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tanith-rhea · 2 years

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Neighbours

Miranda just broke up with her fifth boyfriend of the year. It is September and she is starting to feel done with juvenile relationships and thinks it's time to settle down and focus exclusively on her Policing Bachelor's. To this effect, she moves to a new apartment to start the new no-relationships (or at least no-men) chapter of her life. Shame that her new neighbour seems to disagree with that… at least when she’s sleeping.

Word count: 3k

Part One, Part Two

I love this gif by @kingpreciouswrld so much, thank you!

Your new neighbour is the cutest person you’ve ever laid eyes on. It’s no big deal, obviously, but it would be stupid to deny she is the person with the biggest puppy vibes you’ve ever encountered.

You first saw her coming back from a workday. She was just moving in, a few boxes in the corridor, some blocking your door. Your previous apartment was a disarray of disassembled furniture and all manner of clutter.

You missed your old apartment, but it was for the better. The new one, just across the corridor, was a one-bedroom at almost half the price, it was also half the size, but you could not care less, being only you.

“Hey, do you want some help with this?” you remember asking the bent-over girl lifting the heavy-looking boxes.

She didn’t respond immediately, instead turning around to look at you with white-blond eyebrows up on her forehead.

“Oh my god, sorry! Am I blocking the way?” she tried to flatten herself in the wall, but the box was still very big if you were to pass.

“No” you chuckled, amused with her sweet but ineffective attempt at making space “I live here, actually” you knocked on your door and shrugged.

“Fuck I’m blocking your actual fucking door” she seemed exasperated with herself, turning slightly pink. She was so adorable you felt your stomach bubbly. Maybe you would throw up rainbows, who knew?

“It’s no problem, really. I can just open it and jump over the box. I’m asking if you want help” you tried to smile gently. Most of the time your smiles were snarky or smug, so you didn’t have much practice conveying niceness.

She bit her lip and you wanted to curl into a ball and scream in happiness. How the hell did she manage to be so cute? You wanted to punch her.

“All right… yeah, thank you. If you’re serious…” she gave you a sheepish smile and you promptly lifted some boxes as well.

The boxes were indeed damned heavy. It only made you admire even more how easily she seemed to pile two or three of them and bring them inside. She could throw you across the room without breaking a sweat, you were sure.

She thanked you again and you tried to act normal and said she could just shout if help was needed. You were just across the corridor anyway.

She didn’t shout for help. She didn’t even call for a chat, actually. You left early in the morning to work and came back close to six when she was already inside, you assumed, watching television or playing games or whatever you assumed students did these days.

The only interaction you had after the moving in was when you came back from work two days later to find a chocolate cake on a paper plate with a “thank you <3” note on it. The heart and her handwriting were very round, and you thought she must have had one of those teachers that made kids write four pages of calligraphy with every homework.

You didn’t even have the excuse of giving the plate back, and what would you say if you simply knocked on her door? Hello, I think you are adorable and would like to spend time with you even though we are just neighbours, and I don’t mind if you don’t find me attractive, I just want to look at your cute as fuck face? No, that wouldn’t do. You just had to accept your predicament and move on.

But the mind is a funny thing, and countless nights of not sleeping enough and rewatching Buffy, The Vampire Slayer atop the stress of applying to culinary school were just the thing it needed to decide it was time for a good old sleepwalking.

The first time it happened you woke up trying to open the door to your old apartment at four in the morning. The hallway was dimly lit by the soft blue nightlights kept for those who stumbled home after a wild night out or left to work in the ungodly hours of the morning. You went back to your own apartment, drank very cold water and decided an early start was as good a decision as any. You made scrambled eggs for a change and actually had breakfast before leaving.

The second time was the same. You woke up cold with your hand twisting insistently in your neighbour’s doorknob. By the fifth you were starting to get frustrated, and by seventh, you were beginning to consider telling Miranda about your predicament, lest she decided to go for a midnight walk and find you trying to break into her apartment.

But you didn’t have the chance. The eighth time, Miranda forgot her door open, and your sleepwalking self was satisfied to finally be able to enter her “home”. You woke up with a searing pain in your head.

“Are you awake? Are you all right? Oh gosh, I’m so sorry, you scared the shit out of me!” your neighbour’s voice was a high-pitched audio on 2x velocity.

Her hands were on your face, and you were sprawled on the rug of her living room.

“What…?” your heart rate was slowly rising, and you didn’t understand what was happening. You were partially used to waking up in the hallway but laying on the ground with a panicked Miranda on top of you was at least a bit disorientating.

“I think you sleepwalked into my home” she took a deep breath, trying to lower her volume “I heard something bumping from my room and came out to see a figure down the hallway… so I hit you with a frying pan”

“You did what?!” the absolute nerve! Well, actually you invaded her home, so good on her for defending herself “What if I was a real burglar? You would come at me with a frying pan?” your head was still aching, probably where she hit you, but you gave her a side smile.

“I’m at policing school for something, aren’t I?” she went up and offered you a hand smiling, she seemed relieved.

Policing then. That made sense considering her height and strength, but you could swear she was an artsy one, maybe sculpting and drinking herbal tea or whatever.

“Sorry, officer, didn’t mean to cause any trouble” you joked, getting up and patting your pyjamas.

“Next time I’ll have you arrested” she arched a brow, amused.

You definitely wouldn’t mind that. Ok, that was enough. She was cute, yes. It was the middle of the night and she had bed hair and her blouse was hanging off her right shoulder but that didn’t give any right.

“I’ll, hm… go then” you pointed behind your shoulder to the door “You probably want to go back to sleep… I should too” you smiled tightly, trying to keep the swagger or whatever, look cool, even if you had just invaded her home, flirted with her and stared at her unguarded form probably still warm from sleeping.

She seemed to jump at that, realizing the circumstances, and looked at the clock. Almost five, damn.

”Oh, you could actually stay. It’s not a problem” she speed-talked at you.

“Are you sure…? You could still sleep around… two hours?”

“Classes start at eight, might as well make use of the extra time” she shrugged, smiling contently “But you don’t have to stay if you don’t want” she quickly added, seeming less confident.

Jesus, the girl was a rollercoaster of emotions.

“No, sure. I’ll stay” you smiled, and she seemed satisfied with that “Actually, I’ll make you breakfast. You go shower and get ready and I’ll make you panda-shaped banana pancakes” you blinked, trying not to laugh at her confused look.

“All right…” she walked slowly to the hallway “Will you need help in the kitchen?”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll find my way” you reassured her, and she nodded shortly before disappearing into the bathroom.

Miranda was the funniest girl you had met in a long while. She was direct and innocent in a hilarious and charming way. After two or three pancakes she was asking you about your preference for sleepwear bottoms or what brand of toothpaste you used. You also discovered she swore off men after five bad relationships in only a year. That was interesting but discouraging at the same time. For one, she wasn’t interested in pursuing a relationship with a man, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t straight. Chances were that she was, from how she talked about men, and that was at the very least really disappointing. You thought you had a chance when you first saw her, but that just went to teach you never to judge a book by its tall, beautifully breathtaking cover. She was an absolute lesbian thirst trap, and it was hugely unfair.

At least now you were friends, not simply the person across the hallway, and you could be content with that; if not jumping excitedly in gay bliss, but that was ok.

One breakfast turned into eating junk food over at your place, watching Buffy because you still had one season to go for your fourth rewatch, and talking about all manner of things. Miranda was in the third year of her bachelor’s degree, halfway to graduation because she studied only in the mornings. She was twenty-one, two years younger than you, and apparently had fooled around with some girls in the past; mostly just “straight and curious” as she put it. She didn’t seem too happy about it, and you didn’t touch the subject again.

Almost an entire month of eating at each other’s places and watching whatever was on television went by and you could almost lie well enough to yourself that you weren’t slowly falling for her and were just happy for becoming closer and closer friends with her. But then it happened.

You had drunk a few beers together while Miranda did some research for a paper she was due next month. It was late and you were napping lightly on her shoulder when she leaned on your hair and kissed the top of your head.

“You can go sleep if you want, I’ll finish this in a bit anyway” she murmured close to you and in your half-sleeping daze you only agreed with a hum and went to the bedroom.

Her bedroom, in the apartment that wasn’t yours anymore.

She saw you walk down the corridor and didn’t say anything, which was strange. Some people didn’t mind having friends sleeping over, but you were going to her room, not the guest’s, and still, she didn’t utter a word. Later, she went to sleep as well. You were already deep in a dreamless sleep unlike you’d had in a long while. She slipped in the covers beside you and brought you to her chest, you sighed contently in the crook of her neck while she played with your hair until she too fell asleep.

Waking up in Miranda’s bed was the sweetest sensation. Her body was warm, all tangled with yours, and she snored softly with her head atop yours. For a few seconds you were in heaven, and then the situation finally dawned in your head. You were sleeping in Miranda’s arms. How the hell did that happen? You remembered last night as if it was… well, yesterday. She said you could go to sleep, but she didn’t specify where, and your sleep-deprived brain took you to the exact bed it had been trying to get you into for at least a week and a half some time ago. And Miranda did nothing. Actually, she didn’t “do nothing”, she went and slept with you in said goddamned bed.

“I can hear you thinking” a sleepy voice came from atop you; Miranda was awake and hugging you while pressing her nose to your hair. She made a contented hum and hold you tighter before letting you go, sitting up “It’s all right, this was your apartment, I get that you would go to your old room if you were sleepy and not thinking clearly” she smiled, letting you off the hook.

She was so unfairly beautiful with pillow marks on her cheeks and sleepy dust in her eyes, a dopey smile not at all timid, but warm, before getting up and crossing the corridor to the bathroom.

You were in hell. You also were in heaven, but it didn’t belong to you. Miranda was your friend; she was straight and very much not interested in a relationship at the moment. She said so herself, countless times while drunk and complaining about ex-lovers, whom you wanted to beat to the ground for not seizing the opportunity of catching her eye, thank you very much. You could not continue doing this. You were far too invested for your own good and it was time to take a step back and reflect.

You got up, knocked on the bathroom door to say you were going home to get ready for work and left.

The following days were horrible. Miranda would come over with takeout only for you to lie about a headache and wanting to sleep, or you wouldn’t come back till it was late enough that she would be inside watching tv. Sometimes you said you had work stuff to sort out, which you didn’t, and she knew because you worked at a café. It also wasn’t a good enough excuse because she did college stuff all time at your house and it never was a problem. She knew what you were doing, and she didn’t stop you. Maybe she was relieved.

It was Saturday night, almost a week after the “I can’t keep lying to myself that I love you” incident. Miranda hadn’t knocked in two days, and you were eating ice cream on the sofa while indulging in some well-deserved skin care consisting of tears and self-pity when a voice sounded at the door.

“Hey… are you there? I can listen to the tv” it was Miranda, of course it was.

You knew you were being a drama queen, but you enjoyed those stages of breakups where you could cry all day and stuff yourself with sweets. It didn’t mean you wanted her to see that.

You hid the ice cream underneath the coffee table and furiously cleaned your face in the hem of your t-shirt before opening the door.

“Hi! Sorry, I was just cleaning, everything is a mess today, I’d prefer you didn’t see it” you didn’t even give her a chance to speak.

She looked easily over your shoulder, noticing nothing out of place.

“Of course, I wouldn’t want to interrupt” she looked at her hands, squishing each other nervously “Listen… I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I’d like for us to go back to normal” she sounded so sorrowful you wanted to bang your head in the wall for being the cause.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable” one truth “it just has been a busy week, I really wish we could have hung out more” two lies, well, one and a half. Could she spot which was which in your voice?

She looked at you uncertainly, her hands clenching like she needed strength to proceed with whatever she wanted to do.

“I understand your position in this situation, and I respect it. It was inappropriate of me to take advantage and a completely absurd assumption as well” she closed her eyes forcefully for a few seconds, her brows furrowed tightly before looking at you again “I can keep my feelings to myself and be only your friend. Everything would be normal; I wouldn’t even touch you if you’d like”

What the hell was she on about? Keep her feelings to herself, what the fuck?

“What? Randee, you didn’t take advantage of me, I slept on your bed. You could have kicked me out if you so wanted, it was your right, and you didn’t. You were actually decent and pretended it was all ok and reasonable”

She seemed confused, and you were starting to feel a bit frustrated at the situation. Nothing she said made sense.

“No, it wasn’t right of me because I wanted it!” she had to stop speed-talking at you like this, you could barely understand her “I could have slept on the couch, or in the guest room, but no. I slept with you… because I wanted to, and because I could… and now I wish I hadn’t because you’re pulling away from me and I feel like you don’t even want to be friends anymore while I can’t get enough of even being near you”

…

What now? Your heart was eerily calm for what you’d just heard. Did it stop and you were dying? Would it expand and explode from the absolute incredulity of what you had just heard?

Miranda’s bottom lip was trembling and she looked alarmingly close to breaking down in tears when you lunged yourself forward to hug her.

She sobbed, heavens allow it to be in relief, and hugged you back with much more strength than you could take. You could barely breathe but you didn’t pull away.

She started crying this time, but you traced soothing patterns in her back until it subsided and brought her inside to sit on the sofa. You brought up the ice cream starting to melt from underneath the coffee table and offered her. She accepted and ate while sobbing. It was the sweetest, most wonderful thing you’d seen in your entire life. You cuddled up to her side, hugging her shoulders while she calmed down. You could barely keep your excitement from showing now that you knew she wanted you back. This incredible woman wanted you back.

When she finally calmed down and put the ice cream aside, you loosened your grip on her shoulder and looked at her face, her puffy red adorable face.

“I wanted to as well,” you said simply, looking her in the eyes, hers locking into yours with a surprised glint “And I couldn’t deal with the feelings I had so I decided to keep my distance”

She was silent for a moment, searching your face for any signs you weren’t saying the truth.

“Do you still?” she asked slowly, looking at your lips.

“I do” you whispered before smashing your lips together.

#miranda hilmarson x reader #would you look at that #top of the lake #miranda hilmarson #constable hilmarson #gwendoline christie #female reader #fluff #humour #just some lighthearted fluff #there will be smut #just got too long for a single post

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darcydarlingdabbles · 4 months

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Me: I am a smut writer. I write filthy, dirty, smutty smut.

*all my fluffy af posts about my precious kicked puppy murderer character*

Me: ...shut up

#Astarion is turning me to mush #this is supposed to be a side smut blog #not a secret fluff stash #There will be smut #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #wyllstarion

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vaya-writes · 9 months

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Not Quite A Life Debt - 2

A handful of f reader insert scenes with m demonic love interests. Fluff, hurt/comfort, and smutty shenanigans that lean kind of poly.

You (kind of unnecessarily) tried to save Ludwig’s life. Out of pity, he lets you crash at his place for a few weeks after. It probably wouldn’t be so bad, but he doesn’t live alone. Reader stays with the triplets until she gets back on her feet. Smut, family shenanigans, and possibly even romance ensues.

You settle in and meet Ludwig's family. There's a bit of a mix up regarding what humans can safely eat, and the start of some bonding with Obie. 3300 words.

Content warnings for this chapter include references to the last chapter (recovery from injury, very brief use of an inhaler, and mention of alcoholism), profanity, detailed food descriptions, food not safe for human consumption, someone (not reader) calls themself ugly and believes it. Divider by firefly-graphics. Also tagging @eldritch-spouse so she knows her clowns are being featured again.

Masterlist - A03 - Previous - Next

You’re pretty dazed when you step into Perdition.

The events leading to this moment were stressful. Losing so much in so little time, having nowhere to turn; it’d all be overwhelming on its own. As it is you’re trying very hard not to break down in front of Ludwig, your new acquaintance.

But moving to hell? That’s a whole new level of crazy you’re not quite ready to deal with.

You take in your surroundings with a distant sort of interest. Ludwig leads you through a rough looking neighbourhood. It’s not the nicest place, sure, but you’re taken aback at how mundane the place is. Sure, there are demons in every window, and clustered around some doors and corners. There’s the flash of magic here and there, and things you'd rather not look too closely at. But it had never occurred to you that demons would require housing too. Would have their own suburbs and addresses.

You’d laugh if it wouldn’t trigger a coughing fit.

“So, I know you’re probably feeling,” Ludwig glances down at you, searching for a tactful word, “delicate, about now. But there’s a chance my family will be home.”

“Yeah?” Your voice is hoarse.

“Yeah. We were supposed to do dinner this week. But then you were in hospital and I had to postpone. My brothers will probably be lurking around until that’s dealt with.”

Meeting people. You could handle that. Perhaps not right now, when you’re still clad in a hospital gown, and stumbling from exhaustion. But maybe after a nap?

“Ok.”

You travel another block or so before Ludwig comes to a stop before a two story home. It’s fairly unremarkable, if a little worn down. You might call it well lived in.

He mutters a curse. “They’re home.”

You wince. “I haven’t-” you hesitate to say you haven’t met a demon before. After all, you’ve known Ludwig for about a day. But still, meeting more than one right now is intimidating as fuck. Being here makes you nervous enough that you almost forget the week you’ve had. “Uh. Is there anything I should know before I meet them?”

Ludwig frowns. Bothered, but it doesn’t feel directed at you. “Do you need a crash course in demonology?”

“Uh,” you just want to sit down. “Not today?”

His face crinkles some more. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking, with his eyes always kind of closed. He lets out a long breath. “Obie is a glutton. Literally. He’s chill, but don’t leave anything small around him. Or your food unattended, if you’re particularly attached to it. And Mervin is a pride demon. He talks a lot of shit that he only means half the time. Expect to be criticised. It’s absolutely a front, but he can’t help it.”

You bite your lip. “Sounds... kind of stereotypical?”

“They’re stereotypes for a reason.”

You realise you’re missing a key piece of information. “And you are..?”

He blinks. (You think.) Then cracks the first smile you’ve seen him give. “Not obvious then?”

You look him over. He’s of average build, a light red in colour, hooded eyes that he barely keeps open, and a set of ribbed horns of moderate size. Perhaps his type might be obvious to another demon, but you don’t know enough about demonic physiology to hazard a guess.

“You slept through a building fire. Are you from Sloth?”

He leans back, surprised, you think. “I’m from the common ring. Type is genetic.”

You wait.

“I thought you’d guess based on,” he waves at himself, “colour, but yeah, sleeping through a fire is a bit...” he trails off. “Let’s not tell my family about that.” He stands straighter, recovering. “I’m actually a wrath demon.”

You should probably feel something when he tells you that. Concern. Fear. Something. But you’re experiencing something akin to post exertional malaise. And it’s definitely rounding off your thoughts with apathy.

You shrug. “Okay.”

He seems confused. “Okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. Okay. How am I supposed to react?”

You’re pretty sure he’s staring. But after a moment he slouches. His voice softens. “Did you have any questions?”

“Is there anything you think I should know?”

He turns away. “Uh- not really. I... I know humans can scare easily. I’ve a bit more awareness of my outbursts than some wrathful types. Just... I suppose, ask before touching my things?”

It sounds easy enough. You look up at the house with a sigh. “Alright. Can we get this meeting over with? I’d like to shower and then sleep for another week if possible.”

He smiles again; the slight turning up of his lips. “That could be arranged.”

---

Any other day and you’d be intimidated as fuck. Strange house, strange people, strange new rules, and you don’t know the half of them.

You take comfort in the fact that Ludwig’s brothers are just as surprised to see you. The purple one – Mervin, you learn – stares daggers at you, silently contemptuous. Obie, the yellow demon with crooked horns, at least smiles, and shakes your hand.

Then Ludwig is whisking you away to the spare room. “This used to be ma’s room. She didn’t leave a lot behind, but there might be an outfit or two. There’s an ensuite so you can have that shower you wanted.”

“An ensuite and nobody uses this room?”

He snorts. “We could never agree who got the room after ma moved out. To put things lightly.”

The room is plain but it’s the nicest you’ve stayed in in a long time. The bed and wardrobe alone are luxurious compared to the hotel you’d been staying in. The clothes are a different matter.

After rummaging through the drawers you hold up some pants, and try not to frown. “I think your mum’s body type is very different to mine.”

Ludwig eyes the pants and huffs. “Yeah. I’ll see if anything of mine would fit you better.”

He brings you some supplies. A towel. Clothes. Some soap. And then you’re left alone.

---

Obie manages to keep his questions to himself. Even Mervin had kept his comments to a minimum, instead leveling Ludwig and his human with looks that could be deciphered as exasperated. Appalled. They wait until Ludwig comes back downstairs before facing him. Even then, they managed to hold off a little longer, until the sound of the shower begins upstairs, before giving him a proper dressing down.

“Dude, what the fuck?”

“You missed ma’s birthday for a human? Do you know how devastated she was? You could have called? Texted? Sent a fucking letter-”

Ludwig sighs. Claps Mervin over the back of the head – somewhat viciously - before sitting at the table. “I did call, Merv. I told ma what had happened and got her damn blessing to stay on the surface. You’re just mad I didn’t tell you.”

“Of course I’m mad. I cleared my schedule for this! What could be so important that you could just blow us off?”

Ludwig laces his fingers under his chin. Would happily tell Mervin- if he hadn’t kept ranting. Pacing around the kitchen, gesticulating with anger. He shares a look with Obie, one honed by decades of dealing with the pride demon’s antics together.

Obie understands. Gets up. Herds Mervin into a chair (even as he keeps talking). Cages him in with hands on his shoulders.

“Shut up, will you? Do you want his explanation or not?”

Mervin cuts off, sneering at his brothers. “Fine. Speak.”

Ludwig grits his teeth. Has to swiftly decide which parts of the event to share. Not the drunkenness. That would just worry them. And if he tells them what you actually did to help, they’d probably experience the same bewilderment, the same condescension as he had. Mervin would have nothing but scorn for you, forever mocking your intelligence.

“I was doing a layover in some backward little town when the locals tried to hate crime me.”

His brothers straighten, attention immediately caught.

“I’m fine. Obviously.”

“What did they-”

“They set the hotel on fire.” Ludwig huffs at their expressions. “I know right? Anyway, the girl tried to step in and help. People weren’t happy about it. She lost her home for the trouble. I offered to let her stay here or a while.”

Mervin almost fluffs up, objections ready to spill, but Obie beats him to it: “That doesn’t explain why you were gone for several days.”

Ludwig winces. He supposes they will find out about your blunder after all. “She’s been in hospital. She charged into the fire to try and help me. Inhaled a lot of smoke.”

Mervin scoffs. “So she’s stupid.”

Obie digs his fingers into Mervin’s shoulders. “Sounds like she’s kind.”

Ludwig shrugs. “A bit of both, from what I can tell.”

Mervin still sneers. “And nobody else could take her?”

“No. I did not get that impression.”

Obie shrugs. “Then there’s only one thing for it. She stays.”

Mervin frowns. He’s definitely going to complain. But Ludwig spears him with a look that leaves little room for argument.

Instead he stands. Scoffs, as he shoulders Obie aside. “You’re a bunch of soft-hearted fools.”

---

The family dinner is rescheduled for the next day. You don’t care for the details, as long as you’re allowed to sleep. Using a real bed, in a quiet room is a wonderful treat compared to sleeping in a hospital ward.

You woke when Ludwig had knocked. He’d brought you a bag of chips – a surface brand you recognise. You tore into those rather than risk the kitchen and running into the other occupants of the house.

You’re not sure how much time had passed when you finally creep downstairs, drawn by the smell of cooking food. You’d slept in. Presumably. With the strange lighting in Perdition, the lack of clocks in your room, and your phone being flat, you haven’t an idea of the time.

The yellow one is busy in the kitchen, cooking with practiced ease. There’s meat in a frying pan, while eggs cook in another. You watch as Obie cracks an egg open– it's large, too round, and certainly not from a chicken. You almost miss the way he tosses the shell. It flies in a perfect arc before landing in his open mouth.

You hide your wince before making your way to the dining table. Ludwig sits at it, in deep conversation with another yellow demon. This one a plump woman with her hair styled neatly. You try not to stare, but she’s honestly the first demon you’ve seen with hair.

Her deep green eyes flick to you and she smiles. Her voice is pleasant. Sweet. “This is her?”

Ludwig nods, and introduces you to his mother, Katia.

She seems lovely; fussing over you while you wait for dinner and asking if you’re well. She asks about your pain, your sleep, how you’re settling in. When the conversation meanders back towards herself and her family she chats about her sons in a way that’s frankly endearing. You catch a darkness on Ludwig’s cheeks that might even be blush.

You actually manage to relax, smiling and nodding along politely, answering questions here and there. Thankfully she doesn’t ask you anything too personal. It goes on until Mervin joins you at the table and Obie brings out the food.

You stand and offer to help, to set the table, but Obie and Katia brush you off, the later insisting that you’re a guest, that you’re unwell – you should be resting.

They’re not wrong. Even the small amount of conversation that you’ve made has left your throat feeling agitated. You have to use your new inhaler before settling in for food.

Obie serves you your plate. There’s eggs, toast, sausages, and fried meat. It all looks familiar, but distinctly off. The egg yolks are too small, too green. The meats have an almost purple sheen. The toast is oddly shaped, like it had risen differently.

Still, you don’t want to be rude.

It’s been said that you’re a little stupid.

You certainly do nothing to detract from that argument when you cut a small piece of meat and toast and take a bite.

In your defence, you’re hungry. You’re being polite. You don’t want to rock the boat by asking somebody to accommodate for your very basic and important needs.

Regardless, you can’t help but hesitate at the taste. You chew carefully and swallow while sensation spreads across your tongue.

“So... what are we eating?”

Four heads turn your direction. They blink.

“Oh fuck,” Ludwig swears.

You pale at his oath, freezing before you can cut another bite.

The taste begins to sink in. Savory. Rich. Intense. It’s nearly overwhelming the way your mouth alights. You do your best to keep a straight face, but fail.

Mervin mutters something. Some insult. Some comment on your intellect. While Obie jumps up. Fetches a glass from the kitchen and fills it with water. “I’m so sorry, Bon. I completely forgot- here, drink.”

The water helps. Barely. It still takes a minute for the taste to start to fade. You end up drinking the whole glass, hoping to dilute the taste of whatever the fuck you just ate. Not that it was bad. Just... unexpected. Overwhelming. You’d never had a taste threaten to overwhelm you before. It's certainly a new sensation.

There’s a myriad of embarrassed looks around the table. You’re glad you’re not the only one. Hoping to diffuse the tension, you joke “Nothing poisonous I hope?”

Obie shakes his head. He looks almost downtrodden. “No. Just... food local to these parts. I forgot that humans aren’t used to it.”

“I’ve some junk food stashed in my room,” Ludwig stands, “Earth brands, so it should be safe.”

Obie shifts, “yeah, about that...”

Ludwig stills. Stares hard at his brother, you think, before turning and stomping towards his room.

There’s a silence before-

“You insatiable fucking rat. What have I told you about touching my things?”

“Mervin, go stop your brother from getting too worked up.” Katia intercedes, calm as still water. “Obie, you need to replace what you took. Now.”

Obie grumbles and stands. He picks up his plate and literally tips the contents into his mouth, jaw unhinging impressively to accommodate the mouthful.

You try not to gape.

He turns to you. “Wanna come with? You can pick out the foods you like?”

You glance towards the hallway, where you can hear two raised voices, now coming closer. It’s an easy choice.

You join Obie by the door, stepping into the sneakers Ludwig had leant you. “Sure.”

---

It’s an effort not to gawk at everyone you pass. Now that you’re rested and slightly more cognisant, everything around you seems novel. You’d flitted from small town to small town for most of your life. Hadn’t seen many monsters at all, let alone demons.

Here, they’re everywhere. And you notice, with gradually increasing discomfort, that they’re also very much aware of you.

You make it to a market. Obie grabs a shopping trolley and leads you towards the ‘interspecies foods’ aisle. They have a basic selection of human foods there, but there’s enough that you won’t have to eat the same thing every day. Mostly.

Obie carefully picks out some sweets and chip packets, scowling all the while. “I can’t even remember the specifics. Do you think he’ll notice if I get the wrong chocolates?”

You spare him a glance, before going back to monitoring your surroundings. There are even more eyes on you now. “I don’t know. As long as you get him a kind he likes?”

He hums his agreement, and starts filling the cart, comically emptying out an entire shelf.

“I think people are staring.”

“There’s a glutton in a grocery store, of course they’re staring. You gonna pick what you want?”

“Will they take my money?”

He pauses to consider. “No.”

Your stomach picks a bad time to rumble.

Obie gives you a pat on the head. “Not to worry. This time it’s on me.”

You’re relived, but your anxiety only lessens marginally. This family is already housing you. You don’t want to rely on them for food too. Gratitude tends to run thin in the face of inconvenience.

You pick out a couple of things. Sandwich fodder. Cup noodles. Milk. But Obie doesn’t seem to notice your hesitance and empties out several more shelves of your favoured foods. Soon you have enough stock to last you weeks.

Maybe he does notice. Because he prompts you to pick something else. Firmly redirects you towards the aisle again when you make to leave. “Nobody goes hungry in our house.”

Until the shopping trolley is full. To the point where overflow is a risk. You watch Obie balance more onto the precarious pile, impressed by how much he’s managing to carry.

The sight fills you with amusement. Enough that your anxieties ease, if only for the moment.

But once you leave the store, your concerns resurface.

“They’re still staring.”

You can’t help but glance down at yourself, self-conscious. You are wearing a pair of tights from Katia’s supply and one of the shirts Ludwig had leant you. It’s oversized, but not horrendously so.

“Don’t worry, Bonbon, they’re staring at me.”

There’s that nickname again. It’s sweet. Almost ridiculously so, and you’re not sure if you’ve done anything to earn it. It distracts you enough that you almost forget the stares. But you can’t help but circle back to them.

You don’t really believe him. Maybe some of the stares are levelled at him? But it seems to you that everyone is gawking at the human.

“Why would they be staring at you?”

“Well, I’m kind of ugly.”

Your head jerks in his direction, unbidden. You haven’t heard somebody describe themselves so frankly since- well you’re not sure if you ever have.

You regard him carefully. Search for the source of his comment. He’s the same build as his siblings. Yellow, in a pallor that is obviously inhuman. Average, as far as demons go, with two horns and tail. His horns are asymmetrical; curved and bent unusually. He has the same thin spade tail as his brothers, except the length of his is visibly kinked in several places. It lacks fluid movement – twitchy almost in a way that makes you think of broken bones and nerve damage.

Still. You wouldn’t consider him ugly. Just different. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs. Gestures to what you had observed. His horns. His tail.

His casual demeanour is almost forced. You start to suspect that he was being quite serious when he called himself ugly.

It bothers you enough that you step closer to him and speak in a murmur, “you look fine to me.”

He huffs a smile. “Well, aren’t you sweet? Don’t worry about me, I’m used to it.”

His lightness irks you. You almost pout. “Nobody here looks normal to me. I don’t know what demons are supposed to look like. So you can believe my unbiased opinion when I tell you that you look fine.”

He looks away. Seems to consider. Before shrugging. “I’ll take your word for it.”

You can tell he’s not taking you seriously. This time you do pout. You push past your discomfort and link your elbow with his.

His head whips towards you, surprised at the contact.

You ignore his shock. “I’ve got a lot of gaps in my knowledge about demons. Want to fill me in while we head back?”

He turns away, quiet for a moment, before shrugging again. “What did you want to know?”

#vaya writes #eldritch-spouse #monster romance #demon romance #jazz hands #ive been working on this instead of sts #hope ya'll enjoy #and yes #there will be smut

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booksteaandtoomuchtv · 9 months

Text

Weekend Getaway (1/3)

AO3 | 2 | 3

RATING: M

SUMMARY: When Emma's roommate drags her to get a live Christmas Tree, she ends up trapped at a Christmas Village for the weekend. Fortunately, the village had a bar and a bartender that Emma wants to get to know better.

Tagging: @anmylica, @deckerstarblanche, @elfiola, @goforlaunchcee, @jrob64, @kmomof4, @pirateswhore, @stahlop, @teamhook, @tiganasummertree, @undercaffinatednightmare, @xarandomdreamx, @zaharadessert - DM me if you would like to be added/removed from the list.

"You're coming with me," Ruby announced as she banged into the flat. The front door crashed against the wall before closing behind her. Wearing a red knit sweater with a Christmas tree on it that actually lit up and arms heavily laden with shopping bags, she was the bright spot - literally - of Christmas Cheer that Emma was certain she did not order.

It wasn’t that Emma hated Christmas or anything quite so dramatic. But if given the opportunity to skip directly to New Year’s Eve after Halloween, she would happily accept. There was no escaping how dreadfully lonely her life had become since she’d driven away from Storybrooke after - Nope, not going there.

"We are getting a live tree this year! Get your jacket, let's go." Ruby continued, not waiting for Emma to acknowledge her.

"Those are fire hazards. Plus, where would we put it?" Emma gestured at their tiny, crowded living space.

Ruby grunted as she deposited the bags on the nearest chair. She grabbed Emma's boots and threw them at her, "Put 'em on."

Scowling and grumbling, she clicked off the TV and shoved her feet into her boots.

It was impossible to deny Ruby anything. They came to the city together a few years ago to get over their broken hearts and discover a life outside of their small town. They'd helped nurse each other through the heartbreaks, acted as both wing-woman and excuse for one another - depending on what the night demanded, and endured the challenges of being artists in a big city together. Ruby had landed a part on an off-broadway play and Emma was in her second season at the New York City Ballet. It took several failed auditions, many pints of ice cream, and the constant support from one another to get them this far.

"Let's burn down the building then."

"That's the spirit!"

§§§§ §§§§ §§§§ §§§§

They drove for hours, leaving the city behind for the snow-covered, rolling hills of the upstate. While singing and dancing to old favourite songs, they passed several signs advertising various Christmas tree farms. Ruby would shake her head and drive by them. After the tenth one, Emma finally asked where they were going. “I found the perfect farm online.”

At Emma’s sceptical look, Ruby continued, “I promise, there is something special about the one we are going to," Ruby explained. "I can just feel it, you know?"

Emma released a resigned sigh. Ruby was impulsive and spiritual, believing her intuition was a powerful force that should not be ignored. Emma needed something a bit more concrete to guide her decisions.

Ruby slowed at a lane that was much like any other they had passed all day, except this one sported a faded red pickup truck with rounded fenders that was wrapped in fat, colourful light bulbs. A hand-painted sign welcomed guests to the Jones' Christmas Tree Farm for sleigh rides, hot cidre, hot chocolate, and to cut and carry home their very own tree from its stand on the stained wooden slats in the bed of the truck.

As they bounced along the uneven lane, Ruby cleared her throat. “Don’t kill me…”

“No promises.” Emma tore her attention from the endless rows of firs and spruces lined outside her window to glare at her old friend. The ice in that glare would have stopped the hearts of mere mortals. But, this was no mere mortal. This was Ruby Lucas and nothing could hinder Ruby’s excitement once it gained momentum.

Ruby smiled brightly at Emma and pulled a duffle bag from behind Emma’s seat. “I booked a cabin for us for the weekend. We were just saying that we needed a little break and they had so many fun things and, wait until you see the farm, it is beautiful!”

Emma had planned to set up a station on her couch and binge-watch garbage telly. Not spend a weekend on a farm, much less a farm that would doubtlessly be filled with families and couples buying trees the entire time. This was definitely worse than the countless movies featuring smiling men and women in red or green sweaters in front of a highly decorated tree that were beginning to populate every channel she surfed, right? Yes, she decided, it was. Ruby had driven her directly into the ridiculous small town that featured in the background of one of those ridiculous movies and was making them stay for the entire weekend. This was not what she had in mind when they were talking about their holiday. Sun, sand, and sangrias had featured in her dreams. Not snow, cidre, and Santa.

“They’d better have hard cidre or spiked egg nog,” Emma muttered.

“Like I would spend a sober weekend in a cabin on a farm!” Ruby shot Emma a wounded look.

Emma snorted and shook her head. “Well, that’s something, at least.”

“Oh, hush. This will be a weekend to remember.”

The lane opened up to reveal a stunning farmhouse with snowy Christmas trees in rows lining the hills sprawling in every direction. A red barn stood out brightly in stark contrast to the white landscape. It would have been breathtaking, Emma thought, if not for the Christmas Village that stood before the barn under twinkling fairy lights.

"Our cabin better be out of town."

"Well...it is close to the Holly Jolly Tavern, I think."

"RUBY!"

"I know how much you hate Christmas and we are changing that this year. Your heart will grow three sizes and Tiny Tim will live after all."

"Wait...am I the Grinch or Scrooge?"

"Yes." Ruby laughed, throwing the car in park. "I'll check us in, why don't you go find your Christmas spirit?" She mimed taking a shot before getting out of the car and walking toward the farmhouse, leaving Emma in the passenger seat of the old car, quickly growing cold, wondering why she allowed Ruby to pull her into these ridiculous situations in the first place.

§§§§ §§§§ §§§§ §§§§

The Holly Jolly Tavern was, thankfully, more Tavern than Holly Jolly. Sure, a decorated tree stood tall in the corner near the fire crackling in a large hearth and large multi-coloured bulbs were strung along the walls. And, of course, the drink specials had cutesy holiday names and instrumental Christmas songs played softly in the background. But, the bartenders weren’t dressed as elves or in tacky holiday sweaters and the tables and chairs were your standard sturdy wooden pairings found in drink establishments everywhere.

Emma sat at the long bar and scanned the wall of spirits trying to determine what best fit this situation.

“What can I get you, love?” The low voice was charmingly accented, and it sent chills down her back. She turned toward the bartender and met brilliant blue eyes that stilled her heart. He wore a crooked smile that made her think very dirty thoughts about his lips and the amber scruff framing the sharp line of his jaw.

“Whatever your favourite drink is,” Emma answered with a flirty smile. She thanked whatever gods were watching that her voice sounded steady, her mouth was suddenly so dry that she'd expected it to crack.

He nodded at her request and started pulling together ingredients for her drink. She watched him at his task, mesmerised by his movements and the way he focused so completely on his task. She wondered what it would be like to have that focus directed solely on her and her pleasure. She felt her cheeks heat at the thought and turned away in an attempt to hide it, but his eyes danced with mischievous humour as he handed over her drink, telling her that she was caught. Luckily, he was kind enough not to comment.

She studied the bright red drink, cranberries and mint floated in the glass, and a thin lime garnished the rim of the tall glass. It looked refreshing and exciting. She wondered if this was truly his favourite drink or a cocktail he had mixed for her using that special power great bartenders had - that uncanny ability to know exactly what a patron needed based on a single glance.

“A Cranberry Mojito,” he told her, leaning on the bar before her. Her eyes lingered on his well-defined arms and the unfair way they were stretching his deep blue knit sweater. “What brings you here, um?”

“Emma,” she answered for him, “And, oh, I don’t know. I guess that I have always dreamed of living in one of those ridiculous towns from those cheesy Christmas romances.”

“Pleasure, Emma. Killian,” he said in that musical voice. “I take it this trip wasn’t your idea, then?”

“Nope. My roommate surprised me as we were pulling in - Ohhh! This is good.”

He smiled in triumph at her approval. “The trick is making the simple syrup from scratch with fresh cranberries.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Emma said before taking another sip of the deliciously sweet and tart drink. “Is this truly your favourite drink?”

“Tonight, it is.”

“Your tastes change so often?” She teased, her eyebrow lifting to emphasise her innuendo.

“I’m not so fickle as that, love. I am partial to rum, but not so dull as to only take it one way.” Killian replied, meeting her gaze. The heat in the depths of his sapphire eyes made her stomach tighten in response. This man was too good to be anything but trouble.

Mmm, but it would be some good trouble.

“That looks fantastic! Can I get one, too?” Ruby’s voice shattered the tension building between them.

“Coming right up, love,” Killian answered immediately. His eyes lingered on Emma’s a moment longer before he turned to mix Ruby’s drink.

“It’s a Cranberry Mojito,” Emma explained, turning to look at Ruby. “Here, try some while you wait.”

Ruby’s eyes were wide and she was biting her lips together tightly to suppress what Emma knew to be a wolfish smile. Emma shook her head subtly, pleading with Ruby to not say a word. Ruby nodded excitedly at her in approval of whatever she had read into the exchange she interrupted earlier. Emma frantically shook her head - whatever you are thinking, stop thinking it!

When Killian returned, setting Ruby’s drink on the bar before her, Ruby pounced. “So, what is your name?”

“Killian,” he answered with amusement laced in the melody of his voice.

“And what does your girlfriend think of you making eyes with your patrons, Killian?”

Emma sputtered and coughed as she tried not to choke on the sip she’d taken before Ruby’s obvious question. Ruby turned to Emma, earnest concern etched on her face, while her eyes danced with humour, “Are you okay, Emma? Need some water?”

Narrowing her eyes at Ruby, Emma shook her head. Her breath was still taken by the liquid burning in her lungs. A few strangled coughs later, Emma ground out that she was just fine. Killian slid a glass of water to her anyway, the sweet gesture sinking Emma further into… well, whatever was happening between them.

“Good,” said Ruby briskly and she turned to Killian expectantly.

“I’m not a man to make eyes with someone while involved with another,” his accent clipping the words.

He hadn’t liked that accusation one bit. The realisation warmed Emma as much as the rum spreading in her blood. He wouldn’t cheat on her and leave her too embarrassed, too ashamed, to face the town she had lived in her entire life. He may be trouble, but he was honourable trouble and that she could handle.

“What kind of a man are you then, Killian?” Ruby asked. She sipped from her cocktail and pinned him with a look that dared him to rise to the bait.

“Don’t do that, Rubes,” Emma snapped. Her temper was rising - she felt the need to protect Killian from Ruby’s intrusive questions. Killian sent her a grateful look before excusing himself to serve a man flagging him down on the other end of the bar.

“Ooh, you like this one,” Ruby whispered far too loudly as she waggled her eyebrows ridiculously. Emma could not help but laugh and the strange frustration that had so quickly risen in her dispersed.

“No. I just thought that was unfair of you,” Emma said simply.

“Mmhmmm.”

Emma rolled her eyes at the disbelief in Ruby’s tone. “Fine. Think whatever you want.”

“I do and I will.”

“So, what is there to do in a Christmas Village?” Emma asked in a very smooth and effortless transition from the previous topic.

Ruby perked up and started rattling off various activities that she had booked or seen on her walk over to the pub. Emma listened half-heartedly - her attention straying to the barkeep continuously. She caught him looking her way once and he sent her a devastating smile before returning to his work.

He served them several more rounds as the night grew older, but he was unable to linger longer than getting their order or setting down their drinks as the Holly Jolly Tavern stayed busy once the sun went down.

When they left, staggering into the night, Emma felt a twinge of disappointment that he hadn’t seemed to notice her exit.

Would it have been too much to ask for him to come out running to see her home safe like some Victorian gentleman? She snorted at that very drunk, very ridiculous thought and followed Ruby to the cabin she would call home for the next few days.

#emma swan #killian jones #captain swan #captain swan au #cs au ff #cs ff #cs christmas #cs fanfic #killian x emma #there will be fluff #there will be smut #there will be a happy ending #fic by Jas

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shadecrux · 1 year

Text

On The Wing - Chapter 2

https://open.spotify.com/track/0RLwgks1gHQzXeIkaJIpHr

Previous Chapter ┃Next Chapter

˚ * •̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙* ˚＊------💜 💚 💜------＊* •̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙ *

°•★Pairing: Bucky Barnes x femaleartist!reader

°•★Rating: NSFW

°•★Tags: strangers to lovers, fluff, angst, romantic AND sexual tension, flirting, pet names (doll, sweetheart), a little bit of steve!, k.i.s.s.i.n.g., metal arm (i consider that a warning), grumpy!bucky if you squint, bucky being a dork, promises of more lewdness

°•★ Words: 2275

°•★ Notes: Chapter two!! Uhh uhh only thing I can really think to note here is that while I will be writing a bit about Bucky being a soldier any resemblance to real world wars or history is accidental, as I intentionally left it vague to keep the story from veering in a different direction. I know we haven’t reached smut yet but it is coming I promise!!

~All writing unless otherwise noted is my own. Please do not post or reupload my work to other websites without my express consent. I do not consent for my fics to be used in AI creations. I do not own any of the characters featured in my works unless they are stated to be OCs.~

All of my fanworks are intended for adults aged 18 and up only! Minors please DNI. ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48744160/chapters/123378907

˚ * •̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙* ˚＊------💜 💚 💜------＊* •̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙ *

I wish the rocket stayed

Over the promenade

Cus I would make a hook and eye

And fish them from the sky

My darling she and i

We’re hangin' on to take us high

And sing the world goodbye

It had been almost a year since Bucky had returned to civilian life. He had joined the army, looking to serve his country, to make the world a better place and in doing so secure for himself a better future in a life that had fallen stagnant. He was sent home halfway through his first tour of duty with an honorable discharge, several medals and awards for his acts of heroism, and one less arm for the troubles. Bucky sometimes wondered still if some of those rewards weren’t just “We’re sorry we blew your arm off” flattery, but he shrugged it off. They were gonna keep taking care of him, getting him into the best hospitals they could for treatment and rehabilitation from his injuries. The blast that took his arm would have killed his entire squadron if not for his fast actions - after saving a dozen lives it was the least they could do for him. Eventually, that meant getting him into a clinical trial for a new kind of prosthetic on the utmost cutting edge of technology. One that could fully articulate and respond to electrical impulses that controlled one’s nervous system, that could even simulate something resembling a sense of touch. It wasn’t difficult to sell the story of the war hero to get him into the clinical trials, and due to his excellent health, he was a perfect candidate for the experimental procedure. And though the surgeries left him with deep, jagged scars surrounding the connection where metal met flesh - it worked. It was celebrated as a second chance for a deserving man and as hope for a future where more people might be given their lives back after grievous injury. Despite his unique circumstances that could have easily landed him in the public eye, Bucky kept a low profile. He had insisted on a certain degree of anonymity when partaking in the trial, avoided press and requests for interviews, and even took to wearing a tight-fitted pair of leather gloves and long-sleeved shirts to hide his arm from prying eyes. He moved back to New York to try to reintegrate himself back into civilian life. Physical therapy and therapy therapy once a week, job training, cheap studio apartment in Brooklyn… His time in the army had changed him, leaving him with scars, and nightmares, jumping at loud noises and punching at shadows. He could likely have used his connections to find some more gainful sort of employment, discharge or not, but… after the things he had seen, Bucky just couldn’t stomach the idea. Not so soon, at the very least.

Still, the soldier worked on and off, odd jobs mostly, nothing with any sort of regularity. His mind and body were still healing, and the military pension he was on was enough to keep him comfortable, even if it was just making ends meet. He was just sort of… drifting, without any real cause or purpose.

It didn’t seem as though anyone could reach him to pull him out of that darkness, though that didn’t stop his childhood best friend from trying, every chance he got.

“Come on, Buck. It’s been ages since you’ve gone out - just this once, humor me?” Steve asked, giving Bucky his best sad puppy dog face. “M’ just tired, Stevie…” he muttered, unconvincingly, scrubbing a hand through his hair that was starting to grow out again. “You’re a terrible liar.” “Am not.” “You’re thinking about her again… aren’t you?” Bucky said nothing for a long moment before grunting in frustration and tossing a couch cushion at his slightly too persistent friend. “Where’d ya get so damn insightful anyway?” “Buck, it might surprise you to learn, but… you’re not a great liar. And you’re not the best at hiding your emotions, either. You know I’m always here if you need a shoulder to lean on, right?” “I know Steve. I know.” “So, should I tell the guys you won’t be making it this time?” Bucky nodded, giving Steve an apologetic half-smile. “Next time. I promise I’ll come out next time.” ——————

He’d hardly believed that you had accepted his request to join you, that you seemed to be expressing interest in a guy like him. You were different, he could tell just by looking at you - the way you dressed, the way you moved through the crowds, the way you seemed to observe the world around you with a more dedicated eye than most. You stood out in a subtle sort of way that intrigued him immediately. It had been fortunate, in a strange way that he had been gawking at you when he had been - it’s the only reason you didn’t end up squished between the roof and the side of the building.

Now that he had your company, he would do anything he could to keep it.

Bucky had taken it upon himself to act as your tour guide since you had never been to Coney Island before. He talked up the history of the park, gave his suggestions for what rides were best, and in general went above and beyond to make sure you were enjoying your time there. Coasters were your favorites, and Bucky, always fond of the more thrilling rides himself was all too happy to show them all to you. As time went on, he found himself taking your hand in his more often, under the guise of guiding you from place to place. He knew he was lying to himself, that in truth he just wanted to touch you, to feel that electric tingle each time your skin brushed his… but based on the way you clutched his hand in his, the way you sometimes chased his touch when he moved away from you, it seemed that you and he were on the same page. Conversations flowed easily, he talked about his life, and you talked about yours. He was truly blown away, hearing about all the places you had been, all the things you had done, and listened raptly to you every time you spoke. You left out the heavy stuff, of course, your history, your family… and while Bucky noticed, he wasn’t about to bring it up. It wasn’t his place to pry. He talked about his own life, his family, the interesting things he’d seen or done in all his years in the city. Sharing his love of literature and fiction, talking about his favorite sports teams or the swing dancing classes he had taken. He didn’t consider his life, or himself very interesting compared to you, all the things you’d done and exotic places you had been. Still, you gave him just as much focus as he gave you, and Bucky wondered once again just what you saw in him… but he certainly wasn’t complaining. Bucky remembered trying to convince you to ride the water rides - and you refusing as you hadn’t brought anything to change into. Eventually, though, the heat of the day had gotten to you, and with a boyish grin, he had dragged you to wait in line for their flume ride. The entire time it wound its way up the hill you were cursing silently under your breath, and he just laughed at the way your face scrunched up in annoyance. “Has anyone ever told you how adorable you are when you’re annoyed?” “Fuck you.”

Your profanities only made him laugh harder - he swore he could hear an undertone of affection there, his chest swelling with warmth. You really were just too damn cute. As it made its final descent you grabbed him and tried to hide behind him looking to avoid being hit by the splash. “Oh no you don’t!” he laughed, easily grappling you and wrestling you back in front of him just as the white spray flew up around you, drenching you both in cold, chlorinated water. “Ahhh, you bastard!” You had sputtered, frantically brushing the water out of your face. “Oh come on sweetheart… you didn’t think I was gonna let you miss out on the fun, didja?” He smirked. “Mmm… you’re lucky you’re cute.” You dared to say, muttering it in frustration. You couldn’t help but laugh, though as he helped you up to your feet and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, the two of you giggling all the way to the exit gates and beyond. He spent the next hour preening from your praise, and the next time he took your hand you held his tightly, stepping in closer to his side as you walked. For the rest of the day, any chance he could find your hand was in his, or his arm was slung lazily around your shoulders. The sky was beginning to fade into twilight, the lights of the midway all coming on, the park a bright glowing presence to contrast with the darkening skyline when you, at last, found your way back to the games, having ridden everything at least once. He had insisted on trying to win one of the giant animal toys for you at the games - you explained to him how most of them were rigged to be deceptively difficult, but that didn’t dissuade him. In the end, he didn’t manage to win the giant dragon plush he was aiming for - but instead, you walked away with a surprisingly soft unicorn plush, all blues and purples and little spots of silver making its fur look like a sky just filling with stars.

You had tried to play it cool when he was selecting a prize for you, but Bucky was observant enough to see your eyes continually flicking toward it, and he had the worker reaching out to grab one before you could muster a word of protest. Your singular muttered comment as you walked away about it being “too girly” made him smirk. He could bring up how he saw you hug it the moment he looked down to put his wallet away… but he decided to keep that piece of information to himself, for now.

Not one to be outdone, you insisted on staying there on the midway until you had matched or bested him - and while in the end you did no better, by the time you were walking away, arm in arm he had a prize of his own clutched to his chest - a floppy white wolf plush made in the same style of yours. Was it stereotypical to cap off the day with a big, romantic Ferris wheel ride? Maybe a little - but Bucky always had been a little traditional, at least when it came to romance. Sometimes cliches are cliche for a reason. And as you rode the bucket up to the top to take in the surrounding view, you could see why he had insisted. You could see the whole park, the white sand beaches trailing off into the distance on either side of you. On one side was the darkness of the sea, and on the other the twinkling lights of Brooklyn in the distance. It was beautiful… but not nearly as beautiful as you, he thought, watching your eyes light up with wonder at the scene. A burst of color from down the beach startled you both, and the two of you looked up in unison to see fireworks bursting in the night sky, high overhead. It wasn’t a holiday, as far as he knew - but he wasn’t about to complain, seeing your eyes light up at the colorful display overhead. He slid an arm around you, and you nestled into his side, wrapping both arms around his waist while Bucky willed his heart to stop beating so loudly in his chest. You were somewhere near the top when the ride came to a stop, just in time for the finale of the show, a final bright series of bursting golds and pinks and greens that lit the entire night sky. He looked over at you to find your eyes already on him. You looked so beautiful, and he had been holding himself back all day long… Bucky slid a hand up to your face to cup your cheek, gently lifting your head towards his. He felt his heart all but stop as you leaned into the touch, your eyes trailing back and forth between his eyes and his lips. He had to go for it - but he had to do it right.

“May I kiss you?” he whispered, and you responded with a small nod, already leaning in, as was he, pulled by a magnetism that neither of you could deny any longer. It was explosive, that first kiss, bursting in his brain just as the rockets burst in the sky above you. Your lips felt so soft against his, your grip around his waist tightening. His head was spinning when he broke away from you, far too soon for his liking as you were brought back down to the ground to disembark. He held you clutched tightly to his side as you wound your way back to the exit through a throng of people leaving as the voice over the loudspeaker announced that the park was closed. Outside of the gates, you surprised him again, throwing your arms around his neck and leaning up for another kiss which he eagerly returned. “Come home with me…” you murmured against his lips, and his hands tightened on you in response, a heated sensation tugging at his stomach. “You sure, doll?” Your next kiss, hungry and full of promise was all the answer Bucky needed. He called for a cab and off the two of you went into the night.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x yn #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #james bucnahan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky x reader fluff #bucky x reader angst #bucky x reader smut #eventually #there will be smut #modern au #soldier bucky #artist reader #sebastian stan #shades fics

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thegreatwicked · 4 months

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Shadows of Deception Chapter Sixteen

The Great Wicked

Summary: In Gotham City, a world of secrets and danger, Belladonna finds herself embroiled in a web of crime when she becomes a witness to illicit activities at Roman Sions' exclusive club, Masquerade Noir. Instead of eliminating her, Roman sees an opportunity and spares her life, forming an unconventional alliance. They pose as a couple, using each other as alibis to deceive the police. But as they delve deeper into their charade, their connection intensifies, blurring the lines between reality and deception. As desire and danger collide, they discover unexpected love in the midst of a thrilling and forbidden affair.

Rating: Explicit; graphic depictions of sex and violence

Pairing: Roman Sionis/OFC; Belladonna Black, slight Zsasz/OFC if enough interest.

Feeling Good by Avicii

Roman's eyes snapped open with a feral intensity, and his thoughts were immediately consumed with murder.

What kind of goddamned, cock-sucking, myopic moron would dare set an alarm for him on a Thursday? The kind who was about to get his head blown off and kicked in the crotch until the intrusive thoughts were satisfied forever; that’s who.

His eye twitched, with all the stability of a mental patient about to have a psychotic episode, a portrait of morning fury seldom witnessed outside of a grizzled detective novel. His head whipped towards the source of the noise with the ferocity and precision of a bird of prey honing in on its target. His hand shot out like a claw, ready to strike with violent intent, but instead, it landed on his phone, crushing it with a grip fueled by rage and frustration.

Oh.

Him. It was him who set the alarm.

Well, he sure as fuck wasn’t about to kick himself in the dick or blow his own head off, that was for damn sure. Why the fuck did he set an alarm in the first place? It was seven in the goddamned morning, Romans day didn’t usually begin until nine or ten. In a rare exercise in restraint, he set the phone down rather than chucking it. Two in a week was a bit much even for him and rolled back onto his back, a small smile curving the corners of his mouth into a grin.

Anyone who said Roman Sionis couldn’t be a romantic was wrong, this made for the second time he’d shared a bed with a woman and sex hadn’t factored into the equation, definitely odd for him. A fucking anomaly, really. Though to be fair, the first time, nothing had happened due to the whole ‘doctors orders’ thing, what a buzzkill. Fucking glucose crash.

If there hadn’t been a medical emergency, he was confident that he could have easily enjoyed the cliché ‘sex after narrowly avoiding death’ scenario. It was a popular trope - the girl is filled with gratitude and admiration for her hero, and they can't resist the passion any longer. Fuck those were fun. It had been a while since he had pulled off that stunt, but it was always exhilarating.

A smirk spread across his face as he imagined the pleasure of rolling over, and waking her up by teasing an orgasm out of her, far more satisfying than waking up to an annoying alarm. That was how he knew he liked Belladonna; when the thought of seeing her come undone under his hand was more enjoyable than the idea of sex.

He couldn’t help it that her moans were so damn sweet, she was so easy to tease and play with, and the best part of all? She loved it. Abso-fucking-luelty loved it.

But then his grin fell almost immediately when his hand didn’t land on a soft hip or the smooth curve of her ass. It hit empty bed. The sheets beside him were cool, untouched by the warmth of another body. Roman's hand groped the emptiness before his mind jolted the rest of the way awake, cobwebs of sleep fraying.

What the fuck?

He blinked several times and squinted looking at the space next to him, sure enough, she was gone. Judging by the coolness of the sheets, she had been for some time.

He looked over his shoulder where a small sliver of light was streaming through a split in the curtain. He rubbed the stubble on his jaw with a frown etching deeper into his features—a blend of sleep's inertia and the prickling annoyance that she had slipped away without waking him.

He vaguely remembered Belladonna saying something to him and then the softness of her lips pressing to his cheek. What had she said to him? What did he say to her? Fuck, he couldn’t remember.

Roman wasn’t a morning person, not unless it was for a damn good reason; like blow jobs. Blow jobs were great reasons to wake up. He looked at the nightstands where his phone sat and noticed a small folded slip of paper, he picked it up and in a neatly scribbled font were the words:

‘See you later, don’t be late.’

There was no signature, just a little drawing of a set of what he assumed to be wings and a halo. The fuck was that supposed to be?

He nearly completed the text message asking her what her drawing was, addressing her as ‘Angel’ before he realized what it was. She wasn’t much of an artist.

He shook his head and made a mental note to never play Pictionary with her.

Don’t be late?

To lunch? What was that supposed to mean? He was never late.

He cast one more look to the side of the bed where Belladonna had slept, still plenty annoyed at having woken up alone, still plenty annoyed at having woken up… period.

With a grumble, he swung his legs out of bed, the silk sheets whispering a sly farewell as they slid from his body. The air was cool against his skin, the penthouse unnervingly silent without Belladonna's presence.

He was not a morning person.

The chill of the bathroom tiles was a sharp contrast to the lingering warmth of the shower he’d just stepped out from, wiping away the steam from the mirror, Roman assessed his reflection as if searching for imperfections, hair damp and tousled, eyes dark with unrest—and ran a calloused hand over the planes of his face. Water splashed onto his skin, droplets clinging to his lashes like remnants of a dream he couldn't fully recall.

He stood, with nothing but a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. As usual, his mind was wandering aimlessly, without any particular thought occupying it. This was when his mind tended to drift to some, admittedly, strange places. At least he wasn't thinking about fish.

Fucking Cobblepot.

If he didn't have to worry about the potential consequences of provoking someone as petty and annoying as Cobblepot, he might just dump a kilo of salt into his aquariums and let nature take its course.

He had heard rumors that Cobblepot fed disappointing goons to his pet shark, a great white named Tiny. Although he couldn't confirm the rumors, why take that chance?

His thoughts drift back to safer, less peculiar territory: the previous evening—the exotic tastes of Turkish cuisine still lingering on his tongue, and leftovers in the fridge. Never sleep on leftovers. The memory brought a rare wholesome smile to his lips, but it was tinged with an unusual sensation: guilt.

He had insisted on Turkish cuisine for dinner, without considering the fact that those meals were often longer affairs, sometimes lasting for hours. And of course, he had pushed her to try as many dishes as possible, enjoying her reactions as she experienced the "forbidden fruit."

It still boggled his mind for her father to be such a piece of xenophobic garbage that he’d deny her another culture’s cuisine. Sure, Greek food was great but to eat only that? He shook his head again before lathering his jaw for a shave.

He also realized something else; he’d taken her on a date last night. An honest to god date. For the first time, a date with him hadn't ended in sex. They'd talked for hours, savoring a parade of small plates and glasses of rakı and ayran in the Turkish tradition. He realized with no small amount of surprise that he'd enjoyed her company far more than the sex.

They'd returned to the penthouse well past midnight, leaving Belladonna with maybe only five hours of sleep.

Splashing water on his face did little to dampen the remaining irritation. He didn’t like feeling guilty. It was a feeling that could only be described as; icky.

Pussies felt guilty. Little weak-willed men who couldn’t get shit done felt guilty. He looked into the mirror catching the reflection of his empty bed knowing that nothing had happened in it.

Was Roman a pussy? No, but he sure needed to get some.

The sharp metal glided across his skin, each pass removing the stubble that had appeared overnight, grounding him in the reality of the morning and bringing him back to his usual pristine appearance. The man who looked back at him in the mirror wearing the same cold expression that Roman usually wore as well as he wore his suits; nearly. There was a lightness in his features and he couldn’t explain it, he was still tired, and wasn’t wild about being up so early, nothing about him had changed. Not really.

Well, not entirely true. He wiped the last of the shaving cream from his face with a towel, frowning. When had he become so attached to her presence that her absence left him this pissy and introspective? He shook his head at himself in the mirror, as if he could shake off these annoying feelings. But he already knew it was too late. Belladonna had worked her way under his skin, and he wasn't keen on letting her go. He wasn’t done having fun with her yet, and until the investigation was concluded, she wasn’t going anywhere, anyway. Why not enjoy the ride?

Smooth-faced, Roman ran his fingers through his damp hair before slicking it back. He quickly got dressed, adding a splash of cologne as a finishing touch. Each piece of his suit was treated with the precision and care an aristocrat would give to their finery, making sure not to wrinkle the crisp fabric of his white shirt or mess up the collar while putting on the jacket. He even took a moment to polish his black Italian shoes until they were perfectly pristine. Crisp and flawless.

Roman liked enough routine to be able to predict the movements of others but also found great joy in chucking that routine out the window whenever it pleased him. Sometimes things needed to be shaken up, violently. Like a martini at happy hour.

And when it came to routine, he could pretty much always count on Zsasz sitting in the kitchen every morning with the smell of strong coffee brewing. His right-hand man would be sitting in silence about as expressive and active as a statue with a cup of black coffee and the newspaper. He was never really sure what Zsasz was reading because they didn’t exactly talk about the Gotham Rogues latest game, and neither men were really into sports. Come to think of it, he wouldn't be surprised if Zsasz was marking off names in the obituaries for a twisted round of psycho bingo. Ah, the joys of having colorful associates in the criminal underworld.

Zsasz offered a curt ‘Morning,’ which Roman returned with a noncommittal grunt; even on good days, it was generally a wise practice in one’s mortality to not really say much to Roman until he’d had his first cup of coffee; or maybe his second. No cream or sugar, Roman liked it black, like a lot of things.

“When did she leave?” He finally spoke after a sip.

“Six, dropped her off myself.” Zsasz replied without looking up.

“You left me unprotected?”

Zsasz stopped and looked up to the mock horror and shock Romans face before the two men chuckled and scoffed. Zsasz was handy, sure, and in a way protecting Roman was a facet of his job, but that protection extended to more than just being a bodyguard. Lots of people looked at Zsasz with all his scars and off-putting demeanor and might be tempted to think he was a homicidal slice of meat with two brain cells bright for third place.

A lot of people were really fucking wrong.

Zsasz's had a way of dissecting people, metaphorically, their slightest twitches and fidgets betraying their innermost thoughts and fears. It was almost as if he could read their minds, predicting their every move before they even committed to them. Those who found themselves in his intense gaze felt like trapped prey, frozen in place as if any sudden movement would give them away, not unlike a T-Rex. It made for a disturbing but impressive party trick. Zsasz was more of a velociraptor.

Zsasz studied his targets with an unsettling intensity, making them feel exposed and vulnerable under his scrutiny. His skills at analyzing human behavior were both impressive and unnerving, leaving those around him on edge and constantly aware of their every action.

Plus it didn’t hurt that he had an IQ of 130. No, Zsasz was just as sharp as the blades he carried.

A silence hung in the air, but both men remained unfazed. Everything seemed typical until a jarring buzz interrupted their conversation. Zsasz's eyes darted between his phone and Roman, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. Roman couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at this uncharacteristic display of emotion from the usually stone-faced Zsasz. Maybe he had finally found a good meme to share.

"Something amusing?" Roman inquired, eyebrows raised in challenge.

Caught, Zsasz's eyes flickered up, his smirk widening before he slipped the device into his pocket.

"Nothing worth mentioning. Are we making any stops on the way to the club?"

The question gave Roman pause, momentarily distracting him from his earlier line of inquiry.

"The club?" he repeated,

"Remember? You offered the club up for Belladonna's photoshoot today," Zsasz replied with an eyebrow raised as if it were obvious. "We need to be there by 8:30."

"Ah, right," Roman muttered, suddenly recalling his offer from the previous day, that explained his alarm.

Roman rolled his eyes and grumbled, yet another instance of past Roman's impulsiveness causing problems for present Roman. He could already feel the regret creeping in as he remembered not only agreeing to this favor for Belladonna but him being the one to suggest it.

How delightful. Looks like future Roman will have to deal with it now. Thanks, past Roman.

"No stops," The prospect of seeing her sooner rather than later ignited a spark within him, however slight.

With each sip of coffee, the memory cemented its place in the forefront of his mind the rest of the way, bringing a considerable boost to his mood as he anticipated a day filled with ego stroking for him.

He had come to the rescue by offering his club as a location, and now he was sure to be seen in a positive light by Belladonna's co-workers and boss. Speaking of which, her boss seemed particularly grateful for his help. This photo shoot would definitely bring good business to the club, especially with how much the fashion industry loves to talk. The designer was supposedly a fan of his, he was even going to get to play model too with a piece that was allegedly something only he could do justice to.

And it would all be captured by Belladonna herself. He’d have her complete attention and he liked that just fine.

It was the only thing making this early wake-up call tolerable.

“Should probably check on the doc at some point,” Zsasz offered and Roman nodded as he stood up, downing his coffee, the bitterness leaving a sharp aftertaste on his tongue. “Seemed a bit rattled after we left him.”

“Mmm, how is our new friend?” Roman asked, setting his empty cup down.

Zsasz pulled his phone back out and with a few taps pulled up a tracking app, “Looks like he made it to work on time.”

“Good for him, nice to see that work ethic taking priority over bodily terror.”

Zsasz nodded in agreement, grabbing his coat from the back of the chair. "Think we should bring him some coffee. Those stiff psychiatric types aren't as tough as ER doctors. They tend to need a little careful handling."

"Careful handling?" Roman scoffed, buttoning up his jacket. His voice took on a detached, deadpan tone as he added, "What do I look like a barista? Fill a cup with muddy water and piss, then call it good. Might teach him some resilience."

As photography shifted to the digital realm, the distinct sound of old-school camera flashes was replaced by a subtle clicking noise that served as a barely noticeable confirmation of a captured photo. Despite the convenience and benefits of digital photography, Belladonna found herself drawn to the comforting sound of an old-school camera shutter. But she couldn't deny the advantages of being able to immediately view a photo without wasting time, resources, and money on developing it. Still, she had a soft spot for old-school wet film and its nostalgic charm.

She had become deaf to the constant clicking noises in her workplace, as they were drowned out by a cacophony of other sounds. Over time, she had learned to tune out most of it, since the majority was not relevant to her work. The only opinions she truly cared about came from three individuals: her boss, the client, and the technicians. However, they were rarely the ones adding to the endless chatter surrounding her.

Another soft click captured the model's sultry gaze as she posed against a luxurious velvet backdrop that was a plush booth in a dark corner of Roman’s club. The heavy bass of an ambient track vibrated through the air, a pulsating heartbeat to the hive of activity that had overtaken the space.

"Chin up, Gina," Belladonna instructed. "Arch your back just a bit more and keep your eye soft. Perfect."

Belladonna crouched down, her camera clicking as the model held her pose. After getting a few shots, she stood up, slinging her camera over her shoulder, and walked over to her. She gently adjusted their arm placement and gave some pointers on how to angle their face toward the light. The models she worked with were always open to direction and eager to please, making her job easier. However, sometimes it was challenging to convey her vision to them. A small tweak here and there usually did the trick, bringing her ideas to life through the lens of her camera.

Belladonna had developed a pretty good sense for the girls who would do well in the business.

It was no easy feat, as they needed to possess a delicate balance of qualities: professionalism, thick skin; the criticism was always piping hot, strong work ethic, and adaptability to handle any project rain or shine, were just a few of the mental requirements.

Then there was the ever-changing standards of beauty - one season freckles were in, the next they were hidden under layers of foundation. Not to mention the physical demands of constantly altering your body's natural shape to fit into size six clothing. Forget it. Belladonna couldn't wrap her mind around it all, but kudos to the girls who could.

Most of them were pretty sweet and had no shortage of talent.

This girl, Gina; she made it a point of remembering their names like they were actually human beings and not just walking hangers. She was good. She knew exactly how to work the camera, giving just the right amount of attitude and natural beauty but also being careful not to overshadow the piece she was wearing. It was about the collection after all, not necessarily her, but as Belladonna had once said: making people look good was her job.

She would probably do well for a while but Belladonna had the sense that it would only take a few seasons before she found this life wasn’t for her. She’d more than likely roll out of bed one day with an epiphany that modeling and all the stresses that came with it, wasn’t for her. She saw it all the time, surprisingly, a large amount of them went into the medical and mental health fields. She saw a lot of models turned dental assistants.

And good for them, the fashion industry was cutthroat and had a tendency to chew people up and spit them right back out.

Gina was draped in a sleek, midnight black gown that hugged her curves like a second skin. Angular cutouts, a plunging neckline and thigh-high slit had her exuding confidence, while the asymmetrical hemline added a modern edge, luxurious textures, and bold lines. Some people were just made to wear certain things, and Belladonna was certain this dress was made for Gina.

With an acknowledgment from Belladonna in the form of a wave of her hand, a young handsome male model strode into the shot in a tailored charcoal gray suit that exuded understated elegance.

A subtle sheen caught the light, accentuating the clean lines, and contrasting black lapels added a touch of modernity to the classic ensemble. It was a look that reminded her of Roman but he pulled it off and filled it out far better than this young kid did. No shade on the kid, but he was still a kid; Roman was a man.

"Okay, guys," she directed, motioning for the models to get into position. “Elliot, come on in.”

She wanted this shot to be edgier – darker with just a hint of light highlighting the chemistry between the two models' features. She fiddled with the camera settings for a few minutes before nodding in satisfaction.

Unseen, from the shadowed fringe of the room, Roman leaned against a column, arms folded, largely unnoticed yet noticing everything. His dark eyes were not drawn to the half-dressed models nor the glittering array of props; they were fixed solely on Belladonna.

There was something about how immersed she was in her work that captivated him more intensely than any whispered fantasy. It was the way she carried herself, the slight tilt of her head when bringing the camera to her eye, the confident set of her shoulders as she issued directives.

And damn, she looked good. She was a vision of professional poise in her straight wide-leg black slacks and white halter neck blouse that hinted just enough at the curves beneath to stir the imagination, though it didn’t take much to stir his. The disciplined bun at the nape of her neck exposed the line of her jaw, a quiet strength rather than demure submission. It was a good look for a professional woman, and his lip curled into a smirk as he thought of how he’d love nothing more than to pull that bun loose and wrap her hair around his fist and use it to expose her neck to him.

His dark eyes followed Belladonna's every move; the epitome of control and confidence, shaping the chaos into coherence. Taking him back to the night she'd shown at his penthouse with an air of determination, demanding order amidst their tangled arrangement. The memory of her strength was as alluring now as it had been then, her power just as intoxicating.

His thoughts were interrupted by a nudge from Zsasz at his side. The lean man nodded subtly toward Laura, Belladonna's boss, who was approaching them with a friendly expression.

"Quite the production, isn't it?" Laura commented as she reached Roman, her eyes also on the shoot. "Most people don't realize the amount of work that goes into a fashion shoot like this."

“Not as simple as point and shoot, is it?” Roman nodded in agreement, not really caring about the conversation but faking it well enough. "It is fascinating to watch."

Laura nodded appreciatively. "She’s good, isn’t she?” Roman nodded, “You’d never know she hates her job.”

Roman did know that she hated her job, well, rather, she didn’t enjoy it, hate seemed a bit strong of a word; she had a good assistant in Daisy and her boss seemed a fair woman, and judging by his digging; it paid pretty decently too.

"You don’t say?" Roman feigned surprise, intrigued by what she had to say about Belladonna's preferences.

"No surprise there, is it?" Nope. He fought a roll of his eyes. “It’s a shame really, she could do so much more if she wanted to.”

“Sounds like you’re looking for someone to take your place,” Roman added, knowing all too well how to read between those particular lines. Laura smiled in response but just shook her head in resignation.

“She’ll never do it. Between you and me, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s reciting the alphabet backward in her head right now.” Roman scoffed at that. Then he started to try it. Did Q come before R or the other way around?

“No, she’s never been a fan of fashion shoots unless lingerie is involved.”

Full stop.

Romans raised eyebrows and asked the question he didn’t, Laura just smirked and nodded.

“It takes confidence to make a woman feel beautiful and sexy at the same time and Belladonna doesn’t lack that particular skill to make people feel comfortable around her.”

Roman thought again of that same night when she crawled into his lap like she belonged there in his penthouse. Like his lap had been a throne.

"Really?"

Roman raised an eyebrow, a playful edge to his voice. Interest piqued, he tucked away this newfound knowledge like a secret, imagining Belladonna amid the haunting beauty of ancient stone and shadowed nooks—a contrast to the vibrant energy she commanded now.

A slow smile crept across his lips. His angel, he mused, was full of surprises.

"She’s gonna be impossible to replace, but if I’m being honest, I’m shocked she’s stayed on as long as she has."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, I didn't think she would come back after- " She paused and glanced at Roman warily before continuing, "after what happened."

Roman's face hardened as he replied, "I know about the assault."

Relief and guilt flooded her face, one after the other, and there was a tremor on her lips like she wrestled with whether or not to let the words loose that were dancing on the tip of her tongue.

“I asked her to stay late that night.”

Roman stiffened slightly at the admission, “No one expected her to come back but she did, we never really knew why. She didn’t care for the work, and most people would probably have packed up and left Gotham.”

She couldn’t… Roman thought with a bit of venom, he knew the truth; she couldn’t leave Gotham without finding her mother. But her boss probably didn’t know that, and by the looks of it, the woman felt guilty even though reasonably, none of it was her fault. He could see it in her eyes, she felt responsible for what happened to Belladonna and maybe a compassionate man might have tried to alleviate her guilt; tell it it wasn’t her fault, and while Roman lacked in the compassion department, he wasn’t completely devoid of it. But he still had none to spare. He’d never been able to get those images of Belladonna in the medically induced coma out of his head.

He supposed part of her was hoping or maybe waiting for him to give her some assurance that it wasn’t her fault and logically, it wasn’t. She couldn’t have possibly known what was going to happen, but this was Gotham, and something about this city was just sick. It really did take a special person who lived in a protective bubble to think that just because you worked in a nicer end of town where the violence was sneaky, and less visible, didn’t mean it couldn’t touch you.

No; Roman wouldn’t be handing her any ‘get out of jail free’ cards. Sometimes you had to live with the careless choices you made, so you didn’t make them twice. But he did give her this, from what he could see, she’d taken steps to protect her people more; security in the lobby, additional cameras inside and outside the building, and the building was often locked so that you had to be buzzed in. It wasn’t much, it sure as hell wouldn't stop him but he supposed that some level of accountability was better than complete apathy.

The more Roman thought about it, the less it made sense. A random mugging outside a fashion house in one of the downtown districts? The busiest and one of the most expensive blocks in Gotham, during rush hour? It didn’t add up, but then that was Gotham math for you.

"But Belladonna isn’t most people," Laura explained, her eyes scanning Belladonna's movements as she adjusted a model's pose. That she wasn’t. “It was quite a transformation.”

“How so?”

"We were all shocked when she showed back up to work a few months after the attack. I think most people would shrink back into themselves and keep a lower profile if they didn’t pack up and leave, but with Belladonna...”

“It was like we were finally seeing her personality, she was sharper, harder and in a way, more self-assured at work, asserted her opinion, and spoke her mind more. Started telling more people to fuck off, that was fun to curb.” Laura paused briefly as if thinking over the change, trying to make sense of it. “I’m not sure how she did it, the investigation went nowhere and her ex left her... God knows I couldn’t handle that.”

He knew exactly how Belladonna had changed. You know when your life flashes before your eyes and you either come out scared or pissed off? Well, she came out absolutely livid. A brush with death will do that to a person.

"What kind of man leaves a woman after something like that happens?" Roman scoffed. The question was rhetorical, but behind it lay a hunter's keenness for details.

"A model," Laura replied with a bitter laugh. Roman's jaw clenched at the revelation, disappointment evident in his eyes. Laura noticed this and nodded in a way that suggested she understood Romans sentiment. “Oh, come on now, don’t tell me you’ve never dated someone because they were just pretty to look at? In this industry? Hell, we all do it.”

Well, that was fair. Roman had dated, wined, dined and fucked his fair share of pretty faces just because they were nice to look at.

“They looked nice together but you two?” She gave Roman a nod of approval, “You’re bringing something out in her lately,”

“Oh?” Never the one to pass up praise, Roman smirked.

"I don’t imagine that you’ve known her long enough to know what she was like before and after the attack," Laura leaned in closer, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper.

Roman processed this information silently, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. Laura's expression softened, and it was clear that beneath the professionalism, genuine concern lingered.

"Back before the attack, she was all about work, like it was her whole life but not in a way that people who eat, sleep, and breathe this stuff. For her it was like she just had nothing else," Laura replied. "She was always reliable, hardworking, did her job, but she kept to herself. Never really rocked the boat, always been something of a lone wolf."

"Yet even wolves need a pack,"

As if on cue, Belladonna suddenly looked up, her gaze colliding with his from across the room. For a moment they simply stared at each other. Then the corner of her mouth quirked up into a knowing smile and she returned her attention to the models milling about, leaving Roman to wrestle with the unsettling realization that she had gotten under his skin far more deeply than he cared to admit.

"Some men just don't know how to help a broken woman." She glanced sidelong at him, a hint of approval in her gaze.

Roman watched Belladonna laugh at something one of the models said, her head thrown back in genuine amusement—a sight rare and captivating. His chest tightened with a mix of pride and something fiercer, possessive.

She was never broken, just bent.

"You look absolutely ravishing when you're focused," His voice was like velvet, as he tucked a loose tendril of hair behind her ear, his knuckles grazing her cheek.

"Ravishing? Someone’s feeling suave today." Belladonna lowered her camera, a slight smile playing at the corners of her lips. Roman grinned, women had a way of lighting up when given the right compliment.

“I’m suave every day.” His lips curled into a smirk. "Though, I must say, waking up alone this morning was a cruel twist of fate."

"Work waits for no one," She replied, meeting his gaze with a mix of defiance and amusement.

"Besides, I did kiss you goodbye. Not my fault if you don't remember it. Must have been quite the dream."

“Oh, angel, you want to know what’s in my dreams? I’ll give you a front-row seat,” He chuckled, glancing around the bustling club. The low rumble of voices and clinking glasses filled the air, adding to the energetic atmosphere. "How's the shoot going? Everything running smoothly?"

She wanted to be serious but also wanted to play into his flirty banter, these moods of his where she was the center of his attention were growing on her and she wasn’t sure but she thought them to be somewhat genuine.

"I’ll pass on the midnight performance, for now,” She teased, Roman pouted slightly, his lips forming a cute little frown. “Bit of a madhouse here, it’s an organized chaos, but everyone's thrilled to be here. You're still the man of the hour, keep this up and they just might hold a parade for you."

Roman preened at this, clearly enjoying the attention he was receiving.

"Good to know I haven't lost my touch." Roman's eyes trailed over her. "I hear Adrian Blackwood is eager to meet me. Should I be flattered or concerned?"

"A little of both." Belladonna continued, teasing him a little. "I think he may have a little bit of a crush on you." She smirked playfully. “Rumor is he loves a man in a suit.”

“And why wouldn’t he? The mans clearly got good taste," Roman replied with a roguish wink, “Don’t go getting all jealous, Angel. I’ve played on both sides of the fence but these days I’m a one woman man. I’m afraid I’ll only disappoint the poor fellow.”

Curiosity piqued by his admission, but it didn’t entirely surprise her. Roman was a man all about excess, he certainly wasn’t shy and with a wardrobe like his she was pretty sure he’d at least toured the closet which made him more secure than most men. She’d have to ask him about that sometime, she didn’t mind swapping stories, hell, she was sure he already had a few notions about what her education was like at a private all-girls school.

"Tell me, how long will you be tied up here?"

"Why? Are you angling for your close-up, Roman? I had planned on you being our grand finale."

"Saving the best for last, I like it," Roman said smugly, but it was short-lived when his expression quickly turned serious. "But something's come up actually. I need to slip out briefly to handle a personal matter."

The playful ease to her expression faded and her face fell. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

Roman remained silent, his nonchalant expression only fueling her annoyance. “Roman, you're a part of this now. You can't just leave." She reached up to rub her temples combating the headache she knew was coming from Roman’s inability to not cause drama, "When were you planning on sharing this change of plans with me?"

"Maybe this morning if you hadn't been in such a rush out the door," Roman replied, a hint of mischief in his voice.

She pursed her lips, displeased but before she could argue further, Roman leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a serious whisper.

"It concerns your mother, Belladonna. Just trust me and don't ask any more questions."

The mention of her mother made Belladonna pause, her eyes searching his for a moment before her expression softened slightly. The irritation didn't vanish completely, but she seemed less combative, and as he had said, she didn’t ask him any questions. But she sure as hell wanted to.

He could see it in the way her eyes narrowed and the twitch of her lips, like locked gates stemming the tide of endless inquiries and what he hoped might have been a few grateful kisses. She was trusting him. Or maybe she didn’t have a choice.

"Fine, but don't be late. We're planning on wrapping up by three, which means you need to be here by at least noon."

Roman scoffed, a sly grin spreading across his face. "It's a simple errand, angel. You don't think I can handle that in a timely manner? I mean Jesus, it's barely nine."

Her eyes narrowed at his playful tone. "Nothing is ever simple with you, Roman," she retorted. He wanted to argue, but she had a point.

"Have I ever let you down?" Roman asked earnestly, hoping to ease her worries. But her critical look and quick recall of recent drama had him adding "Lately?"

He pulled her into his arms, enjoying how hers immediately wrapped around his neck, that was a handy little trick, "I'll be back before you know it with your favorite rose-infused white mocha. Hot or iced?"

A small smile appeared on her face at the mention of her favorite coffee, “Iced.” Oh, how she tried to hide that smile, but she couldn’t. Roman couldn't resist leaning in to steal a brief, yet tender kiss from her lips. "Just hurry back," She murmured as they parted.

"Count on it." With a final, lingering glance, Roman turned and disappeared into the bustling crowd, leaving Belladonna to return to her work, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

In the confines of an unmarked car, Detectives Craven and his partner Ramirez observed Roman as he sauntered out of his club with Zsasz at his side, practically skipping, not a care in the world. The sight made Craven grind his teeth and he gripped the steering wheel tightly in his hands.

"Looks like Sionis is on the move," Ramirez noted,

"About time," Craven grumbled, drumming his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. "Question is, do we follow him or keep our sights on Miss Black?"

"Isn't she just collateral damage?"

"Maybe, but she's also the weak link," Craven replied, a sinister smile creeping onto his face. "It's only a matter of time before she gets spooked and does something dumb."

Roman reached his car, where Zsasz had been waiting for him. Their brief exchange was drowned out by the noise from the streets, leaving Craven and Ramirez guessing at the content.

"Let them go," Craven decided, his gut churning with anticipation. "We stay here and watch her. She's bound to slip sooner or later."

Roman's generous offer to use his club as the location for the shoot was met with awe and gratitude and would be the talk of the fashion house for weeks. The club itself was a statement of luxury and extravagance, with every detail meticulously planned and executed. When they first arrived, the pristine venue welcomed them with open arms, ready to cater to their every need.

To everyone's surprise, Roman had gone above and beyond by providing additional staff for the day. A non-alcoholic bartender served non-alcoholic drinks, working hours, and all that. A bouncer ensured their safety and that no one wandered where they shouldn’t have, and a sound technician stood by for any technical or musical needs. And just when they thought it couldn't get any better, a delicious catered lunch was laid out for them to enjoy.

Throughout the day, Roman's name was on everyone's lips in glowing praise and admiration. Even long after he disappeared on his mysterious errand, his impact on the day lingered.

Taking a moment to savor her sandwich, the crisp lettuce and tomato paired with the spicy aioli burst on her tongue with each bite, and she grinned as she eavesdropped on her coworkers' praise of Roman. He’d be lapping all of this up if he were here, all with a feigned humility while in reality, she was pretty sure he’d be sporting a praise erection. She knew he liked being praised but then what man didn’t enjoy a little ego-stroking?

It made her wonder what kind of things he did like, and her thoughts began to drift to more salacious territory. She and Roman had been together for a few months and with each new hurdle what they had felt less like a facade and more real, the thought bothered her because her gut told her it was just a game for him and while she’d hardened her heart, Roman had a way of making her swoon a little more than she’d have liked.

It wasn’t real. She reminded herself but it sure as hell was fun, for now at least.

It was easy to forget that earlier in the week first the disastrous trip to the precinct, then she’d put a gun into Roman’s hand and dared her to use it on her, then stormed out of his place to what she thought was the safety of her own home where she’d been held at gunpoint and nearly shot. Then the glucose crash and all the fun physical effects that came with that.

Their romance may have been fake, but everything else surrounding it was very real - including the bullets.

"Can you believe it? I mean, first, he lets us use his club and now he’s catering it? I’ve been on the waitlist to see this place for months!"

"Isn't Belladonna just so lucky? I mean, Roman is not only hot but really generous too," someone whispered nearby.

"Who knows if it'll last, though?" another coworker chimed in, skepticism lacing their voice. "You know Roman's reputation in the tabloids.”

“Oh, come on, those are gossip rags. Nobody gets painted in a squeaky clean light.”

“Bruce Wayne does.”

“Besides, you’ve seen how he is with her, he treats her like a queen.”

“Yeah, and everyone does dumb stuff when they’re young. Seriously, those paps go too far sometimes.”

"Maybe she's finally the right woman for him. Belladonna deserves someone to take care of her,"

"Did you see those two creepy guys in the car watching us?"

Belladonna's brow furrowed and she paused mid-chew, her heart beating a staccato rhythm against her ribs

It could have been something else, maybe just a random pair of creeps loitering doing a drug deal or trying to pick up models, right? But that icy feeling creeping up her spine didn’t lie.

Her lunch was suddenly very not interesting and her appetite had disappeared. She found herself turning down the hall the two women had just come from, the lingering smell of cigarette smoke wafting in from their smoke break as good as a trail of breadcrumbs to trace their steps.

She slipped out a back door and into the empty alleyway where delivery trucks would come and go.

Looking both ways, she saw that there was nobody around. She tried to calm the anxious feeling pulsing through her fingers and toes, but it wouldn't go away. She took a few tentative steps towards the main road, where the entrance to the club stood in broad daylight. Peering cautiously around the corner, her heart skipped a beat when she didn't see anything at first. But on her second scan of the street, she spotted it - the luxury car, its polished surface gleaming under the midday sun. Parked illegally in a fire lane, its windows tinted darkly. Her pulse quickened as she caught a glimpse of two figures slouched in the front seats. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled—she knew those silhouettes.

Craven and Ramirez.

She felt ice flood her veins, they were just there, watching the entrance. She wanted to storm out and scream at them but honestly, what was that going to accomplish, calling Roman didn’t seem like a good idea, they’d be gone before he got back. A little cartoonish lightbulb went off in her mind and she reached for her phone while staying hidden dialing the only other person who could help her.

"Derick, they're here,"

"Please, Mr. Sionis, I've told you everything I know!"

The man's eyes widened with fear as Roman grabbed his shoulders, his fingers digging into the flesh like talons. He let out a pained whimper as Roman squeezed harder, his face twisted in sadistic pleasure.

But Roman didn't let go. Instead, he leaned in closer, his breath hot against the man's ear. "Are you sure about that?" His tone was low and threatening, causing the man to shrink back in terror.

Roman released him and stepped around to face the trembling man, moving slowly, predatory, a tiger circling its prey. His expression softened in a way that mimicked sympathy but his eyes remained cold and calculating.

The silence that settled was awful, especially considering the only other sound was the sound of the clock hands ticking away. And the man trembled under his gaze, knowing that he was at the mercy of a dangerous and unstable man. But it only grew worse when another chilling sound cut through the air - the distinct scraping of metal against leather as Zsasz drew his knife from its sheath. The man's eyes darted towards the assassin, who stood nonchalantly against the wall, casually cleaning his nails. The glint of the blade in the light sent shivers down the man's spine.

"Please! Mr. Sionis, I've told you everything. And I haven’t told anyone about our conversation, I swear!" He recoiled as far as he could in the chair away from the glinting knife, oddly enough he didn’t try to get up, he wasn’t tied or cuffed to the chair at all, it was Romans presence that kept him in place.

“No one! No one knows!”

Beads of sweat formed on his brow, Roman held up his hand to Zsasz and the sound of his knife against his fingernails stopped and the painfully slow ticking of the clock resumed. Several long and uncomfortable seconds of silence passed, where there wasn’t a shred of emotion on his face. A mask of complete and utter indifference.

"Mr. Barnes… I want to believe you," Roman purred, his tone laced with insincere sympathy. “I really do.” He leaned in, hands braced on the arms of the chair, caging the man in. "But how can I trust a man who would falsify medical records to this degree? Keeping a perfectly healthy woman locked up in a psychiatric facility while her daughter searches for her...how many years has it been, Zsasz? Five?"

“Four.”

Roman grimaced, “Well, now that's still no good. Mr Barnes, Howard- Can I call you Howard?” he asked, feigning interest and camaraderie.

The man nodded slowly, perhaps feeling slightly reassured by Roman's use of his name. Humanizing him.

Roman leaned against Howard’s desk and lit a cigarette, the smoke coiling around him like a sinister serpent as he took a long drag.

"Tell me, Howard," he drawled with dark humor lacing his words. "How would you feel if it was you trying to find your own mother for five long years-”

“-Four years.”

“Right, four years. Four years, looking for your mother because she was trapped in a hospital by some pencil-pushing lackey who falsified her medical records? Just imagine the anguish of never knowing if she would ever be free again. How would you feel?"

Roman's gaze bore into Howard, but the man remained silent. The easy demeanor on Roman's face quickly dissolved as his question went unanswered. "Howard, I asked you a question,"

“I- I’m adopted,” Howard stammered, fear evident in his eyes. "I don't know who my mother is."

This was the wrong answer.

In a sudden surge of controlled fury, Roman slammed his fist down on the desk before lunging at Howard, his hand gripping tightly around the man's throat. His eyes were dark and abyssal, devoid of any emotion except for pure rage.

"Howard," Roman growled through gritted teeth, "you're not making this easy for yourself. I suggest you suspend your disbelief for just a moment and try to see things from someone else's perspective. Can you do that?"

Howard nodded furiously, his breaths coming out in short gasps.

Roman continued, his grip still firm on Howard's neck. "Now, let’s use the power of our imaginations, shall we? Pretend your mother didn’t hate you enough to abandon you like the trash you are and that you and your mother were close, inseparable even. But one day at sixteen, you come home expecting a warm hug from your mom, only to find her gone without a trace. Poof.”

Howard swallowed or tried to but it came out more like the croaking of a frog with Romans had on his throat.

“Then, dear old dad tells you she's not well and has been sent away for her own good. And then you only see her once a year until you're twenty-five. Then nothing. Four years of radio silence and no matter how hard you look, where you look, she’s gone. Can you imagine that kind of pain, Howard?”

Howard whimpered but managed a slight nod, but it didn’t satisfy Roman. Cigarette smoke curled around them like a menacing fog and his eyes glanced to the glowing embers of the cigarette trapped between his fingers, then he glanced back to Howard.

“No, I don’t suppose you can. Mental anguish is difficult to comprehend, physical pain however,” Roman paused menacingly. “Did you know cigarette ashes can burn from anywhere between 450 degrees and 1400 degrees?”

Howards eyes went wide in terror as Roman raised the cigarette and looked at it while his grip on Howard’s throat tightened a bit.

“There’s plenty of room for variation depending on the amount of ash, composition of the cigarette, and airflow…”

"What do you want from me, Mr. Sionis? Please!" Howard pleaded.

"I just want a little empathy, Howard," Roman taunted. “Can you do that, Howard?”

Howard wasted no time in nodding his head.

“Ok, so, where we’re at now is you’ve given me what I asked for and that's good, that buys you points. However, I don’t know if I can really trust you not to talk to anyone about our conversations here and your attitude is certainly lacking, that buys you nothing.” He released Howard and took another drag of his cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke.

“Believe it or not Howard, I am looking for a reason to let you live. It’s a risk, but it always is. The last time I took a risk on letting someone live it turned out pretty nicely, I mean, she’s gorgeous and the woman can’t keep her hands off me.” Roman chuckled and Zsasz nodded in agreement, relishing in their sick sense of humor.

“I won’t say anything, I promise.” Howard's voice trembled as he glanced nervously between Roman and Zsasz.

“Pinky swear?” Howard blinked at the unexpected request. “Oh, come on now Howard, that’s the most sacred of promises. Everyone knows that, right, Zsasz?”

“Sacred.”

Roman held out his pinky for Howard and his very shaky hand slowly rose as if sensing it was a trap, he linked his pinky with Romans and they shook on it.

Roman’s smile should have been a warning sign, but Howard was blinded by the charming grin and didn't pull away. In one swift movement, Roman dropped the cigarette, clamped a hand over Howard’s mouth, and twisted his hand, breaking Howard's pinky with a sickening crack. The air instantly shifted from tense but calm to filled with muffled pain-filled groans.

Tears streamed down his face as he realized he had made a grave mistake by trusting Roman.

“See, there’s a lot of work involved with getting rid of you, and it’s expensive, isn’t that right Zsasz?”

“Inflation is a bitch.” Zsasz added with a sympathetic nod.

“Killing you involves calling a cleanup crew, paying them, and hoping they don’t fuck up their job again, I’ll tell you all about it sometime.” He paused and nodded to the closed office door which led down the long hallway they’d come through. “Then there's witnesses to handle out there, in the waiting room and anyone who will see the building's security footage. Trust me when I say I’m not interested in that much work for a pencil pusher. But I won’t stop at hurting just you.”

The man squirmed, breaking eye contact and clutching his hand, which was still firmly in Roman’s grasp.

“I could be tempted to forget about all of that if I knew you had just as much to lose from anyone knowing about this conversation as I do. Say, if you told me what doctor gave you the order to make the changes to Maria Caruso’s medical records…”

"I-I can't tell you. I'll lose my job, or worse."

The man's eyes bulged in terror as Romans' smile faded. He crushed Howards hand in his and Howard groaned, covering his own mouth, saliva coating his palm.

"You're a dead man if you don’t tell me," Roman growled, his voice a dangerous snarl. "I’ll take you apart. Piece. By. Piece. In ways the darkest snuff films have never dared to touch, and then… Then it’ll get worse."

Howard’s eyes flickered nervously towards Zsasz, who grinned menacingly, exposing the scars on his neck as he lightly traced a knife over his own palm, drawing a thin line of blood.

"Who gave the order for the falsified records?" Roman demanded. "Don't make me ask again."

Howard trembled violently, finally gasping out a name: "Dr. Elias Antoniou."

With a satisfied smirk, Roman loosened his grip slightly. He had finally gotten the information he needed. In an instant, Roman's demeanor shifted to one of casual amusement as he took a step back.

"There, was that so hard?" he asked lightly. He glanced at Zsasz. "Why can't people just make things easy on themselves?"

Zsasz gave a casual shrug, flipping his knife deftly between his fingers.

A sinister smile spread across Roman's face as he turned his attention back to the trembling man. The man's hands were shaking uncontrollably, betraying his fear.

"Feel better now that you've got that off your chest?" Roman's voice was like honey laced with poison.

The man just stared for a long moment, eyes wide. Finally, he croaked in a hoarse voice, "Will you let me live?"

Roman tilted his head, seeming to consider it. "What's in it for me if I let you walk out of here?"

The man licked his dry lips nervously. "I-I can keep feeding you information. About the doctor, his meetings, the patient..."

Roman's eyes glinted with interest at that. "I mean, I can get that anyway" he purred. "You've got a few minutes to convince me."

“I can get you access to Ms Lopez.” He offered desperately.

“What if I wanted to hurt her? Would you really throw such a lovely lady under the bus to save your own skin?”

Howard froze. He didn’t know what to say. He knew it was a trick, some sick game and he didn’t know what Roman might do next. His whimpering turned to soft crying.

“Oh, for Chrissake, Howard, pull yourself together. I’m not going to hurt her, Jesus, if I wanted to hurt her I wouldn’t be going through this much trouble. Use that fancy degree of yours.” Roman shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Anything else?”

Howard hesitated, taking a deep breath before continuing. "Dr. Antoniou meets with someone once a month to discuss her. It’s like clockwork." A flicker of excitement crossed Roman's features at this revelation, his mind already spinning with possibilities.

“What do they talk about?”

“All business. He wants to know who tries to visit, who asks about her, what she does, who visits around her, and what changes there are to the staff.”

Roman's eyes glinted with genuine interest now. “We can work with that. Anyone else?”

“Uh, seem to talk about another woman too. I'm not sure who she is. But the doctor is clearly interested in her, he always asks about her, where she is, what she’s doing."

Roman's focus sharpened. "A woman? Give me a name."

The man swallowed hard. "Bella...Belladonna Black, I think he said."

A slow, dangerous smile spread across Roman's face. This had proven useful after all. He released

a controlled breath and his fists clenched and unclenched,

"Now, you know talking about our conversation would be very hazardous to your health, you know that, don’t you sport?" He straightened, smoothing the lapels of his jacket.

He nodded his head frantically. "I know, I promise. You were never here.'“ Roman looked at Howard’s swollen hand, quick on the uptake he quickly stammered out, “I-I slammed my hand in my drawer, happens all the time!”

“You’re smarter than you look, Howard.” Roman finished his cigarette with a smile, “So, in exchange for not slitting your throat from ear to ear and raining hell down on every living soul in this building, you now work for me. Understood?”

A sharp breath. The man's head bobbed. "Y-yes, sir."

"Good." Roman straightened, strolling around to face the man. He smiled, cold and sharp as Zsasz's knife. “Believe me when I say, I am very good and raining hell down on those who make me angry, and you know the wild thing, Howard?”

The man swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing.

“I don’t even care about Maria Lopez.” Roman looked at Zsasz and shrugged with a smile, “I’m doing this all for a woman.” Roman laughed as if it were the funniest joke he’d ever heard. “I think you know her.” Howard looked curious.

“Miss Belladonna Black.”

Tears and snot streamed down the man's pale face as he openly wept. "Please, I only did what I was told."

"Well now, you're going to do what I tell you to do."

"Did they see you?"

Derick's voice was taut with tension, every muscle in his body coiled and ready to snap. It was ten seconds into the call and he could already tell he wasn’t going to like how it went. The mere thought of Roman discovering what was happening sent chills down his spine. He had seen Roman's molten temper before and didn't want to imagine what it would be like to be on the receiving end.

"I don’t think so," Belladonna replied,

Belladonna replied, her tone hushed as she crouched behind a set of dumpsters. Her eyes darted around the edge, trying to get a better look at the situation while still keeping her phone pressed to her ear.

“What the hell are they doing here? Can they even be here?”

"The detectives were assigned to the case. As long as they're not bothering or harassing you, they have every right to surveil places where you or Roman might be."

Belladonna's nails bit into her palms and her mind raced, this didn’t feel right.

“Are they doing anything unusual?”

Belladonna scoffed in frustration. "Define 'unusual'."

Derick let out a frustrated sigh, he liked Belladonna as a client, he really did but the woman was spending far too much time with Roman for his liking.

"What exactly are they doing right now?"

"They're parked in their car just outside of Roman's club, watching and listening. I overheard a few coworkers talking about them when they came back from a smoke break."

“Did they approach your coworkers or engage with them in any way?”

“I don’t think so, but they’re creeping everyone out. Creeping me out.”

“Yes, the detectives have that quality in abundance. However, unfortunately, that’s not illegal, Belladonna. Unless they’re actually doing anything suspicious or illegal then we can’t do anything apart from asking them to leave and if they’re in the street, which is city property, public property they don’t have to go unless it veers into harassment. Which it doesn’t sound like it is.”

“They’re illegally parked in a fire line but that’s it.”

“Well, you can call the police but odds are it won’t go anywhere, they’re on duty and the most another police officer will do if one shows up at all is tell them to move out of the fire lane. The best you can do if you think you and Roman are being harassed is take photos and document them being there. Other than that, there's nothing to worry about."

Belladonna let out a disappointed sigh, her gaze drifting to the sleek car in front of her. Her eyes narrowed as she took in its details, letting out a curious "huh" as she did so.

"Everything alright, Belladonna?" Derick asked.

"Yeah, it's fine," Belladonna replied a bit hesitantly, still studying the car. "I guess I just didn't expect undercover detectives to have such a nice ride."

“What do you mean? Are they not in a marked car?”

"No, it's unmarked, but it doesn't look like an unmarked car. It's too... nice."

"Too nice? What kind of car is it?" Derick inquired, his interest piqued. "If they're driving their own personal vehicle, then they might not be on duty. In that case, we could potentially have something on them for harassment if they're not officially surveilling you or Roman."

Belladonna squinted, trying to make out the details of the car. "It's an SUV... wait, no way.” She paused. “It's an Audi. That seems well above the GCPD's budget or a typical cop's salary."

“An Audi?” Derick's tone shifted from nonchalant to concerned at this revelation. "Indeed, that's not standard for the GCPD. Those cars cost more than the entire department makes in a year. Can you see what model it is or any other distinguishing features?"

"Sure," she said, clutching her phone tighter. "It's a dark blue, possibly black, looks like a Q7. Looks like a dent on the driver's side wheel well and what looks like a scrape along the side. First three of the license plates are RT5 and I can’t quite get the last four, the sunlight is hitting the plate."

"Let me check," Derick said as Belladonna could hear the sound of his fingers rapidly typing on a keyboard in the background. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself as she discreetly observed the detectives.

Derick felt a weight settle in his stomach.

"Alright, Belladonna, listen carefully," Derick's voice came back, serious and focused. "The car you described matches one that went missing after its owner was found murdered, the investigation is pending. Without the VIN number, I can't be sure, but this is not good."

“What do we do?”

“We? We do nothing. At best, those detectives are driving a stolen car. At worst, maybe they’re involved in something shady. You need to get someplace safe and we need to inform Roman and the police about this.”

“You said, without the VIN, we can’t do anything. Hypothetically, if we had the VIN what could that mean for the detectives?”

Derick hesitated before answering, his words laced with caution.

“Hypothetically? It could create enough doubt or suspicion to get them tossed from the case and

investigated by internal affairs. But the case wouldn’t go away.”

“But they’d probably assign different detectives, right? Maybe detectives who aren’t after Roman’s blood, right?”

There was another long pause as Derick weighed the options. “Possibly.”

As Belladonna processed this, movement caught her eye. Craven and Ramirez were exiting the car, their steps deliberate as they began to circle the club like predators stalking prey.

"They're moving, Derick. They're casing Roman's club, can’t tell what they’re saying."

"Take a photo from where you are and step away, Belladonna. Do nothing else," Derrick insisted, but there was a crackle of urgency in his voice that betrayed his calm demeanor. “We need to inform Roman."

“Derick, where would a VIN be on a car?” Belladonna asked, her heart pounding in her chest.

“No. Belladonna, no. Don’t even think about it. Go back inside. I’m calling Roman right now.”

“Derick, you can either tell me where it is, or I’m gonna find it myself.”

"I'm not giving you legal advice, you are going against the advice of your attorney, '' Derrick replied, cautious. "Buthypothetically, it's usually located on the dashboard near the windshield, on paperwork in the glove box, or inside the driver's side door."

"Hang on a sec," She muttered, her determination overtaking her fear. Derrick's continued protests faded into the background as she darted towards the opulent car, her heels clicking on the pavement.

"What do you see?" Derick demanded.

She wet her lips, scanning the empty street, keeping somewhat low and her head on a swivel.

“It’s a black Audi, Q8," she muttered under her breath. "Front driver's side is dented, and there’s a huge scrape that's been painted over but the paint doesn't quite match." Her eyes scanned the area, taking in every detail. "License plate RT524F0."

“Great, that’s enough.” Silence, then, "Get out of there. Now."

"Not yet." She cautiously approached the vehicle, using the hem of her shirt to open the unlocked passenger slide door. The interior was a mess, with crumpled coffee cups and scattered police files emitting a strong stench of stale caffeine. She grabbed a napkin and began rummaging through the cluttered glove compartment. No ownership papers.

“No registration.” She muttered to herself, frustration creeping into her voice.

Glancing up at the windshield, she searched for the VIN, but saw nothing. “Nothing on the windshield.”

"Checking the driver's side door now,"

"Belladonna, I'm serious. Leave. Now." The warning in Derick's voice only pushed her further.

She ignored him, circling to the driver's side. Her adrenaline spiked, the driver's side door was on the street, where anyone could see her, there was no cover. But she figured she'd come this far and if this was the thing that could get rid of Craven and Ramirez, it was worth the risk, and this far, Roman had done all the dirty work.

The door was unlocked and it gave a little pop as the weatherproofing seal broken, the dome light turned on.

And then she saw it - the VIN stamped on the doorframe.

“Got it. VIN WBAPH93567KM12345.” She snapped a picture and looked over her shoulder surveying the street again. Still clear.

"Fantastic, now get the hell out of there!”

She quickly wiped down the door handle, making sure to get every inch clean before closing the door with a soft click. Her heart stopped. The dome light was still on, she couldn’t move. Couldn’t run, couldn’t even turn around. She just stared at the dome light and the seconds dragged on and on waiting for it to go out.

Mercifully, after what was probably only thirty seconds the light faded and she breathed a sigh of short-lived relief, before turning around just in time to see Craven and Ramirez rounding the corner of the club and heading straight her way. With a deep breath, she slipped her phone into her pocket and pasted a scowl on her face, trying to appear unfazed by their sudden appearance.

Adrenaline pulsing through her veins giving her guts she didn’t know she had as she met them in the street.

Craven and Ramirez strode towards her grim smiles twisting their lips as if they were pleased to see her. Her heart leapt into her throat and her arms hugged her sides, for some reason, despite the warmth of the day, she’d have given anything for a coat.

"Am I under surveillance now? Is that what you're doing, creeping out my coworkers?" She snapped.

The men looked at her with smug amusement, clearly enjoying having the upper hand. "Should you be under surveillance?" Craven asked, his voice dripping with condescension. "Anything you want to tell us?”

Belladonna squared her shoulders and met his gaze trying to ignore that awful shaky feeling in her voice. "If you have questions, ask them. Otherwise, leave me and my coworkers alone."

Ramirez's chuckle was dry as chalk. "We did ask you. But it seems there are...inconsistencies in your story."

“Like what?” Panic flared in her chest, but she kept her face impassive. "You have no right to harass me or Roman. You took your shot and you missed."

A primal fear screamed at her to turn around and check the car to make sure the light was really off, but she knew if she did that, they would know what she had done. They couldn't possibly know about the VIN. She was sure she’d closed the door before they’d seen her. The light was off.

It was off.

It was.

Craven prowled closer, his steps heavy and deliberate as he closed in on her. She felt herself being backed up against the cold metal of the car, a physical barrier between her and this dangerous man. His voice was low and dripping with venom as he spoke to her.

"You've gotten yourself tangled up with some very dangerous people, sweetheart. But you still have a chance to do the smart thing and cooperate." His hand shot out and grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his glare. Her heart raced with fear and outrage at his audacity. Before she could react, his grip tightened and she winced in pain. "Unless you want to end up like your boyfriend."

Belladonna's anger overpowered her fear as she knocked his hand away. "This is harassment! I'm reporting you to the chief of police! By the way, you’re illegally parked."

This was as good a spot as any to storm off indignantly but before she could make another move, Craven's hand shot out again, this time grabbing at her bun and catching a fistful of her hair. The two men formed a wall around her, blocking any potential onlookers from seeing what was happening. She cried out in pain as he wrenched her head back and forth, shivers running down her spine.

“Get your hands off of me!!”

“You’d better be careful, Miss Black. Think about the last time someone had a fistful of that pretty hair of yours, screaming didn’t help you then did it? Six weeks in a coma is nothing compared to what might happen next time.”

Her blood ran cold and the color drained from her face. A memory of sharp pain in her back shot through her freezing the breath in her lungs as she looked into Craven’s eyes, dark and soulless. Not dark like Romans. Romans eyes burned, they were alive, Craven’s looked empty.

"Your boyfriend is a dead man," He snarled. "We're going to bury him so deep in Blackgate prison he never sees the light of day again.” He jerked her head again and she let out a yelp.

Desperate now, Belladonna scrabbled at his wrist, trying to pry his fingers from her hair. "You have nothing on Roman," She growled out, trying to sound half as angry as she felt, and a fraction of as angry as Roman would be.

"Oh, little girl," Craven sneered, his hot disgusting breath wafting over her face. "Evidence can be fabricated, witnesses can be paid or disappear entirely." He paused and then added with a chilling smile, "And once we take care of Roman, there'll be no one left to protect you."

Suddenly there was a hand on Craven's shoulder and he turned to see Ramirez gently prying him away from Belladonna. "I think you've scared her enough," Ramirez said coolly. "For now."

A shiver shook Belladonna's body, sending a chill down her spine.

With a brutal shove, Craven threw her head back, causing her head to smack the window of the car before tumbling to the ground. The detectives said nothing more as they slid into their vehicle, slamming the doors shut. The engine roared to life, the tires screeching as they peeled off down the street and disappeared around the corner.

Dazed and in pain, Belladonna slumped on the ground, cradling her throbbing head, blood pulsing in her temples. After a moment, she reached into her pocket and retrieved her phone.

“Derrick, did you get all that?”

There was a brief pause before Derick's tense response: "Every single word."

The camera shutter clicked in rapid succession, capturing Roman's intense gaze and the slight curl of his lips, giving off an air of playful mischief. Behind the lens stood Belladonna, her dark eyes locked with his as she snapped picture after picture. The chemistry between them was electric, tangible in the charged atmosphere that seemed to crackle around them.

Belladonna had only a brief fifteen minutes between her altercation with Craven and Ramirez, which she said nothing to Roman about, and his arrival. But in that time, the anticipation between them had grown even stronger. And now, as she lowered the camera for a moment to admire him, she couldn't help but appreciate how effortlessly he wore the custom-tailored black embossed suit that had been specifically set aside for him. It accentuated his dangerous edge, adding to the allure that surrounded him.

Adrian Blackwood, the designer behind the collection piece, practically fell over himself with excitement upon seeing Roman in his creation. And who could blame him? Roman looked good, leaving no doubt that Adrian had excellent taste. She had playfully teased about the designer having a crush on Roman, but now seeing him in person...was there some truth to it?

But any thoughts of the designer quickly vanished as Roman's focus shifted solely to Belladonna. She commanded every bit of his attention, and he reveled in the fact that he held hers just as strongly. He needed no direction from her as he effortlessly exuded charm and charisma in each frame captured by the camera. They were a perfect match - both captivating and captivatingly drawn to each other.

She raised the camera again.

As she resumed taking photos, Belladonna offered him a knowing smirk, one that made his heart race and his muscles tense with anticipation.

At first, he thought something might have been wrong when he arrived and Belladonna was nowhere to be seen. Going right past anyone who tried speaking to him, through the employee-only doors, a man on a mission. Following the virtual breadcrumb that had been the mysterious text message from Belladonna:

Deja vu?

"Perfect," Belladonna breathed, snapping another shot. She offered no direction, just an occasional smirk when his gaze lingered too long. He soaked up her attention like a flower tilting toward the sun.

In the storage room where their little adventure began, there she’d been. She’d taken him by surprise, and while it wasn’t the type of kiss that made his dick immediately hard, there was something different about it. An intensity that she rarely displayed and left him wanting more. No smart words from her despite Romans prodding. Just a sharp jerk on the lapels of his suit jacket and the crushing of her lips on his that saw no room for subtlety. Her rose-infused mocha had quickly been forgotten as little beads of condensation inched their way down the cup.

As she continued to snap photos, Roman found it increasingly difficult to focus on anything but the burning desire he felt for Belladonna. He couldn't shake the memory of their earlier encounter, nor could he ignore the heat pooling in his gut at the thought of what might have happened if not for his self-imposed 'no sex in the club' rule.

‘If it weren't for that, I'd drag you back into my office right now...’

"Last one," Belladonna announced, breaking through his heated thoughts. She stepped closer, bringing the lens up to his face before snapping the final photo.

"You're a natural, Roman." She praised, a hint of mischief dancing in her dark eyes. "I think we got it," she said finally, lowering the camera.

Cursing under his breath, he struggled to restrain himself as she packed up the equipment. The shoot was over, but he wasn't ready to relinquish her attention yet.

"One more," He insisted, his eyes burning.

Belladonna hesitated, then lifted the camera again with a shrug. As the flashes continued, Roman's thoughts raced. What would her reaction be when she learned of the tasks he'd set in motion today? When she saw the lengths he'd gone to for her? Roman suppressed a smile.

Sparing her life that first night had been an impulsive decision, but now it was proving to be a most interesting one.

The camera clicked a final time and she lowered it, shaking her head. "We're done, Roman."

He nodded slowly. For now, they were done. But soon, very soon, they would begin again.

Seventeen

OK! Before you throw your tomatoes at me, hear me out!!! THERE WILL BE SMUT IN THE NEXT CHAPTER!!!

-Emerges from behind her laptop shield-

Ok? I had to set a up a few more things so the next few chapters will be some kinky, smutty fun! Promise!! And that chapter is already half written and I promise it's going to be worth it!! We good? Come on guys, stick with me!

So, do we have any guesses on whats going to happen next or are we all just sitting around waiting on smut? Smut? That's fair. You guys are going to need a whole damn carton if cigarettes after this next one!

If you'd like to join the taglist, leave me a comment or a reblog, you guys know the drill. Love y'all. Stay toxic fangirls, stay toxic.

@keffirinne @tarrensbookmarks @supernatural-lover @daenerys-skywalker @gilverrwrites @tarrenterror25 @hereticpriest

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eddywoww · 1 year

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Woot woot almost 6k into uneducated guesses and there’s no smut yet

Are we shocked?

#there will be smut #I’m so excited it’s gonna be funny #my fic

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informalcrybaby · 2 years

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Clever Girl (Harwin Strong x OC)

Summary: Lyra Castellan is a noblewoman who doesn’t quite fit in. After escaping a party one night, she meets Ser Harwin in the darkness of the forest. The two share a special moment together.

A/N: This is my first time posting on Tumblr, like ever, so please be kind if you can and if you can’t I’ll probably go and cry in my closet for a little bit. I hope to make this into a series if anyone is interested in it. Enjoy!

Lyra had never enjoyed feasts or parties if she was being honest. The pure excess of food, drink and gossip being consumed always soured her stomach. Gluttony, it seemed, turned her off or merely it was the simple fact that there were starving people sheer meters from those who turned their noses up at less desirable cuts of meat. So, when forced to attend such affairs, she preferred to slip out after introductions and pleasantries were finished. Most of the time, as her father and brothers fell deeper into their cups, she went unnoticed. However, on that night, there was someone watching.

She hadn’t noticed the dark-haired man’s heavy gaze as she slipped through the opening of the gathering tent. Having been too focused on timing her eldest brother, Raeken, and his heavy lidded sips from his overflowing goblet, to notice that mere seconds after her departure, he made his exit.

Crisp night air nipped her exposed arms and kissed her chapped lips in greeting, welcoming her to the edge of the dense forest lining the grounds. In the shadows casted by the cooks’ fires, Lyra sought her solace against a large softwood tree. It wasn’t silent, as jeering and muttered chattering still flitted about, but it was quiet enough that the gnawing in her chest began to ease.

Smiling softly against the darkness, Lyra slipped a wine skin from its hiding place in her heavy skirts. Before taking a heavy sip, she offered her silent gratitude to her favorite maid and her insistency on secret pockets in most of her garments. As she swallowed another sip, a bard began strumming softly, drowning out all background noise. His song was a sad one, a crooning for a lost lover that she had heard before. She hummed gently at first, taking special care to follow the lilt in his voice until she was singing along with him.

As the bard piped out his final stanza, a branch snapped loudly near Lyra, pulling her from their secret duet. Faster than she imagined herself capable of, she pulled the intricate clip holding her fiery locks in a mazelike updo and spun to face the attacker of her peace.

The tip of the small dagger sat just underneath the chin of a man she had only ever seen in passing and heard referred to in the ladies’ stories of gallantry. She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes at first, but her gaze slipped slowly down his curly dark locks, then his nose that bore a faded scar at the bridge and finally lips that looked too soft for a man of such a brutal reputation. She only met his piercing blue eyes after he spoke.

“I mean you no harm my lady.” His deep baritone rumbled through her and had she had her wits about her, she would have blamed her shiver on the cold. He held his palms up as a signal of surrender, but he made no move to disarm her.

“You intend for me to believe that there is nothing to fear about a man called “Break Bones”?” The hand, holding the dagger didn’t waver as she spoke, but she hoped he saw the glimmer of playfulness in her emerald eyes. She knew he meant her no harm. He could have removed her weapon from her possession at any point, but she couldn’t help but to goad him just a little.

“A moniker is only as powerful as those who breathe life into it,” He chuckled lightly, the corners of his plump lips turning up slightly, “Shall I call you “Cut Throat” then, my lady?”

She couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her. His jesting felt comforting and warm. Very much unlike the sneaky formal perversions of most of the noble men who had crossed her path over the years. She only wavered playfully for moment before securing the dagger back into its gold encrusted sheath.

“I quite like the sound of that actually,” Lyra retorted, leaning down to retrieve the wineskin from the ground, “But for formality’s sake, call me Lyra.” She raised the wine to her lips and took a sip to steady her nerves before offering it to her false assailant. He took it gratefully, tipping his head back and sipping generously before offering it back to her.

“Lyra.” He said her name slowly, like he was tasting every contour of every sound of her name. How could such a large, intimidating man appear so soft? She wondered; their eyes existing for only each other in that moment.

“Harwin.” She countered, trying to replicate the care he put into her name. His face warmed and he offered her the smallest of bows.

“May I join you?” He asked, head dipped toward the tree she had been sitting against, “I do feel that we both are in need of a slight reprieve from the fanfare.”

“Please.” She gestured for him to follow her, feeling the heat of his gaze against her back until they both dropped to the soft earth and leaned back against the tree. As if on cue, or maybe he had been playing the entire time, the Bard’s strumming filled their ears once again.

They sat in comfortable silence for moments that seemed to stretch on forever, passing what was left of the wineskin back and forth. She didn’t know the song the bard was singing but surprisingly, Ser Harwin did. He sung softly between sips and when his eyes met hers, she was trying to suppress her smile.

“Does my singing displease you?” He laughed, bright smile matching the one she was unable to hold back. He knocked his shoulder against hers lightly as if they were just childhood friends having a laugh. The closeness stole her breathe for a moment.

“Not at all, you are a lovely singer,” She said, leaning over to steal their shared drink from his hands, their fingers grazing one another, “Rid yourself of your lance in the next tourney and sing your opponent off his horse.”

The laugh that escaped Harwin electrified Lyra in a way she had never felt before. The sound invaded every pore in her body and exploded with a warmth that made her feel like she would never be in need of a cloak ever again.

“Clever girl.” He praised her lowly, voice containing more heat than humor.

It was a magical sound, one that she felt the overwhelming need to hear again. But just as she attempted to poke him again to elicit that glorious sound, a piercing yell broke through their cozy bubble.

“LYRA!” Her brother, Raeken, called from somewhere not too far in the darkness. Her oldest brother would be absolutely livid to find her alone with a man, even one held in as high regard as Harwin.

“Shit!” The word came out as a hiss as she hurriedly pulled herself to her feet. Harwin followed, catching her elbow as she slipped slightly. Her skin flared hot under his touch. She caught his gaze and smiled sadly, bidding him farewell with her eyes before taking off into the darkness to murder her oldest brother.

#harwin strong #harwin x oc #house of the dragon #fanfiction #there will be smut #harwin strong x reader

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curiousityoctaves · 2 years

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The Friction of Dreams Realized is my first fic in 6 months. Nothing inspires me quite like winter and friends-to-lovers <3 and polin of course

#polin #polin Fanfiction #colin x penelope #Bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #romancing mister bridgerton #modern au #friends to lovers #established relationship #couple goals #there will be smut #lots of smut #but sweet smut #that fanfic life

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itsjuststardust · 29 days

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Heaven in Hiding - Chapter 7: The Choice

Heaven in Hiding Masterlist

Chapter Summary: Mando faces a choice on Sorgan. A choice he didn't expect to have to make so soon.

Word Count: 11,305

Author's Notes/Chapter Warnings: When I initially started plotting this story, I really wasn’t expecting to spend so much time on Sorgan, but after going back through that episode, Cara Dune mentions that they’d been there for weeks… and... well… A lot can happen when you’re stuck in close quarters for a few weeks… Who am I to not give Alaina and Din the chance to get to know one another? There is some dialogue from “Sanctuary” that is not mine, but I've used it where I see it fits within both the original and my story. There is one mention of unaliving oneself. There is a brief discussion about s e x (gasp). Lastly, there is a sprinkle of angst. Enjoy 🩶 MINORS - DO NOT INTERACT - 18+ ONLY

Chapter 7: The Choice

“Not again.”

Not again. He wasn’t putting the girl and the kid through the Empire again.

“Mando.”

He saw that walker's footprint in the forest ground and saw red.

It felt like something inside of his chest slid into place. Some part of him that had laid dormant for years was suddenly woken up by the feeling of this strange cord winding its way through his chest until it snaked around every vital organ and then cinched into place.

He knew without a fraction of a doubt that they needed to leave. That he needed to get Alaina and Grogu and get them off this planet.

Of all the places he could have chosen, he picked the one with an Imperial presence on it.

“Mando,” Alaina pleaded again.

How could the girl even still defend staying here, knowing that she was a breath away from possibly being captured again—

“Mando.”

“I told you, it’s not up for debate,” he growled lowly, shaking his head.

“No, Mando,” Alaina whispered, “you’re hurting me.”

His helmet snapped to her at her statement. He was surprised to find that they had somehow made it back inside of their shack, and he still had her arm in his grasp. His fingers were digging so tightly into her bicep that he felt the delicate limb would snap in half if any more force was applied to it.

Abruptly, he released her arm with a mumbled, “Sorry.”

Alaina and Grogu stared at him with equally large eyes. He shook his head, clearing the rest of his panicked tunnel vision from his mind, and took a step further into the room to start evaluating what needed to be packed.

Alaina seemed to study him for a moment before she walked silently to the crib to place Grogu. The kid stood up in the wooden crib, gripping the edge of his bed, and looked back and forth between the two adults.

Mando ignored his new companions' wary looks as he started gathering some of their belongings to store in one of the crates. To his surprise, Alaina started stripping the bed and folding the sheets and bedding without another word.

“I know you don’t agree,” he mumbled as he picked up one of his crates and placed it next to the door.

Alaina shrugged her shoulders as she started folding his old tunic she had been sleeping in the last few days. “I don’t want to go back,” she started quietly. “I don’t want to go back so much that I would kill myself before I let that happen again.”

Mando froze at her words. The terrifying image of Alaina shoving the weasel-looking doctor down to the ground… Her sad green eyes as she looked back at him one last time before she lifted the doctor’s blaster under her chin…

“I appreciate you looking out for us,” she continued, giving him a sad smile. “Really,” she nodded. “I know it may not seem like it sometimes, but in my defense, our past is... complicated at best, and it kinda feels like I’m waiting for the other boot to drop,” she smirked, but her smile was short-lived, and her eyes still remained sad. “I guess… I don’t know what I’m trying to say," she stopped herself with a shake of her head. "I don’t think it’s my place to say anything.”

“Go on,” he nodded for her to continue, but she looked back skeptically. “This isn’t the Empire, Alaina. You have a right to voice your concerns. Doesn’t mean that I will change my mind—” Alaina rolled her eyes, “but that shouldn’t stop you from speaking up.”

“Maker forbid you have to admit you might be wrong about something,” she mumbled, shaking her head at him.

He cocked his helmet and took a step closer to her. “You’re here, aren’t you?” he pointed out, and Alaina’s mouth snapped shut.

When she continued to stare at him, he stretched his hand out to motion for her to continue.

Alaina pursed her lips and stared at him for another beat before continuing. “I’m not used to being on this side of your wrath,” she admitted, studying his helmet. “Wrath maybe isn’t the right word… protectiveness perhaps? I’m not sure which description is more appropriate, although I suppose time will tell,” she paused for a moment, and her eyes finally flicked away from his head. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had someone looking out for me.”

“Is there an argument in there somewhere, or are you going to help get the rest of our stuff packed up?” Mando nodded to the small mess of belongings and weapons scattered across the small shack from their short time here.

Her eyes slid back to rest on his helmet. “Do you know what the difficult thing for me to understand about you is?” Alaina asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

Mando tilted his head at the question. There was no telling what things Alaina could not understand about him. Hell, he didn’t understand everything about him, especially when Alaina was concerned.

Alaina’s eyes softened before she continued. “You have the ability to be protective, kind, and caring. I’ve experienced it myself first hand,” she paused to shrug her shoulders. “But you can be unflinching, abrupt, and lethal when you need to. It just depends on who you’ve given your word to. Five years ago, you gave your word you’d turn me in, and you did. Now, you gave me your word that we’re under your protection, and I believe you. I may not trust you fully. I may never. But I’ve never questioned your word.” She paused again, and he could already guess what she was going to say next. “You gave your word to those people.”

He let out a frustrated sigh and shook his head, “That was before we knew about the possible Imperial remnants and that AT-ST.”

Alaina crossed the small distance between them in three small steps and looked up at his helmet with her emerald doe-eyes. “These people came to you, Mando. I vouched for you! I told Omera you were a man of your word.”

“So, what do you suggest I do?” he asked, making her think through her suggestion of staying here.

Alaina seemed surprised by the question. “Give them a choice,” she answered as if it were the most obvious solution in the galaxy.

He blinked, “A choice?”

“They held up their end of the bargain—their healers helped me, and they gave us a place to stay. They stood by their word. Now it’s your turn,” she stated, poking at the middle of his chest. “You know what they’re up against… Just—just talk to them, Mando. Explain to them what they are up against. If they all want to move, then they can move… but if they want to fight…”

“They’ll die,” he answered easily.

Alaina turned her pleading expression up a notch. “Not if they have your help. You and Cara may not be able to take them by yourselves, but what if you had an entire village behind you? You have weapons—plenty of weapons,” she paused to point at a stack of crates in the corner filled with his entire weapons locker that he wasn’t about to leave behind.

Mando was silent as he contemplated the suggestion. Even with the help of the villagers, it was the help of a handful of shrimp farmers.

“Did you see any Imperial soldiers?” Alaina questioned, staring up at him with a curious expression.

He shook his head, “Didn’t need to. The Imperial walker tracks were enough evidence for us to turn around.”

“What if it was just left behind?” she asked, and he narrowed his gaze at the spark he saw catch in her eyes. “I spent the last five years with Imps. I hear things. Troopers would talk all the time about how when they would get pulled off planets or when they fled, they would leave basically everything behind. The Empire was more worried about making sure they still had people, and some of their tech was more of an afterthought. What if that walker was just left behind for some random thugs to find?” Alaina suggested, and Mando had a hard time arguing with her logic. “Think about it! That makes more sense than the Empire going after a small farming community.”

He heaved a sigh, “Then you have a bunch of thugs operating a very large, deadly piece of equipment. They won’t be trained. They’ll be unpredictable.”

“But you and Cara could still help! You know what you’re doing—”

“And there is still the chance that we’re dealing with Imps,” he interrupted, hoping to make Alaina see reason.

“Mando,” she started slowly, and her hand came to rest in the center of his chestpiece. “I know you’re worried about Grogu and me, but if we aren’t safe here in a backwater skughole like Sorgan," she paused to give him the whisp of a smile and a small shrug of her shoulders, "where will we be?”

He stared into her green eyes and hopeful face. He didn’t know how Alaina was always able to look at him and find a way to meet his eyes hiding under his helmet almost every time, but it was becoming unnerving.

Mando took a step away from Alaina, and her eyes tracked him as he walked to the door. When his hand reached for the door, he turned to look back at Alaina and tilted his head. “You coming, or did you change your mind?”

Alaina’s face broke into a smile. Mando shook his head as he watched her turn back to grab the kid, who was already holding his hands up for her to pick him up. Alaina smiled at the kid and rubbed at one of his ears until she came back to join him at the door.

He opened the door for her and ushered her outside to talk to the villagers.

It turned out not to be a very long walk because a flock of them was already gathered a few meters from their porch. A few recognizable faces, including Omera and Dune, were in the front row, waiting for him to exit the small shack.

He didn’t miss the way Dune’s eyes slid to Alaina before looking back at him with a raised eyebrow.

He leaned against one of the posts holding up the porch. “Bad news, you can’t live here anymore,” he started, his words causing an instant commotion amongst the crowd of villagers.

Alaina’s head snapped to shoot him an irritated glare. “Mando,” she growled under her breath.

Dune shot him an equally disbelieving look and came to stand on the opposite side of the post from him on the small deck. “Nice bedside manner,” she snarked. “Here I was thinking you’d let Alaina change your mind.”

“You and me both,” Alaina grumbled from the other side of him.

“You think you can do better?” he asked the soldier next to him with a challenging tilt of his helmet.

Dune rolled her eyes, “Can’t do much worse.”

The crowd's angry murmurs slowly escalated in front of them, and Mando lifted an arm back up before they turned into an angry mob.

“You took the job!” one of the men in the front row reminded him. “We paid you. We helped tend to your wounded!”

Alaina, not so subtly, elbowed him in his side.

“That was before we knew about the AT-ST,” he replied easily.

“What is that?” the man asked, clearly unfamiliar with the terminology.

“The armored walker with two enormous guns that you knew about and didn’t tell us,” Dune shot back.

The crowd seemed to discuss this for a moment before their voices climbed back to a roar again.

Cries and pleas for their help murmured around them and he looked to Alaina when he felt her elbow dig further into his side.

Her large emerald eyes stared back at him, and he tilted his helmet at her. “If they aren’t brave enough to offer their lives, then it’s not worth my time to train them.” Alaina seemed to consider this for a moment before she nodded and turned back to the crowd.

“Please. We have nowhere else to go,” another nameless face at the front begged.

“Sure you do,” Dune started. “This is a big planet.”

“My grandparents seeded these ponds.”

“We’ve been here for generations!”

“I’ve seen Mando—I’ve seen them both fight,” Alaina spoke up, surprising both him and Dune. It didn’t look like Alaina was going to bring up the fact that she saw them both fight each other, but that probably wasn’t going to help her case. “This isn’t just some small band of raiders like you led them to believe. If it were, they would have taken care of your problem already.” Mando blinked in surprise at Alaina’s defense of his skill. “This is an Imperial walker, possibly manned by trained soldiers. You should have been upfront with them.” Some of the villagers, including the two who had sought him out, seemed suitably chastised by her words. “Besides, there’s just two of them.”

Ah, he smirked to himself. Leading the question. Sneaky.

Mando kept his helmet directed at the crowd, analyzing their reactions to Alaina’s statement. The villagers murmured low as they appeared to be talking amongst themselves. Several looked fearful, but the looks of determination among them outweighed the rest.

“No, there’s not! There’s at least twenty of us!” one of the men up front called out, looking around at his fellow villagers standing behind him.

He could see Alaina smirk out of the corner of his eye. Apparently, she was satisfied with herself.

“Yeah!” a chorus of villagers agreed.

Dune scoffed, “Be realistic. We need trained fighters.”

“Give us a chance!” the villagers called.

Mando turned his helmet to share another look with Alaina. Her emerald eyes sparkled in the late afternoon sun, and she couldn’t hide the smirk that was slowly breaking out into a full grin across her face.

“You cannot fight that thing!” Cara all but laughed at the suggestion.

Mando’s helmet swiveled on its axis from Alaina to Dune, “Not unless we show them how.”

Mando had his crates of weapons open in the middle of the shack, organizing them into one crate with blasters and weapons he could use to train the villagers while leaving the more deadly weapons, like his backup magnetic bombs, flash bombs, and grenades, behind.

He pushed the crate he was planning on taking down to the open fields by the door and stretched his back out.

Somehow, he’d let Alaina talk him into ‘sharing’ the bed with her again. Yesterday was her first full day awake since her fit, as he called it, and he could see how exhausted it had left her. The kid had gone down easily, and Alaina had gone behind the small partition in the room to change back into his tunic before collapsing onto the bed.

He was about to tell her he was taking the floor again when she looked up at him and said, “Thank you for sitting with me last night. I can’t remember the last time I got any real sleep without having nightmares.”

It was a combination of her words, those huge emerald doe-eyes, and his exhaustion, but against his better judgment, he went to sit next to Alaina on the bed.

She raised her knees to her chest, tucking them under her borrowed tunic, making her a blob with blonde hair next to him. Alaina wrapped her arms around her knees and rested her right cheek on top of them so she could stare at him.

“Mando?” When she finally spoke, her words were a whisper, like she was afraid to wake him up.

“Mmm?”

“Is this real?”

His helmet turned to look at her, confused by her question.

“Is this real? You really saved me? This isn’t some kind of trick? You’re not gonna give me back?”

He froze, and the cord that had wrapped around the organs inside his chest tugged painfully around his heart. Is that what she really thought? That this was some nefarious plot that would end with her back in the hands of the Imps?

“Alaina,” he said, his voice low as not to wake the kid but no less lacking every ounce of conviction he could muster. “Alaina, this isn’t a trick. You’re never going back there, do you understand? I’m going to take care of you both until we find someplace that is right for you and the kid. Until then, you and the kid… you two are under my protection.”

He could see tears gathering in her eyes. The water reflected the moonlight that crept in through the cracks in the wood planks, and the silver light almost completely obscured her green eyes from his view.

In a surprising move, he watched in slow motion as Alaina’s left arm unwrapped from around her legs and reached over the small distance between them to rest on top of his gloved hand.

“I still haven’t forgiven you,” she whispered in the dark.

Mando nodded and turned his helmet to look forward. He hadn’t expected anything more from her. He didn’t deserve her forgiveness—her hand squeezed his, and he looked down at the small, delicate hand holding tightly to his.

“But… maybe someday I will.”

His eyes closed at her words, and he gripped her hand back. He didn’t deserve her forgiveness, but he would be lying to himself if he denied that he hoped for it.

He hoped that he could eventually find her and the kid somewhere out of the way and safe so they could heal. A place where they would, hopefully, one day be able to put the tragedies of their lives behind them. Maybe then, once they were safe and healing, he could finally begin to forgive himself.

“Alaina?” His vocoder struggled to keep his digitized words soft as he whispered to her.

“Mmm?” she hummed back. Her cheek was still resting on her knees, looking at him, but her eyes were beginning to droop.

“Go to sleep,” he whispered, giving her hand one last light squeeze before letting her go.

Alaina smiled and let her eyes drift close.

So, for the second night in a row, Mando slept sitting up next to Alaina in that bed.

He’d take the floor again over sleeping like that for a third night. He was used to sleeping in uncomfortable positions, and sleeping upright was not uncommon for him, but that was usually done in the comfort of his command chair on the Crest.

Alaina stepped out from behind the partition where she’d redressed for the new day—back in the green shirt and gray tactical pants he’d gotten for her. She flashed him a quick smile as she finished tying her hair off in a braid.

“Do you think two pairs of socks will prevent me from getting blisters in these boots?” she asked hopefully.

He looked down at her boots and then back up at Alaina, “Planning on taking a hike?”

“No. Training. I’m in Cara’s group today,” she replied as if it were the obvious answer.

He felt his eyebrows raise high into his head. “Training? As in, you’re training with the villagers?” he asked, positive he had misheard her.

“Yeah,” Alaina confirmed with a frown. “That’s okay, isn’t it? They were dividing people up into groups last night. I’m in Cara’s group today working on hand-to-hand combat, and then your group next for weapon training,” she informed him, nodding toward the crate of blasters by the door.

He didn’t answer immediately, having a difficult time imagining the petite waif of a girl training to fight—

“I didn’t think to ask you,” Alaina mumbled before her body stiffened. Her eyes flicked down to the floor, and she started wringing her hands together. “I didn’t think—I thought it would be okay,” she started rambling. “Cara told me she’d help me out.”

Mando rolled his eyes. He was sure the ex-drop trooper was excited to get a chance to work with Alaina without him. She hadn’t exactly made her little infatuation with the former ballerina a secret.

“But I don’t have to—”

“Alaina,” he stopped her and sighed when her worried green eyes looked up at him. “It’s fine. I’m just surprised you were interested in learning some self-defense, is all.” Alaina stared at him for another minute like she was waiting for a but or for him to change her mind. “Really,” he confirmed with a nod. “I actually think it’s a good idea for you to learn a few things.”

She smiled at him.

“Although…” he began but tapered off when Alaina’s smile fell off her face again. “It looks like people are already making their way down there,” he commented, nodding out the window where they could watch the villagers start to make their way to the open fields to start their defense training. Alaina’s forehead scrunched in confusion at his statement. “Dune may have mentioned that the last person to show up was going to have to run ten laps around the village.”

Alaina’s eyes went wide, and she quickly sidestepped him to head out the door.

Mando smirked as he watched her run out the door, and her long, blonde braid struck the door as she turned the corner.

He chuckled to himself and grabbed the crate he left by the door. He couldn't help but be amused with himself as he followed after her.

Several hours later, the afternoon sun was high in the sky, and Mando’s amusement from the morning had completely vanished after seeing the villagers’ gun skills. His expectations had been low, but even that bar was higher than what their skills actually ended up being.

Abysmal was an understatement, he thought as he watched another shot go wide.

A flash of gold in the distance distracted him and he looked away from his group toward Dune’s down the hill from his.

Alaina was easy to spot in the crowd; her honey-blonde hair reflected the afternoon sun, making her a beacon.

He watched as she repeated Cara’s moves step by step. She looked like a natural. He wasn’t sure why that surprised him. She was a dancer. She was treating her training as if it were merely choreography. He wondered if Dune noticed it too—if she could spot Alaina’s meticulous observations and the way she had memorized the exact way Dune ran through her motions. Memorizing the motions was helpful to learn the basics but not helpful when you needed to improvise in the heat of battle.

The sound of several rounds striking the metal pots that were strung up as targets brought his focus back to his own group.

Omera was steady and focused as she let another round go, striking the next pot.

Well, at least the entire group wasn’t useless.

He called his group’s training a couple of hours later. A few had made progress, but for the most part, they just needed practice. The few that didn’t need practice needed to pray to whatever god they worshipped that they wouldn’t die within the first five minutes of their attack.

He trekked down the hill where Dune appeared to also be wrapping up her training. Several of her group were milling around, but they all appeared to be watching—

“Block!” Dune yelled out.

Curiosity got the best of him, and he sauntered over to look for Alaina and see how she fared on her first day.

“Careful, don’t get too close,” Dune commented.

Mando came to stand next to Dune, who was casually leaning back against a wooden fence while she watched her students spare.

“Where did you find this girl, Mando?” Dune asked him with a grin, unable to tear her gaze away from the fight.

His helmet turned to look at the center of the ring, and felt his jaw drop at the sight of Alaina fending off her sparing partner, who was on the attack. Both Alaina and her attacker had makeshift wooden staffs, and his eyebrows raised high into his forehead when he watched as Alaina twirled her staff as she spun out of the way to avoid a strike. The move was quick, and immediately put her on the attack now instead of the defense.

He leaned over to rest his arms against the top rail of the fence next to Dune. “She’s a ballerina,” he commented just as Alaina made another spin.

Dune snorted and finally turned to look at him, “You’re shitting me.”

He shook his head, but before he could say anything, he watched Alaina attempt to plant the end of her spin but ended up tripping over her boots. Mando watched helplessly as she fell flat on her back, giving her opponent the opportunity to bring his wooden staff down to gently tap her chest, signaling she’d lost this round.

“Alright,” Dune called, pushing off the fence. “That’s enough for today.”

Alaina didn’t move and continued to lay flat on her back, panting out of breath on the ground. Oh, she was going to be sore, he thought, shaking his head. After being with the Empire for five years, she’d lost virtually all of her muscle mass, and it was going to take time to rebuild that. She’d be lucky if she could stand in the morning.

Mando hopped over the fence, walked to Alaina, who was still sprawled out on the ground, and offered her his hand.

“Of course, you had to see that,” she grumbled but still accepted his help anyway. “I would have had him if it wasn’t for these boots,” she grumbled. “They’re too big and heavy.”

He couldn’t help but smirk at the sore loser attitude. “Learn to use them as an advantage. They’re heavy—you’re lightweight,” he countered. “If you ever find yourself in the middle of a real fight, you’ll be thankful you’re wearing those instead of your dancing slippers. If you have to kick someone in the head—ribbon and satin won’t knock them unconscious, but thick rubber soles with enough force will.”

Alaina snarled and rubbed her backside. “First, stop calling them slippers; they’re called pointe shoes,” Alaina corrected him with a grumble. Then she arched an eyebrow at him and said, “Second, maybe I want to use the ribbon on my pointe shoes to strangle someone.”

A bark of laughter escaped him at the picture she just put in his head. He hadn’t been expecting that answer to come from the former dancer.

Alaina smirked but ducked her head to hide her smile.

“Come on," he laughed, bringing his hand to the small of her back. "Let's go save whoever is watching the kid,” he suggested, giving her a little push to head back to the center of the village.

Later that night, after they’d all eaten and taken turns washing the day off of them in the bathhouses, Mando took his turn trying to get the kid to go to sleep. He seemed extra restless that evening and fussed anytime Mando tried to place him in his crib.

“You should tell him a story,” Alaina suggested, coming around the partition dressed in his tunic as she tried to brush her hair, frowning when she snagged the comb in a tangled curl.

“A story?”

“Yeah, you know, a story,” Alaina confirmed, still focusing on her tangle as she went to sit on the bed. “Starts with once upon a time, has a plot, characters, exposition, and then a happy ending—you know—a story. Or do Mandalorians not believe in reading bedtime stories of people finding their happy ever after to their children?”

He cocked his head at the jibe. “I wouldn’t know,” he commented, trying and once again failing to get the kid to go in his crib.

Her green eyes looked up at him from her hair, and he could see the teasing glint in them shining back at him. “Just talk to him, Mando,” Alaina said, the snark completely dropping from her tone. “You haven’t been around much the last couple of days. He’s missed you.”

Mando held the kid in his arms in front of his helmet and studied the stubborn little womp rat. “What do I talk about?”

“Anything,” Alaina shrugged. “It’s more just so he can hear your voice. It doesn’t matter what you talk about.”

He continued to study the drooling child held out in his arms. The kid waved his hands and cooed excitedly. Evidently, sleep was the last thought on the womp rat’s mind.

“Talk about something you know,” Alaina suggested. “My mom said when I was a baby, my dad used to read me blaster manuals when they couldn’t get me to go to sleep.”

Mando couldn’t help the slow turn of his helmet to look at the woman at her admission.

“What?” she asked with a frown.

“And you became a ballerina. Maybe I’ll pick a different topic.”

Alaina rolled her eyes, and he smirked when he heard her mumble the word, “Ass,” under her breath. “You know, I was just trying to be nice and give you a suggestion.”

“Since I left all my manuals back on the ship,” Mando started, turning to look back at the kid, “how about I walk you through how to take apart my rifle?”

Grogu blinked at him, and he took that as the go-ahead to launch into his descriptions. Mando carried the kid around the room, holding him to his chest while he spoke about the correct way to clean a rifle, being as detailed as he could possibly be. By the time he was done with the most boring, monotone description of how to completely dismantle his Ambam phase-pulse blaster, the kid had been snoring for the last five minutes.

Mando smiled down at the little womp rat as he gently placed him in his crib, careful not to wake him up. He looked over to Alaina to thank her for the suggestion but found that the blonde was already passed out on the bed.

He silently went to the table and turned the lantern off before making himself comfortable on the floor next to Alaina’s cot.

“You don’t have to sleep on the floor, ya know,” Alaina’s sleepy voice startled him from above.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“Mmm, kinda,” she mumbled. “I can scoot over and make room. It’d be a tight fit—”

“It’s okay,” he stopped her.

Silence settled back over them and just when Mando thought Alaina had drifted back to sleep, her quiet voice spoke from the cot above him.

“I don’t understand why you are so stubborn,” she grumbled. “The floor can't be comfortable. I get that you haven’t shared a bed with someone before, but this is literally just sharing a bed with someone.” Mando’s face scrunched in confusion by her words. “Besides, I don’t bite.”

“But you do kick,” he muttered.

“Excuse me?”

“Alaina, It’s called being a gentleman,” he cut her off. “And for your information, I have shared a bed with someone before.”

There was a pause before her shocked response came, “You—You have?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he groused.

Alaina was silent above him, but he knew her questions weren’t over when he heard the cot shift above. He blinked, and half of Alaina’s face was staring at him from above.

“What?” he sighed.

Alaina’s eyes widened slightly, “So… does that mean…Do you leave your helmet on for... sex?”

Mando choked at her question and sat up on his elbows to stop so he wouldn’t wake up the kid. “That’s what you want to know?” he whispered incredulously.

“What?” Alaina defended, bringing more of her head over the edge of the cot to stare at him. “I think it’s a valid follow-up question!” she whispered loudly.

Mando laid back down and stared up at the ceiling, silently wishing that the raiders would come to attack the village now or that the floor would open up and swallow him whole—anything to get out of this embarrassing line of questioning.

Alaina smirked down at him. “Well?”

He heaved a long sigh. Clearly, the Maker wasn’t listening at the moment. Alaina’s green eyes blinked above him, and he let out another irritated sigh. “My helmet doesn’t come off,” he eventually confirmed. “It doesn’t need to to get the job done.”

Her face fell flat. “How romantic,” Alaina deadpanned.

“You asked,” he retorted.

Alaina continued to stare down at him, and he prepared himself for whatever she was working up the nerve to ask him.

“So…” she began but tapered off for a moment to chew on her lip. “So, does that mean you’ve never kissed anyone?”

“Alaina,” he sighed.

“Yes?”

“Go to sleep.”

She rolled her eyes but she did finally roll back on the cot next to him.

“Good night, Mandalorian,” she whispered in the dark.

He smirked and shook his head at her, “Good night, ballerina.”

There was a small giggle, but after that, the room was enveloped in a blanket of silence.

Mando continued to stare at the ceiling until his eyes eventually drooped closed.

What didn’t even seem like an hour later, Mando’s eyes flew open at the feeling of something jumping on his chest.

Green, wrinkly skin with large ears and eyes swam into his vision. Grogu had his face squished against his helmet. At the close distance, the kid was a shadow, illuminated by the early morning sun creeping in through the slats in the wood walls. The kid’s little three-finger-clawed hand came and banged excitedly in the center of his silver helm, and he let out a tired sigh.

“Morning, kid,” he grumbled.

Something else grumbled, and his helmet rolled to his right to find a distinctly Alaina-shaped figure wrapped in a blanket. She had evidently made her way to the floor at some point in the night and was now on her side facing him and about as close as she could be to him without actually touching him. Her blanket was completely wrapped around her, with only a sliver of her cheek and a curly lock of hair escaping from the blanket.

Grogu gurgled and smiled at him, eagerly slapping his helmet again.

“What am I gonna do with the two of you?” he asked, shaking his head.

Grogu blinked at him, and Mando grabbed the kid, bringing him up off the floor with him, careful to step over Alaina’s sleeping form.

Sorgan was idyllic.

Except for the small fact that he had been helping train the villagers who lived here to defend themselves against raiders—it was idyllic.

Almost two weeks after they had arrived, Mando kept waiting for something nefarious to come out of the woodwork—the villagers sacrificed their children or elders or perhaps even used the shrimp farming as a front for a secret spice ring, but so far he hadn’t found anything incriminating—and he’d tried to.

He kept telling himself that was a good thing, but something still felt uneasy, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

Aside from him looking for something wrong with the farming community, Alaina and Grogu took it at face value.

They were smitten with the small village.

Grogu had children to play with and would come back to the shack at the end of most days exhausted, which meant Mando hadn’t had to embarrass himself with any more weapon cleaning lectures.

Even Alaina, who had been cold and reserved since he had stolen her back from the Empire, had warmed up to the charms of the village and its occupants. She trained with them. She ate with them. She even had drinks with them and Dune to celebrate the first week of training. She was happy. Her green eyes had lost some of their steel. Her hair got some of its shine back. With regular meals and exercise, even in the short time they’d been here, he was surprised to see how quickly her body responded to the healthy routine. Her face lost some of the haunted look it had developed, and it was slowly starting to take on a happy, contented look. Her body became less gaunt and while it still had some sharp angles, those angles were slowly softening.

The facts stared at him head-on. The reason why he had reservations about the village… how happy his new companions seemed to be… was it possible they had stumbled across the perfect place for them on the first try?

Shots firing pulled him out of his internal discourse, and he put his attention back on the task at hand—training the villagers how to handle firearms.

Mando had not been very hopeful after the first couple of days of training, but they had slowly begun to improve.

Today, he had Alaina in his group.

He watched the blonde in question try to handle the rifle she’d gotten paired with this time, but he could tell from a distance that the weapon was too large for her smaller, inexperienced hand. He took a moment to observe her as she took aim and fired off a shot, missing her target completely.

Hand-to-hand was obviously where her talents lay, but he had held out hope that some of that would transfer over to firearms…

Another shot was fired, and another target missed.

She was getting frustrated. He could see it in the way her eyebrows drew together in concentration—how her teeth worried on her bottom lip—how every muscle in her body was tense.

Mando shook his head and walked behind the line of villagers doing target practice until he made it to Alaina at almost the end of the line. She was lying on the ground with the butt of the rifle digging into her shoulder. Her technique was decent, but the fact of the matter was it was just too large for her, throwing off her aim.

He nudged her boot with his, and when she turned her head around to stare at him, he said, “It’s too big for you.”

Her shoulders sagged in frustration, and her head lolled forward in defeat.

“Get up. I want to swap you out with something else,” he told her, giving her boot a kick again.

With a groan, Alaina got up from the ground, passing off the rifle she’d been using to him before brushing the dirt off the front of her dress.

“I know,” she grumbled as she followed him back to the crate of weapons he had stored away.

“You know what?” he asked her.

Mando made sure the rifle’s safety was engaged before propping it up against the crate while he began searching for a particular blaster he had in mind.

“I’m no marksman. I’m better with Cara’s stuff,” she pouted, crossing her arms across her chest.

Mando paused his search to raise his helmet and looked at the blonde. “When’s the last time you shot a blaster?” he asked her before resuming his search.

“What do you think I’ve been doing for the last two weeks?”

Ah, Mando smiled, finding the blaster tucked away at the bottom of the crate. He looked the old blaster over, inspecting it with a trained eye, and went through the motions of making sure it was ready for use.

He’d had this blaster since virtually the beginning. It was a hand-held blaster. The grip was small, and didn’t have much of a distance between that and the safety. The muzzle was slightly extended but still lightweight, so it didn’t affect the balance of the blaster. It was old, probably older than he was, but Mando still serviced it regularly as he did with all of his weapons, so he knew it was still in working order. It had been a gift from the Mandalorian who had rescued him from the ruins of his homeworld all those years ago. The man had given him one of his own blasters as a gift before he went to train in the fighting corps. As he had grown, so did his taste in weapons, and this blaster was simple and smaller than what he preferred now.

Which made it perfect for ten year olds and ballerinas alike learning how to shoot for the first time.

“You do better with Dune because you were a dancer,” he told her as he directed her back toward her spot in line. “It’s all choreography,” he finished as they reached her position.

Mando presented her with the new blaster and showed her how to hold the weapon. He showed her how to grip it, where the safety was, and how to use her thumb to click the safety on and off. Alaina took the small blaster from him and mimicked his moves. He nodded. She fumbled a bit with the safety, but she could still reach it with the thumb on her shooting hand.

Next, he pointed ahead to the targets in the distance. Mando used his boots to gently kick at hers to get them into place. He placed his hands on her wait to position her upper body before moving them to her shoulders.

“Shooting is different,” he continued as his hands positioned her shoulders where he wanted them. “You have to have patience.”

Alaina scoffed, and her head whipped to glare at him. “You have to have patience in dancing, too!” she argued. Mando placed his hand on the top of her head to force her to turn to look back at the target. “Well, you do,” she grumbled.

Mando came to stand behind her and wrapped his arms around her small frame, grabbing her hands in his to stretch her arms out in front of her and position them. He could feel her tense under him, and he gave her hands a reassuring squeeze as he moved the blaster to take aim at the target.

“Relax,” he instructed, bringing his helmet down to be level with her head to help her line the shot up. It took a few long, drawn-out seconds, but eventually, he felt Alaina relax, and her body sank back against his chest. “Good. Now, both eyes open; you want to see everything,” he continued as he made a couple of slight changes to her hands and arms before slowly letting his grip go.

He hovered his hands, but Alaina was able to keep that same position, so he slowly began to unwind from her while he backed away.

“Take a breath." Her chest expanded. "Line up your shot." She corrected the blaster slightly. "Fire." Her shot just nicked the edge of one of the steel pots hanging in the distance.

“I hit it!” she exclaimed, pointing at the pot swaying on the rope it was hanging from, and turned back to look at him. “Did you see that?!”

Mando chuckled at her excitement and gave her a congratulatory pat on her back.

“Keep practicing,” he instructed, pointing back to the targets.

Alaina’s green eyes sparkled in the sun as she beamed back at him, her smile filled with triumph. He gave her a little nod and pointed back at the targets in front of her. Still smiling, she turned back to take aim again.

Mando continued to walk down the line, occasionally stopping to correct someone's posture or grip.

He told himself the reason why he kept smiling for the rest of the afternoon was because, by the end of today’s lesson, everyone in the group was consistently hitting their targets.

It had nothing to do with the fact that Alaina's excitement over finally hitting her target was contagious.

After the two groups called it quits for the evening, the villagers broke up to go about their usual chores and dinner.

He and Alaina had gotten into a good routine in the evenings. She would bring him a tray of food from the hall before taking Grogu back with her so they could both eat dinner. He could usually count on her giving him an hour or two to be on his own. Which allowed him the privacy to remove his helmet to eat, clean up, and change clothes before his roomates returned for the evening. Then, he and Alaina alternated nights, putting the kid to bed. Although he was slightly suspicious that Alaina did something to wind the kid up on his nights to get him to settle down, regardless, it was a routine that the three of them fell into easily.

Unfortunately, his smile from earlier didn’t last the rest of the day. It was that evening that the Mandalorian received confirmation that the village had taken just as much to the Mandalorian and his companions as they had to them.

He frowned when Alaina walked back up to the shack without Grogu. He tilted his head curiously at her, silently asking about the missing womp rat while he sat in one of the chairs on their porch.

“He’s with Winta,” she explained with a shrug, coming to sit in the chair next to him. “The elders were telling stories around the bonfire, and I didn’t have it in me to take him from his friends just yet.”

The two sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching as the last bit of sun began to sink under the horizon.

“You didn’t want to stay with your friends?” he asked curiously when he noticed that there were several adults huddled around the bonfire, and it wasn’t just the children.

Alaina shook her head. “And listen to ghost stories?” She gave him a skeptical look. “No, thank you,” she finished, shaking her head and looking back into the distance. “I have enough of my own,” she murmured.

Mando didn’t take his helmet off her after her statement.

They hadn’t spoken anymore about her time in the Empire since she woke up. She hadn’t offered, and he hadn’t pushed. Even when she would jolt awake in the middle of the night, and he knew she had been woken by another nightmare. After two weeks, he learned that Alaina seemed to recover quicker if he faked sleep than she did if he questioned her about her dreams. Although Mando found it difficult to fake sleep when Alaina would crawl off the cot to lay next to him on the floor. And it was even more difficult to pretend when she would rest her head on his shoulder before going back to sleep.

It was his fault she had those nightmares in the first place, so he felt that he should help her shoulder some of that burden. And if that meant his shoulders literally needed to support her, then that’s what they would do.

“You know it’s my night to get the womp rat to go to bed,” he commented flatly.

Alaina scrunched her face in confusion before she turned back to look at him. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I had suspicions you were doing something to the kid to wire him up on my nights.” Alaina snorted, and he smirked when Alaina’s lips quirked up at his admission. “And now I have proof," he accused with a point at the grin on her face. "Letting the kid listen to ghost stories before bed?” he scoffed, shaking his helmet at her.

“It’s not intentional!” Alaina laughed.

He continued to shake his head, “The kid’s never gonna go to sleep tonight.”

Alaina’s mouth was open to say something else, but her eyes slid to something off to the side. “Omera?”

Mando turned to find the woman who had befriended them, walking up to their small shack with an easy smile on her face.

“Is Grogu okay?” Alaina asked, and Omera nodded, immediately easing any worry from both of them.

“I actually wanted to come check in on you. Make sure the three of you were doing okay,” Omera told them as she came to stand next to him on the porch.

Mando turned to share a look with Alaina before looking back to Omera and nodded. “It is very nice here,” he told her honestly.

Omera smiled, “Yes, I’m glad you think so.”

“Yes,” Alaina agreed. “Everyone has been so kind and welcoming…” She faded off but quickly schooled her features to be happy when Mando looked back at her. “You and your people have been great. Really. Besides, it’s clear that he’s happy here,” she finished, pointing to the bonfire in the distance where Grogu was sitting with the other children.

“What about you?” Omera asked, looking at Alaina first and then at him. “What about the both of you?”

He shared another look with Alaina, who also seemed confused by the question.

“Us?” Mando asked when he looked back at Omera.

“Are you happy here?” she asked with a smile, looking between the two of them. “We—We want you to stay. The community is grateful for your help.”

He blinked at the declaration and looked back at Alaina, who had a blank expression on her face.

“Think about it,” Omera continued with a smile. “It’s evident that you have all been through a lot. The village doesn’t care what you’ve done; they are just grateful for your help.” Omera turned her focus on him before continuing her argument for them to settle down. “You can pack all this away in case there's ever trouble. You, Alaina, and your boy could have a good life. He could be a child for a while. Wouldn't that be nice?”

Mando looked at Alaina again but her face remained a blank, emotionless mask.

“It would,” he eventually agreed, turning to look back at Omera. “Your offer is kind, but I don’t belong here,” he said, hoping that he was doing a decent job of masking his own emotions. He took a deep breath and returned his helmet to Alaina, “But maybe they do,” he agreed quietly.

Omera smiled understandingly and looked hopeful at Alaina. “You’ll consider it then?” she asked the former ballerina sitting next to him.

“Oh, um, yes,” Alaina replied, obviously still surprised by the offer.

Alaina’s answer seemed to appease Omera and Mando watched as the villager turned to walk away from the shack on the outskirts back toward the bonfire in the middle of the village.

Silence stretched between the two of them, and Mando kept his helmet directed forward. “What do you think?” he asked Alaina quietly.

“I don’t know,” she answered, the quiet tone of her voice matching his own.

The last couple of weeks had added up to this moment. Mando had no right to feel so despondent by the offer. He’d even slowly come around to the idea himself. Once the raiders were taken care of, there would be no reason why the two of them shouldn’t stay.

“I think you should stay,” he told her, sounding more confident than he felt.

Alaina’s eyes widened, and he watched as they flickered across his helmet. Her face eventually closed off so he couldn’t read her, and rose from her chair without a word.

“Alaina?”

“I’ll think about it,” she agreed stiffly as she shuffled past him to get the the door of their shack.

“What’s there to think about?” he questioned, confused by her sudden sour attitude.

“I don’t know! Nothing, I guess,” she bit out angrily. Mando heard the telltale sound of the crack in her words, and he knew she was fighting back tears.

Mando stood up from his chair to follow her, “Alaina—”

“I’m tired, Mando,” Alaina cut him off. She paused in the entryway to the shack but refused to look back at him. “I said I would think about it, so I’m going to think about it, but right now, I just want to go to bed. You should probably get Grogu and make sure you don’t need to walk around with him for a bit before you try and put him to bed,” she recommended before walking the rest of the way inside, leaving him alone on the small porch.

Mando stared after her, feeling confused and a few other emotions that he couldn’t quite place. His heart clenched, and that damned cord in his chest tugged as if it were pulling him to follow after her.

Unable to shake the feeling he’d done something wrong by suggesting that she and the kid stay here, Mando took the steps off the rickety wooden porch and headed toward the bonfire to collect Grogu.

The days in the wake of Omera’s offer were tense.

Alaina did her best to avoid him, often waking up before him, getting an early start to the day, and not returning until the evening, completely exhausted and passing out without another word. She threw herself into her training, and he figured that if that helped her work through whatever was making her angry, then he wouldn’t stop her.

He would catch her running laps with Dune around the village in the morning on his way to take the kid to the hall for breakfast. She tired easily in the beginning and still obviously struggled to run in her heavy boots, but she kept trying. Every morning, he watched as her strength slowly started to build up. With each new morning, she was able to run a little faster and go a little farther than the day before.

On the days her group worked with Dune on hand-to-hand combat, she would often stay behind after lessons were over to work one-on-one with the former drop trooper.

The first time that he caught one of their private lessons on his way down the hill, he watched as Dune didn’t hold back and tripped her, making her flip and land on her back onto the ground. He ran to intervene. Only, when he made it to their makeshift sparing ring, Alaina got herself back up and shot him a challenging glare, before giving Dune the go-ahead to continue.

When he finally realized that this was going to be Alaina’s new routine a few days later, he made it a point to stop on his way down the hill to watch for a few minutes.

Dune was working with Alaina on how to get out of certain positions if she ever found herself being restrained by an attacker. After a few minutes of struggling in the other woman’s stronger hold, Alaina tapped out.

“You’ll get there,” Dune encouraged her. “You just have to learn to use your smaller frame to your advantage. What do you think, Mando?” Mando nodded in agreement. “Alaina here asked for a crash course,” the former soldier unnecessarily explained. “Got any suggestions on future lessons?”

Mando nodded and reached behind his back to pull Alaina’s dagger from its hiding spot. She hadn’t asked for it back since he’d attempted to help teach her how to throw knives in the woods weeks ago. It felt wrong to keep something of such sentimental value from her. Besides, if Alaina was serious about learning to defend herself, then it felt right for her to have the blade back to incorporate into her training.

Alaina blinked at the sight of her mother’s dagger. Mando held it by the tip of the blade and offered it for her to take. She approached him slowly, and even though she wasn’t looking at him, he could see the stormy torment behind her green eyes as she walked. She took the blade by the hilt and only took a moment to inspect it before looking up at him with an unreadable expression on her face.

“I think she should practice her knife throwing skills,” he recommended and then walked away from the sparing ring without a look back.

Their limited interactions continued like this for days.

Mando couldn’t even call her angry or cold. She was just… focused. Aloof even.

When her group had their turn to practice their firearm skills with him, Alaina still joined them. She would take the same blaster he had worked with her to use and practice with the same determination as the other villagers. He put them through drills—having them run while shooting targets, having them try and shoot moving targets, having them shoot in every position possible. She took constructive criticism when he offered it but made no other attempt to interact with him.

Alaina put in the work, but there was a wall there that hadn’t been there before, and if it had been just him she was like that with, it would have been one thing, but she had even put the kid at arm’s length.

After weeks of their routines and bonding with the kid, Grogu had become upset when Alaina appeared to just be going through the motions with him. To make matters worse, Grogu seemed to pick up on his caretakers' tense emotions and appeared just as frustrated by Alaina’s lack of interaction with him as Mando was.

Mando was over it.

At the end of their third week in the quaint shrimping village, there was a meeting at the hall that meeting. The villagers had convened, and after a brief debate, it was decided that they were as ready as they were going to be. They would take two days to rest and finish the last-minute touches to their barricades and fortify the Elder’s hut to give them and the children and those unable to fight a safe place to hide. Then, in two nights from tonight, on the night of the full moon, they would make their attack.

Mando and Dune shared a nod at their decision.

Dune was rambling off a list of suggestions for the necessary fortifications when a flash of gold grabbed his attention. He watched Alaina stalk away from the hall in the direction of their shed, and he decided it was time to confront the angry woman about her attitude.

Dune just gave him a knowing, annoying smirk when she caught him looking after Alaina’s retreating form. Mando ignored her and went to Omera, asking if she could take the kid for the night before going after Alaina.

He trekked through the village to their shack on the village outskirts, taking his time to come up with his words as the moon slowly made its way up into the night sky. When he finally reached their place, he took a deep breath before entering the small lodging—which was surprisingly empty.

“Alaina?” he called, not wanting to invade her privacy if she was changing behind the partition, but received no response.

He heard something thud loudly against the outside of the wall opposite him. Mando stayed still for a moment listening for the sound to repeat, and when he couldn’t hear anything else, he walked back out of the shack and walked around it to inspect the noise further.

When he made it around to the back of the shed, he discovered Alaina standing in position with a look of determination on her face as she stared down the back of the house. After another second, Alaina lobbed her mother’s dagger at the shed, and Mando’s helmet tracked the small weapon as it spun through the air until the dagger’s serpentine hilt bounced off the wall and fell to the ground at his feet.

Mando picked up the dagger and carried it back to where Alaina was staring him down. Her green eyes glared at him the entire time.

When Mando offered her the blade back, and she refused to take it, he shrugged his shoulders and casually flicked his wrist, flipping the dagger straight up into the air. He easily caught it by the blade and spun to launch it at the shack, where it embedded into the wood with such force it vibrated for a few seconds.

He couldn’t help but give Alaina a smug look, and his smile only grew when her glare intensified.

With a scoff, Alaina took off to pull the dagger out of the wood.

“You seem upset,” he commented, earning him another infuriated glare when Alaina returned to her previous position. “Alright,” Mando started, not bothering to hide the frustration in his voice, and Alaina blinked in surprise at the tone change. “I’m done with the petulant teenager act—”

“I’m not a child,” Alaina cut in with a growl.

“Yeah? Then drop the attitude and talk to me,” he challenged her. “This all started after Omera offered for you and the kid to stay.”

“And?” Alaina asked.

At first, he was confused by her question until he realized that she was leading him to continue.

“And I suggested you take her up on it,” he finished, confused why that had anything to do with her anger.

“Is that all it was? A suggestion?” Alaina asked, looking up at his helmet.

He frowned, “I don’t understand what you're so upset about. It’s a good offer!”

“What if it’s an offer I don’t want to take?” she seethed quietly, staring up at him with those large, pleading eyes of hers.

“Why wouldn’t you want to?”

Alaina rolled her eyes, and her head fell back in frustration. “What if I want more than this, Mando? What if I want a city? A place with more things to do and see and experience?”

He sighed, “Alaina, you’re in hiding from the Empire,” he reminded her. “A bigger city poses even bigger problems.”

“So I’m just supposed to hide away from the rest of my life? I’m only twenty-seven!”

“Alaina—”

“No!" Alaina yelled and stomped her foot in the grass. He wanted to point out to her that she was acting more like the petulant teenager she insisted she wasn't, but for his own safety, he decided against it.

"Mando, I never thought I’d ever get a chance to leave the Empire, and now that I have... I don’t want to be chained to someplace with nothing to do! I want to experience what’s out there!” she argued, her green eyes pleading with him to understand. “At least on a bigger planet or city, I wouldn’t look so out of place! I could blend in! I would have more things to do—”

“You’d be in hiding in a bigger city, too,” he countered. “At least here, you have the support and protection of the other villagers. There’s safety in numbers. Alaina, you have to be smart about this.” She rolled her eyes again, and he let out a frustrated sigh. “It just seems overwhelming right now, but it will get better. You’ll see. At some point, the Empire will move its attention to its next fixation. When that happens, and you still want to leave, we can look at other options.”

“Oh, so you’ll still be around then?” she asked and placed her hands on her hips as she stared him down. “In twenty or thirty years, when they finally find another avenue to pursue, you’re just going to still be here to take us wherever we want?” A hollow laugh left her mouth when he didn’t answer, and she shook her head, “So I ask again, Mando—was it just a suggestion to dump us here, or is that your final decision?”

“I’m not dumping you,” he sighed again. “Alaina—”

“You said I had a choice,” she cut him off. “You said I had a choice, and instead, you’re the one making the choices for me. What, a few weeks of traveling with a girl and a baby cramping your style too much? Just ready to dump us—”

“I’m not dumping you,” he repeated, growing frustrated by the argument. “You’ve seemed happy here. You both have. You deserve to be happy, Alaina.”

“Of course, I’ve been happy! This is the first place we stopped at! You could have taken me to a planet that was made of garbage, and I would have been happy!" He rolled his eyes, becoming exasperated by Alaina's half-thought-out ideas of what her life would look like outside of the Empire. "I’ve had a chance to get used to the idea that I have options! Just because I’ve seemed happy doesn’t mean I want to be stuck here!”

“Alaina, for once, stop thinking about just yourself!” Mando snapped back at her. Maker, no one could make him angrier than Alaina could. “This isn’t just about you! Grogu deserves the chance to get to be a kid.”

“Grogu understands more than you give him credit for. Were you even going to try and explain it to him?” she asked before making another attempt at throwing the dagger at the shack. Alaina’s toss was better this time, but still, there was no luck landing her throw. “You told me I had a choice and you didn’t even try and talk to me about it to see if it’s what I—What either of us wanted!”

“Talk to you about it?” he huffed and shook his head. Mando crossed the distance to retrieve the dagger this time. “Because you’ve made it so easy to talk to you about it when you’ve been avoiding me and Grogu since it was brought up,” he accused. “You wanna talk about it, then let's talk,” he said, handing her her dagger back.

Alaina worried her bottom lip between her teeth, a nervous habit he’d noticed she did whenever she became overly anxious about anything.

He tilted his helmet at her when she remained silent. “What’s there to talk about?” he prodded her, becoming even more frustrated when Alaina just blinked at him. He studied her green eyes and the way the emerald pools reflected the silver moon back at him.

“Alaina," he started again, dropping his voice to a softer tone. "I know that you’re scared. It’s not easy to start somewhere new, but this is the right thing for you and the kid. You’re both happy here. That’s obvious. Besides, I thought you’d be happy that you’d get rid of me so soon,” he tried to joke, but the joke fell flat. Alaina just continued to frown at him while her fingers idly fidgeted with the dagger. “You’re just scared. You’ll see this is the right call later on.”

Her frown deepened at his words, and before he could say anything else, Alaina tossed the blade with a grunt. Mando watched it as its tip struck true when she finally hit her target.

He had to blink for a second as he watched the dagger sway but still held on without falling out of the wooden plank it was embedded in. He smiled and turned his helmet back to her to congratulate Alaina on her successful toss, but his smile faltered when he locked onto her bright emerald eyes, which were still sparking in anger.

“You said I had a choice,” she said, speaking lowly. “I looked at you and asked if I had a choice, and you looked me in my eyes and gave me your word and told me from here on out, I would have a choice.” She reminded him of his words when he had come to rescue her from the compound on Nevarro.

He wanted to argue with her and remind her that they had done all of this just to make sure that she and the kid would be safe somewhere, but his arguments were cut short when Alaina spoke again.

“I guess it really wasn’t my choice all along,” she murmured sadly and turned to walk away from him.

Mando stood there, simmering in his own complex, frustrated feelings, as he watched her walk past her mother’s dagger, which was still embedded in a wooden plank, and turn the corner to head back inside.

Heaven in Hiding Masterlist

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