#nothing quite like watching him pit on a Pair of gloves though

[gonzodangerfeels]

Praise be thanks to the algorithm which chooses which picture to show me when I hover and lock the start button

[dokifluffs]

You’re Safe | Sakusa Kiyoomi

Pairing: Kiyoomi X Reader (female) 

Genre: MAFIA!AU, dad and husbando tehe, fluffy, action? thriller??

Author’s Note: mafia 🤝 protective 🤝 domestic father figure 🤝 SAKUSA

Warnings: k*lling, blood, vivid imagery, LONG, language

gif from @rivaillerose​ 🖤

“Y/N,” a husky voice spoke your name, pulling you from your much needed rest as life of being a new mother had been challenging though so far, it wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle

“Y/N, darling.”

You groaned in your sleep, not wanting to wake, to leave the warmth that you were so comfortable laying in

The edge of the bed shifted as a weight sat down beside you, making your body move toward the person

You brought yourself to open your eyes as heavy as they were, your vision clearing to find your husband sat beside you, his mask pulled down to his chin

The room was gloomy and gray though the curtains were open, not a bit of sunlight shining through as he looked down to you with gentle eyes

Despite his softer side with you, he was still the head of the clan - and his appearance matched him as well

He donned a black wool overcoat with the same colored turtleneck and mask

“What is it, Omi?” You asked sleepily as he cupped your cheek with his black gloved hand

His black gloves were always an accessory he had on him, whether he was wearing them or not

He had a thing with germs but he also saw no need to get his hands dirty when his men were always there to do the job for him

You nuzzled your face into his touch, very tempted to fall asleep holding him close but as your mind woke up more and more, you remembered what today was

What he had to do, where he had to go

“I’m leaving soon.. I’ll be back in a few days..” he whispered as he moved a strand of your hair from your face

You wanted to pretend you didn’t hear these words, that he never told you he had to leave or when he did

A part of you wished he left without telling you but an even greater part was so grateful that he woke you

“Do you really have to go again?” You squeezed his gloved hand as you sat yourself up straighter

“You know how my father is... He wants to make sure things are... under control.. I promise I’ll be back in two days.”

The way he spoke, the words fell so effortlessly from those lips, his voice low and cutting through the space yet he spoke at a volume as if he was telling you a great secret

“You said that last time and he kept you with him for a couple weeks...” you thought back to that time

You were seven months pregnant, almost eight, at the time and it was like he fell off the face of the earth

You couldn’t go anywhere or do anything but reside in the manor and you couldn’t even talk to him

You were alone again

“Don’t go...”

the nights in bed alone, the cramps, emotional rollercoasters, motion sickness, nausea

You at least wished he could have called you

The nightmares you had, the worst case scenarios playing in your head until you woke up with tears streaming down your face, only for you to cry yourself silently back to sleep as fear pooled and plagued you from within

He could see the sadness in your eyes and he could remember vividly the mental torture he was put under

No communication to you and all he could at most to see you was through the hidden cameras all connected to his phone  

Even checking in on you had to be done in secret, all to make sure that he was strong enough to continue on the family business even if he had to lose you or be away for unpredictable amounts of time

It was unbearable then and it was still unbearable now

He never asked to grow up into the business of the underworld, let alone take it over from his father at the prime age of 20 four years ago

He never wanted your life to be taken away when you two had already been together when he was recruited

“I’m sorry, darling, but you know I have to,” he sighed. “You know how my father is.” He cupped your cheek and kissed your temple then lips before he stood

“Am I going to lose you?” Your voice broke the silence, breaking through the white sound of the downpour outside

But you had stopped your question early

“Am I going to lose you today? Tomorrow? One day?”

He stood frozen in his place before he could reach for the knob

“No, Y/N. You won’t.” His eyes paused for a bit on you as he thought about his response, the fatigue of being a mother was already showing. “I’ll be able to call you this time and I’m the head now. The only title my father has to me now is father.”

“You won’t.” He stepped back over to you leaned down to kiss you again. “Not today at least…”

“I’ll call you at supper time, darling. Have a good day.”

You did your best to hold onto his hand as long as you could, to remember his touch, his voice, his scent, the way he looked before he walked out those doors

Because some days or nights, you never truly know if you would ever see him again

And it terrified you

The sound of the rain only seemed to get more intense now that he was gone and you were here

But now your day was beginning now that you were awake

You slipped out of the king sized bed, leaving the warmth you had slept in as the soft carpet at your feet, your toes sinking into the fibers

Brushing your teeth, showering in the grand bathroom of the manor, it was a life you surely never expected but here you were

Kiyoomi’s father and his entire family had built their name from nothing to the global known corporation that it was today

You dried your body off, finding what to wear today through the walk in closet and once that was found, it was breakfast

“Good morning, madam, shall I bring you your breakfast to the master suite?” Your right hand maid had greeted you as you stepped out as she carried the laundry with her

“Oh, thank you, Olivia, but I’ll head down to the kitchen after waking D/N,” you smiled to the older maid that had worked for the Sakusa family for decades

All the staff that worked and lived in the estates on the property outside of the manor were trained security, men and women, whose jobs were to protect the main family, to serve them, and to keep others who would pose a threat away and out, even if it meant killing them

But you always tried not to think or wonder about how many people these staff have killed or beat up or anything whenever you interacted with them, especially when they greeted you with a smile

They were there to protect you and to make sure that nothing and no would would ever harm your life

You stepped into the nursery, the wide room decorated with warm lights and stuffed animals, some more than twice the size of your daughter

“Hi,” you smiled so brightly seeing your baby’s eyes already open, looking up to you as she sat in her crib, holding onto her blankie. “Good morning precious,” you lowered the front gate of the crib so you could kneel down to her level

Sakusa sat in the limousine as he watched the scene of you and your daughter in the nursery, wishing he could just turn the car around and to stay home

Things were in balance, he knew this already but his father’s orders were orders he still had to respect

He clicked off his phone, tucking the device into his pocket as he was to be in the car for quite a bit of time before he would get to his father’s

The biggest smile spread on her face as she laughed seeing you, her bubbliness seeming to make all the gloominess disappear

“Let’s get you changed~” you chimed as you lifted the baby girl into your arms, getting a whiff of her heavy diaper and finding an outfit for her day 

“Olivia?” You called into the custom intercom by the nursery’s closet, though there was practically one in every room

“Yes, madam?”

“Sorry for troubling you, but could you actually bring breakfast for D/N and I up to the upstairs loft? You could even send it up the dumbwaiter and that’s fine too.”

“Of course, would you like the usual?”

“Yes please, thank you.”

You carried your little girl toward the upstairs loft, one of your favorite areas of the house since it was significantly smaller - well almost - than the living room downstairs

The loft didn’t extend all the way downstairs like how the ground floor’s living room ceiling extended to the second floor

More than ten thousand square feet of property, more rooms in the manor than you knew what to do with them

Four guest bedrooms with full bathrooms, a grand study and two story “little” library, two main bedrooms in addition to the master bedroom and a nursery

So much space, all sorts of technologies, gadgets and gizmos of all sorts in the house

All the systems in the house was made by the Sakusa corporation to ensure security

This even included your and Kiyoomi’s custom made phones

There was also the basement- all sorts of fun activities to be done: a pool, pool table, living room area that opened up to the backyard with the bar and barbecue, the fire pit

and finally, there was the cellar that was the only place Kiyoomi had requested that you never go - and you never did 

You knew that look in his eye, that tone of voice and you knew he had requested this for your best

And most importantly, there were three safe rooms, all three upstairs with hidden entryways to protect you, official guests, and anyone in the family

Before you knew it, Olivia had made her way upstairs with the breakfast as you played with your daughter in the loft, bouncing her on your lap sat on the wide couch

The loft was brightly lit and open, toys of all types for your daughter to play with as the TV played the morning kids show

As filled as the house was with the special staff and things to do, it still felt so lonely and empty as you sat there

You had tried to chat and converse with them but they never loosened up, always keeping all the formalities but it was never any use

The storm outside seemed to be getting worse as your eyes gazed to the horizon, spotting the trees at the edge of the estate where all their branches had been swaying in the wind, the paler, underside of their leaves revealed

Thunder began to rumble in the distance with the occasional flash of lightning but both unbothered your daughter and you as the two of you remained in the loft  

You watched as she rolled about on a blanket, playing with her stuffed animals and the other interactive toys that played music to keep her entertained while you watched the TV, finding nothing remotely as entertaining to watch

But just before you could change the channel to yet another disappointing channel, your attention was pulled to your phone vibrating beside you, your eyes lighting up as you saw the caller ID

“You seem so bored,” Kiyoomi’s deep voice sounded through the phone but he spoke the truth

You were tired and bored but you didn’t want to sleep - it would only make you unable to sleep later tonight anyways

“I am,” you sighed as you muted the TV. “How far out have you gone?”

“Actually, not too far. Only about half an hour since there was a major accident on the highway so we had to take a detour. But traffic is terrible so we were stuck for quite a bit before we could actually exit,” Sakusa almost groaned thinking about the terrible accident

How he was stuck in a single place for practically twenty minutes

“Wow, do you know what happened?”

“Well there was a…” his voice drowned out in your ears as you could hear something that didn’t sound like rain or thunder - they were too distinctly different

Loud bangs echoed in the distance, bringing your attention elsewhere though all you could look was outside the wall window to the dark skies  

But you couldn’t see anything except the normal background of the property but it was just silent again with the white noise of rain washing down the glass, followed by thunder and a flash of lightning as the storm brewed closer and closer

“I’m sorry what? I missed what you said... I think I heard… something weird..” you spoke as you looked outside the windows that looked to the back of the property

You could hear echoes of movement downstairs, the bustling business of the special staff in the house but it sounded standard... or so you thought

“What did you hear?”

“..I don’t know.. maybe it was the storm and I’m just distracted...” you smiled into the phone as you spoke while your daughter happily crawled to you, laying her head on your legs, her puffy cheeks round as ever

“Well, you two were my only source of entertainment so far this trip,” the corner of his lips curled as he picked off small specks off his suit

“That makes one… of us-“ your thought died out in a matter of seconds

You heard louder, clearer bangs while the staff that had been stationed with you just outside the loft talked over their ear coms to another elsewhere

Before you could continue your sentence or call, the bangs only got louder and your body reacted faster than you could say or think

Clear gunshots began firing at the front entrance, echoing off the high walls and ceilings of the manor while the staff worked on securing the doors and all other entrances and possible ones

“Y/N?” Sakusa could only hear the subtle commotion happening but it was clear you weren’t on the phone. “Shit shit shit..” he stayed on the line as he changed to the security cameras he had access to he used to watch you and your guys’ daughter

Looking through the camera surveillance, he caught a glimpse of you disappearing with your phone in hand while your arms carried your daughter as you disappeared toward the bedroom

“Turn back now,” Kiyoomi howled as his driver did just that, not wasting a single second

You ran into the master suite’s walk in closet that led to the entryway of one of the safe rooms, your baby girl in your arms as she held on to you  her whines already beginning before they would turn into cries

“Shh, it’s okay, baby, mama’s gonna protect you,” you smiled, whispering, your voice already shaky, lips trembling as you pressed a little kiss to the top of her head. “Even if it costs my life, precious.”

You moved, leaving the master suite and stayed low as you walked across the “bridge” that connected the loft to the other half of the house

Peeking down, you could hear groans of agony, puddles and splashes of of blood on the floor and walls, empty bullet shells on the ground, shards of glass and broken windows

“Search the house, find that bitch,” a deep voice yelled through the manor as for the first time since the loud bangs happened, it sounded so still, like any normal rainy day

But this was far from normal

You crawled across the marble flooring toward the library

There wasn’t any safe room here but the safe rooms were sure to be where they would look, whoever they were

They were able to get through the security, it seemed like the staff was dead

You silently stood as they scoured the lower levels - you could hear them and all the destruction they were havocking

The cars outside the window blurred into mere colors that passed as the limousine sped through the roads back towards the manor

To save time, they went toward the back roads — it was just the slightest bit longer but time could be shaved down since there were no cars anywhere

“Step on it!” Sakusa commanded as his men readied themselves. “Call in Unit 0,” he demanded as he kept his eyes on the cameras, trying to find you yet he couldn’t see you in the master suite’s safe room

Unit 0 being one of the few very highly trained professional assassins and killers who were at the disposal of the Sakusa family whenever needed

He scoured through the cameras, not even caring about all the destruction being done, all he needed to see was where you and your daughter were

You carefully entered the library, shutting the door behind you as you walked over the wooden floors carefully

Every step made your palms sweaty but your heart stopped after hearing a loud creak in the old floors

The worst part was that there was no way to lock the doors

outside of the door, you couldn’t hear too much but you could still clearly hear the storm as a great big window stretched from the floor to ceiling so all the lighting in here was natural

There was something about the walls surrounding the library that made it sound proof in a sense

You constantly bounced your baby girl in your arms to keep her calm as you tried to get a look outside as you approached one of the corners toward the window

“Search upstairs,” one of the men demanded as a handful of men ran upstairs. “Find her.”

The scoured through all the rooms, flipping every room apart, destroying things, tearing the curtains off, flipping the beds, wrecking the nursery

You peeked out the window that faced the front of the manor yet all you could see were broken things and to your horror, more lifeless bodies of the manor’s staff

But before you could look out any longer, a large rock was launched at the window, breaking the glass, shattering it

Your baby girl let out a loud cry in fear, making your heart drop

“No, D/N, shhhh, please, it’ll be okay, we’ll be okay.” You quickly pulled open the latch to the library’s hidden passage where the door was one of the bookcases

As soon as you closed the bookcase, you heard the door to the library burst open

Several men, guns ready

You scanned your finger print for the room to be safely locked however it wouldn’t let you. All you could do to make sure the room was locked was to see your body to keep the door shut and still

They walked through the wide open doorway to the library scanning the two open floors that was connected by two black steel staircases that wound their way up and down, connecting the two floors

“Shh, please,” you whimpered to your daughter as she cried into your chest as you stayed by the passage’s door so you could look out the peephole

They pulled books off the shelves, throwing them from the second level to the first, knocking the paintings off the walls, ripping them by sliding their knives through the canvas’, kicking them, breaking the frames

The ground shook as you heard a a loud boom, making you jump in your spot, the ground rumbling and shaking below where you sat

It sounded like a bomb went off on the lower level but you assumed it was the cars in the garage since you could hear the repeating alarm sounding off

Your daughters cries began to start back up at the loud noise, as you did your best to shush her

“Shhh, it’s okay,” you whispered to her as you wiped her tears, keeping her face to your chest as you stroked your trembling hand down her back as tears trickled down your cheeks and dripped off your chin

The limousine slid on the gravel outside the manor as Sakusa’s men sprang to action from the vehicle

Kiyoomi stayed in his seat, continuously scouring through the cameras but you were yet to be found

He couldn’t find a single trace of you

His men, as well as unit 0, entered through the blown open entrance, broken shards of glass crunching beneath their steps as they surrounded the estate the best they could, splitting up to eliminate the intruders

“Where are you, Y/N?” His heart hammered in his chest as he desperately tried to find you yet nothing

But before he could look any further, his heart dropped seeing the red system failure message. Whoever these people were, they were impressive, but not fast enough

Kiyoomi now meant business now that he had no access to actually see if you were okay

He ran out of the limousine as gunshots could be heard all throughout the house as half his men made their way to the upper level while the other half wiped out the intruders on the lower level

He followed behind unit 0, making their way upstairs

He clung onto his gun tightly in his hand, finger ready on the trigger as he barged into the master suite, firing two bullets into the chest and head of a large man as he was pillaging the closets

All the precious jewelry he bought for you were now stained in the pool of the filthy blood of the man who had the audacity to enter the premises

His heart almost dropped seeing him in the closet in the first place but it didn’t seem like the man noticed the entrance to the safe room behind the clothes on the hangers

As he pushed the luxurious wardrobe aside opening the door and to his fear, you were nowhere to be seen

More gunshots sounded off, echoing through the halls, sounding off the walls

He couldn’t focus, his thoughts incoherent, unfinished sentences running in his head as he just ran, killing those in his way to find you

A gun war was going off throughout the library as Sakusa’s men fired at the intruders on both levels but they had great firepower too

Both sides hid behind the marble pillars, the different bookshelves and furniture in the room as the rain showered in

Your baby girl cried loudly, her shaken cries sounding off throughout the passage

“No, no, no, please, baby.” Your heart raced as you dared to look out the peephole, only for it to drop as you saw a man you didn’t recognize yell something to another man near him

The man he yelled to fired more shots while the other one approached the passage entrance, banging noises coming through the bookshelf

“She’s in here! Hold them off!” The man yelled

“No, no, no.” Tears welled in your eyes as you did your best to keep the door closed but there was no actual way to since this was just a simple passageway

Your daughter cried loudly in your arms while you gave it your all to keep the door closed

Amongst all the shots being fired, Kiyoomi heard the words the man yelled and then it clicked

He knew where you were

“No.” This one word repeated in his head as he pushed through the front, racing past the bullets being shot towards him as he ran on pure adrenaline

“Boss, no!” His men yelled but this only got the intruders to focus on him, giving them the opening to shoot them all

Kiyoomi shot the man closer to him in the legs before letting his body move on pure killer instinct as he grabbed the man who had fallen to his knees by his jaw, snapping his neck

The other man changed his focus to Kiyoomi as he stood to his feet while the other struggled to pull his gun from his holster

Kiyoomi towered over him as his body moved on his own

He kicked the man to the wall, pressing the barrel of his gun to the man’s chin, pulling the trigger without a second thought

You squeeze your eyes shut, facing the other way from the door, bracing yourself

“I love you. Mama loves you, baby,” you whispered as you cried, a loud rumbling filling your ears as you felt the door being forced open

This was it

You were going to die

Your daughter was doing to die

you let out a blood curtling scream feeling the hands of whoever grab onto you, pulling you, kicking your legs to try to fight 

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N!” Kiyoomi’s familiar voice sounded louder and louder over the rumbling you heard in your ears from clenching and bracing your body and your daughter’s

“It’s me, It’s just me!” He soothed you as he turned you

You couldn’t explain or even begin to describe the relief you felt wash through your body, your heart racing and slowing down at the same time as you broke down, your cries mixing with your daughter’s

“You’re safe, I’m here,” Kiyoomi pulled you into his arms, your body shaking terribly in his arms as you cried into his chest, all the fear you felt flooding your senses

“I know, I’m sorry this happened, but you’re okay. Everything will be okay,” he whispered as he pulled you into his lap, keeping the passage door somewhat closed

You were already put through enough today and he didn’t need you to see the second degree murder crime scene he had committed right outside

“I’m here, I’m here.” He reached up and pulled his mask off as he kissed the top of your head all over, wiping away your tears with his thumbs but you couldn’t stop crying

But that was entirely fine

“But Y/N,” he held your face in his bare hands, his normal gloves off as he stroked his thumb over your cold, damp cheeks

“Why didn’t you go into the safe rooms, darling?” His own voice was unsteady, his lips quivered, eyes teary. “I looked for you and I couldn’t find you and I thought I lost you..” His voice broke off as he gathered himself the best he could, taking deep breaths

Seeing Kiyoomi like this, it broke your heart even more

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what… I was just scared and- and-“ It hurt you so much

Everything about today did

But just this moment was Kiyoomi, it also touched you

He was such a stoic man, usually one to show a softer, affectionate side with you but this was the first time you saw him shed tears

A man who had taken so many lives was now showing his true emotions for the two lives he would give his own live for a hundred times over if it meant you and your daughter was okay

“I know, I know, but you’re safe,” he let out a deep, relieving breath as he hugged your head closer, your body shaking uncontrollably in his arms

“And hey, shhh, it’s okay baby. Papa’s here.” He stroked your daughter’s head as she sort of calmed down as the two of you sat together, doing your best as parents to shoo away her sadness while his men did their best to first and foremost clear the bodies and blood

You absolutely did not need to see that after today

“You two are both safe.” He breathed as he pulled you two impossibly closer, letting the shakiness of his own heart disperse  

“You’re safe…”

~~~~~ Thanks for reading! Masterlist for more! Please do not repost anywhere else! 

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[crownandwriter]

In which he notices your...frustration

Pairings: Kazuha, Diluc x gn!reader

Warnings: suggestive themes/dialogue (nothing actually happens, though), flirting, fluff/comfort??if you squint, not proofread because im impatient

Author Note: A little idea I had, but I left the smut off for now lol. If these are well-liked I’ll do other characters

Part 2 (Xiao, Chongyun)

Intro

You couldn’t say where such an intense need had come from, or if something specific had caused it, but it’s presence was unyielding. Worse, it’s been one busy-bee-thing after the other today--a task here, too many people there, your help needed there…. You hadn’t had chance enough to take care of the problem yourself, let alone seek out your partner and ask him to sweep you away for much-needed relief.

Little did you know, he’d already taken note of your predicament. How the need flushed your cheeks and the discomfort made you seem ever-so-slightly...frustrated. And, well, how could he not offer to ease your burdens?

Kazuha

Kazuha came strolling back over the hill with the water satchels in record time, and laid them out neatly near Aether as he assembled the fire pit for cooking today’s lunch. Before you could offer to get the soup pot ready, Kazuha gingerly took your wrist and tugged. The look he leveled you with was sweeter than usual...doting almost.

“There’s something by the water I want to show you,” he said. “Traveler, we’ll be back shortly.”

Aether waved you off good-naturedly, responding something about the other still fetching ingredients anyway,, and Kazuha laced your fingers together as he led you back towards the river. As you approached, you scanned the area for what he may have discovered. It wasn’t uncommon for Kazuha to lead you off in private like this to share in a particularly beautiful scene and a few moments of respite. Though, if you were being honest, you doubted your ability to enjoy it right now….

As you tip-toed to the water’s edge, however, his hand gently guided you further up the embankment. There was a gorgeous waterfall too, and you found yourself wondering if a cold dip would help this burning urge. Kazuha looked between you and the cascading water for a few rich moments, and then cleaned closer so you could hear his soft voice over the rush of water.

“You’ll never guess what I’ve found,” he said. It was hard to structure a guess when his breath on your ear sent a shockwave down the pulse of your neck. You were sure he noticed the thick swallow that came after, too.

He chuckled, and then his free hand came up to guide a large palm leaf growing from the cliffside into the water. The torrent split open, neat like pulling open a curtain, and revealed a cozy little cave beyond the cool mist.

“I rarely find anything beyond waterfalls,” Kazuha says and he guides you under the opening. “Storybooks could certainly make one think they’d be more common. No treasure in here, though--”

You flicker a smile at him for the sentiment, and take in the space. There’s moss-covered rocks and a scattered few glowing lamp grass that seem to have been recently plucked. Before you can ponder too much on their presence, Kazuha steps in behind you and his lips find your ear once more.

“--yet.” You whirl, and catch his autumnal eyes burning right into yours, temptingly close, but half-lidded and gentle. His fingers dance over your hips in ritual that’s long become casual, skirting the edges of your clothing and waiting for any ounce of refusal. “I believe you’ve been on the precipice of finding it for a while now…. May I be so bold as to offer you my assistance in reaching it?”

“K-Kazuha, I don’t think we have time,” you felt the need to whisper--but surely the whitenoise of rushing water would cover even the loudest yelling…. Oh. “The others will be waiting for us.”

Kazuha shakes his head slowly, never breaking gazes with you, even as he slowly backs you into the rock wall and begins to slide down your body. “Not to worry; we have a little time, and that’s all I need. For now.”

“I’ll be sure to take care of you more thoroughly next time we’re alone. But for now, please allow me to ease your troubles just a little.”

Diluc

Angel’s Share was close to closing, but you couldn’t say you had survived the night just yet. A scarce few regulars remained, mostly drunk, either awaiting their escorts home or sipping on water to sober up enough to make it alone. They all knew the closing routine by now, so Diluc stepped into the back room to take inventory without worry. And you were back with him to help speed things along too.

Although, surprisingly, it was actually going slower with your aid.

“Archons-- damn it, sorry Diluc, I’ve lost count again.” He wasn’t upset with you, but that was the third time. You’d been helping him with these sorts of tasks for so long now, the sudden difficulty with it concerned him. Now, he was a very observant man, and your reddened cheeks, lack of focus, the way you couldn’t meet his eyes in some moments.... Diluc had a theory as to what was going on, but felt guilty in lingering on an assumption so personal. He tried, instead, to observe you for signs of injury or fatigue, but his unwavering attention instead seemed to fluster you more.

“Is everything alright?” There, he finally asked. He did keep his voice down, though, lest the remaining patrons hear the conversation through the splinter-sized cracks in the bar door.

Your face dipped darker red immediately. You pointedly kept your eyes on the wine racks.

“Y-yes, of course! It’s just...been a long day. I’m quite ready to go home.” There’s a brief pause, and then you whirl to look at him. “Oh! Not that, I don’t like helping out here! I-I just, ah…”

“...Just?”

“I just...have some things to do at home,” you mutter.

Diluc knew that sentence was one large punctuation to end the topic; you were embarrassed, though he couldn’t tell for certain if there was discomfort mingled in with it. While you scrambled to finish counting the dandelion wine, Diluc leaned his hips back on a stack of crates, stretching his legs languid and crossing his ankles. He watched you even more intently now, digging with his eyes for the reaction to his next question:

“Is it something I can help you with?”

Your breath hitches at the inquiry. It takes much more courage than it should to flicker your gaze back over at your shoulder at him. You know--they say fire breathes. And it’s true. Diluc is there, flickering heat over in the corner of the dim room, eyes crackling embers, just waiting to burn the whole room down with you...or is that just wishful thinking?

“Come here,” he speaks again. He’s more assured in your wants now, and his pupils are blown wider. Your legs wobble over to him before your embarrassment gets the better of you. He slides the glove easily off of one had by a pinched finger, and then takes your chin gently between his bare fingers, leveling your eyes with his so hotly you think you might combust. When he speaks again, his voice is lower, quieter. “Do you need my help?”

Your hands grapple his shirt in desperate response, but fall limp and weak against his chest. Squirming in your place, you only just manage to nod. Diluc hums, and gently pulls you flush against him.

“I don’t love being so unceremonious with you,” he says while leaning in. “But I’ll worry about making it up to you later. For now, just remember to keep your voice down.”

“If you can’t walk to the Winery after this...it can’t be helped, I’ll just carry you. Though, it doesn’t bode well for you when we get back.”

[cantalouupe]

curiosity

nsfw!!! kaeya x f!reader

prequel to this drabble

hand & finger kink, semi public sex except you don’t have sex with him he just makes you suck on his fingers

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The knights of Favonius weren’t a group of people you mingled with. While you had no quarrels with any of them and had even spoken to some before, they just weren’t people that you considered friends.

There was nothing you held against them, no vendetta you had. Your feelings of them were just neutral. Pleasant conversations are easy to have with the ones stationed around town, where they’re willing to help you with really anything you need.

That’s probably why you’ve never really had to interact much with them. You’ve never been in danger and so help from them wasn’t something you had to seek out.

The higher ups, though, were a different story. You’ve also not interacted with any of them, but heard of them incredibly often, seen the outrider around town.

But that was all.

You had understood they were busy with all their work and obviously didn’t expect them to come out just so they can talk to you, a random citizen - still, you were curious. With all the big talk of them they were bound to be quite an interesting few people.

Sara, who worked at The Good Hunter - a little restaurant near the center fountain in town that served amazing food - had told you about them. The interesting honorary knight that travels with a little fairy in search for his sister, the outrider that you’ve seen before, the librarian who apparently was incredibly intimidating when you don’t return books, and even Jean, the acting grand master. You’ve heard about all of them, your curiosity causing you ask around for stories.

The first time you met any of them was on a sunny day, not unlike any other. You were out on the trail, foraging mushrooms as per Sara’s request, when you ran into a suspicious looking group of hilichurls. The odd creatures were entranced by an odd looking sigil on the ground that glowed a faint purple.

You had chosen to mentally mark where you were and turn back to go to town and report it. Hilichurls close to town was already a safety hazard, but them acting the way they were felt off and made a pit of worry grow in your stomach.

The guards at the doors of the Knights of Favonios Headquarters had questioned what you needed when you ran up, and you explained the situation, requesting to speak to Jean if possible.

Guilt ate at you when you pushed despite them telling you she was busy with work already. “I really would like to speak to her directly,” you told them.

They were going to shut you down again, but from behind them the door opened and out came an infamous face.

Of the many people you’d been told about, the Cavalry Captain was among them. Kaeya was very popular in town, apparently appeared at the tavern on most nights to chat with the townspeople. There was a lot of mystery shrouding him and his backstory but despite that he was a favorite of many people.

He looked as he’s been described to you, with dark hair and tanned skin, one eye covered with a black eye patch. His bare eye, beautiful and piercing blue met yours and you looked away immediately, feeling as though you were seeing a myth in the flesh.

“Like I said,” your eyes, probably a little wide from seeing the captain, fell back to the two guards you’d been talking to. “I think it’s a good idea if I talked to Jean directly.”

You hadn’t meant to alert Kaeya as he was leaving the Knights Headquarters but he seemed to hear, voicing out an “is everything okay?” as he approached the three of you.

“I’m not trying to be any trouble,” you tell him once the situation was explained.

He watched you shrink slightly under his gaze, pretty eyes staring up at him - and shook his head. “It’s understandable to want to report something like that immediately. I can take you to her.”

Obviously he had some sort of authority over the guarding knights because they had nothing to say about that, stepping back to their spots on either side of the stone stairs leading to the building.

You mentally let out a breath and nodded up at the blue haired male, thanking him quietly and apologizing again for making a fuss.

“Come on now,” he smiled down at you, calming your nerves a bit. “Stop apologizing for trying to keep Mondstadt safe. If anything we should be apologizing to you for not catching it before you did.”

The short walk inside the Knights Headquarters was quiet, and you took the few silent moments as a chance to get a better look at Kaeya. It was weird seeing him in front of you after only hearing about him for so long.

His clothes were much different from the other knights, from the fur on the shoulder to the color of the clothing. A small blue glowing charm hung from the side of his hip - that’s right, he had a vision.

When he opened the door to Jean’s office, you caught sight of his fingers that peaked out of dark gloves. Fingerless gloves?

“Are you going to come inside?”

Oh no, you weren’t standing here gawking at his hands, were you? You blinked at him like a deer in headlights and you wanted to melt into the floor at the amusement written on his face.

You ducked your head in embarrassment, slipping passed him silently.

Your shame was short lived, however, when you stepped into the room and saw Jean. Now you knew for a fact awe was visible on your face. It’s not every day that you get to see the grand acting master herself.

She was kind and genuinely concerned about you after you ran through the scene you saw for a third time in that day. The abyss order have been causing some trouble for the knights and they had been trying to track down more about them and their plans. What you saw didn’t give away much but Jean reiterated that it was an important bit of information and she thanked you for coming to her for it.

You preened at that, glad you could be of help to her.

Before you left, she thanked you again and assured you that you didn’t need to worry, the knights would take care of it.

And that was the end of it. Nothing else regarding that situation happened and life returned to normal.

The next time you ran into one of them it was at The Good Hunter. You were chatting with Sara while waiting for your food to finish cooking when a very familiar pair on hands came to lean against the counter you ordered at, with a very familiar voice accompanying them.

“I’ve been wondering about you,” Kaeya muses.

Wondering about you? You had to take a moment to process that, forcing out a small “Why?” to which he didn’t respond.

“Eat with me,” he responds instead, smiling at you and he is nice and a knight so who are you to decline.

So, you two eat together. He’s just as charming as people have mentioned, voice smooth and easy to listen to. By your wonder, he tells you in more detail about the Knights of Favonius, and you soak up his words like a sponge.

He is able to describe specific stories that you didn’t otherwise know about, along with other people that you hadn’t heard much about.

You find it fascinating and ask more specific questions - about visions. He answers every inquiry thats thrown at him, about his own cryo power and that of others in Mondstadt.

“Does the fingerless gloves have something to do with your element?” You ask him, and he laughs lightly at you.

“You like them, huh?”

Does he remember your lingering gaze on his hands at your last meeting? God, that’s mortifying. You hadn’t meant it to be a weird question.

When you gape at him, sputtering and trying to grasp a suitable response, he reaches out and taps a finger on the underside of your chin. “Cute,” he murmurs, before taking his leave, claiming he has work he should go attend to.

You stare at him while he leaves, reeling from his actions.

Things move more quickly after that.

You don’t know who really started it, but Kaeya’s hands become somewhat of a teasing point. It wasn’t a serious attraction at first but now his hands are the first thing your gaze catches on.

In turn, he’ll tease you for it, brushing the back of his knuckles against you or tapping a fingertip on you like he did that first time.

It boiled over one day in the Knights Library, you alongside him, curiously looking at all the different titles that were offered. Kaeya reaches out to grab a book and your eyes zero in on his hands.

Bare hands.

He wasn’t wearing those gloves today, skin fully on display and that shouldn’t be as important as it is but there you are, staring at them.

“You’re not-“

He has to know. Theres no way he accidentally forgot to wear them on a day he would be with you. Another tease, definitely.

“My gloves? Didn’t think you’d notice something like that.” Oh, he knows.

Cocky as ever, he taps his finger into your bottom lip - as he has before - and your mouth parts in response. An invitation.

The taste of clean skin bursts on your tastebuds, two of his fingers sliding inside.

“Ah, I knew it,” he murmurs, moving so you were situated in the corner of the wall and bookshelf, his body shadowing yours to shield you from any possible onlookers.

Your knees buckle from under you when he presses down onto your tongue, a whimper sounding from your throat.

“Look at you,” he coos, head leaning in so his lips brush against your ear. “How was I supposed to hold myself back when you want this so bad?”

Your hands find purchase on his biceps, gripping them to ground yourself while he rubs the pads of his fingers against your tongue. Saliva pools and threatens to spill over your lip, and Kaeya knows it, fingers moving so that it drips down out of your mouth and onto your chin.

“You know,” he starts again, fingers sinking deeper into your mouth as his other spare hand wraps loosely around your waist. “If you’re so good like this I can’t imagine what it’ll be like when I fuck you.”

Another noise leaves you, fingers digging into his arms. Your head knocks back into the wall right behind you and your eyes flutter.

You feel lucky that you cant speak because you know you wouldn’t be able to trust yourself to not beg him to fuck you right here in the library.

It feels filthy, the drool on your chin and his breath against the side of your face while he tells you these things. You felt hot and if your eyes were opened your pupils would be blown out.

“You’ll have to come see me some time, so I can really take you apart with my fingers.”

[starshipsofstarlord]

Dove

Pairing | Roman Sionis x reader

Summary | there is another little birdie that Roman spends his time with, one that coos away from the spotlight and remains hidden. She is his dove, the love that he refrains from sharing with anyone, a prisoner that does not realised that she is locked in a cage.

Warnings | mentions of violence, can be perceived as imprisonment of reader or not if you want, difficulty with getting pregnant, swearing

Requested ✖️

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

Canary walked into the apartment of the boss, nervous to begin her first day at being Roman Sionis’ driver. Initially, the woman hadn’t been sure what to expect of the living space above the club, she suspected that it would be in a similar

She hadn’t asked for a promotion, the woman was content with bellowing her voice in stage, singing like a bird. But now, as a consequence for protecting the Harley Quinn, she was now a driver, a replacement for the one that no longer had the ability to move a vehicle from place to place.

Sionis’ home if it could be called that, was above the club, perched as a nest so that the man behind it all could see everything that occurred around. The windows, large and perfect for viewing out of, were great scopes out into the bustling city, to which the Black Mask brought some fear out into.

He was a killer, that was known. A torturer, a face that Gotham feared. It was merely circumstance for how Dinah ended up working for him in the first place. It was not at all what she had been aiming for, the singing gig was as far as she had assumed she would get, but now, she was starting a new and more personal job for the same scheming man.

But it appeared that she was not the only dame in Gotham that was given the request to walk into the home of Roman Sionis, for a lavished and well clothed woman stood, staring like a songbird out towards the outside world. Her eyes were cast down, surely watching the commotion that riled the streets on a daily basis.

“Ah, there you are.” The voice belonging to Roman Sionis abruptly made Dinah inwardly jump, though she didn’t allow the surprise to dictate to her body. Instead, she turned around to face the mobster, adjoined by Victor that followed after hun, an shrewd smile ragged on his face. “My new driver, are you ready for your first day.”

“Singing was kinda my thing but -“ she watched his expression fade to one folded with creases and instead plastered on a smile, quickly changing the direction of her sentence, “yes, I am. I’m not the worst driver, though, it was a shame of what happened to the last one, concerning the fault of Harley Quinn.”

Sionis rolled his eyes at the mention of the jester like woman, making a noise of disgust, before adding details to Canary’s perception. “He deserved it, that man was bound to get into trouble somewhen, the only difference is that he kept his face. He had a frequent thirst to make my dove uncomfortable, isn’t that right my lovely?”

The woman faced away from the window, glancing convincingly towards the man that had just spoken to her. Not saying a word, she nodded, feeling all the eyes except her own that were present within the premises of the room were on her. It wasn’t much different to normal, but it was a vow she had taken, she did not speak to anyone besides Roman.

Doves mated for life, and within their relationship, she insisted that she treat him the same, which was where the nickname that she had so idly been called had originated from. She was loyal to this man, who was powerful and wealthy all on his own, and that proved alone that she needed nothing more than him to be the centre of the world.

“Hi, I’m Dinah.” She attempted to greet herself, but all that she earned from the spoilt woman was a blank stare, as though she were processing the woman. “Is she okay?” Her question was directed towards either or out of the men, and assumed, it was one of them whom responded instead of her.

“Y/n.” Her eyes snapped up to meet his own, and inside, her stomach crawled as she looked up into his stern gaze. To her relief, he turned back to Dinah, after dismissing her of the title of a white bird, and striking an induction of anxiety within her gut. “She doesn’t speak to anyone, it is difficult for her to trust anyone, let alone exchange worlds with them. Is that not right dove?”

Biting her lip, to reduce the sounds of whimpers that were threatening to spill from her mouth, she stiffly nodded her head, causing a grin to smother the man’s face. “Today, Canary, you will be taking me and y/n to the clinic, we have an important appointment to attend to, is that not right my lovely girl?”

Again she nodded, feeling a pit of happiness swell in the space of her womb. She could feel her dreams moving closer to the reality that she silently lived in, the things that she greatly wanted within her reach.

“I’ll go and start the car.” Dinah announced, wanting nothing more to leave the room. The atmosphere had not at all been uncomfortable in the slightest, but it was strange to see the extraordinary owner of the club that she had worked up appear so domesticated. Though, she thought y/n to be anything but, it was as though she were scared to allow any truths to mumble from her dormant tongue.

She was sure that no one in the entire city had seen the woman out in the open and free. It would not be a surprise if she were imprisoned in that apartment, though it was confusing, for it did not seem like she wanted to leave. Instead, it appeared as though she was scared of anyone else that was not Roman.

Usually, people usually feared him, knowing full well of what he was capable of. Though, instead, y/n was comfortable in his presence, which was one strange thing out of many. Dinah was extracted from her thoughts as the back doors suspended open, the happy couple entering the vehicle, and adjusting their seat belts. “Which clinic?” She asked, glancing back in the rear view mirror at the pair.

Roman had his gloved hands trailing up the thighs of his dove, as though they were sleek platforms of ice, and his fingers were dancing upon the frozen surface. “The one around south, a few miles before that place that sells the terrible artwork.” His taste in everything gave have her an initial and well acquainted idea with what place that he was on about, and thus she started the vehicle.

The strong woman remained in silence, copying y/n’s frequent behaviour as she drove, noticing her small gestures towards the elder man. Her nose rubbed around his collar, directly breathing in the fog of his aftershave, which Dinah could smell already from the distance of the front seat. Though, it appeared sweet as the pair brushed specks of stray hairs out of the others eyes, and padded down their blazers.

Finally, the driver stopped, watching as the pair abandoned the vehicle, and went inside of the small corporative building, hand in hand. Roman’s grip was much tougher than her own, squeezing all human feeling out of her palm, half dragging her inside. Both seemed to appear eager for what lay inside, though, Dinah did not share their enthusiasm.

She had no idea of how long they would be within the clinic, and thus, she had to wait for their return before she could steer and leave. Absentmindedly, she picked the skin around her nails as she waited for Roman and y/n to come back out to the car, the wait feeling like forever as she put on the radio, bobbing her head subtly the tune that she often heard on nights out.

The driver was fast to snap her head up as she heads footsteps, and they belonged to her cruising passengers, that seemed rather deflated. Their once relaxed and worry free mood was nowhere in sight, and instead, when opening the door for y/n and climbing in afterwards, he slammed the expensive door, crossing his arms in thought.

“Is everything okay boss?” She warily asked, feeling as his eyes sent daggers towards her once she used her voice. He released a prominent scoff, shaking his head disappointedly at her enquiry. Roman repeated her question to himself, arrogantly laughing at it.

“No it’s fucking not! I don’t ask for anything, I do what I am supposed to, and the world cannot even let my dove bare my child!” He sulked in his seat, pouting profusely out the window as he once again took in the truth behind his words.

Dinah knew better than to speak, and instead left Roman and his endless rant uninterrupted. Though, as she adjusted the rear view mirror, she caught a glimpse of y/n, smirking quite pleased with the state that her lover had gotten into. It slightly scared Canary, finding the situation that she was mulling over to be silent but deadly.

So far, it was all quite clear. She did not want to carry the child of the business man, and the results that she had received were anything but a curse. She liked to think of them more as a godsend and a blessing.

[hansoulo]

lead me to the promised land

part two of “Pillar of Salt”

Pairing: Boba Fett/Princess!Reader (she/her pronouns, no Y/N)

Warnings: NSFW - language, kissing, heavy petting, dom!Boba, gagging/choking, marks and bruises of the Spicy nature, hand and finger kink, allusions to canon-typical violence

Word Count: 2k

Gif Credit: (x) by @/tylowen

A/N: good day gremlins i am not very good at updating but i bring u some fun times as penance pls forgive me

༓ series masterlist ༓

7:00 PM: T-MINUS 14 HOURS UNTIL IMPERIAL CONVOY DEPARTURE

You were used to being moved around by other people, poked and prodded and lifted up so that stays could be tied or burdensome headpieces be attached to your head. Shuffled around to smile and be proper, sedated by heavy skirts and perfume. It was a fact of life.

Your dress was unlaced by the mechanical hands of an attendant, the change happening quickly and without fond regard from any party. It was early evening now and the sky peeled itself into a burnt orange. If you closed your eyes, you could almost taste citrus.

“Careful, please,” you whispered with a slight wince as the woman’s thin fingers brushed against your neck, both of your reflections cast warm in the mirror you now stood in front of. They were almost-bruises. Little ghost flower petals. Delicate and pretty, trailing behind your neck and not quite noticeable.

The woman only nodded. Servants weren’t ones to ask questions.

 ⫸ ———————————————————————————— ⫷

3:25 PM: T-MINUS 17 HOURS AND 35 MINUTES UNTIL IMPERIAL CONVOY DEPARTURE

The world seemed to tip on its axis, spinning too fast and not at all. It’d only been a minute, maybe two, but Boba’s words hung out to dry in the summer air and there was nothing else to do but wait for the actions to fulfill themselves. It shouldn’t have been as easy as it was to let him keep kissing you, but you only broke away to warn in a jolted, harsh whisper when his touch became too sharp. “Don’t leave any marks.”

“Are you commanding me?” Boba sneered, his voice slightly cruel as his gloved thumbs rubbed circles into your hip bones. You didn’t bother opening your eyes to look at him, letting his mouth skid over your jaw. Your answering yes or no wouldn’t make much of a difference. You had the feeling he would do what he liked either way. You had the feeling you’d let him.

It was strange, too fast. Too fast because really, what did you know about Boba? Were you even on first name terms? He’d never called you your name, and you’d never called him his. You’d only known of him for a few weeks. Had truly talked to him for even less than that. Maybe you should stay a capitalized Princess and he should be “Fett.” For the sake of clinicality.

Letting him lift you up and onto his lap was most definitely not clinical. “That depends,” you croaked out after a moment, finally looking at his face in your half-stupor. He’d sat you up to face him and you’d gone with, pliable and keening. Being champagne drunk felt like this; like his eyes coal-black and the way he seemed to take up everything in your mind until there was no room for reason.  You traced over the scar on his forehead with a light mouth, knees bowed to nestle closer and every muscle in your body flexing, tensed as if dripped over with sunshine. “Are you going to listen?”

The smile of a predator was the only answer he gave you.

⫸ ————————————⫷

3:30 PM: T-MINUS 17 HOURS AND 30 MINUTES UNTIL IMPERIAL CONVOY DEPARTURE

Men were vile. They had clammy hands that wandered to your thighs at banquet dinners, slimy mouths when they pressed their lips to your hand in greeting. They were all insufferable and you promised never to go near one as long as you could help it. But promises were a boring thing to keep sometimes. They were much more fun to break.

Boba spoke but it was swallowed in your interlocking mouths, hungry and escalating desperate. You were still sitting with—on?—him, too cowardly to do anything more than kiss and let yourself be felt by the strength of a man’s greed. He tasted like teeth and blood and pink flesh. That was the thing that no one had ever told you about kisses; about men like him. They tasted like broken skin. 

You were eating Boba whole. He was eating you piece by piece. 

You were just kissing. Had been just kissing for what seemed like ages but was actually only fifteen standard minutes. Fifteen standard minutes for your stays to be dragged loose, your lips to be bitten plush, and both sandals abandoned somewhere in the slow scramble. It wasn’t so much desperation as it was just a sheer curiosity goading your irrationality, but the end result was the same: a man squeezing the back of your neck, calling you lovely in the same breath he called you naive. 

“Take them off,” you almost demanded, pulling desperately at his gloves as the warm leather dragged against your fingernails. Learned manners were added in as an afterthought. “Please.”

His one-handed grip on your thigh tightened. It would bruise, likely. Raise questions, definitely. You would have to chalk it up to something else. A fall. A bad trip on a set of stairs. Anything besides what was happening now. The words rumbled against your chest and registered vaguely as a threat. “What was that?”

Huffy and impatient, you answered in a much more keening, undignified echo. “Please, pleasepleaseplease—”

Boba put his fingers in your mouth.

Boba put his fingers in your mouth.

Stuffed was the more apt word. You tried not to think about how he could only fit two of them inside without hurting you. It made you feel temperature-hot, physically burning until your cheeks and your insides twisted into smoldering ash because his fingers breached the alabaster edges of your teeth until they almost gagged you on your own tongue. Boba drew his hand back only when you sighed around it, sedated with fluttering eyes and no longer asking questions. His voice seemed to get deeper, raspier around the unplaceable accent from a place you’d never heard of and probably never would. “Good girl.”

The gloves stayed on. Why they did and why you couldn’t just get him to do what you wanted like everyone else you had no idea, but your frustration quickly ebbed into hazy, sparking pleasure. He called you good. You liked being good. 

Your hips stuttered when they caught on Boba’s trousers and suddenly you were giggling into the thick muscle of his shoulder, quiet and juvenile in your own disbelief. Everything about this was absurd and inappropriate, which formed the basis of your amusement. It was something to play with. Someone. Big and shiny in the most literal sense of the word. 

The hunter let out what could be construed as a laugh but sounded more akin to a growl and two large palms settled again on the soft rise of your hips. “Not here,” he repeated into your jaw, the words that were previously muffled so long ago now clearer. Not here. Which implied a theoretical somewhere other than here where you would possibly, hypothetically be doing more than- “We need to go.”

You should go. You should be pushing him off of you and running and screaming or something equally inflammatory because this was… because his...

“No,” you protested weakly with a slow shake of your head. Your hands curled around his pauldrons and rested there, limp and slightly shaking. “No, they- they didn’t actually need me for anything. My father just had to—oh Maker-” his cuisse plate pressed up hard between the warm softness of your thighs. “—had to send someone out to search for me—” you rutted against his leg once, twice before the arms around your waist tightened again and inhibited any further attempts at movement. You recovered from the loss of friction quickly, instead letting yourself sag into his solid chest as one set of fingertips dragged along your spine. “—’s just a poor look for him not to,” you finished flippantly, barely audible from where your face settled smushed against the creep of stubble on his cheek. “Bad press.”

“I’ve still got places to be, princess. Even if you don’t.”

“Oh I’m terribly sorry,” you tried replying sarcastically as his mouth flattened against the thin skin of your neck. His lips were soft, but they pressed against you like anything but. You tried rolling your hips again but were thwarted. “Am I in the way of a prior engagement?”

“Something like that.”

“Well then,” you flattened your palms against his chest plate and broke away from the seal of his touch. It wasn’t fair. You couldn’t breathe right and looked like you’d been dragged through a sarlacc pit, but he was just sitting there. Watching you. His eyes were hungry though. “Why let me keep you?”  The words were shot through with airy exhales as you were lifted up off the smooth stone. “I was under the impression that you hated me,” you continued into Boba’s neck with hands curled around the dark curls at its nape.

You did think that, before… this. Now you didn’t know what to believe, what his intentions were. Most likely they were the same as yours. Nothing good.

Whatever either of your motivations were, they would have to be paused now. For his mysterious, vague “engagement” and probably for the betterment of your health, because you were certain if you stayed here with him, shielded away from prying eyes and marching men, your heart would burst right out of your chest and through your ears. 

Your legs wobbled slightly when he set you standing on the ground, Boba’s helmet still laying on the fountain’s edge, and you handed it to him with a reverence that belayed the previous minute’s informality. When it was restored to his head you found yourself mourning the loss of his face. You’d been spoiled this last hour. You didn’t like not seeing it anymore.

“I don’t.” was his short reply. What a wordsmith. 

“Aren’t you still my escort?” you huffed, trying to catch your breath. Your chest rose and fell in panted inhales. Wiping haphazardly at your mouth, you leaned over the fountain’s reflection and attempted to compose yourself. The circlet usually pinned neatly to your head lay crooked and loose, glimmering its delicate metals in the daylight as you fussed with it this way and that. The pool of water currently acting as a mirror rippled too much to be of any real use. You pressed your palms to your flushed cheeks and mumbled. “My penitentiary guard, more like.”

Boba turned you around to face him with his hands on your shoulders and you imagined his eyes to still be edged in charcoal embers. The last smudge of lipstick on your chin was rubbed away by a broad thumb and you watched, curious to his intentions and surprised at his actions, when he reached up to right your crown.

“Let’s go, princess.”

You didn’t argue. You’d been sated from rebellion for the time being.

 ⫸ ————————————⫷

4:10 PM: T-MINUS 15 HOURS AND 50 MINUTES UNTIL IMPERIAL CONVOY DEPARTURE

The mercenary stood by the side entrance watching you. 

“You look a mess!” your mother admonished, harried with the exertion of the day’s events that you somehow managed not to be privy to. Apparently there was to be a dinner with the guests leaving the next morning, and apparently you specifically were asked to be present. Both would be dull pieces of information on the best of days but now, after the events that had just transpired, they were positively brain-numbing. 

The queen consort motioned for you to turn around and you complied with a slow spin as your being was examined for minor casualties. Once the woman assured herself of your being alive and unharmed, barely registering the tall figure that stood mere yards away, she allowed herself more frantic inquiries as she shuffled you down the hallway. “What were you doing out there?”

“Oh nothing,” you answered vaguely, eyes trailing as far back towards the doors as they could go without actually turning your head. There was a flash of green armor. “I just wanted to take a walk, is all.” You turned to her and smiled your best attempt at a brilliant, royal-white assurance. “Clear my head.”

[justauthoring]

a promise i won’t break.

Request: Would love a Tommy x reader with Mosley. Where he is obsessed with Tommy’s wife. And tries to make a move on her

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader Word Count: 1,275 Please don’t plagiarize my work!

Warnings: Mosley.

“And who might you be?”

With a drawl, your eyes flicker upwards to meet the eyes of a man you don’t recognize. Something inside of you tells you you should, but, as you pull back a strand of a loose curl to get a better look, nothing rings a familiar bell. Your left with a dumbfounded expression on your face as you turn towards the man completely.

“Y/N,” you greet with a light nod, letting your hand fall delicately by your side, letting your eyes drag across the man momentarily. “And you are?”

“Oswald Mosley.” He greets with a tight-lipped smile and instantly, your shoulders tense. You now knew why the man had seemed familiar; strictly because of the warning, a very clear and precise warning, Tommy had given you that morning before the party. To stay away from Mosley.

You swallow thickly as he raises his hand, palm held up for your own and with only a moments of hesitant, not wanting to seem rude, you set your hand in his own gently. He leans forward, pressing a slow and careful kiss against your gloved knuckles and you have to physically restrain yourself from shuddering in disgust when he lets his eyes drag across your finger without any regard to you be acutely aware. 

“The name Y/N rings a bell,” he says finally, voice soft, a warm husk that does nothing to calm your nerves. 

“Y/N Shelby,” you finish, putting a bit of emphasis on the last name. You hope, though you feel it’s naive, that by reminding him just whose wife you were, that maybe the man would back down. You weren’t unaware of the women that were being offered to those who decided to stay, and you know that Tommy had been careful when choosing them for Mosley’s sake specifically. But, as you stood there, feeling trapped, you couldn’t help but fear that maybe someone else might have caught his eye.

“Ah,” the man recognizes with a smile, letting go of your hand and opting to take another step towards you. He’s incredibly close and by the second it makes you more uncomfortable as everything else seems to fade and you’re completely trapped by the man. “I knew the name seemed familiar.”

Nodding, you take a slow sip of your drink, letting your eyes drag across the room in search for Tommy. Your heart sinks to the pit of your stomach when you realize he’s not there.

“You know,” Mosley continues, his voice lowering so you’re the only that can hear him. He shuffles towards you and you have to resist the small gasp that leaves your lips when he simply wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you flush against him as if you’re for the taking. He places his lips directly next to your ear, his breath fawning over the side of your cheek as you feel your breath halt, chest tightening with fear. “Mr. Shelby didn’t tell me his wife was so strikingly beautiful.”

You force a laugh from your lips, trying to appear as unfazed as possible by the man and nod up at him. “Well, i’m flattered you think so, Mr. Mosley.”

“Please, call me Oswald.”

His grip tightens and instinctively, you pull away.

“Is something the matter, Y/N?”

Swallowing thickly, you glance up at him, shaking his head; “no, no, of... of course not, Mr.-- Oswald,” you force his name from your lips, smiling up at him with tight lips. “I just thought that my husband might need my help with--”

“I don’t need your help, but I was looking for you.”

You can’t help the way your body eases at the familiar sound of Tommy’s voice. Instantly, Mosley’s grip loosens from you and you’re able to turn towards your husband without hesitation and fall next to his side with his. His arm wraps around your waist similar to Oswald, but this time you don’t fight his grip and fall into it with ease, setting your hand on his chest as his free hand comfortably settles itself in the pocket of his trousers.

You don’t miss the way he carefully glances down at you, a certain softness to his gaze, before turning to Mosley, gaze hardening.

“I do hope you’re enjoying your time, Mr. Mosley.”

Mosley settles a fake smile onto his lips, and you don’t miss the way his eyes drag across your own threateningly before turning to your husband with a nod. “Certainly,” he assures, “especially with the wonderful company of your wife, Mr. Shelby.”

“My wife,” and you don’t miss the way he squeeze your hip as he speaks, “certainly has that effect on people.” His comment is light but it’s clear by the tone of his voice that there’s nothing light about this conversation.

“She’s quite lovely,” Mosley nods, and you hate the way he treats you as if you aren’t even there. And when his eyes lower, landing on your chest and holding his gaze there for a moment, you press yourself against Tommy, trying to ignore the racing of your heart. His voice is thick and heavy and it’s all too clear exactly what Mosley refers to when he speaks of you like that. “Lovely indeed.”

“I regret to inform you that my wife is unavailable, Mr. Mosley. But there are plenty of other women.” To make his point, his gestures around him.

Taking a drag of his cigarette, Mosley keeps his eyes on you, completely ignoring Tommy. “It’s a shame,” he smacks his lips lightly, and you can’t help the way you tense when he steps forward, hand outstretched towards you. The tip of his fingers ghost your cheek, brushing back that unruly curl from before, and holding the touch for a moment.

“I’m sure you would have been a good fuck.”

And with that, he walks off.

Your eyes water but you bite back the tears, watching his back disappear into the crowd, never relenting the tight grip on the collar of Tommy’s jacket you somehow managed to grab a hold of during the conversation. Your knuckles turn white, slowly and gradually, with the force of your grip, but you don’t even really feel it, sick to your stomach.

“Y/N, love? Yeah, come on, look at me.”

You blink as Tommy sets his hand on your chin gently, guiding your attention on his own as your eyes flicker up to meet his eyes, gazing up at him with a blurred vision. The grip on your chin loosens and his lets his fingers caress the skin of your cheek softly and reassuringly, never letting his eyes waver from your own. “I won’t let him touch you, okay? I promise.”

“Okay,” you nod, voice shaky. Pressing either of your hands against his chest, you inhale sharply, holding back your tears best you can as to not make yourself look more like a mess then you’re sure you already do. You have to focus on something random beyond Tommy, in order to gather yourself.

But Tommy presses a hand against the back of your head and tightens the hold he has around you, making sure you know he’s there and he’s the one who has you. Not Mosley and certainly not anyone else. And that he’s there. “He won’t touch you,” he whispers, placing his mouth directly next to your ear so he can utter the words soft and sure to only you. “And if he does, Johnny can have him. If I don’t kill him myself.”

Biting your lip, you nod, whimpering faintly.

“I promise, love,” Tommy whispers, voice breathless. “I would never let him or anyone hurt you.”

-

Let me know what you thought?

[acourtofsnakes]

Tracinya - Rogue, Chapter 23 | The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader

Summary: Nothing will stop you from rescuing Din. Anyone who stands in your way is merely an obstacle to be removed. But will you be merciful... or listen to that dark call? 

Warnings: Injury detail, blood, guns(of the space variety), knives, fighting, swearing, death, watch me make things up about the Force again. 

Word Count: 13k+ (I got carried away?)

AN: Well. This ended up a lot longer than I expected it to be. I got rather carried away it seems  ((oh well)) Also, I have checked this ((twice)) but its over 13k words and there is going to be something I missed. 

Introduction

1: Solus | 2: Arir | 3: Tor | 4: Gaa'tayl ^ | 5: Kyr’am | 6: Cabur ^ | 7: Ret'urcye Mhi | 8: Haran | 9. E’tad | 10: Tome * | 11: Aliit Ori'shya Tal'din * | 12: Mar’eyce**^ | 13: Kov’nyn | 14: Ne’tra ^ | 15: Or’dinii | 16: Dar | 17: Haalur | 18: Mesh’la** | 19: Talyc ^^ | 20: Jorhaa'ir ^^ | 21: Hibirar | 22: Jetii’kad | 23: Tracinya | 

Rogue| The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader (f) Taglist: @snipskixandbeskar @weirdowithnobeardo @the-bottom-of-the-abyss​ @kenoobiwan @sarahjkl82-blog @boomtownboy @goldielocks2004 @seninjakitey @what-iwish-you-knew @queenofthefaceless @rosiefridayrogersunday @greeneyedblondie44 @itsnottilly @welcometothepedroverse @xgoldenjenny @mamacitapascal @heyitsjaybird @amyk-37 @greatcircle79

Permanent Taglist: @greeneyedblondie44 @mamacitapascal @mypedrom @undiscovered-misunderstood @kaylee-krystal

Mando’a Translation: Tracinya - Flame

There was no part of his body that wasn’t screaming in pain. 

His right leg was broken, possibly in two places, and his left ankle was fractured. 

He had taken the fall on his right side, meaning the impact had dislocated his shoulder and shattered his collarbone, resulted in searing agony whenever he moved his head. 

Not only that, but every breath felt like glass and fire, a pain he was familiar enough with to know he also had at least three broken ribs. 

Of course, there were bruises – his entire body was probably littered with purple and black smudges – and cuts. 

Din didn’t remember hitting the floor. Only remembered saying goodbye and then… nothing. He supposed he should be grateful, because from the state his body was in, the feeling of impact would have been horrendous, his body crushed under the very armour that was made to keep him safe. 

He’d been convinced that was it, the lights were turned off and the Maker would come to greet him. 

And yet, after an indeterminable amount of darkness… there was suddenly light. 

Harsh, blinding light and hands moving over his body, checking for injury and – 

They were going to remove his armour. 

The thought and realisation sent shockwaves of terror through him, and despite the agony that had threatened to suck him under, survival instinct kicked in and he lashed out. Taking down anyone who came near him, the medics, the guards, Troopers – anyone who threatened to touch his armour. He was like a caged animal, defending his last dying breath even as his head spun and his knees gave way. 

He fought for consciousness, long enough to see a pair of immaculate boots walk in, the edge of a long, ebony cloak embroidered with gold.

Through the roaring in his head, he heard a silken voice ordering everyone to stand down, that if anyone removed the amour, they would be removed of their head. 

And then he had been sucked back into a fitful abyss 

Din wasn’t sure how long ago that had been.

The room – cell – they had put him in contained no windows, no clocks, nothing to give him indication to what time it was. Only a few artificial lights placed on each wall – which he was grateful for, because the dim lighting was a minimal balm to his pulsating head. 

Only a thin cot for him to sleep on, pushed into the corner of the room and a tiny area in the corner where he could relieve himself. The ceiling rose far above him, giving the impression of being at the bottom of a very small, very dark pit. 

There was no regular pattern to when they pushed a tray of food and water through a tiny hatch in the door either, so he couldn’t even use that. 

Not that he could have concentrated anyway, with the agony waging war on his body. 

He’d had countless injuries before and danced the line of death so many times he was surprised he kept getting away with it. 

And yet this… this was bad. 

His vision kept fading in and out, blurriness making his sight hazy before it cleared again, but not without leaving fuzzy auras that floated in his peripheral. 

Concussion too then… a bad one. 

He just prayed there was no permanent damage. 

He could still talk, though his voice was hoarse and ragged when he whispered to himself the names of his loved ones – he could still remember them, thankfully.  

The ability to move remained intact – though heavily compromised. He could only manage tiny movements, embarrassingly slow as he tried not to move his neck or shoulder… or head… or back. 

An escape probably wasn’t going to be possible for a while. 

Din sighed, laying in an awkward position on his cot, one that gave the least pain. 

Again, his thoughts returned to his haven. 

You. 

You were going to kill him when he got out. 

Either for being a hypocrite, or for the worry he was causing you. 

The worry, no… the heart-wrenching terror he had heard in your voice mere moments before he fell. That cruel fear of the consequences as you laid into him, tried to keep that anger contained but he knew you too well. Knew that this would be tearing you to pieces.

He had felt the exact same way when you were taken – when she died. 

You were a rather dysfunctional pair, weren’t you. 

That thought had him chuckling – and then groaning as the small movement sent shockwaves from his broken ribs. 

Maker, he was battered. 

He didn’t even know how it had all gone so wrong. 

One minute he was flitting through the sky, dodging blaster fire and the next there was a loud pop and smoke began billowing from his back, from the jet pack. 

A very carefully aimed shot, with precision and intent – not to blow him up by shooting at the fuel lines… but perfectly lined up to knock out the thrusters and sent him tumbling to Earth. 

There was only one person he knew that could make a shot like that. 

Someone he should have foreseen, if he was honest with himself. 

Looking back, the townspeople letting slip the information about the base… that had clearly been a trap. 

A false trail to lead them right to the doorstep of the very people trying to chase them down. 

Din hadn’t just led himself to his death… but his friends too. He had no idea where they were, if they’d escaped – if they were even alive. 

He was disgusted with himself, the way he had so easily and thoughtlessly allowed his friends to be brought to such danger. He should have just gone in alone but… he hadn’t been thinking straight. 

When he’d heard that there was a whole base dedicated to finding his sweetheart… a whole legion of Stormtroopers trained, and no doubt given weapons specifically made to defend and attack Force users, he’d lost it. 

How could he walk away knowing all of that? Knowing they were going to come after you?

He couldn’t. He didn’t.

And now look where he was. 

Movement outside his door suddenly broke him from his reverie, a shadow moving past the gap in the food hatch. 

Something beeped outside the cell, multiple locks sliding and scraping through the door and then it was pushed open. 

Din blinked against the sudden harsh light flooding his cell, his helmet damaged so his visor didn’t adjust to the brightness the way it should have done. 

As his eyes cleared, he saw a figure lean and tall, wearing a long cloak – with golden embroidery. 

Oh, joy.

Anger sizzled through his reluctant body as Haran prowled into his cell, filling the small room with that unearthly presence. The shadows of the room seemed to cling to him, perhaps recognising that their master had arrived. 

Din grunted, ignoring the screaming agony that flooded his senses as he dragged his body to sit up, leaning heavily against where the two walls joined near his bed. If this was his end, he didn’t want to be laying down. 

If it was a friendly little chat… well, he could at least give himself a better position to punch the bastard in that overly pretty face. 

Haran stopped in the centre of the room, lifting gloved hands to his hood and he pushed it back.

He looked the same as always. 

Sharp cheekbones accentuated his face, which was neither old nor young – timeless, for no one knew how long this man had truly been alive.

Amber eyes that dominated his appearance, simmering like molten gold and only highlighting the fact that he wasn’t quite human. 

 The twin scars across his mouth and eye did nothing to mar the beauty of him – and Din supposed that was all part of the act. A beautiful face, a silken voice and a laugh that could bring entire villages to their knees to worship this fallen dark prince.

Before he slaughtered them all. 

Din hated him. 

Those golden eyes simmered with amusement as he beheld Din, as if knowing the thoughts going through the Mandalorian’s head… which he probably did. 

He cocked his head, a smile lifting his full lips, “Well, fancy seeing you so soon, Lori.” 

Din growled, his hands tightening into fists and he wished his blazing glaze would melt through his beskar helmet and sear straight into those lion’s eyes. 

That damn lovers laugh rippled through the tiny room, setting Din’s teeth on edge, “Oh, Mando, no need to be so defensive. You had to know what would happen when you decided to infiltrate a base dedicated to hunting your little Jedi.” 

“You won’t find her.” Din spat the words, wishing his body wasn’t so battered, wishing his had his strength so he could tear this creature apart. 

Haran’s smile widened, revealing a set of pearly white teeth, his scar tugging ever so slightly at the corner of his mouth – a predators grin, “That’s not entirely true, considering I found her so easily last time. But I won’t need to find her.” He examined his cloak, brushing a speck of invisible dust from it. 

Dread coiled in Din’s gut, “She doesn’t know where I am. She won’t be able to find me, so you can’t lure her here like a piece of bait. She’s smarter than that.” With every word, he had the sinking feeling that he was saying exactly what the King of Shadows and Death expected him to. 

“You see, I would believe you, if not for one tiny little detail.” Now Haran inspected his gloves, tugging the buckles that tightened them around his wrists, a picture of cool, arrogant confidence. 

It was an effort for Din to keep his voice steady, “And what is that?” 

Please no, please…

Haran looked up at him again, a dark curl falling over his forehead, “I hacked into your comms system, right as you hit the deck. You really should get some better tech, Mando.” He clasped his hands behind his back, “I sent a distress signal to your pretty Jedi, telling her your exact coordinates and even how to get in.” 

Din simply made a noise of horror, knowing that nothing in the world would stop you from finding him. You were stubborn, headstrong and determined… all combined with a fierce desire to save the ones you loved. 

He just prayed Ahsoka would make you see sense. You would be smart about this… right?

Haran shrugged lightly, “I don’t think even Tano will be able to hold her back.” 

Sick bastard, reading his thoughts. 

“I guess we’ll see who’s right soon enough, won’t we?” With that, he turned, walking back to the door, where he knocked twice. 

The beep and locks sounded again, and Haran looked over his shoulder at Din, who was still struck dumb with dread, “Why, I bet she’s already on her way right now.” He laughed low, and then he was gone with a sweep of his cloak.

~~~

~~

You were beside yourself with panic and terror in the first few hours after the call cut off. 

Your scream had woken Ahsoka and the kids, who made it to your tree in time to see you half fall from the branches, stumbling around looking for something, anything to help. 

You could barely hear Ahsoka calling your name, until she grabbed you, forcing you to look at her and calm down. You’d told her what happened, before yanking out her grasp and running to the camp. 

Nothing was computing in your brain, nothing except a primal instinct to go and save Din right now. 

Again, you hadn’t heard her calling your name, mumbling over and over that you needed to go, you needed to get out of here, Din needed you. 

Except there was just one problem…

“Slow down. How are we going to get off of the planet? We don’t have a ship…” Ahsoka spoke calmly, but firmly. She was watching you tear through the camp, emotions a wreck and noting you were moments away from a panic attack. 

You had turned to her, clutching your belongings in your arms, your breathing coming in sharp pants, “Then - then we’ll just… Um...” Casting your eyes about helplessly, you had felt your throat close up, your heart race and your palms start sweating. 

A sob had been about to break from your lips but then – you both heard it. 

The tell-tale sound of a twig breaking, of hushed voices. 

The pair of you whipped your heads in unison, toward the sound and your panic attack vanished, being replaced with the cool ice of battle. The things in your arms had been placed on the floor and then Ahsoka’s voice had been in your head, “You go left, I’ll go right. We’ll meet in the middle.” 

You nodded, reaching for your blade but then Ahsoka had held out a hand to stop you, instead… holding out one of her sabers. 

Oh.

Yes, you’d trained with it but… now she was letting you use it for real, in actual combat? 

Lifting your eyes to hers, she had seen what you were thinking and simply smiled encouragingly. 

That said enough, so you curled your fingers around it and then the pair of you had separated, footsteps lighter than air as you both forged a protective Force field around the kids. 

Moving through the trees, marking the intruders... it had all soothed you, soothed the ache and terror in your chest for the time being. 

Your power let you know they were close, and you hovered in the darkness for a moment, watching the two cloaked figures and sensing Ahsoka opposite you. Something flowed through the air, like a confirmation and you activated the lightsaber, springing from your hiding space with a burst of glowing late. 

“Wait!!! Wait, it’s us!!!” The two cloaked figures turned around, dropping their hoods so their faces would be revealed in the glow from both your sabers. 

Cara, and another man you didn’t recognise – bald, with a numerous harness and straps that no doubt held weapons under his cloak. 

You made a nose, lowering the saber, “Cara?! I thought… I thought you were with Lori – what are you doing here?” Despite the situation, the anonymous nickname for him came out instantly – protecting his identify even here. 

Cara looked from you to Tano, who was still standing in a somewhat defensive position with her saber held out. “We were… We’d split up to take down more of the Troopers. Mando took to the sky to draw fire so we could sweep through them. When we saw him get taken down, we had a choice. Either get captured ourselves, or go and get help.” 

You blinked, a frown forming on your face, “Hang on, let me get this right.” Something stirred in your chest, something smouldering, “You saw Din get taken down, saw him fall from the sky, into the clutches of Stormtroopers who are no doubt reporting to Moff Gideon… and you ran away?” The last two words come out in an incredulous tone, your face showing confusion as you looked between Cara and the other man. 

He raised his hands, shaking his head, “Hey, I wouldn’t go as far as to call it running away. We didn’t know he’d contacted you; we didn’t know how anyone would find us. If we got captured too, there was no way we could get out. Only Boba and Fennec knew where we were, they wouldn’t have been enough.”

Ahsoka raised her eyebrows, stepping closer – never lowering her lightsaber, “So, he’s there alone? Or wherever else they’ve taken him?” 

The man blinked as he looked at her, “Do you mind lowering that thing, lady? I don’t see how we’re the enemies here.”

You snarled at him, mimicking Ahsoka in the closer advance, “I’m not calling you enemies, I’m stunned that you just abandoned him there!!”

Cara held out a hand, trying to diffuse the situation, “Mayfeld, shut up.” She looked at you, “Look, Mando isn’t incapable of taking care of himself. He’s been in situations like this before, he’ll be fine.” 

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing, your head spinning, “He’ll be fine?! He could be anywhere, Cara! Who knows where they’ve dragged him, what they’re doing to him! I’m not doubting for a second that he’s been captured before – but not by an army of Troopers, alone, after falling hundreds of feet from the fucking sky! How about I push you out of the open air in a metal tomb and you tell me if you’re up to fighting your way out of an Imperial army.” 

Mayfeld squared up to you, tensions running high, “You know, you might want to be a little more understanding. I’m sure if the situation was reversed, Mando would have - ”

Suddenly, you had pulled free your knife and it was held to his throat, “If you dare say he would have done the same, I’ll cut your throat.” You didn’t care that these were Din’s friends. Didn’t care that they were obviously here to help. 

You were furious, feeling helpless and well… you had never been the greatest at controlling your temper.  

Ahsoka disabled her lightsaber, running forward and gently pushing you all apart. You felt a phantom brush over your skin and realised she had weaved threads of the Force between everyone, “Hey, hey, let’s all just take a moment to breathe, okay? We’re all worried and wound up… Yelling at each other isn’t going to solve anything.” 

Mayfeld muttered something you didn’t hear, though you did hear the thump as Cara elbowed him in the ribs. “Enough.” 

You powered down the saber and dropped your head into your hands. 

The world had flipped on its head, completely and utterly shifted and turned into something unrecognisable. Maybe this wasn’t really happening, maybe you were having some kind of fever dream. 

You sighed long and deep, rubbing at your eyes before looking at Mayfeld and Cara, “I’m sorry, for what I said. You did the right thing… We wouldn’t know anything if you hadn’t come back.” You shifted your gaze solely to Mayfeld now, “And I’m sorry for holding a knife to your throat.” 

To your surprise, he just chuckled, shaking his head, “Don’t worry. I’ve had worse from your Mandalorian, this was nothing.” He held out a hand, “Migs Mayfeld.” 

You found yourself smiling back, sliding your hand into his and shaking it as you told him your name. 

Cara looked around, “As much as I’m glad we’re not threatening to kill each other anymore, does anyone want to tell me how we’re going to find Mando?”

As if by coincidence, the comms device on your wrist started to emit a high-pitched beep. 

All four of you jumped, then looked at the device which had begun to flash red. 

You held it up between you all, and the screen lit up, displaying a string of co-ordinates with that same persistent beep. 

It dawned on you instantly, “It’s a distress signal. Lori sent us the co-ordinates of where he is.” 

Cara was eyeing it thoughtfully, “Do we want to ask why that suddenly came up, just as I asked where he was? And what if he isn’t there by the time we get there?” 

You were already moving back toward the camp to gather your things, “I don’t care. I don’t care if it’s a trap, or if he’s a whole parsec over. It’s the best thing we have, so we’re using it. Get your things.”

~

That had been a couple of nights ago. You were now travelling on Boba Fett’s ship, a tight squeeze but you didn’t care. Nothing else mattered apart from finding Din. 

Boba Fett was an interesting man. He was a clone of the infamous Jango Fett, the Mandalorian of whom you’d grown up hearing about. His armour was older, less sleek than Din’s but still as ruggedly beautiful and had belonged to Jango himself. He was shadowed by another woman, Fennec Shand – an assassin of whom you’d also heard of on your ‘travels’. 

He was a straightforward, direct man, greeting you and praising you on the stories he had heard – then asking how everything was going to go ahead. Straight to business. 

Two hours later, a plan had already been created.

The distress signal coordinates you had given Boba would take you to the general area you needed to be. Then, once you located the Cruiser, Boba would get you as close as he could, slipping into a disused landing bay. 

He would remain with the ship and kids, waiting to get out – and to lead a distraction if it came to it. 

The rest of you would infiltrate the Cruiser, splitting up to cover more ground and find Din – Cara and Fennec in one pair, you, Mayfeld and Ahsoka in the other. 

You sat a little way away from the others – as far as you could in the ship, letting the sound of their planning wash over you. They were determined the best way to get in and out without being seen, whether it was best to go in all guns blazing – literally – or try and be as discreet as possible with minimal causalities. 

You were glad you had excused yourself… because that dark assassin within you was stirring, sensing the oncoming fight – readying a thirst for blood. 

Sure, some of the Troopers may have had no choice… but they certainly hadn’t done anything to change their fate. They still chosen to continue following Gideon and Haran – for you knew now it was him that shot down Din, but you had kept that nugget of information to yourself, only telling Ahsoka. 

The others didn’t need the added stress of knowing a terrifying legend had truly come to life. 

If they wanted to try and preserve life – fine. You certainly didn’t have to agree with them. You didn’t answer rot anyone but yourself. 

And you supposed that mindset should worry you, making you concerned that you were slipping back to that cold killer but… you didn’t care. If you had to become her to save Din and get everyone out safely… so be it. You would deal with the consequences later. 

Ahsoka crossed your field of vision, and then came to sit down opposite you, her back against the wall and her legs stretched out next to yours. She said nothing, merely watching you with an unreadable expression for a few moments. 

You sighed, “If you’ve come to tell me not to go where my thoughts are leading me-“

She shook her head, cutting you off gently, “I’m not going to tell you what you should and shouldn’t do. I’m just going to ask you… Are you prepared for the consequences of what you do, either way? If you choose to go down the path of tearing down anyone in your way… How will you feel afterward?” 

How would you feel afterward?

“I don’t know how I would feel… I know what it’s like to be pushed into a life but… There’s always a choice at some point. However small…” You looked up at her, truly valuing her opinions and advice – she was already a trusted friend, one you could speak your mind to. 

Of course, you had Din. But to have something sperate from him… it felt good. Healthy. You both had your separate friendships away from each other… for moments like this perhaps. 

“I can’t think of anything but saving him. And it’s easy to sit here and ask myself what I’ll do, before we’re even there… but when I’m in there, when I’m walking through that Cruiser to find him...” You shrugged slightly, “I don’t know what I’ll do. And I might not have the time to make that decision when I’m there.”

Ahsoka nodded slowly, listening to what you have to say, “Then whatever happens… We’ll deal with it afterward. Whatever you choose to do... I believe you are strong enough to take it. And if not… then we’ll deal with that too.” 

Gratitude warmed the cold feeling in your chest, spreading through you and you looked at her with new appreciation, “Thank you…” Those two words were heartfelt, all the emotion and thankfulness pumped into there. “For this, helping me… and for everything you’ve done.”

She inclined her head slightly, bumping her foot against your thigh, “You needn’t thank me… It’s been an honour, to help you and train you. After everything that’s happened in my life, the mistrust I had for those I once believed in… I never thought I could get over that hole. But you’ve shown me that it’s not all the way I believed. Things are changing… I’m learning that now. So… thank you.” 

You were about to answer, but Boba’s deep, gravelly voice came from the cockpit, “Time to gear up guys. We’re about to hit the same co-ordinates from the distress signal.” 

~~~~

~~

“Sir?” 

Moff Gideon walked over to the young man who had just called for him, seating in front of a holo-screen like the others dotted about the room, “Yes? What is it?” 

The man brought up a radar screen, a pulsing red dot just coming into the edge of it, “They’re getting closer. They followed the Hunter’s trap.” 

Gideon smiled slowly, watching that little red dot slowly creep closer to the centre of the radar, toward his Cruiser, “Excellent. Tell the troops to be ready. Just because we want them here, doesn’t mean we’ll make this easy for them.”

~~~

~~

Boba Fett’s ship glided through the atmosphere, all of you peering out of the windows for any sign, any hint as to where Din might be. 

You’d been in the general location for about twenty-five minutes, travelling right to the edge of each grid square on Fett’s radar. 

“I think… we might have missed him.” Cara spoke the words that you had all been reluctant to acknowledge, her voice quiet. 

You shook your head fiercely, moving to the other side of the ship, “No. You’re wrong. He’s here. I know he is. I just… know.”  

Grogu cooed from behind you, his ears floppy like they had been since you lost contact with Din.

You turned to look at him, heart breaking at the utter sadness in his glossy eyes, “Oh, Gu… I know.” You scooped him up, cradling the little body to your chest and you pressed a kiss between his ears, “We’ll find him… I promise you; we’ll find him.” You pressed your face to his little head, whispering, “Even if we have to do it on our own.” 

His little arms reached up to your shoulders, and you took a few moments just to hug him, giving him comfort but also receiving it in return. 

You felt his hands tugging at your collar and wondered if he was trying to reach for your hair… but then he grasped something and pulled – your necklace. 

The mythosaur necklace that Din had given you. 

You looked down at him, watching as he cradled the symbol in his tiny little hands, gurgling at it but for once, you weren’t sure what he was saying. It itched at you, like you could almost understand him. 

It turns out, Ahsoka did. She gasped a little, looking at Grogu suddenly and blinking in surprise, “Oh, you’re right. I can’t believe I didn’t even think of that…” She looked at you with wide eyes, “You can find him.”

You blinked at her, raising an eyebrow, “What do you mean?” You felt Grogu’s eyes on you too, and he tugged gently at the mythosaur charm, “The necklace?”

Ahsoka nodded, “Kind of… You have such a strong connection with him, such intense care for each other that if you use your power… you might be able to sense him, where he is.” She walked closer, “It’s hard to explain… it’s an old Jedi trick. They used to use it to track others or find people in hiding. It’s difficult to do, and not all Jedi could do it but… You know him. Better than any of us.” She took Grogu from you gently, “Close your eyes and focus your mind the way we practiced.”

You nodded, not questioning it. There was no time. 

You shut your eyes, following the breathing exercises she had taught you and dropping everything away from your mind. The ship, the murmuring of the others – the panic. 

All of it fell away until you felt the power flowing through your blood, felt it brush up against every living thing in your vicinity. 

Ahsoka’s voice slipped through your mind, “Now, think of him. The memories, the way he makes you feel, the happiness you feel with him. Think about what makes him your Mandalorian.”

Your power flowed through you, out of you, wrapping around the ship and you were already deep in your mind by the time it started shifting the direction you were facing. 

What makes him your Mandalorian…

You let that question move through you, thinking of his touch, his voice… the way he softened the harsh edges of your mind and eased your chest.

The way you had truly come alive after meeting him, how you saw the galaxy as you had before – something beautiful and wild and begging to be explored. 

You breathed in and out slowly, musing on the way you felt you had also brought light to Din’s life. Not just from the way he told you... but the way he seemed to have mellowed even more since first knowing you. 

He laughed more, let himself go a little… His moments of uptight, rigid restraint had melted into something far softer and… goofier. 

Ahsoka’s gentle praise whispered through the thoughts and memories, encouraging you. For however long, you didn’t know. 

And then you felt it. 

Your power brushed over something… someone. 

Din. 

His essence, his soul, burning like a bright star in your longest night. A sense of comfort, fierce loyalty and determination, all encased in a glittering shell of honour. 

Your eyes snapped up, the ship slowing to a stop and then – there it was. 

Moff Gideon’s cruiser. 

And speeding toward you… about thirty Stormtroopers, ready to attack. 

Mayfeld grinned from behind you as Duru leapt from the control panel, “Time to make an entrance.” 

~~~

~~

When Din got out of here, he was going to tear Haran into little pieces. 

Well.

He would help you tear him into little pieces. 

You had probably more rights than anyone to do so, but he had some things that the cocky shit needed to pay for. 

Hey, maybe you could tag team. 

Din kept thinking of creative ways to take Haran apart, to see if he was as strong inside as the power he oozed on the outside. It would be a fascinating project. 

Maybe when you cut him open, he would be a hollow shell, or maybe there would be some kind of malevolent demon inside him. 

He supposed these thoughts were rather twisted and dark, and that Haran had undoubtedly been through some awful things in his life… but so had you, and you were worlds apart from each other. 

Besides, it was all he could do. Think of Haran’s death and try to avoid thinking of the alternative thing that was screaming at him like a siren. 

That you may very well be on your way to rescuing him. 

Din could tell himself for hours that you wouldn’t heed it, that you’d know it was a trap but… it just wasn’t you. 

You were one of the smartest people he knew, but if anyone you loved was in danger, caution tended to get thrown out the window. 

Sometimes, you were both more alike than you realised. 

Din sighed, curling his fingers into fists and then releasing them again. A few hours ago – or maybe days? – he’d lost feeling in his arm. He couldn’t pop the dislocated shoulder back into place without removing his armour, so it was stuck there, swollen and pressing against the beskar. It had started with pins and needles, and then a cold feeling like ice in his veins. 

It made him feel unsteady, lopsided – though that may have been the broken right leg and twisted left ankle. 

Not only that, but every movement of his head made his stomach roil dangerously, and his breathing seemed to be coming laboured… more like sharp pants rather than deep breaths. 

You were never going to let him live this down. 

He huffed again, but the faintest smile rose to his lips as he imagined you both somewhere safe. 

You’d wait long enough for Din to be suitably healed before tearing into him… and no doubt it would creep up for months afterwards. He could almost hear the cocky tone as you bickered about something and you’d whip that out, “Oh, well, I suppose I could always go an attack an Imp base and get shot of the sky. Stars above, can you imagine doing that? What fun.” 

The thought made him chuckle, just a bit even though it irritated his ribs again. 

Of course, that soft sound seemed like a siren call and seconds later, the door to his cell swung open and the King of Shadows and Death appeared – more like King of Arrogance and a limited wardrobe. 

Didn’t he have anything else to wear besides that cloak?

Or was Din just jealous? His own cape was a bit tattered, and he’d always envied the way you wore your own hooded cloak, blending into the darkness and sweeping around corners like some kind of phantom. 

Maker, his concussion must be getting worse. 

Pushing that thought from his spiralling mind, Din tilted his head back to look up at Haran, “Are you lonely? Is that why you keep coming to see me?” He tilted his head, ignoring the feeling like boulders crashing against the inside of his skull and the bits of light dancing across his vision, “Or are you looking for a bit of nightly entertainment? Because I have to say, I’m hardly in the shape to do so.” 

His tongue felt so heavy his mouth. 

Haran rolled those unsettling eyes as the door closed behind him and he walked over, leaning against the wall opposite, “Yes, Mando. My days are just so meaningless without your shiny head to light the way.” He put a gloved hand to his chest, gasping, “Why, if we weren’t on an Imperial Cruiser, I might just drop to one knee and beg for your hand in marriage, right now.” 

Prick. 

Din turned his head away, breathing shallow as his stomach flipped again, “What do you want? If you hadn’t noticed, I’m a rather busy man.”

Haran chose to ignore him, snapping his fingers together and pulling a face like he just remembered something, “Oh, wait. I can’t marry you, can I?” He looked up at Mando, golden eyes burning through the side of his helmet, “Because you already have plans to do that to someone else, don’t you? 

Din willed himself not to rise to the challenge, not to take the bait. He instead tried counting his breaths, focusing on anything but Haran’s silken words. 

They flowed like water around the small cell, almost irresistible, “Does she know? Does your little princess know that you’ve been carrying that ring around for months now?” He crossed one ankle over the other, “I have to admit, it is a stunner. How much did you have to save for a rock like that?” 

Anger hissed through him, but Din closed his eyes. 

Many jobs. He had saved the credits from… more jobs than he could remember. 

He would bring home most of the credits but would siphon off just a little from the top to add it to the tiny stash he had going. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get a ring with a huge stone like others he’d seen but… he had a feeling that you would love it regardless – at least he hoped. The ring had sat nestled in an inner pocket of his tight underlayer of clothing for a while now, and he could still feel it’s hard press into his skin. Thankfully it hadn’t been crushed in the fall. 

It was new to him. Not just the fact he had reached this point in his life, but the fact he was looking for an engagement ring. 

Mandalorian’s traditionally gave weapons instead but… you weren’t a Mandalorian. And the pair of you… this was different. And he wanted to do it right. 

You had taken on board so much of his traditions and rules… he wanted to do this for you. Do something in a way that you would be familiar with. 

Of course, there was one other major thing that was different – 

“Have you even revealed your face? How do you know she’ll want to marry you? I mean, she loves you now but… What if you take off your helmet and she can’t stand you?” Haran examined his gloves, his words low and almost childlike but that was the point. 

Din gritted his teeth, keeping his body loose – as much as it could be with the pain – “Seriously, are you here for a reason?”

Boom!

Suddenly, an explosion rocked the entire ship. 

It echoed down the hall, but Din could calculate it was far away, deep in the belly of the cruiser so most likely a cargo hold. 

Red lights began flashing outside of his cell, the sound of many thumping footsteps racing past. 

No… no-

Haran’s eyes unfocused and a cold, dark power brushed against Din. Even through the armour, he could feel it. The way it leeched the warmth from him, swallowed what little light was in the room. It had a pull to it, like the silken caress of his voice given life. 

Din shuddered, but Haran hadn’t noticed, instead feeling for something… someone…

His pupils dilated, black swallowing the gold and then he grinned, a cruel, delighted grin and his eyes came back into focus. He stood up, laughing, “Oh, Mando. I’m afraid your luck has run out. Your precious princess has just made her entrance.”

Bile rose up in Din’s throat and he shook his head, “No, you’re lying.” 

Din knew he wasn’t. Knew it because he felt you. Every cell in his body was crying out to leave the room, to be reunited with you. Hell, he could almost smell your achingly familiar scent. 

Haran advanced on him, crouching down and he took off his gloves, revealing a pair of slender hands – absolutely mauled with twisted, marbled scars. 

Din couldn’t stop staring at them, at the evidence of some awful injury – fire, by the looks of it, “What are you doing?” He couldn’t move away, the pain too great and the room spinning. Horror flooded his senses – horror and relief. 

He felt sick at the relief, because the last thing he wanted was you near any of these people, but at the same time… you were coming to rescue him. 

He wasn’t going to die in here – 

That power brushed against him again, slipping through the cracks in his armour and seeking out the injuries as Haran said softly, “The game is beginning.” 

~~~

~~

So, your idea to enter the ship discreetly… maybe hadn’t gone entirely to plan. 

In all honesty though, it wasn’t your fault that you’d been attacked. 

And it wasn’t your fault that the only evasive maneuverer that they wouldn’t be expecting was to lead them on a wild goose chase around the ship and then…. Crash into the cargo hold. 

Okay, so Boba had been going for a gentle landing, but the situation had required some fast thinking and strategy and so… there you were. 

Maybe it hadn’t been what you’d decided upon but… you had to admit, the explosion provided excellent cover for your teams to slip in. 

Amongst the chaos, you weaved around the edges of the cargo ship and you were through into a service passageway, watching Cara and Fennec disappear down a hallway opposite. 

~

The cruiser was like a maze. 

You had no idea how long you had been navigating the halls, but you knew it was long enough. 

Already, you had encountered a few Troopers, but they were silenced before they could raise the alarm – and stuffed into nearby rooms so they would be delayed when they awoke. 

Mayfeld kept pace easily with you and Ahsoka, as you sent out waves of power to sweep the area, “They most likely have him in the cells. But if they know we’re coming… They would have moved him. 

Somewhere more central, where we have no choice but to be in the open and vulnerable to attack. So, we should head toward the front of the ship, maybe.” He kept his voice hushed and his blaster aimed. 

Ahsoka peered over her shoulder at him, raising her eyebrows, “Tell me again where you came from?” She had her other saber in her hand, held in her trademark grip as she moved like a shadow. 

Mayfeld chuckled low, “Impressed?” 

Seriously?

Ahsoka rolled her eyes, looking ahead again, “Please, don’t flatter yourself.” She shook her head, pausing and raising a hand for you all to stop too. 

You pushed your power around the corner as well, combining with hers and you felt it. 

A cluster of Stormtroopers gathered near a service room. They were standing between you and the next hallway and would need to be removed. 

Focusing, you did a rough tally, “Nine of them. All armed.” You worked it through in your mind. You could take them – but there was still enough time for them to raise the alarm. Especially if they were near service rooms, they’d be able to signal to others and you would soon be ambushed. 

Even without power, Mayfeld appeared to have done the same, “We need to draw them away, get them somewhere quiet.” He looked back the way you came, then to the right where there was a dead end. 

Ahsoka sighed, shaking her head, “How? Any noise will alert the others. We need to - ” She broke off, having just seen what you were doing. “Where are you going?” 

You had moved away from the safety of the wall, drawing the hood of your cloak up over your face. “You and Mayfeld get ahead, see if you can find a map or something in one of those rooms.” 

Something dark thrummed in your blood, your palms itching with an intense need to… to make someone hurt. 

Mayfeld rose an eyebrow, facing you as he kept his back against the wall, “Are you crazy? They want you as much as you want Mando! You can’t just walk out there like a party gift.” 

A party gift that’ll explode in their faces. 

Stars above, the very thought almost made you laugh with an unnaturally shadowed delight. 

You indeed chuckled, rolling your eyes, “Exactly. What Stormtrooper grunt would pass up the opportunity to deliver Moff Gideon the very thing he’s doing all of this for? They’ll take me straight to him or throw me somewhere to wait. Either way, it gets them away from you.” 

Ahsoka was watching you, her eyebrows furrowed slightly. She didn’t agree with this anymore than Mayfield, but she too knew there was no other way. “Okay.” She ignored Mayfeld’s noise of protest, “Be careful. Try not to draw too much attention if you can help it. We’ll find anything we can and if you’re not back out here, then circle back to find you.” She was still watching you with that strange look – like she could sense something off. 

You gave her a playful salute before pulling out another knife from your boot, rolling your shoulders and strutting around the corner. 

Instantly, the group of Troopers turned around, guns raising as they beheld your cloaked appearance, and the shining lightsaber in your hand, “Hey! Stand down!” 

You dropped the hood, grinning wickedly as you purred, “Hello, boys.” 

~

You moved like a flame, tearing through the group of Stormtroopers and spreading your embers of death, ready to turn into a blaze. 

The whir of the lightsaber was the conductor of your dance, providing a beat as your separated limb from limb. The deadly energy whipped through the air, severing one of the Troopers hands from his wrist and he went down screaming, clutching at the stub at the end of his arm which was smouldering. You didn’t hesitate, whirling and flinging a sharp, deadly knife from your hand. 

There was a muffled, wet noise impact as it lodged itself in his throat, buried in the gap between the chest plates and helmet. 

You didn’t know if Ahsoka and Mayfield were close, if they’d found a map – you didn’t care. 

These men, these followers were standing between you and Din. Maybe they had been forced into it, but as you had said before. They made the choice to stay. 

A yell sounded from behind you and a sharp blow to the middle of your back had you stumbling, the air knocked from your lungs. 

You sucked in a sharp breath but before you could turn, the back of a blaster smashed your skull and you tumbled to the floor, fighting through the wave of nausea and the stars in your vision. The lightsaber was flung from your grip, skittering across the floor. 

A somewhat altered voice hissed against your ears, a knee pressing to your spine, “You think you can waltz in here and take us all down? I don’t care what the boss says.” The muzzle of his blaster now jammed against the back of your skull, forcing your forehead to press against the icy, metallic floor and you bit your lip with the impact, “You are vermin. A monster. People like you shouldn’t exist.” 

The dark creature within you snarled, and you spread your fingers of your free hand, the other caught up underneath you, “Didn’t your boss tell you?” 

You heard him cock his head, “Tell me, what?” He dug his blaster in harder, right against the base of your skull. 

A wicked grin spread your lips, causing them to split further but quite frankly, you didn’t care. The pain only aided in the focus, the hot blood nothing as it ran down your chin, “Watch the hands.” You lifted it from the floor, wrapping the Force around his throat and you gave him only a second to realise what was happening, before curling your hand into a fist and crushing his windpipe. 

He choked, hands flying up to his throat but then he was instantly gone, slumping forward over you in a heavy tangle of limbs. 

You groaned, shifting his body off of you, “Get off of me.” You muttered it uselessly, scrambling up and you scooped up the lightsaber, before turning to survey the hallway. 

Footsteps resounded from both ends of the hallway, and you lowered into a battle stance, adrenaline still humming through your veins and numbing everything else, everything but the fight and the goal – Din.  Along with the cool ice of battle… something heavy and alluring whispered to you, as black as night and hungry for more death. 

White armour burst into your left peripheral and you whirled toward it, flinging a hand forward and then back. 

The Stormtrooper was dragged off his feet, again trapped with the invisible pressure around his throat as he ground to a halt, legs swinging forward with the remaining force of him flying at you. 

He snarled, scrambling at his throat, “You can’t do this. You won’t beat him, no matter what you believe.” 

You rolled your eyes, letting your head fall back with a groan, “When they make you, do they implant some kind of need for all the dramatic bullshit? Honestly, whoever the first one of you was, he must have been an incredible bore.” 

The Trooper thrashed about uselessly, his weapon falling to the floor and you sensed the glare through the black visor, “At least we have hearts. And maybe we’re all the same, but we’re more human than you are.” 

Monster. 

Ah, back to this, yet again. 

Always back to this. 

Your smile was angelic, your appearance anything but. 

Long cloak hanging from your shoulders, battle suit fitted and black as coal. Your boots were stained red, the blood looking like ink on the dark leather. 

As for your face, you sported a wicked bruise to your cheekbone, a long cut across your forehead and with the blood dripping down your chin, the wild fury in your eyes… You probably looked every bit the monster they said you were. 

And you couldn’t care. 

“You think I haven’t heard this one before? How I have no humanity, no soul… I’m an abomination that shouldn’t deserve to live, blah blah blah.” You shook your head, something deadly and shadowed twisting through your blood, humming in dark delight at what you were doing, the devastation you were feeding it. 

There was a name for it. 

You knew what it was, the siren call to step over the line that you were only too pleased to answer. 

You’d deal with that later.

The Stormtrooper choked as you tightened the hold on him, obviously about to speak but then his head jerked, focusing over your shoulder. 

The other footsteps – a pair. One heavy, one light and nimble. 

Mayfeld, and Ahsoka. 

You didn’t bother turning around as you heard them skid to a stop, Mayfeld sucking in a breath at the sight around you. 

The fallen bodies of the Troopers, broken about and still smouldering, the blood coating the walls and the floor, the edge of your cloak trailing in it. The stench of death and the smell of molten plastic. 

Mayfeld whistled low, “Fucking hell…” 

You ignored them, focused on your prey, tightening that leash bit by bit. 

It was like the very air around you was alive, more frantic than normal. Your power flared, tasting the death in the atmosphere, slipping through the ship like a poison and marking where each target was. Every single obstacle between you and your love. 

You could feel their living souls, see them in your mind like glowing stars in the sky. You knew that if you went for them, you could close your eyes and still take them down as quickly and skilfully as if your eyes were open. 

Is this how Haran was so good at killing? So skilled at finding people? 

Without the distraction of sight and sound, you needn’t worry about the expressions on people’s faces, the noises they made as they died. 

With your eyes shut, using this glittering map in your mind… they were merely lights to snuff out. 

“If you follow this path… No one will be able to help you. You will have to make the choice whether to stay on it, or to fight your way out.” Ahsoka’s voice was a soft breeze in the night of your mind, softly lit in the same white as her sabers, of which one you held in your hand. 

A symbol of strength… which you had used to destroy lives. 

Your eyes opened slowly, gazing up at the Stormtrooper ahead of you. 

A choice. 

Seconds ticked by, seconds you knew were slipping away on the clock of Din’s life as you made up your mind. 

The Trooper fell to the bloody floor and your voice was demanding, no room for argument, “Take us to your little master. I except he’ll be waiting.”

~~~

~~

Booted footsteps rang out on the cold metal hallways. 

The King of Shadows and Death could move like a whisper on the wind, as if the air itself parted around him and kept him silent. 

But this time, he wanted to be heard. 

He wanted the Mandalorian to know that his hope had been in vain. 

He merely looked at the guards standing either side of the door and they nodded, one scanning the chip that would trigger the heavy locks in the door. 

It swung open and Haran crossed the threshold, gazing down at the broken Mandalorian, slumped on his cot. He grinned, cocking his head, “Time’s up, Mando. Your saviour has come to rescue you from the enemy walls. Looks like you don’t know her as well as you thought.” 

The Mandalorian growled, dried blood like rust on his beskar, “If you think you’ll walk out of this unharmed, you obviously don’t know her like you think you do.” 

The last time Haran came to see him, he had healed his injuries just enough that Mando wasn’t permanently dancing the line between being awake and being unconscious. He did nothing to remove the pain, or the severity of them, but he had prevented infection. He’d also healed his legs to the point where he could walk – barely. 

What good was a knight who fell before the Queen could finish the game? 

Haran walked over to him, hauling him to his feet. The Mandalorian was the same height as him, so he gauged he was looking right into Mando’s eyes when he whispered, “I think I know her a lot better than you think. I can tell you that she would not have come here peacefully. And she would not have let go the people that stood in her path.” 

Mando shook his head, trying to pull away from him but he was unsteady on his feet, the blood rushing from his head, “No. You’re wrong. She won’t listen to that call, to the... Dark Side or whatever it is. She’s walked that line before, and she’ll make the right decision again.” 

Haran chuckled low, half dragging the beskar-clad knight out of the door, “Oh, I don’t doubt that she’ll make the right decision. But whether or not it’s right depends on which side you’re standing on.” 

The Mandalorian groaned, hating that he couldn’t pull away from Haran, hated the weakness of his body, the unsteady, lurching footsteps of his still fractured legs and the armour that weighed down on his broken bones. “Why are you doing this? Why are you so obsessed with corrupting her? You’ve been living your sick little life for… however long it is now. Surely there’s some other person to terrorize?” 

Haran scoffed, rolling his amber eyes, “You really need to get it through that thick skull of yours – I’m not corrupting her. I’m merely bringing back someone she’s tried to bury.” He looked over at Mando, raising his eyebrows, “Has she told you? About the time she had no code of honour, of mercy?”

The man beside him snarled, his leg giving way for a moment as agony rippled up his hip, his bones screaming, “What the fuck are you talking about now?” 

It was easy to hold him up, despite the weight of his beskar and they walked down the imposing hallways, three Stormtroopers flanking them – whether it was to stop Mando trying something, or stop Haran having his fun, he didn’t know. Or care. 

“There was a time, little hunter, where your precious princess slaughtered anyone who dared stand in her way. She was broken, hungry for vengeance and only to eager to have her fill.”

Mando was quiet for a moment, the heavy scuff-drag of his boots the only sound to be heard – one he probably hated as he moved nearly as silently as Haran did. 

Something like triumph flickered over Haran’s face at his silence, “You truly didn’t know? Oh dear… There’s a lot she hasn’t told you, Lori. Things I’ve seen in her head that I doubt even she remembers she did.” He guided them around toward the corner, to where it would all come to a head. 

And to where his power was tugging him, whispering to him of the state the next hallway had been left in. 

The Mandalorian pushed away from him, summoning some kind of inner reserve of strength. He stopped, the guards pausing behind him and shifting their weapons as a warning. He looked at Haran, the harsh lighting bouncing off his beskar, revealing nothing of the man beneath and Haran wondered if he had revealed his face yet. 

“You seem to think telling me these things will bother me or make me look at her differently. Whatever she’s done, whatever terrible things she’s committed… it doesn’t change the fact that I love her.” He stepped forward, ignoring the guards as they moved too, “I’ll tell you something, Shadow man. There is a light that burns within her, a fire that could rival the very stars up there.” He pointed to the ceiling, “And no ounce of darkness, be it her own past or your own twisted powers, will ever snuff it out.” 

He moved that finger to jab Haran’s chest. “You tried to dump her at the bottom of a lake, and she came out burning brighter than before. So carry on, tell me all these horror stories to try and scare me away.” He shrugged, the rough baritone of his voice steady, ringing with loyalty and truth – and threat, “All you’re doing is making me love her even more.” 

Golden eyes flicked between the visor, assessing. Plotting. 

Then Haran smiled, a sinister, deadly smile as he inclined his head, “I don’t doubt for a second everything you said is true.” He brought his hands together behind his back, resuming the walk and he used his power to push the Mandalorian along. “I believe that you’re willing to throw down the gauntlet to protect her honour every single time someone threatens it. But I wonder… All you’ve heard is stories.” 

He walked around the corner and stopped yet again, his dark power dragging Mando to his side. “What will you do when faced with the truth first-hand?” 

The hallway was carnage. 

A bloody battlefield. 

Multiple bodies littered the stark floors, bright red blood sprayed all along the walls – even the ceiling. The once white armour of the Troopers was stained with the stuff, their bodies bent at unnatural angles, as if a strong power had taken hold of their limbs and yanked them in all the wrong directions until bones shattered and muscles tore. 

The Mandalorian looked upon the scene, the blood coating the tips of his boots. 

A dismembered hand lay just a few feet away and the severed wrist, the tendons hanging out of it... all singed. As if cleaved from the body by something white-hot and burning. 

A lightsaber. 

Which would explain why the hard shell-like armour of the fallen Troopers were marked with black holes and marks, the stench of melting plastic mingling with the reek of burnt bodies and blood. 

This was the work of someone with deadly skill, usually so precise… pushed to the edge, to this. 

Oh, it wasn’t mindless, not by any means. 

It was clearly thought out… maybe even savoured. 

Haran breathed in the smell like he was standing in a field of flowers, “Well. I have to say, I’m impressed. This looks like something I’d leave behind.” He walked through the mess of shredded bodies, a phantom wind lifting the edge of his cloak so it didn’t drag in the blood, “These poor soldiers never had the chance.” He crouched down, pushing the helmet of one Trooper – resulting in the head rolling a few inches away from his body. 

He looked at the Mandalorian, raising an eyebrow as the fluorescent lighting brought out his scars, “Still singing her praises?” 

The Mandalorian was silent, hands clenched at his sides but then he moved, not away from the scene, but toward it. 

Through it. 

Through the blood and flesh until he was standing right in front of Haran, feet splashing to a stop in the scarlet river, “Always.”

~~~

~~

Moff Gideon was waiting for you as you were escorted into a large, open chamber.

He stood there, hands clasped behind his back, with a young girl at his side – presumably his second in command.  There was a sick expression of glee on his face, dark eyes glittering with what he presumed was triumph. 

Next to him, stood Haran, clad in black as always, with that embroidered cloak holding – 

Din. 

Oh, the sight of your Mandalorian threatened to bring you to your knees as you were stopped a few metres away. 

You couldn’t see his body – obviously – but you knew simply from the way he held himself, that he was terrible injured. 

He seemed to be bearing his weight to one side, slumped over even as he stood, and you could hear is laboured breathing from here. 

Oh Din, what happened to you…

You had to admit, a small part of you wondered if there would be anything left of him when you arrived. Not from the possibility of torture, but simply from that terrible fall. 

The thought of tumbling all that way down to the ground, encased in a rock-solid metal shell… You couldn’t even fathom it. 

And yet, there Din was, still alive after something that should have killed him. 

Clearly, the Maker had plans for him. 

Gideon cleared his throat, watching the Trooper grunt retreat to the edge of the room, “Well, well. After all my time spent hunting you… Here you are.” He cocked his head, “I thought you’d be taller.” 

You rolled your eyes, sighing, “Oh stars above, please tell me this isn’t another villain speech. I hate those.” 

Haran’s lips twitched perhaps remembering this exact same conversation from his bunker. 

You flickered your eyes to him, before looking back at Moff Gideon, who was looking at you with… a rather bored expression already. 

“I was told you were insolent and arrogant, and I can see my sources were correct. They were also correct about how to summon you here.” 

He looked over at Haran, “Though it took many years for someone’s ideas to actually bear fruit. Well done.” 

Haran bristled slightly, as if taking praise from a mere human man irritated him. 

You supposed it did. 

Gideon was nothing compared to Haran, power or not.  

“Well, I would hate to disappoint you, of course.” You shot him a sweet smile, venom in your eyes, “If you wouldn’t mind, do you think you could tell me what it is you want before I take my Mandalorian here and leave this dump.” You held up your comms watch, “I have a party in Coruscant I’m due to be at and it won’t look very good if I’m late.” 

You thought you may have heard muffled chuckles from the line of Stormtroopers assembled behind him, but you paid it no heed. 

Gideon bared his teeth at you, eyes blazing, and he brought a hand in front of him to point at Din, “Do you not realise, we have your precious bounty hunter captive? Do you not realise who is holding him?” 

You looked over at Haran, shrugging lightly, “A guy who has interesting taste in fashion?” 

Did Gideon not know about the bunker or the lake? Had Haran neglected to tell him you’d met before?

Haran revealed nothing in his expression, but there was something in his eyes… something ancient… some of betrayal? Of lies? 

Moff Gideon snarled at you, “Insolent creature. You are here because we allowed you to be. In fact, the only reason that happened, is because of the failures of the people I sent after you. Had they done their job, you would have been broken long ago. That disgusting affliction of yours burnt out of you.” 

Heat licked down your spine, and the atmosphere in the room shifted as the three Force wielders within it straightened at is words, the ugly discrimination in his words. 

Dangerous game to play, Gideon. 

You kept your breathing even, feeling the shadows prowl beneath your skin, teeth and claws still dripping with blood from the hallways, wanting more, “Have you ever wondered why you’re stuck here, chasing down women and babies?” You took a step forward, anger and pride for yourself, for Ahsoka, every Force Sensitive person both dead and alive making your voice carry strong over the empty air – even pride for Haran, in some way.  

Gideon rose an eyebrow, “Do tell.” 

“You’re stuck in the past. You believe that people like us,” You motioned to yourself, “You believe we are abominations. Freaks of nature. The Force is nature. It’s the very thing that binds us all together. There is no fear in it, no monstrosity. I don’t know why it’s so hard for you people to understand.” 

The Officer sighed, shaking his head and moving a step closer as well, “Oh, I understand that. I wasn’t referring to the others in this room. I was referring to you. You, my dear, have been sick and twisted from the very moment you were born.” 

Din pulled against Haran’s grip, growling in anger, “I’d advise you to stop speaking.” 

Haran yanked him hard, “Stay quiet.” He spat the words at Din, but you didn’t fail to notice the murderous look he shot Gideon over Din’s head, his golden eyes livid. 

A shaking had taken over your hands, so you clenched them tighter around your weapons, years of abuse playing in your mind. 

But you pushed back against it, for you were stronger now. Stronger because of it, not in spite of it. 

Gideon continued, looking upon you in disgust but there was a sick fascination here too, “You have been marked for death long before you showed your powers. You think it was coincidence that the hunter was stalking you in your miserable little village? She was there on orders.” He looked over you, “A child responsible for the deaths of her parents. You might as well have pushed the blade in your mothers flesh yourself.” 

A roaring took over your head, filling your ears with the sounds of screaming, the stench of blood and the way the light sapped from your life as your parents died. 

But… the world was different now. 

It was bright again. 

Because of Din, your friends… That’s why you were here. 

You glared at Gideon, wanting so desperately to tear out his throat with your power, your hands, or even your teeth – but now wasn’t the time. You shook your head, “You don’t win this time, Gideon. I’m afraid your sad little life will be ruled by chasing me for just a little longer.” With that, you flung your hands wide, making your power explode through the room with a battering impact. 

You felt another wave at the same time as yours, fuelling it – Ahsoka’s. 

You only just managed to keep it free from Din, though Haran had thrown up a hand milliseconds before you, as if sensing what you were going to do – and evidently creating a shield. 

Gideon and the Troopers weren’t quite so lucky. 

The Force flung him through the air, causing his head to smash harshly against a metal beam and he crumpled to the ground, limp. 

Haran spun to look at him, and it occurred to you – he should have protected him too. He was working for Gideon. Or… at least pretending to be. 

Who was really calling the shots here?

No time for that now. 

You used Haran’s distraction to throw yourself at him, activating the lightsaber and unleashing yourself on him with a strangled cry of rage. 

He startled, just a few seconds too late and he pushed Din at you in an attempt to slow you down. 

Perfect. 

Just as you planned. 

You were never really going to engage in battle with him, had never intended to attack him. 

But you knew he would use Din as a shield, thinking you were too blidned in your rage – but you proved him wrong. 

Din careened into you, stumbling against your body and you both nearly tumbled to the floor, but then Cara was there, helping you support his body as he wrapped an arm around you, “You came…” His voice was hoarse, weak with pain and exhaustion. 

The relief and love in his voice nearly brought you to the ground, “Of course I came for you, Din. I will always come for you.” You gave him a watery smile, walking toward the others, keeping one eye behind you as Haran watched. 

Why wasn’t he moving… Why wasn’t he attacking?

“I saw what you did.” Haran’s silken voice called out from behind you, making you pause in your retreat. “I know you feel it. The call to the Dark Side. And I know that you answered it.” 

That would be why. 

You slowed to a stop, forcing Din and Cara to slow too. “How do you know I answered it?” You looked straight ahead, still not turning around. 

Haran sounded as though he took a step forward, “I felt it. I felt it when you allowed the Dark to show you how to get here. You saw the lives as glowing lights, a map to saving your Mandalorian. And the mess you left in that hallway…” He trailed off meaningfully, “You needn’t fear it, darling. It’s not evil. It’s merely… a different perspective.” His voice had melted into the same one that had coaxed you into swallowing the poison, into stepping off the edge. 

Here you were, yet again. Only you weren’t standing on the precipice of a raging torrent… You were standing on the edge of the Dark Side. 

And his words had instantly awoken it, set it pining for a life to be unleashed, untamed. 

Slowly, you turned around, cringing when Din’s broken feet tumbled over each other too, so you slowly let go “A different perspective…?” You cocked your head, voice starting to sound unsure as his seductive baritone filtered through your mind, weaving around it. 

He smiled, that gorgeous, disarming smile that instantly made you lock focus on him, “Yes. Others may tell you that the dark side is evil… But it isn’t. It’s simply using that power in a different way. Using it to get the things that you deserve.”

You swallowed, feet hanging over that metaphorical edge, “You – You promise? I can’t go back to that place. I can’t be a… monster again.” Your voice trembled over the word; eyes locked on his amber ones. 

Din shook his head fiercely from your left, fighting against Cara’s hold as she pulled him away, but he was too weak, “No. Sweetheart, no. Stop listening to him, please… He’s lying to you. You don’t need this. You don’t need that darkness, princess. You’re so good, so strong… please don’t do this.” 

And then you made a decision. 

You ignored Din.

And walked toward Haran. 

Stepping off of that edge. 

Haran extended a gloved hand to you, “That’s it, darling. That’s it… Coming here doesn’t make you a monster, it just means you are claiming your birth right. This is where you belong.” 

As you reached his presence, a feeling wrapped over you, muffling Din’s voice, the sounds of the others around you. You slid your hand through his, gasping a little as you felt your shadowy beast respond to his own, felt them twine around each other, greet each other. 

“I don’t…” Uncertainty still clouded your expression, and you lingered a little, worrying you were making a fatal mistake. 

He saw this, gently drawing you closer and into the circle of his arms, “No one will die. Your Mandalorian, your friends… We will help them leave safely and then… Then we can begin.” He guided your head to his neck. 

Din’s voice, though muffled, was desperate, clawing at you, “No! Cyar'ika, you can’t. Please, I’m begging you. You don’t need to go to him, you don’t need to do this. I love you. I love you for who you are, for every single thing. I’m not afraid of you, of any single part of you.” He sobbed. 

Din sobbed, reaching for you, “Please don’t leave me alone.” 

You were glad your head was pressed to Haran’s neck, because the backs of your eyes burned, shame and guilt threatening to choke you. 

You had to do this. 

You had to do it now before you shattered completely.

You were quiet, and then just… went pliant in his arms. You raised your own to his back, winding around his lean frame and lifted your face from Haran’s neck, nuzzling your nose along his neck, “I believe you.”  

“NO!!” Din fell to his knees beside Cara, shaking his head in disbelief. “Sweetheart, please don’t do this. Please-” The way his voice broke tore through your heart, and you nearly backed out right then and there. 

But you didn’t because Din… He didn’t understand. He didn’t understand why you had to do this… 

Haran’s arms tightened around you, one coming up to cradle the back of your head, “Good girl. I always knew you would see the light.” A deliberate, ironic choice of words form the King of Shadows and Death.

Din’s sobs speared though you, each devasted noise threatening the tears building in your own throat. 

Raising on tiptoe slightly, you ran a hand down his back, the other splaying wide, ready. 

You brushed your lips along the smooth line of his skin, breathing in the smell of wind and midnight, “There’s just… There’s one little thing…” 

Haran nodded, his cheek resting against your hair, “Anything. Anything you want, it’s yours.” 

His words muffled the soft sound of an object flying into your hand as you let out a breath against the shell of his ear, whispering, “I will never be your Queen.” 

The sound of a lightsaber activating, not through air… but through flesh. 

Haran’s choke of surprise – and agony. 

You held his sagging body to yours, snarling, “That’s for the lake, you twisted asshole.” You stepped back, letting him fall to his knees, yanking free the lightsaber and savouring the gritted howl of agony as you tore back through more flesh and tendon. 

Those amber eyes of his blazed like molten gold, deadly and furious, “You don’t know the mistake you’re making. You’re throwing away your life with these fools.” 

You bared your teeth at him, raising the saber threateningly to his throat, letting it make the faintest contact, “Come after me again, and I will end you. I don’t care if you’re hundreds of yours old, or the King of Death or whatever else you call yourself. I’m not afraid of you. And I will destroy you before you can do the same to anyone else.” 

With that, you quickly turned, bolting toward your family and friends, “Now!!” 

Ahsoka flung her hands wide at the same time as you, creating a wide bubble of Force energy that blew through the space. 

Every Stormtrooper in the area was knocked flat on their back, instantly out like lights as you threw your arm around Din’s shoulders, trying to get him up as he stared at you. 

“What… I don’t…” His voice was bewildered, dazed with pain and he was heavy in your arms. 

You whimpered just slightly, desperation and anxiety creeping forward, the edge of battle slowly fading, “I’ll explain everything later, we have to go now, Lori. Please.” 

Mayfeld was suddenly there, supporting his other side and then you were all running for the cargo hold, leaving the destruction behind you. 

Even as you ran, Cara and Fennec scouting ahead, Ahsoka behind you aiding with the energy bubble and Mayfeld helping you carry Din… You couldn’t quite figure out how you had pulled this off. 

You’d done it. 

~~~

~~

Haran watched her leave, supporting the Mandalorian and hurrying away with her friends, her power combined with Tano’s to create an impenetrable shield around them all. 

Well… He would have gotten through with half a thought – perhaps a whole one – but any of the other fools in this place wouldn’t stand a chance. 

Many footsteps rushed into the room and then he felt hands on him, pushing away his own, trying to get to his wound. 

He looked down, saw a medic with their pack open by his side, flitting and fiddling. 

“Leave it.” His silken voice was hard ice, enough of a bite there to inform the medic what would happen if they didn’t leave. 

Despite the medics healing instincts, they knew the tone well, and moments later the kit was packed up and Haran was already turning away from the retreating figure. 

Strong. 

She had grown stronger far quicker than even he had expected. He knew it was within her, but he had thought the trauma ran deeper, its claws embedded into her very soul and creating a barrier every time she would try to tap into the power. 

Tano must have taught her how to master her fear, or how to get past it.

Useful, it saved him a job… but also irritating. If she was already harnessing that trauma, it would mean he could no longer use that aspect. 

Haran walked the path she had taken, out to the cargo load, the harsh wind roaring across the space as the tech’s struggled to gain control of the ship again, to remove whatever bug the girl and her friends had slipped in. 

No matter. It didn’t upturn his plans… just meant he had to work with a new angle. 

And fortunately, he had one, courtesy of the would-be Queen herself.

Haran had come across the bodies in the hallway on his way in here, saw the way they were dumped on the ground with their limbs at unnatural angles, their armour shattered from the inside out. 

And if the still smoking scorch marks all over their bodies weren’t indication enough, a sweep of his power had revealed massive internal devastation. 

Haran stood with a gloved hand pressed to the bleeding wound as he watched the steadily shrinking shape of a ship. A mere thought had the hole stitching back together as he extended his fingers out slowly. 

No one on the clean side of the Force would wreak havoc like that of the hallway, regardless of their love having been kidnapped and beaten. 

And that meant simply one thing. And one thing only.

She was being called to the Dark Side. 

And she’d heeded that call. 

Maybe only temporary, but the Dark Side was like Haran himself. Once you let it in, once you got that first taste… it never truly left. She could deny it all she wanted, trick him with it, think it was merely a reaction from the stress of saving the Mandalorian, but it had already rooted within her. 

He could feel it. 

Haran tipped his head back and laughed, his ebony curls dancing across his forehead as the wind tugged and pushed at his tall, lean frame. A lone pillar of darkness, hovering at the edge of the world. 

Previous| Next

[archived-kin]

you are hopelessly in love with one (1) librarian

note from kin: i’m (kinda) back baby!!!!!

i thought i’d start with something for myself to get back into the ~groove~ so i chose lisa since i love her so much

in this one you’re venti’s accompanist bard buddy and play the flute! whether or not you’re a vision-holder isn’t mentioned but i like to imagine that venti gives you an anemo vision after the two of you bond as fellow musicians (though of course you don’t know it’s him who gave you it, you basically just woke up one night after a performance and found it in your pocket)

fandom: genshin impact

character(s): gn!reader, lisa, kaeya, venti, razor

pairing(s): lisa/reader (+ some wholesome best friend venti content)

warning(s): none!

genre: fluff

“She’s so pretty,” You groan into the table. “I’m going to die.”

“You probably shouldn’t,” Kaeya replies through a mouthful of hash brown. “Your bard friends would be rather sad without their favourite Buoyant Balladeer.”

“What difference is it going to make?” You raise your head and stare at him with soulless eyes. “My life has no meaning anyway.”

“Oh, now you’re just being dramatic.” Kaeya slaps your shoulder so hard that you swear you feel your bones dislocate. “Cheer up.”

You groan, but sit up and take the hash brown he offers you anyway. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” He responds, already shoving another one into his mouth and beginning to chew.

You let out a heavy sigh and begin to nibble miserably on your own hash brown. “Sorry about all this. I probably sound like an idiot.”

“Don’t worry about it,” He reaches over and gives your hair a playful ruffle. “And you don’t sound like an idiot. Lisa’s a very beautiful lady, after all.”

You raise your head in a snap, glaring at your friend through narrow eyes. “Hey, watch it.”

“I’m uninterested, not blind. Calm down.” He flicks you in the head with a chuckle. Raising his eyes to the sky, he gives a content sigh, as if the sun that he appears to be staring directly into isn’t burning his eye. “You know, a sky like this really calls for a nice glass of dandelion wine…”

“You have beyond enough problems to deal with right now without becoming a day drinker as well,” You shoot back. “Don’t you still have a report to file about those Treasure Hoarders over in Windrise?”

“Oh, that’s taken care of,” He says dismissively, taking a sip from his cup of water. “All dealt with.”

“Careful, Mr Kaeya,” comes a familiar honey-sweet voice from somewhere behind you, and you immediately tense. “Lying is a sin.”

“Miss Lisa!” laughs your blue-haired companion as the librarian pulls up a seat at your table, leaning forward and resting her chin on a single gloved hand. It’s an innocent motion by all means, but it still makes your heart skip a beat. “So kind of you to join us. What brings you here?”

“I simply saw two familiar faces while out on a stroll,” She smiles, stealing Kaeya’s mug and taking a sip of his Wolfhook juice. “How have we all been doing?”

“I-I’m doing great,” You quickly reply as her eyes land on you, unable to form a more intelligent response under her clear green-eyed gaze.

Much better now that you’re here, you add silently as she turns her attention to Kaeya, sliding his mug back over to him with such ease that you get the impression she does this a lot.

Kaeya himself either hasn’t noticed Lisa stealing his drink or doesn’t care, since he promptly curls his fingers back around the tankard and takes a long drink without any indication that he’s noticed anything out of the norm.

“Craving some wine, but I suppose I’m fine,” He sighs, tilting his head slightly to the side and swirling the contents of his mug around. “[Name] here says I shouldn’t be drinking during daylight.”

“And [Name] is very right,” Lisa shakes her head, the little rose accessory on the end of her hat tinkling with the motion. You can’t help but silently compare the sound to the ringing of heaven’s bells. Curse your stupidly romantic heart. “You drink more than enough in the evenings.”

“Then what of you?” Kaeya counters, smirking playfully. “I know for a fact that you can drink most of Angel’s Share’s patrons under the table within a single night.”

“Perhaps so, but I spend far less nights in front of the bar than you do.”

You stare determinedly down into the bottom of your water tankard as Lisa and Kaeya continue their little back-and-forth, feeling an odd sensation tugging at the pit of your stomach. What is this? Anger? Jealousy?

Tapping your fingers agitatedly on the tabletop, you kick yourself firmly in the shin. You’re being ridiculous. Kaeya knows just how head-over-heels you are for the Witch of Purple Rose, and even if he is a sneaky little snake who swaps around the chess pieces when he thinks you’re not looking, you know that he’d never do something like… that to you. Besides, you know full well that, even if they’re close friends, they don’t harbour any romantic feelings for each other.

As the songs say, though, jealousy is a green-eyed demon that will listen to irrationality over reason any day, and so you can’t help but glare subtle holes into the side of Kaeya’s head as he continues to converse with the object of your affections as if you’re not even there.

“... I jest, I jest,” He laughs, waving his hand about as Lisa giggles into her glove. “Anyway, as I was saying to our friend here earlier - the weather’s been beautiful recently, hasn’t it?”

You raise your eyebrows at him, a signal that Kaeya clearly sees and pointedly ignores. The both of you know that the weather was far from what you had been conversing about earlier, but you’re glad that Kaeya isn’t giving you away, at the very least.

“Quite,” Lisa agrees, tossing a lock of hair out of her face in a way that knocks all the breath out of your lungs. “Pleasant weather for a stroll around Starsnatch Cliff, wouldn’t you say, [Name]?”

You jolt in your seat and heat up so abruptly that you wouldn’t be surprised if you started smoking. Kaeya sniggers not-so-subtly into his hand as you hurriedly stutter, “U-uh, yeah, totally!”

“Is that an invitation?” Kaeya raises an eyebrow with a coy smirk, and you’ve never wanted to punch him more than you do at this moment. “I’m sure [Name] would be glad to accompany you.”

“Ah, I couldn't impose myself like that,” Lisa shakes her head, and you want to cry because if only you weren’t such a coward you could tell her that she’d never be imposing on you. “Razor could do with some new scenery for his training. I might as well show him the sights.”

“How is training with your protégé going, then?” Kaeya asks. “He seems to have become quite the loyal little wolf since you first took him under your wing.”

“Oh, he’s an absolute darling,” Lisa says breezily. “He still isn’t very verbal, unfortunately, but he’s learning to communicate like a star. And he’s becoming a dab hand at using his Vision more effectively, too.”

“Sounds like you’re a wonderful teacher, then,” Kaeya compliments, then gives you a side-eyed look. “Wouldn’t you agree, [Name]?”

You nod vigorously. “Absolutely!”

“You flatter me,” Lisa sighs, “But a good teacher is nothing without a bright and willing student.”

Kaeya gives you a subtle dig in the side, and you hurriedly go to reply. “H-hey, give yourself some credit. Razor never would have been able to open up so much without you.”

“You’re too kind, darling.” She gives you a brilliant smile, and you very nearly pass out on the spot, but Kaeya helpfully keeps you conscious by stomping hard on your left foot like the little shit he is. You’ll have to get him back for that later - when your heart rate isn’t so rapid that it feels like you might just ascend to Celestia any minute now.

Lisa doesn’t stay for long after that, conversing with Kaeya for another five minutes or so while you stew in your own flustered chagrin and silently continue to freak out over just how… perfect she is. It’s honestly ridiculous. How is she even human? How are you worthy of even being in her presence?

“Well,” Kaeya says as Lisa disappears back down the street, presumably to return to her place in the office. “That went well.”

You glare at him. “You think?”

“You spoke to her, didn’t you?” He counters, grinning cheekily. “That’s a start.”

You open your mouth to give him a grumpy response, then give up and slump forward on the table again. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” He hums, draining the last of his Wolfhook juice and setting the mug down with a sharp thunk. “Anyway, shouldn’t you be preparing for your performance tonight? You should probably go find your partner.”

“Our friend Kaeya is very right,” calls an all-too-familiar figure from atop a nearby roof. “You’re late.”

If it had been any other occasion, you might have jumped, but right now you’re too emotionally exhausted to do anything but let out a long, tired sigh. Ignoring Kaeya’s evil little cackle, you look up and turn to see Venti grinning down at you. “Bard.”

“Accompanist,” He imitates your monotone address, hopping down from the roof and landing softly on the pavement without so much as a click of his shoes. Flicking out his cape, he sets his hands on his hips and offers you his usual cheeky grin. “What’s got you so gloomy?”

“Nothing,” You reply, standing up and dusting off the front of your clothes. “Let’s go.”

Venti doesn’t move. He raises a single, suspiciously perfectly-shaped eyebrow, cocking his head to the side, then looks to Kaeya, who not-so-subtly mouths something at him. You pretend not to notice his obvious hand gestures in the corner of your eye.

“Ah,” Venti says suddenly, his expression taking on a mock-wise air. “Love troubles once again, I presume. Is our dear [Name] still ailed by a paralysing infatuation with one Miss Lisa?”

Kaeya claps enthusiastically, as if he isn’t the one who basically just told Venti the whole story through poorly-done charades. “Correct! I keep telling them to make a move, you know, but they’re too much of a coward.”

You aim a kick at his shin under the table that he dodges easily. “I’m not a coward! I’m just… gauging the territory.”

“You’ve been ‘gauging the territory’ for months now,” Venti whines, holding his fists in front of his chest and giving you the widest-eye look he can muster. “Come on! The eagle that never dives will never catch its prey, after all!”

“Lisa isn’t prey,” You counter. “And I’m not an eagle.”

“Hopeless is what you are,” comments Kaeya, leaning back in his chair and toying absently with a lock of his hair. “Hmmm, why don’t you write her a song? That’s your strong suit, isn’t it?”

“A song?!” You practically combust right there and then - if you’d been a Pyro Vision holder, you have no doubt that you’d have erupted into a column of flame on the spot. “No way!”

“I think that’s a splendid idea!” Venti exclaims, hopping up and down excitedly on the spot, hat threatening to fly off his head all the while. “You write the lyrics and melody, we compose the instrumental part together, and I’ll sing it for you! We’ll be an absolutely unresistable duo!”

“Easy there,” Kaeya teases, holding up a hand. “Our friend here is the one trying to win Lisa’s affections, after all.”

“Then I’ll be sure to try to direct as much of the spotlight to them as possible,” Venti replies, completely unaffected by Kaeya’s attempt to fluster him. You wish you had his coolheadedness sometimes. “C’mon, [Name], what do you say?”

“I said no!” You holler as he jumps energetically up at you like an over-excited puppy. “No way! There’s no way I’m going to just— broadcast my feelings like that!”

“You won’t be,” Kaeya explains, infuriatingly calm in the face of your explosive embarrassment. “Write the song so that only Lisa would be able to understand the true feelings behind it. It shouldn’t be difficult - you’re the master lyricist, after all.”

“Plus you have me to help as well,” Venti chimes in, holding up a single, proud finger. “The Windborne Bard himself - with me by your side, you can’t possibly fail!”

“Look—” You sink back into your seat and hunch forward, burying your face into your hands. A moment later, you raise your head again to see Venti giving you a concerned look. “I appreciate it, I really do, but… I can’t.”

“Of course you can,” Kaeya says unhelpfully, giving you a hearty slap on the back that is also unhelpful in every way. “You’ve performed all over Teyvat - this would be a small feat in comparison.”

“You aren’t helping, Master Kaeya,” Venti says, not-so-subtly elbowing Kaeya in the side. “We need to be cautious here. Like coaxing a young hatchling to fly the nest… we must take baby steps.”

“No baby steps!” You protest, leaning away as he takes a threatening step closer. “No steps at all!”

“Surely writing a subtle confessional song would be much easier than playing an intricate ballad in front of some of the most influential figures of Liyue?” Kaeya doesn’t show any signs of relenting. “Archons above, [Name], it seems that you’ve channelled all of your courage to entirely the wrong places.”

You drop your head into your hands again and glare at him through the cracks between your fingers. “Kaeya, I’d die for you any day, but for the love of the Archons, please shut up.”

He shrugs and obligingly places his finger over his lips, but you can clearly see him hiding a laugh behind it.

Venti hums, leaning over and giving your shoulder a comforting rub as you sigh miserably into your hands. “Hey, relax. I’m not going to drag you out on stage and force you to confess in song, much as I’m tempted to. If you don’t want to do it, we don’t have to.”

You ignore that middle part and choose to focus on Venti’s earnest attempt at consolation. “...thanks.”

“No need to thank me!” He winks playfully and gives your knees a firm pat. “Now come on! Confession or not, we still have a performance to practise for!”

You sigh and smile. “...sure.”

Leaving Kaeya to pay the lunch bill in retaliation for his teasing, you and Venti head off to your usual practice spot in the gardens outside the Cathedral. There’s some debate over who gets to wear the ‘Star of the Show’ Windwheel Aster pin today, but Venti relents quickly and gives you an easy win. You’re pretty sure it’s out of pity for your romantic plight, but you don’t care. The pin looks a lot nicer fastened on the lapel of your coat, anyway - the colour doesn’t match Venti’s cloak at all.

“So what’s the quota for tonight?” Venti asks, giving his lyre an absent-minded strum. “Celestial Destiny on repeat once more, I presume.”

“Shut up,” You groan, flipping open the latches of your instrument case and carefully lifting out your flute. “I’ve just been… lacking inspiration.”

“What you’ve been lacking is emotional fulfilment,” Venti sighs, reaching over and flicking you in the side of the head. “All you do is wander around Mondstadt, practise, and perform. Surely you could compose something flavourful if you had a little more excitement in your life.”

“I have excitement enough just as I am,” You bring your flute to your mouth. “Now shut up and start practising.”

Venti huffs, but begins strumming the opening chords anyway.

The two of you work your way steadily through your usual repertoire for the next hour or so. It goes smoothly as always - you’ve performed these pieces so many times that you could probably play them in your sleep - but you can’t help but feel like something is missing throughout the entire practice. Venti seems to be fully aware of it as well - rather than closing his eyes and swaying along to the music like usual, he just keeps glancing at you when he thinks you aren’t looking, wearing that frown that says ‘I know exactly what’s going on here but I don’t know if I should bring it up’.

Finally, he has enough, abruptly stopping his strumming in the middle of Early Dawn and setting his lyre down on the bench with a huff. “Alright, that’s it!”

You lower your flute and stare at him blankly as he stands and turns to glare at you, hands set firmly on his hips like a scolding parent. “You’re far too dismal! What happened to the Buoyant Balladeer? There’s no breeze in your playing at all!”

“I’m sorry if my heart is too heavy to play as light as the wind,” You retort, setting your flute back in its case. “I’m afraid I’m a little preoccupied.”

Venti looks at you with a furrowed brow as you shut the case with a harsh snap. After a moment, his voice much softer, he asks, “Are you alright?”

You hesitate for a moment. “...yes.”

He raises an eyebrow at you and doesn’t say anything else. After a pause, you groan and concede. “Alright, I’m miserable, so what? Let’s just get on with it.”

“We are most certainly not getting on with it,” He shoots back, turning to face you directly and crossing his arms stubbornly across his chest. “I can’t have my dear [Name] walking around with such a heavy heart. Come on, talk to me. What is it that weighs you down so?”

You stare at him for a long moment. He looks back at you almost unblinkingly, and try as you might to turn away and dismiss him again, there’s something about his wide green eyes that just compels you to tell the truth.

“I’m...afraid.” You say quietly. “It’s such a cliche thing to say, but I’ve really never felt this way before. I don’t… I don’t know how to deal with it.”

Venti smiles reassuringly. “There’s nothing wrong with that. First loves are always scary.”

“I understand that, but…” You bury your face in your hands and groan. “...she’s just so perfect and I’m just so me and it just feels like it’d never work out.”

“Hey, I don’t like that tone!” He scolds lightly, reaching out and flicking you in the cheek. “No talking bad about yourself. Besides, who says it’d never work out? As far as we know, your feelings are mutual.”

“I seriously doubt that,” You sigh, raising your head once again.

Venti raises an eyebrow. “Have you ever asked?”

You’re quiet for another few moments. “...no…”

“Then how do you know what her answer will be?” He asks. “Why assume that it’ll be no?”

You open your mouth to respond, but something suddenly compels you to look over to the town square. Venti goes quiet beside you as you see Lisa, standing beneath the Anemo Archon statue with Razor beside her. She seems to be explaining something to him.

Razor seems to feel your gaze almost as soon as it lands on him and his mentor. His hair bristles, and he abruptly whips around to look at you, but as soon as he sees you, he seems to relax. He lifts a gloved hand to send you a brief wave; you hesitantly return it.

He turns around and tugs on Lisa’s sleeve; she pauses and turns around to follow his pointing finger. You hold your breath as your eyes meet hers.

She raises her hand, and there’s no mistaking it - she’s smiling. An eternity seems to pass within those few seconds of eye contact, and for once your heart isn’t beating in your throat, your breaths aren’t becoming shallow and uneven, you aren’t heating up and boiling over. Instead, you feel a kind of pleasant warmth well up inside you, and you can’t help but beam and wave back.

Lisa looks at you for another moment, smiles once more, then turns around and begins walking away, gently tapping Razor’s shoulder as she goes. He glances back between you and his teacher, then turns around and follows behind her.

A long silence stretches between you and Venti.

You take a deep breath and turn to look at him, and he immediately grins. Somehow, you get the feeling that he knows what you're going to say.

“I need you to help me write a love song.”

[cherry-glade]

only ever pain (until you)

pairing: jason todd x reader

summary: it’s been a while since this has happened—jason’s been having a good run—but life is always out to get him, and soon enough, he's curled up into a ball of nothing but pain, aching muscle and brittle bone. luckily, like the last few times, he has you now to help him get through it.

warnings: some angst, jason being mostly touch-averse in this, jason also being quite self-deprecating, sensory overload, hurt/comfort, ptsd and hallucinations, chronic illness (fibromyalgia).

w/c: 4786 words

Jason doesn't know why it happens—maybe it's a side effect of either the Lazarus Pit, or of living in a world that he doesn’t belong in, where he should technically be dead, or perhaps it's just the trauma from the Joker's beating coming back to haunt him—but some days, it's as though all Jason is capable of feeling is pure, unadulterated pain.

He knows that it’s going to be one of those days from the minute he wakes up, wincing and turning away as the sun peeks through the window and makes his eyes sting, even though they’re still closed. He tries to roll over onto his stomach, not realising that the sheets are tangled up around his legs, and ends up falling off the bed with a dull thud, knee bashing into the floor.

Shoving the sheets away, Jason pushes himself up into a sitting position, stretching his leg out and noticing the faint redness to his skin, but he doesn’t take much note of it as he rubs at his surprisingly sore knee, preoccupied by the sudden throbbing pain in his head and behind his right eye, a sure sign of an incoming migraine.

Groaning, he stands up, damn near clinging onto the bedside table for support as he picks up his phone up and taps on the screen to check the time. It’s nearly noon, so you must already be at work. Jason usually wakes up on time though for you to kiss him goodbye, and the fact that he didn’t today is just another sign that things are probably going to end up going to shit.

Jason’s legs feel weak as he walks to the bathroom. He swears he can feel each individual fibre in the carpeting, rough against his feet. Jason pushes on and relieves himself before washing his hands and splashing cold water onto his face, nearly collapsing into a heap on the floor, but he manages to catch himself before he cracks his head open on the sink.

”You look like a piece of shit that got turned into roadkill, and are very lucky that Y/N isn’t here right now to witness this,” Jason says to his reflection in the mirror above the sink as he leans forward, noting his bloodshot eyes and the bags underneath them, skin paler than usual.

He blinks hard at the mirror and then stumbles out towards your kitchen, regretting not putting any socks on first as his bare feet come into the contact with the tiled floor, cold and leeching any remaining heat from his body. Jason fills the kettle up with water and switches it on, studying the darkening bruise on his knee as he waits for it to come to a boil.

Surprisingly enough, the bruise is already reddish in colour, almost verging on purple and tender to the touch as Jason prods at it with his fingers like a curious child, hissing at the pain radiating from it. He tries his best to ignore the dull ache as he makes himself a quick cup of jasmine tea, specially bought for him by Alfred, fingers trembling all the while.

Jason has to pick up his mug with both hands, taking a moment to let the warmth of the tea seep through his body, and then makes the mistake of taking a step back towards the bedroom. He vaguely recalls having a conversation with Tim and Damian, a while ago now, about if he would rather walk on heated coals or a trail of Legos. Remembers Damian absentmindedly mentioning that he’d already done the former as part of his training in the League of Assassins.

Remembers chiming in himself and saying that he’d done the same, then having to squirm away from Dick when he’d gotten that oddly sad look on his face as soon as Damian mentioned it—that look that said Jason was going to get a hug whether he liked it or not. Jason had barely escaped by pushing Damian into Dick’s arms instead, and Dick had apparently been appeased by that as he curled around Damian like an octopus, still giving Jason puppy eyes.

This, right now? Taking this single step? It feels infinitely worse than both options combined.

Jason grits his teeth and forces himself through walking the few paces to your shared bedroom, feeling like he’s about to collapse onto the floor the whole way. He has to take a break when he reaches the doorway, clinging to the doorframe with one hand, and tries to keep his other hand to stay as still as physically possible so it doesn’t spill, even as the handle of the mug feels bruising against his palm.

Jason takes a moment to breathe in deep, resisting the urge to claw at his own neck and chest as his pulse quickens and his heart beats harder against his ribs, as the insistent buzz under his skin grows even more insistent, like it’s trying to seek his attention over the throb of his migraine, over the ever-growing pain in his knee and his trembling hands and his dry throat and chapped lips and the keen desire to have you by his side.

Jason isn’t even exaggerating when he says it feels like it’s been years when he finally reaches the bed, practically falling down onto it. With shaky hands, he brings the mug to his mouth, breathing in the subtle sweetness through his nose before taking a sip of the tea, regretting it immediately when it feels as though molten lava is being poured down his throat, clogging it up to the point that Jason’s nose burns when he tries to force down the urge to choke.

Instead of being stupid and trying to drink any more of it, Jason decides to set the mug down on the bedside table so he can wait for it to cool down, his hand jerking when he sees something other than tea in it. Jason stares helplessly, frozen in place as liquid spills over the rim of the mug and trickles down its side, leaving a faint stain on it, the colour reminiscent of dried blood. He blinks when his eyes start to water, and the tea is its usual colour again, a rich, golden caramel.

Jason stares for a little while longer and then decides to get back into bed so he can wait, for both his tea and you. Curling up into a ball is easier said than done, especially when he can feel every single hair on his body rubbing against the sheets when he pulls them close to his chest, then yanks the covers over his head like he’s trying to smother the pain as he squeezes his eyes shut.

His last thought before unknowingly succumbing to the darkness of sleep, selfish as it might be, is that though he hates being so reliant upon you, though it makes him feel weak and not so different from a leech, asking for everything from you and giving nothing in return, he wants to hear your voice telling him that he will get through this, and that you’ll be with him every step of the way.

***

Jason awakes from his restless slumber to the sound of someone knocking on the bedroom door, even though he remembers leaving it open. He knows it’s you though, because you’re the only one who ever bothers knocking anymore, even if the door is open, in an attempt to give him the space he sometimes needs. He tries his best to focus through the pain and realises that you’re knocking in a pattern, the same pattern you established with each other a while ago to ask if he was okay.

Jason nearly bites through his lip to stop himself from crying out as he reaches an arm out from under the covers to knock on the wood of the bedside table thrice, the nauseatingly coppery taste of blood lingering on his tongue. He wants you to tell him everything is going to be okay, even though he knows it isn’t going to be that way for a while, if only to delude himself into thinking so.

“Jay? Are you having a day?” You call out softly, and the ringing in his ears doesn’t stop him from hearing you shuffle your feet. Jason ignores the sound of his teeth grinding together as he summons the energy to peek out at you, squinting at how you’re stood in the doorway, one hand on the doorknob with both feet firmly outside of the room. Somewhere deep inside him, past all the parts that scream with pain and hurt and anger, it warms him to see that you’ll still respect his boundaries.

He nods at you, regretting it when his migraine comes back with a vengeance. It feels like someone’s hammering at the inside of his head, trying to break out of it. “You okay with touching?” You whisper, finally stepping into the room.

He isn’t sure. Touching his thumb to his chin makes his skin burst into a flurry of sensation, and Jason only refrains from scratching at his face because he knows that you know he wants to do it, going by the stern look on your face. “Can try, but… not skin,” he rasps out, wincing at the way his voice sounds. It’s hoarse and raspy, like he’s been screaming for hours. He could’ve been, in his sleep.

You come closer, casually tugging a pair of gloves out of your pocket and sliding them on. Other than the fact that they’re very soft, the gloves aren’t anything special. When you first found out about the pain, it had been Jason wearing them so he wouldn’t scratch himself, but both of you quickly found out that the material was far too itchy against his sensitive skin, and now it’s you who wears them so that you can help him without accidentally touching his skin and sending him into a frenzy.

Jason watches you as you step in front of the bedside table and curl your hand around a mug that he hadn’t noticed until then. “Jasmine tea?” You ask him, and Jason holds his shaking hands out to take it, but you move it away and put the mug back down, shaking your head. “It’s gone cold. You must have made it before you went to sleep.”

“I—don’t remember,” Jason murmurs, suddenly feeling very lost. He thought you had made it for him. Your mouth twitches into a small frown as you study his face, and your hand rises like you’re about to touch him, faltering midway before falling back down to your side.

“I’m going to get you some water,” you say, waiting for Jason’s nod before leaving to do just that, and Jason knows you’re coming right back, but he somehow misses you even more now than he did when you were at work. His shoulders are tense until you return to his side with a small glass, half-full of water.

“Do you want me to hold it for you—”

“Can do it myself,” Jason interrupts you, insistent on doing at least this without having to be so dependent on you. But once the glass is in his hands, water keeps sloshing over the sides, his teeth clacking into it because of how much his hands are shaking. Your gloved hands come up to support his, holding the glass steady, and he does his best to shoot you a thankful look as he takes a careful sip. He’s sure it’s lukewarm, but it feels like shards of ice scraping against his throat, almost making Jason choke.

Once the glass is empty, you set it down with a clink and crouch down next to the bed, facing him. “Have you eaten?” You ask, and Jason just about manages to shake his head, feeling sick. Your frown deepens momentarily before smoothing out entirely as you stand up again, taking a few steps back so that you’re not looming over him.

His skin is itchy. He feels dirty. Jason doesn’t realise that he’s scratching until you say his name sternly, startling him when you place a gentle hand on top of his. Your eyes scan over his face, and you must see something on it because you straighten up, a somewhat determined look in your eyes as you slowly peel the covers off him, baring Jason’s body to the cold darkness of the bedroom.

“Bath time,” you tell him, a small smile on your face. Jason shivers violently.

“Dirty? Am I dirty?” He asks, vaguely aware of the fact that he’s slurring his words, focussing more on how hot his face feels. Your smile wavers and it feels like his blood is boiling inside him as you shake your head, muttering something to yourself about him getting worse.

“But—”

Jason looks down at his hands, which only shake even more when he sees crimson pooling in the crooks between his fingers, staining his cuticles red and drying into the lines of his cracked palms. Red drips from his fingertips, staining the sheets beneath him. He doesn’t want to touch you, to dirty you with his red hands.

“They’re dirty,” Jason says, showing you his hands, and you shake your head again.

“You’re not dirty,” you say out loud this time, looking Jason in the eye. “You’re having a bath because it’ll help with the pain,” you explain to him like he’s a child, but Jason can’t find it in himself to get annoyed. He shivers again, but this time it’s because of the sudden cold he feels, because of the goosebumps rising along the surface of his bare arms as the buzz under his skin roars for his attention.

“I’m not?” Jason asks, still hesitant, and you repeat yourself as your eyes flicker over his face, telling him that he isn’t dirty.

“Come on,” you gently coax him until Jason eventually pulls himself out of the safety of the bed, a whimper escaping from between his clenched teeth when his feet touch the floor and pain shoots through his body. Your eyes are glued to him, concern clearly written all over your face as Jason battles his way to the bathroom and then starts to undress as you fill the bathtub, resisting the urge to scratch as the fabric of his clothes drags uncomfortably over his skin.

He studies his trembling hands as you pour some odd-looking powder into the water, dipping your hand in and swirling it all together until you’re left with a slimy mixture. You turn to him with an expectant look on your face like you’re waiting for him to do something, and then it clicks, and Jason’s nose wrinkles as he presses his lips together in a thin line.

“Sweetheart, you need to actually get in for it to have any effect,” you remind him, a teasing undertone to your voice. Jason pulls a face and steps up to the tub, wincing as the muscles in his legs sprain when he tries to swing his leg over the edge to do as he’s been told. But you come up next to him, holding one of his hands as lightly as you can to support him as he manages to climb into the tub, slowly sinking down until he’s sat down and almost fully submerged.

For a moment, it’s almost too overwhelming for him, and then the continuous sensations of hot and cold and pain and numbness, of all too much and nowhere near enough, they all slowly ease. Jason sinks a little lower into the water, hands shooting out of the water to grip onto the sides of the bathtub so he can ground himself as he closes his eyes and leans his head back against the wall, slowly breathing out through his nose.

Jason isn’t sure if he’s relieved or terrified by how easy it was to get his body to just shut up, but doesn’t ponder on it, revelling instead at how he can now simply feel without hurting so much.

He must zone out for quite some time though because he ends up tuning back in to the sound of your voice, smooth and familiar as you tell him about your day at work. You aren’t holding his hand anymore, but are still sat on the rug next to the bathtub, watching him with sharp eyes.

Once again, Jason is reminded of the fact that you’re too good for him, too good for someone with blood on his hands and vengeance on his mind, for someone who is capable of feeling nothing but anger in his heart. Once again, he wonders why you choose to stay, why you keep choosing him even though everyone else in his life does the opposite.

There’s an odd look on your face when Jason turns to look at you. You don’t say anything, not pushing him, but wait for him to speak in his own time. He’s fiercely reminded of how much he loves you and swallows down the lump in his throat which threatens to choke him.

“They’re red,” he finally croaks out, and his tongue feels too big for his mouth. “My hands are red, and they’re always gonna be red with people’s fucking blood, because that’s all I’m good at. That’s all I can do.”

“Jay—” you start, frowning, but he cuts you off with a shake of his head which makes him feel like he’s about to throw up.

His bloody hands shake. “I’m never going to be clean,” Jason whispers, but even that is too loud for his overly sensitive ears. “When people look at Red Hood, at me, that’s all they are ever going to see. Blood on my hands.”

“Jason, baby,” you murmur, and Jason doesn’t think he’s ever heard your voice so soft before. He turns his head to look down when your gloved fingers graze the tips of his, even though it makes him feel like his brain is pounding violently against the inside of his skull.

You’re asking if you can hold his hand, and Jason takes in a deep breath as he slowly uncurls his fingers from the death grip they previously had around the edge of the bathtub, then flips his hand over so his palm is facing upwards.

You don’t cover it with your own like he’s expecting, but manage to slide yours underneath Jason’s so that you’re cradling his hand. He has to fight hard against the instinct to snatch it back.

“You wanna know what I see?” You ask as your eyes fall to his hand, but it isn’t really a question, and if it is, it’s clearly rhetorical. Your gloved fingertip traces over the lines in his palm, and it doesn’t hurt as much as Jason had thought it would. Instead of thousands of tiny needles piercing through the surface of his skin, it just feels like sharp little pinpricks of sensation.

He looks up at you, and you look right back at him with soft eyes and a softer smile. Jason’s pretty sure his heart skips a beat in the same way it always does when you smile at him. “I see strength, and I see kindness, and I see good.”

Your eyes lower to look at his hand again. “I see scars and callouses and bruised knuckles, and fingers that haven’t healed right after being broken. I see the hands of a man who has worked hard every single day of his life, who doesn’t stop working even though it hurts sometimes, because he’s just like that.”

Your eyes meet, and Jason has to take in deep breaths after seeing the fierce look in your eyes, even though his chest is painfully tight. “I see hands that disarm bombs and shoot guns and break assholes’ noses. Hands that help and protect and love, so, so much.”

Jason exhales shakily through his nose, eyes stinging. He doesn’t deserve this, he knows that. He’s known that he doesn’t deserve you since the moment he met you, since the first time he dared to utter your name with his unworthy tongue, to touch you with his undeserving hands.

But you make him sound like this wonderful person, somebody who actually deserves to have you and love you, and Jason doesn’t know how you can see him like that. He’s killed and tortured and hurt people, both physically and emotionally, he’s not good at all, but he couldn’t bear to lose you if you ever came to the realisation that you’ve been wrong about him all along.

Loving you is the best thing he’s ever done, the greatest choice he’s ever made, and the closest he can get to being good is being good to you. If that’s taken away from him, he’s doomed to an eternity of making the wrong choices.

“When I look at you, I see someone who is brave and gentle and strong. So strong,” you emphasise with the gentlest squeeze to his hand, almost like you think if you put too much pressure on it, his bones will cave in and shatter beneath your touch into dozens of tiny pieces, just like Jason’s heart does whenever you say things like this to him, like you actually mean it.

“I see a man who has been hurt by the world around him so many times, but he’s come out fighting every time.” Jason flinches at that, turning away so he can watch the condensation slowly forming on the tap, a single water droplet threatening to spill from it.

“Jay,” you whisper shakily, and he can hear the swell of emotion in your voice. But Jason knows that you’re not asking him to turn back and face you again, though he feels like he should so he can lean in and kiss any revealing traces of wetness off your face, even if it makes his lips feel like they’re being seared right off his face as he touches them to your soft skin.

“I wish you could see what I do when I look at you,” you admit, eyes no longer burning into the side of his face as you steady your voice again, sounding like you’re determined to prove it to him, that he’s worthy of your love and time.

“You deserve every good thing in this cursed world that we live in, and I wish I could give you that, but I can’t,” you say, voice cracking halfway through your sentence, and you sound truly heartbroken about it, about the fact that—that Jason deserves more, and he’s not getting it.

The water droplet leaks from the tap and lands on the bottom of the tub with a faint splat. Jason doesn’t hear it because he’s too busy staring at your glossy eyes, tears threatening to spill over the delicate tips of your eyelashes and down your face.

You blink and a tear runs down your cheek, just one, leaving a faint streak on your face as you breathe in deeply through your nose, trying to pull yourself together before you speak again. “All I can give you is my love and my time, and hope that that’s enough for you.”

You look back down at his hand cradled in yours again and there’s a faint smile on your face, like you know something he doesn’t. “These hands which you think are red? The same hands which you think will only ever ruin everything they touch? They’ve never hurt me.”

“These hands right here?” You say, shaking his ever so slightly, but not so much that it hurts. “They hold me when I’m happy and when I’m sad, when I’m angry and when I need to feel safe.” Your eyes meet his again, bright with warmth and determination. “My heart is in these hands, Jason, and you’ve never done it wrong. Ever.” Jason briefly considers arguing with you but he really doesn’t have the energy to—this bath is making him strangely sleepy.

But you must see the intent in his eyes because you shake your head and continue, just as stubborn as he is. That isn’t a bad thing, not at all. It’s why you work so well together.

“When I got into a relationship with you, I trusted you to take care of my heart, and that’s exactly what you’ve done,” you explain. “So all I’m asking is that you trust me to take care of you, because I know you deserve it, whether you agree with me or not.”

Jason stares at you and you stare right back, your smile growing ever wider as Jason’s eyes dart away and his cheeks warm slightly. He loves you so much.

“I think you ought to know,” Jason starts, meeting your eyes as water trails slowly down the back of his neck, making him want to claw at his skin, to press his nails into it and drag them along the surface until it’s raw and itchy and as red as his bleeding heart. “If it weren’t for the fact that the thought of touching someone’s skin makes me want to peel the fucking flesh right off my bones, I’d be kissing the shit out of you right now.”

Your wet eyes go soft again, as does your trembling smile. “I appreciate the sentiment,” you laugh, undeniably fond, and even after all this time, it makes Jason want to squirm a little. He refrains, but just barely.

You stare at each other for a little while longer until you speak up again, asking if you can wash his hair. It’s not that he needs to have his hair washed, but he enjoys the feeling of your fingers in his hair, adores the sound of your voice as you tell him a story or sing to him to replace the silence or distract him from the thoughts racing around his mind.

So naturally, he agrees, and soon enough, he’s facing the wall with you balanced on the edge of the bathtub, warning him before you scoop up a handful of clean water and pour it over his hair. You start to hum a simple song, briefly pausing to tell that you’re going to shampoo his hair before continuing.

He tenses up, trying to prepare himself for the feeling of being overstimulated when your hands land in his hair, but warmth tingles through him instead in the same way that it does whenever you touch him with no plans other than to love him, and really, Jason was a fool to expect anything else, seeing as you’ve only ever touched him with the best intentions in mind.

“I love you,” Jason murmurs quietly, and you don’t tease him by telling him you know that like you sometimes do. Like Jason himself did when he finally became comfortable with the fact that he loves you and you love him too.

In fact, you don’t say anything at all, still humming that same song as you gently massage your fingers through his thick hair, paying particular attention to his white streak. It occurs to Jason that maybe you didn’t hear him.

Or maybe you just somehow know like you always do that this was something he needed to say, that it was something he needed to learn for himself without finding out that you knew how he felt before he did, something that he needed to come to terms with so he could finally put a name to the way you make his heart try to punch out of his rib cage and right into your hands whenever you smile at him or say his name or praise him, or kiss his tears away and take him into your arms after he’s had a nightmare without a word of complaint.

“I love you,” he repeats anyway, hoping for you to understand, and you try your best, leaning in to press your mouth to the wet skin on the back of his neck, mouthing words against it that Jason can’t quite make out, but he’s pretty sure he can have a good guess. It makes him shiver again, but in a good way this time.

“I love you,” he says a third time, and now you get it. Now you hear what he’s really saying.

I love you. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for always choosing me. Thank you for helping me through this.

Your mouth curls into a smile against his skin. “I love you too, Jason,” you whisper, voice tender. And Jason hears what you’re saying too.

I love you. Thank you for letting me.

[machineheralds-ho]

Lizard - Chapter Five - Viktor/OFC

Pairing: Viktor/OFC

Synopsis: After ten years of working as a hired gun in the pits of Zaun, Elizabeth (Lizard, for some) finds her way back in the company of her childhood best friend who has thought her dead for the past five years.

Or, two idiots are in love and are too emotionally constipated to admit it.

A/N: I have this posted on AO3, but I wanted to post here too. It’s gonna get smutty and it’s a slow burner but I just needed to write some Viktor action. Enjoy!

Rating: Mature audience only.

Link to Chapter Five AO3 here.

Four weeks into living with Viktor I realise that this was the longest stretch of time we had spent together since he was fourteen, and I was ten.

I voice this to him, quietly, when Jayce goes to the other end of the lab to once again fret over designs of, from I could see, was a very heavy looking glove.

In the last week, I had been trying to…speak more. I was so intensely used to existing in a loud world that would often fill the silences I lived in. Viktor, too, knew the quiet well, but he…I could see him, trying to coax words out of me. In the night, I clung to him, and in the day…

Lizard was hard to shake off. It was only in the presence of him, of Viktor, that she retreated.

Viktor turns to me, goggles pushed up onto his forehead, and blinks in surprise. In the last few weeks, since my apology to him in this very lab, I had opted to not draw attention to our separation. Too much blame lay on either of us, the words of that day still ringing in our ears.

I take him in, messy, thick locks of hair pushed behind his goggles. His eyes were tired – he hadn’t returned to the apartment in three nights, opting instead to dive headfirst into his work. On a few occasions, he would pull his head up from soldering or writing, to look around the lab as if waking up. Sometimes, I would be sitting in the corner, sorting mail, or jotting dates into a diary, and Viktor would begin rambling about his latest finding.

And in those moments, I would be seven and he would be eleven, and the past decade may never have happened.

‘That is true,’ Viktor agrees, tilting his head to the side in thought. His eyes flit back to mine, always sharp and always watching. Perhaps he sees the beginning of sadness in my eyes, because he pushes himself back from the desk, bad leg kicked out straight, and nods for me to come forward. ‘Come, dorogoy. Look at this’.

I hesitate, before following his request. I roll my own seat forward, my fingers curling around the cuffs of my shirt nervously. I had been given clothes by Sky that she insisted I have, and a few that were given by the Academy. All soft shirts and trousers, nothing like the leather and cargo that I was used to wearing.

Viktor tucks his good leg beneath his chair and adjusts himself. I sneak a glance up, and spy a twitch of pain in his brow. His leg, I knew, had been acting up the past two days. Though he tried to hide it, I had spied the flexing of his jaw and the small hisses of pain.

I stop just near him, blinking in interest at the mess of wires and copper splayed before Viktor. I lean forward, peering and, suddenly, am startled when my chair is yanked forward another two inches. I balk at Viktor, my knees tucked between his, before quickly grumbling at his slyly amused expression. He lets for of my chair, amber eyes sparkling.

With my body turned directly toward his, there is no chance of me hiding the flush in my cheeks. I know Viktor; I know that he looks out for traits and ticks in people. When we were children, he would always be ready with a witty reply to any bully, always a biting remark about a secret of theirs.

And I was quite sure there was no hiding my breathless expression.

I practically flatten myself against the chair, acutely aware that whilst I was so small, Viktor was not. He surrounds me, tucked into him, and I press myself against the back of my chair, neck creeping with heat. Viktor looks at me, hums, and then turns toward his…whatever it was. ‘Take these,’ he says suddenly, holding out a pair of tweezers for me.

I blink, before reaching hesitantly for the tweezers. Viktor watches me, before nodding once I take hold of them, turning back to his contraption. ‘This,’ he says, holding up another device. ‘Is a soldering iron’.

I blink blandly at him when he turns his attention back to me. ‘I am aware, Viktor,’ I reply dryly. ‘Are you going to pretend that you didn’t used to make me do this exact thing when we were children?

His expression falters, before it turns suddenly very sheepish. His eyes shine and he replies, ‘I did not think you would remember. You were very young’.

I look at him, unblinking, and reply, ‘I remember everything about us, Viktor’. The words spill from my mouth before I can stop them, so innocently true in my mind. I internally stutter, before ploughing on. ‘I take it you want me to hold something whilst you solder it, yes?’ I rush out, avoiding his gaze determinedly.

Silences stretches for a moment, before Viktor murmurs, ‘Yes, please’.

We work in silence until Jayce bumbles his way back over to us, remarking to Viktor that he may have figured out an alternative way of making the prototypes more portable. With a spike of excitement in his expression, Viktor lowers the soldering iron carefully and remains sitting.

The two suddenly explode into a conversation that I understand very little of.

I watch them, envy whirling inside of me. The only thing that I had ever really been good at was killing people. Sometimes, I would enjoy the beginning of a contract. The stalking, the silence, the precision – I was so fucking good at it. I was unstoppable – I true force to be reckoned with. The realisation is a dull thud in my chest.

(‘You save lives, and I take them’).

‘Hey, Lizzie’. I snap to attention, blue gaze finding Jayce’s green, and blink. Jayce smiles, cocks a brow, and continues. ‘Viktor has mentioned that you’re pretty good at chess. I’ve got some time before speaking with the Council-’

‘Counsellor,’ Viktor cuts in quietly.

‘-Wanna play?’

‘He is,’ Viktor says, watching me. He has leaned back in his chair, and the air without him in it suddenly feels very cold. ‘Surprisingly good’.

I smile, and Jayce balks.

Viktor walks to the other end of the room, cane clacking in the expansive room, and fishes a battered chess set from atop a highly cluttered shelf. I straighten up when I see the set, a sudden smile flaring across my features before I can stop it. ‘Is that – it is!’

Jayce, apparently jolted by my sudden animation, jumps in his seat. ‘What? What?’

‘The set we would play with as children,’ Viktor supplies, setting the set between myself and Jayce. ‘With all of the pieces. Shocking, considering the number of times I caught Elizabeth with many of my game pieces in her pockets’. He casts a sharp look my way, already flipping open the lid of the set.

I smile, suddenly feeling very exposed. I turn to Jayce. ‘He’s lying. I don’t cheat’.

‘Pah,’ Viktor mocks.

Viktor takes his seat, and Jayce takes the one to my left. I become acutely aware of Viktor sitting behind me, watching the moves I make during the game. His knees nudge the small of my back, his fingers drumming against the desk to our right.

I beat Jayce, much to my delight. ‘A few of the patrons of the…tavern I worked for liked to play’. I shrug. I catch Viktor eyeing me intently from my peripheral, always attentive when I mentioned my life in Zaun. ‘It was an easy way to make money’.

Jayce snorts. ‘Well, at least I didn’t lose to a rusty player’. He looks up, suddenly, to the clock on the wall. ‘And that’s me done. Try and make sure he doesn’t sleep in the lab again, huh, Lizzie? Use those feminine wiles to get him home-’

‘Please leave, Jayce,’ Viktor says mildly from behind me. There is a slight scrape of his chair, and I feel him moving suddenly. ‘And tell Counsellor Medarda we said hello’.

Jayce bestows Viktor with a pointed hand gesture, waves goodbye to me, and saunters out of the lab with the confidence of a man going to see the woman he likes. I watch him, curious, and then stutter into the present when Viktor’s front is suddenly pressed against my back.

I turn, startled, and find my face very close to his. He smiles, before looking down to the chess set he was slowly dragging to sit between us. ‘Would you like to play?’ he asks, drawing away from me and plopping into his seat. ‘I could use a break, for the moment’.

I swallow and blink back to reality. Clearing my throat quietly, I reply, ‘For old times sake. Perhaps I can beat you, for once’.

We begin the game. In our youth, I would often heckle Viktor, trying to throw him off his game. He would never budge, always so precise and focused. Oftentimes, at my more amusing quips, a smile would sometimes twitch onto his features.

The pieces move, and we silently watch each other move them. Viktor’s strategy is clear from the get-go, but his moves are too smart for me to be able to block him. The game stretches, the only sound our breathing and the clicking of chess pieces against the dual-coloured board.

Viktor lands a particularly tricky blow, nabbing one of my pieces with quick and deft fingers, and I huff, my glare jumping to his face before I can stop myself.

My breath locks in my chest when I find Viktor already looking at me. His side leans heavily against the table, his leg kicked out beneath him. His tucks my stolen piece to the side, gaze trained on my miffed off expression.

There is a look in his eye, a challenge that I remember from our youth. When he wears it now, at the age of twenty-five, the outcome is decidedly different. My face warms and my toes curl, the sharp darkness in his gaze sending a heat curling in my belly.

I look down at the board, study it for a split second, and then make my next move. The following one, I know, will result in my taking one of his pieces. When I do so, I hear a slight huff across from me, and smile at the board. Viktor, more then anyone I knew, did not like to lose at something he was very good at.

I shuffle forward, knees brushing against his. I kick my foot forward, distracted, and rest the tips of my toes against the bars of his stool. We huddle together, over the chess board. I am so close, that I can smell the coffee on his breath, the burning from the soldering iron still fresh around us-

I take another one of his pieces, and Viktor swears in his mother tongue.

A genuine smile cracks onto my features, and I sneak a glance up at Viktor to see him eyeing the board darkly. At my movement, he looks up at me, his own dark look flickering into something softer. He looks from my eyes, down to the upturn of my mouth.

Without missing a beat, Viktor’s eyes flick to mine, his hand reaches out, and with three flicks of his wrist, he has my Queen.

I stare at the board. ‘How-?’ I sputter, leaning forward to glare at the remaining pieces, as if they will explain it to me themselves. ‘How do you always manage to-?’

I turn, not entirely surprised to find myself near nose to nose with Viktor, but extremely surprised to find my hand resting on the knee of his good leg. I snatch it away without really thinking, blinking wide-eyed into Viktor’s amber stare.

‘Y-you are too reckless, as always,’ Viktor replies softly, his own voice hitching. I home in on the sound, looking for any indication that I might affect him the same way he affected me. But then, I think, of Sky, and her pretty smile, and her unmarred past, and how much better she would be for Viktor-

I pull away from him, gaze dropping to my lap, and respond, ‘I’ll beat you,’ I quip, flicking my gaze up to his. Viktor leans back in his seat, mouth downturned somewhat. His hair, usually so styled, had curled around the tips. ‘One day’.

We sit in silence as Viktor folds away the game and places it back on the shelf. As he walks back over to me, limp more pronounced than usual, I think that he is going to announce we get back to work, as he usually would. Instead, he slides into his seat, faces me once again, and asks with some softness, ‘The tavern – The Bloody Body. You say you played chess with the customers’. I look at him, waiting for the question. Viktor’s gaze flickers away from mine momentarily, before looking up again. ‘Does this mean that you had…friends?’

I laugh, sharply and with far more bitterness that I intended. I swallow the sound, furrow my brow, and glance down at my hands. ‘No,’ I reply. Sitting this close to him, there was very little else that I could look at other than Viktor, or my lap. I go with the latter. ‘I recognised their faces, but…no one ever really wanted to befriend the Lizard’.

I remember being seventeen and learning this the hard way. Cold blooded Lizard, they would call me. Thought Silco was a psycho, but at least that freak loves his kid. The fuck do you love, you little ice bitch?

‘Well,’ I add quietly. ‘The working girls, the ones that Lucky had in The Bloody Body, they were…they were always nice to me. I used to think that it was just because I beat the shit out of anyone who hurt them, but-’ I close my mouth, realise that I am oversharing. With one glance up to Viktor, I find him watching me with rapt attention.

Had I been punishing him without meaning to, I wonder? How would I feel, to know that he was keeping his life from me?

‘But, once, Delilah took me to the side and told me that I didn’t have to do that anymore, not for them’. I frown at my hands. ‘I thought that was so fucked up. I didn’t stop, and soon enough people learnt to treat them right’. I smile, then. ‘They were kind to me. Treated me like a person – like a girl’.

‘You are an exceedingly kind person, Elizabeth,’ Viktor remarks softly. ‘I have always told you this’.

I smile wryly, gaze finding his for a moment. I shrug. ‘Lucky always liked that I was friends with the girls. I think she quite liked the idea of me bringing in two kinds of coin’. I think of them, of the girls that I had left behind. Would people fear harming them, now that the Lizard was gone? I look up, hoping to cast these thoughts for my mind, only to find Viktor staring at me with a very intense look in his dark gaze.

‘I would very much like to harm this Lucky woman,’ Viktor remarks slowly. ‘And I do not feel ashamed to admit it’. His fingers turn white as he grips his cane. ‘Please, tell me if I am prying, Elizabeth,’ Viktor murmurs, gaze still fixated on me. ‘She did not follow through with this plan?’

I flush. The conversation with Lucky feels like it took place longer than four years ago. I shrug again. ‘She brought it up. Y’know how many brothels have virgins up for grabs? Not many – not in the undercity. She would have made a hell of a lot of coin from me, Viktor’. I stare at my hands and pick at my fingernails. ‘In the end, I just lied and told her I’d fucked some bartender from The Last Drop. It was easier than telling her no all the time’.

The silence stretches three beats too long. I spy a look up at Viktor, breath leaving me in a quiet woosh when I see the tortured expression painting his features. His free hand, the one not gripping the cane tightly, was a balled fist on the tabletop. ‘I should have dragged you out of the undercity,’ he spits suddenly, voice low and angry.

The sound startles a quick intake of breath from me.

Viktor’s honey coloured gaze snaps to mine. ‘Did anyone ever touch you – like – like-’

I shake my head slowly. ‘No,’ I reply quietly. I try not to dwell on the fact, rather than saying hurt, Viktor opted to say touched. I look at him, dead in the eye, and punctuate this with, ‘Never’.

Viktor’s hand, slowly, begins to unclench. I blink up at him and swallow tightly, the air suddenly very thick around us.

‘Good,’ Viktor says, gaze never straying from mine. It remains watchful and dark, narrowed somewhat as he studies my flushed expression. ‘Good’.

We return, slowly, to our work.

That night, Viktor returns to bed for the first time in three nights. He curls his arm around me, and his hand splayed across my back feels more like possession than comfort.

[fettsvette]

Never Worn White (Part Two)

Cloud City, Bespin. Boba Fett is on the hunt for a casual fuck before he cashes in on Han Solo’s bounty. You’re a naïve virgin, saving yourself for an adolescent fantasy… and it just so happens that he’s in town. Upon encountering the object of your infatuation though, you didn’t expect he’d be so willing to help you out.

Pairing: Boba Fett x Reader Words: 6.8k Rating: Explicit Warnings: Loss of virginity and unprotected sex

Can be found on Archive of Our Own here.

Mando’a terminology

 vaar’ika - little runt

  nehutyc’ika - feisty one

 cyar’tomade - fans

   -

  “Your boyfriend’s at the Atrium.”

  The words were like a lightning strike through the very fiber of your being, your whole body vibrating, no matter how teasingly and sarcastically they were meant. Your head jerked up so fast from the holopad screen you’d been gazing at that you felt as if you had just given yourself whiplash, and your blood pressure instantly skyrocketed, leaving you feeling light-headed and dizzy. Your roommate grinned lecherously at you, their eyes glinting mischievously. They were one of the few people to know about your feelings for Boba Fett, and it was obvious now that they were torturing you, feeding you false information and getting your hopes up just to watch you fluster and squirm like a giddy schoolgirl. Of course, they didn’t know the extent of your infatuation, and what you were planning if you ever happened to cross paths with the infamous bounty hunter during his unprecedented stay in Cloud City. You didn’t intend to allow them to find out, either.

  “...What are you talking about? Stop it...” You replied faintly, gazing up at them dumbly from your perch on the couch, uncrossing your legs and attempting to knead the life back into the prickling muscles. Your gaze drifted to your hands as you did so, trying futilely to get them to stop shaking just so your flatmate didn’t have something else to rib you over, and then skirted over to the wide window looking out over the city. Neat rows of transports crisscrossing in every direction lined the nighttime sky, carrying Cloud City’s citizens and tourists alike to where they needed to go. You couldn’t help but direct your vision towards the vicinity of the entertainment district, its bright lights plainly visible from your apartment. The Paradise Atrium was only a short distance away from your apartment on Figg Avenue, even closer than the landing bay where the Slave I was still docked. There was no way. It was too good to be true, simply meant to be. He was coming closer and closer to you.

  “I’m not kidding. Boba Fett’s at the Paradise Atrium, right now . I had to stop there on my way home to drop off a couple containers of glitterstim my boss owed the slimeball that owns that place, y’know? I walked in and he was literally right there in the cantina, just sitting at one of the booths in the corner… the ones they always reserve for the really top-tier VIPs.” They explained seriously, and you envisioned the layout of the lounge in your mind, an establishment you had visited quite often. Your thoughts brought you to the very rear of the adjacent and aptly-named Paradise Cantina... into the recesses of a shadowy booth, where sat an imposing figure in a battle-worn suit of Mandalorian armor, reclined against the plush backing of the stall, legs spread almost obscenely wide. His codpiece was mysteriously absent, and you could see everything . He beckoned you closer with the twitch of a gloved finger ...and you shook yourself from your reverie, acutely aware that a cold sweat had started collecting on the back of your neck. You fought the urge to slap yourself across the face, the imagined mercenary still calling to you from your subconscious.

  “Okay, okay… crik. Are you absolutely sure it was him?” You pleaded desperately, and your roommate openly rolled their eyes in your direction, shaking their head incredulously. You needed to be sure . You’d heard of the Fett imposter Jodo Kast, and even though the presence of the Slave I on-world was an immediate indication that the visitor was the real deal himself, there was still a niggling disbelief in your mind. This just could not be happening right now.

 “Of course I’m sure! Kriff, how many Mandos do you think are just walking around Cloud City? Beefy-looking buckethead wearing green scrap metal, more weapons on him than stars in the sky. Poor kid they had serving him was terrified, the guy was shaking so bad he almost dropped a whole tray of brinebrew on the graysuits that were in the booth with him. And - okay, are we just going to ignore the fact that I called Boba kriffing Fett your boyfriend and you didn’t even blink? Honestly, I really can’t believe you sometimes…”

  You didn’t even wait for them to finish. The fact that there were apparently high-ranking Imperial officers meeting with this mystery man was all the information you needed for any seed of doubt in your mind to be crushed. The holopad fell from your hands to land screen-down on the floor, entirely forgotten. Leaping up from the couch and power-walking towards your bedroom on tremulous legs, you flung the door closed behind you and hurriedly began rooting through your closet, looking for something halfway presentable to change into. You stripped yourself of your sweatpants and ripped t-shirt, having instantly settled on a glittering shimmersilk dress that you’d impulsively bought as a present to yourself after your last pay raise. You paused as you pulled the thin material over your head, debating whether or not to put on a bra before you dressed any further. With a curt sigh at yourself, you continued to slip your arms through the straps, smoothing the bunched fabric over the swell of your breasts. There was no point in bothering with one of those itchy, lacy garments you owned, that only you had ever laid eyes on - if all went according to plan tonight, your bra would just be coming off sooner rather than later anyway. You bent to slip your bare feet into a pair of plain black flats - you’d considered heels for a brief moment, but decided against them on the off-chance you had to make a quick getaway - when you were interrupted by the bedroom door colliding with the wall as it was unceremoniously flung open.

  “...And just where the frozz do you think you’re going wearing that ?” A disbelieving voice intoned harshly from the doorway, and you looked up to see your roommate blocking the light flooding in from the living area, a panic-stricken expression written across their features. You paused, your arms hanging limply at your sides, staring determinedly back at your roommate, whose face was beginning to reflect a dawning sense of horror and understanding. 

  “ Out. ” You answered in a bland monotone, snatching your handbag off the bed and peeking inside of it, making sure that the keycard to your apartment door, as well as your credit chip and a healthy pouch of physical Imperial credit coins, were tucked away safely inside. Your roommate strode forward, grabbing your forearm and squeezing tightly, causing you to wince as they forced you to look them in the eye.

  “Out where ?”

  You didn’t reply, your plans already dangerously close to unraveling. Your roommate’s grip tightened to the point of pain, and you were stunned to see that their eyes had filled with tears of fright. You knew you should feel guilty for putting them through this sort of duress, for worrying them to the point of weeping over your safety, but the only thing you found yourself feeling was a sort of grim pleasure. The fact that someone you had grown so close to in your years of living in Cloud City, a creature you considered to be one of your closest friends, could be frightened to this level by the thought of you becoming somehow entangled with the notorious Boba Fett, did nothing but give you a sick sense of satisfaction deep in your gut. It heightened the swirling arousal that was already building deep in the pit of your belly, fantastical images of what this night’s adventure could possibly bring already brewing in your mind. Your roommate finally loosened their vice grip on your arm and shook their head unbelievingly, backing away from you as if you were tainted.

  “Oh, stars … I know what you’re thinking. Please don’t do this. This isn’t some game of Droids and Guards, you fool, he’s dangerous .” They begged, seeming nearer and nearer to tears with every word. 

  “Don’t worry about me. I know what I’m doing. I’m not going to get myself into a situation I can’t handle, I just… I just want to see him.” You adjusted the strap of your handbag on your shoulder and heard the childish, lovestruck pleading in your voice. You hated yourself for it, for letting yourself get this much in a tizzy over a mere man - but this truly wasn’t just a man, was it? You could very possibly wind up in bed with none other than Boba Fett by the end of the night, if the galaxy was kind to you. He was going to be the first to ever claim you - as you pushed past your roommate and headed for the door, you were certain of it. This was your darkest, deepest fantasy come true, something you had been pining for and secretly dreaming about since you were old enough to even fathom the concept of sex, of virginity. Boba Fett was the only man you’d ever thought about giving yourself to for years now, and this was quite possibly your only chance. There was no turning back now.

  “Didn’t you hear me say that he was surrounded by Imps?! High-ranking Imps ! He kills people for money! He’s here working for the Emperor, I know it, and that big brute Vader’s still lurking around -” You held up one hand to silence them, and to your surprise, they immediately stopped, wild-eyed and staring at you imploriously, hands raised above their head. You had never seen your friend this keyed up, this stricken by concern for your wellbeing. It felt strange to say, but other than mynocks in your stomach from thinking about how the rest of the night could go, you didn’t understand just what this panic was all about. You weren’t stupid enough to interrupt important Imperial business, and it wasn’t like Lord Vader himself was going to be sitting at the bar, nursing a drink - right?

  “Just… don’t wait up for me tonight. Okay?” You quietly begged your friend, your voice sweetly soft and as neutral as you could manage. A long moment passed between the two of you, no words spoken, just gazing into each other’s eyes. Several beats passed in silence, only the traffic outside interrupting the heavy tension that filled the room. Your roommate was the first to break, their shoulders sinking, defeated. You felt a new burst of energy and smug satisfaction, but couldn’t help but feel somewhat remorseful at your reaction towards their obvious distress. The feeling passed quickly, however, when your roommate bowed their head, the ghost of a smile on their lips as they clucked their tongue and shook their head at you.

 “Dank farrik… you’re a real pain in my ass, you know that? ...But okay. You win.” They sighed. You kept your expression even, although you were screaming with joy on the inside, and were about to reach out to embrace them, when they took a step back and pointed in your face. You felt yourself going slightly cross-eyed, following their finger down the bridge of your nose, and had to stifle an ill-timed giggle. “But if you’re not back by sunrise, I’m contacting the Wing Guard and reporting you missing, and I’m going to tell them who you were trying to meet up with. I’ll get Baron Calrissian and the Alliance involved. Don’t think I won’t.” They continued, and your heart skipped a beat. You certainly weren’t expecting that turn of events, but weren’t exactly surprised either. With how sympathetic your roommate was to the Rebel Alliance, especially concerning the events of the past week and the installation of what the locals were beginning to call the ‘Iron Blockade,’ it made sense that they would threaten you with action involving the Rebellion, even if it was just out of concern for your safe return. It wasn’t that you didn’t support the Rebels yourself - their crushing blow to the Empire in the form of the destruction of the Death Star had reinvigorated your hope in their cause, especially after the horrific obliteration of Alderaan - but the purely selfish, immature side of you wondered what would happen to Boba Fett if the Rebellion were to come out the victors of this current Galactic Civil War. He was one of Vader’s most loyal hunters, and you had a feeling that the Rebels wouldn’t smile kindly upon his transgressions against them. Especially since one of their most famous generals, Han Solo, currently had a bounty on his head large enough to buy an entire spice mine, and it had been speculated on the HoloNet that Fett was one of the many mercenaries attempting to cash in on this coveted prize.

  You walked past your roommate without another word, slipping past them in the doorway of your bedroom, and padded easily across the living area carpet, knowing now that they’d had put their last word in and would no longer attempt to stop you. Settling your hand upon the doorknob leading into the hall, you were about to let yourself out into the night when you heard the Aruzan softly call your name, and you turned. They stood in the center of the room, smiling sadly, arms folded across their chest, a look of intense worry upon their face as they watched you exit, hoping they would find you back home in the morning. Their last words to you rang in your ears as you made your way across the night sky in the space taxi that would deposit you right on the steps of the Atrium.

  “Good luck.”

  -

  You stepped into the main lounge of the Paradise Atrium and instantly felt incredibly out of place, and exorbitantly underdressed despite the expensive shimmersilk you had draped yourself in for this special occasion.

  The room was filled with regal-looking creatures from all over the galaxy - a large group of Twi’leks sat on a couch in the far corner, smoking from a hookah and emitting large columns of purple and green smoke through their nostrils in between bouts of gay laughter, and a company of important-looking Nothoiin congregated around the elaborate carbonite sculpture placed in the center of the room. You’d attended gatherings at the Atrium many times before, but you’d never been in the presence of so many upper-class individuals. You wouldn’t be surprised if just one of these creatures was currently carrying more credits in their pockets than you would ever see in your entire lifetime. Not to mention, there were several armored stormtroopers, their white plastoid suits gleaming in the artificial light, holding sentinel near the staff entrance at the rear of the room, a sight you’d never seen here before. Something was definitely going down in Cloud City, and you had walked right into it. That realization alone made you want to sink into the floor, and what made it even worse was the fact that there was no sign of Boba Fett.

  You had crept into the Atrium as discreetly as you could, almost on tiptoe, and in hindsight you weren’t exactly sure what you had been expecting. Had you thought that you’d walk in and Fett himself would have been standing there, awaiting your entrance like a prince from ancient myth, on call for his princess’s arrival at the ball? Heart hammering wildly, leaning against the wall for support, you had scanned the room twice, then thrice over, looking for a flash of green, a swirl of cape, any indication that he was present, only to come up empty. He simply wasn’t here; at least he wasn’t anymore, if he ever had been in the first place. As much as you loved your roommate, and despite their almost violent reaction they’d had to the knowledge that you were - at the very least - trying to meet Boba Fett, it wouldn’t terribly surprise you if they had been pulling your leg all along. You’d trudge back into your shared apartment, dejected, and your roommate would be there, grinning smugly, lecturing that the moral of this story was to never seek company with strange men.

  Gazing around the room once more and seeing no sign of Fett, or at the very least, the Imperial graysuits that he’d apparently been here meeting with, you found yourself almost embarrassingly heartbroken. You’d banked so much on tonight, only for it to wind up being a missed chance, if not a complete fake-out. You refused to give your roommate the satisfaction of heading straight back home, though, so you figured now was as good a time as any to drink your sorrows away at the bar. The Paradise Cantina was adjacent to the Atrium and contained a half-moon bar as well as several comfortable private booths, and you sidled onto one of the stools at the center of the console, directly in front of the bartender, a distinguished-looking Bothan who eyed you dubiously.

  “Anything I can get for you, kid?” He asked gruffly, polishing a glass and looking you up and down, feeling you out. Although you had lounged with friends at the Atrium, even attended a few workplace parties there, you’d never really been a patron of the bar, and you felt the clientele ogling you suspiciously. It obviously wasn’t an ordinary occurrence, to see a scantily clad young woman sitting alone at a high-class bar, and the various eyes on you made your skin crawl, although you did your best to ignore the unwanted attention.

  “Just a Jedi Mind Trick, please. Make it a double” You replied softly, keeping your eyes down, tracing your fingernail against the wood grain of the bar. You heard the Bothan snort, probably amused at your choice of such a strong drink right off the bat, doubting you could hold your liquor. The way you saw it, though, you’d rather spend the rest of the evening getting shit-faced here than simply slinking off home alone, to wallow in bed self-despairingly. 

  The bartender had just set the triangular container full of bright blue liquid on the counter in front of you when a door you hadn’t noticed on the far side of the room slid open, and a figure stepped out. A hush immediately fell over the room, which had previously been filled with glasses clinking, quiet conversation and laughter, and a holographic jizz band being broadcast. You didn’t bother to look over at first, too absorbed in your own self-pity to care, picking up the glass and knocking the entire drink back in one gulp, leaving the edges of your mind slightly blurred.

  That’s when you heard the spurs.

  Kshnk. Kshnk. Kshnk.

  At first you assumed it was solely a figment of your imagination, an effect of the alcohol being absorbed into your system, until you realized that the room had gone silent, that even the hologram of the band had ceased playing. You looked up at the bartender, but he was staring over the top of your head, paused in the act of refilling another guest’s stein. The jangling sound filled your ears until you could hear nothing else, not even the sound of your own breathing, and a chill went down your spine. You were clenching your empty cup so tight that you were surprised it didn’t shatter in your hand. Gingerly, you turned around to acknowledge the cantina’s newest arrival, your stomach rolling with anticipation, your blood singing in your veins, your heart pounding like a gigantic drum sitting in your chest cavity. You looked up.

  And there he was.

  Boba Fett.  

  He was shorter than you expected.

  You felt a near-hysterical giggle rise in your throat as the realization crossed your mind, that this was your very first thought upon seeing the man you’d envisioned fucking you time and time again - in person, finally. The laughter died in your throat as he turned to cross the room, only several meters away from you, and you got your first real look at him.

  Stars, he was beautiful .

  Boba Fett walked slowly, methodically, with more purpose than you had ever seen another creature move, even though it seemed his only motive at the moment was to find a place to sit down. The dented helmet that concealed his features didn’t break its steady gaze straight ahead even once as Fett crossed the room, even though every eye in the cantina was locked to him. There was no way the man didn’t know that he was currently the center of attention, the reason for the palatable silence in the air, and it was quite obvious that he didn’t care one parsec. The green armor he wore was littered with scrapes and scars and dents, but still shone in the low light of the bar, as if it had only just been waxed, and you shivered at the thought of getting to press your bare chest against the battle-flecked breastplate. A ragged cape was tossed over one shoulder, and your eyes were drawn to the string of inexplicable numbers glowing out from an interface on the right-hand side of his armor, and to the strange symbol mirroring its position, a stalk of grain framed by a bright red drop of blood and what looked to be lettering in a language you didn’t recognize, directly above his heart. There were several long braids of multi-colored and variously textured hair thrown over the opposite side of his shoulder plate, the sight of which sent another delicious chill up your spine. You knew you should be repulsed by the sight of those trophies of war alone, but it served as a confirmation of something you already knew - this man was dangerous . There was debate on the HoloNet as to the origin of those braids - some who’d been following Fett’s career, as you did, were adamant that they were made of the scalps of Wookiees he’d killed; yet others claimed they were the braids of Jedi Padawans he’d hunted down at the request of Lord Vader himself. Your eyes flitted downwards to below his waist, heat flushing through your system. The greenish codpiece was just as battered as the rest of the armor - even more so, upon a closer look. Judging by the craggy yet shallow indentation located almost in the dead-center of it, some unfortunate soul had made a last ditch effort to save themselves by taking a shot at what they must have thought was the most vulnerable area on Fett’s body. They had obviously been wrong, and you were grateful for it. 

  Almost seeming to move in slow motion, the bounty hunter passed directly by the bar, and you could have sworn you could sense his body heat even from several meters away, could smell blaster smoke and blood on him. As repulsive as those scents should have been, reminiscent of battlefields and death and suffering, you felt almost soothed by the thought of being able to press your face to the rough cloth that held the Mandalorian armor together, breathe in those aromas as deeply as you wished, a smell that was so distinctly him . You focused your gaze on Boba Fett once more just in time to see him settle himself at a raised table in the corner, reclining back casually. He seemed to finally notice that all other movement and conversation in the cantina had ceased upon his arrival, and his helmet swiveled first to the left, then to the right, making direct eye contact with several goggling patrons, who uneasily turned away under his gaze. Fett’s visor then turned in your direction and your heart walloped frantically in your chest - ‘ has he noticed me?’ - but it became obvious quite quickly that he was looking past you, straight at the Bothan behind the bar, who regarded Fett for a long moment before offering him a grudging nod. Almost as if this were some sort of cue, the holographic band started up again with a lively rendition of ‘Sugaan Essena,’ and the muttered discussions, tinkling of glasses, and laughter resumed. The clients of the Paradise Atrium and Cantina seemed eager to forget that the deadliest bounty hunter in the known galaxy was seated in their midst. Fett, however, had cast his gaze to the city outside, watching the rows of traffic track across the nighttime sky, gloved hands resting firmly on his knees, deep in thought. 

  You watched out of the corner of your eye as three young Zabrak women wearing matching skin-tight baffleweave bodysuits made a beeline for Fett’s table as soon as the atmosphere had settled down, obviously over-eager for their chance to flirt with danger. You sniggered when the armored figure sent them away with a wave of his hand before they even had a chance to close in on him, watched them turn tail with their heads down almost as quickly as they had first come. You tried to ignore the coiling pit of unease in your belly as you considered moving forward with your plan, despite the fact that it seemed for all intents and purposes that Fett did not want to be bothered. You continued to watch the man as his attention was drawn back to the outside world. ‘ Oh, hell. You only live once, right? What’s the worst that could happen, he tells you to kark off?’

  “Hey… would you send a drink over to that table in the corner? Whatever he usually orders when he comes here.” You waved the bartender over, pointing a thumb over your shoulder at Boba Fett, jerking your chin in his direction as well for emphasis. You were trying to play it cool, sending a drink to the table of one of the most bloodthirsty men in the galaxy, but you were sure that the bartender could see your hand shaking as you made the request. The tall Bothan looked at you as if you had asked him for a diamond-encrusted barrel of Coruscanti bitters, straight from the Emperor’s private reserve.

  “...You sure about that, kid? You do know who that is, right? Boba Fett’s one tough customer. You’d be better off not messing around with that barve.” He leaned down towards you, warning you off as if you were a child, trying to play with the older kids who would only include you in their games if it meant beating you within an inch of your life. You nodded, looking back with what you hoped was a steely determination.

  “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

  The Bothan looked at you for a moment with great pity, as if he were gazing upon a creature that had just consigned itself to its doom. Heaving a sigh that quivered the fur lining his muzzle, the bartender turned and started preparing another drink.

  You couldn’t even look as the liquor was brought across the room by one of the ornate serving droids that wandered the cantina. You kept your head low, jiggling one leg on the stool beneath you, digging your fingernails into the glossy wood that encompassed the top of the bar. The minutes seemed to tick by excruciatingly, and you were overcome by the notion that maybe you should leave, get up and bolt when you still could, escape before Fett was aware of what fool had sent him the drink, go home to bed and forget any of this had ever happened. But too late - just as you were beginning to shift in your seat, to lean in the direction of the doorway and gather up the momentum to run, the bartender cleared his throat, causing your head to pop up at the sudden noise. The Bothan looked you in the eyes and did nothing but give you a subtle bob of his head, watching a point across the room. You followed his eyes, and stopped dead in your tracks.

  Boba Fett was staring at you.

  Openly leering at you was a better term for it, his entire body turned in your direction, lazily slumped in his seat, his legs spread comfortably wide. Kriff, this was just like your daydream. As soon as he was sure that he had your attention, and as if he had read your mind, one hand rose from its spot resting against the ample meat of his thigh, and two deft fingers hidden under an off-white glove of bantha leather beckoned you closer with a quick curling motion. It was an action that whispered, ‘ Come hither, my dear. Let’s play.’

  Your stomach lurched and your vision suddenly filled with black spots, and you bit down hard on your lower lip, the quick pain bringing you back from the brink of passing out. Your eyes refocused, the dark points fading away, and there he still sat, his position unchanged. He was waiting for you to come over. You looked back at the bartender for guidance - by now you were sure he had seen this song and dance played out here many times before - and the Bothan gave you a roll of his deep-set dark eyes, and a noncommittal shrug. He’d already written you off as another casualty, the sad result of human naïveté in the face of the galaxy’s bloodthirstiness.

  You rose from your stool on legs that felt as if they were made of bacta, your feet seeming to glide across the floor of the Atrium, bringing you ever closer to Boba Fett. The cantina patrons seemed to part like a sea for you, and you didn’t give a womp rat’s ass if they were staring, whispering about you. Your eyes and thoughts belonged only to the helmeted man who had beckoned you closer, and whose parted legs you were standing almost directly between when your long walk ended. You were so close that you could see yourself reflected in his blackened visor, dumbfounded. You were visibly trembling, and you could feel Fett’s body heat rolling off him, soaking into your own legs as you stood before him. It took you a moment to comprehend that he was waiting for you to speak, for you to make the first move.

  “...You’re here for Han Solo, aren’t you? Everyone knows you two have a rivalry and that you’ve been after him for ages now, and he’s here, and you’re here, and that can’t be a coincidence, right? It’s like -” The words rushed from your mouth in an excited torrent, and you were fully aware that you were babbling at him, but you couldn’t stop yourself if you tried. Every nerve-ending in your body felt sparked with the fire of a planet’s core, you were absolutely thrumming, and you didn’t care whether you sounded like an idiot in front of this man who you’d lusted after for ages, just as long as you were talking to him, that you had his attention. Mercifully, Fett’s palm came up, the same move he had used on the Zabraks earlier in the night. You stopped mid-sentence, your mouth still hanging upon, your eyes wide.

  “I’m here on business. What exactly that pertains to is none of your concern.” The reply was smooth and unhurried, and he didn’t even look at you. Boba Fett seemed much more concerned with what was going on outside the Atrium’s walls, his line of sight falling past you, towards the lights of the Administrator's Palace. Where Han Solo probably was, if the rumors of him being Leia Organa’s consort were true. So you were right. Even if he wouldn’t admit it in words, it was almost like the bounty hunter was showing you. At least, that’s how you chose to take it.

  “...Oh. Okay. ...Fair enough, I guess.” You cautiously replied, unsure of how to proceed when he offered no further conversation, and cringed inwardly. Stars , you were truly awful at small talk, especially with handsome men. No wonder you’d never gotten laid. Fett’s helmet snapped towards you like a sharp cut with a blade, his restraint with your dallying almost nonexistent, and you felt yourself flush hotly as you realized you’d just been staring blankly at him the entire time, drinking him up just as greedily as any Hutt would look upon a dancer. There was no way he couldn’t tell your intentions, and your confidence and excitability wavered. 

  “So what exactly is it that you want from me, girl? I don’t have the time nor the patience to be followed around and gifted tokens at bars by starry-eyed brats. Say what you will, or I’ll have you removed from my sight. Now .”

  There was ice in his voice, and you found yourself slightly afraid for the first time. The idea of Boba Fett growing angry with you was not something you wanted to experience. You had to say your piece now, or risk losing what you wanted forever. You balled your fists so hard that you were sure your nails were cutting through the skin of your palms, but you stood your ground. You weren’t going to let Fett intimidate you away from what you wanted of him, not now. You were too close.

  So you told him, blunt and straight to the point.

  “I’ve never been fucked. I want you to be my first.”

  Fett’s form stiffened in his seat, the gloved hand that had been nonchalantly resting on his thigh almost imperceptibly gripping the hard muscle beneath. You didn’t notice, nor were you able to sense the fact that he was holding his breath. 

  Despite the extraordinary self-control Boba Fett had cultivated over every aspect of his functions during his decades of bounty hunting, he felt his cock twitch involuntarily within the confines of his flight pants. He’d encountered plenty of cyar’tomade across the galaxy over the years, desperate creatures of all types looking to spend a night in his company just for the later bragging rights, others looking to fulfill some sort of bizarre erotic fantasy - he’d taken up plenty of those offers, and turned down even more. Boba Fett was a man who enjoyed sex, and he made no secret of the fact that he had been scoping the lounge for a prospective bedpartner after the meeting with Lieutenant Sheckil and his graysuits. That wretched smuggler Solo had a date with a carbonite chamber tomorrow evening after he and Vader’s planned ambush at the Administrator’s Palace in the morning, and Fett fully intended to vent some excess energy tonight before finally collecting on the barve’s hefty bounty. It was back to Jabba’s afterwards, and more bounties to collect on, and even less downtime. Fett enjoyed his life of solitude, practically thrived on it, but still… he was only human, and he had his needs. 

 What he hadn’t expected was being cornered and propositioned by a willing and eager virgin. And such a pretty thing, too. This was a first, and he had to admit he was already getting hard at the thought of teaching this naïf how to please a man, to be the one to take her like nobody had before, to show her just who exactly she was dealing with.

  “ Well … aren’t you a bold one.” He finally exhaled, still avoiding any semblance of eye contact with you, his focus seeming to be on stirring the cubes around his drink. You swallowed thickly, watching Fett’s index finger push the straw back and forth. He hadn’t touched the drink at all, but you didn’t care. You wanted that finger in your mouth, down your throat, glove and all, but shook yourself from the daydream when it occurred to you that Fett was watching, waiting for a response. 

  “I’ve found that fortune favors the bold.” You pushed yourself into the chair opposite him, trying to conceal how badly your legs were wobbling. You had waded chest-deep into completely unknown territory, and you felt as if you were going to faint at any moment if you didn’t take a seat. To emphasize your point, you reached out and grasped the drink you had sent to his table just minutes ago, tipping your head back and draining half of it in one swig. Your head swimming from the sudden rush of hard liquor, you settled the container back on the polished wood and steadied your gaze on the bounty hunter. Fett cocked his helmet at you, an amused snort emanating from underneath, a static edge to it thanks to the vocoder that helped conceal his voice. He laid his forearms on the table, leaning his upper body forward towards you, the posture of a gossiping schoolboy, mocking and insolent.

  “And what makes you think I’d want to be the one to break you in, vaar’ika ?”

  He almost purred the question, sickly sweet. There was no outright malice there, no, but he was teasing you; you could hear the laughter in his voice. You could tell he thought you were nothing but a stupid little girl who didn’t know what she was getting herself into, and it shamed you into silence. You felt your throat tightening, your eyes starting to burn, and you begged yourself, ‘ Don’t you dare start crying and prove him right. You know what you came here for. Don’t you dare. ’ But it was much easier said than done, and your attempt to coax yourself out of this panic only seemed to deepen it. You came this close to fulfilling your fantasy, you could have practically reached out and touched it, but it all had to fall to pieces because you were really nothing but a blubbering baby. You weren’t worthy of being with Boba Fett, and it had been a pipedream to think so even for a moment. 

  “I… I-I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know what I was thinking , coming here. I’ve made an ass of myself and I’ve completely wasted your time, I’m so sorry -”

  Your eyes brimming with embarrassed tears, hot and heavy on your lashes and threatening to spill over at any moment, you ducked your head and pushed the chair out as quickly as you could, moving to brush past the still-seated bounty hunter and make a break for it out into the cool night air. With a harsh gasp, you felt yourself suddenly being jerked back by the elbow, almost stumbling with the force of the pull. Boba Fett’s gauntleted hand was gripping your arm in an iron hold, the black void of his visor locked onto your face. There was no way to tell, of course, and you couldn’t say how you knew, but you could have sworn he was smiling at you.

  “ I didn’t say no , little one . Tell me again what you want of me.” Fett intoned evenly, but not unkindly, releasing his hold on you. To your shock, he ran his hand down your arm as he let you go, and it almost felt - of all things - reassuring . Arousal pooled to your core so quickly at Fett’s surprisingly soft touch and tone that it took you a few extra moments to even register what he had said.

 ‘He didn’t say no. It wasn’t possible. Does he actually want to? ...And he called me ‘little one.’

  You could have died then and there, on the plush carpeted floor of the Paradise Atrium, but your words found you, every ounce of courage in your frame flooding through your veins at once.

  “Take me back to your ship. Let me give myself to you. I want to be yours tonight… only yours. Please .” You laid a trembling hand on his wrist, still expecting to be violently brushed away, told to back off and go home if you knew what was good for you, threatened with disintegration or a blaster shot to the chest or something . But the harsh gesture or violent threat never came. The scarred green helmet tilted downwards to regard your fingers clutching at the armor, and after a quiet beat, Boba Fett’s gaze returned yours. Although you couldn’t see the eyes hidden behind that dark, T-shaped visor, you could feel them burrowing into your very soul, sweeping over you greedily, like a prize to be taken. Shivers rippled up your arms and your stomach rolled, but you weren’t afraid. Not anymore. Silently, you withdrew your fingers, letting your hands fall limply to your sides, and Fett nodded, seemingly satisfied with your plea. 

  “As you wish, nehutyc’ika. Come, then.” With that, Boba Fett stood in one swift motion, and held one palm out for you to take, open and inviting.

  You felt as if you’d been kicked in the chest. You were instantly sober, any trace of alcohol from the night’s earlier wallowing fully flushed from your system by the influx of adrenaline currently screaming through your body. Your skin felt like it was on fire, and for a brief moment you wondered if he was playing with you, if this were some sort of sick joke, but you knew in the deepest recess of your heart that it wasn’t. He was serious. He’d made a career out of not backing down on deals. Boba Fett was a man of his word. 

  So you took his hand and let yourself be spirited away into the night by a figure from your best daydreams, and from other creatures’ worst nightmares.

[marlahey]

under the same roof part two: an old friend

a harry styles rpf part two of six  ratings/warnings: the stalking comes to an alarming head via chase, suggestion of violent intent, aggressive emotions, fuck the patriarchy notes: things get serious, intimacy occurs, we all suffer. moments were edited or cut to reinforce the utter lack of actual romance in a real stalking situation, but I promise we’ve made up for it in later parts!  fun fact: on a lighter note, this series should probably just be titled: sweet things that have actually occurred to annie that she forgot she wrote in and so suffers in every edit session. 

masterlist | part one | part three (14.12.2020) ... • friday, 4th january 8:34 pm • Blood roars in your ears as you sprint through the parking garage, but the sound isn’t loud enough to drown out the pounding footfalls that aren’t your own. Every gulp of air burns your throat but you can’t stop, you can’t even slow down. The hum of industrial ceiling lights overhead is the only other sound. No one would hear you scream.

You’d heard the second car door after yours, and the initial footsteps. A quick turn of your head was your worst fear realized: the blue-eyed man beelining towards you, so quickly you’d barely had a chance to try and outpace him. A heavy hand landed on your shoulder as the man grabbed a fistful of your cardigan before yanking back on the fabric. Twisting desperately against his hold, you’d heard a faint pop-pop-pop as the stitching around your collar snapped and gave. You’d practically fallen away from him before scrambling upright, sliding with little traction on the dusty concrete beneath your feet, and bolting towards the open center of the lot. Your breath pours out into the air. There are no security cameras. Why are there no security cameras? A white, hot panic inside your head makes it hard to think, but you must. You can’t take the lift as it leads to a dead end, so it’ll have to be the stairs. The torn neck of your sweater leaves one of your shoulders naked to the cold. You came so close to draping a scarf around your shoulders before you left your apartment this morning. Had you kept it on, you could have been dead by now. You tear through the door to the stairwell at the other end of the garage and take the steps by two. At any moment an obstacle could arise—a locked door, a dead phone battery, a hard fall on the stairs—and that would be it for you. You’d be a gruesome headline or a face on a milk carton. You would never see your siblings, or India, or Chowder, or your parents ever again. Hot tears sting the corners of your eyes. On the last flight of stairs before the lobby, the sound of the stairwell door slamming echoes up the passageway. You look instinctively. A black, gloved hand is making its way up the railing. You almost lose your balance bursting through to the lobby, and even though your legs are screaming, you do what all the brochures have ever told you to do and break into another full-fledged run to the lift around the corner. You wish you’d chosen a building with a doorman or security desk—some kind of human checkpoint. “No, no, no,” you beg under your breath, launching an arm between the closing doors. You stumble, half expecting it to be empty, and find yourself face to face with Harry.  His eyes skim you over, widening from behind his glasses. You’re still clinging to the doors of the lift. Down the hall and around the bend, the door to the stairwell bangs open again; you wince. Harry’s eyebrows knit together. Thinking on your feet, you lurch inside and drag your hand along the keypad, illuminating just about every random floor up to the penthouses in the twenties, but not eight, and nothing before it. Harry’s eyes dart between yours and the doors. The footsteps in the hall behind you grow louder. You smash the close door button a dozen times, but something in you knows it’s a lost effort. You rush forward and tuck yourself into Harry’s side, tearing his name tag off and stuffing it in your bag. He startles, twisting to look at you, but you stick to your guns and slip your arm around his back. A moment later your eyes meet in the vaguely distorted metallic reflection above the keypad. Harry’s eyes are full of questions; a plea is in yours. For a second time, the doors of the lift begin to close but are stopped by an interjecting hand. A third body enters. It is him. That yellow-grey hair, the wrinkles and the scar on his lip, the worn, leathery skin… Immediately, the man turns to stare at you, and scoffs. You jump, your hand instinctively grasping the back of Harry’s jacket. You will your knees to be still. The lift doors close. It is silent until the car lurches upward. Suddenly you feel a warm, heavy pressure across your shoulders. In the reflection of the doors, you watch Harry’s arm wrap around you. He squeezes once. Your frantic gaze is pinned down by his much more fixed one. He feels so solid pressed into your side, and his eyes are solemn behind his glasses. More serious, maybe, than you’ve ever seen in the last year.  Harry’s lips quirk—the suggestion of a smile—before he looks down at his feet: a ruse of casual nonchalance. Your stomach twists.  The blue-eyed man sighs impatiently. Harry moves his hand to your waist and pulls you even tighter into his side. The car bounces to a stop on the sixth floor with a ding. As the doors glide open, it dawns on you that you had not thought this all the way through to the end. Do you go with Harry? What if you put Sylvia in danger? What if the man follows you? Harry’s arm drops from your shoulders.  The same white hot panic from the garage sears behind your eyes. Is this it? Is Harry about to leave you alone to your fate?  You almost miss his hand reaching back for you, like it’s something he does all the time. Harry squeezes, hard enough to nearly be painful. It starts you into motion. Your legs feel stiff and inflexible like they can’t remember how to walk as he pulls you along, keeping himself between you and the blue-eyed man. You’re off.  The doors close.  Harry glances over his shoulder, your hand still tight in his. He gently guides you to walk in front of him, and you shudder at the thought of the man still watching. You do not hear a third pair of footsteps trailing you, and you do not dare turn around to check. There’s something eerie in walking down a hall identical to your own but knowing that none of these doors are yours.  “This is me.” Harry’s voice is low around the jingle of his keys as he nods to the only door in the hallway hung with a wreath. You say nothing as he steps aside to let you through. He peers into the hall one last time once you’re both inside before locking the door, deadbolt, and chain guard. You lean your back against the wall with your arms across your chest, clutching your sides. He looks over at you slowly, hesitates, and takes a step toward you. His Adam's apple bobs. Suddenly the air leaves your lungs entirely and you begin to heave. You feel as though you’d been sprinting on a treadmill for an hour and then stopped immediately, which keeps you from realizing that Harry has been saying your name. Tears gather in your eyes again; if you allowed yourself to blink, they would spill over. You begin to sink against the wall. Harry catches your elbows in his hands, but you keep sinking anyway. He follows you all the way down to the floor. “Sorry,” you gasp. “You’re safe.” Harry just shakes his head. “I’ve got you.” You nod and try to send a few deep breaths to the pit of your stomach, then clear your throat. “Call the police.” Harry doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s on his feet, flicking on light switches and digging his phone from out of his bag. You hear, “Yes, hello. I’d like to report… following my neighbor.” Your mind reels.  Harry’s voice sounds almost distorted, like you’re underwater. “In my apartment with me.” You catch, “...followed her into the lift,” as well as “Yes,” and “No,” to a series of questions before he reappears with a concentrated frown, watching you. “She’s safe.”  You pick yourself up off the floor and Harry gestures to the small two-person dining table. He angles his cellphone down to his chest as he’s pulling the chair out for you. “Do you want to speak with them?” he whispers. You take a deep breath and nod, holding out your hand. Your fingers tremble, so you place it face up on the table instead and turn on the speaker. He may as well find out now; you can’t imagine having to explain all this a second time.  “Hello?” “Hello, my name’s Officer Warren. We hear you’ve had quite a scare tonight. I know it’s hard, but try to stay as calm as possible and just answer a few questions for me as best you can.”  The fact that the dispatcher is a woman comforts you. “Okay.” “Are you injured?” “No.” “Can you just confirm your full name for me? And your address?”  You rattle off your details, noting with strange detachment that you and Harry live precisely two floors apart. His flat is 6F; yours is 8F. “How long have you lived there?” “Almost a year.” “And how long have you been in the UK?” “About two and a half years. I’m a student at UCL.” “I understand you’re with a neighbor. Do you feel as though you’re in immediate danger?” You look up at Harry before your eyes dart to his front door, hesitating for longer than you want to. “No.” “Can you tell me what’s happened?” You close your eyes. “A man tried to grab me in the parking garage.” “Was this a man you’ve met before?” “He’s been following me since June. I see him everywhere I go. It happened the first few times in public places like on my walk home or when I go jogging, but then I started seeing him everywhere.” Your eyes open again. “Like, I’ve seen him on campus and in restaurants where I was eating. He was walking behind me the first time I ever went to Ilford for work, which is completely out of my way. He took the same tube as me once and tried to grab my hand.” You hear Harry’s knuckles crack across the table from you. “And how long ago was that?” “December twentieth.” “Have you ever come to the police with this information?” “Yes. I filed a report at the Lavender Hill station on the first of October and we went through some headshots but none of them were him.” You hear a series of keystrokes. “Yes, I see your file here. And can you describe what happened today?” “I was picking up some archives at the Ilford Historical Society–” “For school?” “Yes. I’m a research assistant. They have a postbox under my advisor’s name. I usually pick up the archives for the week on Thursdays, but I didn’t get around to it until a few hours ago. It’s usually just three or four storage boxes but today there was a sealed yellow envelope—” Your voice runs higher, choked. You turn away from Harry as you swallow another wave of emotion, but your voice is hardly any different when you begin speaking again. When you turn back, Harry’s hand is a little closer to yours on the table. “Today there was this big yellow envelope with my name handwritten on it and I figured it was just something from my advisor, so after I carried everything to the car, I opened it, and it… there were all these pictures of me.” “Are you able to tell where these photos were taken? What you were doing in them?” Your bag sits half open on the table beside you; you can tell without looking that Harry’s followed your eyes to the mustard yellow envelope poking out the top. You don’t want to open it again. You don’t have to. The images are burned behind your eyelids. “There’s one of me on the tube looking at my phone. Another one of me leaving the shops. There’s a few at the gym.” You sniffle. “Most of them are taken through the window of my flat. They must’ve been across the street because you can see me through the blinds and I’m—when I don’t…” You stare at the edge of the table. “When I’m undressing.”  You lean your forehead into your hand. Harry is stock still across from you. The pause before the officer speaks again feels like it stretches forever. “Can you tell when the most recent photo was taken?” It takes a beat to admit, “It’s from two nights ago,” and the words taste bitter in your mouth. The clack of a keyboard is audible again through the phone.  “You said you’ve been to the Lavender Hill station before? Have you reported these photos yet?” You gather your thoughts. “I was going to go straight there, but I wrote these long descriptions of all the past times I’d seen him. The officer I spoke to the first time I went in, she told me to write down absolutely everything I remembered, so I did—the times of day I’d seen him, where I was, what I was wearing… She said having my own record would help my chances of opening an investigation. I keep all of that at home in my flat, so I decided to go home and grab my notes to bring with me to the station, along with the pictures. I borrow my best friend’s car to commute to Ilford, so I drove straight home.” “And what happened when you got home? In the car park?” You take a deep breath. And then another. Your eyes squeeze shut again. “Take all the time you need.” “I turned into the car park… I pulled into my usual spot. I took off my jacket and left it in the passenger seat, thinking I would come back to it in a minute. I got out of the car and locked it… ” You swallow dryly. “I heard a car door shut behind me. I turned around and saw the man—I recognized him.” “Do you remember what he was wearing?” “He was wearing, um, black gloves, a grey sweater, black jeans, and I think his shoes were black too.” You frown at your hands. “I could hear how quickly he was walking up behind me. I tried to get away, and he—” You swallow. “He grabbed me. Or at least, he tried. He tore the seam of my sweater and I managed to like, pull away. And then I just ran. I was too scared to try the lift so I just took the stairs all the way up to the lobby. But he followed me.”  Your eyes flicker up to Harry absently before you go on. “Harry was in the lift—the—my neighbor, so I ran over and put my arm around him to make it seem like I wasn’t alone.” Harry nods at you from across the table.  “And the man was able to follow you into the lift?” The tips of your fingers ache at the memory of slamming desperately into the close door button. “Yes.” “Did he try to communicate with you in any way?” You shake your head and then remember she can’t see you. “No. He was just staring at me.” “Has he ever approached you or tried to make contact before?” “Just the one time on the tube and the pictures.” “Were you followed out of the lift?” “No.” “And you’re in your neighbor’s flat now, is that right?” “Yeah.” You run your sleeve beneath your nose with a sniffle. “And the man knows which floor you got off at?” ”Correct.” “Do the windows in both of your flats face out on the same street?” Your stomach drops. “Yes… They do.” “I want you to remain calm and stay on the line, can you do that for me?” It’s deadly quiet as you and Harry look at each other. You feel eerily as though you’ve wound up in a Hitchcock film. “Yes.” “Move away from the windows and find a place in the flat that’s not visible from the street—” The legs of Harry’s chair are scraping the floor before you get the chance to react. “...and do not turn out any lights or change the way any of the blinds are positioned.” “C’mere.” Harry’s voice is gravely urgent. He leads you to the kitchen with a hand between your shoulder blades, and brushes past you to lower the blinds of a small window above the sink. Your eyes widen as your hand reaches toward him. “Harry—” He glances back, too late. “Don’t… ” You stumble. “Don’t fix any more of those.” He nods once.  “Yes, don’t touch the blinds. Don’t change anything that would make it look out of the ordinary. If someone has been staking out your building from the same place across the street every night, you could give yourself away and put you both at risk.” “Okay.” Harry leans against the sink with his arms crossed, and you mirror him.  “Since you already have a file on record and the whereabouts of this man are still uncertain, it might do more harm than good to have you come in again for questioning at this hour. But we’ll need you to come by first thing in the morning. You absolutely cannot go back to your flat tonight. He knows very well which unit is yours, and he’s clearly found access into the building somehow. Do not turn on the lights, do not fuss with the blinds, do not go to retrieve any belongings. If it’s something dire, an officer can escort you.” “Okay.” “And don’t leave the building, either. If you need a place to stay, there’s a section of the precinct that can hold you till morning. An officer will have to drive you there, too.” “Okay,” you parrot. “Listen carefully. It’s not forever, but right now we need you to keep yourself absolutely out of sight. Anything that could result in your being followed… Well, we would strongly advise against your taking unnecessary risks. We obviously want to keep you and anyone else involved as safe as possible.” “I understand.” “A patrol officer is en route to your address. He’ll stay posted outside the building for a few hours. If something happens, don’t hesitate to call. Is this a number we can redial if need be?” You look up to Harry; he nods fiercely. “Yes.” “Try to get some rest. You’re safe now, and we’ll see you first thing in the morning.” “Thank you, officer.” You pass Harry’s phone back to him before digging through your bag to retrieve your own. The dial tone rings in your ear as you turn to face the living room. You’re sent to voicemail. “Uh… hi, Mom. It’s me. Just give me a call back when you get this, okay? I—um… Everything’s fine I should just… give you an update, so. Anyways. Talk soon. Love you.” You set your phone down on the counter, but can’t manage to meet his eyes. Some part of you had been worried that he would judge you—or worse, pity you. He doesn’t speak, nor does he try to touch you. Your eyes are pulled towards two sets of rainbow-painted handprints stuck to Harry’s fridge—one large, one tiny. A wave of nausea washes over you at the imposition you’ve entitled yourself to, the risk involved, the implications.  “Thank you.” Harry jumps at the sound of your voice. “For everything. I should—” you loop an arm through the strap of your bag— “I should go.” “Woah, woah, woah… ” Harry catches your arm before you can take three steps. You freeze. He releases you immediately. “And go where? You heard the officer, yeah?” He’s shaking his head slowly. “You can’t go back to your flat.” “I did hear her,” you counter. It comes out more curt than you had meant it. “There’s a safe place for me to sleep at the precinct… Thank you again, I can show myself out.” “That’s ridiculous—” You turn away and he says your name, once, imploring. It’s more of a plea than a demand, keeping you still. You still have your eyes on the door, but since you’re no longer moving, Harry goes on.  “You can stay here, it’s fine. I’ve got a spare bed n’ all. You can sleep in Vi’s room.” Your resolve wavers. His voice is a pitch softer as he asks, “What is it?” Your mouth hangs open a moment before you can find the right words. “I don’t—we don’t…” We don’t know each other seems far too accusatory with everything that’s transpired between you, especially after tonight. You grind your teeth, reeling the words back. Harry’s fingers touch your elbow, hesitating, and when you don’t pull away he wraps his hand gently around your arm. Tears well up in your eyes and you can’t blame them on the guilt, fear, or relief alone… all of it at once leaves you itching to escape.  “We’re practically strangers,” you settle on finally. “I put you in danger, and I put your family in danger—” Harry’s thumb rotates in tiny circles in the crook of your arm, a touch so light you can barely feel it. You think unbidden of the lift on New Year’s Eve, and the brush of his lips over yours. You want to fall headlong back into that memory—to abate what is shaping up to be one of the worst nights of your life. “I’m Harry.”  You blink. “What?” He smiles at you—a quick, sanguine flicker of a thing. “I’m Harry… Styles. I’m twenty-six. I graduated from Kings with a Bachelors in Art History and Psychology. I’m an Administrative Assistant to the Director of the National Gallery—” his smile is real now, wider— “But sometimes I pick up shifts keepin’ an eye on the gallery for the extra few quid… I have a daughter named Sylvia. She’s almost five. I get her every other week. I grew up in Cheshire. I have a sister named Gemma and my mum’s name is Anne.” You sniffle. “Why are you telling me all this?” “So you and I aren’t strangers anymore.” You have no idea how to respond. “You’ve never been here before,” Harry continues. “If someone’s been keeping close tabs on our building, then maybe this is the safest place for you right now. If I felt you were putting my daughter in harm’s way—” you open your mouth to speak and he raises a finger— “I would ask you to leave… As it is, if you go now, I feel that I would be putting you in harm’s way… And I don’t want to.” The two of you stand at a stalemate. “Please don’t make me.” Harry lets go of your arm and eventually backs up to lean against the sink again. You could leave if you wanted to. Eventually you sigh and drop your bag down to the kitchen floor with a thud. “Are you hungry?” Harry asks. “I was gonna fix something for myself anyway.” You shake your head. “I don’t think I could eat anything right now.” The more powerful urge is to erase this night from memory, to scrub away the feeling of a rough hand on your shoulder. You absently rub your thumb into the sleeve of your shirt where the grime from the door to the stairwell had smeared. Your shoulder is still bare from the gaping hole. Harry tilts his head, as if he’s going to say something more, but you blurt, “Could I use your shower actually?” “Of course.” He leads you to the end of a brief hallway with three adjacent doors, only one of which is open. “Be back in a sec.” Harry emerges moments later with two folded towels, then flicks on the light as you trail behind him. Your eyes are immediately drawn to Harry in the broad mirror that covers the entire wall above the sink. His bathroom is virtually identical to yours, but it’s striking to see his familiar reflection somewhere outside of the lift.  Harry pushes aside the curtain to the shower. “Fuck.”  He sets the towels down on the toilet seat and hastily gathers up the army of rainbow rubber ducks lined along the rim of the tub, before yanking off a plastic water wheel suction cupped to the faucet. Clear synthetic stickers in the shape of cartoon rocket ships and planets cling to the shower wall which Harry peels off in a stack before scooping out a myriad of other colorful knick-knacks from the bottom of the tub. “Harry, you don’t have to do that.” “I’m just now realizing how mad this must look to someone who isn’t the parent of a four-year-old—” “Harry, please. You’re already doing so much for me. You don’t need to remodel your bathroom.” “Alright, well… ” Harry rises, brushing his hands down the front of his suit trousers with flushed cheeks and glasses halfway down his nose. He cards his fingers through his hair. “Just be careful not to step on those little sparkly buggers. They’re the most painful by far.” “I’ll keep that in mind.” You have to suppress an laugh at the image of him having stepped on every last toy in the tub enough to compare. “So, like, the red is hot and obviously the blue is cold but it’s very sensitive so I find it’s best to just leave it at about three o’clock—wait you…” Harry shakes his head with a frown. “You probably have the same one, don’t you?” You nod, wringing your hands. “Do you have a shirt or something I could borrow for after?” “Of course,” he almost cuts you off, disappearing into the hallway. You perch on the edge of the tub and run the faucet to adjust the temperature. There’s three raps on the door. “Come in!” you call. Harry squeezes through the door and you catch his eyes in the mirror. “Let me know if these fit.” You watch his reflection lift the clean towels, put down the bundle of clothes, and restack the linens on top with the ease of someone who’s clearly used to taking care of someone else. “Thank you, I’m sure they’ll be fine.” He nods and closes the door firmly behind him. Sylvia’s bath wrap, bright yellow and embroidered with her initials, hangs by its duck shaped hood on a hook next to the door. Steam is starting to rise from the shower. You take a deep lungful and step in carefully. Although childrens’ soaps and clutter are unfamiliar, the water pressure is the same as the shower in your apartment, if not better. It pounds down against your back and shoulders, and for a minute you let yourself just stand in the hot spray. It takes several seconds of inner coaxing before you can close your eyes and tilt your head back beneath the water. A hardened blue stare flashes in your mind’s eye, but you push it back determinedly. You think of Harry’s clear, level gaze. You think of the way he’d looked as he pinned a poppy to your chest—as he’d drank from that half-empty bottle of Prosecco.  So you turn your attention to the soap instead. It’s strange to see the source of several of the mingling scents you’ve picked up from him in the lift over so many months, and even more strange to pick the bottles up and use them on yourself. But there’s something cathartic in the act of scrubbing yourself raw, especially the spot on your shoulder where you had to wrench yourself away from that painful grip. By the time the last of the shampoo and soap are swirling down the drain, buoying a tiny rubber duck that Harry had missed, you finally feel a bit more like yourself again.  The towels are in easy reach. You wrap your hair in one, wind the other around your body, and tiptoe across the bathmat, wading through a junkyard of toys. A hotel toothbrush packaged in plastic lays atop the pile of clothes Harry had left, so you quickly brush your teeth before giving the bathroom a cursory tidy. You have to roll up the cuffs of his sweatpants to your ankles. You can barely see your own reflection, so you crack open the door to air out the steam a bit. Somewhere a kettle shrieks. You creep into the hall, clutching a neat bundle of your clothes and set your things down on the chest table in the entryway before joining him in the kitchen. Harry has changed out of his work suit and into a plain white tee shirt and grey sweatpants. Sundry, mismatched tattoos are scattered all along his left arm and it catches you by surprise. No rings. You have no idea what to do with yourself, faced with the reality that you’re standing in Harry’s flat, wearing his clothes, smelling like him. You lean gingerly against the counter, sort of surprising yourself as you blurt out, “I thought you said you were hungry?” Harry freezes, like he is both realizing you’re there, and also that he contradicted himself. “Lost my appetite I guess. Tea?” “I’d love some, yeah. If there’s enough water. Thanks.” “Sure.” You watch as Harry pulls down a veritable armada of teabags. “Gotta be prepared,” he says with a vaguely self-deprecating smile. “We take our tea seriously over here. These—” Harry gestures—  “haven’t got caffeine.”  Something tells you that an entire bottle of cold medicine couldn’t knock you out tonight. “Whatever you’re having is fine.” Your phone vibrates against your hip and you pull it out to skim the text from your mom. Hi honey. Sorry I missed your call, hope everything is alright… It’s late for you now so I’ll try back in the morning. Hugs. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth as guilt taps you on the shoulder. You’re drained and it would be lovely not to rehash tonight’s events for a second time when you know it would do nothing but worry her. Since you’re in reasonably good hands, you lock your phone and shove it back into the pocket of Harry’s sweats. “How do you take it?” Harry murmurs. “With a little bit of milk, if you don’t mind.” He places your tea on the counter beside you before adding the milk. “I don’t mind,” he mocks your accent gently, and it bothers you how good he is at it. Harry passes you the mug. You raise it to your nose and inhale the steam. “Thank you, Harry, for being so… okay with all of this, and for just like, making me feel… ” You trail off, shaking your head. “I wouldn’t have thought it was possible to have, like, an ounce of normalcy tonight after all that.”  You tuck a strand of wet hair behind your ear. Harry pushes his glasses up his nose with his thumb and idly plays with the tag hanging by a string over the side of his mug. “I’ve heard you take responsibility a dozen times tonight for the danger that someone else put you in,” he says after a minute. His eyes are vaguely unfocused, and trained on the blinds. “Tonight was not your fault. Like, you were smart, brave and all that, but you shouldn’t have had to be.” He takes a sip. “I’m glad I was there.” Harry doesn’t say anything else. It’s cathartic in a way you wouldn’t have expected, to hear him state it back to you so plainly and without nuance. There’s not a thing you could say to that in defense of the argument that you are indeed to blame. But there were other choices I could have made. I shouldn’t have gone running that morning. I should have known to be more vigilant, buying those groceries. It was reckless of me to choose sheer curtains. I should have apparated to class instead of taking the tube. The logic sounds absurd to you in a new way when held up to the light. You absently stir your tea; there’s an orange tabby painted on the ceramic. “Chowder!” Harry’s eyebrows fly up. “Sorry?” “My cat! He’s all on his own in my apartment.” “Does he have water?” “Yeah, and food. And he's a few years old so he’ll be fine. I just feel awful, he’s never spent the night alone.” You shake your head. “Sorry for making you jump, it just crossed my mind.” “No, it’s okay… Do you want—should I go up and check on him for you?” “No, no. That’s not necessary. I’m just, you know, a terrible cat mom.”  “Ha!” Harry barks. It’s the loudest sound you’ve ever heard him make. “You don’t even want to… Oh Christ,” he shakes his head, creasing with laughter, “You have no idea.” “What?” You ask after a minute, unable to help yourself from joining in his laughter. His face is turning pink. “Do you have any idea how many nappies I’ve put on backwards? How many haircuts I’ve botched? I mean with my real, human child. I assembled both of Sylvia’s cribs upside down because the instructions were in Japanese. One after the other. It was the same fucking crib.” He deadpans your name at you. “Sylvia’s first word was fuck because Daddy couldn’t shake the habit of saying it all the fucking time.” “Oh my god.” “Yeah. We thought she was just a quiet kid, but then we were getting concerned that she wasn’t speaking by her second birthday. We took her to a speech therapist. So imagine you’re me, watching your daughter in her little highchair with her mum right up in her face, going, “Vi can you say ma-ma? And the child throws her binkie… and yells, Fuck!” You’re laughing so hard it’s completely silent.  “Didn’t say it.” He swipes a tear from the corner of his eye, and it bumps up his glasses a little. “Yelled it. Not a thing wrong with her… Oh,” Harry sighs. “Annie wouldn't speak to me for a week.” He shakes his head. “That’s incredible.” “So, like, newsflash… ” He takes a sip of his tea. “Nobody has any idea what they’re doing. There’s no such thing as a perfect parent or, um—cat mum as you said.” “So…” you venture after a pause. “Annie?” Harry laughs once through his nose, rolling his eyes. “Alright, alright. Fair.” He sets his tea down on the counter. “Thought maybe we’d get to have this conversation over Prosecco,” he says, chuckling dryly. “Sylvia was definitely… unexpected… ” Harry begins delicately. “But she’s, like the funniest person I know and also my favorite person on the planet. So… I dunno. It worked out.” He clears his throat. “She was conceived on the night I met her mum at a pub in Essex and that was that. Haven’t really looked back. Annie—Vi’s mum—is an amazing person. We were never in love or anythin’ even close, but she’s the best co-parent I could ever dream of.”  “Vi’s a cute nickname.” “S’her first name, actually.” Harry smiles over the rim of his mug. “Lanh Vi.” His voice dips low and elongates the first syllable. “Lanh means gentle, happy. Vi is a family name. Annie wanted to give that to her parents, a proper Vietnamese name on her birth certificate. Sylvia’s sort of a good compromise for when she goes to school.”  Harry stares at some middle distance, smiling like he isn’t even aware he’s doing it. “Annie’s parents took a little convincing that any of this was going to work out—mine too—but I love our unconventional little family, and I’m really looking forward to her wedding. Sylvia’s in store for two really incredible mums.” He looks back at you and shrugs. “It’s not such a bad life. Sometimes I wish there was a more exciting answer.” “That doesn’t seem like a bad life at all.” The corners of Harry’s lips drop a little the moment you open your mouth. His head is tilted slightly as though he’s trying to gauge your reaction. You try to mirror the same, reassuring smile he’d given you earlier, then cover a yawn with your hand. “What time is it?” you ask. Harry checks his phone. “Half ten—or just gone.” “No it’s not,” you frown, but he holds up his phone to show you. “Oh god…” “Time flies when you’re talking about parenthood.” He takes your empty mugs, setting them carefully in the sink. “Thank you.” Without turning around Harry announces, “I think I’m gonna have you sleep in my bed and I’ll take the air mattress in Sylvia’s room.” “No.” You shake your head. “Harry I swear if you insist on that, I’m calling a taxi to the police station.” “No, honestly… They’re the only two rooms in the flat with the blinds consistently drawn, and her room’s empty most nights anyway since I’m such a pushover.” It takes a moment for that comment to sink in and when it does you feel your heart melt a little. “You’ll sleep much better in my bed than on my inherited air mattress from the nineties.” “I won’t,” you lie seamlessly. “I don’t sleep well in new places anyway, so at least one of us should get a good night’s rest.” “Whatever makes you most comfortable,” he relents. You’re glad you don’t have to argue about it. “Thank you.” Harry leads you to the linen cabinet in the hallway and removes a cardboard box from the very top shelf. An enormous dust cloud falls like an avalanche down his shirt and he coughs hysterically, scrunching his nose. “Last chance to change your mind,” Harry croaks, wiping his glasses on the front of his shirt. You shake your head and he turns to the door across from his, where his bed is half visible in shadow. The two of you shuffle into a cubby of a room, and Harry drops the box onto the plush pile rug with a thud.  Your neck cranes as you look around the tiny space, about as roomy as the lift. The walls are painted navy blue with silver and gold stars exploding in a galaxy across the walls, and your hand floats to your chest in memory of when Sylvia had pointed at you with a tiny finger, recognizing the shape at the end of the chain hung around your neck. Her bed frame is painted a deep, forest green and the two small pillows upon it are shaped like rain clouds. Plastic dinosaurs of all different sizes and colors line her windowsill. A small, homemade bookshelf is aligned by the bed. “You mind helping me spread it?” Harry’s voice brings you back down to earth, and you grab two corners of the plastic to lay out the mattress like a picnic blanket on the floor. It’s a tight squeeze, but at least it’s a queen. You look down at it with your hands on your hips, and Harry tilts his head, running a hand over his stubble. Harry steps back out into the hallway, ducking into his bedroom. You hear the creak of a closet door and shifting fabric as the beam of light from his room slants across the hall into Sylvia’s, illuminating a diagonal path right up through the wooden slats of her toybox. There’s a small, familiar shadow outline on top. You crouch down to pick up Jojo and his mother in one hand, running your fingers over the soft velvet of their floppy ears. It feels a little odd, to be so comforted by a child’s toy that doesn't even belong to you, but here you are. “I see you’ve found an old friend.”  Harry leans against the doorframe, watching you. His arms are full with a clean sheet, spare pillow, and quilt. The fondness in his voice is hard to miss, but you wonder if it’s for his daughter, for the toy, or for you. “I would’ve thought Sylvia brought him to her mom’s, too.” Harry’s lips twitch with amusement before he puts the pillow and quilt on top of Sylvia’s dresser. “She used to take him everywhere.” He visits every corner of the mattress to tuck the sheet around. “Here, let me help you with—” “No, no, it’s always easier like this before you blow it up.” Harry steps into the corners of the room that aren’t completely swallowed up by the giant, deflated bed. He removes a paper lantern night light with constellation cutouts from its outlet, replacing it with the motor to the air mattress. “This part always takes a bit.” The small plastic box sputters into a whine and the mattress begins to inflate. “Just give it a few minutes… S’ old.” Soft whirring fills the room before he speaks over it. “We almost lost him on a trip to Brighton once—” he nods at Jojo, still in your hands— “Vi was inconsolable until we found him wedged between the bed and the wall in the hotel. Managed to convince her that leaving him at home—or at least only to Bridget’s on the first floor while I’m at work—was the best way to keep him safe.” He steals a glance at you and unfolds the massive quilt on top of the bed as it rises, before fluffing the pillow and tossing it to one of the long ends. “Then she started insisting on leaving him here on the weeks she spends at her mum’s.” “How come?” Harry’s smile is somewhere between pointedly self-deprecating and unbelievably loving. “Says she doesn’t want me to be lonely while she’s gone.”  Before you can fully process all the ways your heart is both warmed and a little broken, Harry is disappearing into the hall again, returning with a throw blanket and fanning it out over the quilt. “Okay.” He pushes his glasses up his nose. “That should do it. Do you want another pillow?” He turns to you suddenly, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. “I have a couple more on my—” “No, no. This is more than enough… Thank you again, Harry,” You reassure him with the understanding that this is goodnight. Harry runs a hand through his hair and a little puff of dust is drawn out. “If you, um—If you need anything, I’ll be… my bedroom’s just there.” He twists around to point. “Don’t hesitate to like… yeah, wake me up if you need—if you feel… ” He laughs once at himself, exasperated. “Sorry, I’m tired.” You shake your head and smile sympathetically. “So am I.” “Goodnight, then.” Harry backs out into the hallway. He pauses in Sylvia’s doorway, his hand still on the doorknob. At that exact moment, the motor clicks off and the sudden silence feels unbearably loud.  “I want you to feel safe here.” The room is so still that you see the shadow against Harry’s neck bob as he swallows in the yellow light of the hall. His eyes are steady and clear. You take a breath in, and nod. “I do,” you say, steadfast. “I promise… Goodnight, Harry.” He shuts the door behind him. • saturday, 5th january 12:46 am •

There had been a knock, of that much you are sure. One solitary rap jolts you from sleep, followed by the raucous succession of a dozen more as you sit up on the air mattress. It stops for a moment. Then starts up again. “Harry?” you whisper into the blackness, your heart suddenly pounding. In your groggy trance, you weren’t sure the first time you heard it if someone was knocking on the door to Sylvia’s room, but by the time your eyes adjust, you’re sure it’s coming from farther away. It stops. You’re still for a minute, careful not to rustle the quilt. There is no sound apart from a faint siren in the distance. You unplug your phone from where it charges beneath the nightlight, squinting at its bright little face. 12:46. Perhaps it’s a police officer? Surely they would have announced themselves, wouldn’t they? You slide down the mattress and creep up to the door, pressing an ear against the wood. There is nothing but the echo of your own blood rushing in your ear. You have to close your eyes and count to three before turning the doorknob. Harry is already in the hall, the door to his bedroom left gaping. He turns to you and immediately brings a finger to his lips. The sound of an open hand smacking against the front door is unmistakable. Harry inches towards the noise. He freezes suddenly, then twists to look at you, reaching his hand back with fingers outspread. Stay here. Harry rounds the corner out of sight until it becomes unbearable to stand there a moment longer. You tiptoe in his wake, and move at the same time he does. The only light in the flat spills from his open bedroom. Here in hall, the shadows are long and dark and Harry’s expression is harder to make out until he glances over his shoulder. He nods at you once before training his eyes on the door again. Your feet move of their own accord, as though they have unilaterally decided that the safest place for you is as close to Harry as possible. It seems jarring to you, that this man in a tee shirt and boxers is the same man who, not a week ago, seemed like a piece of art with his burgundy suit and damp curls; the memory of loose limbs and laughter clashes against the image of him fraught before you. Harry peers through the peephole. Your eyes are cemented to the back of his head and you begin to feel dizzy, only just realizing you’ve been holding your breath. He tenses. In a freezing rush of dread, you suddenly know exactly who is on the other side of that door. You know you shouldn’t panic. Harry raises a finger to his lips again in another soundless imperative and you know—from a place that feels somewhere outside your body—that the last thing you should be doing is opening your mouth. But this is a terror hurtling beyond fight or flight. Your primary functions are in a deadlock with a searing hysteria clamoring for you to scream, and something desperately carnal that believes you could only survive this moment if you were silent enough.  Harry is still gesturing at you to keep quiet. He turns his back to the door and approaches you, the weight of his gaze keeping you motionless. He reaches forward and presses his palm firmly against your parted lips. All of a sudden you’re just as close as you were in the lift four nights ago when he tasted like brandy and the beginning of something new. The look he had given you on New Year’s was playful and wanting. In this moment, however, a pair of hard and urgent eyes bore into yours, igniting the pit of your stomach with a different kind of fear. Harry wraps his free hand around your wrist. You blink and blink. Beneath the steel resolve in his face, a desperate question forms: Do you trust me? You want to answer but you don’t know how. So you just keep staring. He pushes you backwards, gently, leading you around the corner and down the hall, his hand cupped to your mouth all the while. Even if you’d wanted to glance at the front door, Harry’s gaze is a magnet to your eyes. He walks you all the way into his bedroom, until you feel the mattress on the backs of your knees. You’d fall if not for Harry letting go of your wrist to guide you down with a hand on your waist. His lips move soundlessly around the words, stay here, and you manage to nod. Only then does he release your mouth. Your eyes can only focus on the closet door directly in front of you. It takes every ounce of your concentration to just keep breathing so you don’t pass out as Harry doubles back out into the hall, leaving you on the edge of his bed. You can feel an outbreak of sweat around your temple and on the back of your neck. You know you’re shaking but that feels distant, too.  You have no idea how long Harry is gone, you just know he closes the door upon his return. You’re still trying to pace your breathing as he crouches down in front of you. He has his phone to his ear. You can only catch a few of his words at a time.  “My name is Harry Styles… previously reported an, um, incident involving… yes… no… returned… knocked on the door. No, he’s gone now… I waited, to be sure. But I—” There’s a pause. “I think he’s knocking on every door on this floor.” You hear something like a choked gasp. Only when Harry’s eyes dart to yours do you realize it was you.  You have put the entire building in danger.  “Yes, she’s still here.” His free hand reaches up to your knee as he listens to the dispatcher, but he seems to think better of it at the last moment, worrying the edge of the duvet between his fingers instead. “Right, yes. I understand. I will. Thank you.”  Faint ringing replaces the feeling of water in your ears.  “They’re sending someone,” he murmurs after hanging up. “He’s gone.” You hear that broken gasp again. “He’s gone, I promise.” Your shoulders cave inward when you feel the full, painful heave of your sob. Tears stream down your cheeks as you cover your face. Harry’s hand lifts again. You shrink away and he immediately moves from you to stand. “I’ll be—”  You seize at the first part of him you can reach, grasping a weak fistful of his soft cotton tee. Harry is completely still beneath your trembling fingers. He doesn’t pull away or move closer. He just hovers there, steady. “Please…” You want to ask him to stay. You want to ask for help. You want him to touch you so you know that you’re real—that you’re not in fact still trapped alone in the most terrifying part of a nightmare, but the words are unbearable.  The sound of your name in Harry’s mouth undoes something inside you. Through your tears you finally lift your head to find his eyes. His expression seems torn, like he wants to comfort you but doesn’t know how. You’re not sure which one of you bridges the gap, but your forehead lands in the warm slope between his neck and shoulder and that seems to be all the confirmation Harry needs.  His hands slide up your back to hold you as you all but collapse into him, crying with enough force that Harry draws you off the bed and onto the floor with him. He smooths one hand up and down the length of your spine as the other wraps so far around your back that you can feel his fingertips hooked over your hip. “S’ok,” he murmurs, his lips pressing into your temple like he intends to seal the words to your skin. Harry doesn’t try to shush you. “S’gonna be alright. ‘M here… I’ve got you. You’re safe… I’ve got you.”  When your wracking sobs give way to hiccups and finally to something halfway controllable, he stops talking and just holds you, rocking ever so slightly in a sort of motion that only a parent can do. You have no idea how long you sit like that, a tangle of limbs and soaked collars and cheeks, until you’re finally able to speak.  “I’m sorry,” you choke out. “You—”  “None of that,” Harry says immediately. You feel his nose dig into your hair, his breath warm as he sighs. “I mean it, alright? No more apologizing for any of this. Might have to make you a jar like the one Annie has for me in her flat.” The thought is strange enough to pull you, however briefly, out of your current misery. “You have an apology jar?”  He exhales sharply. “Swear jar, actually.”  Your laugh bursts out unexpectedly, sort of wet and weak, but there nonetheless. You feel the soft stroke of his thumb on the back of your head. “That’s more like it.”  You draw back and Harry’s grip tightens, just for a moment, before he releases you. He brushes your damp cheeks with the side of his palm before you can do it yourself. You see the same concentration he wore when he’d pinned that Remembrance Day poppy to your jacket. It takes effort to silence the instinct to be ashamed and keep his eyes.  “They said it might be a bit before an officer can get up here,” he says, searching your face. “They’re puttin’ together a couple patrol teams to canvas the building and stay outside the rest of the night.” All you can think to do is nod. “Can I get you anything? Water?” “Please,” you reply, grateful. “I should—” you make a vague gesture at yourself— “clean myself up a bit.” Harry opens his mouth like he wants to comment, but just nods instead. You use his shoulder to push yourself to your feet; his hand covers yours and you feel his thumb running across your knuckles.  You say, “Thank you,” but it’s not nearly enough. He squeezes gently, staring up at you and saying nothing. You walk on unsteady legs to the bathroom. You can feel his eyes on you even when you close the door. Lacing your fingers atop your head, you sigh at the tearstained, swollen-eyed version of yourself staring back at you in the mirror. After blowing your nose and splashing a few handfuls of water across your face, you join him on his side of the bed. His phone is in his hands. He finishes sending off a long, blue bubble of text before looking up and passing you a water from the nightstand. He runs the tip of his index finger around the rim of his own glass.

You bring the drink to your lips, then lower it immediately; the glass clacks against your teeth with the tremor of your hand. You can feel Harry’s eyes on you even though he doesn’t turn his head. Again, you try taking a sip with the same result and sigh. “I think I’m gonna try my parents again.” “Sure.” You set your water on the nightstand and head to Sylvia’s room, shutting the door behind you. You take a deep breath before collapsing back on the mattress. The stars rotating on the ceiling like a merry-go-round make you nauseous so you unplug the nightlight before dialing. Your mom answers after the first ring, emphasizing your name like a scolding. “Hi, Mom.” “What are you doing up? It’s the middle of the night in England. Is everything alright?” “That’s actually what I need to talk to you about.” You hardly get a sentence in before you hear her rushing to get your dad and the three of you have an hour-long, emotional crash-course on the last five hours of your life. There isn’t too much to fill in as you’ve kept them more or less updated on the blue-eyed man and your previous trips to the police department. You assure them that you’re in one piece and that you couldn’t have wound up with a more generous host, but that doesn’t assuage your mom from insisting on speaking with the police herself. She makes you promise to stay on the line until the authorities arrive. Before long, you hear a light rap on your door. “Yes?” Harry cracks it open without peeking his head inside. “Police are here—take your time. I’ll go out and speak with them.” “Thanks, Harry… Mom, some officers just arrived I think.” You pinch your phone between your cheek and shoulder, softly close the door behind you. “I’ll call you back once we’re done with everything.” You rush through a quick goodbye and meet Harry in the entryway. He’s thrown on some gym pants and a sweater and his arms are folded across his chest. The fully-uniformed men seem bulky and out of place in the sixth-floor hallway, as though they couldn’t squeeze in Harry’s modest apartment. It’s not like you’re the one in trouble, but your heart skips a little anyway. “… every floor of the building and searched the surrounding perimeter with no sign of anyone matching the description, and from the security footage we seized, we can see that he pulled out of the car park about forty-five minutes ago.” “Okay.” Harry nods, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Alright. Great.” The officer who had been speaking turns to you. “And you must be the young woman who—” “Yes.” You jerk your head quickly. It’s more like an anxious spasm than a nod.  “That’s me.” “We were just filling your neighbor in that we were unable to find the culprit, but the building and surrounding area seem to be clear. If at all possible, we think it would be best for you to stay here just for the night, then come straight to the station in the morning to make a plan.”  You simply nod again. “I will.” “You’re flat 8F, is that right?” “That’s correct.” “Were any of these marks on your door before this evening?” The officer pulls a cell phone out of his pocket, unlocking it to reveal the last few pictures in the camera roll. Your stomach drops. He flips through several photos of a long, black streak above the handle of your front door, and a sizable ding in the wood by the door jam. The impact was hard enough to scratch the paint. “No,” you manage. “I don’t recognize those. Did he, um…” “The door didn’t give,” the officer says. It’s just reassuring enough to keep your knees from buckling. He turns to face Harry again. “And you’re certain that the man showed no signs of knowledge that she—that the two of you were in this particular flat?” “Yeah. I watched him make his way down, knocking on a couple more doors.”  “Was he stopping by every door?”  Harry takes a moment to think. “No,” he replies. “It seemed a bit random if I’m honest.” “Right. Well, keep an eye out for any unusual activity in the next few days, especially on this floor. Don’t hesitate to let us know if anything changes.” The officer looks to you again. “In the meantime, we’ll see you at the station tomorrow?” “Yes, um… ” You clear your throat as your cheeks warm. “I’m sorry. Would one of you be willing to speak with my parents on the phone? They’re a bit worried and want to talk to a professional.” You hold up your cell. “Of course.” After dialing for him, you hand the officer your phone and he begins to engage your mom in what sounds like a very animated, reassuring dialogue. You and Harry are leaned against opposite walls in the hallway, spaced out in exhaustion. You cover a yawn with your hand and catch him doing the same. Do you dare check the time? Your hands absently pat your front and back pockets, and you frown in trying to recall where you’d last set your phone. You roll your eyes in glancing up at the officer pacing in the entryway on the phone with your mother. “S’ just gone two,” Harry mumbles. You make a light noise in the back of your throat. “I’m sorry, Harry.” “That’s a tenner in the apology jar.” You breathe a laugh without humor, shaking your head back and forth against the wall. “I just can’t wait for this day to be over,” you whisper. “Would you like to speak with her again?” The officer’s voice clips into your half-conscious conversation. You hold out your hand and tuck the phone between your cheek and shoulder again as Harry thanks the officers one last time before showing them out.  Apparently satisfied with the conversation she’d had with the police, your mother circles back to the matter of your current state of limbo. “You’re sure you’re comfortable staying with this neighbor? Where are you sleeping?” You can practically hear the alarm bells from across the Atlantic. “It’s fine, Mom. We’re friends… sort of.” Friends that drunkenly make out in the lift. “He has a spare mattress. I’m staying in his guest room.” She digests this information in silence. “I’m alright, I promise. It’s just for tonight.”  There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. “I want you to call us, alright? No matter what time it is here or there, I want you to check in with us every day until we know for sure you’re absolutely safe.”  “I will,” you vow. “I’ll call you in the morning, okay? I’m exhausted.”  “Right yes, go get some rest. We love you.”  You swallow with a little difficulty. “Love you too.”  Harry’s idling by the sink with your empty glasses.  “Sorry about that,” you say, and then wince when he gives you a sidelong look. “They can be a bit protective.” He shakes his head, his expression somehow more grave than you were expecting. “I know exactly how they feel.” Harry rubs his eyes under his glasses. “I’m sorry,” he says into his palms. “I’m knackered.” “Yeah, of course… Get some sleep.” You hesitate. “You sure there’s not anything else I can get you?” “I’m sure.” He pinches softly just above your elbow. “See you in the morning.” Harry disappears into the hall. You listen to the sound of his bedroom door click shut before tilting your head to the ceiling and letting your eyelids close, literally twenty feet below your own apartment. You could probably throw a basketball higher than that. You sigh and look back down at your phone on the counter, quickly drafting a text to India and then deleting it. For a minute you stay like that, a statue in the pale light of Harry’s kitchen—the relic of a girl who woke up this morning unscathed. It’s probably for the best that you get some sleep tonight, but standing in front of the nursery with your hand on the doorknob, you can’t bring yourself to face the pitiful air mattress again. You turn to Harry’s bedroom door in defeat. Who on earth are you trying to fool? Heart hammering, you swallow your pride and crack open the door to Harry’s bedroom, stepping gingerly inside. It shuts behind you with a delayed click-click, impossibly loud. Nothing apart from blackness is visible before you, but suddenly comes the sound of a long breath in from somewhere in the room. Blankets rustle. Your fingers tighten on the doorknob behind you. With a tink, soft, yellow light spills over every surface in Harry’s bedroom. His nose scrunches and eyes squint. His hand flounders once against the nightstand before he locates his glasses, pushing them swiftly onto his face. Harry’s expression relaxes as he props himself up on one elbow to get a better look at you. Your face stings with heat, but you hold your ground. His eyes are soft, careful, yet strangely unaffected. Without a word, or the slightest suggestion of ambivalence, Harry reaches out an arm to the opposite side of the mattress, and tosses the corner of the duvet halfway down the bed before meeting your gaze from across the room. It feels like a weakness, to cave and accept his offer. You want to explain yourself, suddenly, but there are no words for this time of night and the chasm you’re hanging over by your fingertips. So you approach the bed in silence and slide beneath his covers.  Backs turned to each other, you curl up so far from Harry that your knees hang over the edge of the bed. You hear the cool sliding of blankets once more before absolute stillness. The last image of your day is the dim, golden glow of Harry’s lamp vanishing on the ceiling. • saturday, 5th january 4:07 am • It’s disorienting, adjusting to a room you can immediately tell isn’t your own, momentarily teetering between asleep and awake. It’s even more disorienting when you realize that you are not alone. There’s a knee between yours and a heavy arm slung over your waist. You’ve migrated to the center of the bed somehow during the night, flipped on your back. But what draws your attention the most is the warm breath in the curve of your neck. “Harry?”  It was the asleep-half of your brain that had thought to croak his name. You don’t know what kind of reply you’re expecting to receive in this blue, small morning hour. Perhaps you won’t get one at all. Perhaps you’re dreaming. You stare up at the ceiling.  If you close your eyes now, would you even remember this come dawn? But the grip around your waist tightens, just for a moment, before you feel his body slide up against yours, a sigh fanning over your cheek.  “Yeah.” Harry’s voice is low and gravelly, but unmistakable. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest through the fine cotton of the shirt he’d loaned you, and he sounds surprisingly alert. A small silence lingers. “Alright?” Your eyes stay trained on the ceiling. Are you?  Part of you wants him to clarify the question: are you alright after everything that happened tonight? Are you alright… with this? “Yeah,” you breathe.  Harry doesn’t say anything else. For a moment you think he’s fallen back asleep but then he shifts closer to you. You watch as the shadow of his arm reaches over your body for your hand—you had left it open and maybe a little vulnerable beside your head on the pillow. You can feel the calluses on Harry’s fingertips as they slide up your palm and find the space between yours. You don’t dare turn your head because there is a question in your eyes that you realize you can no longer ignore, and you are afraid of his answer. So you close your fingers around his and do not speak. Harry exhales. You’re hyper aware of the way his body relaxes as he squeezes your hand. You take a deep breath. You know it’s no use wondering whether or not Harry is going to remember this in the morning. Even if this is a dream, you cannot deny that you’re warm and you’re safe and that you will remember, possibly forever, regardless of whatever happens or doesn’t happen between you. It’s a vaguely scary thought.  You close your eyes.

[lady-of-glass-and-bone]

Novalunosis

[n.] the state of relaxation and wonderment experienced while gazing upon the stars.

For @autumnleaves1991-blog Writer Wednesday, my first one! And this picture is gorgeous.

Pairing: Din Djarin x female oc (no name/features are mentioned)

Warnings: uh, don't jump off balconies into water please? Fluff, angst-ish, idk what I'm doing.

A/N: Takes place before the show.I don't know how the Force works? *waves hands* Fanfic! My first time writing for Din and Star Wars in general. Also, punctuation? Don't know her.

There's a vaguely familiar silhouette standing behind the gauzy curtain across the room. A room Din doesn't recall entering, which should put him on high alert but he finds that the adrenaline doesn't come rushing. Nothing about this room with walls the color of soft sunlight and warmth in the lines of its decoration sets him on edge.

If anything, he relaxes where he sits on the edge of the bed. Looking down he finds a muted green blanket and crisp white sheets tucked neatly around the mattress beneath him. Gloved fingers run over the slight sheen of the top layer, wondering how he could dream up something he's never seen before.

These dreams, and the figure across the room, find him when he sleeps. Not often enough that he expects them but with a frequency that puzzles him when he lets it. Nothing ever the same twice, nothing except for her.

"I think I was here with my parents once, when I was little" the voice reaches his ears like there isn't a barrier of beskar between the two and he has to reach up to feel for it, just to be sure.

The figure chuckles, pushing the curtain out of the way to smile at him. Having a smile offered to him, for him, is not a regular occurrence for the Mandalorian but still, it's nothing he seems to need to be wary of if the warmth uncurling in his chest is to be trusted.

The woman is barefoot, pale blue pants fitted with pockets at every chance with a well worn, cream colored shirt tucked haphazardly into the high waist line. Her arms are bare, scars on them visible from where he sits.

Her face is happy but expectant, eyes trained on him. Definitely familiar. A name floats somewhere in his head but he can't quite reel it in, even as she walks over to sit down beside him, one leg tucked under the other as she faces him.

She's close, knee brushing his thigh as she settles comfortably. Din knows her, she obviously knows him. How is the only mystery.

"Are we dreaming?" he asks, helmet turned in her direction, the use of 'we' coming out before he can comprehend it.

"Yeah, the first one in a while" she nods.

"How?"

"You always ask that."

"Should I not?" his tone is less than cordial but he's confused yet unconcerned at the same time and it is frustrating.

"Din, I know you, and I know the scar on your right hand palm because I put it there" as casually as she speaks his name, she tugs on the glove of his hand, arching a brow in question.

He lets her have it, her own hand wrapping around it, careful of his vambrace, and massages the scar through the leather of the glove.

"You were better with a vibroblade at the time" he huffs, more so at the strange sensation of saying something he knows is true with certainty, even though the memory attached to it remains blurry.

"Were?" she scoffs playfully and Din smiles just a little "I'd bet my whole weapons cash that I'm still better with one than you are, Din Djarin."

"Deal" he says and curls his fingers around hers, leaning into her space like the slow pull of gravity when a ship breaks atmo.

Forehead meets helmet none to gently but she just grins up at him, so close to the visor it might as well not be there at all. He gets the distinct sense that for her it makes no difference, she knows him. She knows his face.

One corner of her mouth pulls up with her grin, a little crooked, but it feels significant. Distinctive. It strikes a chord somewhere inside him and thrums its vibrations of familiarity all throughout his body.

"Wanna see outside? It's beautiful" she pulls back, standing with their hands still connected.

Din can only nod, getting to his feet when she tugs. A helpless satellite in her orbit.

The balcony behind the curtain is small but surrounded by green towers of hanging vines, leaves reaching downward over railings and stone architecture carefully crafted to feel open. Like the walls are meant to breathe with you.

He's too busy gazing up at the blue square of sky through the open roof that he doesn't notice her tugging off her pants until they are tossed at his helmet.

"What are you- NO!" the nervousness in his voice pitches upwards to panic once he pulls the fabric clear of his visor, only to see her push herself up and over the balcony railing.

The jump is graceful, muscles learned in quick movements, trained to lift, pull, and leap. It just about stops his heart as she slips out of his reach and down below. Maybe this isn't a dream after all.

The splash below nearly has him keeling over the railing, watching the fabric of her shirt billow out in the water, a stark contrast to the blue tile design on the floor of the pool.

"Are you kriffing insane?" he yells down to her once she surfaces.

"Cuy ogir'olar" she answers in Mando'a, crooked grin taking over her face.

"Irrelevant my-" he shakes his head "you could have gotten hurt!"

"This is a dream Din! Stop being such a gullipud and join me!" she kicks onto her back and begins to paddle calmly around the pool.

He sighs as he watches her, strong legs pushing her through the water leisurely while her arms keep her balanced. It's a steady rhythm, watching the clear water ripple around her, sunlight flickering on the miniature waves like metal in dunes of sand.

Din gives in sooner than he likes to admit. Removing his armor piece by piece to set it on the bed, hesitating with hands poised to remove his helmet.

This is nothing but a dream after all.

The sentiment makes it no easier to walk back out onto the balcony, devoid of any beskar, barefoot and balling his hands up so tight he can feel the bite of his nails on his palms. Looking down at the water, he spots her floating on her back, eyes closed.

Leaping over the railing is nothing, he does dangerous things all the time. It's when he bobs back up to the surface of the cool water that any kind of apprehension sets in because she's swimming over to him, that bright look back on her face.

"You look like a drowned Wookie" she teases, slowly lifting a hand to push the hair plastered to his forehead away "when was the last time you got a haircut?" He pretends to think about his answer, enjoying the feel of her skin on his face as she lets a finger drift down between his brows, across the bridge of his nose and all the way to tip. It's a circuit she repeats, back and forth. Up and down. Like she's putting him in a trance.

It works. Her question forgotten, just the warm brush of her fingertip and the feeling of being known. Even covered in his armor it felt that way.

He knows she doesn't like being told what to do, knows how hard the knuckles of her deceptively soft looking hands can be against flesh, knows she was a Foundling like him. He knows that she never gets tired of looking at the stars, no matter how far she travels.

She only startles a little when he lunges forward to lift her up and pull her tight against him, arms secure around her. His face is pressed against hers, every inch of connection he can wring out of this, he will.

"Hi" she whispers into his ear, with arms slung around his neck and legs around his waist beneath the water. She sounds like she's greeting an old friend who has finally recognized her.

"I missed you but I don't even know who you are" voice thick, he admits defeat "I don't know your name and I'm afraid to let you go."

"I know, Din, I know" she nods and the drag of her cheek against his sends a shiver down his spine.

"Tell me where you are so I can come to you"

"I'm right here"

"I mean it"

He pulls back, one palm cupping her face, staring her down. Intent on waiting her out. The water laps patiently at their movements like a ticking metronome.

"No, you're right where you need to be, on the path you need to go down" she smiles again but there's a sadness creeping into it.

"I don't care" his words are quietly fierce, pulling her back against him as if he holds on tight enough to her, he can pull her out of this dream with him.

He shuts his eyes and buries his face into the crook of her neck, the cool scent of water giving way to the layers underneath. Of bacta and herbs and something unnameable and warm assaulting his senses.

Around them, the vibrant green layers begin to brown and decay. Leaves fall swiftly down to float on the water, dissolving. The walls start to break slowly, color fading from the intricate tile work. She can hear wood splinter and give way under rot somewhere above them.

"This place, it doesn't exist in the real world anymore" she tells him, tears gathering as she looks up while still holding tight to her Mandalorian.

"I don't care" Din repeats, eyes open and trying for one more glimpse into hers but she's looking up.

So he does too and finds the sky dark, spotted with stars he's never seen before. They must be her stars, wherever she is.

"It's okay Din" she shushes him even as he shakes his head, the pit in his stomach a gnawing beast of panic he hasn't felt in so long.

He knows he wouldn't recognize himself at the moment, this silent begging thing clutching onto an almost stranger like she knows the universes biggest secrets. It's not okay.

"It is, it is" she leans in, finger beginning the endless loop of stroking the strong line of his nose, up to the furrow in his brow. Once, twice, and then she presses a kiss with warm lips to his cheek.                                   ----------------------------------- The mandalorian jolts awake, nearly spilling out of the pilots seat in the cockpit of the Crest. Heart pounding like a heard of bantha, sucking in breaths so fast he yanks of his helmet.

The blur of hyperspace stares back at him from the view port and he tries to tell himself the spot on his cheek that remains damp yet warm is simply sweat.

Not even the stars believe that.                                      --------------------------------- On a planet that spins beneath stars from a dream, the walls of her bedroom give a quick tremble in sync with her return to consciousness. She had given up on shelves and hanging pictures long ago.

They simply ended up breaking, like so many other things.

Pulling her blanket tight around her shoulders, she gets out of bed and makes her way through the dark maze of her home. It's large but not for the luxury of it, whatever isn't covered in medical supplies and random tech leaves very little for personal items.

An old habit from to much time spent planet hopping.

But the stars, there is always room for the stars.

[war--lords]

NSFW, Female!Reader

The whole ballroom shines golden, more so when you take into account the partygoers inhabiting it as if they are collectively in defiance of the rainclouds starting to form in the cobalt night. Le Comte, the only reason you are attending this ball commemorating some Duke’s something, is once again being swarmed by many charmed men and women of the high elite, and you’ve taken this opportunity to make a beeline for the food.

An hors d'oeuvre rests delicately between your fingertips as you watch the scene from afar:

Your benefactor, and most recently lover, surrounded by some of Paris’s most important people, men and women alike, some of which you recognize from previous parties. He is the picture of patience, replying with only the amount of words necessary to be polite and sociable at the same time. Having lived a long life as a vampire, he surely has the art of small talk mastered, but it is chiefly his poise and graciousness that attracts these people to him—this much you understand, for you are no different than them.

A lady, young and enchanting, extends a gloved arm to him and he gently kisses the back of her hand. It is a common gesture of the time, but you notice the look in her eyes as she looks down at him.

You know what lies in that gaze. Want.

That same not-so-well-concealed desire lingers even when she stares at him as he stands up straight again, as her plush carmine-dyed lips curl into a pleased, meaningful smile. As Comte speaks, she slowly hooks her arm with his, fingers drawing slow, sensual circles through the fabric of his waistcoat as if coaxing him to please, tell me more. She watches his lips form words.

And when he turns to look at her, he smiles. A pleased, meaningful smile.

You start to feel sick in your throat, chest, and stomach. The first you think to do is look away and take deep breaths, as much as your corset permits. Clearly, your emotions have taken too much control, but it’s too late because you feel jealousy sinking its ugly roots at the bottom of your gut. They were just being friendly, you’re sure. After all, etiquette is of utmost importance in the 19th century.

In your head, another voice replies to you—one that sounds like your own. She is being awfully friendly. The look in her eyes and the curl of her lips enter your mind’s eye again, and you cannot deny the purpose that lies behind them. Beautiful and treacherous she, waiting patiently to lure the Comte with her siren song. That sounds like a lovely story, she would probably say. Please don’t stop there.

God, you sigh, feeling as though you are split into two. You find that you are hating everything, and it has been less than ten minutes since the two of you entered the ball. It is undoubtedly going to be a long night.

A long night, you find yourself imagining the woman whispering that into your lover’s ear as she drapes herself atop him, and you grit your teeth. He has lived a long immortal life, much of which you don’t know about. Surely there were many more before you—women, men, all of them pretty and prim and lusting for him all the same? They must have held whatever place you hold in his life, too. 

You try to shake the thought away. Have you become that overly-possessive, jealous person? You shake your head to yourself. That would be horrendous, and you would hate yourself for it. 

He probably didn’t even notice that you’ve slipped away.

You swallow the doubt down with a flute of champagne, courtesy of a waiter passing by, and you find yourself glancing at the scene again.

The circle of people has significantly reduced in size. They’re laughing together.

At the exact moment you decide to pray to the higher powers to give you the boundless strength you need to get through the ball, a man approaches you, effectively covering the sight of your lover across the room. You recognize the friendly smile he beams at you—he is no stranger, but a son in a family of knightly nobility you have made acquaintance with from the many encounters at various events around the city. He has one flute of champagne in each hand.

“I was going to offer you a drink, Mademoiselle, but I see you’ve gotten a head start.”

You offer him a curtsy and a smile before downing whatever measly amount you have left within your glass, placing it onto a waiter’s empty tray, and taking his in your hand.

“Sir, I can handle one more.”

He guffaws, more than amused, and the two of you fall into a perfectly natural conversation about how life has been—the perfect distraction for your current situation.

You miss a pair of watchful golden eyes from across the room.

He steals glances at you while doing his best to maintain a sociable countenance with boiling blood, still surrounded by three-four people. 

It is testing, even for him, because you seem to be engaging in animated conversation with the heir of the house of Monfort, and he said something to make you laugh. Not the polite laugh you reserve for small talk, but a genuine laugh, one that sends you flashing a grin wide enough you have to cover your mouth with a hand. 

The grip on his glass of champagne is dangerously strong, and the Mademoiselle that is persistently latched to his arm has undoubtedly interpreted the flex of his arm as a result of his forbearing towards her unsubtle physical approach rather than his ever-rising temper aimed at the Monfort heir. You mentioned that the two of you have been talking more regularly at parties lately, largely because you judge that he has no romantic intentions towards you, but Comte knows better.

The noble of Paris are always planning. He might not want to romance you, but Lord on high knows there is a great chance he wants to bed you. Engage you as a companion. Comte closes his eyes, willing negative visualization away from his mind, but to no avail, for he has already pictured you in the man’s arms, blushing at the suggestions he whispers in your ear...

A gargle of laughs snaps him out of his thoughts. He wishes he could close the distance between the two of you, kindly tell the Monfort heir to look for another woman to ‘make conversation with’, and whisk you back to the mansion for a proper lesson to remind you who you belong to. 

Comte quickly realizes that he hasn’t completely outgrown his rashness from his younger days. Taking another sip of champagne, he tastes nothing but the sour of it and decides to wait.

“Is something the matter, cherie?” he asks as soon as the carriage door closes. “You look like something has been bothering you throughout the ball.”

You swallow, quietly cursing his unbelievable insight—or your very easy-to-read countenance—or both. You realize that this is not something you can skirt around, especially with the amount of time you’re taking to come up with an answer, and the coaxing look Comte is giving you clearly means you cannot back away from this. You take a deep breath. 

“Please don’t be upset with me,” you finally say, looking down at both your feet pointing at each other like it is the most interesting thing in the world.

If only you have the courage to look at his face instead, you will find that the placid, peaceful mask he wears at the ball is slowly crumbling. 

“I, well, I’m not sure how to say this,” you begin, “but there was a woman you were talking to. Earlier at the ball. The one with the maroon dress...?”

Realizing where the conversation is going, Le Comte’s gaze darkens, uninhibited feelings beginning to bubble from the pit of his stomach. “Mademoiselle de la Roche. Continue.” 

You are still not looking at him, opting to observe the moving scenery of the city outskirts from the carriage window instead. Even so, you feel the intensity emanating from the person sitting across you. Something about the night sky and the quiet of the outskirts helps you come forth with honesty.

“Well, I thought she was awfully close, and got a little jealous. Not a little,” you quickly correct yourself, smiling sheepishly, “you obviously noticed. I was jealous. I’m sorry, it was childish. I trust you.”

And that is when you meet his eyes, seeing the gold of his iris melted into caramel by his dilated pupils, the way his lips are slightly parted as he looks at you. Your breath hitches in your throat.

The coach lurches forward, and at the same moment, Le Comte uses the momentum to pull you towards him until you are sitting on his lap, chest to chest. You gasp at the sudden sensation of him pressed so tightly against you, and from above the hammering of your rabbit heartbeat, you hear the coachman from the front.

“Terribly sorry, sir! Other carriages are heading into the city, so there’s a bit of a jam here.”

“That’s quite alright,” you hear your lover reply before he quickly draws the curtains. And to you, he whispers. “Keep your voice low.” 

You sigh, because the next thing you know he is kissing your mouth with a different kind of fervor, and his hand snakes up to cup your breast from over your dress. Your hands quickly find their way to his shoulder and into his hair as your body responds to the pleasure—sudden, but not entirely unwelcome. He groans into the kiss, muffling the sound, but from the way his teeth bite your lips and his fingers work the ties of your corset, he is growing impatient.

“You are cruel,” he whispers, moving down to your jaw and neck, “Did you not feel Monsieur Monfort’s gaze on your body? This body,” he says, accentuating his words with tugging the front of your corset, allowing your bare breasts to spill out for his eyes to see. His fingers tease you, pressing and circling your nipple, and you bite your lip so as to not make a sound, too stunned to do more than encourage him by stroking his shoulders.

“You’re so oblivious,” he continues while he litters your neck with deep kisses. “Man wants, my sweet, especially one that already has everything, like him.” 

“He’s just a friend,” you gasp as he bites the top of your breast, lapping at the skin seconds after as if offering consolation.

“And Mademoiselle de la Rouche is nothing but another social climber.”

“Ngh!” 

He finally slips a hard peak into his warm mouth, tongue flicking and toying with it while his hand on its twin mirrors his movements. You melt, all the tension and anger you’ve kept in your blood throughout the ball fading, replaced by an escalating desire. Warmth pools between your spread legs situated on his lap—Comte feels it, and his hand move further south.

“Don’t—”

He stops, unlatching your nipple from his lips to look up at you. The sight knocks the breath out of him.

You’re almost properly topless, save for the remains of the dress hanging helplessly around your frame, your face red and wanton, with parted lips and hooded eyes looking down at him, your naked chest heaving with each hasty intake of air—the very picture of desire. 

“Don’t mention another woman’s name while you’re fucking me.”

Whatever remains of his calm is quickly discarded out the metaphorical window as he kisses you again, this time more desperate than the first, like he can’t get enough of your taste. You moan when you part, and he quickly covers your lips again to muffle the sound, hands on your breast and between your thighs. When met with a hot wetness seeping through your underwear, he smiles into the kiss.

“Then it’s only fair for me to erase all of the traces Monfort has left on you, yes?” He leans down again to pleasure your breast, while his finger insistently presses your clit. You throw your head back, a hand against your mouth and the other in his hair, quietly begging him for more. He laps and sucks and nips in a way that is best described as a man starved. His hand slips under your dress, stroking your thigh and playing with the garter, teasing, making you anticipate. The other is still on your clit, relishing the wetness that you’re coated in. His breath is hot on your chest, and even with your eyes closed, you know he’s looking at your face. He always does.

“That man’s eyes were all over you, cherie, did you even notice?” He asks, panting, admiring the work he’s done on your now flushed breast. Moving to the other, he begins again, this time with his fingers pushing your panties aside and sinking into your heat. You let out a ragged breath against your knuckles, willing your voice to never escape your lips, else the coachman finds out. Comte lets out a sigh amidst his ministrations, enjoying the softness of your flesh against his mouth.

“I’m sure he’s fantasized about this,” he says, and the quality of his voice makes it sound like he’s in a daydream, “about taking you home and having his way with you.” You whine at the sensation of a third finger being added into the foray, and the little control you have over your body and mind is now close to snapping.

“I’m a man who has everything, too,” he sighs your name and you resort to gripping the lapels of his coat as the pressure on the bundle of sensitive nerve grows, “and I want more of you, cherie. Come.”

And you do, breaking down silently into a mess from his fingers alone, inside a carriage taking you home. Your lips form mainly his name and other nonsense like oh god and yes while your body quivers at the impact of your orgasm. He watches with glazed eyes, drinking in the scenery that is making his mouth water, his appetite far from whetted. Comte strokes your cheek, waiting for you to come down from your high, observing your breath slowing down. 

The first thing you do when you open your eyes is to search for the buckle of his belt. You work on undoing it with urgency, your eyes glinting still with a desire that reflects his, and when he sees you licking your lips and kneeling at the sight of his erect member, he nearly loses his mind.

“Sweetheart—”

“I want it,” you cut him off before he stops you, gently pumping him with your hand. “I want to give you pleasure too, you know,” is the last thing you say before taking the tip of him in your mouth. Le Comte’s hands fly to your hair, uncaring of the mess his fingers make by combing through them, and his head is thrown back, eyes locked on the scene unfolding before him. Every time with you reduces him into a helpless, desperate, hungry man that only wants one thing. 

Your lips are slick with his precum, and when you look up at him and chuckle, your breath on him racks shivers up his spine. He watches as he sinks into you again, in and out, your hands caressing where you don’t reach with your mouth. He can’t take his eyes off of you, and with the knot in his stomach ever-tensing, he quietly calls your name like a mantra.

“Stop,” he finally says, feeling too close to release, and you immediately do as you’re told, looking up at him with concern. He resists the urge to groan at the absence of pleasure, but he manages to whisper to you.

“I want to come inside you.”

“Comte—” you sigh as he coaxes you off your knees and on his lap again, this time with the hardness of him pressed against your very core. Before long you’re panting, because he’s brought your hand up in his, kissing your gloved fingers as his other hand slips your panties to the side, allowing him to enter slowly. Your lips fall open at the sensation, and he hurriedly kisses you, unable to quiet his voice at the feel of you around him.

“Ma cherie,” he breathes, “as much as you’re mine, I’m yours.”

He begins thrusting and you gasp, because the carriage is suddenly moving again, at first slowly, but then gradually becoming faster. With each bump of the wheels against cobblestone, it rocks, pushing him deeper into you, and you no longer have the control to govern over the sounds coming out of your mouth.

“Ah, ah, ah—”

Comte presses a kiss on your throat before sinking his fangs, a catalyst to the most pleasure the two of you have ever felt in a lifetime. He relishes the taste of you, and the impossibly wet tightness encapsulating him like a velvet glove. You whisper his name, slave to the sensation coursing through your veins, body growing mad with wanting more. He pulses inside you, and knowing that he’s close, presses a finger against your clit and pulls you into a kiss.

Your hands on his chest stay still as you come undone a second time, the first of the night for him, the moans you both spill barely quieted by the kiss. You’re left weak and satisfied, but only until you see the look on his face when you open your eyes. Comte presses his lips against yours one last time as the carriage slows down into a stop. He hooks his arm under your knees, ready to carry you upstairs despite your unkempt state. You let out a small laugh in defeat, hiding your bare chest by pressing yourself as close to him as possible.

Right before the coachman opens the door, he leans down to whisper to you, a scandalous smirk on his lips.

“We’re not done yet.”

[anonniemousefics]

All Kinds Of New Friends

Fandom: Six of Crows | Kaz + Inej (ft. all the other Crows)

Word Count: 4,700

Rating: Teen and Up

TW: contains mentions of sexual assault

Cross-posted to AO3

Synopsis: The gang has a run in with a couple of unscrupulous characters from Inej's past, and Kaz says a few things in the middle of a rage he wasn't supposed to say yet.

Author’s Note: This fic is dedicated to AO3 user puppy cat, who was such a supportive, lovely fan from the very first chapter of "My Dearest Inej" all the way to the end. They requested a fic based around a particular idea involving the gang at a restaurant and someone harassing Inej and Kaz losing his shit in a very specific way (being intentionally vague here to avoid too many spoilers lol). If you like this au, there's more of it in my recent fic "Samples". :)

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

Nothing brought Kaz Brekker life quite like being paid to argue. And he was good at it, which was why he could charge these student athletes afraid of losing their scholarships two hundred bucks an essay without even flinching. If a more delightful way to make money existed, he had not found it yet.

He was spending his Saturday the way he usually spent Saturdays: rounding out a conclusion to a paper arguing for the death penalty, for a pre-law class he’d never take and a trust-fund upperclassman he’d hopefully never meet. In a few hours, he could drop the doc in a secure server and wait for the Venmo alert that he’d been paid. Nothing was sweeter.

Well. One thing was sweeter.

Inej was in the beat-up old recliner beside him in his and Jesper’s little living room of their third-floor off-campus apartment. This was the best way to spend a Saturday. She was sitting cross-legged and practically drowning in oversized sweats, her raven-black hair piled on top of her head while she hunched over her MacBook. And she was wearing those thick-rimmed, blue-blocker glasses Matthias Helvar had convinced her she needed (which, of course, had nothing to do with the fact that he was being paid to promote them on his stupid Instagram, that douchebag). Kaz had cringed both internally and externally when she’d told him she’d bought a pair, but now he was seeing the merit, because, dear God, was she adorable in glasses. They were awakening strange and powerful urges every time he glanced over at her. If she held them in between her teeth while undoing her hair, he was going to have to leave the room.

Because the terrible reality was that Inej had had a rough go of it her freshman year at Ketterdam University. And even though they were sort of together now (Kaz was pretty sure they were?), the last thing Inej needed right now was to be over-sexualized – for anything. Including those really fucking cute glasses.

“I’m starving,” Jesper declared from his prone position on the floor. He had been propped up on a bunch of faded pillows between them, engrossed in shooting undead things on their Xbox. His boyfriend Wylan had spent most of the afternoon napping against his shoulder, but was now blinking awake like a blue-eyed baby owl at Jesper’s sudden announcement.

“I could eat,” Wylan yawned with a lazy stretch.

“Inej? You?” Jesper reached up to tug on Inej’s sock.

“Hm?” Inej looked up from her laptop like she was emerging from a cave while she gnawed on one of the strings of her sweatshirt. It had been like this since The Incident – Jesper and Nina often took turns making sure she would eat. (Kaz had it covered, but that was all right. The back-up couldn’t hurt.)

“Food? Are you hungry?” Jesper repeated, the unspoken question floating in the air: Have you eaten today?

Inej blinked a few times as she thought, her dark eyes flitting back and forth between Jesper and her laptop screen. Kaz knew this internal war well – the age-old taking care of one’s needs versus the siren-song of wreaking endless revenge.

Inej had come to Ketterdam University on a gymnastics scholarship, but that had fallen by the wayside – ever since The Incident. The night everything changed.

Kaz didn’t know Inej Ghafa all that well before it happened – had taken a few classes with her, studied for an exam with her once. She’d been eternally sunshiney, the kind of girl he knew wouldn’t waste her time on dark things like him.

But then she’d started missing classes.

And then showing up to class visibly drowning beneath the weight of sleeplessness and oversized clothes.

And he didn’t really know her but it had bothered him all the same. It was like watching a star collapsing in on itself.

And that’s when the story of The Incident hit the news cycle. From the moment he read the first headline, Kaz couldn’t stop scrolling, growing sicker and sicker in the pit of his stomach.

She’d gone to a party at a frat house with a new friend. (Kaz had even been there before, maybe even the night it happened. Frat parties were veritable breeding grounds for potential clients – full of rich, connected kids too drunk or stoned to be bothered by classwork and crooked enough to pay someone else to do it.) It was suspected that someone had slipped something in her drink, and it was known that the friend who’d brought her there had been entirely useless. Inej had woken up the next morning, half-naked on the lawn, crude drawings in Sharpie all over her, and no knowledge of what had transpired that had left her there.

It should have ended there – that was bad enough. But then the frat boys had started posting the videos of what had happened that night. How she had been used. How she had been touched.

If Inej’s parents were going to have their way, someone was going to jail. If Kaz was going to have his way, someone was going to suffer all the way there.

After he’d learned the news, he’d found her the next day before class started, where she was at the back of the room, hunched over her desk with her hood up. She’d shot daggers at him with her eyes when he approached. He’d liked that.

“I’d like to help you ruin them,” he’d told her. Inej’s glare didn’t relent as she sized up him – his black attire, the leather gloves that clenched his gleaming cane. He usually made a point of looking like the sort of person who ruined things. Nobody bullied a boy with a cane if it looked like that same boy could take your head off with said cane.

Inej seemed to agree that he looked like he could fit the bill. And they began to plot – how to expose her abusers, how to alert every girl they ever came into contact with, how to ruin every single party they would ever throw.

And somewhere along the way, it had turned into…something. Kaz wasn’t sure what to call it. But he couldn’t call it nothing – not when Inej regularly stayed the night in their apartment and did soft things like run her hand over his chest if she liked the jacket he was wearing or blush and smile if she caught him looking at her. He’d even really gone out on a limb one night and told her he liked her, and she’d said it back. He wasn’t sure where that left them at this point. Somewhere, he guessed, with something.

“I’ll eat,” Inej was agreeing, albeit with a bit of reluctance to leave her laptop. She was elbows-deep in a catfishing scheme Kaz had concocted for their latest victim.

“Nina wants us to meet up with her and Matthias at The Sweet Shop,” Wylan said, who was catching up on the texts he’d missed while napping on Jesper.

“I swear, Nina could lure a polar bear into the jungle,” Jesper sighed next to him, because it was a little miraculous to think Matthias Helvar, fitspo Instagram model and purveyor of all things organic and natural, had somehow been corralled into a bakery cafe. Kaz was surprised that Matthias even looked at carbs, let alone consumed them.  

And, even though he was pressed for time on the illicit essay he was writing, Kaz needed food, too. He and Inej both could use the time away from their questionable dealings online.

The Sweet Shop was within walking distance, but it had begun to rain, cold and foggy, over Ketterdam. So, the four of them piled into Kaz’s beat up black Chevy and rolled into town behind the rhythmic beating of the windshield wipers.

“Over here!” Nina waved to them, beaded bracelets rattling in a stack on her wrist, from the far corner as the bakery’s front door swung closed behind them, tripping a jingling brass bell pinned to the doorframe.

The Sweet Shop was a popular spot for the more bookish crowds to crash on the weekends, load up on starchy foods and coffee while rattling out papers on their laptops or flirting under the guise of study groups. Kaz wouldn’t go so far as to call them his type of people, but he was certainly more at home here than the drunken soirees where he spent his evenings fleecing the debauched children of alumni. Here, there were people crowded over old tables with their books, and well-worn leather sofas and faded overstuffed chairs in the corner lined with secondhand books and used board games that were almost always missing pieces. The air smelled like espresso and cupcakes and old pages, and if Matthias Helvar was going to sulk about the lack of kale on the menu, Kaz might have to punch him in the face.

Matthias was already nursing a colorful smoothie while Nina sat next to him on the old leather sofa, her long, shapely legs draped over his and a stack of sugared waffles on the coffee table in front of her.

“Took you long enough!” Nina was scolding as the four of them weaved through tables to the corner of sofas and chairs. “Do none of you check your phones on weekends?”

“A technology fast is very cleansing for our auras,” Matthias countered, with a sage look – Matthias, the self-proclaimed Instagram influencer. Kaz rolled his eyes.

“That almost sounded like real words, Matthias – good job,” Jesper smirked, as he perched on the arm of the chair where Wylan had flopped down. Matthias opened his mouth to retort something, but --

“I was just distracted, sorry,” Inej intervened with an apology to Nina and a sheepish look. (She thankfully was no longer wearing her blue-blockers or it might have been too sweet even for a place called The Sweet Shop.)

“And I was just ignoring you,” Kaz said with a shrug. Inej gave him an exasperated whack in the arm as he sat next to her on an old loveseat, resting his cane against one side, and Nina let out a put-out huff.

“Wylan’s the only considerate one among you,” she complained.

“Yes, that is true,” Jesper agreed, and Wylan grinned widely with his chin propped up on his fist.

“We wanted you here because,” And Nina drew out the because like she had something grand to follow it, “Matthias landed a sweet sponsorship yesterday, and he wants to buy us all lunch!”

Kaz and Jesper groaned in unison, loud enough it couldn’t quite be drowned out by Inej and Wylan’s congratulations. Matthias got particularly insufferable after new sponsorships – there would be strings attached to this.

“That’s very nice of you, Matthias,” Inej said, pointedly, glaring at Kaz.

“It is very nice of you, Matthias, to offer to buy us all strawberry ice cream smoothies like yours,” Kaz said, with an evil glint in his eye as he nodded to the large pink cup in Matthias’ hand.

Matthias gave an uneasy laugh.

“There’s no ice cream in this,” he said, then paused when he noticed Nina’s tight-lipped, icy stare boring into Kaz’s skull. Then his brow cinched up and looked down at his cup. “There isn’t ice cream in this, right, babe?”

“It’s not going to kill you,” Nina replied with an eye roll.

“Babe! You know I can’t do dairy right now! Tomorrow’s Six-Pack Sunday!”

There was no point in trying to stop it: a laugh in the form of a long snort rolled out of Kaz while Jesper and Wylan dissolved into a fit of giggles. Now Kaz remembered -- this is why they kept Matthias around.

“You don’t understand,” Matthias was trying to say. “It can take a whole week to detox and lose the bloat.”

“I’ll finish it for you, you big baby,” said Nina, and snatched the smoothie away from a panicked Matthias.

“I should start running laps now,” he was fretting.

“Make some food runs for us – that’s a start,” Jesper supplied, looking helpful.

“Good call,” Matthias nodded, and hopped to his feet, nearly dumping Nina onto the floor in the process. “Orders? Orders?” He looked to each of them, ready to leap into action and start fighting off the bloat.

He’d gathered up their orders and made a beeline for the counter when Nina turned to Inej.

“You had me worried, you know.” Nina leaned out a little over her knees toward her roommate. “You were just distracted?”

Kaz glanced in Inej’s direction in time to see how she swallowed hard. She’d stuffed her hands deep in her hoodie pockets. Kaz knew the reaction all too well -- what it was like to withdraw and fight to make yourself untouchable, even to those who loved you.

“Just a lot of work lately,” Inej said. And Nina slid a suspicious glance toward Kaz, as if waiting for him to explain himself and what he was getting the two of them into now.

But it had always been Inej’s decision, how she wanted to handle her own revenge. Kaz was only providing tools. He hadn’t answered for her yet, and he wasn’t about to start now.

Nina sighed.

“I just don’t want to see anyone hurt anymore,” she said. The brass bell over the front door jingled again.

“That’s not--”

But Inej stopped short when she glanced toward the sound of the bell. She barely moved, but Kaz could sense her growing rigid next to him. And something about it made the hair on the back of his neck prickle.

He followed her gaze to two boys who were now slouching toward the front counter. Kaz had seen them both before; he was pretty sure he’d written a biology research paper for the one with the pug-nose. They were both tall and conventionally good-looking – the sort you probably didn’t think twice about. Well-muscled, expensive haircuts, brand name sneakers.

Beside him, Inej had started breathing weird.

“Fuck.” Nina had noticed her staring, too, and suddenly all pairs of eyes in the corner were watching the newcomers at the front of The Sweet Shop with murder in their hearts.

Because these two bastards had been there the night of The Incident.

Kaz found himself wondering which one he could make cry first. Probably the bulkier one -- he looked soft and dumb around the edges. His mom probably still did his laundry on the weekends and called his professors when he didn’t get good grades. Kaz wanted to see him cry until snot dribbled down his sweaty face and –

“We should go,” Inej said, abruptly. She was looking pale and shaky, and her eyes darted around as if she needed to gather belongings, even though she’d brought none. Kaz had started to grip the head of his cane, tighter, tighter, tighter.

“Fuck no.” Nina was adamant and fiery, bless her. “We got here first – they can leave.” And then a little louder. “They should be in jail, frankly!”

“Nina!” Inej hissed, and her hand flew to curl against the side of her face when the boys looked their direction. Her eyes were wide and terrified when she looked over to Kaz.

“I want to go,” she told him, and that was all she needed to say. He pushed his weight onto his cane, hoisting himself to his feet.

“Don’t worry, girl – we got you,” Jesper was confirming, and, without even needing to consult each other, he and Wylan and Nina had Inej surrounded from sight on their walk to the door, Kaz at the front.

And it almost worked, too.

“Brekker!” Until one of the boys recognized him and gave him with a jovial grin. Shit. “Hey, it’s Brekker!” The stupid kid with the pug nose gave Kaz a hearty slap on his shoulder, and it took every ounce of restraint in him to not break the dude’s wrist.

“This kid got me an B+ on my bio term paper,” the kid was telling his bulky friend, and then with a shady-ass side smirk, he added: “Wasn’t totally the A I’d paid for, but that was still awesome, bro.”

“With your GPA, an A would have been too suspicious.” Why was Kaz even defending himself to this turd? He made to shove past, to head for the door.

But that kid was still gripping his shoulder. Like he wanted Kaz to remove it from its socket. Like maybe he was just asking for it. Kaz ground his teeth, trying to maintain his resolve. He wasn’t going to do this in front of Inej. He was going to be better than this for her.

“Bro,” the human pile of excrement still touching him was saying, “I’ve been meaning to text you. I have this world religions class this semester that is just killer, and I--”

“Your next words had better be how you’re doing your own damn work from now on.”

A simple “No” would have sufficed, Kaz realized, but his girl was in some kind of state because of this waste of carbon and his patience had never been plentiful to begin with.

Besides, the kid didn’t strike him as the type who understood simple “No”s. He was going to have to make it really fucking clear for this idiot.

Sure enough, the kid blinked hard, like he’d been slapped.

“I paid you, bro,” he said, dumbly.

“Oh, he did not just--” Nina started from the back of their bunch.

“Call me ‘bro’ one more time,” Kaz dared him, his eyes narrowing.

“What the hell, man?” said the thoroughly confused bulky friend.

“Kaz, just leave it,” Inej said, softly, and she slipped her fingers into the crook of Kaz’s elbow. “Let’s just go.”

A wave of recognition spread over the pug-nosed douchebag’s face at the sight of her. It was sickening, the surprised rise of his eyebrows, the smug, amused smirk on his lips. Kaz wanted to rip them right off his face.

“Oh, I see how it is,” the dick was saying. “You’re with this bitch--”

That’s when Kaz felt something snap. Oh, he was dead now.

“Kaz!” Inej shouted a warning, but it was already too late. With the cane between his two gloved hands, Kaz rammed his weight into this dead man walking. He threw the kid against the front door, the brass bell jingling as the shades on the window rattled in the scuffle.

“That’s my girlfriend, dipshit,” Kaz snarled.

Kaz was vaguely aware that there was a rising commotion around him, a crescendo of clashing panic and rage. His hand had found its way to the dude’s collar, throttling him; Nina was shouting something at Matthias somewhere behind him; chairs were scuffling about against the floor. But Kaz’s sole focus now was on making this heinous little fucker wet his pants.

“Kaz. The door.” Jesper’s clear-headed voice cut through the blinding wrath, and Kaz was somehow thinking clearly enough to gather his meaning and wrenched the kid away from the front door just long enough for Jesper to shove an arm through and open it.

And Kaz threw the pug-nose brat out into the rain ahead of them. The kid hit the pavement, hard, and scrambled back.

“Dude, you’ve got it all wrong if you think she’s the victim here,” the useless piece of flesh was sniveling. His nose was bleeding – pathetic, Kaz had barely hit him.

“I really think I don’t,” Kaz disagreed, thoughtfully.

“We could have you arrested!” the bulky child was screeching. Kaz turned just in time to see Matthias literally chuck the kid out after them, red-face and snarling. And Kaz had to hand it to him – even with his dairy intolerance, Matthias Helvar could toss frat kids with the best of them.

“Oh, please file a police report about this,” Kaz sneered at them. The wind and the rain were beating back his dark hair and flapping the collar of his black jacket, but he didn’t care. “I would absolutely love to know how you plan on explaining why you called my girlfriend a bitch.”

“Man, it is not my fault your girl can’t handle her liquor.”

CRACK. Kaz barely had time to blink, and Matthias had straight up decked the kid right in his jaw. Nina was rolling up her sleeves, ready to destroy the other one in the pelting rain.

“Hey!” The teenager in a green apron who’d been running the cash register was running out after them, holding a phone over her head. “I’m gonna call the cops if you don’t clear out!”

And when Kaz looked back at Inej, there were tears welling in her eyes even though her jaw was set firm. From the looks on the faces of the rest of his friends, they’d all noticed, too.  

So, it fizzled out before it even really began.

The frat boys had slunk off in the rain, and the six of them regrouped and sauntered back to Kaz’s car in silence. Jesper, Nina, and Matthias piled into the back seat, while Inej and Wylan squeezed into the front. And then an uncomfortable stillness descended.

Inej had pulled her hood up again when Kaz turned the key in the ignition, her arms tight in her sleeves. Every once and awhile, she’d sniffle as quietly as she could as the car ride seemed to drag on – but Kaz knew. Everyone knew. That had been awful. And it still felt awful. Kaz’s head was starting to swirl, his wracked nerves still buzzing. He shouldn’t have done it. He hadn’t wanted to do it, not really. And she’d told him she wanted to leave – she’d said it clear as day. And he’d said…oh God, what had he said? What had he done?

Kaz’s stomach was starting to lurch. He’d said a lot of things. Way too many fucking things. Things they hadn’t discussed yet. Things he’d clearly just assumed. What had he done?

“We really should cleanse this negative energy.” Goddamn Matthias was the first one to break the pervasive silence, and he was choosing to break it with this nonsense. Kaz’s glare drifted to the rear view mirror. “I have some sound healing bowls back at my place that are--”

“I swear to God, Helvar,” Kaz snapped, “if you break out even one sound healing bowl, I will make you wear it like a helmet and then drop kick you into the sun.”

In the rear view mirror, Kaz could see Matthias’ nostrils flaring.

“You are such an unbalanced piece of shit sometimes, you know that--?” But Matthias stopped short because Inej had let out a surprising chuckle. Kaz slowly let himself glance her direction – so did everyone else.

She was smirking up at Kaz.

“I just think it’s thoughtful of you to make sure his head is protected before you launch him into space,” she shrugged. Wylan barked out a laugh.

“I just think they should kiss already,” Nina added, waggling an eyebrow at a brooding Matthias, and then Jesper started to laugh, too, which really was the most infectious of laughs. Even Kaz was smiling after a moment – just a little.

Though that faded entirely when they pulled up to Kaz and Jesper’s apartment and Inej asked to speak with him alone in the car first.  

Shit, he thought. Shit. Here it is. He’d royally fucked it up now.

They waited in silence with the rain pouring over the car while the rest of their friends darted into the old Victorian home where Kaz and Jesper lived on the third floor. With each passing second, his stomach sunk lower into his guts. He wasn’t even sure he could form words in his brain, let alone with his mouth. He had no rational explanation for what had come over him back at The Sweet Shop, other than Here it is, Inej, I’m kind of a fucking disaster.

“So, that was…” Inej started, slowly. She was staring out the front window. Kaz felt like crumpling, and he hated it, hated how weak he felt. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I know, I know…” he muttered. He didn’t really, but he just wanted this to be over. If she never wanted to see him again, he needed her to rip the bandaid off quick.

“So, I’m your girlfriend now?”

Kaz couldn’t decipher her tone, and he couldn’t even look at her. He was just going to stare at the steering wheel until this was over.

But then Inej said: “I just would like to have known before the guys my parents are having investigated, that’s all.”

Kaz looked to her then, lifting his dark eyebrows slightly. She’d let her hair down from its knot before they’d left for the café – she’d braided it loose over her shoulder like he liked. She was twirling the ends now, a tired smile on her pink lips.

“If you want,” he said with a soft shrug. It wasn’t at all like the heroic way he thought she deserved to be swept off her feet. But she was still smiling all the same. It made him feel braver.

Funny – how throwing his weight around against perverts was as easy as breathing, but looking at her like this tore him apart.

“If you’ll have me,” he offered, even softer now.

And Inej reached across the distance between them. Laced her fingers over his, atop his knee.

“I will have you, Kaz Brekker,” she said, tenderly. It took him aback a bit. Made his breath catch. Made his throat sting.

“If I shouldn’t have--” he started to say of the row back at The Sweet Shop. But Inej cut him off instantly, shaking her head. Squeezing his fingers.

“You absolutely should have,” she said, firmly.  “And you should show me how, too.”

Kaz really raised his eyebrows at that. Inej smiled a little wider. His heart was lifting, lifting up and out of the certain doom he was sure it was about to face.

“Come on.” Inej tugged at his hand. “We’d better head up before Matthias starts culture appropriating all over your apartment.”

“You have to admit – he threw one hell of a punch, though,” Kaz pointed out, as he opened his door, and then wanted to punch himself for it. What the hell – was he defending Matthias Helvar now? This whole day was upside down.

Thankfully, there was a different kind of embarrassing going down in apartment number three when they finally made their way up. Kaz could hear it before he even made it to the top of the stairs – the loud, thumping bass, the voices shouting at the tops of their lungs.

Oh, their neighbors were going to love this. They were just making all kinds of new friends today.

When Inej opened the door, all four of their friends were dancing to Cardi B’s I Like It, blasting through Jesper’s bluetooth speaker. It took everything in Kaz to not physically recoil at the assault on his senses.

“Emergency dance party!” Jesper explained, yelling from behind Wylan.

“We’re clearing out the negative energy!” Nina shouted over the noise, her hands in the air. Matthias was jumping around behind her like an absolute madman. “But like in an acceptable way!”

“I think it’s working!” Wylan shouted at her in agreement, with Jesper’s hands on his hips.

They were all smiling.

And beside him, Inej burst out laughing – a wild, fluttery sound he’d heard only a few times before. It caught him right in the heart each time he had, and he knew he’d do anything to hear it as often as he could. He looked down at her and wondered, not for the first time, how she did it. How she managed to wring joy out of even the most dismal of circumstances.

It was something he needed more of – as long as she’d allow him to have it.

“Come on!” she was shouting to him as she took him by the hand. “You heard the man! Emergency dance party!”

And Kaz followed her in, shutting the door behind him.

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