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tundrainafrica · 3 years

Text

Title: Are you having nightmares?

Summary:

"Levi, are you having nightmares?" Hange's tone was more serious. Her brown furrowed,

"I'm fine."

“Well…” Hange hummed. “You can have nightmares and still be fine right?”

“No. I don’t think you can.” Levi kept his own message subtle. He glared right at her.

One hand on her chest, Hange seemed to have gotten the message. “Me?”

“Now that we’re on the topic of nightmares. Are you having nightmares?”

Levi and Hange seem to be having nightmares and Levi tries to get to the bottom of it.

Written for Levihan Week 2021, Day 5: Fairytale

Link: AO3

Notes:

@levihanweek Day 5: Fairytale

I don't know if this is still accepted because it's also so late but I really am hellbent on completing the prompts. I'm still recovering from jetlag and the ten day quarantine and the domestic verse prompts are really just me dealing with some major baby fever.

Hange had a unique way of hiding her true feelings. She was an open book yet an enigma with the exact same breath. And she had always been one, Levi had known her long enough to be sure. The fact that there were so many parts of her he still didn't understand, despite having known her for almost half his life, had been particularly glaring the past few weeks.

Or maybe, Levi was just thinking too far into it.

Levi could have sworn though that something just wasn't right. He had the heavy eye bags, the unshakeable fatigue of almost sleepless nights. In the mornings, he had the bombardment of bustling sounds and soft lights which seemed to contrast annoyingly with his own discomforts.

"Levi, you okay?" Hange asked over a plate of breakfast eggs and basket of bread. Her mood, her approach towards him were just like those of every other morning before.

But Levi had seen too much to be able to stomach it too easily. No, are you okay? He would have liked to ask.

Hange though seemed more occupied with mixing her eggs and rice than with observing whatever expression was on Levi's face (which he could have sworn were heavier than usual) and the sluggish way he was navigating his breakfast.

Without warning, her attention shifted to him, abruptly enough to make Levi jump. "Levi?" Hange waved one hand over his face.

He was lucid enough to see that coming at least. He leaned away from Hange’s touch. "I'm fine. I should be asking you the same thing."

"Hm?" Hange cocked her head innocently to one side. "I'm fine too."

Does your throat burn? Are your eyes swollen? Just a quick look and a quick listen and Levi was sure, Hange was fine, perfectly healthy.

The ordeal every single damn night though was telling another story. And Levi was starting to doubt his own memories. Had he been dreaming?

Loud screams. Fatigue shouldn't have been this vivid if they had just been dreams. Just to be sure of it, Levi pinched himself.

His high pain tolerance, his nonchalance with pain turned out to be an utter inconvenience. Pinching himself had done nothing to wake him up.

It wasn't a dream right? He turned to his son propped on a high chair, still too young to be of any use in that little game of dream versus reality.

"Levi?" Hange asked.

"Yes? What?" If there was anything loud enough to have pulled him out and into reality, it had been his own voice.

"I said I'm leaving for work now."

"See you," Levi mustered weakly.

That day, he didn't accompany Hange to the front door.

***

For his age, Luke had a good handle of words, enough to express the most simple desires. Reading and Comprehension-wise, he was miles ahead for his age bracket and Levi attributed to the time Hange had dedicated to reading to the young boy. If Levi were to be completely honest though, he didn't think a child who barely brushed past the age of one should have been playing more than reading.

Still, there was a convenient pile in the living room right next to the bookshelf. When Levi gathered them in his arms and started to reorganize them on the bookshelf, he found himself the victim of one of his son's whims.

Luke appeared next to him then, pulled at one of the covers with a dragon on it and held it in front of Levi.

"You want me to read it?" Levi asked.

Luke didn't nod but the glimmer in his wide-eyed eyes was enough of an affirmation.

Levi was painfully free not in a hurry to do anything in particular and for once, he didn't have much of a reason to tell Luke 'to wait until dark, until mommy comes home.' In that brief moment, in that silent conversation between father and son, Levi started to notice, he had never read that book to Luke and he wondered why the hell he had never bothered to.

You're his father. Levi scolded himself as he caved into the large pleading eyes of his son.

He settled on the sofa, then he plopped his son right next to him. He held the young boy’s small delicate head onto his lap. Snug and settled, he started to feel for the pages of the book. His eyes landed on the front page for just a second, taking in the red dragon smack at the center.

With nothing else to think about, Levi became a little more aware of the sawdust in his mouth. He was prone to getting so easily self conscious of his voice and he had a strange desire to please his one year old son. He had seen Hange read that book to Luke so many times before.

At that age apparently, most kids seemed to get attached to certain books and that was Luke's favorite. But despite the long hours he spent with the boy, Levi was still a stranger to the plot of the book.

So he started slowly. “Once upon a time, there was a red dragon that lived on top of the hill…”

His voice was naturally soft and Levi suspected as he saw the eyes of his son flutter, that his tone may have been too monotonous.

He started to hear Hange’s voice in his head. She had a way of speaking with a natural cadence. She had a melody, a distinct up and down, then a cadenza to it which probably made the whole reading process a little more engaging for the young boy. Although Levi had never picked up what the story was about, he did immerse himself in whatever melody Hange seemed to sing every time she read aloud.

Levi tried, but he couldn't seem to replicate it. Around the third page, the boy’s breaths evened out, he lay limp on Levi’s lap. They never got past the part where the young dragon left his village in search of his new power.

Levi wasn’t too interested in the plot anyway. One hand cradling his son's head, the other propping his knees up, Levi carried him into the bedroom and tucked him into bed, not giving a second thought about the storybook beyond the need to put it neatly back on the shelf.

***

It didn’t happen everyday but Levi could have sworn, it happened at least thrice a week.

He wasn't good at making accurate estimates though, especially sicne those nights happened too quickly. They happened in blurs. And during those nights, Levi was too busy slipping his hands in between her sides and her arms and he pulled her closer.

The few nights before that, he attempted to wake her but whatever possessed Hange seemed to overpower her. He would try to wake her but it never proved successful. Hange was dead asleep every damn night it happened. Overtime, Levi learned to just play silently, be a good and patient partner and get her through whatever that strange recurring nightmare was.

That consisted of loud nights, screams, short breaths and the occasional long one. Hange let out screams, howls, something Levi had sworn he had never even heard of, even in the middle of the battlefield, bombarded by death after death.

Occasionally, Levi heard a crack in her voice in between screams, followed by some ragged breaths.

It soon became routine and Levi could only do so much. Eventually, her screams deadened into murmurs, then a tranquil silence. Without the trashing, Levi would tighten his embrace. When the sun started to rise, Hange would look back at him and ask him if he were okay. During those moments, Levi was certain, the worst was over. If he were lucky, he had time to fall back to sleep.

One particular morning, when Levi came to his senses again, Hange had turned on her side, her face inches away from him.

She seemed peaceful, calm and just a little amused. Her brown eyes wide, the crinkle and her dimples just a little deeper. She chuckled lightly. “You can let go now.”

***

It was the weekend and Hange was reading that damn book to Luke again.

“Oh no! What happened to the dragon!” Hange asked in mock horror.

"Mommy! What happened?"

“I don't know...” Hange muttered, with over exaggerated confusion. She never gave Luke any freebies when it came to simple questions.

The two were curled up on the sofa again and Levi was in the middle of reorganizing the books on the shelf, and occasionally eavesdropping. When in the middle of doing something as complex as solving his own puzzles in the house, he couldn’t focus on too many things at once.

He did however, pick up the few times Luke roared followed by a laugh from Hange.

“There! That’s it,” Hange said. “The dragon got a new special power…” She was a bundle of pride. She prattled on for a few minutes longer after that.

Having lived with her for years and having worked with her for many years before that, Levi had gotten accustomed to just tuning her out. And everyday he was getting better at tuning his own son when he was starting to sound like Hange when he ranted.

Luke was screaming too, and Hange was laughing. Within the walls of their small apartment, the sounds echoed, bouncing off the walls. Then they rang in his ears.

Levi probably lasted a second, before he gathered the books and started thinking up an excuse for an escape. “I’m going out to the balcony. It’s dirty,” Levi said, his voice a little out of his control.

“Sure!” Hange had stopped her laughs and her and her storytelling only long enough for that, and somehow, that had Levi’s blood slightly seething. He spun around quickly taking in the balcony just outside.

There were unwelcome visitors but for the first time, Levi was welcoming them. And for the first time, Levi was thankful some birds had made a toilet out of the balcony.

At least there was some excuse to clean and leave those two alone.

***

It was one of those nights again. And it just so happened that it had only been a few hours since that lazy afternoon cleaning bird turd on the balcony. Never would Levi have thought that he’d miss the lazy part of that day, even if it involved a pile of birdshit.

If it meant Hange would just stop screaming, if it meant not having to process the weight, the stress, the prickle at his neck.

There was a ringing in his ears. It reverberated. The pain, the discomfort or maybe just the heart wrenching sound was making his eyes water.

Hange was screaming again. It was as loud as every other day before. Levi slipped his hand underneath Hange's side, one under her her free arm, positioned his hands right under her chest and pulled her close. He gritted his teeth. He let out breaths, stayed stiff as she trashed under his grasp.

"I'm here," he murmured. He shushed her soothingly but she probably wouldn't hear it over the sound of her own screams or under the trappings of sleep. Just in case, he buried his face on her neck. He took in her strong scent and willed himself to hold on, and if his body and the sounds allow him any asleep then so will it. If they didn't, so be it.

By some piece of magic or miracle, time moved quickly. He could have dozed off for a second. And maybe Hange had calmed down.

The first sound he processed was the song of the morning birds then the soft even breathing next to him.

A few minutes of flitting in and out of sleep later, Hange spoke up. "Levi…” She struggled weakly out of his embrace. “I have to go to work."

***

"Levi, are you having nightmares?" Hange's tone was more serious. Her brown furrowed, her eyes narrowed. She could have been worried or Levi could have just been another one of her experiments. Most likely, both.

Her own question did have Levi thinking. He could have sworn Hange had been the one having nightmares. Maybe her screams at night were just his own nightmares. Hange had a tendency of playing with his mind though so he stuck with less cooperative answer. "I'm fine."

“Well…” Hange hummed. “You can have nightmares and still be fine right?”

“No. I don’t think you can.” Levi kept his own message subtle. He glared right at her.

One hand on her chest, Hange seemed to have gotten the message. “Me?”

“Now that we’re on the topic of nightmares. Are you having nightmares?”

Hange looked up at the ceiling, seeming deep in thought. “Not really…Why are you asking that?”

Did he tell Hange he had dreams she was screaming? Was that something he should have been worried about? When too many questions were running through his head, Levi chose to bend down and focus on his breakfast, use that brief reprieve as some opportunity to organize his thoughts, maybe find a way to explain the screaming, the need to comfort her in his dreams and then the impulse to hold her close.

He stayed mum for a second too long.

“Might be late for work! See you later.” She was out the door before Levi could even process what the hell had happened.

***

Levi was stuck with Luke again. While still reflecting on Hange’s strange behavior, he would have preferred to be alone.

Children though were a piece of work twenty four seven. He fed the kid, bathed him, dressed him and when he thought it was over, Luke suddenly asked him to read that damn book again.

Three pages into it, it didn’t look like Luke was going to fall asleep anytime soon.

“Keep reading daddy!”

No. Levi was tempted to say it out loud. It was easy not to give into temptation though. There were too many things he could occupy himself with.

Like what’s supposed to happen next? Levi thought to himself. There was something about the dragon going on a journey to discover his true powers. Then his trusty fairy friend coming along with him. It was difficult to do everything at once: read aloud, take in the drawings in the picture book, watch Luke while the young boy pranced around the room and while doing all that, making sense of the plot.

So when Luke asked some question about the story, Levi would just answer ‘yes.’ Once or twice, Luke called told him he was wrong. At the least, Levi was grateful that his son was smart enough to comprehend the plot of a book Hange had read to him endlessly.

A few more pages until the end, and Luke started to roar. The sound bounced on the walls, flew across the room and somehow, Levi found himself jumping at the sound. What the fuck.

Luke was much faster than Levi then. The young boy was skipping around the living room faster, then he started to march, his strides wider. He screamed louder.

“Daddy, do you see the fireball?”

What. Levi raised his eyebrows and nodded. He didn’t see a fireball but he could at make the playtime a little funner for the young boy.

“If I scream louder… it gets bigger!” Then he roared again, louder. He bent forward, pointed his ass back as if that had done anything to make it louder.

He was a toddler. How much louder could he get?

“Do you see the fire?”

Levi nodded. “Yes.” No, he didn't see a fire. It didn't seem right either to kill a toddler's imagination.

“Daddy scream too!”

Levi didn’t concede at first.

But Luke was persistent. “Please!”

He couldn’t bring himself to say no either. He took in a deep inhale, opened his mouth then let out an exhale.

He tried to put some voice into it. He could have sworn he did. Then he started to think, maybe he didn’t.

Luke’s disappointed pout was evidence enough. “Mommy was louder than that..”

***

“Hange, I finished that book.” The words came out of his mouth before he could even why he had decided to say it in the first place. Late at night, during a bout of silence, with his partner being a generally laid back person, Levi didn't think too much anyway about watching his mouth.

Hange looked up at him, the tea cup stopped just inches from her mouth. “Which book?”

“The one you’d read to Luke.”

“Which one?”

“The fairytale book.”

“Which one?”

”The one with the dragon,” Levi said. He sat in front of her with a huff, shaking away the trappings of sleep. It had been a notably exhausting day and it was just one of those few nights that Levi was considering retiring to bed a little bit past midnight.

”Ah yeah, that’s Luke’s favorite.” Hange cupped her tea cup a little tighter, a playful grin on her lips.”It’s fun reading it huh?

Levi didn’t bother to answer that question.“It's an annoying book. Especially if you consider the fact that towards the end, our child starts roaring.”

“Hey, it’s an inspiring story and I think it can teach kids a lot,” Hange said defensively. “A dragon on a quest to find his true powers, defeats a lot of his enemies and he finds out, the fire has been in him all along and all he has to do is let out a loud scream!"

Levi put one hand up instinctively when he spotted Hange taking a deep breath. "You seem invested.."

Hange shrugged. "Well, when you read it enough times, you start dreaming about it."

The key word was ‘dream.’ Soon after, Levi had managed to figure it out for himself. “Wait, wait. You're dreaming about…”

“Being the dragon,” Hange said matter-of-factly. “Like those dreams where I go on that journey, and I meet the wizard and he tells me, the power has been with me all along. And all I have to do is---”

“The power has been with me all along!” The dragon became excited. He inhaled… Then let out a long loud scream.

That was around the time Luke had started screaming. Levi didn’t memorize the story but he was still at least certain enough of that development.

“So in that dream… did you…Scream?” Levi asked.

Hange snapped her fingers excitedly. “Of course, In the story, that’s the only way to breathe the fire right?” she asked, as if she had assumed that Levi had read that book thoroughly.

Levi paused for a moment, and attempted to recall those excruciating episodes. In retrospect, it was easier to notice, Hange’s screams that night weren’t what anyone would have called bloodcurdling.

“Those were pretty vivid dreams…” Hange recounted.

“Very vivid dreams?” Levi corrected. Just like my dreams of you screaming. He had little to no energy though to amend his own response. The more Hange talked about the story, the more excited she seemed. The more she talked about the fire power and the indispensable scream, the more Levi was convinced that her own dreams weren’t a scream.

It all ended with some final confirmation with a soft scream from Hange, similar to the same roar Luke would do in the living room.. When Hange was mimicking the motions of breathing fire that night, it rang heavy, it seemed desperate as if she was running away from something. With the right frame of thought and the right hints, Levi could have sworn Hange had been laughing in between screams.

Laughing. Then screaming, like she was breathing fire. “Hange, how vivid are those dreams?”

“Very vivid.”

“Like...”

“Like…” Hange hummed. “I really remember screaming... Or at least in my dreams. Why?”

“Nothing.”

“You've been having nightmares too right?”

“Well it turns out they weren’t fucking dreams,” Levi grumbled.

“What?” Hange blinked, a confused look on her face.

Levi pushed the chair back and stood up. “Let’s go back to bed.”

“Hey, I’m not yet done drinking.”

“Then hurry up. I’m going to bed.”

That was an empty threat. Levi wouldnt’t have left Hange or retired without cleaning out the tea cups and saucers on the table.

And it looked like Hange saw through it. She smirked playfully. “You serious? You're sleeping this early?”

His eyelids heavy, his mouth trembling in frustration, Levi gathered his own saucer then Hange's. "I haven't been sleeping well these past few nights."

"You're really having nightmares huh? You wanna talk about it?"

"After I've slept enough," Levi said coldly as he brought the dishes to the sink. “We can talk in the morning.”

Hange was persistent. "But you might sleep better if you talk about it right? It doesn't make any sense that you're going to bed and you're gonna risk dreaming about it again."

"I'm. not. having. nightmares." Levi raised his voice over the sound of the water running and the sound of the scrubbing of saucers and cups. "I just said I'm not sleeping well."

There was a pregnant pause. "You wanna see a doctor?" Hange asked hesitantly.

"No. I'm fine," Levi said.

"If we don't talk about this, we won't be able to find a way to fix it." Hange was annoyingly matter-of-fact about it.

But then, Hange usually got the hint. Both of them could usually talk in hints and details more than in actual conclusions and they would also stumble upon some sort of resolution. Maybe the truth was just so farfetched, or maybe Levi's own speculation was just too out of this world that Hange hadn't figured it out for herself.

Then he lost confidence in his speculation. If a genius like couldn't figure it out, then maybe it wasn't true? "Maybe you wanna try not reading that book first?"

"The dragon book?" Hange asked, Of course it was the dragon book. Hange seemed to be stalling and late at night, she seemed to have caught the exhaustion that had been plaguing Levi.

"Yes, that damn fairytale you've been reading to Luke."

Hange looked up, seeming deep in thought. It looked like with time, she was able to put two and two together. A few seconds later, she spoke up. "Am I... screaming in my sleep?"

The cups and saucers cleaned. Levi put them on the tray to dry, looked back at Hange and nodded slowly.

"And that's why you've been holding me in the mornings," Hange continued, a look of utter comprehension in her face. She could have been explaining a new discovery to one of the government officials.

"Yes," Levi answered, his tone firm. Hange's own revelation had been enough to take some of the weight off Levi's shoulders. "Let's go to the room."

When they had settled on the bed, turned off the lights, Hange was still speaking. She was sitting up on her side of the bed and she didn't look like she was in a hurry to sleep any time soon. "And that's why you've been looking so tired lately. God, Levi I was so worried about you too."

Levi mumbled something but he didn't bother to figure out what. He was in and out of sleep already. It was Hange and her loud domineering voice which still managed to tear into that in between state.

"What now?" Hange asked. "If I sleep now..."

"Sleep..." Levi murmured.

She got that part at least. "If I sleep, I'm gonna end up screaming again."

"Baby steps, don't read that damn book." Levi mumbled louder and he hoped it was clear enough for her to understand.

"But Luke---"

"Sleep."

"Levi..."

"Sleep."

Hange could have protested for a few more moments after that but Levi didn't remember the rest of it. The next time he awoke was almost an hour later, once again to loud screams then ragged breaths. To an excuse to slip his arms around her once again and bring her closer to him in one tight hug.

"Baby steps," he whispered just to himself. Baby steps.

#levihan #levihan fanfiction #lhweek2021 #levihanweek2021

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tsumtsumland · 4 years

Text

“i’ll be home for christmas”| m.atsumu x reader

genre: fluff, smut

warnings: mxf smut, fingering.

author’s note: figured the only way to start off my Christmas fics right was with my main man ❤️ enjoy! This is the last time I’m reuploading this, it refuses to show up in tags 😔

3 weeks, that’s how long Atsumu was supposed to be gone for. 5 weeks, that’s how long he’s actually been gone for. You sigh as you turn the faucet off now that the tub was full. You drop a bath bomb into the water and watch it fizzle out, turning the liquid pink. A glance at the clock tells you it was only a few hours until December 25th, guess you’ll be spending Christmas alone this year.

Another heavy sigh leaves your lips, as you light one of those Christmas scented candles you love on the tub’s ledge. You get ready to undo the tie on your robe when the doorbell rings. You have half a mind to just leave it, but you tighten the bow back and head to the door.

Without even looking through the peephole, you’re just absolutely annoyed with whoever was on the other side of the door, you yank it open, ready to give them a piece of your mind. You’re rendered dumbstruck when the MSBY setter stands in the threshold of your shared home, grinning mischievously with a mistletoe held above you both in his right hand.

“Tsumu! What are you doing here?! You said you wouldn’t be till a few more days!” you gasped, excitement blatant on your face.

“I told you I’d be home for Christmas,” Atsumu replies, true to his cheesy self and winks at you.

You throw yourself at him, nearly taking you both to the floor but his reflexes worked faster, and he holds you against him tightly with one arm, lips meeting yours under the mistletoe. You can barely breathe and your ribs hurt a little but you didn’t want him to let go.

You’re breathless when you both pull away, and your cheeks are flushed. You usher him inside quickly to avoid the chill from getting into your apartment.

Atsumu gives you a once over, noting your clothing, or lack thereof. “Were you up to something naughty?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

“No, I was about to take a sad, lonely, bath,” you dramatize and roll your eyes. “You can join me if you like…” you saunter away into the bathroom with him hot on your heels, shedding his clothes all the way there.

By the time you get to the bathroom, he’s only left in his boxers and Atsumu’s hands are at the closure of your robe as his lips ghost over your neck. “Can I take it off?” he whispers against your skin. You swallow at the sudden change of atmosphere, and nod, allowing him to remove your only layer of clothing, and then his.

Atsumu wraps his arms around you as you both sink into the bath. You lean back against his muscled chest and sigh in bliss, the warm water was heaven to your sore muscles, and his arms around you was heaven altogether. You turn your head a little and press a kiss to his jawline, marvelling for a few seconds at his perfectly sculpted face.

The conversation after came easily to the both of you, like it always did. He told you all about what was happened at the recent tournament in Seoul, and you told him all about the latest gossip and happenings in Japan. You were pretty sure you had told each other all of this before during your phone calls, but it didn’t even matter.

Being so close to him after so long made you aware of how much you missed him and craved his presence. You always made it a point to have some alone time when you got to be together, and baths with each other just felt so much more intimate. It almost scares you when you realize just how deeply you feel for him, after only 7 months of dating. In all fairness, the feeling had been there for a while, it was just more prominent now, and you weren’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.

“What’s on your mind?” he asks quietly, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“I don’t know…it’s…different,” you’re not sure how to put it into words. “This feels different, in a good way, but it scares me,” you confess nervously.

He takes your hands in his, entwining your fingers. “That’s good, because I thought I was the only one feeling this way,” he kisses the spot on your shoulder that his chin was just on.

Relief floods your chest at his words and you relax a little easier now. You turn your entire body so that your lips could meet his properly, the kiss was slow and languid. He indulges you of course, because he can’t get enough of you either. You feel his hands caressing your sides, raising a wave of goose bumps over your skin, and you can’t help the mewl that escapes your mouth.

His hands come to a stop on your waist and he breaks the kiss to pull you up higher on top of him, his lips descend on your neck and continue their assault. You close your eyes, arching your neck so he had better access to it. He bites and sucks at the tender flesh, leaving a trail of marks down your neck and across your collarbones. The seductive aroma from the bath coupled with the dizzying effect of his hands and mouth on your skin was overkill for your senses, you couldn’t even think straight. All you know is that you need more.

“Tsumu…” you moan against his lips.

“Hmm?”

“More,” your fingers tangle in his faux blonde locks when he complies, one of his hands moving down between your legs and spreading your lips, pushing a finger into you, the water aiding his intrusion. You cry out in a mix of pleasure and slight pain at the burn.

He smirks against your collarbone, nipping at it, and adds another finger as you move your hips in time with his fingers. His free hand comes up and twists a nipple between his fingers.

“God! Faster!” you beg, tugging at his hair and grinding down on his fingers.

“Like this?” he teases, snapping his wrist at an even faster pace, his palm slapping against your clit as he finds that spongey spot inside of you and targets it with precision.

Your scream echoes off the tiles of the bathroom walls as you cum all over his fingers, your juices mixing with the water in the tub.

He takes you over the edge twice more in the span of less than five minutes with just his fingers, leaving you breathless and shaking on his chest, babbling nonsense.

Atsumu chuckles lowly at your incoherent pleas and whimpers. He’s feeling generous tonight, one of his hands travels down your back soothingly, while the other holds you firmly against him while you try to regain your composure. You can feel him pressing kisses into your hair as your body trembles from the aftershocks of your orgasm.

When you can speak again, you look up at him, “I want you.” You see the switch flip in his eyes, they go from soft to sharp in record time, darkening from that golden honey to almost black.

He stands up, bringing you with him, and pulls the plug letting the water in the tub go down the drain. He sets you atop the bathroom counter looking at you with something akin to danger glinting in his dark eyes. You smirk and pull him into the space between your legs, so you could wrap them around him.

It’s 12:01 when you look up at the clock.

“Merry Christmas, my love,” you whisper, looking up at him from under your lashes, knowing how that drives him crazy.

“Merry Christmas, darling,” he grins, kissing you a few times playfully before his hands clamp down on your thighs and pull you hard against him, making you gasp at the contact.

“Now let me give you your present,” he murmurs lowly against your swollen lips.

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animeyanderelover · 4 years

Note

I’ve read some of your posts and I love the detail and effort you put in them 😌. May I request prompt 40 for Uvo from hxh?

I appreciate it. Always give my all whilst writing stuff. It’s my first time writing for Uvogin.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, self harm

Prompt 40: “What I am doing? I’m punishing myself. Why? Because I upset you earlier.”

He hadn’t come to look after you for quite some time now. You guessed the tantrum you had thrown after he had tried to come near you had taught him to leave you alone. You had cried, sobbed and screamed at him to stay away, to at least give you some space to breathe after he had already taken you. And he did. He had looked incredibly hurt whilst you had yelled at him, but in the end he had silently left the room. And you were thankful for this. Thankful for knowing that not all you had thought to know about him wasn’t a lie. He hadn’t pretended to be a huge softie for you. That made you feel to some degree comforted, but it didn’t change the fact that he had hidden such a big secret from you. You knew that he had done it to protect you and to not make you feel scared of him. But that had only made the truth hit you so much harder when you had found out. He was a spider. A part of the infamous Phantom Troupe. He was a criminal who robbed, killed and did whatever he wanted to. And in all honesty, you wished you had never found out. Wished you had just chosen to stay in the house that night. Wished that you had taken a different route to the shop you had headed to that night. Wished you hadn’t seen what you had seen that night. But you had. Had seen who he really was, had seen what he was capable off, had seen that everything you had ever thought about him had been lie. Oh, how you wished you could turn back time and go back to your sweet illusion of lies you had once had of him. Because the truth hurt. It hurt so much, making you feel like someone was puncturing a blade over and over again in your chest.

And the worst part about this all? You couldn’t even hate him like you should. You had tried to hate him, tried to be angry at him. But you just weren’t able to hate him. He had made himself a too important spot in your heart. And every time you had tried to remove him, to rip him out of there you had felt like losing a huge part of yourself. How fatal attachments could be. For the most part you were just sad, disappointed, upset and felt betrayed. It was so silent in the room, yet so loud in your head. You wanted it to stop. The silence was too loud for you, too much to handle. You burried your head tightly in the pillow, feeling the damp fabric of it, a reminder of how many tears you had spilled for him in such a short time. A reminder of how much he meant for you. Was he feeling the same as you were right now? Had he ever felt bad for lying to you? Or had he done that with many others before? Leading them to believe that he loved them? Would he be capable of doing that? Your head told you yes because the Phantom Troupe was capable of everything. But your stupid heart, controlled by your overwhelmed feelings told you the opposite. He had been sincere with his every action and words, had proved to you that he really loved you. And you found yourself being scared at the thought that this all could have been an act. If it really should be then you were sure you would probably never be able to trust someone again.

How long had you now layed in this bed, bathing inside your tears and misery? Was there a clock? Did you want to find out how much of an impact this all had on you? No, you didn’t. Not knowing was a blessing, now more than ever. But you also knew that you needed to get out of the room. You needed to go somewhere where you would be able to entertain yourself a bit. Somewhere where you could get your mind off. And all of this whilst not walking into him. The last thing you needed was a new layer of heartbreak over your only few days old one. You felt like you would burst once again out in tears if you would see him. It was fascinating how much tears a human could spill. Your eyes still burned and itched from your last crying session. You didn’t want to know how you must have looked right now. But back to your plan, getting your mind a bit off. As soon as you stood on your two legs the first thing you did was stumbling back. Your legs felt like jelly. You guessed that this happened when you didn’t eat enough. But in comparison to your pain of finding out the truth your aching tummy felt numb. And yet you didn’t feel hungry at all, not thinking in your current state you could handle too much food at once in your stomach. You didn’t think it would stay in there for too long anyways. You had more important things to do than giving the growing hole inside your belly or much thoughts right now.

You slowly opened your door and peeked through the small slit. You didn’t see him. Where was he? What was he doing? You couldn’t help, but feel a bit curious. But you couldn’t satisfy your curiosity for the sake of your own well-being. A short trip to the bathroom would do for now. You slowly made your way towards it, careful to not make too much noise whilst heading to the bathroom. And as soon as you reached it you quickly closed the door and locked it, leaning against the wood and staring at the white ceiling. Good, you had reached it. What now? You hadn’t thought that far. You had only wanted to get out of this suffocating room. The bathroom with it’s white walls looked so blank. How you wished your mind could be just as blank as it. Your mind and your senses tried so desperately to find something to distract you that you noticed even the smallest and most insignificant things. The faint flickering of the lamp every few seconds, the smell of soap that was hanging in the air and even the silent sound of water in the walls. Distant, but still there. And you had never noticed how calming those small things could be, how much peace they could give a person. Why was that? Was it because these were things that didn’t change? Things that stayed the same? You didn’t know and didn’t care, only caring for the fact that they helped you calming down a bit. You were in a state of much more awareness than usually, feeling your own heartbeat drumming like a jackhammer against your chest and your breaths filling your lungs to the brim with air and then emptying it all out.

After a few minutes of just emptying your mind a bit out you decided to wash your face, wanting to wash all the traces of tears and snot away. The cold water against your skin felt oddly refreshing and helped washing a bit from the heaviness and tiredness out of your eyes, alleviating the burning itching. You let a small content sigh out. Such an easy thing, a daily trip to the bathroom, had helped you so surprisingly much. When you looked up you couldn’t help it, glancing shortly at the mirror right in front of you. You weren’t really surprised by how you looked like. Just as horrible as you had expected. Your eyes were red and swollen and you even saw light red trails on your cheeks due to all the tears you had cried. Your hair was disheveled and you had dark bags under your eyes. Just as horrible as you had expected. You stared for a moment or two just at your reflection before turning around and leaving the room, feeling a bit better now. Still not fine, you doubted you would ever be. But much more calmer. It was already very dark. And you decided that you would now do the only thing that always helped you forgetting everything for a while. Sleeping. But just as you passed the stairs that led downstairs you suddenly perked up, head slowly turning towards the stairs. What was that? You were sure you had just heard something. Was Uvo downstairs? You focused all your energy on your sense of hearing, trying to detect that noise once again.

There it was! You heard it once again. Sounded it like came from the kitchen. You tried to identify what exactly it was, finding your body stepping down the first few stairs to hear it better. But it was still too faint, forcing you to take a few more steps. And more and more and more until you found yourself at the end of the stairs. The door to the kitchen was in your field of view, the light shining under it’s gap telling you clearly that Uvogin was in there. You shouldn’t be here. You should lay in your bed and try to forget all about him. And yet...And yet you slowly tiptoed closer, feeling to your huge dislike worry bubbling up inside of you. You shouldn’t be interested or even worried about him. So why? You stared with mixed emotions in your eyes at the door, pressing your lips together. What if he would sense you? No. What if he had already sensed you? You stood there, waiting for something to happen. But nothing happened. If he had sensed you then he had decided to ignore you. So you slowly leaned in closer, pressing your ear against the door in a more or less pathetic attempt to try to find out what was going on behind this door. You heard the muffled sounds much more clearer now, but still not audible enough to detect what it was. You felt slightly frustrated, squinting your eyes together to focus better.

And that’s when you finally had an idea about what it was. Your eyes widened and you stepped quickly away from the door, unsure about how to feel about this. Was he...crying? You found your heart clenching at the thought of it. Uvo was always such a cheerful and positive man. But you were sure that you had heard him sobbing behind this door. But why? Because of you? Had your act earlier this day hurt him really that much? Had you been too harsh, went overboard? In your opinion you had reacted like every human would have when finding out that their boyfriend was a criminal. Who wouldn’t lose it then? But perhaps you could have tried to make the effort to listen to him. Perhaps you could have stopped yelling and screaming at him. Why were you still so carrying for him? After all he had done? After all the life’s he had taken? Why? You knew why. Because he had always been there for you too. Whenever you had been stressed out, had been upset about something he had been your shoulder to cry on. He had listened to you, had comforted you and had always brought you gifts to cheer you up. It didn’t feel right to let him be sad now. Not after all he had done. You didn’t do it because you loved him. No, you did it because it would be only fair to comfort him for once too. That’s at least what you tried to tell him. In reality you started to feel hella guilty for acting like such a brat. He could have killed you or broken your bones if he had wanted too. But instead he had just brought you in here, not forcing or pushing you to anything.

You took one final breath before knocking lightly on the door. The noises behind the wood stopped abruptly. You waited for a few seconds, wanting to know if he wanted you to see him in such a state or not. Nothing came and you took it as a sign that he didn’t have anything against you coming in. So you slowly cracked the door open, peeking inside the room. It was hard to overlook him, his tall build was an eye catcher. He was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall with his head hanging low. It was a very strong contrast. This position just screamed weak. He looked so vulnerable right now. That definitely increased your worry. You stood there unsure about what to do for a short moment before you slowly stepped closer to him, gazing over his hunched over form. “Uvo?” Your voice sounded very hushed and gentle. You just couldn’t help, but speak more softly to him. He had always done it when you had been crying. He didn’t react. He seemed to try to make himself even smaller which was hard given his height. Oh god. You felt guilt crushing you, telling you that it was your fault that he was like this. You stopped when you were a few feet away from him, your thoughts stumbling over each other. You really wanted to help him, do something. But a small part still held you back, screaming at you that this was a criminal who could crush you at any moment. And that’s when you suddenly noticed something. His one arm...

“W-what are you doing? Y-your arm...It’s broken. So why...?” You just stared shocked at him. It was hard to see due to him being hunched over. But you were sure that he was pressing with his other hand against his broken arm which was twisted in a abnormal way. But if his arm was really broken then why hurting it even more? “What I am doing?” His voice sounded strained, the pain audible in his voice. “I’m punishing myself.” You paled when hearing this. He was punishing himself? “W-why would you do that?” Your voice was shaking, terrified with what you were seeing and hearing. He let out a half-hearted and half-pained chuckle out, sounding almost amused. As if thinking that it would be obvious to why he was doing this. “Why?” And that’s when he finally looked up, looking you straight in your eyes. Sweatdrops were visible on his face and he had forced a smile onto his face, trying to mask the pain he was in, but failed miserably. “Because I upset you earlier.” Your mind froze at this, staring with non believing and wide eyes at him. Was he serious?! He-he just broke his arm for the reason because he had upset you earlier?! No,no,NO! This wasn’t what you had wanted! You didn’t want him to suffer like this! At least not because of you. You hated it when people suffered because of you. You preferred suffering yourself than letting others be in pain because of you.

“Stop this.” Your voice was trembling, yet firm. “I-I don’t want you to hurt yourself.” You tried your hardest to not cry, forcing the tears collecting in your eyes back. You needed to stay strong. For him. Just like he had always stayed strong for you. Uvogin looked slightly confused up before laughing a bit. “Why do you care? Didn’t you yell at me before that you hated me and wanted me to disappear? Judging from your words I thought you wouldn’t care...” Bitterness and heartbreak was audible in his voice and visible in his eyes, making you feel downright like trash. You hadn’t meant those words. Not a single one of them. But it had just been too much to take for you. Some really small part told you that this was your chance to run, to hurt him, do something. But you didn’t. Because you knew he wouldn’t do anything. He wouldn’t run after you if you would storm out of this house. He wouldn’t defend himself if you would attack him. He would just...do nothing. You knew him. Uvogin had always looked strong for you, had always come over as your strong protector. But now he displayed weakness. Right in front of your eyes. Why would he do that? To show you that he wasn’t some kind of wild animal that just killed for fun? To show you that he wouldn’t hurt you?

Silence fell over the both of you, he just sitting there and avoiding eye contact whilst you were staring at his form, deeply in thoughts. “I...don’t hate you. You know that, right?” It came out without you thinking really much, just blurting it straight out. That gave you a visible reaction from him. He flinched and darted his eyes at yours, giving you a look of slight confusion, but also hope. And that hope made you feel ticklish on the inside. You knew that you hadn’t lied. You didn’t hate him. You could never. That didn’t mean you could forgive him that easily either. But if the both of you were suffering that much because of this then you two should also start working on it together. Hurting alone was stupid. You stepped to him until you stood right in front of him, grabbing his not broken arm and gently tugging on his hands. “Come on. Stand up. I-I’ll do first aid on your arm.” If there had been ever a doubt in your mind about what you were currently doing was wrong it was blown away to dust the moment you saw the gratitude and relief crossing Uvo’s face, grabbing your,in comparison to his, small hand and stood up, flashing you a smile. A sincere one, filled with warmth and love, making you yourself feel suddenly very warm. You returned his smile gently. And suddenly you felt very confident that the both of you would find a way to make this up.

#yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hxh #yandere uvogin

117 notes · View notes

courtlyharlequin · 4 years

Text

Amaranthine

Warning(s): female reader, mentions of anxiety, slow burn (I think), 17K word count, self-indulgence, Vivi’s Vil brain rot with no plot, not proofread

Summary: There was this monster inside your head. It went by the name of Anxiety. To you, it was, and always be, more so of a parasite you couldn’t live with, but you also couldn’t live without. It looked after you in the strangest of times. For the most part, it was a hindrance, cluttering your mind with dark and bitter thoughts, assuming the worst in people you’ve never met before, jumping to conclusions, and crying over the smallest things. It made you extremely aware of yourself and others, for better or for worse. That was Anxiety, the monster in your head. The exact moment in time when it nestled instead into your mind is unknown to this day, festering in the back of your mind. Then there was Vil Schoenheit, your lover, your soulmate, and most importantly, your pillar of support who cheered you on in his own way. He taught you how to tame Anxiety. But alas, a monster will always be a monster.

A/N: It’s my birthdayyyyyy~ so I made a very, very, very self-indulgent fic for myself. While I did write it as a reader insert, it pertains to my mental health, particularly my anxiety, and there may be aspects of it that you may not understand. That is okay. I wanted some feels with Vil on my birthday because I have a case of Malleus syndrome;;;

A/N²: To clear things up, the reader in this fic is female. She is not Yuu (I usually write the reader as Yuu and yes, I’m aware they can be two separate entities). She likes to scrapbook, bake, and wear lolita clothing. She also attends NRC though her dorm is left pretty open-ended. However, it might not make sense if you’re in Pomefiore. This might not work if your birthday is in March either. I’m sorry asdfghjkl;

Disclaimer: Please note that this is not a fanfic that romanticizes mental illnesses. A significant other cannot solve everything. They shouldn’t solve everything. They aren’t meant to fix you; they’re there to bring out the best in you and be by your side when you need them to be. By no means, is it their job to help your completely overcome your mental illnesses. It’s a common trope in fanfiction and gives off mixed signals to me. This self-indulgent fanfic of mine is not meant to give anyone false hope. It is simply a love story that I always wanted to experience. Think of it as my own anxiety story. The only thing real about this is some events like the presentation meltdown though my partner eventually turned into my middle school bully so I just replaced him with Vil because Vil>>>>>>

[ Present Day, Vil’s Bedroom ]

Fwip!

You flinched. You looked up. Vil had flicked your forehead. His eyes were filled with worry, brows creased and his lips strung in a frown.

“Fairest, is something on your mind?” he asked.

“No. Not at all.”

“Hold still for a minute. This lip tint is watery,” he said in a stern tone, tilting your chin upwards

He lined your lips in red and handed you a small mirror.

“Beautiful, my love.”

You stared at your expression. Vil was right. You were beautiful, all dolled up in this getup. You were prettier than usual, that’s for sure. However, the look isn’t for you or your hollow eyes. He snapped his fingers.

“Fairest,” he paused, sitting down on his bed, patting the space next to him, “Come here.”

You obliged.

“Now, talk to me. Don’t deny it. Something is on your mind. You’ve been zoning out all day. If you need a break just say so.”

“No, no, it’s not that. I was just thinking…”

“Thinking?”

“Yes. About the past and whatnot. Trivial things! No matter,” you dismissed, leaning onto his shoulder.

Vil crossed his legs, “How could I help you if you give me such a vague answer?”

Had he truly forgotten your special day, the only day you were willing to break out of your shell and be showered in compliments and praise without feeling like an alien? While you didn’t have a cake to share and you were certain that he wouldn’t want to eat it either, you expected he would remember the date as your lover of seven months now. So far, he only asked you to drop by his room for makeup practice as he just landed a part-time job as a makeup artist. Not that you minded of course. He made you feel beautiful, one of the many reasons you loved him.

“I don’t think it’s something you can help me with. I was thinking about middle school and—”

“Don’t waste your time with those fools.”

“I told you it was trivial.”

You nuzzled against his shoulders.

“It’s been hard lately, you know? I’ve been overthinking again. About silly things. Group projects, you know? Presentations too. Ah, there was this one person who told me to shut up because of a misunderstanding and everyone laughed and I felt— But you mustn’t hurt them!”

You clutched his arm. His posture had stiffened. He gave you a blank expression though his eyes told the whole story.

“I felt a little out of place. Things were going fine until they showed up. It’s not their fault, don’t worry. I was excited to talk to them, but it ended up going downhill. I felt like I was overstepping my boundaries. It was embarrassing,” you continued.

“I know you don’t like it when I say this but it’s not as bad as you think it is. Know that you made progress compared to your pot– first year self,” Vil said, squeeze your hand, “If you want help with your presentations, then I’m here for you— as always.”

Straightforward as always. He never tolerated things he deems piffling, but you were glad he didn’t pity you, not one bit.

“I’m sorry for bothering—”

He placed the tip of his index finger on your nose.

“What do we say instead of apologizing for something we cannot control?”

“T-Thank you.”

“Go on now.”

“...for listening to me.”

“My pleasure, Fairest.”

His finger shifted as he cupped your cheek with one hand, leaning in to kiss your forehead. He must’ve forgotten your birthday, but you mustn’t going to ruin the mood. You watched his back as he gathered his makeup brushes. Vil was a busy man though that was something you were used to as his lover.

[ Two Years Prior, Alchemy Classroom ]

“Are you just going to sit there while everyone picks their partners, little potato?”

You flinched at the sudden comment. Potato? You had a name. Did you do something to be labeled in such a way? Moreover, what was the Vil Schoenheit doing standing in front of your desk? You prayed for the conversation to be brief. Part of you also prayed for him to ask to be partners.

“What are you staring at? Answer.”

You shook your head. This was bad. You were staring at him for too long. While you were dying from embarrassment, you let your gaze linger for a little longer. He was gorgeous. You loved how his blonde hair transitioned into a pale lavender, complimenting his violet eyes, eye makeup, and fair complexion.

Vil snapped his fingers before your field of vision.

“I know you aren’t mute. Answer.”

“Probably…” you said.

“Hah? That won’t do, potato. I’ll be your partner then.”

“Pardon?”

“I said, ‘I’ll be your partner’. Now, move over. We’re in direct sunlight here and it won’t do any good for our skin if we sit there everyday for so long even if we are indoors.”

You nodded, sliding one seat over. He sat down next to you, arms and legs crossed. He seems mad, concerned with something, something else. His body language didn't match his facial expressions though he wasn’t hard to read.

“Why me?”

You bit your lip, cringing at your own inquiry.

“You seem responsible enough to be my partner for this project,” he said, propping his head on his elbow, turning to face the blackboard.

What did he mean by that? Sure, you were responsible, but were you worth noting of? You were decent, not the best but not the worse either. Failing a class meant coming the topic of conversation when a teacher asks you to stay after class for a brief checkup or tutoring sessions. Excelling in a class meant being called out on your exemplary work by teachers. Anxiety was not equipped for either circumstances therefore it tried to help you maintain your grades discreetly. But Vil noticed, indicating that you were overachieving. Perhaps you should purposefully miss a few questions on the next quiz. You got a perfect score last time. It wouldn’t hurt. However, you were partnered with Vil, someone who strived for perfection, someone who stood out against a crowd. The phrase goes “...like a sore thumb”, but Vil stood out like a well polished and manicured appendage. He was beautiful, so beautiful that one had to stop for a moment to admire his beauty.

That was Vil, your partner. You could feel heavy stares in your direction. They were directed at Vil, but you couldn’t help feeling nervous. You fiddled with the ends of your hair, fixating your eyes onto your textbook.

You flinched when Vil pushed your back lightly. You shot him a widened stare, opening your mouth to ask him why he touched you. He placed a finger on your lips.

“Bad posture isn’t good for you. Straighten up and pay attention.”

Heat rose to your face as you adjusted your posture.

[ Library ]

“Mind telling me what this is, potato?” Vil said, throwing a stack of papers onto the table.

Your shoulders tensed. You set your textbook down, avoiding eye contact.

“It’s our project.”

“No. It’s your project.”

“I wrote your name on it too so don’t worry about it. I don’t mind sharing the credit.”

“It’s not about the credit. It’s about the integrity. I dropped by Crewel’s office hours today with a question about this project and he told me that we had already turned it in. Fortunately for you, I’m good at improvising so we’re off the hook. I got our project back so we can work on it together. Scoot over so we can get started. I’m assuming you also did the slideshow, but I–”

As usual, you complied to his demands, allowing him to sit next to you. He was a bit too close for comfort. Your peers could manage with this proximity so you probably could too if you took deep breaths every now and then.

“We only have a day left, you know.”

“I know.”

“So why bother?”

Vil clicked his tongue, throwing his French braid over his shoulder as he slid the stool closer to the desk, “I bother because we’re a team.”

He paused, pondering, “I don’t like things being handed to me either.”

“That’s gold especially since this is coming from someone who’s always too busy to even reply to my texts,” you replied.

As soon as those words left your mouth, you bit your tongue. Was that too much? Should you have just listened to him? Kept quite? How will he react? Will he shame you on social media? Spread rumors? Tell Crewel?

“Listen here, potato. I work various part-time jobs and I run a club. I apologize for my poor time management, but I am here now. You, on the other hand, have only sent me one text pertaining to scheduling and this assignment during the three weeks we had to do it. We are both at fault, got that?”

“Yes,” you murmured, pulling out your laptop.

“Wonderful. You won’t have to rewrite everything. Just subtracting here and adding some words there for smoother transitions. It’ll sound better.”

You bit your lip. You were hoping that because you made the entire presentation, Vil would take up the speaking part out of guilt. Unfortunately for you, he was too self-righteous to give in. He can’t be persuaded either. His eyes were glued onto his own laptop, typing the evening away.

You’ll have to make due.

[ Presentation Day, Alchemy Classroom ]

From the brief time you’ve interacted with him, you knew that Vil was meant to be in the spotlight. He shined brightly, you could feel his charisma even from the back from the classroom. His performance was worthy of a standing ovation. You could never compete with him, let alone get through a single presentation. You had made it through all of your slides, but every time Vil spoke, you felt out of place. Your hands were shaking and you were on the brink of tears. Your peers must think you were incompetent. Their intense stares were unbearable. Did they pity you? Or Vil?

“It’s your turn,” Vil whispered.

You refused. His hand twitched as he grabbed your shoulders. This exchange was awkward enough yet your silent plea for help didn’t reach him.

“Go, potato.”

“No.”

He enunciated his words, “It’s. Your. Turn”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“You couldn’t possibly understand,” you cried.

Vil’s expression softened. He reached for you and you braced yourself yet it never came. He huffed and proceeded with the rest of the slides.

Ah… crying in the first semester as a first year in high school? Because of a presentation overwhelming you? Wonderful. You’ll never be able to live that down. Should you transfer to RSA then? No, that won’t do. They had mandatory choir classes or so you heard. Maybe an ordinary high school from your hometown then? But what if the headmaster disapproved?

You meekly walked up to Crewel, “I’m going to the infirmary.”

Your instructor only nodded with reluctance. Dissatisfaction was written across his face, but turning down a frantic student in tears for an unknown reason would be frowned upon. You heard him mutter something about the puppies this year being too sheltered. You gave Vil a second glance before heading out. He brushed you off and continued with the deliverable.

You were hopeless.

[ Infirmary ]

You pulled the covers closer to your face, hiding behind your hair. He was there. Why?

“(y/n),” he said.

You inched away from him. He finally called you by your name. Not by “potato”. Why were you a potato in the first place? Was it because you were beneath dirt? Were you that ugly to be beneath him?

“Are you just going to stay here forever? Curfew is soon. You should hurry and get to the mirror chamber.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same, potato.”

You were beneath him. The tears won’t stop falling. You were trembling.

“What did I do this time?” he sighed.

His voice was firm. He must’ve been irritated by today’s stunt.

“Nothing. Nothing at all. Just leave me alone... please.”

The blanket shrouded your eyes. How pathetic. How could you let him of all people see you in such a miserable state? You’ve only seen his social media profile once or twice. Was he the type to post and gossip about others?

The mattress sank as Vil sat down. You hugged your sides.

“Fine then. Be a stubborn potato.”

“... You honestly did nothing wrong. I’m the problem. I can’t function as a human being. I can’t talk to people. I can’t- Well, I can but it’s...”

“Difficult?”

“Yeah.”

“What is there to be scared of? Follow that trick where you pretend everyone is potato.”

Is that where the potato shtick came from? How reassuring. His tone was unchanging in pitch. Was he trying to comfort or criticize you?

“It's more complicated than just being shy. It’s tiring. I don’t have a clear mind. I worry too much. I spend my days in fear. I don’t really know how to explain it.”

Vil pulled the covers off your small figure. You turned to him in a haze.

“I believe the term is ‘anxiety’, potato,” he said.

“Y-Yeah. Was it obvious? It probably was. Pretty silly now that I think about it, but anyways curfew–”

“Did you think I was stuck in some era where I don’t even acknowledge mental health? And would look down on you because you have anxiety? Please. Give me more credit than that. I’m not close-minded. You’re still a person and you have feelings. So you have anxiety. What of it? Certainly no less of a person.”

Oh how your heart fluttered.

“Get up. You can stay at the Pomefiore dorms tonight. I should get you cleaned up. I can’t stand the sight of those red and puffy eyes…. Cheer up a bit, will you?”

He held out his hand. Was this his way of apologizing? It wasn’t his fault you crumbled in the first place so why? What did he want? Did he want to help you out to boost his reputation?

“Why are you helping me?”

“You clearly need help don’t you?”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Yes or no, potato.”

“I can’t burden you more than I have,” you shook your head.

“I talked it over with Crewel. You’re fine.”

“I suppose I’m not excused either.”

You shrugged off the blankets and took Vil’s hand.

“No, you are. He seemed to be under the impression that you were actually ill,” he said, tapping his finger against his cheek.

“Then–”

“Leave it for now. We can discuss this over tea. After we clean you up though.”

“Do you pity me?”

What if you sounded desperate? What if you sounded needy? Was that needy? Would he change his mind?

You clamped a hand over your mouth. Vil squinted at you as if he was trying to inspect a stain on a fine textile. He proceeded to grab your cheeks, squeezing them. He exercised his authority.

“I. Do. Not. Remember that. I don’t stoop that low. Good grief.”

“Then... what’s the price?” you cried.

“Excuse me?”

“Your time is valuable, isn’t it? You’re clearly busy. Why are you wasting your precious time on me? Shouldn’t you be compensated for the time I’ve wasted?”

“Yes, my time is valuable, but we can talk about compensation another time.”

He let his hand go, leaving you to gasp in sheer terror. So forceful… he scared you. What did he want from you?

“You coming, (y/n)?”

“Yeah.”

[ Pomefiore Dormitory, Vil’s Bedroom ]

“Hold still. After you cleanse your skin with this superfruit cleanser, you have to apply this fir extract to exfoliate. It’ll sting, and it’s even worse when you get it in your eye, so be careful. Try not to move too much, potato.”

Vil dabbed the cotton ball on your face meticulously. You felt like a celebrity with your own hair and makeup team.

“There. All done,” he beamed.

He spun the chair around so you faced the vanity mirror.

“Beautiful. One hundred points for you.”

You gripped the hem of his shirt. He shouldn’t say things like that and expect you not to combust. What’s more was that this attire was incredibly lewd. What if someone came in and got the wrong idea? What if they spread rumors? You were wearing nothing but his shirt after all. It was long enough to reach your knees, but it was his shirt regardless.

“What do you think, potato?”

“It’s nice, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“It’s not for me?”

“Well, I think it does,” he said.

You patted your cheeks. Soft. Oh dear, you were soft.

“Ah, ah. Don’t touch,” he scolded, prying your hands away.

Goodness you were hopeless.

“Eh? Stop crying. No! Don’t rub your eyes either. Let me get you some tissues.”

Annoyance was etched into his speech, but his actions betrayed his words. He never left your side; he wiped your tears with his own thumbs. You held his wrists tenderly. His touch was like a thousand butterfly kisses.

“I’m sorry. I just… Annoying… Nobody… I’m not.. You…”

He sighed, “Don’t apologize for your feelings. You’re not that annoying as you think. Instead, why don’t you try saying thank you?”

“Thank you?”

“Yes, something like ‘thank you for listening to me’. That shouldn’t be hard for you now, is it?”

“Thank you… for not being annoyed with me.”

Vil palmed his face, “Not that bad. We’ll work on it. Twenty points for you.”

You sniffled and broke out into a small fit of laughter. He smiled too, standing up straight. He towered over you. He was a giant. You watched his back as he approached his bed, fluffing up the pillows. His heels clicked and clacked against the flooring. He was still in his school uniform. When was he going to sleep? Didn’t he say he wanted you to stay here? People would really get the wrong idea now. You tugged at his sleeves. Vil turned to you, waiting for you to speak.

“I’ll be going now.”

He grabbed your wrist, “Stay.”

You pulled away from him.

“No, not like that. I’m not going to do anything to you, potato. You really have to stop associating me with other potatoes. I meant stay for some tea. Of course, if you really feel uncomfortable then you’re free to go, but at least let me walk you back.”

“I’ll stay,” you said.

“Wonderful. Give me a moment to fix the bedding. The tea should be ready by then.”

When did he prepare the tea? When you were bathing? When you were changing into his pajamas?

“Vil, if I do stay the night, where will I be sleeping?“

“We have one spare room left over since one student never showed up to the ceremony so you can sleep there.”

You sighed, shoulders at ease.

“Did you honestly think I would let you sleep here? No, potato, I need my beauty rest.”

“No, not at all.”

“You are terrible at lying.”

“I’m not dirty minded I promise!”

“Did I say you were?” he smirked.

Vil had a frisky side to him… how unexpected. Nevertheless, you were relieved. You had insomnia already. If you had to sleep next to Vil… you would never see the dawn again.

“Potato, your tea.”

You jumped.

“Careful! It’s hot and these pajamas are made of silk. I dare you to stain them,” Vil scolded.

You nodded. He handed you a tea cup.

“I was hoping to talk some things over with you, but it’s getting late. You can take this to the spare room down the hall and relax. Self-care time if you will. Here’s a bag for you to put your dirty clothes in. You can drop it off in the morning to the ghosts for laundry. When you get the chance to change, return the top to me. Capeesh?”

“Capeesh...” you mumbled, turning to the door, fumbling with the tea cup.

“(y/n),” he said.

“Yes?”

“Don’t disturb my beauty sleep.”

“Got it.”

“You didn’t let me finish, potato. You can disturb me if you need help with anything else regarding your anxiety. I won’t do things on your behalf, but I’m there to hold your hand. Just not during my beauty sleep, okay?”

“Okay…”

Vil was not lying when he said he wouldn’t treat you any less of a human. Even if there was a monster in your head, Vil treated you like he would anyone. Perhaps he wasn’t so bad. But how could he say such things with a straight face? It sounded like something out of a fairy tale.

No, no, (y/n). You mustn’t catch feelings for someone this quickly. If anything, you were in love with the idea of him, his kindness, how he helped you out and cared for you. But was it even kindness?

Even if these feelings weren’t spawned from the idea of loving him, Vil would never return them. He seemed to be the type to be into someone independent. Or at least someone who was not broken.

Mainly the former, it would seem. He didn’t pack your clothes even though he was the one who demanded that you strip, plunging you into a rose petal and lavender sprig bath. Admittedly, it was relaxing. He said something about lavender having a calming effect earlier. You smelt nice too.

Maybe for today, you could be comfortable in your own skin. Just this once. You smelt really nice.

[ Four Weeks Later, Alchemy Classroom ]

“Alright, puppies. We have another lab project. The details are in the packet. You are to concoct a potion using the ingredients we learned about this unit. Any potion is fine, but Amortentia is forbidden– as usual. This project will be due in two weeks. You will present your findings to the class in small groups. You can choose your partners. You were good puppies for the last few weeks so I’ll let you choose this time. Do not disappoint me,” Crewel said, cracking his whip.

You watched as the class swarmed into a chaotic mass. Students laughed and embraced one another. You scanned the crowd, looking for someone as unfortunate as you, someone without a partner.

“(y/n). Would you like to be partners?”

Oh. Vil. After all this time, you were baffled by the fact that he continued to interact with you after your meltdown weeks ago. What’s more is that he even followed you back on Magicam. He engaged in conversations with you, asking to check answers with you despite passing tests with flying colors just as you did. You never minded per se. Vil always had something to say. He wasn’t talkative, but he was captivating and civil with a hint of sarcasm. He had a lot to critique. Moreover, you two were from different worlds. Whenever he shared stories about his life, from modeling to troublesome classmates, you felt like a child with a new toy. You were immersed, zoned out of your surroundings, your focus on that one, single thing. In turn, you shared your own anecdotes, anxiety struggles and small victories— to which he celebrated with you through small, almost satirized, cheers and affirmations.

You were comfortable around him. Anxiety kept you from advancing your acquaintanceship to a friendship, but you were more than happy with sharing homework answers and making small talk. Vil most likely wanted to work with you because, as he said so before, you were reliable. Or was it responsible? Whatever the word was, you were useful to him. You were noticed in the best way possible. A twisted way to put it, but that’s simply how you felt.

Vil was not what Anxiety said he was and that was more than good enough for you.

“Sure,” you said.

“Wonderful,” he smiled.

You slid over as he took a seat next to you. Away from the sun, just as he liked it. You remembered your first encounter well.

“We’re presenting in small groups this time so you don’t have to worry that much about it,” he paused before continuing, “We can practice. When are you available?”

“Any time, really, I don’t have any clubs.. Or part-time jobs.”

“How does this Friday sound then? I’ll ask my manager to clear my schedule for that day.”

“You don’t have to clear your schedule. I can manage even if you come back late… Just don’t come to me the day before the deadline?”

Were you being too bold with this request?

“Friday then,” Vil said, flipping through the packet, “What type of potion do you want to make?”

“You can choose. I’m not really sure.”

“No, you are sure. You keep staring at that one page. I know you’ve read everything the moment it was handed to you. You certainly weren’t zoning out either.”

If there was anything worth noting about Vil over the short time that you’ve known him, it was that he was observant. Profoundly observant. Perhaps even more than you.

Vil clicked his tongue: “Spit it out, potato. I won’t judge you. I don’t have much of a preference either. We can compromise if we don’t agree.”

“Amortentia,” you winced.

“Now, that we can’t do,” he waved, “Didn’t you hear the professor say?”

“I did, but the structure of this potion is so intricate. I want to try.”

“Aphrodisiacs are prohibited. We can’t do it.”

“I know. I can dream though.”

“Do you have a boy in mind, potato?”

“It’s not like that,” you huffed.

If only he knew. You were head over heels for him– or rather the idea of him, someone who accepted you wholly without ever wanting to tame the monster inside your head. You weren’t sure if you loved Vil for who he was or what he did for you as a classmate. Do mere classmates have afternoon tea in each other’s dorms? Did they engage in small talk frequently?

Vil chuckled, “Whatever helps you sleep at night, potato.”

[ Friday, Library ]

“You’re late, (y/n),” Vil said, leaning against the door frame.

“Sorry.”

“I hope you weren’t planning on skipping out.”

“No, sir.”

“Sir? I’m not that old, you potato.”

You weren’t fond of the session already. While you enjoyed talking to Vil, his strict attitude was oftentimes a trigger for Anxiety. Vil made it rage, rattling against the cage that encasing your heart. It didn’t fancy that. Neither did you.

“Come sit,” he walked over to the desk.

His braid swayed back and forth. You followed him in suit, taking a seat. Vil reached for your shoulders and the small of your back. You yelped.

“Posture is the first step to confidence. If you shrink, you’ll portray your nervousness in the most obvious way possible. Feet flat on the ground and shoulders back.”

You felt exposed, flustered, but not to Vil’s touch. You felt vulnerable to a nonexistent crowd.

Vil stood up and took a seat before you, staring at you intently.

“Now, deep breath. Scan the crowd and focus on a point behind them, away from their eyes, but still in their direction. Remember to look around occasionally so it’s not obvious that you’re staring at the back of the room. You don’t have to make direct eye contact.”

You nodded sheepishly and obeyed. It wasn’t difficult. You could stare into his eyes forever. You hoped it wouldn’t be too awkward if you kept your gaze fixed on his.

“Shall we begin?”

[ Two Weeks Later, Alchemy Classroom ]

“Hold still, potato,” Vil hissed.

He held your jaw steadily as he applied a glossy red lip tint onto your lips. In a classroom. In public. How many people were staring at you two? What did they think? Did they think you were his plaything?

“I don’t see the point in dressing up.”

“Please. Lip tint and a few touch ups isn’t ‘dressing up’. Plus, you’ll feel more confident if you look confident. Own it, my friend.”

Friend? You were his friend? You could feel your cheeks getting rosy. At the same time, you felt a surge of adrenaline. Was it confidence? You were on cloud nine, feeling unstoppable. If he said so, then Vil would be your first friend at Night Raven College outside of your dorm.

But… what if he didn’t mean it?

No, no. he meant it. There was no need for Vil to lie. For him, lying was pointless. It was a waste of time; he preferred to get straight to the point even if it might be harsh on someone’s feelings. You’d learn to accept that his words come from honest intentions.

Crewel blew his whistle, signaling start time. Students flocked to their not-so-small groups. Vil had volunteered for the both of you to go first despite your protests, saying that it would be best to go first so you would not overthink and compare your presentation to others.

“I’m Vil Schoenheiit.”

He squeezed your thigh. The gesture was of chaste intentions, you were sure. Your leg was the only place he could touch in hindsight. Or so you assumed. Regardless, it set your insides on fire, but it made his presence known— as if to say “I’m here, don’t worry.”

Your breath hitched: “And I’m (y/n) (l/n).”

[ One Day Later, Vil’s Bedroom ]

“Potato, what are you doing here? It’s the weekend.”

You hugged your sides. He was sweating. You’ve never seen Vil in anything but his school uniform, Pomefiore’s dorm uniform, and pajamas. There he was… standing right before you in a stormy gray tank top. While he was wearing pajama bottoms, the look was foreign to you. What should you say? You never knew he worked out. Were those weights heavy? Is he training for a certain role?

“I have something for you: a small thank you gift for yesterday,” you said, brushing past your thoughts.

“Oh? You don’t have to thank me. I wanted a good grade too so don’t think too highly of me… Simply improving is enough.”

You shook your head, “I insist. I want to do something for you too. I would feel guilty if it were any other way.”

Vil rested his palm on your head. You looked up at him attentively. The height difference between the both of you was immense. Compared to Vil, you were a dwarf.

“What is it that you want to show me?” he sighed.

You jumped with excitement, handing him a small container. He took them.

“What’s this?”

“Open them.”

“Alright, alright. Such a demanding potato…”

You watched him gingerly pop off the lid to reveal your culinary creation. Your eyes wandered back to his violet orbs.

“Potato, what is this?”

Did he honestly not know or did he think you were jesting?

“They’re oatmeal raisin cookies. I made them myself. It’s all organic ingredients, I promise. There’s apples in it too. I know you watch your diet, but I think it would be okay if you ate just one. At least?”

You scratched the back of your neck while Vil stared at them in bewilderment.

“Just one.”

“Yay~”

His furrowed eyebrows softened as he took a bite, “Not bad, potato.”

He placed it back in the container and closed the lid. Your heart sank. Was it just for show? Were they bad?

“Don’t take it personally. They are delicious. I don’t eat too many sweets though. I… also have a meeting with my producers after this. So perhaps later, my dear.”

“Oh alright.”

[ Someday– Your Birthday, Alchemy Classroom ]

You weren’t sure what kind of strings were pulled or if this class had free seating, but Vil gradually sat closer and closer to you. Now, his seat was next to you. He said that it was because he could not stand the other potatoes near his old seat and that he’d much rather sit with a friend who helped him stay on task– which in turn made your heart melt.

Answers weren’t the only things you two shared now. You often brought snacks to share with him. You brought healthy ones like apple crisps and celery sticks for accommodate the diet of your classmate. He only consumed workout smoothies in the morning. He would drink one before he went for a run with no post-workout smoothies to make up for the calories he burnt. For someone who claims to life a healthy lifestyle, Vil was oftentimes too busy to keep up with it. He rose when the sun kissed the tips of the hills. Granted, he could have risen earlier so he could consume his post-workout meal, but his work trails later in the night. Sleep was important to him. Between balancing his beauty sleep and fitness regime, he frequently came to Alchemy with his hair still wet from a morning shower, his eyes caked with concelaer, and an empty stomach.

The first time you offered him something to munch on and regain the calories burnt, he declined. But as these days became more frequent, Vil caved.

“Potato.”

He slumped against his desk– a rare sight from the Pomefiore student.

“You should stop pushing yourself,” you said, taking out a container.

He shook his head.

“A break would be nice once in a while, Vil.”

He rolled his eyes, slipping off his gloves to take off the lid. God, he was so stubborn. He was going to burn out one day.

“I don’t mind sharing food with you, but you should pace yourself. Take a day off”

He shook his head again. Why though? Did his schedule not allow him to? Vil worked late sometimes, but was it worth it?

“Potato.”

“Hm?”

“Do you have anything aside from these cookies?”

You inhaled sharply, closing the lid and shoving it in your bag. They might have crumbled, but you didn’t want him to know.

“Unfortunately, no sorry,” you sighed, clutching your bag’s handle.

“Fine then. I’ll just eat one then.”

“No.”

“Why not? “

“It’s not healthy for you.”

Vil lunged for your bag. His stomach growled. You did your best to stifle a giggle.

“You just said it was alright to take a break,” he said.

“You can’t have them.”

“How come?”

“They’re for me…” you whispered.

“Come again?”

“These are mine.”

He hummed, clearly not buying into your excuse. Perhaps excuse was not the right word because they were for you. They were self-indulgent treats that you made for yourself around this time of year. They were self-indulgent with a miserable origin.

At this point, he was gripping your wrist. Since when was VIl this forceful? He never crossed any boundaries. He was never nosy. Was he concerned? Or did the madness of hunger consume him?

He was akin to a stray kitten. You were the one to offer him food in the first place. There were two cookies. One wouldn’t hurt.

“Fine. Just one. Please don’t eat the other though. I’d like to eat one on my birthday.”

“Birthday? Potat–”

You put your hand over his mouth on impulse. He was going to throw a fit with you for placing your “breeding ground for bacteria” on his face, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

“Don’t tell anyone,” you pleaded, “But, yes, today is my birthday.”

Crewel’s footsteps echoed through the room, “Silence, puppies!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Vil hissed under his breath.

“I’m not big on birthdays. The attention is too much– plus, rarely anyone celebrates with me.”

“You honestly remind me of that one miserable Diasomnia first year from the class next door.”

The conversation was left at that.

[ A Few Hours Later, Courtyard ]

“Potato.”

“Vil?”

Where did he come from? How did he find you? Class had ended a few minutes ago. What’s more is that you only saw him every other day due to the Alchemy schedules. It was the only class you had with him. You never saw him outside of class, aside from rare encounters in the cafeteria. You ate in the library to avoid people so that was partly your fault too.

“Come with me.”

“Pardon?”

“I won’t take no for an answer. You are the birthday girl, after all.”

He struck his signature pose, one hand on his hip and the other pointed, barely touching his cheek. When did he develop this again?

Wait. What did he just say?

[ Pomefiore Dormitory, Vil’s Bedroom ]

“Here. This is an anxiety journal. Think of it as a diary to write your thoughts down in case you don’t have anyone to talk to”

“Vil, I can't take this,” you said, pushing the notebook away.

“I insist.”

“Still…”

“You said you didn’t celebrate. And that others didn’t celebrate either, no?”

“Yes…”

“If you don’t put yourself out there and let people know, then how are others going to celebrate? And then you go mope around and eat cookies all by yourself in the library with the ghosts?”

Was he watching you? You were sure that there was no one there when the ghosts sang you happy birthday.

“I never said I was moping. I don’t care if I’m all alone. I don’t mind at all. I’m perfectly okay with that. I don’t need to be acknowledged or receive any gifts of pity so please just leave it at that…. I appreciate the gesture though.”

He leered. You took a step back. Was he angry? Why? This doesn’t concernto him. Why was he getting angry?

“I care. So take it.”

You caved, taking the journal. It was similar to the Pomefiore dorm leader’s grimoire: leather bound, decorated in gold decals in floral patterns and peacock feathers. It was pretty. You were a fool. A sensitive and broken fool. You were crying over a notebook, a gift put together at the last minute with tender loving care by a classmate you barely knew. It had been a long time since you felt this happy, this acknowledged.

Vil grimaced, “Oh stop crying already. I told you that I was here for you.”

He embraced you. It was awkward, but wholesome. You never hugged him before. He was warm. Perhaps a little bony for it to be of any comfort, but that was most likely due to the position you two were him. His head pats were stiff. It was ill at ease, but endearing.

Vil was your friend. Though not the closest, you treasured his actions. You weren’t sure how he put up with you. Or why even, but all you were concerned in at this moment was that he cared. It would be lovely to not assume the worst in people for once.

[ Present Day, Vil’s Bedroom ]

What would Vil surprise with you this year? He hasn’t mentioned anything yet.

The makeover was nice, but you weren’t big on makeovers. Did you get to keep this dress? It was embellished with lace and frills– fancy. It was white, pink and floral like the Heartslabyul croquet court. You felt pretty albeit out of your own skin. Vil hummed a soft song whilst cleaning his makeup brushes.

Would that be all? It was your first birthday as a couple. Were you ungrateful if you asked if there was anything else? His schedule was tight. What would he say if you mentioned that today was your birthday? What would he say if you asked if he had forgotten? Would you sound narcissistic?

Would he say the same thing he said to you when you were second years?

[ One Year Ago, Someday– Your Birthday, Hallway ]

“Vil!”

You were so excited to see him again. You couldn’t stop yourself from running up to him.

“(y/n).”

“I haven’t seen you in forever. How are you? Congratulations. It’s a bit late though. How’s being Pomefiore’s new dorm leader treating you?”

He brushed his hair off his shoulders. Ah... a new hairstyle. He was wearing the barette you made for his birthday. You missed the French braid, but you felt that he was more relaxed when he let his hair down (literally).

“Rook. Guide the baby potatoes back to our dorm. Give us a moment,” Vil said to the person he was walking with.

Rook, you assumed. He was bizarre with his exaggerated features and hat. You were certain that the accessory violated campus dress codes. Needless to say, he was beautiful in his own way– just like any Pomefiore student.

“Oui, Roi du Poison. I shall leave you with ta chérie~” he breathed, prancing away with the first years.

“Ta what now?”

“Don’t mind him,” Vil said, “I am doing well, thank you, (y/n).”

No “potato” this time? Not even once? You hadn’t seen him since your second year started, only keeping up with his life through Magicam and story replies. Sometimes, he messaged you to check up on you or ask to compare answers for Alchemy and Potions. You packed snacks for him though that routine eventually ceased as Vil began taking better care of himself, opting only to run when he had the time.

You missed those days, but his well being was more important than your own selfish feelings. You had grown fond of that nickname since he used it so often. It was a term of endearment. It saddened you that he called others potatoes as well.

“Happy birthday by the way,” Vil said.

“Oh! You remember?”

“There you go again. I don’t have the memory of a goldfish– of course I remember. Though I don’t have a gift for you this time around.”

Did you offend him? Did you sound needy? You weren’t asking for any presents. Did it come off that way?

“I don’t need anything so it’s fine.”

Or rather, you didn't expect anything.

“Good grief. It’s your birthday. Chin up. Have the attention on yourself for one day. It’s your day after all. Anyhow,I would love to chit chat more, but my schedule is tight. I cannot dilly dal–”

You reached for his hand, “W-Would you like to hang out at a café sometime then?”

You cut him off. Was that too abrupt? Rude? Uncalled for? You should have let him leave even if you did miss being around him, being friends with him.

“Huh?”

“You don’t have to. I was just thinking that maybe we could spend some time together and catch up. We haven’t seen each other in person too much. I’m not comfortable with too much attention either so yours is more than enough.”

God, what were you saying? That was cringe-worthy. You prayed that he would decline your impulsive proposal.

“I don’t see why not. Very well then, (y/n). Text me the details so I can adjust my schedule accordingly.”

Wait. He agreed? Was he pitying you? No, no. Stop doubting him. Vil was your friend. He must’ve missed being around you too.

[ One Month Later, Cafe Rosé ]

When he said he was busy, he meant it. A month had passed since your birthday and just now were you able to meet up.

You sat in the café idly. He watched you consume your third plate of strawberry shortcake. You glanced at him then at your growing pile of dishes. He squinted. Should you stop?

“Don’t.”

Did he read your mind?

“No, I’m not a mind reader.”

“But you did it again.”

“Your expressions are easy to read. Do yourself a favor and don’t feel bad if you enjoy something and I don’t. Someone who makes you feel bad for getting excited about something– something harmless, something you enjoy, is the worst kind of person. Enjoy your cake, birthday girl. Don’t let me, or anyone for that matter, stop you.”

Vil sipped his hand-pressed superfruit smoothie vehemently.

That was oddly inspiring despite having relevance to your self-esteem and cake. Funnily enough, you did feel better about yourself.

“Excuse me? May I get three more slices of this cake? And another teapot, please?” you called out to a server impulsively.

What on earth were you doing? Was that rude? Did she find you demanding?

“Anything else?”

“That’ll be all for now.”

You turned from the waitress, bringing your attention back to Vil. You cocked your head to the side: “What?”

“Consume cake in moderation, you potato.”

There it was. You’ve been waiting all semester to be called a potato. Pomefiore first years have expressed a strong dislike for the nickname. You, on the other hand, treasured it. Time and memories were built into that nickname.

“It’s fine. I’m paying anyway so don’t worry.”

“You are not paying on your birthday.”

“It’s not my birthday though.”

“We’re here for a belated celebration.”

“So an unbirthday?”

“No, no. Don’t bring the Queen of Hearts’s rules and gimmicks into this,” Vil waved his hand.

He set his smoothie down, The ice shifted, echoing throughout the café.

“I want to pay. I wanted to go here in the first place.”

“Think of this as my belated birthday present for you, atonement for not getting you anything or talking as much we’d like.”

“Vil, I don’t require anything from you. You’re busy. You don’t have to talk to me everyday. I think I would combust if you did. My social battery would drain.”

“That’s reassuring.”

The waitress cleared her throat. Vil nodded, sliding his glass to the further end of the table. She placed the cake slices in a neat triangle before setting the teapot down in the center. Then she followed up with the teacups–one for you, one for Vil. He raised an eyebrow at you. Your server gave a polite bow and dismissed herself.

“Eat one slice. Then I’ll let you pay,” you beamed, sliding him the plate.

He glared at the confection, “Alright.”

[ March, Pomefiore Dormitory Hallway ]

“Bonjour, bonjour! What brings you to our humble dorm?”

Rook was his name right?

“Hello, Rook. I was hoping–”

He scared the living daylight out of you. Where did he come from? Why was nobody else around? You spun your heel and scanned the hall. It was empty.

“Echanté, mademoiselle! Let me guess!”

You yelped, falling backwards. Where did he come from? He was behind you a moment ago. His eyes widened as he lunged for you, hooking his arm around your waist, catching you before you made contact with the ground.

“Careful, careful, little fawn,” he chuckled.

Fawn?

He set you straight then pointed at you. His gloved index finger barely touched the bridge of your nose. This man, Rook, was sending your nerves in a downward spiral.

He smiled at you, resuming like nothing ever happened: “Let me guess– you’re looking for your darling Roi du Poison?”

“Darling… Roi du Poison? Who? Vil?”

“Oui.”

“No, he’s not.. we’re not. We’re just friends. I’m looking for him though bec–”

“Are you here for compensation?”

Rook set Anxiety loose. With a few words, he sent shivers down your spine. Compensation. Would your friendship end the moment you fulfilled his request? It had always been in the back of your mind. The thought of Vil using you to make him feel better about himself shatters you into a million pieces. The thought of owing Vil something for helping you, for being your friend, was heart-wrenching. Was it pity after all this time? Was it so wrong to want to hang out at yet another café? You looked forward to those every month– ever since your unbirthday date. Was your relationship that superficial?

No, it wasn’t a date. You wanted it to be, but it was not a date. You never quite shook off those romantic feelings you felt when you saw a different side to him. Beneath the surface of the poised, strict and sometimes narcissistic prefect, Vil was extremely hard working, passionate, and observant. He was the greatest friend you could ever ask for. You can’t say that he was your best friend, but he was close. If he didn’t feel the same, then that was okay with you. You weren’t even sure if it was love. You’ve had this debate with Anxiety before. It kept telling you that you were in love with the idea of him fixing you. That was not love.

You shook your head. Vil genuinely was your friend. If those feelings were not returned, then you would still be friends. He told you time and time again that you should never feel sorry for the way you feel. If so, then would it be alright to tell him one day? And feel terrible about it later?

“He’s here, isn’t he?” you asked.

“Oui~”

“Rook, (y/n),” a voice from the end of the half coughed.

Pomefiore’s vice dorm leader crossed his arms and gave you a smug smile. Vil. He was decked out in a trench coat and a black turtleneck. Stylish as always, but his hoarse voice told a different story. You rushed to Vil’s side.

“Vil, are you alright?,” you tugged his sleeves, “Your eyes are so puffy. Have you been crying? You’re burning up too. You should rest. Go back to bed this instant. Our café rendezvous can wait.”

He staggered: “No. I want to go with you. I finally have the time.. to see you… I have to make it count...”

“No, Vil. You have a fever. You need to rest,” you said, sliding his arm over your shoulders, ready to haul him back to his quarters.

Rook hummed a bird’s song.

“Would you mind helping?”

The height difference between you and Vil was awkward. His legs are dragged across the floor in a languid manner. One could imagine how uncomfortable that was.

“Non non, little fawn! My hands are dirty. Roi du Poison wouldn’t allow me to taint his beauty with such bacteria. Désolé!”

“Can you at least get the door then?”

“Will do, milady,” he bowed before complying to your request.

He held the door for you as you dragged Vil to his bed. You gasped as Vil’s limbs tighten around your neck.

“Would you mind getting the sheets too? Pull them out so I can tuck him in?”

Rook hummed in response. You plopped Vil onto the mattress. Your companion’s eyes widened, hands thrown in the air.

“Mademoiselle! Careful! Roi du Poison is fragile like a flower’s first bloom.”

“He’ll be fine don’t worry. Now if you could–”

Where did he go? You blinked for one minute and the vice prefect was gone. You shook your head in dismay, turning to Vil and tucked him in bed. He looked so peaceful. His eyes were so distraught and dull before. Did he overwork himself to the point of tears? His room was a mess– shreds of fabric and crumpled balls of paper were discarded on the floor. You could hear his breathing as you made way to his desk.

What’s this? A script? And a sewing machine? What was he making? His sketches were stunning. Was this a side project of his? Was he too busy with films to continue with it? But why were his eyes so puffy?

Whatever the case was, it wasn’t your place to pry. Your fingers trailed off over the sketchbook as you made your way to his bathroom. You didn’t know where he kept the medicine or what kind he used, but it was worth a try to look around.

You opened the cabinet and your face fell. At a glance, he didn’t have anything aside from comesetics. There were a few bottles of potions, but you couldn’t make out the labels. It was best not to guess and check. The least you could do was place a wet on his head to cool down the fever. You peered over the bathroom’s door frame.

He wouldn’t mind. He was breathing heavily. You’ll face the consequences later if it violated his beauty regime. Hurriedly, you grabbed a small towel off the shelf, rinsing it in cold water in the sink. You squeezed off the excess and rushed to Vil, cursing at intervals where the water dripped onto whatever expensive material the flooring was made of. Was it expensive? You couldn’t tell. You placed it on his head gingerly.

Before you could stop yourself, you leaned down and kissed his cheek.

Holy… what did you just do? You were taking advantage of him when he was out cold. If he was awake what would he say? Why did you do that? Why did that make your heart flutter?

“F-Feel better, Vil. I’ll be going now. Tell me when you wake up,” you sighed, patting your cheeks down.

You were a fool for initiating such an intimate act while someone was sleeping. You were also talking to said someone as if they were listening. It was best to excuse yourself now. Though maybe a little note would be helpful for when he wakes up. Your sleeves dipped. Your eyes went to the source of motion: Vil.

“Fairest… can you stay?”

You were at a loss for words. Vil called you “Fairest”– as if your other nickname didn’t exist. His face was flushed from the heat and his eyes were red and teary. What to do? What to do? What to do?

Vil tugged at your sleeves and pulled you onto the bed. Your mind went blank. You were on top of him, preventing yourself from crushing him with your weight, hands pinned on each side of his head.

“V-Vil?”

He pulled you onto him, then turned to the side, causing you to face each other. The blankets were ruffled, wrapping you two into a contorted position. The towel slipped off his face. You scrambled out of bed. Vil lunged for you, pulling you back in.

“I said stay,” he pouted.

“I know, I was just getting out of bed to get back in. Wait that doesn’t make sense?”

“It does,” he said, lifting the sheets so you could climb in,

You yelped as he pulled you into his chest, “Vil? What are you doing?”

“I wanted to see you today.”

“I’m here.”

“I wanted to go on another date with you.”

Date? Does he think it was a date too? Every single one? Great Seven, have mercy…

“You should rest. We can hang out here if you want.”

Your hold on his waist tightened. You inhaled the faint scent of his cologne. Perhaps to him, this was a fever dream. Stil, all love takes patience– if what you both felt was love, that is.

“Thank you for staying , (y/n).”

“...Do you want to talk about it? Usually you’re the one listening to me, but I’m here for you too. ”

Vil buried his head into your shoulders, “Nothing much. Just overworked. Stress came to me in the form of sickness, unfortunately. How inconvenient.”

He clicked his tongue while you giggled. Even if bedridden, Vil’s mind was as proactive as ever.

“Were you crying?”

“...”

“You don’t have to answer.”

How do you comfort someone? You’ve always been the one comforted, especially from Vil. Were you gaining more from the relationship than Vil did? You wanted him to cheer up though...

“No, no. It’s fine. It’s better to get it off my chest while you’re still here.”

What did he mean by that? You weren’t leaving. Why would you? How could you?

“Do you think I’m more than my appearance?”

He was shaking. Vil was shaking. What could have possibly happened from the last time you saw him? Was he alright?

“Why do you want my opinion? We both know you’re more than a pretty face.”

“Answer the question.”

“Alright, alright. I do think you have a pretty face. You’re gorgeous, very handsome… but you’re also hardworking, diligent, strong-willed, driven, intelligent, observant and more words that I can’t think of to describe how I feel about you. Oh and a great alchemist and friend I might add. Vil, you’re pretty. You’re beautiful. Inside and out.”

Your heart hurt. Calling him your friend didn’t sit right with you. He threw his head back in a fit of laughter.

“Did I ramble too much?”

“No, not at all. I feel much better so thank you.”

“I’m glad you’re feeling better then. Whatever happened, I hope you know that it doesn’t define you. If you feel like it does, then remember that I’m your biggest fan.”

Ah, too cheesy. You’ve gotten too comfortable around Vil to think about Anxiety or your verbal filter. When you were with him, words flowed as freely as time.

“I’ll… keep that in mind.”

He didn’t say anything much about it. Was that not weird for him? Did you offer the solace he was looking for? He merely pulled away from your embrace. You thanked the heavens that his eyes were closed. If he made eye contact with you while you two were still sharing the same bed, you might as well ascend to the afterlife.

“Why do you ask though?”

“Oh I just had a miserable case of self-doubt is all. My manager kept taking roles that type-casted me as beautiful as the main character. I know I’m worth more than my looks- I want to be more than my looks- but so far the industry has told me otherwise… but thank you, (y/n).”

He stayed like that for a while, inhaling and exhaling softly. Was he sleeping? How much time had passed?

“Vil. I have a question for you. You don’t have to answer if you’re not up to it. I know you have a lot on your mind right...” you said, breaking the silence.

“Shoot.”

“Will I be able to see you again after I compensate for the time I’ve wasted?”

“You don’t waste time. You don’t have to compensate for anything. I’m glad you’re here with me. If anything, I wasted your time.”

“But you said that we could talk about compensation later. It’s been over a year, Vil,” you whimpered.

“What do you mean by compensation?” he asked firmly, opening his eyes.

You choked on your own words. This was a bad idea. It might even offend him. Would if offend him? You wanted to know.

“Our first presentation. My anxiety attack. The infirmary. You helped me. I asked why then you said there was a price and we could talk about it later. But that conversation never came up. Why is that? Why did you come to the infirmary that night? Why did you take me in? Why am I here? Why do you still talk to me?”

You couldn’t stop yourself from spewing all of the questions you had for these past months. You needed to know. You needed your heart to shatter.

He sighed, “Good grief, (y/n). You remember all of that still? It’s not as bad as you think.”

He was offended.

“Please don’t say that.”

He inhaled sharply.

“My apologies, potato. I didn’t mean it like that. But to answer your question, I felt guilty especially since I was the one who forced you onto the podium and made you redo the presentation because I couldn’t manage my first major acting role and my academics at the same time. I am sorry that you had to suffer the consequences.”

Vil turned onto his back. He brought his forearm to cover his eyes. Was he embarrassed? Ashamed? Did it hurt his pride?

“I didn’t think of it like that. I’m sorry that I ruined our project because I couldn’t manage to improvise.”

“You shouldn’t apologize for that.”

“You shouldn’t either. Your feelings are just as valid as mine. Even if you don’t have anxiety, you still can feel anxious and overwhelmed.”

“Touché.”

“And the compensation?”

“You needn’t worry about that. My time is valuable indeed but you’re not a waste of my time at all. You’re worthwhile.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” you muttered.

“Hm?”

“What would have been the compensation?”

Vil turned to face you, rustling the sheets, “Are you that curious, Fairest?”

“F-Fairest?”

“Hm, yes it suits you now more than ever. Close your eyes for a moment. This should be quick.”

You obliged, closing your eyes. Vil wouldn’t do something terrible to you would he? He gripped your shoulders and pushed you flat on your back. You felt him shift his leg so he could straddle you. You instinctively cursed yourself in a ball.

“You can relax. I’m not going to hurt you.”

You loosened your muscles, trying hard not to burst into a fit of nervous laughter. You were scared.

“Fairest.”

“Yes?”

“How was your day?”

“Well, it was—mmmphhh!”

Vil had told you to keep your eyes closed, but how could you? Not when he was kissing you. You had waited for this moment. You fantasized about it, daydreaming, pining for him on the daily. You never saw it coming. Did he return your feelings? After all this time? You mewled as he bit your bottom lip. You were hot, feverish just like your beloved prefect. Was he alright? He was flushed, coughing as you pushed him away.

“My time has been compensated,” he smirked.

His expression quickly changed, “Hey! Why are you crying? Did I hurt you? That was too bold wasn’t it… Goodness (y/n)...”

You cupped his cheeks.

“Not at all. I’m just so happy that you feel the same.”

“Feel the same?”

You faltered. Was he toying with you? No, he wouldn’t…

“I-I like you a lot, you know. I don’t know of a time I didn’t. You’re so confident and I adore you for that. I love how you’re always there for me, how you always listen to me, and how you lean on me too. I love how you include me and see me no less than anyone else. I love you so much that my heart hurts,” you paused and moved your hands to clutch your chest, “But if it isn’t love then I suppose that’s fine too. I think I might be in love with the idea of you. It might be a little presumptuous here, spouting nonsense to you, but I don’t want to be just friends. Even if I am broken, I want to make you happy so please accept my feelings-!”

Cheesy. Too cheesy! You’re oversharing, (y/n). Stop. It. Death suddenly seemed like a viable option. You loved him so much that you must die. Yes, that was the only way.

Vil kissed you. This time, it was more of a peck.

“This whole time… you… I love you too, Fairest. I accept you and your feelings. Thank you for being so patient with me,” he kissed the trail of tears running down your cheeks, “You already make me so happy. I love your innocence, your beauty—inside and out as you would say. I admire your strength to help others despite being in a world of your own. I love your selflessness and... your adorable reactions to situations that make you anxious. Please, tug at my sleeves some more.”

You pouted at the last bit. Vil was observant. You’ve come to learn that the hard way. The trait never withered.

He continued: “I will be in your care from now on.”

Ah. He was crying. Smiling too. What a sappy mess of emotions you two were, sobbing in each other’s arms over a mutual confession.

He flicked your forehead, “And don’t you dare call yourself broken. You are not below me and I am not above you. We’re in this together. I love you and you love me and you better love yourself too. You hear me, potato?”

“Yes, but–”

“Did I stutter?”

You pressed your forehead against his, “Will do, Vil.”

He lowered his weight onto you, nuzzling into your neck. You wrapped your arms around his neck and combed through his champagne gold locks. You were sniffling. You were relieved that he loved you the way you loved him. You were relieved that you didn’t fall in love with potential. He loved you for you and you loved him the same. What if you weren’t good enough for? No, no, he said he felt the same. Stop overthinking, (y/n).

You were drained after all this worrying. Being plagued by thoughts assuming the worst about him and the worst case scenarios concerning your confession consumed your mind. There was not a single day where your head was clear.

You were exhausted. So, so, so tired. Tired of thinking. Tired of Anxiety. Sleep seemed nice right now especially with Vil laying on top of you. The monster inside your head had gone dormant. All there was the thought of Vil being by your side, loving you and Anxiety all the same.

Your consciousness faded.

[ April, Someday– Vil’s Birthday, Pomefiore Dormitory Hallway ]

“Vil. Vil!!!” you squealed, tackling your lover from behind.

He staggered on his toes, but recovered swiftly. He was tall. The stilettos made him taller. You were up to his shoulders, giggling, slipping under the long sleeves of the Pomefiore dorm uniform.

“Au revoir, Roi du Poison. Mademoiselle (y/n),” Rook chuckled and excused himself.

Vil gave Rook a look of disdain yet the vice prefect skipped along the halls, paying no mind to the daggers coming his way. Your beloved turned to you and smiled.

“Happy birthday~”

“You’re frisky today.”

“I’m excited.”

“I can see that. Thank you,” he pats your head.

“Are you busy?”

“I’m finishing up something. You’re welcome to wait in my room. Might I tell you that you look beautiful today? Red lipstick suits you.”

You followed him into his quarters, seating yourself on the bed, fiddling with the ends of your hair. He called you beautiful. You were giddy over something trivial. It was normal for one to call their significant other beautiful. In truth, he was the fairest, not you. You never minded. You loved watching him flourish in the spotlight.

You watched him undo his bun, letting his hair fall loose. The ends were curled, bouncing on his shoulders. He stepped into the bathroom to shed the dorm uniform off, opting for a black suit with faint floral patterns. Your eyes widened, coming to terms with the fact that he wore no dress shirt underneath the suit.

“You’re eighteen now, Vil,” you mused.

“What of it?”

“Oh nothing. I was just thinking.”

He hummed in response, “Is that so?”

“It feels like yesterday when we were both- what? Fifteen? Nevermind that. It’s silly. Would you like to see your gift now?”

“How does after the party sound?” he asked, lining his eyes with a thick eyeliner.

A thin smirk creeped up on his lips.

The look was similar to the standard ceremonial robes makeup. His silver chain-like earrings, leather choker and red heels threw off the professional look. Vil was striking. From what he told you, his producers had invited him to a party celebrating the release of a film he starred in. It was conveniently on his birthday. He spent the last few weeks convincing you to go with him.

You gave in, but the thought of attending a social gathering with people you had never met before worried you. Vil reassured you that he would remain by your side at all times. You agreed on the spot, putting on a brave face for his sake. He promised to spend time with you afterwards. Just you and him. He even agreed to eat cake.

“I’m okay with that.”

“Thank you. I know you’re excited, but I want to save all the birthday related things for after.”

He set his makeup down and handed you a container of gel, climbing onto the bed while you got on your knees. You wrapped your arms around his neck.

“You never let me do your hair.”

“Think of it as a reward for coming along with me.”

“I told you that you didn’t have to worry about that,” you said, letting go of your embrace and popping off the container’s lid.

“I’m thankful, but don’t push yourself for me.”

“I won’t, don’t worry. Besides, I want to. You’re going to be busy after today. I want to spend as much time as possible with you today.”

He smiled and helped you push his hair back. Dipping your fingers into the cool aquamarine substance, you combed through your lover’s hair, bringing his bangs back. When you finished, he turned around to kiss you. He caught you off guard, but you leaned into the kiss instantly. It wasn’t passionate nor was it chaste. It was somewhere in between as to not smear your lipstick. You reached for his hair to deepen it, but he grabbed your wrists. Right. You had forgotten.

“Later,” he whispered.

Your cheeks were dusted with a rosy tint. Later? As quickly as he pulled away from you, Vil slid off the bed. He passed by his mirror, patting down his suit and hair. Then, he extended his hand to you, “Shall we go?”

[ Land of Pyroxene, Venue’s Rose Gardens ]

Vil said it was a small social gathering. A small party. The amount of people was fair to his description, but the setting was overwhelming. It was sophisticated. There were fae servers and ice sculptures. You were surprised to learn that the soirée was held in his homeland. You were expecting a carriage yet he simply led you to the mirror chamber where the headmaster bid him farewell.

And here you are. You were in a rose garden differed from Heartslabyul’s greatly as the roses were as white as snow. They grew on pickets and hung over your heads like grape vines. It was scenic, ethereal, like something out of a fairytale. There was also a castle in the distance, adding to the regality of the venue.

“Vil! Oh thank goodness you’re here. I almost thought you were going to leave me to fend against all of these actors wanting to know more about you,” a stout woman said, scrambling towards him, “Oh? Is this your– ohhhhh–”

“Adella, this is (y/n). Fairest, this is Adella, my manager.”

Vil paused, cueing you for an introduction. He glanced at you.

“Chin up, dear,” he wrapped an arm around your waist, “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Breathe. Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Adella was Vil’s manager. Like he said, she’s nothing to be afraid of.

“P-Pleasure to meet you,” you extended your hand out.

She took it with a death grip. Sheer willpower prevented you from wincing.

“No, no, the pleasure is mine. Vil has told me so much about you. And my, he calls you ‘Fairest’ how adorable~”

“What has he told you?”

You heard his breath hitch. Vil’s arm slithered back to his side. Was that too much? You were curious, but what if that made him uncomfortable? You should apologize later.

“Nothing much. I didn’t even know what you looked like even! His pet name for you suits you so well. Oh! I do know that he frequently asks about his schedule because he said that he wants to spend time with the s–”

“That’s enough now, Adella,” Vil said, crossing his arms and putting his weight on one foot.

Shoot. He was displeased.

“Yes, yes, sorry. Shall we go greet your colleagues? You are free to mingle afterwards. I know that there was this one actor who was practically begging me to see you. You weren't here yet though so what could I do? Fufufu~”

“Are you coming, (y/n)?” Vil asked, turning his head to see you trailing behind.

You halted and pointed to the dessert table, “You can go on ahead.”

He nodded and followed his manager to the east side of the garden. You made your way to your own destination. While you wanted to go with Vil, meeting Adella set your nerves ablaze and drained all the social energy you had. Plus, you felt out of place when you stood next to Vil.

Compared to him, you could never pull off silver earrings. A pair of red heels simply looked better on him than they ever would on you. Then there was Adella who was also gorgeous with her messy bun and nude lipstick. She wasn’t a public figure yet you felt small around her presence. She exuded a lovable aura that drew people around her. If you had to meet more people who were meant for the spotlight, celebrities no less, you could never manage through the night. If you avoided strangers, you should be fine. There were cake pops amongst other treats at the table. You were going to have a ball of a time.

You plucked the confection off its stand, examining it thoroughly. It was as luxurious as the party’s decor. The dessert resembled the poison apple the Beautiful Queen from the stories you were told as a child. Gold foil acted as the poison while a red coating of candy melts acted as the skin of the apple. You bit the top off. It was a vanilla sponge cake. Odd for an extravagant event like this as you assumed the flavors would be bolder. Maybe it was the kind expensive vanilla. Were they all the same flavor? You plucked another one from the stand, biting into it. Oh this one was red velvet with a cream cheese filling. Were there other flavors?

“My, my, you sure like the cake pops, don’t you?” a voice cooed.

You turned your head to meet the owner of that sweet voice. He had hair as black as ebony and skin as white as snow. His eyes were a warm chocolate brown. He wore a yellow jumpsuit with a red ribbon which was complemented by a black beret. He strained a smile at you.

“You needn’t look at me like a deer in headlights. It’s okay I like cake pops too,” he laughed.

“Who are you?”

“Eh? You don’t know who I am?”

You shook your head. He blinked twice.

“I’m Neige LeBlanche, lead actor of the film. But, say, since you don’t know who I am, I’m assuming you’re someone’s plus one? You seem kind of young though...”

He took a cake pop from the stand, peeling off the gold foil.

“I’m Vil’s plus one.”

“Vil? I would have never guessed. I thought he said he wasn’t bringing someone. He didn’t seem like he wanted to either...” he mumbled something and paused, “As expected of my senior! Say, what are you to him?”

You pulled the ends of your hair, “I-I’m his girlfriend.”

“Is that so? He never mentioned having a girlfriend. I always thought he was going to end up–”

“We started dating a few weeks ago.”

“Oh my, that’s–”

“I have to go so if you’ll excuse me, Neige. It’s been nice meeting you. Congrats on the film,” you waved.

“No, no, the pleasure is mine, (y/n). I’m glad I got to meet Vil’s girlfriend. You were so sweet! I hope we can talk some more in the future! Oh I know–You should follow me on MagiCam! We can talk there,” he exclaimed, clasping his hands around yours.

He was so bubbly… You didn’t know how to handle him. Was this interaction not awkward to him at all? Your cheeks flushed as you excused yourself. You held your head down low and avoided eye contact with everyone you crossed paths with. Where you were headed to was a mystery, even to you. Anywhere was fine. Anywhere secluded. Anywhere without people, but close enough to trace your footsteps back to the rose gardens should anything arise.

Of course, that was the ideal scenario. In your situation, nothing was ideal per se. You were lost. You had trudged forward whilst looking at the ground, not getting a good look of your surroundings at all. It was hard to tell where you were. If you had known better, you would say that you were in a children’s book. The rose bushes towered high above your head and the castle was closer than it was before. In the center of it all was a gazebo adorned with intricate floral details. There was also a well to the side of the structure. You made your way to the gazebo and sat down on the bench, gazing upon the beauty of the raven sky. It glittered like a thousand fireflies.

You sighed, “The moon is beautiful tonight.”

[ Some Ungodly Hour, Venue’s Rose Garden ]

“Nghh…”

“You’re awake now?”

Vil? What was he doing here? The moon was high in the sky. It was late. You were resting your head on his lap. You sat upright in an abrupt motion.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“Ruining the party by running off and falling asleep, wasting your time when you could have been talking to someone more important–”

Vil put a finger to your lips: “I was getting exhausted of people commenting on my looks anyway. You did worry me by running off though. To think that I had to ask Neige of all people too.”

That last part about Neige. Did he not like his co-star? He ran his hand through his hair while you adjusted yourself into a more comfortable position. You opted to lean your head on his shoulder. Vil reciprocated by placing his head on top of yours, nuzzling it.

“The party is still ongoing so don’t worry,” he said, “Though you could have told me where you were.”

You exhaled. Thank goodness. It would have been embarrassing if it ended.

“Sorry about that.”

“Was it that exhausting for you? I told you not to push yourself for my sake. It makes neither of us happy.”

“At first, no, I wasn’t. I was a bit nervous around your manager but then Neige threw me off for a bit–”

“Neige? What did he say to you?”

“Nothing. He just asked what I was to you and I wasn’t prepared for that.”

“We’re leaving.”

“What? Why?”

Your stomach growled. You looked down at the ground. Suddenly the grass below your feet was the most interesting thing in the world. He took your hand firmly. His grip was different. He held you as if he was about to lose you.

“I had talked to everyone I needed to talk to. I’m done for the day and so are you. I would like to celebrate my birthday now with my dearly beloved if she would please.”

It wasn’t a request. It was a demand. There was no room for apologies.

You rose from the bench, grimacing at the soreness and took his hand, following him to the mirror.

[ Midnight, Vil’s Bedroom ]

Was he mad? He said he wasn’t. But then why was he handling you so roughly? Vil pulled you into the bathroom. He turned the faucet on, drawing water into the bathtub. He grabbed a bottle of bubble bath product and rose petals. He emptied the contents and discarded the containers onto the cool tiles. They rattled and echoed. Vil turned to his cabinets, searching for something. Strands of his loosely gelled hair swayed back and forth as he sifted through his cosmetics. He muttered gibberish as he found makeup wipes. Pulling you towards him, he began to wipe the gunk off your face. His motions were rigid, frantic, like he was wiping at a stubborn speck on a mirror. He turned you around and undid your dress’s zipper. The process was akin to a kitten’s first yawn. Slow, drawling yet somehow winsome. The act was intimate. Vil manhandling you was a first. It spawned many mixed motions. The positives outweigh the negatives, but was he alright? His eyes were ready to cry. They were glossy to the rim. When the zipper reached the end of its path, he pushed you aside and tended to his own face with a new wipe.

“Strip and get into the tub,” he instructed.

Strip? That was off-putting, especially from him. He didn’t want to have birthday sex did he? Or would he leave when he was done with his makeup? It had to be the latter. You held your sides, preventing the dress from slipping down your shoulders. But what if he did? What if he wanted to let out his frustrations on you? Was that it? He said he was more worried than upset, but his actions betrayed his words. He was tense. He could burst at any moment. Vil, as he was now, was a time bomb, ticking away. You feared he might break.

Vil snapped his fingers before you. You flinched. As you regain focus into the real world, you come to the sight of your lover in the tub, hair wet and his body leaning against the edge. His clothes were hanging on the laundry hamper. You looked away, excusing yourself under your breath. A tug on the hem of your dress stopped you in your tracks. He had broken. His eyes were red and puffy though no tears trailed down his fair complexion. You knelt down beside the tub, tucking his hair behind his ear.

“Vil…”

“Could you stay?”

“In the tub?”

“Only if you want to.”

Why is it that he could always see through you? Was your discomfort obvious? No, no, he was merely attentive. Then again, you were equally observant to everyone, especially towards Vil. Your darling was an open book, an easy read– the merit being that his words rarely matched his actions. He was a novel full of metaphors, eloquent tones and arbitrary words. Underneath the complications, he was as simple as the next composition. He was as insecure as any other person, if not more. To read Vil Schoenheit, you mustn't analyze his speech. Words fail in this case. You had to look for the little things: his weight shifting on one leg, his shoulders tensing, his eyebrows furrowing for a brief moment, his shortness of breath, his eyes.

In this very moment in time, Vil needed you. He said there was no obligation, but the small frown on his lips told you otherwise. He was aware of your own boundaries, but at times like these, when he needed you most, your instinct to reach for him, to hold him, triumphed over your murky thoughts. There was mutual trust between you and Vil, two profoundly regardful people. One was observant because he had a keen eye for details and all things beautiful. The other was observant because she was wary of the opinions of others.

Vil turned away from you as you let your dress and undergarments fall to the ground. His eyes were closed when you climbed into the tub.

“You never have to push yourself for my sake, Fairest,” Vil said as he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled your back closer to his chest.

“I don’t mind if it’s for you. I will tell you when I can’t do something, I promise.”

“You better,” he sighed.

You turned around and cupped his cheeks, “What about you? Are you alright? You’ve been so stiff ever since we left.”

You scooped some soap suds onto his hair, lathering and combing though his silky locks while you waited for him to formulate the right words.

“Fairest, do you think I am more than my appearance?”

You stopped mid-caress and nodded. His looks were always a touchy subject. Vil had a severe case of type-casting, a situation where he was only casted for roles with “beautiful” as the main attribute of the character. At first, he was content with them, but as time went on, he felt defined by his appearance. His hard work was futile in an industry that valued beauty over effort. Comments such as “you only got to where you are now because of your face” was a stab in the heart for Vil. He often sought out you or Rook for comfort. It came to the point where Vil frequently declined callbacks.

He continued, “No matter how much I talked to others about my role in the film or attempted to make more connections to those in the industry, they would always comment on my ensemble first. Sometimes they comment on how I look and nothing more.”

“So you feel invalidated for your efforts?”

“Yes, I feel like none of the work I put into getting where I am now. I feel like all I had to do was look pretty and everything will be handed to me… just like Neige. I want to be as pretty as him. I want to be as popular as him. I want to be recognized for my skills and get casted for the best roles. Not superficial ones. I want… I want....”

You embraced him as he choked on his own words.

“This is hypocritical since it’s coming from me, but you should never compare yourself or your efforts or progress to anyone else. You are enough as you are, at your own pace.”

His arms engulfed you. He kissed you, intertwining his tongue with yours.

“I’m sorry,” Vil said, pulling away.

“I’m sorry too.”

“What did I tell you about saying sorry for something that’s out of your control?”

“But you’re apologizing too,” you laughed.

He snorted.

“But I do feel guilty for leaving you alone though. Maybe I could have said something for your sake. I feel even worse since it was your birthday.”

“We’re both pathetic in that regard.”

You scooped water onto Vil’s head. He did the same for you. You looked him into the eyes before averting your gaze. They were as intense as ever.

“I accept your apology though. In turn, you should accept mine.”

“I can’t. Sorry, Vil. You told me that I should never apologize for how I feel. Neither should you.”

“But I don’t have anxi–”

“You don’t have to have anxiety or anything to have a bad mental health day. You don’t have to have anxiety or anything to feel insecure or worthless. Those feelings are valid for anyone”

“You do have a point there,” Vil said as he tousled his hair.

“I have something for you. It may not be your birthday anymore,” you glanced at the clock, “but we haven’t slept yet so in my mind the day isn’t over yet.”

“What kind of logic is that?”

“Does it still feel like a ninth of April to you?”

“Yes, but technically it’s not.”

“Think of it as a feeling then,” you said and climbed out of the tub.

Vil assisted you in the process and got towels for you both. He languidly dried your hair. His touch was soft like a ghost’s embosom. You could barely feel his touch. Then, he waltzed over to his dresser and gave you one of his silk pajama tops. While he was getting dressed, you grabbed your gift for him, sitting on the edge of the mattress waiting for him.

Shortly after, he plopped down on the bed. The pillows bounced on impact. You held the gift bag over his chest. He looked up at you then at the bag. Sitting up, he opened it.

“Well?”

Your lover tore through the tissue paper, revealing a small box wrapped in brown wrapping paper, red ribbon and twine. His eyes sparkled like a child on Christmas Day.

He read the present tag aloud: “‘To my darling: Vil Schoenheit. Happy birthday.’”

He undid the bow, careful not to ruin the label. He found the edges of the wrapping paper and picked off the tape piece by piece and discarded it on the ground. It fell with grace. Vil lifted the lid of the box.

“A book?”

“Open it.”

Granted, you were more nervous than he was. Would he like it? Today was not his day. You hoped to make him feel better. If he didn’t like it in the slightest, you wouldn’t know how to feel. You wanted to see him smile. It was his birthday. He did not deserve to feel insecure because of soirée guests. He did not deserve to feel so small when he was your world. In fact, he deserved the world for all that he was. He worked too hard not to. His efforts deserved to be paid off. Perhaps not every day, but for his birthday, he should have. It was his day.

Vil obliged, turning to the title page.

“Eighteen things I love about you,” he read.

You leaned over his shoulder.

“Did you honestly write an essay about your love for me?”

“No,” you said, burying your head into the crook of his neck, “Just look.”

“I jest, Fairest.”

Vil licked his finger and turned the page.

“Ah. A scrapbook? Let’s see… ‘Number one: I love how—”

You put a hand over his mouth, “It’s embarrassing if you read it out loud.”

“I think it’s endearing. Besides, I live for your flushed face.”

You whined and he let out a laugh.

“I’ll spare you. I’ll only read the first one aloud.”

“That’s fair,” you mumbled.

“I hope it is. Anyhow… ‘Number one: I love how you carry yourself with utmost respect. I love how you know your worth. I love how angry you are when you are undermined– because you know you are worth more than what the current situation offers. Your confidence is contagious as it inspires me to acknowledge my own worth, to be bolder and seek opportunities that are on par to my own capabilities.’”

He paused.

“What?” you asked.

“I like how you included a photo of us as freshman potatoes,” he said, running his fingers over the image as if he was wiping away dust.

“You always were always like a star to me, ever since we first met. It was hard to start off this scrapbook without referencing that.”

You twirled the ends of your hair.

“I’m glad that you see me in such a way.”

His voice was so soft, inaudible even.

“Vil?”

No response. He flipped the book to page two. Then to page three and so forth. He was still. His chest did not rise and fall each breath. He didn’t even blink. He stopped at the last page. It read: “I love you. You as a whole– the person you present to the crowd and the person you present to a select few. I love you for every flaw and insecurity. I love and accept you in the same way you love and accept me and more. I promise to love you forevermore– no shunning, no judging, just staying by your side and watching you grow into a person I fall in love with more and more every day.”

He pushed you down onto the bed and kissed you, dropping the book onto the ground.

“V-Vil…”

A sense of déjà vu washed over you.

He was vulnerable. He knew, you knew. His lips were quivering and his eyes were glossy. But did he like it? You tried so hard not to say that you liked him because of his looks. That was a touchy subject for him. Did that last one come off as too cheesy? You were told you were quite sappy on top of having an ability with words but still…

“What are you doing writing a bunch of wedding vows, you sweet potato?” Vil muttered as he cuddled you.

“I didn’t mean for it to come off like that. We’re barely a month into this relationship so that’s out of the question. I’m pretty sure we’re still in our honeymoon phase too. But that’s how I feel right now. So… What if I wrote a bunch of wedding vows to you? What of it?”

You could feel heat rising to your cheeks. Hopefully, he didn’t find your sudden confession cringe-worthy.

“I never said it was bad... I feel the same.”

He let the last part of his sentence trail off into silence.

“Do you feel better now?”

Was that out of place? Did that kill the mood? What if you soured his mood?

“Much better, thank you. I appreciate it and… I love you too. I know I don’t say it a lot, but I think you know that already.”

“I do.”

He peppered your face with kisses. Some were on your lips, Others were on your cheeks and forehead and occasionally trailed down your jawline.

“I also have something else for you,” you spoke up, pushing him off of you so you could grab another bag that you left by the foot of his bed.

“You spoil me, Fairest.”

“It’s not much. Just a cake I made for you.”

“A whole cake?”

“A cupcake, I mean. I know you’re not one for sweets.”

“And you left it in my room with no refrigeration.”

You pointed to the ice pack. He nodded. You pulled out a cake box, propping it open on Vil’s hands and told him to hold still. You placed a candle in the center and lit with a little spark of fire magic.

“Make a wish~”

“What am I? Twelve?”

“You have to make a wish.”

“Fine,” he said as he blew out the taper, “I wish to be with you for as long as possible.”

“You can’t say your wish out loud. It won’t come true!”

“Do you have any intention of separating from me?”

“N-No.”

“I don’t see why my wish won’t come true then,” Vil said as he cut the cupcake in half, handing you a piece.

“I guess you’re right about that.”

“Careful. If you get crumbs on my bed, you’re sleeping in the spare room.”

“...Understood.”

[ Present Day, Pomefiore Hallway ]

One moment he was dolling you up, the next he was wrapping a blindfold around your eyes and led you down the hallway to god knows where. You were still walking straight so you only assumed that you were still in the Pomefiore dormitories. Unless you walked through a mirror. Or maybe you simply had a terrible sense of direction. Whatever the case was, it did not change the fact that you were trembling.

“Vil. Where are you taking me?”

He exhaled. You could hear his chest heave.

“Darling, are you scared?”

Like how you could read him like an open book, he knew you like the back of his hand. You nodded and you felt him undo the blindfold. He held the ribbon in his hand and yours in the other. You looked into his eyes for comfort. He was wearing a single French braid. It was nostalgic. It was like you were first years again. He wasn’t wearing a school uniform, but it was enough to stir up fond memories. Instead, Vil wore a casual ensemble with a kimono-esque silhouette. He wore a white dress shirt with a pair of shapeless, high-waisted black dress pants. A cardigan with an ornate pattern accentuated the look, He wasn’t wearing the barrette you made him for his sixteenth birthday either, but you felt nostalgic regardless.

“I still need you to close your eyes for me though,” he said, putting the hand with the ribbon over your eyes, “I know you’re scared, but please hold on for a little longer.”

You nodded and closed your eyes. You felt his hand leaving your face, but the other was holding yours tightly, guiding you to your destination.

“Fairest, are your eyes actually closed?” Vil asked, breaking the silence.

“Y-Yes.”

You had been walking for a few minutes now. Where was he taking you?

“Vil, do you know what today is?”

No response.

“Vil… You’re scaring me.”

“We’re almost there, don't worry.”

Would it hurt to trust him for a little bit? You trailed behind him aimlessly. Your steps lagged behind his.

“You ready?” he asked, cupping his lanky fingers over your eyes.

You nodded. Whatever could it be? Lacking sight made Anxiety rattle against your skull. Was Vil going to push you off a cliff? Send you to your doom? No, no, no. He wouldn’t. That was too extreme, (y/n). Calm down.

He lifted his fingers off of your eyes, whispering a faint “happy birthday” to you. You gasped. Pomefiore lounge decorated with streamers and balloons– color coordinated to match both the dorm’s interior as well as your favorite colors. Rose petals were sprinkled on the ground. You heard Vil step away from you. You jumped as you heard something pop and turned around to find the source. Before you could react, a swarm of confetti went your way followed by a loud “surprise!”

You blinked twice, pulling bits of paper out of your hair.. You stepped forward and spun your heel. Were you dreaming?

“Hey, are you crying? I forbid you from crying. Your mascara is going to smear. Stop touching your face,” Vil scolded, running to your side, whipping out a handkerchief to pat your tears dry.

He had no confetti on his person. He was pristine.

“Vil… it’s wonderful. Thank you. I’m so glad you didn’t forget.”

“How could I forget? You must give me more credit, Fairest. I may not have the time to be with you every day, but I’m not cruel as to forgot your birthday,” he huffed, pulling you into a hug.

He was right. He could have never forgotten. Was he mad that you doubted him? He didn’t seem irritated. It wasn’t like him to forget such an important date. You’ll give him credit for being a good actor; he fooled you well. He ignored you for almost two weeks. Whenever you brought up your birthday, he brushed over it and changed the subject. You were on edge the entire time. A weight was lifted off your chest.

“I know you’re not one for parties, but I figured I’d go all out for a small group of people you are comfortable with. You’re seventeen now. Rejoice, my dear.”

You pecked his lips, “This is fine. Thank you so much.”

Snap!

“Cute~ Hashtag: Vil-Did-Not-Forget. Hashtag: (y/n)’s-Growth Record. Hashtag: (y/n)-And-Vil-Forever. Hashtag: Birthday. And posted! Happy birthday, (y/n)-chan~”

“Ah. Thank you, Cay-kun.”

“Did you have to do that?” your lover asked, hands on his hip.

“It’s fine, Vil.”

He nodded. You hoped he wouldn’t bicker too much with Leona as the upperclassman was lounging a bit too close to the throne for [Vil’s] comfort. You sighed as he went to the refreshments table.

“You’ve grown for much,” Cater said with crocodile tears, hugging you.

“I’m still the same height.”

“I didn’t mean that, silly.”

“What did you mean then?”

“Nothing, much. You just look happier. Anyways, here’s your present. Continue to blossom, m’kay?”

You took the gift: “Alright?”

“Cater. Mind your manners. You’re being rude. According to the–,” a voice called.

“I don’t think I am, right, (y/n)? Tell Riddle for me~” he pouted.

His eyes widened as the complexion of Heartslabyul’s prefect grew as red as his hair.

“Hey now. Let’s not fight,” Trey, the vice prefect, hurried over to pat Riddle’s back.

You sighed, “There’s nothing to worry about, Riddle.”

You could have sworn you saw a vein deflate on his forehead as he mumbled something about the rules. He handed you a bouquet of roses.

“Happy birthday, (y/n).”

“Let’s take a Heartslabyul selfie to celebrate! Say cheese!”

No one said cheese. The flash flickered before your eyes as you held the flowers close to your nose. Riddle’s eyebrows were scrunched together. He was socially awkward in that aspect.

“Hashtag: Heartsla…”

Cater’s words faded. Since when have you been comfortable taking pictures with him. It was nice. You felt pretty today. Was it because Vil dolled you up to a T? You hugged the bouquet closer to your chest as you walked towards the refreshments table.

“Oi. Herbivore. Watch the tail,” an all too familiar voice groaned.

“Good afternoon to you too, Leona.”

“Here’s your present.”

He handed you a small box and he waved you goodbye. Was he not going to stay? You watched his back get smaller and smaller as he walked out of the Pomefiore Lounge. He wasn’t big on parties either. That was alright.

You continued the refreshments, stopping occasionally and accumulating presents here and there, engaging in idle chatter. Soon, your arms were full of trinkets and parcels. You panted as you set the gifts onto a spare table.

“You’re quite the attraction,” Vil said, sipping on a glass of apple cider.

“I don’t really think I’m–”

“Own it for a day, will you? You look absolutely divine.”

“Thank you, Vil.”

He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, “My pleasure, Fairest.”

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland imagines #twst imagines #twisted wonderland oneshot #twst oneshot #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #fave #self indulgence #happy birthday to meeee

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himbodjarin · 4 years

Text

LUNAR; CH10

18+ ONLY Series Content: Graphic descriptions of gore and smut. Din Djarin/Third Person POV. Chapter Word Count: 7373 Pairing: Din Djarin/F!Reader - no use of y/n

The Mandalorian is a driven warrior — traversing the galaxy in search of the ancient Jedi — but everyone has their weaknesses, and he’s no different. The Bounty Hunter possessed three in fact. One he’s discovered—The Child. The remaining two, though, he wasn’t aware of their existence. At least, not until he meets a valorous Sharpshooter underneath a moonless night sky; then he’s plummeting down a dark mission of self-discovery, questioning his morals and his Creed while the moon taunts him, the phases of the satellite corresponding to his personal revelations. However, the Girl has a dark past that may come to inflict hardships on the Mandalorian and the Child; it's up to the Bounty Hunter to decide her fate.

Read on AO3 / Series Masterlist

CHAPTER TEN: THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM

The Mandalorian’s calves have never felt so tender nor his feet so sizzling, but the Girl’s life is at stake and he can’t afford to slow down. He’s succeeding in not succumbing to his body’s desire for rest, but it won’t last long—there’s a sharp stabbing pain running along the back of his thigh and he administers his weight to the opposite leg to avoid stopping. Bookoo is faster than him with his legs at least a foot longer than his. It’s a good thing he spared his life, Mando decides, for if he hadn’t there’d be no hope in saving the Girl—he can’t carry both the Child and her back to the hangar, especially not from this distance.

He battles against the unwavering urge to sink to his knees and lay face first in the grit, let it bury his aching limbs where they’ll retire. The Child in his arms feels almost as heavy as the beskar on his shoulders but he ensures his clutch, his blood-stained leathers cupping his little body against his chest securely; both of his crewmates were in unfortunate conditions and there’s an unshakable concerned feeling creeping up on Mando. What’s he to do if he loses them?

Pushing it aside, he focuses on his footing; dodging jagged rocks and uneven surfaces of sandy terrain but it’s not enough, his muscles can’t maintain this pace and exertion. Bookoo notices his decreasing pace and slows to match it, eliciting a growl of a question Mando doesn’t understand.

The Girl is limp in the Wookiee’s paws with her head pulled to the side and her abdomen pooling with red liquid that drops to the sand before them, staining the grit in a clashing hue just like he had with the snow only a day or two ago. No more than two days had passed and there’d been another injury—only so much worse than what he’d dealt with.

“Go. Go,” Mando puffs out, gesturing towards the structure. “Hangar 3-5.”

The Wookiee growls once more and continues his approach leaving the Mandalorian to catch up on his own terms. Mando permits a steadier pace to let his muscles recuperate and to examine the Child’s wellbeing. Still asleep, still unresponsive to his touches, but breathing and squirming every few minutes. He’ll wake, eventually, it’s just a matter of how long it’ll take. He’s not injured—not physically—the only positive consequence from this whole event.

Vermillion plasma clings to him like a pest and he raises a hand to rub at the smear on his heart plate with the base of his palm, the leather harsh enough to shave the blood off in dried flakes. Some of it is still wet and it only smudges with his fury, tinting the beskar in with a relentless red. The tempo of his strokes increases rapidly, desperate to rid himself of the reminder of what’s happened to her, but it’s unproductive and a complete waste of effort.

Mando sighs and inclines his helmet so he doesn’t have to see the colour contrasting against the silver that is wholly him—he’s bland and dull, a mix of blacks, whites, and greys, while the Girl is brimming with colour; she’s as vibrant as the krill ponds on Sorgan and as eye-catching as the sunset on Nevarro, but that vermillion...it’s a colour he never wants to see on her ever again.

“Oh, Thank the Force!” Peli exclaims upon Mando’s return, her arms outstretched for the Child and he happily delivers him to her, cringing at the throbbing in his biceps. “Thought you mighta-”

He interrupts, “Where? Where is...is she...she’s not…”

“She’s stable. The droids took care of her.”

Mando pauses with his eyebrows scrunched together. “Droids? No, I said no droids. Especially not with her!”

Peli shrugs, “Easy there. They’re repair droids.”

“She isn’t a vessel!”

The mechanic places an encouraging hand on his pauldron. “I taught them basic medical skills—comes in handy when you’re working a craft all on your own. Go have a look yourself.”

With a blend of scepticism of the droid’s abilities and apprehension for the Girl’s condition, he navigates through the Hangar’s halls and into the room she occupied, tracking grit in his wake. It’s dark inside, her features lit by a single candle beside the bed she’s situated on. She’s breathing, chest rising and collapsing laboriously underneath a thin scratchy blanket draped across her body, but her brow is wrinkled and her mouth taut in an agonised frown. She looks depleted of energy—drained from the inside out—it makes his heart lurch and lungs sensitive against the crisp air.

Slashes that riddle her arms had been tended to, protected from Tatooine’s harsh desert landscape with familiar ivory-coloured bindings. She’d hardly been touched by the moon’s glow before being sealed away again, so close yet so distant from his reach—Mando wishes he’d never had grabbed her with such authority back on that ship. The Girl reshapes underneath the blanket and his eyes lift to her shoulders, bare and unbound by the sizable poncho she usually dons, and the soft of her skin travels lower until the edge of the blanket meets his eyes, covering her chest.

If this had been any other time—essentially any other circumstance—he’d be struggling to control himself right about now, the appearance of such soft skin stirring something deep in his core, but those thoughts are far from his mind. Rather, he’s preoccupying himself as to not let the image of the Girl lying unconscious get to him, by reflecting on the information he’d been given back on the craft; the forced confession of the Girl’s intentions. It angers him, and it angers him that it angers him; confusing. Mando doesn’t want to be a part of it; wishes he’d never entered that cantina then perhaps he’d remain blissfully unaware—happy.

“She’ll need some medicine when she wakes,” Peli says, startling him out of his self-loathing. “Spice could be helpful too.”

“That’s addictive.”

Peli hums. “It can be if you’re not careful. Hell of an anaesthetic though. She’ll be in pain for a while without it.”

Mando inclines his visor back to the Girl. “Where can I find it?”

“Cantina’s best bet. Smugglers pass through ‘ere all day and night.”

“There weren’t many people there earlier.”

“Doesn’t get its fill until late in the night,” she explains. “They’ll be there.”

And they were—six smugglers gathered around a single cantina table in the darkest of the corners. They’re not shy about their illegal activities, placing the narcotics onto the surface displaying for all to see. It’s their business strategy, Mando believes, rope in unsuspecting victims with the alluring spice and scam them of their credits for a small dose of pleasure.

“How much for one?”

They turn at the filtered voice, sizing up the Mandalorian and noting the remarkable steel encasing his body. One of them grasps a bag of narcotics, tauntingly fiddling with it ahead of Mando. The leader of the group—a burly older gentleman with a bush for a face—leans further into his chair and responds, “With that armour of yours why not indulge a little, aye?”

“One is plenty.”

“Come now, it’s not every day you’ll get it for these prices. Stock up while you can.”

Mando sighs to himself and places either hand on the table, tilting his helmet to match the eyes of the leader. “One.” He’s distributing his lack of patience in waves that ripple against the smugglers; they shift uncomfortably and bow their heads to sip from a glass of spotchka.

Dull and sullen eyes tip to the Mandalorian’s hands on their table, examining the dried blood coating his leathers suspiciously. They’re unaware of the fact it’s not his enemy’s and he’s grateful for that—it benefits him, gives him the upper hand in regards to coercion. “Okay, all right,” the leader sighs. “A thousand is all it’ll cost ya.”

“That’s too much,” Mando rumbles. “I’ll do two hundred.”

The crew laughs at his claim and he scowls underneath the helmet. Mando doesn’t have the privilege of time to waste it away on a bunch of no-good narcotic smugglers. He suspends a hand over the hilt of his blaster in hopes of compliance and it, at the very least, gets them to shut their mouths. “We’re out here risking our asses for this! Do you know how difficult it is to press these into pills? It’s worth more than two hundred.”

Mando sighs aggressively. “Five.”

“Five?”

“You have two options. Take the credits and leave here richer than you came, or we take this outside.” Mando glances over their panicked faces. “It seems you’re already fixed on your supply. I’m sure you’re not capable with a blaster.”

Sunken eyes leer at the Mandalorian with resentment and defeat. He slides a satchel across the table, the narcotics rustling inside, and Mando slips the bag into his belt pouch and retrieves a few dozen credits to toss at the group.

“Pleasure doing business,” Mando retorts as he steps away, listening to the lackeys scowling—we need those credits!—at their leader in frustration. It’s a small win, one not worth celebrating and he doesn’t, just continues trudging through the gathering crowd of drunk patrons to the exit.

A familiar soft-spoken voice stops him from leaving, “Excuse me, sir! Please do not eat the display!” Mando twists on his feet and watches the same waiter from earlier fight against a customer attempting to shovel a cluster of flower arrangements into his mouth. “Sir, I’ll make you something. Please just-”

Slurring his words and attempting to frighten the waiter off with flailing arms in her general direction, though his coordination is all off, the man groans something neither of them can register. She’s becoming just agitated at the man and Mando huffs a sigh through his dry lips, wanting a drink of his own, and walks up to the duo to prevent any conflicts, yet again. Mando’s becoming soft—running around and assisting any damsel in distress—he’s sensed it for a while now, and he doesn’t know whether to blame it on the Girl, the kid, or his age. It doesn’t really matter, he realises, as it all seems to just blend together anyways.

Mando’s gloves come down on the patron’s shoulder and he clasps the flesh underneath, tugging backwards until he’s stumbling on his feet and disappears within the crowd. It’ll take him a while to work his way out of that mess; Mando turns to leave.

“Mandalorian! Sir, thank you.” She smiles brightly at him and he responds with a faint nod. “Please allow me to make you something on the house.”

“That’s not-”

“Please! It’s the least I can do. What about those pancakes you ordered earlier? I can make a batch up as quick as a flash.”

The pancakes.

The sweetness of the syrup, the softness of the cake, the excitement of his tongue exploring the Girl’s fingers—it’s all toying with his mind, tormenting it. It feels like a lifetime ago with the chain of events having followed after it. It was a moment of pure euphoria for the Mandalorian and he anxiously wishes to recreate it, wants to proceed with exploring the Girl’s body, but not like this.

“No,” he nods again as a substitute for a friendly smile. “Thank you.”

Mando files through the small of his pouch, recovering the tub of bacta gel and alongside the spice pellets and places them on the edge of the Girl’s cot. Peli advised him it’d be best if he were to administer it to her—she trusts you the most—he finds it ironic. If that were true, wouldn’t she have admitted the truth before all of this - would she have ever confessed if not for the abduction?

Despite that, he’s willing to do it - he wants to do it, he realises once he’d unravelled the first limb of its bindings.

It’s an excuse to touch her - an excuse to avoid thinking about the hurt in his heart.

He slips his hands from their confines and retires the leather to the nightstand. Frigid air assaults his flesh immediately—the wind gusting through the ajar window sharply—and he curls his fingers into themselves, tucking the vulnerable tips into the warmth of his palms.

The Girl’s moaning ahead of him is enough to summon the primal instinct to tend to her wounds. Mando dips two fingers into the gel and gathers a load of it on the tips, the bright blue glistening from the candlelight. It’s healing properties are strong, much more so than the cheap knock-off he usually purchases and he can feel the soothing bursts in the peaks of his digits, it was fortunate timing he’d stumbled across the vendor low in stock - and it’s well worth the credits, though the funds are beginning to run dry with all the recent payments.

Peli’s droids had done a decent job on the Girl, though he wouldn’t vocalise it, and her slashes already looked to be healing from the cauterisation, but they’re still inflamed and sensitive. Regardless of the deception aching his heart and the suppressed clump of words in his throat, her actions don’t merit insufferable torment. So, Mando gets to work; slathering thick coatings of blue on each gash, using less pressure on the newest of the bunch, particularly the one that’d been in such bad shape back on the spacecraft. His forefinger streaks along with the bumpiness of the cauterisation scarring - it’s rough and so different to her. She’s so soft - pillowy, and he’s all shattered transparisteel - sharp and risky.

She stirs beneath his hands and strains to open her eyes. “Man-do?” she croaks and grabs hold of his wrist, pausing his momentum.

“Does it hurt?”

She groans a strangled reply, “No, it’s - it doesn’t mat-ter. I need… I want… I-”

Mando carefully pries his wrist from her clutch and continues lathering gel onto the irritable lines blanketing her arm. The faintest, timid touches establish goosebumps that reach up to her shoulders, and he adopts them - brands them as his; cares for them, feeds them with additional strokes from his tips as a reward.

“Just rest - heal.”

“I can’t. I-I won’t,” she chokes out and the rawness in her voice causes him to stop on his own accord, his visor finally lifting to look at her and he wishes he hadn’t - wishes he didn’t see the Girl in so much pain; physical and emotional. There’s not a single tear in sight—she wouldn’t allow herself to shed one—but her eyes are glassy and red, her bottom lip sucked in between her teeth where it’s being relentlessly chewed on. “Why are you still here?”

“The Crest isn’t fixed,” he lies and it pains him to do so, not because the Crest was repaired—Peli had informed him of this earlier—but because he knows why he’s here. Mando knows exactly why he hasn’t just upped and left - why he hasn’t just continued his life on the run with the kid.

It hurts, even more, to hear the Girl utter, “Oh.”

He succumbs to his pitiful emotions, “I won’t abandon you. I can’t.”

She places a shaky hand on his vambrace and shifts to sit up some, cringing at the discomfort in her limbs and abdomen at the change of position. “I’m so sorry, Mando. I-I wanted to tell you—so many times—but then- I didn’t want to - to ruin all of...this.”

He listens intently, silent but listening.

She reaches higher, her hand looming in the intimates of his neck but she pulls away sharply, clasping her adjacent hand over a pulsing and cracked cauterised mark. It causes the gel to smear across her forearm messily, coating the palm of her hands and dropping clumps onto the cot below. Mando delicately peels her hand away and wipes the caked-on clots away with her tattered poncho which lays draped over his knee. It feels so private—personal—tending to the Girl in her times of need just like she had with him, as though he was returning a favour - only hers came with an additional payoff; his cheeks redden at the thought of reimbursing her here and now.

“Mando.” She slips her hand into his mid-scrubbing and interlocks their fingers together. Residual gel transfers to his palms, squelching between each other’s grip, but he can only focus on the pounding against his ribs and the pressure on the back of his hand as her fingernails dig into the flesh - testing the boundaries she can push. There aren’t any. The Girl could push and push until he’s stumbling over his own feet and there’d be no boundaries; there will never be enough of her - never enough.

“Please, ask me anything,” she whispers, glancing up at the visor. “I’ll tell you everything.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“I don’t - don’t know what else I have to offer. I-I don’t know how to...to show you I’m sorry. Please,” she more or less huffs out the sentence, the pain starting to catch up with her.

Mando observes the small satchel on the edge of the cot and rolls it around in his free palm, feeling the individual pellets through the thin material. “I’ll make you a deal,” he complies. “I’ll fix up your other arm and ask anything I need to, but you need to take one of these.”

The Girl’s eyes dart to the sack and Mando opens it, retrieving a tablet and holding it up to show her. It’s small, almost too small to look like it’d be a mild pain relief let alone enough for one to get high off; no bigger than a third of his fingernails and a deep maroon colour that just screams narcotics.

“Spice,” he answers her unexpressed question. “It’ll help with the pain but it could be addicting. I won’t force you to take one if that’s what you wish.”

The decision is in her hands - it’s her life, after all.

“You’ll ask me anything?” she asks and he nods. “Pass it over.”

Mando should be appreciative of her unsuspected complying—it’s not often she’s so easily won over like this—and it’s for her benefit, but he can’t help but wish she had rejected the pill. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t want to see her in that disoriented state, plagued with feral hallucinations vandalising the inside of her head and grinding her basic cognitive functions into tiny particles. Or maybe it’s because he’s scared of what he may discover without her possessing the ability to stop herself from oversharing. Mando’s had his run-ins with spice before and while he’s not entirely fluent with the substance, he’s aware of its susceptible capabilities.

The Girl places a hand on his and he stiffens underneath it. She’s so cold, so desensitised, it’s so unlike her. She’s usually warm; intense flames constructed with passion and tenderheartedness. It’s as though it’s evaporated from her flesh entirely. She strokes his knuckles with her thumb, committing the peaks and ridges to memory and he wallows in the sensation of the pads of her fingers on his skin. It’s the most physical contact he’s been granted ever since he’d swore to the Creed. Even when he allowed himself moments of weakness with others, it's always been rushed—never about anything more than a hasty relief—and under no circumstances would he withdraw from his armour; it’s one of many unspoken promises to himself he’s broken for the Girl.

She twists his hand around and slides the pill from out between his thumb and forefinger, plopping it in her mouth and swallowing harshly. It goes down without a struggle, the pill being so minuscule it didn’t require water for a smooth entrance, and she eases back into the pillow with a weak smile in his direction.

“What do you want to know?” she asks.

Mando sighs softly - where does he begin? His tongue darts out to lick a slow stripe across his cracked lips and collects a drop of blood from the slit he’d bit earlier, leaving a stale metallic taste on the tip of his tongue.

“How much did you see back on Arvala-7?”

“Everything from when you took down the encampment with that droid. We followed you back to your ship and watched you get electrocuted by the Jawas—that didn’t look pleasant—Kur wanted to head down there after that, figured you’d be out of it from the impact. I told them to wait, let you get your supplies back for us to loot, and it convinced them.”

Mando tilts his head. “They didn’t seem like the negotiating type.”

She nods. “They didn’t have much of a choice with me in command.”

That shocks him. “You were their leader?”

“No!” she scoffs as though he’d said the funniest joke. “No, no, but I was the only one who could use long-range rifles. I told you, I thought you were the bounty; they informed me it didn’t matter whether you were brought in dead or alive—they opted for a long-range advantage. They’d heard stories of Mandalorians and didn’t want to test their luck.”

Makes sense, he figures, that the group would prefer to deal with their targets swiftly—leaving no room for errors or loopholes, except one of their own violated their ruling, possibly the biggest error they’ve ever made - now they lay dead on their dormant spacecraft on the outskirts of the town. Nevertheless, the information surprises Mando. There was no underlying notion that somebody—no less five people—were stalking him on the ridges of Arvala-7’s desert. Perhaps he should retouch some of his stealthing capabilities.

The Girl waits for his next question, her hands fiddling among themselves in her lap uncertain if she should—could—reach out for him, and he doesn’t trust himself not to soothe her nerves; choosing to settle on the opposite side of the cot to care for her other arm. Stripping the bandages away, he asks, “Why didn’t you kill me?”

“I already told you that.”

Mando’s brow crinkles in thought, his hands operating on their own accord now that he’s trying to remember; it dawns on him. “Because ‘you didn’t want to’?” he mimics her words back on the ridge—so, so long ago.

“Mmhmm,” she hums. “I’m not sure what else it could be. I saw you, Mando, with the kid. He’d only known you for, what, like half a day and he was protecting you—used his abilities to prevent that mudhorn from killing you. And you...you were so gentle with him - so cautious around him. It was mesmerising watching a Mandalorian—a legend—covered in sharp edges and cold steel be so meek towards a bounty. I didn’t want to rip that away from the galaxy; it requires your compassion.”

She’d been watching him closely. Even Mando hadn’t noticed his change of demeanour at that point—it wasn’t until Nevarro that it crossed his mind that, perhaps, he’d fallen soft for that little womp rat.

Mando tips his helmet down to tear away from her eyes, feeling too seen - too examined. “What happened to you?” She gives him a confused eyebrow twitch and he elaborates by running a fingertip across a scar.

She sharply inhales and shakes her head. “I don’t want you to pity me, Mando, you’re entitled to be mad at me. You should hate me, should want me dead. You haven’t had time to reflect on everything you’ve been told back there.”

She isn’t entirely wrong. He hadn’t been granted the luxury of time to consider the circumstances, but he’s not certain whether he wants to. If he takes all of this into account, there’s no telling how he’ll react—he’s never had to deal with a situation where the Girl who makes him so hot and bothered had deceived him. Mando dips his fingers back into the container of gel and collects a small load, rubbing it into the tips of his digits with his thumb. He sighs. “I’m reflecting in my own way.”

The Girl scoffs mockingly. “By tending to my wounds?”

“Would you like me to stop?”

“No,” she answers quickly, too quickly, and nibbles on her lip anxiously. “I just… It’s - it’s nice—you touching me.”

Mando freezes, his fingers suspended above a mound of scar tissue below her collarbone. What’s he supposed to make of that confession? He drags his forefinger across the scar to transfer the remaining bacta on the padding and retracts, quietly complaining when the softness of her skin is replaced with a breeze of frigid air. “Seems like the spice is working,” he deflects.

“It’s not the spice,” she claims. “I mean - it’s helping say it, but…”

She lays her hand on his vambrace and he’s thankful for the reinforced steel suppressing the tension that travels the muscles underneath, but his uncovered hand is a traitor to himself as he grabs a fistful of bedsheets to stop climbing on the bed here and now—stopping him from pursuing something he sought like a medication to a chronic illness. Her fingers run down his beskar and rest atop his tendons, calming the flex in his hand until the fingers splay out underneath hers. This confession overrules her previous one by a longshot and swallows sternly, the saliva in his mouth increasingly by the second—if the tension persists he’ll be drowning in his drool.

The Girl fiddles with his fingers by twisting and forming them around her own; she’s exploring unveiled land, he ascertains. Mando inclines his helmet to watch them at work, eyes following the slender digits as they test the indentations of lines etched into his palm. She sighs and finally answers his question, “Tika did most of it; retribution for letting their bounty escape. The group came to an agreement to banish me to Arvala-7 since it receives low traffic. They hoped I’d die there.”

Mando’s visor returns to her face and, underneath the slab of transparisteel, his eyes lessen in stiffness. He can’t envision how she must see him—a leering, emotionless vessel of beskar wholly fixated on her features whilst she recounts her trauma and he hardly returns a nod in her direction. When her eyes meet him, he can’t see his own in the reflection. It’s only what he doesn’t want to see; a perfectly sculpted Mandalorian helmet made of the finest Beskar. He hates it, despises it. He aspires to rid himself of the obstructing constraint to gaze into her eyes; search for his reflection in them.

“I’m-”

She stops him, placing a finger on his helmet where his lips should be. “Don’t. Don’t pity me.”

Pity isn’t the word he would use—it doesn’t seem genuine enough.

Perhaps there is no word to describe what he’s feeling. Magma is filling his veins yet again, thick and suffocating, but it’s not hot; rather icy cold that makes the tips of his fingers numb. The Girl’s eyes are interchangeable to the Child’s—big, soft, pure. Mando finds himself wanting to protect her from any potential threats—not that she needs his protection, she’s more than capable—to just seal her within the confines of his arms where she’ll be safe - where he won’t let anybody within a klicks distance of her.

She sinks her finger to the edge of his helm and drags him in close, disregarding the rumble his vocoder produces and snakes her other hand through the loop of his belt. “Come here,” she whispers.

Mando inches closer until her breath bounces off his steel and it’s not until he’s at such an intimate distance—where she’s warm and soft against his beskar, but also fuzzy and cloudy—that he recalls the narcotics in her system and that's plenty motivation for him to pull away. She whines and attempts to keep him steady but he’s too solid in contrast to her. “You’re intoxicated.”

“Didn’t take you as one to complain,” she jests lightheartedly.

Mando’s really starting to regret buying that spice. She’s initiating something she’s probably not even aware of and, if he hadn’t supplied her with those blasted pills he’d be under those sheets alongside her right about now—or maybe he wouldn’t; maybe it’s the spice making her confused and forcing her hand on him.

Mando needs to know - needs to hear her say those words.

Nerves wrack his muscles, twitching and shaking violently that he’s forced to rest his hands on the cot to ground himself. Mouth dry like the desert outside, Mando clears his throat awkwardly and curses at himself upon hearing the tremble in his voice, “It’s not how I want it to happen.”

The Girl is rendered like a malfunctioning droid, her eyes flickering to-and-fro from his visor to his hands—hunting his stance for any implication that he’s just screwing with her and her cheeks deepen with crimson when she finds none. One wouldn’t know she was intoxicated by her swiftness as she slings her legs out from beneath the blankets, leaning over the edge of the cot to place either of her hands on the curve of his helmet. “I want you, Mando.”

There it is—what he’s been waiting for all this time and he can’t act on his desires; it’s pure fucking torture. Mando places his hands atop of hers and leans into her touch, his eyes falling shut behind the helmet. Tardily, he withdraws from her clutch. “Get some rest.”

She pouts at him. “You can’t just tell me that and not-”

“Not now, not yet.”

The Girl hums as if contemplating his words and Lord it’s a beautiful tune—her pondering about him in more than just platonic. She remains still, half-on-half-off the cot with the blanket draped across her lap, her torso bare besides the undergarment protecting the privates of her chest. Mando rakes in the scars surfacing her body, ranging from little lacerations no smaller than a third of his fingers length to corked holes of a blaster’s laser. This wasn’t her first rodeo, the fresh wound simply another trophy of survival, but can’t tear his eyes away from the blemishes; they’re nearly identical to his own, in all of the same places and sizes but different contributors - she’s all slashes and lines of bumpy tissue and he’s drillings, his body simply a burrow for his foe’s lasers to retire.

He resists to reach out and touch them - feel the scarred trauma that mirrors his own. He can’t; won’t. Mando abruptly raises to his feet and fragilely strides across the room, collects his gloves, and murmurs, “Get some rest. Sleep off the spice.”

The Girl watches as he slips on his gloves before her, her eyes catching the flaky dried blood—her blood—on the tips of the fingers. “Don’t you have more questions?”

“They can wait,” he says matter-of-factly and manoeuvres his way to the exit, stopping with his hand on the doorknob. One couldn’t; no matter how terrified he is of the answer, he needs to ask it and if it’s not now he’ll never muster up the courage to ask. “Did you feel guilty?”

“Guilty?”

“Back when I was shot—you took...care of me. Was it because you felt guilty?”

The Girl wants to say something snarky—tell him he’s an idiot for thinking that way, but his voice is quiet, soft; filled with uncertainty and anxiety. He’s concerned with the thought of that act—the one he let himself be so vulnerable during—was nothing more than a simple chip for her to cash in for self-redemption; to lift the weight on her shoulders for her intentions back on Arvala-7.

“No,” she answers, her voice tranquil to match his. “No, it wasn’t guilt.”

The Mandalorian faintly nods, glances at her one last time, and exits the room with his shoulders light but his head heavy; the dreaded question finally put to rest but when one dies another rises from its ashes. If not guilt, what was it? She had confessed that she ‘wants him’ but could that have actually been true—could she genuinely want him the way he wants her? Mando tells himself that’s absurd—it’s just the spice suffocating her thought process like a sticky pool of uj’ayl. It had to be.

Mando makes an attempt to preoccupy his mind with the Crest, testing the durability of Peli’s maintenance with pointless button pressing and readying the craft for launch the moment the Child and the Girl are back on their feet, but his mind doesn’t stay busy for long before he’s thinking unwanted thoughts; the cockpit is where it all began and he can’t deal sitting in the pilot’s chair without the cooing of a child in his lap and the snarky remarks of a girl behind him. It’s a foreign concept to him—funny how time works; it wasn’t so long ago that he did everything on his lonesome from sleeping to fighting, he was his only companion, but not anymore. He’d spent nights rocking a ball of green to sleep in his hammock and battling alongside a reliable partner.

A partner—that’s what she is to him and so much more—he’s never had a partner before. Sure, a group here and there but never an individual he’s willing to put his faith into; his trust. Trust that the Girl had severed; or had she? If she had, surely he wouldn’t think of her this way—he’d just up and ditch her without a moment’s notice. So why does his heart ache and his lungs struggle to expand?

When he’s with the Girl it’s like he completely forgets about the deceitfulness, the lies, but when he’s distanced himself from her they return—unrelenting waves of anguish and frustration that leaves his head heavy and sore—until all he can think about is the threads connecting the two of them, knotted, frayed, tearing.

Peli makes her presence known with a gentle knock on the durasteel besides the cockpit door. “I dunno what’s gotten between you two but I’m here if ya want to talk. I ain’t practised but I’ve been told I’m good for this.”

He doesn’t want to talk.

But he does, nonetheless, “She’s been lying to me.”

Peli tilts her head and examines the sulking Mandalorian with a cocked eyebrow. “Does it matter?”

“She was going to kill me.” Mando swivels in his chair and crosses his arms.

Peli shrugs and gestures to him. “Obviously she didn’t, did she? Listen, I’ve seen how you act ‘round her—you’re soft for her, just like your kid. She might’ve been at ya, but she’s certainly not anymore. In your line of work, is that really a dealbreaker?”

Mando’s rendered silent, staring at empty space above Peli’s head in hopes he can wrap his own around this. It’s so fucking tiring thinking about it—it’s all that’s on his mind and he wishes for nothing more than to crush it between his hands, free him of the burden.

“Do you forgive her?”

Yes, of course, Mando will always forgive her - will always be there for her, but no; he doesn’t, can’t...can’t he?

“I don’t know.”

“Well,” Peli clicks her tongue and shifts on her feet. “The two of you should figure that out. It’s only when you’ve forgiven her that you’ll truly move forward - or something like that, I read it somewhere. I ain’t saying you gotta forget about all that, but just think about it this way: you never woulda met her if she hadn’t been there to shoot ya.”

That’s definitely a unique way to look at it. It’s true though if the Girl’s group hadn’t taken the same commission as he had and hadn’t abandoned it halfway through he never would have met her; never would have the pleasure of being around such a winsome girl.

Mando wants to forgive her and pretend this never occurred so they can continue where they left off but he’s unsure if that’s possible with the kid comatose; injured because Mando let his guard down, let them be captured by the enemy. The enemy he swore to protect him against but she’s not one of them—not a threat. The Child’s life is in his hands and it’s hot and heavy, identical to the volcanic rocks of Mustafar, but it’s tethered to his palms, scorching permanent burns as a reminder of his undertaking.

Peli notices his silence and changes the subject, “Kid really did a number on those wires, ya know, took longer to repair than expected.”

He pivots on the chair again, returning to face the viewport. “How is he doing?”

“Still sleepin’.” Mando doesn’t reply and Peli continues, “He stirred for a bit there, but ended up falling asleep again. Don’t get your gears clogged, I’m sure he’ll wake the moment he’s hungry.”

Mando scoffs. “Kid is always hungry.”

“Well, he’s up in my cabin. I can bring him down to you and the Girl if ya like.”

“No, let him rest. I’ll check in on him in the morning.”

Peli hums and nods behind him, turning her attention to the Wookiee communicating with her droids below the Crest. “What’s his deal?”

Mando sighs. “Not sure—another lifeform I’m stuck with I suppose. I’ll ask her about him and let you know.”

“If he destroys my droids, you’re paying for ‘em!” Peli grumbles as she descends the ladder, leaving him to watch the Wookiee alone. Bookoo hadn’t approached Mando since his arrival to the Hangar, which was fortunate as he’s not proficient in Shyriiwook and he didn’t want to test the waters with a being he had in a chokehold.

Mando deposits one of his spare sleeping shirts at the foot on the Girl’s cot, running a—freshly cleaned—gloved finger across her cheek and the curve of her jaw greedily. She doesn’t wake from his touches but he tears away nonetheless, allowing her space to rest, and saunters to the agape window overlooking the emptiness of the street outside and the glowing silver sphere above him—mocking him with it’s glowing. It’s so bright, so shiny, and it reflects off his beskar only amplifying it; Mando’s so dull, bleak, in contrast.

It’s a competition between him and the moon. There’s always been a rivalry—always something there to fight against, something to strive to defeat, to become bolder and brighter. It hangs above him out of his reach - always out of his reach.

Behind him, the Girl stirs and the cot squeaks beneath her movements. “What’re you doing?” she croaks, slurred with sleep.

“It’s back.”

She cranes her neck to look over his shoulder from the bed. “The moon? Yeah, it does that. Comes and goes every night actually.”

He sighs and tilts his helmet down to watch the sand blow along with the gusts of wind. “Why did you shoot at me?” he asks. “When I returned.”

The Girl groans and clasps a hand to her head, attempting to rub the brewing headache away. “I was trying to scare you off. I hoped getting shot at would keep you astray, should’ve figured a Mandalorian wouldn’t’ve taken it too kindly. I just -- didn’t want them coming back and finding you there. It was better if you were far away from that planet.”

She was looking out for him - she’s always looking out for him.

Mando’s shoulder stiffens underneath the weight of her hand on his pauldron, but he daren’t turn to look at her. Instead, he crosses his arms against his chest and inclines his helmet upwards, isolating his vision to the reflective sphere on his visor. There’s three in fact, but the largest one is the one he focuses on; eyes boring holes into the undetectable craters on the surface. It’s nonsensical how luring it is, like a magnet dragging him in from his steel platings—no, it’s stronger and straining. Almost as though he was submerged in a tidal wave, incapable of fighting against the onslaught, and all he’s to do is frantically struggle while he gradually sinks to the bottom of the riverbed. Because he would sink. There’s no denying that.

“Waxing Gibbous,” she drags him out of his grim thoughts.

“What?”

She points to the moons. “That’s the phase they’re in. Waxing Gibbous. Don’t ask me what that means, I have no idea.” He twists his helmet to her and cocks an eyebrow underneath the visor. She seems to acknowledge his confusion and explains, “You look at the moon a lot. It reminds me of you in a way, you know.”

He scoffs. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, you’re the same colour as it for starters.” He mockingly rolls his eyes. “But… the moon is the greatest companion there is. In times of light it waits behind the clouds, but when we need it the most—in our darkest moments—it distributes its glow to keep us in the light; safe and alive. It’s loyal,” She places a hand on the curve of his helmet where his cheek belongs, “selfless.”

Mando’s breathing slows when she looks at him with those eyes—those eyes that could bend him over backwards with a simple blink. Subconsciously, he leans into the weight of her hand and relishes as best he can with a helmet. She’s wearing his shirt and it’s a few sizes too big on her but fuck if she doesn’t make it look good; the hem brushing against her thighs—where he belongs—and the sleeves rolled up to unmask her hands.

“I prefer the sun,” Mando hums.

“Sun, huh? I hate the sun. Arvala-7’s fucked up my hands.”

A hand inches underneath the material of his shirt to situate on the curve of her bare hip, harsh leather stroking circles into the smooth skin but she doesn’t stop him - doesn’t seem to care that the leather isn’t as pleasant as his hands. “It’s not all bad. Even the strongest flora cannot bloom without it.” He tugs her closer until her chest is against his, erupting her into a hazy cluster of blushes. “It keeps me warm—so fucking warm.”

“Aren’t you afraid of getting burnt?”

“It’s stubborn and strong-willed but no. I’m not afraid.” Mando swipes a thumb across her lips, noting how her tongue pokes out to catch a taste of stale leather but she pulls away before he can reciprocate.

She twists the sleeves of his shirt around her wrists and sighs softly. “I’m not a good person, Mando. It’s not the lying—not that that’s not important. It is. It’s just- I’ve broken the Guild’s code multiple times and I-”

Mando shushes her once more by providing a calming hand on the back of her neck, tilting her head to look into his visor. “You’re rambling,” he informs.

“I’m sorry.” She bites her cheek and tears her eyes away. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you. I never should have persisted about the stupid rifle—never should have stepped foot on the Crest.”

He’s doubtful on what to say but he knows he doesn’t want that; doesn’t want the Girl to wish she’d never come along with him and the kid. “Do you regret staying?”

“No. I don’t regret staying but-”

“Cin vhetin,” he whispers.

“Ci-what?”

“Cin vhetin. A fresh start.” Mando tilts his helmet in question. “Would you like that?”

The Girl stops breathing, he can feel it in her neck muscles and he strokes a finger into the base until she continues, her eyes flickering side-to-side along the top of the T-shaped visor and she sucks in a shallow breath. “You’re willing to - to - yes. Yes.”

Concealed behind the helmet and armour, Mando’s lips curl into a smile and his heart leaps over a crack in the surface. He nods in agreement and sweeps his fingers across her neck to cup her jaw, his thumbs stroking across her cheekbones. This feels right—finally correcting something that’s been pressing at the back of his brain non-stop. The Child is still the priority, he knows this, but he’s allowing himself a weakness; an indulgence that’s been taunting him for far too long. “Mesh’la.”

She leans into the touch, placing one of her hands atop his. “What’s that?”

“I think I’ll hold onto that one.”

She pouts. “Come on, what’s it mean?”

Mando chuckles and responds by pressing the bottom of his helmet to her forehead in a mock kiss and murmurs, “Ner mesh’la. Ner.”

_____________

“uj’ayl” - a sticky scented syrup “cin vhetin” - a fresh start or clean slate “mesh’la” - beautiful “ver” - my/mine

taglist: @ohhersheybars, @greatcircle79, @northernpunk

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tothemeadow · 4 years

Text

at least I’m trying

➜ pairing: rengoku kyoujuro x reader ➜ warnings: struggling with addiction, blood, death, angst with happy ending. ➜ words: 5k ➜ a/n: i post more of my works at @thgreatestblue!

@redgokus hi!! i worked very hard on this piece and i’m very pleased with how it turned out. i hope you like it as well!! happy holidays! ❤

summary: Smoking was almost like breathing underwater. Not that you didn’t feel like you have been drowning all your life. A gentle hand is all it takes for you to finally realize that maybe staying underwater wasn’t the best option.

The night was cold as the winter was right around the corner - the landscape changing ever so slowly but gradually. When you first came here, the flowers were blooming and growing strong in the garden while the bees flew by each one of them. The colors of the spring painted a beautiful portrait, making the scenery more lively than ever. The soil was a healthy shade of brown and the grass around the State was as soft as your feet could tell.

Mitsuri Kanroji was kind enough to let you stay. After she saved you from a Demon attack, you were brought to her house, and she took you under her wing - since there was nowhere and no one for you to return to. She had been so overwhelmingly kind and thoughtful of you - taking care of your injuries every day, cooking your favorite food - that to retribute her generosity, you decided to join the Demon Slayer Corps.

However, the memory still lingered like bad perfume. You father shielding you from demonic claws that attacked you two one night when coming back from the restaurant he used to work. All you can remember is the strong scent of cigarettes coming from him as he hugged you one last time.

And maybe that’s why you ended up here. With a cigarette between your lips, gazing at the sky on a peaceful night. The moon was hidden behind heavy clouds as the atmosphere darkened without its shine. Smoking was almost like breathing underwater. Not that you didn’t feel like you have been drowning all your life.

“You shouldn’t be smoking.”

A strong and very familiar voice comes from beside you - making you curse internally. His tone wasn’t particularly angry, but the indication was there. You turn your head to the left, lifting your body from the wall you were leaning on to face the owner of that voice - who has been on your mind more often than you would like to admit. The Flame Pillar was standing at the entrance of the house, his arms crossed over his chest, staring at you.

And you could swear every time he looked at you when there was a cigarette between your lips, his eyes would darken to a different shade – as if he was trying to burn the devil on your tongue through sheer power of his stare.

Sometimes, you wondered if that was even possible. Sometimes, like today, you were sure of it.

“If it’s going to put your heart at peace,” There’s a hint of sarcasm in your voice; it was almost like second nature by now, building walls around as soon as someone tried to take a look inside - and truth be told, it was quite a mess. You slowly blow the smoke out your mouth and nose, “I don’t do this frequently.”

Mitsuri’s State was one of the most frequented by the Pillars, since she was friends with probably all of them. Her personality was bubbly and sweet, it was easy to be around her - that’s why you had stayed in the first place. It was common to see them coming and going, mostly Obanai, Shinobu and Kyojuro.

Kyojurou’s bushy brows furrowed deeper. It wasn’t the first time you threw snarky comments like that at him. It wasn’t the first time he had seen you smoking either. Though, every time; without failing, he would hold his intense stare at you for a few seconds, a disapproving look written all over his face.

You would just shrug it off; making sure to take another drag before fiercely returning his stare with the same intensity. Sometimes he would look away first, sometimes you did. Although it was easy, pretending it didn’t turn your stomach all over and made you sick – thinking you didn’t have his respect - it still burned your wounds like fresh water.

This was the first time he decided to speak his mind, though.

“What about your lungs?” He asks, stepping closer to where you are standing, eyes fixed on your hand that is holding the cigarette. Something twists inside you, heart skipping a beat. It wasn’t every day that a Pillar - the Flame Pillar above everyone else - would step in your personal space with accusing eyes that burned holes in your face. “It’s going to damage your breathing.”

You shift from one foot to another, looking anywhere but at the man who was right beside you now. Not that it made any difference; Kyojurou had a strong aura surrounding his being - it was overwhelming - the way he was graced with such a powerful presence and unshakeable will. The air is thick around you; the warmth of his body is noticeable even though there is a small distance between you two.

Out of habit, you bring your hand towards your mouth for another drag. Anything to numb the confusing anxiety; the rise of your heartbeats, the heat on your neck that spreads to your cheeks that intensifies every second that his attention is on you.

Before you could reach your mouth though, Kyojuro stops you, holding your wrist midway. It sends a shiver down your spine but you don’t back off; nor let it show how a single touch from him made you react so intensely.

“I’m going to die before facing the issue that comes with smoking, Flame Pillar.” You challenge him by trying to shake your hand off his grip, but it’s firm and strong, imprinting the heat of his big fingers on your bare skin. You knew you weren’t going to forget the feeling of his hands so soon; after all, fire always leaves imprints.

“What?” Finally looking at him, still annoyed by his interference but not exactly angry. It was a mix of feelings you didn’t want to separate and catalog just yet.

Kyojuro’s golden and beautiful eyes stare at you with a piercing gaze; you don’t know if that’s a good sign or not. This close, you catch a hint of red at the seams of his iris that you’ve never noticed before - you have never been mere inches from his face before as well.

You can’t help but stare at him in return, silence falling between you two. His eyes burn bright against the dark of the night, consuming you all together. Kyojuro gently takes the cigarette from your fingers with his other hand and throws it on the ground, making sure to step on it to make his point as clear as water.

You take a long breath, running your free hand through your hair, all this situation making you even more nervous. “You know I have more cigarettes with me, right?”

He sighs but doesn’t look resigned. Yet. For a second, you think he’s going to back off and continue on his way. Instead, he takes a deep and long breath, squeezing your wrist so slightly that if you weren’t so self aware of his touch you wouldn’t have noticed. Your heart skips another beat.

“I’ve seen what addiction does to someone,” Kyojuro speaks, almost like a whisper; making you shiver with his lower tone, so close to you. Something crosses his eyes, a hint of sadness dripping down onto his words. “I would hate to see you going down that path.”

You swallow down, throat suddenly going dry. It wasn’t a secret, at least between the Pillars, that his father was addicted to alcohol; one of the reasons why he had dropped from the positions a few years ago. It wasn’t a secret that his wife’s death was such a low blow that never allowed Kyojuro’s father to get on his feet ever again.

Mitsuri once said he had become a shell of himself, slowly drowning in his own grief between each bottle of alcohol. He had become a bitter man, nothing could make him happy, not even seeing his own child becoming a strong soldier, worthy enough to take his place. What once was pride and joy now was aches from a flame that burned too bright but lost its power too soon.

Was Kyojuro worried that you would take the same path? Was he looking after you all this time, hoping he could change at least your fate? Does he truly care about you?

The back of your neck burns hot with the thought, your cheeks following after. The mere thought of Kyojuro thinking; worrying; looking after you is enough to send you to a dangerous place where you never dared putting a single foot on it.

“I can stop whenever I want.” You look away, defeated.

“Then do it.” Kyojuro encourages you, almost pleading. He cups your hand between his, the warmth of it is pleasing, soothing. “If not for you, do it for me.”

It’s almost comical how fast your eyes met his again, mind going blank with the request. If you were going to say something, you don’t know anymore. The only sound you can hear comes from your own heart, rapidly beating in your chest - and you hoped Kyojuro couldn’t hear them. If it wasn’t for his pinning stare and the weight of his calloused hands tenderly holding yours, you would be gone in a minute.

Actually, you don’t know for how long you stayed there - lost on a trip to the sun. Where the golden rays burned your skin, stripped you down to the bone. Igniting an old purpose, almost faded from your memory - now catching fire and spreading throughout your whole being.

He offers you a gentle smile, one that you can’t help but reciprocate, small and weak but as gentle. Kyojuro squeezes your hand one more time before letting go. You don’t want to admit, but his touch still lingers like a fresh burn scar, one that you would gladly ask for more.

Only when you watch him walk away, you notice you weren’t breathing.

It’s a different type of drowning, you decide.

II.

You didn’t mean to. You really didn’t.

However, it happened. And now you felt like a complete idiot. The words came out of your mouth before you could slow them down, before you could chew them, making it easy to digest. A rampage you didn’t see it coming, which made everything worse.

It’s been two weeks since you stopped smoking. And even though you tried to convince yourself that you could do it at any given time; it turned out to be a far more difficult task than killing Demons. And above everything else, the lingering feeling that your father was slowly disappearing from your memories was something you couldn’t take.

In the first few days it was quite easy; ignoring the way your body asked for just a simple drag. The way your mind started to play tricks with you, demanding a cigarette between your lips. Words of self-loathing, degradation; depressed thoughts that were a rarity; clouded by the smoke. Now, they were being whispered in your mind constantly - there wasn’t a barrier to stop them anymore.

The chatter started to become louder, progressively making your mood worse each day that you chose to not open your father’s small metal case filled with cigarettes before heading out to work. Not having something to hold on to, to distract yourself when an innocent life was taken, when blood dripped down your katana, when the sun would take too long to appear in the sky again - it was too much. The smell was the worst part, once clogged by the scent of nicotine, now was hitting your nostrils like a bullet – another barrier gone, leaving you out in the open.

You hadn’t noticed until now how smoking had become a part of your routine - part of who you were. How much you felt safe in the arms of the addiction. It helped you go through your job without problem, without a second thought. However, now you felt like a veil had lifted from your eyes, and you could see the world less misty, less foggy at the seams.

You weren’t sure if that was a good sign. Actually, no. It wasn’t.

The shakiness of your hands began to make it difficult to hold your katana. More often than not you found yourself missing the target, your eyes playing tricks with your vision, the anxiety taking over your body. A thin thread was the only thing holding your patience and self-control all together.

Until Mitsuri pointed out your strange behavior that night. Although you knew she hadn’t meant to call you out; you were on the verge of a dilemma you didn’t want to be. Trying each day to stay clean was starting to seem impossible at this point. Anger and annoyance were bubbling inside you, every day waking up with a headache because you couldn’t sleep; having to deal with fatigue throughout the night - the thoughts about your father were driving you to the edge.

All it took was a small push for you to dive in. And the commentary - even though unharmful - was enough to finally push you into the abyss. Irritated, something inside you snapped, making you shout things you didn’t mean to, but came out of your own mouth anyway. Remembering the look on her face was enough to make you cry.

“Damn it!” The punch on the wall wasn’t enough to distract you from the growing conflict inside you. Dawn was coming soon enough but the night was still a nightmare.

Smoking never bothered you, so why were you trying anyway? Why were you going through this torture if it wasn’t a problem to begging with? Everything was fine, you were doing fine. So why were you putting yourself through such pain and regret; when the only thing you got from this was even more problems?

You don’t think twice before grabbing the small metal case from your pocket. Even though you stopped smoking, you still carried it with you, it was enough to bring relief on days that the chatter in your head was too loud – having something to ground yourself in reality again.

With shaking hands, you open the case. There were still a few cigarettes inside, and like you did countless times, you picked one. The familiarity of the acts brings a sense of melancholy; putting the cigarette between your lips, lighting up the match.

However, this time you hesitate. The weight of the cigarette on your lips is heavy. The warmth of the fire next to your face isn’t as welcoming as it used to be. It was like coming back home but finding out that it’s empty, there’s nothing you can hold onto to make it better.

You stare at the flames; the fire flicks with the wind, dancing between your fingers as it burns down the match. Still, you don’t light the cigarette. Dawn reflects on the embers and it reminds of big, golden eyes, vibrant red at the seams. Shining in the night, like a beacon. Warming up the day, like the sun.

You remember his words, his voice engraved in your mind when there was nothing to keep the spiraling thoughts at bay; cutting through them like the sharpest sword ever made.

Do it for me.

It’s so gentle that it makes your heart throb; the fragile state of it cracks, marking the intrinsic shape of your heart with thin fissures all over the form. But it doesn’t break. Yet.

“Dam it, Kyojuro.” But there is no anger in your voice.

You close your eyes, leaning on the wall. There’s a pleasant breeze hitting your face as the morning finally comes.

Resigned, you throw the cigarette on the ground.

lll.

When the first snowflake fell from the sky into the cold of the night, your body shivered from head to toe. The haunting of the hills penetrating your clothes, into your skin and down to your bones; like the frigid weather of the winter. As the snow fell, you watched little puffs of white air coming out of your mouth; condensing into a misty plume, dancing in front of you in a torturous memory of smoke.

You tried to steady your breath, but not even the purest snow could bring you peace.

The cold air burns your throat, pouring waves of agonizing cold into your lungs; burning on the inside. As you try to steady your breath, it starts to become a painful task at each minute; your hand is gripping the material of your clothes over your heart, the feeling of the beats reverberating through the night.

The contrast between the heat of your body and the icy feeling of the snow is enough to make you melt, transforming you in a puddle of your own self as your knees hit the ground in a muffled thud.

Winter is at its full, the moon casts a phantasmagory glimmer and everything seems like a faded memory from the past. One you tried to forget, but like a ghost, it never ceased to haunt you. Never allowed you to stray too far away from shore.

Two bodies lay in front of you. A father and a daughter. Staining the pure white snow with an evil shade of scarlet red. It’s ugly.

You watch helplessly as the blood slowly covers the snow; growing darker and bigger; the puddle of the still hot liquid hitting your knees sends another shiver down your spine. It makes you want to puke.

The air doesn’t burn your throat anymore, but your lungs scream for something you can’t pinpoint. You watch as the streams of blood pour down the mountain, a river flowing down from its source; everything becomes faded as the shadows grow darker around the corner of your vision. The grip on your clothes is so tight your knuckles turn white.

There’s an incessant feeling in your stomach; turning and shifting from side to another. Flashes of memories overflow your mind; pouring down your heart and filling your veins like poison. At this point you should be used to drowning in those feelings, but they still take your breath each time nonetheless.

Nothing makes sense. Everything makes sense.

“Y/N, breathe.” Someone calls your name; a faded sound in the background of a total cacophony of thoughts still overflowing your head.

It’s heavy, it hurts.

Then, there’s a firm grip on your shoulders and suddenly the scene is covered, but the imprint of it still remains on your memory. The shadow of a failed mission hits you harder than ever before. The smell of blood is unbearable, black dots appear on your vision, making it hard to focus, to see.

“You need to breathe, Y/N.” The voice tries again; touching your chin, lifting you face so you could stare two golden eyes shining bright in the night.

Kyojuro gently cups and holds your face between his hands, tender eyes looking at you. His palms always seemed to hold the heat of the sun somehow. It warms your freezing face in a few seconds; melting the snow that had started to cover your heart. A welcoming change of season that puts you on rotation again.

You breathe in. Breathe out.

“Just like that, breathe.” He says, encouraging you with small strokes of his thumb on your cheek. It’s a delicate movement, wiping away tears that you had shed without knowing.

Your lungs scream in pain; this time because of the cold air entering them, not the lack of it. The shadows around the corner of your vision slowly diffuses, leaving you with a clear view of his face, so close to yours - so beautifully full of alive.

Fatigue begins to settle down on your bones. You’re tired. Tired of trying; tired of fighting everyday against an evil you know you can’t defeat, not alone. It’s a battle you showed up with only a wood sword while the others were wearing shiny armors and swords made out of steel.

Kyojuro’s hand runs down your neck, bringing your face closer; slowly guiding you to put your head on his shoulder. His other arm wraps around your body in a half hug; hand caressing your back. You feel like crying again. The heat of his body involves you - it reminds you of a fireplace, comforting and keeping you warm throughout the harsh winter. Kyojuro’s hands, although calloused, are more than welcomed to touch your face.

Feeling like something is missing, your shaky hands reach out inside your Haori, grabbing the little metal case that once belonged to your father; it finally grounds you in the moment with a last sense of comfort, but you don’t open it.

Instead, you take a deep breath. Deeping your face on his shoulder, breathing in Kyojuro’s smell. it’s soothing; like staying in the sun when it’s cold; when the hot tea runs down your throat and warms your entire body.

“You’re really doing this for me, aren’t you?” He whispers in your ears, thumb still rubbing your cheeks in a slow motion.

You couldn’t get enough of this feeling. When was the last time someone had held you this close with such tender care? You couldn’t bring yourself to return the hug, hands still gripping the case. However, you really did appreciate his touch. Lighting every single part of your body that was still in the dark, reaching even the corners you didn’t want to visit.

“I’m here now,” Kyojuro’s tender words make your heart beat fast, doing wonders for your broken spirit. It’s so gentle that it’s enough to bring your walls down; make you open your door and let him in.

“And I’m going to take care of you.” Kyojuro kisses your forehead.

And just like that, your heart throbs again; painfully aware of the impact of those words. What they truly meant. The cracks in your heart grow bigger, snapping at the seams that were still holding the fragile organ together.

And you break.

But this time, Kyojuro’s there to hold your broken pieces.

IV.

When the colors of the trees started to look more vivid by each day, slowly growing leaves and making the landscape more friendly, more inviting. When you could see hints of buds of flowers fighting to grow in the backyard of the State, when the bees came out of their houses more frequently – making Mitsuri plan her next honey production - you knew spring was coming. The change of season came, changing the scenario, changing you.

Those past few months were a journey you never intend to go. If you were being honest, you would’ve never followed that path. At some point you even looked back, took a few steps backwards; not knowing if you were close to the end, or still in the start.

Then there was Kyojuro, gripping your hand so tight you couldn’t think about letting go; pulling you further the path. When you thought it was impossible to keep going, he would sit down with you and hold you in his arms. You couldn’t overcome your addiction in one day, it was a long path, one that he was willing to stay and make some company as you put yourself back together.

You weren’t alone anymore. And that made your journey so much easier.

The sun was high in the sky, the spring had just arrived and you couldn’t wait to taste Mitsuri’s famous honey again – this time you would truly appreciate the taste - couldn’t wait to sit in the garden and take care of the flowers while watching the butterflies fly around you. Spring has always been your favorite season, there was a magical feeling to it; bringing everything back to life; the colors; the animals; nature. A promise of a fresh beginning for everyone, mostly for you.

The water is cold against your body as you swim carelessly. The day was warm; the sun in all its glory in the sky. The river at Himejima’s State was always a degree colder than it should be, but after some time you got used to it. It had been a while since you swam, you liked the feeling of being afloat, how the water made you feel lighter and cleaner.

Cleaning your mind after the storm that crashed through was a tough task, one that took quite some time; but with the need to wipe the place and rebuild everything from scratch, there were some things you found you had long forgotten, hidden underneath broken furniture and shattered glass.

One of them was your love for spring, for calmness and for swimming. Long gone were the days you spent with your father by the lake next to your house; where you two would spend the day washing clothes and splashing water at each other. However, it wasn’t a bitter memory. Not anymore.

“Hey! I see that you’re starting the day quite well!” Kyojuro’s voice is recognizable even from afar, you didn’t need to open your eyes to know that he was approaching. Your heart though, was another story.

“You found me.” You say with a smile on your face, still not daring to open your eyes.

Kyojuro had become a great friend after the day you broke down in front of him. You knew the Pillar was a kind and honorable man - Mitsuri had only good things to say about him. However, there was always a tension when you two were in the same room; it was heavier as the days passed and his eyes on you weren’t as welcome as you wish they were.

Your paranoia played a great part in your relationship with him. Only when your walls came crumbling down and he was the first to step in; showing that all this time, it was just concern behind golden eyes, you stopped putting traps along the way, letting him in without a fight.

“How are you holding up?” His voice is closer now, probably by the riverbank.

You were good; for the first time you weren’t telling a lie to yourself. There was no desire to smoke anymore, not when you knew how it felt being clean. How you could taste Mitsuri’s food better; not smelling like smoke all the time. And most important, you had got so much better at the breathing technique. All the missions you went were a success, and you were proud of yourself – a foreign feeling that you were still getting used to.

“I’m…” You trailed off, getting caught up by the sight before you. Kyojuro was stripping down his clothes, his perfect toned chest glowing as the sun framed his perfect form. Your face is a shade redder as you quickly averted your eyes “…Good.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

You hear the sound of splashing water, followed by some movement from beside you. You take a deep breath before looking at his direction again. He’s close now, submerging up to his chin. You didn’t know if you were disappointed or relived. Maybe a mix of both.

“It’s cold!” He shouts, a ghost of teeth chattering as he swims next to you, testing the waters.

“Of course you would say that,” You laugh softly, arms moving at your sides to help you stay afloat.

The river wasn’t too deep, if you stayed close to the riverbank you could easily enjoy the coldness of the water without worrying too much. However, as you swam to the middle, you needed to make a little bit more of effort; it was the best part of the river for you though.

Suddenly, Kyojuro’s smiling at you; so bright and full of care that for a moment your mind goes blank.

Not knowing what to do with his gaze on you – truth be told, you never knew what to do but blush – you shove your hands forward, making a wave of water to splash against his unguarded face. After the first initial shock, Kyojuro laughs so loud that every part of your body lights up with a satisfying feeling, you liked his laugh, his voice. Him.

Not letting you go without revenge, he splashes you with a cascade of water that has you coughing for air; the difference between your waves and his are so ridiculous that at some point you have both of your arms shoving water in his direction. You two look like children playing in the river, and it’s not a bad portrayal; it’s quite soothing as the forest is filled with both of your laughs.

The moment lasts, until he grabs your wrist, stopping you from splashing another wave of water at him again. Your body freezes in the spot as his other arm encircles your waist, pulling you closer to him.

Just like the sun, Kyojuro had a magnet on him, too compelling, too strong. He had a way to pull you closer without even noticing, as if you had always been gravitating towards him; You would inevitably come crashing into him someday.

The warmth of his breath hits your face, making you shiver from head to toe - something you thought was impossible due to the coldness of the water. Kyojuro purses his lips, slowly closing the gap between you two.

And instead of fighting against the anxiety building up inside you, the familiar feeling you always felt when he was too close. The beating of your heart, too fast to pass unnoticed. You close your eyes and let it go.

Kyojuro’s lips are soft against yours. His hand grips tighter your waist, making you sigh against his mouth. He releases your wrist, involving you with both arms, his muscular naked body against yours awakes something in the pitch of your stomach. Kyojuro tilts his head to the side, just enough to sink into the kiss even more.

Your hands quickly travel along his face, enveloping his neck in a strong grip, pulling him closer. Showing him that yes, you want this as much as he does. He kisses you gently but still manages to take your breath away.

Pulling away slowly, you still hold his neck in a tight grip; an attempt to ground yourself from the drunk feeling growing in your chest.

“You taste like cinnamon.” Kyojuro whispers, lips so close that it brushes against yours.

“Do you like it?” You don’t know why you’re whispering, but it seems fitting. As if any louder word would break the spell of the moment.

“It’s delicious!” Kyojuro says with a huge smile on his face, and you can’t help but smile too.

He brings a hand to your face, touching your cheek tenderly, and without thinking twice, you lean into his touch. A welcomed act that has your heart and body demanding for more.

Bad habits are hard to break; and maybe you have found a new addiction to hold on to for the rest of your life. Only this time it was healthier. It was love.

*****

Secret Santa from @thgreatestblue to @redgokus ! Happy Holidays!

#kny secret santa #kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #demon slayer x reader #kyojuro rengoku x reader #rengoku kyojuro x reader #kyojuro rengoku #rengoku kyojuro #kny kyojuro #submission

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1-800-roflmao · 4 years

Text

Wash Day Delight Pt. 5

Rating: General Audiences

WARNINGS: None

Fandom: Undertale (Video Game)

Relationships: (Papyri Harem) Papyrus (Undertale)/Reader, Papyrus (Underfell)/Reader, Papyrus (Underswap)/Reader, Papyrus (Undertale) & Reader, Papyrus (Underfell) & Reader

Characters: Papyrus (Undertale), Reader, Edge (UF Pap), Blue (US Sans), Stretch (US Pap), Sans (Undertale), and Mentions of Other AU Skeletons

Add. Notes: Reader Is POC - mainly mixed/black coded with thick curly hair. I try to keep descriptions vague. Anyone is welcome to read.

*Papyrus has a moment to himself. Enter Sans, Blue, and Stretch. Edge proposes a toast.

**EDITED SINCE TUMBLR MIXED UP THE PARAGRAPHS

PREVIOUS || FIRST || NEXT

Papyrus was practically beaming at the opportunity he had caught by the horns that morning. What a spectacular way to start his day! He’d been only a little worried that she might shoot down his idea. Okay, he had been very worried. Especially considering she had explained she planned to do chores today as well. Thank goodness, his brilliant mind was in tip top shape today! And he didn’t have the little human here to fluster him. It had also been lucky that Blue was there. The excitable version of his brother had been quite eager to help him convince her to come over once he realized who he was texting and what was going on.

“REMIND HER HOW MUCH SHE LOVED OUR MASTER BATH!” “SHE’S SUPPOSED TO BE PAMPERING HERSELF AND RESTING. CHORES ARE NEITHER OF THOSE!” “WE CAN ASSIST HER WITH THOSE CHORES IF THEY REALLY NEED TO BE DONE…” “TELL HER I’LL GET MY BROTHER’S HOODIE FOR HER!”

That last suggestion he remembered had resulted in a long pause before Blue had laughed awkwardly under Papyrus’s questioning and only slightly judging gaze. His judgemental gaze was soon pulled to his phone as she had replied with a wide-eyed emoji and then stars and then finally:

Fluffy: Promise?

He didn’t know whether to be impressed by Blue or disappointed in his friend that it had taken the simple promise of a hoodie to get her to agree so quickly. Was it because it was Stretch’s specifically? There was no way to tell since they had not offered anyone else’s clothing. It stung for some reason. Idly, he rubbed at his sternum to ease the odd pain away as he sent a reply back.

CoolDude: THE GREAT PAPYRUS! AND MALEFICENT BLUE! NEVER BREAK A PROMISE.

CoolDude: WE’LL BE OVER IN JUST A FEW MINUTES TO PICK YOU UP

Fluffy: Could you give me thirty?

Fluffy: I need to get dressed and pack a bag.

CoolDude: OFCOURSE! SEE YOU SOON!

Needless to say, it wasn’t long after the two had convinced her to come over that the whole household was made aware they would have a guest today in the family group chat. Blue had run off to find his brother with a promise to come back in time to go. Papyrus assumed he was going to try and convince his brother to give up his hoodie for the day. They technically didn’t need it till later though. Most likely she would be rushing off to the bathroom as soon as she stepped foot into their home.

Pocketing his phone, he settled into finishing the task Blue had been helping him with. There were only a few more dishes left to clean from their late breakfast--brunch? Was it still technically too early for brunch? Shrugging, he lost himself in cleaning and tried not to watch the clock obsessively. So hyper focused, he didn’t notice his brother shortcutting into the kitchen just beside him.

○●○●○●○●○

Sans just watched Papyrus currently wiping at the same spot on the counter for what seemed the umpteenth time. “hey, bro, think you missed a spot,” he finally decided to make presence known. He was rewarded with very on brand screech as his taller sibling nearly jumped through the ceiling in surprise. Quite a feat considering they had purposely high ceilings.

“SANS!!!” Sans’ lazy perma smile just perked up as his brother stomped a foot and crossed his arms, sockets narrowing. “WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT USING SHORTCUTS IN THE HOUSE?!” Papyrus scolded, foot tapping away.

“not to,” he answered without a care. His tone said it all. He’d do it again and again. This was a war Papyrus would not win. He bit back a laugh as his brother just sucked in a breath, palms pressed together in a praying motion in front of his teeth. “aw, paps, come on, it’s not that bad,” he pleaded playfully.

“YOU ARE CORRECT,” Papyrus started and Sans arched a brow bone in mild surprise, “IT’S NOT THAT IT’S BAD. IT IS SIMPLY FRUSTRATING THAT YOU HAVE TWO PERFECTLY FUNCTIONAL LEGS AND YET, YOU FIND EVERY OPPORTUNITY TO NOT USE THEM!”

Sans just smiled in turn and that smile just stretched wider as he watched his brother literally flinch and glare even harder. “NO.” His sockets were practically curling with how big his smile was getting as Papyrus continued to command him to cease. It was too late though. It was already in motion.

“just trying to get a leg up on life, bro.” It was like music to his nonexistent ears as Papyrus screeched that signature NYEH! of his. He would have tossed a few more puns his brother’s way, but… “so, what has your spine in a twist?” While he could guess what had his brother stressing--considering a certain human was visiting today--it did not hurt to ask.

His brother’s lazy pun had done its job to lighten his mood significantly. He had expected more, but instead Sans had thrown a curveball. The question was sobering. He wasn’t stressed. He wasn’t worried. He wasn’t… right? Picking up the rag he had used to clean the counters, he brought it to the sink and started ringing it out. “MY SPINE IS PERFECTLY ALIGNED AS USUAL, SANS,” he replied, tossing the rag in to a small hamper just outside the connected laundry room.

Silence followed and he could feel his brother’s eyelights boring into his back. “uh huh…” Yeah, that tone said he hadn’t believed a word of it. Rather than pushing with words, his brother had settled for simply staring and tapping at the counter. It was a battle of wills at this point.

Just as the tapping of his brother’s phalanges against the countertop was starting to tick away his resolve, the tension was shattered as Blue reentered the kitchen with his own brother in tow. Papyrus could hear the energetic version of his brother nagging at his lazy self to wash his hoodie before lending it out. Finally turning around, he aimed a bright smile at the swapped brothers; pointedly, he ignored his brother’s judging gaze. “BLUE, I SEE YOU’VE SUCCEEDED IN CONVINCING YOUR BROTHER!” he declared, marching up to the two.

A little amused huff escaped Blue, “DIDN’T TAKE MUCH CONVINCING HONESTLY,” he admitted.

“OH?” Papyrus looked to Stretch for elaboration and the other just gave an easy shrug.

“little miss has been eying my hoodie for a good bit,” he stated, an amused lilt to his voice, “was honestly surprised she never tried to sneak it or ask for it before now.”

“SHE DIDN’T ASK FOR IT,” Papyrus found himself saying before he could think better of it. It wasn’t a lie, but why did it feel like he said something mean. That odd feeling was pressing at his sternum again.

Stretch simply rolled the lollipop held in his jaws from one side to the other. The hard candy clicking gently at the back of his teeth as he leveled a seemingly unbothered stare on his doppelganger, but Papyrus knew no matter how much the slouching brother seemed to act like his brother, he was still a Papyrus and Papyri were more observant than they often let on. He knew those honey colored eye lights were searching for every little cue to put together the puzzle put before him.

“THAT IS TRUE. I DID OFFER IT,” Blue cut in, a shared moment of eye contact between the older brothers missed by the younger.

A little hum could be heard from Stretch as he straightened up with a roll of his shoulders in a mock stretch. “hadn’t meant it to come off like that so let me reword,” he started with a short chuckle. “she’d been wishing on all our sweaters and hoodies,” he amended, his lazy smile pulling up at the corners as he now had to look slightly down at his doppelganger without his usual slouch.

That ugly, heavy feeling wasn’t pressing as insistently after Stretch’s words. “OH…” Papyrus hoped his voice came off as neutral. Sadly, he could feel his magic betraying him as his cheekbones warmed.

“you all can’t tell me you’ve never noticed,” he challenged the room, finally breaking his staredown with Papyrus as he looked to the other two occupants.

Sans was the first to input his agreement with a shallow nod as he leaned on the counter. “she tries to be subtle about it,” he remarked, an easy smile on his face as he rested his chin against his palm, “sneaking little glances here and there, dropping little hints…” His sockets closed with a happy curve as his deep laugh rumbled in his chest as he remembered the offhanded questions and shy beating around the bush their friend opted for instead of simply asking outright to borrow one of their jackets.

Opening his sockets, he resumed watching his brother. His light pink flush had dimmed and he had lifted a hand up to his mouth, digits curled as he seemed to be thinking. He just smiled more as Papyrus seemed to be relaxing as he worked through his thoughts. The more anecdotes they shared, the more his sockets seemed to widen with understanding.

“LET’S NOT FORGET SHE HAD TRIED ACQUIRE YOUR SWEATER JUST LAST NIGHT, CREAMPUFF.” Edge’s voice cut through the chatter. They had all jumped and seemed to move as one to look at the sharp skeleton currently shutting the fridge door. When had he come in? Had they been so engrossed they had somehow missed him coming in? Edge just smirked smugly at all of them as he carried the carafe of lemonade over to the island.

Sans just chuckled and turned his attention back to his brother. His brow bones perking as he saw Papyrus’s smile wasn’t strained anymore and his tense posture had fled. A glance to Blue and the other gave him the tiniest shrug before following it with a sneaky thumbs up. Yeah, everything was good again. Let’s not question it for now. “hey, bro, don’t cha have a guest to pick up?” he commented.

The energetic duo both looked to the clock on the wall. A rather impressive synchronized gasp left the two. “NYEH!” “MWEH!” “WE’RE LATE!!” The smaller skeleton just barely managed to catch the taller by the hand as he went to dash out the door. “SORRY, PAPYRUS! NO TIME FOR THAT!” Blue rushed out an apology before the smell of ozone filled the kitchen and barely a second later they were gone.

○●○●○●○●○

“hey, Edge, mind pouring me a glass of that lemonade?” Stretch had settled at the island with a hopeful smile.

His request was met with a huff as Edge opened the cabinets above and retrieved a glass for himself, “POUR YOURSELF ONE, ASH TRAY.”

The orange clad skeleton just hummed around his lollipop before grabbing the sweet, honey flavored treat by it’s stick and removing it from his mouth. “aww, why not? you poured one for Sans there and he didn’t even ask,” he pouted playfully, gesturing to Sans who was nursing his glass of lemonade just beside him.

“don’t have to ask when you’re-” Both Papyri still in the room shot him a warning glare before he could even finish and he lifted his hands up in mock surrender. “fine, fine , tough room,” he joked. Edge just rolled his eyes, while Stretch let his glare linger a bit longer to make sure Sans didn’t try to sneak it in.

“I REFUSE TO WATCH YOU RUIN A PERFECTLY GOOD GLASS OF LEMONADE AGAIN,” the sharper skeleton stated as he poured his own glass and took a sip, sighing at the refreshing taste.

Stretch feigned insult, “i’m not the only one who puts honey in their lemonade, edgelord.”

“NO, BUT I WOULDN’T SAY YOU ARE PUTTING HONEY IN LEMONADE WITH YOU,” Edge started, wrinkles forming on his nose ridge in disgust as he spoke, “NO, WITH YOU IT IS MORE ACCURATE TO SAY YOU PUT LEMONADE IN YOUR HONEY.” He took a long sip like he could taste the sticky sweetness on his tongue and needed to wash it down.

“you got me there,” Stretch popped his lollipop back in his mouth and settled in, laying against the counter with a resigned sigh. He could hear Edge grumbling about how of course he was right. Rolling his lollipop, he moved his attention back to Sans. The prime doppelganger had simply been sitting quietly with an easy smile on his round skull. As if sensing Stretch’s stare, his white eyelights locked with honey colored ones.

“need something, pal?” The words held no threat or warning, just an invitation to ask away.

“what was up with your brother earlier?” Stretch already had a guess. He just wanted confirmation at this point. The stout skeleton apparently had no plans to play along and just shrugged noncommittally.

“no clue what you’re talking about, Stretch,” Sans replied, finishing off his lemonade with a satisfied sigh, “thanks for the drink, Edge.” He sent a genuinely thankful smile Edge’s way before the smell ozone once again filled the room and an empty glass was abandoned on the countertop before a now empty seat.

Edge fought down a smile that tugged at his teeth. It wasn’t too hard with Stretch still in the room though. Currently, the laidback skeleton was watching him with a curious look. “WHAT?” he snapped, scowling as a knowing grin was aimed at him.

“you’re in on it,” the other stated matter of factly.

“I AM IN ON NOTHING. AND QUIT THAT CLUELESS ACT,” Edge snipped, crossing his arms with a cocked hip, “I WAS THERE LONG ENOUGH TO SEE YOUR POSTURING EARLIER.” It had been a surprise to see the usually passive skeleton standing to his full height and purposely towering over their prime version. He cut off Stretch’s denial with a sharp growl, “I WON’T LISTEN TO BULLSHIT, STRETCH.”

Stretch just gave a defeated chuckle as he sat up in his seat. “two for two today, Edge. you’re on a roll,” he commended.

Edge didn’t see nor hear any regret from his alternate. The two simply took a moment to stare each other down. A silent measuring up before the standing skeleton reached up into the cabinets and set down a new glass. Curious honey eyelights watched as a lemonade was poured to only fill half the glass before it was slid over to him with a gentle push.

“what’s this?” Stretch questioned. He leant forward in his seat and tilted his skull as he shifted his stare from the half full glass to Edge who was refilling his own.

“LEMONADE,” he answered smartly and Stretch didn’t bother restrain his rolling eyelights.

“i can see that.”

“THEN WHY ASK?”

“you know that’s not wh-”

“JUST FILL IT WITH YOUR INFERNAL HONEY ALREADY,” Edge snapped, cutting Stretch off with an impatient scowl.

Knowing he wouldn’t get anywhere with his darker counterpart, he fished in his pullover pocket and pulled out his signature bear shaped honey bottle. Snapping the top, he upended the bottle over the glass and squeezed. The viscous, thick amber liquid cut through the pale white lemonade and pooled at the bottom of the glass. It took a minute to build the thick layer he wanted and once he was done, Edge handed him a spoon begrudgingly to stir his monstrosity. Finished, he looked to Edge again questioningly only to see the other holding up his glass. The sharp toothed skeleton had a cocky smirk on his skull, “IF YOU’RE SERIOUS ABOUT THAT CHALLENGE EARLIER, JUST KNOW YOU HAVE COMPETITION.”

Stretch was sure his jaw was on the floor as he realized what was going on. He had known the tougher skeleton was soft on their human, but he hadn’t thought it went further than platonic interest. That only left Willow and Mutt from the Papyri who seemed to show no romantic interest. At least he hoped. That may change considering today was the day for surprises. Sucking in a breath, he sat up and raised up his own glass, tapping it against Edge’s with a less intense smirk of his own. “noted,” he acknowledged, “but the true competitor is Creampuff, ya know. you’ve seen those two together.”

Edge nodded. It was hard to miss the looks those two often sent to each other. It could be absolutely suffocating at times to be in the same room as them when they start acting sweet and fluffy. He took a moment before tapping his glass against Stretch’s for a second time, “A SECOND TOAST TO THE IDIOTS FINALLY WAKING UP,” before they each took a sip of their respective drinks.

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north-peach · 4 years

Text

Whoops, lemme fic it (SW)

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

It’s time to come out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

My first Star Wars time travel fic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Beyond the obvious of captured, separated and tortured.

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

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

No one is there. He is alone.

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

Bly goes back to restoring feeling in his body.

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

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

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

“Osik.”

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

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

He doesn’t know where Aalya is.

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

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

Was... was Vos there?

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

Which is, in short, a big fat nothing.

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

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

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

Bly pauses.

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

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

__________

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

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

He doesn’t ever stop for long though.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

__________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bly can hear Aalya sometimes.

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

Bly keeps going.

______

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

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

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

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

Gently, Bly uncoils his chains.

______

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

“-Ne shab'rud'niÖ, aruetii-”

“-aruetyc dini'la-”

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

“Ne'johaa!“

A faint moan, before one of the men laughs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The colors, symbols and naming to mention a few.

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

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

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

Kyr’tsad.

Kriffing, karking-!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One down, one to go.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-before pausing.

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

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

“Hey, ade.”

Silence.

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

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

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

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

Regardless he tries again and ignores how his voice cracks.

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

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

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

_____

“Gar shuk meh kyrayc.“

Bly blinks back to awareness.

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

Then the words register.

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

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

He flinches back, before stilling himself.

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

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

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

“Vor entye,” Bly rasps.

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

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

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

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

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

“And you?”

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

Bly smiles, letting his hand drop.

“Are you hurt, ad’ika?”

A touch of fire burns in her eyes.

“You’re bleeding.”

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

He acknowledges the point.

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

Slowly, the girl shakes her head.

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

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

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

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

“Tion gar gai?“

“What is yours?”

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

“Bly-”

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

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

A humorless laugh.

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

“-just Bly.”

“Arla.”

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

“Let’s get out of here, okay, Arla?”

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

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

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

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

______

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And the war?”

Arla pauses.

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

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

“Mand’alor Mereel?”

Arla makes an agreeing sound.

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

Mand’alor Mereel.

Jastor Mereel?

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

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

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

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

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

Again, he held out his hand.

“Ba'slanar.”

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

Arla took his hand.

_________

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

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

Plan A, accomplished with only a minor deivation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Arla look up and smiled, eyes wet.

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

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

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

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

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

_______________________

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

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

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akvtsuki-ari · 5 years

Text

Downers

Warnings: smut, fingering, penetration, oral (both recieving),(( reader swallows lol)), alchohol

Length: 4.7k

Authors Note: idk how to explain the context of this fic kjshjek but before you read i highly reccomend listening to the song this fic is based on!! normally it doesn’ matter either way but it’s directly apart of the fic!! the song is Downers by Greentea Peng

Summary: Spencer comes back from a one-night stand with insomnia he can’t shake. The hotel bar is welcome company, and the singer there seems to catch all his attention

Spencer couldn't remember her name.

Here he was in her hotel room, mouth on her neck, hands on her skin - whispering to her how beautiful she was and he just couldn't remember her name. He doesn't even know if he asked - he can't remember that much of their interactions since there interaction in the bar. Her dress was pretty, so Spencer went up to her. She was alone - she needed the company, her and her boyfriend were taking a break he thinks. She told him that she liked his tie, and his hair and he smiled and dazzled her, made a stupid magic joke and manage to get her back here

Spencer was good at this now, he knew how to get here everytime. It wasn't difficult after you get the hang of it. It was profiling after all, something he realized when this all started so many months ago. It's funny to try and recall a time before this - Spencer was always the butt of the joke because he used to tell himself he couldn't do one night stands. He wasn't wrong, either - at first he would just get too attached but things stopped mattering. Slowly but surely all the pieces fell away and he just started needing easy company, shed his skin of his job and make sure he made someone else feel good.

He was never really hedonistic but he figures things change right? When he fucks another girl whose name he doesn't remember, he's not keeping score - just trying to focus on making her feel good and the way it feels when he orgasms. He's chasing that feeling of high - even if it's temporary it makes him feel something and that's enough. Life is about more than chasing pleasure in the long run but this was now, and the feeling of the girl whose name he can't remember wrapping her mouth along the tip of his dick was enough. For now this feeling was enough, bucking his hips into her throat and making sure she gets off. He was an asshole but he wasn't a selfish one.

"Shit, I'm gonna cum," She annouces. Spencer nods in approval, pressing his forehead against hers as she finishes. She moans Spencers name aloud and Spencer wants to ignore it but he can't. Spencer cums soon after that, pulling out of the unnamed women beneath him

"Jesus," she breathes out heavy. Spencer laughs before looking at her.

"I'm gonna go take a shower," she says to him softly, "feel free to join me," she winks. Spencer just gives her a smile as she slinks away into the bathroom.

Spencer knew the drill. He didn't leave a note, he didn't ask her name because he wasn't planning on seeing her again. He sits a few minutes, redressing quietly and leaving quieter. He used to flinch when he shut the door but the hotel hallway was familiar to him now. Making eye contact with cleaning women and janitors who gave him what felt like knowing stares. Spencer was used to it, all of it - even if it was difficult.

Spencer doesn't feel like a slut. He probably should, but he doesn't really feel anything. He's doing the walk of shame, leaving her hotel room in the middle of the night and he just sorta.. doesn't care.

He wishes he did, but there's no time for that now. He checks the watch on his wrist, the time reading 1am and as if on cue, he yawns. His eyes are sleepy and he's rather exhausted, and he finds himself heading back to his own hotel in a tired daze

When Spencer returns to his hotel - he really can't sleep. He tries, laid in bed, tossing and turning for hours but it wasn't coming to him. They were supposed to be leaving the day after tomorrow, closed in by the weather that wouldn't let the jet take off so he was stuck there. He wanted nothing more than to get some rest, but it was fruitless. Spencer looks over at the pamphlet he picked up from downstairs - looking at all the different things that the hotel had going on. It says there's a live, late-night singer at the bar in the hotel. Y/N Y/L/N. He sighs, rubbing his face with his hands before standing up and putting back on his normal clothes. A live show and a drink might not be so bad, and maybe there's something (or really someone,) for Spencer to do.

He walks down at 3am, it'd only been an hour since he got back and it was still dark out. Everything was still as he walked into the hallway and elevator. every sound felt louder and more distinct. There wasn't a soul out there other than staff who was forced to work earlier shifts and other people doing the same walk of shame he was doing earlier. He can't bring himself to look at them, but Spencer was certainly understanding of them.

He manages to make it to the hotel bar, which was surprisingly nice - he has to admit. Lowlights and candelabras all over the place add to the ambiance, the ceiling mirrored as he looks to all the patrons in the bar. Mostly older men, drinking whiskey alone as typical as it was. There were some women that caught his eyes, but he's not ready to tango with someone like that so he orders a drink at the bar. He likes scotch on the rocks, but he's not really one to drink it often. One can't hurt, he doesn't think. The odd sense of isolation while being in a public place and the alcohol in his system might make him more tired faster. He doesn't want another one-night stand but that loneliness hits quickly, and his original plans may fall through.

He waits it out, sitting down at a chair near the small platform that served as a stage. He watches as on older gentleman picks the mic up, announcing that name he read earlier. Y/N Y/L/N.

He sees a woman walk up onto the stage, so beautiful he coughs on his scotch. A man across the ways looks to Spencer and laughs, nodding in understanding.

"Wait till you hear her voice," He says quietly. Spencer just nods, eyes fixated on the way you move. You look classic, hair let loose wearing a sequin dress. You weren't too flashy, but you definitely managed to catch everyone's attention. You had a jaded expression, eyes flashing up to the crowd softly. You look directly towards Spencer and give him a knowing smile. He was new, you'd never seen him here before.

"How's everyone doing tonight, hm? Can't be too well if you're here seeing me at 4am, but still good I hope," you say chuckling. It lightens the somewhat somber energy that seems to swallow the place up as the bar regulars and other lonely folks of the night all watch you. You laugh softly into the microphone.

"Anyone have any requests for me, or am I free to sing what I'd like?," you ask the small audience. Everyone gives encouraging whoops at the second option and you give that same lighthearted giggle that Spencers heart aches for. You were unbelivably beautiful, the light catching the highlights of your face as you look at everyone smoothly. You tuck some hair behind your ears as you look to the small band.

"Let's do the song I was practicing upstairs earlier," you call to them. They all nod their heads at you, as you clear your throat and take a sip of water.

"This song is called Downers, by Greentea Peng," you say softly. You start humming along with the music before you start to sing the lyrics and christ -

"I can't smell the flowers / felt empty now for hours / lost my powers / I can't smell the flowers / I'm sick of all these towers / think I done too many Downers," You sing the first verse with ease. Spencer's ears are so attuned to the music he can barely drink his scotch. Your voice is melodic, it flows out with no problem and soothes Spencer so much he feels like he could pass out right there. His eyes look to your expression, eyes closed as you smile at the self-aware lyrics of the song. Your body language is so comfortable with the words, he imagines the song is personal to you in some way.

"hard to see the value in these half-hearted encounters / can't deal with the truth so we just change the world around us / to feel and smell just like we want it to / fuck what we're meant to do / can't hang round be no fool / wasting time just getting high / getting high / to get by / clear my mind clear blue skies / all this time I've been flying from up here," You sing the runs with easy, your voice syncing perfectly with the music being played. Spencer's eyes don't leave you for even a second as he watches you sink in and become part of the music. Your shoulders fall, as you tap along the rhythm of the song before singing the chorus again, then delving into the second verse.

The first verse weighs on Spencer's mind as you continue onto the second and third verse. The lyrics of the song are as fitting to him as possible. It feels too relevant for Spencer to forget about it but he tries as you continue your performance, mixing modern radio ballads with older classics. Your voice is like medicine to Spencer's exhaustion, he wants to relax in the sound forever and his head's so fixated on you - he knows he needs to talk to you. To get to know you, something if anything. He doesn't remember the last time he's felt this strong towards someone but he'd be damned if he didn't chase it.

When you finish your performance, you collect tips from all the bar patrons and wish everybody a kind morning. Spencer didn't realize that another full hour had passed and he sees walking towards the bar so, in the least creepy way he can, he stands to follow you. You order a club soda and sit on the bench, where Spencer takes a seat next to you. You roll your eyes, but you'd be lying if you said he wasn't attractive to you. You turn your body to face him and he shoots you smile in return.

"You're not one for subtlety are you?," you say softly as the bartender hands you your drink. You take a sip, feeling the cool relief on your worn throat. Spencer laughs, looking at the floor before looking back up at you.

"For a woman as beautiful as you? Can't say I am, no," Spencer says lightly. You roll your eyes but you're smiling into your drink as you do.

"What about flattery?," you ask again. Spencer chews the corner of his lips as his eyes grace your body, noticing the way your skin shows around the shoulders of your dress. He laughs.

"That one I can manage," Spencer's voice is a murmur. You put your drink down and readjust how you sit, looking at Spencer's face. You can see right through him, really. You can with most men, but especially someone who does what you used to do. You want to laugh at him and say theres no need for the formality but it isn't for the two of you. It's for the people in the bar who count the seconds before you two walk away together. You were going to fuck him, you knew that the second he sat so close during your performance but the rest of the bar didn't so the formal talk and idle chat is for them.

"I don't really do this very often -" Spencer starts. You roll your eyes, cutting him off mid-sentence.

"You're not a good liar, you know that?," you say softly. Spencer is startled but intrigued by your observation. He looks to you for an explanation and you just shrug at him. He looks into your eyes and it's like you see past him. He falters for a few seconds.

"Old habits die hard," you start first "picking up on when someones lying to sleep with me just happens to be one," you say, chuckling. You're not upset or sarcastic, simply laughing at the situation and reminiscing. Spencer shifts uncomfortably for a second, not really used to someone being able to see through him so quickly.

"I should be clear that I'd still like to sleep with you," you say, blinking through your lashes. Spencer nearly chokes when he hears, a blush forming on his face. It was becoming clear that you were gonna lead the way on this one.

"But don't be dishonest, it's boring - you yourself are probably more interesting than what you tell other people," you say thoughtfully. Spencers befuddled at how you just seem to know but you shake your head.

"I've made my rounds, men and women," you say casually. Spencer feels like he's dying at your confession but can't help himself - finding it beyond attractive that you managed both.

"What do you wanna know?" Spencer asks relaxed. You give him a small smile.

"What's your name? What do you do? Whats your star sign? The usual," you say jokingly. Spencer can't help but laugh, genuinely laugh.

"My names Dr. Spencer Reid, I work for the FBI for the Behavioral Analysis Unit, and I'm told I'm a Scorpio," Spencer says, smiling. Penelope told him that forever ago though he hasn't thought about since then. You give him a grin.

"An FBI agent ? You must be here for all the murders they had in downtown, huh?," you ask curiously. He looks suprised but how in touch you are.

"I keep up with the news," you say casually. Spencer keeps learning about you and his attraction to you only increased. He nods, telling you you're right and you mentally high-five yourself.

"What do you wanna ask me?," you say, perching your lips out. Spencer looks at them before his eyes flick up at your eyes

"What else do you? Other than sing, I mean,"

You tilt your head in though for a second, before shrugging.

"For work? I make most of my money singing, anyways. I studied other stuff in college, but music is what I love to do and I make decent money off of working different celebrations. This bar gave me my first gig so I'm always here. Other than that, I volunteer at local stuff - gotta keep in touch you know?," you softly. Spencer looks at your expression with an adoration he can't explain. He finds himself speaking before he can think too much about it.

"I haven't been looked into like that before," Spencer blurts out. You chuckle.

"You said you do behavioral analysis, right?," you asks. Spencer nods.

"Trying to get someone to fuck you is esentially the same. You watch them and try to appeal to their situations so you get your result. You're a hunter, all the same. Sometimes it's killers and sometimes it's an attractive woman whose married but doesn't have her ring on - it's a mindgame," you say carefully. Spencer knows you're right but the way you say it so bluntly makes him feel a way. It's the first time a woman has made him this uncomfortable and in a fucked up way he's happy about it. It sounds cocky, but the challenge is attractive to Spencer. You weren't trying to isolate yourself from other women, instead just making a general commentary on human beings. You were intelligent.

"How could you tell?,"

"You're too well practiced with expression and stuff. Too much attention to detail," you reply.

"You're entitled to whatever but be careful with yourself," you warn. Spencer just listens.

"Full disclosure, I studied criminology in college - so I'm familiar with your work," you say a little shy, Spencer raises his brows and assures it's fine before you continue.

"You do what you do at work because it catches them. You can hold onto a happy ending and that's important," you say softly "But, sleeping around is a personal cause with no heroes you know? The loneliness will always come back, and those mind games you play just to get rid of it will start to fracture you," you say thoughtfully. Spencer feels some tears prick at his eyes but he covers them before he looks at you.

"I don't sleep around much anymore, but when I do - I can't promise I'll leave my name and number. Old habits, you know? But I see myself in you, the way you move is something I definitely recall," you say laughing. Spencer feels so damn weird - confused as to how you're so perceptive.

"Sorry to read you like that, I just like you. You're interesting," you say, cute as ever. Spencer is unbelievably attracted to you.

"I'm a little speechless," Spencer says laughing.

"Sorry?,"

"Don't be, but you feel like a sign to me," Spencer says softly.

"The woman I.. you know - earlier, I don't even remember her name," Spencer admits a little sadly. You shake your head, reaching out to grab his hand to provide him some comfort. He finds himself holding on.

"You learn to face the loneliness, and sometimes it makes cool stuff like this happen," you say giggling.

"I wanna remember your name," Spencer admits. You give him a small smile.

"Even after I just came for you and this is only our first meeting?"

"Especially because of that,"

You laugh aloud and Spencer notes how lovely the sound is. You look at him, before taking another sip of your drink. You stand tall, patting down your skirt before walking away, Spencer stars dumbfounded for a few seconds before he hears your voice.

"You coming?" You ask. Spencer couldn't manage to bolt faster. _____

"Can I kiss you?," Is the first question Spencer asks you when you end up in your hotel room. You laugh, looking into his eyes as the two of you stand in front of the hotel door. You put your hands on Spencer's waist, making your way up to his chest.

"It's all I've been thinking about for the last few hours so," you say softly. Spencer grins at you, leaning his head down before placing his lips on yours, slowly parting them to catch a little bit more of you. Its slow at first but only then, slowly the speed of each kiss inbetween picks up. Spencer's tongue nips yours, hands running your sides as he touches you hesitant. The whole gesture is hesitant still, though the heat is coming close to just being too much. You use your teeth gently to hitch Spencer's bottom lip and the gestures welcomed.

You pull away from Spencer to look at him, looking into his eyes with an affectionate need.

"Hey, Spencer?,"

"Yes?,"

"If you don't fuck the shit out of me, I don't think I'll ever forgive you,"

Spencer grins, before you give him a shy smile. Spencer kisses you again, the two of you moving to the bed soon after. Spencer sits on the edge of the bed, while you straddle him. Spencer's hands grip your backside. You let out a noise of suprise but Spencer just smiles, leaning his face into your neck. His teeth graze your neck, placing small kisses on patches of it as you tilt it up to give him more room. He nips at the area, sucking small hickies into it. His fingers work their way to the zipper of your dress as you lean into him, your hands on the side of his face.

Your dress falls off your shoulders, as you move back to take it off. Spencer's eyes watch you as you move out of it - throat dry as he sees that you're not wearing a bra. Your nipples come to attention at the cool air in the room and Spencer's hands move to touch you before he can think about it. He brushes them carefully, back and forth sending pleasure shooting through you rather unexpected. You managed to sit on Spencer's lap again before he continues but you whine with displeasure.

His eyes flick to you with curiosity but you don't have to explain much, simply undoing his belt, urging him to unbutton his shirt by tugging at it. He can't help his laughter as he looks at you adoringly.

"Impatient," he reminds you. You give him that same innocent look from before you as you nod at him.

"For you? Always," you reply back. Spencer leans in to kiss you again before he lets you sit in the bed, watching him undress as he did for you only moments ago. You drink in the sight of his skin, the way his hard-on sits in his boxers, standing to attention. You can't stop looking at it, the feeling of lust creeping at your throat.

"Spencer, lay down," you urge softly. He gives you a look of question but does as told, walking to the other side of the bed and laying down as he's told. He catches wind of your plan soon after, watching you take your panties off and revealing arousal that's managed to slide down your thighs. His throat catches but his silent request is soon fulfilled as you place for knees on either side of Spencer's head and settle yourself over his tongue. Spencer's hands grip your thighs as he places a few soft kisses on them, before arching his neck to meet your clit with his tongue. He's patient, flattening his tongue against your clit before motioning it back and forth. The feeling is so sudden, pleasure ripping through you as you use your hips to grind onto to Spencer's tongue.

You lean down over Spencer's cock, spitting onto the head before your mouth wraps around the tip. You use your hands to steady yourself before you bob your head, hollowing your cheeks out which makes Spencer choke. He had figured you'd both be good in bed but it's starting to be clear that it was a lot more than that.

Spencer feels good - so fucking good because he was just so attracted to you and the feeling of your mouth around his dick was working him. Your thighs moved so confidently to grind onto his tongue, using his face for your pleasure while returning the favor, you were more than good. Spencer feels you in his chest, twitching in your mouth when his mind feels with all the possibilities of what else he could do. It wasn't enough to taste you - he would keep seeking out your pleasure until the thought of him never left your mind.

This position was really just a competition to see who could make the other unravel fastest. The feeling of satisfaction he recieved when he feels you pulsate around his tongue is unmatched - the sound of tone throat gagging as you moan out some version his name, cumming all over his face but not stopping your hips. Spencer can taste you everywhere and you taste as good as you look. He's unsure of how you've managed that but he's pleased. You ride your high before you life yourself off of his face, switching yourself to be positioned over his dick. You're more than ready to do that but Spencer's stops you, looking into your eyes as he sits up. You sit between his legs but he moves you up - positioning you to expose yourself too him. Easy access.

Spencer pushes his two middle fingers between your lips, which part for Spencer easily. Your tongue wraps around them, sucking them obediently and Spencer smiles at you. He pulls them out for you, sliding his thumb along your clit before slipping his fingers inside of you, curling them up inside of you. You lean, gripping onto Spencer's shoulder letting out whimpers next to his ear. He brushes against your gspot with ease, padding against it with rhythm. The feeling makes your legs shake, Spencer already close to bringing you to orgasm and despite his somewhat aching wrist makes sure the speed is consistent.

"Spencer, please - oh my god please," this is the first time you've addressed Spencer directly and it makes Spencer's whole body ache to fuck you.

"You're beautiful," Spencer breathes out. You pull away from his shoulders and put your hands on the side of his face, kissing him intensely as you looked into his expression. You're quick to cum a second time , convulsing around his hands a second time as you hold onto his back, fingernails digging in his skin as your whole body lights up in fireworks. Moans pour from your throat as you finish, riding out your high as Spencer slows

"Spencer," your voice is unsteady as you call out to him. He hums in response and you look at him, making eye contact.

"Would you like to go on a date sometime?," you breathe out. Spencer can't help the little giggles he lets out before nodding, kissing you softly.

"Seems like you've beat me to asking," Spencer says. You kiss Spencer once more, softly and slowly before smiling in his shoulder.

"Mm, fuck me," you say giggling. Spencer laughs before he repositions himself to penetrate you, pulling out a condom from the drawer and rolling it down his erection. He lines himself with your entrance, slowly but surely watching you sink down on his cock. He chokes as he feels you around him - tight and warm and wet, taking him so well. Spencer stretches you out better than you were expecting - a burning ache as Spencer pushes towards your cervix. He's buried in you, fingers holding you up for a second.

Spencer holds you up before laying you down, hands pinning yours above your head before pulling his hips back and pounding into you. Spencer voice groans out in your ear, his orgasm drawing him closer and closer to the edge.

You use your fingers to run out one final orgasm, convulsing around Spencer which makes his whole body ache.

"I'm gonna cum," Spencer announces.

"Cum in my mouth?," you offer Spencer. He groans aloud, pulling out and sliding the condom off before positioning himself over your face. You adjust yourself by lifting yourself up on your elbows, allowing Spencer to ease into the back of your throat. Spencer lets go as soon as he does, finish in your mouth where you swallow immediately, eyes glassy as you look up at Spencer. You give him a smile, opening your mouth to show that it's all swallow, before laying back down again exhausted.

"Jesus Christ, Spencer" you say softly. He gives you a small smile.

"You should get some rest," Spencer says softly. You roll your eyes, sitting back up before leaning your head on Spencer's shoulder.

"Mm if I did that, would you be here when I woke up? Nice try, lover boy," you say. Spencer laughs, voice soft as the sun starts to rise outside.

"I'm gonna shower, and since neither of us are sleeping - you can take me to breakfast," you say, standing up and giving Spencer a kiss atop his head.

"Disappear on me and I'll book a ticket all the way to Quantico and embarrass you infront of your whole team," you say jokingly. Spencer hugs your waist as you stand and you can't help the way it melts you.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Spencer replies back. You use your hands to make him look st you and smile at him.

"Good. I'd invite you to come shower with me but I'm gonna guess you need clothes so - meet me downstairs in the lobby in like 30 mins," you instruct. Spencer just nods.

"I need your number," Spencer asks. You look into the drawer and lean down, writing your number on his chest. He looks down at it and smiles. He can see himself in the mirror, noticing you wrote it backwards so he could see it. God, Spencer is into you.

"I'm sure it'll wash off," you say smiling. Spencer rolls his eyes, the hickies you managed to bite into his skin making irony very clear. You give him a cheeky look and he can't help but laugh.

"Y/N," Spencer says to himself. You look at him confused and he just shakes his head.

"You're too fascinating to forget," Spencer says smiling. You can't help but grin, leaning down to kiss him.

"So are you, Dr. Spencer Reid,"

____

taglist: @cynbx @zephyr-studiesjp @skrrrrrrrrrrt @reid-187 @louistwinslover @pastanest @nomajdetective @iamburdened

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid angst #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #Criminal Minds #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x y/n

523 notes · View notes

unityghost · 4 years

Text

Strangers

Here’s some new fanfiction for those of you who wanted to see some (and I know some of you did). Sorry for my cat delaying the writing process by shoving her chonky little body into my lap.

Have fun with the angst that occasionally makes me question my decision to refrain from anonymity.

Part 28 of Post-Asmodeus Sabriel Feels because I can’t stop myself. Find the full series here.

That Thursday afternoon, two days after they had left early in the morning for Missouri, Dean and Sam returned home.

Gabriel, who was aware of Sam’s impending return, had left his door open so that Sam could simply enter if he wanted.

Sam knocked on the doorframe anyway. “Hey.”

“Hey,” said Gabriel. “Nice gash on your knuckles there, soldier. You didn’t even try to clean yourself up, did you?”

Sam glanced down at the offending hand. “I was distracted, I guess. And I thought it wasn’t really important.”

“What the hell did that to you? Pennywise?”

“The witch had a familiar. Guess she’d trained it to go after anyone who might want to mess with her.” “Was her familiar a saber-toothed tiger?”

“Not exactly, no.”

“A wolf?”

“No. She had a, uh - ” Sam cleared his throat. “A gerbil she’d probably done some powerful spellwork on.”

“Perfect! There’s your story for any awkward silence at the next family reunion. Can I try and heal you? You got bitten like chum.”

“Definitely not. Don’t waste any of your grace on this.”

“Whether ‘this’ was from the Loch Ness monster or a jacked class pet doesn’t make any difference to me. Come on, get over here.”

Sam gave a sigh and stepped nearer so that he could offer his hand. Gabriel grabbed him by the wrist and examined the wound, which was no longer bleeding but evidently had not been properly sanitized.

He pressed his thumb into the jagged cut, waited a moment (I’m gonna look like a tool if this doesn’t work), and let a warm pulse of grace permeate the skin. Gabriel’s own human form crawled with gooseflesh as the surge of power rose up and then ebbed out of him. He pulled away once the damage was no longer visible.

“Look at that!” he declared, taken aback by the pride in his voice. “No big deal.”

Sam studied his hand and then grinned at Gabriel. “Thanks. Nice work.”

“Keep away from any and all furry fiends, Sam.” A wave of exhaustion overtook Gabriel on the tail end of the sentence. “Yeah, um … listen, I’m glad you’re safe and sound. And I guess maybe it’s been a long morning or something, so I’m gonna go ahead and kick back for a good half hour or so. That sound okay to you?”

“You’re tired because you just used up your grace.” Gabriel could see it: Sam was making a conspicuous effort not to appear perturbed. “Gabe, man, you really didn’t - ”

“It’s not that, it’s not that; I just … I just need …” Gabriel rubbed his forehead. “Whatever, I’m all right; I just want to lie down for a few minutes. You know me. I’m like Manhattan: sexy, psychotic, and eternally sleepless.”

Sam looked concerned, but nodded. “Sure. I’ll be around if you need anything.”

Once Sam had left, closing the door in his wake, Gabriel felt sleep overcome him in a way it typically didn’t when he tried to fall asleep at night. His entire body was worn down, as if he had forced it to its limits over a number of hours. He almost wished he hadn’t offered to heal Sam; what use would he be if something more serious came up?

But he had little time to dwell on the question, as exhaustion overwhelmed the ability to think.

He slept deeply, as he almost never did; and in the abyss of his own subconscious, he heard voices.

I can’t be alone with them, I can’t; I don’t know them!

Shut your mouth, you spoiled little weasel. They gon’ be good to you; ain’t that right, boys?

I don’t know them; I don’t know them!

Oh, well now, you’ll get to know them soon enough. And ain’t these fellas just so lucky to ignite a friendship with my favorite archangel? Sometimes I wish I could make your acquaintance all over again, boy. There ain’t nothin’ like the first time.

I don’t know them; I don’t know them! Please, no, wait! Why won’t you listen to me? Why won’t you touch me? Stop it! Stop it! Look at me! Help me!

What happened in his dreams seemed to last hours; and indeed, when the door creaked open and a small voice called his name, the time was 5:00 P.M. - three and a half hours since Gabriel had told Sam he needed rest.

“Are you okay?” Jack called. “Sam told me to come check on you.”

With the flat, bitter taste of afternoon slumber in his mouth, Gabriel sat up. His face felt warm where it had pressed into the pillow. “Yeah. Yes. Apparently Sam went and got himself chewed up by a bloodthirsty hamster, and I thought it wouldn’t be a big deal to try and fix it. Guess I had less in me than I thought.”

Jack nodded. “Okay. It was a gerbil, by the way. Not a hamster.”

“Whatever. Something in the category of small, furry, and unexpectedly lethal.”

“You know how witches are. Imagine what Rowena could do with a gerbil.”

Gabriel yawned. “Guess I’ve never thought about it.”

“You’re not shaking, are you?”

“Me? Nah.”

Jack stared at him. "I don't like seeing you like this."

"No refunds. Sorry, little guy.”

Jack watched him for a few moments, then strode over to the bed and wrapped his arms around Gabriel.

Jack pulled away, crestfallen. "Oh. I'm ... I'm sorry. I guess I thought I could help. If I had my powers, I ... maybe I could do more."

Gabriel shook his head. "Doubt it, bud. Don't feel bad, all right? This isn't about anything you're doing wrong. It's about me being too icky for you. Don't want you to get whatever disease it is I've turned into." Gabriel hadn’t anticipated this bitterness, especially not in front of Jack. The rush of self-loathing had seized him without warning.

Jack's expression creased into an odd mix of horror and puzzlement. Perhaps he sensed that these words were troubling, but didn’t fully understand them.

“You go ahead and tell Sam I’ll be right out,” Gabriel said, feeling as though he had just violated his nephew in some way. “Go on, let him know. I just need to stretch, all right?”

Slowly, Jack nodded. “Are you upset because I hugged you?”

“No! No, come on; I’m not upset over that, or over anything else. Don’t worry so much. I’m a grown-ass angel and can take care of my own damn self. And even if I couldn’t, the job isn’t yours.”

Jack seemed uncertain of what to say in response, so he simply nodded again, forced a smile, and exited the bedroom.

“Close the door,” Gabriel called. “I like to get my bearings in solitude.”

“Sure,” said Jack, although he sounded anything but sure.

Once the door was shut and Jack’s footsteps - lighter than Sam’s, more staccato - Gabriel squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. He would have liked to have been able to shake the dream off before heading into the hall, before seeing anyone else, but it stirred its way through his insides and refused to leave.

Once he had some semblance of composure, he dragged himself out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, where he found Jack and Sam sitting at the table in conversation.

Gabriel was disappointed but not surprised to hear Jack say, “And I think something might be wrong with him, but I don’t really know what” before both of them fell silent upon Gabriel’s entry.

“Oh, hey,” said Sam. There was a mug of coffee in front of him, still steaming. “You feeling okay? Were you asleep that whole time?”

“I …”

Sam glanced at Jack, who looked troubled. “Give us a minute.”

“I don’t think it’s true,” Jack said, not to Sam but to Gabriel. “It’s not true what you said about being able to take care of yourself.” He sounded bewildered.

No, Gabriel realized, He sounds hurt.

“I know when you’re not telling me the truth,” Jack said.

Before Gabriel could respond, Sam put a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “For now, Jack. Okay?”

Jack looked back and forth between Sam and Gabriel, helpless, frustrated - and then jerked himself out of Sam’s grip and left the room.

Gabriel watched him leave. Once Jack was out of earshot, he said, “Kid’s messed up. My fault. He needs you more than I do.”

“No. No, he’s all right. He just wants to help and doesn’t know how.”

“Well, that’s not how things are supposed to be.”

“So, um …” Sam sat down. He was probably expecting Gabriel to do the same, but Gabriel felt more comfortable standing up. “What happened? Is something wrong? Jack said - ”

“I heard what Jack said.” Gabriel looked down, examining the floor.

“Are you okay?” Sam pressed.

“I’m fine.”

“You want me to ask Jack? See if he can confirm?”

Jack, who had been sent in place of Sam; who had been given the unfortunate duty of making sure that his uncle wasn’t in urgent need of help. Jack, who should have been too young to know anything of Gabriel’s pain. Jack, who was incapable of choosing for himself whether to opt in as caregiver or to step away from what he didn’t know - couldn’t know - was too heavy for such a naive spirit.

“No,” Gabriel said. “I would like to humbly request that you not ask him a single freakin’ thing.”

“Did you have bad dreams?”

The images floated into the present, still warm. He saw the face of a stranger (a demon whose presence had been background noise during Gabriel’s imprisonment, but who apparently had taken up space in his memory), bloated with derision and the definite appetite that only manifested in nightmares.

“Yeah,” Gabriel told Sam. “But - I mean, that’s, you know - ” Words hummed into static as he tried to think of just what to confess, and whether he ought to say anything at all. It wouldn’t necessarily do any good for either of them - and especially not for Sam, who had had only a few hours to recover from his encounter with a witch and her maniacal gerbil.

Sam gave him a moment to think before stepping in. “Look, Gabe, don’t take this the wrong way, but I think I can tell when something’s the matter with you. Jack isn’t the only one.”

“Stop talking about Jack!” Gabriel snapped, and Sam blinked in surprise.

He asked, “Can I maybe do anything to help?”

Gabriel could tell that Sam feared pushing conversation, confession, or counsel. Sam wanted to know; Sam had every right to know. Gabriel owed him at least some piece of the truth. And so he said: “I’m sorry. Maybe I just missed you while you were away.”

Sam smiled at him. “You knew I was coming back, right?”

“Sure I did.” A pause, and then: “However, there is the minor possibility that the halfway point between ‘I’ll be right back’ and ‘I’ll head home once you’ve taken out the trash’ got lost in translation.”

Sam didn’t seem to immediately understand what Gabriel meant. When his look of puzzlement became one that Gabriel couldn’t quite identify - resigned, but also horrified - Sam got to his feet and took a few steps toward Gabriel and held out the hand that, just hours earlier, had sported an ugly wound.

“Oh please,” Gabriel said. “We don’t have to do this. You don’t need to suckle me. Maybe I’m just a little shaky after kicking my grace into gear. I mean, don’t think I’m not glad to have used it; your hand looks a hundred times - ”

“Gabriel,” Sam said, “I missed you too.”

The kitchen tilted and fogged. Sam jolted forward and caught him as Gabriel’s knees buckled, although he hadn’t felt particularly weak or faint up until that moment.

Like a punch to the jaw, he thought. Enough force at once and down you go.

Sam helped him to sit at the table.

“That was on purpose,” said Gabriel. “I was trying to do a cartwheel.”

“Can I get you some water? Some coffee? There’s still a lot left.”

Gabriel shook his head. “I don’t need - I mean, there’s not much to be done when everything around me is fine.”

Sam squinted at him. “Have you eaten anything today?”

“Yes. I’m all right.” He glanced away. “Or I thought I was.”

Sam hesitated for a few seconds. Then he asked: “Did you really think I wasn’t going to come back?”

“No, that’s not what I thought.”

“Honestly, Gabriel?”

Gabriel sagged in the chair. “What difference does it make? My intuition isn’t exactly razor-fine these days. I knew you were coming back. You’ve got family here. You’ve got every reason in the world to dust your rodent-bitten hands of whatever case, turn around, and head home.”

“You can come with me next time, if you want.”

“No, I - ” The idea of Sam being forced to tote him around like a needy child humiliated Gabriel. “I just see everything as a landmine, that’s all. You know what? You could tell me, ‘By the way, we’re thinking of retiling the bathroom’ and my first thought would be, ‘Have they been hinting that I’m supposed to retile the bathroom and I was too dense to pick up on it? Are they angry? Can I do something to make up for not retiling the bathroom? Did they run out of tasks to keep me around and are trying to think of some other use for me, or - ’”

“Okay,” Sam interrupted, “I get the picture. The important thing is I’m back now; I’m here, and you’re okay. It’s all okay.”

“Great. I can feel my troubles drifting away like spider silk on the summer breeze.”

“I know it’s easier said than believed, but that still doesn’t make it less true.”

Gabriel straightened up a little. The room was no longer spinning. “Sam, I know that you wouldn’t just, you know, completely disappear. I know that, okay? And even if you did go AWOL, I’ve got a whole team over here; it’s not like you’d be replaced with a stranger or - or anyone who wanted to hurt me. I know that,” he emphasized, and Sam, looking concerned, didn’t reply. “But,” Gabriel added, “I think I may have fallen into a little bit of an old pattern without realizing it. And I can’t really say why now, out of the blue. It isn’t as if you haven’t left for days at a time to do your job.”

“Is this the first time you ever felt that way when I left? Like I wasn’t going to come home? Like I was going to leave you to someone else?”

“Yes,” Gabriel said, before he realized that that was actually wrong. In fact, he couldn’t remember an instance of Sam traveling when Gabriel hadn’t been, at the very least, nervous about being left without him. “I mean, no, but I haven’t had a nightmare about it. Not one this bad, not one this gruesome.” He swallowed. “I guess I was catching up on lost sleep, especially after using my grace.”

“What’d you dream about?”

“Oh, I dreamed about Asmodeus. And about some other demon I thought I’d maybe forgotten. One who watched over me once or twice when he - when Asmodeus - had other business to attend to. He would do to me everything Asmodeus did, only - only when he did it, it just felt different, because I didn’t even know his name. I used to plead with Asmodeus not to go, but sometimes he had to, I guess, and he left me. I look back on it, and I see that he couldn’t have stuck around for me all the time, but - ”

“Gabriel,” Sam interjected, “Can I ask you something?”

“Is it a less foreboding question than ‘can I ask you something’?”

“I want to know,” Sam said, “Why you end up trying to defend him.”

“What? I don’t do that.”

“Yeah, you do. He had no right to - ”

“I know, I know. He was in the wrong; I was the unwitting beaten animal. I don’t want to talk about that.”

“I just don’t want you to - ”

“In any case, when he left I felt exposed. When it was him, I mostly knew what to expect, even if it was just a familiar face. I remember screaming and begging with him not to leave me by myself, either with no one or with someone I didn’t really know. I remember him laughing at me whenever I did that, or just pretending like he couldn’t hear me.” Gabriel shivered.

Sam took his hand. “It’s okay. That won’t happen to you again.”

“Yeah, I know that.”

“Good.”

“What are we gonna do about Jack?”

“Jack? I told you, Jack’s fine.”

“No, he’s confused. He thinks he wants to help me, and he doesn’t know that he can’t. Of everything that’s eaten away at his innocence, I think I might be the biggest culprit.”

“What? Jeez, Gabriel, that really couldn’t be farther from the truth. And anyway, I thought you didn’t want to talk about Jack anymore.”

“I want to be better for him. Or I at least want him to see something that isn’t this. Something that isn’t me the way I am now.”

“Don’t twist yourself in knots over Jack. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Why did you send him in?”

Sam frowned. “When? To check on you?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know, I was making coffee and I thought he might like to see you.” Sam suddenly looked troubled. “That’s really all it was. I wasn’t trying to stay away from you.”

“Yeah. I, uh … I know.” Gabriel focused on breathing steadily - not too shallow, not too deep - and on the weight of Sam’s hand. “You get it, right? That I trust the others, I do; but I don’t trust them the same way, exactly. You know? I can’t help that. I try, and I can’t. They care a lot; they show that they care and I like that. But it still - it feels different with you. I wish I could get everyone on the same level, Sam; it’d only be fair to you, and to them, if I could learn not to be afraid of anybody. I just don’t know how to be as okay with them as I am with you. I keep trying to fight that - I keep trying to remind myself that nobody here is dangerous. And that maybe I can ask them for the same things I would come to you for. You know, after a nightmare, or when my mind goes dark. It just feels different when you’re gone, Sam.”

Sam squeezed his hand. “That’s okay.”

“I don’t - ” Gabriel’s throat was tight. “I’m not - I still find Castiel sometimes, when I need help in the middle of the night. Wanna give you a break. He helps. Next to you, he’s the one who feels least like Asmodeus. I mean, there’s Jack, of course, but he’s a different ballgame. I can’t tell my brother the truth, though. I can’t tell him that I don’t really want him. He tries so hard and he’s a superstar. Even when I’m awake, with him, and - and crying, or sick, I can never bring myself to tell him what I’m really thinking. I can’t explain to him that a part of why I can’t really calm myself down is that I feel like I need you there.”

Sam seemed at a loss. “I don’t think that would bother Cas.”

“It’s difficult; it’s confusing to need the things that I do. It’s confusing to be this lost and out of control and dependent. I don’t think I’m handling it right.”

“There’s no right way. No wrong way, either.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Sam, but that’s just plain not true. There is a whole world of wrong ways to move through this experience. Someone with more sense would know that the aftermath of something like what happened to me isn’t as bad as being in the thick of it. But me, I can’t seem to get the one stubborn foot out of Hell no matter how hard I pull at it.” Gabriel felt his heartbeat entwine with the knot in his throat, making it hard to breathe. “I’m not supposed to need this.”

“To need what?”

“Not supposed to need to cry, I guess. I don’t think that’s the right way to get through this. What good’s crying gonna do, you know? It’s not helpful and it’s degrading.”

“It’s pretty normal, I think.”

“I don’t want it to become so frequent that - that you - ” As if his body was in a state of defiance, he felt tears slip down the edges of his nose. “That you see it so much it becomes background noise. That you don’t think - that you don’t take it seriously. I think that was part of why he started to just turn away from me. He’d seen me upset too many times to think anything of it.”

“Jesus, Gabriel, you keep trying to make this into your fault.”

“I want you to know that when I can’t - can’t hold myself together, it means nothing.”

“That’s not what I think when you cry, Gabriel.”

“After a while, though - ”

“No. And besides, you know how I feel about trying to keep it all inside.”

“Can we, uh - ” Gabriel dragged a shaking hand across his cheeks. “Can we maybe go somewhere else? I don’t want Jack to walk in and see this.”

“I can take you to my room. Can you get to your feet okay?”

Gabriel nodded and stood up, although the task proved more of a challenge than he had anticipated. Something in him was desperate not to move: he wanted to hide, to seek shelter in his own smallness.

“Come on.” Sam took his shoulder and steered him down the hall. Gabriel trained his eyes on the floor; if Jack was nearby, Gabriel wouldn’t have known.

Sam shut the door behind them as they entered the bedroom. Gabriel immediately curled up on the bed, face in his knees, hands gripping his hair.

He felt Sam sit next to him. “Hey, buddy, deep breaths.”

Gabriel couldn’t bring himself to look up. He hated himself for what he wanted just then: more than anything, he hoped that Sam would put an arm around him, or that Sam would hold him. But Sam was probably using caution, afraid that Gabriel would recoil from touch.

I don’t need that anyway, Gabriel told himself. I don’t need it. I don’t. I don’t need that.

“Not sure if this makes any difference,” Sam said after a while, “But try not to forget that I - that all of us - we understand what it feels like, you know. At least in some way. We all know what it’s like to want to look good for each other. All of us have been hurt pretty bad at some point. We don’t need each other any less than you need me. And we know how it feels to not want to tell the truth about that.”

Gabriel turned his head so that it rested sideways on his knees and he could look at Sam, who went on: “I just want you to keep in mind that however much you don’t like how things are right now, this isn’t you having a weird reaction to Amsodeus. I know it feels gross, but it isn’t wrong, Gabriel.”

“Doesn’t really matter,” Gabriel whispered. “I feel like I’m wrong just because of whatever it is he made me into. I’m disgusting.”

“You’re really not.”

“I can feel it, Sam. The feeling of just being something wrong. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“You don’t have to,” Sam told him, and Gabriel’s chest tightened at the realization that Sam knew precisely the feeling he was talking about.

“I wonder what he thought when he saw me like this,” Gabriel said hoarsely. “Sometimes he wasn’t exactly upfront about what was going on in his mind. What did he think when he saw this diseased little rodent clawing for a split second’s attention?”

Sam looked vaguely ill at these words. “It doesn’t matter what he thought of you.”

“It does matter, because I want to know that you aren’t thinking the same thing about me.”

“Well, I certainly don’t see you as a … a ‘diseased rodent.’ Where’d you come up with that? Gerbil still on your mind, huh?”

Gabriel couldn’t bring himself to return Sam’s half-hearted smile.

“I don’t see that at all,” Sam insisted. “I just see you.”

“Ugh. That’s worse.”

“You’re different. I see that. And I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to you being so … different. Not because it’s bad; not because it’s wrong. Just because it’s, you know …”

“Different,” Gabriel muttered.

“Right. Because ‘different’ is what happens when you’ve had everything taken from you.”

Gabriel was silent.

“You’re still Gabriel, though,” Sam reminded him.

Gabriel closed his eyes. “I don’t know if that’s what I want to be.”

“You have a choice now. You can be Gabriel any way you like.”

Gabriel hid his face again.

So Sam saw him. He saw Gabriel. And when Sam saw this terrified, sobbing phantom of what Gabriel had once been, did he really think he was seeing the true Gabriel?

And why? Gabriel thought. Why won’t he touch me?

Sam’s voice broke through once more. “Asmodeus didn’t leave you with anything good, Gabriel. All he gave you was violence and fear and shame. And look - I don’t know about you, but I think it makes sense that it’d take some work to get back any of the good things he kept out of reach.”

Gabriel raised his head, showcasing what he felt was probably a grotesquely tear-stained visage. “Sure it does. Except that if he kept all that for so long, he must have had a reason. I don’t know that I want to put up a fight for happiness I don’t even deserve.”

“You do deserve it, and you should put up a fight.”

“I don’t know if I - ”

“Then I’ll put up a fight,” Sam said. “Okay?”

Almost involuntarily, as if seizing, Gabriel jerked sideways and used both hands to grab onto Sam’s arm. He squeezed tightly, not sure exactly what he was doing or why. It felt primitive and desperate.

Sam’s features softened. “Hey, hey …”

“Is it okay?” Gabriel asked hoarsely. “Is it okay if I touch you?”

“Of course it’s okay.”

The bewilderment in Sam’s voice served as a reminder that Gabriel was being stupid and overly cautious, that Sam definitely didn’t mind touching him, ever; but the fear was present no matter how irrational Gabriel understood it to be.

In fact, he realized, it wasn’t fear that plagued him as he worried about Sam’s potential aversion: it was something nearer shame.

Yes, he thought, of course he was ashamed - he wasn’t afraid of Sam not wanting to touch him; he was guilty that he wanted Sam to touch him when he knew that nobody should have to.

“What’s wrong?” asked Sam, seeing that Gabriel hadn’t moved and was still clutching Sam’s arm.

“I don’t know,” Gabriel mumbled. “I think I might just be stupid.”

“No! You’re not stupid; you’re stressed.”

“I thought - you know, if you wanted to keep your hands to yourself, it’d be justified.”

“What? Listen, if you need something from me, Gabriel - some time to talk, or a hug - ”

“I can ask, I know. But I - ”

“But you don’t.”

“Well yeah, because what if you don’t want me around?”

“Come on, Gabriel, I do want you around.” Sam put a hand on Gabriel’s arm and pulled him in for an embrace. “God, you’re gonna drive yourself crazy.”

“Oh, that ship left the dock a long time ago.”

They sat in silence for several minutes. Sam held onto him, and Gabriel didn’t try to hug back. He just let himself lean against Sam, not speaking, not crying.

“Sam,” he said finally.

“Yeah?”

“Please don’t get it into your head that you can’t leave to do your job. Don’t ever feel guilty about not being in my immediate vicinity just because I’m scared of my own reflection. Okay?”

“Sure, Gabriel. Okay.”

“I really mean it. Don’t let this change the way you operate. I came into your life by accident and you don’t need to take maternity leave for something that shouldn’t have thrown your life into chaos.”

Sam laughed. “I wasn’t working nine to five before you showed up, Gabriel.”

“You know what I mean, don’t you?”

“I do. I get it. You don’t have to worry about that; I’m glad you’re here. I like having you around. I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t being honest.”

Gabriel wasn’t sure how to explain that, in some ways, it would have been easier to accept the notion that Sam was lying.

Instead, he said: “I was so afraid of him, Sam.”

“I know.”

“He … but I was afraid of being left alone, too. Sometimes. I was afraid of the other demons, the ones I didn’t know. I never knew what to expect from them. They had weapons, and tricks, and insults, and - even the stupid ones were terrible; any simpleton can learn what violence is. And they watched him; they knew how to hurt me. They’d seen what he did to me. I was his toy and they were just happy to get a turn.”

Sam stiffened.

“So when you’re gone,” Gabriel whispered into his shoulder, “And I’m here with someone else, anyone else, a little of that just creeps on in. That’s all. I knew you were coming back, but I felt differently. I know Dean doesn’t want to hurt me. Or Cas, or Jack. When it was just me and those two, I didn’t - I knew I wasn’t threatened. None of this crew have ever given me any reason to believe I’m in danger around them. It’s just a dumb feeling.”

Sam sighed. “No, it’s not dumb. But you’re right: they’re not going to do anything to you.”

“When he’d come back,” Gabriel added, “He would brutalize me all over again. Taking my grace whenever there was enough to go around. Beating me until I couldn’t remember my own name. Just tearing me apart in any way he could.” Gabriel shook his head. “Didn’t matter how much I cried. He thought it was funny. ‘What a whiner,’ he’d say. ‘It’s almost like you think you didn’t deserve it.’”

“Gabriel, god!”

“Yeah, and then he’d - you know - off he’d go, leaving me sobbing like a baby. I kept hoping he’d hear me from wherever he was; I thought maybe he’d at least pay me some attention. Even if it was just to yell at me. No one wants to be wailing into their own blood and vomit solo.

“But it was my fault, always my fault. It was always me. I was the one who’d said something out of bounds; I was the one who asked for something I wasn’t supposed to want; I was the one who - who - ” Gabriel pressed himself against Sam. “And if he did show up, he’d ignore me. Turn his back, go about his business. I may as well have been any soul in Hell, just radio static.

“And when he did notice me, when he decided to stop shutting me out, he’d just say to shut up; or sometimes, for whatever reason, he would switch things up and give me a little spoonful of comfort before finding some other reason to grab me off the floor and slam me into the wall and then hold me down so he could play.”

Sam took a shivery breath. “I - yeah. Yeah, okay. Okay.”

“So when you’re gone, Sam, I can’t always think rationally. It’s as if maybe you want nothing to do with me, and the others - well, Sam’s not here to protect this nuisance who’s taken over our lives, so let’s get in what we can. And then it’s - it’s - if you don’t come back, what am I supposed to do? Who am I supposed to trust?”

There was a pause. When Sam replied, he sounded restrained. “I really didn’t think about that.”

“Because there’s no reason to! Because you’ve got a brain that operates according to fact! Whereas mine leaps in any direction it sees fit in response to any threat, any hazard. And Sam, everything is a threat. Everything is a hazard. Compared to you, the others are strangers to me, and I don’t like strangers; I don’t trust them; I don’t know them.”

“I would never leave you with strangers.”

“And you shouldn’t have to leave me with anyone, Sam! I’m supposed to be able to watch over myself like a damn grown-up! But I can’t, not anymore; and who knows if the day will ever come when I’ll be able to take care of myself again? The important thing is I know you aren’t leaving me with strangers. What little remains of my rational mind finds that obvious. But these old ways of thinking, they just - they’re next to impossible for me to shake off.”

“I know.”

“That’s all this is. Old habits. Old ways of looking at what’s around me. Or what’s not.”

“I guess I’m glad you know that.” By now, Sam sounded almost as shaken as Gabriel did.

“If I could just balance out the knowing and the feeling, everything would be a whole lot easier for every single one of us. And one thing I don’t understand is …” But he trailed off, afraid of saying something the wrong way, or of being misunderstood, or - worst of all - overstepping a boundary.

“What?” Sam asked. “What is it, Gabe?”

Gabriel shook his head.

Sam sighed. “Okay. All right.”

“No, it’s … all I was gonna say is that …” Gabriel was glad that Sam couldn’t see his face. “Maybe it’s because you were the only one who really tried, the only one who really showed a lot of concern for this deflated ragdoll of an angel that somehow ended up in your custody like a doorstep newborn. Maybe it’s just something about you, I don’t know. Something you have that the others don’t. I’m not sure, Sam. All I know is I have this - this gut-based terror about losing you. Not necessarily because you’ll get sick of me, but because - because - see, I don’t know. I feel it when you hold me like you are right now; the idea of letting go scares me more than Asmodeus ever did.”

He was afraid to look up, but he did; and Gabriel was horrified to see that Sam’s eyes were glossy with tears.

Gabriel wrenched himself away. “Don’t, don’t do that! I’m not trying to make anyone more upset. It’s not anything you’re doing wrong. It’s not that you could be doing anything different, Sam; you’re better at handling me than anyone has any right or reason to be.”

“Well …” Sam closed his eyes, gathered his composure. “Right.”

“I’m putting so much pressure on you with those words, aren’t I?” Gabriel was shivering now. “I’m making you think you have to be perfect, that you have to be next to me a hundred percent of the time.”

Sam swallowed and shook his head. “No, that’s not what I was thinking. I just wish you didn’t feel that way, is all. I wish you weren’t so … that he hadn’t made you feel like …”

“Right?” said Gabriel. “It’s hard to articulate, isn’t it? I can’t figure it out, and I don’t know what to do with it. Wanting the - needing to be taken care of the way I do lately, and needing it to be you, and being so scared to death that you might be there one second and gone the next. I don’t understand that feeling.

“There’s time to figure it out. Stop trying to force yourself to understand everything, Gabriel. You don’t have to, and it’ll probably come with time.” Sam looked flushed, but his eyes were dry now.

There was a sound from the hallway: a door opening, and small, tentative footsteps. They paused outside the door, and then moved on until neither Gabriel nor Sam could hear them.

“Jack came in and hugged me,” Gabriel told Sam.

“Oh. Sorry about that. I did say - ”

“No, it’s all right. I’m only bringing it up so you know you don’t have to warn him not to touch me. He can touch me. If he wants to.”

“What about what you want?”

“I … no, I just mean that maybe I’m not … not good for …” Gabriel gave a frustrated sigh, still speaking into Sam’s shoulder. “It’s fine.”

“I know you still worry about that.”

“About what?”

“I know that you worry about corrupting Jack.”

“I don’t know that I ever used the word ‘corrupt.’”

“But Gabriel, he cares about you. He looks up to you. And I know you think that’s a bad thing, but he likes you just the way you are now. He knows you’ve been through more than your fair share of trauma. He’s seen you when you’re not feeling your best. And he still wants to be around you. Listen, I’m not here to tell you what to do, but I really don’t think you should push him away.”

“I let him hug me! I’m not pushing him away. I’m trying to protect him.”

“But why? What good do you think is going to come of him seeing that you’re hurt, and walking away without any understanding of what’s going on? It’s better for him if he can learn how to help. Otherwise he’s going to feel like you don’t trust him.”

Gabriel froze. “Has … has he said that to you?”

“Not in so many words, no. He doesn’t always know how to articulate himself, or what’s frustrating him. You’re right: in a lot of ways, he’s just a kid. And I think instead of trying to stop him seeing you like this, you might teach him that wanting to help isn’t a bad thing. I just - I don’t want him to get the idea that he should try not to act the way he does. Loving you, caring about you. If you tell him no, if you keep trying to make him stay away from you when you most need somebody … he might get it into his head that he’s wrong to have those instincts.”

“Wait, what? What does that mean? So I’m - am I corrupting him by making it seem like it’s bad to be compassionate? That’s a whole new kind of crisis.”

“Not corrupting him. Just maybe sending a message that he finds confusing, since it goes against his nature.”

Gabriel considered this for a few moments.

Sam waited.

Then, finally Gabriel asked: “Where’d he go?”

“I don’t know. Back to the kitchen, maybe.”

“I guess I should talk to him, shouldn’t I?”

“You don’t have to. Not right now. Just let him in when he wants to give you what you need.”

“No, I - let me go find him.” Gabriel started to rise from the bed, but Sam gently pulled him back down.

“What?” Gabriel demanded. “You think I shouldn’t talk to him?”

“It’s not that,” Sam replied. “I just want to make sure you’re not mad at yourself.”

“Not any more than usual.”

“If you go to him and say you hate yourself for ‘corrupting’ him any which way, you’re both gonna miss my point.”

“Please,” Gabriel said. “I just - I really - will you please let me talk to him?”

Sam looked pained. “I’m not going to keep you from talking to him. It’s up to you. I just want to make sure you feel okay.”

Gabriel stood up again. “I never feel okay.”

“Why don’t I go get him for you?” Sam suggested.

“You can do that as long as you don’t give him a contract to sign about when it’s okay to touch me.” Gabriel wasn’t sure why this was such a sticking point for him, but Sam’s words about Jack’s natural character, and about his impulses to express affection, made it seem more logical.

“I’ll get him for you,” Sam repeated. “Gabriel - ”

“Please, Sam. Either you can grab the kid or I can, but I really want to talk to him.”

Sam nodded, studying him, making sure. Then he patted Gabriel on the shoulder and left the room.

Jack came in a couple of minutes later, looking nervous.

“Hey, bud,” said Gabriel.

Jack raised a hand in a silent, tentative greeting.

“Wanted to have a word. Sit?”

Jack sat beside him. “Am I in trouble?”

“Oh, please. You sound like your uncle.”

“Listen, if this is about me hugging you …”

“No, come on, kid; you didn’t do anything wrong.” Gabriel worried that Jack was picking up on some of his more neurotic interpersonal habits. “I wanted to thank you. And before you ask for what, you should know that you’re … you’re good, you’re a good bean; and I’m the one who isn’t doing what I should be. I’m not - Jack, I don’t mean to tell you to bug off when I know you only mean to help.”

“I know you think I’m too - ”

“I don’t think you’re too anything. I think I’m too - too me to let you get past a whole lot of nonsense. Look, I don’t wanna make this more complicated than it has to be; what I’m trying to say is that I’m not proud of myself for swatting at you like a fly when, in a perfect world, everybody would be like you.”

“Oh.” Jack looked down at his knees, thoughtful and perplexed.

“Don’t try to change yourself on account of my orneriness,” Gabriel clarified. “Be nice. Be good. Be you. You’ll just have to be patient with your stubborn old uncle. Sam can tell you that I’m difficult.”

Jack looked back up at him.

“Do you get what I’m saying?” Gabriel asked. “I don’t know how to explain it any more eloquently than that.”

Jack nodded. “I think I do.” Gabriel waited for him to explain the concept, to paraphrase what he had just been told; but Jack said nothing, and Gabriel could only assume that the message had gotten through.

Finally, Jack replied, “I’m sorry too.”

“No - kid - I’m trying to say you have nothing - ”

“I mean I’m sorry about what happened to you. I’m sorry you got hurt. That’s all.”

Gabriel clamped his lips shut. He could only nod.

Jack stared at him, studying him, reading him like a map.

Gabriel gave a hoarse laugh. “Is there something in my teeth?”

“Do you want me to go get Sam?” Jack asked.

“No.”

“You looked like - ”

“I always look like that. Anyway, Jack, I hope you understand - at least a teensy bit - what it is I’m trying to explain to you. I’m sorry that I can’t wrangle a single thought into words.”

“I think I understand.” Jack hesitated, then asked: “So how can I help? What can I do?”

“Ah, I don’t know; you’ve already been doing everything right. I’m the one who’s trying to fight you on it. So just … just keep doing what you’re doing.” It pained Gabriel to say it. He agreed with Sam, but he could hardly stomach the instant guilt that came with implicitly encouraging Jack to watch Gabriel struggle.

Jack smiled, and Gabriel thought he saw relief in his eyes. “Okay. Sure. Thanks.”

“Oh, please. Thank you.” Gabriel felt that he ought to try and touch Jack and was ashamed that he couldn’t bring himself to initiate contact.

Someday, he told himself.

Jack stood up to go. “I hope you feel better later.”

“I already do.”

“You look - ”

Gabriel held up a hand. “Again: I always look like that.”

Sam reentered immediately after Jack made his exit. He looked tense and wide-eyed and was evidently trying to conceal his agitation. “Hey.”

“I’m fine,” said Gabriel.

“Did it - ”

“Everyone’s fine, Sam.”

“Listen,” Sam said, stepping over to the bed, “I really didn’t mean to make you think you were doing something wrong.”

“Except that I was doing something wrong, and I’m old enough to learn from my mistakes, so don’t apologize for straightening me out.”

“I’m not trying to make you do anything. I’m not trying to put pressure on you, Gabriel.”

Gabriel sighed and closed his eyes. It seemed that those hours of sleep had been anything but restful. “If you don’t drag my attention to where it really belongs, nothing’s ever gonna get set right. I told you, there is a wrong way to do this. Sometimes I see it, and sometimes I don’t. And if you’re going to fight me on that, if you wanna say there’s no 'wrong' way, then how about this? There’s a better way.”

“Well, Jack looked calmer for sure. How about you? You feeling better?”

Gabriel considered, and then shook his head. The lopsidedness of an afternoon cleaved by turbulent slumber had left a stinging headache, and the nightmare had nested in the pit of his stomach, souring his whole body.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have used your grace on me,” Sam lamented. “Don’t try again for a while, okay?”

“It’s not that. I can feel that that’s not what’s wrong with me. It’s what I said to you earlier; it’s me being afraid of everything.”

Sam retook his place on the bed. Although there was no way to see outdoors, Gabriel could feel the afternoon darkening into evening. Neither of them spoke.

He was painfully aware that Sam felt familiar to him. Sam was safe; he wasn’t going to try and harm Gabriel. Somehow that knowledge made everything much more complicated - in part, Gabriel realized, because there seemed no way to explain the feeling without coming off as saccharine, puerile, or both.

Although he was no longer crying (however much he wanted to), Gabriel hoped Sam would touch him. He thought about asking and couldn’t bring himself to say a word.

After several minutes of complete silence, Gabriel spoke. “Did you fight back?”

Sam frowned. “What?”

“The hamster, the gerbil, whatever it was. Did you fight back, or was it too precious to hurt?”

“There wasn’t much I could do. It was vicious.”

“Was it? Or are you just tender-hearted?”

“Gabriel, you saw what it did to my hand.”

Gabriel glanced down at the hand that had been injured. “Yeah. I don’t know, I feel like maybe you didn’t want to hurt the little thing.”

Sam seemed amused. “Why would you say that?”

Gabriel reached out and took Sam’s hand. Sam seemed surprised, but held on firmly.

“Just because I know you,” Gabriel told him. “I know you too well.”

#supernatural #spn #fanfiction #sam winchester #gabriel #jack kline #sabriel #platonic #friendship #hurt/comfort #asmodeus #season 13 #gabriel lives #ptsd #pasf #post-asmodeus sabriel feels

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