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no-droids · 4 years

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gif credit: @javier-pena

Part Eighteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 19.5K

Warnings: SMUT, religion kink (maybe?), squirting, consensual stalking/pursuing, canon-typical violence, mention of underage drinking, uhh I believe that’s it but as always, let me know if I’ve forgotten anything please!

A/N: Hey yall!!! So I know this chapter has been a long time coming and though I’m not completely satisfied with it, I hope it brings a little happiness to you for an hour or two while you read! School has been kicking my ass and I’ve been in a bit of an emotional slump recently, but I pulled a few all-nighters to post this on time and it’s finally finished! Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me and sent me encouraging words over the past month or so, I hope you enjoy the end of the Sanctuary arc💕

Also like last time, part 2 of my collaboration with @followwhereshegoes will be posted after the chapter!! As a reminder, sweet girl is a reader insert and every imagining of her will be different—this is Lisa’s interpretation of her and her artwork is absolutely gorgeous, so please go give her a follow!

Day 5–11:13am:

You zone out again in the early morning, but that happens a lot. Din always keeps you up so late, all the time, and without any caf here, the rising sun just makes your eyes droop instead of flutter brighter and wider. You helped a bunch of younglings find their way into their robes when it was still dark out, tying sashes and fitting masks while holding back your yawns. The walk into Nariss is close to three hours, probably more with all these tiny little legs, and you almost forget to change into your new digs before everyone grabs breakfast.

Even though your ragtag entourage leaves for Nariss just as soon as everyone finishes eating, you don’t reach the city until nearly lunchtime. Mostly because the kids walk about as fast as the elderly holy women chaperoning the trip. You and Naydee lag behind the group, forcing yourself to meander slow as fuck when you nearly sprinted this same exact path just a few days ago. On the way there, you listen to children of all sorts sing happily as they walk, chatter about their excitement for the parade, complain about wearing the fabric mask they made themselves, and more than once, somebody takes a tumble onto the ground and is left in teary sniffles and dirt stained clothes. Likely for this reason, the robes are designed to be two pieces—a long tunic with a hood and a separate pants portion to prevent tripping instead of a draping skirt, but the smallest ones are clumsy and find a way to fall anyways.

It’s a colorful bunch—a chaotic rainbow of babies running around, and you share easy conversation with your new friend about the plans for the day until she asks something that makes you nearly trip and join the dirty robe club.

“Sister Drya said your family is meeting you in the city,” she tells you, ignoring your immediate subtle toe stub and the awkward shuffle you have to do to make up for it. “There’s going to be lots of people downtown, I’m worried it might be hard for them to find you.”

Your heart thuds in your chest and you feel a bit short of breath at being abruptly confronted with the need to lie, but at the same time, you kind of love it. Having a secret, hiding the truth from others, and just the reminder that you’re almost guaranteed to see Din and the baby before midnight pours warmth and tingles through your tummy. Everything together is a hit of spice, filling you with a kind of excitement that used to be foreign to you. Having fun, experiencing new things isn’t quite over yet, but home is calling and you miss it with every fiber of your being.

“I don’t think so,” you eventually respond, hoping she can see your kind smile and the sentiment it carries even as light, shimmery fabric wraps right around your mouth. “If I disappear, you’ll know why.”

Naydee’s eyes crinkle in the corners to match yours. “Hopefully you’ll be able to see the fireworks first,” she nudges you, her skin glowing against the pale cream fabric she has wrapped around her own mouth and the hood laying delicately over her braids. “They start at eight.”

The fireworks, you almost forgot. You know what? Today is a good day. You hear yourself think the full sentence multiple times, and the words put a spring in your step after every single one. The road gradually becomes wider and filled with more travelers, and you feel safe in the back. Like some kind of sheepdog bringing up the rear of this migrating cluster of children, making sure none of them drift off by themselves and start eating grass or something.

Surprisingly, the kids manage to be relatively patient and well-behaved once they’re in line at the gates. The Sisters shuffle them along one by one as everyone moves up slowly, taking even longer to get into the city than it did a few days ago. The entrance is packed already—so many people visiting for the festival, and they’re all dressed in costumes or robes of sorts, or at least a mask. Most are beautifully crafted, but some manage to look slightly scary even with the soft springtime color schemes. It’s a completely different world, a different life for each person as you pass them by. Your stomach is starting to growl by the time you finally make it to the front, and luckily the guards just let the kids through without any ceremony. Just you and the rest of the caretakers in light robes need to hold still for the retinal scan, matching each other perfectly except for differing shades of fabric, skin, and eye color. Once the gates open for you and you step through, though… it’s… Maker.

Extravagant, magnificent are both words. Floral is another.

It’s like they hung up bouquets wherever they could think to fit them, and this is just the edge of the city. As the group moves through the streets and closer to downtown, it becomes more and more overwhelming. The air itself is a warm fragrance wafting all around you, sunshiney and breezy and perfect, flowers of all kinds lining the modern buildings and archways like they were planted there from the very beginning and it just took this long to bloom between the cracks in the concrete. You wish you had names for all of them so you could list them—the only thing you can offer is the color and vague descriptions of the ones that stick out to you. Tiny yellow ones that are so small, they need to be bunched all together in massive quantities to even resemble normal flowers. Up overhead, elaborate arrangements of enormous blue and purple and pink ones, wrapping around each other and hanging down from rooftops. Some don’t even have petals, it’s like they’re big green cups that are big enough to hold things inside them. You’re fascinated by every single one, wanting to stop and smell them all individually but needing to keep up with the large group and not allow any stragglers to be left behind, including yourself.

About an hour later, when you’re almost in the middle of the city and there are people everywhere, it’s time to eat lunch. There isn’t much to it because of how expensive it is, and you’d normally feel bad for accepting the small meal each one of the children gets, but you donated all of your credits to the Keja and left absolutely zero for yourself. Good intentions, terrible idea. Still, you pull your mask down and snack on some deliciously fried food, trying not to eye anyone else’s platter after you finish yours. It’s so good and it’s gone in an instant; you couldn’t even say what exactly it was besides which stall you got it at. Whether it’s just the brilliant atmosphere or if the food on this moon is really just that good, you’re not really sure, but you’re still slightly hungry afterwards with no extra money to sneak a snack.

Soon after, the kids all line up to get their faces painted, or whatever portion of their face is visible behind the cloth masks and hoods they’ve got on, and music blares from at least four different directions and none of the songs are even in the same language. Depending on the part of town, it seems like the celebrations are all different. It makes sense, considering most if not all of these individuals were victims of the Empire’s wrath, spread far and wide across the galaxy. Here, they’re free, and they want everyone to know it. Spring festivals of some sort are likely common for most cultures, at least those from planets with seasons, not like Arvala-7 where it was arid and hot year-round, and you’re assuming there are multiple things being celebrated today depending on which street you live on. There’s chanting in different tongues, dancing and drums, outfits and masks from different cultures every single time you look.

At some point, the children spot a crowded street with flowery rails set up all along them, and you stand behind the tiny heads while everyone waits for the parade to begin. You think your heart has just been beating slightly faster than normal all day today, but when you finally hear the sound of sirens blaring in the distance and cheers begin to pour out from the gathered crowd, it kicks up and you feel like you’re just as wide eyed at the spectacle as the waist-high babies all huddled together up against the railing.

A flurry of people and things pass in slow succession. First, New Republic officers with their blaring holobikes, bright orange as always. Then come large groups of people walking behind banners in languages you can’t read, some of them waving, some of them making different sounds and songs. Bands marching in formation, dancers in dresses and masks and gorgeous flowers in their hair like crowns, and then brilliant hovering vehicles decorated in bright colors and festive depictions. The craftsmanship and cultural significance is stunning to witness, it’s so insanely loud, there’s so much going on, and yet…

Through it all, you think of Din. No matter the faces, the sights you see. There’s someone juggling. There’s either a very tall man and woman walking together or they’re both on stilts. There are enormous balloons being led through the air, people are riding atop an assortment of animals you’ve never seen before, there are traditional costumes and spectacular stunts being performed. Stalls with games and prizes line the stretches of concrete on the cross streets, people are laughing and celebrating and drinking in equal parts, everything is so lively and festive and fun, and yet, though it all, you think of Din. Him and the baby, they’re always in the forefront of your mind, occupying your thoughts and making your tummy stir more and more as the time passes like the parade in front of you. You don’t think this environment would ever be his favorite, and in some far away galaxy, perhaps if you lived other lives together and called a beautiful moon exactly like this home, then you might have to drag him out to see all the with you and the kid every year. You’d have to bat your eyelashes and kiss his cheek and snuggle up to him all nice and pretty like, and he’d probably grumble and complain about it while wrapping his arms around you—all the people and the noise, sweet girl—but he’d go. For you, he’d go.

Your thoughts suddenly stop short and you blink for a second. Why… Why was that scene so vivid? So wistful? You used to preoccupy yourself with fantasies about Din all the time, back before you even knew him as Din. But in every single one, it was sexual and likely came from a place of boredom, a lack of external stimulation. Here you are amidst bustling surroundings, and you’re daydreaming about domesticity with him. Why? You want to travel the galaxy, right? You want to see things you’ve never seen before, right?

For some reason, you think of the floor, and you miss it.

***

Day 5—5:04pm:

It’s late afternoon at this point and nobody can find the teens.

More people have made their way into the city and it’s starting to get extremely fucking crowded, especially where you are downtown, and the handful of them must’ve slipped away with all the excitement happening and how difficult it is to keep the young ones together now that the parade is over. You don’t know how long they’ve been gone—one second they were walking around just slightly detached from the rest of you, you assumed because the boisterous younglings fucked with their cool vibe, and then the next Naydee is gasping out to you that they’re gone.

“Sister Drya is going to kill me,” she hisses, her dark eyebrows furrowed in self-admonishment and stress. So many fucking people here, you know her pain. “I was supposed to be chaperoning them, they were just here—”

She shakes her head under the loose, cream-colored hood, groaning and then speeding up her gait to catch up with the woman in charge, but you decide to grab her wrist before she can relay the bad news.

“I can go find them,” you offer, speaking as low as you can with the blaring noise surrounding you. “Before anyone knows they’re missing. Is there a way to convince everybody to stay in one spot for a little while? You won’t get in trouble, but I need to know how to find you again.”

Naydee’s eyes widen in surprise, and even though it’s likely a bit out of character for you, you have a feeling it’ll be a deceptively easy task. Even with the masses right now and how atrociously big this city is, you already have a general idea of where they’re likely to be. Besides, you’re not even sure your absence will be noticed if Naydee is the only one who figured out the teens were gone—the other Sisters can thrive without you while missing anyone else would be noticeable, and you owe your new friend a thousand favors for helping you out these past few days. The least you can do is save her from the scolding of one of the scariest old ladies you've ever met.

“Be as quick as you can,” she finally agrees. It’s a lot of trust to put into you, but you’ve had experience in reading the most unreadable man in the entire galaxy, some teenagers shouldn’t pose too much of a problem. “If you’re not back in thirty minutes or somebody notices, I’ll have to say something.”

You nod, silently breaking away from the group without another word. You think you can hear her announce to everyone that it might be best to eat dinner now to skip any long lines later—smart—but you’re out of their hearing range and line of sight almost immediately.

***

Day 5–5:17pm:

“Really?” You raise an eyebrow since they won’t be able to see the way your mouth is twisted up underneath your mask, crossing your arms and tapping your foot against the ground to further illustrate just how not fucking impressed you are.

Seven teenagers freeze, and slowly—depending on how much bravery they can individually muster—they turn around on their stools to face you. The atmosphere in the tavern is bustling and cheery, booze being passed around a large crowd that laughs and mingles, but your vibe is stone cold and quiet. The contrast doesn’t feel wrong on you like it normally would; the negative and disapproving energy you’re emitting makes you feel powerful, untouchable, armored and strong.

“How did you find us so fast?” One of the twin boys squeaks out behind a light blue robe, sounding worried.

“Had a hunch,” you grumble, glaring sternly at each of them in turn. Your tone is dry, your voice sits lower in your throat when you’re pissed off. All you had to do was look for the closest bar that doesn’t have any orange jumpsuits poking around waiting to card underage younglings, it wasn’t that difficult. “You’re not exactly unpredictable.”

“Are you gonna rat us out?” The other twin asks you, in a voice that’s oddly deep compared to his brother.

“I should,” you snap, quickly reaching out to push their drinks away. “I should let Sister Drya rain down her holy fury on your asses, got good people all twisted up over you for nothing and I’m missing dinn—”

You don’t know why, but you suddenly cut yourself off and jerk upright, spinning around.

The sounds of glasses clinking and boisterous voices fill the bar, but they seem to fade out for a second. Your eyes fly around the crowded space, your heart lodged in your throat and looking for anything reflective. Every flash you see is a false alarm—belt buckle, wristwatch, cocktail shaker—

He’s here… isn’t he?

Only, there’s nothing. Nothing is out of place, nothing jumps out at you the way you’re assuming it will. You’re braced taut and ready to bolt at the first sign of a chase, but it never comes.

It’s so… unexpected, this feeling. It’s not like you’re being hunted anymore, but instead, you’re the hunter. You’re feeling the weight of him from this far away and it’s like he’s calling for you to come find him, teasing the wild adrenaline rush you get from just feeling his presence, as if he absolutely knows it happens. Whispering soft in your ear and then vanishing the second you’re able to turn around, like he’s here but he’s not. Playing with you from so far away.

This… this is a taunt.

The whole thing at the inn was leagues below this, that was rudimentary. Teasing, getting even, having fun with each other, whatever you want to call that, that’s what it was. This is scarily sophisticated. Fluid and practiced and the best kind of frightening, stark and dangerous compared to the carefree and upbeat setting surrounding you. You’re not making it up, it’s not just you being paranoid. You know him with your eyes closed. You know he’s here somewhere watching you, just like you know the starlight that streaks across the pitch black horizon of hyperspace. Not because you can see it, not really, not directly. But because by it, even in the vastest and darkest and emptiest of voids, you’re suddenly able to see everything else.

“You okay, Nerida?”

The volume gradually comes back up and you blink, suddenly remembering where you are, who else is with you. The chatter becomes slightly louder than it seemed before.

“Yeah,” you eventually say, slightly airy while continuing to stare emptily at the crowded room. He’s not here, you don’t think, not anymore at least. But you’re not stupid, you know what this means. You’re already caught, there’s nothing you can conceivably do that will delay the reunion for the next—you look down and pull the loose sleeve up to check your communicator—seven fucking hours, there’s no way. He’ll pull back and follow you, keep up with you from a distance and then snatch you away right when you let your guard down. You at least need to get the kids back to their guardians before that can happen, though.

“Let’s go,” you quietly tell the group of foundlings, grabbing elbows and hauling them out of their stools. “Naydee was the only one who knew that you were gone when I left. Here’s to hoping she managed to keep it that way.”

***

Day 5–5:32pm:

Against all odds, you’re able to rally the wayward teens and successfully lead them through shoulders that are beginning to move closer together as the crowd grows and grows. You stay towards the back and don’t look behind you once—not only do you not want to give the younglings an unnecessary reason to become paranoid or to question your actions, but you can still feel Din lingering. Moving like a shadow, probably fitting in perfectly with the masked festival-goers, nothing drawing any attention to him with all the spectacular sights and noise occurring.

Soon you return to the same spot from before, and you and the teenagers seamlessly integrate yourselves back into the rest of the group without anyone noticing a thing is out of place. When you move to stand beside her, Naydee’s bone-deep sigh of relief is palpable even behind the concealing fabric; she squeezes your hand incredibly tight in a silent gesture of thanks, and then pulls something from the deep pockets of her robe and passes it to you sneakily. A purple fruit. She must’ve saved it for you.

Maker, fuck yes. It’s not much but it’s more dinner than any of the seven troublemakers get, but Naydee quietly assures you they’ll be able to eat something once they return to the Keja around midnight, just not the tasty expensive treats they’re selling at the vendors. As the sun goes down, you try not to stain your pretty fabric a deep maroon as you chomp and feel your lips start to curl upwards. It sounds so fucking stupid when you put it like this, but you keep going back to Din and revelling in knowing that he’s so close, like you��re just mentally checking in on him. You don’t get the sensation by thinking, though—more like you just focus really hard on your heart and feel him there just a second afterwards.

Is that how pure, stupid, shameless love feels when you’re completely entrenched in it? It’s not like it’s surrounding you, it’s not suffocating you or making you float. It’s just a thing. Like… a thing inside your chest, a physical thing you can search for and find, something you can point to on your body and say it’s right here, this is where my love for him lives. Right at the bottom of your heart, right where it curves and beats strong when other hearts meet flat at sharp angles. You do it over and over again, reconfirming its existence every single time. You don’t know what else you’d call it. Love is the only word. To love, to know. To hold in the heart.

Soon, you start to notice that people are slowly moving around your stationary group. You look up and watch the crowd begin to walk, some of them giving soft smiles to the cute children as they pass by, but all of them following the same unspoken direction.

“Where is everyone going?” You ask Naydee, standing on your tiptoes to watch the crowd migrate like a giant system, an organism or mechanism of thousands (or tens of thousands?) of smaller moving parts all traveling in tandem. It’s fascinating—you’ve been to crowded places, you know what it looks like when a lot of people are packed into one area, but you’ve never seen what it looks like when they all move together. They would normally be bumping into each other, slipping in between, fighting and never really getting anywhere, interacting individually and thinking separately. Now they’re progressing in one single direction, so many with the same mindset and understanding of what comes next. A second parade, almost, with New Republic officers directing the flow of pedestrians as they pass.

“The eastern part of the city!” Naydee yells over the noise and points, and beyond her extended finger, you can barely see the light of a dusky body of water in the distance beyond the buildings. “The fireworks are going to go off over the bay, but it takes awhile to get there!”

“Is…” You blink for a second, suddenly caught off guard, trying to think back to the holomap the concierge pulled up at the front desk of the inn. Surely you would’ve noticed it, but your sudden childlike hope makes you ask anyway. “Is it part of an ocean?”

Naydee shakes her head. “A really big lake!”

Your shoulders drop just the slightest bit in disappointment but still, you ache to see it. You can’t even imagine—the fireworks are likely going to reflect across the water, giving everyone double the view. And luckily, after all the children and caretakers are individually accounted for, you start to behind the slow-moving crowd towards the docks you know lie beyond.

Naydee scurries ahead to keep the kids together, ushering them forward and preventing any drunk passer-bys from accidentally stepping on them, and you quietly bring up the very rear of the entourage. You take the time to observe more than anything, walk in the back and experience instead of trailblaze. So many people, so many stories to be told, so many differences and diversity around you. Your face is partially concealed and you don’t move your head too much, just your eyes. They flick around to take in everything, the crowd thinning little by little as you make it out of the confined space downtown. You’re able to make out full bodies and outfits again instead of just heads and shoulders, allowing you to breathe just a bit easier under your mask.

And then at one point—and it’s almost a little startling because it happens all at once—the organizers must decide that the sun has officially gone down, because the lights come on. All of a sudden, paper lanterns and bulbs flicker into existence all around you and the world decides it wants to glow, glint and twinkle from the inside out. They’re everywhere, draping across rooftops and tangled around street signs and stuffed into the flower bouquets overhead, raining soft colors down on everything. You’re in complete awe, trying to keep walking but also needing to look at as much as fucking possible in the suddenly luminescent city. It’s so colorful, so vernal and warm and you feel like you’re… Like when you took a shower on the Crest for the first time and spent a few happy moments just playing with the water and soap for your own enjoyment, it’s as if all the brilliant rainbow of colors the bubbles would make under the fluorescent light decided to surround you at the same time. You’re inside stained glass, blinking at the flowers and wondering if Din can even smell the air or if it’s filtered, processed and reduced to nothing under the helmet.

And that’s when you see him.

But with the way your chest rapidly constricts and you can count your heart beats as they pound, blaring white noise through your ears and adrenaline through your veins, it’s like he's just allowing it to happen. You immediately understand that you don’t have fucking anything the second your eyes land on him; this isn’t a heads up that you caught wind of early, it’s not a gift or an advantage you’ve incidentally gained over him that you should be thankful for. Being able to see him directly like this, being able to make out all these fucking details from this far away… This just feels like you’re being informed of the endgame right before it comes. If you were anyone else, if you were a real bounty and this was a real hunt, his armor glinting and reflecting the lanterns overhead would feel like a knife you're about to be on the wrong side of.

You have a decision to make, very quickly. Either keep in this same direction, head straight towards him and just pretend like you are who you’re dressed as, a random caretaker for a bunch of rowdy foundlings during a spring festival on Nariss, or disappear. Drop back, move through the crowd and use the distance you have between you right now as your only hope of getting away in time. Neither one gives you a particular advantage—your chances of being caught have already skyrocketed exponentially just being able to see the reflection in his armor, the hovering shield at his side with big black eyes… staring directly at you.

You almost trip over your pantlegs, gasping. Baby. He beams at you and you think he calls out through the passing crowd, his tiny arms extending out, and your chest feels like you’re pulling organs as if they were muscles, cramping up and seizing with emotion. You want to run to them even though you’re meant to be running from them, call out over the noise and wave even though you’re not supposed to. You want to hold the kid again, squish his little forehead with kisses, walk around with Din’s hand pressed against your lower back and see the fireworks with him.

Your hands clutch at the draping fabric covering your chest, pulling and twisting it uncertainly. What do you do, what do you do?

No matter what, you know it’s over. Keep your head down and try to move past him, or break away from your group and try to escape—both are different paths that lead to the same result. What’s the point of running when he’s the one chasing you? The heart-pounding thrill is the only reason you’re even considering it, but his body stands so tall amongst the crowd, not moving while people ebb and flow like a river passing around him.

Except then you can hear his voice repeat the last thing he said to you in person as if he says it directly into the comm in your ear. When you do see me… try to outrun.

You should run—run, it’s better than just hoping he doesn’t see you when you already know he does.

Unless…

Out of a trillion different possibilities, you soon realize that there is exactly one situation in which this could turn out in your favor. You can immediately picture the scenario in your mind, but there’s just too many variables to conceivably rely on getting them all right. This maybe has a… two percent chance of working? Maybe? Everything would have to go perfectly, just fucking flawlessly, but what other choice do you have? Two percent is better than whatever odds you’re dealing with now.

You walk silently behind the group of foundlings as you approach closer and closer, keeping your head purposefully down as they skip and giggle and dance ahead. He knows you’re here—he has to know, you’re counting on him knowing. Walk right in front of him, pretend like you don’t see, make sure you keep left. Keep left, keep left, keep your head down, keep your head down—

A leather glove suddenly catches hold of your wrist hard enough to tug you backwards.

Your gasp is audible over the sound of the crowd and you spin around, jerking your head up to look at him in fear. Your heart slams as the beskar reflects your mask and hood back at you—you’re terrified and it shows, you can see it in your eyes.

You quickly try to yank your hand away, even as your index finger stretches up towards the communicator around his wrist.

“Miss Nerida?” A child’s voice cries, and then small hands grab at you from behind as you bury the urge to actually fight him. Your instincts are demanding you attack when his grip is this strong, but you just whine and struggle, slapping weakly at him with your free hand and feeling more of the younglings begin to pull at you, their high pitched voices calling more and more attention to the scene.

Your gaze flicks to the side, suddenly landing on a pair of New Republic officers helping direct the thousands of moving bodies from the closest street corner. They’re looking at you, pointing and beginning to speak into their own comm units. Din’s helmet snaps sideways to follow your gaze, and then he’s immediately dropping your wrist and stepping back, retreating as quickly as he caught you. Though you don’t want to—though you don’t want to give yourself away even more, you want to pretend fully that he was a complete stranger and the children were right to try to help you get away—your eyes fall to your son in the hovering crib by his side and you feel yourself crumble just a bit.

Just a few more hours, kid. A few more hours.

Children pull you away while your pursuers both disappear into the crowd, and you quickly turn to soothe the tiny babies instead of chasing after the one you miss so terribly.

“I’m alright,” you tell them, scooting them up and encouraging them to continue walking. Blend in, blend in, don’t let anybody think anything is wrong. “Come on, we’re fine, come on, we have to catch up.”

They take your lead as soon as one of the caretakers turns around and sees the small group crowding around you. You think she asks what happened, but you just tell her a man mistook you for someone else and nothing more comes of it. She’s able to settle the chaos better than you are, and by the time you’re continuing to travel forwards once more like nothing happened, the communicator suddenly flicks on in your ear.

“What did you do?” He breathes out, his footsteps moving fast through his voice. He’s traveling much quicker than you expected—is he still being followed? The officers are gone from your sight, they might be going after him right now, weaving between bodies and calling out to the perpetually vanishing glint of armor as he navigates his way out of danger.

You look down at the comm on your wrist and your heart nearly soars with victory. It worked. It worked. You just have to outlast a bit longer, don’t draw any extra attention to it—he’s preoccupied and he certainly doesn’t sound happy, but you hope that’ll be enough to make him slip. Use his frustration to your advantage, let him think the only thing you were successful at was momentarily escaping him.

“The cops weren’t part of the plan,” you admit quietly, keeping your head down as your loose hood billows in the twilight breeze. “Don’t get caught.”

There’s a few moments of just his breathing, his footsteps, and the noise floor humming through the comm, before he finally responds. “You look beautiful.”

You stare unseeingly down at the concrete under your feet, still feeling your hand tingle from where he caught you. The line abruptly mutes on his end and you just keep moving forward, onward, wanting to look back but knowing he’s already long gone.

***

Day 5–5:24pm:

Din is fucking furious.

He had you. You were right there, right in front of him, and even if he hadn’t been subtly trailing you all day, seeing the red footsteps get covered and flicker out of existence just a few moments after you make them, he would’ve recognized you anywhere. In black and white, in the fading light, with your face covered, children calling you by a different name and attaching themselves to you like they’ve known you forever—doesn’t matter, he would’ve known you. Your eyes have always given you away, always so expressive and starry and soft, but able to see right through solid steel whenever you look at him.

But then you slipped from his grasp, and then more guards pushed him further and further away from you. They must all be in constant communication, because every single jumpsuit he sees immediately spots him and starts following. It’s fucking exhausting, and he thinks of you the whole time.

He waits in a dark alley with the kid and taps the side of the helmet a few times to bring up the time on his comm, but then relaxes just slightly when he sees the hour. It’s earlier than he thought it was, he’ll be able to find you again.

Though, something tugs at him while he’s looking at the clock ticking away in front of his eyes, counting down each second that passes. There was… a moment. Back in the square, when he was holding onto you again, when you were looking directly into his once more—everything in his helmet—

No, he shakes his head while the kid looks up at him curiously, it can’t be. It was just a split second, it was gone so fast.

But he can’t get rid of it. Though there’s no explanation, he thinks the display screen flickered. The sky behind you looked different for a single frame, your footsteps weren’t bright red and visible anymore, your eyes weren’t grey and he stopped wondering what shade of fabric you and your friend decided to choose for you to wear. It was silvery, he’s almost certain. Like his armor, it only reflected the color of everything around it.

Color. Everywhere. Bursting for a blink of an eye, and then gone just as quick, before he could actually figure out what it really meant.

***

Day 5–6:59pm:

This water is quiet here, but it sparkles.

It doesn’t ever really get truly dark thanks to the enormous hanging moon and ringed gas giant dancing with Sanctuary II, constantly reflecting light back onto the surface and reacting with some of the trace chemicals up above the atmosphere, and you think the sky just might be the prettiest you’ve ever seen it. Must have something to do with the equinox, the glimmering angles of light being played with by celestial bodies in this stunning system, but it’s a dream. The Maker apparently couldn’t decide which colors he wanted tonight so he just splashed all of them together all at once, let them run and blend like ink in the gentle water below, like the various people who call this moon home.

That view in front of you, coupled with all the flowers and lanterns lining the streets behind you, and you’ve lost track of time the exact same way you hoped Din would. You think you’ve stood for about an hour or so in this one spot, half-listening to excited chatter from the babies, mostly just gazing across the stretch of water and being able to just barely spot the docks in the distance, but it feels like it’s only been minutes.

You check your watch—the fireworks should be starting any second now. You don’t know what to expect, just that in your experience, explosions tend to be loud. You've decided you’re not going to plug your ears, though. Tummy twisting with nerves and another inexplicable feeling you can’t quite put your finger on, you resolve to experience the unknown exactly the way it’s meant to be. Fully, without worry or fear.

Then, lacking any warning or ceremony whatsoever, a single flare launches silent and high from one of the small boats skimming the bay, and the crowd seems to hold its collective breath as the dim light disappears into thin air for a split second, before—

It’s… quite possibly the most dazzling thing you think you’ve ever seen. So shamelessly decorative just for the sake of it, not serving any other practical purpose besides celebration and visual spectacle, and you’ll probably never know another extravagance like it. You grew up with dust pelting against tired eyes, you never thought they’d get to reflect such gorgeous bursts of color back up at the sky, glassy and childlike amongst a group of equally wide-eyed children.

As expected, a deafening boom follows closely behind the singular display, but just witnessing it is incredible enough to make you forget to brace yourself for the sound and you jump almost violently in response. There comes a loud cheer from the people standing around you, a few delighted gasps and children who decide now is the best time to start crying, but then more flares begin to launch from the boats and the subsequent show will sear itself into your memory to replay over and over again.

Still, you think the endless sky and dark water below would have to light on fire to stop him from coming to mind.

Din.

You click the comm on, continuing to stare in stunned awe but wanting nothing more than to hear his voice right now, feel his hand rest on your lower back and the kid’s three fingers squeezing one of yours while the stars rain down from above. You’re only continuing to run from him because it’s expected of you, that’s the reason you’re here, but it’s becoming harder and harder to argue with yourself. “Do you always see in black and white?”

It takes him just a few seconds to respond, but he always does. “Only when I’m tracking someone.”

The loud booms can be heard over the earpiece, happening maybe a second after they crack and sparkle above you. You can’t tell if the latency is due to the electronics or if he’s just that far away from the source of the sound itself, but… you don’t think he is. He feels close again, like he could just walk up right next to you any second, or maybe that’s just how he always feels now.

“Does that mean you haven’t seen the sky here?” You ask after a moment. This whole time, everything has been grey for him?

“I saw it,” Din murmurs, and even though it’s quiet and explosions are thundering loud enough to deafen more sensitive ears, his quiet voice somehow breaks through it all. “When you left the Crest, I saw it behind you.”

For some reason, you suddenly feel like crying. Whether it’s the way he phrases it or the sentiment in the words, you’re close to tears without even knowing why, looking up at the sky illuminating spectacularly. He says it like he wasn’t the one who parked on this moon and told you to go on without him. “Can you… turn it off for just a second?”

He takes a second, before clarifying for you. “I turn it off and I lose your footprints.”

So that was the ultimatum. He doesn’t want to turn it off until you’re back with him again. Does he not understand? Does he not know what you know? Maybe you just happened to feel it first, this overwhelming physical sensation inside you whenever you think about him. It’s like the exact opposite of a hole in your chest. And it’s so odd, so counterintuitive. Being comforted in his absence, feeling him with you when he isn’t. Falling in love in the dark, knowing him without ever seeing him.

“You never needed them,” you say, reaching up to pull your mask down under your jaw and chin for a moment, wanting to freely breathe the freshwater and flowers while stars explode and fracture across the sky. It’s a truth you’re acknowledging, something you’ll carry with you, something you fundamentally own at this point. “You’d find me without the helmet. And I’d find you.”

The fireworks continue to bleed into the water beneath them, multicolor splashes rippling into existence and disappearing just as quick. You could’ve never imagined a more colorful, magnificent landscape—besides your waterfall on Naboo, of course. That was a pure product of nature though, a place hidden away and untouched by people, completely sacred. Light refracting against mist, natural glass that would shatter under your weight. This is a celebration of life and family. Loud in a different way, affecting you in a different way, but just as wonderful and touching. A cultivated paradise, designed to be beautiful and safe only because they wanted it to be.

“Think so?” He asks softly. He sounds so deep and warm, but… a little distant. You’re able to hear it in his words. You don’t know why, though. Doesn’t he believe you? Perhaps… perhaps this isn’t The Way. Perhaps this is part of a completely different oath, one where knowing and loving somebody isn’t the same thing as looking at their face, not at all. Where you can have them exist entirely separate from each other, because this is love. This is real, enduring, bone-deep love, and you haven’t ever seen his face, so how would he explain that? How would the Mandalorians reconcile that? You bear the mark of the mudhorn, you’ve moved through time and space with him, you’re a mother to his son, and you’ve never seen his face. It defies both the Mandalorian oath and traditional understandings of love, or it meets them right in the middle, depending on how you look at it.

“I know so.” For the first time, you think you might sound more confident and certain than he does. Maybe he doesn’t fully get it yet, but then you suppose he’ll just have to trust you. “Will you look at the sky?”

“I see it,” Din tells you, but you know he doesn’t. Not the way you want him to. And stars, you just want so many things for him, don’t you? The sky, fresh air, water, light, food, rest. You want him to see the galaxy the way you do—have a new appreciation for the gifts that are given just because you’re alive to experience them. All the physics and mathematics aligned perfectly for it to happen—all the chemistry, the systems, the dynamics that dictate the universe, they all got together and crafted a world where you, him, and the kid all exist together at the same time. You want him to know the significance of that.

“With color?” You ask, knowing his answer before he seems to.

“I…” Din wants to argue, or at least say it again. He can’t or he’ll lose you, he already told you he doesn’t want to turn the setting off. It’s such an unnecessary conflict, but you want to respect it so much that you’re willing to give up things of your own to make it happen.

“How do I fix it then?” You whisper, so desperately wanting this one thing for him, this one grandeur to behold. How do you fix this problem? How do you convince him to look with you? You’d offer to just go and find him instead of continuing to run away for the next few hours, but you know the show will be over soon and you don’t have much time left. “Do you want me to come look for you? It’ll be too late by then, you’re too far away. Look at the sky.”

It’s silent for a moment—truly silent, even though colorful bombs are going off above the bay. You don’t know why you’ve attached yourself to this so strongly, but it’s almost devastating when you don’t get a response. You look away from the spectacle for the first time in an eternity, gazing unseeingly into the crowd of onlookers with a sudden sadness taking hold of you. He won’t look, he’s too stubborn, he holds onto things too tightly.

But then, a flurry of flares start launching in rapid succession from the distant boats, screaming and crying on their way up and then igniting into showers of light, and the abrupt increase in activity manages to catch your attention once again. This must be the end, they saved the best for last. Every corner of the horizon flashes and sparks, and you’re mesmerized at how bright it is, how many colors they’ve managed to fit into one single frame.

“It’s beautiful,” comes his voice, and the smile that you break into feels just right for the brilliance of the view above you. Maker, it is, isn’t it? Now you can hear it—he sounds like he’s looking at it too, with color, in all its breathtaking glory, and you feel like you’re flying. Like he picked you up and let you watch up close, like you can feel his armor under your fingers right now as he carries you through the sky.

It swells up inside you, a rising wave similar to the ones you can see in the distance, and you know you probably shouldn’t say it because it’s not in your best interest to say it right now, but you have to say it anyways. It’s an unknowable compulsion, a need to connect and communicate directly with him but for your sake, not presently, not at this exact moment in time.

Luckily, you mute your comm just in time and simply give the words to him from very far away.

“Hurry up,” you say, sending the sentiment into the sky with all your love, and the conflicting hope that he won’t take the advice until a bit later on. “Come and find me.”

***

Day 5–7:37pm:

After the fireworks are over, people start to drift off in separate directions, clearing the traffic and congestion from the streets around you. Someone puts their hand on your shoulder and you blink a few times, spinning around and almost stepping on a bunch of tiny little feet by accident.

Stars, that’s a lot of children. They’re all crowded around Naydee, who pats a few heads and almost buckles under the younglings clinging to her leg.

“Figured you would be long gone by now,” she grins at you from behind her mask, and you’re reminded to pull yours up over your face just from looking at her. “It’s late—we’re going back to the Keja.”

“Oh, shit,” you breathe in surprise, but the noise of the gradually dispersing crowd manages to cover it up. At least from younger, more easily distracted ears, but you think Naydee hears you. Her dark eyes roll good-naturedly, looking happy but exhausted from the long day. You’re going to have to say goodbye now.

“What happened to your family?” She asks after a moment, and you think she’s being careful with the way she says it, likely because family is a difficult topic to navigate in general around some of the children hanging on her and begging for her attention. “Have you been in touch with them? If not, I’m sure you can come back with us. It’ll be late by the time we get there, but at least you’ll be safe.”

You open your mouth to automatically decline her offer, knowing Din is still in the crowded city looking for you and wanting to stay where there’s lots of people.

But then… well, he would expect you to do that, wouldn’t he?

There’s more people here. More danger, but better places to hide. It’s the obvious choice, it’s the one that makes the most logical sense. But you’d also be completely alone and you’re assuming the only reason he hasn’t snatched you up yet—which you know he could’ve done multiple times by now, is likely because you’re with a group of innocent foundlings, moody teenagers, and very stern older women. He probably doesn’t realize you’ve told them about him and the kid, though you were slightly vague on the details.

It’s also a little over three hours to get back, but you’re banking on it being closer to four with how whiney and tired some of the small voices sound, others sounding like they’re an enormous sugar rush contained into a tiny little capsule. Would he have the gall to try and get you right from under their noses? Will he even know you left the city, or will he assume you made the smartest decision possible and simply account for it ahead of time? No, you're overthinking it, just make a decision and stick with it.

“There’s also free food,” Naydee shrugs while you’re still considering, but… well, that settles that. Almost three days of friendship and she already knows exactly how to win you over in the end. Sustenance for your empty tummy, an escort the entire way there, and heavily guarded walls beyond. Din will have to get creative in response—you flaunted your imagination for days, coming up with dozens of evasion tactics to outlast him, but this one just seems… incredibly practical. Exploiting a weakness of his—isolating it, having it be reinforced by precedent, and then taking advantage of it. You bet he’ll catch on, but still, it’ll make it more difficult for him, and you’re grasping at straws to hang on just a little longer.

“I…” Quick, come up with something. You clear your throat. “The city is too crowded, I haven’t been able to find them. I could just… tell them where I’m headed and see if they can find me along the way?”

Naydee smiles and nods. “Sounds perfect.”

Yet, the entire walk back… you keep thinking you’re going to feel Din trailing behind you, waiting to feel the nerves twist in your tummy and your palms to sweat, but you don’t. You keep glancing over your shoulder and then down at your wrist, needing to talk yourself out of addressing him through the comm to let him know exactly what the plan is. You like maintaining a sense of secrecy from the new characters you’ve met on your adventures—Naydee, Karga, Peli—almost everyone you’ve been introduced to, you found a way to find a subtle enjoyment in hiding certain things from them. But with Din, you don’t have any walls. They crumbled nearly a full year ago when he silently pushed a cauterizer in your hand and took his armor off for you, and you’ve felt the inexplicable need to bare yourself to him in return ever since. It would be to your extreme detriment to do it now, but you still have to fight the urge.

Even if you don’t feel him following, you still find yourself acting like he is. Constantly turning back to double check the road behind you, drifting off in the middle of shallow, distant conversations with tiny foundlings who can’t tell the difference, keeping towards the middle of the pack this time to avoid being picked off towards the back. The belltower at the orphanage is loud and will ring for quite a distance, so your timing has to be utterly pristine for this to all work out. You eye your comm the entire way there, trying to stall just the right amount to avoid any realizations or fall into any traps he may be setting for you.

You eventually leave the city walls far behind you, and now you have no clue where he is. You lost him, and maybe that’s why you feel your heart beat insanely fast the whole time. He could be anywhere now. Behind you, adjacent, parallel—you can’t decide where to look, but it keeps you wide awake and focused while the group tiredly travels back to the temple.

***

Day 5–11:32pm:

You can see it in the distance, the brick buildings slowly coming into view. One might think your stress would have worked itself out by now, been brought back to a manageable level after four hours of walking, but you’ve been on red alert for the past hour or so. Any movement or rustle that doesn’t come from the sleepy children or exhausted caretakers, you’re on top of it, snapping your attention to the offending tree or animal and not being able to relax even after affirming it’s just nature, it’s not shiny metal bounding after you in the darkness, ready to take you down.

The infants are all likely snoozing away in the nursery, and the Sister who volunteered to stay behind and look after them comes to greet the group at the gate as you approach. Like always, two Brothers open the iron bars to allow you inside, and you feel the anxiety dig its claws into your tummy. If Din is going to get you, this is the very last moment to do it. These walls are guarded and you’re nervous for him, you’re nervous for yourself—you’re just fucking nervous. Jumpy and worried, not being able to pinpoint him anymore and feeling all the more anxious because of it.

It doesn’t feel right. Nothing feels right about this, but you can’t figure out specifically what’s wrong. This was the exact plan, this was a way for you to just survive these last few hours and yet, it doesn’t feel right that you actually succeeded in doing so. It doesn’t make sense that he’d allow you to return all the way here, especially when he was close enough to touch you earlier. Din has had so much time to snatch you up, so many opportunities to lure you away, confront you—anything to catch you, and he hasn’t done it yet. Why? Either you truly did escape and he has no idea where you are, which doesn’t feel right, or he’s choosing not to get you for whatever reason, which also doesn’t feel right. What’s he waiting for? You can’t have won. It was all too fucking easy, you’re expecting to see him around every single corner because he should be there, he shouldn’t have allowed this to happen.

When someone gently touches your elbow, you’re so on edge that you nearly whip around in surprise.

“Sorry!” Naydee immediately apologizes, taking her hand back to lift her hood and remove the mask covering her face. “Didn’t mean to scare you! I was just going to say that the commissary is still open,” she offers, and you watch the small group of hungry teenagers break off from the group to make their way there. “It’s going to take awhile to get the children ready for bed, so we’ll be in the dormitories if you need to sleep. Otherwise, I’m not sure I’ll see you again.”

You stare at her and blink a few times, trying to readjust your focus. She’s your new friend, she just said this was likely the last time you’ll see each other, but you can’t stop thinking about Din. Imagine he’s hours away in the city right now, still looking for you. You’re trying to evaluate your priorities here, but you truthfully never expected to get this far. Inside the gates, surrounded by brick buildings and silent guards. You know your way around here, you know hiding spots, you know how to outlast—it’s incredibly advantageous for you to be inside these walls. What is he doing?

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you give Naydee a quick hug and she happily accepts it. “I’m sure we’ll meet again at some point.”

She smiles and nods, pulling back and letting a couple grumpy foundlings catch her robes and yank on them impatiently. The loud group eventually disappears into the dorms, and the door shutting behind them cuts off the tired crying and chatty voices determined to stay awake, leaving you in silence that feels slightly unfamiliar after going without it for so long.

Fuck, you just need to breathe. As soon as the dead quiet grips the air around you, you realize you need to relax. You’re way too fucking wound up; you want to bolt at the smallest thing and the sudden silence of being alone multiplies it to the point where you have to remind yourself of its importance. Breathe. Focus. There’s about fifteen minutes before the bells ring, fifteen more minutes and the chase will be all over.

Can you eat? You thought you’d want to, but you think you’re too fucking antsy. You can’t stay here alone, that’s for sure, but you also don’t want to be around all the children right now. The commissary will have a handful of people wandering around, teens snacking and maybe a Brother or two standing guard. It’s the best place to wait the clock out, so you make your way there. The gentle breeze billows around your loose robes, your pantlegs swishing as you walk.

A few minutes later, you’ve got a plate of food in front of you but your mask is still up, and you’re just sitting there. Towards the back of the large room, sitting by yourself at one of the tables and staring down at your communicator. Five minutes. You have five fucking minutes left before he finds you. Can you feel him? Is he closing in?

You sit up a bit straighter, taking a deep breath. Focus on that feeling from earlier. The presence in your chest, the weight that didn’t used to be there months ago—focus on that feeling and branch it outwards. Can you feel him?

Something catches your eye.

Or no… it doesn’t, does it? Nothing is out of place here, nothing is visibly wrong or amiss. The only thing that’s changed from all the times before is how dark it is through the windows, and how there are only a few kids in here grabbing a midnight snack instead of being packed like usual. Nothing else.

But there’s… there’s an acolyte in the far corner, standing guard with his back to the wall. It’s not his presence that gives you pause—you expected him to be here, there’s always been at least one present whenever you’ve sat down to eat. He doesn’t look any different from the rest of the Brothers you’ve passed by this evening or the days before—tall, silent, dark brown robes, hooded and mysterious—so why do you suddenly feel yourself break out into a cold sweat as soon as your eyes land on him?

Bubbling laughter and chatter echoes through the large room from one of the tables near the entrance—seven teenagers stuffing their faces with food and sharing animated conversation with each other now that it’s late and they’re alone—but your stomach twists and your fingers start to tremble as you slowly rise from your seat in the back. You want to keep your head down and be casual but it’s impossible, you desperately need to keep looking at that silent guard in particular and your heart kicks up in your chest—

—and then it wrenches sideways when you’re carefully backing away from the table and the offending acolyte takes a single step forwards.

Run. Everything in you screams for you to run, and it’s rarely done that before, but you can’t. Not yet, you don’t want to draw attention, and the logical part of your mind rages against your gut instinct to haul ass. He’s here—of course he is, the thought screams through your veins as you try to weave quickly in between tables, feeling light on your toes and readying yourself to run as soon as you can. The dark figure seems to find a careful pace behind you, staying just far enough behind and walking in perfect silence, and you have so many fucking questions but you can’t even think a single thing beyond run away, run away. Where’s the kid? How did he get those robes? Did he actually take his helmet off just to get to you in a room where anyone could confront him?

Your feet propel you forward as soon as you make it out of the door, you break out into a sprint—just flat out bolting because you know how fucking fast he is and you need as big a headstart as you can get.

You race down the stairs and through the courtyard, the beautiful surroundings contrasting drastically with the way you’re running for your fucking life through them. It’s not beautiful to you right now; you feel clumsy and physically unable to move fast enough no matter how quick you go, your eyes are wide and every nerve is on fire and you can’t even tell if he’s behind you anymore with how silently he moves, but you just trust that he is and keep barreling forward. Your breath puffs against the clinging fabric of your mask as you keep sprinting, willing your legs to pump faster. Get to the belltower at least, get to where you have the smallest chance of being caught by the people who guard this place.

As soon as you allow yourself to even conceive the possibility, two Brothers in dark hooded robes suddenly turn the corner a little ways in front of you and your reaction time is perfect—you jerk to a halt and take a single step forward as soon as they spot you. Since your momentum already committed you to it, you just have to walk, keep your head down, move directly past them and hope Din disappeared from behind you in time.

Step, step, step—keep going, control your breathing, you’re okay, you’re allowed to be up late tonight and they shouldn’t stop you. Walk right by… Stars, you feel their silent stares as you casually pass, and it just feels so cold and analytical compared to the kind of danger Din is gives off when dressed in the exact same clothing. He’s hard and tangible and an unrelenting force, where they just feel like ghosts that haunt this place. The threat they present is impersonal and detached, but the terror currently chasing after you is so real that he can read your mind.

You wipe the sweat from your brow as soon as you turn the corner, and your feet are already starting to speed up on their own knowing you’re out of their sight. Run, get to the belltower before Din does, you can see it standing tall about a hundred feet away. The stairs leading to the door come closer and closer, but you hear something behind you and it propels you faster. It’s like you can feel him right at your heels even though you haven’t seen him, snapping at your ankles even though your footsteps are the only ones you can hear anymore.

You scramble up the stairs and close the door behind you, spinning around and facing it even as you slowly retreat backwards into the moonlit tower, trying to stay quiet. Breathing through your nose, eyes shifting around the enclosed space, continuing to back up and away from the door. Where is he? There are so many windows that allow you to look outside, but why can’t you spot his movement through them? Wasn’t he right behind you?

Behind you.

There’s no reason or logic at all to it; you just react. Spinning around and throwing a mean punch.

Din jerks back just in time to miss it, twisting and dodging at the very last second to avoid your next few hits—but… things seem to slow down, even if they’re happening so fast. The moonlight cascades through the dozens of windows lining the circular walls and it shines just enough to reveal small glimpses of him. With every aggressive strike from you, you see something else—you see a flash of his chin when you try to uppercut, you aim for his chest and you see a bit of his jaw. When you go for his jaw, he steps sideways and catches your wrist, and you see the bend of his nose catch the light this time.

But then it’s like he finally figures out that you’re actually fighting him, and now he’s coming for you. Trained and ruthless, not weighed down by any armor and lightning quick, launching perfectly aimed attacks that you’re only able to avoid from reaction and muscle memory alone. You block or move whenever he strikes, you attack whenever you see an opening, you sidestep at the same time he does—

Until you land a spin kick directly to the center of his chest and snap your leg to shove him back, your heel smashing into that soft spot right above his stomach with dead precision and brute force. He exhales sharply and takes a few more steps back to steady himself while you pause to catch your breath.

Din abruptly comes back and you fall into it with him again, keeping a sharp rhythm with each other that’s faster, harder, and way more real than any sparring match you’ve ever shared. The hours and days in hyperspace you spent practicing with him are but a fraction of what he’s throwing at you right now, the combinations so rapid and blurred that you just have to trust your knowledge of him and his movement through the dark.

But then, your downfall. Bells begin ringing an earsplittingly familiar melody above you, and it shatters your concentration—you falter just as he grabs you and sweeps your feet out, and though you know how to get out of that, you’re not quick enough on the jump nor counterswing to prevent it. He takes you to the ground, hard, and then your wrists are being pinned together above your head and your mask is being tugged down.

Din’s mouth on yours makes you want to cry.

The whole thing is like coming home. You spent a week surrounded by strangers and having them call you by a name not given to you, fending for yourself, and now here he is. Someone who knows who you really are, someone that wants to care for you. Tears come to your eyes even as they're pressed tightly shut, and Din kisses you like he’s never known anything else. His mouth fits to yours as if the Maker made your lips before ever considering the rest of you, his bare hand clutching your jaw and forcing you to open for him, letting him lick deep inside after going so many days without it. It might feel dominant and overwhelming if it happened to any other person, but through it, you can also taste his desperation and weakness, how soft he is even when he’s squeezing your jaw and squishing your wrists together too tightly.

Rigid steel that bends only for your touch.

He pulls back and your heart throbs at how moonlight continues to bathe just the smallest glimpses of him under the hood—never the full thing, never the whole face, but enough. The quiet light that brushes the arch of his nose, how it bathes the hard line of his jaw so that you can barely see his scruff when he turns his head the right way. His eyes are hidden in near darkness but there’s the faintest glimmer where they should be, and it’s the closest you’ve ever been to looking at him without the helmet. You can see him, you can see shadows of his chin, his neck—dear stars, his fucking neck. You’re pinned and paralyzed under him and the ringing bells, yet you feel like you just might float if he wasn’t holding you so tight to the floor.

“Where’s the baby?” You finally lift your chin and ask, needing to raise your voice over the melody clanging loud throughout the tower.

“Making friends,” Din pants back down at you, and… stars, then you just start giggling. Adrenaline turning into pure joy, imagining the kid wreaking havoc with all the other babies in the nursery right now. It feels more light and airy than anything your body should know.

“What are you so happy about?” He asks, swallowing and then continuing on with the same quick gasps. “You lost, I caught you in time.”

“Did you?” You drop your head to the brick floor and ask, biting your lip as he stares back down at you. Suddenly—

—Bong—

Din holds utterly still over you while you take a quick breath and wait for the next eleven bells…

…but then break into a slow grin up at him when nothing but utter silence follows.

There’s a moment. Just a single moment where the cogs turn rapidly under that shadowy hood, one where the faint reflection of light in his eyes flickers down to the communicator on your wrist that says midnight and back to you, one that solidifies the longer it takes for another bell to ring. It’s not going to.

One o’clock.

You think he puts it together. The one moment he was never able to figure you out—when you tried reprogramming the comms just a few days ago. The one trick up your sleeve that you resigned to throw away and almost forget about because the circumstances for pulling it off were never realistic. Fuck with the electronics and set the clock back just one hour—all you’d need to do is reset his communicator, the timecode is synced together. He told you before that it’s connected to his helmet, but all the buttons still work. Rapid, panicky thinking and a wild surge of bravery in the face of certain downfall is the only reason you were able to pull it off, and you’re perfectly willing to admit you just got lucky… especially when he’s still holding dead still over you.

But then Din moves so suddenly. You can’t account for it because there’s no build-up whatsoever—it’s so fast, you yelp while he grabs your knees and throws them both to one side. You flop over sideways and large hands reach up under the draping length of your tunic to yank your pants down over the curve of your ass, before he’s fitting his palm up between your legs and pushing two thick fingers inside you.

Your head thunks back against brick with how unexpected and merciless it is, but his other hand is grabbing your jaw and twisting, forcing you to look up, stare right into the dark shadow under the loose cowl. The whole thing is too overwhelming—you’re trying to keep quiet but your breathing feels like thunder crashing inside this tall, echoing chamber. He’s touched you so many times, he knows exactly how to do it by now, but it feels like so much more than that. Probably because you can see the way Din’s mouth silently falls open as he feels you, stretching his fingers up and hooking them tight inside. You can tell when he closes his eyes, the smallest glint slowly disappearing into nothingness while the hand around your jaw blindly moves up. It catches your chin and lips, and then two fingers push over the bottom edge of your teeth to slip into your mouth.

Your entire leg twitches and jerks while you lay sideways on the ground and open up for him, your neck twisted at a sharp angle to keep your eyes on him and his fingers in your mouth, giving you something to bite to stop making noise. Din makes room for himself inside you two different ways, and you just choke on his fingers and try to stay quiet, praying he’ll go deeper.

But then you’re not expecting his whole fucking arm to start moving the way it does—oh fuck, what is that? First you just feel jostled and displaced, but then suddenly a wicked, deep, burning pleasure starts to roar through you, radiating outwards from the rapid motion of just two fingers inside you. It’s not in and out, it’s up and down so hard and quick against your g-spot that your eyes cross and your hands go numb.

You think you grab at him, clutch onto his arm or chest and open your mouth to moan at the new and overwhelming sensation, but his hand pushes up against your chin and closes it for you, the bend of his fingers caught hard between your teeth but you don’t think he cares.

“Quiet,” Din hisses the word down at you while his arm continues to work, your toes starting to curl as the feeling overwhelms you. Fuck, what is happening, what is happening? It’s like he’s just shoving unfamiliar sensation at you so forcefully that you can’t even think straight anymore, not even ten seconds in. You can only feel the pleasure, fire blurring hot and shapeless through your entire body as your eyes clamp shut, his fingers isolating that perfect spot and stimulating it directly, relentlessly.

Something dull and white hot presses up tight against all the muscles you have down there and you’re almost afraid of how strong it is. You gasp and choke and he has to take his fingers out of your mouth and just clamp down around your entire jaw, sealing the whole thing shut with his large hand. And then Din’s fingers leave your pussy too—and stars, you should be embarrassed by how desperately it clamps around nothing for as long as it does. He’s not even inside you anymore but your body is on such a delay from the hot, twisting pleasure, and he doesn’t put them back in until your muscles are finished spasming.

Everything comes back full force as soon as he starts moving again. Noise starts to come from your throat, humming in your vocal cords to deal with the arcing, swirling build, and so Din just moves his hand there instead. He finds where it’s vibrating from your neck and he pushes up against it, trapping the sound right at the source. He’s fucking perfect at it for some reason… how many times must he have done this to know how to cut noise out without stopping airflow? You clutch at his wrist and silently mouth his name, feeling his arm work between your legs—faster, faster, harder, pushing you higher, higher—

Din pulls his fingers out again and this time, one of your thighs suddenly feels warm and wet while you spasm and you hear him growl out a ragged, “Fuck yes.” Everything is sparks zapping through you long after his touch is gone, you cry out but it’s all trapped under Din’s expert grip. His fingers soon push back inside you and you dig your nails into his forearm, your sounds muffled and quiet enough to hear his raspy groan.

“Let me see it again,” Din breathes, his arm starting to work up and down once more, and you don’t even know what he’s talking about anymore. What does he want to see? You losing your mind again? Being reduced to an utter mess in front of his shadowy but unobstructed gaze just because you managed to pull one over on him?

Fucking… apparently. It’s what happens, after all. You’ve never seen him like this before; whenever he’s worked up and taking it out on you, there was always something in it for him, too. He’d hammer into you and rock your world until his eventually shattered, and then you’d both lay exhausted afterwards, equally affected and satisfied. This isn’t like that—this is just cruel, targeted retribution on his behalf, coaxing the molten pleasure out of you with his fingers and keeping his other hand locked around your throat. You blink helplessly up at him, your vision starting to blur by the time he leans down to whisper to you.

“I missed you, sweet girl. Did you miss me?” It’s so soft and quiet compared to the strength and relentlessness of his movements. You can’t speak even if you wanted to, but when he finally pulls away to yank his hand out and you feel all your muscles automatically flex outwards and push against the sudden emptiness inside you, his voice groans long and satisfied while your thighs get wet again “Yeah you did,” he breathes, pushing your shaky legs to the brick with his hand and watching you struggle through the aftershocks.

Did you just cum? You don’t even know, that’s how fucked up you are right now. The whole thing felt like an orgasm from the very beginning, just a boiling hot tornado ripping through every single cell in your body, never really having a peak. If you didn’t cum, then why do you feel so weak? You feel heavy, your limbs don’t work properly, and you barely even register Din pulling at the fabric of his own robes until he fits himself up against your entrance.

When you do realize it, though… your body burns with it, wrecked already but wanting him to take what he wants from you.

“Oh, plea—” you gasp but you don’t even have enough time to get the full sentence out. He’s already pushing his hips forward, pressing you tight into the ground and opening you up after what feels like a fucking eternity without him. It’s the hottest, slickest welcome you could give him, you hear it in the whispered curse his lips brush up under your ear, the wet noises your body makes that get louder the longer you hold the moan in your throat and bury your head into his shoulder. He throbs thick and perfect inside your tight, spasming cunt, stretching you and smacking the rough ground near your head with how fucking good it is to be back, finally, finally—

Your hands grab uselessly at his chest while you try to acclimate, try to breathe while you’re blind with sensation. It’s so fitting for him, isn’t it? That your reunion should be just as physically debilitating as it is mentally. Din’s voice scrapes on a groan like he’s dragging it across the brick ground as quiet as he can, catching when you clamp down on him and shuddering when you clamp down harder. That’s just it—you don’t ever loosen, you just keep tightening and tightening around him, threatening to break and cum again.

This feels different from before, though. It’s deep, purposefully so. His hand reaches up to push the fabric of your hood back, lifting himself up over your body and wanting to start as deep as he can. You feel him in a place you’d never be able to reach and that’s just the beginning—that’s before he starts thrusting into you, hitting a dull sensation at the apex of each movement so hard that it becomes sharp. His hips don’t make practically any sound smacking into you because they don’t really smack, they just rock downwards and fuck you into the floor without needing to pull out really at all. You know he’s just trying to keep it as quiet as possible, but what he lacks in speed and agility he makes up in power.

You don’t even realize you’re making too much noise until a palm wraps tight around your mouth and the room gets a little emptier. Din keeps you all to himself on the floor, silencing as much as he’s working you up, smothering as much as he’s freeing you. There’s no easing up, no dragging it out, no gradual build or climb—it’s just there all of a sudden, pleasure and pain pummeling you all at once, engulfing you in flames.

You reach up to grab at the loose fabric of the hood over his face, catching a fistful of it before his hand suddenly snatches your shaky wrist and pins it back to the ground.

Maker, you forgot—oh, you completely forgot about how many people could find you right now if they ever decided to look in the right place. You’re not in hyperspace; your body is rocking against rough brick, you’re probably going to have a lump on the back of your head from how terrible you are at trying to map out heaven while holding still. He’s pinned down what he can with one hand; your fingers are the only things that can move besides how tight you can curl your toes, but you feel your moans turn into words against his palm. They garble indistinctly and you’re not really even sure what you’re saying, but Din decides it’s worth hearing.

“Shh,” he whispers, slowly lifting his hand from your mouth. “Shh, tell me—”

“W-wanna look,” you hear yourself whimper, trying your best to keep quiet but wanting to scream it while he fucks you hard and slow on the ground, “—I wanna see, I wanna look at you—”

“Fuck,” Din gasps, and though his grip tightens on your wrist and you know he can’t do it right this second, the words seem like they shatter something inside him, “Keep—oh fuck, please, k-keep saying…”

“I want to marry you,” you nearly whine for him, feeling his hips kick up rapidly and start hammering in and out, in and out, in and—“I want to see your face, I wanna be yours, I don’t want anyone else to know you the way I-I—”

You think he drops his head into your neck to muffle his own sounds. Though they start out rough and quiet and indiscernible, but they gradually become louder as he repeats himself over and over again, growling and fucking you rough. You only catch it on the peak, when he pulls his mouth away from your skin and gasps them raggedly one last time.

“—ve you—I l-love y—”

He kisses you to stop himself. But it’s not really a kiss, it’s more desperate than that. Though it’s beautiful, it’s beautiful in a different light. It’s not rejoicing at having you back with him once again; it’s a last prayer begging you to stay by his side forever. He loves you. He gives it everything—it feels even more concrete and simple than taking the hood off him and revealing his face would. You told you that you'd know him without ever seeing him, and you did. You picked him out and found him when absolutely nothing was giving him away, and this feels like a manifestation of that. Even if you’re not in a place where he can show you his face, his beautiful brown eyes, something still feels like it changes. He loves you. You gasp into his mouth and his tongue sinks deep into yours, tenacious and brave and unyielding.

When you finally cum, you almost bite him on accident.

Everything surges hot and molten while he pulls back and keeps fucking you through it, and you can’t tell where you’re touching him anymore, just that his skin is blazing hot under your hand and he feels like everything the armor isn’t. He loves you. You’re looking into his eyes right now. You can’t see any of the details, not really, but the moonlight flickers like silent stars moving through dark depths, staring right back at you and giving you an anchor for the euphoria rocketing through you. He loves you. Your nails dig in sharp and slowly drag downwards, scratching hard red lines into whatever thick muscle that is—

The back of his neck, making his hips stutter and when he cums for you, he does bite.

You lift your head just in time to feel his teeth catch your chin instead of your mouth, and his entire body shakes while you keep dragging your nails down the side of his neck and his throat. Din fucking lives for it, he releases you and arches into the pain and owns your marks like he wishes you made them deeper, stretching his neck and lifting his chin into the moonlight and—

Maker. You can see it, with direct light, you can see more of it than ever before. You can see his soft lips and white teeth gritting the sound of your name as quietly as he can, the dark facial hair dusting across the lower half of his face. A fucking gorgeous jawline and throat extended long over you, flexing hard with his cock pulsing inside you. You can just barely see the bottom of his nose from under the brown hood, the dark curls brushing up under his ears.

Stars, you still never see his eyes, the fabric of his hood acts like a blindfold draped over them, but you think you cum again. Even if it’s on accident, it’s mean—Din tries to keep from squishing you and his hand pushes down hard against your lower tummy while he shoves his hips deep one last time, and you cum while staring at half of his face in the moonlight. Completely lovestruck.

How can he be this beautiful when you’ve only seen fractions of him? You have everything but the eyes now, everything but the most mysterious thing about him, the reflection into his deepest self, but you feel like you’re hypnotized by every single feature you do see. His tongue coming out to wet his lips, the vein pulling under his sharp jaw—he’s gorgeous, he’s gorgeous, and your body agrees. It shakes and shudders under him and eventually, Din finishes and you keep looking as his chin slowly lowers, face disappearing into the shadow once more.

Stars. He’s so handsome and no one has ever told him, fucking dreamy and the biggest grump you’ve ever met. Without being able to see him, you already want to reach your hands out and touch him, drag your nails through his scruff and force him to extend outwards into the moonlight again for you. Whenever he does end up showing you his face, you know right fucking now that you’ll never be able to look away. For the rest of your life, you’ll be staring at him, apologizing blankly for your rudeness but not feeling sorry at all.

Din leans down and gives you a slow, gentle kiss, finally relaxing into a slouch and breathing hard with the effort it took to shatter you with pleasure.

“The kid is with the other foundlings,” he whispers against your lips. “You… you’ll have to go get him, I need to grab my armor.”

You squeeze around his cock, pulling at the fabric of his robes and ignoring him for just a second. He fucked you in robes belonging to one of the guards and nobody has mentioned it, you need to say something. “Where did you get this?”

“I found it,” he tells you after a moment, kissing up under your jaw. Oh fucking Maker, he feels so good and perfect inside you, shoulders so broad and crowding you on the floor, and his lips are plush and hot, brushing and fitting your skin like it’s just an extension of his own. “Some guy was wearing it.”

It takes you a second.

“Mando,” you suddenly gasp in quiet horror, pushing at his chest and trying your best to detach his mouth from your throat. It’s so much more difficult than it needs to be, but you eventually succeed. “What did you do to him? Where is he?”

He lifts his neck up just the tiniest bit, turning his face towards yours under the hood and holding still for way too fucking long. He’s too close to see the expression he’s making, but you know the tone of his silence. He’s in trouble and he knows it before you do.

“Ma—”

“They’re in a closet,” he admits at the very same time, completely monotone.

You don’t know which word to emphasize. A fucking closet? They’re? Plural? Instead of stressing any particular word, you decide not to do it at all and it ends up just coming out in the same exact blank tone as him. “They're in a closet.”

“Inside the Temple,” Din continues on when you lay still as a statue underneath him. His head slowly dips down once more, pushing his hips against you just the slightest bit to make you remember the cock still inside you instead. Your eyelashes flutter with it—fuck, focus—“I didn’t know there’d be more than two.” He kisses your neck so gently. “It was an accident.”

You don’t say anything at all, your mouth pinching down at the corners because it should but your heartbeat galloping with how… fucking sexy he is. You shouldn’t encourage this, this horrible behavior just to get close enough to catch you, but your curiosity overtakes you and you ask a question you’ve asked yourself before. “Did they put up a fight?”

“Mm,” he whispers noncommittally, rocking his hips down once more. “You did.” Your nails dig into his chest, making him falter just slightly before slowly kissing your neck again. “Did so good. Fought hard, outsmarted me. Pretty fucking girl.”

And then your eyes pop open as you feel it. His cock suddenly beginning to harden once again inside you, twitching and gradually gaining a thicker shape, and for a moment, you actually fucking consider it. He’s the only one in this galaxy that could not only ruin you on these sacred grounds, but then coax you into doing it more than once—stars, are you actually considering it?

“We can’t,” you automatically tell him, but it’s fucking pitiful. Zero effort, absolutely no umph behind it, leaving it entirely up to him and how much he wants it. Your logic reminds you that the kid is probably wreaking havoc in the nursery and there are tied up guards in the fucking temple that could be discovered any second. You shouldn’t have even let him fuck you here in the first place, but… “Mando, we can’t—”

His mouth opens against the crook of your neck and his tongue brushes velvet hot on your skin, tasting the glistening sweat there and not moving his broad figure a single inch over you besides getting closer, deeper. Your nails dig into his collarbone, aiming for reason one last time. It’s apparent that you’d be better off rephrasing, knowing the challenging streak in him and how much telling him what to do doesn't help.

“It’s not a good idea,” you attempt instead, breathless and trying not to move under his mouth and lazy hips. “Not smart. Bad idea to fuck again.”

Din’s body stops moving, even though he keeps getting harder. His jaw opens and then his teeth scrape softly against your flesh, making you tilt your neck back and gasp.

“Later,” he lifts his head to state aloud, committing it to truth now that it’s been spoken and heard by another person. “Later, I’ll fuck you on the ship, in our bed, when I can get you naked and have your taste in my mouth.”

Tingles rock through your body and you squeeze around his cock just as he pulls it out and tucks it back into his pants. Your lungs quiver when you inhale—it’s shaky, but it reminds you of how long it’s been since you’ve been able to breathe correctly.

“Later,” you finally agree, combing your fingers through your hair and glad you have this hood to cover your freshly fucked dishevelment. He came inside you and you don’t want to be leaking and getting your nice pretty robes all wet and stained, but then of course, without any prompting, Din quickly scoots back on his knees and drops his head down to take care of it for you.

***

Commotion.

After Din helped you clean up the way he sometimes likes and then disappeared to change back into his armor, you put your mask and hood back on and tried to look as casual as possible walking to the nursery. Your knees wobbled slightly and you couldn’t stop smiling under the mask the entire walk there, but when you arrived, you just saw a dim room with sleeping infants—not what you were expecting. Soon, however, you hear it: down the hall, distant and coming from the dormitories, you hear a loud commotion.

Fuck, you’re nearly wincing with every step you take now, and not because you’re sore. Well, you… are, a little bit, but in a great way. No, you’re just dreading the ridiculous shinanigans you already know are well underway, wondering if Din actually dropped the kid off in the dorms from the beginning or if he somehow migrated his way there to cause trouble.

When you walk inside, the first thing you see is a handful of crying and shouting toddlers, and while you can’t immediately spot your favorite floppy-eared monster, you don’t have to see him to know he’s probably standing tiny directly in the middle of this tense showdown. Automatically, you’re taking a few steps forward to rescue him, but then you stop as soon as you see what the other babies are so mad about. A large piece of chocolate leftover from the festival levitating just beyond their pitiful little reaches.

Hm. Who could possibly be responsible for using demon powers to steal snacks and hold them hostage from a sizeable group of hostile children. A mystery that may never be solved.

It makes you take a second. The sheer… the… stars, you can’t even think straight—how fucking typical it is just hits you right in the chest, sends your heart into orbit. Of course. Of course this is what he’s gotten himself into without immediate supervision, of course this is the shipwreck you’d walk into, and you’re holding back a chuckle before making a single move to intervene. In the midst of everything, you can hear adults approaching distantly from behind you.

“—don’t know where it came from, I was helping the younglings into bed when I heard the ruckus and I—”

The voices gradually grow louder, and you snatch the floating piece of candy out of thin air and whip around right before Sister Drya and Naydee walk in. Their hushed, concerned conversation is cut to an abrupt end, and you clear your throat as they take you in, standing in front of chaos central continuing to go off behind you. Do you… look as freshly disheveled as you are? You’re not supposed to be here, you know, but hopefully the only strange thing is your presence itself and not anything concerning your appearance.

“Nerida,” the older lady suddenly announces, the name alone holding so much expectation, and the younglings missing their candy have now turned their ire towards you and the crinkly food wrapper hidden in your fist. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Ah, yeah,” you stand up a little straighter, letting the chocolate casually fall out of your grip behind you, and a stampede of feet suddenly kick up to recover it. It’s fine, nobody will know, it’s fine. “It’s just…” Your head tips behind you to the cause of the uproar, feeling a bit sheepish yet so incredibly fond. “My… kid.”

Sister Drya stares at you for a few seconds, before tipping sideways and staring at the culprit. “That is your child?”

You turn around just in time to see him, now abandoned by the angry mob of children, finally notice you. All of a sudden, his pitch black eyes light up something bright and sunshiney, and you just start beaming in return. What an adorable little creature, apple of your eye and pain of your ass.

“Yep,” you sigh, dropping into a squat and watching him barrel towards you, catching him right before he can trip over his brown potato sack and scooping him up into your arms. “Hiya, bug,” you murmur with a grin, lifting back up and plopping him in his favorite spot in the universe—your left hip. “You making friends?”

He giggles and it’s like sparkles and bubbles fill the room instead, wrapping tiny arms around the largest surface area he can get and clinging. He laughs with a tiny open mouth, bless him, clearly not understanding the sarcasm, and suddenly your eyes feel just the slightest bit wet. No, you’re not crying, don’t be fucking ridiculous, but you missed him like hell and he’s just the cutest fucking thing—why do you feel like crying?

“Sorry about that,” you apologize to the two women while slowly turning around, brushing your thumb over one of his cheeks and smiling as it squishes. “He’s… uh. Not great at sharing. We’ll work on it.”

Takes after his dad, you purposefully leave out, just a different kind of sharing. Din hasn’t shown you his full face yet and the kid performs magic tricks to taunt a roomful of children a fraction of his age for a single piece of chocolate, completely different kind of sharing.

Sister Drya says something in response, but when you look up to address her, all you see is Din standing silently behind her and Naydee, slowly dropping his hand from his helmet to his side. They don’t seem to notice he’s there and you automatically try your best to pay attention to the Sister speaking to you, but your eyes get caught on the silver reflecting in the dim light beyond. Fuck, he’s a presence. An immediate distraction, taking all your focus with a single glimpse. Seeing him fully armored again, staring at you from the silent shadows behind everything… you melt a little bit, knowing that you’ve seen more of what’s underneath than anyone. Your shoulders settle and your entire body burns warm, wobbly like the air around a fire, and one of the kid’s hands leaves you to reach out towards his dad.

You watch the metallic helmet tilt sideways after a moment, saying everything without saying anything. Come on, make up an excuse, let’s get out of here.

Looking at him in the quiet shadows, you’re reminded once again about how much you love him, how much softness you have inside you for a man so hard, so guarded. And, for the first time, a voice in your head finishes a poem you didn’t realize you were writing, adding its own verse and bringing everything back around to the beginning. He loves you, too. How much he lets his guard down for you, the way he’s revealed more of his face to you than not. You love each other. You’re family.

So, all at once, you decide to mess with him, because that’s what family does best.

“Don’t be shy, come say hello,” you suddenly urge his silent figure, taking a step forward and speaking directly to him. “Sister Drya, Naydee, I’d like to introduce you to my—”

It’s remarkable, you see it happen in front of you. Like he has powers of his own, Din just literally fucking disappears. Like magic, he’s nowhere to be found within a blink of an eye. You know he’s capable of it; he’s done it plenty of times during the chase just to fuck with your head, but you’re staring straight at him when it happens this time and it might just be the funniest fucking thing you’ve ever seen him do.

Sister Drya and Naydee both turn around to an empty hallway bathed in shadows and you laugh. A deep, shameless, loud belly laugh. Where the fuck did he go so quick? You were staring straight at him and you have no fucking clue. He’s just out, and you’re left alone with his child and the unspoken understanding that he’ll just catch up with you later.

You’re giggling even as you shake your head and give the women your genuine thanks for keeping you and feeding you these past few days, grabbing your backpack with all your belongings and eventually using three green fingers to wave goodbye to them. The very first thing Din says when he seamlessly joins you outside the Keja later is, “That wasn’t funny,” which just makes you laugh harder.

***

About a half hour has passed, and you’re walking along a dirt road, cradling a very happy baby in your arms and giving the grown man next to you an incredibly hard time.

“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, your back twinging slightly at the way you’re leaning about as sideways as you can get without falling over. You think you’re basically just the hypotenuse between the ground and Din, who easily supports almost your entire weight with your backpack slung around his far shoulder and readily allows you to rest against him.

“They’re fine,” he grumbles in response, squeezing you tight to his side. You just have to focus on moving your feet; it’s like he’s practically carrying your upper-half anyways. “I gave them the night off.”

“You stuffed them in a closet,” you hiss, feeling his shoulder shrug under your cheek.

“I gave them the robe back,” he says, not really defending himself and more just throwing it out there to see if it helps any. “I’m sure someone’s found them by now, they’re fine.”

Your eyes suddenly go wide, absolutely mortified at the thought. “Wait. What do you mean you gave the robe back?”

He shrugs once more, apparently not seeing the problem yet. “I borrowed it, so I gave it back after I put my armor back on.”

If you could plant your feet on the dirt road and screech to a halt, you would, but all your weight is already resting on him and you’re working solely off his forward movement. You just hope your tone holds the same amount of shocked disapproval your body language would’ve conveyed if you weren’t so completely attached to his hip like a parasite he adores.

“You fucked me wearing it, though.” Your voice is strangely flat, so fucking confused and horrified by the mental image of him just tossing the soiled garments haphazardly somewhere in the temple behind you, or even worse, leaving them somewhere respectful, and Din soon stops in the middle of the deserted road.

“Oh,” is all he says, emotionless and blank through the modulator. Did he not even consider this?

“I had to promise them I was a virgin just to sleep there, you know,” you admit, and you can tell that’s brand new information to him with how still he goes as you continue to lean against him. You’re getting the feeling that he probably knows a lot more about your experiences on this moon than you think he does, but can tell that this is brand new information to him. “And you locked three of their holy men in a closet, chased me across the temple grounds, fucked me in one of their robes, and then. You gave it. Back.”

Din stays perfectly silent for quite some time. You can never go back to that place, you know this for a fact. You’re banned forever now, it’s what you deserve.

Never one to be outdone but not actually having anything to say for himself, Din suddenly decides to just scoop you into his arms and boost up into the sky without a single word like an actual fucking maniac.

You squeal and damn near drop the baby because of it, but he cinches you tight to his chest and refuses to loosen with your struggle. Eventually, after you realize he’s completely locked you in and you won’t fall to your death with this poor innocent child in your arms, you glance over the shiny pauldron on his shoulder and watch the kid’s crib disappear by the abandoned road as Din takes you higher and higher.

The crib—he forgot the crib—

“D-Din,” you stammer out through the whistling air, stiff as a board. Stars, you have such a different sense of adventure than him; an explorer and a daredevil, one who gets a thrill from discovering the existence of the edge of a cliff and one who’ll take a running dive off of it without thinking twice. He’s hit with blaster fire some days, he faces down death completely fearless like it owes him one every single time, and you’re stiff as a fucking board while he carries you through the sky. It’s stunning up here, it’s exciting and wonderful, but you’re so scared that you can barely even look. He’s giving you the most fantastical view, everything your budding adventurous streak could ever ask for, and your terror is crushing. It would be different if you could hold on, but you’re responsible for not letting the baby slip through your arms and you just have to trust that he won’t let you slip through his.

You raise your voice. “Din?!”

“I won’t drop you,” he automatically reassures, and well you sure as fuck hope not, but there’s something else.

“What about the crib?” You call out over the wind whipping, tucking the baby tight to your chest and settling your hands over his ears to avoid them flapping and whacking you repeatedly in the chin.

“We’ll come back for it,” he responds, just as easily. Maker, you wish decision-making came that easy to you, that commitment and choice should be so simple as to just fly away from things on the ground and promise out loud to come back for them. You know he will, but still, his spontaneity shocks you after spending the past week thinking every decision through meticulously, and you’re taken aback by the casualness of it all while soaring through the sky, committing such spectacular feats without a single thought beyond it.

Soon—incredibly soon, which honestly kind of blows your mind—you spot Nariss glowing in the distance and then you’re flying overtop of the city, slowly dropping altitude in the middle of a quiet little side street.

Din carefully allows your feet to settle on the ground before letting go, but you still stumble a bit stupidly after flying so high without any sort of safety measure besides him, prioritizing the steadiness of the baby in your arms instead of your feet underneath you. His gloves catch at your clumsy body and pull you along with him without another word, leading you out of the quiet alley and into the middle of a beautiful, luminescent street.

What’s he doing? He seems slightly hurried, and you’re clueless but you go with it, clamoring along behind him to wherever he’s leading you.

Though, you suddenly remember one of the very last things you told him last night right before he steps up in front of a vendor.

“Caf,” Din grunts, sliding a few credits towards the man standing behind the counter. “The… biggest one you have.”

Okay, well. You could just about fucking cry.

“Y’sure?” The vendor asks skeptically, jerking his head at the large thermos behind him. He’s balding, wearing a white outfit with his eyes scrunched up and forehead sweaty, likely working all day. “It ain’t fresh. Closin’ up soon, was just about to trash it and go home.”

The helmet turns to gauge your response to the news, the sharp angles and contours looking so sleek and dangerous as they reflect the colorful lamplights, but just filling you with comfort beyond anything in the entire galaxy. He’ll take that armor off for you tonight and you’ll sleep next to him. He’ll call you by your given name, or the fond name he’s given you, and you’ll cuddle your baby on a metal floor in hyperspace with him, and all will be well. Even if he needs to leave again soon—even if you don’t get to go with him, you’ll always have these small eternities with each other, and that’s more enough for you now.

You’re completely zoned out while staring at him, and Din turns back to the vendor before you can even remember the conflict he was attempting to defer to you.

“Yeah, just empty the whole thing in there for her,” he mutters, and you want to marry him. It’s been a long week, and in your haze and delight of being with him in this gorgeous setting, your brain turns to cavewoman mush. Big man, makes me happy. Strong man, loves me, knows me. Provider, makes me feel good, protector, loves me.

Din hands you the large cup of steaming caffeine, clueless to your grunted inner monologue but knowing better than to reach out and grab the kid from your other arm. You’re just fine like this, hands full, the little frog snuggled up against your side and blinking up at your face instead of any of the shiny or glowing things around you. When you look down at him, you can see the world through his eyes—quite literally, they’re reflective and gigantic—and his father’s hand quickly finds its preferred spot on your lower back.

“Try to drink it quick,” Din advises you gruffly, pulling you snug into his side and sloshing the big cupful of piping hot liquid in your hand.

“It’s a thousand degrees,” you protest, trying to balance your three favorite things in the universe all begging for your direct attention at once. “It has to cool down.”

He gives a dismissive hm in response, and you frown even as your heart soars with how tightly he’s gripping you, how little leeway you have to even move without him. Part of you is so thrilled at being reunited with him that you consider snarking something back at him, excitement making you brave. He could probably chug boiling hot liquid in thirty seconds and doesn’t see the point in letting it sit any longer, and you could make some stupid joke about filtering it through his helmet or having a built in bendy straw but you decide to keep it to yourself.

So then you just stand there together, under stringed lights and flowers everywhere, and he waits. Holding you glued to his side, completely silent and clearly just waiting for your caf to stop steaming so threateningly in your hand so you can drink it. For some reason, the fact that he’s wanted by the New Republic doesn’t really register at this second—you’re not looking for cops, though he may be. You’re just lost in this beautiful, fancy city that’s on the edge of finally quieting down after a long day, and you’d like to see more of it with him next to you.

“Well, do you wanna just…” You ask, tilting your head around at all the vendors. “Shop around for a bit?��

“Shop… around,” Din repeats slowly, sounding the words out like they’re not common Basic. Admittedly, they do sit a bit awkward in his voice when put together like that, describing a phenomena he’s likely never even considered a thing before, but it’s so fucking pretty here and you’d like to show him something this time instead of the other way around.

“Yeah, like,” you shrug a shoulder, tipping your head in a random direction. Anywhere, you’ll go literally anywhere with him, the three of you can go explore. “Just wander around, and look at all the pretty things.”

From where you’re standing right now, you can already see glittering crystals and jewels being sold at the tent across the street, there’s a booth dedicated entirely to floral arrangements and crowns next to it, you can hear a distant quartet playing melodically in the distance and a couple is being painted by an artist on the corner. Bars are in full swing at this point, as if they weren’t all day, and even though the merchandise is all different, the multicolored tents look slightly similar when they’re underlit with multicolored lights. It’s less slightly lively than it was in the daytime, but also… more beautiful, in a sense. Muted, softer, more romantic.

“I don’t have any more credits,” Din admits casually, finally turning to look around at everything. You get the feeling that he’s just now seeing it, even after spending the entire day here. “That stale caf was the last of it.”

Money well fucking spent, you can assure him of that.

“It’s okay,” you tell him automatically, gently bumping your hip into his. “We don’t need credits, we can just look.”

So that’s what you do. Even though it’s completely not his fucking style, for the next hour or so, you just walk around downtown with him and sip your caf, looking at anything and everything new and experiencing it with him. At first, you think he’s just entertaining you, following you while you discover new streets and attractions, but then he points out different things and you know he's looking, too. There are large animals harnessed up and pulling carts for people to ride, there's an enormous spinning wheel set up in the distance, its colorful lights flickering out as soon as you ask what the fuck that is and why anyone would ever get inside one.

You eventually end up finishing your caf around the time he’s leading you back through a quiet, abandoned alleyway, and you hand him the empty cup to throw away in one of the trash cans on the corner. The conversation has faded to a comfortable quiet and you don’t really need to ask—you go willingly, not requiring anything beyond his hands on you and the baby dozing in your arms.

“Come on, sweet girl,” he murmurs, gently sweeping you up into his. You sigh, glad he’s giving you a moment to prepare yourself this time, holding the sleeping kid securely to your chest and resting your head on his shoulder. “Let’s go home.”

After you’re comfortable, Din rockets up from the ground and climbs high up into the canvas sky. He disappears with you and the baby into the pastel clouds above, making it back to the Razor Crest in probably about an hour, maybe less. You and the baby do nothing more than climb into the comfy floor blankets while Din starts up the engines, and you think you’re dozing off together by the time he makes the pit stop to collect the crib and the jump into hyperspace.

You think he might shower? You’re not sure—you just know he moves up behind you in bed at one point without any armor, burying his face in your hair while you cuddle the sleepy kid to your chest. It’s dark in the hull, Din’s palms are bare and warm as they slide around the front of your body and he breathes you in, and there isn’t a single place that can touch you here, not a single place you’d rather be.

Home.

***

@followwhereshegoes Thank you for the stunning artwork! 💕To anyone interested in possibly doing an art collab in the future, please message me!!

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x you #smut #reader insert #fanfic #star wars #rough day #no-droids

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sassyhobbits · 3 years

Note

rowaelin with their first child and they get into that stranger anxiety phase and cry with everyone except when they're in their mothers arms and it's exhausting but also adorable but rowan sometimes feels like a bad dad because his kid doesn't want to be held by him so aelin has to reassure him and then some day this phase is finally over - prompt 😢🥺

ok i adored writing this one. dad rowan is so much fun to work with. i hope everyone enjoys!!

~~~

In his over 300 years, Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius had been awoken by many different things. Whether it was a call to battle while sleeping in a war tent, a summons from his queen late at night, or a lover trying unsuccessfully to disappear quietly before dawn. Yet, none of these manners of waking up had filled him with as much dread as he felt currently.

He was woken in the middle of the night by a shrill shriek coming from the room that adjoined the one he shared with Aelin. In the recent months, what had once been a leisure room had been converted to a nursery for their new baby girl.

It took three years after Aelin’s coronation before they decided to start trying to have a child. It took another year before they were successful. Rowan counted his blessings. He had seen plenty of Fae couples take decades before they finally conceived.

Eliora was four months old now, which meant four months of troubled sleep for both him and his mate.

Rowan was instantly on alert at the sound of his daughter’s cries. He knew that they were no more than a normal babe’s troubles, but his instincts made him tense anyways. He quickly sat up, looking down at his wife quickly to see if she had woken up. Luckily, she still slept, likely beyond exhausted from the mix of raising a child and ruling a kingdom. If Rowan was successful, she wouldn’t have to wake up at all.

He got out of bed and swiftly stepped into the nursery, coming before Eliora’s crib. Her tiny face was pinched up in dainty outrage, small limbs flailing as she cried. Rowan took a deep breath, sending a prayer up to the gods more out of habit than faith at this point, and picked his daughter from the crib. Hopefully, this would be the time he could get her to stop crying.

The little princess shrieked and protested whenever she was in anyone’s arms besides her mother’s. Rowan’s included.

“I’ve got you, my little light,” Rowan whispered to his daughter, cradling her tiny body to his bare chest and lowering himself onto the rocking chair they kept beside her crib. “Everything’s alright.”

Despite his soothing words, Eliora still continued to cry. It broke Rowan’s heart to hear, broke it even more to know that nothing he did could seem to calm her down.

“Please stop crying, love,” Rowan pleaded, threading his fingers through the fine, silvery-blonde hair growing on his daughter’s head. “Your mother is so tired and needs her sleep.”

Unfortunately, even begging didn’t seem to work.

Over the sounds of Eliora’s cries, he heard the door hinges creek, and the sound of bare feet scuffing over stone. Rowan glanced over, finding Aelin walking towards him. Exhaustion weighed down her beautiful face, but her eyes were still full of fondness at the sight of the two of them.

Rowan looked to her apologetically before his face crumpled in defeat. “I can’t get her to stop crying. I’m so sorry, Fireheart.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, love,” she whispered, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his hair. “Give her to me.”

Rowan handed the squirming bundle of blankets to his wife. Aelin situated their daughter in her arms before she lowered herself on Rowan’s lap, allowing him to wrap his arms around her waist, press a kiss to her shoulder, and begin to rock them.

Quickly, Eliora’s cries began to fade away. Her face unscrewed, looking at Aelin with those wide, Ashryver eyes that she had.

Aelin began to sing a low, Terrasenian lullaby as he continued to rock the three of them. It never ceased to amaze him how good she was with their daughter, how quickly she was able to sooth her temper. He only wished that he could do the same, that Eliora would look at him the same way she looked at Aelin and not scream and scream and scream.

Rowan’s heart was full of love as he watched Eliora’s eyes begin to droop shut at the soothing rocking motion and the sound of her mother’s voice. It wasn’t long before she was once again asleep, the night perfectly silent.

Rowan helped Aelin stand, keeping a hand against her back as she brought their daughter back to her crib and laid her down. Perfect. She truly was perfect.

A gentle hand on his arm drew his attention away from the slumbering babe. Aelin nodded her head towards their room and Rowan dutifully followed, shutting the door quietly behind them.

“I’m sorry, Fireheart,” Rowan said again, drawing Aelin into his arms and kissing her forehead. “I know you’re exhausted.”

“No more so than you.”

Rowan could only sigh, pressing his lips together tightly. His emotions were troubled, and he should have known that Aelin was going to notice. She leaned back slightly, peering up at his face.

“I know what you’re thinking, Rowan, and you’re wrong,” she said matter-of-factly.

Rowan wanted to believe her, but he couldn’t help but ask, “What am I doing wrong?”

He had faced many challenges over his years. Wars and battles and tortures. He had survived them all and came out victorious. And yet, the thing that brought him to his knees, was the fact that he couldn’t bring comfort to his own daughter when she needed it. A baby had finally defeated him.

“You know you’re not doing anything wrong,” Aelin said firmly. “The nurses said this happens sometimes. It’s not your fault.”

Rowan had heard this what felt like a thousand times. It did little to soothe his troubles.

Rowan was good at many things. He was a warrior and a general, had stepped confidently into the role of king consort. His hands could kill and heal and build, but they couldn’t get Eliora to stop crying. He couldn’t help but feel that, perhaps, being a father… wasn’t something that he was made for.

It broke his heart to think. He remembered how excited he was when they found out Aelin was finally pregnant, how they cried and kissed and clung to each other, whispering about the future. He had been ecstatic, but also terrified. He knew Aedion, who had welcomed his own son into the world a year before Aelin got pregnant, had felt the same before he was born. But, Aedion hadn’t had the troubles Rowan did. He had stepped into fatherhood gracefully, and his son loved him immensely.

“Hey,” Aelin said, a bit snappily. She put her hand on Rowan’s cheek and urged him to look at her. In those eyes was a familiar fire. “Stop that. I know what’s going through your head. You’re a wonderful father.”

Rowan sighed and hung his head, pressing Aelin’s hand more firmly against his cheek. “How can I be a good father if I have no idea what I’m doing?”

“Do you think I’m a bad mother?”

“What? Of course not.”

“Well, I don’t know what I’m doing either,” Aelin said. “Neither did Aedion or Lysandra. No new parent has any idea what they’re doing. It’s part of the job.”

She made it sound so easy. Aelin had always had a knack for that.

“I wonder if there’s some secret behind it,” Rowan mused as Aelin tucked herself back into his chest and wrapped her arms around his torso.

He felt his wife shrug. “I don’t know… but if there was, I think it would be to love them. To support them. To do everything in our power to make sure they’re happy.”

“I love Eliora more than life. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her.”

“I know, love.” Aelin rolled on the tips of her toes and brushed a soft kiss against Rowan’s mouth. “Now, all you need to do is have patience.”

He chuckled. “Look at you. Who would have ever guessed that Aelin Galathynius would be lecturing me on patience.”

Her grin was a slash of white in the dark. “I’ve been told I’m wise beyond my years.”

“Who the hell has ever told you that?”

“People. Now, will you come back to bed with me?”

“Of course, Fireheart.”

They climbed back under the covers, pressing their bodies close. Aelin fell back asleep almost comically quickly. Rowan wasn’t far behind, holding his wife tightly throughout the night.

…

Another month went by and little changed. Both Rowan and his wife were getting little sleep during the night, leading to some groggy mornings. He had seen Aelin taking short naps at her desk or dozing off when an advisor spoke for too long. She would, of course, deny it if Rowan ever brought it up, so he wisely stayed silent.

Eliora still abhorred being held by anyone except Aelin. The fact that it wasn’t just him brought Rowan a bit of solace. His daughter cried when held by Lysandra or Fenrys or Elide. She had a particularly nasty meltdown last time Lorcan had held her.

“I know, sweet girl,” Aelin had murmured, taking Eliora from Lorcan. “I wouldn’t want to be that close to him either.”

Still, Eliora’s reactions didn’t deter Rowan from trying to hold and soothe her, though he had not yet been victorious. Patience, Aelin had said. It was easier said than done.

The sun had set below the Staghorns hours ago. Eliora was asleep in the nursery, Aelin was treating herself to a long soak in the tub, and Rowan sat in one of the plush armchairs they kept in their room, sharpening and polishing some of his blades.

It was an easy practice to get lost in. The simple, repetitive movements were a welcome distraction. A good way to cool down before bed.

However, his hands froze when he heard a tiny whimper sound from the nursery that quickly morphed into a shrill cry. Eliora.

Rowan placed his blades down on the low table before him, pushing to his feet and quickly striding into the nursery.

Eliora was wiggling as she wailed. Rowan wished he could read her mind so he knew exactly what was bothering her and how he could help. But, all he could do was take a deep, bracing breath and scoop his daughter into his arms.

“What’s wrong, little light?” Rowan whispered, carrying her over to the rocking chair. “What is it?”

Eliora’s only response was to continue crying.

Rowan sighed, wondering how much longer he had before Aelin got out of the bath and came in to calm Eliora down. He had seen Aelin do it countless times. She would take Eliora into her arms, smile down at her, start to whisper nonsense or sing a low lullaby. She made it seem so easy.

“Everything’s alright, Eliora,” Rowan murmured, switching to the Old Language. “I’ve got you. I’ll never let anything happen to you, little love.”

And then, something amazing happened.

Slowly, Eliora’s cries began to fade away to a whimper and then, to nothing at all. Rowan held his breath, worrying that one wrong move would put her back into a fit of hysterics. His daughter slowly opened her eyes and peered up at him.

Rowan smiled down at her. “You’re just as lovely as your mother. Just as stubborn, too.”

And then, as if she understood his little joke, Eliora flashed him a gummy smile. The shift in expression floored him. She had never given him a smile before.

Rowan felt his throat tighten and his eyes begin to burn, but he smiled back at the tears welled up. A tiny laugh escaped his throat. Finally, finally, he had done it.

Eliora’s chubby arms reached up. Rowan held out a finger, letting her wrap a tiny hand around it. He always forgot just how small she was.

“I love you more than you could possibly know, Eliora.”

He was too distracted by his daughter and the little grip she had on his finger to notice that Aelin had entered the nursery until she was almost upon them. Rowan looked up at his wife, knowing that his eyes were still watery and there were likely tear tracks streaking down his cheeks. Regardless, he beamed.

“It would seem, once again, that I was right,” Aelin said with a triumphant smirk.

“As you often are, my love.”

She laughed and dropped a kiss to his forehead before draping her arms over his shoulders, leaning over and watching their daughter, who was studying them with wide eyes. Once again, Eliora smiled. Rowan would never tire of the sight.

“She looks like you when she smiles,” Aelin mused.

“You think?”

She nodded slowly, reaching out and running her knuckles along the smooth curve of Eliora’s cheek. “I still can’t believe she’s ours. She’s just so… perfect.”

“Like her mother.”

Aelin snorted. “Kiss ass.”

“Maybe a little.”

They faded into silence, simply standing there, wrapped up in their little, blossoming family. They stood there until Eliora’s eyes fluttered shut once more and she drifted off into a peaceful sleep. One she enjoyed for the entirety of the night.

Rowan didn’t know what he had done to deserve such bliss, but he knew it must have been something good.

#every time i write a baby fic im like #is it obvious that i know next to nothing about babies #rowaelin #my writing #tog

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husbandohunter · 3 years

Note

Your Stardew Impact has given me a serious brainrot and I couldn’t sleep on it so here

Imagine the boys getting Isekai to Stardew and meeting their (soon-to-be) s/o a.k.a the farmer who found them in the mines and dragged them out.

It’s basically the same as the original but the reader lives in Stardew universe from the beginning.

The Outlanders who trespassed the Stars [Stardew Valley + Genshin Impact]

Synopsis: You were a simple farmer who lived a simple life before crossing paths with these outlanders. A tale of greetings and farewells tells a story that loving someone was like looking at the stars in the sky; a sense of warmth amidst darkness, where the dots connect no matter what distance it was. But just like stars, they were meant to be unobtainable.

(Basically what happens if the boys get Isekai'd)

Genre: fluff, angst (faceapalm didn't mean to)

Characters: Childe, Xiao, Zhongli

(A/n): Hi anon, haha I didn't think the Stardew Impact series would be this enjoyable. Allow me to serve your brainrot. But just for future references there is a character limit! Also it long, a pro tip to use ctrl+F and type in the name :>

======================

~Childe's Story~

The day you met Childe was perhaps during the most fortunate yet unfortunate hour of your life.

Winter comes by, your fields were left dry, what else was there to do other than mining? You were aiming to build a new Barnhouse before summer comes, fishing only made average income thus you decided to take your pickaxe and hope to run into some diamonds, gold or even better: prismatic shards. However, expensive items could only be found in the deepest parts of the mountains, where dangerous monsters lurk by.

When peeking over the abandoned minecart you so carefully shielded yourself with, you began contemplating whether you've just dug yourself a grave instead. The whole area became infested, you weren't in the best condition and on top of all that, you were out of food.

You decided to make a run for it, with the treasures and goodies at hand, you couldn't give up. However, things only got worse when purple mist began taking over your vision, signaling a lava bat wave drawing nigh. It was thanks to your greed that you ended in such a predicament but it was also your greed that brought you to him.

"W-Woah!!"

You tripped with your toe pointing downwards into a pile of wooden crates. The bats swarmed in shortly after, daunting around the area above but you couldn't afford to look. Your face was down to the ground and you could only rely on your ears regarding their whereabouts. As if Yoba heard your prayers, the lava bats could not seem to find you, confusing them to think you've escaped. And so, they flew away.

"I'm never doing that again," The sudden impact was excruciating, you were sure that your lip bled due to biting too hard. At least the floor felt somewhat soft, cotton-like and warm enough to be comforting. Yet, for some reason it was also a little…bony?

"…Mn…."

Your body jerks up like a springboard when you felt something shifting. A man, no older than his twenties, no older than you, lays sprawled out under your form. He was beginning to stir and you panicked when a pair of blue cerulean eyes pointed into your seemingly shocked ones within the close parameter.

Too close.

The man gives a cheerfully wry chuckle, you could practically feel his breath almost, "Well this is quite unexpected, didn't think I'd end up in this position," he jests, soon his expression began to tighten into a grimace, "Mind getting off me though? With all due respect miss, you're a little-…heavy."

You scrambled to the side while still kneeling, "What the hell, who are you?!"

"Hm," The man didn't answer, instead he pushed himself upright and turned his attention to examine the surroundings, "Where are we?" He paused when he noticed how the ceiling was made of rocks, "Wait, is this a cave?"

"Ninety two floors deep and surrounded by monsters," you sighed in frustration while rubbing your head with your palm, "Seriously, whoever you are you shouldn't be here, especially if you're not even carrying the necessary supplies."

"Hey, I just got here. I'm just as confused as you," he puts his hands up in a defensive gesture, "But how strange," he mutters to himself, lowering his arms ever so slightly before pinching his chin in deep thought, "I swear it was the right portal…or maybe it was the other one? Hmmm, could it be the effect of the hidden seal?"

I have so many questions. You sweatdropped nervously. Here you were, hours spent to get to the deepest parts of the earth and looking like a cavewoman while his clothes were practically untouched, nor did they seem to be a recognizable fashion. You've seen many odd events within Stardew Valley but not to this extent, "Alright you know what, let's forget about it for now. We need to get out of here before those lava bats come back for us again. Otherwise we're toast," you gestured to the lava pool, "Literally."

He gave another one of his gleeful smiles, you wondered if he was afraid at all, "Sounds like a solid plan to me. Judging by the equipment you're wearing, you seem to have been here for a while. You know your way around?"

Figures that he doesn't know, you thought, "I'll lead."

"Glad we're on the same page. Though, we've only just met and yet you're still willing to help a stranger like me," he mentions in an off-handed manner, perhaps he wasn't used to generosity ever since being recruited as a harbinger, "But not that I'm complaining. You have my thanks, comrade."

"(Y/n)," you tell him, "That's my name. I'm a farmer that resides in this town."

"I see. A town it is then," he inquires, "Call me Childe, as where I'm from, not sure how to answer that anymore."

"What do you-"

But before you were able to question him further, a hoard of lava crabs were spotted crawling it's way towards where Childe sat. He shot you a confused look and turned to the direction, amusement sparks in his eyes,

"Lava crabs? You've got to be kidding me," your arms have already grown tired long ago, at this rate, you figured it may be best to pay a visit to Harvey's doctor office and check up for any muscle strains that have occured during the process. You most likely have considered how heavy your items felt now. Partaking in another battle would only make it worse.

"Ah an opponent, to think this place wouldn't have a set of new monsters to fight. I was growing tired of beating up hilichurls all the time."

His casual reaction caused you to scrunch up your nose in disbelief, "We're being ganged up on and your first response was that???"

Childe paid no mind, instead he propelled himself back to his feet using his trained reflexes and swaggered towards the crowd, "Relax girlie," Stopping just after a few steps, he turns his head ajar over his shoulder with a floppy smirk spreading his lips, "I've got this."

You held in your breath, wondering if you could trust this man. For now all you could do was sit back and hopefully regain some of your strength while observing by the stacks of crates that were abandoned years ago. The lava crabs formed a straight line in front of him, they were smart creatures, cornering their prey in a very well strategized form so that trespassing was out of the question. Childe wasn't intimidated in the slightest, he merely looked down at them with hooded eyes, flexing his fingers for preparation.

"Lava crab…in other words you're of the pyro element," the harbinger holds out his hand in front of him, trying to cultivate the shape of his bow, "A shame. This fight would end much shorter than I anticipated."

However, when he expected his element to manifest, nothing came out. Childe was left dumbfounded.

"Don't just stand there," you screeched, "Do something!!!"

"Wait," he halts you and tries to summon his bow again. Once, twice, as the crabs grew closer still there was nothing, "My powers…they're gone?!"

"Take this," left without a choice, you pushed yourself towards him and shoved Neptune's glaive into his grasp. He examines it with curiosity, but you knew this was also your own well-being you were entrusting him, "It's really easy to use, just-"

When a crab leapt forward, you ran back to create some manageable space for Childe to move in. He delivers a powerful slice using one arm, hitting the crab's weak spot while tossing it toward the side until a dent was formed in the wall. Your mouth parts, fast, he was fast, you didn't even have the time to blink. It was as if he knew the glaive more than you did. Though, the assumption wasn't that far from the truth. Childe was well adept with swordsmanship as he was an expert with many other melee weapons. Which is precisely the reason why he chose the bow as his main, a ranged device, the challenge to keep him on his toes. Just like he was now.

"He wasn't lying when he said he could fight," you watched in mesmerization, each single blow he delivered deemed equivalent to three hits on your part. Childe was both powerful and swift. He was formidable. The way he effortlessly deflected his opponents despite not having an enchantment ring made you forget how much of an idiot he was earlier before. Soon, the lava crabs began to lessen, leaving what remained of their dusted corpse while some retreated back into the depths of the cave.

"Not bad, it was kind of fun!" Childe laughs exasperatedly, glancing at his blue reflection upon the marred blade, "It's been a while since I last used a sword, and still haven't gone rusty either," he hands you the hilt, "Thanks for letting me use it by the way. You seriously got yourself a sick weapon."

"Keep using it for now, I think I'm a little too worn out to handle it," you say regretfully and pointed your nose towards the ceiling, "The mist hasn't disappeared so there's probably gonna be more monsters we'll encounter soon."

Childe looks up as well, "Huh I was wondering what that meant."

"By the way I've never seen anyone fight like that. Exactly what kind of place are you from?" You finally ask, "You somehow ended up in a cave, without anything to defend yourself with and it's not like you know your way out either. Are you...from another world?"

"Huh didn't think you'd draw that conclusion so quick," he comments jokingly, "Guess there's no reason to hide it anymore. Indeed I am from another world, at least, that's what I can tell so far. I've never encountered these types of monsters either."

You couldn't help but be taken aback by his honesty, "That was strangely easier than I thought...."

After escaping the cave, you introduced Childe to the wizard who lived in Cindersap forest, M. Rasmodius. He was extremely intrigued by the concept of an outlander and seemed happy to be of assistance. Since helping others was the culture of Pelican Town, you commissioned Robin to build a small cabin for him to live in temporarily. In return, Childe must accompany you back to the caves and make up for your losses. It was a mutual benefit since he had the opportunity to fight as well.

Childe befriended the townsfolk rather easily. On friday nights where everyone goes to the Saloon to enjoy their time, he would be found in the other room playing pool with the gang (Sam, Abigail and Sebastian)-- you as well when he managed to drag you along with him.

Crashes at your place when you were busy with the farm. You can bet that he would pop up suddenly midday through your window, “Can you use the door like a normal person???” But despite how much you get irritated by this habit, all bygones are bygones the moment he starts a conversation.

He sticks around as you carry your hay batches, sharing his stories. How the organization he worked in was a powerful militaristic force that had authority over many countries. But you didn't see him as a brute since he only joined for the sake of his parents, for the sake of his siblings and their dreams.

You thought of your grandfather who also once told you to pursue your dreams: live a peaceful life away from urban society. However, as long as the harbinger was with you, there wasn't much option for 'peace'.

"Tell me again why you dragged me out here? You know thatI still have a lot of work to finish back in the farm," you trekked your feet through the thick icy sheets with one hand clutching the zipper near your collarbone. It was incredibly windy in Cindersap forest and Childe happened to have convinced you to leave the comfort of your home for 'a surprise favour'. He purposely made a vague statement to draw in your curiosity but if you had refused-- well, that would have led to constant nagging on his part.

"You'll see," is what he said, it was what he told you through this whole ordeal. He lifted his chin to feel the frosty air against his face, "There's this one activity I wanted to try out. Back in Snezhnaya, I used to bring my brother to go skating out on the lakes. It's deadly freezing there so the ice is pretty thick to work on. Haven't done any of that since I joined the Fatui."

You shot him a deadpan glare, "That's why you brought me out here? Why didn't you just go by yourself?"

"Now that's cold (Y/n),” you rolled your eyes at the pun, “Can't you loosen up instead of throwing yourself in a pile of work all day?"

"It's not that I don't want to...I'm just very busy with the farm since it's the last day of the month. At least I want to do as much as I can before Spring comes."

"Haha you're right but you only live once y'know?" Childe noted happily despite your protest, "And like I said before, seize the opportunity when you see it. You never know when it will be your last."

You cocked your head to the side, "What do you mean?"

"Now let's get started shall we?" As you both reach the edge of the frozen lake, Childe takes a step forward ahead of you, "Have you ever gone ice skating before?"

"Yeah but..." You glanced at the glassy surface with skepticism, suddenly struck by hesitance. The thought of drowning made you retreat your steps right away, "I don't know Childe, it doesn't seem that safe."

"That's true if you're not careful enough," he pointed out, "Luckily you have me to help you with that."

"How does that work?"

He placed one foot onto the hardened lake and parts his mouth into a grin, "Watch."

In contrast to your cautious personality, Childe was considered to be more of a wildcard if anything. He loved adventure, just like you except his side often included bloodshed and the thrill that danger carries. You weren't sure if it was worth putting up with his antics or entertaining his idea of skating on thin ice, but you complied regardless. He had a way of delivering his words through that cheery voice you couldn't deny.

Prior to meeting him, life was boring. The corporate world was boring. You moved into your grandfather's farm in order to search for some form of fulfillment that Zuzu city couldn't give and you thought you did now that you had your very own farm, but slowly you began to pile more responsibilities than you could even count.

Everything you did, you did alone.

If it weren't for Childe, you wouldn't have learned the art of surfing on ocean waters. You never would have known the taste of mixing three different ice-cream flavours together despite what strange names they all had. Or what it felt like to mingle with the townspeople rather than mingling for the sake of business. Suddenly, everything became...fun.

Childe wanted to go far and wide. He was always running, so far ahead, somewhere beyond the stars as he could conquer the world to the point you might no longer reach him.

No longer reach him, huh. Curling your fingers into your palm, you renewed your courage and took a step onto the ice.

At the sound of boots tapping behind him, Childe spins around to see you wobble in your stance, nearly tipping over. He slid across to where you were and grasped your arm before you fell.

"Gotcha."

"Thanks," You sighed in relief, "Jeez, this is harder than I thought."

"Guess this is your first time then," he commented with a bit of jest, "Don't stress yourself over it too much, you'll be okay. I got you."

He carefully led you to the center, staying close in case you were to fall sideways again. You awkwardly tried to keep your legs straight, balancing on your own yet the fact that there was still water underneath struck fear into your nerve. It caused you to tremble and eventually skittered backwards.

"Haha ice skating isn't your forte isn't it?"

"I'm just getting started!"

He takes your hand in his before you could even protest, it was one of his many aspects that you found endearing-- the fact his impulse stems from genuine intentions, feelings, not giving them a second thought. The two of you glide using the soles of your shoes, he speeds up ever so slightly and the adrenaline begins to increase until there comes a rush of excitement, freedom. The stress you once had already forgotten once taking flight upon the ice.

"Look Childe! I'm actually doing it!" You couldn't help mentioning with a bit of youthful playfulness in your voice, "It's so smooth and fast! Almost like I'm flying!"

He smiles quietly from a distance, “See? I told you that you'll be fine.”

It was clear to many that the two of you were much closer than what meets the eye.

Childe began to notice the change in your aura. You were happier and much more soulful. Before you were always on the edge, cautious in contrast to his sanguine approach, he couldn't help but be caught off guard whenever you teased him. Or the sudden honesty that causes him to be flustered. By your side, he was no longer a Fatui Harbinger rather more of a puppy, adorable almost.

But when he saw that the reason you changed was because of him, it brought fear into his bones. Why? How did things get to this point? You were lost in a wonderland, ignorant to the blossom that had sprung inside of your chest.

Maybe it was better to be ignorant. Just live in the moment while it can still last.

"You're leaving?"

Standing at the gateway between the mountain cliffside and the starry sky, you call out to the man you've known in a way that carries more than what words could say. Because he left a mark in your years that could never be erased and here he was, trying to erase his existence completely.

Childe lets out a bitter chuckle, he didn't dare to face you, "I didn't expect you to catch up so quickly. You're quick-witted, comrade."

"It's (Y/n)," you corrected, trying to steady your voice so that he couldn't tell the expression you were making, "Why didn't you say anything? What makes you think that I'll just stay silent and let you go on your own way? This isn't a joke Childe! Don't act as if none of it matters to you because it sure as hell did to me."

His lips that held his usual smirk flattens into a straight line, "Even if I did, would it make a difference?"

The world stills. You knew the answer, he knew the answer, you just refused to admit it. One by one, the stars begin to collect themselves until a bridge was formed in front of him, on another day he would be enjoying the scenery alongside you. But today they would be for you alone to witness. The man who you spent your time with had slowly, regretfully, inevitably became a stranger. He was right. It wouldn't make a difference. You were already aware since the day you met him that he belonged to another world and you willingly offered to help him find a way home.

"You know, you could come with me."

Your eyes jolt open. His voice was so free of care. As if he was commenting on something so minor on a casual Sunday afternoon while accompanying you to the beach. But when you came face to face with the harbinger, his expression lackluster, you knew that he meant every word.

"Just you and me, we can travel across the world to our heart's content. I always thought you were an adventurer just like me and you know what, the farm life just doesn't suit you," Childe slowly extends his hand as an offer, for you it was a temptation, "So what do you think? Care to join me?

Your lip quivers. What he said sounded like a sweet dream that you so desperately wanted to take a bite out of. But even so, you thought about the townsfolk, your farm, your grandfather. Their images flashed in as if holding you back, chaining you to the ground, "I can't."

The answer pained you more than it did to him.

"Figures, this is your home after all," he huffs out, " Now do you understand? I can't leave my home either. If I did, heh, I think my siblings would despise me until the very end and I just don't want that. So no hard feelings, okay?"

You didn't reply.

"Don't worry. I won't pressure you if you don't want to," Childe turns back to the bridge, it was almost time, "Do what you have to do (Y/n), hate me if it makes you feel any better. You can even forget about me," he paused, renewing his resolve, "But I know I won't."

"Childe-"

You ran to grab his scarf only to have it ghost through your hands. He was relieved that he couldn't hear your voice, as he returned to Teyvat, Childe wonders what kind of expression did you have before he left? He'll never know.

---

~Xiao's Story~

The day you met Xiao...well, you weren't in the best of the best positions.

This was probably your sixth attempt trying to make it through all levels of the cave and reach the last floor. The quest had been sitting in your drawer for months.

Of course you didn't expect things to be easy, the fortune teller channel you watched every morning had yet to inform you with any good fortune and you would often bump into obstacles that would halt your progress.

But to be fair, sometimes the colourful ore would attract your attention and before you knew it, it was time to go.

So close yet so far. You dragged your feet tiredly against the ground. What time was it? Who knows. Judging by your state, you assumed it had already struck past 12 a.m.

However, today luck seems to have taken pity on you, just...slightly.

You puffed air into your cupped hands for the nth time, huddling deeper into the touch of your coat while trudging into the cave's cold climate. A little longer, any time soon, you kept telling yourself over and over but as if time was frozen, the wait felt like an eternity. Ah how much you wish to be in the comfort of your soft, fluffy bed right now. Though, merely visualizing the image only reminded how achingly freezing it was so you decided it was best to spare yourself from the details.

"I can't do this anymore..." leaning your head against the ice covered cavern, you whimpered, "I should have stayed home."

As you were about to shut your eyelids, something flashed by your peripheral vision. You darted towards the direction it came from, the light was a bright green hue against blue, could it be, "Warmth!"

It seems you jumped to conclusions too quickly. With impatience, you swung around the corner, expecting to find a heat source, only to meet something much more horrifying.

"KYAH!"

They stared straight into your eyes, those demonic eyes tainted by black and fangs that stuck out of the mouth like tusks on an elephant.

However, when the light evaporated you were able to have a better sense of sight, slowly revealing the monster's true form and the body of a human boy. He fell onto his back with a thud and you used this chance to calm yourself from the frightful encounter.

"He's...unconscious?"

You meekly crawled to where he lay and examined closely. Aside from the mask, there were various distinct features that stood out in his attire, his tattoo being one of them, imprinted in what looked like an eagle. You then realized how unsuitable his clothes were in this current situation. At least there were no injuries so far. But was that a good thing? This man practically came out of thin air as if some sorcery had been committed. Witches never left a good impression ever since they cursed your chicken coop. You were hesitant whether to help a stranger who could potentially be one of them or a creation they cultivated. What other explanation could there be?

"I can't leave him here, it's too cold."

Your gaze suddenly falls upon his covered face. The design, although intimidating at first, upon closer look was very alluring in it’s own way. You haven't stumbled upon anything like what the merchants had to offer in Pelican Town and the mask almost looked too foreign. Was he from the east? Curiosity eventually takes over and you gingerly reach for the mask, sliding it off his face.

"Eh...?" You gasp, taken aback by his striking appearance. A part of it made you feel this was no ordinary boy but that didn't mean he should be abandoned in this environment. It would be immoral to let him die in a place like this.

Before you could even make a noise, his eyes bursted awake, grabbing your wrist in a harsh grip. He used his other hand to push against your shoulder until you were instantly pinned on your back with no opening to escape. You choked a sharp sound as you stared with wide eyes. The man was akin to a beast, he had the expression to match it, like the glaring sharp gaze of wolves that roam at the mountain cliffside near Zuzu city and the ferocity of the demonic mask he once wore. You were breath taken but in a more fearful way as he continued to grip onto you tighter with the possible intent to harm.

"Speak!” He demanded, “What have you done to my powers and where have you brought me?"

In Xiao’s case, he was thrown into another world under the circumstances of fighting against one of Liyue’s unknown beasts. He was on high alert, thinking the fight was still ongoing.

You may look human but you could still be a threat. Xiao is the type to act upon instinct in the moment when something feels out of place. Like the spear he wields, he was trained to behave like one: to strike, strike down his foes without hesitation. Don't leave an opening for them to take the advantage. Xiao is a weapon and violence was what he knew best. He couldn't afford to lower his guard even for a minute.

You could say he left a pretty strong first impression to the point you were paralyzed. As he looked at your face, petrified and tense, he wavered and began to reevaluate things. Large doe-like eyes stare into his feline ones. They didn't seem to hold any sort of malice, was it possible for you to be the one who cursed him?

"Eeeeeek! I-I have no idea what you're talking about, let me go let me go!" you cried, "Please don't hurt me!"

Perhaps he shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.

Xiao feels your struggle and eventually gets off to give you some space. Your reaction was understandable, he was used to it anyways. Xiao scoffed to himself, why are mortals so weak? Their strength, if compared to the adepti, was separated by a large gap (Like it always should be). Xiao kept his gaze averted to the side as you rubbed your wrist, focusing his attention elsewhere. He glanced at the vastness of the cave in front of him.

Why was he sent here? For what reason did it serve? Ever since he sealed the contract with Rex Lapis, the guardian Yaksha had never entertained the thought of leaving his country nor did he act upon it; he was far too loyal to his god to do so. But here he was, against his own will yet free from his karmic binds, stripped of his divine powers in the return of endless questions about this new found mortal-like form.

What should I do now?

Choosing not to dwell in any longer, Xiao rises to his feet and proceeds to walk the other way.

"Ah u-uhm sir, where are you going?"

If the universe wanted to test him then he'll find his own answers.

"Wait! Please wait up!"

"Tch."

Although he intended to keep going, Xiao heard you running to his direction and slowed to a halt, some mortals surely do not know their boundaries, "Hmph there's nothing timid about you. Leave me be," he demands without turning around, "Don't forget what I'm capable of."

Stay away.

"I-I know that," you retaliate weakly. Just by hearing his tone made you want to melt away and become one with the ice. He was a scary man indeed, the same one who attacked you earlier. But even so, "That doesn't mean I want you dead! If you go that way, you might freeze to death. Aren't you cold? You don't even have a coat on."

"..." Upon the mention of his predicament, his senses started to kick in. As a yaksha, Xiao wasn't able to be affected by temperature but now he felt his hands beginning to sting, trembling from it’s impact. Ah, so this is what it feels like to be cold. Still Xiao was stubborn and continued to push you away, "What happens to me has nothing to do with you. Now leave, or else."

"I-I can't do that!"

Xiao clicks his tongue in frustration. How annoying. This is why he dislikes meddling with meddlesome humans. But quite frankly, he wasn't sure how to handle your type of forwardness since most tend to back away. And so, Xiao does what he usually does, he ignores you and continues walking, eventually you'll give up on him anyway. However he hears a loud thump and whips around to see your body laying in the snow. The hours of travelling in the cave have seemed to caught up that you inevitably collapsed from exhaustion.

Knitting his evergreen brows together, Xiao lets out an irritable sigh.

...

You wake up to find the sky above your head and your coat draped over your shoulders like a blanket. Dawn was slowly rising above the distance valley, you figured it was around 4a.m in the morning. Rubbing your eyes, you eventually noticed a figure sitting across, admiring the sunrise.

"Ah it's you!"

Xiao jolts ever so slightly, peeking over his bare shoulders until you could see the sun's light casted against his golden irises. Did he stay here while you were asleep? Then, that would also mean he was also the one who carried you all the way up from sixty floors below.

“You're awake,” he noted flatly, “If that's the case, then I have no reason to stay here."

Of course, that wouldn't be the last time you saw him.

You were a tenacious human being, always so insistent in dragging him away from his lonesome personality. He resides in the forest and camps there for the time being (similar to Linus since they’re both homeless lol). But you’d always run in, DAILY and sometimes for the most stupid and mundane reasons. It could either be giving him the snacks you snatched off the table since Xiao refused to participate in parties, or fancy seashells you found on the beach. You didn’t want him to miss out on all those things of course! Although he responds with irritation, it was as if his words went through your ear and then out the other. His efforts were futile (however, he was slowly warming up without realizing).

He learns how easily his body reacts in the presence of food purely because he was hungry. You bring an extra set of blankets and pillows to his campsite when the ones you gave him wore out (he didn’t ask by the way). Xiao needed help whether he liked it or not since he no longer has his powers, hence he couldn't run away. He somehow ends up moving in to live on the small islands near your farm.

Xiao doesn't understand humans very much. Just as he was unable to understand how human emotions work. He was the almighty yaksha, Adeptus Xiao and a formidable beast that killed thousands in thousands of years, at least that's what he used to be. Even now he still has yet to figure out what he was or who he was exactly without a weapon to define his existence. He was made for battle but nowadays, he found himself watering plants, chopping down trees and throwing seeds to the chickens living in your coop. How did everything escalate to this? It baffles him, how much his life changed so drastically.

Haha, you’re Xiao of course! The greatest farming assistant I could ever have.

But above all else, the one thing Xiao couldn't understand among those universal questions, is you.

"Why are you doing all this?" Finally he asked. The urging thought had been persisting at the back of his mind ever since.

You stopped on your tracks and turned to look at him, tilting your head with a complexion made curious, "What do you mean? Ah, did I do something to bother you?"

"I didn't say that," Xiao interrupts abruptly, he folded his arms across his chest and shot you a deep contemplating gaze, " You're...incomprehensible. All I did was drag you out of that cave yet why are you so kind to me? Don't you think you're extending yourself too much just because of one little deed?"

Because to him, saving a life was the norm. He does it unconditionally just like you helped him with those same intentions. Except, Xiao had been pursuing corrupted souls behind the scenes all this time and expected nothing in return. Experiencing someone's gratitude was rather new.

You shook your head, "It wasn't small to me," a satisfactory smile melting onto your face, "I'm here at this very moment, feeling the wind against my skin and smelling the scent that nature carries, these are just the few things I cherish. It's thanks to you that I can still watch over grandpa's farm, that's why I don't feel like I'm overextending myself in any way," suddenly you beam at him, "At first I thought you were a scary person. Haha. Time flies so fast, it's amazing how much can happen in between."

"Hn, you're a simpleton. But that's not a bad thing..." he points out curtly yet softly, "Do as you wish, I won't stop you so feel free to call my name whenever you need my help. I'll be there."

Xiao also finds you to be very clumsy. He couldn't leave your side even for a minute. But that was a lie. He just grew very attached to you.

When you tell him that you've been going into the mines for a quest, he tells you that you're far from capable. So he teaches you how to wield a weapon properly. Xiao was a strict teacher and he intends to keep it that way, he wouldn’t even allow you to set foot in the mines until he finds you capable enough.

You were a meek yet optimistic person, yet you were also strong-willed.

For a place that wasn't his home, he felt it was. And he found that it was all in your presence. Those peaceful hours hiding inside the barn while a storm rages outside, you sit beside him while hugging a sheep close to your chest. Xiao learns how to feed some of them, he even brings seeds for your hen house too. If you were ever short on materials, Xiao would travel to the enchanted forest behind the wizard's tower and get them for you, no matter how late it was. Though if you went by yourself, he'd deliberately go with you despite your protest.

The minute Xiao realized how much he was attached to you, it was devastating. As if the claws of his karmic debt had come back, pulling him into the shadows once more. He was an adeptus with a contract and bound by his duty, he must choose between his god who saved him from a nightmare and you, the girl he fell for, showed him that the world was indeed a beautiful place, he was stuck in an equilibrium and he felt that the binds may even tear him apart if he kept resisting.

But when did he ever have a choice?

"Where are you going Xiao?"

When he heard your voice calling his name, the yaksha willingly pulled himself to a halt. His sunset eyes narrowing from guilt before it shuts with a trembling sigh out of his mouth. Why is it that you always appear during the moments where he desperately needs to get away from you? He planned to sneak out the door, making sure his footsteps were unheard while you slept. And by the time you woke up, he didn't have to face you, he wouldn't have to say goodbye. He won't. Even if what he was currently doing said otherwise. He will never hear himself say those words.

"Xiao?"

Yet, he cannot refuse you. Not now, not ever. You were breathtaken to see a type of expression that you never thought was possible for him to make. The creases that once formed between his slender brows, the heaviness he always carried in his expression was replaced by a sense of sentimentality. Before you could register what was happening, Xiao took his step towards the porch of your house, not once did he tear away from your attention. He slides his hand beneath your jaw and affectionately against your cheek, the fondness evident in his gaze that you almost felt imprisoned by it.

"You never fail to appear in the most inconvenient of times," He gives a weak smile, a smile that makes your heart swell. Despite how much you could drown in his honesty, you couldn’t help but feel there was something wrong, “No matter how many times I’ve tried to push you away.”

You don't know him. You don't know his history and what things he committed in the past. But as if you've known this whole time, Xiao couldn't picture you leaving him for those reasons.

“You’re gentle but you don’t let others put you down. You’re kind but you don’t allow it to be your weakness. I sometimes wonder how it is possible for anyone to be so forgiving?”

"I-I don’t understand why you’re this Xiao. Is something happening?”

He won’t tell you. He doesn’t see the reason why you need to know.

You wince when something poked the side of your neck and you realized it was a tranquilizer. You looked at Xiao with dismay, his face becoming hazier until your vision darkened and could no longer hold your own weight. Xiao caught you around the waist with one arm as you fell unconscious.

"How can you be so stupid...?"

But he speaks as if those words were meant for him.

Pulling your body closer to him, Xiao chains you down into a desperate embrace. A silent scream of desperation. His forehead pressed against the bent of your shoulder and the other arm rested his hand at the center of your back. He will relish in the shape of your body, memorizing every curve both perfections and flaws. The way you fit into his arms and the pleasant smell of nature that you taught him to love, this was the only remnant he was allowed to take. Every detail, he will remember it as if clinging to the last moments of his whole world.

If he was allowed to have a desire, let him meet you again. He prayed to a god, any god-- even if it meant damaging his oath, he will accept his punishment. He prayed to each star in the sky and if he must he'll pray to the devil himself, whatever it is, he will do it for you.

As he painfully lets go, Xiao lets his hand slide off your body until the last thing he felt was the very tips of your fingers. He settles you down gently into your bed. You belong here in this peaceful world, not the one riddled with monsters.

---

~Zhongli's Story~

The Skull Cavern was considered to be the most dangerous mine of Stardew Valley. It wasn't your intention to run into any trouble, all you wanted was to test your cool new galaxy sword on some easy monsters and then be on your merry way. At first.

Just one more floor. You say, before catching an arm sticking out a pile of rocks.

"I-Is that a person?!!!"

You dug as fast as you could, any time soon the mummies would wake up and start attacking. Quick quick! Moving the last rock, you saw the face of a young man, he was asleep but alive! and undeniably attractive oh wow *lip bite*. But despite your attempts of shaking him awake, it was fruitless and the monsters weren't waiting.

Taking out two warp totems, you raised it to the ceiling and chanted a teleportation spell.

It wasn't everyday that you brought a man to your house.

But when you did, he wouldn't be from a cave, six floors down and buried in a place filled with monsters.

"And this small black device you say is some form of communicator? That certainly is intriguing, never in my years have I heard of something so advanced."

However you were beginning to think otherwise. That this man would have been from the prehistoric ages who you managed to unbury after his thousand year slumber. Zhongli sits on the couch across from you while examining your smartphone, a term he claimed had been completely foreign. You were contemplating whether you should bother Harvey despite being past his work hour and book an emergency appointment to see if this man had a special case of amnesia.

You brushed the idea away. There was so much going on and nothing made sense, for now, you decided to settle this on your own.

"Uhm Zhongli is it?" you asked nervously, "Maybe you can try giving the name of a relative or someone you know. I can use the phonebook to see if I can find their number."

“Number?” He parroted.

You blinked a few times, making sure if you heard him correctly, “Yes, number. You know? To communicate?”

"I appreciate your kind gesture," Zhongli acknowledges in a polite manner, "But that won't be necessary. This device doesn’t seem to be at a level where it can communicate with the people from my homeland."

If he was travelling then how the hell did he end up in THE Skull Cavern is what I wanna know!

“T-Then if you don't mind me asking, where are you from?"

Zhongli takes this moment to think of an answer, aware that if he blurted something out it would not have translated in the way he wanted. But you so kindly invited him to your humble household that he felt it would only be proper to owe you an explanation, "I suppose a land from afar."

You sweatdropped, "Suppose?"

"Yes. Although I won't spare you the details since this is not your burden to bear, it’s quite difficult for me to try and remember exactly what happened," Zhongli took his chin into his hand, fingers almost covering his mouth, "Perhaps I would need search for clues in order to refresh my memory."

Oh no he really does have amnesia!!

"A-Actually why don't I just call the local doctor, I'm sure he wouldn't mind giving you a hand," you say while taking your iPhone.

"A doctor? There's no need," dismissed Zhongli, "My condition is only a minor one and I do not think I'm in a position to afford medical assistance. Besides, you have done more than enough. May you find great fortune in your years Miss (Y/n), I shall be on my way."

He pushes himself up from the couch and you watch him cross towards the door. But just when he was about to reach the space of your carpet, Zhongli pulled to an abrupt stop.

"Ah yes,” He began as if remembering something, “ Do you happen to know where the nearest Inn is located? I would need to find a place to shelter for the time being."

"..."

This was how the former god ended up being your roommate. Like Xiao, Zhongli also takes upon a human form. He needed to eat, drink and a place to sleep. He insisted that he would take the couch as well as help you with any tasks that needed to be completed during the day.

You question if Zhongli was even aware of what situation he was currently in. Answer: HE WASN'T because Zhongli is an extremely dense man. To feel embarrassed was not part of his dictionary when living with a woman.

The type to take long showers. You always find the bathroom steaming because he doesn't turn on the fan to get rid of it (but maybe you should've taught him). So when it was your turn to use the shower, the water was either lukewarm or worst case scenario, cold.

Also he somehow finds your old kettle (that your grandfather used) to brew tea even though you told him you already had a water boiler. He stated that he liked doing things the old-fashioned way, it brings him a sense of nostalgia. You couldn't understand what he meant (unless you considered that he was older than he seemed....no that can’t be it!)

Despite it all, Zhongli was incredibly polite and considerate. Tending the farm was not an easy job and you often came home with sore muscles, fatigued from running so many errands. He's knowledgeable in terms of making the best herbal mix for a soothing remedy.

You would see a warm cup, every morning before going to work and every time you come home, it was sitting on the kitchen table (if his drink had potion effects, they would be regeneration).

Gentle he was but it wasn't good for your heart.

Ever since Zhongli moved in, it became difficult to live in your own house.

There were many situations where he caused trouble despite not intending to cause disruption to your daily routine. And when he did, the repairs came out of your own pocket. One time you opened your microwave to find thick ash and burnt cinders stuck upon the walls.The entire space was a hazard and needed to be dispensed immediately since Zhongli thought that plastic-wrapped items were allowed to be microwaved. Another incident, as bizarre as it sounded, was when your vacuum cleaner zoomed out of your house...and never came back. You remembered the awkward cough he gave when you shot him a deathly glare, hence why Zhongli was not allowed to touch your high-tech devices (if you considered them high-tech) without your permission.

Even so, you couldn’t bring yourself to hate him. It was the opposite in fact. One day, all the flaws you counted suddenly became his charms. You came to find them endearing almost.

Zhongli was a handsome man. He carried himself with a distinct aura that could only be found in the rarest geodes; revealing orestones mined from the depths of a forgotten cave, sometimes in the shape of exquisite artifacts-- a type of ancient charm. Perhaps that was why people were willing to obey his every command without hesitation. Whenever Zhongli spoke, it was full of firmness and authority yet somehow deprived of arrogance. He was polite to all and does not indulge in conflict despite how tempting gossip can be in modern society. Always patient during your temperamental moments and considerate to the point you wonder if he even had any desires. He was so kind that soon enough, you couldn't help but be flustered by his presence. Forget about having a conversation, maintaining his leveled gaze was already enough of a challenge. Like staring into the sun after the morning dew. So gentle and so very comforting. But the more you linger onto the sun, it's rays will continue to set ablaze, eventually bringing you pain.

And you feared that you have grown addicted to those feelings.

Why can't he understand?

Stopping at the center of the bridge, you kept your head low while letting the anger take form into your tightened fists. The town was empty with only the sound of water flowing beneath your feet, filling the heavy air. They rippled and swayed, peaceful amongst your inner turmoil. The fact that such a miniscule attribute was able to make your blood rise was hilariously pitiful. How did you stoop to a point that even nature, the very being you've tended for a living, could bring you bitterness? Were your feelings this uncontrollable? The answer was obvious. It spiraled, violently and mercilessly as if commanded by another. There was a wave of emotions filling your heart and you could almost feel yourself drowning from the inside. If only they were as tranquil as the ones you stood upon.

"I thought I would find you here."

The voice you dreaded calls from across and you fight to keep yourself from gasping. Oblivious to it all, Zhongli proceeds to close the distance until he towered over you, looking down to your bowed head, "When you hadn't returned home without a notice, I was getting worried if something had happened. But I'm glad that wasn't the case."

Your whole face clenches.

"Is something bothering you? If you would like, we can discuss it after eating dinner. Come, I have already prepared our meal while you were gone as well as turning off the rice cooker once finished. I hope it can ease your stress since I know it can be difficult maintaining a farm like this."

"Zhongli."

He blinks hard when the sound of his name falls out of your lips. Zhongli was an experienced observer and listener, he was able to catch the glimpse of frustration that dripped from the tone you used. Relaxing his poised shoulders, Zhongli carefully asked in a reserved manner, "Have I...done something to make you upset?"

A trembled breath escaped when you breathed out. Dense. He was so dense that sometimes it made you want to crack him open.

"Tell me..." you began, "Are you also like this with other women?"

The former god sets a brief sharp pause, "I beg your pardon?"

"I'm talking about the way you act, they're...giving me all these mixed signals. We've been living together for months, we even share meals together! And sometimes you would help me with the farm and when I didn't ask, you still insisted on tending to my needs when I felt sick. I just…” you trailed off, trembling ever so slightly, "It's all perfectly normal. You’re nice to everyone. I know that. I know that!"

"(Y/n)," Zhongli whispered. They sounded like a thousand needles to your heart.

"I doubt you have the intention to put me in this situation. You're a really great person Zhongli but I sometimes can't help feeling this isn't just some roommate thing you know?" closing your eyes, you thought of your past relationships, how they started and ended, "Do any of your actions mean anything to you? Do you know how it makes me feel? Or am I just overthinking this, that it was all one-sided this whole time?"

Alas the truth spills and the air stills, bringing the waves to a halt. Peace, tranquility, nothingness. That was all you wanted. That was all you heard. It was deafening.

"I see, so that's why," Zhongli mutters to himself with eyes narrowed, "There's...something I need to confess."

After several months, he tells you everything. How his memories returned, some of them were already intact. He told you about his homeland and his true identity, that he was a god that once ruled over Liyue for six centuries before giving away the gnosis.

The reason why he hadn't said anything until now was because there will be a day where Zhongli must depart and return to Teyvat. He was a god with a contract, the circumstance didn't matter, he must stay with it until the very end of time.

Through his years, Zhongli learned to cherish his finite moments. He didn't want to taint them with troubles to come. Thinking too far ahead into the future would only bring strain.

But what he didn't tell you was his true feelings. You were a sweet woman, tender and enthusiastic about agriculture, the way your feelings extend to the earth with grace whereas many others chose to trample over without hesitation, he fell deeply in love with that side of yours. You taught him many things and showed him many sides of humanity that he had never seen before. He even discovered an aspect of himself. Like breaking a geode, revealing the beauties held inside.

Zhongli couldn't look you in the eye when your expression was covered in disbelief. He thought he hid his feelings well but it seemed that he was expressing his love in subtle and subconscious ways that eventually drove you to fall for him as well. You didn't stop him when he left the bridge. He wasn't even in your house. He chose this, he chose to set you free from his heavy presence.

And as the weight started to lift from your shoulder, you sank to your knees and wept. It was cruel of him. To give you these emotions yet he could not bring himself to stay by your side. But your heart would not allow you to hate the man you love.

Things couldn't end this way. You had to say goodbye to him, see him one last time because if you didn't, these burdens will haunt you forever.

When Zhongli looked up to the sky he saw his ending drawing near.

Three days had passed since he last spoke with you and he had no plans in seeing you again. Soon, the former god will return to his rightful place. Even though he had already given his gnosis to the Cryo Archon as Liyue already began to enter a new era, it seems that his decisions weren't his to make as he was born in a world where stars ruled above the archons. Fate-- they won't allow it. He does not belong here. If there was one thing Zhongli regretted during his time in your world, it was that he couldn't leave you a good memory before taking his departure. The sight of your large glassy eyes and quivering lips when he crushed you with the truth, he sincerely believed that they would haunt him much more than it probably did to you. But perhaps things would be easier if you despised him. Because if he had stayed and you came to forgive him, he would no longer have the strength to let go.

Despite it all love was indeed a selfish creature. He couldn't help but feel resentment towards the stars for bringing you into his life in such a mockingly sweet manner. They tied him with a contract, made him vow to his own beliefs and tested them by using you-- a bystander struck between the crossfire, eventually bringing you down into the depths of his battlefield and he thought that maybe...maybe there was hope that he could bring you with him as well.

How disgraceful for a god to let the devil tempt him so.

Zhongli was thankful that you weren't beside him. Otherwise he would dance with the ugly hope of a slim chance for you to come along. This was the best choice. It was for his-- your own good.

"Zhongli!"

The arch of his lined eyes shot upwards. As if fate had decided to give him one final test, he felt your small figure crash into him from behind and your arms coming to hug around his waist, tightly and fearfully that he felt like you would be the one who would slip away instead.

"I...I made it time," you panted, burying your nose into his clothed back, "I’m so glad...I'm so glad you're still here…!"

Your cry of relief was a thunder to his ears, a reminder that he was the main cause. Zhongli, casted by solemn smile, lifts his hand to cover over yours and grasped onto them, I'm here, he wishes to say. Yet he knew they were only temporary promises, "To come all this way despite everything that has happened. You foolish girl..."

"It's your fault Zhongli, I'm a fool because I love you! It's all your fault that I have to say goodbye," You grit your teeth as the tears fell down your face until it blended into his clothes, "Take me with you. Please. Don't leave me all alone…!"

The words he wanted to say melted into a silent gasp through parted lips. Zhongli merely clenched them back together and his hand on your hand, even tighter. He won't lie to you. At the very least, let his actions speak for him where he himself could not.

Take me with you.

Don't leave me alone.

Goodbye.

If it is fated Morax...we will meet again.

"I see," letting his thoughts echo in his mind from the distant memories, the former god begins to take a new perspective upon his wisdom, "For many years, I have experienced countless farewells from the people I've come to known," Zhongli reminisced, tilting his head back with his golden eyes against night, as if searching for some sort of answer, "And yet I never thought what it must have felt like being in their position."

"Zhongli…" you trailed off, "Then don't! I may not know everything about you but it doesn't have to be this way. At least, just answer me this, will I ever see you again?"

"I'm sorry (Y/n)," he apologized and you knew the answer. He gently pries your arms off him, turning around so he could swipe the corner of your eyes dry. There was a glowing reverence in his countenance, one that he reserved for you and only you, it was the only way for him to express the feelings that run deep in his heart, "I cannot thank you enough for coming into my life. If there will be a day when I erode from your memories, I truly hope that you will find someone more suitable than I."

"That's ridiculous," defiantly, refusedly, you protest, "No one can replace you."

Zhongli laughs sadly as the white halo outlines his whole figure, signaling that there wasn't much time left. He wonders if there was anything he could do in his last moments, a small token, something, it could even be as small as a single star in the sky, "If it is fated...we will meet again."

You watch him turn transparent until he slipped from your grasp. No longer was the man, only the dust being one with the sky. They shone brilliantly but you were left in the darkness.

487 notes · View notes

helaintoloki · 3 years

Text

Everybody Loves Somebody

pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

warnings: slight language, themes of insecurity, angst, pining, slow burn (kinda?), eventual fluff, over 5k words in length

notes: it’s finally finished! this took forever but I swear I put my entire soul into making this as perfect as it could be. I’ve never used this format before in my writing and it was challenging but also super fun so hopefully you guys like it :) (also yes the title and the fic somewhat is inspired by the Dean Martin song)

summary: Thrown into a blind date against his will, Bucky does his best to prepare in the days leading up to Saturday night, a feat that proves to be much more difficult than expected thanks to his neighbor across the hall.

Sunday

Three quick raps on the apartment door force Bucky to kick back the covers and sluggishly rise from his spot on the floor. He’s exhausted, but his recognition of the evenly spaced knocks on the wooden frame has him feeling compelled to answer, and so he does. Too tired to notice the television is still droning on in the background, Bucky idly wraps his discarded blanket around his form to shield his vibranium arm before opening the door to greet the old man standing on the other side.

“Rough night, huh?” Yori greets with a knowing smile.

“Something like that,” he replies with a tired, lopsided grin. “What are you doing here so early?”

“I set you up on a date,” the man says casually, as if setting Bucky up on dates without his knowledge and against his will is a common every day occurrence, and it is. “Saturday evening at six.”

“What— A date? Yori—“

“She’s a nice girl, very pretty. I think you’ll like her.”

“Now hang on a minute,” Bucky tries to interject, but Yori is already halfway down the hall before the super soldier can get another word in.

“You’re meeting her at the Italian place down the street!” Yori calls behind him. “She likes sunflowers!”

The old man’s shouts are sure to have woken up the entire fourth floor by now, but Bucky is too busy trying to process the jumble of information that has been thrust upon him so suddenly and so early in the morning to care. The last date Yori had sent him on had ended in disaster; Bucky wasn’t ready to get back out on the field, a stable relationship wasn’t in the cards for him. Surely no one in their right mind would stick around once they found out the truth about the man, and if they did it would only be a matter of time before the constant nightmares and extra baggage that came with dating the ex-Hydra assassin sent them running for the hills. But Yori meant well, Bucky knew that, and he also knew he owed the man more than he could ever give him in return, so if sitting through another painfully uncomfortable date would make him happy, then Bucky would just have to suck it up, put on the nicest shirt he owned, and charm his way through another awkward dinner.

“Sunflowers,” he grumbles to himself, quietly shutting the door before returning to his spot on the cold hardwood floor.

Monday

Monday mornings are gym mornings, early workouts that start at five and end at seven. He promptly returns to the apartment building at seven thirty, eight if he stops for breakfast, then goes to check the mail before heading back to the comfort of his sheltered apartment. He doesn’t receive much other than grocery coupons and an odd letter from the government every now and then, but he’s been told that a routine is good, it’s healthy, so on Monday mornings at seven thirty—or eight— Bucky pulls out his keys and opens his assigned metal box with a sense of indifference.

It’s eight o’clock on this particular morning, and with a half finished cup of coffee in hand the soldier opens the little metal compartment to find nothing other than stray specks of dust and the tiniest of spiderwebs in the top right corner of the box. It’s a familiar sight, but Bucky has learned not to let it bother him by now. Remember James, it has nothing to do with you, his therapist always said. You have to learn not to take things personally.

“It has nothing to do with me,” Bucky murmurs quietly before finally shutting his mailbox with a sigh. Coffee cup discarded in the nearby trash can, Bucky turns to make his trek towards the elevator only to stop dead in his tracks at the sight of a beautifully familiar face.

Your name is y/n, you live on the fourth floor, and for someone reason you’re always covered in glitter. You’re on your way out the door, art supplies held clumsily in your grasp just begging to jump free from your hold, and despite the rush you seem to be in you still greet the man with a polite smile.

“Good morning,” you chime, honey coated voice filled with warmth and kindness for the stranger. Bucky simply gives you a halfhearted smile in return, watching you walk out the door and wishing he could just muster up the courage to speak to you.

You won the soldier’s heart the day you knocked on his door to drop off a “welcome to the neighborhood” casserole. It had only been his second day in his new apartment, and while he knew some of the other tenants were weary of the mysterious man with the thousand yard stare who had decided to call the building a home, you never once seemed to bat an eye at Bucky or his closed off nature. He had been a little short with you upon your first meeting, his anxiety coming off as annoyance, but still you wore that same kind smile of yours and assured him that if he ever needed anything you’d be happy to help. You were a kind person with a big heart, and Bucky didn’t want to chance snuffing out one of the few lights left in the world, so he let you be. Admiring you from afar was all he let himself have of you, and that was it.

Though, Bucky would be lying if he said you didn’t come across his mind every once in a while. He wondered what you were like, what music you listened to, how you liked your eggs in the morning, if you were an old soul or young at heart, if you’d ever let yourself fall into in the arms of a broken man and help pick up the pieces. It was a pipe dream, but sometimes a friendly smile from you in the morning was enough to get Bucky through an entire day. He hadn’t been with anyone in years, and while he didn’t think he was ready to get back out on the dating scene just yet he knew that if you asked him to he’d take the plunge in a heartbeat. You were an angel, and Bucky would never be able to bring himself to taint you with his touch.

Monday mornings are workout mornings, but they’re also mornings with you.

Tuesday

On Tuesday afternoons Bucky often finds himself in the company of Yori, ensuring the old man stays out of trouble and going out of his way to make sure his newest friend has a nice day out on the town. It isn’t much, and it never will be, but it’s enough for now, at least until Bucky can find the courage to tell the father just what exactly happened to his son on that fateful night. But until then, sushi for lunch will have to do.

He makes his usual trek to the man’s apartment, stomach already beginning to rumble at the prospect of a nice crunch roll, but Bucky’s hunger is soon replaced with nerves at the sight of the woman standing in Yori’s doorway.

You look pretty today, hair haphazardly styled in your rush out the door this morning, colorful stains of dry paint adoring your hands that clutch a bundle of books close to your chest, and a dangly pair of earrings that glint underneath the sunlight pouring through the hallway windows. There’s a smile on your face as you nod along to something Yori says that doesn’t quite register in the soldier’s jumbled thoughts, and the two of you are both too engrossed to notice his lingering presence standing just a few feet away.

“Thank you so much for lending me these. The kids keep me on my toes and I haven’t had any time to settle down with a good book so these were perfect,” you utter gratefully, handing off the pile of poetry books to Yori’s awaiting hands. Names of authors that Bucky doesn’t recognize catch his eye, just as his friend finally catches his presence.

“Of course. I have more if you’re ever interested,” he says before finally addressing the elephant in the hallway. “James, there you are. I was starting to think you wouldn’t make it.”

Bucky stiffens at the sound of his name, heat immediately crawling up his neck as you turn to him with a friendly smile. Clearing his throat, he steps forward and musters up a meager grin in return.

“Like I’d ever miss Tuesday lunch,” he jokes, a nervous chuckle falling past his lips.

“I guess I better get going. Thank you again, Yori,” you chime with a grateful smile. Then, with your attention turned to Bucky, “Have a nice lunch, James.”

“Thank you...” he trails quietly, mentally kicking himself for his stiff demeanor and wishing he could be less pathetic in your presence just once. Just once and he’d die a happy man.

You leave with a polite smile, turning down the hallway and out of Bucky’s grasp once again. Yori elbows his side.

“She’s single, you know.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Bucky replies with a wry chuckle. “You have me set up with one girl already.”

“Right,” Yori notes thoughtfully with a knowing smile and a mischievous glint in his eyes that Bucky can’t quite decipher. “I think you’re going to have a nice time on your date.”

“We’ll see,” is all he says in reply, your smile the only thing on his mind as the two men head out for the day.

Wednesday

Bucky has grown to love rainy days, days in which he can remain tucked away in the warmth and comfort of his own home with a relaxing mug of hot chocolate in one hand and some piece of pop culture media he has yet to catch up with in the other. Today’s pick is a book titled The Outsiders, and Bucky chooses to sit upon the windowsill to read the novel.

Gentle drops of rain trail down the glass window, pattering soothingly in a way that makes Bucky fear he may fall asleep. He sets the book aside with a tired sigh and glances out the window with his warm cheek pressed against the cool surface; the city is quiet and the streets nearly empty, and this makes it easier to spot you.

It’s almost as if you’ve been popping up out of nowhere lately, but Bucky never seems to mind. Watch from afar, that was the deal he made with himself, so who was he to complain if you made the task easier for him? He could never have you the way he wanted to because he doubted you’d ever want an unstable old man like him, and even if you did he’d be no good for you. He knew girls like you back in his day, girls with stars in their eyes and hearts on their sleeves, girls who’d melt in his arms whenever he so much as smiled at them. And yet you weren’t like any girl he’d ever seen; you were an enigma and he wanted nothing more than to spend all of eternity deciphering the mystery of you. But he couldn’t, because he shouldn’t, so he didn’t.

Despite the gloomy gray skies hanging above you there’s a serene smile on your face as you stop to admire the pots of sunflowers outside the building, reminding Bucky he has to buy some for his date on Saturday. God, he was dreading it. Bucky was sure whatever girl Yori picked for him would be nice enough, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t sometimes wish it were you he’d be taking out for a night on the town. A guy can dream, right?

You retreat into a nearby coffee shop when the rain begins to fall harder, and as Bucky turns to his own warm drink he finds that the mug is now cold. Book discarded, he rises from his spot on the windowsill and drowsily drags himself into the kitchen for another cup.

For a moment he thinks sunflowers might surely bring about his demise, and the passing thought brings the smallest of smiles to his face. Only time will tell.

Thursday

“How are you feeling about your date on Saturday?”

The woman stares at him expectantly, pristine notepad resting casually in her lap, pen in hand as a warning, eyebrows raised at the man as he stares down contemplatively at the stitching of his leather gloves. What should be a comforting environment instead only seems to put him on edge, and as the seconds tick by on the clock hung crookedly above the doorway her pen only seems to get closer to the blank page below her. Shoulders sagging, Bucky can only offer a small sigh in response.

“I can’t say I feel too great about it,” he finally says, the tension in his shoulders alleviating slightly as she finally puts the pen down.

“And why’s that?” Doctor Raynor prods curiously.

“I just don’t really think I’m all that ready for a relationship. What person wants to be with someone as screwed up as me?”

“The right person will,” Christina comforts. Your smiling face flashes briefly in his mind in response and he shifts in discomfort— the doctor notices. “But I don’t think you’re telling me the full story here, James. I suspect there’s something else that’s holding you back. Or maybe someone.”

“That obvious, huh?” Bucky retorts with a wry smile.

“Who’s the lucky person?”

“Her name’s y/n,” he says, your name falling past his lips in the softest tone Dr. Raynor has ever heard from him before. “I don’t know her all that well, but she lives in my apartment building so I see her around a lot. She’s... she’s really pretty.”

“Well, what is it about y/n that you like?”

Geez, where do I even begin?

“I don’t know,” Bucky shrugs, picking absently at a loose seam on the end of his shirt, “I guess I like how friendly she is. Every time I see her she’s always smiling, she always says good morning to everyone and lends a hand wherever she can. It’s like she goes out of her way to be nice to me, and I’m not really used to that but it’s a nice feeling. The first time I met her she never even flinched, she wasn’t scared like other people usually are, and even when I blew her off she still made it clear that I was welcome and if I needed a friend she’d be there. That’s the kind of person she is.”

“Did you take her up on that offer?” The woman asks, but by the look on her face Bucky is sure she already knows the answer.

“No...”

“James, we’ve talked about this,” Christina says firmly, “you have to stop closing yourself off from the people around you. Making a friend could really help you, especially if this girl is truly as nice as you say she is.”

“She is,” he reiterates firmly, “and that’s why I can’t be her friend.”

The doctor’s brows furrow with piqued interest at his admission, legs shifting underneath her as she gets comfortable in preparation for what will most likely be a heavy confession. “Can you elaborate for me?” She says. Bucky sighs.

“After everything that’s happened, and everything the world has been through, it just gets harder and harder to find some sort of light in the dark. So when you finally do find it, it’s like you have to do everything in your power to make sure it never goes out.”

“So y/n is a light?” Raynor reaffirms.

“For so many people,” Bucky nods, “and if I try to put myself in the picture I’ll only bring her down. There’s no future with me, and she deserves better than that.”

“How do you know that if you never put yourself out there?” The doctor asks softly, silently stunned by the heavy confession Bucky has entrusted her with; it’s the most he’s ever opened up before.

Pieces of the past dart through his mind, and in the midst of all the heartache and the chaos he sees Yori, the one friendship he’s been able to successfully maintain since his period of healing. The memory of the man is pleasant for a moment, until Bucky is reminded of the basis of their friendship and how one single confession will tear down everything they’ve built together. It doesn’t matter what kind of man he is now or how much control he has over his own life, the Winter Soldier will always have the final say, and nothing will ever change that. Finally, he speaks.

“I just do.”

Friday

“Crap.”

The softly uttered curse sounds from across the hallway and alerts Bucky of his struggling neighbor’s presence. Purse slipping off your shoulder and heavy groceries spilling from your arms, you struggle to maneuver your key into the lock of your front door all while the heat of embarrassment engulfs your body in a suffocating hold. You’re not as put together as you usually are, your belongings in disarray and eyes full of exhaustion rivaling that of his own, your usually meticulously picked clothing replaced by joggers and an old college sweatshirt that’s three sizes too big on you, and yet Bucky still finds himself frozen in your presence.

Don’t just stand there, help her you idiot, his mind screams at him, the soldier harshly swallowing down his nerves before taking shaky steps towards you. An orange slips out of the brown paper bag and rolls towards his feet, and Bucky takes it as his in into a conversation.

“Need some help?” He asks with a crooked smile, one that softens at the look of distress clear in your eyes as you meet his gaze.

“That’s the understatement of the year,” you breathe out before offering a meager smile of your own. “Some help would be great, thank you.”

Bucky takes the heavier bags of groceries from your aching arms and returns the orange to its rightful place, allowing you the chance to take your keys and unlock the door. You don’t spare him another glance as you walk in, leaving it open as a silent invitation for him to let himself in. Bucky swallows nervously but wordlessly follows behind; he’s never been in a woman’s apartment before, and the fact that it’s yours makes the experience all the more nerve wracking.

Your apartment is small but personalized, decorated with little knickknacks and houseplants and old family portraits that Bucky does his best not to stare at in fear of being rude, and the vanilla scented candle that burns on the coffee table makes him feel all the more welcome. You drop your purse by the couch with a tired sigh before directing your attention to the man who stands awkwardly in your living room. His hulking figure makes your apartment seem tiny, oddly comforting in a way, but you hold back your giggles and merely guide him to your kitchen.

“You can set them on the counter,” you say with a passive wave before reaching into one of the cabinets for a glass cup. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“No, thank you,” the man says politely as he settles the heavy bags down on the marble surface; as much as he’d like to sit and spend the evening with you, he can’t stay long, or more like he won’t allow himself to stay long. Your movements are clumsy as you down your glass of water, and Bucky looks away flustered as little droplets begin to escape the corners of your lips and dribble down your neck. “I hope I’m not overstepping by asking this, but are you alright? You seem a bit... flustered.”

“Is it that obvious?” You joke quietly, your smile barely reaching your eyes as you fidget with the sleeves of your sweater.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky begins to say in fear of overstepping, but you merely shake your head in response.

“I’m just a little stressed out. The kids always keep me on my toes, especially now that there’s more of them, and it’s been hard trying to get some of them to readjust.”

“Kids?” He repeats with furrowed brows. He can’t recall ever seeing you with any children, and there’s no sign of any living with you in your apartment. A genuine laugh leaves your lips this time at his response and Bucky tenses uncomfortably. Did he say something wrong?

“I’m a kindergarten teacher,” you explain with a smile, and everything clicks in Bucky’s mind then. That would explain the constant paint stains and trails of glitter left in your wake, the arts and crafts supplies and stacks of drawings you seem to carry with you everywhere. And here he thought your heart couldn’t get any bigger than it already was— were you even real?

“The effects of the blip have been really difficult for them. It’s hard having to come back to school and see that all your old friends are now five grades ahead of you. I know everyone has been impacted in some way by what happened, but it’s harder for the younger ones to understand. I’m doing my best to make the transition back to normalcy easier for them, but some days are harder than others, you know?”

“Sounds rough,” is all Bucky can manage to say, swallowing his emotions back harshly.

“Yeah,” you sigh quietly, rubbing away the clear exhaustion in your eyes, “but I’m trying my best.”

“Sometimes that’s all you can do.”

You smile then, a genuine smile, one that makes Bucky weak in the knees, and suddenly it’s as if all the weight has been lifted off of your shoulders.

“I really needed to hear that,” you utter softly, “thank you.”

“What are neighbors for?” Bucky jokes lamely, but you must like his sense of humor for you let out the quietest of giggles.

“You’re sweet. I like talking with you, but I won’t keep you any longer. I’m sure you’re a busy guy.”

“Not really,” he shrugs with a crooked smile, “I just had some errands to run before tomorrow.”

“What’s tomorrow?” You ask curiously, brows raising with interest as Bucky awkwardly looks down at your hardwood floor.

“I’ve got a date.”

“Huh, no kidding. Me too,” you smile, and in response Bucky’s heart slowly begins to sink to his stomach. Yori had said you were single, but only an idiot would believe that someone like you could stay that way for long. Maybe if he had taken the doctor’s advice sooner he could be the one you’re seeing instead of the lucky guy that beat him to it.

“I should get going... I’ll see you around.”

“Thank you again for the help, and good luck on your date,” you say with an encouraging smile. Bucky swallows harshly in response, a look of longing in his eyes that he hides well with a meager quirk of his lips.

“You too,” he murmurs in response, casting you once last glance before showing himself out. The lock clicks behind him, and Bucky trudges back to his own empty apartment.

Saturday

The dining patio of the Italian restaurant is pleasantly empty, but the quiet stillness does little to help soothe Bucky’s nerves as he waits for the arrival of his date. He probably should have asked Yori what she looked like, what her name was and what she’d be wearing so he’d know what to expect, but the old man had been adamant on keeping the identity of his date a surprise.

“It’ll be better that way,” he had said, “trust me.”

The bouquet of sunflowers sits before him on the table almost tauntingly, their bright colors and sweet scent sending his senses into overdrive. He almost resented them, but then he thought of your smiling face through the window and the tension from his shoulders began to dissipate— if you could be strong and put on a brave face despite all the bad things that had happened in the world, then so could he.

“James?” A meek voice calls quietly, pulling the man from his thoughts. His blue eyes widen in surprise at the sight of the woman standing before him and he swallows anxiously.

“Y/n?” Bucky replies, quickly rising from his seat and cringing at the way in which the legs of the chair scrape harshly across the floor with his sudden movements. Here he thought you couldn’t get any more beautiful, and here you were proving him wrong with your cute little outfit and styled hair and charming smile. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for my date,” you explain with a sheepish smile. Bucky deflates— not only would he have to suffer through his own painfully awkward date, but he’d also have to sit and watch you get swept off your feet by someone else all in the same night.

“Oh... well, who’s the lucky guy?”

“That’s the thing,” you say with a nervous laugh, “I think you are.”

“Me?” Bucky repeats flabbergasted. “What do you mean?”

“Well, Yori was the one who said I should try dating again. He thought it would be good for me to spend some time with other adults since I’m always with my students, and when I said I didn’t really know anyone he told me he’d take care of it for me. All he told me was to come to this restaurant Saturday at six and look for the man with sunflowers,” you summarize before gesturing to the bouquet on the table, “and you’re the only one here with sunflowers so...”

A disbelieving laugh leaves Bucky then at the realization, and he isn’t sure whether he should jump for joy or wait for the ground below to swallow him whole. Finally he had a chance to spend time with the girl who had taken over his thoughts and occupied every available space in his heart, and yet he couldn’t help but feel terrified. A date was a big step up from neighborly conversation in your apartment, and all of Bucky’s hopes of developing something more with you were riding on this one date. Yori knew exactly what he was doing by setting the two of you up, and Bucky had no choice but to be grateful for the man who had bestowed upon him the chance to finally win you over.

“If this is too awkward for you we can just skip this whole date—“

“No, it’s not awkward at all,” Bucky is quick to interject. “I mean, this whole thing is certainly a surprise but it’s a good one. It’s an honor to be your blind date.”

He flashes a charming smile that makes you weak in the knees, and he knows then that he’s back in the game— who would have guessed he’d be able to dust off his old moves with such ease? He had to if he wanted any kind of chance at winning you over.

“In that case, why don’t we get out of here? This restaurant is a little stuffy,” you note with a small chuckle, your nerves slowly beginning to dwindle.

“Alright, what do you have in mind?”

The nightlife atmosphere of the plaza square is surprisingly much more comfortable compared to the dining patio, and Bucky considers himself the luckiest man alive to be able to witness firsthand the way your eyes seem to sparkle with the light of the starry sky. A nighttime stroll is right up Bucky’s alley, and you both fall into a comfortable step as you talk about whatever topic seems to come to mind. You speak of your students, about how much their smiling little faces have helped you get through the toughest times, how there’s a stray cat who calls the dumpsters behind your apartment building a home and waits for your arrival on trash days because you always bring the feline a special treat. Alpine, you had named it, and Bucky adored that greatly.

The details are vague but you enjoy the stories he tells you of his childhood and the way his whole face seems to light up at the mere mention of his mother and sister; that look dwindles slightly when he speaks of his old best friend, but you pretend not to notice. As a younger man Bucky worked at the docks before serving time in the army, though he fails to mention where he’d been stationed, and now he works for the government. You feel almost giddy to be learning so much about the man you once believed would rather prefer solitude over your company, and as the night drags on and the conversation begins to dwindle you almost wish you could reverse the clock and do it all over again.

“Thank you,” Bucky says after a moment of silence, prompting you to halt your steps and raise a brow curiously at your counterpart.

"What for?"

“Taking a chance on a guy like me,” he smiles faintly while offering you a sheepish shrug of his shoulders. “I haven’t really done anything like this in a while, and the idea of putting myself back out there scared me shitless, but you just make things so much easier. I guess what I’m trying to say is when I’m with you everything comes naturally, and I really appreciate that.”

“Oh,” you utter softly, a sheepish smile of your own gracing your lips as you turn away to admire the scenery around you. It isn’t until now that you notice you’ve stopped before the fountain, the arches of water flowing overhead illuminated by the fluorescent lights below them. A nervous fluttering occupies your stomach and when you finally meet Bucky’s gaze you feel as if nothing else in the entire world mattress other than the two of you in this moment. “Well, if it makes you feel any better I’m kind of in the same boat, so that just means we can figure this out as we go. Together.”

“I like that,” Bucky affirms with a nod, a look that can only be described as lovestruck taking over his features. Nerves overcome you then as you clutch your bouquet of flowers to your chest, heart thrumming rapidly in your rib cage as Bucky steps closer. The glove that had once shielded his right hand from the cold is now missing as he gently cups your cheek and encompasses you with his warmth. His palm is calloused and rough but comforting all the same, and it takes everything in your power not to melt like putty in his grasp.

“Is this okay?” He murmurs quietly as if raising his voice any higher will ruin the moment.

“Yeah,” you breathe shakily, swallowing back your nerves, “it’s okay.”

Your softly uttered words of confirmation are all Bucky needs to hear before dipping down and gently brushing his lips against your own. His movements are hesitant for only a moment, and it is only once he’s sure you are comfortable and secure that he moves in for more. Your lips are soft against his own, plush and warm and so sweet, and as your eyes begin to flutter shut and the forgotten sunflowers slip out of your grasp you drape your arms securely across his shoulders at the same moment in which his left hand joins his right in cupping your face as if you were a precious jewel in need of the upmost care.

Nothing exists when you are in each other’s arms, you are safe and sound in your own little world, and as you part to take a breath Bucky realizes then that one kiss is all he needs to know that you are the one he’s been waiting for all his life.

And by god, if you aren’t more than worth the wait.

488 notes · View notes

adorerdraco · 4 years

Text

Bugs and Hisses ✧ Draco x Reader

Summary: Halloween with Draco <3 Friends into BOO’s (teehee)

Warnings: mild drinking nothing tooo crazy but not encouraging it !

Words: 5.2K

A/N: this is my first one shot in like a month and i ofc had to do something for halloween even tho im a tad late but its still a halloweekend KIND OF !!!!!!! </3 I HOPE ITS GOOOD

“No, it’s a stupid holiday.”

Draco crossed his arms in a stubborn child-like way, a scowl on his face as he stared forward towards the front of the class where Snape was giving a lecture on the small but vicious Erkling creatures.

“Come on, please,” you pleaded quietly. Your gaze kept flickering between your easily-irked professor and the pouting blond beside you, hoping that in a few short seconds you would get the answer you were hoping for that way you could get back into your notes instead of possibly getting a detention or losing house points.

In all the years you’ve been friends with the Prince of Slytherin, you learned that he loathed the holiday and any festivities that came with it. Every year, you beg him to go out to one of the many parties that are thrown ranging from small gatherings to full-on blowouts or just do something halloween related with you, but he always refuses. His reasoning, as he put it, was that he was simply ‘too mature to be dressing up as a foul creature.’

You knew he mostly spent the holiday either asleep in his dorm or walking around aimlessly with Crabbe and Goyle to target unsuspecting first-years after the big feast but this year, you finally had enough of his anti-halloween agenda. You wanted to spend the evening and hopefully night with him laughing by your side and showing him how fun everything could be, but most of all - you wanted to see him in a costume.

“Please, if you go I will never ask you for anything ever again,” you tried again once Snape had turned his back to the class.

Draco pursed his lips as though he was genuinely considering it, his eyes still locked on the back of the greasy-haired professor before he turned slightly to you with a deep sigh. “Fine, but don’t expect this to be an annual thing.”

You gave him a bright smile, holding yourself back from jumping around in your seat and completely pushing aside the desire to throw your arms around him in excitement.

“I promise you’ll have fun.”

He hid the small smile that grew on his face from seeing how happy his answer made you, turning his head down towards his parchment filled with notes that all of a sudden seemed interesting as he avoided your gaze. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was the smallest bit of excited at the thought of spending the holiday with you because he knew that wherever you went or whatever you did, he would be perfectly content with you by his side because for the first time in all your years as friends; he realized only a month ago that the weird fluttering feeling in the pit of his stomach when he was around you or the weird overwhelming warmth that spread throughout his entire body like an ocean of water breaking through a dam - was a crush. He hated it at first, noticing and begrudgingly acknowledging it. He thought it was cliche that he somehow fell for one of his closest friends and mostly, he thought that he was going to ruin the friendship entirely. He wanted to wreck it himself, trying to distance himself from you and being extra mean - but he couldn’t.

He adored your company too much and everything that came with you. He adores your laugh, your smile, your hugs when you greet him and how you somehow give him one each time he needs it the most. He adores the study-buddy system you guys have almost every other week before a quiz or an exam. He adores your bad jokes and clumsy accidents even though those qualities annoy him with anyone else. He adores the way you want him to join you in everything fun you and he especially adores the times when he overhears you talking about him as if he’s your favorite person in the world.

Bottom line, he’s all about you.

So when this season of spookiness came, he was expecting your pleading for him to spend the day with you. Only this time, it only took you a couple times before he ultimately agreed to give in to you.

You were ready to explode with thrill at the thought of what the night held in store for you and you didn’t hide it one bit. When the big Hogwarts Hallowe’en feast was over and every one began spilling out from the Great Hall and into the main foyer, you were searching restlessly for a clean mop of silver hair that almost always stuck out in the mass of students. You weren’t sure if you were able to spot him anywhere in under a few seconds because he was unimaginably important to you, or because his hair was so uniquely bright, or maybe it was how boisterous and loud Crabbe and Goyle always were when they were by him, especially if he was with other Slytherins - but you found him, every single time with ease.

After standing on your tippy-toes several times to overlook the stampede of everyone, you finally spotted Draco leaning across a pillar with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face while he stood in a circle of his House friends that included his two goons and his quidditch teammates. You watched him thoughtfully as you approached, taking slow steps towards the group to admire him from afar and also because they were all slightly intimidating. He looked lost in the conversation, laughs escaping from his upturned lips as he listened to whatever was being said, large pale hands running through his hair every so often when the front pieces of his hair would flop down to his forehead.

He looked ridiculously good and effortlessly at that.

You weren’t sure if you should interrupt, hesitating a few feet away from them to where they couldn’t sense your presence but you were close enough to see and hear them clearly.

“We’ll see you later tonight then, Malfoy?” One of the boys nodded towards Draco.

“I’ll show up for a bit, I suppose,” he shrugs.

You see him look around the circle of boys, eyes landing on you momentarily and then back to his friends before doing a double-take towards you again in surprise. You tried to ignore the butterflies erupting in your stomach when his smile widens slightly into a short-lived toothy grin while he said a quick goodbye to his friends causing them all to disband and him to start approaching you.

“Are you ready for the halloween of a lifetime?” You ask as he neared.

He rolled his eyes, laughing faintly. “Where am I meeting you, darling?”

The nick name he used so rarely for you made your knees feel weak, a warm blush rushing up your neck and inching onto your cheeks that you knew was going to be very apparent on your face in a few seconds.

“I’ll meet you right here in an hour,” you say quickly.

You didn’t give him time to answer before you turned quickly in the direction of your common room and began rushing away before he could see the effect he had on you that was so clearly appearing on your face.

You didn’t know what the night held for you and Draco or where it would lead you. Unknowing to you, you were both hoping something more could come out of the evening between the two of you. But he wasn’t one to express himself in that department of feelings and you weren’t feeling bold enough to say anything about yours. It was a gray area of hoping that fate could somehow intervene and throw the two of you into what you both wanted without either of you really saying anything - but it was impossible. There was no outcome or situation you had in mind that could lead you into that, so you were stuck desperately hoping that one day things might end up differently.

It was beginning to feel ironic how in your world full of real tangible magic, there wasn’t a magical solution to your problem. You were trapped feeling like a muggle who had to figure things out by themselves, no magic included. The thought of giving him a love potion did cross your mind as a joke, but it wasn’t a genuine or fair option but little did you know, you don’t need a potion for him to feel the same way - because he already did.

Walking into your dorm felt like an exuberant disaster of everyone running around and sitting in front of mirrors with their makeup or dressing into their costumes. It was noisy and filled with chatter and you were in shock from how much clutter everyone was able to make in such a short period of time from when the feast ended to now. A simple spell would clean everything up so you and everybody else didn’t really pay it any mind.

You maneuvered around the mess of your housemates and towards your bed where your costume was kept in the trunk underneath it, plopping down onto the floor to pull it from the underskirt of your House colored bedding.

“Did he finally say yes?” Your closest roomie friend jumped onto your bed, propping herself up on her elbows and resting her chin on her hands as she watched you dig through your bottomless trunk.

“Surprisingly, yes,” you answered, hiding the smile on your face.

She drawled out a teasing ‘ooh,’ poking your arm lightly with her index finger as you shied away and leaned deeper into your trunk. She was the only one who you willingly admitted your crush to as she was the only person you really trusted to not blather it off to someone.

“Will I be seeing you two in the Slytherin common room?” She wiggled her eyebrows. “The boys are throwing a party and I luckily got an invite, you know how they are. So picky with who shows up.”

“You mean they’re pretentious?” You laugh. “But I don’t know if we’ll be going to it. I know Draco obviously got invited but I was thinking we could do other things.”

“Like what?” She questions as if she knew it was going to be something dirty. “I know a few secret spots around the castle-”

“No, get your mind out of the gutter,” you smack her arm lightly. “I honestly have no clue what to do. I didn’t think he’d actually agree because he never does.”

She runs her hands over her face, stifling her laughs of disbelief before she sighed loudly. “I still suggest some broom closets, hidden out of sight.”

You sit up, pushing her from where she was lying while she laughed amusingly at your false horrified reaction that you put on to hide the fact from her that what she was suggestion really was what you wanted.

“I’ll leave you alone so you can get your costume on,” she smiles, jumping up from your bed and tossing one of your pillows at you as she walked away. You let out a huff, tossing it back onto your duvet before setting your costume down on the spot your friend was lying in.

You stared at it hesitantly, all of a sudden feeling nauseous at the thought of going out later with Draco as if it was some sort of date even though you knew it wasn’t. It was just two friends, hanging out, doing some spooky and fun Halloween activities together and nothing more; so why were you feeling so nervous? You weren’t sure if it was your instincts warning you of something major that was approaching or the fear that what you didn’t have planned was going to bite you in the arse when you continuously told Draco he was going to enjoy himself when you didn’t even know if that was going to be true. You didn’t want to disappoint him and mess it up for you in the future when the holiday came again and you didn’t want this to be the first and last time you experienced it with him.

The pressure was raining down on you like thick, hard pieces of hail with no end in sight.

As you were getting dressed and doing your makeup for your costume as you liked, (i’m trying to be vague for your own imagination teehee) all you could think about was what in the hell you were going to do once you met up with the Prince of Slytherin. Your train of thought was then derailed into wondering what he was going to be dressed up as or if he was going to be dressed up at all considering the way he is. He was the type to make fun of people who dressed up, that you knew when you ran into him last year as you were walking back to your common room with your friend, both of you in costume and victims of his gentle bullying. He obviously went easier on the two of you since you were there, telling you he was just messing around afterwards and saying he liked yours but once you were out of his sight but still in ear-shot, you heard him and his two minions berating a small group of people that unfortunately passed by them.

You gave yourself one last look in the floor mirror, letting out a long shaky exhale with your hands clasped together before you started towards the way out of your dorm, through the common room, and ultimately towards the foyer outside the Great Hall where Draco was most likely waiting for you. An hour had gone by since you last saw him, an hour of stress and panic that hadn’t slowed down or stopped.

Your shoes dragged against the stone floors, hugging yourself tightly as you walked nearer towards the spot where you were supposed to meet and as you lifted your gaze - you saw him there, staring right at you with a small grin and just like you expected, no costume.

“Nice costume,” he compliments when you reach him.

“Where’s yours?” You frown.

“I’m not dressing up. That’s embarrassing,” he shakes his head.

You scoff, crossing your arms. “You’re the only one not dressed up, that’s embarrassing.”

You don’t know why it was irritating to you that he wasn’t in costume, even if you knew he wasn’t. You figured it was because you were trying to overpower your nervousness with different more consuming feelings, and much to your and Draco’s dismay, it worked.

You weren’t nervous anymore, just irked.

“I’m staying like this, take it or leave it.”

You rolled your eyes, staring him down and hoping that he would change his mind but he wouldn’t. He was ridiculously stubborn.

In the heat of the moment of a fleeting thought, you decided that if he wasn’t going to be in costume, you would put him in one or at least a hint of one. You pulled your wand out, pointing it onto his striking white hair and with one easy spell, his hair was now a flaming vibrant red.

“Y/N!” He growled, running towards the closest thing that would show off his reflection where he let out a string of frantic curse words. “I look like a bloody Weasley.”

Your laughter caught him off guard, the sound ringing in his ears like music that spread warmth throughout him. You were clutching at your stomach with one hand and pointing at him with the other, giggling wildly at the sight of him with hair that did not suit him at all. He smiled to himself, your glee rubbing off on him abruptly that ate away quickly at his anger.

“You should’ve given me some ratty old hand-me-down robes and I’d look just like Ron,” he notes.

“That’s rude, Draco,” you say still laughing. He smirks, leaving the shiny statue of a knight in armor where he was checking his reflection and back over to you where you were still stuck in between doubling over in laughter and watching him.

“I’m glad this is funny to you,” he muses. He begins digging into the pocket of his dress pants, taking your vulnerability as a chance for him to tap his wand to the top of your head and before you could react, your whole hair had turned a deep green.

Your laughter immediately ended as you ran towards the suit of armor, your grimacing reflection staring back at you with deep Slytherin green hair and a distorted Draco behind you doubling over just like you were moments ago.

“This looks,” you couldn’t even finish your sentence, the scowl on your face saying enough for you as you turned bitterly towards Draco.

“Great?” He suggested, his guffawing subsiding into airy chuckles as you stood in front of him. Yours picked up again as you stared up at him, his striking bright red hair looking terribly unfamiliar on him. He was looking down at you, his heart jumping at the sight of you holding back your laughter. “You really do look dashing by the way.”

You swallowed thickly, thankful for the darkness that had settled around the castle and easily hid the scarlet brush appearing on your face. “But my hair is green.”

“Green is my favorite color.”

You opened your mouth to speak, your stomach and heart dropping simultaneously as your mind went completely blank. You pretended to not notice how he took a step closer to you to where he was almost fully against you and he pretended not to notice the way your lips were parted and how your chest was rising and falling a little too heavily as if you were nervous. It was game over for you when his gaze flickered down towards your lips and then back to your eyes, his head leaning down just the slightest like if he were waiting for you to meet him halfway. You were about to get closer to him, about to let your eyes close and give in to what you believed was him wanting to kiss you - but the world had other plans.

“Malfoy! There you are!” Someone boomed, clambering up the steps from the direction of the dungeons. You both jumped away from each other, your attention diverted to the Slytherin boy that interrupted the moment. “Malfoy come on, the party! And you can bring her too.”

You frowned when the boy came up to the two of you, clearly tipsy, dressed as a stereotypical vampire, and over-excited with the fact that Draco was out and willing to participate in Halloween festivities. It seemed like it bothered the now red-head when he looked to you and then back to the Slytherin boy with an apprehensive expression.

The boy, sensing the pause in the air, grabbed onto both you and Draco’s arms and started dragging the two of you towards the Slytherin common room where although the stone walls were thick, the sound of people celebrating inside were easily slipping past the stone slabs. He spoke the password out quickly and as soon as the entrance was open, you were both shoved inside into what looked like the largest party you had ever witnessed in all your years at Hogwarts. It was packed and filled with what looked like half of the school, or at least a huge majority of fifth-years and up. It was loud with music booming from a brand new wizarding-world radio in the middle of the room currently playing a song from the Weird Sisters. It smelled like a mixture of everyone’s perfumes and colognes and like firewhisky. The boy that pushed you two inside quickly passed you two cups of the very potent firewhisky before downing the third one he had in his hand and disappeared into the crowd while screaming for you to enjoy yourselves.

You both stood awkwardly away from the big and rowdy crowd, your drink clenched tightly in your hand against your chest and Draco swishing his around while it was still in the cup.

He wanted to up and run, thinking that someone was going to make a comment about his hair or about him being there, but no one seemed to pay attention to him or that he was there and in a way, he felt relieved by it and less tense by the second.

“How in the bloody hell did we end up here?” You yelled over the music, putting a hand over his arm that was holding his drink up. You didn’t mean to, but you were glad you did because he glanced down at the contact with a small smile before looking back up to you.

“We got dragged here, remember!” He yelled back.

“What?”

“We got dragged here!”

“I can’t hear you!”

He rolled his eyes, bending down towards your ear to repeat himself one last time before you finally heard him over the mayhem around you.

“This is crazy!” You looked around the room, the sight of all the bodies and recklessness being too much as they were all more than likely drunk and oblivious to how stuffy and suffocating the room was becoming.

You looked down at the golden brown liquid sloshing around in your cup, wondering whether or not you should take it, but with the nervousness you felt coming back, it didn’t take you much longer to decide to down your cup and allow the liquid courage to seep into your veins. Draco watched you with amusement, chuckling to himself when you scrunched up your face in disgust from the burn he knew it caused as it went down your throat. He shook his head, deciding to drink his too and it was only minutes that passed before the drink was quickly becoming apparent in your systems. There was something about Firewhisky that always made its mark promptly and it really was courage in a bottle that you were glad was available to you in that moment because you were sure that in just a few minutes you were close to fainting.

You were beginning to sway faintly to the music, the rhythm sounding more loud but distant and more invigorating. You didn’t care anymore if anyone was watching or that Draco was observing you curiously just as he was beginning to lose all sense of holding himself back. He was inching closer to you, his head moving slightly to beat of the song and pure joy etched onto his features when your eyes met his.

“I keep forgetting I turned your hair red!” You yelled up to him, laughing loudly when he ran his hand through it. In your moment of confidence, you reached up and lightly ran your fingers over one of the front pieces hanging over his forehead. He didn’t stop you, his heart hammering against his chest from the drink and his overwhelming crush that was clouding all his senses. “Your hair is so soft!”

He wanted to pin you up against the wall right then and there. You were peering up at him, just as you were before you were dragged inside by one of his Housemates and as soon as he was about to kiss you.

“Do you want to get out of here?” He knew to bend down this time for you to hear him to which you responded with a fervent nod. You took his hand in yours, pulling him towards the exit of the common room and he let you lead him into the coldness of the dungeons that bit at his cheeks. It was a stark difference from the warmth inside, the crisp October air being more chilled than what either of you were expecting. It felt nice against your flushed skin and easier to breathe, especially once after the common room closed again and you could hear was muffled talking and music.

Neither of you were drunk and were still aware of pretty much everything, mostly the feelings stirring inside you both that was begging either of you to make a move towards the other. You were just a tad tipsy, and so was he, but it was enough for you to still enjoy the night without the initial awkwardness that oddly settled in between you. It was weird, considering how open and talkative you usually were with each other but there was something about the evening that made it feel like if you didn’t know each other.

“What now?” He asked you with a raised brow, his hand slipping into his pocket.

You smiled, an idea coming to your head that you knew he would love and you didn’t mind doing in the name of Halloween. “Do you want to go mess with people?”

He stared at you with widened eyes, “bloody hell, I love you.”

There was nothing that could have prepared you for his response, your own eyes widening in shock as you stared at him. He felt his face get hot in embarrassment, Merlin, he felt so stupid. He was mentally smacking himself in the head, desperately wishing he could bury himself seven feet under the Earth and staying there until the end of time.

He was about to play off what he said in a joking way, but for the second time that night he was interrupted by a couple that stumbled out of the common room drunkenly snogging each other’s faces off and wholly oblivious to you and Draco standing there in lingering panic. You jumped back into his arms when the couple staggered past you, almost knocking you over in the process of their makeout session and it annoyed you beyond belief. It annoyed you that they were in your way, annoyed that they interrupted you, annoyed that it wasn’t you in their position with the one you wanted.

You dug your wand out of your pocket, flicking it their way as they rolled onto the wall, still in each other’s hold until the hex that flew from your wand hit the boy causing him to stagger back from the girl and holding his nose in pain. You heard Draco laugh from behind you when bats began to fly out from the boy’s nostrils while the girl screamed and ran away from one of the bats that swept down onto her head. The bats flew out of the dungeon and up the stairs with the boy struggling loudly the whole way up until his panicked screams were no longer heard.

“That was a perfect bat-bogey,” he looks at you proudly. “I feel bad for that poor bloke’s nose.”

“Thank you, thank you,” you bowed jokingly.

When the sound of the door opened again, you both ran to hide behind a long drape against the wall that didn’t hide your shoes very well and pressed up against your bodies that’s shapes were no doubt visible from the opposite side.

You heard footsteps trail haphazardly down the corridor, their back seemingly facing you and as you both peeked your heads out from behind the drape, Draco nodded towards the boy and pointed his wand towards him.

“Slugulus Eructo,” you heard him whisper and a stream of green light from his wand hit the back of the boy’s head and as he turned around in surprise while doubling over in pain, his hand clamped tightly over his mouth as slugs began to slip past the spaces between his fingers. When he stood up to run away, you noticed it was the same boy from earlier that stopped you two from the almost kiss and dragged you to the party. You let out a string of giggles as he ran away just like your last victims.

“This is so mean,” you chortle, leaning into him from behind the drape in an attempt to get closer to him. You were feeling bolder when he beamed down at you, feeling happy knowing that although the night was still young, he was having fun. “Thank you for coming with me tonight, I know you don’t like Halloween.” You say quietly.

“You finally convinced me, it’s not that bad,” he grins.

“Why’d you hate it in the first place?”

The question seemed to strike a nerve but the Firewhisky still flowing freely in his veins tore away easily at his defenses so instead of avoiding your question entirely like he usually would, he frowned and let his guard down.

“I don’t hate it,” he answers apprehensively. “My father never let me celebrate it. He never let me dress up. He told me respectable wizards don’t partake in holidays like these.”

His pout made your gut twist in sympathy, your hand instinctively going into his as you squeezed it reassuringly. “It’s never too late to start celebrating. Besides, I don’t see him here stopping you.”

He smiled for what felt like the hundredth time that night, his stained-red hair falling over his eyes as he looked down to his shoes.

“You have a point, darling.”

The door of the common room opened again and what you suspected to be another snogging couple to stumble out from the sound of heavy breathing and multiple shoes scuffling about was something completely different.

“Glad Malfoy stayed with someone else today.” It was Crabbe.

“Yeah, he never lets us go to these parties,” Goyle responds. “Go ahead and thank Y/L/N for freeing us, he fancies her like a fool.”

“Reckon we should go look for them?”

You figured Goyle nodded to him like the blathering idiot he was because in a few short seconds they were running away up the same steps everyone else had.

You peered up slowly at Draco who was already gaping at you like a deer in headlights. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. The gears in your brain were spinning wildly with happiness, the gossip hopefully being proven true when he didn’t try to deny it. You didn’t realize how close his face was to yours, cheeks tinged with pink from both the firewhisky and sudden shyness and his warm cinnamon breath fanning your face as he looked down at you.

“I can explain,” he finally said.

He didn’t need to; you placed your hands gently on his cheeks, pulling him impossibly closer to you and pressing your lips against his, catching him completely by surprise. His eyes were wide at first, his body rigid and his lips unmoving, but once it finally clicked that this was real and no longer a fantasy that played like a broken record in his head, his lips moved fervently against yours with the rest of his body following. His hands gripped your hips tightly, his fingers squeezing at the hem of your bottoms and his body pushing even further into yours.

Your bottom lip caught lightly in between his teeth as you reluctantly pulled away from him, the both of you breathing raggedly as you searched each other’s eyes.

“I feel the same,” you said softly. “Happy Halloween.”

He smashes his lips hungrily against yours again, his ego growing with each gasp of a delight that escapes your mouth as your hands roamed and tangled themselves into his magically colored strands.

“Very...happy...halloween,” he mutters against your lips in between kisses, a dazy smile adorning your face while he tightened his arms around you.

You just couldn’t wait until next year.

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palbabor-writes · 4 years

Note

oh my god! your writing is amazingggg. may i please have a creepy! shiggy, dabi or hawks whichever one is easier for you where they really like the reader so they do yk normal creepy stuff like stealing her underwear and humping her bed and one day they get caught and they thought she’d be disgusted but she’s lowkey into it and she’s just super sweet and praising and a HUGE SERVICE TOP. I think they just need some good pussy 😔 if you decide to do this then THANK YOUUUU

｡ﾟ(TヮT)ﾟ｡ you’re too nice nonnie & tysm. i’m glad you’re here!

warnings: general degeneracy, masterbation, handjobs, SMUT, panty sniffin’

You make a point to leave your room unlocked.

Oh, you’ll switch it up, every so often, just so he has something to work for, but you prefer to pressure him with a time crunch instead of a locked door. It’s always so much fun. You make a show of dashing up the steps, feet thudding heavily on the warped wood. Then, right when you’re on the threshold, gosh, how could you be so daft, so thoughtless! You’d left your supplies downstairs, again! You’d forget your head if it wasn’t attached to your shoulders. Silly, silly, silly.

The display does what you need it to, namely, giving him the chance to slink away. He’s always whisper quiet when he creeps into your space, it’s a miracle you’d caught him. But, even super-villains find themselves on the back foot sometimes, and boy, was he clumsy about this.

It wasn’t like him. That was the slip up. No, his one, original, mistake was a simple one.

He’d left evidence of his arousal, of his lewd, heated, heart thudding, want. It was tacky, sticky, absolutely dripping with the milky residue of him. He’d tried to bury it deep, pressing it down into the bowels of your hamper, likely praying that it would remain hidden and you wouldn’t question it further when you did stumble upon it, hopefully weeks later.

You didn’t like to leave your hamper open and you certainly never, ever, left it beside your bed. It had been another long day and, at first, you’d only given it a swift glance, replaying the events of the night before. Maybe you’d lugged it over, too tired to pace the small distance? You had been in a rush. It was plausible.

Kicking your boots to the floor, you raise a hand to lower the lid of your plastic hamper when you spot the cascade of clothing. Again, it’s a tiny, tiny, fragment, but he should know better. It’s your job to notice the small, the obscure. Retcon is your bread and butter and this is too much, too tempting to ignore.

Fingers follow the hollowed space his arm has left behind and you hit the panties, seconds later. They’re warm, wet, and you clutch them into your palm and pull.

Fuck.

The lace is soaking. Fresh lines of cum run in thick rivulets, falling down your upturned hand and along your wrist, dribbling onto your bare feet. For a moment, you can’t seem to process the image that’s before you, your mind whirring through the possibilities, the faces. Who...no...which one of them did this?

The next morning, you’re quiet. It’s not unnatural. After all, it’s freaking 7 am, no one at the bar is talking. As you sip on your chilled, canned, coffee, your eyes carefully size up the men who are lounged around you.

Shigaraki is perusing a newspaper, the pallid hand of father obscuring his face, but you can still catch sight of the red glint of his eyes. He looks bored. He hadn’t even looked up when you walked in, his back bowed and head down, engrossed in his search.

Dabi is perched on one of the dilapidated couches, his long legs curled under him, flicking a bashed lighter, open and closed, open and closed. Like Shigaraki, he hadn’t lifted his gaze to you at first. He had, however, answered a question. Just the one, when you’d asked him if he had found any newbies, any potential recruits. He’d snarked his reply, his cerulean irises latching onto you with a cruel sharpness. No was his answer and you hadn’t pressed for any further elaboration.

Compress was shuffling a deck of cards. Spinner was ticking through his phone. Twice was chittering with Toga. Nothing was out of the ordinary. You finish your breakfast and tell them that you’re heading out.

No one replies.

******

Unsurprisingly, it happened again.

It’s a different pair of panties but the glisten of the cum is the same. So is the lowered placement, the bevel of the clothes, and the position of the hamper. However, it’s a little more calculated this time around. The lid is closed and there are no traces of his entry, no cuts or nicks on the door handle or key hole, no scattering of your things, no dip on your bed. There’s nothing.

Alright. Two can play at this game.

The hamper is moved, strategically maneuvered into the bathroom that your room holds. You’re careful to leave the lid propped. It looks haphazard, but it takes a precise click of the plastic to lock it into that position. You’ll be able to tell if it’s been moved.

You tug your panties out of your dresser and count them, noting the colors, patterns, the imperfections in the lace. If you’re going to do this, you need to know what you’re working with. The inventory must be precise, each variant recognized and tallied.

Every day, it’s a rinse and repeat process. Yank the flutter of fabrics out, spread them across your sheets and count. It’s tedious, bordering on annoying, but you wanna know. It’s like an itch. It sits right where you can’t reach and it tickles at the back of your mind. Besides, you’ve always liked a good puzzle. Although, this isn’t quite what you had in mind, you’ll take it and you’ll solve it, if it’s the last thing you do.

Two days after you start this mind-numbing task, four pairs go missing.

******

It’s late when you stumble back into the hideout, padding past the darkened bar and up the steps. The mission, despite its lower ranking, and pay, you think bitterly, had taken almost three days. Thankfully, the information you’d gleaned was worth it, but you’re exhausted. You’re wiping a sleepy hand across your face when you notice your door.

It’s ajar.

Instinctually, you fall to your haunches, tip toeing toward the crack, eyes narrowed, fingers curled into fists. The room is pitch black but there’s something, no, someone, in there. You can make out their outline. It’s a jagged cut that sits upon your bed and you can hear the tiny hitches and groans that they’re gasping out.

As your eyes adjust, you can see more. Your knees fall to the floor, digging into the wood and you steady yourself against the wall, eyes wide. He’s propped along your pillows and his hand is working over himself, using the friction of another pair of your panties to rub himself to completion. You can’t make out the exact shape of his cock but from the rapid fire tugs of his fist you can tell it’s long. It must be thick too, since he needs to adjust his pulls toward the tip.

He’s quiet, but you can still hear the catches and moans he’s making. Your name slips out too and the utterance makes your mouth go dry. So that’s who it is. Well, wonders never cease.

In the months that you’d known him, he hasn’t paid you much mind. Even through the haze of this strange obsession, he hasn’t altered his day to day routine, hasn’t broken character, hasn’t spoken to you unless the situation absolutely called for it.

Damn. It’s too much, it’s way, way...no. No. It’s not that it’s too much, you think, mesmerized by the sight that’s splayed across your sheets. It’s nowhere near enough.

You want to march in there, yank your soiled panties off his dick and hear what kind of noises he would make for you then. Would he shove you off, or would he welcome your notice? Either way, he’s too close now.

His hips have started to rut upwards, unable to resist the rhythm he’s created. The moans have drifted into hisses and his back arches when he cums, those familiar ropes of white splashing across the pastel of your lace. He’s careful to catch the drops, pinching the end of his cock and shuddering at the overstimulation. As he sits up, you cautiously rise, unsteady on your wobbling legs.

You’re halfway down the stairs when your door shuts. His footsteps recede down the hallway and you can hear him as he thuds into his own space, the click of his lock reverberating in your ears.

******

Thus, the game of cat and mouse continues.

Outwardly, neither of you reveal your hand, keeping your cards close to the chest, out of each others line of sight. Your door locks, unlocks, and you keep losing more panties. You’ve marked the one that will make the difference. It’s your new, favorite, pair. You haven’t worn them yet, but they’re a lush item, expensive, luxuriant, an excess that you don’t usually allow yourself. You’d purchased them the day after you’d finally caught sight of him. You couldn’t help it.

Most people, you reason, would be horrified by this situation, but not you. Oh no, you’re so turned on you can barely sleep. You start to masterbate in the early evening, when you know the others are moving around, your fingers trailing past your dampened curls, a careful fingernail pricking along your clit. You’ve even left your door open, cracked, welcoming the attention of anyone passing by. Once, you could have sworn you’d heard him. The whisper of that gasp, imagined or not, had bowled you over, your thighs clamping around your wrist, your cunt pulsing around nothing, hungry, slathering, desperate for more.

You want to just toss those panties on your bed and provoke the interaction. Goddamnit, how much longer is he gonna make you wait?

******

Not even 24 hours later, they’re gone.

He’s getting reckless, too. Your hamper is knocked over, the dresser drawer that holds your underwear is a crumpled mess, and he’s deliberately left a vacant hole where the panties used to lay. It’s screaming for your attention and you can feel your heartbeat thrumming against your breast.

Finally.

The next mission you’re assigned is easy, too easy. It’s mid-afternoon and there’s no reason for you to be back this early. Well, that’s an oversimplification. There is a perfectly excellent reason for you to be back, you’re just hoping the sliver of intel that was dropped for you will pay off.

Apparently, while the rest of you were out pounding the pavement, he’s elected to stay behind. He had something he needed to take care of.

“It sounded important,” Toga informed you, her voice lilting, rising with that sharp toothed smile of hers.

“Why are you telling me this,” you’d asked her, biting your lip and crossing your legs, soothing the throb that’s pricking in your core.

“He just told me to tell you, didn’t ask him anything more. You know how he is. He can be, prickly,” Toga winks, popping her head to the side, bouncing her golden locks.

“Alright,” you reply, adding a mask of disdain and disinterest to your performance. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

Lies, lies.

So many fucking lies, but he must know that you realize, that you know. Why else enlist Toga? He hated having to lay things out. No, he must know, he has to.

The bar is empty and the upper floors are deathly still.

Your door is sensibly shut but you can make out his jerks, his gasps, and those choked whimpers that echo past the flimsy wood. Your hand catches against the knob and you take one, last, steadying breath.

Here we go.

When you swing the door open he startles upward, his white hair curtaining the flush of his cheeks. Those vermillion irises land on you and he vaults away, nearly tumbling off the side of your bed. His pants are still bunched around his thighs, so that hinders him from making a true getaway. As he’s fumbling with the dark material, you don’t miss the shake of his hands and the spread of that lovely blush.

Oh, this is too perfect.

Before he can finish tucking himself back in his pants, you’re dashing across the top of your bed, ignoring the discarded panties, ignoring the dark glare that he gives you, ignoring everything but that heated bulge that’s giving him so much trouble.

Impatient, your fingers curl around his wrists and you use the millisecond of surprise that your swift action has gifted you. With a low gasp, he falls forward, his knees sinking into the softness of your mattress. One hand lowers to brace himself, but he’s careful to keep a finger arched away, preserving the permanence of your bed. Before he can get his bearings, you’re pressing him onto his back, straddling his lean hips and lowering those dark pants back down.

His cock, badly concealed by the upper line of his boxers, springs out, curving proudly toward his muscled stomach. For his part, Shigaraki squirms under you, his scarred lip set in a forbidding scowl. His deadly hands lower to yours, but you ignore his unspoken threat, knocking his trembling digits away. Your fingers lace around his cock, squeezing at the heft of him, stroking up the spidery veins and grooves until he’s dropping his defiant head back against your sheets.

“Wh-what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he growls, his raspy voice halting over the question.

“Who? Me?” you laugh, tugging a few more gasps from his shaking lips. There’s a pale strand of precum that’s leaking from his tip and you brush your thumb over it, gathering it against the pad and using it to ease your motions. His hips buck up and he shoves himself into your fist, a long string of curses slipping through his clenched teeth.

“I don’t think you get to ask that, dear leader,” you tease, leaning over his prone form. You’re glad he’s forgone wearing that creepy hand. It hadn’t even come into your calculations of how all of this would go. “No, not with the way you’ve been behaving.”

“I-I didn’t...fuck–”

“What? Didn’t think I’d find out?”

“You’re not supposed to be here. I sent you on that– ah– that mission for a reason,” Shigaraki bites out, shifting away from your close inspection. You smile at his discomfort and cup your free hand around his chin, yanking him back to you, forcing him to look up.

“That’s too bad, cus’ I finished early. Looks like I’m just that good, huh?”

He’s seething up at you, his eyes gleaming in the low light of your room, but he’s not making any attempts to leave. He may want to, but it seems his body has other plans. His cock is swelling as you pick up your tempo, your fingers clenching and releasing as you go, edging him along.

“You ever fucked a girl?” you ask, leaning back to admire the tense enjoyment of the man under you. The muscles of his stomach, coil and writhe, flexing each time you hit his tip and relaxing as you make the swift pass back down.

“N-no,” he moans, jerking his hips up, silently demanding that you pick up the pace.

“Did you want to?” you whisper, lowering to his face again, letting your soft lips trace along his temple. His skin is rough, but you like the contrast. Shigaraki seems to enjoy it too, his eyes slipping behind his eyelids as he turns toward you. When he doesn’t answer, you slow the hand that’s passing over the strain of his length. Shigaraki hisses at the shift and his eyes pop open again. They burn as they blaze up at you, clearly echoing his displeasure.

“Asked you a question,” you scold. He’s quiet for a long breath, but, after a few tense seconds, he lowers his eyes and nods, his jaw tight. “Should I take that as a yes?”

“I want you to fuck me,” Shigaraki grumbles, flashing a quick glare your way. “Was that clear enough for you?”

“Yes, sir,” you reply, one delicate eyebrow arching at his disgruntled expression.

“Don’t fucking call me that,” he huffs, grimacing as you lift your hand from him, freeing yourself to yank your shirt off.

“What do you want me to call you?” you ask, unbuttoning your jeans and easing them down the curve of your hips.

“My fucking name.”

“Shigaraki?”

“No. Tomura,” he replies, his voice falling into that deep rasp again. He’s watching you closely and you grin down at his frank assessment.

“Alright, Tomura,” you begin, testing out the unfamiliar acknowledgement. “Let’s make this good for you, hmm? What are you wanting to try first?”

He’s silent and you can hear the grinding of his teeth. “What’s better for you?”

Oh. Well, that’s not a question you were expecting. “For me? Uh, I guess I prefer to be on top. Let’s me control things and–”

“So do that,” he shrugs, finally peeling those dark pants off his long legs. He leaves his shirt on, but it doesn’t matter, if you’re riding him it’s not like you can’t tuck your hands under the tattered fabric.

“After acting like such a creep, you’re being pretty nonchalant about all of this,” your fingers wander along his sides and he shudders again, his neck bowing off the bedding.

“You’re one to fucking talk. Think I didn’t know what you were doing?”

“Ha! Well, well. No wonder you took my bait so easily. When did you figure me out?”

“That night you sat outside your door and watched me,” his hands raise to your hips and he urges you to hurry up, grunting when your dripping cunt traces over his tip. “Then you left your fucking door open. Not just once, either, no, you did it for days. It was a whole fucking week of that shit. Didn’t even need to steal a pair of your slutty little panties to smell you then. You reeked. I could smell you from my room.”

You laugh, helping him to press up and he glides into you, stretching you, radiating a satisfying ache along the slippery heat of your walls. His legs lift and his hands fall from your hips. Once you’re fully seated, your pelvis flush with his, you give him a few gulping breaths.

“Ahh, fuck, oh– fucking damn it. Ohh, this feels nice. God, you feel so fucking good,” he mumbles, his voice falling into a hysterical edge. You bite your lip and raise up on your knees, making sure you grip him tightly as you go. Another mantra of obscenities drop from his lips and his feet brace against the bed, his hips rutting blindly as you begin that slow lift and lower.

“How’s that?” you query, moaning when he returns those broad hands to your hips. His reply is a sharp thrust and you’re tipped forward, forced to sprawl over him, fingers digging for purchase in his dark shirt. He grunts at the weight of you but he keeps his pace up, using the bed as leverage.

You’re so close to him and you can’t help but reach for his face, suddenly desperate to feel his lips against yours. He doesn’t fight your hold, but he does let out a long groan when you tentatively kiss him. It’s slow at first and you’re very conscious of those dangerous hands of his. They’re still braced against your hips, but the four digits are starting to dig into your skin, sinking into the vulnerable dips until you’re whining.

He’s unsure, so you help him along.

You suck and nip at him, teasing him until he’s raising his head for more. Finally, one of those powerful hands detaches from your waist and he snatches at the back of your neck, insisting that you let him explore you further. After a time, you need air more than you need his lips, so you shake yourself free, pulling away and grinding your hips down as he ruts into you again.

“Not bad,” you tell him, grinning when he swipes his tongue over his swollen lips, his eyes lifting to peer up at you curiously. “Want me to take it up a notch?”

“No,” he replies sharply. “I like this.”

You snort at his blunt response and give him what he’s asked for. You keep the drags of your lifts slow, enjoying how he throbs and swells inside you. Each time you rise, you roll your hips and he sighs at every minor clench that your pussy does. After a time, you can’t ignore the pulsations of your impatient clit, so your fingers trail downward, delicately rolling and grinding against the bud.

Tomura tilts his head at this and his hazy vermillion snags your attention. “Does...does that feel good?”

For a second, you’re unsure what he means, but when his hand ghosts over yours, you realize. “Mmhm,” you gasp, giving yourself a quicker tweak, delighting in the widening of his eyes when your cunt flushes another wave of arousal around him. It slicks between your thighs and pools around his pelvis, gleaming against the dark curls that rest there.

“Lemme try,” he demands, batting your hand away and replacing your fingers with his own. He’s clumsy and he’s not expecting it to be that slippery, but he’s a quick study and he watches your face expectantly each time he tries something different.

“Y-you’re doing so good, Tomura,” you praise, lingering on his name, pleased that he reacts so positively to it. “Just a little bit...oh fuck...yeah, right there is perfect.”

You’re not being facetious either, he’s honestly killing you with those earnest looks and careful prods. Each time you gasp, he presses just a fraction more, testing out his new skills and expanding on them. As a reward, you keep the positive reinforcement coming, calling out his name as you fuck him into you, loving how he keeps pulsating and groaning each time you sink down.

A thin misting of sweat is beading over both of you, but you ignore the heat, too close to care that you’re starting to falter a bit in your rhythm. Tomura is panting also, losing some of that focus as he races toward his own release.

“Harder, ride me fucking harder, (Y/N),” he commands. The sight of him gasping and groaning out your name gives you an idea. You acquiesce to his demand but as you start those quick pumps your fingers reach behind you, searching for something that you think he’ll like even more.

Ah-ha!

It’s an older pair, not as frilly as the one’s you’d saved for him, but you’ve been wearing them all day, so that scent he was complaining about should be nice and ripe. His eyes have winced shut, so the flop of your lace panties startles him. He tenses for a second, but once he notices what you’ve given him a wicked smirk curls his lips. Instantly, his hand leaves your clit and he presses the fabric to his face, huffing heavily against the crotch.

“You fucking tease,” he groans, his tongue tracing along the seams, lapping at the thin residue that you’ve undoubtedly left behind. “Ahhh, yes. I think I would have rather had you sit on my face, but this will work, for now.”

The threat in his voice makes you shiver and you rock forward as you lower, snagging the sharp edge of his pelvis against your clit. Tomura takes in another deep breath at the sensation, his hand still holding your saliva filled panties to his lips. Just a little bit more. Your fingers tweak and pull, rolling the way you need. The heavy sting of Tomura’s cock is helping too and your pussy greedily begins to tighten around him, earning you a sputtered groan from the man beneath you.

“D-do that again,” he sighs, shifting your panties down his face so he can watch you. Obediently, you flick at your clit again and that stimulation, plus the heady knowledge that Tomura is watching, memorizing every move you make, hurtles you over the edge and you can’t help but slump forward as your orgasm crashes over you. Tomura lets out a guttural moan, flinging your panties away and yanking you to his parted lips. His kiss is frantic, nonsensical, more bites and slurps than any kind of caress, but you fall into his arms, overwrought and too turned on to think.

Once he’s had his fill of your lips, he resumes that steady pounding, his powerful hips canting into you, peppering you with jagged thrusts that leave you gasping.

“What’s the matter?” he taunts, his voice a wild rasp in your ear. “Can’t take anymore? Am I too much for you?”

You don’t trust yourself to reply, already seconds away from another shuddering release. All it takes is the feeling of him swelling and the heat of his cum to reduce you to a gasping mess again. This time, a thin line of drool escapes your lips. Delighted, Tomura snags his hand in your hair, tugging until you’re hovering over him. Gluttonously, he laps at your lips, sucking until you’re not sure who’s making the bigger slob of themselves.

When he’s finished, he rolls you off of him, splaying you out on the bed. As the world falls back into focus, you catch sight of him, leering over you, his white hair cascading around the two of you.

“I don’t think I’m done yet,” he grins, one hand cupping under your jaw. “Besides, you could have given me this weeks ago. I think you owe me a few back payments. Don’t cha’ think?”

notes: ahaha. this is basically a full fledged fic. whoops.

did i have anyone wondering if i was gonna pick Tomura or Dabi?

#asks #answered asks #pal muses #on why she can't write small #it's not hard #except when it is #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki tomura #dabi #touya todoroki #todoroki touya #bnha smut #drabble #kinda?#i refuse to do a word count

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agerefandom · 3 years

Text

Only Heaven I’ll Be Sent To

Fandom: Resident Evil VIII/Village

Words: 4,000

Characters: regressor!reader, cg!Alcina Dimitrescu, Bela Dimitrescu (other Dimitrescu sisters mentioned).

Content Warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence. CGLRE terminology/parental caregiver terms (Mommy). Diaper mentions. Firearms, knives, and vampirism. Reader gets injured (but cared for afterwards). Minor character death. Blood. Eldritch biology and limited insect horror. Fem reader (uses she/her pronouns).

Author’s Notes: Y’all are clearly hungry for caregiver Lady Dimitrescu, and I hear you! I’m planning a fluffy follow-up fanfiction with a happy reader getting babied by Alcina, where there is no blood and violence, but first… we have to take care of Ethan Winters. So that’s what this is. Enjoy!

You come to consciousness slowly, the strands of a dream still clinging to you. The memory is already fading, but you remember feeling cold. Wandering a frozen wasteland, lost and alone.

It’s a relief to breathe in the warm air of your bedroom. The fire has burned down to embers, but the windows keep out the cold winter of the mountains around the castle where you live. The rooms are always kept warm for the comfort of your big sisters.

You yawn and stretch your arms over your head, wiggling your toes against the soft sheets of your bed as you shake off the lingering fatigue. You were dressed in a onesie for the night, with a short built-in skirt, and you don’t really feel like a baby right now. Today, you want to run around and explore the castle on certain legs.

You slide out of the bed and make an unhappy sound as the cold stone meets your bare feet. You quickly make your way over to the heavy wardrobe that towers on the wall across from your bed. Far too tall for you, it was made to fit Mommy’s dresses, but you liked climbing in it so much that Mommy brought it to your room one night while you were sleeping, and filled it with your own outfits.

You reach up to the handle and pull the doors open, looking up at the many dresses and onesies that fill the wardrobe. It’s winter right now, so there’s a whole section of fur-lined dresses that will keep you warm if you want to play with Mommy outside. You don’t do that often, because your sisters get jealous, but Mommy is really good at making snowforts that you can climb inside, and you like playing with her in the snow.

For today, you pick out a simple ruffled black dress that comes down to your knees. Mommy can do your hair with black ribbons and crow feathers, and you’ll blend in with your sisters’ dark dresses.

Humming to yourself, you bring the new outfit over to the statue in the corner. The door to the bathroom is hidden in an alcove, and you have to push the statue’s elbow to open it. This seemed odd when you first moved into this room, but now it’s just another part of your daily routine. The castle is full of tricks and hidden passages, and you still haven’t explored all of them.

You slip past the statue into the revealed doorway, and dump your clothes on the floor as you rid yourself of the onesie and the diaper underneath. Baby stuff! You’re not a baby today.

You replace the diaper with a pair of soft bloomers, and the onesie with the black dress. It has a line of buttons that run up your spine, and you can’t quite reach them all, so you leave a few undone and decide you’ll ask one of your sisters to help. Mommy has been busy a lot for the last few days, so you don’t know if you’ll see her today. You hope so, though. You miss her.

You pull a pair of stockings on, sighing happily as your toes are finally protected from the cold tile floor. The rest of the bathroom visit is boring, brushing your teeth and washing your face. One of your big sisters will brush your hair: hopefully Bela, she tugs your scalp the least.

Once you’re all dressed, you skip out of the bathroom and slip on a pair of shoes. They’re flats, because you’re too young to walk in heels, but they click on the stone floors and make you feel like a little tap dancer. And they have bats printed on the sides in white, which makes you happy.

You run into the hallway, letting the golden door to your room close behind you.

This castle used to confuse you, with all its winding hallways and grand staircases. You would get lost whenever Mommy wasn’t holding your hand, and one of your sisters would find you and drag you back to your room. They didn’t like you very much at first, but they’ve gotten nicer. Daniela reads to you sometimes, and Bela plays pretend when you ask her. Cassandra is… Cassandra, and she tries to feed you lots of nasty things, but she also likes to do your makeup. So she’s okay.

The four of you cuddle sometimes, when Mommy’s away and the castle is a little chilly. They like your body heat, and you like the contact.

Through the years, you’ve gotten comfortable both with your big sisters and with the castle itself. It’s second nature to dodge through the secret passage to the staircase into the main foyer, peering around for any of the other castle inhabitants. Mommy gave up on the servants again last week, so it’s just you and your family members right now. Unless you want to go down into the basement and play with the remains, who stumble and hiss and take care of the rats. They don’t attack you, only intruders, but they aren’t very much fun to play with.

“Mommy? Sisters?” you call out into the hall, tapping one foot against the ground.

For a few moments, there’s nothing. Then Mommy ducks through the door behind you, fully dressed with her lipstick on. Maybe she’s already been out today.

“Sweetheart?” Mommy rushes over and kneels on the stone floor to embrace you. “What are you doing out of your room?”

“Hungry,” you say. “Missed you.”

“I missed you too, little one.” Mommy draws back and puts both hands on your shoulders. She makes you feel so small. You almost wish you’d worn a onesie today. When you’re a baby, Mommy carries you everywhere and never lets you out of her arms. That sounds nice, especially when you missed her so much. “Listen to me, sweetheart.”

Mommy looks… serious. You blink and try to focus. What is that look in her eyes? It’s so unfamiliar. Could it be worry? No, Mommy doesn’t worry about anything.

“I need you to go back to your room and lock the door, okay? I’ll bring you food soon, but you need to stay there.” She isn’t blinking as she stares into your eyes. “Some prey has escaped. Your sisters will handle him swiftly, but he is armed. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Okay, Mommy.”

This isn’t the first time this has happened. Sometimes, Hunters come to the castle and try and hurt your family, and you have to wait in your room. They bring knives and guns, but they can’t hurt any of the others. You aren’t like your sisters, you’re fragile. So Mommy keeps you safe.

“I’ll carry you there, little one. And remember, don’t you leave.”

“Yes, Mommy.”

Mommy wraps her arms around you, and the ground drops away. Settled on her hip, you cling to her side. Mommy runs hot like you, not like your sisters. When you lay on her chest, you can hear her pulse, a rapid double-beat. Your sisters don’t have a heartbeat, but you can hear the fluttering wings that fill their chest if you hold your breath and listen closely.

You like Mommy’s warmth, and you like how strong her arms are around you. You can barely feel the rhythm of her steps as she drifts down the hallway towards your room.

“I’m a big girl today,” you tell her. She’s carrying you like a baby, but maybe she just missed you as much as you missed her. Or maybe she really is worried.

“I can tell! You got dressed all by yourself,” Mommy teases, wiggling a finger into the gap left by the buttons you couldn’t reach.

“Uh-huh!” You’re proud of the outfit you picked out. “Can we play outside soon?”

“Once the problem is taken care of, I would love to watch you play in the courtyard.” She rests her hand at your back, keeping you close. “Big girls need their fresh air, after all.”

“Thank you, Mommy.”

She sets you down all too soon, straightening them hem of your dress. “Here we are, darling. Don’t open the door for anyone other than your sisters, and protect yourself if you must.”

“I love you.”

“I love you more.” Mommy presses a lingering kiss to your forehead, and then ushers you inside the bedroom. You turn in time to watch her close the door behind you, and you obediently turn the lock. Only Mommy’s key can open your room, like many others in the castle.

You flop onto your bed with a huff.

You got to see Mommy for the first time in days, but she’s busy with some stupid human who escaped from your sisters. You hate the stupid human who’s costing you time with Mommy, especially when she said you could play in the courtyard.

And you’re hungry! Mommy said she would bring you food, but you’re hungry now.

You kick your feet against the mattress. It’s a half-hearted tantrum, since no one is watching, but it makes you feel a little better.

Eventually, you hop off the bed and pace the room, your shoes going click click click on the stones.

It’s just one human, right? And you’re a big girl today. And it’s a big castle! He’s probably nowhere near the kitchen. You can run out, get some food, and then go right back to your room. Mommy will never know that you left.

You reluctantly retrieve your weapons from the top of the dresser, adding your belt of throwing knives on top of your dress. You aren’t supposed to use them when you’re little, but you’re not that little, and Mommy said to protect yourself if you needed to.

You take two of the knives in your hands, and try spinning them. It’s easy, body memory taking over. You toss one across the room, and it slices through the swirl of curtain you had been aiming at.

There, it’s settled. You’re a big girl and no manthing is going to scare you.

Nodding, you tuck the remaining knife back in its sheath, and turn your attention to the fireplace. It’s the fastest way to the kitchen from your room, and you’ve used it as a shortcut many times in the past. Your sisters don’t care if you get your dress dirty, they get blood and dirt on theirs all the time. So a little ash and grime is fine. (Mommy would disagree, but Mommy isn’t always around.)

You pour some water on the remaining embers from last night’s fire, and shuffle carefully into the fireplace. The wall at the back of the fireplace has crumbled away, revealing a passage that once needed to be triggered by pressing a certain brick. Now you can just crawl straight into it.

The rats like the passageways by the kitchen, and you brush past a few of them in the dark. Cassandra once trained a bunch of the castle rats to attack intruders, and you’ve had a fondness for the little friends ever since. They were scary in big groups, but just like everything else in Mommy’s castle, they would never hurt you.

You emerge into the kitchen, and stretch up to standing. As expected, your palms are covered in grime, and your skirt is heavy with soot and ash. You do your best to brush yourself off, and then start towards the sink to wash your hands, when a terrible screech fills the air.

“You stupid manthing!” you hear Bela scream from the next room.

Your headspace makes a quick shift into adulthood, startled to hear one of your sisters so distressed. Immediately, you run to the gate between the kitchen and the lower levels of the castle. Through the gate, you can see that one of the windows has been shattered. Dozens of your sister’s insects lie on the floor, unmoving, as she stumbles in the wind blowing through the broken glass.

“Bela!” you cry out, scrambling to open the gate. That’s when the first gunshot rings out, tearing through your sister’s shoulder. Her insects reform around it, but she cries out and you can tell that it hurt. As she stumbles to the left, you see the man standing behind her.

He’s covered in blood and grime, barely recognizable as human, but the stubble scattered across his cheeks marks him as prey to your family.

“Get away from my sister!” you scream, as the manthing shoots again at her. This shot hits her head, and insects scatter from the impact. Her face is gone for a moment, then reforms, her mouth wide open in rage.

Bela charges the stranger, her scythe held high.

You watch them struggle, and the man pushes her back into the frigid wind. He switches his attention to the windows, and breaks another one. You feel the winter air sweep inwards, and Bela wails.

“Bela, run!” You throw the gate open. “Get out of there!”

“He’s mine! My prey!” Bela hisses, advancing on the man again. Fear beats in your chest. You’ve never seen your sisters outmatched, but this man is too smart, and Bela is at a severe disadvantage in the room with broken windows. “How dare you bare your teeth at us!” She launches herself at the manthing again, and you watch his blood drip from your sister’s blade.

You’ve hunted with your sisters before. You’ve seen humans face death more times than you could count. You know how pain looks on their faces.

This man barely flinches as he pushes your sister back into the swirling snowflakes coming through the window. His face is set in a mask of determination, as he reloads his weapon and levels it again at Bela. This is no human like you’ve hunted before.

“Bela!” you scream, and throw one of your knives.

It sinks into the manthing’s thigh, and he hisses, pausing to pull it out and toss it aside. That brings your sister enough time to swoop towards him, but she’s moving more slowly in the cold air. The stranger manages to get his weapon back up before she can hit him, and fires straight into Bela’s face.

Both of you scream in unison, and you run forward into the room. The cold air prickles at your arms, but it doesn’t debilitate you the same way it does your sisters. You tug Bela backwards, as she writhes and hisses against your grip.

“Bela, find the others!” you yell. “Get out of here!”

The manthing seems to have finally picked you up as a threat. The next shot goes through your calf, and you lurch to the floor with a shout.

“How dare you!” Bela screeches, and throws herself again at the stranger.

You manage to get to your feet, and stumble towards the door. If you and Bela can get on the other side and then lock the manthing in the basement, Mother can deal with him without fear of the cold air or his stupid bullets. She is stronger than your sisters, stronger than anyone else.

Bela takes two more shots to her chest and begins retreating after you. You know that your sisters are unused to running from fights, but you don’t want to risk anything with this strange manthing who pulls knives out of his leg and tosses them aside without hesitation.

Another shot clips your shoulder, and your shaky grip on your adult headspace falls away. You topple to the ground, unable to stand the pain in your left leg.

You hear a scream, and it takes a moment to realize that it’s coming from you. You take your fear, your pain, and give it a voice. It echoes through the hallways.

“Mommy!”

The manthing seems to hesitate as your scream echoes around him.

You take the chance to throw another two knives. It’s a sloppy attempt, thrown haphazardly from the floor in pure self-defence. But they both strike true, one between his lower ribs and the other just above the mark from the first knife.

Red fluid seeps from him, dripping onto the tile.

He stumbles backwards, pulling a green bottle from his pocket and pouring its contents over his leg as he yanks the knife out. You watch as the blood is washed away, and the wounds close.

He came prepared.

“Ethan Winters!” a familiar voice snaps, and you almost collapse from pure relief. Mommy.

Mommy drifts in from the kitchen, ducking through the gated doorway and ushering Bela behind her. Bela is still snarling, but she’s clearly hurt, and allows her mother to push her back.

“You sneak into my house, you attack my daughters, youngest and eldest alike?”

The manthing fires his weapon again, directly into her chest, and you cover your ears against the noise. It echoes against the walls and although you know it can’t hurt Mommy, it scares you to see him try.

“You bring your filthy body to my property, you draw blood from my baby, and then you dare to raise your weapon to me?”

You haven’t seen Mommy this angry… ever. Her claws are extended, her back rigid as she faces down the man named Ethan Winters. Bela’s arms wrap around you and she drags you away from the fight. The movement jostles your wounded leg, and you cry out in spite of yourself, trying to twist out of Bela’s grasp.

Mommy looks back towards you. The man takes her lapse of attention as a chance to pull out a heavier gun, firing straight at her head.

It does nothing.

Mommy stands tall, in the face of bullets, in the swirling snow, and her claws flex as she looks down at the manthing in front of her.

Now, Ethan Winters looks scared. Now, Ethan Winters looks human.

“I would love to take my time and truly teach you a lesson,” Mommy purrs, reaching out to grab the manthing by the throat. “But my daughters need my attention, and I am… a doting mother. So I’m afraid this will have to be quick.”

Blood is all around you, in the Dimitrescu Castle. Big or small, old or young, you’re no stranger to violence.

You still find yourself covering your eyes as Mommy tears the strange man to shreds. You can hear her spitting out pieces of him, making sounds of disgust. His blood must not be good.

“Bela, come feed. You need the replenishment.”

Mommy drags what remains of the body into the kitchen, where Bela is safely resting, away from the cold air that fills the room where you sit.

You hear your sister begin to drink.

“Darling, are you alright?”

Mommy’s arms wrap around you, careful not to jostle your injuries.

Tearfully, you shake your head. You were scared, and Bela almost died. If you had stayed in your room and hidden like Mommy had said, you were sure that your sister would have been gone. You had almost both been killed, and if Mommy had been slower….

“M’sorry,” you sob, turning into the embrace. “I left.”

“And I’m very upset that you put yourself in danger, but I am not going to scold you right now. May I carry you to your room? You need medicine.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Mommy cradles you and carefully picks you up. Your dress is ruined, covered in grime and blood. You look over and see Bela crouched over a body. It’s suddenly easier to breathe once you see its face, blank and staring. The manthing doesn’t look special as a corpse. Just another dead human.

You turn your face into Mommy’s chest, and she presses a hand to the back of your head, keeping you there. The smell of copper blood fades as she carries you out of the kitchen and down the hall to your room. Mommy doesn’t take the shortcuts like you and your sisters. They’re much too small and dirty for her.

That thought makes you laugh.

“Is my little one amused?” Mommy asks, petting your scalp with gloved fingers.

“Mmm, m’small and dirty,” you giggle.

“You are very small and very dirty. A bath is in order for both of us once your wounds are tended to.” That sounds like heaven to your exhausted mind.

Mommy shoulders your door open, splintering the lock, and lays you on the bed. You whine as she moves away from you, reaching towards her.

“I’ll be back in a moment, darling. Are mama o fetiţă, cat un ghemotoc, are mama o fetiţă, cuminţică foc,” Mommy begins to sing as she makes her way around the room, gathering supplies. You relax, her voice reassuring you that she’s still nearby.

Soon, she’s back, sitting at the foot of your bed. There’s a bottle of first aid fluid in her hand, like the one the manthing used.

“This will sting, but it will help.” Mommy takes your foot in her hand, and carefully unbuckles your shoe. It looks tiny in her hand, like a doll’s shoe. Dropping it to the ground, she pulls down your stocking to reveal the wound in your calf.

You turn your face away, whining at the sight of the blood streaking your skin.

“Hush, darling.” You feel lips against the wound, a brief flare of pain as she presses against it. She makes a soft sound, and you look down to watch her lick your blood from her lips. “Don’t look,” Mommy tells you, and you close your eyes again.

Then she pours something on your leg, and everything is pain.

You twist in her grip, crying out, and she holds you down.

“I know, darling, I know. It will pass. I’m sorry.” More pain, this time radiating from your shoulder. You try to kick out, and she catches your feet. “I’ve got you. Breathe, little one. It will pass.”

And sure enough, after what feels like an eternity, the pain begins to lift. You can feel your fingers again, and your toes. Your body is more than a twisting line of agony. The ache becomes gentler, and eventually it lifts all together.

You lie on the bed, feeling the tears streaking your face, and you hear Mommy sigh in relief.

“There, all done.”

She gathers you onto her lap, and you lie passively in her arms, too exhausted to do anything else.

“My brave girl,” she praises, kissing your forehead. “My brave, brave daughter. I’m so proud of you. I’ll never let anyone hurt you again.”

“M’sorry.” You know she was worried about you. You can still hear it in her voice.

“No, darling, I’m sorry. I should have found him and… well. He shouldn’t have been able to hurt you. It won’t happen again, I promise.” Mommy rocks you back and forth, gently, and you can tell that your body has been healed. There is no pain in your leg, no pain in your shoulder. “I promise.”

“Love you.” There are so many things you want to say, but you’re tired and little and you just want to take a bath with Mommy and have a bottle and fall asleep in her arms.

“I love you more.”

She holds you tight, close enough that you can hear the doubled, inhuman heartbeat thrumming in her chest. Close enough that you can feel the unnatural heat of her skin. Close enough that you feel at home.

A/N: The song that Alcina sings is in Romanian, but I think it’s a translation of an English song. If anyone knows a traditional Romanian lullaby, I’d be happy to replace it. The lyrics translate as

“Mommy has a little girl, as small as a ball of fur Mommy has a little girl, and she’s a very good girl.”

I do have a fluffier, lighter sequel to this story planned, so let me know if you’d like to read it!

#resident evil agere #y'all really asked for this!!!!#violence mention #tw violence #my writing #my stories #agere writing #fandom agere #resident evil #resident evil village #i just know people are going to disrespect my dni on this story....#please don't #cglre terminology

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crackonhq · 2 years

Photo

Welcome to EXCESS BAGGAGE, where islanders will take turns stepping up to a baggage carousel, and opening bags that contain a “fun” fact on day 3. When an islander thinks they know who its about, they’ll step up and kiss that person.

There won’t be a specific “winner” of this challenge, but for doing it (and for getting answers right) you get points, which will help you get selected for dates and give you priority in recouplings, etc.

The order for this challenge has been randomly generated.

Mimi gets to go first, stepping up to the baggage cart.

THIS ISLANDER SPRAINED THEIR WRIST DURING SEX.

She’s pretty confident about walking up to Marcus, pulling him close and going for a full-on snog. Wow, she does not hold back at all. Intense. And she’s right! Marcus was the answer.

She takes her next bag.

THIS ISLANDER SLID INTO ANGUS CLOUD’S DMS.

Mimi might just be confident about everything she does, because she’s quick to go in for the make-out with Andrea.

That was super hot, but totally incorrect. The answer was Romi.

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

Romi gets to go next, stepping up to the baggage cart.

THIS ISLANDER KEEPS TALLY OF EVERY ZODIAC SIGN THEY’VE SLEPT WITH.

Romi goes to kiss Mimi on the cheek, which totally lacks drama, but she’s wrong anyway. The answer was Naomi.

THIS ISLANDER WAS A CHILD MODEL.

Romi stays super loyal to Marcus by kissing Josh on the cheek. She’s right this time, guilty as charged!

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

Marcus gets to go next.

THIS ISLANDER WROTE AN ESSAY ON THE INFLUENCE OF LOVE ISLAND FOR THEIR DEGREE.

He stands for an extremely long time. Jeopardy music is playing. Grasshoppers are chirping. Someone clears their throat. His eyes dart back and forth between Layla and Charlotte before he FINALLY leans forward and kisses Charlotte on the cheek.

All that for him to be wrong anyway. It was Mimi.

THIS ISLANDER DATED A FAMOUS SINGER.

He kisses Naomi on the cheek too. Viewers at home probably also think it’s her, so it’s a decent guess, but she laughs and shakes her head. Charlotte raises her hand instead.

Marcus shrugs his shoulders, because he gave it the best shot. With that score, fans at home are probably wishing he’d just kissed Romi anyway.

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

Andrea steps up next in line.

THIS ISLANDERS LONGEST RELATIONSHIP WAS 8 MONTHS.

Respectfully, Andrea gives Marcus a cute little peck on the lips – enough to keep producers happy, but hopefully not enough to actually piss anyone off. It’s wrong anyway, and Josh admits to being the answer.

THIS ISLANDER SAID “I LOVE YOU” TO THREE PEOPLE, BUT NEVER MEANT IT.

Andrea locks eyes with Josh for this one, and apparently doesn’t care about stepping on toes this time around, because she goes for the full on snog. Like, cut to commercials and then come back from commercials and they’re STILL kissing. It’s not him though.

It was Marcus.

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Charlotte gets to step up next, and takes her first clue from the cart.

THIS ISLANDER TAKES ALL THEIR FIRST DATES ROCK CLIMBING.

She takes the opportunity to go in for the make-out with Romi, which I deeply respect. Especially because she’s right about it.

THIS ISLANDER HAD A ONE-WEEK STAND WITH SOMEONE WHO SPOKE A DIFFERENT LANGUAGE.

Charlotte goes for Andrea on this one, another full on snog from our seemingly innocent southern belle! She’s wrong though. The answer was Mimi.

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

Josh steps up next.

THIS ISLANDER DIDN’T KNOW THEY WERE ALLERGIC TO KIWI UNTIL THEY SAID TO SOMEONE, “YEAH, IT’S GOOD, BUT I DON’T LIKE THE WAY IT MAKES YOUR THROAT ITCH.”

Josh appears to know who it is, confidently lifting Mimi up into a loooong, hot and heavy kiss. He’s super wrong, though, and Layla steps forward to admit her aversion to the fruit.

THIS ISLANDER GOT PULLED OVER FOR STEALING THEIR EX-FIANCE’S CAR AND CRASHING IT.

There’s no discretion about who Josh is making out with, because he’s back for more after locking lips with Andrea earlier. He pulls away to find out he’s right about this one. Nice.

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

Naomi gets to go next, taking baggage from the carousel.

THIS ISLANDER LOST THEIR VIRGINITY IN A THREESOME.

Taps a finger to her chin before stepping up to lock lips with Charlotte. It’s a long-ass kiss, but Naomi barely manages to catch her breath before she’s proven wrong – Ji-Hoon steps forward, and her jaw drops a little.

But second time’s the charm, and she selects her next clue.

THIS ISLANDER BOUGHT THREE WEDDING DRESSES.

Naomi turns on her heel and goes to lay it on Layla, and it’s a lot less chaste than you’d see at the end of the aisle. Once again not guilty though, and Andrea clears her throat to announce that it’s her clue.

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

Enzo steps forward next, not seeming super into it. Though actually, that might just be his face. He takes his first clue.

THIS ISLANDER HAS A DOG NAMED AFTER ANNE BOLEYN.

He decides to give Romi a gentle peck, hopefully not crossing any boundaries or whatever. Respectful. He’s wrong though, and Layla raises her hand to admit that she’s got a super cute dog.

THIS ISLANDER IS RELATED TO A PASTOR.

He looks pretty confident in this one as he sweeps Charlotte off her feet in a kiss that we almost feel like we have to censor. We don’t, though, you’re gonna get your money’s worth with that VPN that you’re paying too much for in order to watch this. And he’s right, too – Charlotte was the answer.

It’s almost like he was written by a woman or something.

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Layla steps forward to do her questions.

THIS ISLANDER WHACKED SOMEONE WITH A SURFBOARD WHEN THEY GOT HIT ON AT THE BEACH.

Now that’s getting hit on! Layla steps forward to give Charlotte a quick peck on the lips, very casual. It’s not the answer, though, and Ji-Hoon admits to being the answer to the clue.

The next suitcase Layla picks up holds:

THE OLDEST PERSON THIS ISLANDER SLEPT WITH WAS 46.

Layla plays it low key and gives Marcus a quick kiss on the cheek. This time, it’s Charlotte’s turn to fess up as the culprit.

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Ji-Hoon is the last one to pull bags from the cart.

THIS ISLANDER DID BALLET UNTIL THEY TURNED 18.

Ji-Hoon glances around before standing in front of Naomi to give her a quick kiss on the lips. Casual, but also Ji-Hoon’s boldest move so far? The bar is low. She smiles, however, it’s not her. Layla owns up to being the culprit.

THIS ISLANDER CHANGED THEIR PHONE NUMBER AFTER BREAKING UP WITH SOMEONE.

Ji-Hoon kisses Charlotte lightly on the cheek, but she shakes her head. Naomi steps forward with a sheepish smile to admit the clue was about her.

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💋💋💋💋💋 the most kissed islander was: charlotte !!

#crackon:challenge #week 1

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melanielocke · 3 years

Text

Lost in the Shadows - Chapter 18

AO3

Taglist: @nott-the-best @foxglove-airmid @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @justanormaldemon @styxdrawings @ipromiseiwillwrite @a-dream-dirty-and-bruised

Previous Chapter: Chapter 17

Next Chapter: Chapter 19

Thomas had always enjoyed swimming. He used to be a competitive swimmer in school, and still considered going back to it at university. He was fast and he guessed he’d need to slow down for Alastair, who was not a frequent swimmer at all. While Alastair was fast and nimble on the land, his swimming skills appeared only enough to not drown. Which arguably was the most important when it came to swimming, but Thomas had to be careful, he didn’t want to exhaust Alastair or leave him behind.

‘I don’t usually like swimming all that much,’ Alastair admitted.

‘Really? Then why did you come?’ Thomas asked.

A wicked gleam appeared in Alastair’s dark eyes and he smiled. ‘For the scenery, of course.’

Thomas guessed it was the first time they’d seen each other wearing only swim shorts, although he had seen some of Alastair’s chest after Tessa had bandaged his shoulder. The wound looked closed now, but Thomas knew it was still sensitive.

While Alastair was skinny, he was also lightly toned. Not muscular like Thomas was, but elegant and graceful. He was beautiful. He remembered Alastair telling him he’d gained weight lately because of his new medication, but if this was his body after gaining weight, just how skinny had he been before?

And although Alastair tried to act casual, Thomas caught him staring at him too. Truth to be told, he was a little insecure about his body, and what Alastair would think of it. Thomas knew he was muscular, since he worked out so much, which he knew was considered desirable, but he often felt he was a bit too tall. Not to mention he hated the stretch marks that had appeared on his back, and worried what Alastair would think of those. His mother had freaked out the first time she’d seen them until she’d realized they were stretch marks. They were a faded pink now, although they used to be a bright red like wounds. Hopefully in time they’d fade to white. Of course, after three pregnancies, his mother had them too but everyone seemed to associate stretch marks with pregnancy when it was also completely normal to get them after gaining weight or growing very fast. Thomas sometimes wished he’d known that sooner.

‘My parents would often take me and my sisters swimming when I recovered from one of my fevers,’ Thomas said.

‘In the winter as well?’ Alastair asked. ‘Isn’t that cold?’

‘At the indoor pool,’ Thomas clarified. ‘I always had lots of fun there. There were water slides, a wave simulator bath, tropical plants to create a nice atmosphere. There was this one water slide that was in the dark and Barbara was scared of it so she always claimed I was too small for the water slide and wasn’t allowed to take it either.

Often when I was sick, it was something I looked forward to because I knew I could go to the pool when I got better. When I was older and no longer sick, I started swimming competitively. Didn’t you go swimming as a child?’

‘Not often,’ Alastair said. ‘Cordelia would go with Lucie and her parents sometimes.’

‘I remember getting these invites to classmates’ birthday parties. It’s a surprise what we’re doing, but bring your swimsuit,’ Thomas said. ‘Of course, I could only go when I was well enough, but it was a very common activity at my school.’

‘I was that child who never got invited. Which was fine, I didn’t really like being around other children anyway. My mother couldn’t swim, and my father didn’t really go have fun with us. I did take swimming lessons, passed my exams, but beyond that I didn’t really go swimming. My mother started taking classes not so long ago, though, so she’s learnt the basics. She found a class for adult women and even made some friends there.’

‘Maybe you should give it a chance,’ Thomas said. ‘Unfortunately, the pool I went to as a child closed. They built a mall there, I think. but I’m sure there are other pools I could take you someday.’

‘It’s not so bad,’ Alastair admitted. ‘Maybe if we survive this summer, I’ll take you up on that offer.’

Thomas felt himself become a little warm inside, despite the cold water. Here, spending time together in the lake and in the woods was nice, but Thomas wanted to show Alastair all his favorite places, go to the museum together, go swimming like he used to do. He wanted to introduce Alastair to his sisters, who would undoubtedly like him very much. He hoped they wouldn’t be too protective of him though, Thomas did not think Alastair would react well if Genie started threatening him. He made a mental note to send a warning to his sisters that there would be no threatening Alastair.

‘Do you play any sports?’ Thomas asked.

‘Currently not much beyond generally trying to stay active and taking very long walks,’ Alastair admitted. ‘Cordelia and I used to take dance classes together for several years, Father thought it important we learnt how to dance ballroom. The memory is a bit tainted because it was something he demanded of us, but truth to be told I did like dancing and I was quite good at it. We both were.’

‘Oh, that sounds nice,’ Thomas said. ‘I’ve always thought it would be nice to learn partner dancing, but I never got around to it. Besides, I’m a bit clumsy on my feet so I’d be stepping on my partner’s toes all the time.’

‘That doesn’t happen as often as people think,’ Alastair said. ‘I think there’s a dancing association at the university, so if you want to learn that might be a nice and affordable place to take classes. But you could also join a swimming team there if you’d prefer. Or both, but you’ll need to find time to study too.’

‘Is that something you struggled with?’ Thomas asked.

‘Not really. I had no social life beyond my ex boyfriend and I don’t need much time to study. Magic memory and all. But there were definitely a few students who were partying too much to keep up.’

‘I’m not really one for partying, so that won’t be a problem,’ Thomas admitted. ‘I didn’t realize there were so many options, all I heard about student life was either lots of partying or study until you drop.’

‘Oh no there are definitely options,’ Alastair said. ‘I’m just too antisocial for most of them. I don’t like being around people anyway. One on one is fine, but I’ve never liked groups. And I absolutely despite it when people are loud. What else do you like to do beside swimming?’

Thomas could recognize what Alastair described. He had always been shy as a child, and had never really grown over that. He liked being around people, but mostly in small groups.

‘I like music,’ Thomas said. ‘I play guitar, but I really like writing my own songs.’

He’d never told anyone that. He wasn’t sure why exactly. He’d started playing the guitar after growing over his sickness. He’d tried the saxophone before that when he was younger, but his frequent fevers made it difficult to keep up. To learn an instrument you had to practice daily, and that hadn’t worked out.

He’d started playing guitar at fourteen and he’d written lots of songs, most of which he’d discarded. He never believed they were any good, and he wasn’t very good at singing. He’d practiced, of course, and he knew how to pitch his voice, but he just didn’t sound that good or interesting. He could be a decent back up vocalist, he guessed, but then he’d need to find someone to actually sing his songs.

‘Really?’ Alastair asked. ‘What kind of songs?’

‘Oh, all sorts. Ballads, sad songs mostly, I guess. Love songs too. I’ve never told anyone before. They’re not good or anything.’

He remembered he’d written a very sappy, hopeless pining song not long after meeting Alastair. He was glad there was no remaining evidence of that ever happening, it was exactly the kind of thing Eugenia would use as blackmail. Which he guessed was why he’d never told Eugenia about his songs.

They reached the island in the middle of the lake, and sat down in the shallow water, a comfortable place to rest for a bit and talk. He could tell Alastair was getting tired, swimming was very different from walking or running and Alastair wasn’t used to it. Perhaps it was hard on his shoulder too.

‘You told no one? Really? Why?’ Alastair asked.

‘As I said, they’re not any good,’ Thomas admitted. ‘And I can’t sing well.’

‘Maybe I could sing them for you,’ Alastair said. ‘Although it’s been a while since I’ve really sung.’

‘You sing?’ Thomas asked. He wondered what Alastair’s voice would sound like when he sung.

‘I used to,’ Alastair said. ‘I played the piano too, growing up, but I haven’t played in years.’

‘Why did you stop?’ Thomas asked.

Alastair sighed. ‘I couldn’t find joy in playing music anymore. In anything really. Although I did listen to music a lot, and I do sing along occasionally. But apart from that… I just couldn’t bring myself to play anymore, it hurt too much. I wanted to get back to it, but so far I haven’t found that joy.’

That sounded sad. Would Thomas’ songs be able to cheer him up? Probably not, they were terrible. He would need some good music to play or sing to get back into it, not his hopeless attempts at song writing.

‘I hope you can,’ Thomas said. ‘I can’t imagine what it’s like to not be able to enjoy the things you used to.’

‘Well, sometimes interests change,’ Alastair said. ‘I’ve had a lot of odd interests that changed. But in this case… I want to be able to feel the joy I once felt. I want to play, and sing your songs and feel like myself again.’

Thomas wasn’t sure how comfortable he was with sharing any of his work, but if it would help Alastair then he would let him sing all of his songs.

‘Could you sing something? Now, I mean. If you want to, you don’t have to. I’m just really curious what you sound like.’

Thomas started rambling again, and Alastair silenced him by beginning to sing. The song would definitely sound better with accompanied by a guitar, but even on its own Alastair’s voice was beautiful. It was a bit lower than his speaking voice, but he seemed to have quite a range. Gentle, but firm and when he got farther into the song Thomas realized there was a lot of power behind Alastair’s voice. It was a romantic song he was singing, did this describe how Alastair felt about him? He didn’t catch everything, but some of the lyrics stuck with him.

Never opened myself this way.

Life is ours, we live it our way.

All these words I don’t just say

And nothing else matters

‘Trust I seek, and I find in you,’ Thomas repeated. ‘That sounds beautiful.’

Alastair smiled. ‘I do find trust in you. Even if it is something I still find difficult. I’m trying.’

‘What song is that?’ Thomas asked.

Alastair stared at him in shock. ‘You mean to tell me you don’t know this song? You can’t be serious.’

‘It sounds vaguely familiar, but I can’t name it,’ Thomas said. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s Nothing else Matters by Metallica,’ Alastair said.

‘That does sounds familiar,’ Thomas admitted. ‘I’ve never listened much to Metallica.’

‘You should, their music is very good, and it’s very melodic for a metal band. That’s what I like the most, when music is both heavy and melodic.’

‘What other music do you like?’ Thomas asked.

‘Breaking Benjamin must be one of my favorite bands. You probably haven’t heard of them, they’re not very famous. They’re probably best described as alternative metal. Very angst heavy lyrics, things I can relate to. And I like Metallica, Skillet, Three Days Grace. Within Temptation and Nightwish occasionally. What do you listen to?’

‘I like Green Day,’ Thomas said. ‘And As It Is, which you might not know because they’re not very well known, but they’re a pop punk band.’

‘I don’t know As it Is. I do know Green Day though. I’ve always liked Boulevard of Broken Dreams.’

‘Me too,’ Thomas said. ‘But 21 guns is my favorite from Green Day.’

They talked some more about music, and Thomas made a note to listen to some of Alastair’s favorite songs when they got back. He hadn’t had the time or inspiration to write songs lately, with everything happening, but he wanted to write something for Alastair. If he ever found the time in between trying not to die.

Truth to be told, Thomas found it difficult to have people worry about him so much, risk themselves for his sake. He didn’t want to die and was grateful he had people who were willing to help him, but he hated how all this was because of him. He hated being taken care of, being someone’s burden. It was something Thomas had always struggled with. When his mother had quit her job because Thomas was sick so often it wasn’t doable for both his parents to work. Since his mother was a primary school teacher, it had made sense for her to quit working as his father made more money and worked more hours. When his sisters would come straight home after school to keep him company rather than spend time with their own friends. When his father would come home early as often as he could, passing on opportunities at work.

It wasn’t just that the amount of attention could be suffocating, it was because he didn’t want to be difficult, he didn’t want other people to change their life, their habits for him. But as a sick child, he’d had no choice but to let people take care of him. Everyone had had to adapt to his sickness and even in a loving family such as his own, it wasn’t easy to have a child who was ill so often. Sometimes Thomas feared he’d taken up too much attention and had taken that away from Barbara and Eugenia.

‘You’re thinking of something,’ Alastair said. ‘Something that is bothering you.’

‘It’s nothing,’ Thomas said.

It wouldn’t be fair to complain about his childhood to Alastair. Compared to what he had been through, Thomas had wanted for nothing.

‘It’s not nothing,’ Alastair said. ‘I can tell when you tense up, when you’re thinking of something hurtful. Is it something I did?’

‘No. You didn’t do anything wrong.’ Thomas brushed his hand across Alastair’s cheek. ‘You’re perfect.’

‘Then what is it?’ Alastair looked away. ‘Look, I know how difficult it is to talk about how you feel, how vulnerable it makes you feel. But I can tell when things are bothering you, I know when people are upset. If you don’t want to share, at least tell me you’d rather not talk about it. Because people always like to pretend they’re fine but they’re not and…’

Alastair didn’t finish his sentence, he seemed upset too now. Thomas felt horrible. He didn’t want Alastair to worry, he didn’t want to hurt him. It made sense Alastair could read people well. Thomas had always been good at reading people’s body language, but Alastair had had to deal with his father’s changing moods, anticipating them had to be how he’d survived. Of course people’s bad moods were stressful for him, because Alastair had learnt he’d get hurt when other people were stressed.

Perhaps it was better to tell, that might set Alastair’s mind at ease. Even if it was difficult, even if he did not quite understand why he felt this way.

‘I was thinking about how you’re all risking your life for me, and I find that difficult. I’ve never wanted to trouble others, I’ve never wanted to be a burden. But I also know I cannot do this without help. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you or to Cordelia or Lucie because of me.’

Alastair put his hand on Thomas’ cheek, wet from the lake water.

‘I understand. But none of this is your fault, Tom, and you’re not a burden.’

‘I’ve always felt like a burden,’ Thomas said softly. ‘I always needed to be taken care of because I was sick.’

‘Is it a burden when the people caring for you love you and gladly care for you?’ Alastair asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Thomas said. ‘With James and Matthew, I was so glad to find friends, people my own age. But James’ mother and Matthew’s mother are my mother’s best friends, so we already knew each other from a young age. We were very close when I was still a child and they would come by to keep me company when I was sick. I am grateful, but they learnt I needed to be protected and when I grew over my sickness, Matthew still believed I was meek and dependent and needed to be rescued from you. James wasn’t as bad, he never noticed I liked you because he was always reading. I think the reason we drifted apart a bit is because of that. I never dared tell them how I felt about you, and I don’t think they would have reacted well. And again, I feared my feelings would make me a burden. That was less of an issue with Lucie, so I think that’s why I’m now closer to her. It was never a problem to tell her I liked you, and that’s why she was the first person I told.’

‘I didn’t realize you’d drifted apart from them. At school, it was always the three of you,’ Alastair said.

‘True, and I still care about them, I really do. But I think they’re closer to each other than to me, and that made me feel out of place at times. I still see them and spend time with them, and we text often, but not as much as we used to. But that’s fine, I think it was for the best. I still have plenty of people around me, enough friends, and we probably work better with a little more distance anyway.’

‘I didn’t realize, that’s all,’ Alastair said. ‘Sometimes change is for the best. How are James and Matthew anyway?’

‘I haven’t contacted them a lot with everything happening, and the last few days I haven’t been able to reach them. But I’m not yet sure what to say when I do call them. Do I tell them about us? Or about what’s going on? Do I tell my sisters? I do not want anyone else to come here and put themselves in danger.’

‘I have not yet decided what I will tell my mother either,’ Alastair said. ‘I did tell her I liked you, before I realized you liked me as well. But the past few days I haven’t been able to reach her, or Risa. Wait a moment, you said you couldn’t reach James and Matthew.’

‘Nor my sisters,’ Thomas said. ‘And my father said he was unable to reach uncle Gabriel. I don’t think uncle Will has had any success calling uncle Jem or your father either. Which is odd. You’d think out of all these people, at least someone would pick up a phone.’

‘Or perhaps that is part of what Tatiana is doing,’ Alastair said. ‘Isolating us so we cannot call anyone for help.’

Thomas tried to think that through. If he were in Tatiana’s shoes, he definitely wouldn’t want them to be able to contact uncle Gabriel and aunt Cecily. Nor uncle Jem, he guessed. Matthew and James were no threat to her, nor were his sisters, so he wasn’t sure why they were unable to contact them. Nor did he suspect Alastair’s mother was a threat. Perhaps it was simply easier to cut them off from everyone.

‘That makes sense,’ Thomas said. ‘But if we can’t call them, how far away from the town and the forest would we have to be if we were to reach people again?’ Thomas wasn’t so sure it would be that simple though.

‘I’m not sure,’ Alastair said. ‘Perhaps it’s like the land in between, except bigger. Perhaps something Tatiana did will not only cut off our ability to contact people who aren’t here, but will also prevent us from leaving.’ He paused. ‘I assumed there would be no point in leaving, because whatever is happening to you would simply follow you wherever you go. But perhaps Tatiana does need you here.’

Thomas wasn’t sure how to feel about that. He hadn’t considered running, didn’t think there would be a point to it. How could you run from a powerful being? But perhaps Alastair had a point and he was running from Tatiana. Perhaps that powerful being would simply take Jesse back if Tatiana failed, and that would be it. The thought brought no comfort. He would never want Jesse to suffer. None of this was his fault either.

‘It makes me wonder why that being picked Jesse over me,’ Thomas said. ‘It must have liked Tatiana a lot better than my parents, and I think when Jesse died Tatiana already knew what was happening. I think she assumed I would be the one to die, and when Jesse died and I didn’t, she got mad with my father.

But wouldn’t it have made more sense to take me instead of Jesse? Since Tatiana knew more about the deal, knew about the creature, knew how to barter with it?’

Alastair grimaced. ‘No. I think that is exactly why it chose Jesse. I don’t think the thief of souls intended to keep Jesse forever. If it had taken you, your parents would have been heart broken, they would grieve you, they would have sustained a wound that would never heal. But they would not have tried to get you back, not at the cost of someone else’s life.

Tatiana, on the other hand, would do anything for her son, and seems to hate everyone else. It doesn’t matter to her that lots of people will die, souls forfeit, as long as she can have her son back. She knew what was going on, what would happen to her son. Perhaps she tried to appease it, to make sure you would be chosen and not Jesse. But that’s exactly why it chose Jesse. Because with Jesse dead, Tatiana would do anything to bring him back, and she would exchange your life for Jesse. And the thief of souls could have asked her for anything it wanted, anything else she would realistically be able to give her.’

Thomas stared at Alastair. Everything he said made perfect sense. He had been looking at this from the wrong angle, from his own perspective of someone who made decisions based on emotion, based on his love for the people around him. But the thief of souls wasn’t like that, he didn’t care for Tatiana just because she liked him better than his father did. He saw her as a tool he could use. He played a strategic game and souls were the prize.

‘Why now, though?’ Thomas asked. ‘Jesse has been dead for years. If Tatiana already knew what was happening, wouldn’t she have gotten him back sooner?’

‘I think the thief of souls must have demanded much from her,’ Alastair said. ‘He could ask for anything. Do any of you know what she’s been up to the past years?’

‘She moved away from London, left her house in a state of disrepair,’ Thomas said. ‘My grandfather was incredibly rich and Tatiana inherited lots of money, so she could afford to just move around and leave her father’s house.’

Thomas knew his father and uncle Gabriel had often wondered what to do with the money inherited from their father, money he’d earned through dark deals and exploitation. Money none of them deserved. But for uncle Gabriel and aunt Cecily the money had allowed them to hunt the supernatural, stop people like Benedict, since such line of work wasn’t exactly paid. His father had donated some of the money, but for them it had been convenient too since his illness meant he always needed someone around to take care of him.

‘Meaning, you don’t know where she’s been?’ Alastair asked. ‘I can’t imagine having so much money that you can just leave an entire house for several years without selling it. Honestly that should be illegal, considering how difficult it is for some people to even find a place to live.’

‘It was her father’s manor, had been in the family for a long time,’ Thomas said. ‘I don’t think she could have even considered selling it, it was very important to Benedict. But no, we don’t know where she’s been. My father and uncle Gabriel did try to reach out to her occasionally. At the very least they called her on her birthday, but she never picked up.’

‘So these past years, maybe she had to complete other tasks first, offer him other souls, anything he could have wanted. And at some point she must have captured Grace, which I imagine made completing his requests a lot easier.’

‘How long do you think Grace has been her prisoner?’ Thomas wondered. ‘I assumed it was a recent thing, what if she’s been with Tatiana for years?’

‘No idea,’ Alastair said. ‘Perhaps capturing Grace is what finally allowed her to win enough favor to get back Jesse’s soul. Whatever he wanted from her, it must have been easier with a siren under her control. But I think there’s still more she must do to bring him back to life. Perhaps that child that drowned was part of it too.’

‘And when Jesse lives, I die,’ Thomas concluded.

Thomas had no idea how to fix this. How to survive without sacrificing Jesse. He knew Lucie and Cordelia wanted to kill the thief of souls, but they didn’t even know what it was. Their attention had to be on Grace right now, if anyone knew more of Tatiana’s plans it had to be her.

‘We’ll get Grace’ skin,’ Alastair promised. ‘Tomorrow. And when she is free, she can tell us all she knows of Tatiana. There must be so much Grace knows.’

‘Will you be alright?’ Thomas said. ‘After this morning… will you feel up to it? I can’t imagine how exhausting that must have been. It’s fine if you need more rest.’

‘I hope so, but if not I can function pretty well while tired. At some point you get used to it. I have good days and bad days. Today was not so good, you’re right that I’m still very tired from this morning. Such breakdowns are always exhausting, that is not something I’ve gotten used to. I would go to sleep early, maybe take some melatonin, but I’ll only have nightmares. And we don’t have the kind of time to wait for me to recover from this morning, I’ll have to do with how I function tomorrow morning.’

Thomas considered for a moment, turning a little red before looking Alastair in the eyes. Thomas had always found Alastair’s eyes beautiful, big and so dark it was difficult to tell apart the iris and the pupil. He’d never quite understood the way people obsessed over blue or green eyes, described as sapphires and emeralds in many of Lucie’s books. Green and blue eyes didn’t even look like that. Light eyes might be less common than brown eyes, but Thomas had always found dark brown eyes combined with dark hair like Alastair’s far more striking.

‘Maybe I could sleep over,’ Thomas suggested. ‘I mean, do you think that would help?’

‘I don’t know if it would help with my nightmares, but I would certainly like it if you stayed with me,’ Alastair said. ‘I like to cuddle. It is very nice when you hold me, sensory wise. So, where are we sleeping? I think my bed is bigger, we could easily both fit in there.’

Thomas wondered what Alastair meant with that it was nice, sensory wise. It sounded like something Lucie, who was autistic, might say, but Alastair had not mentioned such a thing, had he?

‘Alright, then I’ll sleep over at your place,’ Thomas said. ‘And I’ll cuddle with you as much as you want. And when you have a nightmare, I’ll be there to remind you that you’re safe.’

#Thomas Lightwood #Alastair Carstairs #Lucie Herondale #Cordelia Carstairs #Thomastair #Lucelia #fanfiction #the last hours #tlh

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