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no-droids · 4 years ago

Text

Ask Me Again Tomorrow

gif credit @pedros-pascal

Part Sixteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 16.3K

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

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

***

Headstart—12:17pm:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Headstart—6:12pm:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Headstart—6:58pm:

A bus.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Headstart—9:34pm

The forest here is different from Naboo, too.

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

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

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

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

You’ve… never climbed a tree before.

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

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

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

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

***

Headstart—11:37pm:

Water.

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

And it was fun.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Day 1–12:00am:

“Sweet girl.”

—You nearly fucking fall.

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fair wasn’t part of the rules.”

Well. Fair.

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

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

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

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

“What are you talking abou—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that sound?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Day 1–6:15am:

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

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

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

***

Day 1–7:06am:

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

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

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

“You were supposed to stay on foot.”

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

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

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

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

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

***

Day 1–1:32pm:

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

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

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

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

***

Day 1–9:51pm:

Oh. Oh stars, you’re tired.

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

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

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

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

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

***

Day 2–12:00am:

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

“Wake up.”

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

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

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

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

No—

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure you did. You in another tree?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t need to ask.

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

***

Day 2–5:34am:

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

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

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

Din is asleep? Seriously?

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

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

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

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

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

***

Day 2–8:28am:

Din’s groan suddenly comes through your ear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Op. Not good. “Wha?”

He’s not falling for it. “How long?”

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

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

“Fair wasn’t part of—”

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

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

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

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

And then the communicator clicks, and you’re…

Uh. What the fuck was that?

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

***

Day 2–12:35pm:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Day 2–5:43pm:

You have an idea.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Day 2–11:54pm:

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

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

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

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

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

Day 3–12:00am:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Give me your coordinates—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe you shouldn’t fall asleep tonight.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Day 3—2:23am:

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

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

***

To be continued!!

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

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jekde04 · 3 years ago

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One-shot for Gruvia Day/Greige Day/Gruvia Family Day 2021

Summary: Coming home from a mission is always better when there's someone waiting for you.

Word Count: 2,483 words

You may also read it on FanFiction.net and AO3! Check out my master list for other Gruvia fics.

Tag List: @shampooneko @fbflame94 @juviaafullbuster @unvalley @gruviaftw11 (Wanna be tagged, lemme know)

“Mommy, we’re back!”

Looking for her blue head of hair had become second nature to him, so he quickly spotted her among their friends as she stood up to gather the running Greige into her arms. He followed right after, though a lot calmer.

“I finished my mission with Daddy!” the four-year-old boy with dark blue hair exclaimed as he reached his mom, still a little breathless from running. “I made big blocks of ice for the party, and Daddy crushed them to make snow cones for everyone!”

Greige prattled on excitedly, demonstrating each point with his hands and arms and making Juvia smile. Arriving at her side, Gray put his arm around his wife’s shoulders and kissed her temple. She embraced him back, giving him a quick squeeze before letting go and turning back to their son.

Gray chuckled. It seemed like ages ago when Juvia would welcome him with a half-hug, half-tackle to the ground while shouting, “Gray-samaaaaa!” Now, all her attention was on their son.

“That’s great, darling,” Juvia told Greige as they all sat side by side, with both of her boys on either side of her. “You didn’t get hurt, did you?”

Gray rolled his eyes. It was so like Juvia to get worried over a simple mission of making ice sculptures and snow cones for kids at a birthday party, even though she was the one to spot it on the job board.

At first, she got really excited as she saw it as an opportunity for family bonding. But with her six-month pregnant belly, Gray wouldn’t risk it even if it was just an easy and harmless mission.

It ended up being a father and son bonding with his little ice mage apprentice.

“Relax, Juvia. As if I would let something happen to our son,” Gray answered after taking a gulp of the ice-cold water waiting for him at the table. Mira passed by and set a hot bowl of udon in front of him, giving him a light pat on the back.

“Of course you won’t, Gray-sama,” his wife answered with a smile. “But Juvia will always worry for you two. It’s just the way it is.”

She turned to Greige and held his elbow to pull him closer but was surprised when he yelped in pain.

“Greige-kun? What’s the matter? Where does it hurt?” Juvia asked in a concerned voice, trying to look for any bruise or cut on his son’s well-covered body.

Gray also turned to look at him with worry. “Did you get injured, buddy?”

“N-nothing. I’m okay, Mom,” Greige answered, squirming from Juvia’s fussing and a bit embarrassed about his outburst.

“Don’t ‘nothing’ me, young man,” Juvia said in her stern mommy voice that meant business. She rarely used it to both Gray and Greige, so both of them knew better than to defy her in any way when she was in one of her moods.

And being pregnant, those mood swings escalated tenfold.

Greige let Juvia remove his outer coat, allowing her to quickly spot the source of the problem: a scratch on his elbow. It wasn’t that deep or big, but it definitely should be cleaned, or else it would get infected.

Suddenly, Juvia snapped her head towards her husband and glared at him with her fierce blue eyes.

“Gray-sama! You said you won’t let anything happen to our son!”

Gray gulped and scratched the back of his head. All they did was make snow cones, how the hell did Greige get that?!

“Juvia, I swear, I didn’t let him out of my sight! I don’t even know where he got that,” he answered as he moved to Greige’s other side, examining the wound. “Besides, it’s just a small scratch. It’s no big deal.”

He immediately regretted his words the moment they came out of his mouth. He felt goosebumps prickling his skin as Juvia’s glare intensified.

Really, this woman means the world to him, but she could be scarier than Erza sometimes.

But before he could appease his wife, Greige said in a small voice, “This was from yesterday.”

Juvia turned to their son. “Yesterday? What happened? And why didn’t you say anything about it?”

With his head bowed, Greige mumbled something he couldn’t hear. Gray was about to ask him to speak louder when he saw him chance a glance at the pink-haired girl just three tables away from them...

And blush.

Holy Mavis.

He knew that look. He used to steal glances at Juvia with that look.

But his son was just four years old!

“What did you say, Greige?” Juvia’s voice broke through his thoughts (and internal panic), and he tried his best to focus on his son’s answer instead of his pink cheeks.

“I-I... scraped my elbow while Nasha and I were trying to hide from Aunt Lucy,” Greige answered, and Gray swore his son’s cheeks flushed some more.

Okay, he and Greige need to have a long talk when they get home. He was just four, but who knows what ideas and thoughts were running through his head now? Better nip it in the bud while it was still early.

And maybe he would tell Juvia tonight, but he had to be really careful because it might trigger the waterworks. And God knew how extremely sensitive she was, especially now that she was pregnant. Just last week, they ran out of milk, and she bawled her eyes out over it.

“Next time, be more careful, darling,” Juvia said, seemingly oblivious to what just happened and already arms-deep into her first aid kit.

Juvia had always been like that whenever he returned from a mission. She would have a first aid kit by her side and a glass of cold water and a serving of whatever the meal of the day was already ordered for him. At home, there would always be a feast.

He had to thank her failproof Gray-sama radar for always getting the timing of his arrival right.

She started dabbing alcohol on Greige’s wound while blowing at the spot to ease the pain. Greige flinched a little, but he put on a brave face while his mom cleaned his wound, his eyes traveling now and then to the nearby table where his bubbly friend was busy playing with her mom’s keys, unaware of his stolen glances.

That talk was definitely happening the moment they get home.

“All done!” Juvia exclaimed, lightly patting the band-aid she placed over the abrasion. “Now, for the finishing touches.”

She puckered her lips and lowered it to Greige’s elbow to kiss the boo-boo away, as she always did whenever her son injured himself. But just when her lips were a mere inch away, Greige saw Nasha looking at him with her big brown eyes, causing him to push his mom’s lips away from him.

“Ahh, stop it, Mom! I’m a big boy now!” Greige blurted, crimson cheeks and all.

Lisanna, who was delivering some drinks to a nearby table, smiled widely and ruffled Greige’s hair. "Aww, you are so cute, Greige-kun!" This made the boy even redder.

Surprised, Juvia locked eyes with Gray, and he tilted his head towards the table where his rival’s family was staying. She saw Nasha looking at Greige, and she looked at her husband and raised one of her eyebrows.

“Okay, Mommy understands,” she told Greige as she smiled at him and smoothed the band-aid on his elbow. “But promise me one thing, darling.”

Greige looked up at her and waited.

“Promise me that even though you’re a young man now, you won’t give Mommy a grandchild yet, okay? Mommy’s too young for that.”

Greige just continued looking at her, brows furrowed in confusion. Gray, on the other hand, almost choked on his udon and shouted, “Juvia!” at his giggling wife.

“Really, I can give Mommy a grandchild? How?” their son asked, excitement twinkling in his eyes.

Gray took a gulp of cold water before turning to his son. “Alright, that’s enough. Greige, don’t listen to your mom. And Juvia, stop putting ideas into your son’s head!”

Juvia covered her mouth with her hands. “Juvia’s sorry, Gray-sama. Juvia just thinks it’s so cute that Greige-kun already has a --”

“Greige?”

A little girl’s voice interrupted them, and they all turned to look at Nasha, who had quietly made her way to their table. Gray stole a glance at his son and saw him giving the girl the tiniest of smiles.

Just like the smile he used to give Juvia when he was still fighting his growing feelings for her.

All of a sudden, the innocent-looking girl jumped on Greige and locked his head under her arm, a mischievous smile on her lips. “Aunt Juvia, Uncle Gray, can Greige and I get some ice cream?”

“Ow! Let go!” Greige exclaimed, suddenly finding himself in a headlock with a giggling Nasha. He escaped her grip and glared at her while his mom answered, “Of course, sweetie. Just don’t go far and don’t take too long.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Nasha excitedly answered, dragging a sulking Greige after her. “Come on, weirdo. Let’s get some ice cream!”

“But I just ate a snow cone!”

“Whatever, you’re coming with me!”

Gray followed the two kids with his eyes, watching them hold hands as they made their way to their Aunt Mirajane.

That was his son, alright. Before long, he would be all grown up and meeting Nashas from different worlds and seeing snow dolls of Nasha and having enemies conjure up fantasies of him and Nasha in a perfect, happy world and --

“Relax, Gray-sama,” he heard his wife say, bringing him back to Earthland. “It will be a long time before all your thoughts would come true.”

His wife’s Gray-sama radar probably got an upgrade as it apparently developed mindreading powers now. And since when did his mind start running off to fantasy world? After all these years, Juvia’s powerful imagination must have rubbed off on him somehow.

Gray stretched his sore muscles and popped the joints in his neck. “Don’t joke about grandkids again. It’s scary.” He placed his hand at his wife’s round belly. “‘Sides, we’re not yet done having kids.”

Juvia looked at him, the most beautiful smile gracing her face. “Juvia knows. Now, get naked.”

“N-now?” Gray stammered, surprised at his wife’s sudden request. Sure, he would love to try having more kids, but --

“-- so Juvia could examine you thoroughly for any wounds. And change your bandages,” she continued, eyes feigning innocence. But he could see a small smile tugging at her lips, satisfied with the little joke she pulled.

Gray rolled his eyes and took off his shirt. He let Juvia’s light fingers explore his body and carefully remove the old gauze wrapped around his broad chest. “It’s almost healed already,” he remarked.

Juvia just continued applying antiseptic on his injury, not looking up at Gray. His wound was by no means fresh, but it was a deep gash he got from one of his missions with Team Natsu. He threw himself in front of a kid to protect her from one of the bandits, which earned him a cut over his breastbone. Good thing Wendy was with them; it could have been fatal if she didn’t treat it right away.

“Still not totally healed. Gray-sama should keep the bandages clean to avoid infection.” She looked up at him and added, “And Gray-sama should be extra careful now that our family is growing.”

Despite her steady tone, he could see her eyes glimmering with unshed tears. He remembered the first time she saw his injury and how she tried to muffle her sobs so that Greige wouldn’t think something was wrong.

Gray wiped the tears that escaped her eyes and kissed her forehead tenderly. “I will. And no matter what, I will always come back home to you.”

Juvia nodded and gave him a small smile. She wrapped fresh bandages around his chest in silence.

“All done now, Gray-sama.” She patted her handiwork and started putting all the stuff back inside the first aid kit. When she was done, she stood up and was about to return the kit to Mira when Gray thought aloud, “How come she does it for Greige but not for me?”

Juvia turned to look at him. “Are you saying something, Gray-sama?”

Gray looked at her sheepishly while scratching his cheek. “Ah, nothing.”

“Juvia’s sure she heard something about doing it for Greige but not for you. What is it?”

Gray’s cheeks turned pink. “Well, it’s just that...” He puckered his lips towards her.

“Eh?” Juvia asked incredulously. “Juvia’s not sure she understands what Gray-sama’s talking about.”

Gray sighed and picked up his shirt. “Forget it. It’s silly.”

Juvia sat beside him again, thinking aloud to herself. “Hmm. What does Juvia do with Greige that she doesn’t do with Gray-sama?” After a few moments, her face lit up. “Aha! Does Gray-sama want Juvia to kiss his boo-boos too?”

Gray’s face flushed some more, but he couldn’t help the smirk from crawling on his face. “Well, you used to do it, right? I’m just curious how come you don’t do it anymore.”

It was now Juvia’s turn to blush. She put her hand over her mouth and said, “Is Juvia hearing this right? Gray-sama wants Juvia to kiss his body right in the middle of the guild?”

Realizing what she was saying, Gray suddenly burst out, “What? No! I was just asking!”

But it was too late. Juvia’s lips were already pressed onto a scar by his collarbone.

“Does this still hurt, Gray-sama?” She then moved lower to his chest where the bandage started, and kissed it softly. “How about here, hmm?”

Gray froze as Juvia’s lips traveled even lower, now kissing his hard abs covered by his bandages. He clenched his fist as he could feel something else hardening.

“Is Gray-sama feeling better now?” Juvia asked in a sultry voice, looking up at him with those beguiling eyes, a tiny smirk on her luscious lips as if challenging him.

Oh, she was definitely teasing him.

But why did she have to look this sexy?

Around them, he could hear some of their guildmates snickering and hollering.

“Get a room!”

“They’re being lovey-dovey again.”

“Give your wife what she wants, Gray!”

He was flustered alright, but he only knew of one way to turn the tables on his wife.

He grabbed her shoulders and straightened her so that they were at eye level with each other.

“You missed a spot right here,” he said, pointing to his lips. But before she could react, he angled his head and kissed her full on the mouth.

That will teach her, he thought.

Amid all the teasing, gagging noises, and catcalls, a little boy eating his ice cream a few tables away yelled, “Eww, Daddy and Mommy are being gross again!”

***

Happy Gruvia Family Day, loves! 😘

#gruvia #gruvia day 2021 #gruvia day #greige day #gruvia family day #gruvia fanfiction

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haus-seeblick · 3 years ago

Text

Suptober Day 2: No Vacancy

Title: Backroad Romance

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 3,119

Tags: First Kiss, Dean Winchester and Castiel are Alone in the Dark, Mild Angst With a Happy Ending, Sam Ships It, Making out in the Impala

On AO3 Here

“You’re shittin’ me, Sammy.” Dean groans and smacks the steering wheel with his palm. “There’s no room in the whole place?”

Sam’s voice floats into the Impala, high and tinny over the burner phone’s speakers. “No vacancy, Dean, I’m sorry, I checked with them three times--”

“--Nah, nah, it’s cool, we believe you,” Dean interrupts, cradling the phone between shoulder and ear so he can rub his face while steering around a bend. Cas reaches over and deftly slips the phone away, fingers pinched like he’s removing a block from a Jenga tower.

“Did you and Eileen find accommodations?” Cas asks, holding the phone out in front of him so Dean can listen in.

There’s a short pause, then: “Yeah… yeah, we did, but guys, the room is really small, like, a closet, I swear, and there’s only one bed, and--”

This time it’s Cas who interrupts. “--and you wish to engage in private romantic activities. Dean and I completely understand.”

They’re on a straight stretch of highway, but Dean still manages to swerve clumsily into the shoulder. He hastily course-corrects and bites down the urge to snap at Cas for-- for what? For talking like that? For using his deep, rough voice to say any words even vaguely related to--

No. It’s not Cas’ fault that everything he does steadily turns Dean into more and more of a creep. Dean shakes his head firmly and tunes back in to the conversation just in time to catch Sam awkwardly stumbling over his reply. Dean leans over, cutting him off with a whistle into the phone.

“We’ll be fine, little brother. Be a gentleman. Don’t hog the sheets. Girl like Eileen doesn’t come around every day.”

He can feel the bitchface radiating through the speaker and motions at Cas to hang up. Cas frowns and gravely says “Dean would like to end the conversation. Goodbye, Sam,” before flipping the phone shut. He drops it into the cupholder.

Dean makes a show of focusing on the road to avoid looking at Cas. He knows Cas is staring at him; it’s just something the guy does, sitting in the passenger seat and gazing at Dean as if the whole world isn’t flashing by outside.

Dean’s long stopped commenting on it. Let the dude stare.

He clears his throat. “We’ll probably have to find a logging road or something. Pull in and hole up for the night.”

“All right,” Cas replies. He opens the glovebox and pulls out the local map they picked up this afternoon when they rolled into Matlock, Washington, to investigate a haunted post office. It was a gray, dinky, bleak town and the poor ghost lurking around the mailroom seemed more melancholy than anything. She allowed them to dispatch her into the afterlife with very little struggle; that is, after some creative sweet-talking by Sam.

Eileen had teased Sam mercilessly about it before Dean had even gotten a chance. That’s how Dean knows she’s The One.

There was, of course, no motel in town. Sam and Eileen hit the road before Dean and Cas, because Dean insisted on getting a burger for dinner at the tiny diner on Main Street (a mistake). Now he’s staring down the barrel of a night alone with Cas, in cramped quarters, on a dark backroad. If they hadn’t already driven all day to get to Matlock, Dean would push on until they found a motel with vacancies, but he’s exhausted and Cas is just human enough these days to actually be tired too.

“There’s an access road nearby,” Cas says, tracing the map with his index finger. “In a quarter mile. Left.”

Dean follows his directions and sure enough, there’s a bumpy logging road branching off from the highway, stretching deep into the pitch-black trees. Dean pulls in about five hundred feet before turning off the lights and the ignition.

It’s silent. The darkness is all-encompassing, pressing in on Dean, so heavy it’s like he can feel it on his eyelids when he blinks. He takes a slightly shaky breath. Cas is utterly still, as usual, not a single rustle or exhale indicating his presence in the gloom, but Dean feels him there as intensely as he’d feel a roaring bonfire. His heart thuds in his ears.

Why is he freaking out? He’s slept in the car with Sam a million times. But even as he thinks that, he knows, he knows, that this is different. His brain starts whirling through logistics -- who’s gonna take the back seat? Is Cas even gonna sleep the whole night? Or will he wake up and just sit there, staring at Dean for hours, inches away?

Dean needs to shut off his brain. He taps the seat and says “Hey, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean,” comes the immediate response, measured and reassuring. “Would you like to talk?”

Relaxing against the seat and slinging an arm over the backrest, Dean peers over to the passenger side. “Sure.”

The moon’s out tonight, far above the trees, and the grayscale of nighttime slowly bleeds into view as Dean’s eyes adjust. He can just make out the sharp angle of Cas’ nose, the slope of his chest and the outline of his hands folded in his lap. He’s always so upright, so proper. Dean wonders what it would feel like to undo him.

“Are Sam and Eileen having sex?”

Dean chokes on air. Sputtering, he braces himself on the seat and coughs until his eyes stop watering. “What?” he wheezes. “Why-- Dude, why would you ask that?”

He sees Cas turn his head to regard him. Even in the dark, Dean can imagine the piercing gaze.

“It was unclear to me what you meant by ‘be a gentleman.’” Cas lifts his hands to shape the finger quotes. “I assumed the two of them would take advantage of their privacy to engage in physical intimacy. Was your comment meant to discourage Sam from having sex?”

Dean throws up his hands desperately. “Okay-- okay, first of all, quit talking about my brother doing it. And second, no, I wasn’t ‘discouraging’ him, just reminding him to treat Eileen like a lady. You know, romance her a little.”

The darkness is a godsend as Dean’s cheeks flush hotter with every word. He’s surprised they’re not glowing. He taps the seat in a random pattern as Cas sits quietly, seemingly digesting the information.

When he responds, it’s slow and thoughtful. “In the pornography I’ve watched, the participants always begin undressing one another rather quickly. And in my own experiences, there has been very little that I would label ‘romantic.’ What is classified as ‘romance,’ Dean?”

Well, shit. The last of Dean’s composure evaporates, sizzles away like a drop of water meeting his burning face. He drops his head into his hands and groans.

Cas leans forward, his knee brushing Dean’s. “Have I made you uncomfortable?” he asks, voice laden with concern.

Dean’s throat is tight, his fingers sweaty against his forehead. He forces himself to take a deep breath and to at least open his eyes against the shadow of his palms. “Uh-- no. No, Cas. You, uh-- you should be able to ask that kinda stuff. Human stuff. I get that it’s, uh-- it’s important to know. For, y’know. So you can--”

There’s a hand on his knee. A warm, strong hand. Long fingers. Weighty. Dean’s heart kicks into overdrive. He slowly, very slowly, lowers his hands to peek at Cas.

“How do you like to be romanced, Dean?”

There’s nothing. Absolutely nothing in Dean’s brain. It’s a chamber of silence. A void. He stares at the outline of Cas’ wild hair, mouth slightly open.

“...Dean?” The hand on his knee shifts slightly and Dean’s blank brain runs zero interference as his own hand darts out and stills the one threatening to leave his leg. As soon as his skin makes contact with Cas’, though, everything zings back online in a rushing roar.

Play it off, Winchester. Crack a joke. C’mon. “Hah, funny, buddy, you really got me there--”

“--Kissing’s nice.”

He snaps his mouth shut too late. The words float away, unrecoverable.

Cas tilts his head. Then, slowly, very slowly, as if he’s afraid of spooking Dean, he turns his hand around under Dean’s so that they’re palm to palm. An invitation.

With a pounding heart, Dean accepts it. He laces their fingers together. His palm feels even sweatier when it’s rubbing up against Cas’ dry, smooth skin.

Sexy, Dean. Way to go.

Somehow, even though it was Cas asking the questions, he’s the one leading now, shifting closer, laying his left arm along the backrest behind Dean’s shoulders. Their faces are so close that they’re sharing air, just two shadows suspended in a frozen moment.

“May I kiss you?” Cas murmurs gently, his breath washing over Dean’s lips. It smells like rain-refreshed air, like a promise of sunshine, alleviating the weight of the darkness. Dean tentatively chases it with his tongue, wetting his lips and leaving them parted.

“Yeah,” he whispers back. Because fuck, he wants this. He’s wanted this for so long.

And Cas wants it, too.

Dean always imagined that his first kiss with Cas would be an inferno, fireworks, showering sparks, all those cliches. That it would yank him from his body and send him floating through the ether.

It’s not like any of that. It’s better. It’s real.

Cas’ lips are just lips -- a little more chapped than Dean’s used to, perhaps, but they meet his in a familiar brush, followed by the typical tentative press, leading into a hesitant swipe of the tongue.

He’s kissing Cas. Cas, who he’s built up in his head for so long as this untouchable, impossible ideal, who stormed Hell to drag him out, who smote demons with his bare hands, who is so inconceivably old that Dean should be just a speck of sand under his eternal gaze.

Instead, that same Cas is busy dragging his fingers down the side of Dean’s neck. A crest of goosebumps follow, shivers trailing down Dean’s torso, and he gasps a quivery breath against Cas’ lips. He’s not used to being led. Normally he’s the one in charge, giving as good as he gets, focused on hitting the highlights, satisfying his partner. There’s a whole formula.

He’s never trembled like this before.

“Dean,” Cas whispers against his mouth, reverent, his voice somehow gravelly even as a breath. He suddenly pulls his hand free from Dean’s and grips his bicep, dropping his other arm from the backrest to wrap around Dean’s waist. Without preamble, he twists, tugging Dean across his lap. Dean yelps and hurriedly adjusts his legs, ending up with his knees on the seat, straddling Cas’ thighs. His fingers and toes are zinging in excitement.

Goddamn. Who knew being manhandled would do it for him?

The crown of his head presses against the roof of the car and he slouches forward until their foreheads are touching. He pushes his hands into Cas’ hair.

Cas surges forward again, nudging Dean’s head to the side and pressing his lips to Dean’s neck. Dean groans, low and shaky, as Cas parts his lips and sucks a trail up to Dean’s earlobe, his tongue soothing in the wake of his mouth, dragging over every mark that he coaxes to the surface. Dean knows his neck will be littered with bruises tomorrow, but he finds he can’t bring himself to care, not when Cas’ teeth are busy grazing the shell of his ear.

“Jeez, Cas,” he breathes, dropping his forehead to Cas’ shoulder. He's hard already, hips twitching a little, but he keeps his hands firmly in Cas’ hair, tugging the soft, thick strands, guiding Cas’ mouth back down to his neck. His pulse hammers under each press of chapped lips.

He pulls back and captures Cas’ mouth again, sliding his tongue into that wet heat. They trade open-mouthed kisses, a bit sloppy, while Cas’ hands glide up Dean’s back under his flannel. Dean’s absolutely flying, his pounding heart easily winning the battle against the tiny voice in his head dredging up reasons to stop, reasons to run.

He wants to stay .

Their kisses have escalated to a panting, frenzied give-and-take, and Dean’s tired of hunching over. He drops his hands onto Cas’ shoulders and starts leaning back over to the driver’s seat, trying to pull Cas on top of him. Cas whines when their lips separate, but he catches on quickly. A little too quickly. He grips Dean’s waist and shifts him along the bench seat with such force that Dean’s arm goes flying and his elbow smacks right into the middle of the steering wheel.

The horn blares, rending the night.

Both Dean and Cas jerk upright, instantly on high alert. Reality takes a moment to catch up with them.

Cas recovers first. “That startled me,” he says, voice wrecked.

Dean lets out a long breath. He’s still got one leg up on the seat, the other one cramped awkwardly next to the steering wheel. He drags a hand across his face and lets out a breathy laugh. The next thing he knows, he’s doubled over, laughing so hard his cheeks hurt and his eyes water.

He’s just so goddamn happy.

Cas watches him, head tilted in the shadows. Dean lets his laughter run its course, petering out with a sigh of mirth and hand slapped on Cas’ knee.

“What a night, huh?” he says.

Cas lifts a hand and strokes Dean’s cheek with his knuckles. Even after all that making out, this one gesture seems inordinately intimate. But Dean just smiles.

Cas swipes his thumb over Dean’s cheekbone one more time before slowly, almost reluctantly, letting his hand fall. “You need to sleep.”

Dean nods and glances into the backseat. “You do too, don’t you? At least a bit? Maybe we can both fit back there.”

They get out of the car -- the cool night air rushes into Dean’s lungs and fizzes through his chest, bringing the events of the past half hour into blood-rich focus in his brain. He steels himself for the freakout, for the doubt and the deflection, but it doesn’t come. He feels right.

They crawl into the backseat, awkwardly shuffling and shifting, ending up with Cas sitting mostly upright (insisting that he’s fine) and Dean laid out on the seat with his head in Cas’ lap.

He drops off to sleep faster than he has a long time, Cas’ long fingers carding through his hair.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s the light that wakes him, pale gray seeping under his lashes and rousing him from a blissfully dreamless sleep. He lifts his head and immediately winces -- his neck is stiff as a board and his back aches all the way down to his tailbone. He’s really getting too old to be sleeping in the car.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean twists around and peers blearily up at Cas, who’s gazing down at him with one of his rare enigmatic smiles. Dean yawns and stretches as best he can, his back popping. He pushes himself up until he’s sitting next to Cas.

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

Cas leans over and, before Dean can react, presses a warm, dry kiss to Dean’s cheek.

Sore body or not, this is the best morning of Dean’s life.

They extract themselves from the backseat and stumble into the damp early-morning air. Dean pops the collar of his flannel after a single glance into the side mirror. He’s got a lot of hickies.

They take a second to stretch (Dean admires the way Cas’ pecs shift under his dress shirt as he reaches for the sky) before sliding into the front seat. Dean backs them out of the logging road, the verdant green pines on either side nearly overwhelming his night-accustomed eyes.

Cas calls Sam as they roar down the highway again. It’s only 5 a.m., but Dean handed Cas the phone and told him to give Sam a wakeup call. The kid deserves it after a good night’s sleep in a real bed.

They pull into the parking lot of the Cedar Crest Motel just past 5:30. Dean ends up having to park on the street, though, because the lot’s at capacity, not a single spot unoccupied. He pats Baby in apology as he leaves her, and he and Cas make their way to the room number that a very irritated, cranky Sam snapped at them over the phone.

They’ve almost reached it when Dean suddenly stops dead. He grabs Cas’ arm. Cas shoots him a questioning glance.

“Look." Dean points up at the motel sign. There, huge red letters, blinking through the pale morning light, spell out a clear VACANCY.

“It’s hardly been six hours," Dean says. "No one would’ve checked out in the middle of the night.”

Suspicion rising rapidly, he strides to Sam’s door and knocks as obnoxiously as he can. As soon as the door creaks open, he reaches through and grabs Sam’s shirt, yanking him outside. Sam protests and slaps at Dean with one hand, shoving his bird’s nest hair out of his face with the other.

“What the hell, Dean!”

Dean just throws one arm up at the sign, staring at Sam with raised eyebrows. As soon as Sam sees what he’s pointing at, he shrinks into what Dean immediately recognizes as guilty little brother posture. He’s not even trying to hide it.

Sam clears his throat awkwardly, eyes darting between Dean and Sam, before holding out a placating hand. “I just-- I just thought, maybe you could use some time alone,” he explains hastily, backing up a bit into the room. “If we all ended up here, Dean, you’d insist that we share, you know you would.”

Dean knows Sam’s right (he’s careful with their fake money, so sue him), but he keeps glaring regardless.

“I just wanted some time with Eileen,” Sam mumbles, deflating a bit. “And I thought, y’know, with how you and Cas have been acting lately, that you’d-- uh, that you’d want some time together, too.”

Dean sputters. “Acting? We-- what--”

“Thank you, Sam,” Cas says, deep voice cutting off Dean’s protests. “We had a very pleasant night.”

Sam’s eyes widen and he straightens up, a knowing grin stretching over his face. His eyes dart to Dean’s popped collar. “Oh yeah? Did you now?”

Dean shoves him into the room and slams the door shut. There. He turns to Cas, who looks amused.

“Give me at least a couple days before blabbing to my brother,” Dean says, but he finds himself smiling. Cas nods. He reaches out and takes Dean’s hand, just for a moment, squeezing before letting it fall again.

“Of course, Dean.”

#suptober21 #no vacancy #gotta love some cramped car kissing #scheming sam strikes again #destiel fanfic

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ragingpancake · 3 years ago

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Hotel California

A/N: An Earthside AU wherein John is a college student on his way to Spring Break and Rodney is a hotel receptionist. NC-17. Reposted from my old AO3 account.

The midnight sky is gray and muggy, thick with heat and humidity. The air conditioner stopped working over a hundred miles ago and even the air flowing through the open windows isn't enough to cool the sweat beading on John's forehead.

In the passenger seat, Teyla's stretched out, humming along quietly with the static on the radio as Ronon sleeps on in the backseat, oblivious to each passing mile.

John reaches out and changes the station.

"I was listening to that," Teyla says dryly as the low twang of a country guitar fills the car. John gives her a sleepy smile in return and thumps his fingers against the steering wheel, drumming along with the beat in a last ditch effort to keep himself awake. "Perhaps it would be wise if I took over for awhile?"

"I'm good," John says dismissively. He trusts Teyla's driving almost as much as he trusts her cooking, which is to say not at all.

"I have been practicing."

"Not nearly enough for my liking," John says, grinning to take the sting out of the words. Teyla just rolls her eyes and goes back to staring out at the endless stretch of empty highway in front of them.

Driving out to California in Ronon's grandfather's beat up old station wagon hadn't been John's best idea. He's cutting two full days off their spring break with the drive there and back, but since Teyla had apparently grown up under a rock and had never taken a road trip, John and Ronon decided that their yearly trip to Long Beach was the perfect remedy.

"If you will not let me drive, maybe you would at least consider stopping for the night? We still have another five hours ahead of us and I would like to make it alive."

"Your faith in me is astounding."

"Much like your faith in me," she smirks. "Now please, find the nearest motel and pull over. I'm sick of looking at the inside of this car."

John can't argue with that.

---

It's another twenty miles and another state line until he finds a motel and by the time he climbs out of the car, he has to admit that stopping was definitely the right call; there's no way he would have made it another four hours and forty minutes.

Ronon grunts and snorts as Teyla smacks him awake. He's annoyed that they've stopped and he wants to take over driving so they can keep going, but John trusts his driving less than he trusts Teyla's. He's seen what Ronon has done to the trash cans outside of their apartment just trying to back out of the parking space.

"It's stupid to stop," Ronon grumbles as they trudge into the lobby of the seemingly deserted motel.

"I would rather get a few hours of solid sleep and then hit the road. If we continue to drive, we will be no good for anything tomorrow," Teyla says solemnly.

"Don't need sleep to surf."

"This is true, but I need sleep to finish the drive, so I say we're staying and sleeping," John says. Ronon stands just a little straighter and blinks lazily at John in what's most likely an attempt to intimidate him. It would work under other circumstances maybe, but John's just too tired to care so he waves Ronon off and slouches against the front desk, slapping his hand down on the bell.

It reverberates, echoing throughout the empty lobby.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Hold your horses, I'm coming." The voice comes out of nowhere and whoever it belongs to sounds annoyed at the interruption. Seconds later, a skinny kid stomps out from behind a curtain, looking harassed and harried. He's wearing a pair of dark slacks that are at least a size too big and a white uniform shirt that's partially untucked and stained. His name tag reads 'Rodney'. "What do you want?"

"You get many people in here lookin' for something other than a room?" John drawls lazily.

Rodney snorts. "You'd be surprised. Double beds or...?"

John grins. "Double."

John watches as his fingers fly over the keyboard seemingly of their own accord. "Unfortunately, the only available room I have is a king with a pull out couch. Sorry." He doesn't sound very sorry about that.

It's not ideal, but John's exhausted and he'll be damned if he's getting back in that car. At least not until he's had a good five hours of sleep.

"John," Teyla says.

"We'll take it."

"Suit yourself. That'll be thirty five for the night."

John makes quick work of paying Rodney but he has to force himself to ignore the slight tingle when the tips of their fingers brush together. It has nothing to do, he tells himself, with the kissably crooked mouth or the hair that's curled almost delicately just above the nape of Rodney's pale neck.

Rodney stares at John for just a moment too long and John knows that he felt it too, but he pushes the thought out of his mind. "Right," Rodney says, clearing his throat. "If you'll just... follow me, I'll take you to your room."

It isn't easy, John thinks, to not stare at the barely-there outline of Rodney's ass. The baggy pants do a good job at concealing what's really underneath, but John sees enough to know what he wouldn't mind sliding into it.

He's halfway hard when Rodney slips the key card into the lock and pushes the door open. The hotel room is as nondescript and boring as every other hotel he's ever stayed in and after a quick once over, John's eyes return to Rodney just in time to catch Rodney staring. Again.

John can't help but smirk just a little.

Rodney flushes beautifully; he turns pink from the tips of his ears all the way down to his neck as he averts his eyes. "I um... I'll leave you to it, but if you need anything..."

"I know where to find you," John says.

Rodney nods, turns away and practically sprints down the hall.

---

The couch is worse than the one in their apartment, John decides as he tosses and turns, trying to find a comfortable position. Teyla and Ronon are already fast asleep, sprawled out comfortably on the large bed. John hates them just a little; he would have been more comfortable sleeping in the car.

He gives it another ten minutes and when he's no closer to sleep, he climbs off the couch and stalks out of the room, cursing Ronon and his ability to sleep anywhere and Teyla for being... well, for being Teyla.

He doesn't know where he's going and he's not sure what he's doing until he steps into the lobby.

Rodney's sitting at the front desk, hunched over something and John's cock twitches to life almost immediately.

"Hey," he calls before he can stop himself.

Rodney startles and looks up, blue eyes wide in surprise. "Uh... what... did you need something?"

He does, but John really doesn't know if it's something Rodney's willing to give but it doesn't stop him from slinking over to the desk. "What are you working on?" He asks conversationally. Mentally, he's kicking his own lame ass.

"Nothing that can't wait until later," Rodney says and then he flushes again and John can read the worry on his face; he's wondering if he's misjudged the situation.

"Cool," John says lazily. "You know, the couches in these rooms really suck."

"Yeah," Rodney agrees, clearing his throat just a little. He looks nervous and excited so John relaxes just a little bit.

"Don't happen to know a place that's a little more comfortable, do you?"

"As a matter of fact..." Rodney says.

---

Kissing Rodney is exactly like John thought it would be; his lips are incredibly kissable, but he's clumsy and awkward. It should turn John off, but it strangely enough, it doesn't. It just leaves him wanting more.

When they break apart, Rodney's breathing heavily, shoulders and chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. His mousy brown hair is soaked to his forehead because even though it's a million and five degrees outside, apparently hotels don't believe in air conditioning their employee break room.

"It's hot as fuck," Rodney complains.

"Gonna get hotter," John says and leans forward, capturing Rodney's lips again.

---

The next time they break apart, Rodney's naked and writhing beneath John. He's about two thrusts away from shamelessly humping John's leg as John takes his time undressing himself.

"Torture," Rodney wheezes.

John responds by leaning over and swallowing Rodney's cock.

It's effective in shutting him up.

At least for a minute.

John has had a series of one night stands before. Plenty of college guys--and girls because he's not picky--but none have been as vocal about being fucked as Rodney.

When John finally slides in between those round ass cheeks, Rodney moans and whines and pleads and begs. He arches against John, crying out for more, more, more and John doesn't hold back. He thrusts against Rodney over and over, burying himself deeper and deeper each time.

"Fuck, Rodney," John gasps and he can already feel the orgasm building low in his belly. It hasn't been this quick since the first time Kenny Lewis blew him in the passenger seat of his uncle's van, but it doesn't matter because he can feel Rodney already trembling beneath him, his cock red and weeping between them.

He's close, but Rodney's closer.

Rodney's whimpering now and clinging to John harder with every thrust. He'll have marks and bruises for days, he thinks, but it's worth it when Rodney cries out and John feels the warm spray of come on his chest.

He leans down and buries his face against Rodney's neck as he rocks his hips desperately, torn between needing to come and wanting to prolong it.

He tries to hold out, but suddenly he's coming hard enough that his vision goes hazy and when he's finally spent, he collapses on top of Rodney, breathing heavily.

John rolls off of Rodney after a minute and reaches for his discarded boxers to clean himself up. It feels wrong to just dress and go, so instead, he slumps back against the couch beside Rodney, their shoulders brushing occasionally. John thinks he should say something, but he isn't sure what.

It's Rodney who breaks the ice.

"That was..."

"Yeah," John agrees. "I should..."

"Yeah."

John doesn't move.

---

When John jogs into the lobby late the next morning to check out, he's surprised to find Rodney still hunched behind the counter, staring at a text book. He doesn't seem to hear John approach, so John clears his throat, grinning when Rodney jumps at the sound.

"What?"

John drops the key card onto the counter and slides it towards him. "Just thought I'd come say goodbye. We're heading out."

"Where to?"

"Long Beach... four days of nothing but surf and sand."

"Thrilling," Rodney says dryly. He takes the key card and clicks the computer keys. "You um... come this way often?"

"Just once a year," John says and he thinks he imagines Rodney's face falling just a little.

"Well then..." Rodney says.

"Yeah," John agrees. "I uh... my friends are waiting for me at the car, but I just..."

"You should go."

"Yeah. I..." John sighs and turns. He takes a step toward the doorway and then stops. "Hey Rodney?"

"Yeah?"

"Maybe... maybe on our way back through..." He trails off.

Rodney looks hopeful. "If you need anything..."

"I know where to find you," John grins before he turns and walks out of the lobby.

#sga fic #fandom: sga #stargate atlantis #mcshep #pairing: mcshep #sexytimes #john sheppard/rodney mckay #john sheppard #rodney mckay #ronon dex #teyla emmagan #earthside AU

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kaz11283 · 4 years ago

Note

I really like the prompt list you reblogged it’s got some good stuff. What about 37. “Because I love you god damn it!” with Loki if you are still needing inspiration.

37) Because I Love You God Damn It!

~~~~

The Secret Is Out

Characters: the Avengers Bunch, Loki, Thor, Clint

Warnings: Dirty words, slight angst

Summary: after putting your life in the line for a teammate you accidentally let a big secret slip.

Announcements: I will always need insperation and requests! They feed my soul! Haha. I'm not gonna lie. Im skipping back and forth on my requests though. I have a really good story line for one but its just so emotional(thats were Im hoping it goes at least) that I didnt want to write it tonight and put my self in a mood. So instead I guess im goimg with a form of anger? Meh. Anyways... I absolutly love love love everything from you guys! The reblogs, likes, and comments are amazing and I am very greatful for all the love I am getting!!!! 💚💚💚💚💚

Loki Masterlist

~~~~

The fight had been rough but not as rough as you were feeling in the moment. You had gotten serverly hurt and had been in the medbay for about a week now and you had a longer road ahead. There had been an explosion and instead of turning to run away you had ran toward one of your team members that had been to distracted to realize what was going on, you had successfully gotten him shoved out of the way but you had taken the brunt of the blast.

Now you were laying here staring at the celing trying to stay distracted as Bruce and Tony looked at your completely shaddered knee and the burns up your leg. Fingers crossed that they would have good news soon.

"Well as of right now kid your out of commission." Tony said helping you sit back up.

"Meaning?" You pulled one of the pillows down so that you could sit up without being uncomfortable.

"Meaning right now, the way it all looks, your gonna be stuck in the bed until it fully heals and after wards theres really no way to tell if your going to be able to work in the field again." Burce said looking at the xrays again. "And your gonna have to have surgery in order to put all the right pieces back in the right places, but we cant really do that until some of the burns heal or at least start to heal. Its gonna be a long drawn out process unfortunately." He sighed setting the charts back down and walking over to you.

"Fucking hell! You mean I'm gonna be pushing paper work? I might as well go work in a damn office with four white walls and a poster that says 'hang in there, its almost Friday'." You placed your head in your hands.

"Hey! At least our paper work is more exciting than just running numbers." Tony said placing a hand on your back. He had been like a fsther to you, taking you in when you didnt have anywhere else to turn except the streets. Your own family had abandoned you at a young age and you had been leaning toward a dark path until Tony. "Besides with your expertise you dont have to sit behind a desk, your fingers arent blown off, you can still hack into stuff I'm sure."

"Tony we had a deal when I moved in. No hacking but you would train me and I could actually do good. Now look at me."

"I said no hacking the good guys, and if I remember correctly you were the one jumping close to the bomb not away from. I hate to be this way y/n but the only one to blame is yourself on this one."

"He would have been worst off than I am if not killed. I think I did the right thing. Besides you would have done the same thing if you had been closer." You sighed.

"Honey the diffrence with that is I have a supersuit, you wear a skin tight, spandex one peice, that I'm not a fan of." He laughted. Bruce had went to go get you some more pain killers to shoot into your IV.

"Tony if I were you I would shut up. Your starting to sound like you might actually love me, might even say your starting to act like a dad." You laughed pulling him into a hug.

"Shut it kid, cant let the others know I have a soft spot for the hacker orphan kid i took in all those years ago now can I." He said kissing the top of your head. "Do you need anything else before the drugs kick in and you pass out again?"

"Yes, can you please bring me my phone charger, laptop, and that really fluffy blanket that you and Pep got for me for Christmas."

"Dont ask to much of me now."

"I wouldnt be asking if you would just let me stay in my room. I hate it down here. I wanna be were the people are." You were starting to get loopy from whatever Bruce had given you.

"Ok little mermaid, get some rest I'll get your stuff." He laughed walking out the door letting you fall into a restless sleep.

You didnt know how long you hade been asleep but you woke up with a groan trying to sit up so you could atleast stretch your back from laying in one spot for to long. You flopped back down dramatically with a sigh. You could sense someine else in the room with you, you always knew when he was around.

"You dont have to hide in the shadows Loki. Your more than welcome to keep me company, you should know that by now." You smiled as the prince walked over and sat in the chair beside you. You could tell he hadnt been sleeping, his hair was fixed as always but his clothes looked worst for wear. He had on a plain black shirt and a pair of gray sweat pants, both of with had wrinkles in them either from tossing and turning or from not being changed in a few days.

"Whats wrong? And dont pull that 'nothing is wrong dear. I'm absolutly fine.' Bullshit. You look horrible." You reatched out to grab his hand. What you and Loki had was diffrent. You didnt just see his as a friend, he didnt just see you as that either though. You had spent many nights sitting up with the silver tounge man many nights laying on the couch watching movies, reading, talking about each of your pasts. He knew more about you than even Tony did.

"I'm still currently trying to wrap my head around why you pushed me out of the way and took the blow when you had a chance of dying from it. You shouldnt have been so thick headed my dear." He took your hand and raised it to his lips kissing the top of your hand.

"Loki." You sighed rolling your head to look back up at the celing. "You would have been hurt alot wordt than I am now, that blast could have killed you."

"I am a god y/n, that blast wouldnt have caused me nearly as much damage as it did you." His voice raised slightly.

"Thats what you think. You think that because you are "immortal" that you can take anything thats thrown at you. That no one really cares about you, that you wouldnt be missed? So why not try to take a blow from a bomb? My god your so stupid sometimes."

"I know I can. Norns y/n I've jumped into space, been brain washed, tried to take over New York, gotten smashed around by the Hulk. I was raised with Thor, he doesnt really go easy on a person. What I'm saying is I dont understand why you, a mear midguardian, would sacrifice themselves for me. If anything would have happened-"

"Nothing did happen though. I'm fine-"

"You have steel sticking from your leg, theres no telling when or even if you'll be able to walk again, and there are highly server burns that will leave scares. You cannot sit there and tell me that you are fine."

"Your right it does suck that I'm jot gonna be able to pull off shorts or a bikini anymore."

"This isnt a joke y/n. You almost died!" He finally yelled.

"And i would do it a thousand times over if that ment saving your damn ass again!" You shouted back.

"Why though?! Why me y/n? I've done horrible things, killed people! My life is meaningless." Tears had sprang to his eyes as he looked away.

"Because I love you God damn it!" You stopped suddenly your jaw dropping at the admission that you hadnt ment for him to hear. His head jerked back to you.

"What?" Shock was all over his face as he stood to walk closer to you. "What did you just say?"

"Because I love you Loki Odinson. Because if you were to die I dont think I would be able to go on living. Because even if you see all the bad things that you've done I can look pass that amd see all the good that you are doing." You reached up placing a hand on his cheek and wiping away a tear.

"I love you too y/n. I have since the day I met you. The girl that didnt care what anyone said when she spent time with me. The girl that can see through every face i put on. I love you so much darling." He placed his hand on your face and leaning down gently kissing your lips.

It felt like you thought it always should you felt electricity run through your body and the two of you connected. It was like getting a breath after not being able to for so long. He pulled away smiling at you.

"What do we tell the others?" He asked laying on with bed with you being easy with your leg. He placed his arm around your middle and pulled you as close as he could.

"I honestly dont care what we tell them. They can figure it out themseves for all I care." You smiled lacing your fingers with his, you yawned placing your head on his shoulder closing your eyes.

"Sleep now my Dove, I will be here when you wake." He felt your gentle breath slow as you fell asleep, the rhythm you of your breath lulling him into his own sleep.

Tony and Bruce walked in the next morning stopping dead at the sight in front of them. You and Loki were still cuddled on the small bed sleeping peacefully.

"Should we wake them up?" Bruce asked looking at Tony.

"Na, let them sleep. Dont want to let them know that we know." Tony saod grabbing Bruce's arm and turning to walk back out of the door.

~~~~

Tag List:

@kgirardin

@sophlubbwriting

@supbeeches

@high-functioning-lokipath

#loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki #loki avengers #loki daily #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki x reader #loki fluff #loki request #loki masterlist #loki x you #lokilaufeyson #loki one shot #loki x y/n #loki friggason

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mrsalwayswrite · 4 years ago

Text

To Call Forth Love - Chapter 7

So this chapter is in Ivar’s POV. Kind of a glimpse as to see what is going on with him. Plus, its a great excuse to write some Floki/Ivar interaction.

Warnings: swearing, implied violence, Ivar having boundary issues but that’s not new.

Words: 4550

Tag List: @heavenly1927 @youbloodymadgenius @zuxiezendler @punkrocknpearls @love-all-things-writing @southernbe

Series Masterlist

"There you are, you crippled bastard. I've been looking everywhere."

Ivar smirked, exhaling the cigarette smoke from his mouth, not even turning his gaze from the lights of the city beneath him. "How did you get up here? I thought your old, lazy ass wouldn't be able to handle it."

Floki scoffed as he moved to stand next to his protégé. "Old, lazy ass. I may be old but I could still kick your ass if I wanted too."

Wordlessly, Ivar pulled out his cigarette carton from his suit’s pocket, taking one out and handing it to Floki. He grabbed his lighter and held it out, open palm. When Floki did not immediately take it, he glanced over to see one of the people he trusted most, staring down at the cigarette spinning between his fingers.

"I won't tell Helga."

Floki giggled. "You're a bad influence on me, boy." He took the lighter and lit his cigarette, handing it back over after.

The two stood silently for several minutes, leaning against the railing, overlooking the city. They were at the Ragnarssons Trading headquarters, one of the taller buildings in the heart of the city. The sound of humanity floated away to a hushed background noise with how high up they stood. The upper floors of the building were restricted access, being the main offices and meeting rooms of Ragnar, his sons and others deemed important. The lower floors housed the cesspool of asinine insubordinates, those that did their limited jobs and were easily replaced. Ivar avoided those floors, not just because of the stares, or the twittering females and few males who vied for attention from the Ragnarssons in hopes of snatching one up or thinking sleeping with them as an easy way to further their careers. No, he found them all boring and beneath him. With a single look, he knew what many of them wanted, they were so easy to read, to know their simple minds. It was pathetic.

So, when he did come to the headquarters, he immediately headed to the upper floors. He had an office next to Torstein that he used infrequently. Most of his work he could do remotely, a blessing due to his condition and his volatile temperament. When he had work that needed extra cyber security or to delve deeper into concerns, having the multiple monitors at his office and the ability to search out his father or brothers immediately came in handy.

The roof of the building was his favorite place to think and plan. No one came up here but more than that, he could see everything. The city, the surrounding water, everything. He wondered if this was what the gods felt like looking down on Midgard from Valhalla.

Ivar exhaled, the curl of smoke slipping from his lips. "Are you coming to the meeting?"

Floki ran a hand over his tattooed head. "Your father asked for me to come."

"Mmmm. Know what it's about?"

"Probably the same old boring shit."

They chuckled, still staring over the city. Out of the corner of his eye, Ivar could see Floki tug uncomfortably on the black business suit he wore. The only reason the shipbuilder ever wore anything remotely formal was when Ragnar demanded it….and coming to the headquarters fit into the category. Ragnar liked to say that if they wanted to be taken as serious businessmen then they needed to dress the part, and it was not too difficult to wash blood out of the suits.

The youngest Lothbrok leaned against the railing in a charcoal gray suit, his dark hair pulled back into a man-bun. He did not mind the formal attire as much, there was a sense of prestige and strength that came with it. On more than one occasion, he had been told he presented a striking figure and he liked to use that to his advantage. Whether it was terror or arousal that his figure caused depended on the person. He knew how to control them all.

A vibration had Ivar pulling out his phone to see a new text from Kari. He smiled softly at her cheeky response. When asked what she was doing tonight, she said she was taking a bubble bath and reading a book. He said he did not believe her and demanded a picture as proof she was actually taking a bubble bath like a child. Now he gazed down at an image of her feet peeking out of bubbles against a porcelain bathtub. The picture was so innocent yet sensual, just like his kitten. An innocent seductress. His cock began to stiffen at the lewd ideas running rampage through his mind at the simple picture.

With her picture came a text.

Kari: You should try it sometime. It's very relaxing.

He snorted. There was no way in hell he would ever take a bubble bath, and he figured she probably knew it.

Ivar: the only way I'm gtn n2 a bubble bath is if u in there w/ me

Grinning smugly, he could imagine the flush on her cheeks at his answer as he slipped his phone back into his pocket.

Floki's voice interrupted his thoughts. "You going to tell me about her?"

Ivar did not answer right away, taking a drag from his cigarette and slowly exhaling it. "Nothing to fucking tell."

"Hmmm…. I'd bet she is the only person you smile for like that."

"Fuck…." He ran his hand over his mouth, before turning to lean his back against the roof's railing. Floki was right and clearly knew it if the sly look said anything. It made Ivar want to knock the smirk off the madman's face with his cane, which rested on the railing next to him.

"This isn't like Freydis, right?" Floki quietly inquired after several minutes of companionable silence.

"Gods, no. She is…." He found his words trailing off, unable to articulate what Kari meant to him.

Freydis had been a hope for someone more than just a fuck, someone who potentially cared for him. Unfortunately, he quickly realized that she may have cared for him, but she cared more for the status and money being in a relationship with him allowed. So, they used each other. She wasted his money on frivolous things, lavishing herself with stuff she would never dream of having otherwise. He used her for fucking and to have someone on his arm when they attended events, to silence the pitying looks from others and the comments that he did not know how to please a woman.

After ten months though, he found himself resenting her and their relationship. It was then he broke it off with her. She cried, supposedly heartbroken but he did not care. In the months following, she tried to worm her way back into his life but he slammed the door shut, uncaring of how cruel he appeared to others. He fucked other women or had them give him blow jobs, never even taking the time to remove his leg braces or pants. They meant nothing. They were nothing.

But all that changed a month ago when a woman with blue-green eyes and a sweet innocence about her bumped into him…. and then confused the hell out of him when she kissed him.

"What's her name?" Floki asked, tapping the ash off the end of his cigarette.

"Kari." He answered, probably sounding far softer than he meant to. After, he tilted his head to look at his surrogate father, brow furrowed. "How'd you find out?"

"The gods told me." At Ivar's unamused look, Floki giggled. "Your brothers. They said you have a new girlfriend."

"She's not."

"Mmmm?"

He sighed. "My girlfriend. She's made that very fucking clear. She keeps saying she can't be my girlfriend or she doesn't want to date right now. It's fucking infuriating!" He ripped the cigarette from his mouth, throwing it on the ground. "I don’t…. I don't fucking understand. She always says we're just friends, but I know she wants more. Sometimes I can see it when she looks at me. I don't know what to fucking do!"

"Why are you still wasting time on her then? She sounds like she doesn't care. Just move on from the bitch."

"Don't you fucking call her that! And she does care! More than most people." He snarled, fists trembling at his side. When Floki only smirked at him, Ivar rolled his eyes, anger slowly abating. He played into the old man's game easily.

Floki dropped his own half-used cigarette, eyeing Ivar curiously. "What is it about this girl?"

"She…. fuck…. she sees me. Not a cripple. Not some rich guy she can fuck and get stuff from. She sees... she sees me. Just me. Like you and mother. I don't….no one has looked at me like that. There's always a motive, always an angle. But not with her." The words rolled off his tongue, a dam unleashed, as if begging to have been finally uttered, to share his thoughts aloud to make sense of them. With Floki, he knew his thoughts were safe, that the man would never cruelly make fun of him.

"You really care about this girl."

Ivar did not answer, the truth already hung in the air as if painted in the sky for all to see.

Floki moved closer, wrapping his arm around Ivar's shoulder and pressing their foreheads together. "Give her time. The gods will tell you what to do. But for fuck's sake, stop stalking her. Hvitserk made sure to tell us how you showed up at her work and home unannounced."

Ivar chuckled, mirroring Floki's action. "Hvitty better keep his fucking hands off her."

"He will. He sees how important she is to you." Floki leaned back, that stupid grin on his face. "When do I get to meet her?"

"Why the hell do you think I'd let her meet your insane ass? She'd take one look at you and run away."

"She puts up with your stupidity. I'd be an improvement for her."

"Fuck off." Ivar laughed, throwing a mock punch at the man. "I've only known her for a month."

"But it feels longer, right?"

Ivar startled at the soft tone Floki used, like he knew exactly how Ivar felt. For once, he wondered if this was how Helga and Floki’s relationship felt. His tone was just as quiet, almost reverent as he answered. "Yeah."

"Don't do something stupid and lose her. Meet her where she is. Be her friend if that's what she wants. She seems good for you."

"Where is this wisdom coming from?" Ivar scoffed, running a hand over the braids on top of his head.

"I've always been wise, you just don't listen, pretentious asshole."

"No, it's Helga that's the wise one."

"My sweet Helga certainly is." Floki clapped a hand on Ivar's shoulder. "Come on, the meeting will be starting soon. I was sent to find your crippled ass."

"Why the fuck are we talking then?"

"I wanted to hear about this girl. From the sounds of it, you'll start waxing poetic sonnets about the poor girl soon and the gods will certainly…."

"Shut the fuck up."

Talking casually about the latest boat Floki was working on building back home in Norway, they headed towards the meeting room attached to Ragnar's office. The trip from the roof to the meeting room should have been quick but Ivar moved slowly, leaning heavily on his cane. He knew the whites of his eyes had an alarming shade of blue. He had seen it that morning when he looked in the mirror but even more so, he could feel it in his bones. It felt as if with one simple misstep, he would break a bone. The fragility of his body was never more evident than on these days.

He loathed it.

Thankfully, Floki made no comments about Ivar's eyes or his slow, measured gait. Instead he talked, making sure to hold doors open and continued in his loping walk as if they were on a leisurely stroll. He did comment about how nice Ivar's cane was and asked if he had used it on anyone recently.

The cane had been a gift from Floki three years ago for his birthday. It appeared to be an expensive cane made up of an ebony tapered shaft and sterling silver handle with a snarling wolf's head. What only a few knew was that if Ivar twisted the handle and pulled, a long, slender knife came out, the blade attached to the handle. Plus, the shaft of the cane was reinforced with a sturdy material, making it easily used as a blunt force object without fear of it bending or denting. Floki had said long ago that one should never be without a weapon, and the cane was his way of ensuring Ivar followed that sentiment.

The private meeting room of Ragnar was a spacious corner room with two walls made up of floor-to-ceiling windows, a dark hardwood flooring and deep green walls. A single slab wooden oak table was the centerpiece of the room, with cushioned chairs around it. Currently all those seats were filled besides two, signifying that Floki and Ivar were the last to arrive at the meeting.

Ragnar Lothbrok looked up as they entered the meeting room, appearing both suave and intimidating in his gray business suit and hair plaited. "Where have you two been?" He narrowed his piercing eyes at Floki. "I thought Helga wanted you to stop smoking."

"Your son is very convincing." Floki shrugged.

The patriarch's lips twitched in a suppressed smirk. He waved at the almost full table. "Sit. Let's get this started."

At the beginning of each month, Ragnar liked to meet with his sons and few trusted advisors to review the past month and discuss anything important in the future. It was his way of checking in with progress and making sure everyone was doing their jobs, while keeping all informed. Ivar typically found the meetings boring and a waste of time, but he made sure to attend them like a dutiful son.

In this particular meeting, Ragnar discussed how he would be meeting with Ecbert of Saxon Industries in a week, an impromptu decision but Ecbert had insisted of its necessity.

Ivar rolled his eyes but kept his thoughts to himself. He knew by the way Floki clenched and unclenched his fist on Ivar's left that he felt the same way. A glance at his brothers showed the two latecomers were not the only skeptical ones. Ecbert and Ragnar had a mutual respect for one another but it did not stop them from betraying and trying to sabotage each other's businesses when it pleased them. Aella, who ran the Northern part of Saxon Industries, made no qualms about showing his disdain for Ragnar and his family, labeling them nothing more than "power-mongering, bloodthirsty heathens who allowed their animalistic tendencies to rule them".

To say there was bad blood between Ragnar and his sons with Aella was an understatement.

Years prior, Saxon Industries had been the leader in imports and exports in the United Kingdom and Ireland but all that changed once Ragnar set his gaze upon those shores. Now, Ragnarssons Trading was the powerhouse of the United Kingdom, Scandinavia, and France, with that influence expanding even more as trade flourished around the Mediterranean.

Saxon Industries was forced to turn their ventures to North America, something that caused resentment from both Ecbert and Aella, even if Aella was the only one vocal about it.

Ivar personally thought they should just wipe out the competition, utterly destroy Saxon Industries until it held no hope of recovery. It would also send the perfect message to any who tried to compete against them in the future.

At the conclusion of the meeting, Ivar rose from his seat, still moving slower than normal. He could feel the tenderness in his muscles and bones. A silent threat to his body. The concerned looks from those around did not help. It only happened every few months now, but he still hated the pitying looks.

"Ivar, I need to speak with you." Ragnar announced, momentarily breaking off his conversation with Torstein and Sigurd at the head of the table. Ivar nodded his understanding. With a muted groan, he sat back down in the plush chair and pulled out his phone.

"Want me to wait for you?" Hvitserk asked, coming to his side.

"Nah, go ahead. I'll see you at home."

Hvitserk gently clapped him on the shoulder then leaned down to whisper smugly. "Tell Kari hello from me."

"Fuck off!" Ivar said, making his elder brother laugh as he walked out.

Speaking of, Ivar opened his phone to view the response from Kari to his previous message.

Kari: unbelievable.

For a second, he considered replying but closed out of the text. At this late hour, she would already be asleep due to how early she regularly woke up. Instead he decided to wait until the morning to reply.

Soon enough, everyone trickled out of the meeting room leaving him alone with his father. Once it was just the two of them, Ivar watched as the confident, composed expression typical on his father's face slid away to reveal something more haggard. He straightened in his chair when his father walked across the room and pointedly closed and locked the doors before taking the seat next to him.

Ragnar rubbed a hand down his face, gazing out the open window before them. A sudden falling star streaked across the sky, momentarily distracting Ivar from his impatience, which thudded in his chest like a drum, growing louder and louder each moment his father kept them locked in silence.

"What I'm going to tell you does not leave this room. If you have any questions, you come to me directly. Understood?"

Turning his head to eye his father with intrigue, Ivar nodded. "Understood."

Only after that did Ragnar shift to meet Ivar's intense blue eyes with his own. "Our security system caught an email being sent out which contained an itemized list of some shipments we will be sending next month to our friends in Finland."

Ivar's eyebrows rose. About ninety percent of Ragnarssons Trading was legal, something his father was very proud of considering how the company started. That hidden ten percent, it allowed them to stay connected to the black market and underground trading, to know things before they happened. Most recently they had made contact with a new buyer from Finland who had an affinity for certain illegal weapons.

Ragnar leaned forward, rubbing a hand over his mouth before continuing as if it pained him to utter the words. "It seems the damn email was supposed to be encrypted but somehow never fully transitioned, leaving half of it legible. We know it was sent from this building."

"Do you know who the recipient was?"

"The Russian mafia in Thailand."

Ivar sharply inhaled, his mind furiously working on the implications, plus what their next steps should be. "What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to find out who the fuck is selling us out. By any means necessary….and I want to burn them alive."

A sinister grin grew on Ivar's face, matching the one on his father's.

"Consider it done."

"Good." Ragnar absent-mindedly tapped the table with his fist. "This is your main priority but completely confidential, not even a word to your brothers."

"You think it's one of them?"

"No, but we don't know who is close to them that it might be." Ragnar reassured.

Ivar rubbed a hand over his mouth as he thought, eyes drifting to the window. "I'll trace from my office. If the need arises, I'll go to Norway with Mother."

"Good. You've never failed me. I know you won't in this."

Ivar's heart swelled at the praise, something he rarely received from his ambitious and frequently absent father, especially during his childhood.

After a long moment, Ragnar reclined back in his chair, a small smirk on his face. "Your eyes are blue."

"They are always blue, courtesy of your genetics." Ivar retorted harshly, already knowing where this was going.

"You know what I mean, Ivar." His father flatly stated. "If you break something, your mother will be breathing down both of our necks."

"I'm not a fucking child, I can take care of myself."

Ragnar hummed, seeming amused by his son's antagonized state. "Don't come into the office tomorrow."

"I'll do whatever the fuck I want to."

"Start whatever you want, but for gods' sake, stay in bed where you can rest. If I get a call that you're in the damn hospital with a broken bone, I'll break something else on you." He threatened, pointing a finger at his son.

Ivar sneered, "Mother will skin you alive."

Ragnar chuckled darkly, leaning back once again. "No, her style would be to sabotage me somehow. Now get out of here. Your brothers planned on going out for drinks tonight, are you going to join them?"

He opened his mouth to answer when an impulsive idea latched itself in his mind. "No…." He answered slowly, a wicked smirk curled on his lips. "I think I'm going to bed."

"Alright."

Ivar rose, leaning on his cane. After taking a few steps away, he turned back to see his father watching him curiously. "Doesn't mean it's going to be my bed."

With that, he walked out of the meeting room to the sound of Ragnar laughing loudly behind him.

*****

He closed the bedroom door silently behind him, pleased with how the house remained quiet as he moved about. It was nearing two in the morning and the last thing he wanted was the police called with the neighbors thinking he was a burglar or something ridiculous.

Gently, he leaned his cane against the wall then proceeded to slip his shoes and shirt off. He dropped them on the floor, overly aware of any noise he made. Carefully, he maneuvered to the side of the bed, feeling very much like a thief in the night though he ignored it, and eased his legs out of his braces, setting them on the ground. Next, he slid under the rumpled covers, pleased when the bed's other occupant did not wake. His heart pounded in his chest though it did not deter his actions, if anything the forbidden feel spurred him on. Laying on his side, he placed his arm around her. Cautious of his body, he scooted closer to her until his chest was to her back. Before he could fully relax, she began to stir.

"Mmmm?"

He tenderly placed a kiss on the back of her neck before murmuring. "Shhh, go to sleep."

"Ivar?" Kari asked sleepily, her body tensing under his touch.

"Yes. Go back to sleep."

At his words, she twisted in his arms to face him, his arm still over her waist comfortably. He could hear the sleep fading from her voice. "What? What are you doing here?"

"Trying to sleep." He answered coolly, a flash of irritation shooting through him. Why was she questioning him? All he wanted to do right now was sleep with her in his arms. The increasing pain in his traitorous body made him want to lash out. To demand she shut up and let them sleep. He bit his tongue before the venom could erupt. Logically he knew his presence was unexpected and surprising at this hour, but he had hoped she would be more excited to see him.

"That…. what? How did you get into my house?" She demanded, trying to wriggle out of his hold but to no avail.

"I have a key."

That easy statement made her freeze. "You have a key…." She slowly repeated. After a moment, she sighed, relaxing back into his embrace. "You know what, I'm too tired. We'll talk about that fact in the morning. Why are you here though?"

Maybe it was the darkness surrounding them or the enticing sleepy voice of hers, either way he found himself answering honestly…. a bit too honestly. He pressed his forehead to hers, closing his eyes as he quietly confessed. "I missed you….and I don't want to be alone."

They laid there for several seconds in a tense silence. Even though she did not pull away from him, he could practically feel her over-thinking. If she told him to leave right now, he wondered if his dark heart would splinter. Over the past month she had become so vitally important to him. When he first met her, his interest had been fueled by lust plus the mystery and innocent aura around her. He wanted her. Now though, it had moved beyond want. It was a need. As much as he needed air to breathe, his mind and body coveted her. She somehow slipped past his guarded heart to entangle herself in his very core. Her presence soothed the violence that controlled his mind, she gentled his rage. She cared about him, not because of who or what he was, like everyone else. No, she cared about him as his own person, as simply Ivar.

Finally, she spoke in a resigned whisper. "Fine. Go to sleep, Ivar."

"I was trying to but someone kept asking me questions." He quipped, in hopes to hide the joy and relief in his voice.

She grumbled, then turned over and tried to move away from him but he was not going to have that. Not now. Not where he wanted her to be after so long. Where she deserved to be. With the arm around her waist, he pulled himself against her until they were spooning. At first, she attempted to fight him, squirming away, but after a few moments she surrendered. A barely suppressed chuckle escaped him, as he tightened his hold on her. She felt so perfect in his arms, like the gods created her to fit flawlessly against him, two puzzle pieces that finally found their match. He pressed his face into her hair, nuzzling into her. His elation only increased when her fingers intertwined with his that were splayed just under her breasts. A fond smile danced on his lips at her acceptance.

Within moments, he felt her go limp against him, sleep consuming her one again. He lightly kissed the back of her neck, pleased when he thought he heard a content hum come from her at the action.

Knowing his kitten, there would be hell to pay come morning, but for now, he needed this. Her body against his, to feel her heartbeat, to know she was safe. It was something that was no longer optional. He felt a man possessed, bewitched. Everything about her cast him under her spell- her beauty, her friendship, her tenderness towards him, the silly ways she made him laugh, and how she stood up for him. She was his. His responsibility. His devotion. His peace. His kitten. His alone.

"God natt, min skatt." He whispered against her skin. (Good night, my treasure)

It did not take long for him to follow her into sleep, more at peace in this moment than he had been for in years.

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joyfulsongbird · 4 years ago

Text

A Curious Beginning

the pre-canon Campaign 1 Feeblemind!Percy AU I made out of pure self indulgence, inspired by @rainydaydecaf 's Feeblemind!Essek fics that I ADORE and you all should go read!!

here's the AO3 link if that's where you prefer to read!

thank you, comments and reblogs are always appreciated <3

***

The bar is relatively quiet and subdued after the day, in the aftermath of an attack on a small village people tend to stay inside their homes; spend time with families after the reminder that they could be snatched from this life in an instant. Leaves more drinks and seats for everybody else, so it’s a welcome side effect of the attack. The members of Vox Machina are slightly scattered, some with more energy than others.

Scanlan and Grog are up at the bar, chatting with the bartender. Pike is sitting several feet away, swinging her feet from her stool and watching her friends silently. Keyleth is sitting quietly right by Vex and Vax, who both find themselves in conversation with one of the few townsfolk who is in this bar at this time of night.

“We can’t leave until we find some more supplies,” Vax is saying to the man, a simple butcher who was a good enough conversationalist. Vex is half listening, the other half of her mind nearly falling asleep from the long day. She hadn’t gotten much sleep last night, spending most of it on watch and the other half tossing and turning for little reason whatsoever. She’s used to spending nights sleeping on the forest floor, but for some reason last night she just couldn’t get her mind to relax. “All our casters are tapped of spells for the time being and the rest of us managed to lose many of our weapons in the battle. We won’t be able to rest if we can’t defend ourselves.”

“The old prison might have a few blades lying around, maybe a crossbow or two.” the butcher says, a finger twisting a curl in his long, brown beard. “I know it was one of the first places to get attacked by those beasts and is still empty, all the guards were forced to leave without taking any of the valuables.” “And what of the prisoners?” Vax asks.

“Let free.” the butcher replies. “Gonna be difficult as hell to round ‘em all back up, but the prisons half collapsed. Roof caved in. You won’t need to worry about dealing with the prisoners, I’m sure there’s something useful in the rubble and in the parts that are still standing upright.” “Let’s do that,” Keyleth pipes up. “You lost your daggers, and Vex still has arrows but her bow got stolen.” “Don’t remind me.” Vex sighs, leaning her chin against the palm of her hand. It was ridiculous, they’re supposed to be the best fighters in all of Tal’dorei and they got caught off guard in the woods. First, by bandits, and then immediately after, a monster attack on the nearest village. It feels like the universe is playing tricks on them, taunting them, giving them victories but at what cost? “But Kiki’s right, we should scavenge what we can before shelling out the money to buy new weapons.”

“Always the frugal one, sister.” Vax says before standing and clapping his hands to get their friends' attention. “We need to have a quick talk, huddle up.”

It’s discussed quickly, many of them are eager to either get back to the bar or to bed. Not everybody needs to go to the prison, afterall, it’s not necessary that all of the crowd into a building that may or may not be unstable and cave in on all of them at any moment. But it’s decided that both the twins will go; Vax for obvious reasons, they wouldn’t be able to open a single locked door or safe without him. Vex will tag along as well.

“I want to make sure you all get the correct things, I don’t want you going without me and finding out you decided to only bring back daggers and whatever whiskey they have stored away.”

And finally, Keyleth volunteers despite not having any spells left, she does have a few cantrips that could be of use. Pike, Scanlan, and Grog all decide to stay behind, the latter two out of desire to remain at the bar, and the first because she has no healing left and would be in more danger than use. And also to make sure the others don’t get too rowdy, just in case. They don’t expect much out of an old prison used just as a holding place for criminals before trial. All of them doubt many of the prisoners from a rinky dink, dusty town like this would carry weapons more than bare minimum in quality. Better to go and come up empty handed rather than not go at all.

They set out into the night, given directions by the butcher to the outskirts of town, away from what little civilization there is out here. If you can even call a town as small as this one a civilization. The streets are quiet and all three half elves blend in with the shadows, though Keyleth stands out with her red hair and green clothing, but there is no imminent danger. The walk is quiet, with few words exchanged in the companionable silence. They reach the edge of the town and start walking through a wide field, the land quite flat and vast until it reaches the edge of a forest. They can see only very little, and the only indication of where they should be headed is the rise of a dark shadow in the vague shape of something that used to be a building.

Keyleth holds out her palm and a small ball of golden white light appears, casting a dim light around 40 feet around them. They can see, now, that the field is covered in old, dying grass and it is nice to know where they are stepping so as not to fall into a pit or step on a snake. They grow closer to the building, and with Keyleth’s light they can now make out the various features of the prison itself. At one point, it would’ve been a one story building, made of gray brick that still looks somewhat like it’s going to crumble. Now, one side of the building has collapsed, leaving a gaping hole that one could easily step through. It looks precarious, as if one flick could send the whole thing tumbling down.

“Well,” Vex says, her voice loud enough that it must travel across this open plain and back into the town. “Looks as if you don’t need to pick any locks.”

Vax chuckles and starts towards the building, Keyleth and Vex following close in his wake. They approach the gaping hole in the wall, inspecting the brick and the foundation for a moment before climbing through. Vax goes first, pulling one leg and then another over what is left of the wall between the inside and outside. One they’re all inside, they stand silent for a few moments. Keyleth’s light seems to grow brighter in this enclosed space, illuminating all of their faces and the rubble leftover from the attack earlier in the day. The place is a mess, but not so much of a mess that they can’t pick their way through this building until they find what appears to be the sheriff’s office. This door is locked, however, but Vax opens it easily enough.

“Rusty ass locks are no match against me.” he says with a grin before swinging the door open and letting them all inside. There isn’t much to find in this room, and in the drawers of the desk they find in the center of the office. Everything is either near bare or not of any use to them. Some writing utensils, papers, a smoking pipe, and other mundane things but that’s about it. Vex is about to throw in the towel when Keyleth lets out a yelp, not one of fear but of excitement. The twins turn their heads in her direction and watch as she drags a crate of some sort from under the floorboards.

“I heard a creaking and thought it sounded sort of hollow under the floor.” She explains as she strains to pull out the crate, Vax rushes towards her and helps place the wood box in the center of the office. It seems like it’s heavier than it looks, judging by how much effort both Vax and Keyleth have to put into carrying it. They pry it open and all three crowd over to get a good look inside, Keyleth holding her light closer to get a better look.

Vex grins. Inside is an array of items, but most importantly, weapons. Maybe not the best weapons around but it’s something. Vax immediately reaches in and pulls out one of the daggers, holding in his palm, feeling the weight. He nods to himself.

“They’ll do for now.” He does the same with another dagger that sits in the box, deeming this one suitable as well. There are no bows, sadly, though Vex had suspected that not many outlaws would be carrying around good quality bows. There is a shortsword and while it’s not her preferred weapon, it’s usable. She’d rather have a weapon she’s somewhat proficient in by her side rather than no weapon at all. She’ll go buy a new bow in the morning, though it will be grudgingly. She’d rather just hunt down those bandits but by now, they’ll be long gone and her bow will be on the black market. The thought makes her fume, even now, but she lets it go with a soft sigh.

There aren’t just weapons inside the box, some clothes are there as well. A few tunics, a couple pairs of boots, a long blue coat, a hat or two, even a pair of glasses. They leave all of it behind, for they have no need for it and perhaps the escaped prisoners will come back for their things one day. Vax is putting away his new daggers and Vex is turning back towards the door when Keyleth’s voice makes them both pause.

“Guys,” her voice comes out soft and confused, with a touch of fear. “What is this thing?”

Vex looks back towards her, her pale face is illuminated by her own light from below, the shadows creating a contrast on her pale skin. She looks almost deathly in this light, like her skeleton is starting to show on her outsides. And with how wide her eyes are, how blown the pupils are in the dim light, it is even more believable. Vex’s eyes are drawn away from Keyleth’s face when she lifts up some mechanism with a few careful fingers. It’s a metal thing, large but small enough to fit in one’s hands. The shape of it is… odd. Not like anything she’s ever seen before. If it was turned upright, it might look a little like a crossbow but even then, that’s pushing it. It’s nothing like anything Vex has ever seen, and judging by her brother’s face and Keyleth’s reaction, neither have they.

Vax reaches forward and gently takes it from her, Keyleth lets it go easily. He gingerly holds it, turning it over in his palm once, twice, and switches it to his other hand. “I- I don’t know. I’ve never…” Vex snatches from him, inspecting it in her own hands. The metal is cool to the touch, heavy but not so heavy that it strains against her wrists as she hands it in one hand. It’s obviously hand crafted, she can see where the metal was shaped, where the leather on the handle (or what she assumes is the handle) was hand sewn, how each embellishment was created with care. She has no idea what it is supposed to be, but no matter what, she’s intrigued and impressed by the craftsmanship.

“We should keep it.” she announces. “Whatever it is, I bet it’ll fetch a pretty penny. Never seen anything like it.”

“I don’t know, Vex.” Keyleth worries her bottom lip, looking apprehensive. “It’s just… I’ve got a bad feeling.”

“It’ll be fine, darling,” she assures her, tucking the thing safely into her belt. “It’ll be out of our hands in no time.”

They leave it at that, though Keyleth looks as if she wants to keep pushing the topic. There’s nothing else of value to bring back in this particular room, and they replace the top of the crate. They don’t put it back under the floor, though, choosing to leave it out in the open. There’s not much of a point of putting it away if somebody’s going to be scavenging through it anyways. They leave the sheriffs office with the door unlocked, the place is already in ruins there really isn’t a point in them trying to cover their tracks.

They walk down the narrow hallway, it’s relatively short too, and they don’t come across a door until the far end of it. It’s a small prison after all, and based on the size of it, probably not able to hold more than a dozen people and even then that might be crowded. The door at the end of the hallway is unlocked, and slightly ajar. Vax pushes it open, the light from Keyleth’s palm revealing a descending stairwell. Vex lets Keyleth pass first behind Vax before following in the back. The stairs are cold stone, damp and muddy and mossy in some patches. It’s disgusting, obviously a very old room, and smells of mildew and piss. Vex had forgotten what untended jails are like, not even a drop of care has gone into the creation of this place. She can see the walls are bare, the same stone as the floor. It’s like a stone box, closed in from every side, stifling and dark. It makes her pity those who end up in here, she knows that many of those who end up in these small town jails are just people whose crimes are petty theft or wrong place, wrong time. It is empty now, the cells separated by grimy metal bars completely bare.

“There’s not going to be anything down here.” Vex calls after her brother who is going to each cell and searching inside. “We might as well leave.”

“C’mon, help me look, Stubby, don’t you want to be thorough?”

“Oh, yes, of course, there’s going to be daggers just sitting around. It smells awful, Vax, let’s just-”

“Guys.”

Keyleth’s voice makes Vex stop her ramble, snapping her mouth shut at the tone she’s taking. A fake calm, gentle but gentle in the way you put on when trying to sooth an animal.

When no other addition comes, Vex moves towards where her friend stands. “What is it?”

All Keyleth does is lift the hand that isn’t alight and point towards the stairs. What they hadn’t noticed when descending them was that they are somewhat hollow, built in a strange way so that there is a hole between the stairs and the wall. Just large enough for a person to fit in, maybe stand if they were short enough or if they bent their neck. Now, when Keyleth is turned towards the hole, the light from her fist shining towards it, they can make out a huddled figure inside. Neither Keyleth nor Vex moves, they are frozen in place. Vex cannot make out who it is, what they are, or even get a good look at their figure, but the one thing she can figure out is that they are afraid. She can see their shaking form from here. The way their whole body moves in tremors. It makes her want to rush forward, to lay a hand on them and comfort in any way she can. But she cannot bring herself to move.

“Vax.” she says, under her breath. “Stay where you are.”

“Vex-”

“Just- stay.” she says, trying to command as much as she can through her tone. Her feet before she can even think about whether this figure could be dangerous, her strides take her almost five feet away from them before she even stops to think. She pauses, grips the handle of her new shortsword for a moment. She thinks about drawing it before deciding, ultimately, that there is something going on here with more nuance than just a monster in disguise or a criminal trying to fool her. She sinks down to sit on her ankles, motioning for Keyleth to come closer. She does, staying a few paces behind Vex but holds out the light to get a better look.

The figure flinches away, turning their face towards the wall. They’re obviously humanoid, if not just human, and curled on themself. She can’t seem to get a good look and scoots just a little closer. She knows that she’s being rash but there’s a pull in her stomach. Something that doesn’t feel right. Something that is making her reach forward and place two careful fingers on the edge of the hole in the wall.

“Hello.” her voice comes out soft, breathy. The person does not answer. If anything, they’ve only shrunken further away since Keyleth and Vex got closer. “Kiki, could you back away a bit?”

“I- alright. Vex… be careful.” she says, as the light fades slightly. Vex keeps her eyes on the subject before her, and the farther that Keyleth backs away, the more relaxed they seem to become. It’s not much, the shoulders are still bunched, the body still shakes, but at least now Vex can make out that it’s a human. A man. His face turns slightly her way and she can see, even now that the shoulders are stronger away from the light, that his eyes are wide, and bright blue.

“Hello.” she repeats. He looks at her, meets her gaze, and in this moment she knows. This man is not a danger. His gaze snaps from her face down to her waist where the shortsword hangs, recognition floods his eyes and he turns away again. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ll get rid of it.”

She removes it from her belt and tosses it aside, “see? Gone.”

This, also, seems to sooth him. She’s heard of afflictions like this before. This man looks to be younger than her, but not so young as to be acting like a terrified child. The sort of magical affliction that removes all logic, all knowledge, all language even, the cruelest act you can put on a person. The spell that takes away every ounce of their dignity. She cannot recall the name nor the cure but at least she knows what’s wrong with this man. And that a cure exists. The realization on her part comes early enough she knows to remove all weapons and things that could scare him. She hasn’t met somebody afflicted by this before but she knows how easily spooked they are. Treat them like you’d treat a scared child, a healer she knew had once said. She removes the strange metal weapon from her belt as well, tossing it aside with the sword. The man’s eyes follow this closely, eyebrows furrowed close together as his gaze tracks the contraption. His eyes stay locked on it, gaze more focused than she has seen him thus far. She has no other weapons now, and holds her hands towards him, palms up.

“Can you speak?” she asks quietly, already knowing the answer, but hoping anyway.

There is no reply.

He is still shaking, still terrified, and the quiet is starting to get to her. She wants to leave but cannot leave this man behind, not in this state. He reminds her too much of (however ridiculous it is) Trinket, and of herself, afraid and alone.

“Vex, what’s going on?” her brother’s voice breaks through the silence and she shushes him when the poor man flinches.

“It’s alright.” she soothes. His gaze, as soon as he relaxes again, finds the metal contraption on the floor. It’s the only thing that, when he focuses on it, makes his eyes seem alive, bright. It makes him seem present rather than stuck in a reality that does not make sense, one that can’t comprehend words other than the tone that goes along with them. There’s desire in those eyes, but desire that is held back by fear.

“Is that yours?” she asks, even though she knows he cannot answer. He can’t even understand the words she says, let alone formulate an answer. But she goes to the contraption anyway, scooping it up and placing it before him. Close enough that he doesn’t have to move any closer to her in order to pick it up. He grabs it tentatively, as if he, too, isn’t quite sure what it is but recognizes it nonetheless. He holds it carefully, but in a way that clearly says he has done this before. He looks at it with admiration, almost with love. How strange it is to see a grown man cradling some mechanical object like a plaything, like a comfort toy. He relaxes much more, now that he has the weapon in his possession. Which should worry her, but to be honest, she is quite sure she could single handedly take him out in this state, even if he was armed and she was weaponless.

Now that he is facing her, she can get a better look at him. His face and hair and body is covered in dirt and grime, as if he’s been rolled in mud and dust and then was thrown down in this dungeon. But even under the grime she can see that he is young, maybe a couple years above his teen years but still. His eyes are that striking blue. Hair matted and so dirty she can’t make out the color or texture. It’s like he’s been down here forever. His clothes are the same, once they might’ve been of good quality but now are ripped and dirty and in dire need of a wash. Or even better, just being burned and replaced. Something fierce rises in her throat, something instinctual that tells her that he has been wronged. She doesn’t even know his name, but there are very few people in the world who deserve to have every means of communication and reality stripped from them. Very few people deserve to have their mind taken away and then in addition to that, locked in the dark and the cold. Who knows the last time he saw the sun.

That settles it for her.

“Darling,” she keeps her voice soft, knowing that the only way he can judge people is based on the sound of their voice. His head lifts a little, face turning slightly towards her so at least she knows he’s listening. She holds out a hand, gesturing towards her, hoping that he’ll get the idea. “Come here. We can go. We can get you out. Please.” “Vex, what the hell are you doing?”

She ignores her brother's words, pursing her lips as the man in front of her makes a whimpering sound at the harsh sound of Vax’s voice.

“It’s alright.” she coos. She wishes she had Scanlan here to cast Friends or something but all she can do is just try to get him out of here based purely on trust. It’s apparent that in this state, and probably out of it as well, he is not quick to lay his trust out in the open. It takes a long time, a long time in which she has to continually shut up her brother and sometimes even Keyleth, though they both mean well. She coaxes him out of the hole in the wall, spending minutes on minutes getting him more comfortable with her being close. She doesn’t know why she is putting this much effort in, if anything, it should be Keyleth who is pushing so hard to save some random civilian in danger. But she will not let herself leave him behind.

She beams at him when he stands, nearly falling on unsteady feet, but regains his balance after a moment. “Good job, darling. Now, up the stairs.”

She guides him to the front of the stairwell, lightly brushing a hand on his back as a way of getting him there. Barely a touch, barely even a brush, but he still tries to twist away with a whimper in his throat. She hates having to cause distress like that, but it’s the only way she can get him to go the right way. Otherwise, he’d just wander away or sit back down on the floor. She pauses at the first step, wondering how she’s supposed to help him up. But (thank the gods) his muscle memory still seems to be intact and he climbs the stairs easily enough, though stumbling here and there.

From behind her, she hears her brother's voice, now soft. “Stubby-”

“I don’t want to hear it, brother.” she whispers back. They all reach the top of the stairs and Vex grins at the man. “Well done, darling!” Something in his eyes brightens at the delight in her voice and he leans in a little towards her, his lips quirking up slightly in what looks like it could be a smile. He’s still cradling the weapon tightly to his chest, squeezing it like a lifeline. As soon as she turns away from him, though, she’s faced with Vax’s face, serious and stone hard.

“Keyleth, watch… him, please. Make sure he doesn’t run off.” and she grabs Vax’s arm and walks him down the hall, back into the sheriff's office. She closes the door behind her a little harder than necessary, already knowing what’s going to come out of his mouth.

“Vex, you know this is a bad idea-”

“I know what you’re going to say-” They both cut off at the same time, sending each other equally heated glares. Vax takes the initiative and keeps going, she listens as she crosses her arms over her chest. They’re both stubborn as hell, and in this she has already decided that she’s going to win.

“We can’t just go around picking up strays, Stubby.” he says, voice lowered and even despite the obvious frustration showing on his face. “That guy out there could be dangerous. Who knows how he ended up in this place!” “He was left behind, Vax. In a crumbling building. It’s a miracle he didn’t get trapped down there, or we came a day or two later and he was dead from dehydration. How can you want to leave him behind, when he’s- when he’s so vulnerable.” She can’t explain why she’s so passionate about this, but there is not a world in which she can imagine herself leaving behind this man in that prison. She is not known for being the morally strong one of their group but her mind will not let it go. Seeing him curled up like that, so weak, so vulnerable, so open to an attack… it’s not alright.

“I’m just saying maybe there’s a reason he was left behind, alright?” Vax says, running a hand through his hair.

“Somebody hurt him.” She snaps. “Somebody did this to him and I would hope that if the same was done for me, you’d hope a stranger would help me.” “What is up with you?” He asks, his voice strangled and frustrated. “Why are you deciding that now is the time you’ll try to be like Kiki?”

“You say it like it’s a bad thing.” “You know what I mean.” She groans, “I’m not leaving him behind, Vax. Believe it or not, I do have a heart.” “I’m gonna need a little more proof before I believe that.” she punches him in the shoulder (hard enough to hurt a bit, but not too hard. She still loves her brother) before opening the door back to the hallway. She lets Vax through before turning back to look at the crate. She remembers all the clothes that are sitting on the bottom of the crate, and then remembers how dirty their new addition’s clothes are. Probably for the best that he gets a new shirt or maybe more.

She leaves the door open and makes her way back down the hallway, where it is no longer light and Keyleth stands awkwardly. Their new companion shifts from foot to foot, she can see his head twisting around in the dark, as if searching for something or someone. As she approaches, his head turns towards the sound of her footsteps. She can see his eyes even in the dark and sees how they relax just slightly at the sight of her. He starts walking, stopping a few feet in front of her and letting her close the distance until they’re nearly shoulder to shoulder. It’s odd that he’s so much taller than she is. It feels as if it shouldn’t be like that, when he’s so childlike and hunched over. But if he were to stand to his full height with proper posture and all, he’d be a head taller than her, maybe more.

“I think he’s imprinted on you, Vex.” Vax quips from a few feet away. She ignores him pointedly.

“He got scared of the light,” Keyleth explains. “So I put it out. I think now that you’re back I could start it back up though, he feels… safer with you.” “Yeah,” Vex nods to Keyleth and she opens her palm to make Light again. “I think we should get him some clothes, then leave.” She doesn’t turn to look at Vax, she knows her brother well and she knows exactly how much of an apprehensive, disbelieving expression he will have on his face. She leads them down the hallway and back into the sheriff's office where she immediately goes back to the crate, removes the top, and starts pawing through it. The man (should she call him a boy? He’s barely a man) leans over and watches her move things around, looking for clothing that might fit him. He’s thin, leaner than Vax even and most shirts look like they’d be large on him. As she’s doing this, he leans forward farther and grabs a bunch of fabric in his fist, pulling up what looks like a large blue coat. His expression brightens significantly, as he holds the garment out in front of him with one of his hands.

“Is that yours, darling?” Vex asks, and though he cannot possibly understand, he holds out the coat towards her, as if asking her to help him put it on. In his eagerness to pull it on, he even allows her to take the weapon from him, replacing it at her belt for the time being. She takes the coat from him and holds it out in front of her with both hands, it’s navy blue, made of good material if a little dirty, with buttons that are still shiny and pockets that still appear to be laden with small trinkets and the sort. In the last moment before helping him into it, she has the foresight to check the neckline for any indication of where it might have come from, as many garments had stamps from where they were made. But there were no stamps or tags of any kind, just one word, neatly hand stitched into the collar.

Percival.

“Huh.” she says aloud. She looks up into the boy’s blue eyes. “Percival?” Even if he does not know his name, it is obvious that this sparks at least a feeling of some sort. He sways on the spot, his eyes getting that brightness again. He makes a sound, low in his throat, not a whimper like he had before, but one that sounds closer to being content.

“We’ll call you that then.” she decides as she repeats it in her mind. Percival. Percival. Turns it over in her head, remembering how it felt on her tongue. Percival. She tries to seek out any familiarity in it, tries to remember if they’ve met before to give herself a reason for caring for him so much in his vulnerability when she could’ve easily left him to fend for himself. She comes up with nothing. Now, with his coat on, he looks much more regal, more like a grown person rather than a child. It sounds ridiculous to say since she does not know him but he looks more like himself. He looks happier with that coat on, even twists side to side to watch the bottom of the coat flap around.

Before putting on the coat, she chooses a few other garments out of the crate. A white (or what was once white) button up shirt. A pair of pants. And upon realizing he’s barefoot, she grabs boots and socks from the bottom of the crate and tucks them under her arm along with the other clothing. He’s still watching her, staying close. Maybe Vax is right and he has imprinted on her in some way, the same way a duckling imprints on the first animal that it sees after being hatched. She might’ve been the first person to show him kindness after being reduced to this mindspace. She can’t bear the thought of leaving him even more now. Perhaps she’s become a bit irrationally attached the same way he has to her, but she’ll let it go. He’ll be healed and out of this spell in no time, and then she’ll be able to let it go.

It takes a ridiculous amount of time to get the socks and boots onto Percival, but she does it, with not much help from him at all. She’ll wait on the other clothes, on the most likely false hope that Pike will be able to magically fix him as soon as they get back into town.

Before they can head out though, Percival reaches into the crate again. After rifling through it for a few moments, he pulls out the one pair of glasses that had sat at the bottom. It’s a damn miracle they didn’t shatter.

“Yours, too?” she asks, taking them from him and reaching up to place them on his nose. Again, this makes him look that much more right. Judging from the brightness that enters his expression again, this is good. Perhaps he’d been half blind without them.

“Alright, let’s go then.” Keyleth and Vax are suspiciously quiet as they leave the prison building, coming away with a lot more than they had anticipated when heading over here. She knows that Vax is angry with her and Keyleth… well, Keyleth cares about Vax. And about Vex too. Vex does not blame her for feeling conflicted when two of her family disagree like this, even if they are siblings who tend to disagree on the daily. Percival stays close, now trusting her seemingly implicitly. He is allowing her to touch him, gently of course, but she is able to hold the sleeve of his jacket and lead him through the field. He had allowed her to put on his boots, even let her lay a hand on his forearm for a moment. Out of the prison, he is more at ease, Keyleth’s light doesn’t seem to bother him so much. It’s a relief to see that he has stopped shaking so much out of fear, only does he tremble when there’s an unexpected sound or anybody besides Vex gets too close.

They make it back to the town and Percival moves closer to her, choosing between two evils: close contact with Vex or having to be without comfort in the new environment of the town. He flinches at every passerby (even though there are very few at this time of night), jumps at every sound, even sometimes his own footsteps. So he presses himself to her side, holding his weapon with one hand and bunching up the fabric of her jacket with his other. She allows it, trying to soothe as best as she knows how as they make their way back to the tavern.

They reach the front of the tavern, it looks nearly empty now but vex still worries that it’ll be too much for Percival to go in. She can’t exactly leave him outside by himself though, and she doesn’t trust Vax to recount the story of finding him truthfully. So he comes in with them. He takes these steps with relative ease and follows her through the door without hesitation. He shrinks back in on himself, though, when as soon as they enter Grog and Scanlan shoot up from their seats upon recognizing the three half elves. They stop moving towards them, however, when they see the fourth person who arrives with them when they had left the tavern with three.

Surprisingly, Pike is the first to reach them, as if sensing something is off. Percival steps back, looking back towards the door. Vex holds onto his sleeve, keeping him from running when he quite obviously wants to.

“Sorry, dear, you’ve got to stay.” She turns back to Pike. “Long story, but I need you to fix him. I don’t know what it is exactly that’s wrong but I’d hoped you might.” Pike nods, expression resolute. “Let’s go to a back room, come on.”

Vex manages to coax Percival along, following Pike out of the main tavern and into a washroom of some sort. There are candles and things keeping the place bright enough to see, the glow golden and making Pike’s white hair look more yellow. In this enclosed space, Percival seems far more nervous, more like he was when they first found him. Hands shaking, head twisting side to side to try and look at all of his surroundings at once. Vex pats his hand gently, doing her best to help while knowing that the only way to help him, truly, is to heal this spell.

Vex recconts everything wrong with Percival to Pike, who listens in her usual comfortable silence. How he cannot speak, can’t understand a thing they say, his fear, his childlike demeanor. She nods along and after just a few minutes of speaking, she interrupts Vex.

“Feeblemind.” As soon as Pike says it, the connection makes sense. It was just at the back of her mind, an itch she couldn’t understand. She hasn’t interacted with Feeblemind before but from what she has heard, it’s exactly as painful and terrible as she’s heard.

“I don’t have the magic to fix it.” Vex’s shoulders sag at the words, what are they supposed to do? “I’m sure other healers do, we can ask around but I can’t fix him.” “What do we do?” Vex asks, rubbing her face with both of hands. “He can’t exactly take care of himself right now. It’s Feeblemind. The whole point of it is that it takes away all capabilities. I just… gods-” She feels a soft nudge on her shoulder and looks away to see Percival looking at her, blue eyes wide and… there’s concern there, isn’t there? Real, genuine concern. She bites the inside of her cheek, a little perturbed by that fact. That’s the nature of this spell, isn’t it? It makes you less trustworthy but it also has made him put so much trust in her, the person looking out for him, the one who has shown him kindness. He’s making assumptions based on the first thing people do. Vax, and his sharp words. Keyleth, and her magic. Vex, and her gentleness around him. She swallows thickly, the knowledge heavy.

“I’m alright, dear, just tired.” The look on her face must suffice as he leans away and continues watching Pike warily.

“I know,” Pike says. “There’s nothing we can do tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll ask about a healer. But for now, all we can do is watch him and make sure he doesn’t hurt himself. Maybe give him a bath.” Vex turns to look at Percival, at his grime covered face, at his wide eyes, and the openness on his face when he looks at her. What has she gotten them into?

“Alright.” she sighs. “Let’s go break the news to Vax, hm?”

***

Vax, surprisingly, hadn’t been surprised. He’d simply looked at her knowingly, took a gulp from Scanlan’s drink and audibly sighed. “I’m going to bed.”

When he was gone, Scanlan laughed. “First, Trinket. Now, a full grown man. What’s next? You’re working your way up rather quickly.” She had simply rolled her eyes and not replied, ordered a hot bath in her room, and left before Percival had a panic attack right out in the front room. It hadn’t occurred to her how raucous all of Vox Machina could be when they were in one room, people trying to talk at the same time, laughter as loud as a shout. It was not the correct environment for the Feebleminded, so they left after just a few minutes. Up the stairs, winding through the hallway until they reach her room on the second floor. She opens the door and lets him inside, follows quickly while shutting and locking the door. She drops the clothes she’d brought for him on the floor in a messy pile, and looks back towards Percival. He’s gazing around, taking in the room in its entirety. Quite neat, since she hasn’t yet stayed there for a night. The desk empty except for an empty notebook and a pen. The bed made and the pillows fluffed. There’s a tub in the middle of the room, filled with steaming water.

“You’re covered in dirt.” she says, as a way of explanation even though he couldn’t understand. She feels better giving an explanation, despite it not even counting. She’s torn between two sides of her mind. One side, concerned that he can’t consent to anything in this state, that his mind is that of a toddlers. The other side can’t bear the idea of him sitting and sleeping covered in dirt and mud and what looks like it might be blood. In the end, the latter side wins out and she goes about trying to do this while touching him as little as possible. But she finds that as more time goes on, the more willing he is to let her come near him. His allowances had started as just the occasional brush with fabric between them, and now, not much later in the night, he is letting her slide his jacket off his shoulders, unbutton his shirt. She pushes the thought of “why?” away. This trust isn’t real, and it shouldn’t unnerve her.

She gets it done as soon as possible, stripping him to his bottom layers but leaving on any undergarments. Better to leave some sense of dignity for when he wakes from this state. She does not know the specifics of the spell but she does remember the subject tends to keep most of their memories. He’ll remember exactly how trusting he was, how willing he was, how afraid he was. He’ll remember it all in excruciating detail. She guides him to step into the tub, crouching by the edge as he lowers himself down into the steaming water.

She snatches a rag and a bar of soap from where they were left on the floor beside the tub, holds it in front of herself for a moment. Shs shakes her head, if he couldn’t put on boots by himself, he sure as hell can’t wash himself.

Moving as quick as she can without startling Percival, she removes her coat and rolls her sleeves up past her elbows. He’s looking at her again, and this time, she avoids his eyes. Why? She isn’t quite sure but everything about this feels wrong. She knows that if she were in his position, she would want somebody to clean her but how is she to know if he would want the same. It doesn’t feel right. She pushes away the thought once again, apologizing out loud as she wets the washcloth and lathers the bar of soap against it.

He just watches.

She gathers so many small details about him from this interaction. As she cleans his skin, she finds that under the grime, he is porcelain pale. Paler than her and Vax, the kind of pale that shines under light and seems to glow in the dark. But on that pale skin are a multitude of scars. At first, she writes the scars off as just accidents, maybe from childhood, maybe from the hazard of whatever his occupation is. But the more she finds, the less she is able to write them off. When she reaches his chest, she swallows, averting her eyes. Covered in scars. Same on his back. She washes them clean, trying to ignore their presence but she finds herself tracking them. Keeping track of where they are clustered on his body. Most of the more severe ones reside on his chest and back. But she finds many others scattered around. She tries not to dwell too much.

As she’s finishing with his body, she carefully scoops water in her hands and pours it over his head, trying to avoid his face. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to mind when water trickles down his face, though Vex makes sure to take his glasses. She continues with that process, finding that his hair is much more coated in mud and dirt than what she had originally thought. It’s coated, matted, definitely intentionally so. Like somebody, perhaps Percival himself, had covered the original color in an attempt to disguise himself. As she works to clean off the dried mud, she finds the strangest thing. The hair underneath isn’t brown as she’d originally thought, nor is it blonde, or even red, it’s white. Shock white. Sea shell white. She frowns as the color starts to appear more clearly, the mud finally coming loose. White.

The more she interacts with Percival, the more strange he seems. The hair. The scars. The odd weapon. The more she’s becoming worried, for him and for herself. But he cannot provide an explanation, so she doesn’t ask. Simply continues cleaning him up until the water is cloudy but his hair is white as a lily and his body is scrubbed clean.

She helps him, dripping, out of the tub and wraps a towel around his shoulders. He’s still looking at her, silent and eager. She guides him over to the fireplace, sits him down in front of the fire to dry off before she helps him dress. She’s tired, and just wants this to be over. Just wants to stop feeling guilty for making this man trust him in his most vulnerable state.

She sits on the bed, watching him quietly. It’s been a long day and she just wants to rest but can’t until he falls asleep. She has to make sure he doesn’t go anywhere. Then again, the door is locked and he definitely doesn’t know how locks work. If she leaves him be, she’s sure he’ll fall asleep soon enough but she should watch him, right? She’s feeling more and more like a babysitter. That’s really what she is at this point, isn’t it. He trusts no one else. He looks to her like a guardian. She sighs, letting her eyes flutter closed. She should stay awake. She should stay-

When she opens her eyes, the sun is streaming through the window. The early morning sun rays cast a gray-yellow light over her entire room. She shoots to her feet, blinking her eyes rapidly as everything starts to come into focus. Dammit. She knew she shouldn’t have let herself fall asleep, he could have burned himself on the fire, he could’ve figured out the lock, could’ve opened the window, could’ve-

Her eyes come into focus and see the figure lying in front of the dying embers of the fire, exactly where she left him last night. He’s curled up in front of the fireplace, his weapon loosely held in his hand, head tucked against his elbow. She lets out a sigh of relief. What a babysitter she’d be, if she lost the person she’s supposed to be watching on the first night. Hopefully, last night. She goes over to Percival and gently prods his bare shoulder where the towel has slipped away. Guilt pangs in her chest, he’s still undressed. It’s a good thing it isn’t cold at night this time of year or he might’ve gotten sick.

“Percival.” she murmurs. “Come on, it’s time to get you healed.”

His eyes flutter open, confusion first and then are overtaken by relief at the sight of her. She smiles back at him, happy that he’s happy. He looks better today, cleaner for one, and stronger too. Less afraid. But maybe that’s just because he’s alone and it’s quiet.

“Let’s get you dressed.” she says, helping him up. She grabs the clothing off the floor and shakes it to get rid of what dirt and dust settled on it overnight. First, she struggles to help him into the pants, but gets it done as fast as possible. She’s never really done this before and finds it a tad ridiculous to struggle so but moves on from her embarrassment quickly. It’s not his fault he can’t do it himself. Next, the shirt. This is easier. The buttons take awhile to finesse, her fingers are clumsier when trying to do them on somebody else but soon he’s all dressed, coat on his shoulders, glasses on his nose.

“Very refined.” she says with a smile.

He just beams back at her, his hair even whiter in the daylight. She wants more than anything for him to be out of this Feeblemind. She leads him out the door and through the hall, winding her way downstairs until she gets to the main part of the tavern where she’s surprised to find many of her party already there. All they’re missing is Vax. Percival stays close to her side, especially now that there are more than just the other members of Vox Machina in the bar area. But she was right, this morning he has calmed slightly. Whereas last night he would’ve broken down completely from all of the different senses being used, and the amount of people around, he is now just shakily holding onto her arm and staying immeasurably close.

“Your little friend cleans up nice.” Grog says, looking at them both. Percival shrinks back from his huge form, understandably so. Grog is not exactly palatable to those who are especially fearful.

“I talked to the bartender,” Pike pipes up from a stool at the bar. “He says that the healer further in town could take care of him.” “Wonderful.” Vex sighs. “We’ll head there right away. I think it’s better if not all of us go, but I don’t want to go by myself just in case anything goes wrong, familiar faces to him maybe. Keyleth? Pike?”

Both women agree to go, and with a promise of a breakfast for Vex and Percival when they get back, they’re about ready to go.

“Oh, before I leave,” Vex says. “Where’s my brother? He’s usually up by now.” “He’s sulking.” Grog answers. “Something about you, I’m pretty sure. He’s quiet and broody when he’s upset with you.” “Yes, I know.” she grimaces, before walking with Keyleth, Pike, and Percival out of the tavern and out onto the bustling street. Percival huddles against her shoulder, even closer than he was yesterday. Pike has the directions to the healer’s home, she says according to the bartender it’s close enough to walk. Which should be a relief, but Percival significantly slows their pace. He stumbles at the cobblestones, flinches at every passerby, struggles against Vex’s grip when people get too close. She wishes she didn’t have to hold him so close, it feels like a violation of some sort, but if she didn’t, it’s apparent he would break away from them, go hide in the dark the way he was in the prison. He seeks out solace in Vex and Vex alone, everything seems to cause him to flinch, to whimper, to cry out. It pains her to put anyone through this, but finally, they reach the healer’s home. It looks suspiciously like a normal building, made of red brick and with a large oak wood door. Pike saunters up to that door, raising her little hand to knock on the door. There’s a long pause, before the door swings open and they’re faced by an old, elvish woman wearing a nightgown.

“What in hells are you doing here?” The woman's voice is scratchy, her hair gray and frizzy. Knowing how slowly elves age, she must be hundreds of years old in order to appear as if could keel over at any moment. Her nightgown also appears to be old, worn and ripping in places. Vex suddenly has a little less faith that this healer will be able to cure Percival.

“Uh- we’re here for some help.” Pike’s voice is soft, as it usually is. “Our friend is in need of some assistance.”

The woman narrows her eyes at Keyleth, Vex, and Percival, before pointing a long finger at Percival. He shrinks even farther back from them, he’s by far the tallest person in this group, counting the elf woman, but he doesn’t seem like it when he’s bunching up his shoulders, trying to appear as small as possible.

“That one.” she says.

“Yes.” Vex says. “It’s Feeblemind. Can you fix him?”

The woman sniffs, then gestures for them to follow as she turns around and walks on unsteady feet back into the house. For some reason Vex thought a healer, no matter how old, would appear a little less… sickly. But they all follow her inside anyway. The home is small, even more so from the inside, every surface is cluttered and the walls are covered top to bottom in shelves. Some of which are filled with books, but many of which are just laden with trinkets and baubles and other small colorful things. The whole place smells like chamomile, herbs waft from every direction, the combination of smells seems like it should be overwhelming in the sheer quantity of it but it’s actually a quite calming mixture. It seems to put them all at ease; Percival’s shoulders relax slightly, Keyleth clutches her staff a little less tightly. They follow the elf through her home and into the farthest room down the hall, a kitchenette of sorts. It’s very small, containing only a small dining table that could seat two, maybe three people, a stove with a kettle on it, and several shelves, some of which have silverware and dishes in them. The woman is already pouring them tea.

“Uh- what’s your name, miss?” Keyleth asks.

“Lyth.” the woman answers, passing out little teacups and saucers, sloshing some of the tea in the process. The water was obviously not hot enough, so in all of their hands, they’re holding lukewarm cups of weak tea that no one wants to drink. Keyleth takes a few polite sips before placing it back on the table.

“So,” Vex says after a few beats of silence. “You can fix Percival?”

“What? Oh yes.” she waves a hand absently, as if it’s not important at all at this moment.

“Well, then do it.” she puts her little teacup down on the table a little harder than necessary, splashing warm water over her hand and onto the saucer. “That’s why we came here, we don’t need tea.” Lyth grumbles under her breath, Vex only catches a few words but she can piece together to be something about “no manners” and “young people”. She chooses to ignore it. “Yes, yes, stand please.”

Vex begins to stand up before Lyth pushes her back down into her chair roughly by the shoulders, “not you, him!” Mouth agape, Vex twists around to look at Percival, who is shrinking away with the woman, especially after seeing her put hands on Vex and the sound of her voice. “It’s okay, dear, just let her.”

He meets her eyes and she nods, this moment between them where he isn’t paying attention gives Lyth enough time to place her hands on his chest. Percival jerks roughly, trying to pull away as hard as he can, but Lyth is surprisingly strong, managing to keep him in place as the spell starts to work its way through his body. Golden light emits from her hands, spreading through him starting with his chest and then going up to his neck, to his arms, to the very tips of his fingers. For half a second, he is completely aglow before the spell dissipates in a puff of golden mist.

There is silence, silence, silence, before Lyth steps away, and says, “who’s paying me then?”

“Uh, we will. Come on, Kiki.” Pike takes Keyleth's hand and follows Lyth out of the room. The sentiment is clear, Vex had been the one that had been trusted, she had been the one he had clung to, and she is probably the one he would want to speak to first out of his Feebleminded state.

“Hello.” she says, turning her body completely towards him. He’s still got his head ducked, chest rising and falling rather quickly. As she waits, she lets her gaze wander from where his face will appear to the rest of him. His body language has immediately changed. His fist is clenched under the table. His shoulders aren’t bunched but neither are they relaxed, they’re stiff, held tight to give the illusion of relaxation. He keeps his feet flat on the floor, whereas the Feebleminded Percival would often tuck his feet under himself, or hook his feet behind the chair legs. He’s… different. She takes all of this in, gaze searching him and then returning to his face, in just a moment or two. And it only takes that long for him to lift his face and look at her.

He licks his lips, and she waits in anticipation. “Hello.”

She can’t help but let a smile bleed through. His voice is… what is she to say, it’s his voice. It matches everything about him in a way she cannot explain. It just does.

She holds out a hand. “I’m Vex’ahlia.”

He finally meets her eyes. Those blue eyes… they’re different now. They’re colder. Far, far removed from the trusting openness she has experienced for the past twelve hours. Gods, has it only been twelve hours? It felt like days. She couldn’t have expected him to be the same, of course, Feeblemind reduces you to something that is not yourself, you are not under control of yourself nor your emotions. He is not the same. But it still causes her a little pain to immediately see that he no longer trusts her, even if she expected it. She will just have to try to earn it again.

“Percival.” he takes her hand, she notes right away that his palms are rough, calloused. Another strange detail. “You can call me Percy.” “Percy.” she repeats. “It’s nice to meet you, Percy.”

He nods. “It’s good to meet you, too.”

It’s a good thing, she thinks, to act as if this is their first meeting. Because in the end, the Percival she had interacted with was not the real one. Just a watered down, cursed version.

They both open their mouths to speak at the same time, Vex snaps hers shut, gesturing for him to continue.

“I- uh- thank you.” he says, voice quiet and hesitant. As if he doesn’t know how to do this. “For all that you did while I was… you were good to me and I thank you. I don’t think I can properly express my gratitude.”

“You’re very welcome.” she says with a nod. “It was my pleasure.”

He gives a half smile to her, his expression guarded and removed. It’d be a lie if she said that it doesn’t sadden her that he’s suddenly so far away but she lets it go, lets the sadness drift away in a moment. It does not and should not matter what she is feeling, when he was under such a spell.

“Who did that to you?” she asks finally, the question that’s been bouncing around in her mind since finding him in that prison. “How did you find yourself in such a situation?”

Percy hums under his breath, eyes wandering as he seems to be thinking. “It was my own fault, I was careless. And I won’t allow it to happen again. That’s all that really needs to be said.”

Vex would beg to differ but she already suspects this is an argument which she cannot win, that she shouldn’t even try to engage for there would be no point to it. He has already been so exposed to her, physically and emotionally, he deserves this autonomy and dignity. He can close himself off to her, to everyone, she doesn’t care.

“Thank you for keeping my gun.” Percy's voice cuts through her thoughts, she follows his hand to where it’s resting on his waist. Right over the metal contraption. He touches it with the same comfort he had when under the Feeblemind, she had been right, it’s obviously important to him. Something he touches when he’s unsure of where to put his hands. Something he holds for comfort. That all transfers over from Percival to Percy.

“Ah, that’s what it’s called, then.” she says, eyeing it from her seat. “I wondered… what is it exactly?”

He taps the handle of the gun absently. “It’s- difficult to explain. Think of it like a bow and arrow, but more… mechanical. Compact. You’ll get a demonstration someday, I’m sure.”

That doesn’t help her but she nods along, and eventually she rises, “we should head back to the tavern.”

“I-” he hesitates to stand, she can understand why. He was never meant to come into town, he was never meant to meet Vox Machina. Them and him could’ve easily missed each other in every other reality, but now their lives have collided in a way that has entangled them together and Vex is not sure how to disentangle it. Or if she even wants to.

“Come have a drink with us, darling.” she finds herself saying. “Just one. Then you can get us out of your hair.”

This decision of his, this agreement to one (just one!) drink is probably the one that damned him. One drink became many, one night became hundreds. It’s not his fault. The threads of their lives became so tangled and nobody ever seemed to try and untie the knots. They just let it happen. He never really realizes just how much he has let her become a part of him until she’s gone, and then returns. Until he goes, and then returns. Eventually, he comes clean. Eventually, he tells them exactly which evil woman gave him those scars, took away his mind, and locked him in a jail. Eventually, he learns to trust.

He tries to forget about the circumstances of their meeting. It’s difficult, as the other members of their party are often so insistent about teasing him. But he brushes it off, too embarrassed of how he acted, of how he presented himself with so little care. After a while, they have new memories to associate with him, new things to tease him about, that they seem to let go the way he was when they met. He doesn’t speak of it. Neither does Vex. at least not until it is years later. He’s sitting on a bed, on their bed, and it’s almost as if he comes to. As if he is waking up from a very, very long sleep.

“Vex?” “Hm, yes, dear?” she replies from where she is leaning over the desk that’s against the wall of their room in Whitestone. In his home. She’s scribbling at papers, sorting out some last minute numbers before bed. She’s dressed in a nightgown, her hair loose and falling over her shoulders. She’s beautiful.

“Do you remember when we met?” she stops writing, freezing in place. They never really speak of it. Only when Ripley is a part of the conversation do they even think of it, and they never talk about Ripley either. It’s an unspoken rule. Percy doesn’t like to hear about it, to think about it, to speak of it.

“Of course.” she says finally, putting down her pen.

“And the way I was?” “Yes. You were Feebleminded.”

“And you helped me.” She doesn’t say anything for a long time, just leans back in her chair and looks at him. “I did.” “Why did you? Help me, I mean.”

This, too, takes a longer than normal amount of time to reply to. Vex is quick, silver tongued, and prides herself on being able to outwit anyone she comes up against. It says more than a lot that she is thinking about her answer with so much care, taking the time to arrange her words in her mind before speaking them aloud.

“It wasn't out of pity.” she finally says, slowly.

“Wonderful start, dear.” he says with a laugh.

“Oh, shush, I’m thinking.

“I was… I don’t know, truly, Percy. I think I was lonely. And something in me couldn’t let you go.” she pulls one of her knees up to her chest, leaning her cheek against it as she stares off into the distance as she speaks. “I thought about it then and I’ve thought about it ever since. My brother bothered me about it and I never came up with a sufficient answer. I saw you, and no matter what I did, I couldn’t turn my back on you.” “It wasn’t love at first sight, then?” “Percival, I’m trying to be sweet and you’re making this very difficult.” she stands and goes to him, places her hand on either side of his face. She smiles down at him, and in this moment, as he thinks about what she had said, he understands. Never, in any life, can he imagine leaving her to the wolves, turning his back on her. Even if his memory was wiped clean, if they did not know each other, he wants to believe he’d do the same. Now, years later, he still remembers what it was like being under the Feeblemind. Fear. Lights everywhere. Voices ten times louder than they’d usually be. It was a sensory assault from every direction, and he was so scared. Everything hurt and all he wanted was to crawl into the dark even though that scared him too. But there, in the center of it all, was Vex. A calm in the storm. The only reason he crawled out of the dark. The only reason he removed his mask.

“You’ve got a strange look.” Vex comments, her thumbs brush under his eyes softly.

“I’m only thinking,” he says. “I love you, Vex.”

She smiles, a warm smile that reaches all the way to her eyes. “I know. And I love you, Percy.”

She leans down to place a kiss on his forehead. And he thinks he has never been more awake before this moment. Maybe he has been half awake for as long as he can remember. Maybe his mind has still been addled by the Feeblemind until right now. He is whole, awake, alive, in love. It’s more than he had ever hoped for.

#I WROTE A FIC??? WHO AM I?????#critical role #critical role campaign 1 #cr c1 #cr campaign 1 #critical role fic #percival de rolo #vex’ahlia de rolo #perc'halia #cr vex #cr percy #percy x vex #vaxildan #fanfic #fanfiction #this is like the fic I've been wanting to write FOREVER and im SO glad I finally did it #im so happy with how it turned out!! I hope yall like it too!!!

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chuuyas--boo · 3 years ago

Text

Ghosts.

An: Read the tags before continuing. Block tags you're triggered by, and don't complain if YOU chose to keep reading and get bothered.

Jack giggled as Riley gently pushed her younger brother on the swing, hanging from a thick, strong tree branch. The two would often visit this area especially if their mother was drunk or high and could avoid being around her for a while. It was one of those times. Mrs. Morgan had started yelling at Riley, so Riley grabbed her younger brother and left.

Suddenly Jack dragged his feet on the ground, slowing the swing down until it stopped.

"Jack?...Jackie what's wrong?!"

Jack hopped off the swing and stood in front of Riley, smiling, but blood slowly ran down his face from a fatal gash in his head.

"Why? You said it wouldn't hurt...you said everything would stop hurting! So why does it still hurt? It hurts real bad Rie..."

Jack's emerald green eyes looked dead, clouded and empty, any innocence in his gaze had faded. It was just like an empty void.

Riley collapsed on her knees, tears started streaming down her face, sobs wracking her body violently. "I-I'm sorry! I'm so sorry Jack..." Riley choked on her words as her face heated up and tears ran down her face faster.

"Riley! Riley wake up!"

Riley woke up to Eddie gently shaking her. Tears started running down her face as she looked at him.

"H-hey what's wrong? Why're you crying?!" Eddie's pretty emerald green eyes gleamed with worry as the ginger girl started crying even harder.

Eddie's gaze softened and he hugged Riley "Did you have a nightmare?" Riley quietly nodded "I'm such a horrible person..." she hissed under her breath "No you're not! What's wrong...?" "I hurt Jack...and he said it hurt..." Eddie tilted his head but then remembered how Riley had a younger brother "Ah! You're not a horrible person just for that! You were helping him!" Riley just stared blankly at the floor "I said it wouldn't hurt...but he said it did...he was scared!" Eddie gently wiped the tears off her cheeks and hugged her again. "You're still not a horrible person, you're a very lovely girl, it was just a nightmare! I'm sure Jack's happy and safe~! You should hurry up and go downstairs though! There's pancakes and everyone's worrieddd"

Well...almost everyone.

Eddie got up and quietly left the room, shutting the door behind him. Riley glanced outside, the sun had already risen most of the way, but there were streaks of pink still in the sky, that looked almost like blood smears. Down on the ground, under the thick of the forest where sunlight barely reached, there were two pale, misty figures, one looked like a woman in a wedding dress and the other looked sickeningly similar to Jack. After changing into a gray t-shirt, shorts, brushing her hair, and putting it into a ponytail, Riley ran downstairs, past the kitchen, to where the burlap masks, gloves, and boots were kept. She quickly put her boots on and ran outside. "Rie-Rieeee! Aren't you gonna eat?!" Riley glanced back, stopping at the door. "Not hungry!" and then ran off into the forest, not paying any attention to the outdoor animals, she had to see if she truly saw ghosts or if it was just her imagination.

***

Riley stood in the forest, heart pounding, feeling like giving up. "It was just my imagination..."

Something quickly darted past, catching Riley's gaze. "Something wrong sis? You look sad!"

Riley's heart dropped, she recognized that sweet, childish voice, but it almost sounded as if in pain now. She couldn't bring herself to say anything, but tears started to well in her eyes as she looked at the small ghostly figure.

"Don't cry! I'm safe...since you killed me...!"

Riley's gaze fell to the ground as the small ghostly figure got closer to her "You're scary Rie...it really hurt! And you said it wouldn't..."

"Jack...I'm sorry..."

"Are you really? If you were you wouldn't have killed anyone else. If you really were sorry you'd have learned from what you did to me."

"B-but you asked me to! You told me to!"

Jack's once pretty, innocent eyes looked cold, and empty in death, though still innocent.

Jack quietly glanced back, looking at the other ghostly figure, which appeared to be a woman in a wedding dress, as if getting married. Riley's gaze followed Jack's glance.

After a few moments of silence, both of the pale, ghostly figures disappeared. Riley sighed deeply and then sat against a tree silently.

***

"Riley! ...Rileyyyyy....!" Riley's gaze jerked towards where she heard Albert's voice nearby, she'd been sitting under the tree for a while, watching random bugs and butterflies. She got up and ran over. "Al!" "What're you doing out here-?" "O-oh! Umm, nothing!"

Albert's ivy green gaze met Riley's mismatched gaze "What were you actually doing? You've been out here for over an hour."

Riley wiggled her foot in the dirt, staring at the ground.

"Look at me." Albert's voice was firm but also somehow soft, knowing Riley'd flinch if he raised his voice, he kept it somewhat calm and quiet, though worried.

Riley glanced up at him nervously, fiddling with her fingers.

"H-hey! Don't look so scared! Just tell me what you were doing.." "Ghosts." That single word sent a shiver down Albert's spine "What..?" "Ghosts," Riley repeated, not saying anything else.

"I'm gonna need you to elaborate, Riley."

"My brother and some woman..."

Albert sighed. "let's go back"

The two of them walked back to the house in silence.

***

"Where have you been?"

Riley ignored the question, not caring since it was Henry who asked.

"Answer me bitch."

Riley stopped and silently glared at him. "I was outside, mind your own business.."

And with that, Riley went to her room. Taking her boots off, Riley sat by the window and watched the branches and leaves dance in the wind outside.

"RILEY ELIZABETH MORGAN GET DOWN HERE!"

Riley felt her heart drop, suddenly scared.

"C-coming...!"

She got up and quickly ran downstairs.

Eddie and George were playing with one of the dogs, Carl was in his room playing video games, and Albert was watching tv.

Riley hesitantly walked into the kitchen and immediately cringed at the strong stench of alcohol, she was used to it but it's not the most pleasant thing.

"Listen here you little bitch, you can respect me or leave. Don't ever ignore me again, I'll beat your ugly little ass"

"I-Im sorry..."

"SORRY DOESN'T FIX SHIT! AND DON'T INTERFERE WITH THE TRADITION-"

"Again with the tradition shit..?" Riley hissed under her breath.

"SHUT UP YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND HOW IMPORTANT IT IS!"

Riley's hands slowly balled into fists as she looked at the man infront of her, refraining from yelling so to avoid drawing any attention to herself. It was too late to avoid drawing any attention to her, both Eddie and Albert stopped what they were doing and their gazes were filed in the direction of the kitchen.

"A stupid tradition shouldn't be put before the well being and mental health of YOUR FUCKING FAMILY"

Henry's drunken glare was piercing as he glared at Riley.

"Don't have anything to say because I'm right."

Without any sort of warning, Henry smacks Riley, hard.

Albert heard Riley's wince, hesitating, not wanting to get involved, but at the same time not wanting her to get hurt. Albert's hesitation was longer than he thought, both Eddie and George had already gotten up and ran into the kitchen after hesitating as well.

***

When Albert had gotten up and ran into the kitchen, Riley was standing with one hand over her nose, blood trickling down her face and tears in her eyes.

"D-dad stop! She's crying!"

Riley shot George an icy glare as it telling him not to bother.

"Well she can fucking cry! She's a pussy and needs to learn when to keep her mouth shut!"

Whatever was keeping Riley from yelling again snapped. "YOU'RE THE PUSSY! YOU'RE THE ONE WHO CAN'T DO ANYTHING AND HAS TO FORCE HIS CHILDREN TO DO SHIT AT AN AGE WHERE THEY SHOULDN'T BE SEEING DEAD BODIES! THEY SHOULDN'T HAVE TO SEE THEM AT ALL BUT YOU'RE TOO STUPID AND SELF-CENTERED TO CARE ABOUT ANYONE OR ANYTHING BESIDES YOURSELF AND SOME STUPID FUCKING TRADITION YOU COULD'VE FUCKING MADE UP! AND YOU WONDER WHY WE ALL FUCKING HATE YOU!"

Everyone's gaze was fixed on Riley, Carl had come downstairs to see what was happening, all the brothers stared at Riley in shock. Riley stood there breathing heavily, she had moved her hand away from her face, letting blood run down her face faster and off of her hand, her breath hitched as she stared at Henry.

"Get the fuck out. NOW-"

Riley didn't need to be told twice, she ran outside. Albert ran after her "Riley!"

Riley glanced back at him, "What?" Her tone sounded weirdly pissed off still, which was shocking, she never used that tone towards Albert, but her eyes looked apologetic.

"What did he do to you?"

"Nothing. I'm fine, it's nothing to worry about."

That was obviously a lie, her nose was bleeding heavily, lip was busted, has some bruises on her arms and a dark red mark on her cheek.

"You're obviously not fine"

Riley sighed "I'm fine, I've been through worse, it doesn't even hurt"

Albert's gaze filled with doubt, as he gently touched one of the bruises and Riley flinched.

"So you're fine huh?"

Riley let out a huff of slight annoyance. "Yes Al, I'm fine"

"Shut up and let's get you bandaged up"

***

Days had passed, Riley refused to eat and when she did she'd immediately go make herself throw up, when anyone would ask her if she's okay or of something's wrong shed just say "I'm fine", or "Nope. Nothing's wrong".

Those several days, Albert would check on her before he went to bed to ask her if she was going to sleep as well, which she always replied "Yes" even though she didn't, she stayed awake and watched out the window watching the ghostly figures, sometimes going outside to walk around in the forest.

Eventually she gave up and decided to sleep in Albert's room, the two of them cuddled until Riley fell asleep.

#death ment tw #Murder tw #Oc: Riley Morgan #Oc: Jack Morgan #Oc: Ghost Bride #Edward Mason #Carl Mason #George Mason #Albert Mason #Angels of Death #Angels of Death oc #AU #Abuse tw #Eating disorder tw

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midoriyashotos · 4 years ago

Text

Anguish of the Quirkless

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Relationships: Midoriya Izuku/Todoroki Shoto (could be platonic... though I ship them a lot lmao)

Characters: Midoriya Izuku, Todoroki Shoto; MENTIONED - Bakugo Katsuki

Summary: Izuku doesn’t explode.

But burn after burn, he can’t take it anymore.

AO3 / Fanfiction

A/N: I had no reason to write this other than the fact I’ve been really angry and I needed to write something down.

I guess this is technically my first Tododeku fic? But like, it isn’t the focus here, so interpret it the way you want (if you can). I hope this didn’t turn out to be too OOC, though.

Please be aware of the tags and disclaimers below. Be safe. <3

TRIGGER WARNINGS - childhood trauma, past bullying/abuse and injury

*NOT BAKUGO/BAKUDEKU FRIENDLY!

Izuku doesn’t explode.

If anything, he’s more than scared of explosions. The explosions that silence him, that burn his tongue and his arms and legs, and the notebook of his fanboyish train of thought. The blasts that keep happening no matter how far away he is.

So no, he doesn’t explode. He probably can’t.

Though every time he stares at the blond spikes of his classmate, Izuku is sickened by a cocktail of years of combustions.

Maybe he does admire the beauty of the explosions when far away. Depending on them, they can actually be quite beautiful when done for the greater good. But when he’s so near, to try to reach them, Izuku gets injured. It’s probably his fault to begin with.

But even with patience and care, Izuku is always exploded back to where he’s been stuck in since he was four.

Izuku is always behind Katsuki. He can’t go around him and walk away. He can’t push him aside, he can’t as much as talk to him. Katsuki will forever be a wall, a minefield that will remain activated until the end of time.

And most importantly, Izuku can never explode back.

He hates explosions, after all.

The flaming blend of feelings, however, reach his mind at times he should be feeling okay.

The image of himself exploding Katsuki, of yelling at him, beating the crap out of him sickens the young hero to no end.

But it replays in his head still, even when they’re not fighting and instead having fun with their other classmates. Izuku stares at Katsuki for mere seconds and the thoughts come to him. The freckled boy swallows it all back, until it comes to haunt him at night. Until the burns sting his arms and his heart.

Izuku has tense nights, yet he never explodes. Ever.

You’d think Izuku would be happy here. He is happy, though, to be where he’s dreamed of for so long.

But each day that passes, he seems to get worse, he’s sick and tired and angry, and the combustions are closer to his heart. The fantasies become more violent, they’re disturbing. Izuku stains his hands, massacring the remaining of blond hair and hateful red eyes.

Izuku could never take blood from someone. It’s awful – he’s being awful. What would others think? What would everyone else think? All Might, his mother, his friends?

Izuku knows he can cry, but what about the rage? What about the ticking bomb inside him? The bomb that might be close to destroying all around him?

He can’t let anyone see.

Least of all Katsuki.

Thankfully, U.A. owns several gymnasiums for the students to train. Few, though, are somewhat left aside due to the new ones, but they don’t really close them. His classmates don’t seem to use them either, as far as he’s concerned.

Izuku finds the classic training tools, including several, big punching bags – different from those you see in common gyms, obviously. They’re able to take up a lot more damage, useful for physical-focused quirks.

He prepares and attacks. Holding it back, Izuku knows to be careful, to protect others. He hates explosions. He hates hurting others.

(All everyone has ever done was hurt him. Why? He was powerless. Quirkless. Deku.)

(That’s why he reclaimed the name, to transform it into someone who could be trusted, someone who could never hurt.)

Izuku kicks, dodges, as if in a real fight. He gives the bag mercy. Probably unnecessary.

(No one gave him mercy.)

(Midoriya Izuku, a boy who could never do wrong, who did nothing but exist.)

(He was exploded like no one ever was.)

The boy’s hands shine red with One for All, as do his eyes. The punching bag absorbs the power, becoming harder to punch and overcome. Izuku continues to spare it, to no avail.

(No matter what he does, he’ll continue to be blasted on the face.)

(Whether he’s powerless or not. The explosions will punish him until he’s gone.)

It’s then that the bag’s energy turns against him and blows him away, Izuku falling back and failing, once again.

It’s all too familiar.

Izuku roars.

He advances with his all, at the same speed as Gran Torino’s, but with a rage unknown to others. A rage from no hero. Heroes don’t feel hate, only towards evil – yet never, never to this extent. With revenge comes nothing. No hero should be selfish.

(This doesn’t come from a hero. It comes from… a boy? A monster?)

And Izuku is attacking the bag with no barriers holding him back. The second time it attacks, Izuku doesn’t let himself fall again. He returns at full speed and destroys the bag. He’s yelling this entire time, his throat hurting yet he’s far from quitting.

“WHY?!” Izuku demands from the bag. “WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME?!”

As always, he gets no answer, only blows and ignorance. And he’s punching it again.

The red of the bag infuriates him, it’s all he sees, and he wants to eradicate.

All those years, all that time never fighting back, never looking for solutions after years of rejections; they all come back to stab him again.

You’re useless.

Pathetic.

You need to deal with it.

“You RUINED MY LIFE!” Izuku screams, eyes shut but red, dams overflowing. “AND YOU DON’T EVEN CARE!”

Despite his cries and punches, they’re not moving, they’re not listening. When have they ever? When?

“I HATE YOU!” Izuku yells, his most disliked words. He’d never say to anyone.

“I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!”

“I

HATE

YOU!!! ”

CRASH!

He yelps at the force thrown back at him. Smoke enters his nose, painful coughs echoing.

When Izuku looks back, he gasps without making a sound.

He didn’t destroy just one bag – it fired back and damaged the other ones, now abandoned on the floor.

And even then—

Izuku growls and punches the floor, this time without any power left.

He’s still burning.

It doesn’t matter. It never matters.

Now everything smokes and suffocates him, and he’s crying the most he’s ever did.

That’s why he hates explosions.

Izuku doesn’t go to Recovery Girl, nor does he tell anyone. He hopes Aizawa-sensei never finds out what he’d done. He looked for cameras and, thankfully, found none.

He lies to his friends he trained in the woods and got a little ahead of himself. As a response, Uraraka tells him to be careful and Iida insists Quirk training should be balanced for him, as a hero in training. Two important statements, of course.

Todoroki, however, observes.

It’s the most he does. Todoroki watches and sees all, barely saying much. He reads people like no one else does. He was the first to realize something would go wrong with Iida, when the latter had wanted to seek his brother’s almost assassin.

This is different, though. So much different.

Izuku ignores it the best he can.

Late at night, he can’t sleep. The green-eyed boy sneaks in the kitchen, to grab some tea to make. His classmates seem to have healthy sleep schedules, especially when exams are out of the scene.

So slow steps take him off guard, and Izuku hides his arms under his sleeves.

“Midoriya.”

He sighs deeply. “Oh, Todoroki-kun… it’s just you. What’s up?”

Todoroki shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Oh. Me neither.”

“Hm.”

Todoroki is doing it again, he can tell. Watching him. (Judging.)

Izuku hates being watched – he’s watched the entire time.

The tea doesn’t take much longer to be ready, so Izuku barely bats an eye to Todoroki and makes his way to the stairs.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he mumbles.

“Wait, Midoriya—”

“What ?”

Izuku regrets the moment he hisses, but he’s so tired.

“Just…” his classmate hesitates. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

Todoroki’s tone has… softened.

Izuku doesn’t turn around.

“… Good night, Todoroki-kun.”

The days go by like usual. It’s like nothing happened. No one has found out, or so he hopes.

Todoroki hasn’t talked to him since that night. Or well, Izuku tries to avoid looking at him for too long in the first place. They have lunch together with the rest, but there’s no direct contact at all.

Todoroki isn’t the kind of person you can make excuses. He reads into your tone, he knows something is wrong. While Izuku’s relationship with him has definitely improved since the Sports Festival and Stain, he still finds that aspect of him a little intimidating. Because Todoroki, in contrast, is hard to read most of the time.

Izuku might as well be avoiding him. Of course, he’s polite when Todoroki has a question or when he asks for a favor. Though he rejects the suggestion they train together in the next day. Mostly, because Izuku’s wounds still sting, and he refuses to go to the infirmary.

At last, Izuku finds himself going to the old gymnasium, with no intention to seethe like before, even if the urge screams in his brain. It looks… the same, on the outside. As for the inside…

Instead of the gray smoke and destroyed reds, Izuku stops as soon as he catches white strands connected to wine, fire red. A fire that doesn’t explode, but fire, nonetheless.

Izuku’s veins fill with One for All, and before he goes Full Cowling to get as far away as possible, he’s less than lucky to expose himself.

“Midoriya?”

Nononononono—

Even though Todoroki isn’t using his Quirk, Izuku feels like he’s frozen by his giant ice spikes, caught to explain himself.

Why on earth is Todoroki here? Does he also know this spot? Oh, of course. Todoroki often trains alone but Izuku never knew where. Oh my god.

There are no words shared or spoken, least of all whispered. Izuku can’t bring himself to look up. There’s only shame to be shared. No one was supposed to find out and yet he just revealed himself. Stupid. Idiot!

A step.

“Midoriya…”

Izuku shakes his head.

“I know what you’re going to say.”

Todoroki stops. “What?”

“… that I’m supposed to be a hero, right? That I shouldn’t have done this? I- I know I shouldn’t have.” Izuku clenches his jaw and his fists, to contain the trembling rage. “I shouldn’t be angry.”

The fallen punching bags stare.

“But I didn’t know what to do with this anger. It only kept growing and- and it keeps growing inside of me, these thoughts, this scream in my throat,” Izuku spits out without much thought. “I’ve been hurt my entire life and I hate- I hate hurting people back, I hate wanting to hurt them, but I hate them, too, I hate-!” For a moment, he bites back the poisonous name, yet he can’t take it anymore, he’s tired of being silenced by the explosions.

“… I hate Kacchan. I hate that he always explodes me in the face, I hate that he used to go after other kids, too. He always explodes and hurts people, and he doesn’t give a shit.” Izuku’s tone is wet, soaked with weight. “He doesn’t give a shit about me, he still hurts me no matter what I do, and I’m sick of it. And god, all I want is to punch his fucking face and scream, because he never cared about making me cry or burning me at all, he- he doesn’t care! And I don’t know why I still do, why I even try to communicate with him! Nothing I do is enough for him!”

Izuku observes the multiple layers of old wood under his feet, each second finding new details, new splinters.

“This is why I don’t explode. Why I never burst out. I-I don’t want to hurt anyone… but I’m still so angry, Todoroki-kun. I’m only feeling worse than before.” The freckled teen pathetically dries his drowned face. “It’s like nothing is ever going to get better.”

The temperature is a bitter cold, despite the sun outside.

Izuku cries like that boy he’d known in Middle School, the one that would weep to himself in the shadows after getting burned on the face.

“W-What should I do?” He asks to no one.

It’s, again, a question without an answer.

Except…

His arms are taken by two hands that slowly pull up his sleeves, revealing the wounds from the hazard. The hands brush against his blistered skin as gently as possible. One hot, the other cold, but equally mindful.

“I think…” Todoroki whispers, “you need someone.”

Izuku’s face is close to the piercing gray and blue eyes, the ones who always read him… but not in judgment, he realizes. They read each sentence, each word of himself and take it to their heart, hopefully to come up with a meaningful response.

“Because then… who will protect you from the explosion?” Todoroki questions, his right hand reaching Izuku’s left.

The question is one he’s never considered. Izuku makes sure no one gets hurt, and maybe he’s successful at that, yet…

Todoroki’s face is close enough for their heads to touch, some of his red and white bangs touching Izuku’s forehead.

“It’s okay to be angry, Midoriya.”

“You’re… not mad at me?”

“Why would I be?”

“I don’t know,” Izuku gulps, “I feel… disgusting.”

“I understand. But you’re not disgusting. You were hurt.”

Izuku’s mouth quivers. “I don’t want to hurt anymore.”

Todoroki’s hands move from his arms to his shoulders, pulling him forward. Izuku shivers.

He’s…

Todoroki has never hugged him before.

Sure, they’ve gotten so far as friends. But after all this time, they’ve never touched each other; least of all Todoroki, who is, reasonably, a more reserved person.

The hug is far from awkward, nonetheless. It’s… good. Izuku has never been hugged like this. Even with the crime scene of his anger right there for Todoroki and everyone else to see… the red-and-white-haired boy chooses to hold him.

(After all, he’s also a boy. A boy afraid of his thoughts. Afraid while no one knows.)

Izuku returns the contact, his face somewhat under Todoroki’s chin.

“I’m sorry Bakugo is a piece of shit.” He adds quietly, “Well, more than he already is.”

That manages to attract a miserable laugh.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not.”

Izuku hums, not up to protest as he melts in his touch. He could never have imagined Todoroki to be this… comfortable.

The permanent smell of smoke and dust does eventually bother him, so Izuku suggests, “Want to get out of here?”

“Sure.”

And they leave the gymnasium behind, hopefully their secret will be left alone.

Todoroki takes Izuku to a tree, the leaves green like the latter’s hair. There’s enough of a shadow to cover them from the sun, from the burning flames far away. Todoroki helps a little with the burns, his ice the most soothing Izuku has felt.

Until the sun sets, their hands are intertwined, scars only they know.

#tododeku #midoriya izuku #todoroki shoto #todoroki shouto #anti bakugou #fanfiction #my hero academia #lotus writes #abuse tw #bullying tw #vent fic

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jekde04 · 4 years ago

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Of Sudden Rains and Lasting Promises

Pairing: Gruvia (Gray Fullbuster & Juvia Lockser) Fandom: Fairy Tail Genre: Romance Word Count: 2,254 words Summary: She had been fairly good at controlling the rain and not letting her emotions influence it too much. But there were a couple of instances in the past that it went out of hand–and it always involved one person. Just like how it did now. Prompt: Tears (Day 4 of Gruvia Week 2021, but I'm so late I don't want to tag it as such anymore lol) Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 You may also read it on FanFiction.net and AO3! Check out my master list for other Gruvia fics. Tag list (I'm so sorry I totally forgot to tag you in my last few fics!): @shampooneko @fbflame94 @juviaafullbuster @unvalley @gruviaftw11 (Wanna be tagged, lemme know)

She didn't mean to make it rain. But thank heavens it was just a drizzle.

It had been a while since it last happened. She had been fairly good at controlling the rain and not letting her emotions influence it too much. But there were a couple of instances in the past that it went out of hand–and it always involved one person.

Just like how it did now.

Juvia wiped the thin streaks of rain pelting her face. She decided to sit on the park bench right under a big oak tree, but the rain must be getting stronger now because the thick canopy of leaves had become inadequate to protect her. She heard a man curse and remark how annoying the sudden rain was as he hastened to pack up the magazines and newspapers he was selling.

She was the gloomy rain woman once again.

"You shouldn't be out under the rain like that."

A hand holding a familiar pink umbrella appeared beside her, shielding her from the worsening downpour. She didn't need to look to know who it was.

"How did Gray-sama get Juvia's umbrella?"

"You left it in the guild, so I borrowed it for myself," Gray said as he moved to sit beside her, all the while not letting the shade of the umbrella leave her head. He moved his damp bangs away from his eyes and ruffled his hair to shake the droplets off.

"Gray-sama can use Juvia's umbrella. No need to ask Juvia," she muttered. She could feel Gray inching closer to her to make sure they're both under the umbrella, their arms and legs touching.

"I know. I just happened to see you here, and it's kinda unfair to keep the umbrella for myself while the owner is getting drenched."

Juvia looked at him, his chiseled profile matching the perpetual frown on his face. She already knew how handsome he was, yet her heart still beat fast every time she looked at him.

But she also couldn't help that sinking feeling in her chest when she remembered what she overheard earlier. She sighed.

"You okay?" he asked her.

"Hmm-mmm," Juvia answered. She wondered if she should ask him or just let him broach the subject. Finally, she decided to just stay in comfortable silence as the rain poured in a steady rhythm.

"Juvia?"

"Yes?"

"There's something I've been meaning to tell you."

There it is, she thought, but she didn't dare hope. It could be something else.

"Juvia is listening."

A long pause, with nothing but the incessant downpour and the few people out and about being all that they could hear.

"I'm going on a quest with my team." When Juvia didn't say anything, he continued, "It's gonna take a while."

Really, it shouldn't hurt like this. Mages like them go on quests all the time.

But this one was different, she knew.

"Juvia knows. Everyone was talking about it at the guild." She looked at him while he continued to stare straight ahead as if counting each drop of rain. "You're doing Gildarts-san's failed quest, right? The one that hasn't been solved for 100 years."

"Yes."

What was a previously light shower started to transform into heavier rain, bigger drops falling from the sky and making plop-plop noises on the umbrella shielding them. She could feel drops hitting the right side of her body, and she knew that it would only be a matter of time before the wetness would start to seep through her thick clothes.

She felt Gray squeeze closer to her and reposition the umbrella to cover her entire body. Glancing at him, she noticed that half of his body was getting drenched by the sudden heavy downpour.

"Gray-sama, you're getting wet," she said as she moved even closer to him, grabbing the umbrella and trying to cover him better.

"Don't worry about me," he told her, moving his arm around her shoulders so that they could fit under the umbrella better. The sudden warm sensation as Gray practically embraced her lit Juvia's pale cheeks with a pink tinge, but she couldn't bring herself to say more to him.

After a few beats, he said, "I'm sorry you had to hear it from other people. I was planning to tell you, you know."

Despite the dark clouds in the sky and her heart, Juvia couldn't help but smile. At least Gray wasn't planning to just leave her in the dark this time, like what he did when he disappeared without a trace for six months. The thought of it made tears well in her eyes, and she hastily wiped them with the back of her hand, lest the rain worsened.

Gray looked at her, concern written all over his face. "Hey, you can say no if you don't want me to leave."

At this, Juvia looked at him, her eyes wide. "What?"

"If you're not fine with it, I won't go."

"Is Gray-sama asking Juvia's permission to go on a mission?" she asked, not believing what she was hearing.

Gray blushed and looked away from her. He shrugged. "Maybe."

"But why?"

"Well, you are..." Gray swallowed, as if a thick lump had formed in his throat. "You are... my… my friend. And what you think is important to me."

She should have been sad to be called just a "friend," but for some reason, Juvia felt warmth spread in her chest. Gray wasn't particularly good with his words, but he always made up for it in his actions.

And now, he was actually considering her feelings. Ready to throw away the chance to go on a once-in-a-lifetime quest if she said so.

"Does Gray-sama want to go?"

His brows creased in thought, and it took him a moment before he answered. "Yeah, I think so. There's a part of me that wants to stay, but a bigger part of me wants to get stronger."

Juvia furrowed her brows as she looked up at him. "But Gray-sama is already very strong. Juvia knows she says this a lot, but you really are one of the strongest mages she knows."

"I'm not planning to be the strongest out there," he said. "I just want to be strong enough to protect the people that matter to me."

Juvia rolled her eyes. "Everyone at Fairy Tail can protect themselves. You have nothing to worry about."

"I'm not talking about Fairy Tail," Gray answered, his gaze darting once again to the empty rain-drenched street. She may just have imagined it, but she thought she saw his cheeks darken as he tightened his grip on her shoulder.

"There is... someone... I cherish. Someone I almost lost before. I don't want that to happen again. I want to be strong, so I can keep her safe."

It was so unusual for Gray to talk about his feelings that it left Juvia dumbfounded. Of course, she didn't want to assume or make Gray uncomfortable, but…

What the hell. He was leaving soon, and she had to let him know how much he mattered to her. One more time.

"Juvia is sure that whoever that someone is, she already thinks Gray-sama is wonderful and more than enough," she said. And in a lower voice, she added, "And she believes that her love for him won't change whether he's the strongest mage on Earthland or just an ordinary man without powers. Because she loves him just the way he is right now."

She sneaked a peek at Gray, whose eyes she couldn't see behind his bangs, but his cheeks had definitely turned a dark shade of red. And maybe it was just her imagination again, but was that a shadow of a smile appearing on his face?

The rain was finally letting up, the dark clouds gradually going away. Yet the two of them remained huddled under Juvia's umbrella. Gray started to subconsciously play with the tips of her hair, curling and uncurling them on his fingers. Not that she minded, though.

"I know that. After all, she's the kindest person I know," Gray said. "That is why I want to be the best version of myself. For her. I don't want to be anything less because she deserves only the best."

Juvia could feel the heat rising to her cheeks, but she fought it and willed herself not to boil or turn into a puddle. The dark clouds were all gone now, replaced by the sun's rays taking a peek from the clouds and giving an ethereal sheen to their surroundings.

"Gray-sama is so sweet. Whoever she is, she's one lucky girl."

"Trust me, I'm luckier," Gray said, grinning at her. Then, realizing that the rain had stopped and the sun was out, he closed the umbrella and stood up, stretching his hand for Juvia to grab.

"I guess someone's feeling less sad now?" he asked, and Juvia blushed.

She took Gray's hand, and he intertwined their fingers as they started walking towards Fairy Hills. "How did Gray-sama know?"

"Let's just say I also have a Juvia-radar that tells me when you need a bit of cheering up," Gray told her, and Juvia couldn't help the swarm of butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

Maybe it was due to their interlocked hands and the way his thumb mindlessly caressed her knuckles. Or perhaps the fact that he was walking her home, though he had been doing that for quite some time now. Or maybe it was because of how well he knew her–and actually cared about her.

It was all of the things he had said and done… and even all the unsaid ones that brought unparalleled joy in her heart. Because she felt… no, she knew that she was loved. Deeply and completely.

But she had to ask him one more thing.

"Gray-sama?'

"Hmm?"

"Can you promise... that certain someone... one thing?"

"What is it?"

"Promise her you'll come back."

Gray chuckled. "Of course. I promise I'll come back home to her, no matter what. I will come back as a man worthy of her love. "

She squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back, and they continued walking hand-in-hand, no words needed.

They were at the gate of Fairy Hills when Gray spoke again.

"Juvia?"

"Yes, Gray-sama?"

He had stopped walking and faced her. "Wait for me, will you?"

A bright blush bloomed on her cheeks. Gray had always been indirect with her, yet here he was, asking her (and not a certain someone) to wait for him.

As if there would be any other answer.

"Always, Gray-sama."

And, in a moment of boldness, she tiptoed and kissed him on the cheek, her lips lingering for a second before letting him go. She caught sight of his reddened cheeks before he turned his face away and awkwardly patted her head with his free hand.

"We won't be leaving until the end of the week, so, um... would you like to... spend some time with me?"

Juvia's eyes sparkled. "Is Gray-sama asking Juvia out on a–"

"Not a date!" Gray quickly interrupted. "Just, um, hanging out with each other since I'm going away and we're not going to see each other for a long time."

Juvia smiled knowingly. Nothing would change her mind that Gray was asking her out on a date, but of course, she would let him believe that they were just "hanging out" if that was what he wanted.

"Let Juvia think." She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped a finger on her chin. "Hmm, Juvia wants to eat caramade franks, go fishing–"

"You wanna go fishing? We can do that."

"Really? Juvia's so happy! She was told it's always raining around her, so she can't be taken fishing or camping or–"

"Who said that? That's a load of crap," Gray said, irritated. "Tell me and I'll punch his brains out."

Juvia placed a hand on his arm. "Not important, Gray-sama." She smiled and added, "Tomorrow, then?"

Gray nodded. And before she knew what was happening, she felt Gray pulling her body close to him, her hat yanked away from her head, and Gray's lips suddenly on her forehead. Her hands landed on his bare chest, and she could feel his heartbeat thumping loudly, probably as strong as the beating of her heart at the moment.

It ended as fast as it happened, and she found herself being pushed away by a flustered Gray, mumbling, "See you tomorrow!" As he hurriedly walked away from her, Juvia finally broke from her trance and had enough sense to shout, "Gray-sama, your clothes!"

"Crap!"

Juvia giggled as Gray picked up his discarded clothes and started wearing them, still a bit of pink coloring his cheeks. When he was done, he hastily waved goodbye to her and shouted, "Tomorrow!"

She watched his retreating form until he was no longer within her line of sight. Her heart ached a bit, knowing that he was going away soon, but it swelled with the promise that he would eventually come home to her–a better, stronger, and more confident man.

How that was even possible, she didn't know, as he was already perfect in her eyes. But she also hadn't imagined that she could even love him more, yet here she was, finding herself loving him a little bit more each day as he ever-so-slowly let her into his melting heart.

Clutching her hat to her heart, she entered Fairy Hills.

A/N: I'm still writing Gruvia Week fics? You bet I am! It would be a waste if I don't flesh out those drafts I did before, right? Thank you for still reading my fics. I appreciate them a lot and you inspire me to keep writing. Btw, the fishing thing is a reference to the FT 100 YQ chapter 11 cover. And also to what Bora said to Juvia once. :)

#gruvia #gruvia fanfic #gruvia fanfiction #gray x juvia #gray fullbuster #juvia lockser #fairy tail

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spencer-reid-in-a-pool · 4 years ago

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It Was You All Along (Part 3)

Tags: @ayyyyitswednesdaymydoods @blackjay04

Author’s note: This one is a bit short, but I was just too excited to post it! Enjoy the angst~

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

The rest of the day went by fairly quickly. I’m not really sure if that is good or bad, but at least the hunt Geralt went on was successful and he made some coin. Now, it was Jaskier’s turn.

The tavern owner agreed to let Jaskier perform tonight before we head out in the morning. Honestly, I was looking forward to it. Maybe I could clear my head while listening to him sing.

Geralt and I sat across from each other at a table in the back of the tavern, each of us gripping a mug of ale. Jaskier stood off to the side of the makeshift stage getting his lute ready and adjusting the collar of his doublet.

“Keep staring like that, and your eyes just might freeze,” Geralt muttered over his ale.

I jerked myself out of my stupor and turned to the big oaf in front of me.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Geralt.”

“I’m sure you do.”

I glared at him and turned back to look at Jaskier who was now being announced as the performer for the night. What does Geralt know? Not a damn thing. He’s probably been hit in the head too many times to even remember how to spell his own name. Idiot.

As Jaskier introduced himself to the crowd, I couldn’t help but notice the gaggle of desperate girls in the very front, pointing and giggling while he spoke. It was like that at every tavern, but this time it rubbed me the wrong way. And I really don’t know why.

“What a bunch of morons,” I grumbled into my ale as I brought it to my lips.

I noticed Geralt looking at me over the mug’s rim.

“You should learn to mind your business, Witcher,” I spat at him.

“And you should learn how to read your own feelings.”

What would he know about feelings? Nothing. Nothing at all.

“Piss off, Geralt.”

I’m not really sure where this anger came from. All I knew was that I was frustrated, and I could feel it bubbling inside me. I almost felt like hitting something. Almost...

But when I looked at Jaskier performing, a smile gracing his lips and his hands strumming his lute, that anger disappeared. It was replaced with another feeling. A happier feeling. But also a sad one. I really couldn’t describe it. I had never felt anything like it before. But I liked it. I think I liked it, at least. It made me feel better, to look at Jaskier. His happiness was contagious, and I wanted more of it. I wanted it for myself.

As I watched him, I thought back to this evening in the square, when I caught up to him after the dance and had all those thoughts flitting through my mind. Just recalling them made my heart speed up. And as he finished his rendition of “Toss a Coin to Your Witcher,” my heart sank and my thoughts stopped all at once.

“Oh, gods...”

Geralt glanced at me from the other side of the table with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face. My face was on fire as I turned to face the wall.

“Shut up, Geralt, or I’ll cut your hair in your sleep.”

He laughed quietly to himself, a low rumble erupting from his chest. I knew we were both thinking the same thing. He just knew about it before I did.

I was in love with Jaskier.

Said bard moved on to his next song, but I wasn’t really listening. I was staring at the girls that were still fighting for Jaskier’s attention. Is that all it takes? A few brain cells and exposed breasts? Maybe I have more of a chance than I thought I did.

He shot them a wink as he turned on stage, pulling out all the theatrics for this one. I couldn’t help but feel a bit hurt by it. But he did it everywhere he performed. It was part of his charm. It was part of what I liked about him, I guess. But every other girl liked it too, and that made my heart feel heavy.

Jaskier finished his set with a flourish, and he made his way over to us. I was on my second mug of ale and Geralt looked as if he was bored to death.

Jaskier plopped down next to me, his doublet slung over his arm, leaving him only in his undershirt. The white fabric clung to him, and sweat glistened on his forehead. But he looked very pleased with himself. And his smile took my breath away.

“So what did you think? Good, yeah?” he asked us as he waived at a server for a drink.

“It was great!”

He turned to me, his chest still heaving a bit from his heavy breathing. The corners of his lips were turned up in a smile, and he looked down at the drink that was set in front of him.

“Thank you, love,” were his words to the woman that brought it to him.

She smiled and left. And I had to keep from glaring at her.

Geralt cleared his throat and I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. A hint of the smirk he gave me earlier was reappearing on his face, and my foot shot out to meet his shin underneath the table in response. If it hurt at all, he gave away nothing. He simply stood and looked down at where we still sat.

“I’m going to bed. You should too. If you aren’t up on time, I’ll leave without you.”

And then he was gone. Which meant that it was just me and Jaskier at the table now. Under normal circumstances, this would have been fine. But I was feeling anything but normal at the moment.

Jaskier turned towards me and opened his mouth as if to say something, but then closed it suddenly, looking up at what seemed to be my head.

“Oh, your flower crown has already started wilting! I wonder if there’s any way to save it.”

His lithe fingers, so sure of their movements, reached up to my head and gently grasped the crown. As he took it off, the edge of his knuckles gently grazed my forehead, and the contact made me shiver. Thankfully he didn’t notice because he was looking at the flower crown with genuine concern in his eyes.

“Perhaps you could press the petals in a book to keep them. To remind you of our epic adventures when we are all old and gray!” Jaskier said with a childlike grin.

His words made me smile too, and I took the crown from him gently, my forehead still tingling where his skin made contact with mine.

“Perhaps I will,” I murmured quietly.

It was at that moment that the woman who brought Jaskier his drink earlier approached our table once again. She was very pretty, with her long blonde hair done in a loose braid. She had big doe-like eyes that reflected the soft light of the tavern in their blue irises.

Jaskier glanced up at the movement next to us and when he realized it was a person, he flashed her a smile.

“What can I do for you, darling?”

“You’re Jaskier, right?” she asked excitedly.

“The one and only,” he said with a wink.

“I just- well, I couldn’t help but notice you tonight. Like really notice you.” As her words left her lips, she leaned over the table, her breast a bit exposed at the top of her dress.

“I’m done working for the night, and I was wondering if you wanted to...get to know each other a bit.”

I swear I could feel bile rise in my throat as she talked to him. And it only got worse when he placed his hand over hers on the cracked wood of our corner table.

“All you had to do was ask, love.”

Tears began forming in my eyes and I had to blink rapidly to keep the stinging feeling they brought at bay. The woman giggled and grabbed Jaskier’s hand, pulling him up from his seat.

As they walked away to what I assumed was her room, Jaskier turned to me with a crooked smile and a glint in his eyes.

“Don’t wait up for me!” he yelled back at me.

I sat frozen, clutching the wilting flower crown to my chest to try and bring some sense of comfort to my racing heart. To try and remind myself of the good day I had with my best friend. But it wasn’t working. And long after he left, I was still staring at the spot he had been standing when he gave me his parting words.

“I won’t.”

I didn’t get much sleep that night. I didn’t think I would. My room was right beside Geralt and Jaskier’s and that was all I could think about. Would he even return to his room? Or would he spend the night with that woman from before? I stared at the ceiling as I thought about all this, gripping the blanket a bit too forcefully. When I realized my knuckles were becoming sore, I released the blanket and got out of bed. I’m not sure where I was going, but I just couldn’t sit still anymore.

I glanced out the stained window next to the washtub. It was pitch black, and a few stars twinkled in the night. The stables were right below my room, and I could see Roach in her stall. That made me smile a bit. Lily was two stalls down from her, munching on something. I gave a small laugh, though it sounded more like a clicking noise than anything. I wasn’t truly in the mood for laughing.

Deciding that I needed to move again, I made my way across the room towards the door leading out into the hallway. Maybe I’ll take a walk around to clear my head a bit. As I reached out to grab the door handle, I heard footsteps coming closer. They were heavy and spaced out. Whoever it was walking was not really all there. A drunk perhaps. Maybe I need a drink. That sounds like a good idea...

I cracked the door open to leave, but then I saw who it was stumbling down the hallway. It was Jaskier. Of course it was.

He was leaned against the wall, stepping here and there. He was clearly drunk, as I thought before. His doublet dragged behind him from where it was clutched in his fist, and his shirt was halfway undone and untucked from his pants. Even in the shadows of the night I could see the dark purple marks blooming along his throat and collarbone. Tears threatened to spill over once more, and I decided to close the door.

But before I did, I saw that he made it to his room, and he went in. Then I heard voices. Geralt must have still been awake.

I didn’t really know what I had in mind. All I know is that in a split second, I was on the other side of the room, leaning my ear against the wall that divided me from them.

Surprisingly, I could hear them talking. But I couldn’t make out exactly what they were saying because of my pulse pounding in my ears. Taking a few deep breaths to calm myself down, I closed my eyes and began to concentrate.

“...couldn’t have been any quieter when coming in?”

I heard a scraping sound and a thud. I assume Jaskier sat down in a chair.

“Shut up, Geralt.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” was Geralt’s gruff reply.

My heartbeat picked up again, causing me to only hear bits and pieces of their conversation that followed.

“...wouldn’t understand...what do I do?...”

“You want advice?...grow a pair...stop whining...”

“...seeing her was...bad idea...(Y/N) can’t know...don’t want her...”

I decided I had had enough when I felt tears pricking my eyes for what seemed the millionth time that day. My hands met the wall and pushed the rest of me off. He didn’t want to see me? Is that what he was saying? That it was a bad idea to be around me?

I wasn’t sure if I was more hurt or angry or confused. So I made my way back over to my bed and fell into it with a sigh that felt like I had been holding it in for hours.

I prayed to whatever god was listening that I could sleep tonight without dreams.

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bunnys-beetlejuice-blog · 4 years ago

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some kind of attention grabbing noise to clue you into the fact that its FIC TIME, BABES! again, mentions of self harm in this chapter, be cautious and take care of yourselves lost? confused? frightened? worry not. start here, for delicious tasty context

His home is broken. When he’d arrived at the Tudor, floating up the steps, he’d almost felt a sense of relief. No matter how bad everything is, at least he can see his dad and sister now. Even if they can’t see him, he can find a way to make them say his name, and maybe his presence will only be a band aid on a mortal wound, but they’ll at least all be bleeding out together.

But he doesn’t recognize the people in this house. They call themselves Lydia and Charles, and their voices sound the same, and they mostly look the same, but these can’t be his breathers, his family, because they hardly seem to count as one. Lydia’s only sixteen, but she looks older, sadder, the dark makeup and short dark hair a shock, when he’s only known her as fresh faced and long haired and blonde. And his Lydia used to smile, she used to tell jokes, she used to have life behind her eyes. This Lydia is functionally dead. She walks around, eyes half hidden behind hair and eyeliner, and sits quietly, hardly eats, picks at her food like she’s already accepted starvation as a viable escape method. Charles is just as bad. His father reeks of alcohol, a scent BJ can’t stand, and the gray at his temples is more pronounced than he remembers.

But worst of all, is how neither of them talk about anything that matters. He sits in his chair, at dinner, listens to Charles berate Lydia over some stupid school thing. “Mom always said high school was temporary. Ya know, unimportant,” he grates out, like he’s a part of the conversation, but no one turns to look at him. Lydia pushes her food around her plate, hardly reacts to the scolding, and that’s dinner. Two dead people, playing at being alive, neither doing an especially good job.

He goes before them, up the stairs, leaving a cold air behind himself, and he finds that he’s able to manipulate his bedroom door, though not by much, and it’s exhausting to do so. It opens only a fraction, but that must be enough to get Lydia’s attention, because she enters, pokes around, and even asks Charles about it. But he can see from the look in both their eyes, that this evidence of his existence isn’t enough. Lydia lays on his bed, in the dark, and cries for their mother, and he would give anything to cry with her. As it is, he hugs his knees to his chest, in the dark, and sits there, shaking and overwhelmed, as he listens to his baby sister softly sob herself to sleep.

He becomes well acquainted with their new bad habits fairly quickly. Charles is drinking himself into a stupor, every night, falling asleep at his desk, barely making it to work in the mornings, sometimes not changing out of his suit for a number of days, only applying cologne as needed, too busy in the bottle to take care of himself properly. That’s bad enough, but the first time he sees what Lydia does, now, it scares him so badly it’s hard to even think. She digs a shard of glass into her forearm, and it at least seems she’s not cutting to kill, but both siblings watch the red prick along the new wound in silence, until he speaks. “Mom wouldn’t like that,” he tells her, not that it matters. “You shouldn’t be doin’ that, Lyds. What if it gets infected? What if you get seriously hurt? Th’ blood’s supposed to be on th’ inside, kiddo,” he babbles, pointlessly, as she cuts deeper, sinks that glass further into her skin, and sits there, watching it, passively. Like it’s not happening to her. Like she’s watching something on a screen. Like she couldn’t care less that she’s hurting herself. “Dead Mom,” she addresses her empty room, as she often does. “If you can see this, you’re probably freaking out. This is coping. I’m coping.” She lies to the air in front of her. “You’re not,” he croaks out. “This isn’t healthy, Lyds, please..”

It’s a nightly ritual for her, at this point. She listens to music, looks through photos, and maims herself, and all he can do is watch her, trying to make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid, or stupider. A week into silently stalking his own family, and he’s still not any closer to being seen, or figuring out how to make them say his name. It’s torture. He follows the two of them around the house, plays at being their shadows, and trails them places, work, school, the grocery store, wherever. It doesn’t matter. He might as well not exist.

Actually, not existing is already starting to sound pretty good.

Lydia stands up from her bed, still bleeding, and the motion of that breaks his thoughts. She crouches low, retrieves a photo album from under her bed that he didn’t know had been there. She flips through it, and has to sit down, after only a second.

“That th’ blood loss catchin’ up to you?” he snarks, before glancing over at her, and his eyes widen. She’s staring at a photo of him. Several photos of him, actually, and she flips through the album, pages and pages of him. He studies her expression, as she lands on a picture that he recognizes. The two of them, coming back from that disastrous visit to the Smallpox Hospital, on the lift, over the water. She’s nine, and adorable, and he’s sixteen and grubby, but infatuated with the two who had been sitting across from them. Adam had taken Lydia’s instamatic, and snapped the picture of the siblings, making faces, the skyline behind them.

“You remember that day, Lyds?” he tries, as he watches her brow furrow. She sighs, like she’s disappointed in herself, and closes the album, and it’s deposited back under her bed. “Mama, some of these pictures, they make my head hurt, more than my heart,” she says, softly, which he understands. She can’t remember him, all the memories she has of him are locked behind whatever mental wall this curse has created, and trying does nothing but confuse her. Maybe she can’t even see his face, in the pictures. Maybe it’s a blur, out of focus, like the moment you wake up, and have yet to rub the sleep from your eyes. That’s all he is, now, just a dream she can’t remember upon her return to the waking world.

He can open and close doors, but only barely, and it takes the energy out of him. He finds that any fire he lights still affects the world of the living, but when he tries to spell his name out in flames on the walls, all he manages to do is scare Charles into calling an electrician, about a possible electrical issue causing fires. He hadn’t even been able to spell out a “B” because somehow, this stupid curse can tell his intentions, and he hadn’t been able to physically move his arm, to form the letters he needed.

A month into living in hell, he’s finding himself feeling more and more like he’s losing his mind. He knows humans can be driven mad by isolation, but he’d never thought of what the effects on himself would be, especially since it’s not true isolation. He can go into a crowd, surround himself with people. It just doesn't matter, which is what’s making him feel so unhinged, and more than once, he throws himself into a crowd of people, and screams and kicks and thrashes, begging them to see him. All he succeeds in doing is giving a group of New Yorkers a slight chill.

But the thing that makes him the angriest is the day he finds a red headed stranger in their house. He and Lydia come in together, her just returning from a day at school, and him returning from a day of tagging along behind her, and the siblings both stop, and cock their heads at the same time, the same direction, at the sight of the strange woman standing in the foyer. Her red hair is piled in sort of a silly looking bun on top of her head, and she’s got some very intense bangs, hiding her forehead. She’s also wearing almost exclusively purple. She's scrunching her nose, examining one of Emily’s framed prints, the one of Saturn Devouring His Son, looking a bit disgusted.

“Who th’ hell is that?” he asks Lydia, and Lydia addresses the woman. “Who the hell are you?”

The woman turns to face them, and then smiles. “Oh, hello there!” she says, like they're strangers, and she’s welcoming them into her home. She lifts her hands, and rings a triangle Betelgeuse hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “You’re bringing a very interesting energy into this house, Lydia,” the stranger smiles, like that’s the only facial expression she’s got. “You don’t say. I’m about to bring the energy of a bunch of cops here, too,” the teen threatens, staring at the woman, who places a hand over her chest. “My name is Delia,” she says, finally. “Your dad has hired me to be your life coach! He says you’ve been feeling down in the dumps, lately,” she gives an over exaggerated sad face. “But I know with a little positive thinking, me and you can turn that sad aura into a bubbling rainbow one!”

“Oh my god, you should bite her,” Betelgeuse says, instantly. “You up to date on your rabies shot?” Lydia asks. “Positivity makes me foam at the mouth. I wouldn’t get too close.”

Delia cocks an eyebrow, but does move, and allows the teen to move past her, up the stairs. “I’m just here to help you gain a new perspective, Lydia~!” she calls from behind her, as Lydia storms up to her room, and she slams the door behind herself. “Unbelievable,” she growls, throwing her bag on her bed, and he echoes her. “Un-fuckin'-believable!” he agrees, pacing around her room. “What th’ hell is a life coach, even?”

Lydia kicks at her wall, her big black combat boot leaving a mark on the red paint. “I’m the one who needs help? He can’t even say her name, and I’m the one who needs the hippie to come in, and try and change my perspective? A change of perspective doesn’t bring MOM BACK!” She ends her sentence in a scream, her face going red, and then she picks up her bag, and throws it at her bedroom door. The bang it makes isn’t satisfying enough, and she whirls around her room, looking for anything else she can throw around, and destroy. He settles on her bed, and watches, forced to be passive by the curse, as Lydia storms around her room, until finally, Charles throws open her bedroom door.

“You are being ridiculous,” he hisses at her, his grip on her door knob white knuckled.

“Get out! Get the hell out and leave me alone, and take that bitch downstairs with you!” Lydia screams, a hair’s breadth away from throwing a potted plant at him. “Scream and throw fits all you want, little girl. You can’t temper tantrum your way out of Delia being here. She’s going to help you.” She lobs the plant at him, and it barely goes sailing by their father’s head. Betelgeuse watches go over the railing, and then there’s the sound of it shattering on the entrance floor, followed by Delia’s surprised, “Oh!” Charles’ expression is deadly. “You can stay in here until you’ve calmed down,” is all he says, before slamming her door, and Lydia stands there, breathing heavily. “You learned how to throw those epic tantrums from me,” Betelgeuse tells her, as she flops on her bed, and screams into a pillow. read the rest right over HERE

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice fanfiction #beetlejuice broadway #beetlejuice the musical #lydia deetz #beetlejuice fic #my writing

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vintagedolan · 4 years ago

Text

mixtape | track six

| masterlist | faceclaims | playlist | visual by @brockhsmpton

“Okay so let me get this straight. You have a boyfriend. Your boyfriend is famous. You’re flying to LA with said boyfriend. And you’re staying at his house? Cause he’s 20 and has a fucking house.”

“Uh yeah, that pretty much covers it.”

“Jesus, I move across the country and then you decide to start getting interesting.”

Indy flipped her grilled cheese over in the skillet, and then flipped off the camera, getting an eye roll from Charlie that she felt through the facetime call.

“You gonna be okay on the plane?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” she grumbled, trying to push the nagging thoughts from her mind.

“Indiana. You’ve gotta tell him before you get on that plane. If you can even get on the plane that is.”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it. Just drop it, okay?”

Her list of distractions was dwindling as she finished all the work that had been piled on her before fall break, which was really only a long four day weekend. All she had left was an exam that afternoon, and then it would be time to go.

Grayson had insisted that they take Beks advice, take a trip out of the city to somewhere other than Jersey. It had been an interesting conversation to say the least.

“That sounds fun but I can’t.”

“Why not?”

She hesitated. Her usual excuse for getting out of things that made her anxious was simple. School. Too much homework, upcoming exam, blah blah blah. Usually that just earned her an eye roll, maybe an off hand ‘nerd’ comment too, but then the subject would be dropped.

Grayson wouldn’t be swayed that easily; and, she didn’t even have her default option. She scrambled for ideas with her thoughts running wild until he reached across the couch and laid his hand on top of hers.

“Hey, where’d you go?”

“I was thinking about airports.” It wasn’t a lie, but that was only partially the culprit of the knot in her stomach.

“It’s a straight flight to LA, super easy. I’ve done it way too many times, I know my way around.”

She chewed her lip and he squeezed her hand.

“C’mon, you’ll love it. LA is shitty sometimes but it’s amazing too. And you can meet Eden finally, she’s always asking about you. And Adele too. And I can show you the house, the pod studio. We can go surfing if you want. I’ll take you to Monty’s.”

“Gray. I can’t afford it.”

“Like I was gonna make you pay for it,” he laughed, but she stayed still beside him, unable to find the same amusement.

“I don’t want you to spend money on me like that.”

“Money doesn’t mean much to me. Doesn’t mean anything to me really,” he shrugged - she couldn’t imagine what that must feel like. It felt a bit hypocritical, for her to be acting like she struggled with money while she sat in her nice Chelsea apartment. But that money hadn’t come from her own pockets - it came with the price tag of guilt and the threat of it being taken away if her dad felt like it, which kept her and her ever shrinking savings account on edge. Money didn’t seem to be a real concept in the Dolan family however, and she tried to remind herself of that while Gray toyed with her fingers.

He switched to other tactics of persuasion when the silence stretched a bit too long, moving closer and nuzzling into her neck, pressing little kisses to her skin in between murmurs of “please Dee” and “c’mon baby”.

She conceded, gently tugging on his hair to get him to come back to her.

“Fine. But I’m paying you back one day. When I can.”

Grayson knew that wouldn’t be for years, and he liked the idea of her and him that far in the future, so he just nodded and kissed her again.

Charlie stayed on the line while Indy ate and then moved on to finish her packing, throwing in too many outfits for just four days and four nights, but she wasn’t sure what California called for. It took her a good five minutes of digging to find her bathing suits that she hadn’t drug out since the summer, but she eventually added them to the bag as the final touch and got everything ready. Charlie convinced her to take a few pieces of skimpier clothing in case the ‘vibes were right’, which had Indy blushing bright red and eventually making an excuse to get off the phone before she had to get into her sex life any further with her sister.

Her breathing settled for a moment when her phone buzzed, a message from ‘gray 💚 ’.

Plane snacks?

Also does coffee make you shit your pants

Cause I’ll get you some for the ride to the airport if it won’t hurt your tummy on the plane

Leave it to him to put a smile on her face even as her stomach continued to turn. She tried to convince herself it was her exam that had her so worked up, but she knew better.

if 4 years as a barista gave me anything it was immunity in that department

so yes to the coffee pls :)

and just get me whatever you’re getting for snacks please

Gotcha, I’ll swing by and get your bag

Good luck on your exam! Not that you need it

I’ll be waiting outside in the ugly ass truck 💜 I love you

see you soon, I love you too

With that she packed up the last few things, leaving her bag in plain sight before she left for class. She was able to clear her mind enough on her walk, getting herself into ‘school mode’ before she got to the building. The exam went easily, as she expected that it would - it was nice to have subjects like medical terminology that were so cut and dry sometimes. Either you know it, or you don’t, as Nicole used to say. No point in guessing.

Indy didn’t like having to guess.

Which was why she had the airport map pulled up on her phone while she stood on the sidewalk, leaned up against the building as she tried to plan out the best way to get to the terminal that they needed. She’d already done this - three times, actually - but it made her feel better anyways.

She heard the rumble of the engine first, but it only held her ears for a moment. Because then, it was a giggle, and a squeal, and a whispered voice saying “no, that’s them, that has to be them! Who the fuck else would have a truck like that?”

Indiana’s stomach tightened even more somehow at the realization of what was happening. Charlie’s voice rang in her ears - your boyfriend is famous.

They’d never talked about what to do in a situation like this, but she’d seen enough stories about celebrities who hid their relationships to know that ‘undisclosed’ was the default setting. Suddenly very thankful that she’d decided to go with a hoodie that morning, she pulled the fabric up over her hair and dropped her head, keeping her eyes trained upward to watch what Grayson was doing.

She watched the girls go up to the cab and ask for a photo, which Grayson seemed to happily oblige to, though he didn’t get out of the car. He noticed her a moment later and his smile faltered at the realization that she’d been waiting on him. The girls asked him to give their love to Ethan and then went on their way. Indy held back for a few moments, waiting until they were out of sight before she hurried forward and got into the passenger seat.

“You must have finished that exam quick, I figured I’d be waiting on you,” Gray teased, but his voice was a bit tight.

“It was pretty easy, you either know it or you don’t.”

“Right. Well, I wouldn’t have known any of it,” he laughed, eyes still scanning the street - whether for cars or people, she couldn’t tell. “You ready to go?”

No. “Sure.”

The pair had felt the peace of comfortable silence enough in their relationship so far to know when it was absent, and there wasn’t a trace of it to be found. Indy was too caught up in her own mind to react to Grayson’s attempts to engage her, from the hand on her bouncing thigh to the looks he snuck, eyes darting from the busy road for a moment. She kept her coffee in both her hands - drinking it was counterproductive in terms of her nerves most likely, but the warmth of it was comforting enough for her to justify it. Grayson’s mouth got drier with every exit they passed, and he kept his cool until they got to the pay to park lot at the airport and he shifted the truck into park.

“We don’t have to go you know.”

The dejection in his voice was finally enough to pull Indiana out of her own little world. Her eyes came back into focus as she turned to him.

“Gray-”

“If it’s about the money, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just really wanted to show you LA, cause it’s a big part of me, and I didn’t want you to be stressed about the price of tickets.”

“It’s not the money.”

“Then what is it? Because you’re pissed about something, obviously, and I’d like to be let in on the secret if you don’t mind.”

She shrunk under his harsh tone, unsure of whether she should even say anything. She hated when she got like this, and hated even more that she didn’t even have a hope of control over it, despite it being herself, her own mind causing the issues.

“Planes.”

“What?”

“It’s not you, it’s planes. Airports. Flying in general. I just… I don’t like it.”

“Oh. Well, I mean, I’ve been on plenty of planes, and nothing bad has ever happened while I was on there.” There was an airiness to his tone, as if it was as simple as his own testimony fixing the entire situation.

“That… doesn’t help.” She didn’t even like the thought of him being on a plane, much less the both of them. She practically flinched at the sound of one flying over them.

Grayson’s wheels were turning, slower than he wanted them to as he scrambled for an idea, anything that could make her feel better at the realization that his words had only made it worse.

“Can I have a redo on that?”

She looked up at him - at his sheepish smile and the blush on his cheeks, and the next breath she took in was a tad easier.

“Sure.”

“I’m sorry you’re feeling anxious, what can I do to help?”

His tone was so flat that they just looked at each other and then busted out laughing. Indiana couldn’t remember the last time someone had made her laugh when she felt so terribly. It was almost foreign to her - she felt like she shouldn’t be doing it somehow.

“Sorry, that was - fuck that was formal,” he laughed, rolling his eyes. “What I meant was, whatever you need, I’ll do. You just have to tell me.”

“Uh… not going.”

His hand moved to the gear shift, ready to put it in reverse and leave. She placed hers on top of his, holding on when he moved away.

“Kidding.”

“No you aren’t.”

“Okay, maybe I’m a little serious. But I want to. I want to go, it’s just hard. Having someone with me that I trust helps though.”

His chest swelled a bit at the realization that he was considered one of those people - it was one of the best honors he could imagine being given by somebody that he cared about, probably because it wasn’t something that he gave out easily. He pulled her hand up to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the soft skin.

“I’ll be with you then. You can hold onto me the whole time.”

“You sure about that?”

He frowned immediately at that, reaching his hand over to her thigh, running a thumb over the material of her leggings. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I mean you’re probably gonna have more fans coming up to you and stuff. I figured you didn’t want them like… knowing about me.”

“I never said that,” he countered, squeezing a bit. “I mean if you don’t want to, that’s okay, but I’m okay with it if you are.”

There was a sincerity to his gaze that conveyed what he hadn’t said - an almost plea for her to be okay with it. And so she was, at least enough for her to give him a nod and a quick kiss before stepping out of the truck.

He got to her bags before she could, and he was grateful that he’d only brought a duffle. He managed both bags with one hand and grabbed onto hers with the other as they started through the parking lot.

And he didn’t let go a single time, apart from the security scans and her going to pee after they made it through, in which he waited outside the bathroom for her with his arms crossed. Ethan met up with them at the terminal, buzzing with excitement at the prospect of getting to see Eden for the first time in a month. He was staying an extra week to get some quality time with her, and he was a constant stream of excitement. Grayson kept his attention on Indy though, trying to read her for any signs that things were getting worse. He kept a hand on her bouncing leg, running a thumb back and forth constantly, leaning over and pressing a kiss to her temple every so often.

“I’m gonna go check something really quick, I’ll be right back. Ethan, stay with her okay?”

Ethan didn’t question it. He slid over to replace his brother for a moment as he headed up to the desk at the gate. Despite his bubbly charm, Ethan had a calmer nature to him than Grayson did, no matter how hard he tried to exude the same level headedness. It came effortlessly to his twin it seemed.

“Gingerale helps calm me down on planes. Don’t know why but it does,” he mumbled, scooting a bit closer so his arm was pressed up along hers on the small bars between their seats.

He didn’t seem to need a response, and Indy was grateful. She leaned against him a bit more as a silent thank you that he seemed to accept, and they stayed that way until Grayson returned, switching out places again, wrapping his arm around her shoulder immediately.

“I upgraded us to first class.”

“What? Why!?” She spoke for the first time since the car, surprised that her voice still sounded stable.

“You’ll see. C’mon, we’re about to board. You still sure you want to do this?”

She couldn’t give him an answer, but she stood up anyways and held onto his arm as they scanned their tickets and moved down the jet bridge. He pressed kisses to her blonde hair, ducking down a few times to check on her as they made their way down and got settled into their seats, Ethan settling into the row beside her.

Indy kept her lip tucked underneath her top teeth, looking around at anything to distract her from where she was as her mind raced, so fast she couldn’t even pinpoint what was making her the most anxious.

“Focus on me. I’m right here,” Grayson hummed, reaching over to turn her face towards his for a moment. “You’re okay. We’re okay.”

“Yeah.” There wasn’t an ounce of conviction in her voice. She felt like she was going to cry, and she tucked her hood up over her ears, trying to drown out anything that sounded remotely like an airplane. Her lungs weren’t working how she wanted them to, and she sucked in breath after breath, none of them deep enough to relieve the tightness in her chest.

“Here. Try this.”

Long fingers tucked into her hood, moving her hair back from her ear so he could slip one of his headphones in. It fit snugly, and he scrambled to his phone, pulling up his Cudi playlist and scrolling through until he found what he wanted. The familiar intro of Teleport 2 Me, Jamie started to play as the final passengers boarded onto the rather large plane. How had everyone gotten on so fast? It seemed her mind was running away from her, making time move faster, bringing on the inevitable.

“This song makes me think about you, you know. I know Jamie is your middle name but still.”

She barely registered his words as a few tears snuck out of the corner of her eyes. Even her lips were shaking as she tried to breathe, curling in on herself with her knees pulled to her chest. The flight attendant was nice enough to not ask to see her seatbelt, sensing that she was better left undisturbed.

The guilt started to eat Grayson alive as he watched her struggle, running a hand over her back and leaning over to hold onto her, looking to his brother for support. Ethan’s eyes were wide with concern but he was just as helpless, not even being able to reach a comforting hand across the aisle because of the flight attendants passing by. It only got worse as they began to move - Grayson couldn’t tell if she was shaking harder or if it was just the movement of the plane.

The only good sign he got was her reaching her hand out in search of his. When he laced his fingers with hers she squeezed so hard he knew his bones were moving in a way they weren’t meant to, but he didn’t dare pull away. Not when he was the cause of her being in so much distress. It put a pit in his stomach, a mixture of the urge to apologize over and over and the wish that he could somehow climb inside her mind and soothe her, make her believe that she would be alright.

So, he did the next best thing he could think of. As soon as they had taken off, which felt like it took hours, he reached to her waist and unclipped her seatbelt.

“Come here.”

It took a moment for her to process, but once she understood Indy didn’t hesitate to climb over into his lap, curling up so small that she fit comfortably there in the wide first class seat, head tucked into the nook of his neck as he wrapped her up in his arms.

“You’re okay, I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

“I’m sorry, fuck I’m sorry,” she squeaked. If anyone else in first class heard it, they elected to ignore it. “It’s not usually this bad.”

“Shhhh, don’t. Just close your eyes. We’ll be there before you know it, okay?”

She reached a hand up to his neck, tucking it in against his skin under his sweatshirt as an anchor before she closed her eyes. She wrestled with her mind, trying to override with a focus on what she was physically feeling - his warm skin under her fingertips, the roughness of his beard against her forehead, the change of the song in her headphone. Her other ear was pressed against his chest and she tried to listen for his heartbeat, getting sidetracked when his hand moved her hoodie up barely so he could get underneath to her skin. One finger began to trace.

I-M-S-O-R-R-Y

She shook her head, tilting up to press her nose against him. It was her that should be apologizing, she thought. She hadn’t warned him properly of what to expect. That being said, it was true that she hadn’t had such a bad experience in a while - it only clicked then that it probably had to do with the fact that Grayson was on the plane too. If it crashed and she died, so would he, and the thought of it made her want to hurl. Instead, she clung to him tighter, forming letters by his collarbone with her fingertip.

N-O-T-Y-O-U-R-F-A-U-L-T

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, leaving his lips there for a moment before he shifted and rested his cheek on top of her head.

S-T-I-L-L-S-O-R-R-Y

She nuzzled closer to him.

I-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U

Against her hip, she felt four gentle squeezes, a silent I love you too as they continued through the sky.

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

“Jesus. It’s hot. Like, hot hot.”

“Ethan. It’s Cali. Of course it’s fucking hot.”

“Yeah, but it’s not natural for it to be this hot in fucking October. Anywhere.”

Indy listened to their bickering quietly, catching her breath a little more with each mile she put between her and the airport. It was just her leg bouncing now as she sipped on her gingerale - it had appeared on her tray table at some point in the flight and she hadn’t been able to stomach it until she made it out of the airport and into Ethan’s tesla, which was driven by Adele, a sweet woman with a kind smile and soft voice.

Grayson sat in the backseat with her, still on alert for any sign that she was anxious, hand resting on her thigh. But he breathed easier as he watched her body finally begin to accept that she was on the ground, and by the time they pulled up to the gate she was almost back to her normal self.

She enjoyed the feeling of her feet on the hard concrete of the driveway when she got out of the car, feeling a bit like a celebrity when the door swung open over her head. Grayson grabbed the bags and was immediately at her side, taking her hand and leading her up to the door. It wasn’t the first time that Indy had seen the inside of the house - she’d gotten glimpses of it on a few vlogs that they’d watched with Bekah one night. But there was a warmth to the space that didn’t quite read on camera, a familiarity that she realized was traces of Grayson everywhere, from the Cudi vinyls on the shelf to the wood based furniture that he’d definitely had a hand in making.

“I’m going to get Eden, I’ll be back in… I don’t know how long,” Ethan winked, immediately grabbing his keys and heading back out to the still warm Tesla, leaving his bag off the side of the kitchen.

“You up for a tour?”

If she was honest, her body was entirely exhausted, and her mind wasn’t far behind. But she perked up for his sake and nodded, taking his hand as he started to guide her through the house. He stopped in each room, showing off little details he’d helped pick out, from the colorful couch in the sunken room off the kitchen to the floating desk in Ethan’s room that he’d helped him install. The podcast studio was the most eclectic of any of them, with a massive wooden table that almost seemed carved around the blue light in the middle - not to mention the hot pink wall of the entrance, which was cut off by a wild jungle wallpaper wall that stretched from one end of the house to the other. Grayson spoke a mile a minute, explaining every step, every change they had made to the house since they’d bought it. Indy’s mind struggled to keep up, to visualize what he was saying, describing rooms she’d never seen.

“Ethan got the master this time around, so my room is a little smaller, but it’s cooler anyways.”

He guided her into a dark room on the right side of the hallway. It was somehow calmer than the rest of the house, and it practically zapped the rest of the energy out of her as soon as she passed the threshold. He showed her the green bathroom, the fancy toilet he’d picked out, his massive and meticulously organized closet. But when she flopped down onto the bed, she knew she was done for.

Grayson smiled when she hummed against the comforter - the first true sign of relaxation she’d shown since he’d picked her up from campus that morning.

“You tired bubs?”

“No,” she lied.

“You wanna take a nap?”

“No.”

“Your eyes are closed.”

“I’m resting, I just need like… 30 seconds.”

“You can sleep.”

“You were gonna show me the backyard though.”

She felt the bed dip down slightly, and then his lips were on her temple.

“The backyard will be there when you wake up. Besides, I need to get some work done anyways, and you’ve had a shitshow of a morning. Sleep, and maybe we can go get dinner with E squared later if you’re up for it, and I’ll take you to the beach.”

“E squared?” She muttered, only half motivated to stay awake for the answer.

“Ethan and Eden. They’ll be back over in a few hours I’m sure, he’s saving us from having to listen to their reunion fuck through the walls.”

“How considerate.” Her voice was muffled in the pillow, and it made Grayson smile. He moved to his closet, opening the extra drawer he used to store his blankets and pulling one out for her.

She vaguely felt the weight of the fabric being laid over her, and a gentle hum that sounded like ‘I love you’ before her body finally gave in and succumbed to sleep.

As soon as he knew she was out, Grayson got to work on all the things that he’d neglected in the last month. He made quick work of a full email inbox, a few calls that he stepped out of the room for, a Wakeheart campaign approval that he forwarded to Ethan - something about being back in LA lit the fire under him that always seemed to simmer out in the cool Jersey air. It took less thought, less intention to go into his kitchen, use his preset on the coffee machine with his favorite mug under it. Jersey was home, but LA was home, and he never realized how much he loved it until he was away for a while. His phone buzzed, loud against the counter - a text from Ethan running across his screensaver of the only picture he’d taken with Indy so far. He made a mental note to take more over the next few days before he opened the message.

Be there in 10, make sure everyone has pants on

He liked the message and stood up slowly, closing his laptop before heading back towards his room. He paused in the doorway, unable to help himself as he looked in.

Indiana was sprawled out across his bed, one of her legs escaping from under the covers. The pillow was tucked under her head, held by one arm while the other reached out to the empty side of the bed, hand splayed out on the fabric. With his phone already in his hand he couldn’t help but to snap a quick picture of her, a sweet memory that he knew he’d want to keep. He felt a little guilty having to wake her up from what seemed like such a peaceful nap, but he also knew she’d be made if he didn’t give her a chance to freshen up before Eden got there. So he leaned over and pressed a kiss to her temple, rubbing along her back until her eyes blinked opened.

“Time to get up sleepyhead,” he teased, keeping his hand on her hip as she rolled over and stretched out in the most adorable way.

“Hmmmm, c’mere,” she grinned, reaching up for him and pulling his lips down to hers. The little cat nap seemed to be the recovery her body needed, a reset that allowed her mind to focus on other things, like how good Grayson looked in the fresh t-shirt that he’d changed into while she was out. He indulged her, moving a knee onto the bed so he could get above her and get behind the kiss.

“Ethan’s gonna be here in 10,” he murmured, but his lips still moved against hers, his relief palpable that she seemed to be doing better.

“Then we have 9.”

“Eden’s coming too.”

She pulled back with wide eyes, and before he could say another word she was rolling out from underneath him. It took her two whole rolls to get to the other side of the bed, which was almost as endearing to Grayson as the way she scurried to her bag in the closet, immediately pulling out clothes like her life depended on it.

“Baby, it’s just Eden.”

“No, it’s Ethan’s girlfriend Eden. Which means she’s not just Eden, it means she’s very important.”

“Important? You act like this is a job interview or something.”

“It’s a girlfriend interview, which is worse.”

“A what?” He struggled to stay focused on her answer as she pulled her leggings off and wiggled into a pair of high waisted black jean shorts as she spoke.

“When you have a woman in your life, a good woman, who isn’t your girlfriend, they go into protective mode. It’s a maternal thing I think, but it doesn’t matter who it is, they keep an eye out for you. And the biggest threat that those women can see for their guy friend is a new girlfriend. It doesn’t mean she’s gonna hate me, but she’s definitely gonna want to vet me at the least. And I bet it’s worse because I’ll be around Ethan so much so she’ll want to be extra careful. Plus, she doesn’t know me from adam, and...hey. Hey. Are you listening to me?”

At some point in the middle of her explanation she’d taken her shirt off, and Grayson’s mind had gone a bit fuzzy at the sight of her bra - dark purple, with a peek of lace under the cups.

“Yeah, yeah sorry. Eden’s nice though, she’s sweet, there’s nothing to be scared of.”

She turned to him with a frustrated frown that he kissed away when he closed the distance between them, hands moving to hold her bare hips. Her skin was soft and still had a trace of warmth from sleep, and it made him hold on and rub his thumbs against her for a moment, trying to process that she was actually there with him.

“If you say so.”

“I do say so, and besides, her opinion of you isn’t going to change my opinion of you.” He kissed her forehead quickly and let go so she could get ready. She pulled a tank top on and headed into the bathroom, freshening up until the moment that she heard the front door open, signally Ethan and Eden’s arrival.

“Do I look okay?”

“Perfect as always,” he beamed, taking her hand and leading her back out towards the kitchen.

“Grayson!”

Eden came running around the island and barrelled into Grayson like she hadn’t seen him in years. He caught her with a smile, a laugh and a ‘hey evil’, an inside joke that Indy wasn’t let in on. She didn’t have time to dwell on it though, because she was immediately wrapped up in tan arms, her vision obscured by a curtain of wavy black hair.

“Hi! I’m Eden, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Hey, Indiana, nice to meet you too!”

The hug was as awkward as any first hug she’d ever had, but the smile on the boy’s faces made it worth it when Indy pulled back. Ethan was glowing in the way you only glow after you get laid for the first time in a long time, and he’d apparently worked up an appetite, because they didn’t spend more than five minutes in the house before they were headed out to Monty’s. Indy still tried to open the Tesla door like a normal one, barely stepping back in time when it lifted up above her head. To her surprise, Eden jumped into the backseat beside her, forcing Grayson up to the passenger seat next to Ethan.

“So, you’re in school right? To be a nurse?”

“A doctor actually, but yeah, I graduate in a little over a month with my Bachelor’s,” Indy explained, preparing herself for the questions she was sure to get, being careful to be truthful in her answers without accidentally saying something that would make Eden hate her. Ethan’s girlfriend had a sweet face, peppered in freckles that almost looked faded in her warm toned skin. Her eyes sat large on her face, making her look a bit like a doe. But her outfit told a different story - everything about it spoke confidence and bad bitch energy in a way that Indiana was only used to seeing on LA model’s instagrams. It hit her quickly that it was very much possible that Eden might actually be an LA model, and the thought made her mouth run dry.

“What do you do?”

“I’m a graphic designer.”

“Oh really? That’s amazing! What kind of work do you do?”

Eden launched into her career, from how she got there to what major brands she’d worked for - some of which shocked Indy. Grayson reached back behind his seat a few minutes into the drive, holding onto her leg and running his thumb along her skin as he balanced listening to his brother and listening to the girls. The energy settled in the cab, and Indy breathed out a sigh of relief at the realization that, for now at least, she’d passed the test.

It didn’t stop the questions though. A constant stream of information grabs, from her favorite things about New York to her family. Grayson squeezed tight when Eden mentioned her mom, throwing Ethan an unjustified look of annoyance. Indiana didn’t mind, though she didn’t love the look of pity that came over Eden’s face when she let her know that she had passed. But it moved on quickly, on to questions of her apartment, her college, her friends.

The only pause came when the Tesla rolled to a stop outside of Monty’s, which was packed with a long line outside. Eden let out a small sigh, reaching down for her purse.

“Usual, guys?”

They both nodded, a bit of unspoken tension growing in the air.

“Indiana, you wanna come with? The boys can just circle around.”

“I uh… yeah, yeah sure.” Indy went along with it, stepping out of the car quickly, trying to look back at Grayson through the window for some explanation, but they were so tinted that she couldn’t even guess what his facial expression was. Eden linked their arms quickly, leading her down the sidewalk and to the back of the line as if nothing had happened. Indy watched Ethan pull away quickly, and swore she could see a very concerned Grayson through the windshield.

“It makes it easier if they don’t have to get out. Too many people, and with a line this long the paps would show up.”

Two brunette girls in front of them turned around, interest piqued.

“Paps? For who?”

“No one, mind your damn business,” Eden said, waiting until they turned around to melt back into her usual friendly demeanor.

“I didn’t even think about that. About like, getting recognized I guess. But it happened in New York for the first time this morning, on campus.”

“LA is the worst for it. People see you take a picture with someone and then ask for one even if they don’t know who they are. Well, most people our age know who they are actually, but still. It’s not as bad in other places, just the occasional person. Et-” she cut herself off, knowing the girls were still eavesdropping. “He loves meeting fans but it gets to be a lot sometimes. So I try to help him out when I can. They’ll never ask for it, but they never turn it down either.”

Indy swallowed hard. She said it so casually, as if it was totally normal for the two of them to be standing there while their boyfriends drove around just so they didn’t get mobbed. She felt like a million pairs of eyes were on her as they inched forward in line every few moments. Eden just looked at her nails, picking at her cuticles.

“Does it ever get… normal? Them being recognized?”

“You learn to ignore it. And they don’t go out as much as you think. We’ll go out to show you around because you’ve never been here, but most of the time they’re home bodies. They kinda had to be, coming out here so young.”

“I can’t imagine coming out here at 15,” Indy mumbled, shaking her head.

“They’ve been through a lot. But then again so have you. So has everyone, at the end of the day.”

She was taken aback by the sudden depth of the conversation, but it didn’t last long, because soon they were close enough to the menu that Indy was asking questions. The Tesla circled again while they waited on the food, which came in little brown boxes stuffed into a bag. The girls waited on the curb for Ethan to pull back around, climbing in as inconspicuously as they could, getting settled into the backseat again.

“Got the goods?”

“You know it,” she grinned. Grayson reached back for Indiana again - he’d missed her in the few minutes that they were gone, and he didn’t realize he’d been anxious until it faded when she was back with him.

“We’re going to the secret beach, it’ll be like 10 minutes, so don’t eat all my fries.”

“I bought us all an extra to share.”

“Atta’ girl,” Ethan said, pressing on the gas a bit harder.

The secret beach, it turned out, was just a less populated one. But it was peaceful, washed pink by the beginnings of a sunset over the ocean. Grayson couldn’t tell if he was more overwhelmed by the colors in the sky or the feeling of finally having his own girl with him, someone’s hand to hold as he moved down the sand beside his brother and Eden. It had been almost a year of him being a third wheel, and he couldn’t stop looking over at Indy, his girl, who was there with him.

Her eyes were on the ocean. Sure, she’d seen the atlantic ocean plenty of times, but the pacific was different. It seemed bigger somehow, bluer, and it took her breath away. Food forgotten, she tugged on Grayson’s hand, only pausing to kick off her shoes before she was running down towards the water, laughing when the froth of the waves tickled her toes. Grayson’s shoes were soaked, but he didn’t care as he followed her down the coastline, laughing and yelling, picking her up around the waist and spinning her around, stopping to kiss her hard as the waves crashed. Ethan took a video on Grayson’s phone, a proud smile on his face as he watched his brother light up. Eden rested her head on his shoulder, remembering the days where that was the two of them, when everything was brand new and on fire.

The duo’s burgers were cold by the time they made it back up the beach, and Ethan had already started in on Grayson’s fries, much to his dismay. But they settled in the sand and ate their food, falling back into the group conversation between bites and swallows.

“So, you’ve been in LA for what, 5 hours now? Are you sold yet?” Ethan picked up another fry from the extra container, dropping it into his mouth.

“It’s gonna take a lot more to sell me on anywhere this far west,” she laughed, crumpling up the paper that her burger was wrapped in and tossing it into the box.

“Has Grayson made you a Jersey girl already?” Eden teased.

“It’s grown on me for sure, but nowhere compares to New York.”

Grayson chewed his last fry a bit slower.

“Yeah? Ethan took me into the city once when we were visiting Jersey but I don’t know much about it if I’m honest. I grew up in Texas.”

“The city is special once you get to know it. There’s so many different people, different cultures, new places to go. And it’s got all the best hospitals, which just makes me work harder because I want to work in one some day. Plus it uh… it’s just always been home to me. I can’t imagine living anywhere else really.”

Grayson’s stomach tightened, suddenly very full of food and smaller than when he’d started eating. They’d never really discussed living situations. He racked his brain, tried to remember if he ever mentioned that he was only staying in Jersey until the tiny homes were done. Surely she realized that he was going to come back to LA. He couldn’t tell if he’d subconsciously thought that she would want to move with him, or if he just assumed that they would handle the distance. But his mind was instantly filled with the image of Indy curled in on herself in a first class seat, and he resisted the urge to get up and walk it off as the guilt returned. The sun seemed to set faster, turning the beach indigo as everyone got up and headed back for the car.

Ethan took an extra moment to fold up the picnic blanket they’d brought, letting the girls get just out of earshot.

“Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Don’t go all doomsday on this shit and shoot yourself in the foot. Cross the distance bridge when you get to it. You all haven’t been together a month yet, if you start talking moving across the country she’s gonna freak. Give it time.”

Most of the time, Grayson despised Ethan’s big brother persona - 20 minutes wasn’t a flex when it came to maturity in his book. But in certain moments, he was grateful for his level head. It helped him breathe a little easier as he headed back to the car, happy to see that Eden had shifted to the front seat. He took the back, a bit annoyed at the space between their seats - another perk of his Porsche, no doubt. But he settled for resting a hand on Indy’s thigh and leaning over for the occasional kiss as they found their way home.

Each couple bid their goodnights despite the early hour, a silent understanding of the do not disturb courtesy to be followed. Indy and Gray bumped hips as they brushed their teeth in the same sink, toothpaste filled smiles shining at each other in the mirror. They fell into each other like they’d done it a million times, even though they could still count on two hands the amount of times they’d had each other like this. It didn’t matter that they were in a new place. Grayson felt the same above her, beside her, behind her as they worked each other up and eased each other down. Their voices echoed off the walls the same, the attempt to stay quiet still there as they tried to give the other couple the same respect that they were no doubt trying to give them.

The travel caught up with Indy first - she was much less versed in time changes after all, and she fell asleep right after her quick shower, curled up in Grayson’s arms, his nose full of her vanilla shampoo and his mind racing, running laps around two words. New York.

He felt like he heard more about the city in his next few days than he did when he was actually there. They facetimed Bekah the next morning, glad to see that she’d made it out of surgery successfully, and that all was smooth sailing so far. She was ecstatic that her two friends we’re getting a break, and she excitedly showed them the new view of the city she had since her recovery room was on the other side of the hospital.

Indy wore a New York sweatshirt that evening when they went back to the secret beach, and she fell asleep with it on on the couch at home, leaned back against Grayson’s chest. He carried her to bed and kissed her forehead, but his eyes focused on the letters, which seemed to be staring at him in the dark.

They ordered pizza for lunch the next day, after an anxiety filled morning of Eden and Indy in a follow car behind the two of them longboarding with their friends. Eden asked about what made NYC pizza so much better, and it seemed like Indy could have talked for hours about crust and sauce, seasoning and ratios.

By the third day, it was consuming his every thought, and despite Ethan’s advice to let it play out, he knew he had to talk to her, or at least try to.

Indy was none the wiser. The LA sun had warmed her skin and her mind, leaving little lines of its presence on both. By the second day the house felt less like a hotel and more like a home, and she understood why the boys loved it so much. Eden became more than an acquaintance; she was easy to love, and the interview seemed to have stopped for the most part. But a part of her still itched for her New York apartment, the bustle of the city, the familiarity of campus and Jets and the blocks that she walked down.

She thought she’d hidden it well, but she learned she was mistaken on the last night they spent in LA.

“You’re ready to leave, aren’t you?”

Indy perked up from where she had settled on his chest. It was routine now, for her to rest against him and trace patterns on his skin before they dozed off.

“Hmm?”

“You’re tracing N-Y-C on my chest. You want to go home.”

“Home sounds nice, the plane ride doesn’t though,” she laughed a bit. Laughing was good. Calm, and put together. “Guess it’s just my subconscious.”

Grayson sighed against her, running his fingers over her back as he looked up at the ceiling.

“I didn’t realize you were so attached.”

“To what?”

“To the city.”

“Oh. Well, yeah. I mean, it’s home.”

“Home can be multiple places. LA is home, Jersey is home, hell, even Australia is home for me in a way.”

Indy’s neck got tired from craning up at him, so she shifted up to sit with her legs criss cross as he lounged back against the pillows.

“Well, I’ve never really had to make anywhere else home. New York has everything I need I guess.”

“You’ve never wanted to try somewhere else?”

Indy sighed, finally understanding.

“Gray, baby, it’s not like I hate it here. I know it’s important to you, and it should be. I’m just saying that New York is… well, it’s New York. It’s important to me, it’s where I’ve planned out my future.”

He sat up further, propping up on his elbow, resting a hand on her knee.

“What does that mean though? ‘New York is New York’. I mean, it’s a cool city, I’ll give you that, but it’s not just that, right?”

It took a moment for Indy to find her words. She’d never really tried to explain it to anyone, but if anyone would get it, it was him.

“It’s my mom.”

Grayson’s face fell immediately, and he opened his mouth, but she kept talking before he could.

“I know she’s not there. She’s wherever she is, I guess. But she breathed New York Grayson. That’s the last place that I knew her while she was still her, and the last place that she knew me. My memories of her live in that city, and when I’m not there I feel like I’m even farther away from her. And I already feel like I’m forgetting little things, because it’s been 4 years now, and I can’t even tell what I can’t remember, and it’s scary.”

Her breath caught in her throat a bit at the realization of what she was saying, what she was admitting. She’d never spoken any of it, not even to Charlie.

“Leaving would feel like moving on and leaving her behind, and I can’t do that. I can’t.”

Her face fell into her hands, and when Grayson’s arms moved around her and pulled her close, she let him.

He held her there until her tears stopped, rocking her barely back and forth until the wave had passed. He thought of Sean, of where he was, and what he would say. And he did his best to take on the heart of his father, to be like the man he so admired - selfless, and good, and strong for others no matter what it cost him. He pressed a kiss to her hair before he spoke.

“No one is asking you to leave. I promise, I’ll never ask you to leave. I promise.”

#SURPRISE HEHE #mixtape #wowza I did not expect to finish this tonight #well #~this morning~ i suppose #please let me know what you think!!!#love you guys!#grayson dolan imagine #grayson dolan fanfic #grayson dolan fanfiction

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