, you may never see me again. is that what you want?"

"what," he said. "you don't like mondstadt?"

"i love monstadt," you assured him. "but i also love inazuma. and my mother is in liyue, though she might be upset with me if i try to settle too close to her. perhaps natlan would suit me more?" you shrugged finally, the door behind you opening as you finished with "i suppose i'll settle when i've found a reason to love one place more than the rest."

rubin shook his head, a chuckle falling from his lips. "a wanderer through and through." his attention was quickly drawn to the man entering the bar. "ah, captain! the usual?"

"please," the decorated man said, quickly taking a seat beside you despite the rest of the bar being available. "would you like another, wanderer?"

you eyed him cautiously, studying what you could see if his face around the black eyepatch, gaze skimming down his elaborate clothing before looking down at your emptied drink. "sure."

"another for your wandering friend, rubin, on my tab, please." your brain swirled, considering the brief information you had been given and wondered how you had never managed to meet this regular during your past visits. "are you just drinking dandelion wine, or something more fun?"

"more fun?" you asked. "what are you drinking, then?"

"well, a death after noon, of course," he stated. "don't tell me you haven't had one."

you blinked at him. "i haven't."

you turned towards rubin when he laughed at the back and forth. "shall i make two, then?"

"definitely," your new drinking buddy said, then gestured to you. "you trust my taste, right?"

you said nothing, but he accepted your silent smile as an agreeance. "captain," you said finally, thinking of how rubin had addressed him. "of?"

the man turned towards you, his elbow planted on the bar and his cheek on a fist. despite his get up, he had a playful smirk across his lips. "you mean, my reputation doesn't precede me? you really are a wanderer. everyone in mondstadt knows my name."

"everyone but me," you corrected. "as i'm currently in mondstadt."

his teeth shone behind his smirking lips before he sat up straight. "well, allow me to introduce myself." he saluted, his arm extending from his side at an angle - a salute you recognized from the guards around the city. "i am jeonghan, the cavalry captain of the knights of favonius."

"ah, the knights," you smiled briefly, before letting your eyes wander as you thought, crossing your arms over the bar. "i don't see much of a cavalry in the city, though."

he let out an amused exhale. "so i have a bit more free time these days."

"i'm sure the acting grand master is jealous of all your free time," you teased. "poor guy, looks like he's staving off a panic attack every time i see him. you should probably help him more."

"so," he sighed, leaning against the bar again. "you know of the acting grand master but not me?"

"jihoon?" you asked. "of course i know of him. he's all anyone ever talks about around here."

jeonghan nodded once, thanking rubin when he placed two drinks before you. "people talk about me, also, you know."

your lips stuck out in a pout. "jeonghan, you said? doesn't ring a bell."

he rolled his eyes and picked up his drink, holding it out for you to cheers against. you giggled, clinking your glass against his before taking a sip. the golden liquid was sweet, but not like the dandelion wine you had grown to love in this region. it had more depth, a subtle bitterness to it, and a refreshing bubble. you stared after the glass when it left your lips, then looked over to find jeonghan grinning at you.

"i see why it's your usual," you said, taking another sip before placing the glass on the bar. "i could drink too many."

"will you?" he asked.

"not tonight," you replied coolly. "i haven't asked sana to put me up at the guild yet, and if i get there too late, i'll get a cot instead of a bed. unless rubin finally wants to come clean about something?"

the bartender laughed. "how many times do i have to tell you? we don't even have rooms to board."

you squinted at him. "i know there's something upstairs. i'll learn your secrets one day, rube."

"i wouldn't be a very good bartender if i didn't know how to keep them."

"so you're in the guild?" jeonghan asked as rubin attended to another patron. "an adventuring wanderer."

you smiled vaguely at him. "i am. i have to pay for my travels somehow."

he shrugged. "there's other ways to make money. probably more profitable, too."

you eyed his teasing smirk. "i'm not sure i know what you're implying."

"as a captain of the knights of favonius, i assure you, i'm implying nothing at all," he said, exhaling sharply and adjusting on his stool. he leaned over towards you before speaking in a quieter tone. "but as jeonghan, i think you know exactly what i'm implying."

you only laughed, recognizing the thinly veiled attempt to worm a secret out of you. "i outgrew those means a long time ago. besides, when mora gets tight, i can always board up with my mother. i like liyue enough."

jeonghan studied you as you drank again. "liyue's home, is it?'

"for her, yes," you said, looking over to him, but you found yourself looking away again when his steely blue gaze met yours. you thought carefully about how much of yourself you were willing to reveal to this stranger, especially considering how important he was in the rule of the city. "she was a wanderer, too, and ended up falling in love with liyue harbor."

jeonghan made note of the way your face softened as you spoke about your mother. "and what about you?"

you met his intent look again, thinking about how his covered eye somehow made him even more intimidating. perhaps that was its purpose. "what about me?"

"what have you fallen in love with?"

a smile crept onto your lips as you processed his question. "oh, archons, what have i not fallen in love with? the smell of the open ocean in inazuma, the breathtaking temples in sumeru - have you ever been to waterfall city?"

jeonghan merely shook his head at you, the corners of his mouth turning upwards as he put his cheek on a fist again, leaning against the bar. "beautiful?"

you exhaled, eyes wide as you thought of the towering falls and the light mist that covered the city, trying to come up with an apt description. "humbling. there's nothing like it."

he watched your expression, head tilting further. "what a wonderful way to describe a place. tell me more."

your gaze went to him, then away briefly, feeling suddenly shy as you noticed his look. "about waterfall city?"

he shrugged a fur covered shoulder, shaking his head lightly. "about anywhere. describe your world, wanderer. i'd like to hear whatever you have to say."

you wondered if the heat that ran through you was because of the alcohol or the man, but you just took another drink and cleared your throat lightly, thinking of more places you had discovered in your travels. you thought of qingce village, one of your favorite places to visit, because the people are kind and welcoming and the fields are so beautiful. you told him about a tea shop owned by an old man - he insisted you call him pops so fiercely that you weren't even sure you had caught his given name - and it was probably the most relaxing cup of tea you ever had.

"it's been a while since i've gone," you sighed. "i think i'm overdue for a chat with pops and his tea."

jeonghan was smiling when you looked at him again. "the tea in liyue is unmatched," he said, reaching for his drink. before taking another sip, he gestured for you to continue.

so you did. you told him about sakura pond, about celestia city, about the volcanic black beaches. you told him liyue had your favorite people, but inazuma had your favorite food. he clicked his tongue at you.

"what about mondstadt? do we have one of your favorites?"

you smiled, genuinely. "sunsets. the night sky is different here than it is anywhere else. i think mondstadt is the closest we can get to the stars without joining the archons."

jeonghan studied you briefly, his blue eye flicking over your face as you finished your drink. "i think that's an apt observation. it seems your eyes are always wide."

"i travel for the views," you exhaled. "i don't plan on missing any."

he thought a second. "have you been to starsnatch cliff?"

your eyes lit up. "not in years," you said, in complete shock that you could have forgotten such a place. you pushed from the bar slightly, turning towards him, and he noticed the flash of a red gem strapped to your right thigh for the first time. "my mother took me there when i was a kid, but i haven't gone since."

"it never gets old," he said, sipping at the end of his drink. "i've yet to see that view and not be in awe."

"i'll go before i leave mondstadt again," you decided.

he looked to you. "when will that be?"

you sighed. "not sure, yet."

he just chuckled. "would you like another drink?"

"oh, no," you said, standing and stretching your spine. "i should make my leave. i don't like sleeping on cots. i just came by to let my ol' pal rube know i was in town again."

jeonghan watched you pull your pack onto your back, grabbing the handle of your sheathed claymore from where it was leaning against the wall next to the bar. "perhaps i'll see you again tomorrow?"

you looked at him, a vague smile on your lips as you strapped your sword back on. "perhaps you will, captain."

"jeonghan," he corrected. "but i don't believe you ever shared your name?"

"that was by design, captain," you said, and he swore he caught a glint in your eye as you bid rubin a farewell and stepped out of the angel's share.

jeonghan spun back around on his stool, immediately looking to rubin. "do you know their name?"

"no, sir," he said, looking at the closed door. "they've never said."

jeonghan's gaze went to the empty glass you had left behind, thinking about your stories, your sword, and the signifier of your vision on your thigh. "fascinating."

you got lucky - sana had a private room for you, and said you were welcome to rent it for your stay. she said not many people were travelling to mondstadt these days, and that more often than not, the adventurer's barracks in headquarters went unused. ever since the fatui had holed up in the grand goth hotel, it had been harder for you to make extended stays in mondstadt, but it seemed that something was telling you to stick around longer than usual. you laid on the hard mattress - a feeling that was more comforting than most, thanks to your continuous travels - and thought of the charming captain that had made a night of questioning you. you wondered if he really had any interest in anything you had to say, or if he had been hoping for details about something pertinent to an investigation.

you packed a lighter bag in the morning, only bringing along the essentials as you set out for your commissions for the day. that afternoon, you wandered around mondstadt and asked questions. questions about the simultaneously well-discussed and mysterious cavalry captain that had listened to your tales of travel, and answers came easier than expected, though they didn't contain all the details you were looking for. that night, you waited up at the angel's share to brag about your newfound knowledge to the captain that never showed, and you did your best to not let that hurt your ego.

the next day, you made a detour on your way back to the city after completing your commissions, stopping by springvale to enjoy a well deserved lunch and catch up with some locals. you sat in the grass with a skewer of grilled meat, watching the windmills of mondstadt steadily spin in the distance as time passed, thinking about how rubin had asked you if you didn't like it here.

you did, you decided. mondstadt felt different than anywhere else you had been. untouched, almost. wilder. freer. despite being born in inazuma, your first memories being in celestia, or your mother being in liyue, mondstadt felt comfortable. felt like a home. you wondered to yourself what that might mean.

sana greeted you happily when you returned much later than you normally did. she told you to go ahead to the guild and come back, filing away your reports and retrieving your rewards. you dropped off your things in your rented room, quickly, practically galloping back down the steps towards the entrance of the city to continue your conversation with the adventurer guilds' mighty receptionist without your sword weighing you down. you crossed your arms on the counter, comfortably lounging as you chatted with her, having always enjoyed her conversations more than most. like rubin, she was a reason mondstadt always felt comfortable.

"fancy meeting you here," an all too familiar voice said, and you pulled your eyes from sana to find jeonghan leaning his side against the counter next to you.

"good evening, cavalry captain!" sana chirped, placing your reward - your room free already removed - on the counter and bowing politely. "can i help you with anything today?"

his icy gaze flickered from your lightly curved lips towards sana. "oh, no, my dear. i'm just coming back from an investigation near springvale"

"interesting," you said, eyeing him. "i was just there and didn't see you."

"i wouldn't be very good at my job if you did, wanderer," he grinned. "knight business, you wouldn't understand. got the assignment yesterday."

"ah," you shifted to your side to face him, making him eye the vision on your thigh. "is that why you never showed? rubin was worried."

he looked you up and down. "rubin was, huh?"

you rolled your eyes and adjusted your posture to face away from his smirk. sana looked between the two of you twice before clearing her throat as quietly as possible, making jeonghan let out a chuckle before he directed his attention to the guild's receptionist.

"how goes holding the post, sana?"

she looked almost frightened when the attention was directed back to her. "good, captain! in fact, one of our most capable adventurers-" she gestured to you, "-just returned from taking care of some of our more difficult commissions - no one else would take them."

jeonghan looked at you. "why did sana have to tell your secret?"

your eyebrows quirked upwards. "what secret?"

"that you're good at this. shouldn't you be bragging?"

a chuckle spilled from your lips, and jeonghan watched you as you looked away. "i'm not the bragging type."

he studied you a moment. "what type are you, then?"

you considered the question, wondering exactly how to answer. what type were you? if not a teller, than surely you must be a shower, but that didn't seem right either. you exhaled. "the quiet type. see you later, sana."

he laughed, pushing off the counter as you tucked your mora into your waist bag, wishing sana a good evening and following you towards the fountain. "you sure talk a lot for being the quiet type."

a smirk landed itself on your lips as he fell into step beside you. "maybe private is a better description."

"that one i can see," jeonghan said, looking over to you. he thought of how you had spent nearly an hour telling him about the best views in teyvat, yet he still didn't know the most basic information about you. "do you share your name with anyone?"

you thought. "my mother."

he scoffed. "anyone else?"

you looked to the sky. "rubin."

"wrong," he retorted. "he doesn't know your name, either."

you laughed, looking over to him as you came up to the fountain, spinning and sitting back on the ledge. "you asked?"

"of course i asked," he said, planting one foot on the ledge beside you and placing his arms on his knee. "i asked other people, too. almost everyone knows you, but they don't know anything about you. bits and pieces, but never the full picture."

you just smiled up at him from your relaxed posture on the concrete. "what's wrong with a little intrigue?"

he just smiled back at you. "nothing. i tend to keep a bit myself. did you know there's a large number of people in this city that were shocked when i said you wield a claymore?"

you hummed, dipping the tips of your fingers into the fountain. "did you know there's a large number of people in this city that consider you the most eligible bachelor in not only mondstadt, but in all of teyvat?"

his lips parted slightly as you spoke. "so you snooped, too."

"i was bored yesterday. it wasn't hard," you exhaled. you flicked a drop of water towards his foot. "jeonghan yoon, the cavalry captain of the knights of favonius since he was only nineteen. who loves wine and whose adopted brother runs the biggest winery in teyvat, yet they're hardly ever seen speaking. who comes from a far off land on a different continent, but has come to love mondstadt like it was his home. who wears an eyepatch but has never told anyone why."

he chuckled at the assessment and pulled his foot off the ledge to sit beside you. "so when do i get to learn about you?"

"i told you about me yesterday," you said.

"you told me about teyvat," he corrected. "and while i was able to infer some things about your character, i still know close to nothing about you."

you thought for a moment, realizing no one had ever noticed how little you truly shared despite always being willing to tell stories. "sometimes it feels like i am teyvat. it's hard to think of things that are just about me."

"you could start with that vision," he said, nodding at the strap across your thigh. you looked down at it, exhaling.

"what's there to tell? you know what it means, and that's more teyvat than me, too."

he leaned back on a hand, looking you up and down in curiosity. "how old were you."

you chewed your cheek. "fourteen. you?"

his lip quirked upwards. "sixteen."

you bumped his shoulder with yours playfully. "beat you."

he laughed. "how'd it happen?"

you paused. "you go first."

he just chuckled and looked away, watching a dog wander past the general store. "another day, then."

"no fun," you sighed, brushing your hands together as you leaned forward. "what about the eyepatch?"

he met your eyes, mouth slanted in a smirk. "another day."

you clicked your tongue. "if you wanna learn about me, you have to be willing to give up some details, too. i value a fair trade."

"then stop asking questions that you know i won't share the answer to." jeonghan noticed the color of the sky, then suddenly pulled a pocket watch out, checking it quickly to confirm that there was enough time and stood. "come with me?"

you stared up at him. "where?"

he grinned, extending a hand to help you to your feet. "you said mondstadt's sunsets were your favorite, correct?"

you generally weren't prone to following mysterious men into back corridors, but jeonghan easily convinced you with no words at all that sneaking around the sight line of the acting grand master was completely normal behavior, sushing you with a grin as you giggled, taking refuge around a corner after the two of you made it up to the second floor of the favonius headquarters. he tugged your hand with his, pulling you into a steep maintenance staircase behind a door.

"this feels like it's against some rules," you said, climbing the stairs behind him.

"nonsense," he said, looking back at you and grinning. "are you suggesting that a knight of favonius would break rules just to impress a mysterious traveler?"

you laughed quietly, wondering if he really meant that he wanted to impress you. "not most, but maybe this one."

he only thought for a split second. "if anyone asks, we're on official knight business."

he opened the door and you found the sky again, beginning to glow orange as the edge of the sun began to hide behind the cliffs. you stared in awe at the way the few fluffy clouds reflected pink and gold, then readjusted your focus when jeonghan spoke again.

"i hope you aren't afraid of heights," he said, walking over to the parapets that surrounded you. "the best view requires a bit of a climb."

you looked up at the tower, and while it wasn't much higher than where you stood, you also recognized that you were well above most of mondstadt already. "you climb up there?"

he paused, studying you. "we don't have to, we can just sit on a merlon-"

"no, we can climb," you said, walking over to where he was and eyeing the small gap between the parapet and the adjacent roof. "hop over?"

he laughed, stepping over the gap and holding a hand out for you. "watch your step."

and though you didn't need it, you accepted the hand anyways, and it stayed on yours as you walked over the roof to the tower, as if making sure you didn't misstep several stories in the air.

"would you like to go first?" he asked. "i'll catch you if you fall."

you rolled your eyes at him, dropping your hand from his grip. "you go first. i want to see where the handholds are."

he just grinned at you. "very well," he said, tugging on the wrists of his fingerless gloves to make sure they were taught against his skin before taking hold of a brick. you watched him as he took foothold after foothold, and he resisted the urge to show off by speedily scaling the wall in favor of making sure you had the chance to see where he gripped. when he reached the opening in the tower, he pulled himself up and spun around, exhaling with a grin as he seated himself at the ledge with his legs dangling above you.

"your turn."

you adjusted your waist bag as you sighed in amused annoyance, spinning it to be behind you and out of your hips' way to climb the wall. it wasn't much - a couple meters, maybe - and you had definitely climbed further, but jeonghan's presence made you slightly nervous. that nervousness, however, just fueled you to prove yourself.

you scaled the wall easily, making jeonghan whistle and jokingly call you some kind of adventurer, and your only hesitation came when his hand was in your face. despite your initial inclination to ignore it, you put your left hand in his, allowing him to help you pull yourself up on the ledge and sit beside him.

"impressive," he commented.

you laughed, brushing off your hands. "you, too."

"c'mon," he said, gesturing his head over his shoulder before making moves to stand. "the view's on the other side."

you sighed, looking over the view of mondstadt shrouded in golden light as he stood and walked to the other ledge. "never a moment of rest with you."

"if you want to miss the sunset, be my guest."

you leaned back on your hands and laughed, pulling your gaze away from the city to look at where jeonghan had seated himself on the other end of the tower, and subsequently the view of the rolling hills beyond him that were glowing golden in the evening sun. you blinked for a second, realizing you hadn't seen the sunset the night before, and quickly got to your feet to join him before you missed this one, too.

he gave you a soft smile when you sat beside him, and you briefly wondered how many he had in his repertoire. the wind was stronger higher, whipping gently through his hair and alleviating any uncomfortable warmth you may have had from exerting yourself on the way up. you watched the dregs of sunlight skip across the grassy hills and the sky turn deep orange and bright pink, feet swinging lightly over the edge of the tower.

"i was fighting with my brother," he said suddenly, causing you to look at him with a start before you realized he was telling you about his vision. there was a slight smile on his face as he looked out on the fields. "hyungwon. it was bad. he already had his - he's a pyro, like you - and we were both young and stupid and just lost our dad. we were sword fighting and it came to me when i needed it. it probably saved my life, honestly."

you blinked at him. "you think he would have killed you?'

he exhaled, leaning back on his hands. "i think if the roles had been reversed, i would have tried to kill him, too. i'm grateful it didn't go that way, though." he coughed abruptly, clearing his throat. "we're on speaking terms, and i do love him as a brother, but i generally avoid him."

you let that thought ruminate as you watched the sun sink, halfway beyond the horizon. "my father was in a gang in inazuma, but my mom ran away when she found out she was pregnant. didn't want to raise a kid in that world, i guess? we ran into him when i got older and he wasn't very understanding." you paused, remembering the detail too well. "they were going to take her vision. that's what they did to traitors. probably take me, too. they weren't expecting me to start setting fires."

jeonghan's gaze was on you as yours was on the horizon. "just a couple of survivors."

you looked over at him, a smirk on your lips. "a couple?"

he laughed waving at your implication, thinking he would have said the same thing in an attempt to fluster you just as you were to him. "like, more than one and less than four."

you only laughed back. "fortune favors the weak, i suppose. the archons saw we needed help and extended a fig branch."

"is that what it was?" he asked, a laugh on his lips. "we were both fighting people. that's hardly an offer of peace."

"look for the deeper meaning, jeonghan. we were fighting for our lives," you pointed out, and he realized it was the first time you had addressed him by his name rather than his title. "i was fighting for family. for freedom. is that not the greatest pursuit of peace?"

he watched you as you pulled your knees to your chest, putting your feet on the edge of the stonework surface you sat on. he studied the way the golden rays lit your skin and made your eyes sparkle. "i suppose so."

you paused in that moment for a long while, and jeonghan allowed the comfortable silence as the two of you watched the sun disappear beyond the cliffs of mondstadt. the sky was turning a deep shade of purple when you told him your name, and jeonghan thought that it was quite possibly the best news he had ever received, but he kept that joy to himself as he confirmed your name, and you rolled your eyes.

"are you gonna answer my other question now?"

he scoffed. "about the eyepatch? is it really that interesting?"

"not any more interesting than my name," you retorted.

"completely untrue," jeonghan insisted. "i've never been so excited to be told a secret, and i get told a lot of secrets."

you eyed his smile warily. "my name may be unknown, but it's no secret."

he sighed and shook his head lightly. "you really wanna know the reason i wear it? it's probably not as dramatic as you're hoping."

"yet you hide it?"

he laughed. "what's wrong with a little intrigue?"

you looked away, recognizing the parrot of your own words. "whatever you say, captain."

"no!" he whined and grabbed your arm, making you start and look at him with big eyes. "you just started calling me jeonghan, don't go back to captain."

you stared at him, only breaking to laugh, dropping your legs over the edge again. "you won't show me what's under the eyepatch, so i thought we weren't on first name basis."

his hand on your bicep was warm and gentle, but his gaze was piercing as he thought it over for a bit longer. you did your best to hold it, but you felt yourself shrinking when he quietly muttered, "go on, then."

it took you a second to register what he meant, and you reached out slowly, fingers hesitating before they brushed upon his cheekbone. jeonghan closed his eyes, resigning to your touch as you gently lifted the eyepatch. his eyes opened again, slowly, and you thought your heart might have skipped a beat.

"like chocolate," you commented, and a smile spread across his lips.

"that's the kindest reaction i've gotten."

your fingers fell upon his temple, brushing down gently as you inspected his singular brown eye. "since birth?"

he nodded, his eyes flicking down to your lips briefly before he spoke. "heterochromia. it's a characteristic of my family."

you studied his face. "not the one here?"

he sighed. "not the one here."

the icy blue of jeonghan's eye had always struck something in you. it made him mysterious. commanding. it felt like he saw more than you despite having one eye covered. but now, you felt warm. you felt his gentleness. there was comfort hidden away behind that black patch, and you told him that you understood why the cavalry captain had chosen to hide the eye he did.

but to you, he was willing to show anything that would keep you around longer, he said.

"why me?" you asked, studying his expression when he looked away. the sun had retreated behind the hills, leaving the sky a deep blue.

jeonghan didn't respond right away, and you wondered if he himself even knew the answer. "we're birds of a feather, you and i."

you looked out to the view again, watching the subtle movements of the wild hills. "did you travel much before you came here?"

"it was all i knew," he told you. "i was thirteen when my father left me here."

your neck snapped, your eyes on his profile when he leaned back on his hands. "left you?"

he almost laughed, a smile on his lips when his eyes met yours. "i was slowing him down, i suppose. hyungwon's father found me and took me in."

"so you stayed?"

"i didn't always want to," he assured you. "i had the itch to leave for years. as soon as i was able, i always told myself." he paused, eyes dropping. "then father died. then hyungwon turned down his position with the knights. and i was their second choice."

you pursed your lips. "you stayed for a job."

he laughed. "it's not that simple."

you smiled at him, enjoying the warmth of his eyes on yours as the sky cooled. "are you sure we're birds of a feather?"

"listen," he said, getting off his hands and brushing them off on his thighs. "i accepted the job so that i could set the story straight. i didn't want to run from the people that believed that hyungwon tried to kill me to avenge our father."

you studied him. "i'm sorry."

"don't be," he said, nudging your shoulder. "i was still planning on leaving, but then i fell in love."

you looked away, trying to sort out the way your stomach flipped. "are they still around?"

"not with a person," he laughed, then nodded towards the now dark hills. "with the views. besides, i get free reign whenever i leave for missions. i have fun adventuring, and come home to the best sunsets in teyvat. there are worse places to call home."

your eyes scanned the horizon, remembering the brilliant rays of sun you had just seen skip across it. "that is tempting."

"how tempting?" he asked.

you thought on that for a moment. "almost as much as a death after noon right now."

jeonghan laughed, slightly proud that he had hooked you on his favorite drink. "shall we go see rubin, then?"

you hummed, smiling at the captain. "as long as i don't have to sit alone again."

"that's a promise," he told you as he stood, holding out a hand that you took without hesitation, though he withheld his intention to make sure you were never alone again.

#hehe i came up with a whole thing #this was basically me wanting to write kaeya fanfic but knowing i would wanna post it so writing it about jeonghan instead #caratwritersclub #jeonghan scenarios #jeonghan imagines #jeonghan fluff #seventeen fluff #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #hannie #genshin impact au #jeonghan is kaeya and im just right #i wrote dis

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mldrgrl · 4 years ago

Text

The Matchmaker

by: mldrgrl Rating: PG Summary: Based on this old prompt I got, which I originally said I couldn’t handle, but then inspiration struck and I had to roll with it.

Scully has only just barely opened the door to the dark office when Mulder is shoving a file into her hands and closing the door behind her. The projector is on, but the screen is blank, just white square of light and Mulder’s silhouette as he takes her to-go cup of coffee from her hands so she can shrug out of her overcoat.

“Once upon a time,” he says, handing her coffee back to her.

“Really, Mulder? Once upon a time?”

He smirks good-naturedly and snatches up the remote to the projector to advance to the first slide. “Once upon a time there was a little tiny tree in a great big forest in New Hampshire.”

“Mmhm.”

Scully tucks the unopened file under her arm and passes through the warm light of the slide projector to put her satchel down at her workstation. She takes a momentary glance at a grainy, black and white photo of a large tree and sips her coffee.

“Estimates have placed this particular tree to be somewhere around 400 years old. This is the earliest photo of it I could find, in the Manchester Daily from 1929.”

“Did someone cut this tiny little tree down and release a great big swarm of deadly mites like the ones we encountered in Washington state?”

“No, nothing like that.” Mulder winces and scratches the back of his head before advancing to the next slide, another black and white photo from a different angle, wider so that the tree in question stands small and alone in the middle of a field against a backdrop of mighty oaks and firs and pines.

“Well?” she asks.

“Did you know there are countless legends about enchanted trees? Trees with magical powers, trees that have the ability to heal or harm or grant wishes or foretell the future?”

“Folklore.”

“Every single culture has some kind of legend about the power of a tree.”

“Mulder, you once tried to tell me the same thing about Bigfoot.”

He ignores the wisecrack and clicks through his slides, narrating the images that appear on the screen. “The Jinmenju tree in Japan is said to have fruit with human faces that laugh at people who happen to walk by. There’s the sacred Norse tree Yggdrasil, center of the cosmos and where the Gods gather for daily court. In Iranian mythology the Bas tokhmak is said to contain seeds that eliminate sorrow and despair. And the Hungarian égig érő fa or sky-high tree that only selected shamans are entitled to climb and encounter magical worlds in the clouds.”

“Sounds suspiciously similar to Jack and the Beanstalk.”

“And then there’s the Hart’s Location Flame Thrower Redbud.”

Scully presumes the new slide is the same tree that was in black and white at the start of the slideshow, only now it’s in color. The leaves are multicolored, mostly red and purple, but some are so dark they’re nearly black. Though small, the tree stands out in sharp contrast to the yellow fieldgrass, blue sky, and the green trees behind it.

“Well, it’s certainly beautiful,” she says.

“The locals call it The Matchmaker.”

Scully snorts softly. “And why is that?” she asks.

“If you open up that file I so generously put together for you, you’ll find newspaper clippings from the past half-century, most of them wedding announcements, citing this tree as a key to what led these couples to a happy union.”

“Mulder...you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Of course with any good legend, there’s a catch.”

“Of course there is.” She puts her coffee down and opens the file, but doesn’t take more than a passing glance at the pages she flips through.

“From what I can gather, and keep in mind this is the Cliff’s Notes version of things, people believe the tree can predict compatibility in couples who make the pilgrimage there.”

“And how, pray tell, does the tree do this?”

“Glad you asked!” Mulder advances the next slide, a close up photo of the left hand of a woman. The ring finger is disfigured in some way, appearing to Scully to almost resemble a twig.

“What the hell am I looking at, Mulder?”

“You’re looking at an example of what might happen if a couple is not compatible. There’s an online Usenet group dedicated to finding matches for anyone who’s had, let’s say, experiences with the tree that have left them unrequited.”

“Unrequited?”

Mulder scrolls through the next few slides without comment. There’s another photo of the side of a woman’s face with what appears at first to be a small pinecone earring, but on closer look the pinecone is actually attached to the earlobe. There’s another of a hand, masculine this time, with veins that look like tree roots creeping up from wrist to knuckles. The last one is a forearm covered with a thin layer of moss.

“They say the only way to reverse the effects is by true love’s touch.”

“True love’s touch,” she repeats.

“Hope you’ve got your hiking boots ready and an overnight bag in the car,” he says, clicking over to an aerial photo of a forest. “We’re headed to a little town on the outskirts of Crawford Notch State Park.”

She tries not to sigh in response.

*****

The flight to Manchester is less than two hours and they arrive just before noon. Scully has flipped through the file Mulder gave to her, and though the clippings make for amusing anecdotes, she sees nothing noteworthy or remarkable.

“What exactly is your interest in this case,” Scully asks, buckling her seatbelt after she takes her usual navigational seat in their rental car. “Not that I even believe there actually is a case here, let alone an x-file.”

“You don’t think it’s unusual just how many couples cite that tree as a turning point in their relationships?”

“Not really.”

“You’re not even a little curious?”

“About what?”

“The tree.”

“Quite honestly, I’m far more curious about what you’re going to buy me for lunch than I am about a matchmaking tree.”

He chuckles. “Ah, well, lucky for you our first stop happens to be a diner not too far from here.”

“Yes, lucky me.”

*****

The diner resembles a small cabin and is nestled amongst the trees off the side of the road. She doesn’t want to admit it, but the drive so far has been beautiful. The highway is narrow and tree-lined and it’s autumn. Miles upon miles of yellows and reds and golds and greens and oranges. To say that the road is picturesque would be an understatement.

The little cabin-diner is warm and cozy. A wood-burning stove is on in one corner, easily heating the small space. There’s a long counter with swivel-seats dividing the cabin in half, lengthwise, and four booths pressed up against the front windows, two on either side of the door. Only one man sits at the counter, sipping coffee and reading a newspaper. He looks up briefly when Mulder and Scully enter, but immediately returns his attention to his newspaper.

A waitress in an emerald green, button-down dress and starch white apron comes out from behind the counter with two menus. She smiles congenially as she says good afternoon and waves to the booths.

“Take your pick,” she says.

Mulder looks to Scully and she sees him glance at the counter. She nods and cuts her eyes to the nametag pinned above the pocket of the woman’s uniform. “The counter is fine,” she says. “Janet.”

“Sure.” Janet turns and her blonde curls bounce lightly against her back. Her shoes squeak as she makes her way back to the other side of the counter and places the menus down side by side.

“What do you recommend?” Mulder asks.

“Can’t ever go wrong with a burger,” Janet answers, pulling an order booklet out of her apron pocket. “But, the special today is meatloaf. And the soup is tomato bisque.”

“I’ll do the burger. Medium well. Is that pie under that dome back there?”

“Pecan.”

“More of a sweet potato guy.”

“Yeah, me too. Well, sweet potato girl.” Janet laughs and winks and Mulder chuckles and nods.

Scully clears her throat and slaps her menu down on the counter so hard that Mulder jumps. “I’ll have the chicken salad,” she says, pushing the menu towards Janet. “Balsamic vinaigrette on the side, if you have it.”

“Sure.”

Janet swipes the menus from the counter, scribbles their orders down and rips the paper from the pad to slide it through a small window behind her. Scully adjusts her napkin and cutlery as Mulder swivels towards her and leans in close with his elbow on the counter and his hand across his forehead.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you being hostile to the witness.”

“The witness?”

Mulder inclines his head towards Janet and then raises his eyebrows. “Did you even read the file?”

“I gave it a glance.”

“Janet is one of the unrequited.”

“Too bad for Janet.”

Mulder narrows his eyes a little at her and puckers his lips to form a question. She doesn’t know why she’s suddenly feeling so catty, she just does. No, that’s not true. She does know why she’s feeling catty. The past year her partnership has felt like a game of ping pong, bouncing between extreme highs and extreme lows. And the wedge that was driven between them by Diana Fowley, may she rest in peace, is not far enough in the rear view mirror for her liking. They’re on the mend, both professionally and personally, but she still can’t help but feel threatened in some way when Mulder turns the charm on with strangers.

“I’ll stop being hostile if you stop flirting,” she blurts out, regretting not only what she’s just said, but the way in which it flies out of her mouth.

“Flirting?”

“Forget it.”

“Flirting?”

“Nevermind.”

Mulder straightens in his seat and puts both hands flat on the counter. Scully rolls her shoulders back and tucks her chin down. She lets her hair fall across her cheeks to hide her embarrassment. Janet is suddenly there in front of them again, two glasses of water in her hands.

“Didn’t even ask if you folks wanted something to drink,” she says.

“Got any iced tea?” Mulder asks.

“Sure do.”

“Two lemons, please.”

“And for the lady?”

“I’ll just have the water, thank you,” Scully says.

Janet is gone for what feels like only seconds before she’s bringing a glass of iced tea to Mulder and a small glass dish of lemon slices. Mulder thanks her warmly and for some reason, that makes Scully feel even more chagrined.

“Janet,” Mulder says, reaching into the interior breast pocket of his jacket to grab his ID. “My name is Agent Mulder and this is Agent Scully. My partner and I are actually on an assignment right now that you might be able to help us with.”

“Me?”

“Have you ever been out to see a tree they call The Matchmaker?”

The smile on Janet’s face wavers and then fades into a frown. She stands stock still for a few moments and then grabs a rag from the side of the counter as though she’s about to clean something, but then just twists it nervously her hands.

“What do you know about it?” she asks.

“Not much, which is why we’re here. We know from our preliminary investigation that you’re amongst the group that calls yourselves the unrequited.”

Janet nods slowly. “That’s not...a crime, is it?”

“No, no. We’re trying to determine if you might be the victim of one though. It’s my understanding your contact with the tree has left you with some sort of affliction.”

Janet nods again and then hesitates before tucking the rag in her hands into her waistband and coming around the counter. Both Mulder and Scully turn in their seats and Janet turns her back to both of them. She lifts the hair up off her neck and it’s then that Scully’s interest is finally piqued. The back of Janet’s neck is rough and scaly, resembling tree bark. Scully whips a pair of latex gloves from her pocket and leans closer to Janet.

“Do you mind if I…?” Scully asks.

Janet glances over her shoulder at Scully, looks at the gloves she’s pulling on, and then nods her head. “Go ahead,” she answers.

“Agent Scully is a medical doctor,” Mulder says, unnecessarily.

Scully gently prods the ridges at the back of Janet’s neck. It appears as though the skin is very dry and may flake away, but in reality it’s very thick and does not give at all. Mulder hovers over Scully, his chin nearly touching her shoulder.

“It could be an allergic reaction,” Scully says. “It appears to be a localized eczema. Have you seen a dermatologist?”

“I’ve been to every dermatologist in the area,” Janet answers, dropping her hair and turning back around. “They’ve done biopsies, tried laser removal, creams, gels, cryotherapy, the whole nine yards. No one knows what it is or how to treat it.”

“And you think the tree that Agent Mulder mentioned earlier has something to do with this?”

“Oh, I know it does. I was foolish enough to ignore the warnings and so...well, now I’m one of the unrequited.”

“I see.”

“Can you walk us through how it happened?” Mulder asks.

“It was about five years ago now, I was a senior in high school. Me and my boyfriend at the time, Anthony, we thought it would be like a funny thing to do just before graduation. We’d been together all through high school, grown up on the same block, and we were planning on getting married the next fall.”

Scully lets her eyes drop momentarily to Janet’s hands and notes the absence of a ring on her finger.

“You knew of the stories before you went up there?” Mulder asks.

“Oh yeah,” Janet answers. “I mean, if you’re from around here, you hear all about it from the time you’re a kid. And everyone wants to brag about it, you know? You hear from all your friends, my parents touched The Matchmaker and then got married, but no one wants to talk about the other side of it.”

“You and Anthony?” Scully asks. “You never married?”

“Well, how could we? He wasn’t the one.”

“According to the tree.”

“If it was true love, I wouldn’t be afflicted.”

“You really believe that?”

Janet points to her neck. “I didn’t until this happened.”

“You didn’t believe in the legend when you went there?” Mulder asks.

“Not really. Who would believe that a tree could do this?”

“You folks need to talk to Hattie Vale,” the man at the other end of the counter suddenly pipes up, even though he doesn’t even look up from his newspaper.

“Hattie Vale?” Mulder asks, swiveling in his seat to face the older man.

“Mmhm.” He nods once and turns the page of his paper. “That cursed tree is part of her legacy. Janet, I’ll take my check now, if you please.”

“You got it, Wallace.” Janet gives Scully a wry smile before she heads behind the counter again, ripping a page out of her booklet.

“Can you tell us how to find Miss Vale?” Mulder asks.

“Take the red bridge about a mile inside the entrance of Crawford Notch. Sign’ll say private property, but it’s just to try to keep looky-loos away from the tree.” Wallace takes a few bills out of his wallet and puts them on the counter. “Thank you, Janet.”

“See you tomorrow,” Janet says.

“Miss Vale lives out by the tree?” Mulder asks.

Wallace folds his newspaper and then stands and tucks it under his arm. “Go right at the fork, that’ll take you to Hattie. Go left, that’ll take you to The Matchmaker. And take my advice, don’t touch that tree.”

“You have a personal experience you’d like to share with us?”

“No.” Wallace pulls a hat out from his jacket pocket, slaps it on his head, and walks out of the diner.

“Why do I not believe him?” Mulder says to Scully as he turns back to face the counter.

*****

Hattie Vale’s home is exactly where Wallace says it would be. While the diner was a faux cabin, Hattie’s place is the real deal. Scully would not be surprised if it did not have running water or electricity.

The woman that greets them on the porch is both ancient and spry. She’s stocky and squarely built, wearing a thin housedress and a hand-knit sweater and moccasins on her feet. Two long, grey braids fall over her shoulders to her hips. Her face is sunburnt and weathered, deep lines in her forehead and at the sides of her mouth. She grins broadly, revealing a handful of missing teeth.

“I had a feeling I might get visitors today,” she says. “And here you folks are.”

“Are you Hattie Vale?” Mulder asks.

“Sure am. Who’s asking?”

“My name is Agent Mulder, this is Agent Scully.” He stops at the edge of the porch and holds up his badge and Scully does the same.

“That supposed to impress me or something?”

“Ah, no Ma’am,” Mulder says, chuckling as he tucks his ID back into his pocket. “We’re investigating some unexplained afflictions associated with a tree in these parts referred to as The Matchmaker.”

“You’re about three centuries too late for that, bub.”

“Forgive me for my tardiness.”

Hattie laughs heartily at Mulder’s joke and Scully has to fight not to roll her eyes at him when he gives a pleased grin in her direction.

“Come on in, I got coffee I can put on.”

“That’s not necessary, Mrs. Vale, we only want to ask a few questions,” Scully says.

“Come on in anyway, let me put my feet up.”

Mulder hops up the stairs onto the porch and Scully trudges up behind him. She’s surprised to find that the cabin actually does have electricity and is fairly tidy and well-furnished. The large room is a combination kitchen, dining area and living space. Hand-woven rugs are strategically placed on the wood floors. Knitted blankets are draped over the couch and a lounge chair. There’s no TV, but there is a transistor radio perched on a folding tray next to the chair.

Hattie plops herself down into the lounger and pulls a lever to extend the footrest. She leans back with her hands over her belly and flexes her toes inside her moccasins.

“How long have you lived out here?” Mulder asks, waiting for Scully to take a seat before he perches himself at the edge of the couch.

“Well, I was born here, so I figured I might as well die here too, but I did move out to Vermont for a time when I got married. After I raised my kids and my husband passed, I thought it was as good of time as any to come back. That would’ve been somewhere around 1942, I think.”

“That was fifty-seven years ago,” Mulder says. “You had already raised your kids and been widowed by then?”

Hattie laughs again. “I was born in 1885.”

“You’re 114 years old?”

“Don’t look a day over 100, do I?” She wiggles her shoulders a little and lifts her brows. Even Scully has to smile in amusement.

“Mrs. Vale,” Scully starts.

“Hattie, please. Never liked formalities. So stuffy.”

“Hattie, can you tell us anything about the tree?”

“Maybe why some might say it’s cursed,” Mulder adds, and Scully grimaces.

“A curse? Bah. Sounds like you’ve been talking to my grandson.”

“Who’s your grandson?” Mulder asks.

“Name is Wallace Byrd. He’s my girl Rosemary’s boy.”

Mulder and Scully give each other a glance. “We did...happen to run into someone named Wallace,” Mulder says.

“Wally had a bad go of it when he was a young man. He blames the tree for it, silly boy.”

“So, you don’t think it’s cursed?”

“Not at all, the tree is blessed, if anything.”

“Do you happen to know how it came to be blessed?”

“Oh yes, I can tell you exactly how it came to be.”

There’s a twinkle in Hattie’s eyes as she starts to tell the story of the tree, one that makes Scully even more dubious and Mulder even more interested.

“My four times great grandfather, Jean-Luc Benoit, came to this area from Quebec City in the first half of the 1700s,” Hattie says. “There was a Winnipesaukee tribe that lived nearby and they traded goods often. Jean-Luc fell in love with a squaw from the village called Little Flower, and she with him, much to her father’s dismay. Sensing that Jean-Luc was going to ask for his blessing to marry his daughter, her father met with some of the elders of the village and they told him he would have to ask the white man to pass a test of his true love if he were to take one of their women away.”

Mulder nods encouragingly at Hattie and then grins at Scully. His enjoyment of the tale is palpable. She keeps her gaze straight ahead, afraid she might slip and very unprofessionally roll her eyes at him.

“Little Flower’s father took the advice of the elders,” Hattie continues. “Except, he decided he was going to give the would-be suitor an impossible task. He told Jean-Luc to plant a seed, and only when that seed had flourished and become a tree, could he have his daughter’s hand in marriage. Jean-Luc said his love was unhurried and he would plant the tree and wait as long as it took. A ceremony was held for the planting and to everyone’s astonishment, the tree grew overnight.”

“Overnight?” Mulder asks. “Incredible.”

“I’ll say,” Scully murmurs.

“But, that wasn’t to be the end of it,” Hattie says. “Little Flower’s father was distraught by the turn of events. Instead of turning to the elders as he had before, this time he went directly to the tree, believing the Gods may have grown the tree as punishment for his trickery. He apologized for his wrongdoing and pleaded with the tree for a sign that would show him that Jean-Luc was worthy. When he went home, his village was in chaos. They told him that right before their eyes, his daughter had started growing leaves where her hair was and roots where her feet were and that she reached up to the sky and her arms became limbs and her fingers became branches.”

“She turned into a tree?” Mulder asks.

“So they say. Little Flower’s father was distraught and horrified. He tried pulling her feet from the earth, but the roots just grew deeper. When he saw that he could do nothing, he ran to Jean-Luc and asked for his help. The instant that Jean-Luc touched the tree that Little Flower had become, she was restored to her human self.”

“And since then, people have come to ask the tree to show them who their true love is?” Mulder asks.

“That’s about right. Mostly locals though, passing the story along to their children and grandchildren.”

“Mrs. Vale, Hattie, are you aware of any pesticides that may have been sprayed around the tree or perhaps any poisonous foliage that might surround the area?” Scully asks.

Hattie shrugs. “Been years since I’ve been out by that tree. The state took that part of the land years ago when they formed the park.”

“Have you heard about people coming away from the tree with afflictions?” Mulder asks. “Skin problems, or physical ailments of some kind? You said your grandson, Wallace, believes the tree to be cursed. Has he been suffering from an ailment after contact?”

“Ailments? No. Broken heart is more like it. Wallace brought his sweetheart out to the tree before he proposed. He was a believer in the legend and said the tree showed him that Corrine, that was his girl, was his true love. A week before their wedding she was killed in an automobile accident. He never got over it. Now, he thinks the tree cursed him to a life alone. I tried to tell him many times not to take stock in that tale. It’s just a tale, after all.”

“So, you don’t believe in the legend?” Mulder asks.

“Believe in a tree that grows overnight and wraps a girl up in branches?” Hattie laughs. “You’d have to be crazy to believe in that kind of thing.”

It’s Scully’s turn to grin and Mulder smiles good-naturedly. He stands, and Scully does as well.

“Thank you for your time,” Scully says.

“Could you tell us, what’s the best way to reach the tree from here?”

“Once you cross back over the bridge head due west. The ‘no trespassing’ signs should lead you right to it.”

*****

It really is a stunning tree, Scully thinks, as they stand before it. The photos didn’t do it justice. The sun shines onto the top of the tree, making it look alive with red-purple flames. The branches curve out and the leaves cascade like a waterfall. The field grass flutters in the wind like a golden wave around their feet and the leaves of all the trees that surround them shake and rustle. She has to brush her hair from her eyes and away from her cheeks.

“Well, I guess we should take a look,” Mulder says.

“What is it that we’re looking for?” she asks.

“You tell me.”

“I don’t know, Mulder, I’m not a botanist. Plants aren’t something I ever took a strong interest in. I’m not even sure I’d truly be able to identify poison ivy if I came across it.”

“Leaves of three, let them be.” Mulder smiles as he pulls on a pair of gloves. “Something we used to say as kids to avoid it when we were camping.”

“And somehow I’m guessing you still managed to pull your share of rashes.”

“I don’t know where these baseless accusations are coming from, but I will neither confirm nor deny the generous supply of Calamine Lotion my mother kept on hand for such occasions.”

Scully snorts softly and pulls her own pair of gloves on. Mulder is already crouching before the tree, running his hand over the dirt. He picks up a fallen leaf and twirls it by the stem.

“It looks like a heart,” he tells her, turning it upside down and holding it up between pinched fingers. He’s right.

“Bag it,” Scully says, handing him a plastic bag. “We’ll need soil samples as well. Maybe scrape some bark off as well.”

“I take it your theory is the tree is toxic?”

“Perhaps.”

“Mmhm.” Mulder seals up the leaf and stands back up. “Any of those poisonous plants you mentioned before known to cause skin irritations for over five years?”

“Mulder, I’m fairly certain that contact with this tree is merely coincidence. Take Janet, for example, she could have daily exposure to an allergen without even knowing it, causing that rash at the back of her neck, her laundry detergent, for example.”

“Something that all of the dermatologists she’s been to have failed to diagnose?”

“I’m only saying that there are more probable explanations for why someone would develop a skin irritation than a centuries old legend.”

“Probable, but not implausible,” he says.

“Mulder, you’re crazy,” she answers with a shake of her head and a small laugh.

He pockets the plastic-wrapped leaf and then walks away from her to circle the tree. Scully studies the lush mane of leaves, trying to determine the best possible way to part them and reach the trunk. She puts her hands into a gap and a few birds fly up and out of the tree in a panic, their wings flapping wildly. She jumps back, heart racing. A sudden breeze ruffles the back of her hair and she shivers. Goosebumps prick her arms, but she isn’t cold. Her shoulder pulls up automatically as the inside of her ear is tickled with what feels like a soft whisper.

“Mulder?” She turns, but no one is there. She hurries to the other side of the three and spots Mulder a few yards away, looking up into the white pines that border the clearing.

Scully turns back to the tree and finds another gap in the leaves to part. She cautiously pushes them aside and finds she’s able to lift a section back and step under the canopy of branches. Hunching slightly, she pulls her pocketknife out and scrapes a bit of bark from the thin trunk and bags it. She crouches down to collect some dirt as well. As she straightens her knees, her heel comes back and catches on a tree root and she stumbles. Her first instinct is to throw her arm out and her hand smacks into the tree trunk. She can feel the bark bite into her palm through her glove and the inside of her wrist is scraped in her efforts to prevent herself from falling.

“Dammit,” she mutters, wobbling into her hunched position and letting go of the tree. She pulls the sleeve of her blazer up to inspect her hand. There’s debris on her glove and the inside of her wrist is scratched red, but the skin wasn’t broken and she’s not bleeding. She rotates her wrist a few times and fortunately it doesn’t feel sprained, just a little sore.

“Scully!” Mulder calls.

“Yeah,” she answers, warily.

“Where are you?”

“In here.” She can hear the crunching of the field grasses and leaves underfoot as Mulder approaches. She pulls the cuff of her sleeve down over her wrist before pushing the leaves aside like drapery and steps out from the canopy.

“You have…” Mulder approaches and reaches up to pluck a leaf from her hair.

“Thanks.”

“It matches,” he says, twirling the red leaf softly against the ends of her hair.

A breeze comes up again and that same whisper and tickle of her ear returns. She shivers again and moves her hand up to take the leaf from Mulder, but he pulls it back and puts it in his pocket.

“Find anything interesting?” he asks.

“Bagged up some bark and some dirt.”

“You ask the tree if it was cursed?”

“I did.”

“What was the answer?”

“Stop letting your crackpot partner talk you into fruitless jaunts to the forest.”

Mulder chuckles. “There is some poison oak in the woods up there. You’ll be happy to know I steered clear.”

“Wonderful,” she says, wincing as her wrist burns slightly when she peels off her gloves.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You think those are storm clouds rolling in over there?”

She nods slightly, rotating her wrist in her pocket. It’s beginning to itch.

“I guess we should probably head out then?”

“No argument from me.”

*****

They leave New Hampshire with nothing more than the samples and family legends. Mulder finally accepts there isn’t much of a case to be had, especially when they can’t find any other afflicted locals to speak with, and they return home. They run the samples through the lab, but the results don’t account for any toxins.

A week passes and Scully’s wrist doesn’t seem to stop itching. It’s at its worst during the day at work and seems to calm at night when she goes home. She sees a dermatologist who can’t find anything wrong, but gives her a prescription for an anti-itch cream that does nothing to help.

They’re out of town again, on a case in Iowa. She shouldn’t be relieved to be doing autopsies again, but it’s been awhile since she’s been in a morgue and not out in the field. She’s either too busy to notice her itching wrist, or it miraculously ceases to bother her for the day. When she’s back at the motel, having a pizza dinner over crime scene photos and witness statements, her whole hand starts to feel like it’s on fire. She excuses herself from the table and shuts herself in the bathroom.

By all outward appearances, nothing is wrong with her wrist. It’s not inflamed, it’s not scratched, it’s not even red anymore, but her skin crawls. She holds it up to the light and takes a closer look, running her thumb across the line where wrist meets palm. There does seem to be a slight bump where there wasn’t one before. She checks her left wrist in comparison and then the right one again. When she scratches at the little bump with her nail, she can actually feel a slight pull under her skin. She pushes at it with her thumbnail and then her skin ruptures and what looks like the stem of a leaf emerges.

“Oh my god,” she whispers. There is a pair of tweezers in her toiletry kit that she finds and then plucks lightly at the stemp, but it doesn’t budge. It doesn’t hurt and it doesn’t bleed and no matter how hard she pulls, the stem is immobile. After only a few minutes she’s nearly in tears with frustration. She wipes her watering eyes dry and then goes back to the table to rejoin Mulder.

“I need to show you something,” she says.

Mulder pauses with his hands full of photos and looks at her. He sets them down and then wipes his hands on his pants and leans forward, elbows on the table. “Okay,” he says. “Show me.”

Scully pulls the sleeve of her shirt up and drapes her hand across the table, wrist up. Mulder looks down at her hand and then up at her. He moves his face closer to her arm and tilts his head from side to side.

“What am I looking at?” he asks.

“When we were in New Hampshire, I scraped my hand on that tree.”

“The Matchmaker?”

“Yes. It wasn’t a bad scrape, no skin was broken, but since then, my wrist has not stopped itching.”

“What is that?”

“I don’t...I don’t know. I tried using my tweezers on it, but it wouldn’t come out.”

Mulder picks up Scully’s hand with both of his and runs his thumbs across the bottom of her palm. Her whole arm tingles when he touches her and she can feel something move beneath her skin.

“It feels like...I’m not sure...” Mulder puts a little more pressure on Scully’s wrist and slides one of his thumbs up to her palm. Suddenly it feels like her whole hand opens up somehow and something unfurls out of her wrist like a butterfly to rest in her palm. It’s a red, heart-shaped leaf.

They’re both silent, staring down at her hand, at the leaf. Her arm still tingles and she sways slightly, lightheaded. “Mulder…how did…?”

“I don’t know.”

“What just happened, Mulder, it’s impossible.”

“Well, there is one explanation.”

“Don’t say it.”

“You touched the tree.”

“A tree didn’t do this, Mulder.” She jumps up from the table, determined to pull the leaf from her hand, but it’s stuck to the stem and the stem won’t budge. “I need scissors.”

“Well wait, maybe you should see a doctor.”

“I am a doctor!” She rushes back into the bathroom to get the small scissors from her toiletry bag. Mulder follows behind and watches as she attempts to cut at the leaf and the stem, but the scissors just slide right off of the leaf as though it refuses to be cut.

“Stop,” Mulder says, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Come on.”

“Mulder, there is a leaf growing out of my hand!”

“I can see that, come out here.”

Mulder guides her out of the bathroom back to the table, but she doesn’t want to sit. She stares at her palm and at the leaf while Mulder sits and then he brings her towards him with his hands on her hips.

“Let me see,” he says.

Scully reluctantly shows him her hand and he holds it gently, tracing the shape of the leaf in her palm with his index finger. He pinches the leaf between his fingers and pulls gently and the stem slides out of her wrist without any effort at all. When it’s completely free of her hand, she feels something wash over her that she can only describe as utter euphoria. She sways slightly on her feet, leaning into Mulder and putting her hands on his shoulders to hold herself up.

“Scully?” The leaf flutters to the ground as he grabs her hips.

“Oh, I feel…”

“Sit down.” He stands and tries to urge her to sit, but she holds onto his arms and shakes her head.

“No, I…” She feels overwhelmed by something she can’t describe, but the force with which she aches to be as close to Mulder as possible is powerful. It’s like she can’t breathe, but he is oxygen. It’s like she’s freezing and he’s a warm fire.

“I really think you should sit down,” he whispers.

“Mulder,” she says, blinking lethargically. Her voice is slow and her eyes are heavy. “If it was the tree, then that would mean…”

Mulder puckers his lips a little and his chin juts forward as he swallows. “It would mean whatever you want it to mean,” he says.

Her heart hammers in her chest. She tingles from head to toe, but especially where his hands grip her hips and where his arms press against hers. She opens her mouth a few times, but doesn’t know what to say.

“I heard you, you know,” he says.

“Heard me?”

“When I was exposed to the artifact.” He lets go of her with one hand to reach up and lightly touch his fingers to her forehead. “I heard you. I don’t need an enchanted tree to tell me what I already know.”

She should feel embarrassed, and maybe two months ago she would have, maybe even two minutes ago, she would have, but not now. She drops her gaze to his mouth and then she looks up into his eyes again. By some unspoken, mutual agreement, they both lean in. Mulder bends and tips his head to the right, Scully lifts onto her toes and lets her eyes slip shut just before his mouth touches hers. The kiss is soft and unhurried. It’s tender and sweet in a way that makes her feel warm and secure.

“I can’t believe this is real,” she whispers against his lips.

“What part of it?”

“All of it.”

“Of course you don’t.” He chuckles and bends down to pick up the leaf he dropped. He twirls it between his fingers and then brushes it against her nose.

“It’s just not possible.”

“All of it?” He cocks his head a little and his eyes fall to her mouth.

“Maybe not all of it.”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m having a hard time believing it myself.”

“Which part?”

“All of it.” He smiles, and bends to kiss her again, but she leans away and puts two fingers against his lips.

“Why did you take me up there?” she asks.

“I’ve owed you a nice trip to the forest for about seven years.”

“Is that all?”

“Autumn in New England? I only wish we could’ve found something worthwhile to stick around a little longer.”

“So, you never intended for…”

“For you to start becoming part tree? Not at all.”

“Oh my god, I just can’t...I can’t wrap my brain around it. It’s…” She covers her face with both hands and shakes her head.

Mulder kisses the knuckles on her right hand. “You wouldn’t be you if you believed it. Once upon a time there was a very skeptic little g-woman named Scully.”

“You are not allowed to start any stories with ‘once upon a time’ any longer,” she says, taking her hands away from her face. “Bad things happen in fairy tales.”

“Well you are forgetting one thing though.”

“What?”

“They always end with ‘happily ever after.’”

The End

#i wrote this #xf fanfic #definitely non canon #but set somewhere after The Sixth Extinction: Amor Fati #msr

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j-wont-stop · 4 years ago

Text

The Scarred (Chapter Four)

Title - The Scarred (Chapter Four)

Word Count - 2002

Fandom - Batman: The Dark Knight

Pairing - Ledger!Joker x OC

Summary - Penelope Bishop works at a florist shop in Gotham, barely getting by in the corrupted city. Her life is shrouded by therapy and judgement with little light to find her way with. However, when a certain painted face starts making himself known to her, things take a turn.

Warning(s) - Light cussing, flashbacks/nightmares, smoking

Inspiration - Cold (Aqualung & Lucy Schwartz)

Masterlist

A/N - Sorry for the later post, I’ve been on 12 hour shifts lately and it’s messing up my schedule :/

“The hell is happening?” Penelope whispered to herself as she stared with a wide eye. She carded a hand through her hair, unsure of what to do, what to think. Whoever was behind this, they were intelligent. Patient and calculative. It frightened her. It frightened her and yet she hadn’t even met the person. That was the most unnerving part about it all.

Her hands moved to pick up the larger shards to throw away, then to grab the broom and sweep the rest. She scrambled to look through every hatch, every door, cabinet and closet for anything that might have been left behind. Yet there was nothing. Once more, the only sign that someone had been there was the face that had been cleared already. There was no lingering smell, not even a hair.

“Okay,” She muttered. “Okay-okay.” Her mouth rambled on as she carried out her night routine, heart pounding faster than she would have appreciated as she tried to relax under the warm stream of water. Her feet padded against the cold tile as she tended to her scars, pacing the small room before throwing on her pajamas. She raced to her jacket, fumbling through the pockets for her phone and shuffled through her contacts. The coldness of it rested against her ear as she chewed on her cheek, wiggling the fingers of her left hand absentmindedly.

“Penny?” The familiar voice made her perk up. “What’s up?”

“I just needed someone to talk to…” The woman practically whispered. She made her way to lay on her bed, listening attentively to the shuffling in the background over the phone.

“Oh, ’course, hun,” Emma had an underlying tone of understanding in her voice. “Did everything hold up okay at the shop?” Penelope thought back to the bald man.

“Yeah-everything went fine. Sold three vases.” She started fiddling with the hem of her shirt.

“Three? That’s amazing!”

The voices echoed in the auditorium, the petite woman messing with the tassel that hung from her head. Everyone migrated to their families after having all walked the stage, visiting friends from time to time to say their goodbyes or reminisce in their memories. The woman searched for a familiar brunette bun, but her height made it all the more difficult.

“Penny!” She turned to face the voice, but was soon met with engorging flames. They towered over them all, everyone screaming and scattering in a panic. “Penny!” The voice screeched again, but no matter how many times she spun around and searched, she couldn’t find them. She started sweating profusely, both from the heat and stress of it all. Flames licked her skin, almost teasing it before it grew volatile.

Penelope’s eye snapped open, breathing heavily. Her hair stuck to her skin from the cold sweat she was left in. She laid there for a moment or two, collecting herself as best as she could. She listened to the wind humming through her window, the birds chirping as the sun’s first rays peaked through the clouds. She closed her eye again, imagining the bird. What kind of bird it was, what it was doing. Perhaps it was a swallow? It’s boring, brown feathers smooth as they glided and fluttered. The curious black eyes that fidgeted as it cocked and turned its head.

She took deep breaths, opening her eye once more to sit herself up on the edge of her twin bed. She stared at the soft carpet below her, loathing herself for waking up at such an ungodly hour. The faintest shade of blue colored the sky if she were to squint. Penelope then stood, stumbling over to her dresser to change out of her now drenched sleepwear. She thought about taking a quick heat dump to cool her off, but the amount of energy it took for her to get in the shower right now made her shudder, so she settled with splashing cold water on her face instead.

She trudged into the living room to her box TV, turning it on and having the low noise of the news play in the background as she migrated to the kitchen. She decided to simply pop an egg sandwich from the freezer into the microwave, pouring herself a glass of milk to go along with it. She bounced when she plopped onto the couch, pulling the lap blanket from the top of it to wrap herself up in. Her eye stared at the screen with a bored expression, heavy as she watched.

With how consistent the news was it was a wonder to her how it was never a rerun. The same news anchor, the same monotone voice with the same type of news. A new murder case, Bruce Wayne’s next trip to an extravagant venue, cloudy skies with an expected drizzle all week. None of it came as a surprise to her anymore.

Crime rates continued to slowly increase, the mob being thrown into a tizzy ever since The Joker showed up. Little changed since he was caught and put in Arkham. If anything, the people just grew into a rampage once they found out what had happened to their newfound idol. Penelope would be lying, however, if she said she wasn’t intrigued. From what she had seen on the news and heard from around the city, he was a very finicky person. He seemed so clumsy and careless, yet was always the one in control. No one could ever predict what he would do next, keeping everyone on their toes at all times.

She somewhat felt bad for the first responders who seemed to just be ragdolled from one end of the city to the other or thrown into ever frequent traps when he was out and about. She couldn’t deny that the thought of it made her snicker, wondering how they hadn’t learned their lesson the first few times. How they thought that The Joker being locked up would put their minds at ease. It was all a joke.

A vibration sounded from her phone and she looked to where it buzzed on the coffee table, the green icon showing that she had received a message. She reached over and picked it up, flipping it open in curiosity.

I’m stopping by Gotham Coffee. Want anything?

Emma. Penelope smiled at her phone, fingers moving to reply when another buzz went off. An unknown number, and all that was sent was the number twelve. That was all she needed to know who it was.

———————————————————————

The two women sat at the counter, sipping casually from their now cold coffee cups as they made small talk. Emma noticed how tense Penelope had seemed when she first entered the shop, what with her stiff posture and gaze cast down on the floor more so than usual, so it was a relief to see her smile a little more the longer they talked. They had just finished with one of their many giggle fits when the bell of the shop went off, cutting it short. Their heads snapped to the front and Penelope’s stomach dropped, mouth suddenly dry.

Once again, the light of the shop reflected off of the bald man’s head as his eyes focused on her own. With every step he took she felt as if she just shrunk smaller and smaller. It wasn’t until he stood directly in front of them that she shot up from her seat, scrambling into the back room to grab the vase she previously prepared. Her multitude of tiny footsteps echoed from the back as Emma and the man practically held a staring contest, the latter holding a sickly sweet smile. When Penelope emerged from the back room with the vase her arms shakily handed it to him, sucking on her bottom lip anxiously. With how rough he seemed, the gentleness with which he handled the vase amused her. But she wouldn’t dare show it. Emma looked over at Penelope as soon as he left.

“Was he one of the three vases?” She quipped, quirking an eyebrow. Penelope took a deep breath in, then casted her a sheepish smile.

“Four.” Emma stood to throw away their coffee cups. “He paid yesterday. Said he was picking it up at noon today.”

“How much?” Penelope’s mouth started to water, mouth faltering as she tried to form a response.

“Just twenty-five.” Emma, always having been good at reading people, knew she was being lied to, but for her friend’s sake decided not to push. She knew that if Penelope ever held something back, she did so for good reason. She just chuckled.

“How was it when he ordered it?” Her voice took on an amused tone. “‘Begonia and baby’s breath, please’.” She mocked the man, driving the two of them back into a giggling fit. They wasted the day away talking, trying to busy themselves one way or another until the end of the day. The last hour was the hardest. In silence they sat and watched the grandfather clock tucked away in a corner. Yet it only worsened their predicament.

Fridays had always been slower than any other day, and it was on Fridays that they truly realized that time was never on their side. When they had fun, it flew by. When they wanted something to just be over with, it dragged on. It was cruel. Time was cruel. Life was cruel. Penelope knew these things. So when the clock sounded at the hour they were out the front door, Emma locking up the shop and tossing Penelope a smile. They gave each other their ‘goodbye’s and ‘have a good weekend’s and made their way back to their respective homes. The city was in chaos, full of eager citizens who all wanted the same thing as Emma and Penelope. Some had already made their ways into their local bars, choosing to drown out their lives or celebrate simply because they made it through another week.

As for Penelope, she sat on the edge of her open windowsill and watched. A cigarette balanced between her lips as she struck a match and lit the end of it, shaking it out as she breathed in the all-needed nicotine. Her weekly treat. She rested her head on the wall beside her, the buzz starting to get to her after a significantly larger inhale. She stared out at the scenery in wonder, mind finding its first moment of peace since the last time she had a smoke.

Then a sudden knocking on her door jolted her from her spot, the stick nearly falling from her mouth. She quickly put it out in the ashtray next to her and climbed down to close her window, bare feet skittering across the floor. She stood on her tip-toes to look through the peep-hole, yet no one stood at the door. She unlatched it and opened it cautiously, peeking through until something caught her eye. She opened the door a bit wider to see a familiar vase sat on top of her welcome mat. Her vase. She noticed something dangling off to the side and delicately picked up the flowers to see what it was, and what she saw made her heart make its way to her throat. A playing card. A Joker card dangled from the vase.

#ledger joker x oc #ledger joker x reader #ledger joker #heath ledger x oc #heath ledger x reader #heath ledger #the joker x oc #the joker x reader #the joker #joker x oc #joker x reader #joker #the dark knight #batman #fanfiction

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fics-n-stuff · 4 years ago

Text

Secondhand Sofa

Pairing: Willie x Alex

Summary: Alex and Willie need to buy a sofa for their new apartment, domesticity insues. (Alive AU)

Word Count: 1097

A/N: There is nothing that actually connects them, so you don't have to read it, but I wrote this in the same universe as my previous Willex fic Really, Really. It's like a few years in the future from that.

Alex felt like he was dreaming watching Willie dance around the kitchen, but he couldn’t be because he had just woken up not five minutes earlier. Therefore, it had to be real that he and his boyfriend had moved into an apartment together, and said boyfriend was currently the cutest thing on the planet while they made breakfast.

“Morning.” Alex said softly, a fond smile on his face. Willie spun around to look at him, a grin spreading across their lips at the sight of the sleepy blonde. “What are you making?”

“Pancakes.” Willie chirped, turning back to the pan. “How’d you sleep?”

Alex hadn’t expected to sleep well that night, it being their first night in the new apartment. Technically they had started moving in almost a week ago, but they had only gotten a bed yesterday and still didn’t have a sofa. But, to his surprise, he had gotten a full night of sound sleep and he was pretty sure it was because he’d had Willie sleeping beside him.

“Pretty good actually.” He answered, coming up behind his boyfriend to watch the pancake making process over their shoulder. Completely predictably, both the countertop and the stove were a mess. “I am not helping you clean this up.”

“I don’t expect you to.” Willie chuckled. They reached back to grab Alex’s arms and quickly wrapped them around their own body, smiling when he tightened his hold and rested his chin on their shoulder.

The two of them stood there silently while Willie finished making the last few pancakes, and then Alex grabbed some toppings and plates and they moved through to the living room. The area was sparse – they didn’t actually have any furniture to sit on – but they did have an old table that Ray had gifted them and a slightly ugly rug that Alex had stolen from his parents' attic. They had ordered a TV that should have arrived already but seemed to be delayed in it’s delivery.

“There’s a pretty good sofa at the second-hand store a couple blocks away, if we buy it before noon they’ll deliver same day.” Willie said as they sat down on the rug. “Before you ask, it’s not an ugly pattern and there are no mysterious stains.”

“That sounds pretty good. Is it yellow, orange or green?”

“No.”

“Can we afford it?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s go after breakfast.” Alex smiled, making Willie giggle and they leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek. “You have to clean the kitchen first.”

“Ugh, why’d you have to ruin it?” They sighed.

“Because you have a habit of making messes and I need to get into the habit of making you clean them up.” Alex answered. “If I don’t start enforcing the rules early then you’ll never listen to me.”

The two of them finished their breakfast, chatting and joking while they ate, and then Alex relented to washing the dishes while Willie cleaned the kitchen surfaces. He really struggled saying no to Willie.

The walk to the second-hand store wasn’t very long, and when they arrived Willie pointed out the sofa through the window before they went in. It was a plain grey, fabric three-seater without any stains, just as Willie had said.

“You know, I didn’t expect it to actually be so alright.” Alex teased, earning himself a light punch on the shoulder from his boyfriend.

“Come on, let’s go pay for it.” They smirked, pulling Alex into the store by their joined hands.

Not only did they get the sofa, but they also came away with a couple of blue tie dye beanbags; Willie’s eyes had lit up when they saw them and Alex didn’t have the heart to say no. The sofa was set to be delivered that afternoon but they carried the beanbags home on their backs, earning a few amused glances from the people that they passed.

“Now we’ll have space for guests!” Willie beamed, dropping their beanbag onto the living room floor. “See, perfect!”

“Yeah, perfect.” Alex smiled fondly, setting his down too. “Two steps closer to having a fully furnished apartment. We have about three hours until the sofa is delivered, what do you want to do?”

“Cookies, cupcakes or brownies?” Willie’s eyes shone so brightly with excitement that Alex almost didn’t think about the mess that they would make baking. “Please?”

“Willie, I love you, but I cannot deal with you constantly making messes in the kitchen; the kitchen that I also have to use.”

“Yeah, and that means you can make the mess with me.” Alex wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen Willie look so mischievous, which was saying something. He pursed his lips, trying so hard to resist giving in to his adorable boyfriend. But, alas, he was a weak man.

“Okay, fine, let’s make brownies.” He sighed, and Willie’s smile widened.

“I love you.” They cooed, grabbing Alex’s hand and dragging him through to the kitchen. He couldn’t help but feel that the words were some type of precursory apology for the mess that was about to be made.

+ + +

“I hate you.” Alex huffed, looking at the mess of flour and chocolate around him. “I love you, but I hate you.”

“You helped me make it so you gotta help me clean it.” Willie grinned teasingly. They had somehow managed to get brownie mix smeared across their cheek, and Alex couldn’t help but move his hand up to wipe it away.

“You tricked me. It was entrapment.”

“No, it was baking with your very pretty boyfriend.”

“The prettiest.” Alex smiled, placing a light kiss on the tip of Willie’s nose. Just then, his phone started ringing where he’d left it in the living room. “Start cleaning.”

“You got it, hotdog.” They chuckled, and Alex scoffed as he went to answer the phone.

The caller ID said it was Julie, but when he picked up he heard Luke talking to somebody else – probably Reggie - on the other end.

“What do you want?” He asked, in lieu of a greeting.

“Do you guys have furniture yet? We’re still waiting for a housewarming party.” Luke said, and Alex could just picture the smirk on his face.

“Who said we were gonna have a housewarming party?”

“Bro, Willie definitely wants to have a housewarming party.”

“And so do all of us!” Reggie called from the background.

“So, do you have furniture yet?” Luke questioned again. Alex let the silence drag out for a moment before he sighed loudly.

“Our sofa arrives in an hour and a half. We still don’t have a TV but if you wanna come then tonight works.” He answered flatly.

“Awsome!” Luke cheered. “See you tonight.”

“We’ll bring takeout!” Julie managed to yell before Alex hung up. He rolled his eyes, stuffing his phone into his pocket and going back to the kitchen.

“What time should we expect them?” Willie asked with an amused smile, wiping down the counter.

“I have no clue.” Alex shrugged. “But we don’t have to cook dinner.”

The two of them finished cleaning the kitchen while they waited for the brownies. It was so utterly domestic, and Alex couldn’t wipe the smile off of his face the entire time. Once the brownies were out of the oven they settled on the beanbags with Willie’s laptop to watch some Netflix while they waited for the sofa to be delivered.

The delivery guys were nice when they arrived, getting the sofa into the apartment and not complaining that the building’s elevator was broken and they had to carry it up five narrow flights of stairs. Now, finally, they had an almost fully functional living room. And to top it all off, the sofa not only looked good in the space but it was also comfortable.

“This place is really starting to feel like a home.” Alex said, taking a moment to stand back and take in the room.

“It’s always gonna feel like a home as long as we’re here together.” Willie replied sweetly, grabbing his hand and dragging him with them to sit on the sofa. “I definitely think we could use a few plants though.”

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Say such sentimental things and then immediately follow them up with a throwaway comment.” Alex explained. He'd never brought it up before but it was something that Willie had been doing a lot for quite a while, and it made Alex’s chest feel funny. He wasn’t particularly good at verbalising heartfelt sentiments – it had taken him a while to even get comfortable with saying “I love you" – but Willie didn’t seem to have a problem with it.

“Because I love you.” They shrugged in answer. “And I love you all the time, even during the most mundane moments. Sometimes I love you and it’s a really big deal and it’s a special moment, but sometimes I love you during super casual moments like getting our sofa delivered.” Alex just stared at them, his brain struggling to process what Willie had said beyond how fuzzy it made him feel.

“Okay.” He mumbled after an unnecessarily long pause, not knowing how else to respond. Willie giggled, adjusting the laptop on the table and hitting play before curling into Alex’s side.

“You could say it back.”

“Oh, I love you too.”

“I know.” They grinned.

They sat together on their freshly delivered sofa for hours, watching Netflix and chatting about random things. Their apartment was turning out to be actually quite cosy. They’d been sitting in silence for a while when all of a sudden Willie spoke up.

“You know what we need to buy?” They asked.

“A set of shelves for all of our miscellaneous stuff and more storage for our ridiculous collection of socks?” Alex suggested, practical as always.

“Well, yeah, but not what I was thinking.”

“Of course not.” Alex chuckled. “What were you thinking?”

“We need fluffy blankets.” Willie smiled excitedly. “And pillows to put on the couch.”

“Why?”

“So that, when our TV arrives, we can have movie nights on the couch and be all warm and comfy.”

“Hm, maybe that’s a good idea.” Alex smiled. He pushed a piece of hair away from their face and tucked it behind their ear, leaning in.

“Yeah, I think so.” Willie replied softly.

They were both smiling, faces only centimetres apart, when they were interrupted by very loud knocking at their door.

“FBI, open up!” They heard Flynn call from the other side. Alex groaned.

“Our idiots are here.” He said flatly. “What incredible timing.”

“We’ll have plenty of time another day. Go answer it, before we get complaints.” Willie replied as the knocking persisted. They pressed a very quick kiss to Alex’s lips before pushing him off of the sofa towards the door.

“Stop knocking, I’m coming!” He yelled, then lowered his voice to a bitter mutter, “I swear to God, this better not become a regular thing.” Willie laughed, and the sound warmed Alex’s heart.

He finally had his own space away from his parents and he shared it with the most perfect boyfriend he could have ever imagined having. He reveled in the feeling for a second before he opened the front door and his rowdy friends destroyed the quiet domestic moment. But that was okay, because this was his family and, although he acted like he was mad, Alex wouldn’t want it any other way.

#julie and the phantoms #jatp #willex #julie and the himbos #alex mercer #willie nolastname #willie jatp #willie x alex #alex x willie #netflixwewantjatp2 #julie and the fat ones #willex fluff #willex fic #willex fanfiction #jatp fanfic

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mrsbenedictbridgerton · 4 years ago

Text

The truth about loving you

Polin Modern au

Part one

4.5k

*Here it is - finally -part one! I hope you enjoy! *

Loving Colin Bridgerton had been the joy and the heartache of her life. It was time for Penelope to move on. He was never going to notice her. He was never going to love her the way she loved him. Always travelling, always seeking something... Colin was back in the small town of Grosvenor. But something was different and he had a feeling, it was him.

Also on AO3

Prologue

Penelope Featherington was well aware that, generally, the idea of love at first sight was laughed at. In addition, the thought that a young woman who had just reached the age of sixteen should find the love of her life in such circumstances was preposterous to most people. Well, almost everyone, really.

But she had. Fallen in love that is. Deep, head over heels, irrevocably in love. With Colin Bridgerton, brother of her dearest friend Eloise. Tall, handsome, charming… kind. Yes, she knew within a few minutes of meeting him and of becoming mesmerised by his smiling eyes that he was kind. She knew that he loved his family to distraction, that he was decent, that he was caring and that he did not have one bad bone in his body. That whoever should be lucky enough to win his heart would be treasured and loved…

So, really, one could not blame her for the instant, fatal bolt of something that had left her painfully in love with a man who saw her, she shuddered to think, as almost another sister. And he already have plenty of those. Penelope, being somewhat shy (and certainly lacking in the kind of confidence that would have let her believe she had any chance of being seen in anything more than sororal terms) had hidden her infatuation behind smiles and blushing cheeks. She had told no one - not a single soul - and miraculously none had guessed. She daren’t divulge the deepest secret of her heart to anyone. It was her private treasure; every moment in his presence was a potent mixture of exquisite joy and painful torment. He was the sunshine of her life.

And he was completely, utterly oblivious. He had been both the greatest pleasure and tragedy of her life. For twelve. Whole. Years.

Until one day, as she approached the age of 29 and began to have those philosophical internal conversations that one often has when reaching a significant age, she had a revelation. No more, she told herself, no more…

Something had to change.

Part One

Twelve years, three months and two days of being in love with Colin Bridgerton

With a final few clicks, followed by a deep sigh, Penelope flicked the lid of her laptop closed and glanced at her watch. Six pm. That gave her exactly sixty minutes to prepare herself for the town Spring Gala - otherwise known as Lady Agatha Danbury’s annual party; held every April by the social leader of the small Oxfordshire town of Grosvenor, in which not a soul dared to miss either through fear of Lady Danbury’s interrogation at a later date or simply because it was the first post-Christmas social event, where the chill was finally fading from the air and the dark nights of December had been replaced by the tempting promise of the bright summer evenings to follow.

Penelope didn’t know if she had the energy to face the entire town, but go she would. Really, she should try and make the most of the evening. She would actually miss the predictability of life here. In Grosvenor, nothing of real substance ever changed. It was comforting, but it was a crutch. It was a life she had clung to to avoid making the hard decisions.

As she stood to leave her desk, her eyes fell upon a polaroid. It was a picture of Pen, her best friend Eloise and Eloise’s brother, Colin, taken at Christmas a few years ago, they all were wearing ridiculous jumpers and Colin was trying to stuff a whole mince pie in his mouth. A frown crossed her face. She grabbed the picture and tossed it into the first drawer of her desk, slamming it with a satisfying thud.

It’s time to grow up, Penelope, she told herself.

It was time for a change.

After locking her door, Pen stashed her keys in her pocket and… nearly jumped out of her skin. Perched on the small brick wall surrounding her cottage was Eloise Bridgerton, her oldest friend, lit cigarette dangling from one hand and black leather jacket slung over her shoulder.

“Jesus, El, you scare me!” Her friend smirked and took a long drag of her cigarette. “And you know if your mother catches you smoking she will kill you.”

Eloise scoffed. “I’m 28 years old Pen. I think I’m pretty far past the age when my mother rules my life.” Pen gave her a pointed look as she put out the cigarette on the stone wall before slipping it back in the packet. “Okay, so she could make my life a misery. As you well know I smoke precisely three times a year: the Danbury party, the Smythe-Smith musical evening and Simon and Daphne’s Christmas Fete.”

Pen knew her thoughts on forced social occasions, they were very similar to her own. Forced socialisation was akin to mental torture to the middle Bridgerton sibling because, like Pen, she had little time for the more vapid members of town society, and sadly, they made up a high percentage of those one would meet on such occasions. Which was why, as ever, she was once again thankful for friendship with Eloise. They were as much alike as they were different but there was something intangible between them that transcended the ordinary. On a higher level, they just fit. Many a time they’d postulate over large glasses of wine about becoming eccentric spinsters one day, with a dozen cats each and a cozy little house that overlooked the sea. It was a comforting thought for someone like Pen, who usually avoided thoughts of the future.

Slipping her arm through her friend’s, Penelope pulled Eloise to stand and began to walk in the direction of the Danbury’s large, sprawling house.“And then why do you attend tonight?” Penelope teased, knowing fair well what the answer was.

“Danbury would have my head on a platter - and then my mother would serve it for dinner. You know how those two are!”

Indeed, Penelope was well aware of the friendship between two of the town’s grande dames, both forceful in their own way and both determined matchmakers. “I wonder who they are trying to set up this year?”

“Don’t look at me,” El spat with an incredulous look, “Mother let that go a long time ago.” “Hyacinth maybe?”

“She’s far too busy with her graduate degree. She’s determined to get firsts across the board. She’s now onto her fourth language you know?” Pen did know El’s youngest sister had an uncanny knack with languages, it was unnerving really when noone else in her family spoke more than a smattering of bad French. She’d already also mastered Spanish and Mandarin - helped of course through the year she had spent travelling in China. Oh how Pen wanted to go to China… okay, perhaps not China, maybe she wasn’t that adventurous. But just anywhere other than here. “Pen?”

“Hmm?”

Eloise jabbed Pen softly with her elbow. “You like you are on another planet.”

“Just thinking,” she replied, not really being dishonest.

“Well I’m glad to see I am such scintillating company. I was actually trying to tell you I have news.”

Oh. News. Eloise had news? This was the moment Pen had been waiting for. She wanted El to know first, she hadn’t even told her mother yet...

Pausing, Penelope turned to face her friend and forced a smile. “Actually, I, too, have some news-”

Just then, a large pair of arms wrapped around Pen from behind, hugging tightly around her waist before lifting her and spinning her around.

Oh God. She’d know those arms anywhere. She’d know that cologne. She’d just know it was…

“Colin! Put me down!,” she screamed, wriggling from his grip, “I’m far too heavy!”

Feet landing back on the pavement, Penelope stumbled a second before spinning on her heel to face him.

“Nonsense, you are light as a feather Pen,” Colin replied, grinning as reached forward and pressed a loud kiss on her cheek - leaving the patch of skin his lips had touched tingling and a deep blush threatened to engulf her face. Thank god it was getting dark already.

“That was my news,” Eloise announced smugly, crossing her arms. “Brother three is back on British soil.”

Stunned was not quite the word to describe Penelope’s state of mind as she stared at Colin Bridgerton. Colin with his warm, wide smile and deep, dark eyes… eyes she had drowned in more times that she cared to count. His thick, brown hair had grown and now licked at the collar of his shirt. But otherwise, Colin had changed very little in the six months since she had last seen him - and indeed in the twelve years since they had met.

“Colin,” she began, still a little tongue tied from the brief kiss and, moreso, his entirely unexpected return, “But you were in Australia?”

“I decided to come home.”

“Clearly,” she mumbled, her head whirl. He always had that effect on her. His mere presence sent her stomach into knots and her head into a whirl and thinking clearly was almost impossible. “How wonderful,” she added.

She was dizzy. She felt a headache coming on. Actually, she felt just a little sick. Why was he back? Why? He was supposed to be gone for another five months. She should really have guessed that this might happen, Colin’s plans were always flexible and his adventures were subject to whatever whim or passion he was currently in the midst of. Still, it was unlike him to return from a trip early. It would have made more sense for him to spend those extra months exploring some other little corner of the world( and giving her the time she needed). Time for Penelope to make all the changes to her life that her carefully made plans had necessitated. Time for her to finally get over him. Severing her childish adoration for this man was the only way of moving forward with her life and just as she was about to make the great leap into the unknown… there he was. Same old Colin.

Damn, she was tired of loving him. Because the truth about loving Colin Bridgerton was that it was equal parts heaven and hell.

“Pen!” El shouted, breaking her reverie. “You phased out on me again.” Penelope gave a wan smile. “So what were you going to tell me before my idiot brother here interrupted us?”

“Oh,” she shrugged, “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

Lady Danbury, of course, had planned her event to perfection. A string quartet greeted visitors in the large, marble lined vestibule of Danbury Hall and uniformed wait staff meandered around the milling guests carrying shining silver platters of champagne and fancy-looking canapes. As the trio arrived, friends of Colin’s surrounded the siblings and welcomed their friend home. Colin had always been extremely popular. Between his good nature, sense of humour and ability to make whomsoever he conversed with feel important and noticed, he has managed to forge friendships with almost every inhabitant of Grosvenor.

Seeing an exit, Penelope grabbed a flute of champagne from the first passing server and managed to sink down half of it in one swift gulp as she headed towards the large ornamental garden that was accessed from the house’s terrace. She needed a moment. She needed air. She needed to think.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. He was supposed to be thousands of miles away.

She really had convinced herself that she was growing out of her feelings from him. It was quite ridiculous. It had been over TWELVE years. She’d mooned over him all through her teens and twenties, both cursing and thanking her friendship with Eloise for placing them in such close conspiracy. Being close to him and watching him over the years had only deepened her feelings whilst simultaneously feeding a torturous sense of insecurity. It was a curse. Any man she met was instantly compared with Colin. Was he as kind as Colin? Was he as generous as Colin? Did he make her laugh like Colin did? Did she dream of sinking her hands into his hair the way she did with Colin? Would he kiss like Colin... The list was endless.

Admittedly, the few fleeting relationships she had found herself in over the years had little longevity in them on their own merit. If a man showed an interest in her she was flattered - and flattery led her to trying to like them too. But no matter how much she tried, it was impossible to force attraction, or even friendship, and spending an evening with any of them was a close second to a glass of wine and a good book. So almost permanently single, she’d hidden her feelings under the guise of a bright demeanor and focused herself on building a career and becoming more than a woman driven by her emotions. Well, she had tried.

Tried and failed miserably as proven by her visceral reaction to his presence that evening. Who was she kidding? The only way to finally free herself from this madness was to take herself out of the equation. Physically.

With a sigh, she downed the rest of her glass and left it on a little decorative iron table that edged the patio. There was little use in ruining the evening by letting herself sink into a mood. Tonight he was here and there was little she could do about it.

Colin was home. Jetlagged, overtired and not-quite sure exactly what the time was, but he was back in Grosvenor with his luggage already deposited in his childhood room at Aubrey Hall. As expected, nothing of any note had changed in Grosvenor in the half a year he had spent travelling across Australia. It never did actually. Not during his tour of Europe, his kayak trip down the Amazon nor those six months spent trekking in India. There was something comforting about that. Home was always home. With very little change to have to acquaint oneself with when returning after a prolonged absence.

Except… Well… She looked different. Penelope did. No, that wasn’t right. Penelope was the same as always. Pen was always there when he came back: she was dependable, as much a part of home as his mother’s Sunday lunches or the broken clock at the town hall - and inevitably joined at the hip with his sister Eloise. But something was different this time.

When he’d seen her across the street, he’d stalked up to her as he often liked to, picking her up and spinning her around - it was an old trick that had started so long ago he’d forgotten exactly how or why. Yet this time he didn’t just feel the sense of enjoyment in making his friend laugh, as he picked her up he had immediately noticed the curve of her hips and the brush of her breasts against his arm. Startled, he had let go, only for her to turn to him with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes and- well -it was different. He’d always known Penelope was a woman, but tonight for some reason, he knew.

While he had been awake for over 30 hours (thanks to a delightful assortment of caffeinated beverages), he could not blame the tightening in his gut and the moment of breathlessness he felt in that brief moment on sheer exhaustion. In fact, he’d felt a rush of adrenaline and a kick of excitement, as if he had just discovered something new. Something that no one else knew. It was… unsettling. But not exactly in a negative way.

Puzzled and curious, Colin made light work of greeting those old friends who didn’t yet know he had returned and then left Eloise to be grilled by their sister Daphne and her husband Simon about just when she planned on moving out of Aubrey Hall. He slipped away quietly. The simple solution to his confusion was to go and talk with Penelope as he normally would. Surely that would settle whatever had affected him so much. He needed to have a nice, normal conversation with her. It was understandable, he supposed, for friendships to be a little strange after such a time. It hadn’t happened before between them, but still...

It was in the garden that he found her. The evening was still light, the sun turning a hazy orange behind the springtime clouds. He’d left Australia as the summer was turning to autumn and here he was about to experience summer yet again. The idea made him smile. Summer was always his favourite time of year. It seemed filled with so much promise - the days were long, the weather fine and even the gloomiest of souls could not retain their negativity when faced with an English summer’s day.

“Pen,” he said as he approached where she stood at the edge of the ornamental gardens. In one hand, she had a full flute of champagne and in the other an impossibly sized canape. She seemed to be studying the canape and deciding how best to approach it’s consumption - not easy when it took the form of an oversized base of puffed pastry topped with a heavy dollop of cream cheese and an artful sprinkling of caviar (Colin had always appreciated good food). Her eyes met his and she smiled, perhaps a little self consciously.

“Colin, I thought you were enjoying a hero’s welcome.”

He smirked a little, “I should hardly think my travels are an accomplishment. Indeed, mother sees them as somewhat the opposite.” His mother was actually very supportive of her son’s desire to see more of the world, but she had mentioned many times how perhaps spending every penny he earned on the endeavour was not the best forward planning. A large part of him knew she was right. The transient lifestyle he had lived for so long was starting to wear on him if truth were told. Not that the urge to discover new places would ever leave him, but perhaps the way it manifested in his life needed to change. More to think on later, he supposed. “Anyway, I’m reliably informed that my mother is planning a welcome home and belated birthday party very soon. My loyal fans can fawn over me then,” he teased

“Oh,” Penelope gasped, “Your birthday was last month - I didn’t exactly forget I just - well, with all the travelling I didn’t even know where to send you a card. Here,” she said pushing the canape in his direction, “A present. I’m sure you are starving.”

“Oh no no no,” he chuckled, pushing her hand back. “I could not possibly deny you the pleasure of… that.”

Penelope frowned as she glanced at the oversized canape. Really, Colin was being a little cruel. Even he, who had never been accused of being small of mouth, would struggle to eat that with some semblance of dignity. But Penelope’s pouting pink lips were perfectly proportioned for her petite heart shaped face, forming a flawless pout as she considered the clearly impossible challenge. Colin, for his part, was seriously contemplating the lush fullness of her bottom lip until Penelope let out a deep sigh, opening her mouth wide and pushing the entirety of it inside. Colin sucked in a quick breath. As she chewed a drizzle of cream spread across her lip and he watched, hypnotised, as her tongue slipped out and cleared it away. There was something startlingly erotic in the moment and he found himself transfixed. Their eyes met as her jaw worked, the silence between them somehow startlingly loud, even as the sound of the party increased behind them in the house. Not breaking the eye contact, Penelope took a long sip of her champagne. “Done,’ she murmured softly.

The edges of his lips curled as he reached forward and brushed a crumb of pastry from her petal soft cheek. “Was it enjoyable?” he asked quietly.

Wordlessly, she nodded.

And, hell, he had enjoyed it too.

‘Well then, I’d say I’m rather jealous.” He was overcome with a sudden urge to kiss her. He wanted to step closer to her, wrap his hands around the devastating curve of her hips, press his body to hers so those lush breastswere flush against his chest and then he would taste those maddeningly erotic lips. The idea pulsed through him. She was staring. Her blue eyes widening. He reached for the glass in her hands, intending to set it down-

Buzzz. Buzzz. Buzzz.

The moment was broken by the vibrations of a mobile phone. It took Pen a few seconds to acknowledge it was hers, a confused look crossing her face until she fished the device from her jeans pocket.

“Pen? PEN? Where are you?” Eloise’s voice bellowed down the line.

“Eloise,” she mouthed to him, though he had no trouble hearing his sister, who was never known for her subtilty. “You need to get here. Daphne is PREGNANT!”

“Oh,” Pen smiled, looking back at him. “I think we should head back to the others.”

Wordlessly he nodded. His sister - for whom motherhood had always been so important - announcing her first pregnancy, was certainly something he wanted to be there for. “C’mon,” he whispered, holding out his arm, “Time to play proud big brother.”

Further exploration of his newfound fascination with Penelope Featherington’s lips would have to wait.

Hours later...

The world was silent when they reached her cottage. An intrepid white cat darted across the street as a gust of wind rustled the branches of the small oak tree that dominated the garden of Penelope’s cottage. Despite the light chill to the air, she was wearing a warm coat of alcohol, her cheeks glowing as they always did when she had drunk champagne. Pleasantly tipsy, she leaned into Colin, his warmth comforting against her side as she fumbled in her pocket for her key.

“Thank you,” she said quietly as she opened the half gate that breached the stone wall around her home “But you really didn’t have to walk me all the way home. I’m a big girl, you know.” There was a double meaning to her words; yes she wasn’t exactly young, but she also wasn’t exactly small in size - the phrase ‘curves in abundance’ could have been written just for her, she had thought on more than one occasion.

“It was my pleasure,” Colin replied, “It was a fine excuse to leave before the revels became too tiring- you know these things can go on until morning and I already feel like I could sleep for a year.” With that, he yawned and ran a hand through his hair. Pen watched those lightly tanned fingers come through the dark chestnut locks and swallowed down a sigh.

“Well,” she nodded, “I’d say that it’s time to say goodnight.” For a second, she fidgeted, her keys jangling on her finger. Impulsively, she reached out her hand and immediately felt ridiculously awkward. She and Colin did not shake hands. She didn’t shake hands with anyone. Ever. She cleared her throat and felt her cheeks deepen in colour. Oh god. After their strange moment in the garden, things had felt almost normal between them as they congratulated Daphne and Simon and then passed the rest of the evening hearing stories from Colin’s travels and bringing him up to date with the (somewhat limited) local gossip he had missed. And so when he had insisted on walking her home, she hadn’t been overly wary. Yet now… now they were alone on her quiet street and he was staring at her so oddly that she was actually finding it difficult to breathe-

“Good night,” he said softly, reaching down to bring her into a hug. It was a beautiful, warm embrace, her face almost nestling against his neck so that she could enjoy his musky, soft cologne. This was nice. This was safe. Friends hugged.

She made to pull away, but he only loosened his grip a small amount. Looking up he was so very close. His dark, velvet eyes fixed upon hers. “Pen…” he whispered, a look of concentration upon his face. She tried to wriggle gently free of his arms, his close inspection feeling uncomfortable and somehow searing.

And then he kissed her. Just like that.

His lips were against hers, his hands slipped up her back, his mouth suddenly urgent and wonderful and if Penelope could have imagined his kiss a thousand times she could not have imagined this. He pressed her back against the door, his tongue sweeping into her mouth with a satisfied groan. Her hands, which had been limp around his neck, surged into his thick locks, the satin strands feeling obscenely good between her fingers. He pushed his hips forward, anchoring her in place, his mouth tracing her jaw and then her neck, one hand racing down to cup her buttocks and squeeze just hard enough to make her gasp in surprise.

Colin Bridgerton was kissing her.

Colin was kissing her.

Colin.

Suddenly, she froze, pushing against his shoulders. “Are you drunk?” she panted.

“No,” he frowned, “Are you?”

“No,” she admitted, shaking her head. And, oh she was thankful that she would remember every moment of this...

Without her noticing, Colin had taken the key and opened the door behind her. Quickly, they fell inside. Their arms instantly back around each other and the kiss resumed and it was intoxicating. It was magnetic. It was drugging… Penelope had never been kissed like this before.

Colin was nibbling at her neck and pulling her shirt out from her jeans. She dug her fingers into the firm muscles of his shoulders and felt herself being swept away.

“Wait-”

He paused and looked up.

Penelope took a step backwards. This had to stop. It was madness. “I-I can’t do this right now. I-”

His face creased in confusion. “Pen?”

She began pushing her shirt back into her jeans. “I need to think. I need to sleep. I-” She sighed and pursed her lips. She couldn’t believe what was happening. She couldn’t believe what she was doing.

He responded with a small nod and a whispered, “Okay.” He reached back and placed his hand on the doorknob, before adding, “Later?’

And Penelope tried to smile.

Colin left, the door closing softly, followed by the clip of footsteps and the creak of her gate. Quickly, she locked the door and then stared at it.

And then Penelope Featherington started to cry.

Oh god, what the hell just happened?

To Be Continued...

#bridgerton #bridgerton ff #bridgerton fanfiction #Colin Bridgerton #Penelope Featherington #penelope x colin

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shipmistress9 · 4 years ago

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FTLOAP: Chapter 50: Just One Chance, Just One Breath

For The Love Of A Princess Masterpost

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AN:

! 3 YEARS! !

Today (April 3rd), it's been three years since I posted the prologue to this story. Meeting this anniversary served as a great deadline for me to finally finish editing this chapter.

Also, I can't believe it's really been that long! I never planned for this story to grow so big or to only write so little for it. But I'm going to power through, I still love this story very much.

I want to apologise it again took so long. January and February were bad for me, mentally, and I barely had enough energy to get through the day, let alone do just about anything in addition. Even the 'short' one-shots I posted in this time took me weeks to write instead of the usual one or two days. And I can't predict how long the next update might take, life is just chaos these days.

Now to this chapter. Finally, things are happening! I'm very excited about this chapter and the following event, and about your reactions, too.

This chapter's title comes from the song Far Away by Nickleback. It's one of my favourite songs all around, and the sentiment of this one quote felt very appropriate for this chapter.

. o O o .

There was a constant drizzle coming from the grey sky above them. It made Hiccup wish he was already wearing his warm travelling coat instead of the colourful attire that marked him as Eret’s squire so he could pull it tighter around himself. He couldn’t concentrate. Right at this moment, the King was giving his opening speech for the Dragon Hunt, with them all being packed and ready to get going any minute now. He should listen, should pay attention, if not for any important information then at least out of respect.

But no matter how hard he tried, he didn’t hear a single word; his heart was beating in his throat and drowned out every other sound. His eyes kept shifting away from the King too, constantly moving a bit to the left to where Astrid stood a step behind her father and beneath a hastily built canopy. As if she was too delicate to be subjected to the weather. She wore her mask of a pleasant smile, her eyes gliding around slowly, resting nowhere.

Gods, he hadn’t even left yet, but he missed her already! They hadn’t really talked since their saying goodbye in Eret’s suite two days ago. Yesterday had been busy with the journey to Oramond—which Astrid had been made to spend in a carriage—and she’d taken all her meals with Eret, Dagur, and their fathers. Frigga, they’d barely even seen each other, and he’d missed her so much. Could he really leave and endure several days without her? It felt so wrong.

But once again not being able to interact with her in over a day had reminded him of just how much he needed her in his life. It reminded him of why he had to follow through with their plan. They only had this one chance to ensure their future by following the path the Gods had wanted him to take, by doing what came naturally to him. He could do this! He had to…

Eventually, the King ended his speech with a reminder of the glory and the new life that was waiting for the winner—as if he needed that reminder. Then he, Eret, Dagur, and their small group of guards rode through the crowd to set out as the first participants. They all turned their heads as they rode past the King and the group around him. Silent nods were exchanged and to satisfy those watching, Eret even blew a kiss in Astrid’s direction. Her smile grew a little warmer, making Hiccup’s heart beat in his throat. Then her gaze glided on, over the rest of their group, and eventually, their eyes met. It lasted for less than one second before she looked away again, but to him, the emotions and the meaning in that brief exchange were tangible. Real, full of love and reassurance. The promise that they would soon be together again. It was a moment he would cherish, something to hold on to.

Then he took a last deep breath and turned away, toward the road ahead of them.

It felt like ripping out his heart.

. o O o .

Hiccup wasn’t sure whether to call it a lucky streak or just good preparation, but as everything worked out as planned, he was willing to go with either.

Both Eret and Dagur had been given a group of three guards from their fathers and a couple of pack horses. They rode hard—trying to bring as much distance between themselves and the other participants that would follow—and by noon, they reached their first stop.

It was a village of medium size. The people here obviously expected visitors, the hunt was no secret, after all, and it didn’t take long until the high lords and their entourage had gained rooms to stay in during the following days.

Hiccup spent an hour visibly busy with getting them settled in. He unpacked his and Eret’s things, arranged for them to get their food delivered to their rooms, and made sure that Cassie, Crusher, Squish, and the other horses were taken care of. But once he was sure that nobody paid him much attention anymore, he focussed on his main course again.

Back in the room he was supposed to share with Eret, he quickly changed his clothes; out of the flashy attire of a squire and into nondescript but practical travelling clothes made of wool and leather.

With his hand lingering on Astrid's key around his neck, he gave himself a moment to think of her. Now that there were actually dozens of miles between them, he felt their separation even more acutely. It felt as if something was tugging at him from the inside, urging him to get back to her, to hold her, to never let go. And a major part of him wanted nothing more than to give in to that urge, too. No matter how confident he was about this whole plan, Astrid had been right as well. Being apart from her was just wrong.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed these thoughts and feelings aside. He couldn’t afford to be distracted now. Now, he had to concentrate on his plan; being with her had to wait until he was back. Until he’d killed a dragon and returned to become a count. Until he had the land and title necessary to ask for her hand. Until he was truly worthy of her. Oh, he couldn’t wait.

Feeling a little lighter, he reached for the bundles he hadn’t unpacked earlier. They contained all he needed for the Hunt, some weapons, a few emergency rations of food, and more practical equipment he needed for a couple of days in the wilderness. And, most importantly, the bola shooter.

He threw the bags over his shoulder, then reached for the last thing he needed, the cloak Astrid’s servants had provided him with. In itself, it was an ordinary cloak, black with a blue border. What made it special however was the badge and sigil that came with it, marking the wearer as an official royal courier. It would allow him to change horses whenever he needed and ensured that he got a bed and a meal as long as he travelled along the road. He even had a letter to top off his disguise, complete with a wax seal of House Jag’r. He just hoped that he wouldn’t need this and that Eret wouldn’t get into trouble for providing him with this false message.

He didn’t pause to say his farewell to his cousin. Too easily someone could overhear them, could stop him, or could pin his leaving without permission on Eret. He and Dagur already had done enough for him; he didn’t want to risk any further trouble.

Instead, he sneaked into the stables and readied the two pack horses Eret and Dagur had brought, then left without anyone paying him any attention.

Being on the road then was a relief. It meant another part of their plan had worked perfectly. Hiccup rode for another two hours before he changed the tired horses at the next way station. A part of him wished he could take a break as well, to eat and to warm up at a hearth. He’d missed out on the meal he’d ordered for Eret in that inn and the drizzling rain was wearing on his strength. But taking a break wasn’t possible, not if he wanted to stay ahead of everyone else and out of reach of whoever might or might not be following him. So instead, he just switched to the well-rested horses a helpful stablehand provided him with and, chewing on some dried meat from his travelling rations, continued on his way up north.

He again got remounts in the evening, then rode on until long past nightfall before he stopped at an inn for the night. But despite being tired to the bones, from the second day spent in the saddle and the cool drizzle having crept through all his clothes, sleep didn’t come easily to him. His mind couldn’t find rest and for a long while, he just kept shifting from one side to the other. His thoughts kept circling around the task that lay ahead of him, around the dull sense of someone possibly following him, and around Astrid.

Gods, he missed her so much. What wouldn’t he give to hold her in his arms now, to listen to her soft breathing and breathe in her mayweed scent? Trembling, he curled into a tight ball, his hand pressed to his chest, and took a few deep and calming breaths. She was always with him; he reminded himself. Within him, their bond was tangible, pulsing like a second heart. It was warm and reassuring and real. Nothing would ever come between them, not even distance…

And soon, he would be with her for real again, too. Just a few days…

. o O o .

On the second day of the Hunt, Hiccup’s lucky streak still seemed to go on. Or that was what he tried to tell himself, at least. He was still tired, even after some hours of rest, but after a quick but tasty and filling breakfast, he was back on the road in no time. And while the rain had kept on during the night, it had stopped by now. The sky was still cloudy and the air cool, but thanks to the trees and hills around them, the wind didn’t affect him too much.

Not once did he encounter other participants of the Hunt, not by chance and not someone who might be searching for him either. Apparently, he was safe from any followers, and all Astrid’s worries had been for nothing.

Around noon, he reached another village. Although, it wasn’t even that, really, mostly a way station and a few additional buildings around it. But it was nonetheless an important place as it was the last station of his journey before he would have to leave the road and head into the swamplands.

“Now, things are getting serious,” he murmured to himself, then chuckled. Talking to himself had been a habit he’d picked up during his years of travelling on his own, to not feel quite as lonely. Almost a year had passed since then, but apparently, old habits died hard.

Pressing his legs against the horse’s sides, he rode toward what had to be the stables. “Hello?” he called, looking around for someone to take over his tired horses.

There was a grunt followed by heavy footsteps, then a burly man in a brown leather vest and with a bald head came into sight. “Oi, stranger.” He looked Hiccup over, his eyes pausing on the badge on Hiccup's cloak. “A messenger, eh? We don't see many of you around here. I’m Owen. You need horses, boy?”

Hiccup nodded, but then directly shook his head. “I do. But before I ride on... Do you have a tavern around here? Somewhere where I can get something to eat?”

“No tavern,” Owen said, but nodded toward a building on the other side of the road. “But you can get food in the main building over there. There’s not much to choose from, but my wife makes a fine stew. Just perfect for this weather.” He threw a glance past Hiccup and up into the grey sky and grimaced. “I’ll have your fresh horses ready when you need them.”

With a grateful smile, Hiccup took his bags from the horses’ backs and wandered over toward the other building. He couldn’t agree more, a good stew was just what he needed, warm and filling. When he stepped inside, he was greeted by a wave of wonderful warmth, the scent of hearty food, and a middle-aged woman of a comfortably rounded shape coming over from another room.

“Oh, a visitor!” she exclaimed, looking him over with curiosity. “But look at you. Come in, come in. You look exhausted, boy. What do you need? A room to rest?”

With a tired sigh, Hiccup shook his head. He had no time to take a rest, no matter how appealing that thought was. “Just something warm to eat, if you would be so kind. I need to be back on the road as soon as possible.”

She frowned in motherly disapproval, but nodded when he inconspicuously turned so she could see his messenger badge. “I see.”

She ushered him in and before he’d even sat down, she placed a steaming bowl of stew in front of him.

“Must be a mighty important message you’re delivering when you can’t even take a minor break.”

Hiccup smiled into his spoon. Even tired as he was, the food and the comfort of the hearth fire was enough to refuel at least some of his energy. And the woman had been kinder than she had to be, so giving her some gossip in exchange seemed only fair.

“I guess it is,” he replied between two mouthfuls. “A wedding invitation, if I’m informed correctly. From House Jag’r. I’m supposed to deliver it and return with an answer right away.” That was the story they’d decided on, giving him a good reason to head back in a couple of days as well. Even as he didn’t look forward to the question that would inevitably follow.

The woman’s eyes grew and she leaned a little closer. “A wedding invitation, you say? So the rumours are true then. The princess is going to marry our young Lord Eret?”

Hiccup dug his head and had to bite his lip to keep himself from scowling. Of course, these rumours would have spread by now. And the fondness in her voice didn’t surprise him, either; House Jag’r was well-liked among its subjects. It wasn’t this woman’s fault, that the idea of Astrid and Eret marrying didn’t fill him with the same joy as her.

“Maybe,” he suggested casually. “Or it’s about Lady Esther’s wedding.”

“Lady Esther is going to marry too?” the woman exclaimed, and she clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, what wonderful news. Are you sure it’s true?”

Smiling a little more genuine now, Hiccup gave something between a shrug and a nod. “That’s what I overheard, at least.”

She seemed excited, but before she could say more, another woman called her over from the room next door and she left him to eat in peace. Clearly in a good mood now, she probably couldn’t wait to spread the gossip.

Content to have made at least one person’s life brighter today, Hiccup finished his stew, left a coin as thanks for his meal, and then headed back to the way station outside. Grimacing at the gust of wind tearing at his cloak, he waited for an older boy—surely Owens son, judging by his looks—to bring him his horses. He remembered the woman’s offer of a room to rest, and dreamily imagined taking her up on it, to get some sleep until the weather—hopefully—turned more agreeable soon. But he didn’t have time for that. He had to stick to their plan, couldn’t make an exception just because the weather wasn’t playing along.

As he rode on, his thoughts kept circling around the task that lay ahead of him, and slowly, he became nervous. Over the past few days, he’d repeatedly assured Astrid and the others that he knew what he had to do, that he had the knowledge and training necessary to hunt and kill a dragon.

But the truth was… It was years since he’d been out to learn how to hunt dragons, another life. He’d only been a youth, accompanying the experienced hunters to learn just like his father had instructed and everyone had expected of him. But back then, he hadn’t been interested in the best techniques to track and find wild dragons. Instead, he’d only been excited about seeing and studying them, leading him to pay little attention to what the more experienced men had tried to teach him. Now, he could only hope that enough information had stuck with him nonetheless.

. o O o .

When Hiccup reached the swamps, what awaited him was just what he’d expected. A vast plain where grass-covered hummocks seamlessly merged into muddy lakes as far as the eye could see, with lonely trees or small corpses strewn in-between. Sadly, the weather still hadn’t changed, the air cold and close to freezing. So far, the forest had kept him mostly safe from the biting wind, but out here, he wouldn’t have that protection anymore. Even his travelling cloak could only do so much in shielding him.

Hiccup grimaced but tried to focus on any advantages the wind could give him. It would carry scents and sounds over far distances, but maybe it would also confuse his prey, making it hard for the beasts to locate him. If he managed to track one down in the first place…

With a tired grunt, he dismounted and took the horses’ reins to lead them behind him as he made his way deeper into the swamps. He needed them to carry his equipment, but carrying him over the muddy ground would needlessly tire them out. So he went on foot, regularly leaving the animals fixed to a branch or rock when he found one to search the area for any signs that a dragon might be close by.

But there were none.

When dusk came, Hiccup was starting to feel anxious. For hours, he’d been wandering through these swamplands now, but not once had he spotted even the hint of wings larger than those of a hawk on the horizon, let alone found any traces of a dragon being nearby. And he was exhausted . The wetness from the ground had soaked into his trousers, his boots, and up his cloak, making it even heavier. Dragging him down. The sky had cleared, but without the sun that only meant the temperature was dropping even lower, further wearing out his remaining strength. And in addition, the three days of travelling hadn’t done his leg any good to begin with. By now, every step was painful, his back hurting, and his limps felt like jelly. He stumbled and fell more often the farther he wandered through the swamps, and soon, his hands were muddy and cold. Numb.

And still, there were no signs of any dragons. Which meant that he was wasting his time here anyway.

With a tired sigh, Hiccup sank down onto a damp rock and buried his face in his hands. Gods, he was so exhausted. He didn’t want to waste any time by just sitting here, couldn’t really afford to do so. But he couldn’t go on like this, either. He needed to rest , something to eat and some hours of sleep. Which probably was the more sensible thing to do, anyway. Yes, he would break off for today and get some rest. And tomorrow, he would travel farther north along one of the marked paths. Maybe he would have more luck there.

“It’s the only sensible thing to do,” he muttered to himself, reluctantly resigning to this plan. “But first, I need to find a dry place to make camp. And preferably something warm to eat…” The clear sky promised a freezing night, warmth would be essential.

Gathering his remaining strength, Hiccup fought himself back up on his feet and kept going. He wandered further through the swamps, but now, he wasn’t looking for hints or trails of any dragons anymore. Instead, he was looking for prey to hunt. A deer would be nice, enough meat to keep him full through the coming days. But just a rabbit would do, too. He still had some dried rations in his pack, but he would only touch those if he had no other choice.

This time, his search didn’t take long. It was less than half an hour, the sun gone and the night illuminated by stars only, until he spotted movement in the high grass ahead of him. The rustling of the blades of grass was distinctly different from that of the wind, and it seemed as if his tiny lucky streak was still going; from the size of it, it had to be a deer and not a rabbit.

He stopped, grimacing as he found nothing to tie the horses to, but it couldn’t be helped. He wouldn't be gone for long anyway. As quietly as he could, he took one bag off the nearer horse to reach the bow and quiver strapped beneath. Then, with one arrow loosely nocked, he sneaked up the hummock behind which the deer had disappeared.

Slowly, without making the slightest noise, Hiccup made his way to the top and looked for the deer. He’d heard the rustling of grass from the dip on the other side just a moment ago, the animal had to be here somewhere. He looked around, squinting to see in the near-complete darkness of the night—but when he spotted the beast, he barely believed his eyes.

From one moment to the next, Hiccup froze in fear, eyes wide and unable to move. The animal that stood with its head bent down to drink from a shallow lake just a few feet away from him was not a deer.

It was a dragon. And not just any dragon, no. Hiccup had never seen one of these before, but he’d heard stories and had seen drawings in old books. Deep black and almost invisible in the night, Hiccup could only make out its sleek body and powerful wings by the starlight reflecting on its shiny scales. A long tail with spiky tail fins, some odd earlike protrusion on its head, it was—

A Night Fury!

The ultimate prize!

Hiccup’s heart began to race uncontrolled. This was why he was here! For whatever reason the Gods had led his way here, this was it. It had to be! The legendary beast from the old stories, so tightly linked to his name. This couldn’t be a coincidence. Now, all he had to do was incapacitate the monster with the bola shooter, and—

And the bola shooter was still at the bottom of one of his bags, back with the horses.

At the last moment, he remembered to suppress his groan; alerting the dragon to his presence could have fatal consequences. But that was the problem. There was no way he could go back and return with the shooter without the beast hearing him. It was a miracle that he’d managed to sneak up on this stealthy dragon, to begin with.

His mind was working at a rapid speed. Only seconds had passed since he spotted the dragon, but it was unlikely that he would get much more time. Any moment now, it would notice him, hear or scent him. He had to do something now.

His eyes dropped to the bow and nocked arrow in his hands. A horribly insufficiant weapon to fight against a dragon, but it was all he had.

Feverishly, he tried to remember his lessons.

A downed dragon is a dead dragon.

The wings! If he incapacitated the beast’s wings and it wasn’t able to fly, couldn’t flee and could only attack him from the ground—then he might have a chance. He carried a hunting knife strapped to his belt; not much but, it could work. It had to!

Hiccup forced himself to calm down his breathing and lifted the bow. Archery wasn’t his greatest skill, but the shot should be easy enough. He just had to tear a big-enough hole into one of the leathery wings, that was all. Manageable from this short distance. Right?

Adrenalin made his hands shake as he pulled and aimed. But he only had this one chance. So he took a deep breath and held it, forcing himself to calm down. For Astrid! he thought, and released the arrow.

And for a brief moment, Hiccup thought he’d made it.

The dragon screamed—in pain or surprise, Hiccup couldn’t tell—and whirled around. Hastily, Hiccup dropped the bow and pulled his knife instead, and in rapid speed, instructions he’d thought long forgotten popped up in his mind. He had to keep moving, had to circle the beast, somehow corner it and if possible make it use up his shots. Now that it wasn’t able to fly, he had to attack its other wing, its legs, weaken it, and—

The Night Fury roared in his direction, its large black wings stretched wide. And to Hiccup’s dismay, they were unharmed. He’d missed. Cold dread filled his stomach, but he had no time to think about his failure. For the beast had spotted him. For an endless heartbeat, its cold eyes all but pierced him. Then it jumped into the air, wings covering the entire sky, and screamed. Purple light gleamed in its throat, growing brighter and brighter and—

Hiccup reacted without thinking. At the last moment, he threw himself to the side and out of the way of the dragon’s fiery breath, and the blast of purple light missed him by inches. However, instead of landing in the grass as he’d anticipated, the world was suddenly spinning around Hiccup, leaving him without orientation. Up became down, the ground turned into thin air, and as Hiccup tumbled down the hillside, he could hear the beast screech angrily.

The landing was hard, jarring. Icy darkness closed around him, the momentary numbness only pierced by a sudden sharp pain in his left leg. He screamed as something cut deep into his flesh and doubled over to reach for his leg, but jerked back a moment later, spluttering and gasping.

For an endless heartbeat, there was only chaos; the pain and cold made Hiccup blind to what happened around him. There was another scream from the dragon, whinnying from the horses, and a noise that sounded like a sudden gust of wind—and then, only silence.

With a low groan, Hiccup tried to sit up. It took him a few tries; the ground was muddy and slippery. He’d landed in a shallow pool, and the water was icy. It stung like countless needles and made his fingers go numb. His clothes, already uncomfortably damp before, now clung to his skin. They dragged him down, and crawling up the embankment was more difficult than it should be.

Between the pain and the freezing water, Hiccup had forgotten everything else around him. But once he was back on—relatively—dry land, he remembered that he wasn’t alone. Where was the dragon? Was it watching him, waiting in some shadow and ready to attack again? He looked around frantically, eyes darting here and there, with fear blocking his throat and making it hard to breathe. He was defenceless, wouldn’t be able to dodge another attack in his current state.

But no attack came. The surrounding shadows were empty, the dim starlight enough to see at least that much.

Slumping in on himself, Hiccup let out an exhausted sigh. The threat seemed to be over, for the moment at least. And if the dragon was still around… well, then there was little he could do to defend himself anyway. A quick search showed him that he must have lost his knife during his fall, and as poor of a choice of weapon it had been, without it, he felt even worse.

Accepting that he wasn’t in immediate danger, he took a minute to catch his breath, then shifted to inspect his leg. The sharp pain made him grimace. Adrenalin and the cold water had numbed the pain after the initial burst, but now it became nearly unbearable—and horribly familiar.

Hissing in pain, he peeled back the torn fabric and tried to inspect the wound as best he could without light. His fingers were shaking and he had to grit his teeth, but after a minute of prodding and probing, he had a relatively good idea of the state his leg was in. The wound was a clean and straight cut, matching the edges of the fabric. It wasn’t so deep that it was directly threatening, but he would need to treat it and pray that the wound didn’t get infected.

“Oh, wonderful, ” he cursed under his breath, as it dawned on him what must have cut him. “Just perfect! I manage to dodge the dragon’s attack, only to fall into my own weapon. Typical! I’m… I’m such an idiot!”

With a hopeless groan, he let his head fall against the knee of his good leg, feeling a horrible sense of déjà vu.

The night and the cold wind. The failed fight against a dragon. His injured leg.

It was all happening again.

But no! No, he wouldn’t mess everything up, not again. There was still time, he could still find and kill a dragon. He hadn’t failed, not until he gave up.

Gritting his teeth, Hiccup fought himself up to wobbly stand on his good leg. This new injury had hit his already weaker leg, which was good. Maybe his sort-of-lucky streak wasn’t over just yet, despite the mess he was in. He just had to focus on the positive things...

But the wound needed tending, and he was in dire need of some dryer clothes, too. Looking around, Hiccup found that his weird luck really hadn’t run out yet. Only a few steps away, he spotted a long branch. Crooked and not as strong as he would have preferred, it was still sufficient enough as an improvised crutch. It didn’t make walking easy, but at least it became a little more bearable.

Slowly, he made his way around the hummock to where he’d left the horses. In one of the saddlebags, he had clean cloth for bandages and a small flask of willow bark tincture. It probably wasn’t enough for a wound as big as this one, but it would have to be enough for now. However, even with his crude crutch, the way was difficult, especially on this uneven ground. Hiccup hobbled more than he was walking, putting as little weight on the injured leg as was possible. Time seemed to stretch endlessly as he went on and on, forcing himself to endure the pain.

Just a little longer...

Just until he’d reached the horses, then he could rest…

The way around the hummock seemed to take longer than was logically possible, but Hiccup passed that off as fatigue and the slight daze he was in with the pain and after the shock of the dragon attack. He felt like the beast had still to be around somewhere, and it took him way too long to realise his mistake.

The horses were gone.

He’d possibly rounded the hummock for the second time when he spotted a leather bag lying on the ground a small distance away from him. Hobbling closer, he recognised it as his own and after throwing a glance around was sure that this was the place he’d left the horses before he’d approached the Night Fury. Except that the horses were nowhere to be seen.

“ Of course, they aren’t here anymore!” he groaned, slumping down to the ground next to the lonely bag. “The dragon probably scared them and they ran away. And I run around like an idiot, looking for...” He trailed off, laughing at himself and shaking his head. “I’m such an idiot…”

Hiccup leaned against a rock and gave himself a few moments to regain his strength. He needed a rest… Just a moment to breathe, to gather his thoughts.

First, he had to find the horses. Maybe there was another silver lining waiting for him and they’d only run a little further away from the fight. Maybe, he could recapture them easily.

With more effort than he liked, he climbed back on top of the hummock, looking around, searching. By now, the moon had come out, a full moon, bathing the landscape around him in cool silvery light. But no matter how hard he looked, he couldn’t spot the horses anywhere. Instead, he spotted a patch of burned grass nearby, right next to where he’d left the lonely bag. He let out another groan. If the dragon’s attack had hit this close to the horses, it was no wonder they’d fallen into a panic and run. They were probably still running at this very moment, and were irrecoverably lost to him by now. Walking around looking for them wasn’t just nearly impossible in his current state, it was entirely useless, too.

“Shit…”

The curse came as merely a weak groan. Without these horses, it would be difficult to get fresh ones at a way station. And without horses in general, it would be tricky to make it back to Eret in time for the Dragon Hunt. If he was lucky, the messenger’s badge and a good story of how he’d lost the horses would be enough but—

Then the full range of this development hit him. The horses hadn’t just been meant to carry him back.

“SHIT!”

This time, he yelled. With the horses gone, he had no equipment anymore either. No bandages or medication for his leg. No dried food for emergencies. No oiled blankets against the weather. In those bags had been everything, clothes, equipment—his weapons!

Burying his face in his hands and pulling at his hair, he let out an inarticulate scream. Astrid had been right, after all. He should have listened to her. This whole idea had been madness right from the beginning. He never should have left her side. No matter how bad the odds, holding her hand when they tried to convince Daniel to support them… that would have been leagues better than dying out here, alone. Never to see her again…

“No…” He looked up, a small flicker of determination blooming in his chest amidst the ocean of despair inside him. “No, I won’t give up! I… I promised that everything would be all right…”

Behind his mind’s eye, an image of Astrid appeared. He’d barely ever seen her truly angry, but he could imagine so well how she would look, with her fists in her sides, leaning forward a little and giving him a well-deserved scolding. He could almost hear her, telling him that she’d told him so, that he was an idiot for going through with this stupid plan, and that he should have listened to her. Oh, what would he give to hear her voice for real now… Even if she were to yell at him, he wouldn’t mind.

With a weak smile on his lips, he raised his hand to press it to his chest. There it was, the pulsing of their bond, warm and reassuring. Urging him on. He wasn’t defeated, not yet.

Looking around the top of the hummock, he spotted his bow where he’d dropped it before. That was something, at least. Taking it, he made his way back to the one bag of equipment he had left. Every movement hurt, but that didn’t really matter. All that mattered was that he wouldn’t let himself drown in self-pity now. He had to do the best of his situation, no matter how bad it may seem.

Just like with the injury being on his already weakened leg, he found that he was lucky in that of all the bags he’d originally brought with him, this one was the one he still had now. It contained little that was of use to him right now. A woollen blanket and a spare tunic occupied most of the space within—both things he would appreciate once he’d found a dry place to rest—but so much more importantly was what he’d stored at the very bottom of this bag. Hidden beneath the layers of cloth should anyone have taken a look, he’d stored part of his weapons. A few additional arrows for the bow, a spare dagger…

And the bola shooter.

Apparently, the Gods were still on his side. He still had a chance. The thought was reassuring, enough to keep the rising hopelessness at bay. He hadn’t lost, yet.

Studiously, he pushed all other problems aside and only focused on the next step. First, it was the spare shirt he needed. Putting it on beneath his other dripping clothes would be pointless, but at least it was clean. Using the dagger from the bag, since he’d lost the other one somewhere in that muddy puddle, Hiccup cut the shirt apart and used the cloth to put an improvised bandage around his leg. Not perfect, but it was better than nothing. At least it helped staunch the bleeding for the moment.

“All right,” he muttered to himself as he lifted the by now damp bag off the ground and onto his back. “On to looking for a place to rest. Maybe I’m even lucky and I find something to eat after all.”

. o O o .

Eventually, Hiccup’s lucky streak ran out. It had to happen sooner or later, but he still cursed that it had to happen now.

What he needed more than anything else was a fire to warm his body and to dry his clothes, a place that wasn’t too damp and wood and flint and stuff to light it. Food or treatment for his leg would be a welcome bonus, but those could wait until tomorrow. First, he had to make it until then. And that proved to be more difficult than he’d anticipated.

After last night’s rain, finding dry wood or a dry spot to rest was all but impossible. With the injury on his leg, he only made slow progress, the pain getting worse with every step. More than once, he cursed having lost the horses, not just because of his lost equipment but because them carrying him now would have been an invaluable help. But it was more than just that. The exhaustion of the long days of travel eventually caught up with him, and the blood-loss combined with his wet clothes draining his strength did the rest to leave his mind clouded and fuzzy.

Two times, he noticed the movement ahead of him too late, a rabbit disappearing before he even had the chance to ready his bow. But even as his stomach grumbled, he found it more and more difficult to care.

His crutch hadn’t lasted long, had broken and left a long gash on his forearm in the process. Since then, he kept stumbling and falling, jarring his wound even further. And every time he fell, it became harder to get up again. He was beyond exhaustion by now. The cold wind was tearing at his clothes and slowly draining him of any energy that was left, cutting into his hands and face, and oftentimes made it hard to keep his eyes open at all. Every step was agony, his arms and legs were growing weaker with every minute, and fighting himself back up on his feet seemed more and more futile.

What even was the point? What was he trying to achieve by stumbling through this hostile landscape? Killing a dragon? Earning himself the right to be at Astrid’s side? Regaining his honour, proving to himself that he was not a failure? How was he supposed to do any of that here?

Maybe it was impossible, especially the last point.

Maybe, he was nothing but a failure, after all…

The next time his tired feet got caught and he landed face-first in the dirt, he couldn’t find the strength to stand up anymore. Maybe he should just stay here, sleep for a few hours. His skin was so numb that he wasn’t even feeling the cold anymore. And he was so tired...

Somewhere in the depth of his mind, he knew that these were not good signs. It meant hypothermia, meant that he most likely wouldn’t wake up again if he fell asleep, if he didn’t get up right now. But he was just too exhausted to move, every part of him. His body, his arms and legs, his head, and most of all his mind. Everything was so heavy and slow, so exhausting. Maybe, he should just stay here. Maybe he should give up…

It was then, in that moment of resignation, when he sensed it. A whiff of mayweed reached his nose, seemingly out of nowhere, and with it came the memories. An impression of golden hair. Eyes as endless as the sky. The ghostly touch of fingers, so soft yet also strong. And a voice sweeter than the sweetest music.

You promised . You promised that you ’ d come back to me. Please, Hiccup. I… I can ’ t imagine a world without you in it.

Groaning, Hiccup rolled onto his back.

“I… promised…”

Moving was difficult. His arms and legs were so numb he barely felt them anymore. But he had to get up. He’d promised Astrid that he’d come back to her, and it was a promise he was going to keep, no matter what. Grimacing and with a shaking hand, he reached for his left leg and pressed his thumb into the wound.

“F-fuck!”

Hiccup screamed. The pain was intense, burning hot along his nerves and bringing tears to his eyes. But it also ripped away the haze around his thoughts and brought him the clarity he needed.

He couldn’t stay here, couldn’t give up and die. He had to go on, to live. For her. Sitting up, he found himself halfway up a low hummock, the ground here slightly dryer. Tentative hope bloomed in his chest, but this wasn’t good enough. Maybe if he found another hummock with some trees, some ripped-off branches and something to shield him from the wind and further rain…

Clinging to that hope, he crawled toward the hummock’s top. By now, the moonlight was flooding the land around him, so maybe the raised position would help him find what he was looking for; any form of shelter against the weather would do.

What he saw, however, made him doubt his sanity again. There, less than half a mile away, was the glow and smoke of a fire.

Hiccup stared in wonder and disbelief. With his eyes clinging to the flickering light, he even thought that he could feel the fire’s warmth on his skin, smelled the scent of food.

He made an unconscious step toward the promising campfire but then paused again. If he truly went there… what would await him? If he was lucky— very lucky一then it was just a group of travellers, hopefully friendly enough to share what they had with a stranger in the night. But he wasn’t fooling himself. Who would wilfully travel through the swamps, and this far off the paths no less? No, far more likely was that somehow other participants of the Dragon Hunt had found their way here as well. And if that was the case…

Biting his lip, Hiccup pondered his options. Going to this camp might very well end in him getting killed on the spot. No matter whether those were the same people who’d killed Snotlout’s squire or whether they were regular participants and trying to win County Ravenledge; if they saw him as a rival then they wouldn’t hesitate to get rid of him. After all, out here, nobody would ever find out what really happened. But if he didn’t go to this camp…

Hiccup’s shoulders slumped in resignation. If he didn’t go to that camp, then he was as good as dead. There was no point in deluding himself; without the warmth of a fire, shelter and care for his wound, and maybe even some food, he wouldn’t survive the night.

“I promised,” he murmured into the breeze, his decision made. “I promised I’d come back to you. And I will, Astrid. Nothing will come between us. Not even death.”

So he made his way toward the campfire in the distance. He was still just as tired and cold and in pain as before, but the hope that maybe he would survive the night after all gave him the strength he needed. The hope that he might see Astrid again.

However, when he reached the edge of the light, he paused, confused. As far as he could tell, the camp was empty. There was the fire, burning brightly, a shelter made of oilcloth, and to the side stood two horses tied to a tree. There was even something roasting over the fire, two rabbits if he wasn’t mistaken. But whoever had hunted them or had built this camp, they were nowhere to be seen.

Maybe it was a trap. But at that moment, Hiccup didn’t care anymore. All he cared about was the heat of the fire beckoning him over, the scent of meat that made his stomach churn.

Slowly, he came closer, eyeing the shadows for any hidden movement even as he had no idea how he was supposed to react to an attack. Stumble against them and hope they would hit their head on a rock when they fell? Yeah, that would totally work...

With a heavy sigh, he slumped down by the fire. Warmth soaked into the skin of his face and hands, and with his weight off his leg, it already felt so much better than just moments before. He eyed the roasted rabbits but left them untouched. He was no thief, after all, still hoped the people here might help him. Instead, he just curled into a ball and sat as close to the fire as was possible without burning himself, and stared into the dancing flames.

Time passed—minutes or hours, he didn’t know anymore—until the sound of footsteps made his head whirl around. With wide eyes, he gazed at the figure emerging from the shadows, his heart pounding. He recognised them immediately, their armour, and knew exactly who was standing in front of him.

At that moment, he knew that he was dead.

. o O o .

AN: Soooooo... I'm incredibly curious about the reactions to this chapter! Finally, we met a dragon, if only briefly. But Hiccup is in a bad shape, not good for hunting down a dragon. And who was it he met there at the end? So many questions...

I'm already working on the next update, but as always, no promises for when it might be done...

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