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qslovebot · 3 years

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KISS FOR YOUR LIFE: SPENCER REID

Summary: A BAU case leads the reader to take on an undercover role to flush out a ten-person mafia. Before the work can begin, things go awry and the reader has to improvise and pretend to seduce Spencer to keep her cover and arrest the real unsub.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings/includes: talk of murder, mentions of sex, suggested past experiences with misogyny, suggestive jokes, unsub is a radical feminist, swearing, arrests, guns, making out, sort of fluffy end.

Word Count: 4159

A/N: Written like an episode. I removed Rossi so... AU? First actual fanfic on here, tell me what you think?

Today was your first official day at the BAU, switching from two floors down as an underestimated agent to upstairs, with the Big League. Agent Hotchner decided he needed new, young-minded blood. He was notorious for picking the best of the best and after an intimidating interview with him and his brooding questions, he decided he wanted you on his team.

You had been here before, of course. You frequently visited the ever-chatting Penelope Garcia for lunch, sometimes in her office, sometimes heading downstairs for a slice of pizza or a salad. She vented about her issues, while you talked about the constant misogyny that ran through the men on your floor. She was five years older than you and decided that as your 'elder' she would put on the angry soccer mom look and kick their asses. But, lucky for you, two floors upward, the men didn't act like children on the job, so Garcia could keep her regular look.

Here it was, glass entrance, high ceilings. The air smelled like paper and was filled with a fresh sort of low mumbling and the small clicks of the keyboards. A semi-fresh start. Today you would organize your new desk, sort files, meet the others...

"Agent (Y/L/N), we have a case in Boston, we will be briefed on the jet. Get your things ready, we leave in twenty-five minutes," Agent Hotchner said as he walked by. He didn't stop for a single second, those dark dress shoes clomping heavily to the desks of your new fellow agents to inform them as well. So much for your plans.

Not wanting to appear unready, you rushed to set your things down and grab the few things you needed for the case. Hotchner had said always bring three spare outfits rolled to the smallest packing size possible, toiletries (toothpaste, toothbrush, hairbrush, and feminine hygiene products) as well as one extra pair of shoes. Those were already packed into a small bag, so in with those went your notebook, pens, and highlighter. You came prepared, so in no time, you were on the jet for the first time, exhilarated.

A hand was extended to you when you took your seat. It belonged to a man with caramel skin and a dazzling smile, "You must be (Y/L/N). The name is Derek Morgan." Anyone who used 'the name is' seemed like they felt superior in some way. It was used in the media to introduce someone of importance. 'The name is Bond, James Bond', ran through your head as you gratefully shook his hand.

"My name is Emily Prentiss and I... didn't quite catch your first name," a woman with a v-neck sweater also reached to shake your hand. "I think I may have heard it, but I must have forgotten."

"(Y/N)," you replied with a small smile. It felt nice to be greeted with kind eyes, rather than greedy ones. "It's not a very memorable name, don't worry."

Emily looked apologetic, but soon reverted to her previous smile. I was greeted by the blonde woman across the aisle, too far to shake my hand. "My name is Jennifer Jareau, I'm the media liaison, but you can call me JJ, everyone does. It's really great to meet you- for a moment I thought Penelope had made up a friend as a result of too many hours in front of a screen."

You laughed a little, ruffling your hair. She seemed outgoing, but I had already started profiling Derek Morgan and I wanted to stop there. Agent Hotchner sat down with someone I had never noticed on my visits to Penelope. I had noticed everyone else here on this jet at least once before, but... not him. How had you missed him?

He stood at about six-one, maybe six-two? He was thin, much the opposite to Morgan's greatly muscular arms. This man was calm-looking, quiet. His clothes said that maybe he was meticulous and orderly- he looked like the kind of person who didn't own a single pair of sweatpants. His face was chiselled, with a sharp jawline and cheekbones that carved the shadows on his face. His eyes, however, were much softer. Long eyelashes and dark eyes made them bigger, but they were slightly blocked by bronze-toned brown curls that at the end of his combed and gelled hair, wrapped around his jaw, neck, and face.

He was beautiful, if you were entirely frank with yourself.

And he didn't even notice you were there until Hotchner nudged his arm in a way that said 'say hello' the same way one would introduce two toddlers. You were sure you weren't a toddler and nor was this man, but it appeared you both may have been the youngest there.

When he looked your way, you wanted to look away, but couldn't. He seemed surprised to see you there and you were trying to play off the staring by introducing yourself. "Hi, I'm SSA (Y/N) (Y/L/N). I don't think we've met, it's nice to meet you." You extended your hand and he just shook his head no, his lips pressing into a tight line.

He didn't shake hands, you realized. Probably a slight germophobe. You cleared your throat, "I'm sorry if that was an uncomfortable gesture, I didn't know." Humiliating.

The tall man opened his mouth to say something, shut his mouth, opened it again but then turned a little pink and sat down immediately next to Hotchner and stared at his hands that were folded in his lap. You had thought you nailed pretty much every introduction, but this one? Fuck.

You reverted back to your business with a sigh, patting your knees. It felt like you had somehow lost something. JJ whispered to you, silently pointing to the tall man, "Dr. Spencer Reid, human encyclopedia, dictionary, and knows pretty much everything." You nodded a thank you and she nodded back.

Derek Morgan, however, tapped Emily Prentiss on the shoulder and mumbled, "Reid did his 'pretty-girl-freakout'."

Emily gasped, "Oh, he did!

The two seemed to have forgotten you were in front of them and they noticed your confusion in unison, both of them freezing up and chuckling nervously. You smiled an extremely awkward smile and left thinking about Dr. Spencer Reid for later as you got to the case.

This was about a female mafia boss who seemed to take on the personality, style, and characteristics of the taste of rich men and kill them after having sex with them. The woman was reported and seen by one witness to see her and that was the only person outside of this mafia who had seen her face, so they were working with the sketch artist and would have the picture ready and accurate upon our arrival.

Victimology was simple, she was after men who had too much power. She probably identified with being a radical feminist. She was after their money and had sex with them to dethrone them on the way. Possibly bordered on a personality disorder considering she seemed to be entirely all-in to her 'disguises'.

The funniest thing was the way they all looked at you when you announced those lines. Perhaps you would work yourself out of the 'child' stage faster than you thought.

The BAU hit the precinct in much less time than I had expected and on the ground, running. You were immediately given things to do and you were on top of it all, every order. That was until the drawing of the Mafia leader AKA 'The Seductress' was pulled up and the whole BAU gasped at how she looked EXACTLY like you.

"Do I need my cuffs?" Morgan joked. You had covered your mouth in disbelief and the rest of the room was doing double-takes.

You laughed nervously, "I swear... that isn't me, but oh my god..." Morgan was laughing and Emily and JJ whispering and had confused smiles. Spencer Reid stood in the corner, his hand on his cheek, seemingly studying the photo. He looked statue-like, borderline godly.

"Can this be used to our advantage?" Hotch launched back into technical thinking, brow furrowed. You looked at him, mouth open, but immediately shut it out of professionalism. What was going on in his head?

Reid spoke up, "If we position her just right and at the right time in one of the hotspots for that group, we can possibly get her to somehow trick the other members into some sort of turn-in."

Her. Indirect. Did you do something wrong?

"Or a simple appearance could start gossip and a possible flock to where she was spotted. As long as people aren't seeing double or reaching to do so, she can play as The Seductress." Emily said, looking at you. "Are you up to try, (Y/L/N)?"

All eyes on you. Your first day turned to chaos. But this was your job and you would prove your place here. So you agreed and in a whisk of an afternoon, you were transformed into the mirror image of The Seductress while you were talked through the plan through a radio. Turned out, so prove a professional place, you needed to make yourself look ridiculously unprofessional.

Pinned up hair, dark cat eye makeup, a dress similar to hers that happened to be on hand. Long, deep red, with a long slit up the side and your tits were practically falling out of it, but the dress fit and they were secure, so you dealt with it. There was no other space for a gun other than the side of your thigh where The Seductress kept hers knife. Now, you had to get going, meaning you had to face the BAU in the getup.

When you walked out, Derek Morgan hooted and whistled and Emily gave him a look that said 'oh lord' like an annoyed sibling. You smiled a little and essentially just kept walking, figuring if you moved, it would give them less time to stare at your tits.

Turning the corner, you noticed that Dr.Spencer Reid was much redder than he had been earlier on the jet. So maybe he really did think you were pretty. You caught yourself smiling at the thought, but shook your head free of any ideas. Professional! No crushes on Spencer Reid!

You arrived near the scene, dropped off by Hotchner. "You know what to do. Reid will be going with you to the crateyard, he will also be nearby when you head in. If you see The Seductress, do not make the arrest. If you can, lure her."

You nodded. Wow, first time in the field with the BAU and you had the leading role. No pressure, no pressure, just... everyone depending on you. But the pressure came back when you realized you had heard right and Reid was going with you, alone. You had done really well with the job so far today, minus finding the tall doctor extremely attractive. He came to stand beside you and since he was much taller than you were, you were sure he could look right down your dress without even trying. Not like anyone had to try, but he had the upper hand.

You ached to cover yourself, but that was a major risk. The Seductress was confident, she wouldn't cover-up. You got into the tinted car with Reid, him in the driver's seat and you in the passenger's seat. Silence crept up, but he turned the engine over and headed east to where the mafia was to meet up.

"Some first day," you mumbled nervously.

Reid seemed to think you had said something to him and he talked to you directly for what seemed like the first time. "P-pardon?" He had a stutter when talking to you and to be honest it was cute but there was no time to crush!

"Oh, I was just remarking to myself on how this is my first day and I'm already... so... out there." You sighed and pat your knees. The jitters crept up, but so did butterflies. "Nervous, I'm nervous."

He looked over and swallowed hard, so hard it was audible. Was he fighting the same urge to be friendlier or was he just fighting the urge to look at your tits like a twelve-year-old boy would? Either way, you were glad he was with you. He smelled like books, leather, and cologne and it was oddly calming.

You reached the other side of the crateyard in a few more minutes and he handed you your gun, which you shoved into the holster on your thigh. "You're going without a vest so... k-keep focused," Spencer said- and it seemed like he had so many words jumbled on the tip of his tongue, but refused to say them. You thought he was afraid to annoy you, as you knew he liked to give lengthy explanations. "I'll be behind, uh- the crates."

You smiled at him and watched him look away, his curls falling in his face. God, he was so gorgeous. If this went wrong, you were glad you would go with that shy look of his in the front of your mind. He pulled on his vest and you put out a hand and stopped him. "If they see you with the vest at all, in any way, they'll know what's happening."

He nodded, keeping his eyes from yours as he pulled on a plain black jacket over the vest. For a genius, he seemed to have his mind a little fuzzy tonight. In the dark of the night, the only lights were flickering lamps on high-beamed poles. Your heart was beating hard as you waited for the signal to begin to move.

"G-good luck," Spencer's words fumbled out of his mouth and I looked at him for a moment where he looked right back at you. He chewed on his bottom lip, eyelids fluttering as you tried to look anywhere else and there it was- the radio signal. The tension that was there in that brief moment defused. You gave him a small smile before opening the car door and standing tall, in the aura of The Seductress.

Spencer waited until you were out between the crates to leave the car. You heard the door shut gently behind you, but his footsteps were silent. Much quicker than you thought, there was a gruff voice that didn't belong to Spencer. "My lady, may I say what an honour it is to have you join us this evening." You spun to face a man in a dark suit. You didn't have The Seductress's voice, so you nodded in the most gracious way you could.

"Bernard and Lolita are waiting inside the abandoned building for the small exchange as well as the rest of us, but Mamacita... you're being tailed by the FBI." He said, pointing to the crate that hid Dr. Spencer Reid. Fuck, fuck, fuck. "I'll go kill him for you!"

So flat out, he wanted to kill Spencer Reid, a rotting smile on his face as if it was an act of kindness. He knew Spencer was there, he saw... but you weren't busted? God, this man was stupid.

"No," you said, in a quiet, yet strong voice, grabbing the gruff man by the shoulder pad. "He is my kill."

The man grinned an evil grin and you did your best to smile evilly in return. You showed him your gun and he rubbed his palms together. "The gluck and Glock," he chuckled. "Can I watch?"

He thought you were going to fuck and kill Spencer. Your heart skipped a beat and you tried hard not to show it. Oh no... how to work your way out of this... Spencer couldn't help you. Or... could he?

You glared at the man, "No, but I know that his team is on the way. Get Bernard, Lolita, and anyone else in on the next killings from that abandoned building and run straight west. Do not stop. I will catch up to you once I'm finished with the agent here." You improvised the best you could and this stupid man bought it. Little did he know that the team was stationed Westbound.

"Got it," his face was dazed and malevolent. "But I'm not leaving until I know you've got this handled, my lady."

"You question my skill?" You shot back, still acting.

He looked scared for a moment, "No, not at all, I just... You're a lot shorter than I was expecting."

You stared daggers, "And you insult me?"

"Just wanted to know you had it covered... in case something is fishy here..." was he really catching on or was he confused and just running through the precautions?

Fuck, you had been so focused on the cover you forgot you were a profiler. This man was small-minded, probably brought into this ordeal through family ties. Since he was so stupid, he was trusted with less... hence why he was outside the building as the lookout, rather than in on the meeting.

Why he wouldn't leave- he was so incapable of proper interaction he had never had the chance to be with a woman. Watching was the only way he would ever see. He was stupid and he was stubborn. He was not going to leave until he saw the beginning.

The best thing would be to let him stay for proof. "Fine. But when I give you my look, you run and get everyone running straight West." You narrowed your eyebrows at him and he looked like he was going to sweat out of his skin. But... this meant...

You had a few seconds, you rushed over to behind the crate to where Spencer stood, his gun in hand. "W-what are you-" he questioned in a whisper-yell.

"He's onto me, I need you to go along with this- can I kiss you, Dr.Reid?" You whispered back. His eyes went wide and his cheeks flushed pink. Once again, being professional called for being unprofessional. You really didn't want to kiss him- at least not now, not like this. He wouldn't speak and the mafia man was coming. "Reid, if I don't do this, he won't flush the group West and we'll both be shot and if not shot, targeted by a mafia!"

"Y-yes!" he practically squeaked, his back to the crate he was hiding behind. This really was the only way- this other man would not be talked down, because he was taught to just shoot, rather than listen and understand. "I'm sorry if I-"

You cut him off by reaching up, grabbing the collar of his shirt and kissing him. It took him a moment, but he kissed back. You could feel the heat off of his cheeks. The first day on the job, you had embarrassed yourself, gotten dressed like a Mafia killer, played the part, and now you were kissing Dr.Spencer Reid in a crateyard... and he was surprisingly not a bad kisser. He was a little sloppy the first few seconds but moments later, he figured it out. His one hand went on your jaw, the other on your waist, both of them shaking. You could tell that the shaking wasn't because the man watching you both right now had a gun, it was you.

You were making out with him, hard. Your body was pressed to his tightly against the crate and Spencer was holding you there. Your hands were still gripping his shirt. Messy altogether but your lips met in every perfect way. It was good, but for work. This was when you knew to stop- you had convinced the other man. You pulled away, turned your head and mouthed to the mafia man, 'GO' and he ran.

Now things would be extremely awkward. You pushed yourself away from Spencer whose hands stayed on your waist and face until you were entirely out of his reach. You laughed anxiously and he stood there, hands behind his back. That was... that was wow, but... it was for the case. For the case.

It was time to get moving. Spencer knew it, you knew it. The real Seductress was on her way. You turned your head over your shoulder and he was moving slowly, head down. You fought off a small smile. He was entirely red, gun still held loosely in his hand.

You turned your head and were met by a sharp blow to the face. Both of you had let your guard down. Stupid.

"I don't like impostors," said the female voice that was the source of the blow. Hell, it was her. Spencer clocked his gun into place and you turned, elbowing The Seductress in the chest. She returned with another hard blow that you ducked, spinning around her and kicking the back of her leg. She recovered quickly and shot up, punching you in the stomach. You lost your breath for a second and she took the opportunity to punch you in the jaw and pull a knife.

"Put the knife down!" Spencer called. His voice was stronger facing a woman with a sharp knife than it was when talking to you alone. "I know who you are, you want what's right for women, correct?"

The Seductress narrowed her eyes at him like her next meal, leaving you on the ground. Would Spencer shoot if she threw that knife? Odd she didn't have a gun on her. She must have been relying on the others for more protection. You stood up quietly, watching her slowly advance on Spencer. He had your lipstick smeared over his lips, he looked rough, but he held his gun out in front of him and had the other hand up to reason with her. "Men like you think yourselves above women. You, FBI, you think yourself better than men and women alike because you're the authority. Tell me, how do you like your women, Agent?"

He gulped, eyes flickering to you. You pulled out your gun. "I think... I think I'm a weak man and I'm no better than anyone. I don't deserve women." Spencer said, looking at the evil lady. In person, she looked a lot less like you.

"Lies. It's the instinct of men to feel superior to women. You'll have a lot less instinct when you're dead!" She snarled, lunging at him with her blade out. You pulled the trigger, she fell to the ground. Not dead, but wounded to pass out. Spencer narrowly jumped out of her way, watching her knife clatter to the ground.

You looked up at Spencer, bewildered. You had done it. You saved the case, took down a murderous mafia boss. It was only when Spencer pointed at your face and said, "Y-you're bleeding, (Y/N), are you okay?"- that you noticed your cut lip and the blood pouring from your forehead. But you also noticed he called you by your first name.

He reached a hand forward but retracted it when you winced from the sudden pain. Adrenaline took the pain away temporarily, you supposed. There were still things to be done. Spencer called for backup and a medic and watched as you cuffed the woman. She wasn't going to die, but she did need help.

Once medics arrived, Spencer drove you both back to the Westward situation, where ten arrests had been made. You were in a state of haze, so how Spencer's jacket got around your shoulders was a mystery. When you stepped out of the car, you were greeted by the rest of the agents.

"Are you okay?!" Prentiss was the first to greet you both. She grabbed you by the shoulders and looked at the nearly-dried blood on your skin. "We got worried when you didn't follow soon after, you got her?"

"Yeah," you smiled tiredly.

She grinned back. "Fill us in on the details on the way back, okay? Let's get you two cleaned up."

But Derek Morgan found Spencer, "Hey pretty-boy, is that royal rouge you've got on your lips there?" he teased. Spencer panicked and looked into the mirror of the nearest car, seeing that he did in fact have your lipstick on his mouth. He tried to wipe it off with his wrist, but it still stained. You wiped your own lip with your thumb and Derek caught you. "Okay, Miss Newbie, I see you."

Your eyes widened and Emily raised her eyebrows at you, a teasing smile on her lips. "It was to keep my cover. It's what sent those guys your way, one of them has serious sexual issues." You made sure they knew it- to save yourself and to save Spencer. Derek Morgan spun away with a huge knowing grin, back to Hotchner who was conversing with the Chief of Police. Emily pulled you away to the other medics and you shot Spencer a smile as you went.

He smiled back, still wiping off his mouth.

-tags

@ellyhotchner @softhairedhotch <3

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #dr spencer reid #derek morgan #emily prentiss #aaron horkey #spencer x reader #bau #mgg #fanfic #fanfiction #cm #reid #baby 🥺

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spvce-cowboy · 4 years

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gentle things

ch. 2 of i’ll be here in the morning (the mandalorian x fem!reader)

previous- ch.1: “a strange beauty”

next- ch.3: “reunion”

rating: mature

8.5k words

warnings: mutual pining, masturbation (f), alcohol, descriptions of gore

summary: after a few months on the Crest, you find yourself growing closer to your new companions.

a/n: the gay agenda is finding a way to slip a dolly parton song into a star wars fanfic, i rest my case.

Most mornings you wake to the child’s soft cooing. Occasionally, the sound is met with a low, modulated voice, that murmurs incoherent phrases in response. It somehow puts your heart to rest before you even remember where you are.

It’s strange, you’ve been a resident of the Crest for a handful of months now and it sometimes still takes you a few moments each morning to reorient yourself. You blame it on the strange limbo of hyperspace—it always throws you off for at least a day or two, and you swear your dreams are more vivid after. Sometimes you wake up panting for no reason at all.

You’re adjusting pretty well. A bit strange having a roommate/boss who doesn’t acknowledge your presence beyond the occasional but respectful nod. But it’s way better than you could have possibly imagined when you first started turning the idea over in your head. Granted, that was when you were about elbow-deep in his chest cavity, trying to fish out pieces of the shoddily constructed weapon that broke off inside him. You needed the first way out that presented itself to you, something you and Am’ile both agreed with, and well, when opportunity strikes or whatever.

Your first evening on the Crest, you asked the Mandalorian where you should sleep and he just shrugged, handing you a single, scratchy blanket with a “this is all I have.” Later, when you pass his bunk as he’s taking a nap, he’s curled in on himself on a bare cot and you realize that threadbare piece of fabric was literally all he had. You don’t bring it up, but something in your chest softens towards him after that. There’s a new quilt folded neatly on his bunk by the time he returns from his first mission.

Your second day onboard, you found a metal table in a junk heap and pushed it against one of the walls in the engineering bay. You spent the better part of an afternoon figuring out how to weld it to the floor. The medical supplies went on top, then you pushed your pillow and your rolled-up mattress underneath. Sure, there was technically a second cot in the Crew’s quarters, but you wanted to give the Mandalorian his privacy whenever possible. Besides, as long as there wasn’t too much turbulence, your set-up was pretty great.

After a few missions, you’ve visited enough markets to buy an ample supply of blankets, sweaters, and pillows to keep you comfortable on the floor of the ship. It’s freezing most nights, especially in hyperspace, and cocooning yourself in as many warm things as you could manage helps stave off both the chill as well as the occasional home sickness. The collection you’ve amassed thus far is in a various mis-match of pale jewel tones that remind you of Am’ile’s house. You didn’t realize that until you’d piled them all together on your bed and you couldn’t help but laugh at yourself a bit.

The child loves your soft things, happily snuggling up with you for naps while waiting for the Mandalorian’s return—though you suspect he’s just grateful for the new company. A consistent presence while dad’s away. You’re happy to give that to him.

The new routine is comfortable, the company is nice, the work is relatively easy. And, stars, the things you get to see. It’s honestly more than you could have ever asked for.

When your eyes blink open it’s already around eight in the morning. You’ve landed on Nevarro where the Mandalorian has already been gone for a day, attending some kind of “extended business meeting,” as he put it. Yawning, you eventually roll out of bed and stumble into the fresher, blearily rubbing the sleep out of your eyes with the spray’s cold water. Stepping out, you wrap your towel around yourself. In the tiny metal mirror suspended over the sink you pat on some lotion onto your face, eyes still heavy.

Reaching for your toothbrush, your knuckle grazes one of the Mandalorian’s facial razors. You wince, flicking your hand before examining it. A tiny nick. Sucking on it for a second to stop the blood flow, you glance at the Mandalorian’s side of the cabinet.

It’s strange to see the most banal traces evidence of what he is, who he is, behind the all that beskar. Like the facial razors—to think he’s in here, maskless, shaving his face, while you’re playing with his kid or whatever just a few steps away. To think he takes a shower every day—er, well, you’re not sure about that one, but at least when he’s on the Crest—stepping out and wrapping a towel around his waist in order goes about his little tasks.

You swallow, removing your hand from your mouth and grabbing your toothbrush before your mind can wander anywhere else. You brush your teeth particularly well that morning.

The day is pretty typical from there. After feeding both yourself and the child breakfast, you settle on the floor of the hull with the small metal ball he’s obsessed with. You place him a few feet in front of you, he sways slightly on both feet before plopping down to mirror you, hands stretched forward in an demand to be put in your lap.

“Let’s do some of the exercises, yeah?” You know you’re essentially just talking to yourself as you hold the ball in the air, but you might as well make the effort anyway. Am’ile was no stranger to kids like him, or at least that’s how she put it—something about her people and some other group, the specifics completely slipped your mind. She didn’t really elaborate and you knew not to press.

Even though you don’t know much, you do try to mimic Am’ile’s drills-disguised-as-play at least a few times a day. He only seemed to do what you asked during those sessions when you weren’t looking, distracted by cleaning or studying whatever book you’d picked up hours later. You would always find the little ball in strange places, definitely not where you’d last placed it, and certainly out of the child’s reach.

At least it was good to know he was partially pretending to not listen to you. You could work with partially.

The kid has been fussy since waking, refusing to focus on any of the things you were trying to prompt him to do. Yesterday, you spent a bit too much time at the markets with him—growing sick of protein bars, you initially set out trying to find something closer to tasting like home. Really, you just liked getting out of the Crest so you could see all those people.

You’ve amassed a collection of language dictionaries, trying to do some fast learning and even faster practicing to get your way around. Sometimes the vendors are kind and help you stutter your way through disjointed sentences in their native tongue, others just huff and immediately switch to Basic as soon as you start talking. You don’t mind either way.

The marketplace as a whole is new and exciting, the clatter and clamor of movement, laughing and snarling, voices raised in argument and lowered in the smallest exchange of intimacy. So far removed from the quiet slopes of Am’ile’s home and—

You don’t let the rest of that thought happen, quickly scooping the kid up and wrapping him to your chest with a long swath of fabric.

“I’m goin’ a little crazy in here too, little guy,” you mumble, pulling your satchel over your shoulder. “Your dad should be back in a while—let’s try to find a contact for supplies until then, yeah? Shouldn’t be too hard.” A total lie, it was way more difficult to find what you are looking for than you initially thought. You were particularly looking for a cauterizing instrument that was a bit more sturdy than the glorified cigar lighter the Mandalorian was currently using. Besides basic med-kit stock, it was nearly impossible to find anything more advance under the radar.

Yesterday was half-heartedly spent searching the markets in search of someone who might be tapped into Republic supply runs, which rendered you, predictably, empty-handed. Now you were on to your second best option, asking around the closest cantina where you could find the instruments you were looking for for without raising too much attention.

Okay, so maybe the Mandalorian specifically told you to keep out of the bars when you’re traveling without him. But you managed just fine on your own yesterday in an arguably more crowded environment. You’ve also dealt with… far worse than that hunk of metal could ever possibly imagine. You’re more than capable on your own. Still, you make sure to strap a dagger and a blaster to your belt before heading out.

You make quick work hurrying to the cantina, making sure to cover your head with the hood of your tunic and conceal the little one as much as possible. Basic survival instincts usually warrant drawing as little attention to yourself as possible, being a young human woman traveling alongside a small green wizard creature is pretty much the opposite of that.

He, predictably, doesn’t take very well to the concealed swaddle you’ve confined him to, and the two of you are in a constant back-and-forth of you attempting to wrap him up and him making quick work of wriggling out of any cover tactic you try. If it weren’t for those damn ears your life would be so much easier.

The bar has the quiet hum of activity, occasionally interspersed with a loud chatter of conversations rising to some kind of boiling point. You maneuver yourself to the counter and try to get the attention of the bartender, holding the kid to your chest until he squirms his way upwards and settles with his chin on your shoulder, one of his ears slipping out of the head covering you’d fashioned and thwapping you in the neck. You’ll deal with that in a second.

You’ve only just caught the bartender’s attention when the doors slam open. The clamor of the cantina quiets momentarily, and you see everyone shift slightly to eye whoever just entered. The two new patrons seem to be in the middle of an argument, voices low in secrecy but tense with frustration.

“I’d know that green mug anywhere.” With that you finally turn, heart dropping with anxiety. It’s the Mandalorian and a companion, a human man. The man’s voice, a deep bellow, is warm and inviting in a way that shouldn’t make you freeze completely as he addresses the kid. He then looks you up and down, pausing as the Mandalorian continues stomping forwards. You freeze anyway. “Ah—this is that girl you mentioned? Your caretaker?”

“She’s a medic,” the Mandalorian sharply corrects the man without moving to look at you. He quickly returns back to whatever conversation was initially at hand as the man continues his brisk stride towards a table at the back. There are three people already seated there, but by the time the Mandalorian arrives they have all left in a scuffling hurry. Neither of the men acknowledge it, just immediately slide into opposing sides of the booth. “Karga, this is ridiculous--I’m not a Republic spy, why would there be this many hoops on a bounty you’re just handing out?”

“I’m not just ‘handing it out,’ Mando, I’m giving it to you because I know you’re the most capable,” the man, Karga, addresses the Mandalorian then directs his attention towards you. “Come here, girl. Let me get a good look at you, I’m curious.” Turning to the bartender, he barks out an order for spotchka. You walk towards the table. There’s too much attention on the three of you to resist, you wouldn’t want to make things more complicated for the Mandalorian anyway. The bounty hunter’s voice almost immediately overrides his, low but gritty with anger as you slide into the booth beside him.

“I can’t—Karga you know I’ve never done something like this. This high-profile. Going deep-cover for a job isn’t something I can do.”

You feel Karga’s eyes on you, it’s brief but piercing. You busy yourself by looking up at the woman who serves you a small glass of the bright blue liquid, quietly thanking her.

“It’s all the fobs or nothing. The signal will be broadcast in a few hours’ time—they won’t expect something like this to be conducted semi-publicly. Keep monitoring the broadcast, but save that fob for last,” Karga places three fobs in the center of the table, then slides a forth a few inches removed from the rest. He can tell the Mandalorian isn’t convinced—stars, even you can tell he isn’t convinced. Karga heaves a sigh and makes a stab at reassurance. “You can figure it out. You’re the only one I can trust to get this done. The most capable.”

The Mandalorian’s hand slams down on the table, you jump, quickly looking between the intense but even staring contest going on between Karga and the infuriated bounty hunter. Slowly, and with more than a bit of melodrama, the Mandalorian drags the fobs under his hand towards him, slipping it into his pocket without breaking eyes from Karga’s.

He turns heel so quickly his cape whips behind him. You scurry after him as fast as you can manage.

You can still feel the frustration steaming off of the Mandalorian the whole walk back to the Crest. You keep quiet, trailing behind him by a few steps—you desperately want to ask what was wrong. Your mouth stays firmly shut.

Boarding the Crest, the Mandalorian immediately scales the ladder into the cockpit. After a few minutes you feel the Crest shutter into the air, quickly shooting into the empty sky and then hyperspace. You sigh and grab a book, turning the kettle on to make some caf and settling in your bed to an eye on the kid as he toddles around the expanse of the hull.

Hours later, when the child has exhausted all possible forms of entertainment, usually consisting of live wires and exposed paneling that you tug him away from, he begins to get fussy in a way that means he’s tired but refuses to sleep. It starts with the occasional whimper that quickly crescendos into a full-blown fit. You know all the warning signs at this point.

The little terror had a bit of a habit of doing this—once the Mandalorian and you are in the ship he refuses to fall asleep unless you two are in the same room. A part of you knows this is a symptom of separation anxiety—which you in no way can blame him for, given the circumstances of their bond—but the cockpit is just about the last place you want to be.

It’s not that you’re scared of the Mandalorian, or anything. It would just be… incredibly awkward with the mood he’s in right now to attempt to lull his kid to sleep in his presence.

“Listen, buddy, your dad is super grumpy right now so—" The child just starts crying even louder, little fists balled up to pound futilely against your chest, trying to push you away. “Okay okay okay! I get it. I get it.” You sigh, biting your lip and looking down at the kid, then up at the ladder. The kid starts screaming. “Yeah, yeah. Alright.” You begin the climb up.

“Hey, sorry he’s being a little sensitive again,” you say as your head pops up onto the pilot’s deck, miraculously managing to pull yourself into the room with one arm holding the squirming kid against you. The floor seals shut behind you once you haul yourself over the edge.

The Mandalorian just grunts in response and continues flipping through radio channels, seemingly growing more frustrated with himself the longer it takes for him to find the frequency Karga directed him to. He’s in the pilot’s chair, back turned to you, shoulders hunched in concentration.

You settle into the copilot’s seat, resting the kid on his back on top of your legs. He settles almost instantly, big eyes no longer filled with tears.

Rolling your eyes with a small smile, you tickle him lightly until he starts giggling, then scoop him back up into your arms, allowing yourself to slide back in the chair a bit. You stare out into the bright darkness of space, blinking back at the stars as the child coos gently in your lap.

“A coded civilian station, is he fucking crazy?” The Mandalorian mumbles to himself in his continued litany of abuses he’s slung Karga and the greater universe’s way since returning to the Crest.

The longer you’ve been here the more he’s started to do things like that, just talking into the air without the expectation of a response. You begin to think that that’s just the way he acts when it was just him and the kid. Though you’ve noticed that he has been cursing way more than he did when you first met. That might be a little bit your fault. Oops.

You look down at the child and rub one of his ears, leaning down to press a kiss at the crown of his head. His little three-fingered hand catches your hair and pulls. Wincing, you resist the urge to jerk your head back. Instead, you extend the pad of your index finger and lightly wiggle it against his button nose. He sneezes and lets go almost immediately.

You let out a triumphant “ha!” then shake your head slightly and twist your face in a playful scowl. The kid resumes his giggling, batting at your hands when you try to tickle his tummy.

Glancing over at the angry hunk of beskar seated beside you, you notice he’s paused with his hand hovering over the radio’s controls, his head turned slightly towards his right shoulder to silently regard you and the child.

You quickly divert your gaze back down to the kid, resuming rubbing his ears as his eyes slowly, devastatingly slowly, ease shut. Only to snap open again with a playful babble, hands reaching up again for the free entertainment of the hair still attached to your head. Shit. You sigh. The Mandalorian goes back to flipping through the channels.

More static and garbled languages you’ve never encountered before. You try to ignore the pounding of your heart—that was probably the longest you’d ever seen him grant you any kind of attention—and keep trying to lull the child to sleep. As quietly as possible you try to stand, scooting around the copilot’s seat to gently bounce the kid in the limited space to the back of the cockpit. He’s quieted significantly, just enough that you could probably get him to sleep on your own, as long as you don’t jostle him too much on the descent back into the hull. You’re about to head down the ladder when—

The Mandalorian pauses momentarily on a channel that’s playing music. The opening swell of the first verse is unmistakable. Your chest fills with a certain warm feeling, pounding with memories you had long since tucked away.

“Wait,” you say it without thinking. Without even processing that the words left your mouth. “Wait, could you go back? That… that song…”

Wordlessly, he clicks back to the previous station. The cabin is filled with the music, a warm and bright voiced female vocalist smoothly intertwined with her male partner. The melody is plucky, something you could dance to—and have, more than once—and it’s overly saccharine in its pure, absolute joy in itself. But you suppose the cheesiness is part of the charm. You relish in it regardless.

You do something to me that I can’t explain. There is a memory that surfaces just as quickly as it disappears. You couldn’t have been more than four. Your father, spinning you around by your pudgy forearm. It’s his laugh you remember most of all, something boisterous and full-bodied. You are dancing around the kitchen of a home you can’t remember, the floor dappled with light from the pieces of stained glass your mother had dangling from the windows. Hold me closer and I feel no pain. You smile to yourself, bowing your head down at the little one, quietly murmuring what lyrics you remember, rocking your hips in a gentle little dance. It works, the kid is fast asleep by the last chord.

The song ends, the disc jockey begins speaking in yet another language you don’t recognize. The Mandalorian quickly turns the volume down, lest it wake the child. He has reflexes fast enough to startle you, luckily your jolt does nothing to bother the baby in your arms. You gently place him in the pram, hovering beside the pilot’s seat. You slide the shield doors shut to keep out the noise and step back.

“Thank you, Mandalorian,” you say it softly, but you can see his helm bob slightly in a nod of acknowledgement. You take a deep breath and begin to head towards the ladder as he resumes flicking through the stations.

“Hey,” the Mandalorian says your name. You pause for a moment, then turn. He clears his throat—the sound comes out as a rough crackle over the modulator. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he sounds a bit nervous. “You can uh… you can just call me Mando, you know. The full thing is a bit of a mouthful.”

You blink once, then nod. Turning heel you, mercifully, scale back down the ladder with as much grace as could be mustered, despite your shaking hands.

That night, when you touch yourself, you shove the blanket he gave you against your nose and mouth. To keep quiet, you tell yourself. It smells like his soap.

Days after the radio incident, you can’t help but occasionally find that you’re singing the song to yourself as you go about your chores. It just seems to pop in your head as soon as you open your eyes, and it’s just stuck there, but you’re not very mad about that.

Mando has landed on some bitterly cold planet that was made up of little more than ash and a thick red fog. He had left late last night/early this morning to start his hunt, telling you in a little scribbled note to expect him back in two days’ time. He has really bad handwriting, it’s strangely amusing.

You decide to deep clean the hull: washing the floors, doing laundry, organizing what meager new supplies you were able to gather from Nevarro. As you did, you sang to yourself. Out loud. Just for the pleasure of it.

Your mother taught you kulning, as was tradition for the young girls on your home planet. Your father taught you the low-bellied croon of the casino singers. When things were still good, you would sing for your parents friends at the parties they would throw and your father would play the piano. You wish you had more memories like that. It’s hard to recall anything through the foggy barriers of the past fifteen years, it makes something in your chest ache to even try.

Am’ile’s radio was for emergencies only, not wanting to draw unwanted attention with the signal. It has been ages since you’ve had access to one, ages since you’ve heard music that didn’t come from your own mouth. That was why you’d started the nightly calls at Am’ile’s because before that grassy little planet… well, speaking was barely an option. You’d seen too many girls hurt for things far less than murmuring a tune.

To sing in the way your mother taught you, with the whole of your body. To make yourself so boldly known. It was all you had ever wanted.

You start putting together dinner for you and the kid as the day winds down. Mando had a barely functioning hotplate that you were able to make the best of, having bought some fresh produce at the far more hospitable planet the three of you were stationed at the previous day.

The stew cooks while you finish up the rest of your work, slicing bread and setting up a little dining area for your and the kid because, frankly, why not go all-out? It’s good to treat yourself to the small, gentle things. Even when on an unforgiving rock hurtling through space. Especially then.

You hop in the fresher while you wait for the meat to get to the proper temperature, twisting your body to keep your hair out of the water’s blast. In the enclosed space, you feel a less self-conscious and allow yourself sing a little louder than the under-the-breath, partial-hum you’d managed throughout the rest of the day.

You don’t hear the hull opening between that and the fresher’s spray.

When you turn the water off, you recognize the sound of the last few mechanisms of the hull door stealing itself back in place. Anxiety settles in quickly as you dry off. God, please let it just be Mando please. There’s the sound of something heavy being thrown against a wall. You wince.

A low voice. “Pretty little bird you’ve got singing in here, just for me?” Then a wet crack. “Mother fuck—"

Your heart lurches in your chest as you quickly pull your clothes on, cracking open the fresher door to peer out into the hull. Mando is standing over the body of a target, now crumpled to the ground, holding a bleeding headwound with two long, thin hands. He nudges the bounty with the butt of the weapon he had presumably just used against the man’s skull. The man gives a choked moan, completely incapacitated.

“Do you…” your voice sounds far too small. You blink, inhaling and starting over. “Do you need to bring him in alive or do you need my—"

“The carbonite will stop the bleeding,” Mando’s voice is gruff. You nod, even though his back is turned to you, watching from the safety of the doorway as he leans down and lugs the whining body into the chamber. Once the bounty is sealed away, you step back out into the open.

Mando pushes past you almost without recognition, limping heavily.

“Hey—hey!” You trail behind him, reaching out to touch his arm. He flinches. “Could you at least let me do my job?”

He regards you for an extended beat, then readily sits. It’s more of a controlled collapse.

“Is it your leg?” You ask, kneeling beside him and helping him peel off what armor you can. He shakes his head.

“It’s just more of a bruise I—my side, my hip. Onto the top of my leg.”

You nod slowly. “Okay, can you get to the fresher yourself or do you think you’ll need help? You have to rinse off before I treat you.” There’s an almost clay-like layer of red dust on his clothes and armor. It would be impossible to treat him properly without getting most of it off.

He wordlessly extends a gloved hand for you to help him up, you oblige—albeit struggling a bit with his weight. Once standing, you hover beside him on his limping walk to the fresher until he gives you a short: “I’ve got it.” You back off, returning to tend to your dinner while you wait.

When he emerges again he’s only wearing a sleep shirt, his mask, and a towel, the fabric held at the hip by his clenched fist to expose an already bruising thigh. He sits on a crate with an audible wince, easing himself back to lean against the wall slightly.

Your throat constricts as you move to his exposed side, but you try to breathe evenly enough to maintain an air of professionalism. Which gets increasingly difficult when he, with another sound of sharp pain, pulls up his shirt to reveal a series of small, shallow punctures traveling up his flank and over his hip that slightly weep with a mixture of blood and the cold water on his skin. He holds the shirt, just below his pectorals with his opposing hand, allowing the towel to drape over his lap while still revealing the side you need to work on. You can see the faint cut of his abdominal muscles, tracing south alongside a thin trail of dark hair leading--

“Shotgun pellets,” his voice stops your thoughts before they can get any worse. You’re partially thankful. Glancing up, you furrow your brow in confusion. He clarifies, “they’re a uh… a projectile type weapon. He was fighting dirty and desperate.” You nod, looking back down. The worst of the spray was able to score the skin right above his hip, but most of it had just bounced off his quad, leaving a series of raised, purpling welts. It was superficial at worst, but still not the best to look at. He seemed to read your mind. “Beskar was able to deflect them for the most part. I’ll be fine, just cauterize the worst of it.”

“The more you use the cauterizer the more of a chance you have of the scar tissue getting infected, you know. That’s some business you want no part of,” you say, digging through your kit for a pain ointment and the bacta you were able to refill on Nevarro. The more you looked at it, the more foolish of a blow for him to have taken it becomes. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re doing this on purpose,” you’re muttering it to yourself before you can fulling think through the implications. When he doesn’t say anything, you glance up at him. “That was a joke.”

“You need to work on your material, then.”

You laugh, shaking your head to yourself as you get to work. It’s easier to feel more confident around him the longer you’ve acclimated on the Crest. You have a bad habit of using snark as a defense mechanism. The more you work with Mando, the less you’re able to keep that up. It feels nice, you can relax slightly when you’re given the reassurance of him reciprocating the conversation.

You finish pressing the last of the bandages against his side. “The pain stuff I used should start sinking in soon, it might burn for a bit beforehand but it’ll get better after a few minutes.” He nods, pulling the towel tightly around his waist before standing and limping back into his quarters. He returns, fully dressed, putting a little more pressure on his leg than he did before he left. You quickly, desperately, find a way to conceal your staring.

“Hey—I have a surprise for you,” you turn to the kitchenette, busying yourself by testing the stock with a messy sip. It’s not… the best thing you’ve ever made in your whole life, but it’s the closest thing to the meals you made with Am’ile that you’ve had since you left your old home. It smells lovely, enough to have filled the hull with the smell of the herbs you used. “I thought it was just gonna be me and the womp rat so I made dinner, if you wanna eat with us that is.” You pull out the bottle of wine you bought from one of the storage drawers, a slight heat rising to your cheeks. You hold it up triumphantly anyway. “I really just needed an excuse to buy this for myself. But I totally understand if you’d rather eat upstairs by yourself.”

“Thank you,” he says hesitantly. “I’ll… I’ll stay while you eat. I can take mine to the cockpit once you’ve finished.”

“Would you want to have a glass with me, at least?” You hold the wine bottle by the neck at your side. He’s grumpy. Part of you wants to find some way to fix that, knowing it would be hard for you to let yourself enjoy the rest of the night with him fuming over something just upstairs. “I’ll cover my eyes. It’ll be like when I brought you your meals, while you were fixing the ship. No peaking. I promise.”

He takes a moment, before nodding slowly, for some reason you’re kind of surprised he agrees. Maybe that’s why your smile is so big. Maybe it was the fact you’d already cracked the bottle open for a few sips before taking your shower, the warmth of it at the bottom of your stomach making it much easier to playfully prod at the bounty hunter. Probably a mix of both.

You kneel beside your bed to gather another pillow, placing it across the makeshift table you’ve fashioned out of two crate and one of your blankets. You turn to bring the rest of the food to the table, three wooden bowls and a plate for the kid. You’re in the middle of separating the meat from the broth for him when you glance up at Mando, who is still standing exactly where you last saw him. He points to the tuft of fabric you had placed on the floor for him.

“What’s that for?”

You’re not sure if he’s serious or not. “Um, comfort?”

He doesn’t say anything, just cocks his helmet slightly to the left.

“Alright, old man,” you roll your eyes, refilling your cup . “Suit yourself.”

Mando pauses for a second longer before easing himself onto the pillow. He says your name softly, almost to himself. “This looks… really great. Thank you.”

“Well I wouldn’t take it to heart too much, chrome bucket. I was planning on hoarding all this for me and the kid. You just came back at quite the opportune moment,” you grin cheekily up at him before tearing your piece of bread and dipping it into the broth.

He reaches across the makeshift table and picks up his cup. You’ve repurposed the tops of two of his thermoses to make them. He examines it in his hand for a moment before speaking.

“Were you singing that song that was on the radio, yesterday? When I came in?”

“Yeah,” you laugh, shaking your head to yourself as you reach over the table and grab the cup in his hand to fill it with the wine. “I haven’t heard it in ages, you know? Any music at all, honestly, but especially that song. It was one of my dad’s favorites,” you detract before either of you could linger on that last statement. “It’s been in my head all day. I was meaning to ask you, when it comes to the radio—it probably wouldn’t be a good idea for me to listen while you’re on the job, yeah? Tracing signals and all that?”

Mando mulls it over for a second, accepting his cup from you and staring down at it. “I’m not sure. Better safe than sorry, but I could ask around about getting a uh… one of those new portable ones.” You don’t want to tell him that those newfangled portable radios have been a thing since you were in the cradle—something about his technological obliviousness was oddly endearing. “I’ll ask around and see if there’s some kind of blocking signal we could install. If you’d like one, that is. I’d like to take a sip, now, if that’s okay?”

You nod, immediately putting your hands over your face. You know you could just squeeze your eyes shut like oh, maybe a normal person might? But to be honest, it was a little funny to do. To act this silly in front of one of the most effective killing machines in the galaxy, who you have somehow convinced to attend a quaint family dinner. Might as well mess around a bit with it, yeah?

You hear the hiss of the mask resealing but you don’t remove your hands from your eyes. “It’s good wine,” he remarks. “You can look now.”

Removing your palms from your face, you blink your vision back to clarity, reaching for your cup again. Your mouth is already growing warm in the way that let you know that when Mando meant good he also meant strong. You have to agree.

“The people on Am’ile’s planet would make this crazy strong liquor out of these peaches that only grew in the valley where we lived. The village that was closest to us got super wealthy off of the stuff--honestly I can’t stomach anything too sweet anymore after it, spent an equal amount of time coming up as it did going down, if you get what I’m saying.” You screw up your face at even the thought of the syrup-like drink. “The orchards were super beautiful, though. The tallest foliage in the valley and they were maybe only a few heads taller than you. All types of critters living in the roots—that little one loved it.” You gesture to the child, who was grabbing as much of the dish’s meat as he could in his stubby three-fingered hands. The rest of his plate remained untouched. “Am’ile and I used to take walks through it all the time, especially when I first got there. It was too dangerous to go into the forests by yourself so I would spend ages in the orchards if she wasn’t putting me to work, just for a change of scenery.” Your mouth kind of just keeps running. It just feels so… nice, to talk to someone without having to try and stutter your way through a new language. That and the liquid courage in your cup made you unapologetically chatty. “She had so many little trinkets and things from her travels as a Republic medic, but only like ten books tops, all on medicine. I literally have the things memorized at this point, they were the only things to read.”

“You could go back at some point, if you want. When there’s a lull in jobs I could probably drop you and the kid off, spend a few weeks with her while I keep hunting,” Mando casually picks up his glass again, and you automatically cover your eyes with your hands. You’re still smiling, just with a little weight behind it.

“No, no that’s okay. Am’ile would get in too much trouble with the locals, for good reason. It isn’t safe for them and—to be honest, Mando, I don’t think the kid could take being separated from you for that long,” you pause for a moment. “But that’s incredibly kind of you to offer, thank you. I mean that.”

His mask hisses back in place. You ease the index and middle finger of your right hand to peer at him playfully before lowering your hands again. It’s a gentle spar between the two of you, an easy rhythm to settle into.

“Your med-station,” he nods towards your table/bed set up, looking particularly messy in comparison to the hull you’d spent the day cleaning. “It’s…”

Your heart drops, ready for the scolding. “Ah—uh, I’m sorry.” You look down at your plate—even if he couldn’t see the heat rising to your face, you try to hide your embarrassment by stabbing at another bite of food. You glance up at him sheepishly. “It’s the only place on the Crest that’s tucked away enough, I didn’t want to get underfoot.”

“No, no.” He shakes his head. You swallow. “I like it. A good idea. It’s like a reminder whenever I leave, not to do anything too stupid.”

“Oh, well,” you’re not sure why that catches you off guard so much. You honestly had no idea he even processed your presence since you’d first moved in besides the occasional medical assistance you provided. “I’ll make sure to put the more intimidating syringes front-and-center the next time I organize it.”

And he laughs.

Well—so, okay. It’s not a full laugh, more like a few low releases of air, but there’s a clear smile behind it that you can definitely hear. It’s enough to have you slightly grinning to yourself the rest of the meal.

By the time you’re finished, you’re a bit hazy off the wine and incredibly sleepy. You lean back slightly and yawn, looking at where Mando has settled the kid on his lap. “Sometimes I wish I could just snap my fingers and he’d just go to sleep. There’s too much energy in that little guy.”

“I can take him for the night,” Mando is currently engaged in a gentle dance of keeping the little one’s hands away from the food you’ve portioned for the bounty hunter. It’s more amusing than it should be. “If you could just help me take this upstairs I’d be more than happy to.”

You nod, clamoring to your feet and grabbing his bowl as he climbs up into the cockpit with the kid. You follow and place his dinner on a clear spot on the console.

“Where are we going next?” You ask, glancing over the control panel as if you had any idea what all those flashing lights and strange looking scanners meant. You should really pick up a flight manual at some point, just for the basics.

“The last fob,” Mando sighs. “Canto Bight. This—this is going to take a while, just warning you now. I still have no idea how I’m going to pull this off.”

You nod, yawning. You’re still a bit tipsy. “Okay, well, I think I’m gonna go to bed. Good luck brainstorming.” The food sits warm and heavy in your stomach. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt this full. It’s nice.

He gives a small nod acknowledging what you said, then goes back to grumbling down at the control panel, pushing buttons and examining scanners. You lean down to kiss the kid goodnight from where he’s babbling in the co-pilot’s seat, then climb down the ladder and change into your night clothes, setting the lights in the hull to night-mode as the Crest rumbles into the sky. Climbing into bed, you wrap your biggest blanket around yourself, the chill of hyperspace already settling in the air.

You have a dream. A bad one. One you’ve never had before and don’t know if you’d survive again if you did. It starts with you already crying. It’s one of those full-body, hiccuping sobs that usually rouses you from your sleep before things gets too bad.

Mando is gone, so far gone not even the comlink your finger is hovering over would be an option. You know this because the dream starts with him calling you. When you answer, there is only the sound of a hard, driving rain.

You’re holding the child against your chest and he’s screaming into your ear but you know if you actually lift him away to look at him he’ll disappear into the rain, too, so you drop the communicator and turn and there’s blood all over the floor and you have to clean it, you do. You have to so maybe he’ll come back and so you’re here, mopping up the blood on the hull’s floor as the child wails the loudest you’ve ever heard him cry and you try to choke out reassurances through your own crying because.

Because the gore is on your hands and your elbows and on you and on the floor once its gone it’ll be okay it’s so dark but it’ll be okay and streaking across the front of you and your face where you’ve tried to wipe it away please go away because it looks just like when.

Looks just like when.

You wake up in the middle of screaming, gasping for breath, one hand pressed against the top of the table above you and the other curled into the mattress. It’s the first time that’s happened, waking up like that at least. The dreams are different each time and occur at different frequencies, but they always crescendo at the same point. Usually you just wake up, eyes slowly sliding open and fixing to whatever is directly in front of you as your vision slightly blurs. How banal it usually is, how banal it feels, adds to the cruelty. You’re mostly still able to go to sleep after, at least there was that.

Not this, though. This is that hand-scratching-at-your-own-throat kind of terror, the kind you’ve usually only seen in the holo-dramas. You haven’t had a nightmare like that for so long, so maybe the surprise of it is what made it so much worse—that it wasn’t just you. Maker, you can still hear the child’s squalling in your ears. That sound of raw, primal terror that—

You feel your stomach lurch. You scramble to the fresher, emptying the contents of your stomach into the toilet.

Half anxiety, half afraid to close your own eyes, the dull thrum of raw energy does little to calm itself once you manage to shove the door of the fresher close. You let the metal rim of the toilet cool your face as you sniff, scooting back to lean your back against the wall, pulling the sleeve of the sleepshirt you’re wearing up your palm to wipe your eyes.

A low voice says your name urgently. You look up, dazed for a moment, before the door is cracked open by four broad-knuckled fingers. Your hand flies out, catching the handle before Mando is able to pull it the rest of the way open. He barely has time to get his hand out of the way before you slam it shut again.

“I--sorry,” you croak. “Please um… please don’t come in here.”

“Are you okay?” His voice is rough with sleep. You cup your hands over your knees and lean your forehead down to rest against them. When you don’t answer, he speaks again. “Was it, was it about before? Before Am’ile?”

“I—I haven’t, for so—I haven’t… Before… It was…”

“I know. She told me, it’s alright, I wouldn’t have asked I just… I thought it was something you didn’t want to talk about but I--”

“I’m not a charity case,” it sounds snappier than you intended it to and has absolutely nothing to do with anything he’d just said. At this point you’re just talking to yourself, it seems like he knows that. “That’s not why Am’ile pawned me off on you. I’m okay, I didn’t need her supervision anymore. I’m, I’m okay. It’s taken a long time but I am now so I don’t know why--”

“No,” and he says your name forcefully, cutting you off before you can continue. He repeats himself, this time softly, before: “It’s alright.” Does his voice sound… warmer? Even through a layer of reinforced steel? “I want you to feel safe, here. Comfortable. I don’t care, it’s okay. I just thought you were hurt.” He clears his throat. “I have them too, the dreams. So you, you don’t have to worry about hiding it. Them.” You don’t know what to say, so you say nothing at all. Closing your eyes, you lean the side of your face into the door separating the two of you. It’s so silent on the other side you think he’s left, so when he speaks again it’s all the more surprising. “And she didn’t pawn you off. I need you. Here.”

Something in your chest does a complete backflip. Your stomach is fluttering so ferociously you have to clear your throat before continuing. “Okay. Yeah, um. Thank you,” you wince. “I’m gonna freshen up and then get the little one out of your hair—er, beskar.” Idiot idiot idiot.

“It’s alright, you didn’t wake him. If you want I can… I can sit with you, until you fall asleep.”

“Okay.” You say it softly. “That would be really nice, actually. Thank you.”

You quickly brush your teeth, then open the door the door slowly. Stepping into the hull and closing it behind you, you pad back to your mattress. He follows a few feet behind you quietly—it’s moments like these you’re grateful for his reserved nature. You don’t have the energy to try and brush things off by filling the silence with mindless chatter.

Kneeling beside your mattress, you wordlessly offering him an armful of your pillows. In the low light of the Crest’s night mode, the beskar helmet looks nearly featureless, save for the gleam of light that arcs up its surface as he looks down at what you’ve offered him.

“Could you—” your voice breaks. Heat rises to your face as you clear your throat again. “Is it okay if the kid um… slept with me? It was… some of it was about—”

“Yeah, of course,” Mando takes one of the pillows from the top of what you’ve offered him, tossing it at the ground of the opposing wall and then slipping out of sight as he goes into his bunk. He returns with a the child, standing above you as you crawl into bed, wrapping you blanket around yourself, setting up the pillows as you normally do for the naps you take together, preventing any accidental rolling-over. Mando crouches to place the kid beside you, then stands and settles where he’d dropped the pillow previously. You take a moment to look down at the child, running a thumb over the edge of his ear, before kissing his soft forehead where you normally do. He wrinkles his nose in his sleep, making a soft sound and twitching his ears before wiggling slightly to resettle. You rest your head back on your pillow. The specifics of the dream are already starting to drift away. It’s a small mercy, but it’s enough.

“Hey, Mando?” You lift your head, the low light reducing the man to a dark, featureless outline.

“Hm?”

“Would you mind if… um… would you mind if I just touched your hand? Just so uh… if I wake up I can know you’re there?” As the words spill out of your mouth, an unbearable heat rises to your face.

There’s the sound of him shifting, getting to his feet with a grunt. Then he’s right there, sitting with his back to the wall, just a few inches from the top of your head. Tentatively, you reach out your hand, resting your index and middle fingers against his palm. And it’s his palm, His palm, warm but rough with callouses, resting on the floor beside his extended leg just for you to be able to close your eyes, even for a little bit.

It takes a while but it works. Right as you drift back to sleep you think you feel his hand gently wrap around the fingers you’ve offered him. You really think you do.

a/n: thank you all for the engagement thus far !! it really means so much to me.

that said i am .,..... beyond excited about the next chapter for two reasons of equal importance: fancy parties and Very Jealous Mando. my favorite things 😌

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din and grogu #mando and grogu #grogu #reader insert #i'll be here in the morning #i'll be here in the morning ch.2 #fanfic #star wars fanfiction

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carewyncromwell · 3 years

Photo

“How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die? It is love we must hold onto -- Never easy, but we try. Sometimes our happiness is captured; Somehow our time and place stand still... Love lives on inside our hearts and always will... Minutes turn to hours, days to years, then gone, But when all else has been forgotten, Still our song lives on...”

~“How Does a Moment Last Forever? (cover)” by Celine Dion

x~x~x~x

tw: character death, funerals, grief

x~x~x~x

The kelpie known as Ru Ollivander always knew their time on Earth would be fleeting -- at least, in comparison to the human witches and wizards they’d ended up living alongside. It was the main reason Ru had such a passion for photography, animation, and moving pictures. The thought of capturing a single moment and making it last beyond that moment...making it possible to relive that moment over and over again, as many times as one wanted...it was meaningful in a way Ru couldn’t quite put into words.

And so over the years, the eccentric, blunt kelpie -- never the best at expressing themselves in the way more upright, classy humans did -- captured as many memories as they could of the things they found most remarkable about the Wizarding World they’d entered. They sketched the rows upon rows of disgusting-looking ingredients in jars set up in the Potions classroom. They took pictures of the way the moon looked from the Astronomy Tower after a thunderstorm. They made animations of how Venomous Tentaculas and Mandrakes grew, compressing entire months into mere seconds. And, of course, over the years, Ru used their cinematograph, Aeroscope, and other cameras to film the humans who had become most important to them -- their best friend, Galen Stagg @cursebreakerfarrier; their fellow Ravenclaw and Galen’s eventual other half, Siobhan Llewelyn @kc-needs-coffee; and their “keeper”-turned-muse-and-life partner, Estrid Soelberg @thatravenpuffwitch.

One morning, however, in the 1930′s, Estrid returned to the cottage she shared with Ru from a trip to the market to find the entire place in disarray. A table had been overturned, Ru’s camera was knocked over on its side, and a drawer of photographs had been pulled out, its contents spread out all over the floor. Alarmed, Estrid rushed to find Ru -- when she did, she found them on the floor, in full kelpie form, looking very restless and distraught as they huffed and puffed through their nose and mouth. Estrid hurriedly rushed over and bent down, trying to help, but it soon became clear what the problem was.

Ru couldn’t change form. They couldn’t transform themselves out of their real appearance. ...They couldn’t turn into a human anymore.

The realization overwhelmed Ru. As much as they always knew the day would come, it wasn’t any less devastating. They’d never have hands again. They’d never have legs or feet again. They’d never speak properly again. They’d never be able to take any more pictures, or make any more movies, or make improvements to their cameras, or draw any more sketches or animations. They’d never be able to visit Galen’s classroom anymore for his lectures. They’d never be able to exchange any more friendly swears with Siobhan over a game of Wizard’s Chess. ...They’d never be able to comfort Estrid again...never be able to stroke her hair and hold her until she stopped crying...never be able to play her film reels of her grandfather, or plant flowers in the garden with her, or dance with her in the rain...they’d never be able to tell her how much they loved her.

The kelpie’s eyes fell toward the ground, darkening, as they flooded with tears. Those tears streaked down their long face in cold, deafening silence. Estrid, who’d almost never seen Ru cry in all their time together, found herself struggling not to break down completely herself as she threw her arms around Ru’s snout and hugged them, resting her face in their overgrown seaweed mane. The two sat together on the floor for what felt like hours, crying and cuddling as best they could, Ru pressing their soft nose into Estrid’s cheek and the crook of her neck and Estrid kissing their nose and the top of their head.

Estrid wrote to the Staggs to pass along the news. Galen pretty much dropped everything to be by his friend’s side -- the magizoologist had always had a particular talent for speaking to magical creatures, and it had never been more useful than in those final weeks of Ru’s life. It seemed that what upset Ru most out of everything was that they’d had a project they hadn’t been able to finish. It was an incomplete film reel they’d stored under their and Estrid’s bed for the last year, taking out and working on only whenever Estrid wasn’t home.

Galen had made as if to go get it, but Ru had snatched his sleeve in their teeth and pulled him back so he couldn’t leave their side.

“Not yet,” they were clearly saying. “It’s not time. Please, not yet.”

Reluctantly Galen respected his friend’s wishes.

Within a month of them being unable to change back into a human, Galen and Siobhan received the owl they’d been dreading. Ru had passed the previous night, Estrid by their side all the way up until the end.

As per Ru’s wishes, their funeral service was very small. They were laid to rest beside the small pond behind their and Estrid’s cottage -- Galen knew that kelpies’ bodies tended to decompose quickly, leaving only the seaweed of their manes behind at the bottom of the seafloor. There wasn’t a dry eye during the modest ceremony.

On Galen’s prompting, Estrid went to their room and fetched Ru’s unfinished project from under their bed. Inside the box holding the film reel were hundreds, maybe thousands of old photographs and drawings, many of which Galen, Estrid, and Siobhan had never seen. Some featured Hogwarts, from different angles; some were of the places they’d been to, or the creatures they handled, or the food they ate, or just cool and random things they only half-remembered. Most of all, though, the pictures were of them...and a small fraction, toward the very front, were of Ru themselves.

It was incredible, just looking through the pictures. Forty years of memories were compiled together, documenting not just the changes in those years, but the advancement in Ru’s talent as an artist. The newest pictures were so much clearer and more life-like -- the magical ones moved with such clarity -- the drawings were more refined -- the animations more complex. The pictures placed side-by-side were an animation unto themselves: a beautiful montage of time, like a blooming flower.

Siobhan was the one who knew Ru’s equipment well enough to work out how to set up the projector so they could play the incomplete film reel. The beginning featured Ru as the three remembered them -- very long, wavy black hair, bright blue angled eyes, and diamond earrings, dressed in a dark violet velvet suit and vest with no collared shirt underneath and a gold and emerald necklace around their neck. They were smirking right at the camera, but it seemed to be a bit strained.

“Hi, Estrid. Galen...Siobhan...reckon you’re both here too. You are the only one who could ever figure out how to work the projector, Sha.”

They cleared their throat, snorting through their nose before continuing.

“...I’ve...recorded this a few times already, trying to get it right, but...well, I’ll just be straight. This morning...I had trouble creating my daddles.”

They held up their right hand and flourished the fingers in explanation.

“I woke up with hooves and it took me about a minute to conjure up my fingers. I didn’t tell you, Estrid, since I knew it’d only make you worry, but...well, I know I’ll only be doing more of that, soon.”

They forced a stronger smirk.

“So I decided to make this for you. It’s a compilation of our lives...one that you can hopefully play, when you need to remember. When you need to get away from the present, and run back to the past for a bit. Watch it every time you feel the urge to drink -- and then push away that urge.”

The moving image of Ru was replaced with the pictures, movies, drawings, and animations the three had seen in the box, overlaying Ru’s voice as they continued.

“When I first started disguising myself as Rudolph Ollivander, all I cared about was living in the moment. But the thing I found so amazing about being human was this instinct you all have to try to make moments last long after they’re over. Considering how long you all live, and therefore how short my existence is in comparison, I loved the thought of making something last. Something I made last. I wanted to plant some seed that would grow into something that would keep growing long after me. But it didn’t take me long to realize that even if I took great photographs, or made beautiful films, or made the best magical camera in the world...it didn’t matter. Because I didn’t have a family who would tend to my garden, after I left it. I didn’t have a family who would keep the things I’d made, and pass them on, and share them with the world. ...I didn’t have a family who would pass on my legacy. After Hogwarts, it’d be a lot harder to hide what I was from the world...and once everyone knew the truth, I would undoubtedly be alone again. It was something I knew was inevitable, really, so it didn’t break me or anything...but me leaving something lasting behind was still a dream I knew would never come true. And I won’t lie, that hurt like shit.

“But then, somehow...somehow or another, I ran into you, Estrid. I was steamed as all get-out when we first met, mind you...but I don’t think I’ll ever be more grateful for anything than you stopping me from eating that first year that day. The bridle you put on me? I hated it. I had to stay in one form for almost eight whole years, and that was a real pain in the arse. But as I told you before, over time, I found I didn’t mind so much. Kelpies don’t stay in one form because changing forms helps us survive. It keeps us safe and keeps any other creatures from getting close enough to eat or trap us. And sure, I couldn’t change form...but I wasn’t exactly trapped. Hogwarts was a fun place to be. There was a lot to learn and do and get into, and there were all sorts of rules to buck and dozens of lick-spittles to give a good arse-kicking to. And better still...there were even some humans that were fun to be around.”

The pictures all started to reflect Galen -- at the piano, with a tree of bowtruckles, laughing at a joke -- Galen and Ru running down the lane away from the Shrieking Shack --

“There were ones who were gentle. Pacifistic and wussy, yeah, but also...well, kind. Good at expressing their feelings and making others feel stronger. Good at being brave without being loud or obnoxious. Good at being a friend, to someone who didn’t know anything about friendship.”

The pictures then started to add Siobhan, often alongside Galen, but also on her own, or even with Estrid and Ru.

“There were ones who were clever. Too proud for their own good and prone to overthinking things that are really quite simple...but brilliant, and witty, and a blast to be around. Someone who you can share your interests with and know they appreciate them.”

The pictures then shifted over to Estrid with braids in her hair -- Estrid sitting by the pond in their garden -- Estrid dancing --

“And...there were ones who could change you...more than you ever thought possible.”

The pictures abruptly cut off -- Ru’s face returned to the projector. They were still talking to the camera, but it was clear they hadn’t intended for their face to be seen, as they weren’t looking straight at the lens anymore.

“A ‘keeper,’ who became a friend, and then a muse...and then something more. An equal and a partner...someone who makes you unafraid of the future and how fleeting life is, who actually makes you think that your life makes a difference. Who teaches you more than any book, without even trying. Someone patient, and brave, and compassionate...who never tries to stuff the silence full of worthless words...whose beauty masks a greater one underneath, one that few people ever are fortunate enough to see...”

Ru’s eyes on screen had begun to flood with tears. They closed their eyes and breathed in and out through their nose to try to get a rein on their emotions.

“...Estrid...my whole life, I wanted to leave something behind that would outlive me. That thing isn’t just my pictures, or my films, or my drawings -- it’s you. You are my legacy. You and Galen and Siobhan...you are the wonderful thing I’ll leave behind. It breaks my heart that I’ll have to...and it breaks my heart more, knowing I can’t make sure you all remain as you are, in this moment. Healthy. Successful. Stupid and happy and full of life.”

They forced a smile even as their electric blue eyes overflowed with tears that streaked down their face.

“I don’t have a family to make sure you all last beyond me...but I do have you. So, for me...I need you to tend to my garden. I need you to maintain my legacy -- by maintaining yourself. I need you to live, and heal, and grow, and do everything I can’t do...”

Ru was unable to keep themselves from breaking down into sobs. They bowed their head, clutching onto their own hair as they vainly tried to keep their voice steady.

“Don’t throw your time away. Don’t throw your lives away. If you do, I’ll never bloody forgive you!”

For the next minute they took a few stabilizing breaths, sucking in air shakily through their nose and mouth.

“Damn it...” they hissed under their breath. “Now I have to cut this...”

They swallowed, wiping the tears from their eyes with both hands. The tears left tracks on their face even as they forced themselves to return their focus to the camera.

“...Make every moment count...and when you can, make that moment last forever.

“I realized, when I was looking through my old pictures, that I’ve never really taken many pictures of me. I guess in the moment, I really was a lot more focused on capturing everything I saw, rather than myself. So here are some pictures I took more recently that have me in them. Hopefully you can use them to imagine me behind every picture I took earlier, of all of you. Even though I probably wasn’t smiling or anything...I’m sure you know I was enjoying myself, right? ...I did enjoy myself a lot, with all of you...”

They forced another smile, even though the tears on their face still shone in the light from the next room.

“I remember you once said, Galen, that you could see the love in the pictures I take. I still don’t really know what the hell that’s supposed to mean...but I reckon you bringing up love made some sense. I did love taking those pictures, every one of them -- and more than that...I learned about love, through the people in those pictures. So thank you. Thank you for loving me...and for teaching me so much. And even when this film reel’s obsolete, and my pictures are ruined, and my drawings fade...don’t stop doing things that are worth remembering. Keep making more memories. I know I’ll never forget you -- all you have to do now is make sure the rest of the world won’t either.

“So live. Live, and learn, and love. Make today last forever.”

When Ru’s film reel finally ended and faded to black, Galen, Siobhan, and Estrid were all in tears. Galen was clinging to his wife, his face buried in her hair and his hands clutching at the back of her dress as he sobbed. Siobhan herself had her eyes shut tight as she held Galen in return, unable to contain her own grief. Estrid was holding herself, tears streaming from her hazel eyes still staring at the blank projector screen where Ru had been smiling moments earlier. She closed her eyes, her hands covering her face as she cried silently.

The grief in the room was overwhelming, and yet Ru’s final unfinished present tapped into something at the base of the grief -- the deep, bottomless love they all felt. For as blunt and stubborn as Ru could be, the depth of their feelings was undeniable. They didn’t want their loved ones to despair -- they wanted them to remember, yes, but not languish in the memories...to live with an eye on the past and feet walking toward the future. Ru knew the grief Estrid had gone through when she’d lost her grandfather, and had tried so hard to give her something to help her through her grief again even when they weren’t there to physically support her.

And so over the years, Siobhan, Galen, and Estrid maintained Ru’s legacy. The three lived their lives to the fullest and worked to make sure that no one forgot about all of the advancements Ru had made in the world of wizarding photography. Galen used Ru’s old film reels of magical creatures in his classes; Siobhan took even more pictures of her own; and Estrid fought to ensure Ru’s work was put up in wizarding museums and exhibitions all over Europe, as a testament to her partner’s talent and dedication.

A man has no control who lives, who dies, and who tells their story...but the ones who they love in life, and who inspire them in death, are the most precious legacy they can leave behind.

#hphl #hogwarts legacy #ru ollivander #estrid soelberg #siobhan llewelyn #galen stagg #my art #my writing #*throws herself off a cliff sobbing* EHHHHHH #I cried several times writing this good god ;~;#I am so sorry everybody #but this song gave me such ru feels and I just had to get them out #in my headcanon kelpies grow more and more seaweed-like hair on their bodies as they grow hence why ru's got so much now #most real life horses die between the ages of 25-30 so ru actually lived a pretty long time in comparison #but yeah estrid galen and siobhan would've been in their 40's when ru died #I tapped into a lot of feelings surrounding the people I've lost while writing this #so hopefully the grief comes through #'hopefully' guh #if it does I apologize in advance

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fernisasinner · 4 years

Note

Hi hi~ Here's a challenge for ya... We know Levi is a shy baby boy and probably the only sub out of the brothers. However, what if he overheard Mammon and Asmodeus talking about how girls love to be harshly dommed. You think you can write what it'll be like once Levi lets out his primal side on the MC??

Hi! This is my first time writing smut so I apologise for any awkward bits. Please note that this is fully consensual, Levi and the MC have talked about all of these things before and they do have a safe word. Please don’t do this shit to your partner without establishing explicit consent first. I ended up writing Levi a bit more gentle than I originally intended to, so he’s not as rough or feral as I’ve seen him written by other people. I tried to keep the reader gender-neutral but please let me know if I slipped up anywhere and I’ll change it! Anyway, here, have a drabble.

Mammon and Asmo Regret Their Choices - Leviathan x gn!MC (dom Leviathan and sub MC)

Warnings - nsfw , derogatory language , slight impact play , slight choking , exhibitionism if you squint , tail play , uhh I’m not sure what else to warn against but please let me know if you find something! Levi does use language like pretty and gorgeous to refer to the MC, but this should read as gender-neutral.

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Mammon and Asmo were in on it. It was too easy to bring out his jealous side with a few choice words in a well-timed conversation. Mammon, ever the experienced one in listening for the whereabouts of everybody in the House of Lamentation (no, totally not to steal from his brothers or run away from Lucifer) was the one to hear Levi’s door open, signaling that the demon would be coming their way soon.

“He’s coming. Quick, Asmo, start!” Taking his cue from Mammon’s whisper-shout, Asmodeus cleared his throat and put his performance skills to use, beginning with a coy tone.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m all for being at the mercy of my partners. Sometimes though, nothing beats the pained delight I get the pleasure of seeing as I make someone fall apart underneath me. Their little whines, the way their body shudders, knowing that they’re just desperate to be completely wrecked by me, and when they’re good I reward them with my-“

“OKAY, Asmo! I get it, I don’t need all the details of your escapades, by Diavolo. Just say ya like getting’ railed sometimes and other times like givin’ it instead.”

“Isn’t it cute how crazy demons go when someone else takes complete control?” Asmo giggled, while Mammon smirked.

“I ain’t disagreein’ with ya that demons love it rough, but I’m curious to see what would happen goin’ feral on a human.” Asmo’s responding grin was positively devious.

“Oh, Mammon~ how naughty of you, I like your thinking. Perhaps Mc would be fonder of us if we took them like-“ He was cut off as Levi finally made it to where they were standing.

“WHAT did you just say?” Both brothers had the cheek to act surprised at his appearance.

“Oh, Levi~ we didn’t see you there! We were just talking about how much fun it would be for a human like MC if-“ Levi didn’t even let Asmodeus finish.

“I don’t care! Fuckin normies.” As he turned on his heel to go in the direction of MC’s room, Mammon and Asmodeus turned with a knowing grin and gave each other a high-five.

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MC was at their desk doing homework for RAD until their door opened and closed again, the lock clicking before familiar footsteps made their way behind them and a tense aura cloaked the room.

Does this mean it worked? They were hesitant to hope, but quickly felt a rush of excitement as something slithered up their neck and around their throat, squeezing slightly before curling further up their jaw and finally to the side of their lips, dipping into their mouth. Levi silently tapped on their cheek, prompting them to lick around the end of his tail and start sucking once it was coated in saliva. Levi let out a shaky exhale at their actions and they groaned as he rewarded them with another light squeeze. He was slightly startled that they had made a noise already. He wasn’t expecting that.

“Did that turn you on?” A blush crept onto their cheeks as they shyly nodded. Levi mumbled a spell and clicked his fingers, and their clothes were gone. He chuckled and bit down gently onto the junction of their neck and shoulder, drawing a whimper from them this time.

“Wow, you’re so needy for me already and I haven’t even touched you with my hands yet. How pathetic.” They tried to stifle their voice this time as he licked and sucked over where he bit them, giving the occasional nibble to brighten the mark. In a flash, he had shifted their positions, so they were now straddling his lap. A hand brought down on their ass made them yelp, then moan out what they were holding in before. Their head was yanked up by a hand he had roughly fisted in their hair. He held them there until they met his eyes. His eyes were glowing with lust and something darker that made their heart leap.

“Don’t you dare hold back your pretty little noises, MC. I want to hear you. I want my brothers to hear you. Let everyone know how I’m making you feel.” He gently kissed their nose before tightening his grip. “If you try to deprive me of one of your moans again,” He brought his mouth right next to their ear. “I will make you pay.” He gave their earlobe a sharp nip. “Not only that, but I will make all the more sure that you are screaming my name by the end of the night.” He softened his grip and played with their hair for a few moments, pleased when they sighed and leaned into his touch. “Do you understand, my Henry?” He cradled their face and smoothed his fingers over their cheeks as he waited for an affirmation.

“Yes,” their mouth tugged up at the corners. “…Admiral.” He growled and picked them up effortlessly, slamming them against the wall and attacking their lips with his own. He waited only long enough to settle their legs around his waist before he was forcing his tongue into their mouth, swallowing each other’s moans, and groping all his favourite sports on their torso.

MC let out a startled gasp when they felt something tease at their hole, moaning against Levi’s feral smirk as he reveled in their pants, so obviously desperate for his tail to be closer, for it to be inside of them. He continued to let the digit massage their most sensitive areas while one of his hands moved down to fondle their sex and the other traced over their lips.

“Suck.” MC complied straightaway, somewhat sloppy in their eagerness to please this new side of the Admiral. The man currently keeping them pinned up against the wall with only his hips was a far cry from the ‘yucky otaku’ that was usually begging on his knees for them. Oh, how the tables had turned. Between moaning and the fingers shoved in their mouth, it was difficult to voice the sheer want taking over their body. However, when their blown pupils met the glint in Levi’s own eyes, it was clear that he knew exactly what they were yearning for.

“Patience, my dear Henry. Make sure you get them nice and wet for me.” When he was satisfied with their efforts, he slipped the digits out of their mouth, leaving a sticky trail of drool across their chin. MC whimpered when they felt the wetness circle and press against their hole. Levi grabbed their jaw.

“Open.” MC opened their mouth and looked up at him with lust-blown eyes. He spat on their tongue and closed their mouth for them. “Swallow.” He smiled and kissed their cheek. “Good Henry.”

“L-Levi-“ He halted his ministrations for a moment and raised a single eyebrow. “A-Admiral!” They gasped at the quick lash of his tail against their ass, more shocked than hurt at the slight sting. He smirked and pushed two fingers into their hole, causing them to whine loud and long.

“Admiral…please.” He took glee in the way they squirmed around his fingers. He knew he had found that sweet spot when one of their hands grabbed for his hair and the other dug into his back. His eyes began to glow at the scrape of their fingernails, delighted in the knowledge that he was the one making them feel this way.

“Please what? Use your words, sweetheart.” He kissed them again as they whined louder, swallowing the sounds. He bit their lip and flicked them on the nose, fixing them with an expectant look.

“P-please- augh! Fuck, fuck me, ah! Admiral!” They struggled to get the words out, Levi paused, making a show of considering it.

“Hmm, okay.” In one move, smooth as it was sudden, they were thrown onto the bed. Levi slowly crawled over them. His hands glided over their calves. “Legs up over your head, gorgeous.” MC did their best to comply, lifting their shaky legs and using their arms to pull them closer. They felt a flush of embarrassment at the new position, shy to show off this view so blatantly to him.

“That’s it. What a pretty picture.” Levi cooed as he caressed their face. They moaned when he positioned himself at their hole. He was hard and leaking, clearly as turned on by the switch in dynamics as they were. And he was big. They gazed up at him with hooded eyes, not bothering to disguise their want.

He kissed them and pushed in in one slow but fluid movement. They gasped, squeezing their eyes shut and digging nails into his back while they buried their face in his shoulder. “Shhh.” He made soothing sounds and peppered their face and neck with kisses. As desperate as he was to move, his Henry came first, and he waited with patience for the pain to turn to pleasure.

“P-please…Admiral. Please mo-move.” He chuckled. He could see that they weren’t fully adjusted yet but started to rock into their body.

“My Henry is so desperate for the Admiral that I’ve got you clenching around my cock and you’re still begging for more. Pathetic.” MC started rocking their hips back to meet Levi’s thrusts as the two got into a rhythm, moans spilling out left and right. Levi noticed MC’s eyes were still closed and a flare of envy reared its head. Were they daring to think of someone else? He grabbed their throat and pressed.

“Eyes open. Look at me, sweetheart.” Their eyes stared into his and he could no longer doubt that the only demon on their mind at this moment was him. “There we go, good Henry. Keep them open for me.” His voice lowered. “I want you to see exactly who’s doing this to you.” They groaned obscenely loud and brought him in for a filthy kiss. He moaned into their mouth as his thrusts sped up. MC’s voice got higher and more urgent as they chased their climax, holding onto Levi with a grip tight enough to rival that of a demon. Levi’s hips began to stutter as they clenched around him and held him tight.

“Henry! Aughh!” With a groan, Levi finished inside of MC, cum coating their sensitive walls in post-orgasmic bliss. They both took a moment to come down, holding each other as they caught their breath. Levi smiled at them, kissed their forehead, and moved so his head was between their legs. They startled when they realised what he was doing.

“L-Levi! I mean, Admiral! What are you-“ He met their eyes with a soft but devilish grin.

“You’ve been so good to me, Henry. I think you deserve a reward.” With that, he started licking, catching his own seed as it leaked from MC’s oversensitive opening. MC curled one hand in the blanket and the other in his hair, not sure if they wanted to pull him closer or push his overstimulating mouth away. He started moving his tongue just-so, and before long, tears filled MC’s eyes. It felt too good and they couldn’t help letting out a little sob. Levi stopped and moved up to face them.

“Aww, sweetheart.” He wiped away their tears with soft thumbs. “Is it too much?” MC nodded and whimpered. “Do you want me to stop?” He held their face in his hands and kissed their cheeks.

“N-no. Please keep going, Admiral. I want more of you.” Levi stroked their hair as they shared a delicate, open-mouthed kiss. MC moaned when they tasted Levi’s own essence on his tongue. The noise seemed to flip a switch. Levi growled and aggressively deepened the kiss, dominating MC with his tongue that was covered in liquid from both of them. One of his hands moved down to play with MC again. When their voice started getting louder, he tutted at them.

“So eager to cum again already, my gorgeous Henry? Take it like an obedient little whore and maybe I’ll let you.” This time, the end of his tail pushed into their hole with no warning. They squeezed around the appendage and tried to adjust, but Levi was ruthless with his pace. He admired MC squirming underneath him, almost drooling at the picture of their body being forced to accommodate as he pushed more length in with every thrust.

“So, I overheard Mammon and Asmo talking earlier.” He bit and sucked on their shoulder. They moaned and panted into his. “They seemed to be under the impression that they could take you like you belonged to them.” MC moaned louder into his ear and shook their head. “Tell me, could they take care of you like me?” He nipped their earlobe and sucked the sensitive area behind it.

“No, Admiral!” He smiled darkly at their loud compliance.

“Tell me, who’s making you fall apart right now?” He pinched a nipple between his fingers, swirling his tongue over the other one.

“You, Admiral! Only you!”

“That’s right, sweetheart. Louder, so my brothers can hear exactly who’s making you feel so good. If you do well, I’ll let you have my cock and fill you up again like the cute fuck toy you are.”

“YOU, ADMIRAL LEVI! YOU’RE TAKING ME LIKE NOBODY ELSE CAN! MAKING ME FEEL SO G-GOOD! ADMIRAL!” MC was just about screaming. Levi groaned and slipped his tail out, shoving it in their mouth instead and replacing it with his dick.

“Henry, you feel so good! Swallowing me up like this, what an adorable little slut.” Everything seemed hazy as he fucked them into the mattress. Nothing mattered at this moment except for his pleasure and theirs.

“Admiral, PLEASE! I’m close! Can- ah! Can I-“ Their teeth clinked as he brought them into a desperate kiss.

“Yes. Yes, my gorgeous Henry, scream for me!” He rutted fast and hard, riding through both of their highs.

“ADMIRAL!”

The two held onto each other as they caught their breath again. Levi pulled out and when some of his cum leaked out of them, he pushed it back in with his fingers.

“Hold it in there like a good little pet, okay Henry?” He cooed at them. “You were so lucky to get the Admiral’s seed. We don’t want it going to waste now, do we?” He ran a hand down their face, smiling softly before scooping them up. He carried them next to the bathtub in his room and kissed their head while his tail turned on the water.

Once the tub was filled, he lowered MC into the water, then himself. Hugging them from behind, he inhaled their scent. His voice was quiet and comforting when he spoke. “You did so well, MC. Are you feeling okay?” They nodded, and he hummed. “Good. You can relax for me now, my sweet Henry. Let me take care of you.” He massaged their muscles while he used a soft washcloth to clean them with his special Ruri-chan soap. They leaned into his touches and he got to work massaging shampoo onto their scalp. “So good for me, MC. How lucky I am to have you.” He rinsed them off and pressed his lips to their forehead.

“I’m going to lift us out and dry you off now. Okay, sweetheart?” MC blearily nodded, tired and just about melting in his careful hands. Levi used his fluffiest towel on them before carrying them to his bed, ensuring that they were comfortable with his softest limited-edition pillows and blankets. After taking a moment to check if there was anything else that they wanted or needed, he crawled under the blankets with them, kissing the top of their head before settling in. He cuddled his precious MC until they both fell asleep.

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

Asmo winced through his beauty routine, despite his best efforts at a smooth poker face to avoid wrinkles. Mammon rocked back and forth in the corner, hands over his ears. It was exciting at first. The two had shared quite the giggle listening to what Levi and MC got up to with their help. Not anymore. It wasn’t funny anymore. MC so owed them after this. They were so loud. Asmo regretted his choices. Mammon regretted his choices. At least there was company in misery.

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beebubb · 3 years

Note

I read your LJ and will headcanons and i really love them! Can you perhaps make some headcanons of when LJ had to take care of baby william? Like how would he treat him when he hated him and then when he actually grew to like him?

Ahhhhhh!!! Yessss!!! I'm gonna make this a post of LJ taking care or will from newborn to now

LJ taking care of william grossman headcanons (childhood all the way to now) + a bit of will's back story

Will as a baby

Will was assigned to LJ before will was even born

So while everyone was celebrating the pregnancy, LJ was just pissed

"GODDAMNIT THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU DON'T USE PROTECTION!!"

no one could hear or see him obviously, so he could say what ever he wanted

He just look at the dad be like "i bet that brat isn't even yours!"

He would just DREAD the day will was finally born

When will was born, and his mom finally came back home with will in her arms, was when he finally met him

".....he looks exactly like fucking isaac goddamnit!!!!"

He wouldn't take care of will and could care less about him

He would appear to will whenever he was alone in the nursery room and just say the meanest things to him or just hate anything will did

".....you're the cum shot your mom should have swallowed...."

"can you shut the fuck up?!?"

*carrying him* "go to hell you annoying waste of space"

"i wish I could take your eye out like I did to your fucking grandpa....."

"you know I can gut you whenever I feel like it"

Or just make dark jokes

"i can knock all your teeth over just like isaac! Wait, you don't have any! Hahaha!!"

LJ doesn't admit but, when he was watching over will, he just started crying, he was just so overwhelmed by everything, especially knowing he was stuck with his enemy's grandkid "i hate that i'm stuck with you!!! Why the fuck would you even want me?!? You're just going to abandon me just like your damn grandfather!!!"

With time though, he started growing fond of him

Will was really close to LJ. He would just smile to him, laugh, grab his pointy nose, and even if jack rarely carried him, you know those feathers jack has on his shoulders? Will would immediatly fall asleep with those

Once LJ was a bit more ready to care for him, was when he actually started trying

"Alright, i'm your guardian! I hate it! But if i'm stuck with you, i'm going to raise you MY way!"

"I'm the one protecting you so you BETTER say my name as your first word, got it?"

It took him a bit to warm up to him but it eventually came along

Will was a cuddly baby, so he loved to sleep on LJ's shoulder and grab his nose

"let go of my nose before I kill you"

When he was finally attached to will, he was acting more of a parent than anyone.

He would hate it if someone didn't take proper care of him

"you're holding him wrong!"

"he doesn't like to be held like that!"

"you're supposed to put 2 scoops of formula! Not 1!!"

"goddamnit I'm doing most of the work here!!!"

"if yall wanted a kid you should atleast know to care for it!"

Will's first word was JJ.

It was his attempt at saying LJ

"holy shit!!! That's not my name but it's close!! I knew it!!"

His mom and dad saw it as insignificant and thought it was just those weird baby noises that babies make

But LJ knew what he meant and was more happy than ever

"he likes me more!! In your face assholes!!"

Will as a toddler

LJ was there for his first words, so he was also there for will's first steps

Will was also a very energetic kid, and once he started crawling and walking, it was more chaos for his parents

They had to baby proof a lot of things

But LJ could keep up with his energy, and sometimes even tire him

Though there was this one time when will called him "daddy" and his dad thought he was calling him but actually, he was talking to LJ

Many think that LJ might hate to be called that sense well, you know, he hates children, but he honestly didn't know how to feel. He was a bit surprised, a bit happy, and confused

He didn't deny it, it was just like

Toddler will: daddy! Daddy!

LJ: um....uh... Lets keep playing ok?

LJ loved will and was happy to care for him and pretty much the hate he had towards him was pretty much gone but, he didn't really know how to feel

He let it slide but will called him that a lot

LJ would get a bit emotional sometimes but he would just try to ignore it and keep playing with will

Or he would just slightly smile

Will as a kid (4-11)

Will was now more aware and way more energetic

Which was more fun for LJ

Will didn't have many friends, except for LJ

Even if he was happy and energetic, will was a shy child at school.

Also he didn't play with anyone except jack

The teachers thought that will was weird and called his parents a lot

The teachers would always say stuff like "he doesn't play with any of the other children, and talks alone like if he were talking with someone else especially someone he says is called" jack", is everything OK at home? Have you seen a family psychologist?"

Will was actually taken to a few therapy sessions but he wasn't diagnosed with any mental illnesses. So people just assumed that will just had a really active imagination and that jack was just an imaginary friend

Though will being "weird" just meant he was gonna be an easy target to get bullied

But jack wouldn't let that happen. He wouldn't let some asshole kids ruin will's childhood

Sometimes when the kids would go to the bathroom or just go to the hallway to the drinking fountain, he would scare them by turning the lights on and off

Or he would even follow them home and would make his claw like hands appear from inside their closets or under their beds.

Sometimes he would even grab their legs which would terrify the kids

They soon stopped bothering will because "jack will come and get you!"

So will had a pretty good childhood thanks to Jack sense he would protect him of pretty much everything

When will was in kindergarden they had arts and crafts, he would sometimes draw his mom and his dad together but mostly his drawings were of jack

The teachers thought the parents were irresponsible because lets say that sometimes will's drawing were a bit graphic or creepy and they thought that it was because will watched too much horror movies

Teacher: what are you drawing, William?

Will: it's Jack and I!

Teacher: oh that's nice! But.. What.. What are you doing with Jack?

Will: We're using the stuff inside the guy's belly to make balloon animals! *keeps drawing* jack said that I'll be a killer when I grow up!

Jack was just a proud clown guardian

Jack's prized possession was a drawing that will made of the two of them. It just made him feel really appreciated. Also he encouraged will to play with the kids but will just preferred LJ

LJ: you know that you can play with the other kids right?

Will: i don't want to! I don't like the other kids! I want to be with you, you're my best friend!

It was just fun with will that someday jack would spend days laughing and laughing that sometimes it felt like he would get his colors back

Also will learned to cuss at a young age. And everyone can already guess where he got that from

He was a horror movie fan

Which is why he always said "i want to be like Jason when I grow up!"

"i want to do what leatherface does!"

"I'm going to be just like ghostface!"

But when LJ told him about the pastas, is when he started admiring them

"when I grow up, I'm going to work for slenderman!!"

Also you know in that one comic page where will was at the institution and said "i am the one and only grossman! And I will become the greatest killer the world and the underworld has ever seen!"

Well he had been saying that ever sense he was a kid

Will's mom was a really caring and nice mother but she would soon start getting angry every time will said he wanted to be a killer

Everytime the family got together or the neighbors would ask will what he wanted to be when he grew up, will's mom would always get embarrassed and try to change the answer

Neighbor: what do you want to be when you grow up?

Will: i want to be a killer!

Mom: AN ACTOR!! he wants to be an actor!! He just.. Um... Has seen so many horror movies and well he likes the actors! So he wants to be one!

Will would always get scolded by his mom or get grounded

"William, i told you a million times!!! Stop saying you want to be a killer!!! That doesn't exists! Just choose something normal!!"

William would sometimes just stand or sit in the corner and cry

LJ was always there to comfort him

"Don't cry buddy! Don't listen to that bitch! You will be a killer!"

His mom would get annoyed a lot of will talking about LJ

"You're six!!! You're old enough to know that jack is just an imaginary friend!"

"He's not imaginary!!!!"

And ever sense will knew about the underworld, that's the only place he would talk about.

Will: LJ please take me with you!! I want to go to the under realm! I want to meet jeff the killer! And ben! And masky! And slenderman!

LJ: i can't take you now but i promise i will when you're older!

Will loved his parents but he slowly started disliking them.

His mom always seemed embarrassed of him and his dad was becoming distant

The day that his parents got divorced, he did cry a few days.

He would always ask LJ "did dad leave because of me?"

But jack was there to reassure him it wasn't his fault.

"He's just a deadbeat bitch dad! But i'll be here for you! You don't need him!"

LJ pretty much took a fatherly role to will but never realised it

In will's school he had this "bring your parent to school day" thing and he didn't tell his mom, he wanted LJ to come

LJ didn't have a human disguise like the other pastas sense he was technically an imaginary friend. So he had to consult the rulers of hell to give him a temporary one or grant him that ability

LJ: Come on please! He really wants me to attend! Lend me a fucking hand here!

Paimon: i don't know, your job is just to protect him, you don't NEED to attend something as simple as a school event, he has his mother

LJ: i know but my boy wants ME to come! He doesn't want his damn mother to go!

Yeah, LJ called him "his boy"

He was more of a father than ever even if he didn't admit it

Bael: *sighs* fine, we'll give you a disguise just for today

LJ: yes! Thank you!

And LJ was able to go to will's school, he just presented himself as will's uncle

Will was happier than ever

Jack tried to act normal so he made up lies of his career

"Oh um i'm a....surgeon!"

Being a surgeon was the closest thing to his actual job. I mean, they both take out people's guts right?

Will as a teen (13-17) (basically now)

Will had a bit of an emo phase but not completely. It only appeared whenever he was with his mom

Only when he was with his mom he was distant and always seemed annoyed

He became the typical angsty teen. Started drinking, getting piercings, dying his hair, wear black, eyeliner, etc

Mom: another piercing?!

Will: yeah! Why do you care!?! I'm already an embarrassment to you aren't i?!

They would get into arguments a lot

Especially because of his sexuality

His mom didn't respect will's privacy so he would always check his texts, pictures, etc

"You're talking with girls AND boys?!?!"

Will was bisexual but only LJ knew obviously.

"If my boy likes guys then fucking let him!!! Stupid bitch!!!"

Though no matter who won the argument, it always ended with will crying or just laying on his bed listening to music

William would run away a LOT

Him and LJ had found an abandoned hospital where they would always hang out.

Will could be himself with LJ

His mood and attitude completely changed there.

They would drink beer together, tell jokes, prank random people in the streets, or just do random things

"Look at this street sign i stole!!"

But how did will finally go to the underworld? A family argument in will's 16th birthday

His mom invited everyone to the house.

But will was uninterested

And his mom like always, didn't want to "be embarrassed" by will, so he forced him to wear something else besides black, to take all of his piercings off, and didn't let him dye his hair

Everyone was there eating together

But will, like always, was distant

Uncle: so how are things in school?

Will: everything's fine

Cousin: what college are you going to?

Will: *shrugs*

Will hated his party.

LJ: enjoying your sweet 16? Haha!

Will: i hate it....

LJ frowned seeing him upset in his own birthday, but he gave him something

LJ: hey, i got you a little something! I know you want to be a killer so here!

He gave will the bird mask

Will: ! My...my first killer mask?!

LJ: yep!

Will: holy shit!!! Thank you! *puts it on* i love it!! I look like an actual serial killer!

LJ: i knew you would like it!

Will was super happy with his mask but he was called outside to cut the cake

"Cut your cake bud! Once this party is over, how about we go get some drinks?"

Will smiled "alright!"

He went out to cut his cake.

A few hours later though, everything was ruined

Will had another argument with his mom.

Will: I'M your son!!! Not them!!! Why do you like them more?!

Mom: i do like you will! I just...i just want you to be normal like them! I want you to want a normal career! To do better in school! To dress differently, and like girls!

Will: i DO like girls!!!

Mom: then why were you talking to boys?!?

Everyone just looked at will in shock

Will: b-because.....because i'm fucking bisexual!!! I like boys AND girls!! I'm not gay!!! There's a difference!!!

Mom: but you like boys!! That's not normal!! Nothing of you is normal!! Liking boys isn't normal! And being a killer isn't normal either!!

Will: oh so you hate me for being me?!?! I fucking hate you!!! You make my life a living hell!!!

Will stormed off to his room and locked himself and started sobbing.

Jack saw everything. He would have killed will's mom but everyone was there, plus he wasn't allowed to (a disadvantage of having a deal with the rulers of hell)

Will felt humiliated infront of the whole family

Jack saw how upset he was, so that's when he finally made up his mind

LJ: hey, remember when i told you i was bringing you to the underworld one day?

Will: *wiping away his tears* y-yeah?

LJ: well, that's today!

Will: wait, really?!?

Will immediately sat up his a smile on his face

LJ: yep! How about we leave this place? Let's go to to the underworld! You won't have to worry about your mom anymore! Or that shitty family of yours!

Will: yes!!!!! Yes I'd love that!!!

LJ: then pack your things and lets go!

Will got up from his bed and started packing. And once he was done, he just stood up smiling with his bags in hand

Will: let's go!!

LJ covered will's eyes with his hands.

And before Will knew it, he was in the underworld.

And that's when will finally started a new life.

LJ didn't have a luxurious life to give will but will loved it. Even if they lived in a shitty apartment, will was more happy than ever.

Will was still underage so LJ took care of getting him registered as an official underworld citizen and getting all the paper work done to have full custody of will as his guardian

So he basically adopted will

Will: i can actually be a killer here right?

LJ: yep! There's actually an institution for killers! So I'll start working on enrolling you in!

Will: yes!!!

And that's basically how their lives started

#mine #my post #creepypasta #william grossman #will grossman #Laughing jack

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iatethepomegranate · 3 years

Text

We are not alone in the dark with our demons, Chapter 12

In which Caleb buys a house in Rexxentrum with Beau and Yasha, becomes a professor, learns how to be a person, and grapples with how to help the other Volstrucker survivors, and his students, in a way he had never been helped.

Content warnings: References to Caleb's backstory, depression, poverty

Chapter summary: Caleb and the Nein meet up in Nicodranas, and he can no longer delay telling them of his failure to protect someone who desperately needed him. But, as it turns out, he was not the only person keeping secrets about that day.

Chapter notes: This is a somewhat chaotic chapter. Enjoy and let chaos reign, I guess! Chapter title is from Three by Sleeping At Last

****

Chapter 12: A mess of a story I'm ashamed to tell but I'm slowly learning how to break this spell

Essek teleported the four of them to the Blooming Grove the following morning to pick up Caduceus, who offered to message Wensforth to save the wizards the spell. They had breakfast in the Grove with the Clays, and got their hands dirty in the garden for a while, until Caleb rolled the aches from his shoulders and began to draw the teleportation circle to Tidepeak Tower.

“I might have to go back earlier than the rest of you,” said Beauregard. “Dairon’s guiding the monks on the Nico hunt for now, but they’re super busy.”

“We can send you back whenever you need,” said Essek.

Caleb’s next few chalk strokes were a bit more aggressive than they needed to be. It was hard not to feel guilty for leaving Rexxentrum while Nico was out on his own and people were searching for him. Essek sat on the floor by his side, knocking their knees together. He felt better, and no one made any mention of his silent outburst.

He completed the final stroke and the five of them rushed through, landing in a familiar tower, where Wensforth waited in the doorway.

“Welcome, welcome.” Wensforth guided them down the stairs. “The master is eager to speak with you.”

Yussa was already arranged on a couch in the sitting area on the ground floor, delicate fingers holding a teacup. Once borderline inscrutable, the man smiled at them as he often did these days. Especially to Caleb, on whom Jester thought Yussa had a crush. Caleb was more of the mind that Yussa saw him as little more than a precocious child, given their respective ages, but his particular fondness was evident all the same.

“Oremid tells me you are teaching at the Soltryce Academy now,” Yussa said. “Sit. We should talk.”

“Hi, Yussa,” Beauregard said, a little pointedly. “How’ve you been?”

“I am well, Beauregard. It is good to see you. All of you.”

They arranged themselves on the soft couches in the space, Caleb sitting across Yussa for ease of conversation, given the man clearly had things to say today. Essek was at Caleb’s side, slightly further than he would be just around the Nein, but close enough to be a comfort whenever Caleb’s anxiety spiked nonetheless.

Essek had been to Yussa’s tower a few times in Caleb’s company before. Given everything the Nein had put Yussa through already, the man had taken the presence of a fugitive of the Kryn Dynasty in his stride.

With a gesture from Yussa, his teapot lifted and poured itself into the other five cups on the little table in the centre of the room. Then, in turn, each cup floated into the hands of his visitors. Caleb accepted his with a soft thanks, slipping into Zemnian out of habit. He had spoken more Zemnian in the last few weeks than he had in years. It was always the little words, the pleases and thank yous, the hellos and goodbyes, that stuck the hardest.

“So…” Yussa honed in on him again. “Teaching. A step down from the original job they offered you, I hear.”

“Teaching is a better use of my time than spying.” There were more things Caleb could say about the Archmage of Civil Influence as a position, and most of them were far less polite. “Astrid always wanted that position more than I did anyway.”

“Good. You might survive to old age after all, for a human.”

Essek flinched a little at the reminder of Caleb’s shorter lifespan. Yussa’s eyes tracked the movement, but he let it pass without comment.

“Are we third-wheeling for you guys again?” Beau asked, but it wasn’t really a question. “Because we can, like, go.”

Caduceus placed a package on Yussa’s table. “Here, I brought that tea you liked last time.”

“Yes, thank you. You are all welcome to stay if you like.”

Beauregard was already standing up. “Nah, I think we’re good. Cool to see you again with your face where it belongs.” She awkwardly finger-gunned in Yussa’s direction, backing towards the door.

She, Yasha and Caduceus left the tower.

Yussa watched them go with amusement. “It seems my social graces are rather rusty.”

“They don’t mind,” said Caleb. “They have met too many wizards to be offended.” Essek snickered into his hand, finally relaxing a bit. “So, you were saying?”

“Teaching is good work, if you can tolerate the children,” said Yussa. “I did it myself for a time. For one to turn down an archmage position… you must have a goal.”

“Leave the Empire better than I found it,” Caleb said. That encompassed all his knotted up feelings about it.

Yussa raised a single well-kept eyebrow. “Interesting. What is your definition of ‘better’, if I may ask?”

Caleb did have a vision for this, and the situation with Felix and Nico had thrown into sharp, painful relief how far there was to go, and how much pain he would never be able to prevent. “No more children thrown on the pyre. No more stolen childhoods. No more abuse. A government and its mages who choose to consider simple human cost, before they consider their own selfish ambitions.” Caleb was typically more reserved with Yussa, but the more he spoke of this, the harder it became to restrain his emotions. “No more wizards with a god complex who think themselves above basic compassion and ethics. No more butchering the innocent to grease the wheels of war. Just… no more.”

“A lofty goal,” Yussa said, quiet. “One that would take the remainder of my lifetime, or even young Essek’s lifetime, let alone yours.”

“I know. Hence the importance of teaching these things to those who will come after me.”

Yussa hummed thoughtfully. “I wish you luck. More powerful men than yourself have tried, and been consumed.”

“Been there, done that. Have the trauma.” Caleb wasn’t sure where he found the capacity to joke, even flatly, about all of this. Sometimes it was easier to get the point across if he allowed for a bit of sarcasm. “In my experience, the children put at the mercy of these people may need the most help. And that is something I can do.”

“I will watch your progress.” Yussa finished his tea, setting the cup aside. “Now, enough of mundane matters. I have been tinkering with Willi some more. Would you like to see the results?”

“Always.” Caleb missed that golem terribly.

They lost a few hours discussing the golems of the Happy Fun Ball, and comparing notes about the pre-Calamity Aeormatons the Nein had encountered. Caleb and Essek had run across Devexian a few times in their travels since. It was a good use of time, and it settled Caleb’s nerves. He felt better.

***

Once they left Tidepeak Tower, Essek disguised as a blonde half-elf, they headed over to Veth’s place. Caleb was somewhat nervous about this, because he knew she would see through any of his bullshit and know he was going through something. And then he would have to explain everything to the rest of the Nein. And, of course, Jester already had an inkling thanks to Astrid.

There was no getting out of this. And it wasn’t that Caleb didn’t want them to know, exactly. He had just grown tired of explaining it. And he knew what little equilibrium he had managed to find would fall away as soon as Veth said or did anything in response, and he would break all over again.

Nevertheless, he messaged Veth as soon as they stepped out of the tower. “Hallo, Veth. Essek and I are on our way to your place. Be there soon.” Then, for old time’s sake: “You can reply to this message.”

The first sound that came through was Veth’s trademark screech. “Caleb! We made lunch. Get over here!” A split-second’s pause. “Good shot! Oh, sorry Lebby. Luc shot Beau in the ass. Like mother, like son.”

Luc was going to be a menace as a teenager. Caleb intended to be around to see it. And probably try to save a little bit of Yeza’s sanity if possible.

Caleb and Essek took their time wandering through Nicodranas. The streets were filled with people out for lunch, enticing scents curling through the air. Caleb and Essek stopped by a bakery to grab some pastries for the group (mostly Jester)--there had evidently been some Zemnian influence on Nicodranas, or the other way around, as treats such as bee stings could be found in both areas. Nicodranas made them a touch sweeter and stickier.

Caleb also grabbed a fresh loaf of bread, though he did not shove his hands into it this time. He hadn’t known that was a poverty thing until Beau and Jester had reacted so strongly to him doing it that one time. He still thought it was a useful trick, but it apparently unnerved people. Bread mittens had kept him warm many times in the freezing cold when he had no one to look out for him, and had to choose between food and something as simple as mittens.

Anyway, bread was wonderful.

They wound through the streets until they reached Veth’s place. There was an unpleasant feeling in the pit of Caleb’s stomach that he couldn’t quite describe. Unease or dread felt too uncharitable, but the feeling was somewhere in that neighbourhood. Essek slipped his hand into Caleb’s, gently leading him to the door. Essek knocked, and it was thrown open in seconds and Veth had already thrown herself at Caleb’s abdomen, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist.

Caleb almost broke then and there. He carefully rested a hand on the top of her head, sliding his fingers through her hair, looking ahead but not really seeing anything. Veth gave him a final squeeze and stepped back, grabbing his hand on the way. It took Caleb a second too long to lock eyes with her, by which time whatever joy had been on her face had been replaced with worry.

“Hi, Lebby,” she said, in a careful soft tone she used whenever he was teetering on the brink of crashing down. “What’s the matter?”

Caleb took a careful breath, and spoke in a measured tone. “I will tell you, but we should eat first. I may not be able to later.”

Veth tugged him inside, Essek taking care of the door and following them through the house. The rest of the Nein were already crammed into the kitchen, stuffing their faces with a simple stew that smelled delightful. It must have been one of the recipes Veth remembered from Felderwin.

Jester leapt upon him with a hug, dragging Essek in with her. “You’re here! It’s so good to see you! We got chased by a dragon turtle again and I turned it into a sea slug like last time, and we got away!”

“This happened at sea, I assume?” asked Caleb, who knew enough about Jester to take nothing at face value.

“Of course, Caleb. Don’t be silly!” Jester let him go, and booped his nose. He managed not to flinch.

Caleb wordlessly held out the pastries and bread. Jester squealed and grabbed them off him, shoving them into the centre of the table. Veth grabbed an enormous knife and began to cut the bread while the rest of the Nein shuffled around to make room for two more chairs. It was a tight fit, and Caleb was firmly sandwiched between Essek and Beauregard, but it felt somewhat akin to Essek’s nighttime pressure on his back and sometimes chest that crushed his soul back into his body. Their thighs were jammed together now, and it was easy to hook his ankle around Essek’s and keep himself grounded. For now.

A bowl was shoved in his direction and he ate mechanically, dimly aware of the chatter around him. Luc’s voice was among the loudest, and it was good to hear his voice. After everything the boy had been through, on Caleb’s account no less. No matter what anyone else said.

Caleb was going to spiral if he didn’t get a hold of himself. And he wanted to have a good time in Nicodranas; he didn’t know when he would be back here. Not to mention he would prefer not to retraumatise the already traumatised toddler by having a breakdown in the middle of lunch.

So he ate. Slowly. Methodically. He silently counted each mouthful, because he needed to count something. And when he had finished the stew, he felt more present in his surroundings. Veth distributed slices of bread with little pots of spiced olive oil and balsamic vinegar, and the Nein continued to chatter away as they tore off pieces of bread, dunked them into the oil, and finished off the loaf. Caleb was glad they liked it. And that Veth had been here long enough to have picked up a local bread tradition to share with them all.

“This is good bread, Caleb,” said Jester.

“I went to the bakery you recommended,” Caleb replied.

“That was months ago! You remembered!”

Caleb tapped his temple.

“Caleb has a very good memory,” Veth said warmly, as if everyone at the table wasn’t already keenly aware.

“I’m a bit curious about that,” said Kingsley, his tail smacking Beauregard in the arm, ignoring her as she slapped it off her. “Have you always been like that?”

“My memory was always good, ja,” said Caleb. It was rare for Kingsley to ask about someone’s past; very Molly-esque, not that Caleb would ever tell him that. “I could count things very well, especially time, and naturally had good recall. I did develop it further at school, but it was always there.”

Most people who found out about Caleb’s memory either saw it as an interesting party trick, or a useful tool if they were more like Trent. He did not speak of the downsides of having a near-infallible memory very often.

But Kingsley was looking at him with sharpness in his eyes behind the easy smile. “Maybe I’m biased since I barely remember anything that this body did before a few months ago, but that sounds feckin’ awful.” He said it lightly, but Caleb could hear the edge in his voice. Kingsley had been around when Caleb had told his story to Beauregard in the Grove; he had the context, and his own experiences, to put things together.

“A blessing and a curse, ja.”

The mood at the table threatened to darken, but Luc was thankfully oblivious to it, and instead started babbling about a huge bug the Brenattos had found in the garden yesterday. And that his father had screamed very loudly. Caleb sat back from the conversation, but was pleased when the tension broke.

“It really was adorable,” Veth was saying.

Yeza rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Yes, and you were my valiant saviour once again.”

But lunch was just about wrapping up at this point, and Veth would soon turn her focus back onto Caleb and his problems. Caleb’s lunch sat like a stone in his stomach, and maybe he shouldn’t have eaten quite that much. But it was hard to say no to a home-cooked meal surrounded by the people he loved most in this world. Those who were still alive, anyway.

Veth, charitably, let Caleb have a few extra minutes while she and Yeza cleared the table before she sat back down with a sigh, and turned her eyes to him. “All right. What’s the matter?”

Yeza picked Luc up. “I think we’ll go for a walk.” He didn’t know every little thing about Caleb’s shit, but he knew enough to understand whatever they were about to discuss was not something Luc needed to hear. “We’ll be back in an hour.”

As soon as they were gone, Jester spoke up. “Astrid said some stuff happened, but she wouldn’t tell me what.”

Caleb sighed deeply. “All right. I will tell you. Some of you already know what happened. I would appreciate your assistance.”

Beauregard knocked her knee against his. “We’ll help. But you should start.”

So he did. Caleb told the Nein that Astrid had been reaching out to the Volstrucker, and that two boys had been unaccounted for. He led most of the explanation of how they had come to understand what this probably meant, and to make plans for it. Beauregard began to speak up a bit when he spoke of finding Felix and convincing him to speak to them, of bringing in Caduceus to lift the modified memory. Caduceus began to add pieces where relevant, of the things he saw. Of scrying on Nico, and learning where he was.

Beauregard led the discussion of rushing after him and finding the house ablaze, and Caleb very briefly spoke of his experience on the upper floor, and finding the bodies of Nico’s parents. The memories were too vivid, and choked him up a bit, so Beauregard took over once again, and then Caduceus after they had traded places to help Caleb try to save the Baumanns.

“I do have a confession to make,” said Caduceus.

“Oh?” said Caleb, who couldn’t say much else at the moment.

“I was still scrying when Nico lit the fire,” Caduceus admitted. “I saw how he reacted to it. I chose not to inform you, because I feared leaving the scry before your arrival, in case something else happened. I… in the moment, I did not think telling you would have helped, but I wanted to apologise. I wanted to explain all this earlier, but...” Caduceus didn’t finish--maybe he had realised that would be jumping a bit ahead in the story. But Caleb understood.

There had been a small shred of curiosity in the back of Caleb’s mind, but he had been too preoccupied to give it much thought. But Caduceus’s explanation made sense; he had weighed up the benefits of both options and chosen the one he thought best in the moment. Leaving the scry to tell Caleb the house was already ablaze probably wouldn’t have made much difference. The Baumanns had already been long dead by the time he reached them. So Caleb harboured no ill will towards Caduceus for the difficult choice he had made, nor did he resent Caduceus for not telling him sooner, when Caleb had been far too unwell.

“There is no need to apologise,” Caleb told him. “You made a hard decision. Thank you for telling me now, when I am better able to handle it. Are you all right?”

Caduceus smiled sadly at him. “I understand you better now. Not in the way either of us wanted, but I’m all right now that I’ve told you.” He straightened, clearing his throat. “Anyway, where were we?”

They briefly talked about the night they had Nico, and that it had been a bad one for Caleb, and then Essek chipped in to describe the Greater Restoration spell the following morning. And the chaos that had ensued. Caleb spoke briefly about the chase on his side of things, with Beau and Yasha contributing theirs.

“We didn’t find him,” said Beauregard. “Monks and Volstrucker are still on the lookout. Caleb thinks the kid probably ran for the woods to get some cover. He taught Felix the Sending spell and took him back home to his parents.”

“Felix and I message Nico regularly,” said Caleb. “No responses yet.” And, because he was with the Nein, and because they loved him, he said, “I… feel a bit useless, at the moment.”

Jester reached across the table, tears in her eyes, and squeezed his hand. “You’re not useless, Caleb. You’re really smart, and really cool.”

“You’ve done a lot for those kids,” said Fjord. “I’m sure they both appreciate it, even if Nico isn’t talking to you. He’ll find you when he’s ready.”

“Maybe,” Caleb murmured. He was tired.

Veth was watching him, mouth downturned at the corners. “Caleb. Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve come over.”

Caleb didn’t know what to say to her. An apology wasn’t enough. And he didn’t know if he could explain it right now. He looked away from her, down at the table, and tried not to crack apart with guilt. He was not doing a very good job.

A flash of movement, and Veth had launched herself across the table and into his lap. “Oh, Cay Cay, honey. No. Shh.” She squished his cheeks, which he only now realised were wet. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” She flung her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. Caleb buried his face in her shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I’m not angry, and I don’t blame you for not wanting to talk about it. It’s okay.”

That only made him feel worse. Breathing was hard. Two hands, belonging to two different people, found their way to his back, rubbing slow circles. The more delicate hand--Essek’s--applied a little more pressure than the other. Probably Beauregard. She was next to him.

“You’re all right, Caleb,” said Caduceus. “We’ve got you.”

Caleb laughed wetly, remembering those exact words from Fjord as they had guided him home after a panic attack behind the coffee shop. Maybe this was a thing now. Or at least a thing from the Wildmother devotees of the Nein.

The rest of the day was quiet. Caleb composed himself after a while, and set up his lesson plans and speech notes on the floor of the Brenattos’ living room. A cup of dead people tea at his side. Surrounded by the chatter of his friends, and Essek’s head on his shoulder as he worked through a book written in Undercommon.

Yeza and Luc returned after a while, and Luc napped on the couch at Caleb’s back. Breathing loudly into his ear. It should have been annoying, but really wasn’t. The boy woke up some time later and wriggled his way onto the floor, peppering Caleb with questions about what he was doing. Caleb was more than happy to answer, hoping he had simplified it enough for the boy. Luc was very clever, but he was also very young.

Most of the Nein drifted away once Caleb seemed more stable. Jester, Fjord and Kingsley went off to check on their crew (including Vandran), and hang out with Marion. Caleb expected he would see her at the Chateau in the evening for dinner. Beau and Yasha had wandered off to the fish market.

Caduceus was still around, and Caleb suspected he actually felt much worse than he was letting on. But he seemed content to chat with Yeza and Veth over tea in the kitchen. Caleb caught snatches of the conversation; it seemed they were trying to explain some alchemical concepts to him. There was a good chance that Caduceus did have some knowledge in the area, but not in the same scientific way. Which made such a conversation all the more entertaining, as fragments of it drifted into the living room as the Brenattos and Caduceus tried to reconcile their wildly different experiences of very similar things.

Luc had just finished asking Caleb what a cantrip was, drawn from his lesson notes for Beginner’s Transmutation. The boy climbed into his lap, resting his head against Caleb’s collarbone. At first, Caleb thought he was still groggy from his nap. Then:

“Uncle Caleb?”

“Ja?”

“Are you having a bad day?”

That was a far cry from most of Caleb’s interactions with Luc, where he was mostly playing the part of the fun uncle with cool magic tricks. Essek hadn’t spent as much time with Luc, and was still phenomenally awkward around both him and Yeza, and even he seemed to notice the shift. Essek froze, his eyes glued to the one spot on the page.

“What do you mean?” Caleb asked Luc.

Luc shrugged. “Your eyes are puffy.”

Caleb chuckled at that; trust a small child to have no filter. “Ja, okay. I cried a bit earlier. Your mother and our friends took good care of me, though.” He thought back to Luc’s question. “We all have bad days, ja?”

Luc nodded, face pressed against Caleb’s shirt. “I had a bad day yesterday.”

“Oh?”

“I was remembering something that hurt a lot. And sometimes when I remember it, I get really sad and can’t think about anything else.”

Caleb, unfortunately, knew exactly what Luc was remembering. Veth didn’t bring it up often, but she had occasionally mentioned that Luc would have entire days after waking from nightmares of fire where he was just… out of sorts. Not wanting to play. Or even shoot his crossbow. Caleb could relate to the feeling.

So he set his pen aside and wrapped his arms around Luc. “Ja, that happens to me, too. Shall we stick together for today? We can cheer each other up.”

Luc just nodded, and Caleb rocked him side-to-side. The boy was probably still recovering, both from his disturbed sleep and the depressive episode.

“You’re good with him,” Essek said later, when Luc had fallen asleep against his chest.

Yeza ducked his head out of the kitchen, probably concerned that Luc was up to mischief in his silence, but his expression cleared when he saw the boy was sleeping. “Thank you, Caleb.”

Luc was not only a child, but also a halfling child, so it was a simple matter for even Caleb to hold him throughout the day. He felt better having someone else to care for, and Luc seemed to find comfort in Caleb’s attention.

***

That evening, they all visited the Lavish Chateau for dinner. Essek was in his blonde half-elf disguise again while the group ate on the ground floor. Luc was still clingy with Caleb, but he genuinely didn’t mind. He balanced the boy in his lap while they ate dinner. The chef had prepared a mildly spiced rice dish for the table that was easy for both of them to eat in this situation.

Marion joined them, graceful and lovely as ever. Like Yeza, she had not held ill will for what had befallen her during Trent’s pursuit. In fact, on more than one occasion, she had joked that she should thank “that horrible man” for forcing her to spend time with Babenon while in hiding. The situation was still complicated between the pair, and Caleb understood those kinds of complications better than most of the Nein. But she seemed happier than she had been in a long time.

Jester had apparently updated Marion with every shred of information she had gleaned from the Nein, so Marion was already aware of Caleb’s new job, and that he and the lesbians had a house together in Rexxentrum.

“It’s quite the change, I imagine,” she said.

“Oh, ja. I still wake up sometimes and have to pinch myself.”

“If you ever find yourself in Rexxentrum,” said Beauregard, “we’d love to have you.” She even managed not to look constipated or aggressive while saying it, which was a far cry from the prickly woman Caleb had met in Trostenwald all that time ago.

Marion smiled warmly. “Unlikely, but I will be sure to take you up on the offer if the need arises. How is your work, Beauregard?”

She glanced at Caleb, and sighed. “Complicated. But Caleb’s ex is the new archmage in the Assembly, and she’s actually not a shitty person most of the time. So that helps.”

Marion looked to Caleb, amused. “How does she feel about your new partner?”

Gods, Caleb had never gotten to have this kind of conversation with his own mother. So, even though the reminder hurt a bit, he indulged her. “Oh. Uh. Well, you see…”

“Caleb’s had a threesome,” Jester supplied helpfully.

“I see.” Now Marion looked very entertained. “We all have hidden depths. The two people who came to warn us about your teacher?”

“Ja.” Caleb’s face was hot, and probably as red as his hair. “They are… respectful of us. But they also told me they would, ah…” He remembered there was a small child on his lap who absolutely did not need to go around telling people he would cut off their balls. “They would cut off an important part of his anatomy if he ever hurt me. So, I think they approve.”

Essek made a choked sound. “You did not tell me this.”

“I was preoccupied.” Caleb didn’t need to elaborate; Essek would figure out what he meant.

Essek relaxed marginally, and knocked their knees together. “Right.” He wasn’t the type for public displays of affection, even if he didn’t have to worry about drawing attention to himself.

Marion looked to Essek. “Good luck.”

He laughed nervously. “Thank you. I will need it.”

“You’ll be fine,” Caleb said. Astrid and Wulf cared too much for Caleb to hurt him, now that they were no longer in a situation where it was required of them.

“Moral of the story,” Beauregard said, already three cups in. “Caleb’s got game.”

“I really do not,” Caleb said flatly.

“Real recognises real, Caleb, and you’re lookin’ real familiar.”

Caleb sighed, relieved that Luc was preoccupied with a puzzle cube he had brought the Brenattos last time he was in town. “We have talked about this before.”

“Yeah, but it’s different in front of Marion. She knows what I’m talking about.”

Marion chuckled softly behind her hand. “Indeed I do.”

“Caleb’s a loving guy, if you know what I mean,” said Jester, and her eyebrow waggle was too much for him to bear. Caleb did not stop loving people, and while it was easier to deal with his feelings for Jester now they were both in stable, happy relationships, there would always be an edge for Caleb. A point where he had to step back.

Kingsley, also quite drunk at this point, was biting his lip while he watched Caleb. “Oh, really?” The flirting from Kingsley was far easier to handle, even if the ghost of Molly made any joy bittersweet.

“That’s quite enough, I think,” said Essek. Gods, Caleb was both relieved and terrified by how well the man could read him these days.

Kingsley and Jester both pouted, and Caleb pounded back his glass of wine so he didn’t have to look at them.

Later, as Caleb carried Luc through the nighttime streets alongside Essek, Veth and Yeza, Essek tugged gently on his sleeve.

“Maybe this is a bad time,” Essek said quietly, tilting his head to check that Luc was asleep. He was. “And I do not expect answers you do not wish to give. But, may I ask you something?”

Caleb glanced ahead, where Veth had grabbed Yeza’s ass; they weren’t listening to this conversation. “All right.”

“I know the nature of our circumstances means we cannot be together all the time,” Essek said quietly. “I had a… proposal, I suppose. I don’t know how to word it, or if you will be insulted. But I notice you are very…” He cleared his throat. “What the fuck am I saying? You are a sexual person, and I enjoy that very much about you. And while we are together, I am happy for us both to fulfill our needs with each other.”

“But?” Caleb had not fully recovered from Jester and Kingsley at the Chateau.

“Well, I was wondering. You know I do not experience attraction as often as you do. That I need to be close to someone, and I am close to very few people. You are the first in many years to have caught my interest in this way. But I know it’s not the same for you.”

“Essek, I love you, but please get to the point.”

“Right.” Essek chuckled, and it was out of sheer discomfort. “I just wanted to say, that if you choose to scratch that, ah, itch while I am not around, I would be okay with that.”

Caleb didn’t know what he had expected from Essek, but certainly not that. “Oh. Um. Good to know.”

Essek glanced around in the dark, evidently found nothing of concern, and kissed Caleb’s cheek. “You are still my priority in that department. And I want to remain yours as well.”

“You are.”

“Good. There will be times when we are apart for a long time. You are still mine, through all of it, but I don’t mind if you, ah, take your pleasures as you need them.”

“That is… generous.” Caleb’s mind was not coping with this conversation at all. “I will… think about it.”

The Brenatto home came into view at that point, and Caleb was relieved that it effectively ended this discussion. Caleb had never really talked about it, but he had also never hidden from Essek the fact he had a lot of feelings for many people going at any one time. Essek came first. Always. And he wasn’t sure if he would ever take Essek up on the offer to invite someone else into his bed in Essek’s absence. But it was good of him to say.

He felt seen, in a strange way. Even though Essek was firmly monogamous, and extremely demisexual, he understood Caleb better than most.

So, as long as Essek wasn’t being self-sacrificing by offering this, Caleb was grateful for it. Even if he never acted on it. He couldn’t think about it right now. Probably wouldn’t for a long time. And if he did think about it, he certainly would not be doing that while Essek was very much within his reach, rendering the offer irrelevant.

They stepped inside the house after Veth and Yeza, and offered to watch Luc for a while. Though no one said anything explicitly for fear of Luc waking and hearing the conversation, it had evidently been some time since Veth and Yeza had been intimate together.

So Caleb and Essek sat in the sitting room for a while, quietly working on their respective studies, with Luc napping in Caleb’s arms.

#caleb widogast #essek thelyss #shadowgast #critical role #cr2 #fanfiction #my fics #the pomegranate's professor widogast fic

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north-peach · 4 years

Text

Whoops, lemme fic it (SW)

So I’ve been tossing this idea over in my head, daydreaming, wordbuilding and talking to myself and I’ve had enough.

It’s time to come out.

So, I tried the SI fic once and I didn’t like how it turned out and it was a good few years before wrote one again. There’s a lot of good ones, done by good authors. Silver Queen, Shadowblayze, Vixen Tail, and Mullk6 to name a handful.

But I wanted a character who knew the depth and breath of canon and could fix it. In Star Wars. With Mandalorians.

Which is usually a self insert, but....wasn’t feeling it.

Then it shifted to time travel. Main characters generally revolved around Bly, Aalya Secura, Quinlan Vos or Anakin, Rex and Alpha-17. Then it was a mix, sometimes Padme or Ahsoka, Jon Antilles or Fay, thanks to @blackkatmagic.

Then it was Boba Fett, Jango, Arla or Jaster even Tarre Vizsla. Korkie Kryze, a mix of his father’s ‘obi’ sound with ‘kote’ as in ‘glory’.

It’s been almost a month since this thought sprang from my head, exactly the opposite of Athena, but here it is.

My first Star Wars time travel fic.

Bly doesn’t wake, not for a long time.

Even if he is aware of the pressure against bare skin and the alternating temperatures that cause him to shiver or sweat to beat across his face.

He doesn’t wake to the snack, crack of the whip against his back, nor to the claws that rake across his face, but as the days pass, it is pain that draws him back from the dark.

The cold metal of manacles around his wrists, the dull throbbing of his knees against cool, packed dirt. He doesn’t move even as chains rattle and as a weak light flickers in tiny bursts even though he can’t quite open his eyes.

Bly takes a deliberate breath, deliberately breathing in long and slow.

Ribs, is his first immediate thought as pain now screams in his head, followed instantly by, back.

His arms are numb, lips cracked, throat and mouth dryer then Tatooine and it feels like someone’s poured sand in his eyes and then glued them shut.

We release our emotions, our pain into the Force. We breath it back in and then stand and carry on. Lives depend on us. The trick to keeping the pain away is it set it aside and ignore it. But you need to remember, Bly, pain is our body telling us we’re injured. You cannot ignore it forever.

It’s her voice in his head, the memories always there as soon as he tugs them and he barely muffles a noise in the shifting of his chains because the last thing Bly remembers is a fractured and shattered thing that provides nothing to help him determine his situation.

Beyond the obvious of captured, separated and tortured.

A breath, another and his fingers twitch as he tries to get his hands to response to his commands.

He moves his eyes, scrunching his face, and ignoring the sting of scabbed wounds and manages to crack his eyes open. He’s in a room, surrounded by stone and bars. An electrical lamp flicker erratically in a halo of barely there light in the distance.

No one is there. He is alone.

He listens, strains his hearing, yet nothing so much as stirs.

Bly goes back to restoring feeling in his body.

A minute, two and then an unpleasant rush of pins and needles as sensation returns to his arms. Bly grits his teeth and clenches his thighs, his legs then curls his toes under his feet, allowing his body weight to force him to rock back, using the momentum to stagger to his feet.

Lights prickle against what little vision he has and the chains jerk and rattle as he uses them as leverage to remain on his feet.

Pain bursts across his back, down his legs, his knees, every motion and contraction of his body, his muscles sends signals of agony to his brain.

“Osik.”

The word is almost soundless, hissed between clenched teeth and formed from harsh, gasping breaths.

Bly cannot help how his body curls over it self, even if it sends the blood rushing to his head and makes him even more dizzy. He braces his feet and refuses to pass out.

He doesn’t know where Aalya is.

He doesn’t know who he was with, what he was doing, if any of his vod’e are here, Bly doesn’t know anything.

He remembers blue and gold, the blue of Aayla’s skin, the gold of her eyes, maybe the blue of the 501st? Was General Skywalker on mission with them?

Was... was Vos there?

There’s nothing but a blank space in his head, so Bly puts that away for now and takes stock of what he has on hand.

Which is, in short, a big fat nothing.

He’s in loose pants, thin material, covered in dirt and blood, no shirt, no armor, no weapons- even the small tools disguised as a ring, bracelet- he’s got nothing.

It looks like he’s chained up underground in a cave somewhere. That’s the only explanation for both his surrounding and the relatively cool atmosphere. There’s a door that’s barely even a door, just a large rectangular slab of rusty bars almost propped against the entry way.

He could probably kick it open, depending on how heavy it was, but that was once he found a way out of his chains-

Bly pauses.

Looks up at the roof of his cell where the chains are anchored.

Well, he thinks, an edge of amusement to himself, If I can take my chains with me, I’ll have a weapon.

__________

Honestly, later, if someone asked how long he was stuck there in the murky darkness working and working to pull the anchor points of his chains from the ceiling, Bly wouldn’t be able to say.

He stops and rests when the injuries on his back crack open, spilling blood down his skin and dripping onto the floor, when his ribs scream at him and his breath wheezes as he desperately tries to breath.

He doesn’t ever stop for long though.

Eventually he gets free, the rest anchor breaking free of crumbling stone and Bly sinks to his knees, wincing as pain flares up again.

A moment of rest, to wait until his breathing slows down enough he can regulate it for sleath.

Then he carefully wraps his new weapon around his shoulders, winding them down his arms. Slowly, he makes his way to the door that is currently the only obstacle in his way to relative freedom.

It was heavy as it looked, but several solid shoves and one frustrated kick and the door was free enough for him to squeeze past it.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to worry about directions at the moment because his cell was located at the end of a hallway and the only way out was forward.

So forward Bly went, creeping along the walls on bare feet, moving steadily down to where a single light was valiantly, but ultimately failing at lighting up the area.

Bly took a breath and walked past, heading deeper into the caves with no way of knowing which way was out, if anyone was waiting for him on the other end or even if he could find a way out.

Bly didn’t care because right now, there was an entirely unacceptable amount of space between him and his General and it needed to be rectified, right karking now.

__________________

Times passes and Bly has to take a breather, has to sit to wait for his legs, his hands, everything to stop shaking even as chills crawled up his skin.

He keeps going, keeps following the eternal hallway he seems to be trapped in. Occasionally he’ll come across other cells, but like all of the ones he checked previously, there isn’t anyone in them. Just chains, manacles, shakes, crude stone tables or chairs.

The weak lights are not quite evenly spaced out, but every cluster of cells has one in the middle of the block. He’s sure he’s passed about six blocks by now, and still no sign of this hallway ending or branching off.

A part of him wonders if he’s hallucinating, but the continuous pain for his body begs to tell him differently.

He trails bloodstained hands against the wall and so far he hasn’t randomly circled back around so he must be making progress.

You were modified to see better in the dark? Compared to humans, or near-humans, Twi’leks vision is considered superior, but without the Force, I’m thinking you’d win at Hide-and-Seek-in-the-Dark.

My favorite color? Tell me, if I said blue wh- no, I’m kidding! It’s gold Bly. W- No, not like my eyes! Like Master’s-

Bly can hear Aalya sometimes.

The way she laughed, said his name or how she would stare at him. When her mouth softened and she smiled so easily.

Bly keeps going.

______

Hours? Maybe days later, Bly hears voices that are, for once, not his or in his head. A soft murmur, nothing clear enough to make out words or the like, but Bly grits his teeth and quickly lunges into the nearest cell and flattens himself in a natural curve of the walls.

He’s lost weight during how ever long he’s been here, so he folds himself easily into the shadows and evens his breath down, ignoring the ever familiar spasm of pain his ribs makes with every movement.

A beat, two, three, longer and still the voices only murmur.

Bly slows moves from his hiding place only to step right back into it as the voices abruptly rise in volume along with a feminine scream of pain that rings off the walls and is swallowed by the darkness that leads down to his cell.

Gently, Bly uncoils his chains.

______

When enough time passes he can make out the heavy footfalls of two armored being’s footsteps and the unmistakable sound of dragging feet, Bly closes his eyes and concentrates on his hearing.

“-Ne shab'rud'niÖ, aruetii-”

“-aruetyc dini'la-”

The sharp sound of metal against flesh, followed by a harsh vocalizer.

“Ne'johaa!“

A faint moan, before one of the men laughs.

See, the thing is Bly isn’t considered Mandalorian.

In fact, Manda’yaim considers Bly and his brothers to be abominations. Soulless things created in a lab. Not to mention General Kenobi’s Duchess is a pacifist in the very worst way.

A Mandalorian with a Mandalorian’s stubbornness, determination and pride to be anything but a Mandalorian.

Good intention’s Satine Krytze may have had at the beginning but erasing everything that makes Mandalor Mandalor was not the way to go about bringing peace to her people.

Especially since the Duchess had the final say on if the Clones of Mand’alor Jango Fett should be considered citizens of Manda’yaim. Or rather, she just enforces Prime’s opinion that clones were not real people and this couldn’t be a people or a part of a people.

Jango Fett may have been some high ranked Mandalorian in certain circles, but the only reason why the clones even knew the languages is because of the instructors who adopted the older batches and how those clones would teach one or two- like Kote who became Cody, who taught Ret who was now Rex.

The language and the customs spread from the clones who were actually wanted down to even the shiniest of shinies. Of course, there were parts of their culture that they developed all on their own.

Being modelled after a Mandalorian, of course, meant that they shared the same traditions and quirks that they did as a consequence of being so closely related.

The colors, symbols and naming to mention a few.

Colors all had meaning, as did their placement, the same with symbols and the bucket everyone wore. Working with the jetiise as closely as they did, their culture took bits and pieces that resonated with the Vod’e and as it did with everything, spread to all the battalions.

But when he hears a threatening form of behave, traitor followed by two words that mean ‘traitorous’ and ‘insane’ preceding what is clearly an armored fist making contact with someone’s bare skin, Bly’s already pretty sure who’s side he’s on.

That’s even before he sees the dusty blue and the gray of beskar in the dim lighting worn by two people dragging what looks like a teenaged girl between them.

Kyr’tsad.

Kriffing, karking-!

Bly untucks himself from the shadows and creeps up behind the two, careful to keep to the walls until he lunges forward, throwing one of his chains between target two’s legs even as he losses a coil of chains around target one’s neck and pulls back.

His ribs scream, his arms shake, but he drops his weight and wrenches the shabuir back, his legs kicking out the catch the small space between armor plates on Death Watch’s lower back to toss him over and behind.

Target the second is already dropping the girl, pale blonde hair visible in the gloom and reaching for a weapon at their belt.

Bly doesn’t give them the chance, jerking his chain back instantly compromising target two’s balance.

Barely ten seconds in this fight and both of them are on the ground. Target one is still choking with the chain around their neck and Bly keeps yanking it back to ensure they stays that way.

The other, Bly goes in for close combat, using his chain as bet he can with his shoulders and ribs kriffed up, but he manages to get enough wrapped around their legs and a single arm that he’s able to jab his fingers into the hollow of their throat and jerk their helmet off.

Eyes, nose, mouth, all places Bly can do some damage, but his strength is flagging so he slams his palm into their nose, once, twice, thrice until the shabuir goes limp.

One down, one to go.

Bly cracks the chain and sends the last stumbling even as he palms a vibroblade and uses the weight at the end of the chain the move himself close enough to-

Bly swings up, twists and lets dead weight fall where it may.

A moment, two, three before he breaths again, carefully, adrenaline pumping through his body. He pulls the chain taunt and swings the blade down. Metal chips, but doesn’t break do he does it again, again, again until it gives and all he’s left with is a manacle around his wrist.

The process repeats until he’s free from the weight of chains and he’s free. An arm carefully wraps around his chest as he struggles to breath, but he forces himself back up, to rifle through the utility belts and pockets to see what other weapons or rations he can find.

The first pocket he searches has a whole flask of water and he immediately takes small slow sips,

He coughs, the taste of iron lingering in the back of his throat, but already his day is starting to pick up. Setting the water back down, he turns his attention to the small body crumpled on the ground.

Gingerly he makes his way over, easing himself to the floor and reaching out a hand-

-before pausing.

All three of them spoke Mando’a. Even in the dim lighting, Bly can see all the bruises up an down the girl’s arms. So he opens his mouth to speak, only to cough, his entire body lighting up in pain as his ears start to ring.

It takes a minute, but when he stops, he carefully wets his lips and tries again.

“Hey, ade.”

Silence.

In the hallway, there’s only the sound of his strained breathing and her soft breaths.

Bly doesn’t know if she’s faking or not. Either way, he can’t afford to take any more injuries.

He coughs again, hunching over and unable to avoid the low groan of pain that crawls up his throat.

He does his best to breath, there in the dark with the girl either genuinely unconscious or faking it. Either way, the pain is distracting him and he’s going to need to sit there for a moment before he attempts any other movements.

Regardless he tries again and ignores how his voice cracks.

“I’mma...I’mma need you to wake up here, ad’ika.”

His back burns where he’s leaning against the wall and he can feel the blood begin to drip again. He doesn’t know how much he’s lost, how many times he’s reopened his wounds, but considering how lightheaded he is, considering how everything is starting to close in on him, it’s probably more then recommended.

The world blurs around the edges and his awareness drifts away for a bit. Somewhere, far away, it sounds like Aayla singing, her voice echoing with the 327th Star Corps.

_____

“Gar shuk meh kyrayc.“

Bly blinks back to awareness.

The girl knees in front of him, short blonde hair framing a pale face. Barely out of childhood, even if she looks like she’s in need of a few good meals.

Then the words register.

He can’t help the amusement that wells up and huffs a laugh he immediately regrets.

“Here,” the girl says as she shoves a fist in front of him.

He flinches back, before stilling himself.

The girl doesn’t react, just holds up the water flask in her other hand.

“It’s for the pain. The tall one carried them.”

A breath, then he reaches out, ignoring the shaking on his hands, to let the girl drop two small pills into his hands while shoving the water at him. More careful sips as the pills go mostly dry down his throat.

“Vor entye,” Bly rasps.

“Ba'gedet'ye,” she says, eyes running over his face, his chest, a wary twist to her mouth. “You’re no use dead.”

Unnecessary for her to repeat that, Bly thinks. Scared, but brave. His lips twitch as he runs a searching gaze over the girl.

Torn clothes, almost identical to his own, only with a shirt and less blood and dirt. Thin wrists, lank and greasy hair, coupled with even more bruises he can see blooming everywhere on uncovered skin.

Including her face, one cheeks which sports several colors that frame lines of dried blood and a split lip.

Gently, carefully, Bly lifts a hand and hovers in front of the injury. Not touching, close, but out of reach.

“And you?”

She blinks, startled. The barest hints of confusion crinkle her brow.

Bly smiles, letting his hand drop.

“Are you hurt, ad’ika?”

A touch of fire burns in her eyes.

“You’re bleeding.”

It’s almost an accusation, the words falling harshly from her mouth.

He acknowledges the point.

“Lek.” He continues, more solemnly, shifting his weight forward to meet her eyes, slowly enough that she doesn’t react beyond tensing her muscles. “But Kry’tsad is not known for being kind.”

Slowly, the girl shakes her head.

A moment of silence passes and the girl watches him. Bly gets his breathing back under control and deeply appreciates as the pounding in his head fades along with the burning in his shoulders and arms.

“By any chance, have you seen a blue Twi’lek in any of the cells you passed?”

“We are the only prisoners in this place. There are none who come here, save for the tall one and the cold one, both of which you killed.”

Bly studies the girl, the way the strain in her features eases as she talks about target one and two’s death, the audible note of gratitude.

“Tion gar gai?“

“What is yours?”

The response to his simple question is instantaneous, her tone now biting and wary. He doesn’t react, only lets amusement tug at his mouth.

“Bly-”

(“There is a name that Mandalorians use when they are disowned or cast out from their clan or family. Some chose this name as a way to seperate themselves on their own terms. Others have their names taken and are left with this.”

“Considering that Jango Fett doesn’t considering us real people let alone his ade, do we call ourselves this?”

A humorless laugh.

“You always were the one who never hesitated to go for the throat, Kote.”)

“-just Bly.”

“Arla.”

Not a familar name, even if there’s something about her face that reminds him of- reminds him.

“Let’s get out of here, okay, Arla?”

The barest hints of a smile as Bly hauls himself to his feets and then turns once he can speak without screaming or making any other noises of pain, and holds out his hand.

Arla hesitates to reach out, before glancing over to the bodies.

“Can I have the blaster if you have the vibroblade?”

“How about we see if there’s another vibroblade you can carry and I’ll take the blaster?”

______

A more thorough search of the bodies produces another vibroblade, a small holdout blaster (which Arla claims), a large blaster (which Bly claims) rations, two lights that work and a new set of clothes and armor for Bly.

He makes Arla turn around while he strips the corpse of the tall one, a.k.a. target one and pulls on the armor under suit, which helpfully compresses his ribs and then begins to strap on armor.

“Were you conscious enough to see how many people there are in these caves?”

Arla’s voice is soft, but it carries well as she immediately goes into an information download.

“We came on a ship, just the three of us. There is no one else here. It’s supposed to be so secure that it doesn’t matter if you manage to escape, there’s no where else to go. Plus someone always comes to check every couple of days. Which is when, if they want you to live, you get food and water. This is where you get thrown when they want you to rot away and die in the dark.”

Bly hums, carefully clicking vambraces into place, pleasure briefly rising up in his chest at the decent fit.

“And the war?”

Arla pauses.

“I haven’t- They kept most of the information away from me, but sometimes I managed to hear things. Like how Kry’tsad has a sky in Mand’alor Mereel’s camp and how they’re planning how to lead them into a trap and kill them all in such a way to send a message.”

Bly blinks, as he finishes up with tugging the last piece in place.

“Mand’alor Mereel?”

Arla makes an agreeing sound.

“Someone let slip they’re calling him Mand’alor the Reformer. Vizsla gets really angry when he hears that.”

Mand’alor Mereel.

Jastor Mereel?

On getting access to the holonet, one of the first things the Vod’e who were interested in Mandalorian history looked up was the state of leadership. Kote was certain that he wanted to see who decided that they weren’t citizens despite being from a Mandalorain.

Jaster Mereel was the father of Jango Fett, before he died on Korda 6 twenty something years ago!

Bly took a breath, before spitting out a curse in Twi’lek, follow up by a very vehement “Force osik!”

Arla didn’t say anything when Bly walked up behind her, only stared to stare, distaste clear in the disgust on her face.

“Needs must, ad’ika. I need to find someone and the easiest way off this haran place is on the Death Watch ship you came in one. Which”, Bly slid the helmet on, the HUB automatically pulling up and activating night vision. “Will be a thousand times easier which me pretending to be Kry’tsad.”

Again, he held out his hand.

“Ba'slanar.”

A smile, small, but undeniably there as clearly seen by the display screen in his buy’ce.

Arla took his hand.

_________

The climb out of haran was nothing to sneeze at, but they made it. Upon exiting, Bly couldn’t help the noise of appreciation he made at the sun setting into the distance. Or rising. Either or. It wouldn’t matter in a few minutes as they would be leaving the planet, deserted and rocky as it was, it offered no appeal in water or wild growing plants.

The ship was there, ramp still down and Bly gently tugged Arla along, right into the ship and take that, General Skywalker!

Plan A, accomplished with only a minor deivation.

Minus the either confused youngling or the apparently very real possibility of time travel.

Aayla was still missing and Bly still had no idea if anyone else was missing or if it was him that was missing and not everyone else. For all he knew, this was something that only affected him and Aayla was completely fine.

Surrounded by the 327th and the 501st, plus droids.

Bly quickly ran through each and every room in the ship, Arla right behind him, gripping her vibroblade, clearing each space before moving on to the next one.

Cargo, armory, kitchen, berths, cockpit and a decent sized corner with padded seats and tables.

Bly also ran a lifesigns sweep from the main computer before he was satisfied. It wasn’t a large ship, but it could comfortably accommodate three to four people so it would be perfect for them.

He holstered the blaster and quickly ran through flight check before initiating the start up sequence.

Arla quickly strapped herself into the co-pilots chair, unable to contain the trains of excitement painting itself all over face.

Ramp up, engines fired, all systems green, Bly slowly poured power into the system and the ship lifted off this karking planet, landing gear folding up and away.

Before he turned around to launch into the atmosphere, he quickly toggled the weapons system, loaded up a missile and fired it without hesitation into the mouth of his former prison.

The resulting explosion of stone, dirt and fire would go a long way to ease nightmares for the next weeks.

Once they cleared the atmosphere, Bly carefully used the HUD to change all teh passwords, security settings and just generally switched out who the ship’s computer’s answered to before tugging it off and gently running a hand through his tangled hair.

“Well, ad’ika. I’ve no place to be, but frankly I could use a shower. How about you?”

Arla look up and smiled, eyes wet.

“Shower and food first. Then we find our people.”

The knot of worry in his chest eased somewhat at the assurance that now he was able to begin his efforts to find out if Aalya made it along with him and if any others did.

“Her name is Aalya,” Bly says, longing heavy in his voice. “I don’t remember much, but if she’s out there, I’ll find her.”

Arla, stands, equal height with him before holding out her hand. She wait unti Bly takes it before speaking.

“Arla Fett. I’m looking for my brother Jango. He should be with Mand’alor Jaster Mereel and the Haat Mando’ade.”

_______________________

....so uh. When I sat down like............................five hours ago I did NOT mean to write chapter one of fic. I guess I did though so....eh. I’ll go polish it up and post it on ao3

#star wars #arla fett #jango fett #bly #aalya secura #bly x aayla #time travel #fic #ficclet #chapter one #fanfiction

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isis-astarte-diana · 4 years

Text

Milk and Honey: Day 2

Day 1 ‖ Day 2 ‖ Day 3

Summary: “I don’t need your pity. I won’t stand here and be fussed over by some idiot human child.” Wounds healing and ego bruised, Missy self-sabotages. You pick up the pieces the only way you know how.

Warnings: Possible bit of self-harming/OCD behaviour (obsessive cleaning and fingernail trauma, nothing too heavy). Missy does not handle vulnerability well and she gets nasty, but then she’s such a soft troubled baby that we all collectively pretend that it’s not problematic. Unhealthy relationship dynamics and angst. MIHOW.

Word Count: 3615

NB: Oops! It’s angst. Mostly hurt, bit of comfort. Stay tuned and hopefully the fluff will be back soon!

You wake up warm.

The bedside light is still on, its amber glow shaming the thin autumn sunlight that streams grey from the window. When you reach over to switch it off, something drags you back.

Missy has her arm flung across your stomach.

Beneath the duvet, her hand presses just above your navel. You can feel the weight of it when you breathe. Her fingers are splayed across your pyjama top, gripping the fabric tightly.

You stop dead still, half upright. Inexplicable panic floods your chest. "Missy?" You whisper into the pillow, hardly daring to turn your head and look at her.

"Hmm?"

For a single bloodcurdling moment, you think she must have woken; but then she hums again, squirming closer, her nose brushing the back of your neck. Any relief at realising that she’s still sleeping is lost when her arm tightens around your waist.

You think of staying there. With all of your free time spent travelling in the TARDIS, you can’t remember the last time you were held like this. She’s soft and warm behind you, her breath stirring the fine hairs at the nape of your neck, sending goosebumps prickling across the sensitive skin there. It would be so easy to wait for just a few minutes. Half an hour, maybe.

She would never do this on purpose.

The disgust hits you so hard that you flinch. To lie here, taking advantage of her unconscious embrace, enjoying the sweet comfort of an arm around you and peaceful breathing behind you - what would it make you? What would she think if she knew?

You tear yourself away too forcefully, fuelled by the self-loathing that burns in your throat. Missy groans softly in her sleep but doesn’t stir, burying her face in the pillow where your head had been resting. You tuck the duvet back around her, pointedly not looking at the inch of milk-pale skin on her side where the shirt she wears has ridden up.

She looks better already. The angry graze on her cheek is fading, and the long, deep cut down the side of her face is healed and red with new skin. You wonder how long it will take for them to disappear completely.

It’s clear that the sleep is working how she’d hoped, so you leave her there. The clock on the bedside table reads 9:47. Gathering your things, you head for the shower. As you close the bedroom door, she opens her eyes blearily and mumbles your name. You don’t hear it.

+++++

“How’s the patient?”

The Doctor leans against the kitchen counter, watching you make tea. His hands are thrust into his jacket pockets and there’s a careful aloofness to his voice that does very little to disguise his obvious concern.

“Fine.” It sounds clipped. “She ate. She slept. Still sleeping, last time I checked.” You glance at the time on the microwave; it’s after twelve. “For quite a while now.”

“That’s good.” He reaches past you, snatching a biscuit from the tin and biting it in half. He speaks through the crumbs. “We heal better when we’re asleep. Sometimes go into a coma for a few days, wake up ravenous and fully recovered.”

“She mentioned that.” You take both cups into the living room and he follows, carrying the biscuit tin, going back for another. The bag of Missy’s things is sitting in your space on the sofa and you move it to the floor. It’s a floral, Victorian-looking carpet bag, not particularly large but, you’re assured, bigger on the inside and full of everything she’ll need.

“So what else did you talk about?” He props his feet on the coffee table and you scowl. Looking suitably chagrined, he takes them down.

“Nothing, really." Taking a seat beside him, you feel oddly embarrassed, as if the prior evening’s events were a delicate secret that might wither under his scrutiny. “We watched some telly, and then we were both pretty tired so we went to bed.”

You can feel his eyes on you as you reach for your tea, and your face burns under them. Mercifully he doesn’t ask about the sleeping arrangements. “She didn’t try to kill you, then.”

“Not even once.”

“I was tempted.” Your head darts up at the sound of Missy’s voice in the doorway. She looks more like herself, her face the familiar mask of malicious indifference, the wounds there having healed even further since you woke this morning. The pink skin on her cheek is bisected by a blurry streak of red. She’s taken the braid out of her hair, leaving it to tumble in loose waves about her shoulders. “No tea for me, I take it.”

“You were sleeping.” The Doctor looks her up and down. “Nice pyjamas, by the way.”

“Aren’t they?” She gives a performative little twirl. She’s moving more easily than she did yesterday, coming to a halt with only the faintest wince. “I might move away from purple after all.”

“I brought the things you asked for. Well, most of them.” He gestures to the valise and she snatches it up, fixing him with a suspicious look.

“Most of them?” Her voice is thin.

“I’m not convinced that whalebone is suitable for a stab wound.”

“I’m not convinced that I asked your opinion.” She tears the bag open, reaching into its impossible depths, staring at the contents. “My shoes?”

“Ah, well,” he rubs the back of his neck, leaning forwards. “I didn’t think you’d be going anywhere just yet.”

“My sonic?” She spits it out through gritted teeth.

“The sonic stays on the TARDIS. I’m sorry.” He sounds anything but apologetic. “I can’t have you using it without my supervision.”

“No,” she mutters. “No, of course not.” She closes it slowly, snapping the fastenings with a flourish of her fingers. “Well, if there’s nothing else, Doctor-”

“Actually, I was going to ask-”

“If there’s nothing else, Doctor,” she repeats, speaking over him. He falls silent. “Then I’d better go and make myself decent. Do stop by another time.”

She slips back into the hallway and you hear a door slam. Beside you, the Doctor clears his throat.

“I’d best be going. Lecture on Quantum Chromodynamics this afternoon. Still need to pick out the perfect record for it.” He stands up heavily, thrusting two biscuits into his pocket for the road. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Yeah.” Your eyes are fixed on the door. “Of course. See you soon.”

+++++

“Had a nice chat, did you?”

The bathroom door is open. Missy stands at the sink with her back to you, the tap running full force into the open plughole. Over the sound of rushing water and gurgling pipes her voice is low.

“Yeah, it was okay.” You move closer, gesturing towards her with the steaming mug in your hands. “I made you some tea.” She ignores you. Her attention is fixed on something in the sink, her hands busy with it. You peer around the doorframe. She’s wearing a clean chemise and nothing else, her hair pinned up messily, the muscles in her bare arms tight and flexing with the sawing motion of her elbows. “What are you doing?”

Her stained corset from the previous day is crumpled awkwardly in the sink. The bloody laces are directed under the freezing tap as she scrubs at them with a nailbrush, turning the water the colour of rust where it runs down the drain. Her fingers are a furious shade of pink from the cold and the rough work.

“He didn’t bring me any presentable clothes,” she mutters, not looking up from her thankless task. “No corset, no jacket, no shoes. He’d have me walking around in a housecoat and stockinged feet like an invalid.” She snarls, scrubbing harder, catching her fingers with the bristles. There’s too much blood in the water for it to all be leeching from the fabric; the delicate skin around her fingernails is ragged. Heart in your throat, you set the mug aside and reach for the tap.

“Missy, your hands-”

She knocks your hand away and turns on you. He’s obviously brought her some makeup; the injuries on her face are concealed and her eyes are lined heavily with kohl, flecks of mascara clinging to her lashes, dark lips stretched tight around her bared teeth. It’s hard to believe that she’s the same person who’d slept beside you last night.

��I don’t need your pity,” she snaps, the words poison in her mouth. “I won’t stand here and be fussed over by some idiot human child.”

It stings. After yesterday you thought you were getting somewhere; that you might do better than to tolerate each other, and actually start to become something like friends. Swallowing angry tears that threaten to weaken your voice, you bite back.

“I’ll bear that in mind next time you can’t get undressed by yourself.”

You regret the words before you’ve even spoken them. You understand that she’s lashing out at you because she feels weak, but it smacks of bullying and you can’t bear to be a punching bag for her wounded pride. Something sharp flashes behind her eyes.

“Oh, I bet you had a good laugh about that, didn’t you?” Her fingers, wet and cold as the grave, wrap tightly around your wrist. “He must have loved it.”

Softening immediately, you backpedal, realising the source of her rage. “Missy, I didn’t tell the Doctor about-”

She isn’t listening. She twists your arm up behind your back with startling strength, forcing it so high that your shoulder screams in protest and your words die in your throat. You’re up against the sink before you can draw breath. The tap is still running, icy spray soaking the front of your clothes. You brace your other hand against the slick porcelain and look down at the bloody water.

“Look at me!” Her teeth snap inches from your ear. Lifting your eyes to meet hers in the mirror, your breath falters at the expression on her face. In all the time you’ve known her, you haven’t seen rage like this. “Who am I?”

“You’re the Master.” Mouth dry, your breath fogs the mirror.

“I was reducing whole civilisations to rubble before your species stuck a feather into a pile of ash and drew their first hieroglyph,” she snarls. The threat in her voice makes your hair stand on end. “You’d do well to remember that.”

“I will.” The words come out strained. There’s a band of vice-like pain where she holds your wrist, an aching tightness in the muscles of your back that isn’t lessening. “I will. I’m sorry.”

She steps away so suddenly that you crumple, gripping the sink for support. Your forehead hits the mirror. As you squeeze your eyes shut and catch your breath, you can’t see the look of horror that flashes over her face.

When you open your eyes again she’s gone from behind you. Down the hall, your bedroom door closes. You stare into the sink until it starts to overflow.

+++++

You’re elbow-deep in soapy water, washing yesterday’s dishes, when there are four tentative knocks against the doorframe. You swallow hard and try to ignore them.

“Need a hand?” Missy’s voice is soft and hesitant.

“I’m fine.”

She doesn’t respond for so long that you think she must have left. You’re rinsing the last mug - the octopus - when she speaks again. It makes you jump.

“I’m sorry.” She sounds so genuine that your eyes flutter closed, pain twisting in your chest. “I’m sorry for earlier. That was- not my proudest moment.”

It takes you a second to steady your voice. “I didn’t tell the Doctor. About last night. About any of it.” Steeling yourself, you glance over your shoulder at her. She’s standing so far away. “He doesn’t know.”

“But you do.” It takes you by surprise. You turn around to face her, leaning against the sink. Her expression is implacable. Tracks of mascara stain her pale face; she’s been crying. “You know.”

You cross your arms and look away. The sight of her is turning your resolve into dust. “I understand that you don’t want to be here, Missy, but I didn’t ask you to come. That was his idea.”

“Wrong.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re wrong. It wasn’t his idea.” She scrubs a hand over her face, further smudging her makeup. Her fingers are trembling. She’s wearing the long violet housecoat, unbuttoned, over her thin chemise. Standing barefoot in your kitchen with her hair piled up in loose twists she looks like a ghost. “I don’t know what I expected to-”

“You asked him to bring you here?” You push away from the sink, your voice rising as you step towards her. She flinches, touches the wound on her back, leans heavily against the doorframe. “Why would you do that?”

“Because you’re the only one who doesn’t treat me like a criminal,” she snaps. Her words are tight with pain, and she bows at the hips to ease the strain on her back. “I’m a prisoner in the TARDIS as much as I am in the vault, but I thought that here I might be something else. Just for a few days.”

“I’m not keeping you here,” you snarl. “You can do whatever you like, as you took great pleasure in reminding me. You can leave whenever-”

“How can I?!” Looking up from the tiled floor, she fixes you with wild eyes. “How can I when he plays the warden and keeps my things from me on a whim? No clothes, no shoes, no sonic? Wherever I go the Doctor has my dignity under lock and key. What little sanctuary I find he takes, every time.”

“And you thought you’d take that out on me?” The trembling of your bottom lip betrays you. You bat at the mutinous tears in your eyes. “Put the stupid human in her place? Show me that you don’t-”

“That I don’t deserve your kindness.” She cuts you off, straightening up with obvious difficulty, her knuckles white on the door jamb. “Not so long ago I would have snapped you in half just to hear the sound it made. I have lived longer than you can fathom and done things that your language doesn’t have words for. I’m no stranger to regret, my dear.” The fury in her expression drains away and for a moment she looks as ancient as you know her to be. “So when I tell you that I am sorry for what I did to you, please understand what that means.”

Your throat tightens. She’s too easy to forgive like this, with her face lined with pain and her small frame quivering. She looks cold. The words sit heavy at the back of your tongue, ready to accept an apology whose sincerity you don’t doubt for a second. Swallowing them back, you murmur instead, “I think you need to sit down, Missy.”

She studies you with glassy eyes, breathing heavy. “Yes,” she whispers in the end. “Oh, yes. I think so.”

She slumps to the floor like a marionette with its strings cut. You land on your knees beside her just in time to keep her head from striking the tiles.

+++++

Despite your efforts, you can’t lift Missy onto the sofa. She’s fully unconscious and the dead weight of her is too much for you to move alone. Instead, you do the next best thing; you tuck a pillow beneath her head and a blanket around her, covering her from shoulders to bare feet, and sit in the living room to watch her breathing.

As the afternoon drags on, you make a late lunch - stepping carefully over her body to reach the kitchen - and pick at it, hardly tearing your eyes away from her for long enough to look at the television. You make no effort to be quiet but she doesn’t stir save for the soft noises she makes in her sleep and the occasional shift in her position. Recalling the Doctor’s words, you choose not to wake her.

“We heal better when we’re asleep.”

You have a torturous amount of time to think while she lies there. Did she sleep in the vault? What about the TARDIS? And before she came here, when she was travelling alone? The Doctor had told you once that Time Lords could go months without it and then spend the best part of a week unconscious. When the light begins to fail and evening falls outside the window, with Missy yet to awaken, you wonder just how long ago “the desert, last time” really was.

Phone in hand, you type and delete the same message over and over for almost ten minutes. The wording escapes you. Some iterations of it are huge paragraphs, wrought with pleading explanations; some are terse and demanding. The final draft ends up being one of the latter, sent before you can second guess yourself.

Bring her sonic tomorrow.

The response comes almost immediately. You open it with trembling fingers.

No.

Incensed, you don’t wait this time. Your jaw clenches with impotent rage as you reply.

Bring it.

You toss your phone to the other end of the sofa, ignoring the answering buzz that sounds angrier than an inanimate object has any right to. As if in response, Missy jolts upright.

It shocks you when she draws a deep, painful-sounding breath, her head whipping around, trying to make sense of her surroundings. Rising to your feet, you approach her slowly.

“Missy?”

She yelps at the sound of your voice, turning to look at you with wide eyes, reaching back to touch the healing injury when the sudden movement tugs at it. Her chest heaves with ragged breaths. The room is dim with autumn dusk, the overhead lights not switched on yet. In the gloom you can’t make out her expression; just those eyes, gleaming like a cat’s.

“It’s okay,” you say cautiously, showing her your palms in a gesture of surrender, trying to soothe her the only way you know how. “It’s okay, it’s just me.”

“What happened?” She throws it out like an accusation but there’s too much fear in her voice for it to wound you.

“I don’t know, you just- dropped. I think you passed out. It’s been a few hours.” Conscious of looming over her while she’s like this, you sink carefully to your knees, a few feet away. “Are you alright?”

It knocks the wind out of you when she throws herself into your arms.

“I thought you’d gone.” Her voice is muffled, warm in the crook of your neck as she claws at the fabric on your back, pulling herself closer. Your hands come to rest either side of the small of her back in an attempt to avoid the wound there. “I thought- I didn’t-”

“It’s okay,” you manage, stunned, propping your chin up on her shoulder. She’s shaking. “It’s okay. I’m here. Did you- were you dreaming?”

A stunted nod. “I can still hear them,” she croaks. “The drums. Always the drums. Whenever I sleep. Whenever I’m alone, they just keep coming back-”

“You’re not alone.” It spills out of your mouth before you can stop it and she whimpers, nuzzling deeper into your embrace. “I’ve got you, Missy. I’m here. You’re not alone.”

+++++

Propped up on the sofa with pillows behind her, Missy takes her makeup off with a damp cloth. She hisses as it drags over the graze on her cheek and your fingers twitch at your sides in sympathy.

“You’re sure you want to sleep here tonight?” As you tidy the remains of your shared meal from the coffee table, you resist the urge to look back at her. She’s lying awkwardly across the cushions, still wearing the housecoat, the blanket from earlier thrown over her body. “I really don’t mind if you want to share the bed.”

“No,” she answers too quickly. “No, I think- I think this is best. It’s easier on my back.”

“Of course.” The lie is paper-thin. After the day’s events, though, you don’t want to push her. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

“I will.”

The microwave dings as you set the dishes on the counter, and you remove the steaming mug of hot milk. It’s been a long time since you’ve made this. You add twice as much honey as usual - she takes four sugars in her tea - and stir it in with the spices, turning the drink the colour of sand. It smells like home.

Missy looks at you questioningly when you set it on the coffee table in front of her.

“Milk and honey,” you explain weakly, rubbing your neck. “My mum’s recipe. She used to make it for me, when I had nightmares. It helps me sleep.”

Her keen eyes follow you as you switch on the standing lamp and turn off the main light, casting the room in a dim orange glow.

“I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?”

“Yes.” She picks at a loose thread on the blanket without looking at it. Her face is unreadable. “Thank you. Sleep well.”

There are so many things you want to say. Come to bed, or I forgive you, or you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

As you slip out of the door, all you manage is a quiet, “you too.”

+++++

When the bedroom door creaks open you close your eyes and fall still. There’s a rush of cool air over your back as the duvet lifts at one side, and the mattress sinks behind you. Missy whispers your name. Smiling to yourself, you feign sleep.

#missy x reader #the master x reader #whump #doctor who fic #doctor who whump #doctor who reader insert #mine #request #headcanon: missy never sleeps bc she has nightmares #headcanon: missy is very soft and i wuv her

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theheartsmistakes · 4 years

Text

The Last Night Part XV

(A/N at end)

Parts I-XIV:

Here is Part I

Here is Part II

Here is Part III

Here is Part IV

Here is Part V

Here is Part VI

Here is Part VII

Here is Part VIII

Here is Part IX

Here is Part X

Here is Part XI

Here is Part XII

Part XIII

Part XIV

Part XV

Lucie’s Aunt Cecily and Uncle Gabriel’s house was an old brick-fronted Georgian house near the railway station. A suite of severe bottle green horsehair furniture occupied the dark-paneled front room, and Lucie tried not to slide about as she waited perched on the edge of a curlicued sofa. Heavy curtains disguised the elegance of the large windows and stopped the sun from penetrating. A thick Turkey rug in shades of purple and brown added notes of affluence. As she waited, she grew quietly more agitated at the impending conversation she had been practicing since dawn with Grace Blackthorn, of all people. She wished she had the moral strength, or the disciple to stay away as Jesse had requested, but considering what he requested was frot with idiocy and a cruelty unlike himself, she decided to ignore it. Still, after three days of his absence, she could almost feel him smirking in disapproval behind her, but without the courage to face her.

Or perhaps he was being as stubborn as she was.

Impossible, she was far more stubborn.

At last a door opening in the paneling and Aunt Cecily with her dark hair curled and pinned to rest against the nape of her neck, arrived with Grace following behind her. The girl always reminded Lucie more of a ghost than her brother ever did.

“I’ll have some tea brought in,” said Aunt Cecily. “You girls let me know if there is anything else I can bring you.”

“Thank you,” said Lucie, without taking her eyes off of Grace, as her Aunt quietly left the room. When the door clicked shut behind her, Lucie removed her gloves one at a time and placed them on the wooden coffee table in front of her. “And thank you for agreeing to meet with me. My aunt says that you haven’t been accepting much company. Is that because they all know what a conniving monster you are and you’re afraid of what they’ll say... or because you’re embarrassed by what they know?”

“Can it be both?” Grace asked down at her folded hands.

Lucie tilted her head. “You don’t get to sit up here and feel sorry for yourself.”

“That’s not what—“

“Not when my friend is lying on her death bed because of your selfish actions,” she said, straightening her posture as the maid walked in with a silver tray of tea and freshly baked biscuits. “Would you like some tea?” asked Lucie with contempt.

Grace shook her head.

“What you did was utterly abhorrent,” started Lucie, as she poured herself a cup. “Shackling my brother with some dark magic when he was nothing but a stupid, idiotic boy, without the brains or know-how to refuse a beautiful girl; all these years just stringing him along like a lost dog to use for your entertainment when you felt like it. Then, when he was finally free of you; engaged to the most perfect of humans to walk the earth since Raziel himself, and you kiss him, in front of his betrothed.”

“I can explain,” said Grace, though she kept her eyes on her hands which Lucie could now see were trembling.

“I didn’t come here for shallow explanations,” said Lucie, surprised by her cruelty. “If you wish to confess your sins then find a church, I am not here to pardon you. I am here about your brother.”

Grace’s eyes lifted then and widened at Lucie’s words.

“Jesse Blackthorn,” said Lucie. “And don’t bother telling me that he’s dead and has been for years, I already know all of this. What I want to know is where you have his body and your plan for resurrecting him?”

Grace peered at her closely as if looking for signs of madness.

While Lucie would have much rather found this knowledge out herself, she’d come to realize after hours of laborious concentration that if she were going to bring Jesse back from the dead without the last breath of his life, then she was going to need some assistance. And since Jesse, the heartless coward, was no longer responding to her, she decided that the only person in the world that she could possibly alliance herself with was Grace. Grace who lived with the corpse of her dead brother for years inside a dusty old manor. She realized that he may never speak to her again if she did manage to raise him from the dead, but at least he’d be alive.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Grace. Still looking slightly confused. If Lucie didn’t know better, she might believe her blank expression.

“Since you’ve stained yourself an unbelievable liar and a pathetic loner, I’m going to tell you a secret of mine that no one else in the entire world knows aside from my awful brother, but before I disclose this information, if I find out that you’ve told a soul what I’m about to tell you, I will tell everyone what Cordelia and I walked into that night before she left,” said Lucie, looking Grace directly in her solemn silver eyes. “I will destroy your reputation beyond repair that not even Charles Fairchild will stand to look at you.”

Grace’s face dropped, horrified.

“I can commune with the dead,” said Lucie, and sipped her tea. “Your brother,” she willed herself to say his name, “Jesse. I’ve been talking to him for months now. He saved my brother’s life with his last breath that he’d been keeping for himself, for that I owe him more favors than I can possibly repay in this lifetime. I want to help bring him back.”

Grace, who wore an expression, as if Lucie had reached across the room and slapped her suddenly blinked after a long time of not. “Is he here now?”

“No,” said Lucie. “We’re not on speaking terms at the moment. He’s being stubborn. Though, I suspect he’s not far away.”

Grace released a ghost of a laugh that sounded more like a breath. “He’s always been quite stubborn, Jesse. Always.” She gave Lucie a solemn look that roused in her the slightest trickle of sympathy for the girl she considered her enemy. “But I’m afraid I cannot help you.”

“Why not?” Lucie rose as Grace did, preparing to block her path from leaving the room. “Don’t you want to see Jesse alive again? Isn’t that why your mother has been preserving his body all this time? You’ll just leave him to settle in-between realms when he so utterly deserves to return to this one?”

“Of course I want to see my brother alive again,” said Grace. “But you don’t understand what you’re asking.”

Lucy set her teacup and saucer down on the table and straightened again. “I know exactly what I’m asking. I’m not naive enough to think this isn’t dangerous or ridiculous, but I’m also desperate enough to believe that it will work. And since you’ve made yourself quite the social pariah of our small circle, I’m offering you something of a partnership.”

Grace smoothed her pale hands over her lace skirt, embroidered with snowflakes made of gold thread along the hem. “And what would James or Cordelia think of this partnership?”

Without hesitation, Lucie answered. “They needn’t know of it.”

Grace sunk back down onto the sofa, her quicksilver eyes focusing on the teapot in the center of the silver tray as she spoke. “My mother, she was an awful woman— is an awful woman. A tyrant and a bully, but she was not always that way. The world was cruel towards her since her childhood. Death always knocking on her door, but never for her, just for those she loved. It made her cruel and vicious.”

Lucie fought the urge to insist that she already knew all of this and move Grace towards the part where she agreed to help, but she reached for a biscuit instead.

“Death begets death begets death. Did he not tell you, my illusive brother? You cannot take from death without giving to death first and sometimes it takes more than its share.” Grace twisted a silver ring around her middle finger. “I’ll help you, but I’ll ask you first Lucie Herondale, only once and never again, what are you willing to lose to death for the return of my brother? What life are you willing to exchange for his?”

The biscuit turned to ash in her mouth and it took a great effort for her to swallow. Names flashed before her eyes: her mother, her father, James, Cordelia, Uncle Jem, her aunts, uncles, cousins, friends… But before she could answer, her aunt Cecily appeared in the doorway, a letter in the hand that rested at her side.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you girls, but your mother’s sent word,” said Cecily to Lucie. “Cordelia is awake and she’s asking for you.”

Lucie stared out the carriage window the entirety of the drive home, her hands fussing with the fabric of her skirts as London went by out the carriage window. Her thoughts flooded with what Grace had told her about bringing Jesse back from the dead. If what she’d told her was true, and she wasn’t entirely sure that it was, she’d need to find another solution and soon.

Why didn’t Jesse tell her? She wondered. Why didn’t he say anything? He must have known and instead of simply explaining what it would cost to bring him back from death, he ran away like a petulant child.

Recovering her composure by taking a steady breath through her nose and out her mouth, Lucie tried to think about her situation in a less objective way. It was a trick her father had taught her as a child when she was sad or angry. To analyze the problem in a larger, more empirical way would, he always said, improve her mood and her intellect at the same time. Though she now thought it possibly a very unsuitable response to a crying child, she often found herself rearranging her problems as if planning to present them in a small treatise.

Besides, she couldn’t think about her situation with Jesse now. There was a more pressing matter at hand. Cordelia was awake. And Lucie's intricate web of lies to keep Belial’s agenda unknown until she could figure out how to bring Jesse back to life and anyone finding out about her ability would only draw unwanted attention to herself. She needed to know how much Cordelia remembered of what Belial said to Lucie and how much she’d already told the others.

Lucie was out of the carriage before the driver could open the door for her. She gathered her skirts in her hands and took the marble steps two at a time and burst through the doors and nearly slid to a halt on the wood floors as her eyes befell Cordelia standing by the front window between her mother and Alastair.

All of Lucie’s worries suddenly vanished like steam from hot tea into open air.

Cordelia looked a vision standing in front of the floor to ceiling stained glass window, cut with colors to look like a lake with a shining angel hovering above it. Lucie took in every detail in her mind to use in her writing later: elegant in a pink silk dress that hugged her frame. Her vibrant red hair had been twisted back in a coronet with tightly wound curls hanging in her face. Her skin lush with color in her cheeks and her eyes were alert as they caught Lucie. A sad smile broke across Cordelia’s face as she looked upon her friend.

“I’m sorry!” Lucie shrieked and ran the rest of the way towards her friend with arms outstretched. Cordelia opened her own and welcomed Lucie without hesitation. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up. I should have been—“

“Careful, Lucie,” said Tessa sitting on the couch between her father and Uncle Jem. “Cordelia is still healing.”

Lucie cursed, which earned her another scolding from both of her parents this time.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated to no one and everyone.

Cordelia’s smile brightened as Lucie released her and stepped back. “It’s alright. I’m not as fragile as they’ll have you believe.”

“She is,” said Sona, who also appeared healthier than when Lucie had seen her last. “She won’t admit it, but she is.”

“I will mind myself perfectly,” promised Lucie, with a nod. She made a face only Cordelia could see and understand, earning herself a laugh from her oldest friend.

“May we have a moment,” asked Cordelia to the people in the room. “I wish to speak to Lucie alone, if that’s all right.”

Sona looked to be about ready to disagree, but Alastair took her hand and led her towards the doorway that went into the dining hall. Tessa, Will, and Jem followed after leaving Cordelia and Lucie alone.

“Should we sit?” asked Lucie. “Are you still in terrible pain?”

“Not so much anymore,” said Cordelia, as she lowered herself onto the sofa. Though the way she angled her body showed that she favored her left side some. Sitting beside Cordelia, Lucie could see what she could not before. The dark shadows underneath Cordelia’s once bright and vibrant eyes, now dull by what she’d seen; what had happened to her. The dryness of her once smooth lips. The veins in her neck and dark bruising along her chest that peaked out from the lace collar of her dress.

The memory of finding Cordelia collapsed in the sand at the feet of Belial, like a broken doll, assaulted Lucie. Her mouth went dry and her eyes burned as the sound of her screaming Cordelia’s name through the wind echoed in her ears.

“You look well,” said Lucie, her throat tight and unlike herself. “You didn’t miss much while you were asleep. We were all scolded something terrible for going after you without informing the adults. We’re all on a strict curfew and cannot go out in large groups unless it’s for something mundane.” She reached forward and took a biscuit from the center of the coffee table. She took a bite and chewed for a moment, dusting the crumbs from her skirt, thinking of a way to approach the Belial subject without frightening Cordelia back into a coma. “Probably for the best. My brother and his band of— whatever they call themselves— can use a little restriction.”

Cordelia tensed a fraction, but enough for Lucie to notice. She quickly went over her words to see what she might have said and realized that her delinquent brother was not amongst the people in the room when she’d arrived.

“You haven’t spoken to him?” asked Lucie.

Cordelia shook her head.

“Good,” said Lucie. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Consider me your personal guard. I will shield you from his presence at all times.”

Cordelia’s mouth twitched at the corner. “Thank you,” she said, “but I think it’s important that we talk if I’m going to be staying here a bit longer with my family.”

“A bit longer?” Lucie inhaled. “You’re still leaving for Alicante?”

Cordelia nodded. “Once everything settles down and I remember what it is that happened to me inside the shadow realm with your— with Belial.”

Lucie could not restrain a slight start of shock. “You— you don’t remember anything?”

Cordelia only shook her head, those intricate curls falling across her face as she looked down at her hands. “I only remember leaving the institute with Alastair and then everything goes dark. Brother Zachariah said that it’s not uncommon for memory loss and that what I might have suffered was traumatic.” She said the word as if she didn’t quite trust it. “It’s the mind’s way of protecting itself. They told me that you were there. That you rescued me.”

Lucie could hear her heart beat in her ears as she met the expectant eyes of Cordelia, searching for the pass that would free her of London, James, Belial, and the memories that came with all three.

When Cordelia left that fateful night after finding Grace and James in the throws of passion, and Cordelia told Lucie that she was leaving with Alastair to return to Alicante indefinitely, she’d been overwhelmed with a dreadful loneliness that she often felt as a child when James would dismiss her to play with the other boys including Anna, and all Lucie had were her stories. While stories were a wonderful place to spend her time, some intrinsic part of her craved companionship, if not someone to share her stories with.

And then she met Cordelia, and not only did she have someone to share her stories with, but she had someone to fill her stories with. She wanted to write many more adventures of the beautiful Cordelia; their adventures as parabatai, when it was unexpectedly ripped away from her.

And now, she was being presented a second chance. But, as with everything, it came with a terrible price.

“Lucie?” said Cordelia, as if she’d been saying it for some time. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Lucie nodded and reached to take Cordelia’s hand in her own.

“They said that you brought me back from the Shadow realm?” asked Cordelia. “How? What did Belial say? Why did he want me?”

“He was after James.” And there went another strand to the web of her lie. Lucie released Cordelia’s hand and smoothed out her skirt. “I suppose word got around of your engagement. Apparently even in the Shadow Realm, engagements announcements do not go unnoticed. He thought that if he captured you it would draw James out of hiding, but instead I arrived. I tried to kill him, but he cannot be killed by earthly or heavenly weapons, and since I have nothing to offer Belial, he threatened to kill us both and return our corpses.” She went on perfecting her story as if she were writing at her desk and not lying to her friend. “He was about to do it too, but I managed to convince him that wasn’t in his best interest. If he killed me then he’d never gain access to James. So, he settled for your life instead. You did a wonderful job convincing him of your death. I, for a moment, believed it myself. The next thing I know, we were falling through what appeared to be a dark tunnel and when I opened my eyes again, we were back on the street. James found us moments later.”

Cordelia frowned. “He was after James?”

“Yes,” said Lucie, taking another bite of her biscuit. “Poor company that brother of mine. Biscuit?”

Cordelia shook her head and while she asked no further questions, Cordelia seemed to ponder Lucie’s story.

The door to the foyer burst open followed by a cacophony of loud voices and even more obtrusive footsteps as Thomas and Christopher walked into the Institute, arguing with someone over their shoulder about being five minutes late.

“Thank you for this information, Thomas” said Matthew following behind them. “Years of academia and study and I never did manage to learn how to tell time.”

James emerged last, his hands tucked in his trouser’s front pockets, as he extended his leg back to close the door. A smile curved on his mouth that did not reach his eyes then wandered towards the sitting room where Lucie remained beside Cordelia, watching her friend intensely.

Cordelia stood, her dress falling around her ankles, her fingers gliding over the fabric as she said, “Hello James.”

(Author’s Notes: Hi guys! I hope you’re all doing well. Thank you for the kind words on the last part. I missed writing/reading with you guys and I’m so thankful that you all came back to The Last Night. I have a new obsession, I’ve finally read Sarah J Maas’s A Court of Thorns and Roses. Have you all read this? Am I super behind? It’s amazing! I love that story so much, so if my blog is suddenly splashed with ACoTaR, then ya’ll know why now. It’s just SO good! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, please hit that reblog and spread it around, give it some love, leave me a comment about what you thought, and follow along for updates. Okay, love you guys, bye! Next update Sunday 9/13)

#the shadowhunter chronicles #The Last Night #jordelia fanfiction #jordelia #james x cordelia #james herondale #Cordelia Carstairs #lucie herondale #jesse blackthorn #grace blackthorn #the last hours #chain of gold #cassandra clare #Matthew Fairchild #christopher lightwood #thomas lightwood #tessa gray #alastair carstairs

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