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penvisions · 6 months

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of beskar and kyber {chapter 9}

Pairing: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive! Reader (the Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader)

Summary: Back on Tatooine, where you once resided, a lot of thoughts and emotions consume you. Trying your best to field them while Din is away on a job with an eager young man who is willing to prove himself worthy of joining the very Guild that Din betrayed.

Word Count: 8.8k

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical fighting, gun violence, ptsd, trauma, nightmares, physical illness, vomiting, avoidance of food, food trauma, physical descriptions of injuries (brief), thoughts of suicidal ideation, mention of past suicide attempt, mentions of past self-harm (not detailed), description of scars, body image issues, sexual trauma, mention of past SA (not detailed / brief), reference to past captivity / slaving environment, major angst, mental illness

A/N: hello, hello. a lot has been going on in my personal life and i had exams due last week. i received a comment on chapter 7 regarding san's mental health and how it felt 'rushed' bc she didn't exhibit typical trauma responses 'enough'. and while i appreciate the reader reaching out, to hear that i'm not writing an angsty enough exploration of her experiences and trauma was a little disheartening, bc i don't want to write such a full bodied character with a rich background to feel 'glossed over'. especially with having planned exactly that for this chapter. healing isn't linear, good moments and passages of time where things almost seem to be okay is completely normal. so with that in mind, this is a rather heavy chapter, i've had it planned for a while to explore san's mental state now that there is no impending return to her mother or inherent survival instincts she's reliant on with din willing to watch out for and protect her. thank you all for reading, i appreciate each and every one of you, you have no idea how much

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist

Sparks flew inside the control room as you rushed to your seat, hands grabbing onto anything it could to help keep balance as you did so, the ship wavering heavily with the effort it was taking to keep the course of flight steady. Alarm blaring to let the pilot and crew know that some damage was taken from a successful hit to one of the engines. Din seemed to be collected, but you could tell that being tracked by another person piloting a ship the second he dropped out of hyperspace was a worry to him. The ship sputtered loudly as the same engine took another hit.

“Hold on.” He announced as he maneuvered the ship into a smooth spiral. The movement offset your sense of gravity and you shut your eyes tight as he tried to evade the determined attacker. One the ship was back into a right side up path, he was muttering to himself too low for you to hear over the cacophony of the ship and blasters raining down all around, some of them zooming past you into the empty space around the ship before tapering off with nothing to land on and cause damage. The bright red of their beams lighting up the near darkness of the control room.

“I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold.” The voice transmission crackled with static as Din quickly jerked one of the few gear shifts, this one seeming to be for some sort of speed control system as the ship lurched to a halt. The spare second of silence with the engines ceasing operation was broken by a twin wooshes that made you think enough damage was done in such a short time that the ship would falter and you’d be left floating dead in space with no running mechanics. Your chest panged with the force of falling forward and the belt around you dug into your front. As soon as you were able to, you turned your head over to the Child, seeing him struggling just the same as you, if not more so due to his size.

With the attacking ship now in front of the Crest, Din quickly locked onto it, the screen beeping with a good track.

“That’s my line.” His voice was even, only a hint of the annoyance he was feeling seeping through before he fired a hit with every blaster canon that was still operating. The ship exploded in front of you with a roar, the flare of it so bright it lit up the control room in a red and orange hue.

Alarms were still blaring as Din tried to gather diagnostics. He only managed to come to one conclusion before the engines powered down and sent you all into darkness, either by his hand or of their own accord to conserve power: the ship was losing fuel.

“Can you flip that back up switch on the wall behind you?”

“Oh, um, yes. Of course.” You unbuckled the belt from around you, still feeling it pressing into your skin even though it had lost its tension. Standing swiftly, you felt around the wall for what he was talking about and flipped it. As soon as you did, a faint red glow signaled that some things were back up and running, drawing from whatever power you had just engaged. He was busy switching switches and pressing controls, trying to get the ship to sputter back to life as much as possible. He seemed to know what he was doing as the engines kicked back on and the ship was moving through space once again.

All was quiet for a few moments of travel until the brightness of an approaching planet came into view, growing to encompass most of the view from the control room as it loomed closer.

“This is Mos Eisley Tower, we are tracking you. Head for bay three-five, over.”

“Copy that, locked in for three-five.”

“He’s fast asleep.” You carefully cradled the Child in your hands, having decided to bathe him while the ship closed in and landed on the planet. He was snoring quietly, the sound rather cute. It had been a challenge, he was small enough to fit in the fresher sink but he hadn’t been a fan of the water temperature the second it had begun to cool during the endeavor. You had just cooed to him, letting him know with soft words that he was alright and could sleep as long as he liked afterwards.

“We can secure him in my room, while we go and get a lay of the land.”

When you didn’t say anything in response or move to place the bundle in the small space, Din came up behind you and placed a hand on your upper arm in a silent question. It took you a moment to gather your thoughts, to figure out how to best explain your hesitancy without seeming too…you didn’t even know. You felt guilt for nearly leaving the small being behind in your attempt to run away from your own fate. Abandoning the only other being who you knew had gone through what you had as your temple got stormed and destroyed all those years ago. How easy it had been for you to defer to self-interest and preservation when he was so reliant and those around him. Another victim you hadn’t even given any thought to. He could easily fall into another situation like the one that you had both found yourselves in, captive at the hands of someone willing to sell you for their best interest. But he couldn’t fight his way out of it like you could.

“He’s…he’s so small, what if he wakes up and get confused?” Your breath shuddered as you spoke, giving away the emotions you felt consumed by. You avoided looking over at the man close by, not wanting him to get a better read on your thoughts than he already was by the was you were having trouble speaking and muscles so tight you were worried they would snap if you moved too fast.

“He’ll be okay, we won’t be gone long.”

You nodded before securing him in his own little hammock, the door to the small space shutting and locking behind you as you followed the man down the ramp and into the sunlight. As you did so, three small droids no taller than your knees began to approach with various tools in their hands. The suddenness of Din brandishing his blaster and firing a shot toward them had your next step faltering. Confusion colored your expression at the rather admittedly pointless action.

“Hey!”

A short woman with extremely curly hair in a jumpsuit appeared from inside the hangars enclosed space, brandishing a heavy-duty diagnostic clipboard at him.

“You damage one of my droids, you’re gonna have to pay for it!”

“Just keep them away from my ship.” Din pointed a finger at them as they had popped back up from their cowering crouches and busied themselves in the presence of their owner.

“Yeah? Think that’s a good idea, do you? Let’s look at your ship.” Her eyes took in the tall form of the armored man in front of her, flickering to you behind him still atop the ramp, hidden mostly in the shadows of the interior. You had stopped following so closely as the blaster shot had rang through the air, not wanting to cause any trouble of your own. It was now, you were realizing, that you hadn’t really seen the man interact with another person in such a setting. The display he was putting on new to you after putting so much distance on direct interactions back on Sorgan. You had never actually seen him in a larger, more intricate setting.

Of course he would be different than when alone with you, the cautious and careful demeanor reserved only for you and the Child. Gruff nature seeming to be the way he operated with other people, new people. He didn’t mince words, you realized, and was a man of so little to begin with. It would make sense he had no notion of alluding to things, saying them plainly as they came to him. As the mechanic took a precursory look over the rather battered ship, you adjusted the cloak over your shoulders, making sure the front panels of it covered the handle of your weapon that was fastened to your belt.

The hemming and hawing of the mechanic filled the space with a one-sided conversation as you and Din watched her swivel about, taking stock of things that needed to be repaired and the damage done in such a small interaction.

“How did you even land? That’s gonna set you back.” She stepped away from the ship, facing the armored man directly now. Her expression was serious, the glint in her eye letting you know she was confident in her skills and knowledge to know that what she said was true. That most people didn’t argue with her when she told them what was wrong with their ships.

“I’ve got 500 Imperial credits.” Was his easy response as he reached into a hidden pouch on his belt, pulling out a small pouch.

“That’s all you got?” She swiped the pouch from his offered hand harshly, as if worried he was only brandishing them at her and not actually going to hand them over in exchange for the work. She turned to address the droids that were still milling about the hangar space. “Well, what do you guys think?”

They only chittered in response, now all gathered beside her.

“That should at least cover the hangar.” Her eyes darted from him to you and back.

“I’ll get you your money.” His visor was tilted down as he addressed her seriously, no notes of betrayal in his tone.

“Hmm, I’ve heard that before.” She turned her full attention and sharp eyes to you, apparently done talking with him. “What, your wife not have anything to contribute?”

You resisted the urge to correct her and when Din didn’t your stomach did a flip. You tried not to let that little detail wiggle its way into your already overwhelmed mind, not wanting to dispel energy on overthinking the exchange. She focused on him again, seeing that you weren’t going to respond based on the way you had tensed slightly at her words.

“She’s to help earn credits to pay for the repairs as well.” He didn’t turn toward you as he spoke, keeping his gaze on the rather animated mechanic in front of him. “Just remember-“

“Yeah, no droids. I heard ya. You don’t have to say it twice.” Before she even finished talking, Din was walking off toward what you assumed was an exist route that opened up into the street of Mos Eisley.

His figure disappeared up the small set of steps that lead to it without so much as a glance over his shoulder to see if you were following.

“Jeez. Whomp rat.” The mechanic muttered under her breath. You couldn’t help but chuckle at the exchange, it was so interesting to see him interact with someone who didn’t seem to be afraid or intimidated by him in the slightest. She reminded you a bit of Cara and it softened your heart despite the words she had used to address you.

“You coulda picked a nicer man. With better people skills, no idea how he managed to get you.”

“He’s alright most of the time.” You offered her a small smile, reaching into your own pocket. Ignoring the way your chest fluttered at the insinuation of her words, you held out a small pouch of credits to her as well. You had divvied up your own currency when taking stock of things last night, wanting to keep some aboard the ship, some in your bag, and some on your person in case anything should arise. You had forgone your bag today, opting to leave it on the ship since you didn’t anticipate being gone long despite not knowing what was on the mental do-to list of your companion.

“For your troubles.” She reached out far more gently than she had with Din. Opening the pouch to quickly look over what you had just handed her. She looked up to you, with a cheeky grin you weren’t too sure how to read.

“This will help cover the repair for the fuel line, but it’s a lot of damage.”

“We’ll get you the money, you have my word.” As you turned, the front of your cloak lifted with a gust of wind, your weapon glinting in the sunlight. Her eyes widened slightly at the exposure of it, but her demeanor didn’t change in the slightest. She simply nodded at you and waved you away to get started on the repairs. Turning her attention to the droids, she started barking orders of things for them to fetch her.

The streets were busy, the further you followed Din into the city, away from the hangar and the outskirts that bled into the openness of the desert. You tried to keep a distance of a few feet behind him, but he was a fast walker. As he turned a corner, you spied a display of storm trooper helmets mounted on spikes and your heart nearly stopped. Steps faltering, you stood in front of them and took in the rust and blood that had been baked into the metal from the heat of the suns. They had to have been here for years. But for all the Maker was good, you couldn’t recall ever seeing the set up before during your previous time on the planet. Maybe you had been too preoccupied, maybe it had been a recent installment as a result of a battle?

You knew there were Imperial remnants scattered all over the galaxy, that much was to be expected after such an all-encompassing and long regime. But you hadn’t faced an actual storm trooper since before your capture, when whispers of the Empire falling had just begun to spread through word of mouth and the destruction of the Death Star was still a startling event. You had considered coming out of hiding then, to reach out to the few who had been rumored to help eradicate the whole organization. But you had been scared, worried, ashamed.

The names Luke and Leia Skywalker said on every planet, ushered in reverent tones. You hadn’t been in touch with the Force much during those days, your saber locked away in a trunk and buried deep in the place you hadn’t been able to call home, despite being there for so long at that point. Meditation and practiced routines with a wooden staff had been all that you kept up from your training, worried about drawing attention by doing anything else even that far out into the desert with no one the wiser of where you were.

Your mind was trying fruitlessly to supply a reason as to why they were there in front of you, but it couldn’t. It just was. Glaringly, jarringly there.

“They got what was comin’ to them.” A passerby nodded at you, noticing the way you seemed almost frozen in your stance. You nodded back to them, not willing to verbally speak with the person. They moved on down the street, in the direction opposite of where you had been following Din’s lead. The man’s steps were shuffling, while Din’s were not. The armored man was suddenly beside you and when you turned back around you tried not to let your surprise show.

He looked from you to the helmets and back. The heat of his eyes through the visor could rival the suns for all the concentration he was focusing on you in that moment. As if he was trying to read everything, he could from the way wrinkles formed over your brow as it had furrowed to the slightest downturn of your lips as your gaze focused on the display before you and he was catching a glimpse of the memories playing behind them.

“Cuyir gar jate?”

Are you okay?

Pitched low, a few feet from you, you would be the only one to hear his words. They didn’t register for a second, your thoughts consuming you again the moment white armor filled your gaze. Anxiety hummed through you, making your fingers and arms tingle, your legs tense. Your lungs felt much like they had when still healing from the metal that had made a home in and around them, all those weeks ago, it was hard to take a full breath.

“Elek, ni ceta.”

Yes, I’m sorry.

“Nayc linibar at cuyir. Ni shi turned rud bal gar rucuyir dar.”

No need to be. I just turned around and you were gone.

Standing shoulder to shoulder, a breath of space between the pauldrons atop his and the fabric of your cloak. Being this close allowed you the realization that he made up a large, broad figure. Intimidating to some, but you were beginning to see around the walls he had meticulously built and underneath the armor. Privy to things most people never would be, all because he was letting you. Maybe letting him catch a glimpse of your own nature would be helpful…

“Ganar gar ru'akaanir ti verde?”

Have you fought with them before?

“Elek, val ru'ram'or te jetiise bajur-taap.”

Yes, they attacked the Jedi school.

“Pehea ruug'la rucuyir gar?”

How old were you?

“Ta'raysh.”

Ten.

Silence fell, something permeating it that you didn’t want to explore. Emotions overwhelming and the conversation too real to handle, despite giving the man answers to the questions he had asked. Having wanted to provide answers to him. He had wanted to know, however small and painful, he had wanted to know. You could understand that, you were traveling on his ship after all. Of course he wanted to know some things about you. Needing to be alone, to not have the weight of the visor trained on you, you took a step back and looked down the street to your right. A faint buzz of conversation and movement could be heard from further down, indicating that the marketplace wasn’t too far from your position.

“Ni linibar kebise, cuyir bic jate par ni at slanar?”

I need some things, is it okay for me to go?

Feeling the small tug at the corner of your mouth as you try to mask your emotions from the man in front of you, you cut your eyes at him to get a glimpse. The visor stayed still, facing the display of the helmets still, but that didn’t mean that where his attention was focused. He could’ve very well been clocking the nerves that were sparking all along your body as anxiety smoldered inside and you would be none the wiser.

“Urcir norac sha te crest?”

Meet back at the Crest?

All you could manage was a single nod of confirmation before you were walking away from him, down a side street.

There was no trace of you other than the collection of things that had been deposited atop the makeshift table when Din returned to the hangar and ascended the ramp into the Crest. He scanned the space of the hold, not finding any other hints as to where you were other than your cloak neatly folded and placed atop the crate he had given you to store your belongings in. Heaving a sigh, he went to retrieve a bag of his own when the open door of his quarters caught his attention. The small space was empty, the blanket you had wrapped the Child in laying in a crumpled heap right in the middle of the cot.

“Hey!” His voice boomed across the hangar as he bounded down the ramp with quick steps, tension drawing him tight and sparking the beginning of a headache about his temples. The unknown on top of the questions he hadn’t been able to keep quelled earlier today in front of those kriffing helmets. The stab of fear that he pushed you had made his chest tight underneath the armor until you had given him answers. Something he had so selfishly sought out from you, knowing he had to right. But you had shared with him.

The commotion of the mechanic jolting awake could be heard from somewhere within the enclosed area of the surrounding infrastructure. Calls of her being there and awake making their way to his ears as he tried to push down the panic that rose in him the longer he didn’t know where you or the Kid were.

Surely you wouldn’t have just taken him and run? You couldn’t have, you had all but promised him you would return to the ship. Why would you have purchased whatever you had and left it only to disappear with the Child?

“Where is he?” Din gruffly demanded as her small form appeared, cradling the Child in her arms.

“Quiet! Oh, you woke it up!” She spoke between soft hushes and bounces in an attempt to calm him down. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to get it to sleep?”

“Give him to me.” Din pointed a finger at her, letting his anger and emotions get the better of him in light of the unknown

“Not so fast.” She fired back at him, her own annoyance flaring at his aggressive behavior. “You know, you have an awful lot to learn about raising a young one. At least your wife, really nice girl, came back and asked me to watch over him if he woke up.”

“She left?” His tone was still harsh, but not as loud now, as he realized everything seemed okay. It was good, you had come back and tended to the Child when you dropped off whatever you had gotten at the marketplace. Visor aimed at the now calm form of the Child, taking in the way he seemed to be okay at the mention of you and in the arms of the mechanic. He was gazing up at her with wide, curious eyes.

“Said she needed a few more things but wanted to check on the little one. A load more responsible than you, not even telling me he was on board all alone.”

“Was… she okay when she returned?” Din was hesitant to ask but pushed through the feeling because the need to know overwhelmed him. He could ask you, he was aware of that, but you would most likely give a perfunctory answer. Something to appease him and seem like everything was okay or at least that you have everything under control. But the shouting, the nightmare, the crying he could hear from the shower the night before. The way you had seemed so hopeless and fragile when you said you could still feel their hands all over you…

It was concerning. Din could help to heal your body, heal you of physical injuries and tend to them as they required. Should you allow him to. But mentally? He had no idea how to even offer his help, beyond pulling you to him and making you feel safe. But even that could be in poor taste, he was realizing, when so much of your trauma stemmed from physical touch in the first place.

“Seemed alright, a little anxious. Was kind enough to bring me some lunch.”

“Did she eat?”

“I don’t know, I’m not her keeper.” The mechanic tempered back with a huff. She seemed to soften momentarily, as she hushed and bounced the Child in her arms once again. “I didn’t see it, but she could’ve while out and about.”

She continued on to let him know the progress on the ship, messing with the diagnostic readings on the mechanics she had hooked the ship up to. As she spoke, he retrieved the bag he had come back for, letting it hang from his hand in favor of tossing it over his shoulder. With a rather pointed remark about starting the other repairs aside from the fuel line, she glanced down at the cooing Kid in her arms.

“I figured you were good for the money, since you have an extra mouth to feed and the reassurances of your wife.”

“Thank you,” His words were sincere, relief flooding him as everything did seem to be okay. You had come back with a promise to return, talked to the mechanic to check on the progress of the repairs, assured her of proper payment, and acted with responsibility.

The mechanic seemed momentarily taken aback by his genuine thanks, much like you had been when he first extended what comforts he could provide to you.

As you rounded the corner, with a heavy second haul of items, you took notice of the scene in front of the hangar door. There was a young man beside two speeders, the mechanic who was holding the Child securely in her arms, and Din, who you could sense was rather tense even from the distance.

“Hey, Mando. What do you think?” A younger man preened as he leaned back against one of the two speeders parked outside of the hanger. He was about your height, if not a bit taller. Dark hair, an earring glinted in the two-fold sunshine beaming down on the planet, and predominantly black outfit with blue accents and vest. No armor adorned his body. Seemingly proud of himself for collecting them at what you were sure was the behest of Din, possibly for a job he managed to find. “Not too shabby, huh?”

Din was busy placing his bag atop the one closest to him, walking up and down the length of it as he looked it over. You watched him as he did so, approaching the small group.

“What’d you expect? This ain’t Corelia.” The young man nodded his head in greeting toward the mechanic. She didn’t seem too impressed, but the Child giggled in her arms, drawing attention to himself. Your approaching figure caught the young man’s attention and his brows disappeared into his dark hairline as you looked you over.

You had forgone your cloak for your second run into the city, needing to try on vambraces and some other items. That left you in your high collared tank top, your upper arms exposed and feeling the heat of the day. Your saber was secured inside the pouch fastened by two straps to your right thigh, over the black of your form fitting trousers. You had already made the knee pads you purchased as a part of your attire. In a huff of exasperation in the middle of the marketplace, you had braided your hair to one side and looped it on along the back of your neck with a pin.

“And who might you be?”

You ignored him, not liking his tone or the air about him. His entire demeanor and presence activating your instincts for flight. Instead, you sidled up a few feet from Din.

“Oh c’mon, don’t be that way. I’m here to help your friend, Mando.” The volume of his voice rose a little, making you uncomfortable even more so. You fixed him with a stern look, letting him know you weren’t going to play along, manners were for nice people and something about him didn’t sit right with you. He held his hands up in mock surrender, though the cheeky grin pulling at his lips made your skin crawl. He was exactly the type of person who you would’ve sourced information from once upon a time, but now you wanted nothing to do with his type.

“Mar’eyir a bora?” Find a job? You turned your attention back to the armor wall that Din made up, the beskar glinting beautifully where the suns shown on it directly, not wanting to deal with the young man anymore.

“Yes.” He responded in Basic, closing the distance between you and reaching for the strap of your bag to gently pull it from you. As he did so, he pressed his helmet to your forehead by way of greeting. The hand he wasn’t holding the bag with hovered over the small of your back as he walked you toward the entrance of the hangar space. He hadn’t touched you since untangling from you earlier in the day and it was thrilling, despite it being so casual. Despite the mental exhaustion that was settling in from a day of interaction with too many people.

“Give me a minute.” Were the simple words thrown over his shoulder as he guided you through the door and down the steps into the enclosed space. The ship was open, as you had left it, and the side paneling along it was removed to show where the mechanic was working on things. You let him guide you further, toward the ship. He placed your bag town on the makeshift table, beside the one you had already dropped off earlier before turning to face you. He just took in the way you began to dig through it, pulling out a pouch that clinked. You opened it to reveal thin, dark rings of metal. Setting it aside you pulled out a vambrace, one that was made of a dark metal as well, it would fit perfectly over the gloves you adorned.

“I haven’t programmed my chain code into it yet, I’m a little hesitant to, if I’m being honest. But I got one with communication controls.” You held it up to show him with a small grin, rather proud of your find and the cost hadn’t been too bad to get it up and running. The scrubbing and reprogramming had been a bit steep, but it would be worth it to have a scrapped mechanism you could customize for your needs. “It only has short range, but I figured that would be good enough for while you’re out on jobs or I’m away from the ship.”

When no answer came from him, you turned worried eyes over the helmet. Your mouth was open, and words were rushing out before you could stop them. Letting the man in front of you be privy to the overthinking nature that you possessed. Prattling was a nervous habit, one that you had thought you had grown out of being alone a majority of the time, it having turned into stubborn silence in wake of a mental barrage. But something about the man in front of you brought it back to life. Not wanting to seem like a bother or say the wrong thing and then ending up saying a whole lot more than was necessary.

“That is, if you want to keep in touch while separated. I didn’t mean to insinuate that I needed to be able to get ahold of you at all times. You’re a grown man. I’m assuming? I mean, I’ve seen…you…before but you’re rather fit and that doesn’t really reflect age. Oh Maker, I don’t even know how old you are, I might be older than you.” You ducked your gaze, eyes focusing on the cuirass as you felt the heat of embarrassment creep up your neck. Self-consciousness taking a hold of you with its gnarled hands and pulling to make your skin feel too tight and uncomfortable.

“Calm, mesh’la.” Din’s deep voice washed over you in an easy chuckle paired with the nickname he favored had your stomach fluttering. He closed the distance and brought a gloved palm grip to rest it atop both of your hands where the vambrace was still in your grip. You hadn’t realized that they had begun to tremble slightly.

“I just- I don’t want to overstep.”

“It was good for you to get a comm link.” His fingers tangled with your own as he took the vambrace from you and began to inspect it. With the helmet no longer trained on you so directly, it was easier to take a deep breath to recenter. The device beeped to life under his gloved fingers, and he punched in some information before holding moving to fit it over your hand and secured it to your left wrist. He lifted a hand to the right side of his helmet and your comm link blinked to signal an incoming transmission. All set, it seemed. “Your puck had your age displayed, we’re very close.”

He shifted on his feet, creating space as he did so. A weird tension blossomed in the space, putting you on edge. Both of you so consumed by internal conflicts and worries. Of the unknown that had settled over the coming days.

“Don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”

“Okay.”

“Just… be here when I return.”

“O-of course.”

Without another word, the armored man departed.

Being aboard the ship alone was a weird phenomenon. Yes, the Child was still with you, but it was a foreign feeling to be here without the shape and presence of Din Djarin. He had told you that the space was yours as much as it was his, but that hadn’t settled into a concrete thing quite yet. It was still new, all of it and it was overwhelming.

Being out of captivity, being free, traveling, being on a ship. Having a ship be your new settlement of sorts, something you hadn’t ever really considered as you sought out whatever peace you could, too ignorant of ship mechanics and it being too handsome of an investment to make. Breathing out a heavy sigh, you cradled the small figure in your lap. You had been sat for quite a while, meditating. The Child settling into the space of your crossed legs to do the same. It had taken him a long time to settle and focus, as it always did when he wanted to join you, but once he did he had been silent for as long as he was able to.

He was fidgeting now, breaking your own concentration.

Feeling a little foolish, you hit the call button on your vambrace. Heart beating fast as it waited for pickup to make a connection. When it pinged, you startled a little at how quickly the low, full-bodied voice displayed cleanly over the line.

“What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing! Everything is okay.” You had no idea why you were so nervous; it was just a conversation.

“…okay.”

“Um, I was- I was wondering if I could take ad’ika out for a while.” You gathered the Child in the crook of your right arm, his eyes trained on the small speaker Din’s voice was coming from. He cooed as you stood, reaching for the vambrace, but you offered him your fingers instead. He gripped them tight, legs kicking out slightly as he wiggled about. You felt a wide smile pull at your lips as he loosened his grip and you made grabby motions at him, picking at the fabric of his outfit. His giggles were loud, and it made warmth blossom in your chest to hear them so unbridled. Your own soft laughter joining his. “Just for some fresh air! We’re so far from the city center, just around the hangar, so he can see the sunset.”

“That…should be fine.”

“Only if you’re okay with it. He’s in your care.”

“Ad’ika?”

“Oh,” You breathed a gentle laugh at the confusion you detected in his single word. Setting the happy child down atop the makeshift table, you opened a cannister of fruit for him to munch on before moving toward the paneling. You finished your thought as you opened it up to reveal the small kitchen set up and reached to activate the caf brewer, slightly nervous he was going to tell you it was an unnecessary shift. “Figured since we don’t know his name and he doesn’t want to tell me.”

“He talks to you, in actual words?”

“No, no, um, it’s…rather complicated.” You tried not to huff out your exasperation of finding only one pod of caf left in a storage drawer. You popped it into place and set a mug underneath where it would brew from once finished. The clink of the mug was loud, creating a bit of static over the line.

“No words. But talks.”

“…yes.”

“Letting him watch the sunset should be fine.”

“I’ll be on high alert, just want him to not feel trapped here on the ship is all.” When nothing was said in response, you shifted your weight from leg to leg as you stood before the caf machine began to brew with a sputter. “Okay, well, um, thank you.”

The line disconnected.

“Okay, ad’ika, we’re waiting on this drink, and we can go outside.” You turned to smile at him atop the makeshift table, trying to push down the weird feeling in the pit of your stomach. His little trill of a response fell on deaf ears. The guilt of having just messed up somehow bubbling up and making it hard to think. You focused on the line of liquid as it cascaded down from the machine into the mug, the noises it was making as it did so to try and center yourself.

Holding a steaming mug in one hand and a small snack in the other, you let the Child walk alongside you down the ramp and through the hangar space. You waved in greeting at the mechanic who was milling about. It seemed like she was about done for the day, the droids gathering things and putting them away in a flurry of movement around her. She returned the wave before disappearing inside.

“We have to be careful, okay?” We aren’t taking anything for you to hide in, so if you get scared I’ll hold you, got it?” You glanced down at him beside you as you walked through the door that led out to the street. He nodded, making little noises as he took in the empty surroundings. With the suns so close to the horizon, about to disappear beneath it, many people were already retired for the day.

You settled yourself against the wall that made up the hangar, facing the direction of the suns as they began to dip down and disappear. Sipping from the mug in your hand as you crossed your legs in front of you, leaving them stretched out from being busy all day. You had tried to understand what the mechanic was doing, asking her questions and to walk you through the basics of what she was doing before you had moved onto other things and looking after the small figure that was currently bustling about in front of you.

He was seated as well, small claws reaching out to play with rocks and watch a scant lizard or bug as it crawled about. Something with a stinger got too close to him and you waved a hand to get it away from him, the tingles of the Force sparking in your palm. That drew his attention back to you, his eyes focused on the snack you had brought out and was resting on your knee. He held a hand out much like you had just done and closed his eyes in concentration. The furrowing of his small brow created deep wrinkles and it made you hold a laugh back at how much like an old man he looked with them. The snack lifted into the air slightly, wobbled, and then fell back to your knee with a muffled thump.

“It’s tough, I know.” You soothed, knowing how hard it was to begin to harness the energy of things. The concentration and focus it took second nature to you at this point. Something that had come back to you easily, you were thankful for, after so many years of the ability being dormant. You raised a hand and motioned for him to give it another try. His eyes closed and he spread his claw wider.

The snack hurdled toward him, too fast for him to catch it and it smacked him in the forehead before falling to the sand. He let out a startled noise as it did, his wide eyes beseeching as he looked at you. You were setting down your mug and rushing over to him as his eyes watered and he began to breathe in a weird staccato.

“Oh, hey, hey, no, no.” Reaching for him, you pulled him to your chest and his claws dug into the fabric of your cloak. “You’re okay, ad’ika.”

You both sat there, watching the sky fade from orange hues to the darkness of night. As stars began to twinkle above, you pushed yourself up and made your way back to the Crest, the small creature fast asleep in your tight embrace.

Deciding on a shower to wash away the day, you wrestled with the notion of whether or not you should disengage the ramp to close up the ship. You trusted the mechanic, but that could only go so far. She said she had engaged the alarm system for the hangar once you returned, letting you know that she had shared it with your husband.

You knew she meant the word as a way of referring to Din, not knowing his name or knowing what else to call him. But that word, that term, it felt like a threat. The last time you had heard it, it had been one and it was triggering as all the ugly details of the last encounter you had with your mother rose up along with the acidic burn of bile in your throat.

It felt like something was coming alive in your very body, awakening after a long slumber, and stretching its claws up your chest as it unfurled. Something dark and sinister, the weight of it suffocating and making it hard to breathe. It was something you recognized, something you knew too well as it perked up and burrowed into you, like it knew it was home and there to stay. Your head felt light as quick breaths were all you could manage.

Double checking that the door to Din’s personal quarters was locked and the Child was safely inside, you moved into the fresher with hands guiding you along the walls. Locking that door behind you, you turned the water on full blast, cranking the handle to make it as hot as it would go. The first drops of water barely had time to travel down to hit the tile of the stall floor before you were throwing up what little was in your stomach.

Tearing the off, it piled on the floor around you before you stepped into the stall. You hissed as the water hit your skin, the heat and steam of it filling the small room in almost a suffocating way. But it was welcome, the strong of it on your skin as it drowned the thing that was stirring inside. You had sunk to your knees, sitting right underneath the stream of water. Hanging your head, the wet locks of your hair stuck to your body as you got lost in the thoughts of how the day had felt too easy, too normal.

Everything from the way you had woken up to an empty bed after sleeping tangled in the arms of a man you hardly knew to the domesticity of talking to him on the comm link as you and the Child played around. It was all so casual, so domestic, so completely ordinary. And it felt good, to experience normal things, things people took for granted. And that felt bad, the guilt of wanting it to continue. To keep living when for so long you hadn’t wanted to.

You had done so many questionable things in your life, faced so many threats and that was before becoming the shell of a person at the hands of bandits had turned you into, who kept you so drugged up you hadn’t even known where you had been. You didn’t deserve any of it and how could you?

The berating words and actions of your mother having molded into your very psyche reminding you that you were a bad person for choosing to live your life the way you had wanted to at a young age. That choice leading you to a life on the run, to a life of stealing and cheating and hurting others to ensure your own protection. That choice leading to a target on your back that wouldn’t disappear until you took your last breath. It was all your fault, the hand you had been dealt. All a result of wanting to learn how to harness the skill a stranger had noticed in you.

Lightly tracing the scars you had dug into the skin of your thighs, your hands began to shake with wracking sobs. Tears falling fat and heavy from your eyes to coalesce with the steaming water cascading down your body. Eyes unfocused as you tried to watch the way your nails were now digging into the flesh as you gripped your legs so tight your knuckles popped.

Just as you were standing from your seat at the makeshift table, skeleton assembly of what would turn into a set of pauldrons, you sighed. It was late, sleep evading you in wake of your breakdown. To distract yourself, you had set to working with your hands, beginning to work the materials you had gathered into armor for yourself.

The metal rings in various sizes you had purchased earlier were strewn about in small, organized piles alongside two types of pliers, a mandrel, and a pair of snug leather gloves to protect your fingers as you worked. You had purchased rings that were already annealed twice over, before and after the openings were flattened and drifted in the traditional wedge style you preferred over circular. It would turn into a sturdier piece, the strength due to the harder to damage bonding.

Stretching your back, hands on your lower back you paused as faint footsteps sounded outside as someone trekked toward the ship. Shrugging your cloak on over the full outfit you had changed into after your shower, you made sure the Child was secure in the hammock and hit the panel beside the door to close the small space off from the rest of the ship, the mechanism for the lock clicking.

A blaster shot buzzed through the air and you dodged it, the hit making contact with the paneling behind you. It pinged before ricocheting and the single light you had on went out with a pop. A muttered curse was all the warning you had as you turned on your feet and raised a hand, reaching out with the Force to hold whoever had dared to enter the ship in place. The figure looked vaguely familiar, but you couldn’t place them in the sudden darkness of the ship.

The sounds of the person struggling against the hold you had on them were too close for comfort, and you swiped a foot out to kick their feet out from under them. As they went down, they fired something that wasn’t a blaster. The sting of something sharp reverberated down your right arm, tingling as a cool feeling washed through your veins almost immediately.

“Sedative, learned from a friend it would be the only way to take you down.” The voice spoke into the darkness, not registering quite yet in your mind. You cursed, pulling the long needle from where it had penetrated the fabric of your cloak to embed itself into the flesh of your arm. You dropped it to the ground, feeling the coolness of the sedative take over, lighting you up and muddling your brain in a way you hadn’t been in weeks.

You tried to move away, to put the makeshift table between you and the voice, but you ended up leaning heavily on the surface, arms already feeling too heavy to control. The hush of a blade being drawn had your heart beating a little faster, only aiding in the drugs taking over that much faster.

Breath hissing out as the blade sliced into the side of your thigh, you tried to step back but stumbled as your legs felt as if weights had been tied to them. Arms swiping across the table as you tried to balance yourself, sending the metal rings atop it to scatter everywhere with little pings. Vision wavering from focused to fuzzy made it hard to see the rope and cuff links now in the man’s hands, mind too sluggish to listen to your instincts and put up more of a fight. Blinking profusely, your eyes took in younger man Din had left with yesterday. Only Din was nowhere to be seen and the man seemed particularly focused on you.

“Don’t hurt either of them, take me. Turn me in. Let them go, my bounty is high.” You could only watch as he approached you, body too heavy to usher away from him. His response sounded so far away, as if you were struggling to hear him across a vast distance and not a few feet.

“How many times do I have to tell you people, I don’t care about the money.” He snarled, face ugly as it contorted with his anger and continued misunderstanding. He shoved you harshly to the ground, the body that was no longer under your own control going with the movement. The rings scattered over the floor dug into your skin and clothing, stinging as they did so. He threw himself over you, legs heavy on your own as he pinned you to the floor, reaching to secure the cuffs over your wrist. You swiped out as adrenaline sparked at being pinned down, surging up as best you could with bared teeth. He screamed as you raked your nails down the column of his neck as hard as you could manage, drawing blood in thin lines.

With a scowl he took hold of the front of your cloak and slammed your head down to crack against the metal of the floor. You shouted out at the pain that blossomed there, fuzzy vision graying at the edges.

“I’ll do whatever you want, just let them be.” Your words slurred as you begged, too far gone to do anything else, the sedative he used was either high quality or he had used a lot of it. If it was the only way to get him to change his mind, alter the motives he was working off of, then it was an offer you would make. For the sake of the Child, for the sake of his safety with Din. You could faintly sense the tears that were falling from your eyes, the thought of the Child being captured hurting even more than the predicament you were in. You would take on the world for him to have a good life, the chance at a good life.

“Not lookin’ for that type of action right now, sweetheart.” Your attacker moved to cuff your ankles together over the leather of your boots. The rope in his hands going around them next. “But Mando is in for a surprise if he ever finds his way out of the desert. His quarries are mine now.”

The look of triumph that could be glimpsed from the faint light seeping into the ship was the last thing you saw as your vision blacked out completely.

The run was rising just as the mount Din had secured entered the outskirts of Mos Eisley. The deep navy-blue of the night sky fading on the horizon to the muted haze of peach sunlight that was cresting over in the signal of a new day. Everything was quiet, the city asleep in the early hour. Outside the hangar entrance was the speeder Din had been comfortable leaving behind with Callican, foolishly he muses now. Whatever had transpired between the young man and Fennec Shand had inspired his abandonment of the job to capture her. Din could only hope that Callican hadn’t done anything too foolish or rash in his shifted focus.

Brandishing his blaster, Din entered the hangar space with quiet steps.

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taglist: @strawberri-blonde @moonknight-s-cumdump @js-favnanadoongi

dividers by the lovely saradika

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faresong · 1 month

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eve of the sun.

(spoiler) musings on my design choices below <3

✦ CLAIRE ELFORD —

Oh, my girl... I love her so much. I changed up her design slightly to draw in a gold tone due to my adjustment of her neck accessory: instead, it is part of a earring she was gifted by her grandmother that then broke. Though she doesn't remember why she had it, nor why it was only one of a set, she still holds a lot of sentimental value to it and couldn't bear to throw it out or sell its pieces, instead transforming it into a necklace.

I also gave her boots which, despite their look, are customized to better track up the mountain. These are her personal hiking boots! Additionally, since she lives up there, she has gotten into a few scuffles. While she's learned to hold herself well, there have been times she gets a bit overzealous—and the scar on her face is one of those cases. A nasty rock she was trying to remove had split her lip open and completely dragged down her shoulder before she could hit the floor and regain her standing. Nothing too dramatic, she'd say, but it reminds her to be careful... sometimes :P

Of course, because she's canonically the strongest of the group, I gave her more obvious muscles and fat to pad it out. As I've stated before with her living situation, eating is important to help her keep her strength up—and is also just something she enjoys! There are so many lovely recipes to try out, and before they died, she had loved bringing down ingredients of something new for her adoptive parents to try. They were all fresh, too, from her garden.

Here, despite the timeline regarding typical real-life immigration, I've portrayed her as mixed Indian/Portuguese. Her mother and grandmother were simply Indian immigrants, with Claire as the fourth-generation (Lady Dorothy had taught her Hindi, but with years without practice... she's lost much of it). Unfortunately for them, this was an additional motivator in the main town to persecute them sooner rather than later despite their people settling on the outskirts of Levine's ruling.

✦ SIRIUS GIBSON —

Onto Mr. "Bah!" now... As I've already mentioned, his moon earring is part of a set with Claire as a gift from Lady Dorothy. It was a gift in her hopes of bringing the two closer together.

Now, whether or not that worked out fully, Sirius feels he owes nearly everything to Lady Dorothy. Not only to provide him housing after his parents' demise, but tend to his leg injury wrought him from when he'd been nearly crushed in the crowd. Everyone had pushed forward to see the alleged witches' deaths and hadn't cared when he'd fallen—Dorothy was there just in time to act as a barrier of sorts before they'd broken his ankle... but she still ended up crafting a small cane for his use.

As he grew up, however... the cane became more difficult to use. He was taller, and thus he began using Lady Dorothy'd old cane for himself. Whereas she had only needed it for balance, Sirius uses it to offset the pain/pressure on his left leg. Neither cane is pictured here, but it is still a crucial part of how his past pains continue to affect his present life—in a very literal way, albeit.

Due to how cold he tends to run within the mansion, he wears many layers. I've simplified his outfit to simply be: dress shirt, vest, pelerine. The last one is cut from the same cloth as Lady Dorothy's cloak (hence the slight star motif shared in both of their cloaks) and was initially a proper 'cloak' tailored for his younger self, though he still cannot let go of it.

I've added more prominent red to his design to tie in the ruby crest, as well as represent his resentment toward most others. In a literal sense, 'seeing red'—the reasons behind him becoming a demon clear. Unlike Claire who stands for nobility, Sirius cannot allow himself or Lady Dorothy that disgrace of leniency.

One last note: Sirius is portrayed as mixed Bengali/Portuguese. His great-grandparents had been one of the first Portuguese immigrants, with his grandfather brought over as a contracted engineer to figure out the water supply line for this area. He had never been given the chance to learn Bangla, as his mother didn't speak it... but Lady Dorothy had taken time to teach both Sirius and Claire Hindi, and he still reads some of the few books the Elfords had brought over. It's made him feel closer to the family, and he takes great care in trying to refine his language... even if it's difficult without another to practice with. (...I like to imagine, post-Sirius Conclusion, he teaches Claire again. It's only right.)

#I will get to the other three of the main cast... sometime soon <3 I had to get my favorites out of the way first #I hope you enjoy...#||#witch's heart #whnoc #sirius gibson #claire elford #my art #wall

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cowboylament · 1 month

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“Is this alright?” He asked.

I nodded.

He placed his hand down, nothing but warm hot skin. He slid only low enough to grab the blanket, dragging it back up over my arms and hovering there a moment like he wasn’t sure what to do now. When he pulled away I didn’t stop him. I forgot what it was like to be young, inexperienced. How much weight everything had, the touch of a hand, the place beside you in bed. I’d once spent hours thinking about it, how it would feel to get to sleep beside someone forever. To reach through the dark and grab the person beside you and curl into their body, to find such tender relief whenever you wanted. To be so hungry so long you didn’t even recognize it as need, as want. Not until that first reach where no matter what you imagined, how small you’d convinced yourself it was, you found your hands shaking.

Lucien has been lying Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Five, Bonus, Ao3

“I have news.”

Rhys had called both Lucien and me into his office. Where he’d managed to find my mate I didn’t know. It had been nearly two weeks since we’d slept on my bathroom floor. The only thing that had changed between now and then as far as I could tell was that the bond had reopened between us and unlike the time before our argument, his emotions surged through the tether throughout the day. Intense and complex emotions, not often recognizable to me until they diminished and I could see with greater clarity their edges, pull them apart, find the individual threads. There was such a weight to them I had seen only rarely. They knocked my knees out from under me, my breath. I don’t know what had changed, but suddenly his feelings were far bigger than they’d been before.

He could have fooled me, however, sitting to my left so stoic. Had I seen him in the past few days I like to think I’d have at least asked if we were okay, if he was. Maybe not at first, not when I really wanted to, but eventually. With such feeling, I didn’t want him to hold it all on his own but we’d somehow found ourselves back again in the things we did after our fight—doors closing late at night, things going unsaid, the memory of a body, the fear it’s leaving.

Rhys looked tired, but he laid the news outright.

“I’ve claimed you, officially.”

Before I could speak a swath of grief, like a cloud passing over the sun, twisted inside of me. Waves of it pushed away thoughts and breath, and between crests, regret, suspicion, something hesitating and withdrawing, only to surge forward like the leaving could be undone. My words were obliterated, the male was fluctuating and balancing a hundred new degrees of feeling every second and the only thing that had changed in his appearance was the slight opening of his mouth. Though he remained alert, his gaze forward.

“And my father is aware?” Lucien asked.

“Yes.”

Out in the hall, a door closed idly. For Beron to be aware of his son, to know his location during accusations of treason was a delicate game. Rhys must have played it very carefully these weeks. Such a burden sat on his face rather plainly, dragging it down, as if it were still there.

“It took dozens of negotiations, he’s informed the other courts you’re a traitor who can’t be trusted. But to be honest,” Rhys continued, breaking only now to rub at his eyes, “his word will mean very little to most of them as I’m sure you’re aware.”

“I am,” Lucien said. His voice steady, but within there was a stir. Regret, grief unending, but not new grief. It was old, so old, like it had been born with him. Beron the cruelest, the eldest of the High Lords. His youngest son still gentle despite. What had been endured and remains to be endured?

“Normally I’d wait to negotiate with your father but, your brother said that the longer he sits on that night the greedier he’d get.”

My attention shifted away from my mate. Greedier, negotiate, those were specific word choices. I took in a long breath, clearing away any lingering fog of foreign emotions and temporary blindness. This was something I myself had not considered, that Beron wouldn’t become greedy, he already was. The High Lord of Autumn was not rash, not rash enough to invade when he found out where his son was. What were the choices for Beron, truly? Wage a war, lose males, or gain leverage. A blind spot on my part, how foolish I’d been, to have labored under such illusions and fear for so long. War wasn’t imminent. Beron knew for some reason we wanted Lucien, and he’d work out something had to have happened for us to want to fight for him. He didn’t have to know what it was to have guessed it was dire, our need.

We’d given ourselves away.

What could he demand, what did he feel that he was allowed now that we’d given ourselves away? He was cunning, calculated. He’d always wanted power, specifically power over us. My stomach clenched. The least loved son, a perfect token in his game. Beron had nothing to lose.

The blessing he’d called for that night would mean little in this exchange. I’m sure the only thing it allowed for Rhysand to negotiate was against a war Beron didn’t want to fight anyway. You don’t come here and I won’t go there. It was the way it went, crimes against Prythian were greater than those against its females. There was no use in pretending otherwise, in languishing too long.

Lucien relaxed back in his chair, unaware of the sickness climbing through my bones, and asked, “What are the terms?”

“As you have known, you will lose your title and you cannot go back to Autumn court. If you do, Beron has sworn a blood duel.”

Lucien crossed his leg over the other, “I’ve no desire to ever see that place again.”

My own growing grief at once enveloped me, reaching further than my body, reaching out. The strength broke Lucien’s composure. He glanced over at me and I at him. There was no need for either of us to say what we were thinking, he knew what I wanted to give. The irreplaceable thing he’d had almost two months ago, taken in the middle of the night like nothing. I knew that he had always wanted to leave his home, that the loss was always meant to come for him eventually. But I knew something about loss too, about the things we cannot have back. The family you make will never be the family you had, that is their blessing and their curse. So I grieved for him, for what he’d lost and what he’d never had to begin with.

Rhysand remained wholly ignorant of the private feelings between us, but waited to speak until we turned away from one another.

“He also agreed not to declare war.”

Whatever Lucien anticipated, this was better. His relief came light but demolishing, easy like a gust, as it moved through my body. I forced in place his feelings like a veil over my own, hiding my wound. It soothed what was rotting within me momentarily, but could not clear entirely the lingering scent. Lucien would never see his home and I could scarcely know it even if I went without him. If I were to go, it would be by force.

I stilled. A panic ripped through me.

Life for life.

The veil was gone.

Those were Lucien’s terms, but what of mine? I had broken the one rule I knew with Beron I could never break.

A thin coat of sweat settled against my back. Beron had wanted one thing from me. He could still ask for it. The truly deplorable males, those weak worthless males he called sons, could be betrothed to me. I would not have Eris, I had lost any chance with Eris. I’d live in that house with him, the male who’d cut away at me, next to those woods blood had been shed in. And none of the terrible details would matter because I would go. They wouldn’t even have to ask twice, I would go. Not because of the bargain between some nameless God, but for my mate. He deserves it. He’d given his life, so I’d give mine. I’d hunger for an immortal lifetime.

I found at last the words I’d had before, “What are my conditions?”

Rhys was silent, Lucien too. The thing inside us both had gone still. Lucien wasn’t naive, but in a moment of such intensity, he’d made the mistake of thinking we were lucky. This world didn’t work that way. There was perhaps only one thing Beron hated more than his youngest son. Such despair, such blinding terror clawing its way up my legs, into my heart. I don’t know if I could see the world. I think the fear had reached my eyes by then.

“You are to go to Autumn as an emissary on all future endeavors. You will remain the point of contact and we are forbidden from sending anyone else with you.” Just hearing the first half of his sentence had turned my stomach to lead, made me flinch. I was waiting to hear the word bride, but then he said it, Emissary. I was the point of contact still. That meant I was still Night Court. I forced myself to be present, to listen to the whole of his words.

“We also cannot prosecute him for the blessing,” even sat down my legs felt weak. I suspected this. I knew this. No war. Rhys opened his mouth with finality, “If we speak of the events to anyone who does not already know, the bargain is void. Lucien will die.”

I gripped the chair. It was like being born again, my relief. Whatever lingering fear had found itself between my ribs and my joints, was washed clean away. I could have wept, such profound relief it rubbed my insides raw. The price was silence. The price was denial. A scar wrapping around my waist like an unwanted hand, the delicate body, the flimsy memory—our only proof it had happened. And even that would vanish eventually into the dust seen only when it passed through sunlight. But we were free and for such a price. Such blind spots, what greater prize to Beron was there than a silenced female.

“So he gets away with it?” Lucien barked. Rage flared between us to the point that it forced Lucien to his feet. I was not yet strong enough to manage, not yet in my body entirely.

“We both do,” I said. This was a gift of many meanings. I got to stay here with my family, keep what I’d won. The power to choose, I could marry or not marry, I could stay or go. My mate, he was granted the same. Happiness came wrapped in sorrow. My bargain had been finished. He was no longer in danger. The price had been paid. Lucien could go as he’d always meant to, somewhere he truly loved, and I wasn’t afraid of him leaving anymore. Prythian had opened for him, thanks to Rhysand. My brother did what I would never have had the power to do. Though I had gotten Lucien to safety Rhys would be his savior.

Lucien’s hand gestured out in front of him like the memory was before us plain to see, his exasperation in every word, “We acted in self-defense it’s hardly the same.”

I shook my head, “Not to Beron.”

Rhys nodded and gestured for my mate to sit. For the rest of the hour, he explained to us what had been happening these weeks of correspondence. How Beron was growing stricter, less malleable to any negotiation. He had asked for a life, but somehow he’d been persuaded to avoid more bloodshed. I did not push for details, it was a terrible business, having to delegate pain and suffering. I placed no blame on Rhys, what hands he had to play for this outcome. I could see it though, how Eris had been right. If we waited too long the price would only increase. Rhys was backed into a corner, he had to agree. No matter the justice he wanted for me he could see the alternative I had seen too, he could see what was so close to being asked. He did not have to say this, we looked at each other after all had been shared, all that could be shared, and we both were aware of what the other knew. Lucien opened his mouth, not doubt to argue our side, but I spoke first.

“If you have yet to agree, agree to the terms. That night is over and with good reason.”

I didn’t want to return to that court or its memory. Anyone who needed to know already did. We’d moved on from that place better than we had been before, no longer so hostile or cruel, needing always to have something over the other and trying to win. I was glad to move on, even if moving on meant losing Lucien. I didn’t want him to go, but I had already gotten so much of what I wanted. And regardless, some things were more important. There were fates I could stomach even less, like his being somewhere that made him unhappy. I would not cage him. He loved leaving and I loved staying. Now his life was safer than it had ever been, to do what he’d always wanted. That was something to live for.

Whatever lingering fear I’d been holding onto in all these weeks emptied out of me with such intensity I started to shake. A different kind of crumbling, happy but sad, grateful and grieving. Lucien, to his credit, swallowed his argument, even as a foreign anger clawed at my chest like it could feel the immense relief flooding through me and wanted to sink its teeth in.

My brother, I had no doubt, understood this would be my choice. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be here. He’d be arguing to Lucien’s point with a male who would never bend. He’d just wanted to be sure. The grave look on the High Lord’s face was the realization I’d already had many weeks ago. That night was always going to be my burden to bear.

“I’m sorry,” he offered.

I stood, turning from Lucien. He had my brother’s protection now. My presence would be redundant. I fought the enormity of my sorrow and my ambivalence to his departure. I had to get away, let it out, or I would start to drown in it, lose air, and composure. But I had one thing left to do, I had to put Rhys at ease. I had to be at ease for that to happen. That was always my work, I had to go first.

“There is no apology needed. That male will succumb to the life he lived.”

Rhys began to fumble with his desk. There was nothing he could do and he would suffer for it. I could not help him, could not pull him from his mind, the what if, the hand he hadn’t been dealt. That was his burden. So instead I slunk into his mind and said: thank you.

I hoped he could feel how much I meant it. I wish he knew that this was also a gift.

When he pulled out his ink, wordlessly I made to leave. Lucien trailed behind just as silently. With each step it became clear the level of erosion that had happened these weeks. I hadn’t even known how much worry there really had been inside me until it was gone. It had weakened me. I didn’t know if I could stand, could support the weight of the reality that took its place. I slipped into the library across and stumbled forward, clutching onto the couch, and waited for that door to close, the front door, waited for the tightness in the chest of someone far away and stretched thin, but there.

Someone entered the library and I righted.

“Y/N” Lucien said.

I pressed my hand to the heat of my face, covering my eyes. The one time he thought to say goodbye.

“Will I see you at dinner?” I asked, keeping my back to him. “Or are you going now.”

“I can stay.”

I nodded, “But you don’t have to. Not anymore.”

“I want—” his sentence ceased. Whatever it was he wanted, whatever fell at the end of those words either he didn’t know or didn’t want to say. There was a long pause, a probing gaze, before his hand ghosted my shoulder, but I pulled away. If he was even a little kind to me I’d break. I’d beg him not to go and that was worse than saying nothing. He’d stay just because I asked, because he was loyal to people even when they didn’t deserve it, and then I’d never know if I deserved it. Not when I caged him in a different way. So that was it, this was it. I took two long breaths, caught air, steeled myself as I had before, and turned to face him.

“I want you to go.”

I knew there was a chance saying that would lead him to lash out in his anger, as he had that night we’d fought. Where for some unknowable reason he’d felt unwanted by me when I was trying to convey the precise opposite. But I could feel something had changed between us now that he stood before me, its occurrence happening maybe over the last few days without our participation. We were no longer fighting each other. Not at least, how we’d always been fighting each other. He stared at me in thought, the sounds of a clock somewhere in the room ticking. Today he didn’t seem far away, he seemed so close.

“I can feel you,” he said simply. “And I have the sense if I go you’re going to fall apart.”

“I don’t wish to keep you.”

“Nothing is keeping me here besides my desire. Now, please, explain to me what’s going on.”

I shook my head, “If you don’t know then maybe that’s the Mother’s will.”

“No.” He was commanding in his tone, but still gentle. So gentle that I looked up to meet his eye even as I felt my own go glassy, even though to do so would give me away. He studied me before he continued, looked in his way that really looks to consider the image before him entirely. “In your brother’s office, there was a moment of panic for you like that in the woods, and I want to understand why.” He paused then added somberly, “I was there that night too. I felt what you felt. So help me understand.”

I stared at my hands. Thin skin, over flexed muscle and bone, wrinkled where it seemed a long time ago, longer than a life, lips used to go. I blinked away any lingering moisture and dropped my gaze. I could not have it both ways, could not say he should have what he wanted but deny him the explanation he asked for. “Beron was going to ask that I be married to one of your brothers.”

“Okay.” He said calmly, still so gentle and attentive, “What do you know, what am I missing?”

“It's what he said that night. You remember?”

“Yes, but why would he, after everything, ask that?”

When I found his face again he wasn’t angry. Not even for what I’d implied earlier, as if the idea I wanted him away washed clean off of him. I think we’d stopped being angry when it came to matters of the heart. Honestly, it didn’t even feel like anger when we’d fought that night in the foyer, the way a kind animal will bite when injured. I think all along we’d only been scared, wounded. But there was no room, no time anymore, for something so self-indulgent.

“Because there are rules that I have that you don’t, and I broke the one that with him I’m never allowed to break.”

“What?”

“I won,” I said plainly. “Not minorly or arbitrary, it was absolute. We got away and I had the last word.”

There was something briefly there, on his face. A kind of denial I’d had those nights ago, where you realize you were so unknowingly close to danger. And it makes you sick, just the possibility of what might have happened if you behaved differently. How the alternative sits stark on your chest and you want to deny it all, give yourself a little distance, maybe find some reprieve, and remember what had really happened.

I explained, “A life for a life. He’d get the last say in mine, and then any power I had was free for him to command. You know this, you know why he wanted me for Eris.”

“I’d never let him.”

“I’d have accepted.”

He was shielding from me again. I could tell. Nothing came through, not the thing that made him go pale or the force that seemed to send his body moving forward without the help of his legs. How he seemed to have been struck in the back. My shoulders slumped.

“Why?” He asked.

“Because you’re Lucien.”

He searched my face, but the answer wasn’t there. He was lost, the only thing that wasn’t adding up was why. Why any of it? In an attempt to hold myself upright, trying to seem sturdy and sure, I found everything caving inward. He could see that at least, my whole body his to understand, and he did. He stayed because he did, but right now he needed more.

“It’s all the same. Why do you think I said those terrible things that night in the woods, blaming you, about ‘not letting you make commands?’ Or the lie about the wards. They couldn’t keep you here, I know you knew that, you’re not stupid.” I said throwing my hands up in irritation or maybe still fear. A fear that he hadn’t figured out what everything meant together, and he never would. So I said it outright, “I needed you to choose me. Just until today. Because I don’t have any power, Rhys does.”

“That's not true,” he said, voice slicing through the air with renewed command.

“It’s true enough. Whatever power I have only works here. If Rhys didn’t like you, I knew my weight. I could persuade him to claim you. That is true nowhere else, I could protect you nowhere else if you left. How many High Lords could take on treason?”

Lucien, exasperated, stepped closer to me, “I had options.”

“I know,” I said, voice echoing. I could see the force with which my perspective met him. I watched each word strike like a fist. “I know that now. But you’re Lucien.”

“So?”

“So this was the only outcome that mattered to me, the one where you got out.”

“And what about you?”

“You’re not listening. I need you safe. I need you free. You’re my mate.”

Then a real fist, my own, struck his chest, as if to show him who I was talking about, like he didn’t know. He grabbed my wrists, tight but not hard, and leaned down to meet me at eye level. His words were clear and desperate enough to straighten my spine.

“I’ve been out.”

“Not to me!” I said, meaning to be strong and clear like him, but what came out was broken and ridiculous. Like a wail. Whatever feelings were beginning to rise obliterated my forced composure, and revealed to him entirely the crumbling form I’d taken. All these weeks, the doors closing, the dread of the final door closing. The thought of him slaughtered, the thought of Beron killing my mate. It had eaten away at me, eaten my form and my fire, and any displeasure that could have been found in having to marry. Until at last the only thing that was left was the one thing that had always been true, even before I knew it: I needed him.

Lucien’s face, finally, betrayed him. Pain, grief, soft eyes, sorrow carving out his fine beauty. Rough warm hands dropped mine to hold my face. He said, “Hey,” and it was so gentle, so sincere, that at last it broke me open. I cried. Cried for everything that had for weeks gone unsaid. For the pain of what could’ve been, for the relief that it wasn’t. I cried because he was safe and because for so long he wasn’t. We’d crossed a universe, I’d once thought.

And now he would go and I would stay and whatever sorrow was there connected me to the world and its beauty. The fact that good things do happen here, and what we want is often difficult to predict, stranger up close, and hard to hold, but it’s there in our hands. As he was now in mine, clutching to his shirt as he tucked my head into the crook of his neck and moved me into him so I could fall apart.

I don’t know how long he held me there, letting me cry into his fine shirt, but it felt like an age. I thought I’d cry until the new one came around, but suddenly I was empty of it all. I pulled away, and when I opened my eyes he was staring at me with such care if I had anything left I’d have cried more. The generosity he gave me. His hand moved the hair from my face like the night we’d come back, like the night in my room two weeks ago when he’d asked if I needed him and somehow I’d said yes.

Curiosity drove me to do it, what I did next. He watched me, holding his breath. Two options seemed to present themselves to me as clearly as if they were spoken aloud. It would take one look—just one, and the distance which we existed now would feel too large where before it seemed so close. Though if I didn’t, we’d return from this closeness and go about our life as we always did. And I didn’t doubt that the moment would present itself again, but I didn’t know when.

But I was curious, like I said. He’d chosen me when he walked through that library door and now finally, I got to choose him. So I let my eyes, in their peripheral, find his lips, and looked.

To be so understood—Lucien’s hand slipped through my hair and rested against the back of my neck. My fists balled in his collar, and suddenly no one was going first, instead we went together.

Our lips met somewhere between need and the patience of wanting to know something. Lucien kissed with an urgency to feel everything, how I tasted, how I moved. Each opening and closing of his mouth seemed to be met in sync with my own like we knew each other but accidentally. He was precise where he kept himself, lingering in the firstness of it. A desire, despite our age, to keep it here, in this moment, until he knew me on purpose.

And I knew with certainty unlike all the other softness, this was happening in our world and not the other I’d thought was close by. That it was never really another universe at all, but this one right here. The seam by which we slipped through had always been the old boundaries of us, where the tangibility of his kindness had been so potent it pushed me beyond myself and had made me brave. He made me want to be brave.

Our knowing completed, the urgency changed. Our breaths picking up. I had curved into him, chest to chest, and maybe it was the fact I was on my tip toes, or his height, but our balance went as our need grew and we stumbled backward. He sacrificed one hand and gripped the bookshelf behind us, supporting us fully, the books rattling. Yet his other hold was unwavering, falling down my back, tucking our hips together for relief. If we fell, we fell together. There would no longer be any separation.

His mouth didn’t trail away, didn’t meet my neck or press lingering kisses into my cheek. We moved like water: naturally and instinctual—anciently. So fluid, he was, his tongue slipping against my own. I almost didn’t notice, could’ve mistaken him for myself.

When he pulled away I half expected the frenzy, but I found that the moment was complete. I wanted more and yet, not now, this was good and whole on its own. I might not have even known I had wanted if it weren’t for his grip on my body, the shelves pressing into my spine. We were panting like we’d been running to each other since the night we arrived. Perhaps in a way we had been, running and running and running but now we could finally rest. There was a premonition of wanting but for now, the satisfaction filled me, doubling in the presence of Lucien’s.

I felt it then, the familiar moment his shield dropped. Our realization was mutual and simultaneous. He’s staying, and I need him. Our emotions intertwined seamlessly. Gratitude, longing, hope, happiness, grief, all of it tangled together—No. More woven than anything now. Both of our feelings, a seam down the middle like a choice, made like the space where one side of your body meets the other.

I understood something now too, the feeling I’d had before, that bone that had been broken then set again. It was our power. His and mine meeting, no more fear, now we were together. There was only one place for it to go.

“Where have you been?” I asked.

Lucien laughed and I understood how it sounded only after I said it. He didn’t immediately let go of me. His eyes just moved over my face, like it were the first time he was seeing it so close.

“I mean—I meant where do you go when you’re not here.”

The male stood up to his full height and I let go of him. He said simply, “You’ll know soon.”

Just then the house seemed to awaken around us and what had once seemed like a private moment between us became precariously full of others and their noise. I could feel the Cauldron and now the Mother, pulling me across Velaris. My answer inherently understood, just a little longer. The tension vanished, not without a final tug. They knew though, I was never so easily persuaded.

Lucien backed away and gestured for the door. As I walked past I brushed my hand against his own. I let it hang there between us. He grabbed it, just the very tips of our fingers held to one another and kept in place the intimacy. I led him back, his chest pressing to my spine as we stood before the exit. I hesitated, turned the knob as slowly as I could. Metal ground against metal, his every breath pressing into me, each click prompting me to grip him tighter, become more aware of how it felt for him to be just there, to remember what it felt like to have the option not to leave at all. I took a breath, dropped his hand, and the door opened.

We slipped out into the hall and stood our normal distance. No one was there and I turned to my mate. It probably looked like our usual business, a standoff of wills and stubbornness. It probably was, still, in some kind of way. I crossed my arms and felt the tired and sadness of my eyes, even if I had cried and been kissed and had someone close who did understand what I meant.

Lucien stood, his arms at his side, face stoic but otherwise at ease. We were silent. I think everything had been said that, for now, needed to be said. Lucien reached up and brushed a lock of hair behind my shoulder.

“I’m not going to visit Gawayn,” I admitted once the long beat of silence had passed.

“I know.”

The front door opened and I knew that whoever it was would see the redness of my eyes and know what had happened. I hoped though our scents had not mingled too much, or despite our separation, it could still be mistaken for living together.

When Cassian stepped through the door it took him a minute to notice us. Though when he did, his brows creased with distress and understanding. It was obvious what I had done, what I had been told. I don’t doubt he was aware, if only because his silence was needed too.

“I’ll see you tonight,” Lucien said. A new promise made with the understanding of the fear that had permeated the house in his absence. In any case, I appreciated the goodbye, even now knowing he’d no intention of leaving.

“Bye,” I said as he began to turn with more somberness than I meant.

The male upon hearing the tone looked back. Slowly he leaned down and pressed a kiss on my cheek. I was stunned. Cassian too, seemed to be frozen with the moment. My mate though having all the tenderness in the world pulled away and only upon seeing my face, did he begin to smirk. It was one of genuine joy not because he’d bothered me or because he won anything by doing it. He’d wanted only to soothe that sadness he’d heard, and he had. So even if I wanted to be angry I couldn’t have.

“Cassian,” Lucien said, and passed the male before ducking out.

The warrior and I remained locked into place, our mouths slightly agape as we stared. Heat reached my neck and face and I tried to find the answer, to say we’d never done that before or that it was all Lucien. Luckily, however, Cassian found the nerve.

“Given the day you’re both having, we’ll let it slide.”

***

Azriel sat in the library, his back to the door and a knife in his hand. We were meant to convene at the house of wind for dinner. The reason unknown, but I suspected the deal with Beron had something to do with it. With the finery of his clothes, the weapon seemed to be the only thing out of place. I’d heard Lucien return as I was dressing and let myself believe he’d come home early for me more than the obligation. I liked thinking I was allowed such speculation now. Azriel didn’t turn at my entrance or pay much mind. He seemed, as usual, deep in an inner world to which I wondered if anyone but him had access. Even Rhysand, I suspect, was sometimes at a loss.

“Something planned for the evening or should I grab my own blade?” I asked.

“We made a pact did we not? If you don’t marry and I don’t marry then we would marry each other.”

His words recalled our night two weeks ago after the wine had truly taken its hold on us. A moment of somberness, the feeling that my mate was far away. Azriel had seen no one of interest, no one I could even attempt to talk him up to at the bar, so I’d offered the pact. In 500 years it would go into effect.

I smiled, raising a brow, “So you need a blade?”

“I hear there’s some competition.”

Whistling from the hall could be heard, and I turned toward the male with a damning finger before he could show himself. Casual, cool, Cassian was unphased by the circumstances of his entrance to the room. His whistling didn’t falter and his gaze passed over me as if I were nothing more than a piece of furniture he’d seen a thousand times.

“You can’t keep a secret to save a life.”

Cassian shrugged, “I said I’d let it slide, not keep it secret. Azriel had a bet to collect and I’m a good friend.”

I crossed my arms, turning toward the shadow singer, “I thought you lost.”

But Cassian answered for him, “Just the one. We have to have a few going, otherwise, we’d have no cause to continue interfering.” He winked and made himself a drink, as unruffled as ever, and found a seat.

I opened my mouth but three voices spoke in unison, “You’re wretched.” The males already knew what I was going to say. Proof, perhaps, that their bets were not badly or so arbitrarily placed. I remained silent thereafter.

We waited for Lucien. Rhysand had gone ahead earlier in the day. Something to do with Mor and Amren, matters in the library. I didn’t pay attention once the word Library had been uttered, but I did expect his guilt had made him want to get away for a while. If that were the case then we’d hear no more about it, not for a good hundred years if at all. Cassian and Azriel exchanged idle chatter and I tried to listen for the sounds of my mate down the hall, but the house yielded nothing to me. Just as it had that lunch I’d found him, the lingering anger of his morning a ward between us. I quirked a brow.

“Go get him,” Azriel pleaded, interrupting my thoughts. His head fell against the back of the couch with boredom. He was more aware than anyone ever of when we were too close to being late to arrive anywhere.

“Why me?”

“You’re his mate,” Cassian said. “If he’s undressed we have no desire to see.”

“I’m dressed,” Lucien said, appearing before us in the doorway, fixing a button on his sleeve. He looked at no one else. His gaze was already there against my face, knowing where I’d be somehow before turning the corner. It might have been the kissing, what I knew now, about how his body felt against mine, or that he too had chosen me, but warmth fell around me like a halo. My skin rose against it, like his very presence, just the sight of him, was power enough to pull me clear across the room. Life called to me in a thousand tiny ways.

He looked happy. He felt happy, a surge of it constrained at my chest. It was so precise the feeling sunk itself into my being, marking it. An added layer of protection and memory, to recognize him in any life, once his happiness met mine.

Cassian and Azriel must have noticed our staring, because without word between them, the two stood and loudly boasted about their going outside, about how noisy the city was, about what they wouldn’t be able to hear. When they wanted to they could be my best allies. Their footsteps trailed away and all it took was the sound of the door to snap us from our stupor.

“I can help,” I said, nodding my head toward his hands, clumsily pulling at his sleeve.

“Please,” He raised his arm out, holding the pieces in place and I grabbed the weighty metal, hands shaking. I swallowed, Lucien’s smile in my peripheral, as I could see him watching my face, my neck. We shared a fondness it seemed for moments of gracelessness, the failure of all preternatural skill and reason. No longer a joy born of torment, but the revelation of each of our significance to the other. That we made each other nervous now, that we’d even reveal such a thing. How unwavering we’d once been. This a reminder that our lives were transforming, happening, and would continue to happen, with one another if we so chose.

“I’ll have to teach you to make the drop into the house of wind.”

He hummed, half paying attention. With a clearer voice he said once the words registered, “Mor taught me.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Two weeks ago, after Rhys found us in the bathroom.”

“It took me two months to learn it properly. I’m surprised you didn’t come back with shattered ankles.”

“I’d have received no sympathy from you.”

I laughed and secured the button at last. No, he wouldn’t have. His hands reached for the sleeve, adjusting it, while his attention remained fixed on me. Our satisfaction of the afternoon was short-lived. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to kiss him just as soon as I saw him again, but unlike before I could tell from the way he was smiling that it would take great effort to pull away. The moment would last longer than I could manage and there were still things to be done. But the more I looked at him the more difficult it became, to convince myself to deny any wanting. I cared less and less about giving myself away to anyone, now that with Lucien I already had. I thought about how his hands would pull my hair from its pins, what it would mean if he ripped the seams of my dress, and when I tried to find embarrassment over who’d know what we’d done, I couldn’t find any care at all.

“We can be quick,” He lied.

“We could.”

We leaned in slow, a poor mimic to the juvenile delivery of before where now hiding was something in us that was enduring. His mouth moved against mine, flat, and for a moment I almost believed our lie. When his lips parted against mine, however, I realized there would never be enough lifetimes to answer the need I found waiting in his mouth. Thus, despite all consequences, I wanted for him to know everything immediately.

My body opened for him. His thigh pressed between my legs parting them with little effort.

He ran the length of my exposed spine, fingers grazing, feeling rolling over bone and pressing into the spaces between them. He settled himself dipping only the knuckle below the low hemmed back but reached no further. We’d barely any control before, but whatever was there that morning had ceased. I closed my legs around him.

A hum of pleasure escaped him, rich but quiet. It vibrated in my throat and I knew unequivocally that it belonged to me. I held his pleasure in my mouth. His desperation didn’t waver any control he had in his movements. I let no noise escape, not as his thigh pressed further into me, or as my mouth fell open with the sudden relief. Stifling any proof of his effect on me only made Lucien more desperate to hear it. His lips trailed away to make space for my voice, his hands worked harder, moved to my breasts, and revealed his need. He wanted me to moan, but the advantage was mine, having had to be utterly silent so often in this house where ears lingered nearby. He, however, cared little for who heard. How precarious we’d become, how tightly we’d been wound.

A different tug, one from another direction, began to snag on me. Its own need was familiar. The tension between myself and the rest of the world with its obligations was the only reason I had not fallen entirely into him. This way, take him. We had to go, had to eat. He took my earlobe in his mouth. I grabbed his wrists, holding him in place.

He whispered, suddenly conscious of the volume with which we wanted each other, “Be good.”

“I can’t.”

He shifted his leg, pressing his thigh into me again harder. I gasped and closed my legs against him tighter. “I know,” He said.

My hold became flimsy, even the tiniest movement, the craning of his neck, the shift of his eyes, encased me and released me. As if the echo of my relief returned as, and reinforced, my desire. He watched, attentive as he learned just what he could do. He withdrew from my failing grip and grabbed my waist. Against his thigh, he guided me. His attention was acute and unbreakable, watching my mouth from which I revealed nothing.

He leaned in, placing a lazy kiss along my cheekbone, before he whispered, “You’re going to make me beg aren’t you.”

It was the only game I could play for now. He knew this and he knew what he was doing to me. The heat pooling under the skin, between my legs—he knew what I felt and needed no sound to tell him so. The answer was so obvious everywhere else. I tried, then, to press harder into him, to find more release, but he held firm, withdrawing with a raised brow.

In my desperation, where he was stern and commanding I was clumsier. My jaw slack, eyes half open, I knew though, he was desperate too. The need was too heavy to feign anything exceptionally well. We had to give it all away.

He dragged his eyes across my neck, landed on my pulse, and replaced his gaze with his mouth. He nudged my head upward for access, but I’d have given it to him anyway. He ran his tongue flat along the skin before he sucked harshly. One of his hands pressed me into him, moving me as he liked, moving me so he could have me as he wanted. It was an authority he wielded easily. The warmth of him, just the curve of his chest against mine relieved me of something I’d needed my whole life that even had I wanted him to stop, if I were afraid he’d leave a mark, I’d have said nothing. His every gesture answered a question I did not know I was asking.

It had never been like this. The ease of movement, the knowledge of a body you’d never seen, never quite touched before. He knew where I wanted him. So when he pressed a light kiss where he’d left a purpling bruise no amount of practice silence could keep the whimper that fell from my mouth.

His laugh, weighed with everything he desired, slid between us to the floor. His amusement heavy on my skin, “Pathetic.”

It was the only thing that could pull him from his control, an insult, a tease. This dominance he felt to be his was too sure and unchallenged. I shifted his hips against mine and he moaned. I was surprised he let me, the wretch. He grabbed my wrists and pulled them behind my back and leaning with the momentum he gently placed a kiss on my shoulder where his lips landed. Before I found him in my bed I’d have what it was I needed to win this kind of game. I’d know how to make him beg. But for now, I’d play this hand. I had no other choice. Or more likely, I didn’t have the will to find the other choices with the length of him press against me through his pants.

“How can we stop?” I said aware it would not be so simple. Unlike this morning the Illyrians were outside waiting. We only had so much time.

Lucien’s fingers tensed but released. Trust was not the reason for his withdrawal, but I kept them behind my back anyway. If he thought I could behave it could be to my advantage later. Such fun it had once been, the new irritation we might inspire in each other.

He turned his head, idly resting his cheek on my shoulder, thinking. I was not so easily fooled. With predatory slowness he crept forward, pulling me back toward his lips. There was a precision to the hold, I would not move unless he willed it.

“I have an idea,” He bit at my ear.

“What?”

“You’re not gonna like it.”

His voice was almost melodic like he was humming the words, taunting still. A ghost of a smile, twin to his own had just begun to move along my face when Lucien’s teeth sank into me. The thin skin below my ear gave way, easily, as if warped by the heat of him. Yet unlike the inclination of all other injury, my body relaxed into his hold—so aware of the safety, so sure he wouldn’t hurt me. My eyes closed, but by the time I smelled blood, felt his tongue lap at the skin, those instincts retreated in again. I pressed both hands at his chest and shoved.

He fell easily back and stumbled into the low table behind him. The furniture loudly slid away, scraping across the floor. The world stilled, waiting. He recovered with ease, wiping at his mouth. Something wicked settled on his face. Yes, I’d need to learn to play this game expertly. Such pleasure on those features, waiting for a challenge, waiting to dole out punishment. Like he’d been planning this for far too long. He ran his tongue along his lips and arched a brow. Don’t you play anymore? A dare. He needed only a glance to say it.

So I lunged for him.

In a moment of brute rage and lack of thought, my arms wrapped around his waist and my head hit his stomach. His breath hitched as we launched backward onto the table he’d just managed to right himself from. Tight, warm, and familiar arms, grabbed for me and I was pressed securely against him as we fell. The perfected silence was broken first by the splintering of wood, the shattering of glass, and then a laugh. The loudest most joyous laugh I’d ever heard from him. Pure and mine, unwavering, even as we landed. Even as I lifted from his hold, gripped his hair in my hand, yanked his head to the side, and bit back.

Cassian and Azriel barreled in just as I’d withdrawn, “You’re a miserable pig.”

I could taste his blood in my mouth. Lucien didn’t move just kept that genuine joy, boyish even in his amusement at the chaos. Not miserable at all. His eyes brightened as he looked at my mouth. I could see on his face what wasn’t said. Good girl. I gripped his hair harder and he hissed before I was lifted off my mate. The both of us righting ourselves, I pulled from Azriel’s grip once we were standing.

“I hope you keep your promises,” Lucien said coolly as if the two males weren’t even there.

“You never fail to be insufferable,” I snapped.

“I learned from my mate.”

All words failed Cassian and Azriel as they looked between the two of us, to the table now in ruins. They did not at once notice the claim, but I’m sure they smelled blood. Their sharp gazes continued to assess, trying to piece together our tension, looking for a wound, yet missing it all the same. The pair exchanged glances, their mouths open in unsaid questions, unsure of what to do, of who to speak to. The room was silent aside from the heaved breathing coming from Lucien and my chest which thus became almost an oppressive sound. And just as it seemed they were about to ask, I saw it. A sharp inhale, they stood up straighter in near sync. Their eyes drew to our necks, knowing.

The two blinked, wide-eyed.

Behind the smell of blood, the claims had caused our scents to mix.

Azriel sucked in his cheeks and turned his back to us. His shoulders shook. Bastards, all of them. It was Cassian’s drawl, however, that lazy amusement that fell out of him with such speed and ease that bothered me most. I clenched my fists before the words had even registered.

“Are you flying with me or does another male have claim over you?”

“Fuck off,” I said pushing through the group and moving to the door, Cassian’s wide smile no doubt unfaltering. “And get to the house of wind!”

Rhys was waiting for us when we arrived. The fight had made us late. I’d let everyone go first, hoping both to delay the inevitable and to arrive at the house to find Lucien had shattered his ankles. I could slap him. I was not, at that point, prepared to give him credit, but it was true that his idea made going to dinner far more plausible. All need or want for him vanished. But I remembered how it felt, the weight of his hands, where there’d been everything, where there was absence. I remembered all of it.

Cassian was waiting, and as I landed he walked toward me still as casual as ever. The three males displayed a united pride, endlessly and forever amused by their own worst behavior. Even Azriel, before he’d taken flight, had laughed loudly to the murmured gesture of Cassian. Lucien was waiting unruffled, not a scratch or tear in his clothes—he’d landed perfectly. Two weeks he’d said. I narrowed my eyes. Leaning against the railing he was separated from a long fall. I said nothing.

“What took you so long?” Rhys asked.

Cassian mused casually, “Oh the usual, these two at each other’s necks.”

“Pathetic, all of you males,” I hissed. The words bounced back at us, even the echo had power. I didn’t even acknowledge Rhys as I passed him. A sharp crease formed in his brow at my sudden hostility. He’d see it eventually. I had no doubt dinner would be a riot to them all into the centuries to come. It would rival even that of the winter in the cabin. No one, though, would find it as funny as Cassian did tonight.

Rhysand’s bewildered voice floated over to me just barely as I hit the stairs. “What did we do?”

Azriel laughed, “Oh, it’s not what we did, it's what Lucien did.”

***

At dawn the next morning I was awake. I probably didn’t need to be up that early, the village just a winnow away, but it was getting cold. I liked thinking that, for some, this morning would be warmer than the last. I rubbed at my eyes lying there, listening to see if Cassian had risen. Downstairs, the kitchen had movement, plates clinked, so he’d be leaving soon. He was probably already dressed, his own plans to attend. Despite last night, I was glad he was to accompany me, if only until the next morning. The company would be good. Then I’d have all that time to plan.

The morning light had softened the dark of my room into a nice blue. I stared at the ceiling, not quite ready to move, and ran my fingers absently over the mark on my neck that ached. Last night we’d said our goodbyes, briefly and in secret, with very few words. I’d winnowed into his room, all smugness having vanished, and managed a chaste kiss goodnight. He asked after my plans and I reiterated them and then I was gone. There was no need to linger. There were more answers now than questions.

I rubbed at my eyes, stretched my arms across the expanse of my bed, and rested my hand on something woolen. It startled me enough that I withdrew like I’d been burned. I sat up. No one else was here. I hadn’t woken, hadn’t heard the wraiths or Rhys or anyone come in to check I was ready and up. I peered into the bathroom but it held no life. The cold air bit at me through my clothes, the blankets falling away, but I reached for the folded wool again on the other side of my bed. I dragged it slowly into my lap, already beginning to understand what it was.

It was deep green like an endless grassy hill or the leaves when light passes through them on the last days of summer. A scarf, a knit one had been carefully laid along my bed, folded with gentle care in wait. I squeezed the yarn in circles between my fingers, feeling the weight, the thickness of it, and found a hole. I paused, an easy mistake, anyone might make it. I had a thousand times. One finger slipped through it, stark against the green. I wiggled it back and forth, feeling the looseness, feeling for the nothing. The hole was slight, but the stitches around it warped and adjusted to fit the mistake.

I held the thing up to look at all of it, to scan the rows. Beside me, a tag fell out against the blankets. Even through the dim, even not knowing it, I knew the script to whom the note had once belonged.

To cover the bite.

—Me

I picked the scarf up, pressed it into my face, and inhaled. It smelled just as it looked, like sunlight over an autumn grass. It smelled like Egrette’s. The night classes. I smiled into the yarn, foolish. I almost wished to wake him, to say now, I know where you’ve been. All my suffering, only for him to be in Velaris, at the classes I’d suggested, learning to make with his hands.

A thread pulled inside of me and I let it move me down the stairs. I didn’t knock, didn’t even check if he was awake. I pushed open the door and there he was, sitting as if he expected me. He was already smiling, at ease with the world. I didn’t let him ask, I knew he wouldn’t. I cut through the quiet morning with a demand.

“Change of plans.”

Rhysand’s smile grew.

***

The cold was bitter up here. The inhabitants too. The females who’d I’d been in correspondence over the years were at least warm and welcoming. They were motherly in the way I had once imagined my own mother would be once I’d gotten to adulthood. Time had passed and I could say the things at one time I hadn’t always been able to say. I could complain about males with blanket statements and we would all roll our eyes, only for them to, in jest, try and set me up with their sons. They let an hour go by before they teased me about my scarf indoors. Somehow knowing, as mothers always tend to.

After a cup of tea and some food, I bid them farewell, promising to come the next month with more to give. Outside the village was rather quiet compared to the last visit I’d had at the end of summer. I’d not seen Cassian all morning, he apparently going first to a camp not far from here. Some snow has fallen, light flakes, barely enough to cover the ground, but a few caught on my eyelashes, their size growing. I was rubbing them away when my name cut through the weathered stillness.

Gawayn appeared from behind, hands in his pockets, wings tucked in tight, fighting against the wind and cold. He was a handsome male to be sure, tall and leaner than the others. He didn’t pack on the same muscles as everyone else which had made me like him.

“Rumors were going ‘round saying you were injured,” He said once he was close. “You alright?”

I wondered for a brief moment if it would matter that an Illyrian knew. Who could he tell? For so long he’d been a kind of savior for this reason. There was mutual confidentiality, a desire to keep things between us that some people kept only because they were afraid of Rhysand. I’d come to him and tell him what I felt I could, show him maybe something I was afraid of in myself, and he’d take it without word or echo. There was an old way of moving, of thinking, that leaned toward him. But that was over now, at least in some ways.

“Terrible sword incident. Cut my side.” Beron wasn’t one to count Illyrians for anything, but a deal was a precarious deal and just the idea of risking anything made my heart strain, causing a panic to settle between my bones again. Even the shadows shuttered. I braved the cold air and moved my clothes to reveal the scar. He frowned then let out a low whistle.

“If it didn’t heal it had to be bad.”

“Bad enough.”

His face relaxed some despite the subject and he smiled slightly, all sweetness, “You should’ve come here I’d have taken good care of you.”

“I had good company.”

“How many times did they tell you the story of the 10,000 steps.”

“Less than a dozen but more than a handful.”

“I can venture to guess that it must have been an extraordinary wound rather than exceptional company that I didn’t see you.”

“I was bedridden, believe me, I’d have liked to get away. Not that you could do anything I hear you’re busy these days. Rhys sends his regards.”

He rolled his eyes, a slight break in the tension, “Your brother is having a riot I’m sure. I don’t suppose now would be the time to exercise your talent for persuasion.”

“And how might I persuade him for your bedding me and lying about it?” I said crossing my arms.

“Well for one thing we bedded each other and we’ve been doing so for years without getting caught.”

“This is the angle you’re going to take, that you’ve been fucking his sister for a century in secret?”

“Rhys should be impressed by my stealth and quick thinking and use it to his advantage.”

“I don’t think he’ll see it that way.”

“I can’t do your job for you.”

I waved a hand, “Let me mull it over and perhaps I can be of some use. I have no desire to be a bother to you if you can believe it.”

“I don’t believe it and you can always bother me.”

I smiled, “I know.”

That was it, what I’d once needed. This intimacy, the knowing, a weight that almost satisfied. There was a new need within me, but I wanted to appreciate what had once been enough. This friend of my own, this place to practice being. One more time I would feel it, our small intimacy, before anything had been said. How enormous it was in hindsight, what it made me able now to do.

“I’m guessing by your guilt you’re the reason we’ve been caught.”

I scrunched my nose and nodded, “They overheard me telling someone.”

“Figures, you’re a loud drunk,” He mused with a certain fondness. “Who’d you finally own up to, Mor?”

My shoulders straightened but my mouth pulled into a smile, a rare bashfulness that made me think I’d have to turn away if my feelings got any larger. I knew though regardless the behavior said everything that for now could not be said. The words I had at my disposal were too narrow, friend wasn’t right, but mate seemed despite its rarity even less the word I’d use. The one that remained had to first go to Lucien before it was said aloud to anyone else.

Gawayn noticed my silence and smiled slightly, arching a brow. His demeanor lifted with a little mischief. “So that’s where you’ve been.”

I nodded, “Partially, yes.”

“What’s his name?”

I blushed and had to turn away. He was everywhere, across the snowy peak, in the narrow between two trees. How he’d like it up here I think, among the leaves. Next fall I’d bring him. We could stay in the cabin and we wouldn’t have to see anyone else. It could be just us, as the nights went cold. We’d have to come early when it was still warm in Velaris. Yes, who knows what we’d become by then, but I should think I would be able to ask that of him.

I turned back to see Gawayn still waiting, watching me intently. My every gesture revealed our fate at last had arrived.

“Lucien.”

“Will I meet him?”

“This one? Definitely.”

His eyes brightened, “Is he nice.”

I smiled.

“Is he handsome?”

“Stop it.”

A gust blew from behind. The scarf at my neck fell from its place on my shoulder opening it. I knew within an instant, as the cold touched the indents along my skin, pushing the new scent out to the world, that I’d been caught. The Illyrian’s brows lifted into his hairline.

“Any chance this is the same male that put a claim on you.”

I rolled my eyes, “Yes.”

“Is he brave or stupid?”

I shrugged.

Gawayn shook his head again, now halfway amused, “I can’t imagine anyone brave enough.”

“My mate might be, but it remains to be seen.”

He didn’t at first seem to process the words I’d said. The confusion came delayed in the wrinkle of his forehead, the downturn of his mouth. He looked me up and down like he could find some distinction he’d not noticed as he’d arrived, one that would reveal to him the truth of my circumstance.

“You’re mated?”

I smiled coolly, “More or less.”

“When did this happen?”

“50 years ago.” The male's eyes bulged and I laughed, “Circumstances have only recently changed.”

A small relief to him. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

I waved a hand, “Neither of us was particularly thrilled about the match.”

“And suddenly…”

“Yes.”

Whatever he was holding back, if anything at all, at once peeled away. He let out a loud yell of joy, lunged for me, and launched us into the sky. I yelled over the roar of the wind but he didn’t hear, nor would he have cared. So I decided not to care either. I tucked my nose under the scarf, eyes watering from the force of the wind. He was screaming, cheering, for the Cauldron, and the Mother, for me. Below us, the inhabitants mulling about didn’t even flinch. The world got smaller as he arced upward and again something enormous revealed itself as we moved into that midday sun. This was my life. Good things had really happened. Someone was waiting for me to get home. For a small moment, I began to believe I’d earned it. So when Gawayn let out another howling cheer, I let out my own.

We landed after ten minutes breathless, laughing, stumbling in the snow. He placed me down but the energy within him of truly earnest happiness scattered out of his very being and spilled into the space between us. Such feeling not just for me, but for who I’d become. And there it was, I could see it but couldn’t say where. Something had gone, and left behind in its wake, was my friend.

“It’s well deserved,” He said, letting out a long sigh. “In case no one told you that. And I wasn’t just going to part with you for anyone you know.”

“You’ve been looking out all this time?” I said mockingly.

Gawayn got suddenly a bit serious, “Of course. We’re friends aren’t we?”

“I like to think so.”

Someone called the Illyrain’s name and he looked over his shoulder and he waved them off for a moment before he turned back to me with a shrug. He had to go.

“I’ll see you around. I’ve got stories you’d love to hear.”

“I don’t doubt it,” I said.

“Don’t wait too long between visits next time, even if you’re injured,” He said walking away. “And don’t get me into any more trouble. Your brother is one thing but I’m too old and precious to be dealing with a mated male.”

“It keeps things interesting,” I yelled back and just before the wind was too loud for me to hear the laughter that came from his tilted head, he said,

“For you!”

I watched him until I could no longer see him. The sky held not a spec of red, nor the Illyrian it belonged. The cabin lay empty. I wrote a note to Cassian and walked outside. Snow was falling heavy now, enough to cover the grass. I did want to sit inside admittedly, curl up for the evening and watch the world go white, but something tugged. Things to do, as always. Just a winnow away, as always. I looked across the camp—no one in sight. Then I took one step through the crease in the universe and was gone.

***

Even tucked into my scarf, the lashes of wind off the river proved bitter cold. Winter was imminent. I could feel its sting at my cheeks as I walked up the steps of the townhouse the morning I got home. If anyone was around, my arrival was well enough announced by the frantic shutting of the door in attempt to keep the cold out. From Rhysand’s office, the murmured voices of Amren and Azriel flitted through. Too muffled to make anything out, too boring for me to care anyway, I didn’t stop to say hello or snoop.

The wraiths were clearing the dining table, all chairs but my own were pulled out, plates dirty. They looked at each other, a small smile snagging between them before it vanished as easily as they could, as if it hadn’t been there at all.

I understood then, what such knowing looked like. I tried to imagine how Lucien and I appeared to others, even before. Eyes narrowing, searching through a room and meeting, the pull of a mouth the nod of a head, so much said without a word. How no one guessed at the tether between us I will never know. Most people, I suppose, pay little attention. Up close, however, it becomes obvious the private moments constantly occurring between two people where only a silent look communicates an array of feelings. Even beyond the bond.

The bets placed by our court produced a sudden and secret fondness then. There was something nice about it, the way they saw such a thing as proof of something good and sincere between us. The quickness, even playfully those years ago, that deemed our knowledge of each other to be born of some endearment. Who can resist such understanding?

From this perspective, it would make you think such endings were inevitable. They knew what we’d do before we had, so they’d placed their bets. Let them win, I like knowing now that they were right. I watched the wraiths disappear. I liked also seeing such intimate knowledge on other people's faces, aware now we looked the same.

I retreated to my room and stripped. The cold had reached my bones and being inside was not enough to remedy its settling. I ran a bath, letting my hand fall under the stream. Everything felt warm by comparison. When the water seemed just on the edge of scalding I plugged the drain, dumping contents in it at random. Something to relax, something to revive, something to brighten, any remedy went in. I waited for it to fill, the aroma already of some comfort, while standing before the mirror. The punctured skin at my neck had begun to inflame, just barely closed and healing. Surely something to do with magic, something to do with mates, to heal faster than my side but slower for fae. I ran my fingers over the ridges, recalling his tongue against my skin. My fingers grazed my ear—I turned, bent, and looked at the imprint of my spine.

My three days away had yielded nothing of my desire. I didn’t expect it to, not even when I’d originally planned to let my mind wander in the empty cabin. I’d thought about torturing Lucien, letting my emotions run rampant down the bond, but perhaps another time. It had not been totally worthless to give those three days up, in the end.

Bargains are a precarious thing.

My eyes dropped to the skin at my side where a burning had been and nodded at it, knowing no one was watching.

I hissed as I sat down in the tub. The heat of the bath almost instantly subdued me. I’d be useless, if I were in danger I don’t think I’d have noticed. I draped my hair beyond the side and relinquished myself to the lethargy. There was so much to do, but there was time now to do it. Behind my eyelids, I could see it, that cold beneath my skin vanishing, running, as if chased away. The house settled and I listened to it, tried to find Lucien, stretched a hand down the bond, but didn’t tug.

A fern reached back, unfurling, wrapping around a table.

I saw the harvest.

“Where’d you go?”

Lucien had appeared from nothing. I might have thought he’d just winnowed if the water's heat hadn’t cooled so substantially between one memory and the next. His smile, though slight, contained the amusement of having caught someone doing something. He’d been watching me a while then. Yes, I’d fallen asleep and he’d found me.

“Hm?” I fought the heaviness of my body, pulled from sleep.

“You didn’t stay at the cabin.”

I shook my head.

“Where did you go?”

“Day court.”

“Why?” He asked.

I sighed, lifted my foot to turn the knob, and filled the end of the tub with a little more hot water, “To consult Helion’s library.”

“For Rhysand?”

“No, for myself.”

Lucien paused, surprised by my honesty. “Anything interesting?”

I shook my head again and rubbed the tired from my eyes. That had been a waste of time. I had not found what I wanted. The collection was too vast, I couldn’t narrow my search down well enough before I had to be back again. Even with the help of a few of the librarians there, we’d been fruitless. Helion was generous though, just for letting me in.

“Looking up Gods and folktales again?” My gaze snapped to his but he made no move. He let out a small huff of a laugh, “In the dining room you said your book wasn’t interesting.”

“It wasn’t.” I shut the water off.

Lucien lifted from the door frame, “You say this topic is of little interest to you but you’ve read two other books on similar themes. It’s an easy guess.” He began to roll up his sleeves, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Observant, I thought, but didn’t say. I didn’t have the chance. His languid steps, the casual manner of his being, eradicated all sensible thought. My admiration of his usual beauty falling away into the homely devices he’d begun to reveal did not go unnoticed. His face didn’t show, but it passed between our ribs like a well-known secret. A sincerity threaded through some amusement which said despite his desire from how he’d found me he really did wish to help if he could. The sensation filled the emptiness of my chest. Yes, we were now doing things together. After a weekend of shielding, it was a fine feeling.

“It worked itself out.”

“Oh?” He grabbed the chair near the mirror and set it behind me. I didn’t look, skimming my hands over the top of the water watching it ripple.

“At least until after solstice.”

“Why solstice?”

“We like to use that time to be together as a family. No distractions.”

“That's nice,” he said with a voice somewhat distant. I let our silence take the place of the grief between us. He pressed his warm fingers to my hairline and without a word instructed me to lean my head back. Warm water slipped through my hair and fell down my shoulders. I’d set some aside and I knew it was only still warm because Lucien willed it. I closed my eyes and focused on the feel of his hands, his fingers, running along my scalp. The hair beginning to weigh with its wetness, he grabbed a soap off the shelf nearby. When he stuck his hand in the bath to wet it I felt immediately the warmth increase as he took care of me, took care of everything. The soap lathered and the bath was so hot I thought I’d sleep again.

“You’re tired,” he said.

“What makes you say that?”

“You’re being so compliant.”

His words, closer than before, tucked themselves along my neck. I could feel the smile he had and would have felt it had he said nothing. The quality of air, the shift of a draft, I knew when he was smiling the way you know your own mouth is.

“I didn’t sleep well,” I said ignoring him.

“If you’re ever restless my door is open.”

“I might have accepted before.”

He laughed reminiscent of the teasing one he’d used before he’d made his claim. “Still mad are we? Think of the perks,” he took a sharp inhale, “you smell like me.”

“Like bastard?”

He tugged at the hair a little and my head angled back so I could see him fully, “Like me.”

“The scarf hid your stench. Somewhat counterproductive on your part.”

“Not in the slightest,” he cooed.

His words slid between us once more and I could no longer resist. I had enough slack from Lucien’s grip to turn my head slightly into him. Our noses nudged, his lips just barely apart from mine. One slight breath and I felt his exhale brush over my lips. Let's see, I thought. When he didn’t move to kiss me I leaned forward but the distance didn’t close. The ends of his mouth quirked up slightly when, on instinct, I leaned in further. His trick was revealed after our mouths didn’t meet again. He’d pulled away. He wasn’t going to let me kiss him, not unless I embarrassed myself first. I feigned a scowl and he sat back.

“Egrette told me to tell you to visit again.”

“I take it her nephews are suddenly working fewer hours.”

I’d yet to have the chance to ask about the alliance they’d procured behind my back. It took little thought to put together the pieces, after the fact, of her lying about their coming to the shop to get me away. Lucien, no doubt, was in the backroom hiding in the event I came around. I’d been so concerned with the game Rhys was playing I hadn’t thought to look at the other boards. So it seemed we all had pieces we were moving both out in the open and in the wings.

“She told me you didn’t like each other but who knew I had suitors to fight off. She spent half the weekend finally filling me in on that little history.”

I stilled momentarily, his fingers working through a tangle that had gathered at the base of my neck idly. “Is that what you did while I was away then? Spent your time with her laughing at my expense.”

A test.

“More or less.”

I smiled, the fool. “Well, if you’ve met them you can understand why I had no choice but to tell them you existed.”

“They seemed to think I was a real brute.”

“I’ve got stories.”

“Loudmouth.”

Lucien rinsed my hair again and wrung it in his fist. Water flooded his arms, dripping onto the floor, but he continued until it was damp before he let go. I flipped around and watched him, his sleeves clinging to him. I licked my lips and he noticed, content I suspected. No feeling revealed itself.

I met his stare, narrowed my eyes. “I lied to you,” I said.

A test.

He didn’t flinch, “When.”

“I said I wasn’t going to visit Gawayn but I had a message to deliver from Rhys.”

“And?”

In my chest something rolled through, small and miniscule. Lucien’s mouth slightly agape. “He wants to meet you.”

“Good. I’d like to meet him too,” He said with the utmost sincerity before leaning in to place a kiss against my forehead. “I’ve just come to check on you. I’ve got to run.”

“Where?”

“Solstice gifts.”

I peered up at him where he now stood. From his place above me, the soap wouldn’t truly hide my figure. The water wasn’t opaque enough and he watched my eyes smiling like he knew this. He didn’t look away. He didn’t dare.

“I’m glad you’re home,” he said.

“I’m glad you are too.”

After my bath, I found Mor in Rhysand’s office. My brother looked up only briefly.

“How was Helion?”

“Handsome, as usual. Mor,” I said turning to face my cousin. “When did you teach Lucien to do the drop into the house of wind?”

She thought a moment, “The morning after your fight.”

I tutted my tongue, kissed my teeth, “I’d have liked to see that.”

Yes, my mate was lying to me.

***

The night before solstice I snuck into Lucien’s room. I continuously over the days offered up tests, opportunities for him to tell the truth, but he never did. Down the bond filtered small waves of emotion, endearment, amusement, joy, less grief than before, but still some. He was gone most days but so was I. He’d find me though, wherever I was, and before he left he’d kiss my cheek, tell me he’d see me that night and he always did. Even when he came home late he’d find me in my room, sit on my bed for a while, and talk, before disappearing again downstairs.

Meanwhile, Rhysand watched me with certain suspicion to which I could find no origin. He knew my plans had changed, knew why I’d gone to Day Court, and I suspect it left a certain impression on him. I couldn’t leave the house without coming home to an urgent string of questions at his hand. Something about where I’d been, something about solstice gifts, something about when I’d give him Lucien’s.

“Here,” I’d finally said dropping the large parcel on his desk.

“What's this?”

“Gift for Lucien.”

He peered up at me and let out a long breath. I could hear the disappointment but its cause was not revealed. “This is it?”

“It? It’s a rather big gift already no?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“What you discovered in Day Court.”

I tapped my fingers, “Nothing.”

“Will you go back?” He asked leaning in his chair.

“I don’t need to.”

“Why?”

I didn’t reply. Those old folktales had offered only a shallow glance at the entities I was searching for, the answers I needed. Somewhere in the library I had no doubt that what I’d wanted would have been found, but everything visited and revealed itself with time, the right time. And the right time was not in Day Court. For Rhysand, there was a time for him to know what I’d learned too, but it wasn’t now.

I smiled as we sat through the silence, letting him come to this same realization. That he would know what he needed to know when it was called for. His body slackened, his eyes dimming. I could guess his motivations.

I raised a brow, “What did you expect I was getting him for Solstice, Rhys? A ring?”

He scowled, looking away, damning himself and his cause. He’d placed his bet those weeks ago and I had little doubt of the answer he’d given. He believed I was going to be mated to Lucien by Solstice. When I told him of my reasons to visit Helion he must have suspected the library would yield an answer, or lack of one, that would be cause to bind Lucien and I to one another for the rest of our lives. It wasn’t a bad assumption I could admit. Everything had been going his way, he thought he was winning, but now, time was running out.

“How much did you bet?”

If I would not answer, then he wouldn’t either. He stared at my neck and said with a grunt of disgust, “How long until that heals, you reek.”

So I left him in his office and climbed the stairs to my room slamming the door. It was good cover, I waited about half an hour until he retired for the evening before I winnowed to Lucien’s door. I was careful to move quietly, with Cassian sleeping across the way. I gave just one knock before I slipped in. I leaned against the wood, shutting the door silently behind me. Lucien sat on the bed, book in hand, his pants unbuttoned, his shirt discarded, The Forgotten Prythian read the spine. His face was laden with surprise.

“Didn’t expect I’d see you,” he said.

“I can leave.”

I opened the door, but he was there, within one blink, pressing his palm flat overhead and shutting it silently again. Half caged in he peered down at me, mouth pulling into what, at another time, would’ve been an imperceptible smile.

“Don’t,” he teased.

“I wouldn’t wish to impose.”

“Aren’t you precious.”

“You didn’t find me today so one is free to assume.”

He leaned forward, “Y/N, please.” His voice surprisingly desperate, as if he thought I really would leave. “I want you here.”

The thread between us was quiet. Liar. Liar. Liar. Liar. Liar. Liar. My mind repeated, even as I turned my head and let him nuzzle into my neck. I ran my hands through his hair, stroking idle pattern. His tired seeped out of him, the weight of his body growing as he used me for support. It is a long game, keeping up such antics. Did he know, like I knew, that we couldn’t continue this way? What he wouldn’t say I would surely find.

Over his shoulder, I took in his room. Had I come here earlier I might have been less inclined to believe he was on the verge of leaving Velaris. The closet was well-kept, clothes of all his best colors hung with care. Heavy sweaters in deep reds, light shirts made for summer. On the windowsill, the glass open ever so slightly, books were stacked somewhat haphazardly. They seemed to be borrowed, or else, he’d been recently flipping through them because a few others were set on his desk with greater care.

He hooked his fingers in a strap, dragging it up my shoulder where I hadn’t noticed it had fallen off. He kissed the thin material and pulled back, holding me by my hips at a distance.

“It’s not as I pictured it.”

“What?”

“The dress.”

I looked down, it was the one I’d bought with Mor that afternoon Lucien threatened to claim me. My neck burned with the memory. I wore it with the intention of distraction. I wanted to use his maleness to my advantage. It was too cold otherwise, but I knew his skin was warm. I’d learned that more than once.

“Mor told you?”

“I asked.”

“Why not ask me?”

“Because I wanted to know what became of your little outing after I begged Mor to get you out of this damned house.”

I dropped my hands from him. I’d believed it to be Rhysand, or Mor alone, that had interrupted us that afternoon. Her questions then made sense, if Lucien was so curious about the books I was reading then I’m sure he caught my lie once she’d told it back to him. Another ally revealed, moves from the wings, while I was distracted by my sorrow.

“You were brooding so terribly over our fight still and Egrette was occupied so I asked her to take you outside,” Lucien said. A smile began to form slightly, “I might have suggested too she buy you something that would tear away easily.”

“You’re vile.”

“I’m kidding,” he said. “I didn’t care where she took you. As long as it wasn’t here.”

So he was capable of telling the truth still, at least when he wanted to.

I crossed my arms, “Doubtful.”

“I have no intention of bedding you in a house full of Illyrians.”

“But you do wish to bed me?”

He smiled, confirmation enough. He was right, not in a house of Illyrians and neither with the lies between us.

I pulled from his hands, the topic a good distraction, and walked toward the desk. He’d blushed when the moon had passed through my pajamas before. What, by this light, would my body do to him? I felt with acute precision his watching me, but still, he didn’t stop me. Not even as I got close enough to see the scattered papers on his desk, with the same script as a gift tag I found in my bed. My hand slid along the fine wood. Names, names I didn’t know, were scratched haphazardly.

I couldn’t look long enough. I didn’t want him to notice. He was smart, even distracted.

He surprised me, however, when I turned around. I expected something heavy and needy, but his mouth had formed such a careful curve, his features softened, as he leaned against the door admiring. I’d seen him happy, joyful, but never like this and it made the emotion difficult to place. The bond revealed nothing.

I would’ve teased him, but in the low light his skin looked golden and it occurred to me with greater clarity, beyond my ambition, how I’d found him. He was at ease with the world in a room that was his. His warm chest exposed, he was undressed. It was a different desire entirely, to notice him, to look. He was so beautiful, so mine. To think that I was in this bedroom, that I knew I’d lie in that bed beside him and sleep, it filled me with warmth, it made me soften back.

He yawned.

“You’re tired.”

He nodded.

“Let's sleep.”

“Just sleep?”

I smiled. I turned away. I needed more answers. If he wouldn’t tell the truth, then I would find it on my own. My eyes fell on a list of names, I didn’t have long enough to scan them all, just the first letters. I found E, the fourth name on the list began with E. I read. My stomach dropped, my heart picked up speed, but I turned still to face him again in the hopes the new voraciousness against my ribs would be mistaken for nervousness. He looked fondly. Had he always been so easy to fool?

I held my hand to him and said, “Yes.”

He approached without question.

It was easy with him there to find my composure. He kissed the top of my hand. We separated only to find our side of the bed. In unison, the sheets were pulled back, but he did not immediately join me. The last of the lights needed to be put out, and only then did I see the shadowed outline of him pull his pants off the rest away. If he’d had asked me to close my eyes I would’ve. If he’d asked me to watch I would’ve. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, as he climbed into bed I sensed again the need to keep things in something innocent and first. He did not move toward me, but he laid on his side and we faced each other, hands tucked under our heads.

“Happy solstice,” Lucien said with a faint whisper.

The gesture reminded me of childhood. The excitement for gifts, the not wanting to sleep.

“Happy solstice, Lucien.”

A breeze from the window filtered through and I tucked my shoulder away from its icy caress. Lucien’s eyes found the spot that had been struck and tentatively he reached across the bed. He hovered over the skin, the heat of his palm already kissing my shoulder without having to touch.

“Is this alright?” He asked.

I nodded.

“I went to the cabin.”

The words, though whispered, struck with strange weight. They pulled me from my thoughts abruptly. I asked, “When? Why?”

“Your weekend away. Mor brought me, but you weren’t there.”

From the darkness I expected that dreamlike look on his face, something far away, but again he surprised me. He was visibly here, with me, in that moment. In fact, his stare seemed hardened, anchored to what he’d begun to unfold. I shook my head, confirming what we both knew. I wasn’t there.

He didn’t elaborate. I pressed a steady hand across the divide and rested it against his face.

“Are you alright?”

He smiled, placed his palm against the back of my hand, and said, “Why did you sit so far away?”

“I was waiting for you.”

He opened his arms and moved forward. It was invitation enough, I shoved across the bed and he enveloped me. The night in the bathroom had been too quick, too sickly, too delirious. We entangled ourselves like there was a risk in the night some invisible hand would pull us away. Perhaps there was. We said nothing more. I took in a long breath and closed my eyes.

My mind drifted as I felt his hands splay across my back, a different kind of desperation. His heart beat slow beneath his skin. That name repeating with each pulse.

Erinyes

Dawn didn’t arrive quickly, but it came. I woke on my own. I stared at Lucien a long time, craning my neck to watch such peace sit on his face. I wanted to remember—just in case. I wanted to lean in, wanted to kiss him, but even softly I wasn’t sure if it would wake him. I couldn’t risk it. So I just stared for a long time, longer than I had time to do, and it was like a kiss but in a different way. Tonight, I’d ask my questions. We’d have our answers.

Slipping from bed involved feigning sleep. I moved the way a lover pulls away once they are through with you. It was easy, I’d seen it for myself a thousand times. He let go. Not so reluctantly either, convinced I’d be here when he woke up.

But I would not.

At his desk, I stared at the name once more to be sure I’d seen it right. He’d circled it. I’d missed that somehow. Did he know what I knew? I looked back at him, a streak of sunlight through the window cut the reigning night away. He would not like it when he woke, that I’d left without word. He would soon understand. Whatever this was, was over.

***

“You remembered!” Cassian yelled, holding up the sweater from his box. The one I’d made him years earlier snagged and left a gaping hole last winter. He’d felt so badly I tried to see if Egrette knew of any maneuver to save it but alas it had been ruined. “I’ll wear it tomorrow morning,” He smirked.

“What’s tomorrow?” Lucien asked. He’d not mentioned my slipping away. He seemed happy when he found me that morning in the library decorating with Mor. He’d even helped us hang garlands in the places we were too short to reach.

“Their childish snowball fight,” Amren said looking at a fine stone Rhysand and I had picked out for her. I knew better than to knit her anything.

“You’re welcome to join us, Lucien,” Cassian said casually, turning to face the male beside me on the couch. I didn’t expect he would, but the nature of these things was precarious. The unexpected thing, what you didn’t plan for and couldn’t know, always makes its appearance.

Lucien raised a brow at him in pure Autumn snobbery, “I’ll pass.”

“Well aren’t you precious,” Cassian drawled with a wide grin. I stilled at his words. Though I barely believed it, I hoped for a moment it was mere coincidence. That he had not heard us in Lucien’s room the night before, but when he sent me a wink it was clear he had.“Just as well, I suspect you’re tired after last night.”

“What was last night?” Mor asked with genuine innocence.

Cassian turned toward Lucien waiting, and my mate didn’t even pause, like it were a lie he had been thinking about all day, “I fell asleep in the library and Cassian found me.”

“Precious indeed,” Mor said.

Cassian’s attention waned from Lucien as he fixed on me, “You seem a bit tense.”

“Haven’t got much sleep these days.”

“So I hear,” Azriel muttered from the chair beside me. I shot him a glance, traitor. Rhysand was in conversation with Mor and Amren, his mind elsewhere but it would be foolish to pretend that he wasn’t at least half paying attention.

“It seems none of us are getting any proper sleep,” Lucien mused as casually as Cassian.

“Not me,” Cassian replied. “I’ve been sleeping perfectly well.”

“We know,” Lucien said turning toward him with a half smile. “You’ve no reason not to.”

Cassian’s jaw clenched but the thread of amusement was running through his face. The Illyrian sat back in his chair, “Next time I can’t sleep I’ll come find you.”

“I thought you didn’t wish to see?” I murmured into my drink and Cassian coughed as he took a sip of his, the contents splashing up into his face. It captured Rhysand’s attention well enough that he rolled his eyes and grabbed the last two gifts.

“These are for you two.”

I knew it was from Lucien. He was the only one left. I’d thought, maybe, the scarf had been a gift he’d given early. I’d brought it from my room and hung it carefully in the hall for when I needed to defend him, needed to reveal the kindness. But in my lap now, another gift. It was so finely wrapped I didn’t even wish to open it. I ran my fingers under the seam. Everyone’s eyes on us, and heat rose to my face. I’d never known opening a present to be so embarrassing, but tonight it felt like revealing something intimate that I wanted to be shared only between us.

The paper tore next to me. Lucien began to pull the box out, and so I too lifted the paper. We took the lids off in unison.

Mittens.

The same fine green.

Lucien held up the sweater. I’d gone back to the tailor and found out what colors suited him. It was a rich olive color, even just holding it up drew the attention of the room. His skin was warm, glowing against it. I’d had to hide the project when Lucien came home and stationed himself in my room if it were late. I’d been up most nights rushing to finish in time. I’d been half asleep most days, but it was worth it, to see his face. I thought maybe he’d find it superfluous. I’d already given him one, but I wanted to make it with clearer intention. I wanted to make it for him on purpose.

“So you’ve met Egrette,” Rhys said, and I realized how quiet we’d all gone. I huffed an awkward laugh as the room resumed its usual noise and splendor. The cover was just enough to give a reprieve, to offer a veil of privacy for which we could feel and speak freely. Lucien had the same soft smile he’d had the night before.

“I’m supposed to tell you, Egrette helped me with the cast-off.”

I laughed, “Did she help pick the color too? It’s my favorite yarn of hers.”

Lucien shook his head, “No. I saw it through the window that day you took me to get new clothes. It reminded me of the night we met.”

My brows furrowed, “In what way?”

He rested his head against the soft back of the couch, the memory just there for him. As easy to conjure as a smile. Pulled back into the past he spoke with an endearment I didn’t think he’d have reserved for that time, it contradicted everything, but I understood it nonetheless. To be at the beginning, to know how it ends, to hold those facts beside each other—it could wind you, such grief and gratitude together.

“When you arrived that night I was admiring the trees overhead. It was the Autumnal Equinox. I was sad to miss it for an eternal summer but just before you walked in I noticed the leaves were a deep green they tend to get just before they change and it made me think of home. When I looked away I saw you, talking with Mor.” His eyes looked around my face like a caress, half in memory. “That green was the color of the world the first time I saw you.”

I’d remembered wrong.

He had looked at me. I’d wanted for something that had already happened, something I’d missed. I was wrong. I doubt it would be the last time with him, but it was the first. We’d begun all wrong.

“I was afraid what my brother might do if he saw, if I looked too long.” He said absently like he knew what I’d been thinking. “So I looked at the leaves for a long time that night.”

If he saw me he’d said once of his father. Now too of his brother. Just to look at someone was a risk. The way you witnessed me, gave you power over me and for some reason you never used it, he’d said also. How brave he had to be in all those years just to let me be his witness. It’s any wonder what we might do with such bravery and power together, where we might go with it.

“There’s a note,” He said pointing to one of the mittens.

I reached for it and a finger poked through a hole. A big one at that. More than just a mistake.

“That one was on purpose.”

I laughed, “Why?”

“So I could still satisfy your hunger.”

I turned away, hiding the deep red of my cheeks at those words. It had felt like an age between that first kiss and this moment. Standing alone in the hall after dinner at the house of wind. My fingers latched to the note and withdrew it.

For what I can’t chase away.

—Me

I smiled and the joy erased all notions of private feeling. It was obvious that anyone who looked, even those who didn’t know me at all, would know the intensity of the joy I was feeling. I peered around the room. They were watching Mor as she leaned into the dramatics of a story—all but Rhysand, who was watching me. If it were another time, the time of before, I might have turned away and hid that joy from him. But Lucien, it was Lucien who had made me feel I could be brave. So when my brother’s surprise eased into deep joy and esteem, I was glad I hadn’t missed it.

***

I winnowed directly into his room this time. I landed directly next to his bed where I’d found him the night before. Midnight was closing in, the boys were headed for their rooms, their voices carrying down the hall. Mor and Amren remained in the library. It was time.

Lucien went to speak and I rushed my palm against his mouth. We were close, my knee on the bed beside him, our noses nearly touching. Rhysand and Azriel’s conversation carried far away until their doors closed. But it was Cassian who I was worried about. He walked toward his room whistling. I needed to know what he could hear. I’d anticipated he’d heard the knock on the door but not much else. When I saw him this morning he looked between Lucien and me and I knew I’d had that much correct.

The door across the hall shut and I shifted my attention back to Lucien, one eyebrow raised at me as if I were being ridiculous, as if Cassian hadn’t revealed he’d heard everything. A stroke of dumb luck that the male couldn’t keep a joke to himself. Last night was practice, tonight was the real thing. I slid into his mind.

Come to apologize for leaving me this morning?

No. It was deserved.

Really?

I narrowed my eyes at him. You’ve been lying to me Lucien.

His mouth opened against my hand and before any noise, any confirmation or denial, could be pressed into the skin of my palm I wrapped my other arm around his neck and fell backward through the universe.

It was a stumbling really, just as it had been through the wards, as it had all begun. A risk I knew, we could land flat on our faces, but after the table incident, I could better predict his instincts. So when we landed on the doorstep, Lucien’s hands shooting out to catch the brick, his other curved so tightly against my back, I smiled for having guessed correctly.

“By the Cauldron,” he swore getting his footing just barely to let me go. He glared at me before turning to see where we’d landed. I realized then he was wearing the sweater I’d made. The new one. I’d forgotten to tell him inside the collar I’d stitched the words less drab. If after all this was over I could tell him I would. He turned a few times as if he expected us to be somewhere else, the cabin maybe. I could’ve winnowed inside but I wanted him to know where we were, wanted really for him to see it. His eyes slid over the brick and looked to the right where Velaris lay in scattered excitement, the warm glow of Solstice settling behind the windows and seeping out into the world. His brows furrowed in confusion he looked toward the Sidra next to us, cutting through the lawn, curving out toward the sea. Not the cabin, not with the boys headed its way tomorrow.

So began an immediate shift, where turning back it wasn’t that he didn’t trust me, it was something else entirely. Like he needed always, to find the margins of a place to know the boundary of access, where he felt allowed to go. Starting on the outskirts where nothing was, he seemed to believe he had to earn his way in. I wish I’d seen him that first night walk into his room, to compare it now to the way he looked at me. So unsure, a bit uneasy that a door was about to slam shut and he’d no longer have access to what he’d been shown. He didn’t seem to want to get comfortable, didn’t want to let his other place in the world out of his sight lest he lose them both at the same time.

I nodded my head toward the door. The warmth, once I opened it, was immediate and I let out a sigh of relief. Things were going unnervingly to plan. Lucien and I crowded inside the small entry. Even the cold that night had been a little much for him to bear. Though I felt him close, I knew his attention was nowhere near me. He was taking in everything he could see. The ornate, albeit old, carpets trailing the short hall. Jackets hung in the open, the somehow free and yet cramped space where rooms dueled for attention across from and beside each other. As we walked further in Lucien turned to each.

“Is this a family home?” He asked running his hands up the exposed wood, the cottage itself a little more rugged. If the townhouse wasn’t High Lord-like, then this was an even further cry.

“No. It’s my home.”

Lucien’s eyes slid over to mine. I nodded ghosting a smile with his surprise. It was not extravagant, it wasn’t even big. It had a small sunroom next to the garden that looked along the Sidra and that was about as luxurious as it got. It didn’t even have a library, but there were books, plenty. Along shelves where they fit and in stacks where they didn’t. Decorated with paintings and art collected at the rainbow, candles along the windows, ticket stubs and scrap papers in frames of the court’s most extravagant mischief, a kitchen I’d cooked just once in before I went home. Lived and not lived in, proof of having been alive but not really there in those rooms.

“When my mother and father died I bought a home. I needed a project, somewhere to go, somewhere alone, and mine. No one aside from Rhys knows it exists. Took about two years to quietly move in but I don’t stay here that often.”

“Why?” Lucien said.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Once all the builders cleared out I remembered I was alone.”

We moved into the sitting room. Two couches sat opposite each other. Maybe he sensed it, that we should be apart for this, because he sat across from me even though we were alone. Or perhaps it was all manners, that's how he was. When I met his face again he had the look he always had from before Velaris, before all of it. A trace of softness still there, a touchstone to what we’d become—to what we might be. I didn’t know which way this would go, if he’d detest me, if I would detest him, but there were things to be said and we could no longer not say them.

“So,” he said, “you’ve brought me here to lay it all out then.”

I nodded, “It won’t entirely be unfair. I’ve been lying to you too. But nothing will make sense until you tell me yours first.”

He thought a moment. In the weeks leading up to this, the feeling of inevitability seemed real and present. Everything I did, every question, every moving piece had been effortless and unwavering. I’d imagined this conversation not to be simple but somewhat the same. Only as we arrived at it did I find there was a kind of impasse. We’d both need to reveal ourselves, to want the same thing. We’d need to do the things we’d only just recently learned to do. This was the very last test.

He took in a long breath, tutted his tongue like a kind of tic while he thought. He held something before him, a hypothetical, whatever he believed he’d lose by going first. He didn’t want to. Not until he turned to me. The reluctance lifted as he fixed himself upon me, his mate, sat across from him, like he was placing a bet on me too.

“Where should I begin?”

He saw the breath I let out. He didn’t join in the relief.

“The night we arrived when it was revealed that my emotions were running down the bond you said you’d lower your shields too. But you didn’t, not really. Why?”

I don’t know when I began to suspect it. I hadn’t wanted to believe it. But the moment his emotions were building in Rhysand’s office to which the only tell was the slight opening of his mouth I began to wonder. He’d given himself away in the bathroom. Gawayn’s name had struck deep in his chest the morning of our walk after I’d mentioned him. Only for him later, after our affections deepened, on the tale end of a lie, to hear his name and feel almost nothing. That primal thing seemingly vanished.

“Do you know what your emotions feel like?” He said blinking slow. “They’re like notes, like music. Your feelings hum really, and they build into chords. I can tell when you’ve made sense of something because I can feel the harmony in my ribs. My emotions, they’re not like that.”

“I didn’t know what my emotions were like. How could you know yours?”

“I’ve watched you. In Rhysand’s office, I saw them wipe your thoughts clean away, like a wave. Or that night in the foyer, you winced. Moments where I wasn’t or couldn’t withhold from you the intensity of my feeling. Your words, they’re very important to you. I would hate to be the cause of your silence, even accidentally,” he said plainly. “But you can correct me if I’m wrong.”

“You could’ve let me try,” I said, by way of confirmation. His emotions often built rapidly, striking with full force, indeed like a wave. “I’m not so weak you know, I would’ve figured it out.”

His eyes became swallowed with pain. “I know,” he said.

“I’d assumed you were unhappy, that this place was not agreeable to you. Or worse, at times I thought you felt nothing.”

“No. No, it was the opposite,” He said. “I didn’t mean to shield entirely. I only wished to diminish everything enough for you to think.”

That mutual vulnerability I believed us to have was a lie. Perhaps the most devastating realization, that it was all on the line for me, from the beginning. How much joy had I missed, intense complex and beautiful joy, for what he’d seen those first weeks? It was something I could never get back. My brows furrowed.

“But your end of the bond has been quiet since the beginning, before you saw what your emotions could do. I didn’t feel you fully until after our night in the bathroom.”

He huffed a laugh. It wasn’t malicious, in fact, I think he was almost impressed. A testing of our limitations, of my noticing continuity. There were things he didn’t want to say, things perhaps he wouldn’t offer up unless asked directly. I frowned.

“You seemed unsure of how things had changed between us that first night. After you asked me to hold your hand I hesitated because I was very sure of what had changed but I couldn’t tell if you desired it or not.”

“What was it then?”

“I wanted to stay,” he admitted, shoulders slumping. “I thought perhaps it was just Velaris, being rid of my father and brothers, but then Mor found me in your room, told me to leave, and I realized I actually just wanted to stay with you. But I didn’t know what was to come of me, Rhys didn’t want me there, you’d given no indication you were to have them claim me. I thought, eventually, I’d have to go. And for the first time, I had no desire to.” He said, breathless eyes focused, here with me. “But I couldn’t bear it if you knew my desire, so I diluted everything to you.”

“How?”

“It’s like setting a ward really.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t want the bond to be laborious to you, for my emotions to weigh in your decision. If you decided to ask me to stay I needed to know it was what you wanted, not an obligation you felt bound to.”

“You believe me so easily persuaded?”

The corners of his mouth creased but if it were a smile or a frown I wasn’t at all sure. “You said once you acted as you did because I’m Lucien, well my reasoning is just the same. You’re you, you’re good and you want to do good. You are singularly motivated to ease suffering. You wanted to marry Eris to save my home, stepped between your brother to save me, even the hobbies you choose benefit other people. That Night Court business didn’t fool me. I’ve known for a while that though you are cunning, you are never cruel.”

“I’d let anyone stay if they wanted to, if they needed to.”

“Then you understand why I felt the need to hide from you,” He said. When I didn’t answer he shook his head, “You’re so good you don’t even notice it, not as I do. It’s simple, really, I wanted you to pick me. I needed you to do it not because you’re kind or for the same compulsion with which you act toward everyone, but because you wanted me there.”

“It isn’t for everyone.”

Lucien didn’t even reply, he just gave me a look and I conceded.

“So you made me tell you I wanted to see you, you asked me to ask after you.”

“Yes. For you to reveal yourself to me a desire, a feeling, anything about me really, it would have to be something you really wanted. I believed though you’d do it and once you told me that you held your own hand at night and I began to see the weight of my being here, the threads which pulled at your feelings, I was less afraid,” he said. His eyes which had settled on my two clasped hands lifted to look at me, unsure. “But…”

“But what.”

He sucked in a sharp breath, “The morning after we had dinner at the house of wind I had to test you, just one last time.”

“Why, was it something I said? Did I do something to make you feel I didn’t want you?”

“No.”

In a way I had hoped it had been me who misbehaved. I didn’t want the alternative to be true, a remaining loose end with which I had not inquired further when I should’ve. That I had not been there to do anything was worse than being the very reason he’d felt the need to test my feelings again at all. At least then it would be another misunderstanding. At least if it were me it was something I hadn’t even meant to do in the first place.

“What did my brother say to you that morning at dawn?”

“That he’d been in your mind,” He said curtly.

“Lucien.”

He sighed, “That he’d been in your mind and there was something old there, a pattern of thought he recognized from years ago that had made a return. You’d been distracted, talking to other people, thinking about the court, but there was an underlying sense of powerlessness. But that was not how I knew you, not as I had ever known you, I was sure that he was wrong. So I waited for you to come get me, for you to assert yourself after our conversation as you always have, but the longer I waited the more convinced I became that there was some truth to it. So in the foyer after breakfast I baited you.”

And you wouldn’t let yourself be so powerless, would you?

“When you told me to tell Rhysand that you could make your own decisions, what did you mean?”

Lucien sat back, waving a hand, “Rhys had tried to tell me things you liked, how I should go about talking to you, where in the city I should have you take me. He wanted me to act and do things in a specific way which, I’m sure, was well-meaning, but I knew how I wanted to court you.”

Court me

I sat up. My whole body heated, culminating in a sheen of sweat on my back. In the weeks that had passed had that been his motive? The walks, the going to Egrette’s, the lips pressed against the skin of my hand. How plainly he said it, that he wanted me, that he wanted me the way that he did. Even as it replayed in my mind it was hard to imagine him saying it, having really said it.

He smiled, his voice soft, “You’re surprised.”

“I just. I didn’t think—”

“Probably because I didn’t get to do what I had wanted, what I had planned after I left your room the night before. You’d know if I was romancing you I would hope.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure,” I murmured and he laughed.

“No, think better of me, of my efforts at least.”

I laughed then and the breaking of the tension relieved something in the room, added a little knowledge to what had seemed unknown to me before. Looking at Lucien I got the same sense that he got when he’d looked at me, it made me decide that, yes, I would tell him everything. It all seemed inevitable once more.

“What happened then, that you couldn’t do what you wished?”

Lucien grew serious again, “Rhys said the feeling was old, but that it had returned. He believed I was responsible for it. Whether it was my distance from you or something that happened in the woods, he didn’t know. By the time you’d found me I was so annoyed that he’d been right about the first thing, I had to collect myself when it occurred to me there may be some truth in the other too—that it was I who had caused it.”

“It isn’t so simple, the origin of that feeling.”

“I know,” Lucien said. “After you told me of Gawayn and your brother I suspected that it was, indeed a very old feeling.”

Curious really, the more I thought about it. I have a terrible feeling I’m to blame in part for whatever’s going on between you two. One had to wonder if Rhys had not heard Lucien sling his insults, call me powerless, and felt the guilt of a century renewed. To have, at last, overstepped so overtly, so foolishly, that he’d realized too late what had so constantly happened.

“Due to the nature of our relationship before, I never told you really, how impressive you actually are. The way you use your words, the attention you pay to things, the balance you manage in the private and public duties is something to admire. Even my father knew it and respected your ability in whatever way he is capable of.”

“My words are a shield more than a weapon. I’m not often brave enough to hold real power, to let anyone really know me.”

“You’ve always been braver than me.”

“That’s not true.”

“It’s true enough,” Lucien said staring at me for a moment, thinking. His eyes narrowed, “The problem isn’t that you have no power, it's that we see what real power is very differently. Power to you has a ceiling that cannot be surpassed and as such fluctuates, moving in and out of hands but there will always be only the amount that you began with. Knowing the stakes, controlling them and what was revealed, seemed by your logic to nullify anything your opponent had,” He said sitting up, resting his elbows on his knees.

“And what do you believe?” I asked.

“Real power has no finite amount. That, actually, there is more to gain when we meet someone else's power with our own. Then whatever leverage there was becomes obsolete. You use your position this way all the time.”

My brows furrowed, “When?”

“The night we got here when you called me handsome, revealing your thoughts to me, it opened something new to us both where we no longer needed the upper hand. Or with Cassian, as Madja stitched you up, when you asked him to try you were revealing a fondness that created a door for the court to meet you where you were. It’s why at breakfast I became more agreeable. You looked at me. I’d have never looked at you. If it had been me reading and you wanting my attention, before coming to Velaris I’d have never given in. That was better though, for your power to call to my own. It showed me what life could be if we came at things, bad moods and feelings, together. So, yes, you’re very powerful because you invite people into your power. You know how to play your cards even when you keep them close.”

I attempted to swallow the dryness in my mouth to no remedy. I understood and perhaps had known this definition before tonight, since that moment after our kiss, where it seemed something between us had met and suddenly we were together in ways I could not ignore. A meeting of power, a touching where I had never once been touched. I understood him, yes.

“After we spoke in the den I realized your brother was right in a way. It was me. My coming here obliterated our dynamic. Suddenly there was more power in play than ever. There was no way you could know how it had been divided between us at any time. For you to find me at all and say what you said, I imagined it had been hard, terrifying even. So after we almost kissed, after the lights went out, I wanted you to see yourself as I did and that became the motivation of everything.”

A serene silence came about the room. The both of us slumped against the back of the couches, the Sidra quiet behind windows I knew were thin enough for it to be heard. As if everyone was listening, the world holding its breath, the walls standing taller, waiting—all of it waiting for the moment we didn’t wish to address. I licked my lips and swallowed again with nothing to swallow.

“So why then, did you use those words against me in the foyer?”

Lucien rubbed at his eye with the palm of his hand, blinking a few times. I could almost imagine him as a child, could see him young and laughing, full of life. He seemed to recede just a moment to a boy in trouble and afraid of what would happen. It tore me in two. I wanted to tear the whole world in two.

“I waited on you to ask for me for another reason which I haven’t said.”

“Lucien—”

“I must say this, it explains everything,” he began. “My father married my mother when she was very young. She had little say in the arrangement, in what she could become. I lived within the consequences of what she was not given and it made me determined, at all costs, to avoid becoming anything like my father. I was content to remain alone if I had to. I was the seventh son there was no urgency or attention placed on my duty. But even the last son must produce strong heirs.”

That look of disgust when the bond snapped, it had never been for me. Mates, they are not always gifts. Yet sacred they are. I did not often like to think of it, how young my mother was when she was mated. All that life she hadn’t lived. What her life became.

“Our fates became intertwined that evening in Day Court.”

“So you proposed we tell no one,” I said.

“Then you got your freedom as you wanted and I would never be the male who trapped an unwilling female. It was a convenience that our motives aligned, but I never deluded myself into seeing my decision as a noble choice. I acted entirely in my own self-interest and I went about my life enjoying it in silent rejection of the bond. I smothered all feeling, all possibility of feeling, until two months ago when my father cut into you. The first thing I felt from that tether after 50 years was unimaginable despair.”

I’d already told him what had hurt so badly, that he was there and Eris, that these males I believed could be better had, for a moment, appeared precisely the same as everyone else. To reiterate for him the origin of the despair would change nothing. It was the first thing he felt that was mine from what between us he believed to be a wretched link, proof that he could not outrun his long-feared fate.

“That is how you saw me then. I stood for everything you resented,” I said quietly.

“You are not the bond,” He said with cool control.

“You cannot sever the two. They are interwoven, it exists because I exist, it feels what I feel.”

Lucien shook his head. I gripped the cushions of the couch tight in my fist, his eyes drawn to the small movement in the otherwise still world. When he looked back at me there was nothing but pain and pity in his eyes. It turned my stomach, it helped nothing.

I said, “I don’t understand.”

Lucien’s eyes softened, “I wish that it was different, that it was more romantic, but it isn’t. I liked the life we had together, which was a life apart but unlike the bond, I could not rid myself of you. That, to me, is the difference. After I shielded, things reverted back to what they had always been. You still had what you had always had which I remain inexplicably compelled and annoyed by. You were still witty and charming and smart and irritating and when I’d see you at court I was glad as I’d always been to have someone to play the game. What happened in Day Court was confirmation of something I’d always known to be true, that you and I were equals, intellectually and emotionally, but that was it.”

I squeezed my hands once more into the cushion. This time he didn’t look but I knew he was aware of it. He retreated ever so slightly, and for a moment I wanted to stand, cross the room, take him very carefully into my arms, and forgive him for everything. But it was not time for such things.

“I meant it on the terrace, I knew how I wanted things to be different,” he explained. “After dinner at the house of wind, I wanted to feel everything. You’d laughed for the first time, really laughed. Not the polite one you use at court and I felt it between my ribs. Those building notes of your joy…You misunderstood me, when you asked me how I wanted things to change. When I said ‘you’d laugh’ that wasn’t me worried that you’d laugh at me, I was asking you to.” He shifted uncomfortably, “That was what I wanted to be different, I wanted no more illusions. I began to understand something that I’d never understood, how precious it all was and I swore never again to waste it—to resent that inherent beauty and intimacy.”

I swallowed, “But I made you resent it again, in the foyer, didn’t I. When I shielded?”

Lucien’s jaw flexed. “You made me feel like I was my father.”

He could’ve said anything else—anything, and it would have been a more gentle demolition. It swept through me with a clean break. On one side a perfected before and on the other a new moment in which I had learned something I would forever have to know. That despite all intentions and lines drawn when we were two mates with no desire between us, I had done what I had sworn I would never do. No one in the whole of Prythian was unaware of the animosity between the High Lord of Autumn Court and his youngest son. It was not news to me that his motivations stemmed in part from his terrible father. His words tightened on my throat like a carefully pulled noose. I could not undo what I’d made him believe and what in consequence resulted after, all that suffering.

Speechless still, Lucien continued quietly, “Mor reminded me, of the world you inhabit. She referred to your ‘private definitions,’ but you must understand something, when you said burden it devastated me, it was everything I had been trying not to be.”

My cheeks heated and I pressed my palm against my forehead, rubbing at it. Lucien’s gaze burned into me with such intensity that my palms began to sweat.

“It wasn’t what I meant,” I said looking up at him. “Burden, I meant something else.”

Lucien huffed a laugh with great effort, “You couldn’t have picked a more loaded word.”

“The one I wanted was even worse, but I was scared.”

His throat bobbed, swallowing the question I knew he wanted to ask. I would tell him the other word, but he was not finished yet. So I asked mine, “She found you that night and she taught you how to make the drop.”

He nodded along in confirmation, “A few things happened before that, however.”

“What things?”

“She agreed to help me. I told her with much embarrassment what I’d originally planned to win you over and we conspired to get the court away from you so I might try again. I had already been going to Egrette’s classes and I had a small disadvantage in that I didn’t know anything of the city, so I used the time away from you to know it. Sometimes I spent all day with Egrette, listening to her talk about you, other times I went with Mor in search of places I thought you might like, tea shops I could take you, bookstores.”

“Sometimes you were with Cassian,” I said.

“I wanted to find an apartment. It was important to me that I have something to give you. I wanted to be ready, I wanted you to have as much privacy as possible and control over the pace of our relationship and if you ever desired to consummate it then we had somewhere to go.”

I raised a brow and turned my head to the side to reveal the very obvious bite at my neck which had still not entirely healed. Every conversation I’d begun since it happened started with eyes drawn to the curve of my neck. Even Rhys who dared mention nothing had finally acknowledged it that evening in his office.

“You really do believe I’m such a brute,” Lucien smiled a little, still smug about it, but he took on a more endearing quality. “Once we realized you were not, in fact, bluffing about going to the Illyrian village we met and made a plan. I asked Mor to take me to the cabin once Cassian left but we know how that worked out.” He shot me a glance, “This was also the night I made the plan for her to walk in on us fighting, under the guise of getting you out of the house and I asked too that she orchestrate Rhysand and Cassian so that we could be interrupted, so that all three of them would hear the threat I made against your neck. I didn’t want it to appear as anything more than a ploy to annoy you. Then if, with the time we had alone, something happened, our scents had already mixed. No one would know unless you told them.”

The clock in the hall began to chime. 12 bells rung out into the silent house before it even occurred to me that I might have something to say, that there was something to be said to the male who’d done everything, had thought of everything.

Lucien sighed, “I’m not so territorial over you, and I know that it hasn’t always been so obvious, but you have me and have had me so all that was left to give you was the moment. I wanted to give you what you were denied the first time, I wanted it all to belong to you entirely. That's why I went to the cabin it's why I bit you it's why I’ve been lying.”

I cleared my throat, and despite how badly I wanted to I did not look away from the intensity of his stare as he admitted his feelings. It was not a mercy to anyone, no. I was being cruel.

“There's one more thing you need to tell me.”

Whatever he thought I’d say or do, that was not it. His whole being deflated. But we could do this no other way, it had to go as planned, as it had been. I could spare nothing, not even his feelings.

“What's that?” He asked.

“Why did you have Mor teach you to make the drop?”

Lucien sat back, his voice flat and uncaring, “In the woods when you overpowered me despite your injuries it felt as if something were going on that I didn’t know about. I suspected that you were reading about Gods because you believed something happened too so I went to the library to see if I could find anything. After our night drinking, when you told us you’d made a bargain, I narrowed my search some and started going more frequently.”

My eyes fell to the small table. A fern was laid across it—green and full of life, of new beginnings. There was no water. It had sat there two weeks, still alive.

It was my turn now, to emerge from the wings.

I brought him to the kitchen and he waited by the counter. Dejected and yet curious all the same he stood before me with certain sternness. His even breaths were in contradiction to the waves of emotion that passed off him. He pushed his sleeves up, the kitchen warmer than the sitting room from use. I bent before the oven, its low fire just enough for the occasion, and from the dull heat, I pulled out braided bread.

“One other person has a key to my house,” I explained as the bread slid into the light of the counter. “Egrette. She lives next door. I knew you were lying when you said you spent the weekend with her because she’d spent the weekend here, with me, helping clean the house so I could bring you and teaching me to make this.”

They made it in the Autumn Court on the equinox. Vegetables inlaid swirling toward one another, an image of an Autumn harvest. I’d been betting on Lucien, that it would all go as it should. Believing the worst of him was a habit I no longer had. If he was lying to me then I believed he had good reason. I just didn’t know how good it was.

“I’ve been waiting, really, for everything to be done, for the circumstances to be right so that we could have time alone. That's why I left this morning so early, I had to prepare the bread. I asked Egrette to warm it in the oven for you.”

Lucien straightened at those last words. I could hear his heart, pounding furiously, as if in echo. For you for you for you for you.

“Yes I suspected that my bargain in the woods was legitimate but unlike my court’s magic, there was no marking on me. I’d been reading to try and figure out who was there with us but once you gave me the scarf I felt more urgency. My own, yes, but there was also a thread being pulled but from a different direction, toward the house, like the Mother wanted me to come here. But I didn’t want to mate you without knowing the precise terms so I went to Helion who offered me his resources. Though I found nothing, when I got back to Velaris that night, our…audience made an appearance.”

“Erinyes.”

I nodded, “Just one, not all three.”

“Which?”

“Tisiphone,” the avenger. “She and I spoke for a long time, about that night, about what I’d done. The Gods, they do not mark bargains the way we do. Ours once they are finished disappear. We are no longer bound by their terms and circumstances. The oath I made in the woods, to protect you, it is a different standard,” I swallowed, “I am bound forever to the promise I made. Not just in this life, but the ones that follow too.”

Lucien stared blankly. I’m sure when I learned I’d looked the same. The counter between us became a chasm. I don’t know what I thought he would reveal, but I wanted something from him, anything. I did not wish to be cruel with my silence, with the direction I took or didn’t take the conversation, but he had a freedom I did not have and I don’t know if he was aware he wasn’t using it. I wanted him to, before this. Before the hardest part of all. I wanted what could be our last words to be different. I steeled myself, I refused to reveal the pain of it, the fear. He must again choose me on his own.

“She met with me to tell me the terms, but specifically this last one. The nature of fae mating, it is a union of souls. If you eat, if you accept, it will result in you inheriting the same oath over me. You will protect me and I will protect you, we will forever be each other's keepers. We can never move fatally against each other. Our purpose will always be divided: The thing we were born that life to do, and then this, the oath I made.” I let out a breath, paused, and with conviction said it at last. “If you mate me I will always be your burden and you will always be mine.”

It was cruel really, as the Gods can be, that his fate was reduced eternally to be the thing he feared most. That he had to choose between having and not having. The weight with which we existed now would rest somewhere beyond this kitchen, in rooms I wouldn’t know as myself, where Lucien was not Lucien. He did not have to be bound because I was, however. I refused to cage him as he had not caged me.

“How can you be sure that this is true? That it was not a dream?”

I turned toward the living room, from the kitchen, the table could be seen. “She was holding that fern stem when I arrived. I watched her watch me sleep and she placed it on my chest. I woke to it, brought it downstairs, and it's been sitting there ever since.”

His eyes wandered from the living room over to the bread, then back to me, but he himself didn’t move. From the sunroom, a fine mist had gathered on the windows. Too early to be dew, but it seemed the outside world with which we’d been trying to hold back from us had at last ducked behind the curtain to give us privacy. No one was listening for his answer but me. His chest rose and fell with the breath that he took instead of giving me one.

“I know this changes things,” I said eventually, when the silence stretched too long. “I won’t hold you to what you said or felt before this was revealed. But the food, it’s there, and the offer will always be there if you should change your mind.”

“It’s not that.”

“What is it then?”

“My resentment toward the bond, I don’t understand how you feel.”

I clapped my hands together to brush away some crumbs. They fell at the counter and seemed loud by comparison to the silence that had come in and out between us.

“It's a nice idea, that the time before this was more agreeable to what we’ve come to realize, but it isn’t true and I don’t want that life anyway. I want this one where you are you and I am me. It’s been a long time since that dinner and I have no desire to let any more time pass us by. I want to end it, this thing we’re doing or not doing, for good. I need no romance and no convincing. I know you and have known you all this time.” I smiled, small, with all the hope I had left, “You said it once, knowledge like ours is a burden and that to know someone risks love, to me that night they became interchangeable. I didn’t mean burden. The word I was afraid to say was love.”

That careful rise on his chest ceased. I had been meaning to tell him.

I shrugged, “So, you didn’t like the bond, well luckily for me I never desired your good opinion.” The words struck a familiar tune and I allowed myself a bigger hope, a different smile—the kind that broke the tension just as his laugh had before. An invitation, something that couldn’t be misunderstood. He’d known such looks since we’d met. “Besides, I can’t break my oaths now. I think it’s only fair that I see through my prayer to the Cauldron. If we have children they should have a chance at being more intelligent than us and the libraries here are very fine.”

His eyes didn’t leave mine, mouth slightly agape, bond silent, still shielded. I could see our life together so clearly it made my mouth water. The sudden weight of a mate more palpable than ever, the food before him waiting. In the pause before the decision was made, I was given one last moment to feel what it would mean if he ate. And it would be okay if he decided against it, but it would be nice if he did too. I’d begun to believe in such things, that I could be happy, that life would give you what you wanted. And what I wanted was Lucien, entirely and wholly. So eat, I thought, and let’s be done with this. The time we took, it was good, but let’s be rid of what fear and secrets keep us here.

Lucien’s eyes which had remained fixed on the bread rose to my own. His breathing returned just before he gave his answer.

“You’re my burden.”

At last, he understood everything.

Then Lucien stepped forward, cut the bread, and placed a single bite in his mouth.

I saw it, the change. Familiar and unforgettable, the joy he’d had that night in the library after he bit me. The kind that had pulled laughter from his chest, truer and more pure than anything I’d ever heard, ever held. His mouth moving with a sensual slowness. Swallowing the present so it became forever. He stepped out from behind the counter between us, my body trailing his, turning like the shadow of a sundial.

I do not know who lunged first, but suddenly the distance between us was not so large, the heat of two bodies too real, and the taut string of need that had been pulling us closer for a lifetime snapped and he had me in his arms. Where once there had been absence, there was everything.

He walked aimlessly hands sliding the hem of my dress down my thighs. The bedroom upstairs, the world beyond his immediate body seemingly vanished. He did not ask and I did not tell him where to go. To do so would be too much space between us. Landing only as far as the sunroom he dropped to his knees. We were careless, yes, but with a sudden clarity of intention, he laid me against the ground with all the tenderness in the world. It was the only reason I could imagine the parting of our mouths.

He lowered his face, nudging along my waist, kissing me through the thin fabric, I wanted it to be easy, if he accepted, I wanted to feel him immediately even with clothes. His nose found my hips, the heat of his mouth pooled beneath the seam of the dress. His fingers found either side and pulled, tearing the stitching in two, exposing the skin beneath for his mouth to reach. He rose and met the place between my breasts with a moan, his voice deeper than I’d ever heard it, weighed and so needy it rattled between my ribs.

The firmness of his kiss contradicted the laze of his tongue as it swirled along the slope of my breast. I arched into him, the whole world warmer.

I couldn’t have had him any sooner, but I couldn’t fathom it, how long I’d been without. I’d become so hallow with need I no longer knew how to be just one person. My hands fumbled with the buttons of his clothes, and the clumsiness of our bodies, hip bones sliding along hip bones, the rough feel of his thigh, he turning and I following.

If we could get closer I’d do it.

If he could devour me then I’d devour him.

I could no longer wait. There had never been so little between us. The veil had been lifted, there was no margin, just a layer of want beyond measure.

His fingers splayed between my shoulder blades as his hips shifted. I felt him just there. His nose against mine, he paused and stared at me, questioning, like I could ever go back.

I nodded.

Our mouths open, pressed together, first pressure, then 200 years of relief.

#lucien vanserra #lucien x reader #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #acotar #lucien acotar #lucien fanfic #night court #high lord rhysand #rhysand!sister #25K later #okay its not going to be fade to black I swear just the moment seemed to me good as it was and I don't know how to write smut very well yet #I didn't wanna ruin it #a court of thorns and roses

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ice-cream-writes-stuff · 1 year

Text

Cheshire's Chase

《Catlad/Stray x Reader! HEADCANONS》

More Catlad Tim! HEADCANONS! Mini fic at end! Slight Robin Au too!

Tim is obsessed with the Batfamily (Regardless if you are Robin/Vigilante! Reader)

Tim often writes in a small journal about the crime-fighting family!

He looks up to Dick since he met him before at Haley's circus before his parents had became a bit detached.

Jason never met Tim as Robin, but did look up to him! Finding this Robin a tad bit cooler than when the first Robin was taking crooks down.

Nightwing on the other hand babies Catlad when Tim is first starting out! The two would even sneak out from their parents- *ahem* "parental guardians", to get some air and just talk. [Tim just straight-up fanboying and trying to play it cool. He asks questions about Batman, Nightwing, Robin, and etc.

Sighing stupidly at your phone, you felt your cheeks, warm as an oven and your heart all mushy. A small squeal leaves your lips as you twirl about on your way to Wayne manor. A skip in your step without a care in the world as you ring the doorbell.

Instead of Alfred greeting you, Bruce Wayne meets you at the front door.

"Ah, (Y/N), thank you for arriving in such short notice."

"Of course Mr. Wayne!" You yell, a bit too much excitement in your voice.

The play-boy billionaire eyes you with a questioning look. "Alright.. Well, I must head off now. Alfred and Dick will be back to the manor in a few hours. You know the rules, so I'll be off. Take care of Damien, have a good one!" The CEO waves goodbye as he heads to his garage.

You do a small wave back, soon heading inside the lustrous manor.

Your feet tapping against the cold floor as you wander around the manor for the "baby" you were supposed to be "sitting".

"(L/N)." Damien calls out to you from the stairs to the upstairs bedrooms. Ace and Titus sitting beside him with straightened postures.

You smile at the tiny kid, waving at him to come down. He does so, with a eye-roll and a click of his tongue. The two dogs following behind him like soldiers.

"You seem in good spirits (L/N), more so than usual." The boy said, the two of you outside in the ginormous backyard as you pick up a toy ball for the dogs.

"Ooohh... Yeah, I-I guess something good did happen today...!" You state, your voice becoming higher pitched and faster. Ignoring Damien's cold stare as you throw the toy ball, Ace runs after it, while Titus looks at his Master for confirmation. Damien nods, smirking a bit at his animal companion as he runs off toward Ace.

"Well what is it?"

""Scuse me?"

"What made you this "happy" today?" The young Wayne reiterates, petting Ace and Titus once they brought back the ball and another ball?

Where did they find the other one??

"IT-S Uhnnn, teenage stuff, it'll make you SO BOreeed, don't worry about it, kay?!" You grab one of the balls and chuck it so fast and far it flew outside the gardens.

"Damn.. I mean! DANG!" You try to censor yourself, forgetting there was a child present.

"(L/N), I know what cursing is, your just like Grayson whenever he loses his balance." Damien scoffs, and you chuckle at the oh-so "perfect Garyson" falling on his face whenever he tries to black-flip to impress you and Damien.

"I know, but your still a ity-bity tike! I don't wanna ruin your child like innocence!" You whine dramatically, attempting to go in for a hug as Damien expertly avoids your hug attack.

"Augh, your worse than Garyson!" He hisses, this time changing his route to inside the manor.

"Come on, we need to get that ball back!"

"Fine..!" You groan out, pouting. "But I think it's an accomplishment that I'm worse than him!"

Wandering around the Crest Hill neighborhood, you stare in awe at the pristine houses and ginormous manors and mansions of rich households.

Damien nudged your leg when he noticed the stupid expression on your face.

"You've seen Wayne Manor before, these buildings aren't as amazing. That one over there isn't even old, it's rather plain too."

You eye the one Damien pointed out curiously, "who's home is it?"

Damien shoots you a look, which you could only offer a timid smile.

The boy sighs and names all the residents on the street, explaining to you the reasons he even knew were due to his father's connections with the higher upper-class citizens of Gotham. Most of them attended the charities they frequented.

"The newer building is Drake Manor-"

Damien becomes quiet as he turns around, you following his position.

A familiar teen walks up to the two of you...

Oh.

SHIT-

"(Y/N)? What are you doing here?"

Your body trembles in place as you turn around, Damien who notices your frightened stance. Glares at the newcomer that decided to approach the two of you.

"TIM- I-I mean! Hi-! Drake, Tim Drake??" You babble, wanting to find the nearest rock and crush it on your skull.

"Uhm, yeah, that's me.. Why are you in Crest Hill? I thought you... Wait, do you live here?" Tim coughed, realizing his slip up.

"OH-ya see.. I had.. A baby-sitting gig, so that's why I'm here. BU-Ut... No, I don't live here, in this area, or neighborhood."

Tim's eyes don't meet your own, he rubs the back of his neck and apologized for the assumption.

"No! It's fine, really!" You honestly were just more focused on the fact Tim even knew you existed. The two of you didn't really talk with each other, except on the occasional "hi" or nod in greeting when seeing each other. (Which would always light up your day!)

"And the one that does live here is standing beside me." You gestured to Damien, who squares up in front of Tim.

Not frightened or shy by the lanky looking male in front of him.

"It was nice seeing you, Drake. But we have to keep looking for our ball, excuse us."

Damien, grabs your hand, trying to tug you away, but you stay rooted on the sidewalk.

"W-well I guess will see each other later?"

" Definitely," Tim said. His slips form into a grin as he walks back to his destination.

"Yeah.." You giggle stupidly.

Once Tim was out of sight and hearing, you stumble forward as Damien pulls you along.

"Wait! Damien! Calm down! My legs are asleep right now!" You cry out, he ignored you as the two of you find the ball and head back to the manor.

Mini Catlad And Other Batbrats HEADCANONS

Nightwing babies Catlad when first meeting them. Red Hood shoots at him, Robin tried to kill him.

Robin in this Au has a fun rivalry with Catlad, the two often bickering instead of fighting, or both at the same time.

I would like to think Catlad has intentionally flirted with you while babysitting Robin or Damien just to piss off the kid. But I can see that the two respect each other. But won't admit it unless they were both about to die.

"What's wrong?" Catlad smiles evilly at the two of you, or rather, mostly towards Robin. Who seemed fed up with the thief's antics. While you and Damien had decided to go to the museum to check out a new exhibit. (Dick had begged you to take Damien in his steed because of reasons.)

But, the two cat burglars had decided to make an entrance...

Batman was off running after Catwoman, while Robin stood protectively in front of you. Glaring at the cat-themed villain, while you smile at Catlad. Remembering the two of you rendezvous on apartment roof-tops a few days back.

You started to pray for his safety when Robin threw out a flash bomb at your friend.

[Hope you guys enjoyed it! I need to start thinking about making a bat-brats as villain series. Also, hint for the next one, it's gonna be a hoot! Get it?]

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danger-xylophones · 1 year

Text

Games (Maul x reader) smut

Warnings: nsfw 18+, smut, afab reader, bdsm, reader is wearing a dress, inappropriate use of the force, praise kink, fingering

Set late game Mandalor's Gambit

..........................

This meeting was boring. Beyond boring, even. You sat to Maul's right, perched on the arm of the throne - one leg crossed elegantly over the other with your hands settled primly in your lap. You'd joined the meeting late as you'd been busy finishing a meeting with the trade federation on behalf of the man on the throne. That one had been long and vexing but the grateful smile that had slipped onto Maul's face when he next saw you made it worth it. And the dark look that had flickered through his eyes at the sight of your dress hadn't hurt either. But as a result, you now had a rather uncomfortable seat.

Almec's voice was droning as he read out the latest fiscal reports from the Pyke's exploits. But, you supposed you should be grateful that it was easy to tune out.

Your gaze had long since gone lazy, focused on the far off mural of Satine that Maul still hadn't replaced when you felt the first touch. It was a whisper, cresting along the outside of your thigh. It was just faint enough you thought for a moment that you'd imagined it. Or that the fabric of your dress had just moved strangely. So, you brushed it off.

Until it happened again on the inside of your thigh. This time, you jumped - startled by the light feeling, which unbalanced you and nearly made you fall off the arm of the throne. But you were quick and uncrossed your legs to catch yourself, creating a level plane for your weight to settle on.

You chanced a glance at the gathered dignitaries and representatives to see if anyone had noticed your startle and near embarrassing loss of balance. But they were thankfully focused on Almec.

Just as you went to heave a sigh of relief, the touch returned - this time cresting along the juncture where your leg meets your body. Much too close. Instinctively, you almost moved to slap the feeling away. But a subtle shift and a look to the man responsible for the phantom touches would prove more effective.

As nonchalantly as you could, you leaned back, supporting your weight on one arm so you could look back at Maul. The movement caught his attention. His golden eyes flicked to you and he met your gaze with a questioning one of his own. But you saw through it. "What are you doing?" You asked in a soft voice, not wanting to be overheard.

Your answer was a grin, small and smug. And a raised hand for you to take. You did, settling your palm in his. His grip tightened and with a small tug of his arm (and a discreet push through the force) you slid onto the throne, between Maul's legs with your back pressed against his raised knee.

He released your hand to wrap both his arms around your waist, securing you to him. You thought, foolishly, as you settled into his embrace that Maul would be satisfied with holding you - that the teasing touches were all just a bid to get you in his arms for the remainder of the meeting. And, for a moment, that looked to be true. As you settled so did Maul. With his grip secured around you, his focus returned to Almec and the meeting pressed on.

Once or twice an attendee would sneak a glance to the throne and note the change in seating but no one dared to make a comment. And the meeting almost passed without incident.

Your warning sign was a squeeze at your hip. The sudden change in pressure didn't make you jump this time, but it did make your focus snap back to Maul. He was looking a head, almost ignoring you. Until he did it again, harder, pushing his grip to the point of aching. Your breathing changed, spiking in time with the sudden rush of alertness that flooded your system. And Maul let up. You shifted uncomfortably, chancing a glance at the still gathered attendees who were blissfully unaware of what was about to happen.

You turned back to Maul, angling your head to meet his eye. His eyes gleamed back at you, an all too familiar spark dancing in the flaming depths. You tried to subtly shake your head, to tell him that this was a bad idea. His reply was a sharp pinch to the delicate skin around your hip. You jumped in his hold, causing a nearly feral grin to break out on Maul's face. Turning to rebuke him, you unwittingly opened yourself to his next attack on your will-power. Another pinch made you keen into him, face buried in his neck to hide the change in your countenance as your clit ached from the sudden stimulus. You could feel the laugh he stifled as it shook his shoulders. But Maul wasn't entirely cruel.

Bringing one of his hands up, he held your head in place to help you better hide from the potential onlookers. But the other snuck down to sit just below what was proper - resting testily on your inner thigh.

And then...nothing. Maul didn't move, didn't manipulate the force to cause more touches, he didn't even press at your mind to fill it with images of just what he wanted to do to you. You waited but nothing happened.

A soft voice in the back of your mind warned you not to trust it. This was a trap. He was waiting for you to make a move before he did more. This was a trap and you weren't going to fall for it.

Except you did. The very moment you lifted your head from his shoulder to try and return to your earlier position, the touches returned. It felt like your head had been locked down to his shoulder, you couldn't turn it one way or the other, let alone lift it up. His real hand moved from your head, trailing down your body to your lap, to sneak beneath your dress.

You were expecting another pinch and thus when instead Maul offered a delicate brush to your clit through the fabric of your underwear, a shocked gasp nearly slipped from you. But Maul was quick on the ball and you found your jaw held shut by the same force keeping your head on his shoulder. "Not a sound, starlight." His command only served to excite you further and you couldn't help the immediate frustration you felt for enjoying this approach of his.

He waited for you to move, to show your agreement to his terms or make a sign that you truly wanted him to stop. After a moment of considering the options, you settled your hands in your lap.

You couldn't see the grin that stretched across Maul's face at your quiet submission but you definitely felt the next sweep of his thumb over your still clothed clit. This time it did not pull such an illicit reaction from you but as he continued, each stroke slow and evenly timed and so light, you had to close your eyes and grit your teeth to keep from letting a frustrated whine escape. He was playing with you, that was all. And it was maddening.

Each gentle sweep of Maul's thumb made you more sensitive to the next and before long your arousal had outgrown the gentle stimulus. And he knew. That was the worst part. He knew exactly what he was doing by winding you up this way, frustrating you just to leave you wanting. All on purpose. And all you could do was let out a displeased huff and try to time a wiggle of your hips to force a stronger touch. But one squeeze of your thigh from Maul's unoccupied hand was warning enough. "Patience," Maul rebuked into your ear, "I will give you what you want but only if you behave."

Bastard. You thought. And received a pinch in kind.

And now that he'd worked you up, the ache felt all the better. A moan pressed at your lips but you forced it down with a drawn out breath. He'd stop, you knew, if you broke the first rule he'd established. "Very good." He purred and tugged your underwear down enough to slip his hand in. Your breath hitched in anticipation.

"My lord, do you have anything to add before we adjourn?" The sound of Almec's voice startled you and you instinctively tried to snap your head up to look at him. Only for Maul to keep it in place.

"No," Maul's voice projected around the room just as his finger made contact, "You are all dismissed." the leather of his glove was absolutely frigid against your warm cunt and it sent a delightful chill through you. "Almec," Maul began to circle your clit, dancing on top of the delicate bud as he spoke, "I expect the minutes from the meeting to be sent to me immediately."

With your head still held against Maul's shoulder you couldn't see what happened next, but you had to assume Almec offered a nod before making some gesture to the gathered parties to dismiss them - going by the distinctive sound of many shuffling feet and swishing robes.

The entire time, Maul did not stop slowly circling your clit - still at a maddening pace. And nothing changed until the last person had left. "Saved by the bell, it would seem." Maul spoke low in your ear, and released his hold on your head to let you raise your face to his.

Still unsure if the no sound rule was still at play, you didn't dare speak and instead only tilted your head to show your confusion. He smiled fiendishly, "Very good," he hummed, speeding up his ministrations, chuckling to himself as he continued, "I was prepared to make you come undone in front of them all but now," with a bow of his head, he sealed his lips over yours for a moment, "I get to enjoy that beautiful sight alone."

#darth maul x reader #maul x reader #darth maul #star wars #star wars the clone wars #swtcw #star wars x reader #x reader

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sunnydayjackass · 2 years

Note

feel free to ignore this but ever considered an 80's camp counselor au would look like with Sunny Day Jack?

All I have to go off of is campy 80s movies lol so bear with me. Some nsfw further down.

You're the laid back counselor, sure you like the kids well enough but honestly you're in it for the change of scenery and paycheck. The kids like you, you're pretty lax but hold them accountable and appreciate that you talk to them like people as opposed to kiddie talk.

"Look Peter, I know you didn't mean to but you're kinda being an ass to Abigail." The boy toes the dirt sheepishly before nodding, shoulders slumping with regret, "Go give a good apology and we'll call it square alright?" You shrug and he nods scurrying off to do so.

Obviously none of the kids narc on you for the way you speak, the way you treat them draws them closer and they're more willing to be honest with you in turn. You're absolutely favored by a lot if not most of the kids

Jack though? Jack was fucking built for this type of thing in every way. He's an idyllic counselor. He's always upbeat and optimistic, he dotes on the kids with genuine enthusiasm and care. He never shirks away from his duties and always finds enjoyment in them, be it cleaning up equipment, turn to cook, latrines, ect. Everyone adores him.

He's the welcome wagon when you first arrive to camp, greeting you warmly and offering to help you carry your bags with a boyish grin. He'll apologize to you, "I hope it's okay- we got bunked up togerher. I mean, if it's not I'm sure someone can switch." He offers quickly trying to gage how you feel about it but you just give an easy shrug, a nonchalant shrug and almost playful reminder for him to mind his p's and q's.

Joke's on you boo- as soon as Jack saw that grinning photo paper clipped to your info sheet, you were bunked with him. And conveniently even if you'd wanted, no other counselors would seem willing to change bunks. Even those who are clearly obvious in Jack. Whatevers up with that- you'll never know.

But he's the perfect roommate as far as you can tell, Jack is incredibly easy to get along with even if you rib him about his demeanor he'll just smile widely and say the two of you just balance each other well. You become fast friends, thick as thieves- Jack willing to share his dessert with you if you're so inclined, help you with your duties, ect. And you're so sweet and grateful about it it just encourages him further.

Jack is always on the roster with you for lifeguard duty and that's where the attraction starts. Or at least you start to notice the chemistry and attraction. Jack is always subtle about his glances and when to turn his gaze. Naturally sometimes you catch him and it's cute how he gets bashful and such. But obviously, mans is fucking stacked, he's BUILT. And it's on display in those red short shorts with the little lifeguard crest and shiny whistle around his neck.

He's happy to do the work and let you perch up high on the white chair high up, happier to help lift you on it, marvelling at how you feel under his hands. But if you'd rather opt to pull your fair share alongside him, Jack is more than happy for your company and will sling an arm around your bare shoulders as you walk along the beach together chatting and keeping an eye on the campers- some needing to be reminded not to go out too far or rough horse

Also imagine helping each other with sunscreen? You're a little flustered rubbing it onto Jack's back but he just absolutely melts into your touch with a little low groan, "You've got some magic hands there, Sunshine." And you're so grateful he can't see your face in that moment.

When it's your turn, if you're still rosy, Jack will fret if you've gotten sunburnt and insist on returning the favor- if you're comfortable of course and...well how can you say no? If anyone has magic hands- it's Jack. It feels less like applying sunscreen and more like a massage. There's an air of intimacy around the two of you throughout this exchange- a charged shift in the dynamic.

The kids, of course, pick up on this, and naturally tease you about it. Collections of "oooooo's" from the kids or "Jack and (Name) sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G" the whole spiel and you're both good sports about it, blushing and waving it off to the kids while casting each other an inquisitive "haha jk, unless...?" Sort of look, it's taken off from that point on.

The next time this bridge is gapped is at an after hours bonfire for the counselors to have amongst the adults after all the kids have been tucked away for the night. There's music being played on the stereo, snacks and marshmallows being roasted for smores, along with popcorn to hold over the fire, and some alcohol passed about. Jack politely abstains, some of nerves getting the better of him, but he doesn't judge you or the others should you choose to partake

As the night wears on, you catch a chill that Jack of course noticed and drapes his jacket over you, settling beside you on the log and wrapping an arm around you to pull you against him while you both lean towards the crackling fire. "Is this okay?" Jack whispers quietly to you and you simply snuggle against him in return, leaning your weight against him and tucking your head against his shoulder.

There's a few teases and knowing smirk from other counselors but it doesn't bother you nor Jack as you cuddle alongside the campfire. Eventually it's reduced to embers, everyone else tuckered out or drunk that you all part ways to your cabin. Jack helps you up, his arm slipping around your waist with relaxed ease on the walk back. There's a magnetism between you, a mounting of tension and unsure of who's going to break it.

After the pair of you return to the cabin- you aren't sure who acts first. All you know is your hands are yanking Jack by the collar of his shirt and his hands are in your hair as your lips collide fervently. The air feels warm and hazy as you softly mewl into Jack's mouth before he pulls away, kissing down the column of your neck, asking if he can take you to bed.

After this seal has been broken, you and Jack opt to share a bed rather than sleep separately, with your relationship comes the "mom & dad" jokes from counselors and "boyfriend & girlfriend" from the kids.

You're usually spotted together like before, now usually with Jack's arm slung around you or holding your hand. When it comes to completing tasks and chores well...suddenly they take a lot longer and require a lot more work.

You getting fucked up against the wall of the canoe and equipment shed, being eaten out before making dinner, sneaking away to be fingered or a blowjob in the woods, and some nights? After the moon is high in the sky and the camp silent in sleep- the pair of you sneak out to skinny dip

When camp comes to a close, it's definitely hard. Neither of you wants to end this summer romance, so you don't. Jack promises to drive out and see you, you promise to do the same. You exchange all information: phone numbers, addresses, ect. "I'll see you soon, Sunshine. I promise, I love you." He murmurs into your hair as he gives you a lingering tight hug before pressing a kiss to your lips. You're loathe to let him go, getting so attached to each other but you’ve no choice to start driving home.

It isn't long before the two of you plan your visits and a handful of months after bouncing back and forth- you decide to move in together. It works, seamlessly, as all things seem to with Jack.

#somethings wrong with sunny day jack #there's something wrong with sunny day jack #theres something wrong with sunny time jack #something's wrong with sunny day jack #tswwsdj #swwsdj #sunny day jack #sdj x reader #sunny day jack x reader #sdj

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prolix-yuy · 1 year

Text

If the Moon Walks Out

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: The Mandalorian's profession ushers in a harsh reality.

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: M, descriptions of injuries, blood, and medical-ish procedures, allusions to sexual acts, PiV sex, fingering (f-receiving), hurt/comfort, angst but there's some good sweetness to balance it out. While this story is not explicit, my blog and the content shared on it is 18+ MINORS DNI.

Notes: It's been a hot minute since we've checked in with our space family! I realized after pausing updates that I left the story in somewhat of a "season finale" state, so I'm embracing it and calling this new episode the beginning of Season 2. Time to buckle up our butts and hop back in space with my favorite space dad and his green baby!

Takes place the day after Soft Fires.

Cross-posted on AO3

I Think of You Series Masterlist

The strange insistence of your circadian rhythm wakes you inside the Razor Crest. Time has a fuzzy aspect in space, but you still manage to keep your schedule as regular as possible. Like now, as sleep recedes from your eyes and you stretch with a thin groan. Your legs and arms tighten and release, pleasant tension and relaxation working through your muscles. As you shift, thighs rubbing together, a tenderness at the apex rushes last night’s actions to the forefront.

(you finally fucked the Mandalorian)

(again)

A smile breaks out on your face that, even without an audience, you hide behind your hands. Rolling over to curl on your side, you bury your face in your pillow and stifle the burst of happiness under the covers.

(you are more beautiful than Basic can convey)

(careful Mando, or I might fall in love with you)

(would that be a bad thing?)

(no it karking would NOT)

Swinging out of your cubby bed, you pad to the kitchenette to make a pot of caf. You might say there was a spring in your step, and a smile unwilling to quit on your lips. Mando doesn’t seem to be up yet, but you’re sure he’ll be along soon.

Measuring out grounds and water, your mind keeps drifting back to your time in the cockpit.

Mando’s arms, bare around you after a moment of conflict.

His words, growled through the vocoder as he pumped inside you in waves of pleasure.

Two of the best orgasms of your life.

(the others were also at his hand, that night so long ago)

“Good morning,” comes the same voice you’d just been recalling, Mando standing tall behind you with the child waking slowly. His marble eyes blink blearily, but when he sees you standing in the Food Place he reaches out to be held. You snicker at him before taking him into your arms.

“Good morning Bean,” you coo, and he yawns and gives your thumb a firm grip. It always makes your heart clench a little, that anchoring touch. “And good morning to you too, Mando,” you add, turning up to look into the featureless visor.

(well)

(what do we do now?)

After the child went to bed, you stayed with Mando in the cockpit for a few hours more. Some of it was spent talking, explanations of the next couple bounties, when you’d be touching down, where. He told you a little more about how he and the child came to be a clan of two, the darker details coming forward. You listened, commented when silence indicated Mando wanted your opinion, and absorbed their history together.

(a clan of two)

(two plus one, now, you hope)

When sleep began to pull at your eyes, Mando lifted from his seat and cupped your cheek.

“Let’s put you to bed, Mesh’la,” he murmured, to which you smiled and shooed him away.

“Would rather not see how you intend to get me down the ladder,” you joked, giving him a long look. He was as ferocious and powerful as he’d always been, but the more time you spend together, the more you find the man behind the beskar. He was amused, but also relaxed, offering comfort. You’d take it any chance you get.

“Good night, Mando,” you said, and with a new boldness you wrapped him in your embrace. His arms circled around your back quicker than you thought, and that small act made you smile into his chestplate. His hug was sharp edges and firm muscle and the gentle expansion and contraction of breath.

“Good night, Mesh’la. Sweet dreams,” he returned, and you stumbled into bed half-drunk off his embrace.

Now, in the bright light of a new day, you wonder briefly if anything will change. If Mando will allow himself your touch, or if he’ll act like last night never happened. You hope not, but if past experiences dictate future ones, dealing with Mando’s emotions is a bit like trying to climb a mud-slicked mountain. Two steps forward, one slide back. Slow going, but a journey you would happily traverse.

Mando cocks his head at you, then steps into the kitchenette.

(Maker, he takes up so much space it’s suffocating having him in this small room)

The child is fixated on a bit of bread he probably hopes is for breakfast, so he doesn’t notice his caretakers’ locked gaze, or the way Mando slides one hand to your hip and around to splay on your lower back. With a gentle pull he fits you against his body and presses his own special kiss to your forehead. Butterflies explode in your stomach.

(no more guessing no more hoping this is real)

It’s brief but meaningful, a sign that Mando won’t be ignoring your affections any longer. It makes your heart skip several beats.

“Caf’s ready,” you squeak, spinning around quickly enough that the child’s ears flop dramatically. One-handed pouring cups for you both, Mando’s gaze is hot along your shoulders, the curve of your neck. Not lustful, but possessive, like a man who has finally let himself have something decadent and has no intention of giving it up.

He takes the cup with a quiet “thanks,” stroking his free hand along your back as he exits to the cockpit. Once he’s out of earshot you let out a shaky breath, waves of excitement and arousal and tension breaking along your coast. The child looks up with curiosity, squeezing your thumb a little firmer

“Everything’s fine, Bean,” you say, a smile almost cracking your face with joy. “More than fine, actually.”

“This should be quick,” Mando says as he slings his amban rifle over his shoulder, bandolier tightening with the additional artillery. You’re perched on a seat by the table, fingers quick on your datapad as you pull up something to keep you entertained. While the planet looks lush and some trees are heavy with fruit, Mando assured that you wouldn’t want anything that thrives here.

“This region cultivates many poisonous plants. Creatures too. Stay inside with the kid.” He takes in the child’s downturned ears and runs his thumb and forefinger over the ridge of one. “Next time we’re somewhere safe you can go exploring.”

“C’mon Bean, don’t you enjoy my company?” you tease, earning the tiny-green-baby equivalent of a begrudging shrug. It would have made you laugh if you weren’t pretending to act offended.

“How could you say such a thing! When I’ve been nothing but patient with your needs!” A staticy chuckle warms your skin as you throw out one of the few hand signals you knew from the Tuskens who traded on the outskirts of Tatooine: ungrateful, a hand cupped and pulled towards your chest, then turned to the ground. Accepting water and throwing it away. The child’s bottomless eyes lock on your hands, ears perking up as you lean on the crate.

“You like that, Bean? It’s a different way of talking. I’m not very good at it,” you huff, showing him the sign again. You’d seen it during a barter once, gleaning the meaning before asking your father what they were doing. There were a scant few others you knew, most of them to do with trade, but the child’s reaction was promising.

“You know the Tusken language?” Mando asks, startling you with his hovering at your shoulder.

(every time you think you know where he is, he gives you a karking heart attack)

“Just a little, we got traders in town every now and then,” you say, straightening up in your seat. “Had an idea a few days ago that it might be a good way to communicate. Since, you know, the talking thing hasn’t been going great.”

“I can teach him,” Mando says, making you lean back to look up at the helmet.

(Maker, he looks gorgeous from any angle)

“Where’d you pick that up?” you ask, a smile playing at the corner of your lips. Mando’s hands come up to his waist and make several complicated gestures. You hold yours up in protest.

“Woah, woah, I only know a few words!” you laugh, earning a squeal of delight from the child. Mando puts a hand on his hip, cocking his head at the two of you.

“The Dune Sea is easier if you can negotiate with the locals,” he says. You nod knowingly, leaning on your elbow as Mando picks up the last few items he needs for the hunt. “Languages are useful in my line of work.”

“Please tell me you know some Wookie,” you tease, and for a second you think Mando might actually indulge you before he shakes his head.

“Maybe later, Mesh’la. I’ve got to get moving.”

Nodding curtly, you pick up the child and move over to open the back ramp for Mando. He strides to the edge, standing side by side as the ramp lowers. You’ve stood in this spot a few times before, but today feels so much lighter. The child grips your shirt and pulls himself up to your cheek, his smaller, chubbier face now level with yours. The ramp thuds to earth as Mando turns to you both.

“Be safe,” you say, almost a force of habit by now. The child trills in response. You didn’t expect much from Mando, his leaving normally not accompanied by a farewell. A nod in your direction and a heavy saunter were your usual signals of departure. But like you felt before, the mood is different today. Instead, he tucks his forefinger under the child’s chin and strokes the roundness of his cheek. It makes him squinch up his eyes, but you swear you can see a smile on his wrinkled face.

“Stay out of trouble,” he says to the child, then turns his attention to you.

Heart thumping in your chest, you briefly imagine another Keldabe kiss. The few times he’s indulged you’d cherished, but never imagined it could become a habit. Now with him about to depart, you wonder what your goodbye could look like.

(would he want you to kiss him?)

Your answer comes in the form of his knuckle tucking under your chin, the soft leather of his glove swiping below the crest of your lower lip. He strokes a path to the back of your neck, cradling the base of your head in his expansive hand.

“You too,” he tries to say lightly, but there’s a thickness in his voice that explodes in your stomach. “You can be just as bad as him sometimes.” You snort at his teasing.

“Well, you’re the worst of us all,” you quip back, but lean into his touch. It takes him another moment before he lets go.

(yours your yours Mando)

With a curt nod he descents the ramp, shoulders and hips swaying a little more than normal. It blooms excitement in your chest.

Another day. Another bounty. Possibly another night of his touch ahead of you. The galaxy felt like a kinder place.

The hours tick by, not too dully at least. You started the day cleaning the hold, gathering yours and Mando’s clothing for a wash. It was slow going in the small ‘fresher sink, but you had time to spare and the child didn’t mind being entertained by stories and splashes. Grime and sometimes worrying rust-colored water washed down the sink as you moved the sopping cloth into the shower to dry.

“You know Bean, I think we need to convince your dad to invest in a few household appliances,” you hum thoughtfully, a reassuring trill answering. “Besides the sub-par cooking supplies, a wash system would be amazing.” The child burbles on your hip as you bounce back into the hold, going down your mental list of tasks you wanted to complete.

(clothing clean, supplies checked)

(need a shower, maybe a shave)

(you know, just in case)

Smiling to yourself, you start gathering your toiletries. The child never seemed to mind being cooped up in the 'fresher with you, though some days you do wonder how much of a child he really is. Hopefully the fogged-up transparisteel of the shower door is enough to protect his innocence.

(then again, leaving him to roam has not gone well)

You’re about to head into the ship when the comm in the cockpit pings. Climbing up to investigate, it only relays the distance Mando is from the Crest.

(unusual, he normally calls)

Fear prickles in your belly, but you try to shake it off in favor of pragmatism. The bounty could be rowdy, or heavy, and Mando may not be able to reach the vocal transmission controls. Descending, you open the back hatch and wait at the top of the ramp for his shape to gleam on the horizon.

It doesn’t take long, the beskar a beacon for the sunset to dance off. You watch his approach with the child in your elbow, shading your eyes against the glare. He’s trudging along, bounty slumped over his shoulder but seemingly conscious. It’s slow though, slower than you’re used to seeing Mando. As the distance closes, your heart spikes into panic.

(he’s limping)

It shouldn’t come as a shock to you that Mando could get injured on the job. The most dangerous moment of your life, trapped in the Lively Bantha as blaster bolts rang out around you, is a blip on his radar. From the stories you’d heard and the pieces you’d put together, you’re sure the map of Mando’s body is patterned in injuries.

This, however, is different. You’re here, and you’re terrified.

“Stay here Bean, I mean it,” you say sternly, placing the child on a crate in the hold. He makes a concerned “patu?” noise, which you try to soothe with a hand on his back.

“I’m not sure, I hope he’s okay. Stay here. Promise me,” you say, and for some hysterical reason you put out your pinky as if he’d even understand what that meant. He doesn’t have enough dexterity to wrap his littlest claw with yours, but he does grip it briefly before you rush back.

Mando and the barely conscious bounty, human by the looks of it, are approaching the base of the ramp. You barrel down it, coming to a stop in front of them both.

“Get back in the…” Mando tries to say, but a sharp inhale cuts him off before he can rebuke you further. Wordlessly, you slide under his free arm and give him a steadying push. Stepping in tandem, the three of you make it to the top of the ramp, and as if on autopilot Mando shoves the half-aware human into the carbonite chamber, slapping the button to initiate. The hiss of gas dissipates behind you as you pull Mando further into the hold.

“Kriff, Mando, what happened?” you pant, the stress of shouldering someone that much bulkier than you quickening your breath. Mando groans quietly, soft little pants coming through the vocoder as you sit him beside the child.

“Bounty was fine. Had a run-in with…something. Got bit.” Mando grits out, leaning heavily on his elbow to keep from toppling over.

(on a planet that houses the most poisonous species)

(oh Maker)

“Where?” you breathe, hands already starting to shake. Infection is bad, poison is worse, venom is…you can’t even fathom. He pats his outer thigh, another wince and a groan following.

“It was…a reptile. Fast. Red…I think.” Mando’s voice is starting to weaken, and terror seizes your body like a iron cage. The child is trilling at Mando, scrambling onto the table to be closer to his protector.

(no no no what the kriff are you supposed to do this cannot be happening Mando cannot be NO stupid girl don’t even think that he’s okay it’s going to be okay kriff what do you do?)

All at once the tension, the fear and the terror are doused in cool logic. Your father was the one who taught you to protect yourself, but your mother had teachings of her own. Adept in medicine, problem-solving and crisis, her voice now steels your spine.

(Daughter of mine, the first thing you must do is assess the damage)

Dropping to your knees, you inspect the spot on Mando’s thigh where he indicated the bite. Nothing looks the matter at first glance, but investigating closer reveals two ragged holes in the fabric of his flight suit, dark blood sticking it to his skin.

(Fangs most likely mean venom)

Heart thrumming, you work your finger into the hole and tense to rip it.

(sorry Mando, the Creed will have to take another small hit to keep you alive)

The taut tan flesh underneath quivers when you press near the wounds, hot and hard to to the touch. The pressure elicits a rough choking noise from Mando. It makes your skin prickle, but you surround the wound with your hands and squeeze.

Thick clotting blood oozes out, along with yellow ichor and something deep and dark.

(Venom, daughter. Bacta won’t be enough)

You squeeze again to be sure, making Mando’s fist come down hard on the table. A string of curse words in a language you don’t understand bursts through static, the child coming up to press his three-fingered hands on Mando’s vambrace. He chuckles, somehow, in the midst of all this.

“Don’t, kid, I’ve had worse,” he scolds the child.

“Stay with me Mando,” you shoot back, twisting around to retrieve your datapad. “How big was it?” Mando shakes his head, forcing focus.

“Four feet long, reptile, low to the ground, yellow eyes,” he spouts off as you type furiously. Turning the datapad to Mando, you press his thigh just a bit to snap his head to the image.

“Yeah, I think…kriff, looks like it,” he groans, doubling over. The child is louder now, squeaking and struggling against Mando’s hand holding him back.

“Breathe,” you direct, watching him try to take less shallow gasps. “Okay, venomous but not deadly. Painful, for sure. Antidote is…” Your fingers fly through the information, a strangely frilled leaf coming into view.

(You’ve seen that before, daughter)

“Thanks the karking Stars,” you shout, scrambling to your feet and tossing, “Stay there!” over your shoulder as you gallop down the ramp. Taking off at a sprint, you round the front of the Crest to find a wall of the same leaves, hanging so low they brush along its steel haunches. You had admired them through the transparisteel earlier in the day, wondering if they stayed that green their entire lives. They’re not quite in reach, but a few carefully judged steps up the landing gear and a lucky snatch has three of the dinner plate-sized leaves clutched in your hands.

(Hurry, dear girl)

Lungs and legs burning, you clamber up and into the hold again, skidding to a stop on your knees that will surely leave bruises.

“Macerate into paste…needs…what the kark is ‘subtle acid’?” you pant, tearing the leaves into smaller pieces.

(Chew)

Without a further thought you stuff the leaves into your mouth, chewing vigorously. The flavor is instant, strongly vegetal, bitter, but you let saliva pool in your mouth.

“Mesh’la…” Mando groans, followed by an anxious coo. Looking up, your clan of two are regarding you, on your knees with cheeks full of awful tasting leaves. Drool is dripping down your chin - there is some numbing chemical in the greenery, you’re losing feeling in your lips - and you’re sure you look a mess, but Mando still cups the side of your face. You shake your head, digging wads of the leaf paste out and into your palm.

“Save whatever you have to say for after I get this in you,” you scold, your voice only shaking a little as you pour water over the open wounds to clean them. The trickle of blood is weak, but the swelling and angry color does not bode well. Unceremoniously, you jam the paste into the wounds, ignoring Mando’s groans as you press and rub and work the paste in.

“Dank farrik, Mesh’la, I think it’s in there,” Mando squeezes out, fist clenching on the crate.

“When you’re not in danger I’ll listen to you,” you shoot back, and are rewarded with a dark chuckle.

(he can laugh, that’s a good sign)

Once the wounds are stuffed and slathered to bursting, you spit the rest of the bitter paste into a bowl, licking around your gums to dislodge any remaining bits. Your lips feel heavy and thick, tongue tingling and half numb. It’s hard to tell if you’re still drooling, but a few swipes along your face reassures you. The paste looks to be working, the deep green darkening to black and oozing out of the wound. You repack it two more times, much to Mando’s displeasure, but the angry redness is dissipating and the flesh is no longer hot. Throughout the process the child grips Mando’s vambrace, eyes locked on his visor as he makes tiny concerned coos. Mando murmurs to him, reassurances you remember from your own mother.

(All will be well soon, daughter. You did a fine job. I’m proud of you)

(miss you, mom)

An hour passes like this, few words actually spoken under your careful watch. When the final wad of salve oozes free without deadly black poison following you know the wound is drained. Next comes fresh water, a cloth gently washing away the mess from Mando’s thigh, and a bacta patch to close the wounds. You debated on stitches but the punctures looked small enough, clean enough, to take bacta well.

Sitting in a crumpled heap on the floor, you finally allow the adrenaline to seep from your limbs. Every muscle shrieks, your knees hot and aching, hands chafed raw. Amongst it all, you watch Mando carefully. He stands, testing the weight on his leg. He’ll carry a slight limp for a day, but you can tell the pain is manageable for him.

(he’s been through worse with less help)

The child chirps from the crate table, urging you to your feet. When you lift him he goes willingly, but holds his arms out to Mando with a whine. You smirk, but hand him over to his guardian.

“Hey kid,” he rumbles, propping the child on one arm to look at his concerned face. “You should be nicer to her, she took very good care of me.” Wrinkling your nose, you barely find the energy to huff a laugh at the gentle scold. The child looks back at you, ears downturned and reaching back one hand. His other is firmly wrapped around Mando’s thumb.

“Thankless job, saving your life,” you warble, more emotional than the joke you meant it to be. Mando meets you in the middle of your step, wrapping his free arm around your back and pulling you into his side. Tucking your head into his shoulder, he squeezes you tightly. The child grabs for your hand and you offer your thumb, but he takes your pinky in his tiny grip instead.

(good memory Bean)

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” Mando murmurs above your head, the beskar pressing against your temple. It grounds you enough for a shaky breath.

“I forget this is your life,” you admit, fisting your hand into his cape as your clan of two holds you in such different ways.

Mando hums, stroking his hand up and down your back with long, slow passes. You press into his shoulder, fighting back the tears that threaten to fall now the work is done. “Are you okay, Mesh’la?”

“I’ll be fine, just…need to breathe,” you answer, and Mando lets you do that, just breathe in the tiny circle of the people you care most for in the galaxy.

(main thrusters, backup thrusters, directional…kriff, it looks the same as…oh okay, that’s the comms, and that’s the landing gear sequence…now where’s the…)

“Mesh’la?”

Mando’s voice startles you out of your deep concentration, once again cursing how quietly he can move around the ship.

“Hi, yes, sorry, do you need…sorry, I’ll…” you stammer, gathering the tattered manuals strewn across your lap as you shuffle out of the pilot’s seat. Through the heat of your embarrassment you catch Mando tilting his head at your clumsy shuffle, the armful of pages plopping down on the jump seat as you smile too brightly at him.

(why do you feel like you’ve been caught watching dirty holos? You were just sitting in the pilot’s seat)

(his seat)

Mando’s ankles are crossed one over the other, arms similarly folded against his chest. The dark T visor is trained on you, his observation making your hands restless.

“What are you reading?” he asks, nodding down at the manuals. You straighten, starkly self-conscious now that you’ve been caught in the act.

(will he think you a fool?)

“Well, after today, I just…I realized that I don’t know much about the Crest.” You swallow hard, the image of Mando’s body going limp in the hold pressing behind your eyes, “The biggest thing I’ve ever driven was a speeder but I found all of these manuals.” The top one is open to the page on the console buttons, and you scoop it back up to distract from Mando’s attention.

“This seemed like a good place to start,” you say cheerily, coming to stand in front of the console with its dimmed lights. “Power up sequence is…” you start, finding the tiny writing that details each step. Miming the button presses and level flicks, you count out the procedure.

“One, two, up, up, lift-case-press-once…” Turning your head to the switches above you, Mando’s silhouette is no longer in the doorway but standing behind the pilot seat, one hand resting on the back. His closeness tightens your posture, cheery smile on your face feeling more like a grimace.

“Four switches here, all in a row…” you murmur, reaching up to tap them in sequence. When you do, the cool air of the cockpit breezes against a sliver of skin on your stomach. It’s contrasted immediately with the heat of Mando’s gaze on it.

(no distractions, you have to learn)

“Then we’re on to takeoff procedures, so we’ll engage…” You’re interrupted with the warm weight of Mando’s hand circling your bicep.

“What’s this about?” he murmurs, but you pull free from his barely-there grasp with a tut.

“You’re going to make me lose my place,” you scold, taking a step out of his reach to lean over the console, but your hand shakes as you rest it on the thruster. “Thrusters to…thrusters…to…”

(Mando lying dead in a forest you could never reach)

(dead on a prison ship parsecs away)

(dead on a planet you don’t know the name of)

(dead dead dead dead)

His hands touch you with purpose now, shifting you to stand beside the pilot’s seat as he settles into it. Your grip on the manual is white-knuckled, your teeth clenched as you try to say anything, explain yourself, but Mando pays you no mind as he spreads his hands along the console.

“The manuals are a start, but the Crest has had better days,” he says, a dry smile in his tone. Your muscles begin to loosen, eyes locked on the Mandalorian as he speaks slow and carefully, his hands moving with purpose.

“Only one back thruster has an ignition spark, so you have to ignite the live one and use the exhaust manifold to light the other,” he says, walking you through each revised step of the Crest’s takeoff procedure. He pauses when he hears you furiously scratching notes, and goes over parts of it again when your eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“Once you’re out of the atmosphere there are a few steps to prepare for hyperspace, especially without an astromech…” Your lungs freeze at the thought.

(how the kriff are you going to compute hyperspace travel without a droid?)

(kriffing Mando and his Maker-damned brain)

(it’s one of the sexiest things about him)

“...but if you give me a few days I’ll write out the calculations for you,” he finishes, and the relief paired with the wave of arousal at how easy he makes it sound is a dizzying combination.

“Thank you,” you breathe, putting down the manual and wiping your sweaty palms on your pants. “Where’s Bean?” you ask, the little bogwing nowhere in sight.

“I gave him some jerky, he’s probably still working at it,” Mando replies, and finally a light chuckle bubbles from your lips.

(two baby teeth and a strip of jerky, you’ll have to save Bean from the torture)

“I’ll go check on him,” you say, turning to leave but Mando’s hand wraps around your wrist with a gentle tug.

(guess you’ll have to explain yourself now)

He guides you back to stand between his knees, thumbs stroking the backs of your hands.

“Would you tell me what you’re thinking?” he asks, and you’re struck by how often Mando surprises you. You expected an accusation, an interrogation, and then he only asks you to help him understand.

(Maker you can barely comprehend the care he offers you)

(is this what it’s like for him?)

“When you were…” You pause, trying to get more moisture in your mouth. Mando waits, helmet turned up to you in patient silence.

“When I thought you were dying, I realized I wouldn’t know what to do if you did. I - we rely on you so much. To pilot the Crest, to earn credits, to keep us safe, and if you were gone…” The words can’t come up for air, the devastation of that dread scorching your tongue.

“...I thought if I just read these and figured out the basics it would mean I could at least get us to safety. If you were in trouble I could find you. If it was just…Bean and I…I could still complete your mission…”

(Kark the mission)

(if Mando was gone, you’d be all that Bean had)

“Nothing will happen to me, Mesh’la,” Mando says, gentle assurance on the outskirts of that modulated voice. It makes you ball your hands into fists, gritting your teeth when you meet the visor’s stare.

“You don’t know that. You leave every time to risk your life and there’s no telling which time you’ll walk out and never come back.” Saying those fears out loud tightens your throat, the corners of your mouth pulling into a grimace as you fight against tears.

“I won’t allow that to happen,” Mando says more forcefully, his grip grounding. This close you can almost believe him. He’s impenetrable to most - beskar, strength, cunning, speed - but today only fattened up your fears.

(you’ll be alone)

“I can’t live like that, Mando, relying on you to not get bit, or shot, or killed. I can’t sit by and pretend you’ll always come back. I need to know how to fly, where to keep searching for the Jedi, how to find you if you’re lost or taken. I can’t just live on this ship until one day you’re gone.”

At the crack in your voice Mando surrounds you, pulling you down into his lap and letting you sob into the cool beskar. One hand cradles the back of your neck, his arm wrapped around your back to sink you deeper into him. The scent of dirt and warm fabric and blood envelops you, comforting as it is terrifying.

(you could have lost him today)

“I’m sorry, Mesh’la, I know,” Mando soothes, rubbing his thumb in gentle circles behind your ear. “This was a bad one. I have you to thank for stopping it from being far worse.” Mando pulls away enough to cup your chin in his soft gloved hand. “I will do everything in my power to stay safe…” He sighs, the truth on his lips. “...but you’re right. I may not come back one day.”

He lets the acknowledgement sit in the air for a few moments while you search the helmet for something more. Sadness? Fear? Worry? Or are those all just your own emotions reflected back in the brilliant shine?

“So I’ll teach you. How to fly the Crest, my contacts, my plans, all of it.” The resolute tone of his voice smooths your face, leaning into his touch as the thrumming anxiety beneath your skin lowers to a simmer. “We’ll have backups, boltholes, everything you need in case of an emergency.”

The shuddering breath you take is met with a quiet, “That’s it, Mesh’la,” as your heart rate begins to drop. A few moments more and you find your fortitude, his arms resting in an easy circle around your waist.

“I’ll keep you safe,” Mando promises, wiping away a streak of tears from your cheek. The leather is soft on your skin, the touch reverent.

“I know, Mando,” you hiccup, nose stuffed and head pounding from the ache of emotion bouncing inside it. You must be a sorry sight, but Mando only caresses your face and holds you close.

(you don’t dare think this could me more than care right now)

(your heart couldn’t take it)

“Didn’t know you had medical training,” he says, his thigh shifting making you hiss out a “sorry” as you adjust your weight off his injured leg.

“My mother taught me well,” you reply, eliciting a nod from Mando. “Didn’t know the Crest was such a complicated ship.” A pause. “I like watching you pilot her.”

“Is that so?” Mando purrs, and that sneaky arousal from before aches quietly between your legs as Mando’s hand slips from your cheek to slide along your collarbone.

“You’re good with your hands,” you gasp, your own coming to his forearm to tighten on the vambrace.

“I know,” he replies cockily, fingers sliding back up to brush his thumb over your lower lip.

A small curious trill echoes up the ladder, pulling his hands away from you with a sigh. You would laugh but it’s probably for the best. Your nerves are live wires, raw emotions still just barely simmering under the surface.

“Sounds like Bean’s given up on the jerky. Coming down?” you ask, standing and wiping your face more thoroughly with your shirt sleeve.

(no point in scaring the kid)

(you’ll be okay)

“Wait…” Mando says, bringing you back into the bracket of his thighs again. “Tonight, after the kid goes to sleep, meet me in the ‘fresher,” he says, one wandering hand dragging slowly up your hip. “I’ve been thinking about what I’d like to do if we were back there again.”

Heat erupts across your face, molten hot down your spine and puddling in your core.

“Kriff, Mando, don’t know how I’m going to last until then when you talk like that,” you groan, thighs rubbing together as he tilts the helmet at you.

“Better hope he tires out quickly,” he teases.

Bean does not go down early, but you use the time to dote on him further. He relishes in the long dinner, the extra-detailed story you weave about a Bantha family in the desert, the indulgent snuggle under your chin as you soothe him to sleep.

(maybe your heart needed just a little more comfort)

(or maybe you just love him more than you let yourself admit)

Either way, when you settle him into his hammock, blue blanket tucked around his tiny body, you thank the Maker that he’s trusted you with such a precious, weird, perfect little creature.

And then later, when you enter the ‘fresher and Mando’s hands land hot and bare on you, you thank the Maker again for sparing Mando as he takes you apart pressed against the cool tiled wall, mouth buried in his thick bicep as his skilled fingers drag your orgasm to new shattering heights.

Balanced on the edge of the sink, Mando’s helmet tucked over your shoulder as he pumps into you with long slow thrusts, you whisper all of the words you couldn’t say in the cockpit.

“Thank you for coming back to me.”

“Feels so good Mando, you feel so good inside me.”

“Don’t stop, please, don’t stop.”

Mando’s voice drags roughly over your skin, rumbling into your ear.

“I’m here, Mesh’la.”

“I’ve got you.”

“I’ll keep you safe.”

And you believe him.

END

“a flower knows, when its butterfly will return, and if the moon walks out, the sky will understand; but now it hurts, to watch you leave so soon, when I don't know, if you will ever come back.”

― Sanober Khan

Episode 10 of the I Think of You Series

The story continues in Episode 11: Rising Phoenix

#din djarin x female reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #mandalorian x you #din djarin x f!reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin x you #mando x you #mando x reader #mando fanfiction #mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian x reader #i think of you series #prolix fics

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prince-liest · 2 months

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This may be an odd question, but I believe you mentioned you got into writing because of rp(or at least into fanfiction?) And I was wondering how you transitioned into writing solo? Most of my writing is/was with a partner, but I've been trying to write on my own, and I've found it incredibly difficult. I'm told that what I write is still good regardless, but I've a hard time both finding enthusiasm for it without a partner to bounce off of or finishing whatever I'm working on.

This might just be a me thing and more to do with being self-critical, but if you have any advice, I'd really appreciate it. I just want to figure out how to enjoy writing again without jumping through weird hoops for motivation.

(You may have already been comfortable writing even before rp and if that's the case, feel free to disregard this question.)

I'd tried to write a bit of fanfic before my RP days with limited success motivating myself, so it really was very much RP that got me the skills and ability to be able to write full-form fics!

But more than mechanical skill, mostly I think the issue you face is very similar to what I struggled with for a while when swapping to writing fanfic, which is that a lot of the reason RP is so easy and rewarding is because it's such a profoundly social activity. You write a few paragraphs and then you get social feedback immediately from your RP partner in the form of chatting about it and/or the RP response you get! With fanfiction, you have to write a whole damn piece or chapter, post it, and then hope that you get comments if you want engagement - and then those comments are inevitably going to be a little bit less personal if, like me, you RP OCs that you put a lot of yourself into rather than pre-existing characters!

The problem with doing things for the sake of extrinsic motivation is that it kills your intrinsic motivation to do those things. This isn't a moral flaw, it's a documented psychological effect! Nowadays I write primarily because I want to see the things I put into the world, but that's fucking easy for me to say when I also have a large reader base and really enthusiastic commentors, isn't it? And it took me a hot minute to figure out how to transition to motivating myself that way rather than because I wanted interaction.

My suggestion is, honestly, to find folks that hype you up! I kinda crested that barrier by getting possessed by writing demons and pounding out like 60k words of insane Hawks-centric character study in one month during the 2020 quarantine, and I was lucky enough that people really liked it and immediately flooded my notifications with the kind of really lovely, long-form comments that my writing style encourages, which isn't really a typical experience. Those folks that hype you up, it is LOVELY if they are your friends, but sometimes what you really need to do is find the small social circle of freaks that are really into whatever niche thing it is that you are writing, and infiltrate their Discord. Ship-specific groups are really good for this! (Especially for rarepairs.)

But a lot of it is really going to be finding the balance of finding supportive people who will feed into your excitement, and also finding that part of yourself that finds the process of writing to be fun. Social activity is still 100% just a necessary part of the human experience, and I myself post snippets of my writing online and on Discord all the time for the little dopamine hit of "Yay! We're enjoying this together!" but it's become something I do because I want to share the joy I already get from writing, not because I'm writing to share it!

Which also means that you should write things that you enjoy writing. ;) Write things you are actually excited about - not just things you want to read, but things you think would be fun to write, and if there are boring parts that you're getting stuck on? Fucking skip them! I am not kidding! You think anybody thought it was a loss that I literally never even mentioned how radiostatic got together for the first time in 666? If they did, nobody's mentioned it, because it wasn't necessary to the story I actually wanted to tell. Literally so goddamn many of my fics start with cold opens because I don't like to bother with exposition until things have already gotten rolling. Fanfiction especially is GREAT for this because people are already familiar with the world you're writing in!

You are writing to entertain yourself! If it's not entertaining, don't fucking write it! Or figure out what about it is boring you, and then write it differently. This will have the splendid side effect of teaching you how to write transitions and also making a fic that is more fun to read. >:)

Anyway, this has gotten quite long, so: I'm sorry that I wasn't able to offer a great deal of advice, because I relate deeply to what you're experiencing but I basically got to speedrun the transition phase. I hope that it was at least a little bit helpful!

#ask #personal #Anonymous #writing advice #long post #thank you for this ask anon! <3

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honeydjarin · 1 year

Text

3. GLOVES

DINCEMBER 2022

DIN DJARIN X READER

Din longs for so much more, but he never thought you could see him as anything other than a friend.

genre: fluff, light angst

word count: 835

a/n: I guess this is going to play out like a series now, albeit one told in micro scenes rather than a fully flushed plot. I hope you all enjoy this part!

PREVIOUS || SERIES MASTERLIST

The leather of Din’s gloves pulls taught against his knuckles as his hands clench into fists by his sides. If he didn’t know how sturdy the gloves are, he would fear that the well worn material might tear apart at the seams. He’s not so sure he isn’t breaking apart just so himself. Surely you can see it, the way you pull at the loose threads of him until he is at risk of unraveling.

Din is glad you aren’t looking at his hands. You’re practically glowing, excitement from your solo journey into town clear to see. Your eyes search for his, the dark T of his visor giving nothing away. It’s his only defense now.

His beskar covers the spiraling emotions that he’s certain would be clear on his face for you to see. He hides everything about himself. His whole life is tucked away between steel walls and dark fabric, never revealing anything more than he has to. Hiding is just a part of survival. It always has been. From the moment he took his Creed, he accepted that there may never be another time when someone truly knows him. But somehow, you and the child have wormed your way beneath the beskar and made a home in the space beside his heart.

He didn’t mean to fall so hard.

When Din took you on as a member of his crew, with no set parameters to your job beyond helping to keep the ship flying and the kid safe, it had been a practical decision. As much as Din tried to care for Grogu to the best of his abilities, he was standing alone against the entire Galaxy, and when it comes to shooting down bounty hunters or playing with the child, he’s always forced to choose the latter. Having someone to help bear that weight was necessary in order to find some semblance of balance between the two.

You were soft, breakable, nothing like the usual mercenaries and assassins that Din associates with. He nearly didn’t take you with him, too afraid of you becoming another burden rather than a much needed helping hand. But when a fight broke out and you held your own, albeit a little rough in your form, a scrappy but relentless fighter, he realized that you were exactly what he needed in his crew. He just didn’t know how much more than that you would become.

Even with his growing affections, Din never suspected you might feel the same way. He’s your boss, technically. And while the two of you stand on equal footing when it comes to decisions made around the Crest, he always doubted you would ever see him as anything more. He wants nothing more than to pull you to him and hold you close. He’s terrified of pushing you away.

“—think you would like it.” You smile, content to share with him the tales of your journey with Din.

He doesn’t hear everything you're saying, although he wishes he did. This is an important moment, after all. You’re happy, relaxed, and for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t feel the need to keep a close eye on his surroundings. There are no threats hiding in the trees or lurking in the town.

Blood rushes to his ears and burns across his cheeks as you lean in a little closer as you tell your story. He feels like a teenager with a crush, a real one, not whatever he had with Xi’an when he first set out to make a name for himself. This is something deeper, long term, terrifying.

You know more about Mandalorian customs than most seem to. His people were never just ghosts or characters in fairy tales to you, even if most of what you know pertains to the aruetiise who claimed to be New Mandalorians prior to the glassing of Mandalore. You accepted him for who he is, Creed and all, from the very beginning. Curiosity is inevitable, but you’ve never asked him to take off his helmet, to give up everything he is.

Din never believed you could see him as more than a friend, not with so much standing between you. But you’re so close now, eyes alight. Maybe, just maybe, he was wrong.

He hopes he was wrong.

Din relaxes his hands, his fingers stiff as they uncurl from his palms. He reaches out, pulling the cloak from your shoulders before the snow can melt into the clothes beneath. He doesn’t want you getting sick.

He can feel the heat of you even through the leather of his gloves. It’s not the first time he wishes he could take the gloves off, to reach out and feel the texture of your skin against bare fingertips. He wishes he didn’t have to hide.

He sets the cloak aside and reaches out for you again, taking your hand in his. A fortress stands between your palms.

“Next time we’ll go together,” he says. “I promise.”

NEXT PART

taglist: @dontletyourchildrenwatchthis

#dincember 2022 #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x y/n #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x gn!reader

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spartanguard · 9 months

Text

sons of love and death (4/13) {CSSNS 23}

Summary: After the Final Battle, Killian Jones had finally settled into his happily ever after with his wife and family. Until a new foe arrived in Storybrooke: the infamous Dorian Gray, who looks rather familiar—one might say identical—to the pirate, and he’s on a mission: to claim the powers of the Dark One for himself. There’s only one problem: the Dark One no longer exists. What follows is a journey of vengeance, revelations, magic, and finally facing down the darkness within himself that Killian thought he’d finally put to rest. [roughly canon divergent from 5B, though set post-canon]

A/N: It's Wednesday, my dudes—so that means another update of my @cssns story! Hopefully this one answers some questions (but not TOO many, haha). (Forever thanks to the best beta, @optomisticgirl!)

rated M | 5.6k words | AO3 | 1 | 2 | 3

Dawn hadn’t yet crested the horizon, but Killian was already up, wandering through the streets of Storybrooke. Sleep had come surprisingly easily, but he always rose before the sun. Usually, he’d curl around Emma and drift back off, but as soon as he recalled the previous day’s events, there was no chance of his mind shutting down.

After dressing in the dim light—the first tshirt and dark, skinny jeans he could grab—he had tossed on his jacket and made for the only 24-hour convenience store in town. Now, he had a bag hanging off his hook with a few snacks in it, and a holder for two steaming cups of coffee in his hand. Once he arrived at the sheriffs’ station, he performed a balancing act to get the coffee on his left arm so he could fish his key out of his jacket pocket. The magic of Emma’s spell washed over him as he slipped through the entryway; he just hoped the person it was meant to hold in had also remained.

The snoring that greeted him in the bullpen confirmed that Dorian hadn’t left; the man was somehow sprawled across the narrow cot, mouth agape, completely passed out. He finally understood Emma’s complaints about his own snoring, infrequent as they were (and she had little room to talk).

He did take a moment to study the man, though. If Gold’s test hadn’t confirmed their relationship, the name would have; his paternal grandfather was named Dorian.

They styled their hair similarly, both that on their head and their chin—just parted it differently. Obviously they had a similar manner of speech, which was even more surprising considering they grew up in entirely different environments. (There was that nature versus nurture discussion again.) But he’d need to know more of his twin’s history to do a proper assessment.

The man must have sensed he was being watched, or smelled the coffee, but he began to shift and stretch, and then familiar blue was staring back at him. “Wondered when you’d show up,” Dorian drawled, voice raspy with sleep. “I’m sure you want to give me a full inquisition, eh?”

“Something like that,” Killian concurred, then grabbed a cup from where he’d set them on David’s desk. “Coffee?”

“Please,” the man sighed. “I’m so hungover.”

Killian knew that feeling all too well, and passed the cup through the bars to their grateful prisoner, as well as the bag of food.

“Oh, bless you, brother,” Dorian effused, though there was something sarcastic about the way he said ‘brother.’ He skimmed the selection before pulling out a packaged banana nut muffin. “My favorite; how did you know?”

Killian declined to answer that they were his favorite as well (but Granny’s were far superior to anything mass produced). He just leaned against the desk and sipped on his own coffee while Dorian devoured the muffin, as well as a package of Pop-Tarts.

He drowned it all with his coffee in one gulp, not reacting to its heat at all, then dug through his jacket for a pack of cigarettes and his lighter. “Ah-ah,” Killian warned. “No smoking in the station.”

“Well, that’s stupid,” Dorian grumbled. “A cigarette is the perfect type of a perfect pleasure.” He tossed the pack on the cot, and it was then Killian noticed the butts scattered across the cell floor and the smell lingering in the room. He’d have to grab the air freshener before anyone else got here. Dorian must have noticed the direction Killian’s gaze went, as he commented. “Could have gotten rid of them myself if you’d take this off,” raising and wriggling his wrist for emphasis.

“We’ll deal with it later.”

“You don’t trust your own brother?” he teased.

“I don’t,” Killian answered simply. “We may share a face, but I know nothing about you. You’re not the one I grew up with.”

He tilted his head. “We had another brother?”

Killian took a seat on the edge of the desk. “Aye; two, technically, but I was raised with my older brother. Liam.”

Dorian nodded. “What was that like—having a sibling?”

Part of Killian didn’t want to answer that—to relay something so personal to a relative stranger (and a malicious one at that). But, for the first time, there was something genuine about the query; this was a man who was also used to solitude, possibly for longer even than Killian.

He mused on the query, then; he knew what it felt like, but had never put it into words. “It was…he was my first friend, and by far my closest; we shared everything for a long time, whether we wanted to or not, but even when we fought, we still knew we loved each other. I always knew he was there for me, no matter the situation—until he died, of course.”

“I’m guessing it wasn’t due to old age?”

“A fate that seems to evade the Jones men.”

“Oh, is that my birth name?” he asked, brows raised. “Huh. Dorian Jones.”

“The Second, I’d wager,” Killian added. “Dorian was my father’s father’s name.”

“How auspicious,” he deadpanned. “Didn’t stop them from giving me up, though.”

“You didn’t seem so bitter about it yesterday.”

“I didn’t know they kept one,” he snarled. “Should I be jealous or grateful?”

Killian snorted. “Definitely the latter. Mum died when I was about 5; Papa abandoned us a few years later. Traded us to the service of a ship for nought more than a dinghy.”

Dorian gave a low whistle at that. “What an ass; I hope he died a painful death.”

“Oh, he did. Saw to that myself.”

“Children begin by loving their parents; as they grow older, they judge them,” he mused. “That’s precisely what I would have done. Guess we are a bit alike, then.”

Killian’s mood darkened at that. “The hell we are,” he spat.

“Oh, please—you can’t assume I was never aware of the fearsome Captain Hook?” he countered, nodding towards the namesake appendage. “I’ve heard plenty of your exploits over the years; just because you’re parading around with the heroes doesn’t mean you don’t have a dark side, too. Unless J. M. Barrie got it right, and you really are a codfish.”

He rolled his eyes; it wasn’t the first time he’d heard that, and probably not the last, but it was annoying nonetheless, so he ignored it. “I did. But I’ve made every effort to come back from that. Because, if I’m reading you right, your motivation is power, correct?”

Dorian smirked. “Yes indeed; ever since I was a lad in the Dark One’s castle. And I make no effort to hide that.”

“That’s the difference between us,” Killian went on, pointing at Dorian for emphasis. “My actions may have been foul, but my motivation was always love—either the pursuit of or vengeance for. Tell me, brother—” he didn’t like how it sat on his tongue in the context, like a slur rather than a term of endearment—“have you ever known love? Real, true love?”

“Of course I have,” Dorian answered darkly.

Killian was taken aback at that; he’d gotten the impression that someone this self-centered wasn’t capable of loving anyone else. “What happened to them?” he asked quietly.

“Her name was Sybil,” Dorian said. “She was an actress—a wonderful one. I fell hard and fast, as did she.” He chuckled to himself. “She always called me her Prince Charming.” Killian made a mental note to never address David by his nickname in Dorian’s presence. “I actually was going to settle down with her; I came very close. But then I was reminded who I was and what I was after, and I had to make a choice: her, or continuing to pursue the Darkness.”

“Pretty obvious what you chose.”

“Yes, and in dramatic fashion. I knew the power I naturally possessed wasn’t going to be enough to keep me around as long as it might take to defeat the Dark One. And thankfully, I’d befriended just the right kind of artist-slash-magician, and ended up with the cursed painting you may have heard of.”

“When you say cursed…”

“It grows old, I stay young. But it came at a dire price.”

“Which was?” he asked, but he had an awful feeling he knew what it was.

“The thing I loved most: Sybil. Crushed her heart right into the wet paint.”

Killian just shook his head. “You’re a bastard.”

“Oh, I’m well aware. But I’m a bastard who’s going to finally get what he wants.”

Killian let out a hollow chuckle. “How many times do we have to tell you? The Dark One is no more; the powers are gone. Find something else to focus your life on.”

“Except it’s not!” Dorian shouted, jumping to his feet. “I can feel it still. You think I can’t tell where it is? I grew up in the Dark Castle, was raised by it, taught by it. I can feel that magic in my bones—and yours.”

“What?” That took Killian aback.

“I don’t know how, but you’ve got Dark One magic in you. You must be hiding it somehow to protect yourself. You fucking liar,” he hissed.

“I was the Dark One at one point—past tense,” Killian threw back, putting as much emphasis as possible on that last bit—if only to remind himself as much as tell Dorian, because still being under the influence of that magic was a recurring nightmare. “But that man is long gone, for a few years now. He sacrificed himself, and that power, for love. I died once to put an end to it, and I’d rather die again a thousand times than hurt the woman I love.”

“Is that why you’re still living, then? Why I can still feel it?” Dorian argued. “It’s like—it’s in your aura, somehow, or your heart—I can’t tell, but I know it’s there.”

Killian clenched his fist. “I think you’re going mad, mate.”

“Oh? Then what’s that,” he countered, nodding down. Killian followed his gesture and looked at his hand; it almost seemed to be glowing again. He opened it and those same sparks and blue light from last night were emanating from his palm. “That’s magic, mate,” Dorian said, using a mocking tone on the last word.

“Impossible,” Killian replied, but it wasn’t as confident as he would like.

“Unless you’re still lying, you know what it feels like. Tell me I’m wrong.”

He wasn’t—but Killian wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. He was starting to feel it pulsing in his veins like the Darkness had, but it was different—lighter. And he had no idea how it got there.

Was Dorian right—was this a side effect of his past? Or something else? “I’ve—I’ve gotta go,” Killian stammered, quickly downing the rest of his coffee (like Dorian had) and tossing the empty cup in David’s trash can.

“Aye, you might want to get that looked at, brother.”

Killian just glared, then turned on his heel and left. But he didn’t miss the sound of Dorian’s dark chuckle as he exited the station.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

After an hour or so of aimless pacing and wandering, Killian found himself in front of the only place he could think of: Gold’s shop.

Inside, Rumpelstiltskin and Regina were in the process of cleaning up Dorian’s mess, despite both wearing their typical pantsuits and not being dressed for dirty work; the door still hung open though, so neither noticed his approach until he accidentally stepped on a piece of broken glass.

“Captain,” Gold greeted. “It is you, correct?”

“Aye, Crocodile; it’s me,” he confirmed, annoyed.

“Can’t blame me for being cautious. What brings you in today? Pardon the mess; I’m afraid we’re still doing some clean up after your long-lost sibling’s tantrum.”

“Wait—step aside,” Regina directed before Killian could say anything, but he complied. Then with a wave of her hand, the glass shards he’d stepped on floated up into the air along with many others, reformed, and went back to their rightful place outside one of the display cases. “Much easier than sweeping,” she commented.

“Yes, but I didn’t come to help with housework,” Killian replied. “Though I am glad you’re both here. I was just speaking with our visitor, and he mentioned something that I wanted to confirm with you—something regarding magic.”

“Well, you’ve definitely come to the right place,” Gold answered with a still-reptilian smirk.

“Though I’m a bit surprised you’d come to us; if I recall correctly, you tend not to be a fan of that, aside from Emma’s.” Regina crossed her arms and leveled a curious stare at him.

He swallowed; he didn’t even want to put it into words, but he knew he had to. “Is there anything left of the Darkness…here? In me?” he asked, placing his fist over his heart.

Regina rolled her eyes. “I think you should talk to Archie, not us.”

“No, no—he’s right to ask,” Gold countered, cutting Regina off with a wave. “And of course there is,” he went on matter-of-factly, setting his hand back on his cane almost smugly. That wasn’t what Killian wanted to hear. “Though we’re among the few people to lose the curse without losing our lives, it’s not something you can live through without it leaving a mark on you.”

“What kind of mark?” His voice was gravelly and he was squeezing his still-sparking fist so hard, his knuckles felt like they might split.

“It’s hard to describe. It’s not quite physical, but perhaps…metaphysical?” Rumpelstiltskin mused. “When you take on the curse, part of it wraps itself around your soul. It doesn’t embed itself, but creates something of a shell. When a Dark One dies, it’s what lets the previous holder of the position become part of the collective voice of Dark Ones past; something of a tether to this world.”

Killian somewhat recalled his own conversations with Nimue before welcoming her physical form to Storybrooke, so that much made sense. “So what does that mean for us?”

“For you, me, and Mrs. Swan-Jones, that shell is still there, even if the rest of the curse is long gone. It doesn’t hold any magic or influence itself, but once a soul is altered, it cannot be undone. Now, it’s just a scar, basically. Harmless, but there.”

“So it has no magic of its own?”

“None.”

Killian felt slightly better at that—but only slightly. “Okay. Then I have to ask—what is this?” He opened his palm and raised it so they could see the odd sparking and light pulsing in his veins.

The Crocodile was somewhat taken aback, it seemed, but Regina’s brow furrowed as she came closer. She took hold of his hand with one of hers, and let the other hover over his palm, studying it. “Well that’s an interesting development,” she concluded after a minute.

“What is?”

“Oh, just that it’s even less of a surprise now that you and Emma are soulmates. That's your magic.”

Now it was his turn to be surprised (he was getting tired of that lately). “What exactly do you mean by ‘mine’?”

Gold chimed in. “Remember long ago, when you were blackmailing me, and I explained how each person’s magic is unique?” It was no shock he couldn’t resist a jab while giving an answer; that was the trend of their tenuous relationship. “It’s even easier to recognize it as someone’s own power when they’re right there, using it.”

“I’m not using it, though—I have no idea where this came from, or why it started.”

“You’ve had quite an emotional shock, Hook. Those are prime triggers,” he theorized.

“So I’ve always had this, is what you’re saying?”

Regina still had a grip on his hand and was tapping at his palm and fingers; it was starting to get annoying. “Yeah, he is. Not sure what else we can tell you.”

Killian sighed and pulled his hand back, running it through his hair—and immediately regretting it when the static from his apparent magic made his hair stand on end. (Regina did not do a good job of hiding her amusement.)

“Okay, so, I was born with magic. Where did it come from? Because it’s certainly not anything related to True Love; my parents were far from that.”

“Was your grandfather a wizard, perhaps?” Gold unhelpfully suggested. “Your mum an elf?”

“None of the above,” he replied dryly (though he’d been on the receiving end of taunts as a youth suggesting the latter, based on the shape of his ears).

Regina seemed to be musing on something, though. “Wait—where exactly were you born?”

“A village that no longer exists.”

“Humor me.”

“I can’t even remember its name,” he confessed. “It was just a tiny port near the Cailleach Mountains; other towns grew, it dwindled until nothing was left, and I was long gone by that point.”

Gold quirked an eyebrow. “Cailleach, you said?”

“Aye…” Gold and Regina exchanged a knowing look, but Killian was left confused. “What about it?”

The former Dark One disappeared into the back of the shop, but Regina at least clued him in. “There’s a rumor about that part of the realm—an urban legend, if you will—that any set of twins born in the shadow of those mountains possess powers in complement of each other.”

“I thought I had a book on it, but it’s not here,” Rumple called out as he shuffled back to them. “But yes—that’s a story that goes back generations, although evidence of its veracity is anecdotal at best. Belle can probably help find more on that, though.”

Killian heard everything he said, but it still wasn’t making sense. “What I don’t understand, though—I’ve been through trauma before, emotional and otherwise,” he started, with a pointed look at Gold. ��Why is this only happening now?”

“Proximity, most likely,” Rumple said. “Dorian was raised in magic and was able to harness his natural ability sooner. For whatever reason, you had no use for yours until finally reuniting with him.”

“In other words: he’s rubbing off on you,” Regina teased.

That was what he feared, though.

“Uh, thank you for your guidance,” he said, as politely as he could muster despite the continued spiral of his mental state. “I’m sure I’ll be back. But I need…a bit.”

“Understandable,” Gold said, oddly caring.

Regina added, “You know where to find us.”

Killian nodded and left the shop, then back out into the morning. He would go to Belle, and he knew he should talk to Emma—but he wouldn't be him if he didn’t brood about it for a while, even if he’d been doing that all day so far.

Per usual, he sought out his old friend, the ocean, in search of some serenity.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Emma wasn’t shocked to wake up on her own; her sleepy mind had registered Killian’s goodbye kiss when it was still dark, and given that he was still processing recent developments, she knew he’d need more alone time than usual. If he didn’t come find her before long, she’d probably go to him.

But his absence meant the house was extra quiet right now. Henry had left for his Enchanted Forest journey almost 6 months ago and she was still adjusting to that void. At least this little adventure with Killian’s secret twin was providing a good distraction.

If she knew her husband well enough, and got lucky, he was already at the station having a heart-to-heart with his long-lost sibling. Maybe if she moved fast enough, she’d catch the end of it. (Maybe she needed to move faster to make sure neither of them killed each other.) But first: coffee.

Which, of course, Killian had already left ready to brew in their coffee machine in the kitchen. God, she loved him.

But then the clock on the microwave told her she was running behind, so she dumped it in a thermos and got ready quickly; she always forgot how much she relied on Killian to keep her on time. That said—she was the only one on duty today, so who would know?

The protection spell was still up when she got to the station, but as expected, the door was unlocked. “Hello?” she awkwardly called out, not sure who was there to hear her.

The face that greeted her in the bullpen was the one she’d been looking for, but not quite—just Dorian.

“Well, good morning, gorgeous. Wondered when you’d show up.” He was leaning against the bars with a kind of nonchalance she wasn’t sure Killian even possessed.

“I mean, I work here,” she said. “And I suppose I still have to figure out just what the hell we’re supposed to do with you.”

“Oh, I can think of a few things,” he said lasciviously; she rolled her eyes, even though that was similar to a Killian-ism. “You let me go on my way, that’s what. And I promise to stay out of your lovely blonde hair.”

“Mm, I know better than to believe that. Also, I can spot a lie from a mile away, so you should probably quit while you’re ahead.”

“Fine,” he grumbled, then turned and grabbed something off the cot behind him. “Pop-Tart?”

He stuck the package through the gaps in the cell, letting it dangle in the fingers of his left hand—as if to further emphasize how different he was from Killian.

But then she smirked when she saw the flavor. “Not a fan of s’mores?” she quipped as she grabbed it.

He winced. “Ew. Never. My brother apparently has terrible taste.”

Emma waited to truly smile until her back was to him; that was her favorite kind. “So I take it you’ve already had a visitor today?”

“Aye, it was an…enlightening conversation,” he said, emphasizing his unusual choice of words. She’d have to ask Killian about that later. “Figured you were aware; you’re bedfellows, are you not?”

“Little more than that,” she tossed back, holding up her left hand and letting the diamonds catch the light.

“Then he and I have similar tastes, I see. But I’m not quite the marrying type. A bit surprised you are, though.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, whirling around to face him again, though it wasn’t exactly menacing with a too-large bite of Pop-Tart in her mouth.

“Men marry because they are tired; women, because they are curious: both are disappointed,” he deadpanned. “You strike me as someone who enjoys their solitude to an extreme. If you put yourself first, you can’t get hurt.”

“I used to be,” she replied (after swallowing). “And then I my son, and my family, and Killian, and I realized what a fucking lonely life that was. Maybe that’s a lesson you need to learn, too.”

“Pass,” he drawled.

“Suit yourself,” she shrugged. She continued to eat her breakfast as she got the station ready to go for the day and was keenly aware of Dorian’s eyes on her. Let him watch.

Until she heard a noise she knew all too well from her foster kid days: a lighter clicking to life. She looked up and he had a cigarette dangling from his lips, trying to get it going.

“Uh-uh, no way,” she scolded. “It’s against the law to smoke indoors in Maine.” (She did know some laws.)

He rolled his eyes and sighed. “What kind of awful place is this?”

“The entire northern half of the United States,” she deadpanned as she approached. She was half ready to just yank it away from him, but then she saw the other butts crumbled on the floor of the cell. So with a flick of her wrist, she magicked them all away to the dumpster, even the one at his mouth.

Dorian’s mouth hung open for a moment, but then his gaze narrowed on her. “Oh, you have it, too,” he said, like he was discovering something.

“Have what?” she asked, suddenly self conscious.

“A touch of the darkness.” He practically hissed the last syllable.

He was one to talk. And what did that even mean? “No one’s perfect, dude.”

“No, no—the Darkness, capital D. Just like he does.” She was really curious how their conversation had gone now. “Tell me, is it sexually transmitted? Or did you come by it in some other dishonest manner?”

Emma coughed. “Ew, no. And I have no clue what you’re talking about; I’m kind of the opposite—I’m the Savior.”

“That may be, but you still have some of that dark magic in you somewhere; I can feel it.” She tried not to let it show, but that made her a little nervous; even if he was talking out his ass, she was still trying to keep her dabble as the Dark One behind her. Yeah, everything had ended well, eventually, but she’d made so many mistakes.

“And guess what, sweetheart?” Dorian went on. “I’m gonna take it—you have my word.”

“Mm, no you’re not.” She was tired of him, and maybe it was a rush reaction, but she quickly poofed them both to the town line. “Sorry, but you’ve overstayed your welcome.”

“If that was ‘welcome’, then your town really needs to work on its hospitality.”

“Your feedback has been noted,” she replied sarcastically.

“Won’t you even let me say goodbye to my dear brother?” he fake-pouted.

She’d briefly considered that issue, but had to hope their earlier conversation covered whatever they had to say to each other. “I’ll send your regards.”

“Even if you send me out, I will find a way back in. I will have that magic. I will—”

She got tired of listening to him monologue and magically shoved him over the line. Without his own powers, getting back in was going to be a feat. He was angrily saying something, but she couldn’t hear it. So she just wiggled her fingers in a sarcastic wave, and transported herself back to the station.

Right away, she forwarded the station phone to her cell and headed back out. Given Dorian’s skill at pressing buttons, she was sure Killian was off brooding somewhere, and he’d probably been doing it alone long enough. Hopefully, knowing that his evil twin was gone would help. She sent him a quick text to let him know she was looking for him, but also had a feeling he wasn’t going to respond.

She also needed to stop by Granny’s; this definitely called for comfort food.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

The mid-morning sun was hot at Killian’s back, but the way its reflection was currently dancing on the waves was doing its job of calming him, to some extent. (Also—how had he gone so many years without the modern invention of sunglasses? His kohl did a good job of cutting the glare, but these were so much more effective…and Emma seemed to like how he looked in them.)

As much as his thoughts toward his brother had settled, the sparking in his hand continued. He hadn’t dared touch his talking phone, lest he destroy it (and despite the vibrating he’d felt in his pocket, indicating someone was sending him text messages). That was something he wasn’t quite sure how to deal with, especially since taking the magic-blocking cuff from Dorian wasn’t an option. (They really could use more of those.)

Perched on the seawall, he took another swig from his flask, but the burn of the rum didn’t soothe him the way it usually did.

“Maybe some tea will help instead?” He looked up at the sidewalk behind him, and Emma was headed his way, a Granny’s to-go cup and paper bag in her hold. “Or a muffin?”

No matter his mood, he couldn’t help but grin when he saw his wife approach. “Aye, that does sound nice.”

She awkwardly managed to sit down next to him without either spilling the tea (literally) or falling over, and then set both it and the bag on the ledge between them. He could already smell the banana nut muffin; he had indeed been craving one ever since the morning. And just the scent of his preferred English breakfast tea was already soothing.

“Thank you, love,” he murmured, and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Just what I needed. How did you know?”

“I’m magic like that,” she teased, and then leaned into him—but sat straight up when she noticed how he stiffened at that mention. “What is it?”

He knew better than to lie, but he was nervous to reveal the entire truth just yet, even if he’d eventually get there. “Just…had an enlightening conversation this morning and I’m still processing it.”

Emma tilted her head. “It’s funny—he used the same word. ‘Enlightening.’ Just what happened?”

“Chatted about our youths and lives, mostly. And he reiterated his claim to capture the Darkness.”

“Yeah, I heard that, too.”

“And, well…this.” His hand had still been clenched in a fist, resting on his thigh, but he turned it over and opened it to reveal the continued light show happening in his palm.

Emma’s eyes briefly grew wide, but without hesitation, she pulled his hand into her lap and stared at it for what seemed like ages. It wasn’t the studious look Regina had; it was more like…awe, if he had to label it.

Then she took her index finger and slowly brought it down on his palm—then yanked it away when sparks flew at the proximity.

“Sorry,” he blurted out and tried to take his hand back, but she tightened her grip on his wrist.

“Don’t be,” she said firmly. “It’s…”

He held his breath at whatever adjective she was about to use.

“…Beautiful.”

That was not what he expected.

“We can go talk to Regina to find out what this is, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Already did,” he said, and summarized the earlier conversation as far as this newfound magic was concerned. “I don’t want it, though,” he confessed. “You know I never have, and I don’t want to become a liability.”

“You won’t,” she assured him. “But if it helps ease your mind—I may have kicked Dorian out a bit ago.”

“You did?” He was a bit surprised—and slightly hurt, if he was being honest, mainly at the lack of closure he’d now face, but he didn’t blame her.

“Yeah; it was a little rash, but I was tired of him pushing my buttons and going on about some goal he was never gonna achieve. How many times do we have to tell him there’s no more Dark One?”

“We don’t give up easy,” he said, mentally noting that was the first time he had considered he and Dorian a ‘we’. “But that also came up in my conversation with Gold and Regina. Did Dorian say anything to you about being able to feel the Darkness?”

“Yeah, he did,” she confirmed solemnly. “I figured he was just talking nonsense—but now I’m thinking there was some truth?”

“Some, but not much,” he answered, and explained what Gold had told him about the bit of Dark Magic lingering deep within.

“That’s kind of creepy,” she concluded. “But I guess it makes sense. Weird that Dorian would pick up on it, though.”

“When it’s something you’ve spent your whole life chasing, you know how to find it, and I’d imagine having your own magic helps.”

“Yeah, but it’s not something I’ve ever noticed.”

“I don’t mean any disrespect, Swan, but he’s been working on his magic far longer than you have. By a couple centuries.”

“Point taken. Still—it’s not something we need to worry about, especially now that he’s gone.”

“Aye, I suppose.” He did feel a bit more at ease, but not wholly.

“Killian. Look down.” She had that somewhat exasperated, somewhat amused tone she got on the rare occasions he missed something obvious.

So he did—and to his surprise, his hand was back to normal; the tingling that had accompanied the sparks of magic had gone away. He stared at it in shock for a moment, but Emma always tended to have that effect on him.

“See? Nothing to worry about,” she assured him, then intertwined her fingers in his and settled her head back on his shoulder. “And if it does come back, we’ll make sure you know how to keep it in check; you’ve got lots of potential teachers around here.”

“Just not Gold, okay?”

She laughed. “Obviously.”

Part of him was a bit sad he couldn't bid his brother farewell—he’d at least gotten that much with Liam (the younger). But mentally, he wished him well, and hoped he’d be able to forge a new path in life, much like Killian had.

As for him, he was going to continue to enjoy his own.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Dorian waited for the sheriff to disappear, hoping he was acting sufficiently angry and defeated to convince her she’d won.

But he knew as soon as he’d crossed through the invisible barrier around the town that whatever kept the cuff working inside didn’t have the same effect in the Land without Magic. It still worked, but it was weaker somehow.

Once she was gone—likely off to console his morose twin—he slipped a finger under its edge and knocked it off, and took a moment to savor the rush of his power returning. He picked the cuff back up from the dust, though, and pocketed it; surely it would be useful at some point.

And then he didn’t hesitate to cross back into Storybrooke. They may doubt him, but he would get his hands on that power. He’d just have to get a little creative, but that was how he’d survived this long, right?

He’d need an ally, though, and he had a good idea of who might help him.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

thanks for reading! tagging some peeps (let me know if you do/don’t want a tag!) @kat2609 @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @shireness-says @ohmightydevviepuu @wistfulcynic @pirateherokillian @colinoeyebrows @wingedlioness @word-bug @thisonesatellite @killianmesmalls @thejollyroger-writer @ineffablecolors @ive-always-been-a-pirate @nfbagelperson @stubblesandwich @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis @scientificapricot @searchingwardrobes @donteattheappleshook @jrob64 @the-darkdragonfly @stahlop @klynn-stormz @resident-of-storybrooke @bluewildcatfanatic

#cs ff #killian jones ff #cssns 2023 #captain swan supernatural summer #sons of love and death #my ff

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