#i mean its still there looming but it's a lot more distant now

[selarina]

Behind Closed Masks

→ Satoru Gojo x Fem!Reader

Summary: Amidst a looming threat to Yuuji’s life, you're all holed up at Shoko's house for safety. It's the practical choice for him, to be surrounded by Jujutsu Society's strongest. Alternatives are in the works, but for now, as you’re all holed up in Shoko's place, events begin to unfurl with Gojo Satoru in the centre of it all.

Content Warnings: friends with benefits, fluff, angst, unrequited feelings, canon divergence because getou is here and mentally well, mention of smoking, mention of violence, mention of harassment, exhibitionism-ish, oral sex (f!receiving) MINORS DNI

Word Count: 3.8k words

Author's Note: Ngl I kinda hate this but enjoy :) Might be kinda ooc

Read on AO3

Satoru Gojo, the receiver of one too many love letters, the rejector of one too many confessions was obviously coined to be every girl’s boy, and inadvertently, as the lady's man.

But truth be laid bare, Satoru never truly had the time, not for women or men. He only truly had time for his intimate circle of friends who luckily had managed to penetrate through all of the layers of façade.

But it's off season, he’s on a low stakes mission and there’s not many curses to kill and he's bored. He’s been bored for a while now and since Yujji had been buzzing at his ear like a mosquito, he decides that maybe he should undertake the mantle he had been anointed with for years.

So, he downloads tinder, albeit his reluctance. Because surely, there were more dignified avenues into hookup culture? But who was he to argue with Suguru, a man who actually lives up to the reputation expectation — hailed as everyone's resident fuckboy.

It's not surprising by any means at all, but there's swell of pride that blooms in him with each illuminating "It's a Match!" notification on his screen. He's not expecting to do much from here, at least — not today. He only downloaded this app to appease Yujji after all.

However, at your entrance into the living room, with your barrage of bags upon bags, he finds himself hastily pocketing his phone — a bit too swiftly than he should have. 

He notices Suguru's discerning eyes staring at him, at his move, but Satoru, ever the consummate performer, simply offers him a genial smile and redirects his gaze back at you — this very angry version of you. 

You're staring at the lot of them — dead in their faces, almost like you're planning to squint your way through to a create a hole in their faces.

"What's with the frown? It doesn't suit you, pretty." He rose from his seat, a beat behind the swift advances of Suguru and Yujji, both of whom had promptly positioned themselves at your side. 

Yuuji relieved you of your bags as he took half the weight off, while Suguru merely extended his help in the form of a box of raspberry juice.

"What's with the frown?!" Yuuji asks.

You stop, taking a long sip of the juice, before you start talking again, "I told you guys to come with me. You didn't want to. The least you could do was pick me up when you agreed to. But no! I was out there, in the middle of no where, trying to get a fucking Uber. And then the Uber driver started hitting on me. And he was so creepy about it too. This is why I hate ubering by the w—"

"Is he still outside?" Satoru's voice cuts through, abruptly altering into a tone of sobriety.

"I don't know. But I want to punch something, maybe we should practice today, Suguru."

You looked up to see him, wanting to see if he agreed with you. But Suguru had disappeared. You turned around, searching the room with your eyes, but there was no sign of him. He wasn't there anymore. The room remained still with only four of you giving it company.

Then, a distant sound, the rumble of an argument spewing its way from outside, reached your ears inside the living room. The four of you are quick to move, swivelling your way through to the point of discord. 

Yet, upon arrival, you only catch the diminishing silhouette of the Uber vehicle taking its departure from Shoko's compound. And then, your eyes catch Suguru, arms akimbo, as he looked down at the concrete, uttering an expletive.

"Aww, now I feel better already," you quipped, making your way to hug an annoyed-looking Suguru.

He melted, as one naturally does at the touch of another. Albeit, it may be through reluctance, but his hands don't show it as they come up to gently pull you closer into his chest. He knows you need this more than he does. 

"Sorry for not picking you up," he murmurs.

Drawing back slightly, you said, "Well, you going up to fight him makes up for it, I guess."

"Wow," Shoko interjected with an incredulous laugh. "You want us to resort to violence?" 

"Well, obviously not. But you would if I asked you, right?" you contended with a smile, fixing your gaze on Suguru.

"Absolutely not," Shoko voice comes out swift and emphatic, a declaration that's seconded by Suguru's shrug of indifference.

Satoru, however, interposed with a grin, speaks up, "I would fight anyone for you." 

You look at him, your eyes assessing him from hair to shoes. "Really?" you said, your tone clearly coloured by amusement.

At that, Satoru's eyes squint in annoyance, "I would, and in case you've forgotten, I am the strongest one here?"

"I mean, sure when we were teenagers. That's different, you're kinda wimpy looking now."

You don't actually believe that, you'd be a fool to believe that. Truth be told, he's likely the first person you would instinctively turn towards if you found yourself in any trouble. You're just teasing because you find his attempts at acting annoyed and angry all too endearing, and it's nice — the way he's fighting to fight for you.

Satoru feigns a dramatic sigh, hand pressed against his heart. "Wow," he remarks. "Here I was, prepared to face dragons in your honour, and all I get is this indignation."

"Alright, both of you drama queens can continue you the play for us," Shoko's hands come up to push the two of you inside the house. "As we make dinner," she continues. "I'm fucking starving."

—

Dinner unfolded in its familiar routine. Suguru's standing behind the counter, his hands moving with a practiced grace as his swished through the vegetables. You make your way from sitting on one counter to the other, munching on cut vegetables and cheese alike. 

Satoru flitted between scenes, briefly checking on the TV and Yuuji in the living room and then joining you and Suguru in the kitchen. Shoko, on the other hand, was for a smoke as she often is — you wonder if that's just her way of taking the time she needs away from the group. 

And as the night deepens, you all sit down to eat together beneath the glow of Shoko's yellow lights — you savour each bit as you try to extend the night, not wanting it to end yet. But eventually, the plates were clear, and all of you share the task of washing and cleaning up into the night.

When it came time to rest, sleeping arrangements fell into its usual place. Satoru found his place on the couch, while Suguru occupied the other one. Yuuji chose the floor, favouring it over the couch or the bed. And Shoko's retired to the comforts of her own familiar bed. She deserved as much for tolerating the lot of you, she said.

You, on the other hand, spoiled as you often are, you sleep in the guest room, all alone. 

But on a night like this you know you're not going to be alone, not when all the warning signs were laid out — the incessant touches on your waist as he moved, the soft smile, the stares — it was all a bit too apparent than usual. 

So, when you hear the door creak open gently you're not surprised, and when Satoru patters in with softly laid footsteps you're not surprised. "Hey," his voice whispered its way to you.

In response to his whispered greeting, you softly murmur, "Hey."

Satoru settled onto the bed beside you, making himself comfortable as he placed his phone on the table beside the bed. 

A knowing smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you reach out to him, draping your arms gently around his neck. With a deliberate and unhurried motion, you shift your position, sitting up and moving to straddle him, your legs finding their place on either side of his hips.

"Are you okay?" He asks, his thumb coming up to graze the edge of your lip. His tone was neutral, but his eyes they peer into your eyes, so intently, it almost makes you feel bare. 

Your fingers play at the short hair that remains at the nape of his neck, a feather-light touch eliciting a faint shiver from him, but he maintains his gaze at you.

"I'm okay?" you respond, a hint of confusion in your voice.

"The Uber guy—"

Recognition dawns upon you, and you chuckle softly "Ah, that. Yeah," you pause, considering your response after. "That's normal. I mean, it's not but yeah, I'm okay don't worry. Used to this really."

His gaze softens, "I can find him right now, teach him a lesson if you want," his thumb continuing its absentminded caress along your lip.

You give him a small, appreciative smile, your fingers continuing their gentle dance on his nape. "No need for all that, stupid," you reply, "It's really fine. I didn't think twice about it." You let out a chuckle. "Well, maybe twice but not more than that."

"How long are you staying for?" Satoru's question shifts the mood.

"I'm leaving in two weeks, around the same time as now," you finally share. 

His gaze flickers, a hint of something unreadable in his eyes. "You?" you inquire, but you don't truly want to know, you'd rather you just all stay here for a month, or two.

He hesitates for a moment, his fingers tracing patterns on your waist. "Not sure yet," he admits. "Could be around a month. Haven't finalised the details."

"That's good to hear," you murmur softly. "I mean, you've been up to a lot lately. Must be nice to be back home."

"Yeah, I miss food," he frowns.

A few beats pass, as you sit there in silence.

"Wish you could stay longer," he says, his voice coming out a bit too vulnerable than you're usually used to because it's jarring, it's starting to sound like a confession you know you'll never get. 

"Yeah?" you ask, swallowing. "Why?"

He stares and you stare back, there's a moment, for a silly little moment during the fragile second suspended between you two, you think he's going to say something real. But then, with a shift, his hands reposition their grip around your legs that are wrapped around his hips, and he pulls, guiding you to fall back onto the softness of your pillow.

Your heart pounds, the abrupt change of position leaving you two separated before on top of you, as he moves his face to your neck.

"To do this,” he speaks, and his words are ticklish against the side of your neck. His knee quickly moves to lodge itself between your legs, hovering but not fully pushing. 

"Satoru—"

He continues to map his way down to your neck as his hand slid along your thigh. Your legs come to wrap around his waist, as it usually does and his hips pressing firmly into yours to pin you into the bed.

Your fingers come up to his hair, tugging on his roots as he continued his ministrations around around your neck, as he continued leaving a hickey. “Aw! I’ve missed you too—” Your breathy confession ends up in a gasp, as he bites particularly too hard.

"Sorry," he says but he doesn't really look sorry.

You know he's not sorry because he moves almost immediately to yank his shirt from over his head. 

"Maybe we shouldn't," you voice as he lays his palms on your knees, smirking in satisfaction at the way you were already spreading your legs for him to settle in between, even as your words professed otherwise.

"Why not?" He asks, as he bends down to tug on your shorts as you help me by shimming your way out.

"Well, Yuuji and Suguru are literally a door away and well, we're at Iwa's place—"

Pushing the hem of your t-shirt up to your stomach, he brought his head between your legs. “Is it because you like him, you—“

“What?” He pauses, and you couldn’t help but sound a little annoyed, because this is odd. In all your times together, he never brought this up. In all your many years of friendship, he never brought this up. "What?" your tone softening as you repeat.

A palpable beat of silence lingers between you two.

Satoru lets out a sigh, the tension in his voice giving way to weariness. "I don't know, I was just wondering."

"About what, exactly?" you inquire.

"I don't know," he responds, a touch of frustration tinging his tone. "Do you like him? Suguru?"

"Like Suguru...?" you spoke, baffled. "Of course, I don't. You'd be the first to know if I did."

"Why's that?" His question hangs in the air.

A soft, incredulous chuckle escapes your lips. "Well, you're kind of my best friend, aren't you?"

He doesn't speak up, merely nodding before you push his head down between you thighs. He complies, his mouth moving to suck bruises on the inner part of your thigh as he hooks his fingers around the side of your underwear.

He pushes your underwear down your legs and you help him by kicking it off. His hands then movie to push down your thighs to the bed, leaving you bare in a way that leaves you abashed. 

He runs his tongue across his lower lip, Satoru didn’t start slow and he was nowhere near as gentle as he usually is, but you figure the aspect of your friends right outside your door might have spurred him on to go quicker. 

He didn't leave a little kiss as he usually did, nor were there any tentative licks, he just straight up latched his mouth against your cunt, spreading your legs apart until you were as exposed as you could be so his tongue could reach deep inside you.

“Fuck—” Your hand immediately went back to his head, curling your fingers around his soft locks. You aren't sure if you were pushing him closer, or pushing him away.

You moaned softly, still concious of your precarious state in a friend's house as a guest. You bucked against him as his tongue flicked over you. 

“Oh, God—” His slick muscle pressed flat against your folds, drawing designs across your sensitive skin. He went up and down, up and down, again and again, and again — he only momentarily stopped to pay attention to your clit, sucking until your thighs began to slowly tremble. 

“Satoru, Satoru, fuck wait—” Your breathing hitches.

Satoru had always been good with his hands but that was nothing compared to what his mouth and tongue could do. He was so good at this that you could barely form any other reactions and you were getting progressively scared as you started to get louder and less in control of yourself.

His gaze, hooded and fixed on your face, holds a glimmer of need as he spoke, "What's wrong?"

"They'll hear us," you murmur softly, a hint of caution in your voice.

"It's fine," he responded, with a smile, as he dove back in.

"What— No, it's not okay," you protested.

But he didn't relent, he continued on and on and on until your legs began to tremble. He savoured your taste and you felt the vibration of his muffled voice reverberates directly against your skin. “You’re gonna come for me, baby?"

And at the sound of that, you do. 

"Fuck— You're so annoying sometimes," you exclaim, sitting up from where you had been lounging against your pillow, your breath slightly uneven.

Seated now, you deliver a playful slap to his shoulder. "Ow— Is that any way to treat the man who just gave you an orgasm?" he quipped as he rubbed his shoulders to soothe your assault.

Your initial impulse is to give him a mock scowl, maybe even playfully shove him down to show him what you would do to a man who just made you come. But then, his phone buzzes.

Your eyes instinctively dart to the side, and just as swiftly, Satoru moves to turn off the glowing screen. However, his speed isn't enough to prevent you from catching a glimpse of the display, not enough to discern the specifics, but enough to stir, well... something.

"You're on Tinder?" The question slips from your lips before you can catch it.

"Uh—" Satoru's expression shifts, a mix of embarrassment and guilt colouring his features. "Yeah, Yuuji kinda forced me to do it."

"Forced you into it?" Your curiosity deepens, your voice coming out incredulous.

"Yeah," he says, plainly.

"How does someone force you into downloading and signing up for a whole app?"

He wants to explain, but really he's not sure what he can or should say, so he merely asks what lingers in his mind. "What's the big deal?"

"Nothing," you concede. It's true, it's nothing. Plus, you've been part of the club after all. You know how this goes.

You repeat the mantra in your mind—it's all just nothing. Meaningless and not real. But despite your efforts to convince yourself, a twinge of unease stirs within you. Sensing the potential weight of those unspoken thoughts, you quickly shift your focus, grabbing your underwear as a way to distract yourself from the festering emotions that boil right below the surface.

"What? Wow — No head?" he muses.

"I'm just too tired today," you reply, the weariness in your voice matching the fatigue that weighs you down - as though your words have spoken your exhaustion into fruition.

As the night stretches on, you lie in the dimness of the guest room, ensnared in a ceaseless loop of replaying the day's events. It's as though you're stuck with a malfunctioning record that refuses to stop. So, you shift and you shift in your bed, and you're suddenly overcome by an uncomfortable heat.

Truth be told, your heart ached not just from the events of this day, but from years and years of unspoken words.

Your closeness to Satoru, a social man who's cautious about who he allows into his life, can be traced back to a confession you made. 

Dumb and in love, back when you were 17, you mustered the courage to reveal your feelings for him. Naturally, he turned you down. You were expecting it, of course and were hoping that wish away the feeling you had for him. There's a strange solace in embracing the stages of heartbreak - your friends telling you stories about how a "Fuck him, I'm sad" phase quickly turns into a "Fuck him, I'm hot" phase.

But alas, fate had other plans. A friendship sprouted instead.

You presented yourself as having moved beyond your emotions, and at times, it felt real. But then he would do small and ostensibly insignificant acts, as one does for a friend – brushing a speck of grass from your hair, surprising you with your favourite beverage, reminding you to carry an umbrella – and they just made fall deeper into the well.

That wretched well.

After a while, of jostling in bed, you couldn't stand the heat and the suffocating weight of all these thoughts. Quietly, you slipped out of the bed, carefully making your way out of the room. The living room was dimly lit, but you could still see where Satoru lay sprawled awkwardly, half on the couch, half on the floor. While Yujji and Suguru slumbered soundly, the former clutching a throw pillow.

The soft glow of a lamp casting your shadow across the room as you opened the balcony door and settled onto the swing outside.

A floorboard's creak drew your attention, your gaze turning to the living room. And that's when saw Shoko standing there, her figure outlined by the soft light. He seemed surprised to find you awake, her expression a mix of concern and contemplation.

"Couldn't sleep either?" she asked, as she made her way next to you, shutting the balcony door. Her voice carrying a hint of weariness. Perhaps, he was asleep.

You shook your head, not trusting your voice to respond. There was a heaviness in your chest that you couldn't put into words.

She settled beside you in silence, letting moments pass before he spoke. A sigh escaped her, "I'm sorry for not picking you up earlier. It might not seem like a big deal, but I should have showed."

You looked at her, her profile illuminated by the soft light from the moon. "It's really not a big deal." Your hand found its way to her arm, a gesture of reassurance.

You think about how kind Shoko really is as a person. It's not often you find someone like her. I mean, sure Satoru is nice to you but he can often be petty, arrogant and hurtful, even if he may not want to be these things, Shoko, on the other hand, was deliberate with her words, at least around you. It makes you feel loved in a way you have always needed.

Your mind drifted to a specific memory – the last prom. You were clad in a soft shade of purple, and you felt hopeful. Despite going with Shoko, the presence of Satoru, now a friend, lent a certain optimism. Yet, she had snapped at you, in hushed tone though as she did not want his date hearing him, she wanted you to give him and his date space. 

It wasn't his fault really, you were lingering in their space after all but you made your way through, seeming as normal as you could, taking some punch in a cup, finding your seat almost working in auto-pilot mode, and after awhile you felt her come sit beside you. Shoko. 

She sat beside you in silence for a bit and then she spoke, standing up and offering her hand up for you to take. 

"May I have this dance?" she asked.

"I'm tired, Shoko," you responded, dejectedly.

"Come on," she implored, meeting your eyes. "Let me have the honor of sharing your very last prom dance."

With a sigh, you accepted her hand, rising from your seat. Turning away from the amorous couple, you focused on Shoko as she led you into a waltz. 

In that moment, you thought you couldn't have asked for a better date.

Soon, you noticed Shoko gradually dozing off beside you. It didn't take long, and with a gentle nudge, you roused her from her slumber.

"You should get some rest," you suggested, your voice a soothing caress.

"Alright," she agreed, a plain weariness in her tone. Rising, she paused before leaving. You think maybe today's the day she would finally ask you about it.

"You know," she began. "You can always talk to me, right?"

A nod was your response. 

She leaned in to press a kiss on your forehead. With that, she turned and made her way to her room.

A sense of lightness enveloped you, the fatigue gradually returning to your bones. Retracing your steps to the guest room, you knew sleep would find you.

[connieisthesun]

Wildest Dreams (Conrad fisher x y/n)

You see me in hindsight

Tangled up with you all night

Sweaty bodies, the dizzying aroma of alcohol and a pounding remix of trending tiktok audios. It was nothing more or less than an infamous college party.

As a studious individual, I never usually partake in such fickle activities until my best friend Angelina begged me to go the night before as pay back from eating her last packet of instant noodles, what can I say, it was 2am and the hunger hit different!

Aside that as she was partying it up with some ran-do named Allen, Alex? - I didn't catch his name. I was standing in a corner to avoid the excessive grinding of drunken kids, unbeknownst to me a pair of sapphirical diamonds, piercing deeper than a lustful cesspool was the gleaming and most respectful eyes of you guessed it Conrad Fisher. The most sought out guy in college.

Lost in thought, I was quite rudely bumped into a deeply intertwined couple was making their way upstairs to conduct more "business." My legs entangled before me, I tripped and fell into the arms of the infamous fuckboy Jason.

"You don't have to hurt yourself to get my attention"

I quietly revolt in my mouth, who does this guy think he is?'

"Thank you, I was just leaving." I mumble.

"Leaving y/n darling, already? The party just started, why don't you be a good girl and lead the way upstairs." He whispers with fake innocence.

I could not believe he thought I would give my virginity to him, a guy who had the ego of the president but the looks of a furless moleskin rat!

Disgusted, I visibly grimace and attempt to break free of his grasp, before I could do so his hands began sliding its way up my thigh and his hand around my waist tightening ever so slightly. I am frightened, is this really happening?

"Jason!" called a distant figure who's silhouette was only visible to me.

Jason's breathing quickens with his distraughtful presence still looming over me, an air of vindicative energy fills the room.

"Leave her alone, she obviously doesn't want to fuck you or be seen 10 feet within you so leave her the fuck alone before I punch you shitless."

Gob-smacked by this behaviour, you rustle out of Jason's arm's to be met by the warm embrace of the one and only Conrad. Your heart pangs a little as he grips you assuredly.

"Look at me, are you ok? He exclaims.

You begin to speak before-

"I swear to God, just wait until I get my hands on him, hurting a sweet pretty thing like you."

"Conrad! I'm fine - thank you."

"Sorry for overreacting, do you want me to walk you to your apartment for safety y/n" He looks intimately in your eyes as he hopefully awaits a response.

"Yes sure, please. I don't want to have another encounter at a party again!"

"Tell me about it, all guys want these days is sex." You feel relieved that Conrad isn't a misogynistic brat though that's just the bare minmum. You engage in a meaningful conversation on the way home, talking about various topics before your arrive at your front door step.

"Thanks Conrad, it really means a lot to me that you care."

"No problem, I'm here if you need me y/n."

"Wait, how do you know my name, we've never formally met before."

"Lets just say a girl like you no matter the name is unforgettable." He offers a quick smile before muttering goodnight and leaving. As if in a delirious state you clutch your chest and make your way to your bed only to dream about the night you just had and the wildest possibilities of you and Conrad.

Thanks so much for reading! This is my first fic so go easy on me lol but honestly I had to feed you girlies as season 2 has come to a close and conrad fics are slowly disappearing. Let me know if you want a part 2, I'll make sure the parts are more longer and get into the backstory of both y/n and Conrad but for now see you later!

P.S -> I'll add you to my taglist for future content if you comment your name :)

[schleckermaul]

🍭 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙘 𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨! 🎀 (to braid/brush your muse’s hair) + 🌸 (to place a flower crown on your muse’s head, to braid lil flowers in his hair instead!) — by @archaictold

suffice to say, xerxes is absolutely ecstatic about the idea of a picnic once zhilan brings it up throughout their morning routine.

   not quite a breakfast picnic, with the two of them lounging around in bed for far longer than at least one of them intended, the sun is closer to its highest point than it would usually be for one's first meal of the day. this did nothing to lessen the clear excitement, fluttering in xerxes' chest, so different from the tingle of a cough or the grasp of a choke. there's no need for any particular cooking skills, at least not for the type of picnics he's familiar with.

   they'd had some leftover cake from the day before, sitting in the fridge, so there was no baking to be done. merely zhilan, standing in one corner of the kitchen, preparing small sandwiches. and xerxes in the other, brewing the best of teas for the best of occasions, something to wake the both of them up and accompany the scones that are perfect for the afternoon plan.

   he does a cartwheel on their way to one of the larger trees of the estate's gardens, and his own giggle resonates with zhilan's when he lands on his back, fall cushioned by the meadow beneath, as well as a few flowers here and there. there's the warmth of the sun on his face, and then the cool shadow of his heart looming over him, when the scholar studies him, making sure he hadn't gotten hurt.

   or perhaps, getting this particular idea at the sight of xerxes, head framed by flowers, a few squished here and there.

   ' you know, ' he mumbles around a piece of strawberry around half an hour later, ' lady sharon used to do this for me a lot. '

   his back is now leaning against zhilan's chest, who is in turn using the bark of the tree to rest against. deft fingers are weaving through the thin strands of xerxes' hair, messy as it is, both combing through it and braiding what he believes to be daisies and buttercups into it. zhilan's hands are very warm against his scalp.

   reminiscent of two things: the last time they had a similar picnic, under the eternal tree, when zhilan had noted his longer hair, agreed to cut it for him. and the other time ...

   " she did? " zhilan's voice is all gentle intrigue, though he's clearly more concentrated on the task at hand, no mistake lacing itself into the movement of his hands. " lady shelly's ... daughter? i saw her here, when we were in the mist ... i imagine she's grown. "

   xerxes chortles, wills himself to still when zhilan tickles the back of his neck with his index finger. ' i suppose. not as much as she'd like to, i think. don't tell her that, though. '

   zhilan weaves the stem of a buttercup into his hair, white against green. " how do you mean? "

   ' she has a contract, ' xerxes' voice grows a bit distant when he leans forward to stab a sandwich with his fork, which he nibbles at more delicately, taking his time. ' much like myself. she stopped aging at around ... thirteen years, though i've been serving her for quite a bit longer than that. '

   " you serve her? " zhilan's breath slides against the crook of his neck as he leans in to apparently take a peek at xerxes' expression. for what it's worth, it's relatively calm, still pleasantly relaxed with the familiar birdsong and sunshine, the same scent of roses he'd been missing so very badly. " i thought ... "

   ' i serve her under lady shelly's orders. ' a sentence that comes easily, practiced as it is, though it hasn't left his mouth for a while. with zhilan leaning forward, xerxes leans backwards, interrupting the braiding process but making up for it with a nuzzle to the cheek.

   ' if anything were to happen to her, milady would be quite upset. '

   he feels how zhilan's eyes crinkle around an earnest smile. xerxes pouts in response almost immediately. zhilan chuckles.

   " i see. that's very kind of you, xerxes. "

   ' oh, shush, you— finish your braiding, will you? '

[bookwyrminspiration]

Shattered Upside Down

A kotlc wings au: masterpost here

Chapter 32: Stitches and Open Wounds

word count: 7.3k

chapter summary: Sophie's trying to rebuild, but the knowledge she now has weighs at her and she can't keep it secret.

warnings: death (happened prior to the chapter), mentions of a body, grief, breakdowns, splinters (a lot of splinters)

taglist: I’ll reblog with it! let me know if you want to be added or removed!

ao3 link here or read below

Lady Gisela’s body was found discarded amongst the wreckage of the everblaze ruins, almost entirely submerged in the little creek that cut through the dreamy grass. It’d saved her from the worst of the fire; even if everblaze couldn’t be put out with water, water still couldn’t burn.

If she was anywhere else, she wouldn’t have been found nearly as quickly. With the stickiness of the ash, the lingering heat looming in the air, the creek was a welcome and brief reprieve. Dipping your feet in and letting the water splash up on your legs, watching it flow over your fingers as you press them just under the surface, it soothed the ache.

As they’d moved through the area, they found that solace in different parts of the water, again and again traveling further through its flow until--bloated skin, swollen scars, dead eyes.

Dead person.

Peach skin and blonde hair all twisted up and falling over itself, sky blue eyes.

Dead Lady Gisela.

Sophie had flown over that very creek, had hoped that it would stop the blaze scorching across the earth. She’d flown over it again when she’d helped get Marella’s dragon away from the goblins who would kill it, who would tear it piece from piece and shred the remains.

Had her body been lying cold in the water then?

Sophie’s tea sat filmy and untouched after she’d set it on the ground, afraid she was going to drop it and shatter the lovely mug.

What did she even do now?

“How? How did she die?” Biana finally asked, voice rasping through the air like a knife, breaking her from her horrified reverie.

Grady shrugged. “They haven’t told us yet. Maybe they never will. I think they want to pretend it never happened.”

But it had happened. Lady Gisela was dead.

If she ever manages to save herself.

That’s what Fintan had said when Lady Gisela had been brought up. She hadn’t worried about it at the time, hadn’t thought of it more than in that moment; if Lady Gisela wasn't a problem right then, she was something that could be put off towards another time.

The time was now, apparently.

What had she failed to save herself from?

Her parents had gotten paler, lips pressed thin, eyes distant as they looked at something the three of them couldn’t see. She hated it, hated that look, wanted to get rid of it.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said suddenly. “If that’s all you know, we don’t need to keep talking about it.”

How had things turned so somber, so unbelievable, so quickly?

How were they going to tell Keefe? What would he say? What would he do? He hadn’t brought her up in months, doing his best to move on from someone who only ever loved who he could be for her, not who he was.

“Sorry for bringing the mood down so low,” Edaline said, attempting a small smile to get them out of the funk. “How about you continue your story? I’m sure you’ve been through a lot more than we have since you left.”

“Um, yeah, okay, I can do that,” she answered, shaking herself off as she tried to remember where she’d been before she brought up the smoke smell, leftovers of the ash from the everblaze. If they still smelled like smoke, then they must’ve been on the surface recently. Did that mean Lady Gisela’s death was recent, too? How much did that change for the Neverseen? For Phoenix? They hadn’t seem to miss her…

“Well, after we left, we used a pathfinder to leap away--but it had gotten cracked, and we ended up somewhere else. You’ll never believe what we found there,” she started, forcing the rest of the thoughts away as she continued her story.

She left out a few details, like the extent of injuries now healed, to keep from worrying them too much, but she found more and more of the story spilling from her lips.

The gnomish village, how they’d each found a house for themselves, though she had yet to see everyone’s, how they’d later fixed up parts of the place but weren’t done yet. Dex’s poor reaction to something, his medical emergency that’d made her freeze so badly she’d never forgiven herself.

For some reason she left out the part with the monster, the fateful day she’d met Echo, unsure how they’d respond. Her parents hadn’t lived on the surface in months, they hadn’t become more than human. They still feared monsters, were still disgusted by them--all of them.

Then the storm, how the rain had poured down out of nowhere from some unnatural cause, tearing flowers from vines and flooding the dirt on the ground into mud. Dragons, there were dragons in the sky. Not the little green dog-like creatures she’d heard about around Havenfield, but true dragons like from her storybooks, dragons that fought and tore at each other.

She brushed through her trip to the Forbidden Cities with Tam, just mentioning how they’d taken what they’d needed after Marella and Linh had absorbed the brunt of the damage from the dragons.

That brought her to the messages they’d received from the Council, the demands for explanations and to meet. A demand she’d met with her own, leading to…Mysterium. Her parents knew the end to this part of the story.

“Will I ever get my pathfinder back?” Grady asked, trying to lighten the mood the story had brought down--if it could even get lower after the news about Lady Gisela.

“No,” she told him after a moment. “It’s ours now. You can get a new one from the Council or something--where do they even come from? Don’t answer that, it’s not important.”

Edaline was looking off into the distance, hands folded tightly under her arms as though she was restraining herself. But from what? “So the whole time we were begging you to come back home, to come back to us, you were going through all that,” she murmured. “We thought we had done something wrong, that we’d driven you away. I’m sorry for all the ways we made your plight more difficult for you; we didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t know,” Linh assured her, voice gentle as she fiddled with a ribbon of water in the air, twisting it around her wrist and letting it climb along her skin, gleaming with that unnatural iridescence in the soft lighting. The normal hues built to imitate the light on the surface were shifting into oranges, the day waning.“We didn’t tell anybody. You can’t take that blame onto yourself; it won’t ease the ache for any of us and will only make you more miserable in the process.”

Edaline gave her a warm smile. “Of course--please, don’t stop on my account. Grady told me what happened in Mysterium, the monsters. And the things we’ve been politely avoiding mentioning.”

She gave a pointed look to the cloaks.

Sophie shifted, digging her nails into her palms to keep from tugging at her eyelashes when she found her hand half-way there already.

“Well you’re not politely avoiding it anymore,” she mumbled, face heating as she averted her eyes. Why was this the part that got to her? She’d had the wings for weeks, had learned to use them, had accepted that they were a part of them she could never hate, not when they did so much for her family.

Yet the thought of openly showing them felt like an act she couldn’t come back from, and she wasn’t sure she was ready to face it. To show her parents just how different she had become from the daughter they’d learned to love. She had no doubts they would continue to love her, that they’d find a way through this hectic new world hand in hand, but that wouldn’t make the shift any less rocky.

“We won’t force you, Sophie--or you two either,” Grady said, addressing Biana and Linh, who had glanced at each other across the circle.

“Thanks,” she exhaled, then frowned up at the ceiling, shifting side to side. She’d been prepared for the pressure of the earth, the cramped feeling that came with it, but that didn’t stop it from grating.

She picked up her story, skipping over Mysterium and going back to the village, how she and Keefe had used Grady’s pathfinder to visit a meadow with the alicorns--Linh and Biana were very jealous of that--how Elwin had reached out to her so she’d brought him to them, Dex making his own wings, how Marella had flown off and Sophie had followed. Biana got a kick out of explaining how she’d followed Sophie following Marella, but the jokes faded when they got to the facility, when Biana went missing, when Marella had finally been found.

Her voice went quiet as she explained how technically, she’d caused the everblaze fire trying to move the dragon, then gave up trying to explain the being at the end of the hall as she moved forward with her tale. They graciously skipped over the tracker incident, then Linh apologized for going missing, detailing how adorable her baby dragons were.

More and more of the story poured from her mouth as the minutes ticked by, the call from Councillor Alina and saving Marella’s dragon and finding Fintan and the little girl and sharing all that had happened until she got to the day before.

Her unintentional kidnapping.

Her parents’ faces were tight as she went over what’d happened, the story smoother this time around now that she’d had the morning as practice. Edaline wouldn’t stop fretting over her, and Grady had some choice words about Fintan and Murad, but there was nothing to be done about it now.

She was back, and she was okay, and she was sharing her story. Everything had worked out and she was moving forward from it. What else was there to do?

By the time her story finished, the device at the top of the room was turning a darker and darker color with each passing second, night laying its weary head upon the earth with an unforgiving finality.

Biana frowned to her right, taking out her imparter as she, too, took in the shift. It was easy enough to ignore as it happened, but at some point it got to a point where you couldn’t put it aside anymore.

Sophie’s throat grated against itself whenever she swallowed, and no amount of tea would wash the feeling away. She’d been talking and talking all day, telling story after story since Echo had sat upon her face and nearly suffocated her that morning--near suffocation wouldn’t help her throat either, no matter how cute.

“Tam wants to know when we’ll be back,” Linh said quietly, also with her imparter out. “What should I tell him?” She directed her question to the room at large, looking between everyone like she’d find the answer there, utterly willing to go along with whatever everyone else needed. She was better emotional support than Sophie could ever deserve.

Sophie looked to her parents, trying to figure out how to word what she wanted to ask when Edaline cut her off before she could get it out.

“Part of me wants to lock the doors and hold you close to make sure I’ll never go without knowing what’s happening to you for so long ever again,” she said, standing off the couch to take the few steps to reach Sophie.

Wrapping her arms around Sophie’s shoulders, she squeezed tight. “But that’s not what you deserve. I don’t want to trap you down here with us, not if you’re…as okay as you can be up there. If you need to go now, we won’t stop you. Just…don’t shut us out like that again Sophie. We trust you, but we’re your parents. It’s in our nature to panic for your safety when we’re fumbling in the dark. Thank you for today. For letting us know you’re okay. I love you.”

Sophie’s shoulders drooped as she lifted her arms to wrap around Edline, face sinking into her shoulder, tears pricking at her eyes, the room blurring.

“You’re being safe, right? No angering ogre kings or breaking bones?” Grady said, joining the hug, and she could feel Biana and Linh pulled in too. All five of their heartbeats pulsed close, echoing back and forth to each other like they could voice all the words none of them knew how to say.

“Well, this is Sophie we’re talking about,” Linh said in response when Sophie couldn’t figure out how.

“You’re the one who charged into that dragon storm with her!” Biana countered, sparking a laugh from Sophie as she wiped at her eyes, pulling away from the group to better look at them all.

“You three better keep each other safe, alright? You need to look out for each other--every one of you,” Grady told them, pulling them all close for one last tight squeeze before he stepped back, tucking his hands in his pockets like it would hide the shaking, clearing his threat as he blinked hard.

Sophie turned it back around on him, saying “You better keep each other safe, walking around on the surface like you do,” but she added, “We will. We always do,” quietly after a moment.

“I guess we have to let you go now,” Edaline whispered, hand pressed over her chest like she could reach through and silence the raucous commotion of her heart.

“I’m not leaving forever this time,” she reminded her, reminded herself. She wasn’t. This was just a start, a bridge burnt down she refused to let stop her. She’d come prepared with bricks and mortar, with wood and rope, with her hands ready to do the work to cross that ravine between the two of them she’d let crack open.

This was just the beginning.

............................

“You are the smartest idiot I’ve ever known,” Tam drawled from the other side of the room, and Sophie didn’t even bother to turn to look at him as she raised a very specific finger, waving it a little for good measure.

“You had no problems going along with my petty theft plan not too long ago. What, are splinters where you draw the line?”

The hand Sophie hadn’t used to very kindly gesture towards him was held still next to her chest as she examined the little bits of wood sticking out of it--two this time. She refused to give Tam’s comment any serious consideration, but it was impressive that she’d managed to give herself 13 splinters over the last hour alone. If she’d still had her gloves--the ones to help control her enhancing, which was an ability she seriously never put to good use--they would’ve been invaluable right about now.

The pile of wood the ten of them had assembled hadn’t been this mean to anyone else; the rest of her friends’ fingers remained untouched from the damaged surfaces.

Sophie’s fit of fixing up a few bridges and sweeping, which hadn’t been very effective given her messed up shoulder at the time, hadn’t been nearly enough to make a dent in the village. But it had made progress, and it had spread.

Almost everyone had taken on smaller projects to freshen up their areas--Fitz’s stairs and balcony had needed some work, and the window’s at Tam’s place had been completely trashed--but they hadn’t done anything together yet.

That’s what this morning was for.

Fitz had woken her up that morning by barging into her house, saying something about how they couldn’t waste the daylight and how much work there was to do, that they needed to get something done to feel better about themselves before taking on the giant tasks their list had outlined for their future--it had apparently stopped being Sophie’s list and was now everybody’s list, which she was fine with. She’d never planned to do anything without them, not when she saw how much it hurt them all.

Except getting kidnapped. She’d definitely try and make sure that that kind of damage was restricted to everyone else as little as possible; they wouldn’t like that, but she didn’t want anyone hurt on her account if she could help it.

And regardless of her convictions or the comfort of her bed--this time suffocation free--Fitz was insistent.

That’s how she found herself next to Tam, turning an abandoned house into an organized place to shove various things. They’d moved all the furniture to a small room on the side and were using the now-empty main room, open to the sun, to stack planks of damaged wood. All the bridges and houses destroyed from the first monster attacks that’d killed this place combined with the dragon storm really wrecked the structures, leaving bridges dangling, warped and unusable, houses collapsed.

The others were going around taking apart the bridges, the vines and ropes holding everything together by a thread, gathering the detached wood from walls, then carting the supplies back to the two of them where they’d sort and organize.

They’d created a system together, the two of them, separating piles based on amount of damage, “slightly warped but still usable depending on the circumstances” all the way down to “how did it even get this funky.” The latter was full of odd shapes and splintered planks, things that could be used for kindling if they ever wanted a real fire--one that wasn’t sustained by Marella, that is.

“Splinters are where I draw the line when you keep doing things the hard way and then complaining about the consequences,” Tam said, answering her question even though she’d asked it just to poke fun at him.

“I’m not even complaining this time! I’m just dealing with it like a rational, controlled adult,” she protested, carefully using her nails to grip at the first splinter. They didn’t have tweezers, so she was going to have to do things the much less effective way, as she’d been doing for the previous dozen splinters.

“You can believe whatever you want to,” Tam told her, throwing up his hands in surrender, rolling his eyes as a smile tugged at his lips, little fangs pressing into the chewed skin.

He pushed off the wall he’d been leaning against, stepping around her to pick up where she’d left off, finishing storing the last of this batch of wood.

Sophie managed to pull the first splinter out just as Tam let out a small yelp, dropping the final plank with a clatter as he swore, shaking out his hand.

“You okay?” she asked, momentarily distracted enough to fully look up.

Tam stood, face all wrinkled in a grimace, flushed pink as he raised his hand up to his face and squinted.

Walking up behind him to peer over his shoulder, she could see what’d been nearly invisible from further away.

A splinter, poked into the skin of his ring finger, looking secure enough to be an absolute pain to remove--especially with Tam’s habit of biting his nails down, leaving them useless for tasks such as this.

“Don’t you dare,” he hissed, snatching his hand out of her line of sight.

“I wasn’t even gonna say anything!” she told him, which was a lie. She’d been fully intending to turn the narrative back around and tease him about falling prey to her affliction of tiny pieces of wood under her skin.

“Say anything about what?” Fitz asked, pushing the door open, wing entering before the rest of his body did. She’d hadn’t seen him for more than a few minutes in a while, him peeking through the window to wave hello when he dropped off more wood and rope for them to sort.

Marella pushed in behind him, mumbling something about boys with too many feathers as she inched around the space he took up, flapping her own leathery wings as she leaned against the wall.

“Nothing,” Tam quickly said, dropping his hand back to his side as he turned, light reflecting from his eyes as he did so.

Sophie just smiled quietly to herself, sticking her tongue between her teeth to keep herself from talking. She still had another splinter in her finger, and it was being incredibly stubborn; she began to pick at the skin around it to try and wiggle it out as Fitz continued his questions. “You’re doing that secretive smug smile, what’s going on here?” he accused, indicating the face Sophie was trying to school into submission as she struggled.

Tam still held his hand awkwardly at his side and sighed. “Just a couple of splinters.”

“Splinters? Have you been picking up the wood with your hands?” Fitz was confused enough to drop all his suspicions, instead looking between Sophie and Tam, incredulous.

“What do you mean ‘have we been picking up the wood with our hands?’ What are we supposed to use, our feet?” Sophie shot back, making a face at him like she couldn’t even believe he was asking.

Fitz put both his hands over his mouth, taking a breath before continuing. “You do know we’re elves, right?”

He raised a hand towards the door, pushing it open…with his mind. His fingers curled a little and a plank from his and Marella’s newest drop off started floating off the ground, effortlessly gliding through the door and onto the pile in the corner--which was not where it was supposed to go, as that was a possibly usable plank and he’d put it in the kindling pile.

Sophie and Tam said nothing, only glancing at each other as the wood settled atop the others.

Silently, Sophie peered down at her injury and squinted, drawing that energy up from her core as she lasered in her focus on that tiny sliver of wood still stuck in her finger that’d refused to cooperate with all previous attempts.

The splinter slid from her skin, much quicker and less painful than all her other splinters that’d she’d pulled out with brute force and her fingernails. “Huh. I guess we are elves,” was all she could think to say.

“Maybe you are,” Tam grumbled under his breath, shooting a glare at Marella, who was trying to suppress laughter in the corner, wings scraping against the walls as they shook alongside her, but there was no real weight behind it.

“No wonder you two are always bickering when we stop by,” Marella finally said, a smug little grin painted across her lips.

“You know what, just for that, I’m going to keep doing it the human way out of spite,” Sophie decided, crossing her arms. Maybe she was an elf--or at least partly, given that wings weren’t very elven--but she didn’t have to behave like one. Elves didn’t run off into danger, or love monsters, or teleport, or do any of the things Sophie had been doing for the past few years, so why should she start behaving like one now?

“How are we going to take down a whole double rebel organization if you can’t even do things the easy way when you know they exist!” Fitz exclaimed, running a finger through his hair as his wings flared a little, stirring up the dust and wood fragments and the pollen stuck to Sophie’s skin.

Tam sneezed.

“Sorry,” Sophie said to Tam, then to Fitz, “I’ll be smarter about everything when dealing with the facility and getting Phoenix out. I don’t have a plan--yet--but I’m not risking her. I wish I could’ve taken her when I got out.” The last part slipped out before she could stop it.

“If you hadn’t gotten yourself out, you wouldn’t be able to go back for her at all,” Marella said, coming up behind her. “Maybe it isn’t ideal, but this is a situation you can work with--that we can work with. We may only know her through what you’ve told us, but we trust you; we don’t want her with them as much as you do. Fintan and this Murad…that’s not a good place for a kid.”

Sophie shivered; Marella had never told her about the time she’d spent training with Fintan, and Linh wouldn’t tell her even if she’d asked out of respect for Marella’s privacy, but she couldn’t help but wonder what’d happened in those sessions, what he’d said that’d given her so much control over such a chilling ability.

Which reminded her of something, a day of fire and terror, of little girls held close to the chest, of word play and stalemates.

She turned to Marella, “That thing Fintan said to you, when we saw him at Havenfield…what did that mean?”

Marella frowned, chewing on the end of one of her braids. “Which thing? I don’t have your memory.”

“He said something about remembering the stars and the dreamers.” She hadn’t thought about it much, more concerned with repairing their friendship, but it’d always lingered.

Marella stopped chewing on her braid, letting it drop back into place as her heart rate spiked, nails picking at her cuticles as she exhaled. “Right. That one. It’s…nothing. Just another one of his lessons I ignored. That was the hardest part about training under him, knowing that he was…the kind of person he was. That it influenced everything he taught me, and then having to figure out which parts of what he told me were things I could trust and use, and which parts would indoctrinate me if I just accepted them.”

“And the stars and the dreamers were one you had to ignore?” Fitz clarified.

“Yeah. You’ll never stop wondering about it if I don’t explain so…it was about overcoming limits, testing what you could do. Because it was the pyrokinetics who dreamed of the stars who discovered everblaze, it was the ones who were willing to test the limits and reach higher who discovered this whole new craving that changed pyrokinesis forever. And he wanted me to be like that. To be someone to keep looking further and further and dream higher, reaching for the stars like he did--but to be more successful.

”When I first heard that I was so drawn to that specific story that he kept telling it. I thought it was one of his lessons that I could really use, that would actually work for me. But then the more I pushed myself, looking to the stars…the more I realized that it was that exact story that killed all those pyrokinetics and got the ability banned. Because they kept reaching for more and more, giving into the craving and giving themself over--that was always Fintan’s mistake. He was willing to give too much--to his ability, to his cause--and it ruined him. Pyrokinesis relies on balance between you and the flame, and I want my power to come from that balance and control, not some craving for something more that hurts the people around me. But that doesn’t stop him from bringing it up, trying to ‘push me to be something more.’”

The room went quiet, the three of them looking between each other and Marella looked away, scowling at the nearest pile of wood as her face started going red, sparks dripping from her fingers, crackling against her shirt as she crossed her arms.

“You don’t have to be anything more than you,” Tam told her, voice not gentle, but not unkind. “Anyone who doesn’t accept you as you are isn’t worth your time or your thoughts.”

“I know,” Marella breathed, quiet, like she was trying to remind herself of the fact. “I don’t care what Fintan thinks of me. I don’t,” she emphasized, reasserting herself as she shook her head, clearing her mind. “I’m a better pyrokinetic. I may not win against him one on one or have as much experience, but I have the balance he doesn’t and that’s what matters to me. Does that answer your question?” she said suddenly, switching the attention back to Sophie, who’d honestly forgotten she’d even asked a question with how engrossed she’d become in Marella’s story. It seemed so rare she learned something about her, all the secrets held close as she watched from afar to learn everything about everyone else.

“Yeah, I think it does.”

A clatter sounded outside, and they all jumped, Sophie’s wings buzzing as she nearly lifted off the ground from the force of her racing heart.

“Calm down, it’s just us,” Dex called, more wood clacking against each other--that was the noise that had started them.

But Sophie did not calm down, because she knew exactly who was accompanying Dex, who Fitz had paired him off with that morning.

Sure enough, when the door pushed open, she was met with blond hair and icy blue eyes, light grey wings shuffling behind him as he maneuvered through a door not meant for them.

Keefe.

She hadn’t talked to him, hadn’t told him yet. It was too late last night when they’d gotten back and everyone wanted a chance to think over the revelations of the day. Keefe had helped Fitz hail Alden and Della and whatever had happened there left the two of them exhausted; telling him then would’ve made it even harder for everyone.

And then this morning when Fitz had burst into her house--he probably would’ve thrown open the curtains too, if she’d had any--they’d all gotten right to work, though everyone else was more awake than her. That was the consequence of her years and years of insomnia, now even when she could fall asleep she’d end up sleeping for strange amounts of time as her body tried to find a rhythm amongst the chaos that was her life, leaving her tired despite resting.

She and Keefe had ended up in different pairings--Sophie and Tam, Keefe and Dex. They’d been stationed on different sides of the village, only occasionally crossing paths, and every time her heart rate had spiked.

Waiting for a chance to tell him, to pull him aside and explain what she’d learned…Biana and Linh had left that to her. She knew Keefe better when it came to information about his mom, and they trusted her judgment.

“She has no idea what we’re saying, does she,” Dex’s voice deadpanned. Accompanied with a flick to her arm from Marella, Sophie flinched back into her body, blinking, wings buzzing from the start.

“Ow,” she mumbled, absentmindedly rubbing at the hurt, but that just disturbed the bits of pollen stuck to her skin--seriously, she’d never be rid of it.

“What’s the deal with you, Foster?” Keefe asked, frowning at her. “You’ve been a nervous wreck all day, I swear I can’t escape the feeling.” He squinted at her to emphasize the point, fanning the air as his wings drifted a shade darker before he shook himself out of it.

Sophie opened her mouth, but closed it again when no words came out, shrugging slightly helpless.

She had to tell him, she had to.

They didn’t keep these kinds of secrets from each other--and he’d understand why she hadn’t told him yet, right? It wasn’t fair of her to hold onto this knowledge, but just how could she tell him?

How do you tell one of your best friends that his mother, his cruel and abusive and evil mother he’s spent months and months getting over, is dead?

“Sophie, I was just teasing you, what’s with all the dread?” Keefe asked suddenly into the quiet, the quiet sparked by Sophie’s quiet.

Her friends could sense it, were looking between the two of them with apprehension, with confusion, with curiosity. But they didn’t dare break the spell.

Sophie shifted, trying not to look at his face but unable to keep from glancing at it as she spoke.

“We…need to talk. It’s about your mom.”

............................

“Dead.”

He’d repeated the words back to her again and again, face blank in a truly frightening way.

When they’d had a conversation so similar to this he’d broken down, crying while furious at himself for feeling any sort of remorse or concern for someone so awful. But Lady Gisela was his mother, and he did love her, at least in part.

He’d wanted her to love him.

He hated her, despised her for what she’d done to him, what she’d put him through. But that didn’t mean he wanted her--

“Dead.”

“Please tell me what I can do for you right now,” she nearly begged, trying to keep her eyes off the dark dark darkness that’d spread behind him.

She’d never seen his wings so dark before.

Ink dipped void painted in delicate strokes across a page, blurring and smearing into each other, one feather indistinguishable from the next. They crawled over his shoulders, shadowed his skin, haunted him. No trace of light, no bolt of hope through the storm emerging from his shoulder blades, only something to be weathered, to be worn, to endure.

“I don’t--I don’t…” he started and trailed off a few times, sinking down to the floor to bury his head in his hands, fingers grasping at pale blond hair. She could hear his heartbeat spike as she lowered down next to him, tempted to reach out but not wanting to overwhelm him with her own emotions.

“I’m sorry,” was all she could think to say.

Keefe’s eyes were trying to bore a hole through the wooden floor, mouth fallen open. He wasn’t moving. When should she be concerned that he wasn’t moving? How long were you allowed to not move when your evil mother died of unknown causes?

Whatever length of time it was, she lost track when a knock sounded at the door.

Keefe didn’t say anything so Sophie called out, “Yeah?”

The door pushed open softly, the faint rustle of fragile wings stirring the air as Wylie stepped into the room.

“Hey,” he said, voice soothingly quiet as his eyes found Keefe, who still hadn’t moved from his numb position on the floor. “I…I heard what happened. Tam and Marella and the others were…concerned, when you pulled him aside. They started asking questions, so Biana and Linh told us, that way you didn’t have to deal with it on your own,” Wylie explained.

He pushed the door closed behind him, leaning against it and blinking slowly, a ripple of light passing beneath his skin as he sighed.

“I wanted to let you know, Keefe,” he said slowly, observing the same slightly-there yet slightly-not mindset Sophie was starting to get very worried over. “That if you need to, you can talk to me. My mother…she wasn’t like yours, but I lost her, too. There’s a lot of conflict you’re feeling that I didn’t have but…grief is grief.

“I don’t--I don’t even know why it matters,” Keefe mumbled, voice breaking over the words. “It’s not like…” he trailed off for a moment and they just waited, listening, as Keefe’s eyes remained fixed on that point she couldn’t see. “She wasn’t even there for me. I don’t even know the last time I saw her. Nothing’s changed. So why does it feel…like this.”

Wylie hesitantly stepped closer, lowering himself to the floor next to the two of them. “Something has changed. You’re allowed to feel however you’re feeling about that. Even if she wasn’t there for you, there was still the potential. For her to change, for her to care, for something to happen. That’s what really sucks,” he said so quietly she almost missed it. “All the opportunities you miss because this is final.”

“Final,” Keefe repeated back to him in a whisper, and that’s when the first tear fell from his suddenly glistening eyes, tracing its way down his cheek and curving under his chin, leaving an impression in its wake.

A second followed, and then a third, and then his lips were trembling as he took a shaky breath, fingers tightening in their hold on his hair, then his knees hitting the ground as he fell forward, hands splaying before him to catch himself as his wings spread from his back, draping over his body, lifeless as streaks of ice blue flashed through the spilled ink like lightning.

The wretched noise he made as Sophie’s hand tenderly came to rest on his shoulder nearly broke her as she felt her own traitorous eyes blur, watching him fall apart.

“I’m so sorry, Keefe,” she whispered again, unsure what else to say. Would a hug be too overwhelming? Could she say anything more? Was there anything she could do?

Why was she so useless, so helpless to do anything?

“It’s okay to cry over her, no matter how horrible she was,” Wylie said, hand coming to rest on Keefe’s other shoulder, the three of them forming some cursed triangle as the words broke through whatever modicum of restraint Keefe had been straining to hold onto like a log in a hurricane.

Keefe lowered himself to the ground, forehead pressing into the wood as he covered his head with his arms, fingers digging into his skin as the sobs broke loose, his body shuddering as he struggled to get enough breath into his lungs to scream his anguish into being.

And all they could do was be there with him.

All that could escape his mouth were garbled, pained sounds, the force of his confounded pain building and building and building with not enough outlets, strong enough that Sophie nearly fell back in shock, free hand grabbing at her temple as a wave of what she could only describe as raw, furious grief washed through the mindbubble, tearing along those delicate webs tying them all together and exploding like a bomb through her senses.

It rippled outward, pain upon pain upon pain, and she could feel the sparks of recognition from everyone else, the light that went off in their mind as their attention turned inwards. She got swept up in the wave, shoved out of her own consciousness and into the delicate yet sturdy balance maintained between them all. Like tightropes tied between them all, knots holding them together. Sure, they could be separated, but it’d take something sharp.

Keefe--

--ucks--and in the middle of all--

What do we even--

--how do--help?

Everyone’s thoughts poured over her, rushing through her mind like a torrent from a newly fallen dam. All nonsensical and insurmountable, she couldn’t find a way to orient herself, only aware of the grief grief grief washing over everything and trying to drown her to death with a gentle scream of a lullaby.

It’s bad, isn’t it, Fitz voice sounded suddenly, a moment of calm, something clear among the washed out white-noise of Keefe Keefe Keefe filling her head.

Very, she whispered back. I don’t know what to do. I’m…I don’t know what to do.

Me either, Fitz admitted. I want…I want to be there, but I don’t know if he wants me there. He’s always been so distant when it comes to his family, especially with me. I don’t know if I’m the right person…

This sucks so bad. I don’t know what to do for him--I don’t want him to think he’s alone.

They lapsed into silence after a moment and she could feel Fitz debating with himself in his head; give Keefe space so he could work through his emotions without any pressure to pretend to be okay for someone else and risk that he’d do something stupid, or find him to offer support upfront and risk overwhelming him because everyone else would have the same reaction.

Memories flashed through his head of broken things, a broken room, a broken mirror. Mr. Snuggles stuffed under his bed until that nightmare that’d gotten bad enough he’d needed him. Screaming and yelling and his mother’s broken sobs echoing through the halls, her desperation in the kitchen and all the photos she’d thought would bring him back. Biana, clothes plain and wrinkled as days-old tears sat against her skin, hair unwashed and pulled out of the way. Pulled out of the way so you could see her blank expression, like there was nothing and everything going on in her head and all she could do was sit there, stone still, not even twitching.

He’d nearly lost a parent, too.

Fitz and Biana almost lost Alden for good, Linh and Tam had been abandoned by both their parents, Wylie had lost his mom to the grave and his father to a broken mind, and Sophie had left behind an entire family before she could find this new one.

And now Keefe’s mom was just as gone.

The ache in her chest made her want to seek out her own parents once again, to hold them close and make them promise nothing would ever happen to them, as impossible a promise as that would be.

Before she could say anything to Fitz, a tapping against her skin drew her attention away, reached out to her through the deluge and into the little bubble of safety between the two of them, and started dragging her away with a start.

A shuddering breath fell from her lips as she all at once became aware of the wet floral scent of the air, the midday light crawling through the windows, the grains of wood pressing against her skin, the buzz of her wings agitated at her back, the salt in the air from red eyes and swollen sobs, the grief permeating the air.

“You okay?” Wylie asked, retracting his hand from where it had been tapping at her knee.

“I’m--wha--yeah? I’m…good,” she said, glancing around, reorienting herself. “How long was I in there?” she asked, rubbing her fingers across her eyes like she could reach through her eye sockets to her brain and smack some sense into it.

“Fifteen…twenty minutes?” he surmised, though he wasn’t paying much attention to her.

His focus was on Keefe, who had his forehead pressed to Wylie’s collarbone, as though he’d collapsed into his embrace and hadn’t figured out how to get back up.

Wylie’s hand was rubbing soothing circles onto Keefe’s back, who had gone quiet--at least for the moment. Sophie had always had a tendency to push things down enough to be quiet only to be assaulted by the thoughts of everything haunting her later, dragging her down just when she’d thought she’d worked through it. Maybe Keefe was the same.

His wings still burned deep black, absorbing all the light shining across them from the open window, feathers bumping against each other and overlapping, mussed in a way that must’ve been painful, but he didn’t do anything about it.

The lightning strikes of blue had stayed, though. Delicate threads of ice snaking their way through and around the feathers like a marbled pattern, pulsing in time with his heartbeat.

“Sorry,” Keefe’s voice croaked out, barely audible against Wylie’s chest.

“You haven’t done anything,” she assured him, gentle. They’d need to be extra gentle with him, she just didn’t know what would happen because of it.

Keefe made a humming noise that said he didn’t agree with her, but wasn’t going to argue. Even though she didn’t want to argue either, she didn’t like the thought that he’d internalize her brief lost wandering in the shared mental space as some grave mistake of his own. Seriously, all it had taken was a tap on the knee to bring her back, and the experience itself hadn’t been stressful.

But Keefe was stubborn.

“Is there anything that we--that I can do for you right now? If you need space or time, or to talk…please don’t push us away, okay? We’re all here. Everyone. Even Tam.” She hadn’t specifically talked to Tam about it, but she still knew it was true without a doubt. Their friendly feud was easily set aside when it really mattered.

Keefe didn’t respond for a long moment, long enough Sophie nearly abandoned her commitment to keep her distance, regardless of the emotions she’d surely barrage him with if she hugged him in his already vulnerable state, but then he lifted his head.

“I need a distraction. Can you…can you bring me to the facility? The one with my…with the being. And bring that riddle while you’re at it.”

[sparrowatheart]

More super old writing buried in drafts...

Doctor Polo

(Random one shot idea I had in the shower this morning.)

“Come on, not afraid of a spooky old graveyard, are you?” Your friend teased.

“No... just don’t really think it’s a good idea to be here after dark with all these creepy statues...” you said, your eyes darting from stone figure to stone figure.

“Geeze, you’re no fun.” Your friend smirked at you. Your eyes fell on a statue of an angel, with its hands over its face. “That’s weird.” Your friend muttered.

“What is?” You said, looking to your friend.

“There were more of those back there. Statues just like that one.” Your friend pointed towards an area behind you.

“What do you mean, there aren’t any there...” you were confused, this was the first one you’d seen. It was odd, covering its face. You looked back over towards the one you’d seen. Had it moved? You could have sworn it was a few inches closer...

“Let’s play a game to get your mind off it.” Your friend suggested. “What about Marco Polo. You be Marco and I’ll be Polo. Give me a head start!” They took off into the graveyard. You couldn’t see them past some of the taller graves and statues. “Close your eyes!” Came your friend’s distant voice. You laughed a little.

“Alright, I’m closing them.” You closed your eyes. Something felt wrong about it... but you shrugged it off. “Marco!” You almost shouted.

“Polo!” Came your friends answer.

“Marco!” You took a few steps.

“Polo!” Something seemed off about their voice.

“Marco!” You were stepping carefully, but something in your gut was telling you to run.

“Pol-“ Shrill screaming interrupted your friend’s answer. Shivers went up your spine. Every hair on your body stood up, something was wrong. You were afraid to open your eyes, but you pushed past your fears to find one of the statues from earlier looming over you with a terrifying expression on its face. You screamed, calling out your friend’s name, and ran. As you ran the direction you’d heard their voice last, you gasped to see them laying still on the ground in a heap, one of the angel statues standing above them. You tripped, falling to the ground with a thud. That’s when you noticed them. All around you, most of them covering their faces. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart was racing. Your friend was dead, and you were preparing yourself for the angels to descend on you. You closed your eyes, when suddenly there was a strange noise.

It was like wind was wooshing around you, howling. But something about it was almost... mechanic. And then you weren’t on the dirt any more. There wasn’t a dark graveyard surrounding you any longer. You looked up to see a strange man staring down at you.

“Are you alright?” He said.

“F-fine...” you were still out of breath.

“Great, cause we’ve got to get out of here!” As you sat up, the floor beneath you seemed to shake, knocking you back over. “Hold on!” the man said with a smirk. The noise came again, another crash. A lot of noise. Then silence.

“Wha-..?” The man was standing by some kind of control panel. He was smiling at you. A big, goofy smile. It quickly turned to a look of concern when he saw your face.

“Hey! Hey hey hey!” He ran over to you, coming down to your level. “You’re okay now.” The shock from what had just happened hit you all at once, and you broke into sobs. He seemed to not entirely know how to respond. He sat there with you, letting you sob a moment. When you had regained some self control, you looked up at the man before you. You looked around you. It was quiet. Light was coming into... wherever you were.

“Where am I?” You mumbled.

“You’re in my Tardis.” The man answered.

“Why?” Your eyes fell to the floor.

“Because you were in danger.”

“From what?”

“Weeping angels.”

“They-...” you chocked on a sob. “They killed my friend.”

“I know.” You looked up at his face. It was serious... sad.. “I’m sorry.” He looked away from you. The two of you sat in silence for a moment.

“Who are you?”

“The Doctor.”

“The Doctor? Doctor Who?” He looked at you with a sad smile.

[ahiijny]

.

[tossawary]

2,500 words of the Moshang Forced Marriage AU, in which the PIDW plot is turned off and Tianlang-Jun doesn’t fall, but this only causes even more problems for Mobei-Jun and Shang Qinghua. Written on my phone. 

- 

Shang Qinghua stumbled back into his leisure house with a jar of Zui Xian Peak’s best light wine in one hand and a sack of Qian Cao Peak’s tastiest specialty melon seeds in the other. He kicked the door closed, kicked off his shoes, and then kicked back for some quality lounging. 

   “Ahhh, now this is more like it!” he declared, wiggling into the cushions worthy of a head disciple’s house. “It’s all shoving off my chores onto other people from here on out! Having flatcakes on order with a snap of my fingers! Making some other poor bastard deal with Shen Qingqiu and Liu Qingge - at each other’s throats even at Yue-Shixiong’s nice dinner to celebrate our future ascension, eugh. I’ve really earned this! I’ve suffered enough!” 

   He dropped the sack of seeds onto the side table and fiddled with the wine, embarrassingly clumsy despite the fact that he was sober. As always, he’d been much too chicken-shit to really indulge around other people. He needed his fast reflexes for ducking and running away when he was out and about! Plus, people would freak the fuck out if a transmigrator started running his mouth, giving everyone existential issues and shit, so him waiting until he was alone to drink was really more of a societal service here than sad. 

   The Transmigration System had also been a concern before, but not anymore! 

   Shang Qinghua raised his jar and laughingly declared, “The plot is dead! Long live the free author! Ah, this toast is a little late, but better late than never, huh?” 

   At long last, this transmigrator had managed to get into the Transmigration System’s settings and turn off the plot! It had honestly been a little infuriating just how easy it had been, once he’d hit on the right combination of things to open the right settings menu. There may or may not have been a lot of outraged shrieking and frustrated crying, after all the sweat, blood, and tears he’d shed to become the head disciple of An Ding Peak. All Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky had needed to do, in the end, was flick a few buttons from “on” to “off”. Outrageous. 

   “No more missions! No more restrictions! And no more bad endings for anyone! Ah, at least for everyone besides Huan Hua Palace Sect’s old master, that is… but, heh heh, I really think that I and the new Empress Su Xiyan can live with that,” Shang Qinghua muttered, then took a drink, wiggling deeper into his lounging and feeling very good about himself. 

   He felt as free as a bird! As free as the wind! Why shouldn't he celebrate his newfound freedom and future as a Cang Qiong Peak Lord by doing a little bit of nothing at all? 

  Shang Qinghua shamelessly did his best to become a lump. As he toasted to the distant happy couple and the bouncy baby protagonist on his way, with wine and melon seeds both, he removed all but one layer of clothing, tossed his belt and his jewelry on top of the pile, and yanked everything out of his hair. He slid from a sitting position to a totally horizontal one without realizing how it had happened, then he let heavy eyes fall closed with the knowledge that everything was going to be so much better now. 

   A person knew things were good when they could fall asleep just like this. 

   Then a burst of cold air startled him into looking up at a shadowy figure stepping out of nowhere above him. Shang Qinghua shrieked with terror. 

   "SHUT UP!” the shadow snarled. “Get up!” 

   “What- my king?!” 

   Mobei-Jun didn’t wait and grabbed Shang Qinghua by the front of his robes, hauling him to his feet. The wine sloshed against the floor and the melon seeds scattered around them. Shang Qinghua yelped, choked, and then wheezed and flailed, and then yelped again as his loose robes got a little looser with the rough handling and he slipped in Mobei-Jun's grip. 

   "What- get dressed!" Mobei-Jun snapped, and then dragged him into the bedroom right away. 

   "The sight of my naked chest offends you this much, bro?!" Shang Qinghua thought, stumbling along. "There's not enough room in this house for two tits-out outfits?! What the fuck is going on?!" 

   Mobei-Jun threw Shang Qinghua towards the dresser. He just barely managed to catch himself, taking a hard wooden edge to the gut and stubbing his toe on its base, instead of falling and concussing himself at least. Shit! It still hurt, though! 

   "Get dressed!" Mobei-Jun snapped again, pointing at the dresser for emphasis. "Now!" 

   "Right away! Right away, my king!" With shaking hands, his heart thundering in his ears, Shang Qinghua pulled out the first set of robes his fingers touched. 

   "Not those!" 

   "Aah!" 

   Shang Qinghua dropped the robes onto the floor. They were the regular everyday robes of an An Ding Peak disciple, plain and sturdy, something that the demon had seen him in many times before. 

   "Wh- what's wrong with th-these?" 

   "Too plain!" Mobei-Jun barked, and stalked forward to shove Shang Qinghua aside and go through the dresser himself. 

   Shang Qinghua stumbled away and took shelter near his bed, quickly retying his current robes to prevent another fucking nip-slip or worse. He watched with wide eyes as Mobei-Jun threw his clothing to the floor as not good enough. The next drawer was yanked open with so much strength that it splintered and tilted crookedly to one side. 

   "My king, why-?! What's happening?! Are- are we going somewhere?! Who does this servant have to impress?!" 

   Mobei-Jun finished throwing aside everything in this drawer and tried to shove it back in, but it was too broken to be moved. The demon snarled, yanked the entire drawer from the dresser with another terrible splintering sound, and threw the drawer out of his way. It hit Shang Qinghua in the chest and sent him sprawling back onto his bed. 

   He lay there and wheezed without shoving it away, just feeling the impact rattle through his ribs. He heard another drawer splinter. 

   "Ah, so this is how I die?" he thought. "Just as expected: with a bang AND a whimper." 

   He pushed the drawer to one side and sat up, only to be smacked in the face with the robes thrown at him. They were the nicest robes he owned. The An Ding Peak Lord had ordered them for him for the coming ascension of a new generation of Peak Lords, so they had all sorts of fancy embroidery and several heavy layers, which meant Shang Qinghua fell back against the bed again under their weight when they hit his head. He sat up again and then gawked at these robes he had never worn and wasn't supposed to wear yet- 

   "Tianlang-Jun." 

   "Aha, what?" Shang Qinghua looked at the demon lord scowling at him. "My king…? What about Tianlang-Jun…? This- no. What?! My king, you can't mean to take this servant before the Demon Emperor, that would be ridic-" 

   "Get dressed," Mobei-Jun snapped. 

   "It's not Tianlang-Jun, right? Why-?! What's really going on here? Are we going somewhere? Are we meeting someone?" 

   Shang Qinghua got to his feet, but he didn't dare put the fancy robes on, like being nearly naked would save him from being dragged off anywhere else. No amount of nice clothing would ever make the likes of this displaced author impressive to the likes of the OP Demon Emperor, finally sitting on his late sister's throne. 

   "This servant can't serve his king to the best of his abilities unless he knows what the-" 

   "My father is dead!" 

   “...Wh… what?” 

   Mobei-Jun’s expression was like a thunderstorm. Shadows curled around his clenched fists, as light and heat fled this room that was suddenly even smaller than Shang Qinghua remembered it being. 

   "My father…" Mobei-Jun repeated, slowly, daring Shang Qinghua not to understand a second time. "...is dead." 

   Shang Qinghua stared in horror, the robes slipping out of his hands, which itched to count all the years that had just been skipped even though he knew he didn't have enough fingers. Thirty years or so? Definitely more than twenty. His breath came out in a trembling fog as he demanded: 

   "H-how?!" 

   "Tianlang-Jun," Mobei-Jun said again, through gritted teeth. 

   Good point! Good point! Who the fuck else could it be? The real question was why the fuck?! And also what the fuck was Shang Qinghua of all people supposed to do about clashes between OP demon lords?! 

   Mobei-Jun advances on Shang Qinghua, the shadows in his fists writhing like he's strangling them. "Tianlang-Jun took offense to some of my clan's foolish disrespect towards his human Empress and he made an example of my father. He has threatened to destroy the body unless a suitable gesture is made." 

   "But… the power of your ancestors…" 

   Mobei-Jun, looming over him, shoved him down to his knees to pick up the robes he had dropped, and snarled: "Get dressed." 

   Shang Qinghua snatched up the robes and skittered away to dress himself up for the slaughter. His heart was racing fast, but his mind seemed to be going even faster, almost too fast to actually think and also do things like make sure clothes weren't inside-out as he put them on. 

   The power of the Mobei clan rested in the ascension ritual in which the new king "consumed" the body of the old king. Spiritually and… er… possibly also physically? Shang Qinghua had no idea if the System had picked up on those implications or not. Anyway, if Mobei-Jun's father's body was destroyed, then he wouldn't receive that power-up necessary to enforce his rule, which would make him the target of every ambitious cousin and every greedy neighbor. The Mobei clan would probably fall into civil war and the rest of the northern kingdoms would follow them into bloody battle. 

   Shang Qinghua's favorite character, currently glaring at him for the fancy clothes probably making him look even less fancy by comparison, was sure to die. Mobei-Jun's shitty uncle had probably already picked the poisoned knife with which to stab him in the back. 

    "My king… what… what gesture is being made here…? This servant… this servant really needs to know how he's supposed to be of service…" 

   Shang Qinghua also needed to know whether or not he needed to take the first available window to run away. He definitely wasn't above leaping out of literal windows. If Mobei-Jun intended on hanging him over to Tianlang-Jun as a human sacrifice or some shit, then promises of loyalty might expire a lot sooner than originally planned! 

   At the question, Mobei-Jun's expression only darkened and the room darkened again with it. The cold seemed to spread from Shang Qinghua's skin deep into his twisting chest.

   "Marriage," Mobei-Jun said, again through gritted teeth. "Tianlang-Jun has suggested marriage to a human as a worthy gesture." 

   "M-marriage?" 

   Mobei-Jun looked so fucking murderous that Shang Qinghua knew he hadn't misheard. He had to have misheard, though, because this was absurd. 

   "Marriage betw-between me and- and…?" 

   "Yes." 

   "And… you?" 

   "Yes." 

   Shang Qinghua should have been given an award for not fainting dead away. The System should have given him a million points for every second he managed to stay conscious, except… the System had essentially been turned off. No more points. No more plot. 

   No more Proud Immortal Demon Way plot, at least. 

   Ah, was this some kind of warped vacuum effect? A new plot come to take its place? 

   "There will be great riches." 

   Shang Qinghua refocused on the demon glaring at him. Riches?! What the fuck did riches have to do with anything right now?! 

   "Mobei Clan is the second strongest in the Demon Realm," Mobei-Jun informed him, but the demon was kind of scowling like he resented this now, instead of bragging. "You would not have to work again." 

   It was a really fucking weird day when being told that his Dream Guy wanted him and that he'd never had to work again was somehow bad news. It almost sounded like Mobei-Jun was… was… trying to persuade Shang Qinghua to marry him by offering wealth, power, and a life of indolence. All things that would tempt most people! Especially blindly greedy, thigh-hugging sect traitors like his character! 

   "Did… did Tianlang-Jun tell you… to just pick any human?" Shang Qinghua asked faintly. "There weren't… there weren't any requirements…?" 

   Clearly Mobei-Jun didn't want to be tied to Shang Qinghua of all humans! 

   "He asked - laughingly - if none of us knew any humans. I said that I did." 

   Okay, Shang Qinghua fully believed that Mobei-Jun didn't know any other humans. Mobei-Jun was on a deadline and didn't have time to go find the most acclaimed matchmaker or anything. By default, Shang Qinghua was the best, most handsome, most skillful, most wellborn, most desirable, and altogether most marriageable human Mobei-Jun knew - and he was not feeling super fucking thrilled by this victory. 

   "What… what did my king say about me..? What is the Demon Emperor expecting?" Shang Qinghua could only hope expectations had been set on the floor, preferably into the floor or maybe even underground. 

   "A disciple of Cang Qiong in my service." 

   "Oh…" 

   "Fix your robes." 

   "What? Oh, shit. Right away!" 

   Shang Qinghua didn't have a lot of experience wearing robes this nice and Mobei-Jun barking at him to look less like shit wasn't helping. The fact that he was sweating from nerves and his fingers were still shaking a little also wasn't helping. He skittered around to add tasteful ornaments and jewelry, some of which got violently rejected by Mobei-Jun as too ugly to show anyone, but looking down at himself, he mostly just felt like he was throwing shiny gold onto a pile of crap. How could this really fool anyone?  

   "My king, what… what am I supposed to say to the Demon Emperor? Do you want me to lie? To the Demon Emperor?!" 

   "Do not speak unless spoken to." 

   Sure, Shang Qinghua could do that, but was he really supposed to leave the talking to Mobei-Jun?! To Mobei-Jun?! The protagonist's right-hand man had not been known for his silver tongue! Did he think people weren't going to have questions? Like, "How the fuck do you know some random human?" Or, "Holy shit, you're really going to marry THAT one?" 

   "Isn't… my king, isn't Tianlang-Jun well known for his interest in humans and human stories… though...?" 

   Love stories! Shang Qinghua was pretty sure that the man loved a good love story! How the fuck were he and Mobei-Jun supposed to pull off a love story? And make it a love story compelling enough to convince a pissed-off Tianlang-Jun to grant the Mobei Clan mercy? Shang Qinghua wasn’t totally sure he was going to be able to do anything besides break down sobbing and curl up into a pathetic ball on the floor. 

   Mobei-Jun's face twisted slightly, in the way of an angry demon who didn't want to admit that his lowly human servant actually had a super great point. Tianlang-Jun had already proven himself a man who liked to play with his food a little. 

   "Do not tell some story," Mobei-Jun snarled finally. "Do not speak unless spoken to. Do not lie." 

   "Of course! Of course! Very wise not to lie to him!” Shang Qinghua told himself to focus on the logistics here; he was the logistics man; it was what he did. If he just kept focusing on the details, he didn’t have to think about the bigger picture. “This servant will remain silent until called upon, which… when… my king, when will that be? Tomorrow morning? I have to tell-" 

   "Now." 

  "-my martial sib- what?!" 

   "Now," Mobei-Jun repeated. "He is waiting." 

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 2,759 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria Warnings: Language, mentions of violence, references to gore, mentions of anxiety, disturbing imagery, typical TWD stuff Summary: Daryl and Y/N are outside the walls when they hear a baby crying. A/N: THIS IS SO SOFT I MIGHT DIE. Requested by anonymous! Hope you like it! Thanks for the request!

Your name: submit What is this?

You froze. You glanced back at the archer, “D’you hear that?” you asked him in a harsh whisper.

Daryl strained his hearing. “Heard somethin’.”

You’d been venturing out with Daryl for tracking lessons for quite some time. He’d been somewhat opposed to the idea at first, not liking the idea of you wandering around outside the walls, but you’d worn him down. Now, you were getting quite good at reading sign and he had noticed that you seemed to be much more observant, vigilant as you moved through the trees. Your footsteps were nearly silent.

You straightened up, turning from the trail of the deer you’d been tracing, and Daryl watched as you turned to the side, your eyes lifted to some unknown distant point in the trees.

“What is it?” he asked, noticing the slightly anxious look on your face.

You shook your head almost imperceptibly. “I don’t know. It’s just a feeling more than anything.” You glanced back at him and were met with his steady blue eyes. You chewed the inside of your cheek for a moment. “Come on,” you said, stepping away from the deer trail and moving in the direction you thought the sound had come from.

You didn’t have to go far before you heard the sound again, and this time it was much clearer. Your wide eyes met Daryl’s, his brow heavily furrowed. Your stomach twisted. You turned and increased your pace.

You moved through the brush as quietly as you could and finally you saw a shape looming ahead. It was an abandoned house, more of a shack really than anything. The sound was clear now as you crouched at the edge of the lot. Daryl knelt beside you and you exchanged a harried glance with him.

It was a baby crying and it was coming from inside the house. There were about a dozen walkers beating on the rotten woods of the dilapidated structure. It looked like it wouldn’t be long before they broke in.

Daryl worried his bottom lip with his teeth. “S’a lot of walkers,” he murmured.

You gulped and looked back. “We have to do something.”

He sighed, hesitating, his eyes flickering between your face and the group of the dead.

You couldn’t wait anymore. There was a swell of urgency growing in your chest, like a high tide rushing in. You swore under your breath and unsheathed the knife at your hip. You rushed out of the brush and right toward the walkers.

Daryl scrambled up to follow you.

You plunged your knife into the skull of the first walker lurching at you and immediately repeated the action with another. As you pulled your knife out, you landed a kick into one of the dead who was grappling for you.

Daryl was soon beside you, slashing and stabbing just like you were to clear the way to the building.

By the time you were done, you were drenched in sweat and Daryl looked at the circle of now still corpses around you. There was a spray of walker blood across your neck. He was about to scold you for rushing in, but he was taken aback by the number you had killed, and you weren’t done with your somewhat frantic mission.

You charged to the door and saw that it was splintered from the latch. They’d almost broken through. You turned the handle and pushed inside. You froze with just one foot inside the small house.

Daryl looked in past you, over your shoulder.

There was the desperately wailing baby, still swaddled to its mother in a makeshift carrier. She was dead. You made a lunge toward the infant, but Daryl’s hand clasped your shoulder gently and stopped you. You glanced back at him, your eyes glistening with tears and your expression pure desperation.

He nodded. “We dunno what she died from. And she could turn at any second. Be careful,” he murmured.

You nodded at him and he lifted his hand. You approached the prone figure cautiously, all the while the baby’s cries piercing straight through you. You knelt down and carefully lifted the swaddled infant from the body of its mother, being careful and kind to the body of the woman who had probably given her everything to see that her child survived.

Daryl watched as you murmured to the infant in a soft voice, shushing and humming. “Shhh, it’s alright. It’s okay.” You pressed the baby to your chest and stood, bouncing slightly to try and soothe the cries. Eventually, she stilled. You glanced up at Daryl, your eyes still wide and glistening, although no tears stained your cheeks.

He was staring at you with a curious expression on his face. It was soft and thoughtful. He shouldered the strap of his crossbow and moved farther into the house, looking around. “Gotta be some supplies for that baby here somewhere, right?” he said. He felt the need to focus on a task because looking at you with the little bundle against your chest was bringing to life some warm, fluttery feelings he didn’t want to acknowledge.

“Hopefully,” you said, wrapping the sling around yourself and settling the baby inside. You smiled sweetly as she grasped your finger and a little laugh of joy bubbled out of you. Daryl looked up from his search and saw you smoothing your hand over her soft hair. “She has to be starving,” you said, your eyes a little starry.

Daryl tore his eyes away from the scene again. “Mm,” he acknowledged, the best he could do because he was worried what might slip out if he said any more. “Here,” he said, picking up a small duffel bag. It had some bottles and formula in it, as well as cloth diapers and a baby toy.

He shouldered the bag and walked back to you, peeking in over your shoulder at the little face pressed against you, your finger in her tiny, curled hand. “C’mon,” he said softly, surprising himself and you as his hand landed lightly on your lower back. “Let’s get her back somewhere safe.”

You looked up into his face and saw that his expression was open, earnest, soft. Your heart jumped. You nodded, but hesitated a moment when he started to head toward the door. Daryl looked back when he didn’t feel you behind him and saw that you were staring down at the still figure on the floor. “We can’t just leave her like this. She’ll turn,” you said softly, your brow furrowing.

He gulped and nodded. “Alright. Just wait outside a sec. I’ll do it,” he said, unsheathing his knife.

You gave him a sad but grateful look, pressing the baby against you more securely and nodded. “Thank you.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

You arrived back at the gate to Alexandria and Rosita let you in. Her eyes went wide when she realized what you exactly that bundle slung across your chest was. She came closer and peeked into the sling, her eyes flitting up to meet yours.

“We found her in an abandoned house, surrounded by walkers. Her mom was already dead,” you whispered. She was sleeping against you.

Rosita’s expression was sad for a moment, but then she smiled at the rosy cheeks and long eyelashes fanned out against the little girl’s cheeks. “Preciosa,” she murmured.

You smiled up at her.

Daryl was watching the whole interaction from a couple feet away and he couldn’t take his eyes off you. You were so soft and gentle, the look in your eyes like you’d never seen something more beautiful in your whole life. He kept feeling waves of warmth blooming out from his core and suddenly seemed unable to stand still, shifting his weight and tapping his fingers against his leg. “We should take her to get checked out by the doc,” Daryl said quietly.

You nodded, giving Rosita one last smile and then falling into stride beside him.

Daryl glanced over at you as you walked to the clinic. You caught him studying your face and gave him a questioning look.

“I wanted to yell at ya out there for rushin’ in like that,” he said. He glanced again at the baby. “But I get it. If you hadn’t, I woulda.”

You nodded. “I don’t what happened—I just couldn’t sit there and let them get her, even if it meant I might—” you broke off, not wanting to speak what was always a real possibility outside the walls.

“Yeah. Ya killed like seven of ‘em yourself before I even got there,” he said, slight amusement turning one corner of his mouth up.

You smiled abashedly. “Yeah…”

“I mean, I know ya can fight but—” he broke off, shaking his head, that vague smile still slightly curving his lips.

You arrived at the clinic and Daryl led the way inside. Denise looked up as he came in and immediately sighed. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me one of you needs stitches again?”

But she froze when you stepped in with that swaddled bundle in your arms.

Her eyebrows lifted. “Is that what I think it is?” she asked, bewildered, as you wandered over.

“Can you take a look at her?” you asked, lifting her out of the sling that was draped around you. She woke and stirred, immediately starting to cry again. The sound tugged at your heart.

Denise nodded. “Of course. Bring her over here,” she said, leading the way to a cushioned exam table.

“Shhhh, it’s okay. It’s alright,” you cooed, setting her down on her back. You offered your finger and she gripped it tightly. You smiled up at Daryl and his heart skipped a beat at the breathtaking light in your eyes and that irresistible grin. “She feels strong. That’s good, right?” you asked, turning to Denise.

She was setting her stethoscope aside. “Lungs and heart sound great. She looks healthy.” She glanced up at you. “I don’t know exactly what happened out there, but I have a hunch she’s lucky you found her.”

You nodded. “Yeah…”

“I think I saw some baby formula and other stuff you might need in the supply room. Lemme just check,” Denise said.

You scooped the little girl back up into your arms and her cries immediately became less desperate. You pressed her to your shoulder and rubbing her back softly, shushing her and bouncing, pressing her soft hair to your cheek. “Daryl, would you mind making up a bottle for her?” you asked.

He nudged his nose up in a nod, and you felt warmth in your face as you watched the tough biker pull out the canister of formula and a bottle, which looked tiny in his hand. You smiled to yourself as he went to mix up a bottle.

Denise returned with another canister of powdered formula and more cloth diapers as well as some other odds and ends for baby care. She shoved them into the bag Daryl had found at the abandoned house. Denise smiled and smoothed a hand over her soft hair. “Pretty amazing. Everyone is going to lose their minds over her. Little ones are so rare now,” she said. “First Judith and now this sweet little one.”

You nodded. “Yeah. I can’t stop thinking about what would have happened if Daryl and I had waited until tomorrow to go tracking, or if I had just ignored the first sound I heard.”

Denise nodded. “But you didn’t. And she’s safe and healthy now.”

Daryl came back with a bottle he had warmed slightly in the microwave and you grinned at him as he handed it to you. You adjusted her in your arms and she immediately latched on to the bottle and started eating. Daryl studied the tender expression on your face, that little smile that seemed like it might stay there forever now. He reached a hand up and rubbed absently at the ache in his chest. You looked up at Denise again. “Thanks, Denise,” you said. “We should head back to the house.”

“Anytime.” Denise gently smoothed her hand over the tiny girl’s hair one more time and gave you a kind smile.

You and Daryl started back toward the house at a leisurely pace. He still had the bag slung over his shoulder and you watched as she drank the formula hungrily. You could feel Daryl’s eyes on your face again and you glanced up at him.

“This mean you’re a mom now?” the archer drawled. You were struck by the question your eyebrows lifted.

“Huh… I hadn’t really thought about it that way,” you said, adjusting the bottle in your hand and looking back down at the little one in your arms. “She needs a mom. And I’m here,” you said softly. “I guess so,” you said, looking back up at Daryl. “Life is strange,” you said, shaking your head, peering back down at her.

“Mhm,” Daryl agreed. “She’s lucky to have ya.” Your heart skipped a beat at his words.

You were immediately swarmed by the group when you arrived back at the house. Everyone pressed in to see the baby, cooing and smiling. She was going to be so loved.

“Can I hold her?” Carol asked immediately.

“Hey! Nuh uh!” Daryl said, hurrying to set down the baby bag and his crossbow. “I helped save her and I ain’t even held her yet. Give her here,” he said, holding his arms out.

You grinned at him and carefully passed her to Daryl. He smiled down at her, rocking her from side to side. The sight of him with that sweet little baby in his strong arms was doing things to you… You hoped your face wasn’t turning red from the flush of heat you felt. “She needs a name,” you said thoughtfully.

“Easy. Lil’ Asskicker 2.0,” Daryl said, letting her grasp onto his finger. Everyone had a good laugh about that.

_ _ _ _ _ _

That night you fell asleep on the floor of the living room with the little girl beside you on a blanket. You were curled around her and she was pressed close against you, needing the comfort of someone to sleep.

Daryl was sitting on the couch nearby, alternating between cleaning and sharpening his blades and thoughtfully watching you sleep beside the new group member.

Carol leaned on the back of the couch beside him, looking over at you and the baby, smiling. Daryl turned to look at her.

“It’s nice to be reminded that good things can still happen,” she said softly.

“Mhm,” Daryl hummed, nodding. He flicked his thumb over the edge of the knife blade he was sharpening, testing to see if it needed more. “Ya should have seen her out there. She just ran right into this group of walkers and started takin’ ‘em out.”

Carol’s smile widened. “Maternal instinct,” she said. She glanced over at the archer and saw his blue eyes fixated on you. “Looks like she has a mom. She’s going to need a dad.”

Daryl’s eyes snapped over to peer back at Carol, his brow furrowing low. He scoffed a little at her statement. “She’s got a whole group of us. She don’t need me.”

“So, you wouldn’t like that? Having your own little family within our big family? Especially with Y/N…” she said, a knowing smile on her face. “Come on, your ears turn red every time she enters the room!”

Daryl shifted uncomfortably as Carol spoke a wish that was close to his heart, but which he was too terrified to act on.

Carol quit her teasing and sighed, looking back at you and the little one sleeping peacefully. “You’re not your father, Daryl. You’re you. And you’d be an amazing dad,” she said. “And if you don’t try, find something worth holding onto, worth protecting, what’s the point anymore?” And more than anything, Daryl knew that you were worth protecting. And now so was this little one. So, maybe it was time that he tried for what he wanted.

[no-droids]

Promise Me (It’s Yours)

Part Eleven of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 10K

Warnings: OMFG might be the first chapter of rough day to not need any warnings, can you believe it?? I mean of course there’s language, a splash of smut, and just the briefest reference to suicide, but pretty PG-13 this time my guys I apologize

A/N: I’m sorry I know people show up for the smut but I was feeling soft in this Taco Bell parking lot so here this is, I hope y’all like it.  I guarantee none of the math is correct but please go with it

***

You jerk awake to the sound of whimpers.

It’s late.  The bonfire is nothing more than glowing coals, and your back is resting against a scratchy log instead of a long, comfortable chest.  You blink rapidly, trying to figure out where that noise is comi—

The kid.  Fussy in his crib, his gasps starting to turn into quiet sobs.

“Hey,” you murmur, aiming for soft and comforting, but the sleep sits right in the middle of your vocal cords and splits your voice in half, making you sound like an exhausted demon.  Weirdly enough, it seems to chill him out (did a demon actually teach him how to choke people without touching them?) and you sit up to blearily look around.  Where’s Din?  “Where’s—” you rub your eyes and squint around once more, “—where’d your dad go, bug?”

The clearing is bare.  The field is, too—no path, excluding the one you three made on the hike here.  Nothing in the distant forest, and the black duffel bag sits somewhere near your feet.

Alright, no worries, maybe he just… went to take a leak or something.  Really… oddly far away.  That’s fine.  Sometimes humans have to do that—maybe he has a.  A shy bladder.  Or something.  You’re totally fine.  The kid blinks back at you through equally tired eyes, his head tilting as he seems to be taking cues from you right now in the absence of his father.  You both should just try to go back to sleep…

Or you can wait up for him.  That sounds like a better plan.  Don’t panic, just trust him.  Give him the benefit of the doubt, it’s the least you can do.

You take a second to look around again, still coming up empty.  It’s dark out, but the moon is suspended high in the sky.  The fire doesn’t even give off much light anymore, just dying embers.  Your eyes scan the ground again, catching on the black bag at your feet.

Was that there when you went to sleep?  No, the last person who had it was Din, and he was sitting over there, in front of the boulder behind the kid’s shield.

You blink down at the stationary bag for a few more seconds, studying it like it’ll spill all of its secrets if you glare hard enough, but then something sparks in your memory.  Something odd, something you only noticed for a second last night.  There was a red light that reflected off Din’s helmet when he reached into the bag for food earlier, wasn’t there?

You think back on it, try to isolate the hazy memory.  If it was a laser sight, you would’ve recognized the bright beam and panicked, but you didn’t.  It was unfocused, dim.  Flashing.

Had… had Din brought a tracking fob with him from the Crest?  But why?

Maker, it’s like your mind knows it should speed up but it’s still too stupid to actually do it.  You should… you should check the bag, right?  Just in case… you don’t know.  You’re being ridiculous.

You reach out to catch the dark bag nonetheless and then unzip it, rifling through it for a particular item you figure should be in here somewhere.  Food, food, more food…

Somewhere…

—It’s not here.  No tracking fob here.  No red light to be seen of.

Had you been imagining it?

No, you determine after a second.  No, because you remember thinking it was odd—you specifically noticed it, clearly recognized it but didn’t contemplate too much into it at the time.

Alright, no worries, maybe he… maybe he went on a quick little hunt while you were both sleeping.  He must’ve gone back to the ship to grab his armor and guns and then set off.  That’s fine, there’s more food in the bag.  He said he’d be here when you woke up, which most likely means morning.  Right?

Cool.  Cool cool cool, you can wait until morning.  You can just settle back down against the log right here and find a comfortable position—there we go—and just wait for the sunrise, wait for the inevitable return of your missing party member.  Party leader, arguably.  He’ll come back, he always does.

Your body begins to relax, even though something still seems… strange about this.  Like there’s something important you’re still missing.

… The field is bare.

You instantly sit up and turn back to study it in the moonlight, study the single path you left on your way here.  You remember hiking at least… a grand total of two hours to get here from the Crest, maybe?  Granted, you took quite the detour, but that just means he would’ve carved a distinct, new path on his way back—

Would he… would he really go on a hunt without going back to the ship first?  Would Mando truly venture out—without telling you—to go collect a quarry without any weapon on him whatsoever?  Any piece of armor besides a helmet?

Does that seem right to you?

Fuck, you suddenly feel wide awake, and the baby starts gasping out troubled cries again.  You push yourself up to your feet and stumble around the dying flames to go comfort him, dropping to your knees next to the reflective sphere.  Your head stays on a constant swivel as you quiet him, brushing the pad of your thumb along his wrinkled forehead and shushing him as you keep looking out at the breezy field of grass, trying to see if you missed anything.  

Fuck, maybe you’re just overreacting.  What direction is the ship?  Which way did you…?  You think back, trying to piece together limited information of what you can remember about today.  Glancing back down at the log you slept on and then the path leading away from the clearing, rapidfire calculations start going off in your head.  No, you realize after a second of frantic thought—no, the sun would’ve—if you walked…

Eventually, you’re able to pinpoint a general idea of where the ship should be, and if you’re right, then he definitely would’ve left a new path to get back to it.  You don’t like this.  It’s out of character for him.  It sits too weird with you, and the kid rarely starts crying unless something is bothering him.

Alright, alright, don’t panic.  Din is a professional.  He must’ve left on purpose—you would’ve woken up if there was any sort of struggle, or even just an exchange.  Odds are, he grabbed the tracking fob and just… went to go get the quarry.  

Without waking you.  Without telling you.  Without bringing anything else with him.  No armor.  No guns.  Just the fob.

Some strange sense of dread begins to fill you, one that feels all the worse when there’s no clear explanation for it.  You won’t pretend like you’re an expert, but to a Mandalorian, that seems like it could be considered suicidal, wouldn’t it?  What reason would he have to do this?

The field continues to wave, undisturbed, in all surrounding directions except one.  You look over at the clearing leading to the dark forest, the treetops too thick to let anything but traces of crystal moonlight through.  If he left… he’ll have gone that way.  The only direction that wouldn’t leave a path.

Okay.  So there's a decision that needs to be made.  You can either stay here, in the middle of this wide open field until the sun comes up, and hopefully he comes back by then.  Or… you could.  Go check if something went wrong.

The forest is gorgeous from here, you can see that.  Thick treetops, drifting gently in the breeze, steady and quiet and picturesque.  Admittedly, you can also see a haunting, looming nightmare of darkness warning you to stay away from whatever it’s hiding.  This is an unfamiliar planet.  You know it’s safe, this is the most isolated sector and Din said practically no crime happens here, but.  He also said he’d be here when you woke up.

Hang on, wait.  Something catches in your peripheral.  There—right on the other side of the kid’s crib, you see—

A glove.

… He left the glove.  Whether on purpose or by accident, Din left his glove.  The one connected to the vambrace, the one that houses all his controls.  

The one that houses the comm link.

The piece of armor is already in your trembling fingers before you realize you even went to grab it.  Anxiety, stress, dread—you don’t know which weighs on you heavier while you slowly rotate it in your hands, trying to understand what’s happening right now.  He left his emergency communicator.  The only chance you have at contacting him unless he decides to come back.

Panic suddenly constricts in your chest, and you make your decision blindly.  The kid continues to squeak out little whimpers as your arm sinks down into the leather and you pull the gauntlet up almost to your elbow, flexing your fingers inside the fabric and feeling your heart beating in your throat.  The controls are fairly basic, it doesn’t take much time to figure out which button he synced with the hovering sphere, which command he uses to lock the two locations together.

“Chill out, kiddo,” you whisper, doing your best to calm your own raging uncertainty.  Conviction is key, you think.  You made your decision.  Not wanting to waste any more time in case something went awry, you sling the bag over your shoulder and set off in the direction of the trees, feeling… woefully underprepared for whatever may potentially face you.

The forest is quiet as you finally make your way past the first few trees marking its beginning, or end, and you need a second to blink and adjust your vision.  It’s dark—if you thought it was dark when you awoke, it’s nothing compared to this.  The treetops are thick and barely allow any moonlight to pass through their dense leaves whatsoever, just bits and pieces scattered here or there.  There’s no path, no trail, just nature.  Fallen logs, moss, rock and boulder formations you have to avoid.

You shush your agitated ward again, wanting to control yourself because you’re getting the kid worked up into baby battle mode with no visible threats to see.  He reads energies—he’s capable when he wants to be, when he deems the situation fit.  Right now he’s quieted somewhat but he’s still on high alert, recycling your inner panic outwards until you feel the air shifting around you, an… unexplainable phenomena you can’t even describe properly.

Well, you figure.  If anything, he’s far more dangerous than any weapon Din typically carries with him.  You tend to forget, most of the time.  He’s never hurt you, no matter how boisterous the tantrums sometimes are, and you find yourself very rarely thinking of him as anything other than an innocent, helpless baby you’re tasked with protecting.  Though it appears that most of the time, he’s been the one protecting you.

What are you saying?  There’s no need for protection right now, you’re simply searching for your absent ally.  You’re not being brave—no matter how quickly your heart is beating or how much your hands are sweating, you’re not being brave because bravery implies facing something you fear.  You have nothing to fear, it’s nothing more than an abandoned forest.  A backdrop for your endeavor.

Though… though now that you think about it, this setting looks eerily similar to one you’ll have seared into your memory forever.  The forest on Corellia.

You will the thought away with a frantic shake of your head.  Naboo is safe, Naboo is safe—it’s not like Corellia.  It’s not crawling with people desperate for food and credits, desperate enough to resort to kidnapping and slave trade.  Naboo will economically prosper no matter what threat befalls the galaxy, its industry comes from tourism and resorting.

You stop for a second, needing a breather.  Just for a second.  You haven’t been walking more than fifteen minutes but the terrain makes your feet hurt.  Sure, there are clearings between trees and the ground isn’t complete overflowing with obstacles, but they’re still present.  The scattered rocks dig in under your shoes and some of the bushes you pass by have sharp leaves or thorns—but it’s the sprawling root systems that prove to be the worst.  They crawl across the ground like they can’t decide whether they want to be part of it or not, and more than once you stub your toe on a hidden tube arching a few inches out of the mossy soil.

A part of you almost has to remind yourself that you’re here because you’re looking for somebody, rather than being trapped here trying to evade something.  The adrenaline and fear are starting to get the best of you, make you too antsy, warp your senses.  You’re deep in the forest now, but not enough to feel the wind disappear yet—you can still hear it rattling around above you, leaves slapping against each other, branches creaking as they tower over you.  You almost wish it were quiet.  You don’t feel comforted by the breeze anymore, it doesn’t feel like an ever present reassurance as much as it does a burden that masks the noises you could otherwise be hearing.  The snapping of twigs that could potentially be there.  The crunching of leaves under feet that aren’t your own.

So.  You should probably admit now that this was actually a horrendous idea.  Because you’re fucking stupid for not realizing this earlier, but.  Din ventured into this hellscape to find a quarry, did he not?

A… wanted criminal.

Shit.  What the fuck.  That’s a hell of a fucking thing to register this late, isn’t it?

You can turn around, you figure.  You can turn around right now and head back to the campsite—actually, that sounds like a great idea.  You should do that.

You spin around and begin retracing your steps… which, you figure out about five minutes later, is an impossible feat.  None of your surroundings look familiar—or shit, maybe it all looks familiar.  Like… trees.  And fucking rocks.  Trying to distinguish landmarks is almost impossible now, and there’s no way to tell which direction you’re going with no visibility overhead, no celestial body to guide you.

You don’t immediately panic, not until you (quite literally) stumble upon a small stream of water flowing through some stones under your feet.

Well, okay.  That’s not good.  Okay, well, no, you suppose that could be good.  It’s water—it’s a landmark, sure, the tiniest little landmark you've ever seen, but that’s exactly the problem.  You’ve never seen it before.  Which means you’re most definitely not going in the right direction.

At this point, the only option you have is to turn around again.  Maybe you can unintentionally make the same series of stupid mistakes once more to start you right at the beginning.  The kid is still glancing around in his cradle, making sure no harm comes to your useless ass, but then you freeze when you begin to hear something in the distance.  

It’s an unfamiliar sound—a deafening one, even from this far away.  Long and echoing, a giant chorus of… something.  Something you’ve never heard before, something you can’t place.

Your heart is thundering as you walk closer to the source of it, moving slowly and cautiously forwards and having no clue what it could possibly be.  It doesn’t seem to amplify much as you travel closer, which means it must be a ways away still.  It’s terrifying nonetheless—the anticipation, how sweaty your hands are, the way you’re very aware of the muscles in your stomach for some reason.

The baby coos softly at your side, but the suddenness of the gentle noise nearly makes you jump out of your skin.  You gasp and look down at him for the first time in what feels like ages, clutching at your chest, but then—

—then footsteps rush you from behind and something grabs at your shirt.

You react completely on instinct, your body nearly throbbing with adrenaline as you whip around and launch a mean jab aimed at the dark silhouette behind you.  It slams directly into his solar plexus hard enough to bend him in half and ripple through your whole arm with the blowback.  Your other fist pulls back and instantly goes for him again, but he just barely manages to jerk his arm up and block it in time—

And thank the Maker he does.  Because you were just an inch shy from colliding your knuckles against the side of his head in your wild stage of panic.  The one currently covered in devastatingly strong, shiny metal, the helmet just barely visible in the dark forest.

It’s like it doesn’t even register with you—you’re already going to hit him again when Din’s hand hooks around your arm and he yanks you forwards.  Your body slams into his and then he’s wrapping himself around you and holding suffocatingly tight.  Everything inside you still wants to struggle against him, gasping into his shoulder as your heart continues to gallop with terror no matter what your logic tells you.  But he holds harder than steel and the sound of his voice eventually returns to you after a moment, repeating harsh words at you through a familiar vocal filter.

“—me, it’s me, it’s me, I’m right here, stop it, stop it, stop—”

You blink desperately against black fabric, letting the familiar scent, touch, and embrace bring you back down again.  He’s so solid—has such a strong hold on you, absolutely no give to be found, and the devastatingly tight embrace manages to quickly settle you.

But he doesn’t wait long.  As soon as you stop fighting him, he releases you in favor of grabbing your shoulders and shoving you out at arm’s length, frantically jerking the helmet up and down your body and twisting you back and forth while he looks.  Your arms dangle with the inspection and you readily let him move you around like a rag doll, not having enough sense to register anything beyond safe.  You’re safe.  Everything seems to exist in a box right now, far away and yet compact at the same time.  The visor snaps back up to your face and you blink dazedly up at him.

“I’m sorry,” you immediately tell him, voice pitched high and awkward, “woah, hah—whew, ahah—I’m sorry, I-I’m just—“

His fingers hook at your chin and he pulls it up, tilting your head back and forth, allowing the small patch of moonlight beaming through the treetops to catch the water in your eyes.  It glints in shameless betrayal, and you try unsuccessfully to blink it away despite the damage already being done.  Din drops his arm and you lower your chin without the platform propping it up.

“You just—you just—” you gasp out, delayed relief suddenly filling you and making your voice wobble dangerously, “—y-you went on a hunt but you left your armor.  You left your guns, you left everything.  I didn’t know—what could’ve happened, I—why’d you do that?  W-Why—why didn’t you t-tell m—”

He wraps his hand behind your head and pulls you into his chest once more, not saying a single word.  This hug is just as tight as before, just in a different way.  He still uses it as a way to calm you and it still squeezes the air from your body, but this one doesn’t feel like it’s entirely for your benefit anymore.

It takes you a few more seconds to realize his hands are trembling.

You go to pull back, but he tightens, anchoring you to him.  “What’s—” you gasp against the fabric covering his shoulder, “—what’s wrong?  Are you okay?  Where’s the quarry?  What’s—what’s making that sound?  Are we safe?”

Din takes slow, shallow breaths, and you hear it almost too well with your ear shoved against his body.  Little by little, he loosens his grip on you.  Both of you are still panting by the time you’re able to wrench back and look up at him.

Bare, shaky hands push your hair back away from your face, eventually coming to rest framing both of your cheeks.  They’re warm and strong where his fingers wrap around the bend of your jaw, securing you in place, and when he speaks, he sounds like he’s been through hell and back.

“Don’t ever,” Din whispers brokenly, tugging a little bit to make sure you’re listening.  “Don’t ever—ever run away from me like that.  Ever again.  Understand?”

You stare up at him, wide-eyed and dumb, unmoving.  Is that what he thinks?  That you were trying to… to run away from him?

“I—I wasn’t running,” you immediately stutter out, blinking rapidly at him and trying not to let the confusion show on your face.  “I’d never run—I-I told you I wouldn’t—” 

“I came back and you were gone,” he breathes, his quivering thumbs brushing along the height of your cheekbones.  “I—my kid, he was gone, everything was gone, I-I…”  The helmet shakes back and forth the slightest bit, and then he drops his grip to clamp down on your shoulders, clearing the fragile turmoil from his throat and hardening his tone.  “Listen, you can’t do that—you can’t take my kid and just… just disappear like that, please, promise me you won’t do that agai—”

“You disappeared,” you accuse with a whisper, but it’s like he doesn’t even hear you.

“Promise me,” he urges, shaking you enough to make your head bobble just slightly, and the quiet plead of his voice through the modulator compels you to acquiesce without a second thought.

“I promise I won’t disappear,” you vow to him, unwavering and earnest.  “Now promise you won’t, either.”

Din stares at you for a moment, his body tense and completely stationary.  He’s still breathing heavy though, his chest rising and falling hard enough for you to count.  One, two, three…   Seven.  Seven whole breaths, before he finally responds.

“I promise,” he eventually declares, before taking a step forward and crowding you, pulling your shoulders in and slowly tilting his helmet down until it rests against your forehead.  The cool metal feels like ice on your burning skin—but you ignore it and allow him to get as close as he can possibly be, to hold you tight and keep you there.  “I promise,” he goes on, “that if you ever—that if something ever happens to you two, and you just… just vanish on me like that again—then I’d—I’d…”

And then his next words steal the air from your lungs, wipe your head clear of any thoughts whatsoever—the hushed, vehement sincerity in his voice.  Yet… calm.  Certain, composed, and with purpose.  Almost as if he could only get you to understand one thing, then he would want it to be this.

“Then I’d tear this whole galaxy apart to find you,” he tells you quietly, tightening his hands on your arms and swearing an oath to you.  “Both.  Both of you.  I’d—I’d never stop.  I’d rain hell.  Tell me you understand.”

“I… I understand,” you finally murmur, and Din quickly pulls you to his chest and wraps himself around you once more without another word.  His fingers tangle in your hair and encourage you to rest your face in the crook of his neck, so you do.  Even though his helmet jabs uncomfortably at your cheek like this, you do your best to just settle down and breathe him in, bring your hands up to rub at his back and wait for his heart rate to slow.

Eventually it does.  It seems like it takes ages, but eventually he's able to unwind his large stature from around you, letting you have a bit more of your own space.  He doesn’t take his hands off you, though—his palm drags down your elbow and catches your bare hand in his, gently tugging.

“Let’s go,” he says quietly, beginning to lead you… somewhere.  Probably out of the forest and back to the ship, but you don’t question it and completely forget about the low rumbling still echoing in the distance.  You follow directly behind him and away from the mysterious sound, the fingers of your right hand still laced with his left, knowing there are far more important questions to be asked.

“Din,” you whisper, but he doesn’t need anymore prompting.

“I thought I’d be quick enough,” he admits, pulling you along by your hand.  “It’s barely been a couple hours.”

You stay silent and focus on your feet, letting him go at his own pace.  More than once he plays bodyguard, standing in front of wickedly sharp branches while you and the kid pass, and there’s never anything said beyond a quiet ‘thank you’ every time he does it.

“I’ve…” he says after a while.  “I’ve been doing this job for awhile.  And there are things… things you learn.  Quick.  Ways to predict people, ways to get in their heads.  Last known locations tell you a lot about a quarry.  Smart ones go to populated planets, planets like Coruscant, planets that make it nearly impossible to find people.  Brave ones go to dangerous planets, suicidal ones try their luck in the Unknown Regions, idiots continue to go about their business on their homeworld without caring.  But planets like this—like Naboo… those are the pacifists.  The ones that don’t ever put up a fight.  Watch your feet.”

You blink and stumble over a hidden root nonetheless, trying to keep up both physically and mentally.  Din tightens his grip and catches you by your elbow.

“This one was like you,” he goes on, pulling you up and leading you forward once more.  “Wasn’t trying to run.  Just wanted to spend his last few months hiding out on the most beautiful place in the galaxy before he got caught.”

“Why didn’t you wake me up?  Why’d you go in the middle of the night?”  You whisper, not upset anymore.  Just trying to understand.  “You couldn’t have waited until morning?”  But Din just shrugs.

“I didn’t want to remind you.”  His sentence is short and stunted, yet serves to answer all three of your questions without providing any information beyond that, the unspoken sentiment barreling forth and smashing into you full force.  He didn’t want to remind you.  He wanted to leave while you were asleep and then return before you woke up, never letting you remember that responsibilities exist beyond this gorgeous planet for the time being.

You’re a bit shocked, to be honest.  In hindsight, though, you suppose it makes sense.  Din was the one who navigated to this sector, kept the bag out of your reach the whole day.  If the kid had decided to wake up just an hour or two later, he would’ve been back by then, and you would’ve never known any different.

“Anyway,” he clears his throat, and a wave tiredness suddenly grips you.  Fuck.  Too much thinking.  “The quarry went willingly, they always do when their last wish is to chase down a pretty landscape.  Nice guy.  Found him camped out by a giant—”

Din suddenly goes oddly quiet, and you’re too exhausted to push it.  You’re starting to drag a little bit.  You woke up in blind panic and have been on edge ever since, and now that you know things are okay, your body just wants more sleep.  The trees blur as you keep moving forward, zoning out and knowing you likely have another few miles of walking before you’re back.

You almost trip over him.  You don’t even notice he’s there until you nearly run into him.  In your defense, the only visible part of him is his helmet; the clothing is too dark under the thick treetops to see anything else.  Still, it takes you a second, and you blink down at Din’s crouched figure in front of you, blocking your intended path.

“Up,” he turns to mutter over his shoulder when you ultimately fail to comprehend.

…There’s no way.

Hesitantly, you lift one of your knees to his side and feel his arm firmly hook under it.  Emboldened, you lean down until your forearm can wrap around the front of him, and then you do a stupid little bunny hop along the curve of his spine.  Din easily catches your other leg before rising up.

He bounces you higher on his back once he’s upright, and you’re automatically resting your chin on his shoulder and clinging to him, your heart filling with butterflies as he begins trudging forward.

It’s… oddly comfortable.  As long as you keep your arms wrapped tight around his chest, you can bury your face into him and drift in and out.  He goes out of his way to keep you as level as you can possibly be, trying to soften his steps so your jaw doesn’t bounce on top of him while he steps over fallen logs and ducks to avoid low hanging leaves.

Later—you’re not sure how long it’s been, his voice comes through the modulator, ringing with your ear pressed against the helmet no matter how quiet he tries to be.  

“How’d you know I went on a hunt?”  He asks, and there’s a soft reservation in his tone, as if he doesn’t really want to speak but needs to ask you anyways.

“Mmm?”  You slur into the fabric stretching over his shoulder, probably drooling on it a bit, too.  “Hmm?”

His voice increases marginally in volume, but still maintains a gentle undertone that lulls you into relaxing deeper.  “You knew I left to look for the quarry—how?”

“Fob,” you tell him tiredly, not having much energy to spare the words.  “Wasn’t in the bag.”

You’re too out of it at this point, it takes a moment to realize Din has abruptly slowed down.  “How’d you know there was a tracking—”

“You’re… reflective?”  You ask, though you don’t really know why you’re asking.  “S’to your detriment.  Sometimes.”

That seems to stun him somewhat, halting him in place for the time being.  The biggest response it gets from you is the tiniest little eyebrow twitch inwards, wondering why the steady movements of your transportation seems to have temporarily stalled.  “How’d you know I left my armor?”

“Hmm?”  You ask again, not really hearing him.

“Hey, stay awake for a second,” he bounces you and you groggily mutter something under your breath that even you can’t comprehend.  Din glosses over it while you blink your eyes open.  “Tell me how you knew.  You didn’t go back to the Crest.”

You drag your head off his shoulder and squint around, looking around at the edge of the forest and the flowing grass beyond and trying to think with your stupid, tired brain, really needing to focus on the question.  “…No?”

The curiosity in his voice can’t be masked, not by him nor the filter through which it’s processed.  “So how did you know I left my armor on it?”

“You would’ve left a trail,” you shrug. “The grass is tall.”

“I could’ve just taken the path we made earlier,” he eventually proposes, still completely motionless in the middle of the relatively sparse number of trees leading to it.  “Gone back to the ship exactly the way we came.”

“Y’could’ve,” you admit with a yawn. “But the ship is that way,” you lazily raise your arm and point a good fifty or so degrees to the left, and Din follows his own outstretched gauntlet you’re still sporting around your hand with the visor.

“I’m impressed,” he finally says, shifting you on his back but perfectly content to keep his feet rooted to the spot.  “I didn’t think you had a good sense of direction.  You know where the Crest is on this planet but not when we were on Canto Bight.”

You snort a laugh.  No, no you have no such thing—you got lost as fuck in this forest.  A good sense of direction counts as a solid survival skill, and you’d say you still very much lack most of those.  Besides pulling water out of thin air, you can’t claim to know much of anything at all in that department.

“Mmm.  No, that was just—“ you shake your head.  “Y’know, jus’ some… panicked?  Math?  That’s all.”

“Panicked…” Din repeats slowly, “…math.”

You nod, frustrated that he’s still not moving, clearly waiting for you to explain your rapid, chaotic thought process from earlier.  Still, you do your best for him, trying not to slur your words too much.  “We… walked towards the sun this morning to get to the field.  I remember, because your shiny ass was blinding me the entire time, what must’ve been like.  A whole fucking hour?  At least.  And… and then we walked a little less to get here, forty-five minutes probably, then me ‘n the kid watched the sunset leaning up against that one log, which was at a solid angle—little more than fifty degrees to the right from the path.  You could’ve retraced your steps from earlier if you really wanted to, but taking the shortcut would’ve shaved off about...” you snuggle your face into his shoulder deeper for a moment and think really hard about it.  “Thirty minutes?  Or an hour round trip.  Give or take, since the kid slowed us down.”

He still doesn’t move, and you huff quietly, feeling like you’re on top of a stubborn blurg that just can’t be fucking bothered.  Should you squeeze your legs around his middle?  Will that work?

“You… went on a hunt, sweet girl,” Din finally says, bluntly, after way too long of a pause.  He sounds vaguely impressed for reasons beyond that of your comprehension right now.  “In your own little… panicked way.  How does it feel?”

“Unsuccessful,” you breathe, burying your forehead into his shoulder once more and blinking your eyes shut.  Too much thinking, too much thinking.  You need to sleep.

“You were on the right track,” he hums, bouncing you up and setting off again, and you can’t help yourself.  It’s completely involuntary, tumbles out of your mouth without thought.

“Craziest bounty hunter in the guild,” you slur, and Din doesn’t give you even a shred of the laughs that deserves.

“I should make you walk just for that,” he threatens instead, though he does no such thing.  He just keeps leaning forward in a position that can’t be comfortable for him and lets you fall asleep on his back, holding you tight to his body as he finally breaks out of the last trees and continues hiking through the familiar field to go back home.

***

You rouse twice.  Once, when hands allow your legs to slowly slide down a firm body and settle on solid metal.  He spins around to catch you before you can collapse, and then slowly eases your exhausted body down to the floor.

A bare hand cradles the back of your head until that finally settles down, too.

The second time, you can’t quite be sure of.  One of those moments where you’re barely conscious, drifting to the point where everything around you could be part of your dreamscape, where you can’t trust your own ears or mind to differentiate between what is real and what isn’t.  All you’d need is a single person telling you this didn’t actually happen and you’d accept it without question.

Pacing.  Quiet footsteps moving back and forth across the floor as you sleep, pausing every once in a while to stand in front of your slumbering figure.  Something unintelligible is mumbled as he walks away, the hollow thunk of boots clambering up a ladder.  Engines rumble to life under your ear, and gravity gently pushes you deeper against the flat metal supporting your body.

The footsteps soon return and start to pace around once more.

***

“Hey,” a quiet voice murmurs, your shoulder rocking back and forth slightly.  “Wake up.”

You blink your eyes open to a familiar visor looking down at you, his hand quickly leaving your shoulder and brushing a gloved thumb across your cheekbone when he sees you’re awake.  “Mm?  Din?  Wha’s—” you glance around you at the dark hull of the Razor Crest, before blinking your tired gaze back to him, “—s’going on?  Wha’ time s’it?”

“Late,” he whispers.  “We’re in the air.  I had to wait until the kid was asleep, but I want… I want you to see something.”

“What is it?”  Still blinking blearily, you sit up, but then Din grabs your hands and keeps your momentum going until you’re slowly dragged to your feet.  What you do when you’re standing upright doesn’t really qualify as standing or upright—you just sag against him with exhaustion as he wraps his forearms around your lower back, keeping you pressed tight against him as your ankles drag uselessly against the ground.

“Use your feet,” he reminds you quietly, and you harumph in a grumpy response.  Maker, you want to go back to sleep.  You’re sure you tell him as much, but he just shushes you and encourages you to hold yourself up, letting go while you steady yourself but hovering his palms a few inches away from your arms just in case.  “I want you to put my helmet on.”

“Excuse me?”  You ask him, swaying slightly and rubbing one of your eyes, not feeling amused.  “Is this some kind of… power trip?  Or something?  Because you’ve spent the last few days literally beating me up, I’d assume that would be enough for y—”

“I let you beat me up,” he grumbles under his breath.  “How are you ever gonna take a punch if it hurts you that bad to just throw one, sweet girl?”

“I’ll punch first,” you respond groggily, trying to move forwards so you can lean on him again, but being stopped by a firm grip on your shoulders.

“I know you will,” he mutters, letting go after a second to brush your hair away from your squinty eyes.  “Listen, I want you to put my helmet on, okay?”

You nuzzle your head into his leather palm and hum, giving it some thought.  “Are you gonna… turn on the light thingie?”  You clarify, not being able to remember what the setting is called, and he nods.

“Yes,” he tells you very seriously.  “There’s a… stars, a ‘noise thingie’ that I’ll turn on, too.  You won’t be able to see or hear for a little bit—you’ll have to trust me.”

“Is this for sex?”  You blurt as soon as the thought occurs to you, and Din sighs heavily, letting his head drop to his chest in exasperation.  “Like some sort of a… sensory deprivation thing?  Because if so, I can like—I mean I can get into it.”

“If I say yes, will you put it on?”  He tries, and.  Well, that question shouldn’t wake you up nearly as much as it does.  You blink at him, actually registering the sight of the mirrored visor this time.  Your gaze drops to see he’s back in full beskar regalia, his body looking even larger and broader with it on.

“Oh,” you say quite suddenly, remembering the question.  “Oh.  Shit yeah, I will.”

He shakes his head.  You’re getting better and better at reading him—becoming more fluent in helmet, one could say—and this head shake says he can’t believe he’s actually surprised that worked.  “It’s not for sex,” he tells you immediately, deadpanning the delivery even more than he typically would.  “Will you still put it on?”

You look at him blankly, wondering why this is even happening.  He said you’re in the air right now, and there’s… something he wants you to see?  Whatever this is, it’s spur of the moment.  Something he felt the need to wake you up for, but likely won’t push if you decline.

“Yeah,” you nod, “'course I will.”

“Close your eyes,” he murmurs, tipping your chin up slightly in the dim hull so he can watch.  Since they already want to do so regardless of the gentle command, your lids readily dip shut and you wait patiently as his touch leaves you for a moment.

You’re already sagging a bit by the time one of his hands returns to your cheek, and then plush lips press gently to yours.  The sigh you give him is completely involuntary—aching and quiet and longing as you let it go right in his mouth, your expression narrowing with concentration.

But he’s quick.  He leans back before either of you can get lost in it and reminds you with a gorgeous, rumbling baritone, “You’ll have to trust me.”

You nod in confirmation and soon his helmet is carefully being lowered over your head.  This is the second time around he’s done this—and you suppose if you couple that with your still lazy demeanor, the silent darkness that comes along with it doesn’t bother you as much as it did a few months ago.  The padding still grips your cheeks and you still feel disconnected from your surroundings—even more so now than the last time he put it on you—but it’s welcoming, in a way.  Giving you a reason to cling to him and tilt your head with the unfamiliar weight, breathing slow and easy while isolated in your own little pitch black world.

Oh Maker, you could probably fall asleep again just like this, so long as he keeps holding you up.  But Din has other plans, clearly.  He eases you backwards, continues to walk you back and back and back some more, and you have no problem just going with it.  He’s strong, taking almost all of your weight and somehow instinctively knowing how to hold you so that you’re fully supported no matter how you’re positioned.  He shifts you to one arm at one point, does something with his free hand that you can’t really figure out but aren’t really bothered by either.

He guides you both a few more steps backwards, and you start to wonder how long the hull actually is.  But then he suddenly grabs you tight—tight enough to make your eyes pop open to the black void in front of you and panic slightly, before he tilts you back even more and suddenly the ground is dropping out from under your feet, the air rushing silently around your entire body.

Okay, now you full-on panic.

He doesn’t let go, thank the stars, even when you scramble up to straddle and cling to him, heart clanging hard against your sternum at his fucking audacity.  The jet pack?  Are there just no fucking rules anymore?

Sure enough, the thrusters kick in and he’s good enough with the phoenix to counteract the gravity shift as much as possible, making it a gradual thing instead of a rapid change in motion.  You’re almost confident you would’ve slipped out of his grip and gone slamming to the ground had he not done the preventative maneuver.

Regardless, you’re gonna fucking kill him.  You’re going to murder Mando and get your own bounty puck, one with your name on it.  It won’t end well; everyone after you will have a personal vendetta considering you offed one of their own.  If you survive the confrontation then you’ll likely get taken to mine spice somewhere for the rest of your miserable life, probably Kessel—that is, assuming he doesn’t kill you first, within the next however many minutes.

And oh, he seems like he takes his sweet fucking time, hauling your fuming, decapitated ass along on a late night joyride.  Every second he continues to allow you to fly in blind, deaf isolation is another butt whooping you’re vowing to give him, and it pisses you off even more that you can’t even express your righteous fury because you can’t let go of him.  You’re a parasite in midair, clinging to his metal body while he slowly descends, navigating you both down until you feel his boots finally meet solid ground.

You carefully reach for the ground with one foot and try to feel it with your tippie toes just in case he’s somehow tricking you, until Din drops you down and your feet mercifully meet dirt.  As soon as you find your balance, you shove an open palm against the metal of his chestplate in anger and Din quickly catches your wrist, the beskar shaking slightly under your hand like he found the whole thing rather humorous.

You don’t have much time to fuss.  He spins you around and then his hands settle on your shoulders, and for some reason… you only notice it now.  The fabric covering your torso and legs is gradually becoming damp for some reason.  You can’t feel any real splashes of water—no raindrops or anything, but it gets worse and worse the longer he holds you steady in front of him.

His hands eventually drag down your arms and elbows, until they’re catching your wrists and slowly pulling both of them up.  Din cradles the backs of your hands as he presses your palms against the cold metal helmet around your head, and then he gradually begins to pull it up, and—

—Loud.

You stop for a second.

… Tears spring up.

Din keeps pulling.

What starts out as a dull hiss continuously amplifies as the beskar slowly lifts, growing louder and louder in volume until it’s a deafening, violent, thunderous roar.

Yet still, you don’t open your eyes.  You just… listen to it.  Let the sound of it fill your heart, the same sound you caught earlier in the forest but now amplified exponentially, almost surrounding you with reverberating white noise.  Your whole body is practically drenched in water by the time you finally open your eyes and blink through the heavy mist.

He said no oceans, and he was right.  It isn’t an ocean—it’s… something so unbelievably beautiful that you don’t even have a name for it.  You don’t want one, not really.  There isn’t a name that would be good enough.  It’s easily—by and far, in your measley handful of decades of existence—the most majestic thing you’ve ever seen.  A gigantic, enormous cliff dwarfs you on three sides, with tens of thousands of tons of water arcing over their sharp edges and plunging into the rocky lake below.  

The cloud of droplets ricocheting from the base of the jaw dropping cascade is massive in and of itself—easily taking up a good quarter of your field of view even from this distance away.  The shore sits close enough but the spectacle is still somewhat distant, remaining an untouchable heaven, a gorgeous lake separating you from it and rippling with waves that settle to lap at the sand.

The rest of the setting comes later, after you’re able to process the main event.  You’re in the middle of the forest from before—familiar colossal trees wrap around the shoreline and vibrant shrubbery blankets the edges of the falling water, evergreen and fed by a constant nourishing mist.  The sun is also beginning to come up.  You can’t see it yet, but you can see the way the sky is starting to gradient itself from a starry midnight blue to pale lavender, the first rays beginning to peak over the treetops.

You feel yourself take a few, slow steps forward, but leather catches your hand from behind and gives it a firm squeeze before you can move completely out of reach.  You don’t even have to look back at him to know what it means.  The sentiment transfers seamlessly—be careful, he says, before dropping it and letting you continue forth.

Reaching the shore brings even more beauty to a backdrop you didn’t think could get any better.  You have to carefully step over—oh, heavens—small, transparent crystals tinted every color you can imagine to reach the water, sparkling under the gently lapping waves.  They’re like thin, flat shards of glass, and you know that if the sound of the falling water wasn’t so deafening, you’d probably be able to hear the muted crunching noise they make shattering under your boots with every cautious step.  Jagged edges and multicolored powder is all that’s left in your wake, no matter how careful you try to be.

You almost don’t want to move since they’re so delicate and everywhere, probably blanketing the entire floor of the lake, but you push forward with purpose until you’re just close enough to squat down and dip your fingers into the cool water.  It’s crystal clear and reflects the lightening sky with every gentle ripple and disturbance.  You study the pieces of glass as the repetitive waves distort their shape, the colorful shards turning to smooth, round pebbles the closer they are to the water.  A large green one catches your eye—circular and comparatively tiny, but standing out amongst all the rest.

You pluck it from the shore and let the almost perfectly round emerald sphere roll around in your palm, scanning the shallow water once more.  Then, ah—there, you reach out and grab a slightly larger, heavier, unassuming brown one that you have to hold up to the gradually rising sun to see its sparkle.  It’s got harder edges and feels rougher in your hand but you like it that way.  You like that there’s a bit of a warm amber at its center when the light hits it right.

Perfect.  Taking another moment to study your choices, you eventually end up finding a gorgeous, slightly pearlescent piece that sits just between the size of the other two in your collection.  It’s tinted a pale, off-white amongst a sea of color and there’s something gentle about it that speaks to you, something that feels right about the gradual sloping curves and how it sits in your palm.

Carefully pocketing the three pieces of fragile glass and rising up, you glance back to see Din standing there, helmet on once more and frozen right where you last left him.

He looks… awkward, almost.  Holding his hands behind his back, all his weight shifted to one foot while the other twists back and forth against the ground just slightly.  Nervous, for some reason.  Feeling unsure of his place.  The posture tugs at your heartstrings, as well as the spectacular gesture, and you soon make your way back to him.

“Where did you… where did you find this!?”  You have to yell over the rushing water once you get close enough.  “I didn’t see anything on the navcomp—”

“—wasn’t—navcomp—” he replies, barely just loud enough for you to hear.  You miss most of it, but you’re able to piece together the gist based on what little you can catch.  “—quarry—isolated sector—uncharted.”

Uncharted.  It’s uncharted, the navcomp wouldn’t register it.  Untouched by millennia of progress.  Plenty of people have probably seen it before, but apparently none of them have ever told anybody about it.  The universe is vast but it’s also old—it’s unbelievable that cartographers have plotted almost the entire galaxy but they still missed something like this.

The roar of the marvel is so deafening, it takes you a moment to realize he’s still speaking

“—nobody—yet—it—” he nods the helmet out at the spectacular landmark, “—it’s yours—you want—”

“My what!?”  You bellow, but he doesn’t clarify or add anything new.  He just spins you around again, extending his arm out over your shoulder to point at the breathtaking view and then dropping his helmet down next to your ear.

“Yours,” Din repeats firmly, resolutely.  Nothing more to be said.

You’re not sure if you’re crying yet, there’s too much water in the air to tell.  All you can do is just instinctively lean all your weight back into his chest and let his arms lace around your body, and you have to blink the droplets away as they start to trail down your forehead and into your eyes.  He keeps you like that until the rising sun begins to reflect off the cloud of mist at the rocky base of the monument, scattering light in all directions and splitting it into a beautiful spectrum that reflects every color.

You wonder if Din can see it.  You wonder if there’s a filter on his helmet that isn’t infrared or night vision, where a computer isn’t constantly alerting him to movement or sudden changes in atmospheric pressure.  Just… pure, unobstructed, visible light.  You know there’s probably all sorts of tracking measures programmed in, you know he can zoom and spot a sniper from a vast distance—you know he sees things you don’t.  Things you won’t ever see.  But you also hope the visor isn’t shaded too dark—you hope there’s a setting that works like a one way mirror, if only so that he can also see the beauty of this planet the same exact way you can.

You eventually turn in his arms and take one small step away from him just so you can look at him, and sure enough, the visor is tilted up towards the natural beauty.  Your eyes study every inch of him as if you’ve never seen him before, as if he may as well have taken the helmet off right in front of you.  This is thoughtful.  It’s so fucking thoughtful of him.  For being such a mystery, this right here… this is soul bearing.  It’s not an ocean, it’s a million times better than one and the fact that he not only remembered you telling him something like that, but he actually flew you out here to see it.  It makes your chest ache with an unknown feeling, one you still have trouble recognizing.  It settles down right in the softest part of you, makes your mouth open and give it a four letter name.

You say it so softly, confess it knowing he’s not looking, knowing he’d never be able to hear above the sound of the cascading rapids crashing against the rocks below.  You can’t hear it either, but you can feel it.  The way the word lilts off your tongue, the simple truth in it that’s impossible to hide from any longer.

He glances back at you, before doing a double take.  Gently, Din pushes at your shoulder and urges you to face forward again, to take all of it in while you still can, and yet.

All you can see is him.

His head slowly turns back down to face you, and your eyes keep shamelessly scanning every bit of him, watching the mist droplets chase each other down the reflective metallic curves and contours of his helmet.  Din slowly leans in, carefully eases his arm under yours and wraps tight around your lower back to bring you closer to his side.  You sigh and press up against him, your palm creeping up the damp fabric wrapped around his throat.  The visor doesn’t leave you, even when your temple comes to rest against his pauldron.  No, he just allows the smooth metal covering his forehead to gently touch yours for a moment and hold there.  Both of you tucked away in the middle of a hidden paradise, standing in front of a gorgeous monument crafted by the hands of the Maker himself.  

And, like the two starry eyed idiots you are, neither one of you can seem to look away from the other.

You mouth a silent thank you to him, hoping he can read the heartfelt candor from your lips.  Something tells you your message was received, because his grip tightens.  As if in slow motion, his whole body lazily drops down just enough to scoop you up with an arm hooked under your knees—before Din suddenly rockets upwards.

You squeal and cling tight to his shoulders as he lifts you up higher, and higher—he slowly rises across the considerable length of the lake and closer to the falling water.  You’re already beyond drenched but as he gradually approaches the base of the falling water, it starts raining down and splashing you in buckets.

Once he’s near enough to the powerful, arcing column pouring over the long rocky edge, Din carefully spins around and hovers until his back faces it, which means you can hide your nose and mouth from the splashes against the armor shielding his shoulder.  He slowly rises up the length of the natural landmark and lets you watch the rushing water up close behind the safety of his body, sacrificing his own view so that yours can be all the better.

Eventually the falling waves break and you look down at the broad, gorgeous rapids flowing out towards you, the sun casting its dawning light over their foaming peaks.  Din spins around and you adjust yourself accordingly against his chest, knowing you’ll never have a view like this again.  He flies low along the river and you can see the colorful glass sparkling through the strong, yet completely transparent current.  Soon he levels out and you cling tight to him, burying your face in the soaking wet fabric of the cowl wrapped around his neck and sighing, unable to recall a time you’ve ever been happier.  It swells in your heart and warms your entire body even as it’s drenched in cool water, and you wonder again how he could’ve ever thought you were running from him.  How could he ever think you’d run from him when all he’s ever done is give you wings?

***

The Crest hurdles through hyperspace while Din silently removes his armor and then strips you both of your sopping wet clothes.  You remember your glass souvenirs at the very last second and carefully remove them from your pockets despite your closed eyes, reaching out to hand them to Din without looking.  His palm catches the pebbles with the quiet sound of them clinking together, and you feel him pause for a second, probably studying them as he cradles them in the dim, single fluorescent light he left on.

You feel him leave you momentarily, hear him gently set them down someplace safe without a word.  When he comes back and his warm arms snake around you once more, he lowers you down to the blankets and then proceeds to make the softest love to you he knows how on the floor of his ship.  

A small part of you wishes you were still on Naboo, but somehow.  Somehow, despite the dead quiet hull, it’s better than anything you can remember.

His naked body presses tight to yours, his mouth always open and tasting wherever you’ll let him venture, never letting you forget for a single second that he’s just as bare and exposed as you are.  Your hands take full advantage, feeling everything.  The strong, rippling muscles of his back as he props himself over you, the soft hair curling at his nape, the length of his spine shielding you from the rest of the ship, allowing you the opportunity to pretend you’re somewhere else if you really tried.  If you tried, you could convince yourself you’ve got a mattress beneath you instead of a blanket draped over hard steel.  You could convince yourself your eyes are open while he kisses you, despite knowing it’ll never be allowed.

But… you don’t.  You don’t need to.  There’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

And then at one point, his mouth is between your legs and you see a flash of his forehead on complete accident.

To see it on any other person would be nothing, it would mean absolutely nothing.  It’s not like it somehow makes him anymore recognizable to you—plenty of people share the same exact features, you still wouldn’t know him out of a trillion different faces.  He could walk right by you and you’d never know.  Technically, it’s not even his face—it’s just a small fragment of it.  But to you, the quickest glimpse of dark, wavy locks curtaining over the smooth, golden skin just below his hairline… it means everything to you.  You sear it into your memory, right alongside the sight of crystalline water roaring over an enormous cliff edge.

You never tell him you saw.  He never finds out.

[a-slice-of-cate]

Death Do Us Part {4}

part 1 part 2 part 3

Hero screamed bloody murder as the needle pushed deeper and deeper into their arm. The liquid from the needle felt hot as it flowed through their body- dark blue and black veins appeared from the injection site.

“It’s almost over,” Supervillain ran his calloused hand over Hero’s sweating forehead and injected more of the painful liquid. “Shh…”

Tears ran down Hero’s face, blood dripped from their nose and cuts battered their once soft, young skin. “I can’t,” they breathed. Hero saw black spots dot the corners of their vision. “Please, Sir,”

Supervillain sighed and only pushed the needle in deeper. Hero’s vision clouded over and they were taken over by darkness.

When Hero woke up, they were still surrounded by darkness. Laughter erupted around them almost like it was in their head.

“You’re awake,” Supervillain said over the God Speaker, “Your goal is to survive. You will find that our newest session will help you with that.”

With that, the God Speaker cut out and a low growl was sound from behind them. Hero slowly turned around with a look of dread and fear. A tall black figure loomed over them. A dark force fell over Hero and they felt their body move on its own, fighting off the demon.

Whatever Supervillain had pumped Hero with burned like a son of a bitch through their veins. Hero hissed anytime they used their newfound powers but they kept pushing in order to survive.

For what felt like hours, Hero fought and killed every monster that came their way. By the time they were done, they stood there, chest heaving, hair disheveled, and their skin stained red. The blood of their enemies drenched their figure.

“I’ve done what you asked!” they screamed into the air. “Now let me out, you sick son of a bitch!”

Villain sat there, starting to get a chill from the cold night. As Hero told them the stories of their childhood, Villain couldn’t help but find a sense of familiarity.

The events that Hero described were a lot like the ones they went through growing up as well. However, since they both grew up on the same part of town, it’s very possible that everyone around the woods were treated that way.

“I did that for so long,” Hero explained. “I let him do that to me for years! Years of torture, of injections, of false power pumped into me,” Hero frowned and fumbled with their fingers. “I’m sorry,” they said. “I don’t mean to dump all of this on you.”

Villain watched Hero closely. They’ve known Hero most of their life and not once have they seen this vulnerability show. Hero always seemed like this head strong, superhero that never faltered or failed. Villain didn’t know what to say or physically respond with so they settled with a small nod. 

“Life is pretty shitty, ain’t it?” 

Hero sniffed and wiped their nose, a human instinct that they had forgotten they don’t need to use anymore.

“I guess so,” they held their hands in their laps before taking a deep breath. “Why do you hate me?” Hero’s voice was suddenly more solemn and distant.

Villain blinked and gently scooted closer to Hero. “Hate you? I never hated you, Hero.” They said looking out over the city. “Never.”

Hero closed their eyes before speaking again. “But you do. You shut me out, you snap at me, hell here I am— a poltergeist or some shit.”

The h/c {gender} sighed and hung their head. “I envied you,” Villain began. “All my life, I’ve always felt like you were better than me, so I vowed to out do you.”

Hero felt their non beating heart tighten.

“I wanted to be you,” Villain groaned. “I wanted the glory and the praise, I wanted the money and to feel like I’ve done good for the world.” Villain rambled on. “But then I realized that’s not where fate was taking me. I wasn’t meant to be the Hero for this story. We are opposites, Hero,” Villain cleared their throat. “But when we get you back to normal, I wanna be your equal. I want to fight you as if it’s us messing around.”

Hero looked at Villain and they felt beat rise in their cheeks.

“Okay,” Hero breathed out. “Just so you know,” they looked down at their lap. “I never hated you either. In fact I envied you.”

Both Hero and Villain burst out laughing. Hero explained how corrupt and deceitful the Hero Society was.

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, trust me,” Hero ran a hand through their hair. They noticed the slight yawn that Villain tried to hide. “Hey, go get some sleep. I’ll be okay.”

Villain stood up but instead of walking the other way, they held their hand down to Hero. “I know you don’t sleep anymore, but could you…” Villain couldn’t find the words.

Hero chuckled before taking their hand and standing up. “Sure,”

Villain turned their fade away so Hero wouldn’t see the blush that grew across their cheeks.

The rest of the night, Villain had their head rested on Hero’s chest, arms wrapped around their torso, holding them close.

Hero let their fingers run through Villain’s hair, lightly running them up and down the back of their neck before returning them back to their hair. Hero repeated this motion until Villain eventually fell asleep.

Hero smiled at the sight. As Villain slept, they looked so mundane. With a simple T-shirt and sweatpants and their features soft, not hard with the burdens of the world.

Hero let their fingers glide over Villains cheek, ghosting over their features with cold fingers.

It made sense why Hero’s spirt was attached to Villain, which made them a poltergeist. One: they died by the hands of Villain. Two: Hero knew now deeply Villain really cared for them. After what happened on the roof, Hero could sense the gentle feelings Villain felt for them.

“I forgive you,” Hero placed a cold kiss to Villains forehead before resting their head back on the pillows and pretending to sleep, maybe giving the effect as if they were actually sleeping.

***

Hero tumbled down the alleyway. After several blows to the abdomen and face, Hero felt their energy and adrenaline begin to fade.

It was a struggle getting up. Their arms were shaky and their breathing had gone rigid.

“Villain! Stop!” They yelled but Villains fist collided with Hero’s chin once again.

Fire burned behind their eyes. They were under Supervillains ruling and this is what Supervillain wanted.

“If you want me ti stop, you’re going to have to kill me!” Villain went to throw another punch but Hero used all their strength to block the blow.

It would’ve saved them if this were a regular fight.

However, Hero’s vision turned white as a searing pain bloomed in their side.

Hero couldn’t even cry out in pain because Villian’s lips entrapped theirs to hush them.

Soft whimpers left Hero’s lips as Villain kissed their pain away. Villain and slowly pulled the blade out, slowly.

“Shh,” Villain rested their forehead against Hero’s. “It’s going to be okay, Love. It’s going to be okay.” They pet down Hero’s hair as a single tear fell from their eye.

Hero gave one more soft whimper before their shaking body stilled and their chest settled with one last breath.

[yostresswritinggirl]

It is time. This took a while but I figured I should give you guys the closure you've wanted, even tho uh it's not really a closure lmaooo. Here's the first part for the new readers!

Xiao's Personal "Chef" Travel Edition

Xiao with a Reader who is not only his Personal Chef but assistant, adventuring together

General/Preparation

A visionless chef with an adeptus by their side, going in a routeless journey together to savor the world that had once been pulled away from their grasps.

It must be the cause of the recent ressurection and defeat of the Lord of Vortex, immobilizing him once more for thousands of years. And in the window time, there would be less worries for the Qixing and Liyue Adepti to worry about. Think of it as a day-off for the Adepti, and a vacation for you.

While you carry with you no traces of elemental blessings and an enthusiasm for swordplay, the blessed Sigil of Permission given to you by your adeptus (whom claimed it was created by Rex Lapis himself before his untimely death) grants you a special connection with Xiao.

Sadly a vacation from Liyue does not mean a break from the constant voices of demons within Xiao's mind. And you've prepared him the medicine necessary to soothe his mind even if temporary, three bottles to be exact, all of which can last him several months.

He looks at you with confusion and silent question, of which you waved away because you had prepared this batch in your room in the Inn to make sure he doesn't run out of stock.

He doesn't tell you this but lately the voices had been not intrusive while he gets distracted by your presence. Like a soothing balm, to numb the effects of the pain. It's still there but not as annoying.

Your adventure or journey usually lingers around Liyue for the first parts of it, looking around the nation to enjoy the sceneries without thinking about errands or protecting the villages from impending doom.

Xiao already uh announced his indefinite leave to the other adepti beforehand, but well, when you wanted to visit their domains, which you countered was PERFECTLY safe (almighty Sigil of Permission has lots of perks) it was a very awkward time for him upon meeting them again. It was inevitable because of the energy the sensed from Xiao and your Sigil.

"Hello again, Guardian Yaksha, were you not on leave?" "Y-Yeah... we're just... passing through"

Field trip with the Adepti!!!! Moon Carver and Mountain Shaper brought you around their domains as if to test you, like Ganyu's trials, while also flexing their achievements and who has the best domain. Humans are rare, but you are a mortal who carries the last blessed Sigil and you're tamed in the ways of the adepti because of your exposure to Xiao.

Cloud Retainer not only teaches you the glory of gliding, but she also has cute and embarrassing stories of Xiao from way back! Xiao is in the background trying not to scream or rage at the ensemble in front of him-

"He really likes collecting Qingxin flowers, always bringing one whenever he comes back from his exterminations. He even offers one to Morax everytime." "Yes, yes, such flowers grow common before, right?" "Wha- (Y/N), what do you think you're writing down in that book?!"

"The devoted that carries the last essence of Morax's powers. We've heard much about you from your adeptus, it is relieving to finally put a face to your name. Tell us, child, what is it that you seek in our domain?"

They pretty much just outted that Xiao talks about you to the others, and he- he's just so done. He's either going to hide, leave the area or pull you out of the conversation before someone *coughCloudRetainercough* starts embarrassing him in front of you.

Once you've gotten the supplies you wanted to collect from Liyue's wild lands, like flowers or ores, your little party will start going further away from the familiar nation.

Comfort on the Streets

Being the chef in the party, a lot of the time, resource collection stops you short from travelling despite the many prepped ingredients you had carried with you. There's a lot of things laying around and you just couldn't let such opportunities go. Your adoptive mother Verr had taught you to indulge in your curiousities, as a mother, as a traveler, and as a cook.

Xiao takes the brute force, the frontline of being the tank and general fighter of your band. He indulges himself with unhinged strength so long as he was sure that you were perfectly safe from his own barrage of offense. You think in the back of your mind that he's enjoying the exterminations but in his mind he indulges himself with your cheers and praises after fending off some pesky slimes that strayed too close to your temporary camp.

Xiao does not need rest and barely breaks a sweat but you're quite fragile of a human being, you still need rest and consumables, things that you had the luxury of despite working in the Inn. Here you were alone to carry your own weight and care for yourself. You look up from the boiling pot that was settled over the bright campfire to see Xiao's figure coming into view, a freshly killed boar in hand as some kind of offering for your sacred stomach.

You guess now the caring isn't one-sided.

When taking things into careful detail that requires precision and undivided attention, it seems the voices of the demons and revelled gods in the depths of his mind disappears, more so under the presence of you.

So it was the perfect opportunity now that no other errands hold you back, to teach Xiao how to make the infamous Almond Tofu.

When you teach him survival he takes into consideration everything despite the bored/blank face he dons.

Oh but he still prefers your way of cooking, he can never get the same soft texture of the jelly that you easily make.

Xiao doesn't really need to eat but he's glad to be your taste-tester for the new dishes you cook from the random, probably edible, ingredients you find here and then.

The stew continued to boil with bubbles popping despite the fire under it extinguished for a while now. It was an unnamed soup you concocted from the various seafood you've gotten from the ocean paired with the meat the adeptus hunted.

It was delicious. Despite being a palette he was not used to, it was something he can stomach. And despite the different meat mixed in, the flavours didn't clash like he thought it would but instead blended the tastes quite well. Xiao hums as he sips the soup politely, tilting the bowl as he gulps down.

"It is manageable, despite your first try, I can see this being sold in one of the restaurants in Liyue Harbour-" he turns to you as he proceeds to hold out his bowl for seconds when he stopped in his tracks, eyes slightly widening a crack at the sight of tears free falling off your chin.

The spoon on your hand was slack, eyes distant yet dilated as you silently cried. When you felt the glove of his hand cup your cheek, tilting your head to make you face him, your expression cracked to that of grief melded with forced laughter. "It's... it's just like what mum used to make." You sob, and his hand wavered from its touch.

Travelling reopened old wounds. For you and for him.

Xiao doesn't NEED sleep nor does he WANT it, despite the many times you had caught him dozing off in the middle of the day during your work at the Inn. Such occasions usually meant that there was an event that needed his aid the night prior.

Your guardian yaksha usually stays up to keep watch and when you wake up, you would find him spaced out or in the brink of passing out, desperately holding himself together

But there are other times when he feels more restless and not content with just standing guard to make sure you are protected—

Those moments are when you are held in his arms, him resting against a tree and you resting against his lean chest, travel blanket laid over the both of you. When the terrain allows it, the sleeping bag would be under your bottom and legs for extra comfort.

When you can't rest, he whips out his flute to play you a soft tune hoping to lull you to sleep. If he sinks into the comfort of the mood, he'll continue playing much softer to prevent waking you up so early

But the guardian yaksha can buckle at the temptation of comfort, a humanistic desire fuelled by the assurance that in his arms you are absolutely safe-

And you two lay under the stars in peaceful slumber. Good night~

Combat-side of Travelling

Kicking the bottom shaft of the jade spear, Xiao swiftly catches it with his other hand, a small smile aimed for himself at the expert action before he raises his eyes back at you where you lay splayed on the floor. Drenched in your own sweat and desperately breathing. A long, wooden stick discarded by your side.

You pried your eyes open when the rays of the sun suddenly stopped invading through your thin eyelids, the shadow of the Yaksha looming over your form with a rare triumphant smirk. "Yeah, yeah, I know what you're gonna say-"

"I told you so."

"Oh hush you!"

His soft laugh was melodic and it made you break a smile despite the exhaustion.

We've already established beforehand that Xiao is your main dps here and you're just support/utility. But you've expressed your desire to AT LEAST pick up some weight, asking the man to help you hone your weapon proficiency, even if you knew he'd decli-

He accepts. Oh. But it's not about swords sadly, it's for polearms. Since it's the weapon he uses, it's the only thing he can teach you.

Will be CONSIDERABLY gentle in training you compared to his massacres, and will be ever so patient so long as progress is made. Surprisingly, Xiao is actually a really good teacher, and you'd find his points to be precise and on the spot.

He'll be there on the side as you try to fight off a hydro slime for the first time, with the aid of your cheap spear you both from the nearest town over. If you get cornered, he'll be there to instantly swoop in. Fortunately you managed, and he gave an approving nod.

Despite his acceptance to teach he's not gonna let you fight actual threats because he doesn't wish to risk your safety. And you're still gonna be a hundred feet away as he does his job

If he ever managed to hurt you himself, it's... it's not gonna be good, not good at all for the both of you... luckily that hasn't happened! Uh, yet lol

Just admire him from afar, he looks pretty anyways, although the black particles that seem to surround him before the end of the fight

But he'll always come back to you, with a slight limp you always notice despite his attempts to hide, and you'll be there to heal him up

Like a knight to his princess? Or healer, more so

And the process rinses and repeats at your generally peaceful trip

"Oh, oh, I see it! Uuup there!"

His honey amber eyes follow where your fingers point, high and up against the cliff until he sees the glimpse of the swaying violetgrass. No orders needed to tell him what the objective is, but as you place your hand on his elbow when he was about to leap, you had different plans.

"Woohoo!" Please be careful, he shouts in his head as you rode the tides of his Anemo currents, gliding over to where the violetgrass awaits for your plucking hands. When the glider retracts as you grip the cliff face, you broke the stem of the flora. A eureka in your voice as you held it up like a treasure before pushing yourself off the cliffside.

The wind on your back was not harsh, carefully constructed and maneuvered as you seemingly float down into the arms of the awaiting Yaksha, as per routine of your retrieval, "Thank you!"

"Is it in good condition?" It didn't bother you that he has yet to put you down, nodding with a grin as you gently waved the perfectly grown violetgrass in your hand. Satisfied, he turns around to go back to your route when

golden, brown and white silhouettes entered your peripherals among the turn.

"Eh?"

"Ah?"

"Traveler, Paimon and Zhongli?"

"Well, it is the most intriguing that we meet again this far out and in such a circumstance, Xiao and (Y/N)."

Party gained 2 ½ members!

I noticed upon writing that after you started travelling with Xiao, the formality in your tone of speaking started to dissipate. Easing into the comforts of your relationship with him, Xiao is relieved.

@kookieyachi @moaa @dandelion-dreams @zelos-simp @legionqueensav @snackgod @rxsalinee @cala-ran @wind-wheel @witchsungie

[yandere-wishes]

Sacrificial Bride Part 1//Twisted Wonderland X Reader//

Alright well, that's enough writing for the next few days if you excuse me I'm going to go sulk in my corner. Huge thanks to @softyswork​ who’s story about reader being sent to Malleus as a bride inspired this series. Also, I REALLY want to make some sort of modern-day Frankenstein it would be an amazing scientific breakthrough! You'll understand what I mean when you get to Idia's part lol.

💚🐉Malleus Draconia🐉💚

It was a common rumor around your village that ever since the death of the sleeping princess your settlement had never been the same. For you, this was nothing more than a fairy tale meant to spark a scrap of hope in the hearts of naive, suffering children who were still too young to fully understand why their fathers never returned from their hunting trips or why there was barely anything to eat for dinner.

Every time you heard this dreaded tail, you couldn't help but scuff. For as long as you've been alive your town had been in utter disarray and chaos. Monsters from the woods -what the town's folk called "fae"- attacked the village daily. Stealing jewels, destroying homes, sometimes even swallowing children or sucking the blood of the dormant. There was also the looming threat of the green flames. Blazing emerald fires who couldn't be subdued by neither water nor dirt. They advanced further into the territory of the village by each full cycle of the moon. Leaving behind in their trail, thick impenetrable thorn bushes that had taken the homes of many and the lives of many more.

Awful, dreaded creatures those fae where...

But alas you did not yet know just how cruel they could be.

On another periodic morning, your younger sister jolted you awake, dragging you to the town center before you got a chance to change out of your nightgown.

In the center of the square was short man..no...not a man you noticed his pointed drawn back ears. "Fae" you gasped under your breath. But unlike the monstrous fairies that ravished your town taking on the appearances of trees and woodland creatures, this one resembled a boy of 15. The young-looking male began to speak, his voice was clear like crystals, and to his tone bats began to flock overhead. "Truly dreadful, these fairy folk are" your sister uttered in terror as she buried her face in your side.

"Heed my words, mortals. The young prince of thorns has decided to take a wife. By the setting of the sun a full day from today, two of his guards will come to collect your offering. If you chose to disregard this Wa-- friendly advice, then what is left of your town will be decimated before the end of summer. Your children eaten, wives imprisoned and husbands killed!" An unsteady hush rippled through the crowd. Some hothead youths began to throw rocks at the stranger only for the bats hovering above to shield him from the stones. Mothers hugged their children close begging for the man to "just leave".

"If" the man's voice rose once more like a cadaver emerging from the grave " my young master is pleased with your sacrifice than we shall reward you! Bring good health and prosperity to your otherwise sick and decaying village." His last words melted into the open air before he vanished in a cloud of squealing bats and ebony smoke.

The town's folk erupted in screeches, cursing at their deities while simultaneously praying to any god that would listen.

"Help us!"

"save us!"

"Don't let them take our daughters!"

The screams escalated to the point where you had to cover your ears with your shaking hands. Your eyes scanning each of the villager's faces, a pathetic lot they were, you thought to yourself. Scared by the words of a young magician. In a flash, your heart sped up, adrenaline pumping through your veins, as you marched to the center square where the boy had been mere moments ago. You stood tall, cupping your hands over your mouth.

"Listen well you disquiet, mindless lot!"

All eyes turned to you. Some holding looks of confusion, whilst others harbored glances of hope.

"This fae is lying! No way will they be satisfied with just one measly girl! No matter who we sacrifice to their so-called master, they'll still come after us! They'll still destroy our village! Let's not be stupid! Let's find a way to barricade the city instead of arguing over who to sacrifice!"

For an endless second all was quite. It was like the world had stopped turning, frozen in its place in the universe trying to decide what to do.

Then it happened,

Chants reverberating through the air

"Sacrifice her!" "Sacrifice her!"

"Sacrifice her!" "Sacrifice her!"

"Sacrifice her!"........................

WHAT!

NO!

DID THOSE MORONS NOT LISTEN TO A SINGLE WORD YOU SAID!

The crowd started advancing. Eyes locked on your figure like those of a leopard on its prey.  Their mouths were all a gap, chanting the words "sacrifice" over and over again. From behind the mob, your eyes locked with your sister's. You could practically feel the despair rolling off her figure as she covered her eyes and fell to her knees, her whole body rattling with a sort of distant rage...

A full day....it's funny how time passes all so quickly no matter what you do. Day in and day out nothing changes, pain is still pain, laughter is still laughter. Time just keeps slipping from between your fingers like sand. Even in the direst of times, Time doesn't show mercy, never once does it cease. It just ticks and ticks away until the inevitable moment arrives.

Your sister and aunt -the only two relatives that you hadn't lost to the fae- were in charge of preparing you for your so-called "wedding". Since your town was poor and isolated from other civilizations there wasn't much they could do to enhance your beauty. Smashing some berries to add color to your lips -and fervently ravishing the remains- using some coal to add shade behind your eyes, as well as around them and patting the dust of rose petals against your cheek. By the end, you hardly recognized the person staring back from the mirror. Sure the adjustments were minor but this was the most stunning you'd ever looked. "Is it almost time" your voice quivered, failing to hide the tears that began to fall. "Please don't cry sweetheart, we don't have any more coal to fix your eyes with." Your aunt's tone was monotone almost bordering on heartless. You couldn't really blame her, she'd gotten so used to having her loved ones plucked from her. One more would be no different. Sniffing as to keep the tears at bay, you nodded slowly. Your glossy eyes locked with your aunt's you could see the same fear and exhaustion in her fading irises as the night her son was slaughtered in front of her.

"Just a few reminders" your sister's voice was cheery like the chirping of early morning birds, but her face mimicked that of a kicked puppies. "Remember when the prince...fae...when he..you know...Oh, Lord please tell me he won't" She was shivering again. Her face twisted in horror. You knew what she was thinking, she was imagining you laying in the bed of that...that thing. She was imagining him entering you, kissing up and down your neck. Leaving patches of red skin over smooth flesh, bruises wherever his clawed hands touched you. She was imagining what was no doubt going to happen to you tonight...

the mere thought made bile rise to your throat.

"Darling, just keep saying how much you like it. It's all any man wants to hear." again your aunt or rather her lackluster form of speech was the rope binding you to your sanity.

"Do fae even have...those parts like humans do?" Your sister asked, only to be met with a glare from your aunt. "Stop wasting time on pointless questions! Hurry up and see if this dress fits your sister."

Sure enough, as you were escorted to where the thorn bushes met the village, two men, one standing tall and proud, whilst the other looked like he may topple over from fatigue at any moment, were awaiting you.

The green-haired man let out a haughty laugh, his blazing eyes scanning you from head to toe. "She's hardly worthy of the young master!" His dreadful voice was like the booming of thunder clouds. "It doesn't matter, Malleus-sama needs to be wedded off quickly so he can produce an heir. None of us are getting any younger by standing here debating the "worthiness" of yet another measly human" the silver-haired male's voice was the exact opposite of his comrades, his voice was soft and breathy like light drizzle after a storm.

The green-haired man looked ready to argue once more, but before he could open his mouth, his violet-eyed counterpart waved something thin in the air casing a pathway to open between the hedges.

It was dark between the brambles. The air was thick, stuffy, every breath was a struggle. Although it seemed neither of your traveling buddies minded the discomfort. Did fae even need air to survive?

After what could have been no less than a couple of hours, your small group made it to a large clearing where only a few rays of the sun leaked through the thick smoky clouds. Miss matched flowers in shades of grey littered the rocky barren ground. Maybe at some point, this place had been beautiful, stunning even...but whenever that time had been it was long gone now.

As you ventured farther into this monochrome land of loss and sorrow, the three of you approached a castle. It towered over everything else, grim in all its glory. "Young master Malleus is awaiting you inside..." The green-haired male's voice trailed off as his speech was interrupted by the deafening creaking of the doors parting open. Without another word the two men dragged you inside, pushing you through spiral staircases and long bleak passageways. Until you arrived at a lavish-looking room, a large throne sitting smugly in the front of the room. It's black, spiked appearance was enough to make you gasp in horror, you didn't desire to meet the monster that perched atop that throne. "Don't be so afraid." the silver-haired man whispers, his head is almost resting on your shoulder. "Malleus-sama is kind and fair. He is sure to love you better than any human ever could." you catch a hint of nostalgic sadness in the last part, like a long lost part of the lavender eyed boy's past caught in his throat like a glass shard.

Trumpets roared through the room blaring as two men, one short and fickle whilst the other tall and brooding walked in. "Malleus~" The short one sang as they both stopped in front of you "Say hello to your lovely new wife." the tall man's emerald eyes landed on you. His lips parted in a threatening smile...or maybe it was a smirk? He didn't seem to be too good at displaying emotions. Slowly he descended onto one knee, slipping your hand into his and kissing the top lightly.

"Hello, my darling little wife."

🧡🦁Leona Kingscholar🦁🧡

The After Glow Savanna was an absolute hell to be born in if your family did not belong to some royal inner court class. The endless days spent scavenging for scraps of food, walking miles for a simple glass of water, had become a sort of broken, habit beaten into the residents of the smaller less fortunate districts.

Eventually, you too would follow in your parent's footsteps, working odd jobs around the neighborhood, getting married to some guy, having kids, and giving them the same dreary life your parents had given you. It was simple -miserable- but simple never the less. In an odd way, you found a sort of comfort in how everything was set in stone. How you'd suffer through a few years then die of starvation or some disease in your husband's arms.

But little did you know that the only comfort you had in your horrible life was also going to be swiped from you.

When Ruggie, a dear childhood friend of yours returned from his prestigious school for the winter holidays you were overjoyed! A week with your best friend was the greatest gift you could ask for! But that excitement soon dulled when he announced to the neighborhood what the royal family had planned for the underdeveloped parts of the country.

"They want to demolish the homes and build parks and shopping strips instead"

The people of your tiny community gasped, shock and hopelessness mixing over their dirty, worn out faces. Some older siblings shielded the ears of their younger kin, some mothers hugged their children closer to their chests. "They can't do that to us!" Your voice was like a beacon through the thick fog of confusion. "We can't let them!" You turned to Ruggie who was seated next to you. His blue-grey eyes held a foreign sadness that you had never seen before. He was hiding something...something so grim that he was forced to shove it into the depths of his soul, locking it up and throwing away the key.

"There is a way..."

For such a hopeful phrase, Ruggie's tone harbored no happiness. You could practically see the tears that were clouding his beautiful eyes. "Tell us" someone from the crowd demanded, others soon joined in with their own chants. For a long moment, Ruggie said nothing, the shouts of despair falling on deaf ears.

"If.." his voice trailed off, as his gaze grew distant.

"If someone from the neighborhood were to marry the second prince..." Gasps of fear filled the air. Even the mere mention of the second prince's name was enough to send chills down people's spins.

"Then they could, as the newly appointed  princess, convince the royal family and counsel to scrap this monstrous plan." No one uttered another word. No one was brave enough to face the man who could destroy anything with a simple touch.

But the sake of these people, people who had nothing but their families and a muddy roof over their head was on the line.

Do something, a tiny voice in your head screamed, save them, it begged. You shifted your head so to get a glimpse of Ruggie's face. "I-" you began but were cut off before you could even finish.

"I know you would say that."

His voice broke over every syllable. He knew you would give up your depressing nostalgia for the sake of others. Life in the castle would be hell, being married to that monster would be something worst than the dwellings of the devil.

It was a speedy arrangement, so fast that your head didn't have time to process anything. In the end, it almost seemed like the royal family was desperate to find a spouse for their youngest son.

Just marry him! Was what all the absentee looks told you.

Early that morning, Ruggie had dragged you to the castle, all tears, and grumbles. The palace guards let him in with no restrain, it almost felt like he'd been here before. Your childhood friend led you to a room in the further corner of a grand hall. He told you to stay outside as he went in to chat with the prince. Moments later the newly appointed king and queen came to usher you into a privet room and discuss the marriage. Not an hour later your fate had been sealed, you'd be married off to prince Leona tomorrow at sunrise. For "historical purposes" your neighborhood would be preserved and even taken care of. 'Historical purposes' you thought 'more the like a bribe to get you to marry this beast.

that night you were dragged this way and that by the queen herself. Taken for fitting after fitting. Trying on hundreds of wedding dresses who's prices could feed every mouth in your neighborhood for months! "Leona isn't very classy" the queen sighed in disappear. "He would probably prefer you to be in something laxer, shorter if you will" the tailors ran around trying to find something that would fit her vague description, as you stood facing her royal highness.

"What's he like?" you asked soullessly

"Spoiled, although not as heartless as the rumors make him out to be"  She didn't seem to like giving straight answers

"will he harm me? It was an honest question, although the lack of thinking it took before the queen replied made your heart skipped a beat.

"Quite possibly, he is rather...aggressive at times. Just don't let his degrading comments get to you. He's not used to being around people"

The more she described the second-born prince the more it seemed she was actually speaking of some feral dog that had raised in isolation.

Oh, how doomed you were.

The wedding was even faster than the preparation. Ruggie walked you down an aisle of flowers, walking over the petals, killing them once and for all, ending their pointless existence. You stood by your self at the altar awaiting your husband to be. It took a rather long time before the doors were flung open and the king waltzed in carrying his struggling brother under his arm. "No need to worry, Leona was taking one of his catnaps again and forgot about today's events" the king announced, in what could only be described as a mock lively tone.

How on earth does someone forget their wedding! This prince really wasn't a typical human...heck you where beginning to think that the feral dog would have made a better groom.

snap, snap

A few magazine pictures here, a couple of family photos there...

Everything was so bright and loud...

right before you and the second prince were thrown into the darkness of his room. In the obscurity, you could ONLY make out the glowing of his emerald eyes.

You could feel him shifting closer, all the while you took shaking steps backwards. " I thought wives were supposed to leap into the arms of their husbands? Tell me little herbivore do I frighten you?"

Your voice refused to leave your throat, too afraid to come into contact with the prince.

"What's the matter? Did they not teach you to speak in on the streets you grew up on. Poor thing~"

Leona pounced across the room, tackling you to the ground. His sheer weight pinning you to the carpeted floor. The sound of fabric tearing echoed through the silence.

How careless these royal were was the only intelligible thought that came to your frenzied brain.

Goosebumps littered your skin as Leona's claws cut into your flesh. His lips kissed over each wound as he made his way up to your cherry painted lips.

"You look so cute, you know, like a little mouse about to get devoured by a starving lion."

💙💀Idia Shroud💀💙

The rhythm of his heartbeat was slowing down, it felt like the patter of ants atop one's flesh. He was dying...this was an irreversible fact. The love of your life was dying and there was nothing you could do but sit idly by and watch the life fade from his pale bruised face. Your thumb ran over his knuckles in robotic-like strokes. Hours had passed, you'd shed all the tears that you had. He was gone...that was all there was to it.

For a hopeless second, you flicked your eyes to the open window on the opposite side of the room, There was never any sun on the island of lamination but regardless today seemed brighter than any other day. "How cruel" you muttered in a deadpan voice. Outside something...or better yet...someone was running through the fields, chasing what looked like a butterfly. The young child had blazing blue hair a symbol of the Shroud family...

THE SHROUD FAMILY

Your breath hitch in your lungs, your heart began to pound furiously in your chest. They could help you though hopefully. There family where distant relatives of the god of the underworld and a few years back -to your regulation- the hair of the family had been able to semi revive his younger brother. If he was able to bring back a child from the dead than surly they would have no problem returning your lost lover to you.

Your eyes waltz over his dormant face one last time before you got up and ran for the door.

"This is all for you my love, all of this is for you"

The Shroud family mansion was located at the top of one of the many hills that plagued the island. It was a dark grisly building that resembled the castles from old tales, where monsters laid dormant. Rumors spiraled around the rural civilization, some saying that the family was cursed by the lord of the dead, whilst others claimed that the shroud family were the long lost descendants of the lord of the dead and the maiden of spring. The curse had been placed on the family by the temperamental mother of the maiden of spring, anathematizing the family to be plagued with death and disappear for the rest of eternity.

Regardless of what their misfortune was, they may very well be the last people on earth who could help you. Surely if the family had brought back their youngest than they could bring back your lover!

You knuckles tapped furiously at the old metal doors of the frightful residence. The rhythm was unkept, unsteady, it's mere sound radiated urgency.

"PLEASE HELP ME"

Your throat burned as you screamed out those three lousy words.

After what felt like forever, the doors cracked open, revealing a tall man obscured by the shadows. Any light that touched the interior of the house seemed to die acidity, making peering inside nearly impossible.

"What business do you have?" The man's voice was croaky as if his vocal cords hadn't been used in years. For a split second, you closed your eyes, trying to organize the thoughts in your head. "My...my...h-hus...lover, my lover is d-dead...o-or rather he is dying....probably fully gone by now..." despite the mess of stuttered letters and mixed-up words, the man seemed to understand your situation. With a long sigh, he pulled you into the somber house.

Fingers still wrapped tightly around your wrist he pulled you around, guiding you through the darkness until you reached a large room lit only by the mysterious blue flames of the fireplace. Sitting by the warmth was a...well it was hard to tell, her face -despite it displaying every bone of her visage coupled with dark sunken eyes- resembled that of a woman no older than thirty, whilst her body resembled a decaying skeleton. What was she? Was she the lady of the residence or yet another monster this bizarre family had created.

"My, love" the man began to speak, his voice was somehow cleared like it had been given some sort of jolt. "This young lady needs Idia's help, she wants to bring back her lover from the dead."

The woman said nothing, her eyes staring ahead, burning a hole in the wall right by your head. "What will she give him in return" despite her "deteriorating" appearance her voice was like soft silk on one's skin, melodious and fair.

"Why herself!" This time the man's voice boomed across the house, echoing through the hallways and falling on you like a cave in.

"M-myself! What the hell do you mean!"

"It sounds fair" the women agreed "my darling sweet son saves your lover and instead you agree to marry him! Oh how wonderful, just like in the tales about grandfather Hades!"

She seemed too thrilled about this, her snow-white eyes gleaming with a sort of delusional passion.

"Idia! Idia honey! Come down your father has a surprise for you!"

The hollow sound of footsteps soon filled the quiet air. Followed by another soft blue glow.

Was there no normal fire in this house?

But it wasn't fire, not exactly. When your eyes fell on the heir of the Shroud family, you suddenly felt a nervous wave crash over you. There was something -even more- unsettling about him, he looked nothing like his charming little brother. For one his hair wasn't...well hair! Sure you'd expect a small batch of blazes heading upwards but this was something else entirely! It resembled a large bonfire that floated towards the ground, rouge sparks falling in every which direction, sizzling and then dying abandoned on the floor. And his eyes, Miosis like pupils floating around in a pool of lemon yellow.

But all the physical appearances aside, the most unsettling thing about him was the gloomy aura that leaked off him, suffocating anyone in his presence. Nervously you took a step back only to be yanked forward again by the taller man.

"Idia baby!" His mother ran over to him, cradling his hands in hers "This cute young lady has agreed to marry you if you can save her lover, just like in that old tale about your great grandfather! Oh, my this is all so romantic!"

It seemed like no one here understood that you were in love WITH SOMEONE ELSE! Or maybe they did and chose to disregard it. Instead, using the bits they retained as kindling to feed their raw excitement. You shifted your gaze back to Idia's face. To your utter terror, he was...smiling? Could that...look...even be called a smile? It seemed more like the way a shark would bare its teeth at a defenseless seal! Oh, gods please don't let this...thing...be your future husband!

"It should be easy enough," His golden gaze landed on you "W-when did...did he die?" it took a few moments before you register that he was talking to you or technically asking you something. "A...A  few..." your voice cracked, tears streaming down your eyes.

"So recently...okay that shouldn't be a p-problem." He turned on his heels and walked back into the seclusion of the halls "I'll grab some things and meet you by the front door"

A few things ended up being a pile of wires and bolts. Something that looked like a light blue ball of energy and so many tools whose names seemed to go over your head.

Idia was kneeling by your lover's bed, pulling apart the skin and fusing metal in its place. Your darling's chest was cracked open, his ribs poking out towards the sky as if praying for life from the lord of the sky. Every once in awhile Idia would pull out a long tool with smoke floating from the top. He'd lay it on an organ watching as the tissue fiber sizzled away under the heat. He would then tie wires and small circular batteries inside.

"His heart stopped working, I'm guessing from some sort of shock"

You just hummed in response, too caught up in how the man you loved was beginning to look like a modern-day Frankenstein rather than a human being.

The sun had long since faded when Idia finally got up from his spot. His bones cracked and screeched at the sudden change, his muscles giving out halfway leaving him to rely on the wall for support to stand. Your lover's chest had been sewn back and covered with a silver piece of metal. His neck was wrapped in the same sort of alloy. His left arm had been cut open so Idia could shove the energy ball inside than cover it, leaving a small enough gap for wires that stretched from his chest to weld into the ball.

"He just needs a boost" Idia murmured that shark-like grin overtaking his pale face once more. From the side table, he plucked up to jumper cables and clipped them on either side of his neck. Jolts and crackles filled the room and sparks flew in every direction, the once-dead body shuffled around, arms and legs moving at random. You shrieked and duck behind Idia.

Only then did he pry the clips from his neck.

Nothing

for too long nothing happened... then there was a slight wiggle in one finger, then another. His eyes slowly began to prey open, looking over his surroundings. The moment his confused gaze feel onto you. Idia turned you around to face him, clumsily smashing his blue chapped lips onto yours.

From the corner of his eyes, Idia watched as the other man began to understand what was happening...even if he was just resurrected there was still agony at the sight of his lover kissing another...

Good! That should show him who you belonged to now!

[iceeckos12]

time travel snippet

little time travel au oneshot. season 5 jon travels back in time to season 1. from the perspectives of tim, martin, and sasha. 3.5k.

i dont think i need to tag anything, but please let me know otherwise.

Tim wakes up that morning, and it’s just like any other day.

Well—no, okay, that’s a bit misleading. Today is his first day working as an archival assistant, so he’s one part nervous, one part that breathless, exhilarated feeling you only get when you’re about to do something unfamiliar that may or may not redefine your life for the foreseeable future. When he says “it’s just like any other day”, he means that he wakes up, and he’s a normal person doing normal people things like eating a healthy breakfast and going to work.

(So, no. In short, he doesn’t realize that today is the day when It happens, that big, life-changing event that you think will Never Happen To You.)

He gets out of bed, stumbles into the bathroom. Washes his face of whatever residue that’d built up during the night, tries to scrape away the evidence of his nightmares, smiles big and bright at the mirror to see how successful his efforts were. He’s betrayed by the traitorous bags beneath his eyes, but that’s okay. Sasha taught him how to wield concealer as a shield whenever his past wore down his armor.

He shoots twin finger guns into his reflection, making soft pew, pew! noises that are almost too-loud in the hush of the bathroom. Then he turns on his heel and walks away, sauntering and humming along with the chorus of Dolly Parton’s 9 to 5.

He gets to the Institute twenty minutes before he’s supposed to—not because he’s trying to impress his boss or whatever (he and Jon have known each other long enough that there’s no point). It’s just, Jon will probably want to make some sort of game-plan before the actual workday starts. 

The poor man had been relieved to an almost comical degree when Tim had said yes, I’ll come with you to the Archives. It’s painfully obvious how out-of-his-depth Jon is with the whole “Head Archivist” thing. Tim’s honestly baffled as to why Elias had singled him out for the position in the first place, considering his lack of qualifications.

But, whatever. It’s fine! Tim and Sasha will be there to help him—although the third assistant is a bit of a problem, considering that they know absolutely nothing about him. There’s no guarantee that this Martin Blackwood won’t report inadequacies or mistakes back to Elias. If that’s the case, Tim and Sasha will have to be Jon’s safety net, which is partially why Tim is hoping to talk to Jon before anyone else gets there.

He also wants to talk to Jon because he just knows the man is probably working himself up over all of this. Maybe reassurances won’t do away with the source of anxiety entirely, but at least it’ll remind Jon that he’s not alone, and that he can count on Tim and Sasha.

As expected, when Tim gets there he can see a sliver of light pouring out from the cracked door of the Head Archivist’s office. He selects a desk and sets his bag on top of it, noting a set of strange gouges in the fake wood with a raised eyebrow, and then an internal shrug. The Institute issued laptop is near the far edge of his desk, and his collection of pictures are strategically placed so that he can see them all clearly.

His eyes linger over the image of him, his mother, and his brother. Their smiles are almost perfect replicas of each other, like someone took a mold of one of their faces and recreated it twice over.

Briefly, he closes his eyes. Then he shakes himself, releases a slow, steadying breath, and goes to check on Jon.

Tim’s not sure what he’s expecting to see when he goes into Jon’s office.

(That’s misleading too, though. He’s not sure if Jon will be visibly calm or upset, if he’ll be on his laptop, if he’ll be picking at the skin around his fingernails, as he so often does when he’s stressed. He is expecting Jon as he is and always has been—a twenty-some year old going on sixty, who wraps his gruff, grumpy demeanor about himself to protect the soft, vulnerable core he likes to pretend doesn’t exist.)

He comes up to the door, and the soft rectangle of light that emanates from beneath the door paints the tips of his shoes gold. “Jon?” he calls softly, rapping his knuckles against the frame. There’s a soft rustling noise—papers maybe? but no audible response, so he shrugs and pushes the door open. “I’m coming in.”

Tim steps inside, a quip instinctively readying itself on his tongue—but then his gaze lands on Jon, and he freezes dead in his tracks.

Even years later, he still vividly, viscerally remembers the moment he saw Danny standing on the stage underneath the Royal Opera House, the way he’d looked...not quite right. The wrongness had been subtle, so much so that it had been unnoticeable upon first glance, upon second glance. The longer Tim had looked though, the more obvious it had become, exposing all the little faults in that almost-perfect recreation of his brother.

Looking at Jon now, it’s the first and only thing he can think of. Because—yes, there’s the long, silver-streaked black hair, there’s the rich brown eyes, there’s the pair of spectacles that make him look far older than he actually is. But that’s where the similarities between the Jon he knows and this Jon end.

Jon’s always been a small man, but his feigned haughtiness makes him seem much bigger than he actually is. Except—except this Jon looks smaller somehow, his shoulders curved protectively inward, like he’s trying to present less of a target. And there’s something about his face, too—his expression is too sharp, too much—

But the worst of it is his eyes. There’s something very wrong with his eyes.

Who the fuck are you, and what have you done with Jon? He doesn’t say it out loud though, just keeps staring at Jon, a heady mix of terror and horror making any sort of reaction impossible.

After a moment Jon’s lips thin, contorted by some distant cousin of displeasure, and he rises to his feet. Tim stumbles instinctively backward, his breath escaping him in a sharp gasp that’s immediately swallowed up by the apathetic stacks of books and papers surrounding them. He’s struck by the fact that if he dies here, it’s unlikely anyone will notice; he’ll become just another set of marks gouged into the desk, willed away with an uneasy shrug.

Jon freezes, lips parting subtly, as though he were about to speak. Tim feels his breath catch in his chest, unable to shake himself out of the clouded stupor his mind has fallen into.

In the end, Jon says nothing. Just releases a long, slow breath of air and sits back down, pushing his chair close to his desk. The motion looks heavy, tired, as though it takes far more energy than it should.

“You—you should go,” Jon rasps, and there’s something off about his voice too, though Tim can’t put his finger on why. He can’t cobble together enough of a train of thought to make sense of any of this, all he can think of is that clown ripping Danny apart—

He stumbles out of Jon’s office, sits down at his desk. Stares down at the cheap, fake wood, at the gouges that have marred the otherwise pristine surface. Puts his head in his hands, and tries to will his heart to stop pounding in his chest.

-0-

Martin’s heard things about Jonathan Sims.

He’s not usually the type to pay attention or encourage gossip, as the vivid memories of his classmates tittering cruelly whenever he walked by still leaves a sour taste in his mouth.The problem with the Institute is that the employees get bored pretty easily. Though most would consider academic research into the esoteric and the paranormal to be fairly interesting, it’s still academic research. And the subject content can get to be a bit...repetitive. There’s only so many gruesome statements you can read without thinking, oh great, more meat.

So the employees gossip a lot, and while Martin usually tries to keep his head down and avoid it, it’s difficult not to overhear some things. And from what little he’s heard, he’s...a bit concerned. Rude and unsociable has frequently been mentioned, as have arrogant and unnecessarily finicky, and worst of all, a bit of a stuck-up know-it-all.

Normally he tries not to put too much stock in office gossip—he’s well aware that the grapevine tends to exaggerate one’s most undesirable traits—but if any of it is true, then he might just be in trouble. It was hard enough being a library employee when his boss wasn’t even paying attention most of the time. If Jon is as exacting as they say, it might be enough to expose the fact that Martin has no idea what the fuck he’s doing. And if that happens, then he might get fired, and he can’t get fired, he needs this job, he can barely keep up with his mum’s medical bills as it is—

Calm down, Martin tells himself firmly, pressing his hand against his sternum, as though that will be enough to quell the rising panic. It’s only your first day. Maybe he’s nice, and we’ll actually be good friends.

(With his luck? Yeah, right.)

The Institute looms in the distance, growing closer with every terrified, grudging footstep. A shiver runs up his spine at the sight of its imposing presence, a dark, ugly blot of a building against the backdrop of the iron grey clouds.

If there’s one thing he’s good at though, it’s keeping his head down and muddling through until he’s able to figure out what is actually expected of him. He can twist and fold himself into whatever role they need him to fill, as he has done so many times in the past. Not easily perhaps, but he has always managed. The alternative is untenable, after all.

So he takes a deep breath, and shoves his panic down as deep as possible. Lifts his head and forces a smile onto his face, like a good attitude will be enough to protect him from his boss’s wrath.

He could really do with a cup of tea.

Martin trudges down the stairs, giving the blank walls, the old-fashioned carpet, a dubious look as he does. The Archives themselves are as he remembers it—he’s been down here a couple of times when Gertrude made a request for something specific, but—

He pauses when he notices a man sitting at one of the desks, his face buried in his hands. His shoulders aren’t shaking and his breathing is even, so Martin doesn’t think that he’s crying? He’s just….sitting there, his stillness so perfect it’s almost inhuman.

“Hello?” Martin calls softly, cautiously, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet.

The man looks up, revealing a very handsome face and brown eyes so dark they may as well be black. His cheeks are dry but his eyes are bright and a little wild, and his mouth is pressed into a small, tight line. He doesn’t speak, just keeps watching, blinking dazedly in Martin’s direction. Martin gets the feeling that this person isn’t entirely there at the moment, like a house in which every room is lit, but there are no people inside.

He swallows and shifts nervously back and forth, trying to decide whether or not to call for some backup. Eventually he sets his bag on the floor and shuffles a bit closer. “Um—are you—is everything okay?”

The man blinks rapidly, some semblance of awareness creeping back into his gaze. He shakes his head slowly, pushes his short, gelled hair back from his head. His hands are trembling. “I’m...yeah, I’m fine. It’s—everything’s, it’s…”

But then his gaze lands on something over Martin’s shoulder, and all the color drains out of his face, his mouth shutting with a painful sounding click. Martin quickly spins around, searching for whatever could’ve scared him so much—

There’s someone standing in the doorway of Gertrude’s office.

There are so many things that one normally takes in upon first meeting another person: their hair, their skin color, all the little wrinkles and marks that give you the briefest insight into their life. Martin looks at posture first, tends to check if a person is intentionally looming, or if they’re making themself smaller.

But all Martin can see are the eyes.

There’s—two of them he thinks, but two is such an arbitrary number when the thing you’re applying it to doesn’t ascribe to human values (he’s not sure how he knows that—how does he know that—?). That horrible, terrible gaze is an unerring arrow, all-encompassing, all-consuming, piercing the deepest corners of his mind. It hurts in some distant, nebulous way he’s not even sure he comprehends—

Then he blinks, and the sheer terror, that feeling of the horrible, violating exposure of everything that he is, abruptly snuffs out. What’s left is just a person, wispy and small, his slight frame fairly drowning in a chunky, cable-knit jumper. He’s leaning against his doorframe, his eyes—two big brown ones, rich and unfathomably sad and more than that, human—drinking Martin in, his lips parted in a soundless gasp.

“Um—” Martin glances over his shoulder, and almost leaps out of his skin when a land falls heavily on his shoulder. The man who’d been sitting in the chair is standing just behind him, a strained but polite smile on his face.

“Hi Jon,” the man says, an undercurrent of a warning in his voice.

Martin glances between the two, his confusion growing with every passing moment. This is not what he was expecting when he first came into work today, and the uncertainty makes him feel strange and off-kilter.

The person in the door swallows once, twice, then straightens, one hand still gripping the doorframe like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. When he speaks, his voice is soft, tentative, a little ragged around the edges. “Tim. It’s, um...it’s good to see you.”

“Martin Blackwood, was it?” Tim continues, injecting a bit of cheer into his voice. It takes Martin a moment to realize that he’s being addressed, and he shoots Jon—this is Jonathan Sims?—an uncertain look before nodding slowly. “We’re happy to have you on the team.”

“O-Oh?” Martin squeaks, then grits his teeth and bodily forces his voice back into its normal range. “I’m—um, I’m happy to be here?”

“Good,” Tim says through a grin that looks more like a grimace, giving Martin’s shoulder a friendly pat. The look he shoots Jon is a dark, mistrustful thing. The look Jon gives him back is fragile, vulnerable, that winds the tension in Tim’s shoulders so tight it has to be painful.

Jon’s gaze flickers to Martin, just for a second—and then he disappears into his office, leaving the door cracked behind him.

Tim and Martin stand there for a second, staring at the door. Tim’s still tense as a bowstring, and his grip on Martin’s shoulder is almost uncomfortable. The air in the Archives feels stuffy and too warm, and there’s a strange prickling sensation on the back of Martin’s neck, like he’s being subjected to close scrutiny.

Then Tim sighs and lets go of Martin’s shoulder, a little of the tension bleeding out of him, and without it he looks small, deflated. He goes back to his desk and sits down, booting up his laptop without a word of explanation to Martin.

Martin stares at the back of Tim’s head for a moment, a number of questions clamoring around in his brain—what the fuck was that? What’s wrong with Jon? Why are you so obviously suspicious of him?—but the words won’t come. Breaking the silence feels...sacrilegious, somehow. Every breath of air sticks against the back of his throat.

In the end, he doesn’t say anything either, just sits at his desk and takes out his Institute-issued laptop. Stares blankly at the screen as the machine slowly, laboriously, comes to life.

-0-

Sasha’s not entirely sure how to interpret the tense atmosphere that has descended over the Archives.

The first day she’d arrived a couple of minutes before she was supposed to, prepared to follow Jon’s direction and help him adjust as best she could. (Her feelings about Jon’s promotion...didn’t matter. She didn’t like it, but it wasn’t his fault that Elias was an old-fashioned misogynist.)

But when she’d come down the stairs, Tim and the assistant she didn’t know, Martin, had been seated quietly at their desks. They’d both had the same distant, shell-shocked look on their faces, like they’d received some shattering, horrible news. Sasha had sent Tim a confused look, but he either hadn’t noticed it, or hadn’t wanted to explain.

She hadn’t even seen Jon that first day, just received a polite email asking her to start organizing the statements according to the system which he’d devised.

It’s been almost three days, and nothing has changed. Oh sure, they’ve all started organizing the statements as directed. Tim cracks jokes, Martin tiptoes around them and makes copious amounts of tea. That strange tension that makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up, like the world is holding its breath in anticipation, hasn’t faded though. And while she doesn’t know Martin all that well, she knows that something’s still up with Tim. He seems more subdued than usual, keeps sending uncomfortable looks in the direction of Jon’s office—

—which hasn’t been open since that first day. She hasn’t seen Jon at all either, no matter how early she arrives or how late she stays. The only proof she has that he’s still alive is the polite email she periodically receives, detailing some specific task that he wants for them to do.

Even then, his emails are...odd. She’s not sure how she can tell, but they feel...awkward? Stilted? Like he’s only half-aware of what he’s typing, or like he’s only asking them to do things because he feels like he should, not because he has any actual goal in mind.

Normally she’d be frustrated by this, would complain bitterly to Tim about Elias passing over her for someone who obviously doesn’t properly appreciate the position they’ve been given—except that she knows Jon. He’d made a point to explain the situation to her himself, an apologetic twist tucked into the corner of his mouth. More than that, he’d asked her to follow him to the archives, saying that he wanted the two people he trusted most, her and Tim, to come with him.

He respects her too much not to take this job seriously.

The strangeness of the archives is only emphasized by Jon’s complete and utter lack of presence within it, but she doesn’t—she doesn’t buy that. She doesn’t believe that he’d just suddenly decide not to do the job he’d been so anxious to excel at. 

More damning than anything is Tim’s complete, utter silence regarding Jon’s strange behavior, but whatever he knows about it, he isn’t saying anything. Martin is willing to talk, but he seems to be as lost as she is.

“I—that first day, Jon…” Martin shrugs, shooting a nervous glance toward the door leading to the archives. He’s been spending a lot of time hovering in the break room making tea, not that she can blame him. “He—I mean obviously I don’t know him very well, but he seemed...upset?”

“Upset,” Sasha repeats dubiously.

Martin lets out an exhausted sigh and turns away, waving a dismissive hand. “Look, I’m not entirely sure how to explain it. He just—okay, so, bear with me for a second, but he reminded me of this guy who used to live in my neighborhood.”

Sasha backs off, folding her arms and leaning against the counter. “Okay?”

“There was this little old couple that used to live in my neighborhood. They were—they were really sweet! The husband used to give candy to us younger kids. But um—sometimes you’d see him sitting in the rocking chair on his porch, and it was like...he wasn’t entirely there? Like, he’d just sit there for hours, rocking and staring at nothing. That’s—that’s what Jon’s expression reminded me of.”

Martin gets more animated the more he talks, Sasha notes; his hands move in broad, sweeping gestures, his expression twisting into an expression of extreme concentration. The moment he finishes he deflates again, tucking his hands into his armpits self-consciously, a hedgehog curling protectively in on itself.

“So, yeah,” he finishes eloquently.

“Huh,” Sasha says thoughtfully.

She gets back to her desk. Looks over at Tim, who’s studiously working through a box of statements, his mouth set in a neutral, concentrated frown. Takes a deep breath, letting the taste of dust and old papers sit heavy on her tongue.

Then she opens her laptop and starts looking through the catalog of cursed items that are currently being held in Artifact Storage.

(She doesn’t think that she’ll find anything, but—but just in case.)

-0-

They all get the call the next Monday morning: Elias Bouchard was found dead in his office.

[infernal-fire]

Long Forgotten

I am choosing to not use warnings. Do not read if you are uncomfortable with themes of infidelity, angst, swearing and sexual innuendos. 

Summary: Your Steve isn’t yours anymore and you’re beginning to understand why. 

Word Count: 3.5k

Pairings: Steve x reader and a surprise appearance ;)

Disclaimer: this is set right after Endgame

A/N: this story was inspired by @nsfwsebbie’s fic please don’t take him (even though you can). it was so damn amazing. i thought of how the situation would go under different circumstances, and added a more strong willed reader into the mix  :)

i tried to proofread but im sort of posting in a rush so all mistakes are my own!

(This GIF does not belong to me)

Your head was nestled in the crook of Steve’s neck and his arms were cradling your tired form. Dried tears left your face feeling dry and your up do from the funeral was now tousled. Steve let out a heavy sigh and held you a little tighter. 

You could fall asleep if it weren’t for the looming stress of returning the stones so you decided to bide your time by focusing on the super soldier’s unnaturally slow heartbeat. 

“We should go, sweetheart. They’re waiting for me.” his voice broke the placid silence that had enveloped the room. 

You silently got off the bed and Steve’s hand nudged yours, stopping you from reaching the door. 

He slowly pulled you towards him and you met him halfway, face-to-face.

“I know things aren’t great right now. But we’ll get through this,” he spoke lowly as his large hands cupped your face. They felt rough against your supple skin, but his touch was as tender as ever.

You stared into his eyes for a moment before speaking. "I’ll come with you,” you offered.

“No,” he affirmed. His tone was firm yet a touch of softness was reserved in there somewhere, just for you.

“I love you Y/N. I’ll love you no matter what,” he said as he pulled your head into his chest and engulfed your body into his. 

//

You reached the new, mini version of the previously destroyed time travel contraption Tony made. Sam, Bucky and Professor Hulk were engaging in light conversation that clearly, none of them were interested in. You look up at Steve, who was as tense as ever, clutching your hand like a vice. He let go and glanced back at you before joining Sam. 

You knew deep down that Steve would never be the same anymore. Hell, after the Battle of Wakanda, Steve almost ended the relationship because the Avengers lost.

But the Avengers won this time, and things should feel different. So why did it feel like he was leaving forever? 

You recalled the very short conversation you had with him about Tony’s snap.

 “I should have snapped,” he sobbed. 

“You’ve always been selfless your whole life. This was Tony’s time to be selfless, and you don’t get to take that away from him.” You hugged him and cried with him. 

There was nothing else to be said.

How much you wished no one had to die. 

He stood on the platform and nodded at Bruce before locking eyes with you.

Apologetic. He looked apologetic. 

At the time, you thought he just looked sad. You assumed it was residual sadness from the funeral but looking back, you realized he looked apologetic for what he was about to do. 

Rebuilding your relationship wasn’t easy. Tony and Nat’s death and the trauma of the battle were overshadowing both of your feelings. You salvaged what you could and life returned to a “normal” that never existed. 

Being an Avenger means your living costs are covered by Tony, basically compensating for the missions. Only there weren’t any missions anymore. You were grateful but it meant that you had a lot of time on your hands. 

You took up a job as a waitress and Steve continued running sessions at the VA with Sam. It was humbling to be serving people at a diner after fighting alongside some of Earth’s mightiest heroes. But you needed it. And slowly but steadily, happiness crept its way into the tower. 

You didn’t see Steve around anymore though. You weren’t sure if you were even together anymore, aside from the forehead kisses and lingering glances.

You and Bucky set the table while you heard Sam and Steve banter over who gets to choose the movie today. Bucky chuckled and called them to eat.

There was relentless teasing, jokes being tossed around and big smiles everywhere.

“The nurse had poked him 2 times at this point and there was no blood coming out of him.” Sam laughed. 

“So she asks me if we can do the other arm.” Bucky snorted through breaths of amusement. 

“This guy pulls up his sleeve and the girl faints.” Sam howled as everyone doubled over in laughter. 

You wiped a tear from your eye and you look over at Steve who was laughing as well. It had been a long time since you’ve seen him so happy. 

Sure, he’d been distant. He hadn’t touched you since he came back. It had been 2 months though, and you wondered if you should try again tonight. You put a hand over Steve’s and he snapped his head to you. He gave you a small smile before slipping his hand out from under yours and picking up a napkin.

He needed the napkin, you told yourself. 

You went up to change into something that he might find more appealing. You were torn between the red lace set or the black corset. You settled for the classic red lace and tied on a robe before heading downstairs to tease him a little. 

“You’re going to tell her before you go right?” You heard Sam’s voice and broke your stride to the kitchen. 

“She won’t be happy.” You swore it was Steve’s voice but it was a little too quiet to be sure. You silently padded toward the kitchen, standing right outside the entrance to hear better.

“Of course she won’t be happy. You went back to be with a girl from 70 years ago and spent 4 months with her. You sort of cheated on her Steve.” Bucky’s voice quipped at Steve. 

You couldn’t be hearing right. Steve went back and got together with Peggy?

“It’s not sort of cheating, he almost got married to her,” Sam remarked in rebuttal. 

He almost got married to her. 

He almost got married to her. 

He almost got married to her.

There was so much information to process. Your shoulder sagged with the weight of the news and you cupped your mouth before anyone could hear your sob. 

“But I came back.” Steve countered. 

“Do you love her?” Bucky lowered his voice and inquired. 

“I don’t know anymore.” 

Your chest heaved and eyes burned. You wanted to gasp for air but you knew if you breathed, you would let out the anguish building in your stomach. 

Your back hit the wall and you slid down, not caring if he hears anymore. 

In moments, Steve, Bucky and Sam appear beside you with startled faces. 

You didn’t look at them as you got up and paced to your room. You thought you heard Steve’s voice calling after you but your thoughts pounded and clawed at the insides of your head. You couldn’t be sure and you weren’t going to turn back now. 

He didn’t run after you. You had predicted that he didn’t want to deal with your hysterical crying which surely could be heard past your room walls. When you considered it, this new Steve was actually quite predictable; you knew he wouldn’t bother bringing it up to you until you brought it up yourself. Because he was a coward like that, you decided. All of his actions spoke for themself and the one true motive behind his cheating is cowardice. You don’t know if you would have been okay with him going back to Peggy, but if he talked about it, things not have ended the way they did. 

After 2 days of not leaving your room, you knew that there was a better way to handle this. It wasn’t you who should be embarrassed; instead of sulking, you marched to his room with newfound determination. 

You threw open his door that he didn’t even bother locking. Steve was mid-speech with someone on the phone, seemingly a conversation that wasn’t going his way. He seemed tense, his muscles protruding from the tight white t-shirt pulled over him. 

Your jaw ticked as you shifted your weight onto one foot and rested on the doorframe, waiting for him to end the call. 

“I’m sorry to cut this short. We have a lot to talk about but it’ll have to happen in-person.” he concluded the phone call and sat on the bed with his head in his arms. 

“Seems like you planned it all.” you commented, trying to sound like you didn’t care. In reality, the wound was still very fresh. Even though a part of you had known that the relationship was over for some time now, you were only coming to terms with it now. 

“I wanted to tell you before I left, but you were just so upset and I couldn’t …” he trailed off. 

“All of a sudden you care about me? And now this is somehow my fault that you were too chicken to tell me,” you retorted, unimpressed with his answer.

“I have always cared about you and always will.” He got up and walked towards you. He cupped your face but you pushed his hand off, glaring up at him. 

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I admit I could’ve handled everything lot better but Y/N. When you told me Tony’s snap was his moment of selflessness, I realized that all I’ve ever done is be selfless. And I don’t regret any of it. But it was time I chose to do something for myself. Then I remembered Peggy and the life I left behind and I just knew this world would be okay without me so I chose to be selfish. I chose to be selfish, Y/n, and I don’t regret that either.” 

You were crying now, and Steve reached to wipe it off, but you smacked his hand. 

“You used to choose me. You woke up everyday and chose us. The day you decided you didn’t want this anymore, you decided you would just go ‘fuck all’ and cheat on me? You couldn’t have ended it like a normal person?” you questioned through your tears. Your vision was foggy but you kept wiping your eyes, trying not let him see your tears.

He sighed and let a few moments stretch on before he answered.  

“We both know that this relationship was over a long time ago Y/N.”

You noted his use of your name and not the usual pet name ‘sweetheart’ or ‘love’. It saddened you even more to think that he doesn’t associate those words with you anymore. 

“You’re a fucking bastard Rogers. You are the biggest coward I have ever met in my life. You may be the Captain America, but you are the biggest wimp in real life.” You could tell he was fuming because of your comment but you continued your spiel. 

“I tried everything to make this work. The moment that the thought of cheating crossed your mind, you should have broken my heart. Because all you did now was rip it out and stomp on it before spitting on the what’s left-”

“I can’t believe you’re standing here accusing me of not trying to make this work. You know what Y/N? I fucking left Peggy because I thought about you and thought I could make this work. And then I came back and remembered all the reasons why this wouldn’t work and now I regret it. I wish I could go back to Peggy.”

“Go fuck yourself Rogers,” you muttered and turned to leave. “Actually, go fuck Peggy’s skeleton Steve. I curse you with every cell in my body. I hope you never get to see her again. I know you’re trying to go back,” you added before wiping you final tear, once and for all. There was no way you were going to shed another tear on this asshole. 

Except, it wasn’t that simple. You did cry over it more, but if there’s anything you did right, it was making sure he never saw your tears. 

You also found that post-break up glow up’s were a real thing. The lack of missions means you didn’t need to see Steve unless you chose to be in the same space as him. So you chose to make new friends and bring new light into your life. There was no dread clouding your judgment because for once, there was no impending threat on the future of Earth. 

You cut your hair, you changed up your wardrobe and got as fit as you’ve ever been. Your friends made frequent stops at the Tower which eventually turned into dragging you into their bar hopping.

On the other hand, Steve was doing everything he could to go back to Peggy, just like you had predicted. You manifested his downfall. Hank Pym refused to let his work fall into the hands of the Avengers and Steve was having a very hard time convincing him otherwise. The final nail in the coffin was when Hank decided that Pym Particles should not be produced anymore. As long as the world didn’t understand the entirety of the quantum realm, no one should have access to something that could mess with it. No arguments could ensue because there was nothing anyone could say to change Hank’s mind.

As much as Bucky and Sam wanted him to go back, they knew he deserved it for everything you were put through. When Steve found that his friends weren’t on the same page as him, he spiraled deeper into regret and depression. There wasn’t much to be done in terms of world-saving, which is what he was made for. The person he thought was the love of his life is gone now. When the dust settled, he realized that you were the only thing that kept him going for so long. But now he lost you too, and there was nothing he could do get you back. 

While you were out living your new life, Steve was trying to find a life for himself. He would see you around the compound and wanted nothing more than to feel the warmth of your love. What he would do to feel that again, he couldn’t explain to anyone. 

Your escapades were at an all-time high. You knew that single life is the life. Just when you finally concluded that all men were trash, Ransom came crashing into your life. Although he only reinforced this belief, this man wasn’t just any trash. He was your trash. 

He was the mutual of your friends and you seemed to never be able to escape him. Moreover, your friends decided that you wouldn’t escape him. 

The teasing and playful banter between you two turned into something more serious about a year after your break-up. Ransom was everything Steve wasn’t. 

Steve was a gentleman. Chivalrous. Gentle. 

Then you reminded yourself that he had proven to you that he wasn’t any of things anymore. Ransom was the exact opposite, but he wore it on his sleeve. After all the lies and cowardice, Ransom’s blunt and bold attitude was exactly what you needed. 

There were moments you found yourself comparing the nature of the two relationships. With Steve, a lot of it was gentle and soft with some roughness around the edges. Life alongside Ransom was nothing short of callous, but that’s why soft, vulnerable moments felt even more extraordinary and special. 

If you made a judgement based off first impressions, someone like Ransom seems to be more likely to cheat than someone like Steve Rogers. Upon deeper analyzation though, Ransom doesn’t have any skeletons in his closet. He doesn’t claim things easily, but when he does, he would go to any length to make sure what’s his, will stay his. Soon after you realized this, you began abandoning thoughts of comparing the two relationships. 

//

There was a party at the Tower for Sam’s birthday. It was the first time in a long time that you were going to be around Steve for longer than 10 minutes. Doubt began seeping through your determination; how well would you fare under the pressure of pretending to be okay around him? 

“Do we have to match, sugar?” Ransom whined from your bathroom. 

“Why would you even go to an event as a couple if you aren’t matching?” you hollered back. 

You heard Ransom grumble as the bathroom door swung open. The emerald green dress shirt with small gold polka dots complemented his eyes so perfectly. Ransom was about to complain again before seeing the look of awe on your face. He decided right then that he could suck it up for the night. 

You were wearing an emerald green cocktail dress with sheer black net covering your shoulders, your sleeves reaching your elbows. The material was different, but the print was the exact same as Ransom’s. He couldn’t help but wonder why you put so much effort into such little things. He made a mental note to do something like this for you another time before wrapping his arms around your frame, burying his face into your face.

“Ran! My hair!” you squealed as you tried to push him off. 

“Usually it’s me that takes this long to get ready. You trying to impress the Captain?” Ransom winked and sat on your bed. 

“Oh fuck off.” you rolled your eyes and added the big bow to your half up hair-do. 

“You look so innocent baby. How angelic would you look with my cum dripping out of your mouth?” he smirked as you dropped your mouth, looking at him through the mirror. 

“My god Ran, this is not the time.” You shook your head and pulled him with you, finally making your way to the party downstairs. 

You were breaking out into cold sweat for some reason. Part of you really wanted to show Steve how happy you were now, but you felt that it meant you weren’t truly over him. Were you making a mistake?

Right before you opened the door the common room where the party was ongoing, Ransom stopped you and looked right into your eyes. 

“You know, as much as I’d like to make your ex jealous, if you don’t want this, I could think of a lot of other ways to spend the night,” he winked and you blushed. This is exactly why you liked him so much. There was no pressure to be anything but yourself around him. Even if you told him you wanted to go back to your room, there would be no judgement on his behalf. He wouldn’t ever bring it up as a joke either, because he just knew what he could and couldn’t joke about. 

“Let’s do this, bubbles” you giggled. He groaned at the nickname and pulled you into his side with one arm, opening the door with the other. 

One of Ransom’s many talents was making an entrance and this event was no exception. As you walked through the entrance, Ransom kept his head high and pulled you along with him. His confidence began rubbing off you and within a few steps, you stopped slouching. Straightening you back and tossing your hair behind your back, you bathed in the glory of the looks you and Ransom were getting. He took you straight to the bar, smiled at you and ordered drinks. 

“You know, your ex was fuming in the corner,” he remarked as he sipped on his drink. 

“No!” you laughed incredulously, unable to imagine Steve begin angry over Ransom’s presence. 

“It’s true, look for yourself,” he calmly retorted. His eyes flicked to a corner of the room and you followed his gaze there. Steve looked away upon seeing you look at him but it was clear that he was flustered. Bucky stood beside him, entertaining a gaggle of girls, but Steve’s attention was clearly elsewhere. 

“He’s actually pretty hot in person, it’s making me jealous” Ransom nonchalantly mentioned. 

You threw your head back and laughed. Your doubts of whether this was a good idea were dissipating very quickly. 

Ransom chuckled and then looked at you intently. You looked back at him, the high of the laugh wearing off because of his intense stare. 

“I think I’m in love with you.” you blurted. 

“You know, I’m glad you said it because I did not want to say it first.” he snickered and you playfully punched him. 

“Ow! I’m just kidding, don’t go all Avengers-mode on me!” he fussed.

You pulled him into a tight hug. He peeled your head away from his chest to cup your face and give you a light kiss before whispering ‘I love you too.’ You started to tear up, thinking of all the pain you had to go through to get this moment of tranquility with your favourite person in the whole, wide world. 

He cooed and kissed your forehead. 

“I always got you.” he assured and pulled your head back into his chest. You smiled and broke away from the hug, sitting back on the bar stool. 

“I think you transferred your lipstick because you have a dark red lip mark on your forehead.” 

You groaned and frantically wiped your forehead. 

“Hey,” he caught your wrist. “Why don’t we go back up and fix that?” His eyes glinted in the dim lights and you giggled like a schoolgirl as he pushed through the crowd.

In that moment, and every moment after it, Steve was long forgotten. 

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[jostepherjoestar]

return from Sicily 🖤

sfw // gn reader // so much pining like whew 

Hello everyone, it is i, Cozy, back to give you a lil snack between schoolwork. This was fully self indulgent, to a worrying degree, so my apologies for that. But please enjoy, it was a fun little writing exercise since it’s been a while!💖✨

A distant car door shut, the sound muffled by the thick brick walls that separated you from the sparsely populated street where La Squadra Esecuzioni has been residing for a little while now. It’s not an uncommon sound, not at all actually. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve woken up to heavy car doors slamming in the middle of the night, men of disputable morals stepping out and going about their even more so morally disputable business. But instead of filling you with annoyance that you’d have to lull yourself back to sleep again, this faint slam meant the return of your capo!

He’d been off on his very first holiday since joining Passione. Perhaps it was even the first in his life, the past never really presenting such opportunities unfortunately. 10 days. 10 whole days since the looming figure that brought a sense of calm and comfort to your shared homebase had left to start his travels to Sicily. And God had you missed him. You thought your crush on him had been manageable, maybe it would even dim by not seeing him for a while.

But oh no. It got worse. It got so much worse.

You hadn’t realised it before, but living so close with your teammates had conditioned you. You saw them every single day, for worse or for better. And that also included Risotto. Sometimes he’d be too busy to come out of his office but you were always sure to pay him a quick visit. Just to check up on him, you told yourself. You’d shoot him a warm smile that always received a small nod in return from the tired form pouring over his work.

A rush of excited energy barreled through your body, trying to suppress the need to wait at the front door like an overzealous golden retriever. You put down your phone and exhaled deeply, mentally preparing yourself as to not let on how much you’ve missed seeing him around.

You heard the familiar sound of the front door unlocking and got up from the living room couch you’d been lounging on as casually as possible. Casually making your way to the entrance to casually welcome back your colleague. Casual.

Risotto looked...magnificent. His skin had darkened under the Sicilian sun and given him a nice tan that evenly spread over his figure. He was wearing a simple black shirt that clung to the right places, adorning his chiseled chest and barely holding onto his built biceps. His hat was nowhere in sight and his silver locks poked out in different directions, clearly not bothered to tame them for his drive home.

Your quick once-over cut short over the sound of your own voice. “You’re back! Did you have fun? I missed you-” To your own surprise the words left you all too soon. In an attempt to fix the slip up you hurriedly continued. “We all missed you, I mean…” you trailed off. Risotto’s lips quirked up into an amused smirk, showing off his dimple that rarely appeared. He looked a lot more relaxed than before he left.

“Oh? We?” he said, making it a point to lean to his side to direct his gaze to the empty apartment behind you. No one else had been home. You felt heat rise to your cheeks and the desperate need to run and never return. Why was this already so hard?

You nervously chuckled and wrung your hands together, casting your eyes down at Risotto’s bag that had been put near the messy shoe rack Formaggio promised to clean up while your capo was gone. Sensing you weren’t going to rebuttal his comment, he continued. “It was nice. But I did miss you all, too.” The baritone of voice only stoked the fires burning under your skin.

He had missed you. Your mind swatted away the unnecessary word that followed his statement indicating that he’d also missed your teammates. You really needed to get a grip on your feelings.

You looked up again, feeling a bit braver to face your capo. “You look at ease, it really did you good, huh?” you softly hummed. His eyes held kindness in return, no matter how dark and spooky they were to some, they held no sharp edge whenever they landed on you.

As soon as you both stepped further into the apartment you heard him let out a deep sigh. It wasn’t of displeasure, no, those were way deeper and mostly kept for difficult meetings. He was breathing in the familiar smell of home. One that strangely enough had become the one he most associated with you. Walking behind you towards his room with his bag gripped tightly, his hand clutching the straps even harder turning his knuckles white.

He’d missed you too. So much. His trip was fun and relaxing and he could finally spend time by himself after being surrounded by people 24/7. But with every stroll past the beach, every dinner spent by himself- calmly sipping a glass of deep red wine, he wished you were there to spend it with him. To hold your hand and gently sway it as the sea breeze washed away the stress work had caused to settle onto you both. To rest on the beach together, lazing on a towel while the sun beamed down and a comfortable silence that rested between you.

Risotto was thankful for the holiday he never thought he’d have while working for Passione, but even more thankful to be back home. Where you were.

You had kindly opened the door for him, that cute smile resting on your lips as you let him pass by. The room smelled fresh and sweet like the breeze outside, the wind fluttering the curtains. “I changed your sheets and opened the window for you. Thought you wouldn’t mind it.” you shyly said as he set down his bag and huffed down on the edge of his bed. Idly caressing the light sheets in appreciation. He offered you a quick smile in return, instantly making that heat rise back to your cheeks.

“I’ll let you get settled.” You were glad he was back home safe, maybe you’d rest easier now and maybe your feelings would reach a more manageable level again. But before you could get far, not even a step further towards the hallway, you felt a big hand grasp your wrist. It felt warm and calloused, one that has worked hard and endured too much. You bounced back but steadied yourself to face Risotto who had cleared his throat and swiftly let go of your wrist. Bold move there, he warned himself.

“Sorry, I- I got you something.” he grumbled out the apology, brow creased as he dipped down to reach for something in his bag.

“Here.” He handed you a strangely shaped crumpled newspaper, cursing himself for not wrapping it in something a bit nicer. It was much heavier than your average weekly publication so you held it steadier, gently trying to unwrap whatever was hiding inside. Excitement was still bubbling inside, but a sense of ease that only Risotto supplied had nestled its way into you.

Risotto took over the discarded newspaper to let you admire the gift, trying his best to hide his excited stare, eager to know if you’d liked it. In your hands rested a ceramic mug, it looked handmade and the uneven strokes of shiny blue coloured glaze gave it a rustic touch. Lemons and leaves decorated the sides, making you turn it over a couple times to fully admire the handiwork. You were so enamoured by the gift you’d forgotten to let him know your thoughts.

“For your collection…” he trailed off, getting a bit nervous at his choice and doubting if you’d liked it. He knew you had a particular taste in mugs that were allowed into your hallowed collection. (not to be touched by your other teammates of course)

“I love it Ris. Really, it’s absolutely beautiful. Thank you so much.” You really did love it, your heart could barely take how much you did. Clutching the mug in your hand, you reached over and hugged him. He had barely processed the relief of you liking his gift to be hit with your form clinging to his torso. Carefully, he placed a single hand around your middle, not wanting to make you feel uncomfortable as he reciprocated. “Thank you.” you quietly let out while giving him a curt squeeze.

His arm eased you down  to sit next to him on the edge of the bed, feeling his very own surge of warmth ghost over his cheeks. His hand remained on your side, comfortably resting there, feeling right at home. You didn’t mind, not in the slightest. You were just so happy he’d returned and even brought you a thoughtful gift.

“Maybe next time I could show you around the shop I got it from. They have lots more to choose from.” he urged himself on, hearing his own heartbeat reach new speeds at the suggestion and its implications. A next time, but with you by his side.

You held onto the mug for dear life, clasping your fingers even tighter around the sides in case you’d drop it and shatter it like your chances with Risotto. Your mind raced, his suggestion having caused a mild short circuit of all functions. After a trained breath you find the strength to reply. “I’d like that very much. Just be sure to keep Ghiaccio away from the fragile stuff.” you chuckled nervously. A heavenly sound to the smitten capo.

“The rest of the team- as much as I like them- are uhm… not invited.” The smile that danced on his lips and the glint in his eyes made your heart flutter all over as you looked up at him.

A holiday? Just the two of you?

“Oh. Oh.”

You can’t seem to tear your eyes away from his as the thought settles between you. His hand on your hip hadn’t moved, only growing warmer and now finally urging you to scootch a little closer. His soft touch lingering on the small of your back now, closing in the distance and letting your hands rest on his chest as he moved to your inviting lips.

You felt like you’d burst any second, steadying your breath seemingly the hardest task you’ve had to face yet. But then your lips met, softer than any you’d felt before and easing over yours like it was the greatest privilege ever granted. A warm palm cupping your cheek, only deepening the finalisation of your mutual holiday plans. Everything you’d both been wishing to let out finally coming together, moving along your lips with a deep need and hunger that got its chance to grasp at a godly buffet.

With disbelief you both let go- regrettably so, softly gasping for air. If you wanted to go on a holiday together, you would still need to be breathing to get there. As you shared the lingering moment of closeness, appreciating the warmth and love of each other’s gazes, your hearing picked up on scuffling in the hallway.

Mortified you snapped your attention to Melone in the doorway collecting what looked like money from a passing Formaggio and Prosciutto. “Told you they’d do it after he got back.” he smuggly grinned, counting his winnings as you heard Risotto let out a small chuckle under his breath. Earning him a playful jab to his side from you.

“Melone, I won’t kill you if we split the winnings. We have a holiday to save for.” you grumbled.

[blarrghe]

Happy Channukah I wrote an update to the hallmark movie AU

Twelve Nights 

Summary: BusinessMan McMoneybanks Dorian Pavus meets LocalArtist Outdoorsyguy Taren Lavellan whilst on a business trip to a Fancy Ski Resort In The Mountains with his Terrible Father, and learns the True Meaning of The Holidays (it's love).

Chapters: 12 (WC: 120K)

Snippet:

The air was crisp, and perfectly still. The thunk of Dorian’s car door slamming shut sounded out soft, almost muffled by the quietness of the snow-covered street. There were no other cars parked in the tiny lot in the centre of it, which divided two rows of quaint little shops on either side. The street rejoined itself around the empty parking lot and wound away in either direction. The side streets that branched in awkward zigzagging patterns off of it, sparsely lined with picturesque little cottages with wide yards of snow between them, weren’t even plowed. The main road ran up and down; up, winding slowly through a forest of trees and disappearing into the mountainside, and down, towards a glowing town square lit up at its centre by a tall, festively decorated pine tree.

Dorian watched his breath form a cloud of mist in front of him, and pressed the little button on his keychain. His car’s lights flashed, and the horn beeped once, obnoxiously loud against the silent scene. For a moment, he glanced up the road, and then lifted his head higher, arching his head way back to take in the peaks of the mountains overshadowing the quiet town. The sky was fading into sunset, and pink light glowed through the trees and sparkled off the snow in the distant mountaintops. The mountains loomed quietly, shining in orange and peach with dark evergreen trees blanketing around their roots, and among them little golden lights from mountainside cabins were glowing softly through the snow. It was beautiful and serene, like a scene directly out of a holiday card, and Dorian hated every single thing about it.

-- Bonus Chapter: Various Proposals --

Summary: A year and a half later, Taren Proposes. So does Dorian. Send me to sappy jail.

Snippet under the cut ~~

Taren laughed, “you hate kids,” he said.

“What?” Dorian’s smile fell, “no I don’t. Only true villains hate kids.”

“Ok, then you don’t like them.” Taren raised an eyebrow.  

“Says who?”

“Says you, every time one sits behind us in a movie theatre. And you always complain about helping with childrens’ hour at the centre”

“I complain about the glitter, not the kids,” Dorian protested obstinately, “and everyone hates having a child behind them in a theatre. Anyway, that’s other people’s children. I’m fairly certain I’d like ours just fine.”  

“Ours?” The eyebrow raise took on a certain interrogative quality, less teasing, more genuinely surprised.

So, this conversation was real now. Which had been the intent, of course, but now that he was having it… Dorian took a deep breath. “You want kids,” he stated, “I’ve seen it, how you look after those childrens’ hours, all covered in glitter and wistful.”  

“I…” Taren had stopped smirking and begun blushing, even through the tan on his summer-sunned cheeks, “I don’t look wistful.”  

“Sometimes you sigh longingly.”  

Taren laughed, but it wasn’t a real laugh. It was sort of half an awkward chuckle, because Dorian was right. “I’m perfectly happy being the favourite uncle and running children’s hours, Dorian. You don’t have to worry about me,” he said, slowly.

“I’m not worried, I’m” — Dorian shook his head and furrowed his brows —  “you want kids. Probably all you’ve ever wanted, a family.”

“I have a family, we do. What’s this about?”

“And you’ve yet to deny it,” Dorian pointed out, a smirk slowly redrawing itself across his face, “don’t lie, amatus, I can tell when you’re lying. You want your own, at least one scampering youngster to raise and” — he gestured, waving a hand out across the glittering lake and up towards the gorgeous skyline of mountain peaks — “to bring out here, teach all this to. Someone more receptive to learning about fish guts than your gorgeous but blatantly unhelpful and un-outdoorsy partner,” he winked.

“Dorian, you don’t want kids.” Taren’s awkward half-chuckling subsided into a confused frown.

“I’ve never said that.”

“You —” Taren faltered, “you want — at least one?”

Dorian shrugged.

“Tell me you’re saying what I think you’re saying,” Taren insisted, suddenly very serious.

“Well, if you don’t think I’d be suited to it…”

“Dorian. ”

“Yes, yes, alright,” Dorian sighed, “Yes. I am. Maybe I didn’t before, but not because I didn’t want…” he gave his head a shake and then looked at Taren. A smile, real, not smirking but full and true, rose to his face. “I think I could, with you. I see how you are when you’re volunteering, and I like being Kiara’s favourite uncle, and I see how Theo is with her and I want…” he shrugged again. “I want that.” 

“You want kids.” Taren practically whispered it.

“With you, yes.”

“You’re joking.”

“My Scientific Ferelden article and I are both perfectly serious,” Dorian quipped, “but you’re right about adoption.”

Taren stared at him for a moment, forest green eyes as wide and deep and glittering as the lake itself. Then he reached out, one hand gripped onto the gunnels of the canoe on either side, and in one hefty lunge of his weight, flipped them splashing and crashing into the freezing cold lake.

Dorian came up beneath the underside of the boat gasping and splurting for air, while Taren popped up in front of him with a terribly smug grin. “Amatus!” Dorian yelped, ungracefully, grimacing against the cold as a water bottle and his magazine and a paddle all bobbed up to float around him, “my magazine! my hair! what in the world was that for?!”

Taren laughed, his own bright hair flattened down over his face, darkened by the water and the shadowy light beneath the canoe. He raised a hand to splash some more of the icy water at Dorian, and the resounding echoes rippled off the sides of the boat. “Kids will mess up your books and hair,” he said. “Upturn your whole life.”  

Dorian splashed him back. “Oh, I see. A metaphor is it? Point taken.”  

“Still want to do it?”  

“Yes.” Dorian pulled himself closer, treading water as the waves of the lake reflected over the roof of a canoe arched over their heads. He pulled Taren in with hands at his waist and kissed him, wet and cold and shivering