Tumgik
#at least now i can put him in my teapot next to childe
lilacsandpetals · 6 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Frozen Blossoms Pt. 3
Last part here.
Next part here.
Bi-Han x F! reader
Tags and notes: Arranged marriage AU, SFW, exploring emotions, Bi-Han can be mean sometimes. Pre-MK1/MK1 AU
Tumblr media
You were enjoying your morning, you had stayed in reading. The sunlight shone through your room and you set the book down at your bedside table near the flowers you’d received the other day. You found a decent vase to put your bouquet in and it sparked a sense of hope, that perhaps the cryomancer had started to open up to you. You had still barely spoken to Bi-Han, but you’d managed to steal a moment of his time to express gratitude for the flowers. You were hoping that you’d see him more today. You’d been excused from today’s lessons since today was the height of the Mid-Autumn Festival. You’d listened in on chatter amongst the other members of the clan. Everyone had some sort of plan. You’d wanted to ask Bi-Han if he could accompany you in festivities but that’d only be successful if you could at least find him. You left your room and began to make your way around the complex, keeping an eye out for your evasive husband. You find your way to a secluded office, the door is slightly ajar and you peek inside to find Bi-Han mulling over some documents. You knock gently. Bi-Han doesn’t bother to look up. “You may enter.” 
You try to make light of the situation, it is a special day isn’t it? “You let me in pretty easily, how do you know I wasn’t an intruder?” 
He rolls his eyes and much to your disappointment, he doesn’t seem to like the joke.
“Had you been an intruder I would’ve immobilized you before you got this far.”
You nod and step forward. “Today is the Mid-Autumn Festival, I was wondering if, well…” you bite your lip, although things had improved overall between you two, casual conversation was still unknown territory. For the most part anyway. 
Bi-Han tilts his head. “Spit it out.”
“Could we attend the festival? I’ve heard that the village nearby is holding some events and-“ 
“No.”
Your hope deflates in an instant. “No? What do you mean no?” 
“I mean no, I don’t have any use in going.”
“But I want to go,” you nearly whine. 
“I’m not stopping you from going,” he responds and crosses his arms. 
You want to go with him. You want to walk around the decorated streets, you want to light the lanterns, you want to have dinner together, and you want to eat moon cakes with him. Who else would you do it with? The desire to counter his argument is there, but hesitancy gets the best of you for a moment. He already said no, you know he is stubborn. But you still prod. “I mean with you, I want you to go with me.” 
“Why?” 
‘Goodness, was he making this difficult on purpose?’ 
He was asking such blatant questions it almost made you self-conscious about responding. “I mean, we’re married.”
“As far as I know that’s not a requirement to attend the festival.” 
Now he was truly starting to irk you. “It’s not a requirement, but I would prefer that we go together.”
“I cannot, I have matters to attend to.” 
“Please? It’s one day.” You’re beginning to feel like a disappointed child. 
“My duties don’t stop because it’s a mere holiday.” 
“Oh.” You nod your head and slink away back into the hallway. Looks like you’re on your own again, not as if that was out of the ordinary. You just hoped this time would be different. 
And so you busy yourself around the complex. You didn’t realize that not having to attend any lessons would leave you quite bored. You didn’t feel like reading anymore and everyone else seemed to be busy with their own plans. At some point, you end up making your way to the kitchen. Maybe you could make some tea and then go for a walk in the village on your own.
You begin to brew the tea to your liking when you hear a door slide open. “Oh, Y/N?” You turn around and smile “Hi Tomas.” You glance back at the teapot. “Do you want some tea?” 
“Sure.” He goes to sit at one of the tables nearby and you turn back to the teapot. You haven’t really interacted with him one-on-one before, it's always been in a communal environment. Your mind rummages through conversation starters. You suppose you could ask him about training. Or maybe about some recent mission? Although Bi-Han and the others still seemed very secretive about that… maybe you could ask him about how he joined the Lin Kuei? But before you can speak up, he beats you to it.
“So, what’re you and Bi-Han up to today?” 
You sigh quietly and crack your knuckles out of habit. That was perhaps the one question you didn’t want to answer. “Ah, just the usual.” 
“You’re not doing anything special today?” 
You turn to him briefly and shake your head before pouring a cup of tea for you both. You walk over to the table and sit down across from him.  “No, Bi-Han is busy today.”
“He is? I guess that makes sense. He takes his role of future Grandmaster seriously.” Tomas replied, he blew on the cup and took a sip. Now, Tomas didn’t know much about what it took to be Grandmaster, at least not more than what the rest of the Lin Kuei were aware of. But provided that nothing extremely urgent was of concern, he’d seen their current grandmaster take a break on festival days. Even if he didn’t attend the actual festivals often, he would still take the day to rest and spend time with his family. 
Now Tomas had plans with Kuai Liang for the evening. Kuai Liang was aware that in recent years his father preferred to stay in for the festival, but he had also asked Bi-Han if he wanted to go into the village with them. Unsurprisingly, Bi-Han declined the offer. They thought nothing of it and considered it a change of heart with Bi-Han, they hoped he had plans with his wife.
Tomas should feel surprised, but a part of him is not. 
He’d be lying if he said he didn’t notice the slight disconnect at dinner. Neither Bi-Han nor his new bride seemed to be very familiar with one another even after some time had passed. Y/N would keep up her chatter but it came off as a sort of an anxious habit. Perhaps to cover up any relationship issues between them? At least, that was his theory. 
You watch the smoke dance from your teacup and into the air before taking a small sip. “Do you have any plans for tonight?” 
“Yeah, Kuai Liang and I are going to this restaurant in the village, Madame Bo’s.”
“I’ve never heard of it?”
“You’d love it, Madame Bo is the owner of the establishment and she actually used to be part of the Lin Kuei.”
You chuckled lightly. “Really? That’s quite the career change.” 
Tomas smiled before taking another sip, “Her food is to die for. You have to try it someday.”
You give him a small nod. Maybe you could ask to join them? Surely it wouldn’t burden them? 
You grip the side of your dress, nervous to speak up. 
But why be nervous, they’re your family now aren’t they? “Could I go with you?” 
“Sure!” Tomas exclaimed. “At least I won’t be the third wheel now,” he said with a light chuckle. Relief flooded your being and excitement took its place. “We’ll leave just before sunset.”
——————
This was the first time since the wedding that you had gotten to dress up, although at the wedding you couldn’t exactly savor the moment due to the circumstances of it all. But today would be different, you would be enjoying time with your new family, or at least part of your new family. 
Now here you were in front of a mirror, trying to ensure you looked good for the occasion. You slipped into a new dress you’ve been meaning to wear and were tending to your hair when the door opened. You turned around, it was your husband. You give him a little wave and he responds with a nod of acknowledgment. 
You turned back to the mirror, fiddling with a pin. He watched you as you did, you reminded him of a delicate doll. The color of your dress complimented your skin tone, as did your hairpiece. “Where are you going?”
“The village, remember I mentioned the festival?” You said quickly, hoping he wouldn’t counter your plans. Thankfully you hear something that you likened to a hum of approval. 
Once you’ve checked yourself in the mirror one final time you head for the exit of your bedroom, glancing back quickly at Bi-Han, he seems to be preoccupied. Maybe next year he’ll come with you, you two could go as a couple, or maybe it’s wishful thinking. Before you can turn to leave, your husband utters your name. 
“Y/N.”
“Yes?”
“Don’t get into trouble.”
You smile faintly, although a forlorn feeling was behind it. “I won’t.”
——————
You meet up with Tomas and Kuai Liang, eager to join in the festivities. The town is lively, the streets filled with families enjoying their time together, and little children run about carrying their lanterns. It’s a refreshing sight. 
Madame Bo’s restaurant is lively as well, and you lag behind Tomas and Kuai Liang as they make their way to the table. There are so many people around, and so much excitement, the lanterns within the restaurant help create an even more comforting ambiance. You’re so focused on all that is around you, that you almost fail to notice that there is someone already sitting at the table you’ve been led to. She shoots you a gentle smile and you return the gesture before she greets Tomas and then finally Kuai Liang, whom she definitely seems to be more familiar with. “Who is that?” You whisper to Tomas. “Harumi, she’s someone special to our brother here,” he says and briefly gestures to them. Kuai Liang then turned to you. “That’s my sister-in-law that I told you about, Y/N.”
Harumi smiles at you “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
“Likewise,” you respond kindly. 
Harumi is lovely. She is kind in her interactions with you and Tomas, and well adept in conversation. You tried to keep up in conversation with the three of them, but you were very distracted, to put it lightly. 
You can tell how much she and Kuai Liang care for one another. Those two cared for each other, you could tell by how they interacted. It’s not as if they blatantly declared their love for one another in front of you in Tomas, but they might as well have. Her hand laid in his frequently throughout dinner, they shared pieces of pomelo, she stole sips from his osmanthus wine, she’d feed him pieces of meat from her plate when he’d eaten all of his, and he would gently brush her hair out of her face when she ate her noodles. And now the pair of love birds were sharing a moon cake for dessert. Harumi broke off a piece and fed it to her lover, who placed a chaste kiss on her hand as a thank you. 
You could see why Tomas didn’t want to be the third wheel. Watching them be so happy… you hated to admit it but you were jealous. 
Those two beamed with affection. They were gentle with one another and considerate of each other. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but it made you wonder if you could ever be like that with Bi-Han. At least to you, it wasn’t likely. You wished he had just come with you. Part of you worries as to why he didn’t. Did he just not care? What if he was spending the evening with someone else? 
For your own peace of mind, you decided to remove yourself from the table, at least for a bit. “If you’d excuse me, I ate too much, I’m just going to get some fresh air,” you said and stood up with a sheepish smile. Harumi sneaked a look at Kuai Liang and then back up at you, “Do you want me to go with you?” 
Tomas glanced back at your plate, you really hadn’t eaten much in his opinion… he turned his gaze towards you “I’ll go with you.” 
“Oh, you don’t have to.” You didn’t want to dampen Tomas’ mood along with yours. 
“I need to take a break from eating too, I’m stuffed, so fresh air would be good right now.” He gets up and waves off the couple at the table before following your lead. 
You both walk out to the balcony on the second floor of the restaurant. Not many people are out there and the moon shines bright upon you both. You take a deep breath and intake your surroundings. Though it’s getting late into the night, there are people still conversing and celebrating below. You wished you could halt your thoughts for at least tonight, but you weren’t so fortunate. Part of you wished you had just gone home to your parents to celebrate. But the trek was far and you knew it would look a bit rude if you had run off to your parents' clan so soon after your wedding. But maybe you’d feel better if you did. You'd be distracted, and you wouldn’t be thinking about the lack of love from your husband. 
It vexed you that on a holiday honoring two lovers, you were feeling the sting of being unloved. You wrapped your arms around yourself as a breeze danced past you. Tomas watched the festivities carry on below before looking back at you, “are you cold? We can go back inside.” You shake your head, “No, no I’m fine.” Tomas nods his head, “so, do you think Kuai Liang and Harumi will marry? I don’t think I could see him with anyone else.” 
You nearly scoff but catch yourself, “Definitely, you can tell they hold much affection for one another.”
He smiled slightly “Good point, I’m glad they found one another. Kuai Liang has liked her for so long, it’s good to see them be happy together.” 
You forced a smile. You wished you had a relationship like that. 
Tomas took note of your discomfort, he supposed he should have known better considering the day and topic. “So, how’ve you been liking life at the complex?”
You shrugged your shoulders “It’s nice, most of the people I talked to are nice, like you.” You try to lighten the mood and nudge him with your elbow. He chuckles. “Glad I’m on your good side then.” 
——————
Guilt was a peculiar thing to Bi-Han. It was an emotion he seldom felt. On occasion, it would plague him. Like when he snapped at Kuai Liang and Tomas when they came to check on him one more time after their mission the other night. Or like when he yelled at his father for falling too deep into grief very shortly after his mother’s death. Or maybe like when he can’t sleep, wishing he had spent more time with his mother. 
Bi-Han rarely feels guilt, but he does so now when he looks at the flowers you’d put in the vase at your bedside. The flowers that he gave you that day, he attempted to pick them carefully, racking his brain to remember the ones you seemed to prefer the most. At the end of it, he tried to find some sort of ribbon, but all he came across was a twine that he messily tied together. 
Yet you took care of those flowers so graciously. You had come up to him that next morning in passing. A smile was wide on your face and eyes vibrant with something he might liken to the all-so-unfamiliar look of hope. He acted rather dismissive, but he would be lying to himself if he said seeing you like that didn’t please him.  
He should have just accepted your invitation. What he worked on today was not that important. It’s laughable, and he still despised that you could put him in such a pitiful state, but he was nervous. He wouldn’t know how to go about acting like a normal couple with you, engaging in romantic sentiments. Would that even be possible? 
He doesn’t know how to truly connect with you. He doesn’t know how to truly care for you. 
He doesn’t know how to be a husband.  
It’s starting to get late, and he doesn’t know for sure if you’ve come back yet. He steps out of the bedroom and begins walking around the estate. Did you go with anyone? What if you went with another man? Some sort of lover of yours? Oh if you had he wouldn’t hesitate to slit the man’s throat right in front of you. But he doesn’t remember you ever mentioning one? Or were you just good at hiding it? Perhaps he is overthinking. Maybe you went by yourself? 
He should have asked you. He should have just gone with you. 
So here he finds himself slightly embarrassed, standing in his father’s quarters, asking his father if he’s seen you. 
“As her husband, you should know. It is a holiday after all.” 
Bi-Han grit his teeth. He understood he was in the wrong, he didn’t need a scolding from his father. 
“Grandmaster, I am asking for your assistance, if you can’t provide it then I’ll be on my way.” 
His father shakes his head, he would have spent the majority of this day with his wife had she still been here, his kids included, provided no emergencies were present. 
How times have changed. 
The fact that his son still resisted the marriage so much disappointed him. He’d seen the way you two struggled to interact, no matter how much you tried to hide it at dinner. Yet he thought that today could possibly be an opportunity for his son to right his wrongs. 
Bi-Han, ever so impatient when it came to his father, turns around and before he can leave his father's voice echoes in the room, “She went to the village with your brothers, by now she must be at Madame Bo’s Teahouse with Kuai Liang and Tomas.”
“Thank you, Grandmaster.”
——————
Bi-Han made his way through the dwindling crowd and bumped into a few individuals along the way. He made his way to Madame Bo’s. At this point, it seemed like most customers were on their way out. He rolled his eyes when someone scowled at him for accidentally knocking off their hat. His eyes scan the place before running into the owner of the restaurant herself. 
“Madame Bo,” he spoke and bowed his head. She was an elder of the Lin Kuei, albeit formerly, but he’d offer her due respect nonetheless. “Bi-Han, I’m surprised to see you here, looking for your brothers?”
“Yes, have you seen them today?”
“Mhm” she hums and gestures to the second floor, their table is up there. “Thank you,” he replies and starts to make his way upstairs before Madame Bo’s voice rings in his ear. “I met your wife, she’s quite the looker.” Madame Bo chuckles when Bi-Han furrows his eyebrows. She then waves him off. 
So he makes his way up, immediately catching sight of Kuai Liang and a woman who looks oddly familiar. The woman catches sight of him first, and gently shakes Kuai Liang’s arm, prompting him to turn around. “Brother! I didn’t know you were coming, would you like to eat with us? I’m sure Madame Bo wouldn’t mind-”
“I’m not hungry.” He tilts his head towards the woman, was she the object of his brother’s affection? “And she is?”
Kuai Liang lights up, “Bi-Han this is Harumi, you remember her don’t you? We used to play together when we were children.” She smiles at him “Bi-Han it’s been so long.” 
He forces a smile, “Yes, it’s nice to see that you are well.” He had questions about when and how his brother had rekindled a connection with Harumi, and how he hid the relationship so well, or did he even hide it? Was he so oblivious to his brother’s activities and whereabouts? 
Before either of them can ask him anything else he speaks up, “Where is my wife?”
“Oh she’s on the balcony, she wanted some fresh air.” 
“Thank you.” He starts off towards the balcony but begins to slow down the closer he gets. 
You and Tomas are leaning against the railing, breaking apart the last piece of a mooncake and eating it together. You two are a bit too close for his liking. You are smiling, you’re engaged in conversation. Tomas is equally as into the conversation. He doesn’t even know what you two are talking about, but for some reason it makes his blood boil. He wants to snatch you away and bring you home. Perhaps he is acting childish, but he practically stomps over to you two and grips Tomas’ shoulder, causing you both to look at your husband. Tomas’ eyes widen, “Bi-Han! I didn’t know you were coming,” he glances between you two, “I’m going back inside for some final snacks, it was nice talking to you Y/N!” 
Tomas makes his way back to the couple at the table, he is surprised to see Bi-Han show up, but he is happy about it nonetheless. He could tell that you were disappointed and so he tried to lift your mood as best he could, although he didn’t know how successful he was. Maybe your husband could get the job done.
——————
Bi-Han’s gaze is harsh and you match his look. 
“What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you, but appears like you are doing just fine.” He grabs your wrist. “We’re leaving right now.”
You snatch your wrist out of his grasp and lean back against a nearby column. “No, I do not want to go.” You didn’t want to go back to the Lin Kuei’s complex, you didn’t want to go back to a bedroom that lacked any comfort with a husband who seemed more indifferent to you than anything. You just wanted to be away from everything, at least for a bit longer.
“Then what?! Do you intend to stay here all night?” You roll your eyes and cross your arms, “what do you care?” 
He clenches his jaw, you were noticeably smaller than him, he could snatch you up and bring you back home kicking and screaming if he wanted to. “Why else would I be here? You are my wife” he hisses. 
You know that arguing right now probably isn’t the best idea, but you’ve felt so dejected as the night went on. “If I recall correctly you said that I’m your wife only in title, and nothing else, right? So what do you care if I spend here all night alone?’
You can feel tears threaten to spill from your eyes, but you blink them back. You won’t allow him the privilege of seeing you in such a vulnerable state. He’s not worth that, not yet, or maybe he never will be. 
Bi-Han narrows his eyes, you were twisting his words. Or maybe he had truly meant that at the time. Yet in this moment, it was different. He did care, maybe he was beginning to want you as more than a wife simply in the title. He desired more of you. 
So what was truly stopping him? Perhaps he was his own worst adversary. 
He can’t bring himself to apologize, he has rarely ever apologized to anyone. “That was then, that is not my sentiment anymore.”
You shake your head, looking at the lanterns that hang above you, “how can I even be sure of what you say?”
“Allow me the opportunity to prove my worth.” 
“How?” you scoff and narrow your eyes at him, “you can’t just bring me a new bouquet of flowers and think all will be fixed.”
He resists the urge to let out a sigh, “That is not what I am asking of you.”
“Okay, then what are you asking of me?’
He is hesitant to reach out to you now as if you’re too delicate for his touch. He hopes he did not grab your wrist too harshly before. 
If he could so carelessly touch you then, why is he having so much difficulty now? Why were you so seemingly out of his reach, even when you were standing right in front of him? How could everyone get along with you so well but him?  
Yet he thinks of the talk he had with Kuai Liang and he thinks of how happy a small bunch of flowers made you.
And the realization hits him, that perhaps, it is no fault of yours. That maybe he truly is too arrogant and brutish for his own good, at least when it comes to you.  
So this time he reaches for your hand gently. He is seldom one to not maintain direct eye contact, but there is a sense of shame that is gnawing at his very being now, and he can’t look you in the eyes just yet. His eyes are focused on your hand.
“I know I am not an ideal husband.” He pauses before his eyes slowly trail up to meet yours, and he is convicted by the exhausted look they harbor. 
“Truthfully, I do not know what to do. I took you in as my wife due to it being required of me, I did not want to marry, and I figured it a waste of time. But the thought of you has intercepted my every move even so.” His grip on your hand tightens and you can feel your heart start to beat slightly faster. “I am unaware of how to get closer to you. You are at ease more with others than you are with me and I detest it for reasons I don’t fully comprehend.”
You take in each word he speaks and take a moment of pause before responding, “I don't know how to go about any of this. I didn't want to get married either. But we are married now. I don’t want to live the rest of my life lonely. What do I have to do to make you understand that I am on your side? I vowed to be your partner in this life but I am yet to truly act on that because you don’t give me the chance. I want to know more about you, I want to be able to enjoy my time with you, and I can only wish that you would do the same.”
He is left without a word to utter. He didn’t know you had felt that way, he was unaware that you ached for similar sentiments. “I am willing to try.”  
——————
And so you make your way home. He has not let go of your hand since you left the Teahouse  There’s a silence between you two but this time it’s more of an understanding one. The village has fallen into a quiet bliss. The only sounds prevailing through the air are of shopkeepers closing up for the night, and some lingering civilians. You tuck a piece of your hair back behind your ear. You’ve both made the commitment to do better, but you wonder if he’ll truly keep his word. You hope that he does. 
By the time you’ve returned to your room, you’re worn out, your bed is practically calling out for you. You sit down in front of the mirror, quickly wiping off the makeup and then struggling to remove some of the pins from your hair, you wince when one of them gets stuck. 
A hand rests on your shoulder, almost hesitantly. “Calm down, you’ll only get it more tangled.” You drop your hands to your side, and to your surprise, he successfully removes the pin. “Thank you,” you mumble and hastily grab the hem of your dress and raise it slightly. You realize neither one of you has changed in front of the other. Maybe Bi-Han had, but if he did, he did so while you were asleep. His eyes widen briefly at the sight of you lifting your dress. “I’ll turn around,” he says hastily. You nod and continue to get changed before crawling into the bed, falling asleep mere seconds after your head hits the pillow. 
Once he’s sure you’ve fallen asleep, he gets ready for bed. The reality of the agreement he’s made with you hits him. To properly bond he would realistically have to open up to you. Which appeared rather daunting. Which was pathetic of someone like him, if he’s being honest. Neither combat nor battle frightens him, but the prospect of bearing his heart to you does. He is never one to doubt himself, but he still wonders if he will be able to follow through. He supposes that only time will tell. 
He gets into the bed and covers you with the blanket again, you had a bad habit of falling asleep without it or somehow getting it off of you in the middle of the night. Usually, he’d fall asleep facing away from you, maintaining a reasonable distance. Now he does face you. He hates how embarrassingly timid he is when it comes to granting you affection, it’s unbecoming of him. He is apprehensive, but his hand reaches out to touch your face, and his thumb gently caresses your cheek, he’s never felt something so soft. But you begin to stir and he immediately snatches his hand back. He longed for your touch but was weary of it all the same. And so he is caught off guard when you move in your sleep to be practically up against him. He pauses, part of him wants to shove you off of him. Yet would it be so wrong of him to savor the moment?
——————
“Did you escort Harumi back to her residence?”
“I did. What happened with Bi-Han and Y/N?” Tomas shrugged. “I tried to give them some privacy, but I think they were arguing out there.” 
Kuai Liang sighed, he had hoped his brother had addressed his shortcomings this evening, not argue over it.
“But they left a little before we did, and I saw them walk away hand in hand.” Tomas smiled, “I think they’ll be okay.” 
——————
Your eyes flutter open the next morning, you expect to be alone again. Yet you feel something draped across your body, and come to realize it’s Bi-Han’s arm. His breath gently brushes up against your cheek as he sleeps.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thanks for reading 💙
692 notes · View notes
panickedshrieking · 2 years
Text
Aether: I hate it here.
Childe: My brother in Christ. You put this group together in the teapot.
Aether: I didn't assume you guys would immediately try to kill eachother!
Diluc: Why? Why on earth did you think I wouldn't try to kill a fatui harbinger. Especially one as infuriating as this stupid son of a bitch. Hells I haven't been this angry in at least a year. You bring out the worst in me. Fatui scum.
Aether: Oh wow! This got intense, really quickly. Childe, can you put him out. I think his hair is on fire.
Diluc: If you wet my hair I'm going to have to spend the next 45 minutes combing it again.
Childe: I could just cut it for you.
Diluc: If you take those blades anywhere near my hair I will kill you.
Childe: Aether?
Aether: No Diluc has the right. Type 3 hair takes ages to grow. Took the man at least seven years to get it that long. Hells I'll help him.
Diluc: Do you understand? Now?
Aether: I could always switch Childe out with Zhongli, and put him with Kaeya.
Diluc, with a glint in his eye: Fantastic idea.
0 notes
thomacrumbs · 3 years
Text
vincit qui se vincit.
various boys (albedo, diluc, aether, xiao, childe, gorou, kazuha, thoma) x gn! reader. fantasy! au. blurbs, mostly fluff. nouns used: sorcerer (childe) & witch (kazuha) w/ gender neutral pronouns. ♡s & ↻s appreciated!
notes: i brainrotted. i was listening to joy's album while writing this ^^
albedo.
the great alchemist albedo is just a myth, or so people think. cursed to live forever as a spirit bound to a teapot by a witch, he sits, bored out of his mind, on the shelves of a dingy antique shop. until one day, against the warnings of the antique shop owner, who warns of bad luck & misfortune, you purchase the quaint teapot & rescues him from his prison. he clatters menacingly on your countertop, only to be ignored by you for days on end before you finally lift the lid off the teapot, releasing his spirit into the realm of the living (its not as bad as it sounds. he is neither threatening nor scary). he doesn't have the heart to tell the human he's grown quite fond of that he's slowly disappearing.
diluc ragvindr.
the ludi harpstum is a festival of wine & song, celebrating the long history of the city of mondstadt, filled with games & song. this year, it seems like the knights of favonius has gone all out with their preparations, even calling in the famed circus of performers that has travelled every corner of teyvat, wowing people with daring flips mid-air, disappearing limbs & tight-rope on the thinnest of threads. the music & laughter of children is so loud that you could hear it from the windows of the dawn winery. an unwilling diluc is dragged against his will to at least view the once in a lifetime circus act, only to be charmed by the cute magic performer who winks at him from the stage as poker cards fly into the air. suddenly he finds himself going to bed thinking about them and wakes up in cold sweat wanting to talk to them. but, the ludi harpstum is only 15 days, can he catch you before you slip through his fingers?
aether.
yeah. maybe you shouldn't have tried to summon a guardian angel, but to be fair your friend put you up to this. now this blonde biblically inaccurate angel is bound to you by contract, and you have another headache to worry about alongside your minimum wage job, messy apartment and the neighbour from next door who keeps taking your flour. not to mention his constant rambling about his sister who you've unceremoniously torn him away from, and suddenly you're repeating this entire ritual, because you cannot say no to those eyes (and maybe you did want to impress him, what about it?) it didn't work, but he doesn't seem that peeved, especially when he settles on your bed after you've fallen into deep sleep, pressing a kiss to your forehead and affectionally calling you cute. he is your guardian angel, at the end of the day.
xiao.
you're the famed dragon rider in the skies of liyue. the winner of several races, competitions & illustrated celebrity in the devoted dragon owner scene. afterall, you ride the only remaining off-spring of morax, a gift from the emperor himself. you boast that no one else could tame your dragon except for you, and for a long while, this seems true. it blows curling flames at anyone who dares come close & curls it spiked tail protectively around you to ward off any unsavoury people. that is, until an unknown melody that carries over the wind calls your dragon down from the skies, and suddenly you are hurtling through the skies at insane speeds.
childe.
he came to liyue for one reason only (two, actually, but morax is dead now, so no boxing him), to challenge the great sorcerer branded by the archons. he's heard about their miracles from a young age, the ability to call down thunder from the skies, resurrecting the dead, moving the entire earth with a simple flick. the only obstacle in his way is that this sorcerer is near unidentifiable, with not even a name to put to a face. imagine his shock when the very sorcerer saves him from certain death, and he finds out they're not an old man hobbling around with a cane, but a young person around his age. oops can't fight if you're too distracted by how good your opponent looks. damn they look good kicking my ass i should do this more often.
gorou.
his dog has had enough of his single shit, crying into an empty bowl of icecream after watching the notebook, wailing about how he "wishes that were him". the animal whisperer who likes hanging around the local dog park is very surprised when they hear a yapping dog bark that his owner needs a significant other stat, he's desperate and alone, applications open please help my mess of an owner. but hey, you aren't complaining, he's pretty cute, and you find it cute that he tries to stop his tail from wagging whenever he sees you.
kazuha kaedehara.
from a young age, he's heard of the immortal witch that hides in their cottage in the thick of the dark forest nears the borders of inazuma. and nothing stops him from pounding on the door of the run down cottage, not even the animate vines that snap at him and trees that uproot themselves to stop him from advancing further. afterall, an immortal being must know the answer to bringing back someone from the dead, right? he near sobs when they tell him that it's impossible, the dead have to stay dead. he doesn't understand at first, but the witch is kinder than he expected, helping him through the memories, painful & happy. but he doesn't miss the flit of pain behind their eyes whenever he talks about losing someone, afterall, time is cruel to all.
thoma.
thoma thinks he's being seduced. afterall, isn't that what sirens do? sing of a pretty future, the numbers to win the future lottery. even though thoma has never won the lottery with their numbers, he stills himself entranced & walks down to the beach everyday to listen to them talk & sing, sitting on the edge of the rock as cold water clashes with his temperature that naturally runs high. finally, he gets the courage to confront them- he doesn't want to fall in love because of magic, that's not right. only to be met with a confused look, you're a half human half mermaid, not a siren. thoma fucking dies of embarrassment when he realises that he was simply in love all along.
280 notes · View notes
Text
Come Now, Little Prince
Prompts: Hey uh... *brushed off dust from crashing in through the roof* Could you write something about Roman or Remus having Agoraphobia and them getting trapped somewhere? My brain just wants to relate. If not that’s fine! Love your writing! - anon
Might I suggest,,,, writing trope where the severely hurt person goes to their nemesis and says “sorry, I just didn’t have anywhere else to go” but it’s with Roman and Janus - 1namelessalien1
Ahh, yes, the inevitable. Honestly a lil surprised I haven't done this sooner but here we go! Finally...
Read on Ao3
Pairings: roceit, dukeceit, creativitwins. can be platonic or romantic you choose save for creativitwins. they brothers
Warnings: roman gets stabbed and has to get stitches, agoraphobia
Word Count: 7611
Cities are full of bright lights and shadows alike. Those that live in the light, the heroes, the 'good guys.' Those that live in the shadows, their grisly work only illuminated when the sun deigns to show its face again. Sometimes the shadows are too deep. Sometimes the spotlights are too much.
The Prince, Roman Prince, is the Golden Boy of the city. The newsreels, the cameras, the public adore him. But they don't see the winces when the bulbs go off right in his face, or whispers to be better, do better, perform better from the people that pull him aside after every daring adventure.
No one knows the name Janus, but they know his work. They don't shout, they whisper. They huddle together in the dark, searching for the light so as not to get caught in his coils.
But sometimes, when spotlights are too bright and shadows too flat, a little prince will make its way into the snake's den.
He didn’t mean to.
He didn’t mean to.
It just—his hand slipped and they fell and they—they—
He didn’t mean to drop them. They weren’t—they weren’t supposed to fall but the knife hurt too much and he flinched and he—he—
The choppers roar around the roof, battering his head with their noise, noise, noise. The wind whips up around the concrete railing, whistling, whining, wailing as the body falls down, down, down. The searchlights glint off the knife as they pull it down with them.
And then he is alone, in a crowd, on the top of a roof, king of the clouds.
The lights glare in his face as their body disappears. Then…then…
Then fear.
———————————
One of the best things about being seen as a ‘super villain,’ and how gauche is that term, is that no one wants to ask too many questions when you rent an apartment. There are really far too many landlords that want to get to know you, want to be your friend, while knowing full well that they participate in a system where there is no ethical consumption or behavior. Really, if he ever starts renting his own property, there will be no illusions on his end.
But hey, at least these ones know not to put their noses where they’ll get bitten off if they poke too far.
Janus sighs, opening the cupboard and taking the teacup down. The kettle whistles merrily on the stove as he reaches for the tea boxes.
Black, green, white, herbal…really, there are so many options. What to have for tonight, then? It is awfully late in the evening, there’s no real justification for consuming caffeine. Then again, he’ll do what he likes.
His phone buzzes. His real phone, not the one everyone sees him carry when he’s out and about. He rolls his eyes and takes the kettle off the heat as he spots the name on the text notification.
R. Sanders: 1 new notification
“What’ve you done now, Remus,” he mutters as he slides the message open, “and which one of your messes am I cleaning up now?”
The message opens to a report. Brief, as is the style of all the reports Janus demands, but the thing that gives him pause is just how brief.
Remus, as one can very well imagine, is…not exactly compliant when it comes to following the rules. And while that can be useful in its own special way, it does mean that Janus occasionally has to factor emojis out of Remus’s reports.
Well, more than occasionally.
But this time the report is two sentences. Janus pours the water into the teapot as he glances over the words.
R. Sanders: Slaughter down at 85th and Marilyn. The head of the beast is cut off.
Well, on paper, that should be a fantastic report. The rival infringing on Janus’s turf has been, ah, taken down a few notches.
That’s undermined considerably by the fact that this report lacks any of Remus’s enthusiasm.
Janus sighs as he settles on the loose-leaf blueberry mint tea, placing the cup aside to brew as he wanders toward the window. Perhaps Remus is simply tired from all this work today. It wouldn’t be the first time the man’s manic energy had been tempered by a good amount of strenuous activity. And cutting off the head of the beast was never going to be a simple job to begin with. True, it was always an issue with causing more collateral damage than Janus was personally comfortable with, but what’s done is done.
The city starts to slumber, the last of the pleasant natural light fading from the sky, giving way to the horrid stained brown of the light pollution. The skyscrapers barely flinch in the oncoming night, instead choosing to stand firm as the workers inside slave away. The smaller shops close their doors, the nighttime crowds vanishing into subway tunnels and bus stations. Janus leans against the window, the glass reflecting the elegant lines of his suit alongside the angles of the buildings.
If he were slightly less himself, he’d say it looks like he belongs here.
When the light fades further, he sighs, turning away and fetching his tea. He drops into his favorite chair next to the window and raises the cup to his mouth.
The head of the beast has been cut off. He has no appointments, no reports, no debriefings to attend. He has his cup of tea, Remus will handle anything that blows up on the networks. It is the perfect evening to be alone, secure in his apartment.
So of course, there has to be something that sends a prickle up the back of his neck.
Why is Remus’s report sitting with him like this? This should be fantastic news, he should be willing to open the bottle of champagne that’s sat in preparation for this moment. And yet, as he raises the cup to his mouth again, his teeth hit the rim and he jolts, spilling a little more than he meant to into his mouth. He swallows, thankful that there’s no one else here to see it, and sets the cup and saucer aside.
He folds his gloved hands behind his back and goes to the window again.
If there were something wrong, someone would tell him. He has eyes all over the city, ears everywhere, and those under his employ know better than to try and cross him. Remus is alive and well—clearly, given by the way the evening’s progressed so far—and wouldn’t hesitate to gleefully drag anyone he suspected into his rooms or an abandoned warehouse.
He spares a glance over his shoulder. The phone stays silent.
Fingers tap against his hand as he looks down. Not for the first time, he wonders what it must be like, down there, scurrying about, without the faintest idea of what it looks like from up here. Oh, he’s walked on the sidewalk outside his building, who hasn’t, that’s how he gets into the building in the first place, but…not like that.
The outside world is so…temperamental. So many people, so many things. There is no better place to be alone than a crowded city street, but there is no more dangerous a place to be yourself.
When he’s finished his cup of tea, and the prickle has not left the back of his neck alone, he stifles a curse and turns. Remus will listen to him. Or, more precisely, Remus will ramble and scheme and reassure him that nothing is wrong. He might get a strange look—because while everyone else can underestimate how much Remus sees at their own peril, Janus never has—but he will do it.
Janus opens the door, idly wondering if he needs to bring his coat, and abruptly stops walking.
There is someone on their knees right outside his door.
Well.
That would explain the feeling he’s had of something being wrong, how on earth his security system didn’t alert him to their presence is beyond him. He doesn’t bother to hide his sigh as he pulls his cane from the holder and tilts their chin up.
“I’m certain that you must be…”
Janus trails off as he tilts up a chin to reveal a bloodstained, agonized expression of someone who should not be here.
“I’m sorry,” Roman Prince says in the voice of a lost child, “I didn’t—I didn’t know where else to go.”
Janus’s fingers twitch on the cane as he watches the roll of Roman’s throat.
“Y-you said if I—if I—ever needed help one day to know better than to—to try and go back to th-them.”
Remus’s report is beginning to make more sense.
Janus remembers. Janus remembers this upstart pain in his ass getting in the way of many operations, from transports to exchanges to hostage negotiations. He remembers the crooked smile straight out of a movie as this little shit got in the way of everything, including his resolve to not get involved with any of the so-called heroes that ran around in this city in their spandex and naiveté.
He remembers shaking his head at this shiny new one and saying that when he realized the world was much, much grayer than he wanted to believe, Janus would be there to watch. He remembers a softer offer, after a rescue had resulted in a building—abandoned, but a building—blowing up and the poor thing looking like someone had kicked his puppy.
He remembers watching the rival’s henchmen carted off to jail as the hero of the hour was reprimanded for causing too much collateral damage by the people who supposedly adored him.
“You were right,” Roman continues in that lost, lost voice, “I’m—I’m sorry.”
It takes Roman reaching for him for Janus to remember what is going on and the cane jerks his head up higher, forcing him to stop. Janus narrows his eyes at the hero kneeling on the floor, takes in the blood on his face, his neck, his hands.
“Why are you here,” he asks, wrenching that chin just a little higher, “why did you come to me?”
“You said you would help,” comes the reply, “if I—if I didn’t want to do this anymore.”
Has the perfect prince killed someone for the first time? Is that what’s brought on this little display?
His eyes trail lower, looking for the weapon.
The light from his apartment shines on a tunic stained with blood, cut and torn, and a dark, ugly stain that is not getting any smaller.
Roman’s head lolls forward, almost nuzzling Janus’s thigh as it slips off the cane. His hair sticks to his face, too soaked with blood.
Janus’s eyes go wide.
Roman Prince is here, on his knees, bleeding out because he has nowhere else to go. He came to Janus, the person he should trust the least out of everyone in this city, and he’s here on his knees, pleading.
The hand not on the cane twitches, then slowly reaches forward to find the least bloody spot on Roman’s head. It runs gently through his hair and finds its way to his chin, lifting it up once more. Roman’s eyes, full of tears, stare back at him.
“Come inside, little prince,” Janus says, his voice far softer than he would normally allow, “you’re bleeding all over my carpet.”
There aren’t many places to go that aren’t carpeted inside Janus’s apartment, but they make it over the threshold before Roman’s state begins to truly worry him.
How did he even get here? By how much blood there is, surely he would’ve passed out by now? Roman seems oblivious to his inside questions, simply looks around for wherever Janus is leading him before he notices how much blood he’s leaving behind him.
“It’s alright,” Janus says, surprising the both of them, “I can have the floor cleaned.”
Roman just blinks at him. And oh, if it doesn’t hurt to see that innocence still in the eyes of the little lamb, even as the wolf goes to take his arm.
“The bathroom is through this way,” he says softly, “come now…”
It is an odd experience, surely, to have one’s own nemesis bloody, wounded, completely at his mercy, as he strips off his suit jacket and rolls up his sleeves, and want to do nothing but hunt down the people that made him this way.
Roman sits like a broken doll, he realizes as he watches the man ease himself down and wait as Janus pulls on a pair of plastic gloves. He is not uncooperative when Janus pushes his limbs to the side, snipping away at the fabric, trying to figure out what precisely is going on. He does not protest when Janus finds the stab wound and presses a cloth harshly on top, nor when Janus grabs his hand and bids him to hold it there, hard. He is not unfeeling, just very, very quiet as Janus begins to douse the pads in antiseptic.
He doesn’t flinch when Janus cleans the wound as best he can—he’s no doctor, after all—before muttering that it’s going to need stitches.
“Oh,” he mumbles instead, “okay.”
“Yes, so—hold still,” he barks, forcing Roman to sit back down, “where do you think you’re going?”
Roman blinks. “You said it needs stitches.”
“Yes, which is why you shouldn’t be moving.”
“I was going to go get the stitches.”
Now it’s Janus’s turn to blink. “I will stitch you up, Roman, now stay.”
And there’s that lamb-like innocence again as Roman tilts his head. “You will?”
“I may not be a doctor,” Janus mutters, twisting to grab the first aid kit, “but I do know how to suture a wound.”
He takes a few more wipes and cleans the blood he can, pointedly ignoring Roman’s attentive look.
“You could be a doctor,” comes the mumble, “you seem…good at it.”
Janus huffs. “Less a doctor, more a medic.”
Roman’s brows furrow. “What’s the difference?”
“A doctor fixes you, a medic makes dying more comfortable.”
There’s a moment of silence. Janus half-expects the poor thing to seize up in fear, tremble before him, or—god forbid—try and fight him, but he does none of that. Because that would make sense.
Instead, Roman just closes his eyes and lets his head fall to the side against the tiled wall.
“You don’t have to make it comfortable then.”
Janus’s hands falter for a moment. His eyes flick to Roman’s bloodstained face before refocusing on the wound in front of him.
“You’re not going to die here,” he says firmly, and if he starts to work a little more quickly, that’s his business, not yours.
“Oh.”
“I imagine you wouldn’t’ve come here with the intent to die on my doorstep, that’s quite rude, you know.”
“…no.”
Now, see, as the best liar in the city, Janus knows when he hears one.
The absurdity of the situation strikes him once again, fainter this time, but still there. Roman Prince is here, bloody, wounded—fatally so if Janus hadn’t started tending to him right when he did— forced to roll over and show his belly, Janus’s teeth at his throat, and yet Janus reaches up to turn that pretty face to his.
“Tell me what happened, little prince,” he commands softly.
Roman swallows. “I didn’t mean to.”
Janus simply raises an eyebrow and starts to stitch up the wound. Roman doesn’t flinch but accepts the silent chide.
“I-it was the building security guard,” he mumbles, “they called in that someone was firing shots in the upper stories and couldn’t—couldn’t get away in time. They were—they—the call wasn’t completed.”
They died while they were on the line, Roman doesn’t say, but Janus hears it.
“Wh-when I got there, there were—they must’ve thought there was a mole in the—on the inside and they started—they were—“
They were killing their own people, Janus realizes, hiding his disgust behind another tied-off suture. He’s starting to have an awful feeling about where Roman’s been tonight.
“Something went wrong in one of the labs. They made a toxin, and it—it—“ Roman swallows— “it drove them insane.”
It made them homicidal, they killed each other.
“I...I think they were going to flee from the roof.”
As Janus ties off the last suture, he freezes.
Oh.
Oh.
Oh, no.
“I tried to stop them,” Roman whispers, “I was holding onto them, it was windy, they were going to fall, they ran too fast out of the door, I caught them, I—I had them, they—they were going to be safe but then they—they—“
Janus presses two fingers to the warm chest next to the wound. He can feel Roman’s heart jumping. He rubs in slow circles.
“They stabbed me,” Roman finishes, “and I—I—I—“
A small noise that sounds too much like a sob swallows the rest of his words.
Oh, this poor little prince…
Roman swallows another sob. “I’m sorry.”
Janus tilts his head. “What’re you apologizing to me for, little prince?”
“Well, I can’t imagine that this is how you imagined spending your evening.”
“No,” Janus says, folding his hands in front of him, “but I can’t imagine this is how you imagined spending yours either.”
The little prince bruises as easily as ever, only this time he doesn’t bother to hide behind his bravado.
“Off,” Janus says softly, tugging lightly at the remains of Roman’s costume, “the rest of you needs to be cleaned.”
He watches unashamed as Roman follows his instruction, eyes traveling over the scars littering the body revealed to him piece by piece. Too many scars. When he stands bare, Janus takes his hands and deliberately cleans them of the blood.
Roman doesn’t stop trembling until Janus has cleaned away every last bit.
The costume will need to be disposed of, there’s no saving it. The floor in the bathroom is littered with bits of blood and the carpet near the door will need to be cleaned quickly. Luckily the cleaner that Janus employs is well-accustomed to such a request. Instead, Janus walks back to the bedroom.
There the little prince sits, looking far too much like a lost child. Janus pauses at the door, tugging his normal gloves back on.
The little prince looks far too good wrapped in Janus’s colors.
“Why did you come to me, little prince,” he asks after a moment, “you had no way of knowing that I wouldn’t kill you.”
Roman lowers his head and the lie from the bathroom plays uncomfortably in his head. Janus tilts his head as Roman clears his throat.
“I thought—part of me thought you would.”
A harsh laugh tears out of his throat before he can stop it. “So what, I was to be your confessional? You would fall on your knees, repent, and I would put you out of your misery? Or put you down, like some misbehaved dog?”
Roman hunches his shoulders. Janus’s mirth disappears in a flash.
“…maybe.”
Roman Prince dragged himself from the roof of 85th and Marilyn, all the way across the city to Janus’s real apartment, disarmed his security, and did not once tend to the stab wound in his chest.
Roman Prince witnessed a slaughter, watched people be driven out of their minds, and dropped someone who did their very best to kill him off a roof by accident.
Roman Prince fell to his knees in front of the one man in this city who he knew would be capable of killing him without a second thought.
“…do you want me to kill you?”
There’s a softness in his voice again, one that slipped unbidden into the words to make the blow seem more like a caress.
“I would make it quick,” he murmurs, still leaning against the doorway, watching the little prince, “it wouldn’t hurt.”
Roman looks at him. The child is lost, so lost, and so, so tired. He opens his mouth.
“Don’t you want to?”
…well.
Does he? Certainly, the little prince has caused more than his fair share of mishaps, messes, and mistakes, and putting him out of the equation permanently benefits Janus in more ways than one. And it’s not like it would be difficult. No one knows Roman is here, let alone anyone who would care, and even fewer that wouldn’t expect him to never be seen alive again. Janus could kill him in half a dozen ways in the next minute that Roman couldn’t possibly fight against, a dozen more that would take scarcely any longer.
Unbidden, his mind begins to list off the possibilities. The gun in the cabinet, the knife tucked into his shirt, the poison stored in the bathroom, even snapping the little prince’s neck.
But he takes one more look at the little prince and all of them vanish in an instant.
“Why did you come here?” he murmurs again.
Roman lets out a long breath. His hand on the borrowed shirt tightens and loosens, tightens and loosens.
“You’re the only one I trust,” he tells him quietly, and it’s the saddest thing he could’ve possibly said.
Janus crosses the room and cups the back of the little prince’s neck. Roman just bows his head, the little lamb waiting for another hand to come up and twist. Janus bites back the snarl of rage at how resigned Roman is to dying tonight and brushes his thumb along the curve of his cheek.
Stroke by stroke, he coaxes the tears from the little prince’s eyes and wipes them away.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he murmurs, leaning his weight against the edge of the bed, “there’s nothing you could’ve done.”
“I could’ve held on.”
“You’d just been stabbed, flinching is a perfectly understandable reaction.”
“But I’ve been stabbed before.”
“It’s not like you build up an immunity to knives going into you.”
“But I—“ Roman cuts himself off, curling his fist tightly in his lap.
“What is it, little prince?”
He just shakes his head firmly, lips pressed tightly together, red blooming on his cheeks.
Well, at least there’s blood flowing properly again. “We’re well past the point of embarrassment, little prince,” Janus remarks gently, “and if you’re worried about sharing weaknesses with me now…”
“I got scared,” Roman blurts, sounding every bit the reprimanded child. Janus pets his hair absentmindedly, encouraging him to speak again. When he won’t, Janus hums quietly.
“You were stabbed,” he reminds again, “that’s understandable.”
“Not of being stabbed.”
Janus frowns. “What then, little prince?”
“I…”
“I won’t harm you, little prince,” Janus murmurs when he hesitates.
“…I got scared of being outside.”
Janus’s hand pauses in Roman’s hair before gently lifting his chin. “What do you mean, little prince, that you were scared of being outside?”
“There—there was nowhere to go, I couldn’t get out, I couldn’t escape, there were too many people, the choppers were so—so loud and I—I didn’t know what to do—“
Fucking hell, Janus realizes as he shushes the little prince tenderly, he’s agoraphobic.
Flashes of their fights and altercations start to make more sense now. Why Roman prefers fighting in dark, cramped warehouses, why losing the hero on public transportation was so easy, why he almost never confronted Janus in public in broad daylight even though he clearly knows where Janus lives.
The weight of the expectations on Roman…how difficult his chosen occupation must be…how little support he gets for something that makes it infinitely harder for him…
Janus doesn’t realize he’s cradling Roman’s head until he strokes his thumb down his cheek and feels the soft brush of hair against his forearm. He looks down and sees Roman’s eyes all but flutter shut, lulled by the gentle touch against his face.
Trapped under the spotlights of the world, laid bare, stripped by their merciless eyes, unable to look away, escape from what they would only see as a colossal failure…
No wonder Roman sought out a denizen of the shadows where he could be sure no one would look for him.
What should, by all rights, feel like a cage to Roman might just become a den.
The snake tightens its coils protectively around the little prince and leans down to whisper in Roman’s ear.
“You’re safe, now,” he soothes, “there is no one else here but me, and I will look after you. There are no expectations here, you cannot do something wrong. I’m here to help you.”
The snake hisses in contentment as the little prince slumps into the coils, letting it pick him up and deposit him gently in the mass of the den, leaving only for a brief moment before returning to his side.
“Shh, shh,” he soothes as Roman blinks about in confusion, “you need to rest, I’ll be right here.”
“Why—what—“ Roman’s head hits the pillow and Janus almost laughs at how quickly his eyes close— “why’re you…helping?”
“You came to me for help, little prince.”
“But you…care?”
And oh, if that doesn’t make the snake’s cold black heart beat warmly in its chest.
“You may be surprised, little prince,” it hisses, drawing the little prince closer and closer, “but you’re not that difficult to care for.”
No, Janus decides, resigning himself to a night of little sleep as he watches Roman’s breathing begin to even out, stroking a hand through his hair, the little prince isn’t so hard to care for after all.
The snake has never been one to spare those that wander carelessly into its den, but this little prince did not do it carelessly. And it is surprisingly easy for Janus to soothe the remaining prickle on the back of his neck by scratching his fingers lightly along the back of Roman’s, to gentle the furrow in Roman’s sleep with a murmured reassurance into the little prince’s ear. The night passes slowly as the little prince dozes under the snake’s coils.
Only later, when the sun has begun to rise, does he realize he’s left his phone on the counter. He sighs, extricating himself gingerly from the sleeping Roman and going back to the kitchen.
R. Sanders: 1 new notification
He glances toward the bedroom and opens the text.
R. Sanders: if you don’t get your security system back online yourself in the next 30 seconds I’m coming over
Well, considering this message is from two minutes ago, Janus simply sighs and opens the door.
“That,” Remus snarls as he stalks inside, “is not the point.”
“I was about to reboot the system, Remus, do calm yourself.”
“I’m not the one who spent the entire fucking night in an unsecured location!”
Janus raises an eyebrow. “By all means, Remus, do keep shouting about my security system at the top of your lungs while the door is still open.”
Remus mutters angrily to himself but has the decency—or perhaps, the self-preservation—to quiet down while Janus shuts the door and turns the security system back on.
“Now then,” he says easily, setting the kettle to boil again—blueberry mint really was the correct choice to make last night— “what would you like to drink?”
Remus regards his tea boxes like he regards the new bottles of bleach.
“You still don’t keep coffee in your house, do you?” At Janus’s look, he sighs. “Just hot water.”
“Splendid.”
Janus takes his time setting up his teapot. Looseleaf black tea, a new teacup, the honey laid out just so, all while Remus’s tapping gets more and more impatient. But Remus is a good dog, he’ll wait until he’d given leave to speak again.
“I imagine you must have a reason for infringing upon my privacy this morning,” Janus says as he stirs the honey into the tea, “if not just to turn my system back on so that a corpse could not be tampered with.”
“I didn’t know if you were fucking dead, Jan,” Remus snarls, and oh, the poor thing was worried. How touching.
“I’m fine, Remus,” Janus says, softening his voice just the barest amount, “and it certainly speaks to the faith you have in me.”
“Yeah, yeah, faith in your something.”
“Come now, dear, let’s not be crass.”
“You like me crass.”
Janus hides a smile behind the rim of his cup. There’s the Remus that was missing from the report. Though as he looks at the loyal minion sitting across from him, he sees that something is still bothering him.
“Well, if that’s all then?”
Remus takes the bait. “Wasn’t us.”
“Pardon?”
“The beast,” Remus mutters, still glancing around the apartment, “wasn’t us.”
Then he spots the blood.
In Remus’s defense, Janus did open the door right as he arrived and he was definitely given time to look around before Janus swept him into a conversation. Still, the fact that it took Remus this long to spot the blood is…well.
“Shit—“ Remus springs to his feet— “are you hurt? How many?”
“Keep your voice down,” Janus murmurs, “I’m not hurt.”
“Then explain to me why there’s blood everywhere—“
“Keep your voice down.”
“Why the fuck should I keep my voice down? Someone was here, there’s fucking blood—“
Both of them freeze as a rustle of covers comes from the other room. Remus’s eyes widen and his hand goes to the gun at his side. In two quick steps, he’s almost to the bedroom.
Janus catches him by the arm.
“Don’t.”
The steel in his tone finally gets Remus to settle, the man glancing at the door once before allowing himself to be held in place.
“What the hell is going on here,” he hisses, finally keeping his voice down, “what aren’t you telling me?”
“Stay out of that room,” Janus orders, even though it’s a redundancy at this point, “and tell me what else you know.”
Remus opens his mouth to protest but a look quells him. He glances at the door one more time before sighing.
“By the time we got there, everything was over. There were network choppers crawling over every inch of that place, swarming with civvies. We had to fence to get in. Janus, they—“
If Remus has to take a breath, what the hell happened?
“God, Janus, it’s like someone gave a neurotic thirteen-year-old a hallucinogenic and a sledgehammer and told ‘em the building was a giant whack-a-mole.” Remus shakes his head. “Heads bashed in, eyes gouged out, like they—they—“
“Like they did it to each other,” Janus finishes.
Remus nods, his face pale. He looks up at Janus and it’s the second time in the last twelve hours he’s been caught off guard by someone’s expression.
“Jan, it’s bad,” he says quietly, “if they—we’re lucky it only got into that building.”
“And you’re certain it’s contained?”
“Someone tripped the quarantine field. The building locked down. Only way out was the roof.” Remus shakes his head. “The head of the beast was splayed out on the street, spine snapped in half, bloody knife. Like he was pinned up like a butterfly.”
He quirks his brow.
“Gotta admire the craftsmanship.”
Janus nods. Remus notices his silence and steps a little closer.
“So who the fuck is in that room?”
As if on cue, there’s another muffled hiss.
“Don’t,” Janus says when Remus’s hand goes to his gun again, “you’ll scare him.”
Now Remus looks at him like he'd grown another head. “Who the fuck is in that room?”
Janus bites back a curse when there are more noises.
“The person who cut the head off.”
“If you think that’s gonna stop me from getting in there—“
“Remus.”
Remus subsides, looking at him carefully. Janus sighs. Remus knows better than to directly disobey an order, and if Janus pushes, Remus will leave.
And yes, part of the snake wants to wrap around its den and keep its precious charge safe from anything else.
A larger part of Janus knows that keeping this information completely under wraps will become a liability quickly.
“Watch the door,” Janus says, letting Remus go.
Remus hasn’t worked for him for this long without picking up some of his observational skills, so he goes without complaint. Janus opens the door to the bedroom and has to stop the fond smile on his face as he sees the little prince trying to feign sleep. As if it’s going to work.
He crosses the room and leans down.
“You can stop pretending now, little prince.”
Roman’s eyes open and the snake hisses gently, noticing the pressure the little prince’s position is putting on his stitches.
“By all means, ruin the work it took to suture you up,” he remarks dryly, chuckling as Roman quickly—and carefully—rolls onto his back, “better.”
“D-do—I can go now,” Roman mumbles, “if—if you—if you want. I can leave. You don’t have to see me again, I’ll—I’ll go.”
Janus quirks an eyebrow. “And let you leave without breakfast? How rude of me.”
Roman’s eyes widen. “N-no, I didn’t mean—you don’t—I—“
“Hush, little prince,” Janus murmurs, petting Roman’s hair again, “none of that now.”
Roman’s eyes keep darting around the room, from the closed door to Janus’s hands to his face and away again. Janus frowns.
“Oh, little prince, have you always been so afraid of me?”
“Yes.”
The honesty takes Janus by surprise. Roman Prince has never been afraid of him, at least not like this, like some creature constantly bracing for a blow. He’s responded brilliantly to whatever jibes Janus throws at him during one of their altercations, always ready with a quip on his tongue or a pretty blush to a flirtation. He’s not—he’s never been this.
Perhaps the little prince is a better actor than I gave him credit for.
There are not many people in this city capable of doing that.
Then there’s the sudden realization that the reassurances from the night will no longer work. Roman was safe because he was alone with Janus, there was nothing he could do wrong that would hurt him, there was an easy way to escape if need be. But now Remus is here, there’s another variable to worry about.
And Roman is no match for the both of them.
“Let me have a look, little prince,” he says instead, leaning down to gently tug the shirt up and out of the way. Despite the hero’s movement, there’s no blood, no popped stitches. The wound will still be tender for a while yet, but there’s nothing to worry about. Not at the moment. He says as much, ending with a soft: “sit up, let’s get you something to eat.”
Roman glances at the door again.
“Remus won’t hurt you,” Janus reassures, “not while I’m here.”
Roman’s head whips around so quickly he frets that the little prince will snap his own neck.
“R-Remus?”
Janus blinks. “Yes, Remus, he’s who’s here, he works for me.”
“Remus Sanders?”
He quirks a brow. “And here I thought you didn’t bother to learn my staff.”
“N-no, Remus Sanders, he’s—he’s not dead?”
Not dead?
Judging by the sudden silence in the other room, Janus has about three seconds to brace for it before Remus slams the door open.
Remus’s eyes are giant, his face almost drained of color. Three quick steps and he’s got a fist in Roman’s shirt, wrenching him away from Janus and slamming him up against a wall.
“Remus,” Janus barks, “put him down.”
It says something about Remus’s state of mind that he doesn’t even register Janus’s command. Instead, the man has a knife pressed to Roman’s throat, every muscle in his body bunched up like a clenched fist.
Roman hasn’t flinched. He’s just staring at Remus, his hands sliding and scrabbling uselessly at Remus’s shoulders.
“Y-you’re alive,” he keeps mumbling, “you’re not dead, you’re alive, you’re safe, you’re—you’re—“
Remus abruptly lets Roman go, shoves him further against the wall and yanks the shirt out of the way to see the stitches. The knife goes back in its holster as Roman keeps babbling about how Remus is alive.
“Was it him,” Remus asks in a soft, dangerous voice, cutting through Roman’s babble, “did that bastard stab you?”
Roman jerks his head up and down.
“…well, at least you finally learned how to stand up to your bullies.”
Ah.
Janus must be getting rusty.
“As much as I hate to interrupt the family reunion,” he says, startling the brothers, “I believe there is still business to attend to.”
Remus has the decency to look a little ashamed at directly disobeying several orders now, but the little prince is still staring at Remus like his life depends on it. Janus shakes his head, crossing the room to gently take his chin again.
“You need to eat, little prince,” he murmurs, “come now.”
He doesn’t have to ask Remus to help the little prince to the kitchen. By the time he’s followed them out—and made sure his tea isn’t ruined—Remus has Roman sitting on one of the bar stools, stood next to him, every bit the guard dog as Roman clutches Remus’s tactical vest. As Janus starts to get something together for Roman to eat, Remus doesn’t move once. Instead, he lets Roman cling onto him, mumble to himself, and absentmindedly rub his cheek against Remus’s chest.
Janus sets a plate of food in front of Roman and picks up his tea again, taking a sip and staring at them over the rim of the cup.
This could be a problem.
Remus’s loyalty is not easily won, nor is it easily lost. The man’s been dragged behind a truck by his fingernails and not squealed once. And yet as Remus lifts his head—finally—and looks at Janus, it’s the first time he’s seen that loyalty waver.
Janus stares back. Remus knows better than to try and cross him. Remus himself has been the blunt instrument that disposes of those who did. Remus knows the extent of Janus’s influence better than anyone else, aside from Janus himself.
And still, that loyalty wavers.
The little prince, oblivious to the staring match happening over his head, mumbles a small thanks as he starts to eat. His hands are still shaking. Remus steps closer, pressing Roman further into the counter and the little prince lets him. The message is clear.
This is the one thing of Remus’s that he won’t let Janus take.
Which would be a problem—or wouldn’t be, depending on how quickly Remus cooperates—if Janus weren’t currently dividing his attention between Remus and how his hands are itching to wipe the last speck of blood from the little prince’s hairline.
It takes barely a glance for Remus to understand that Janus would never.
“Little prince,” Janus murmurs, coming around to the other side of the counter once Roman finishes, “I need to have a talk with Remus, do you think you can sleep a little more?”
“I can try.”
“Let’s have you try.” Janus glances at Remus.
“C’mon, Ro-Bro,” Remus says quietly, one arm around Roman’s waist, “back to bed.”
“Re?”
“I gotcha, Roro, I’m right here.”
How adorable.
Remus closes the bedroom door and there’s a long pause.
“Fuck.”
“My thoughts exactly.” Janus takes another sip of his tea. “Does anyone else know what happened?”
“The networks have a hold of the main story, they won’t know what happened inside until the lockdown expires, but Jan—if he was there—“
“The choppers saw him.”
“Shit.”
“They saw him drop the beast’s head but him fleeing the scene won’t look good.”
“I’ve got the team scrambling the data, the location of the beast’s head won’t reach the airwaves.”
“Good.”
Another pause.
“…why’d he come here?”
Janus settles the cup back in its saucer. “…he said I was the only one he could trust.”
Remus snarls. “As if we needed more proof that they treat their people like shit.”
“Believe me, I’ve got quite the list of people I’d like to question.”
Remus bares his teeth. “Don’t do it without me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, dear.” He watches Remus stare at the door. “So…you have a brother?”
“Don’t act like you didn’t know that from the extensive background check you did.”
Janus accepts it, setting the teacup aside. “The famous Roman Prince…oh, how the mighty have fallen.”
Remus’s head flicks sharply around to stare at him. But Janus says it with none of his usual flare, dragging his gloved fingertips along the counter.
“Has he always been so…” He fumbles for the right word.
There isn’t one.
Thankfully, Remus understands what he’s trying to get at.
“It’s hard not to,” he mumbles, “even when I hated him—and I hated him, he was always…”
Remus trails off into silence too.
“There was never a moment where I didn’t know that he was still my fucking brother.”
This is dangerous.
The closest thing Janus has to a weakness, up until this point, has been Remus. And Remus is a loyal man, but even he knows Janus will watch him die and feel only the slightest bit of remorse that a useful tool will no longer be in use.
But not anymore.
“I think he wanted me to kill him,” Janus murmurs, noting the way that Remus jerks in surprise.
“Do you think that’s why he came?”
“He told me that I was right,” he says, “that I was—that he remembered I’d told him if he ever realized he couldn’t do it anymore, if he ever needed help, that he should know better than to go back to the people that pretend to care about him.”
“You basically told him you’d be his suicide gun?”
“I didn’t mean it like that, Remus,” Janus says lowly, looking up.
Remus regards him. “Would you have?”
“Killed him?”
“Yes.”
Could he have killed Roman Prince? Yes, easily.
Can he kill the little prince in the bedroom?
“My God,” Remus breathes, “you can’t do it, can you?”
Janus shakes his head. Like it or not, the snake can’t kill the little prince.
“So what now?”
Janus stands up straight. “The city isn’t just going to let Roman Prince disappear, not like that. They’re going to look for him. He’s going to have to make another public appearance.”
“And we have to clean up the rest of the mess.”
“That we’re used to,” Janus sighs, “that I’m not worried about.”
“You’re worried about Roman’s people trying to look for him.” Janus nods. “We’ve got feelers out, we can keep tabs on that.”
“Good.”
Remus spares another glance at the door. “Are you gonna keep him here until then?”
“Yes.”
He lets out a low whistle.
“Go. Get to work.”
“Aye aye, boss.” Remus fixes him with one last look before he disappears out the door.
Janus walks to the bedroom. This time the fond smile crawls across his face unhindered.
“You don’t have to pretend, little prince,” he says as he crosses the room, “if you can’t sleep, you can’t sleep.”
Roman blinks up at him as Janus sits on the edge of the bed. “Sorry.”
“No need for apologies.” He tilts his head to the side. “I never offered you painkillers, are you alright?”
Roman nods.
“Roman,” he asks softly, “why did you come here?”
There’s a pause.
“You said that you remembered me telling you that you could,” he continues, “and that you…trusted me, and yet you seemed surprised that I was—I am willing to help.”
“Still am.”
Remus’s words play in his head again. “You said you remembered what I said—and you be honest with me now,” he says, giving Roman a look, “did you want me to kill you?”
Roman swallows. “I don’t know what I want anymore.”
And oh, Janus has waited so long to hear those words from that pretty mouth but not like this.
He pulls a tissue from the side table and tilts Roman’s head just so to get that last speck of blood, pausing at the way Roman shudders under his touch.
“When was the last time someone touched you,” he asks gently, “before this?”
Roman just shakes his head.
“What is the point,” the snake hisses, “of people pretending to care about you when they don’t give you what you obviously need?”
“You were,” the little prince mumbles, still a beat behind, “I think you were the last person to…to touch me.”
“Before…?”
“Yeah. When we…when you…”
When he had the little prince tied up in the factory downtown, another attempt to persuade him to back off. When he cupped the little prince’s chin in his hand and chuckled as a pretty blush spread across those cheeks. When he let gloved fingers run through his hair and smirked at how easily the little prince lost track of the conversation.
Now, though, Janus cradles the little prince’s face in his hands and lowers himself onto the bed.
“You can have it,” he whispers, running his fingers through the little prince’s hair, “if touch is what you need, you can have it.”
Roman’s eyes flutter, lost on the sensation of Janus’s touch, all but floating on the bed. He starts to curl unconsciously towards him, pliant and still. Janus lets him, moving to wrap his arms around the little prince as he tucks himself under Janus’s chin.
“Why didn’t you tell me,” he asks gently, “that you were hurting so badly?”
He feels the roll of Roman’s throat. “Didn’t want you to think I was any weaker.”
Janus bites back a curse. “Well, I’m afraid you’re about to witness firsthand how weak I am.”
Before Roman can ask what he means, Janus cups the back of his neck and gently, gently kisses his forehead.
“If no one else will do what needs to be done,” he murmurs into Roman’s hair, “then I will.”
If no one else will take care of the little prince that sacrifices so much to protect this city, then the snake is happy to oblige.
General:@frxgprince @potereregina @reddstardust @gattonero17 @iamhereforthegayshit @thefingergunsgirl @awkwardandanxiousfander @creative-lampd-liberties @djpurple3 @winterswrandomness @sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes @iminyourfandom @bullet-tothefeels @full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind @demoniccheese83 @pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious @firefinch-ember @fandomssaremysoul @im-an-anxious-wreck @crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch @enby-ralsei @unicornssunflowersandstuff @wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv  @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams @averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb  @cricketanne @aularei @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws @cecil-but-gayer @i-am-overly-complicated @annytheseal @alias290 @tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance @whyiask @crows-ace @emilythezeldafan @frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires @cyanide-violence @oonagh2 @xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx @rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734 @triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo @cerulean-watermelon @puffed-up-bees
If you want to be added/taken off the taglist, let me know!
222 notes · View notes
no-droids · 4 years
Text
Just the Translator
Tumblr media
Part Ten of the Rough Day Series
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 7.6K
Warnings:  There is rough sex in this.  THERE IS ROUGH SEX IN THIS.  Do NOT read if that offends you.  There is also more anal stuff—NO FUCKING (not yet).  Uh, canon-typical violence, grumpy Din Djarin, some fluffy moments, Baby Yoda being a little troublemaker, bit of a cliffhanger ending BUT NOT TO WORRY PALS I ALREADY GOT QUITE A BIT OF THE NEXT PART WRITTEN
A/N: ***Please take a second to visit this googledoc, in it are useful links regarding the BLM protests and what we can do to help. Here is a separate link to where I originally addressed this and shared more thoughts***
***
Whelp.  At least you’re in a good mood. 
In contrast, Din and the kid have been causing problems all morning, the both of them.  Like two… two annoying, middle-aged children competing to see which one is less mature.
The smaller of the two, and older (most likely) is bouncing with energy.  Acting a complete fool.  Ready and willing to launch out of his restricting little sphere at any second, a bright green bundle of energy that slept way too well last night and is just rubbing it in at this point.  He was fine earlier—checking out of the inn, picking up some food at a local market, riding in the Crest as it navigated towards the most isolated sector on this planet—but the hike to this field has been like pulling teeth.
In fact, Din is currently wearing a singular gauntlet on his left hand for that very reason—so this child’s hyper ass could be contained within the hovering, reflective prison.  He’s restless, though, continuing to act out.  At one point you suggest just letting him walk to let some energy out like yesterday, even if he slows the group down with his tiny little legs.  Once you let the little menace out on parole though, he just continues to veer off in his own direction and irritate his dad even further.
And, oh stars—his dad.
Din has barely said a word, only answering with short responses when directly prompted and spending most of his energy just silently stewing inside his own little grumpy teapot on his head.  The helmet is the only other piece of armor he’s donning besides the lone vambrace, and you’re surprised steam hasn’t started whistling through the top of it with how frustrated he is, how many times you’ve seen him curl his hands with impatience. At first it was amusing, though you know better than to tease him about it right now.  You keep your mouth shut and try your best to wrangle the kid, doing everything you can to be helpful while also steering clear of unintentionally exacerbating his silent irritation, knowing Din isn’t in the mood for jokes after being interrupted at a very crucial moment last night.  The sun shines directly on the front of his helmet and blinds you with every single annoyed step, so you follow just far enough behind him and try to use his enormous refrigerator of a body to shield your eyes.
At first it was amusing.  But then the baby catches sight of a gorgeously patterned butterfly floating through the field that he probably wants to snack on for breakfast, and he breaks off from your entourage once more with a quiet little coo that should strike pure terror into the hearts of small animals everywhere.
Immediately you’re turning to go get him—but then a large hand quickly snatches the front of your shirt before you can take a single step, pulling until you’re colliding with an unarmored chest with an oof.  
A bare hand catches your jaw and tightens until you’re staring deep into the thin blade of his visor, before Din whispers rough through the modulator, “As soon as he falls asleep.”
That’s all he says.  And then he’s releasing you and letting you stumble back towards his wayward son a whole lot less amused than you were before, and a whole lot more achy.  The baby shenanigans are far less amusing too.
“You’re killing me here, kiddo,” you breathe after quickly catching up with him, having to bend in half to lead him back towards his impatient dad. 
His hot, moody… incredibly well endowed dad, thick arms crossed tight over his chest as he waits for your return.
The monster’s hand lifts high above him as his three fingers cling to just one of yours, the baggy brown sack exposing his pudgy little green elbow as he follows next to you with a waddle.  It’s slow going, but at some point he decides to pull himself up onto your wrist and you catch him, cradling him in your arms before quickly hurrying back to Din.
Thankfully he begins to calm down a little after that.  As you three eventually find a spot in the endlessly breezy field to settle into, the kid clamors back into his shield while Din carelessly drops the dark bag of supplies he carried from the Crest into the tall grass.  You twist your back to let some of the stiffness out, rotating your arms to encourage more movement as he approaches.
“Same thing as yesterday,” he gruffs when he’s in reach, patting his chest again with a bare hand.  “Hard as you can.”
“My… My hands hurt,” you eventually admit, not wanting to frustrate him even more and hoping you would be able to work on blocking today instead, but Din just nods while you gently brush your thumb along your sore knuckles.
“That’ll happen until it doesn’t,” he tells you quietly, reaching out to touch your elbow in a quick, awkward gesture of comfort and then dropping his arm to his side.  Short, but not unkind.  “Push through.  You can do it.”
You nod, knowing that’s probably the very best motivation you’ll get from him.  His beliefs, condensed down to quick, stunted sentences, presented with such unwavering surety that they must be truths.  Weirdly, it works wonders for you.  Maybe it’s just the person it’s coming from.
You drop into stance and then slam your fist into his chest before he’s ready, and Din steps back on impact with a small grunt while you bite your lip to silence your own noise from the pain reverberating up your arm. 
“Good,” he huffs nonetheless, rubbing the spot on his chest he’s historically designated as target practice.  “Good.  You’re… hitting harder than yesterday.  That’s… fuck.  Good.”
“Good?”  You ask lowly, chancing a quick look over at the kid.  Who blinks directly back at you, wide-eyed and staring purposefully from his crib.  You deflate just a little bit at the sight of him still wide awake, and Din’s fists are clenched by his sides when you turn back to him.
He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel the pent up tightness in his body as you spend the next couple hours throwing more hits at him, different types.  Left hooks, right hooks, crosses, jabs, elbow strikes, palm heels.  He was absolutely right though—the more you make contact with him, the less you begin to feel the pain, until it eventually feels like nothing at all to you.
But then, at one point, you pull your hardened fist back, aimed and focused directly on that same spot on his chest once more—when suddenly his hand flashes up and he flicks his finger against the lower part of your open ribcage. 
He barely puts any strength into it at all—it’s the pressure you’d use to tap someone on the shoulder if you were trying to get their attention, but for some reason the incredibly well-placed reminder throws you.  A little fucking touch like that shouldn’t hurt nearly as much as it does, but you nearly tip sideways and have to catch your footing with how dizzy it makes you.
“That’s what’s called a liver shot,” Din tells you calmly, watching you wrap your hand around your ribcage and wince at the lingering pain through gritted teeth.  “Keep your arm down like I told you.  That’ll happen every time you wanna get lazy with me, little chicken wing.”
You hiss and shake your head a little bit, trying to clear the fog, and then purposefully tuck both arms tight to your sides.  But then—
His hand flashes up again and taps the side of your face this time—not hard enough to hurt but enough to make you flinch on instinct and take a step back.  “That arm stays up.”
Your quick huff of air is suppressed.  Somewhat censored—it doesn’t duly portray the sharp flare of annoyance you experience.  You do exactly what he says, however, and keep your arms in position in front of you.
But then you jerk back and sputter angrily when the tips of his fingers lightly connect with your cheek once more.  “Stop that!  My hands are up!”
“Then why’d you let me do it?”  He asks, stepping up as you retreat to poke you square in your chest.  “Stop letting me do it.”
He goes to tap your face again, but this time your forearm comes up to swat his away before he can make contact, and he seems pleased for the moment.  Din steps back and hits his chest again.  “Come on.”
He lets you get in just a few more blows before coming at you again.  You smack his hand away and then go to throw another punch, but he’s quick.  He cheats—goes for you twice in a row when you’re not expecting it, and taps the vulnerable spot on your side for the second time today.  It hits you like a bullet and takes you a second to snap out of the abrupt shot of pain.
“Come on,” Din taunts once more, curling his mismatched fingers at you—one hand leathered and the other tan and bare.  He sounds like he’s grinning under the helmet, starting to enjoy this way too fucking much.  It makes your blood boil, makes you just stand there like an idiot for a few seconds and fume at his audacity.
Apparently you take too long getting pissed off at him.  He comes at you first, going for your side again, but you shove his arm out of the way with a growl.  Except his other arm flashes and you react instantly, ducking under the wide, careful swipe aimed for your cheek and then zeroing in on the same exact spot below his ribs he’s been torturing you with all day, the one left wide open while his arm misses its mark.
Except—yours isn’t a tap, or a flick.  It’s a hard uppercut.
Air rushes through the modulator as he groans and stumbles sideways, gasping and trying to steady himself.  Triumph surges through your veins as you watch him, shaking your hand out at your side to quickly encourage the numbness away, your knuckles not yet used to hitting bone.  He clutches his side and shakes the helmet violently in an effort to regain himself, breathing hard through the filter and—
The visor instantly jerks to you and you’re already taking a step back on instinct, adrenaline roaring.  He snaps upright as you continue to retreat—until you trip over yourself and plunge to the grass.
A reflection catches in your peripheral, and you whip your head to the side to see the kid completely passed out in his metallic cradle, eyes closed and mouth drooping a bit.  The sight shoots pure exhilaration through you, but it’s nothing compared to the thrill of only seeing him there for a split second before chrome shields instantly slide shut over his head.
You look back to Din just in time to see him dropping his gloved hand back down to his side and taking quick steps towards you—and you react without thinking.  You scramble over on your hands and knees and then launch forwards before you’re even halfway off the ground, finding your feet as you stumble into a run and hearing footsteps pick up behind you.
Maker, it’s been ages since you’ve run like this.  You don’t even know why you’re running—you just do, it just feels like you should.  Your body barrels through tall grass and your heart thunders faster than the sound of your pumping legs, louder than the wind whipping through your ears.  You don’t know if he purposefully allows you to get this far or if you’re genuinely quick—
—nope.  Nope, you’re not quick, because he suddenly bursts into a sprint behind you and gains way too much ground way too quickly.  You try to break left as soon as you realize what’s happening, but he’s too fast and hooks an arm around your stomach just before you’re out of reach.  Din yanks you back to his chest as he twists around and takes you both to the ground, his shoulder blades slamming down first and softening your landing with his whole body and a grunt, skidding you both to a halt in the endlessly wavy field.
The wind is knocked out of you regardless.  You try and struggle off of him but the positioning makes it almost impossible—your abdominal muscles are no match for the strength of his arms wrapped around your stomach, keeping your body pinned tight to his as you wrestle to lift against him in the grass.
“Fight harder,” Din growls raggedly in your ear, and your pussy seizes with need when you feel how rock hard he is against your ass.  It encourages you—you make a rough sound towards the sky and then lift against him with all your strength, and your elbow comes down hard into his ribcage.  Air whooshes out of him and his arms loosen just slightly.  You’re able to wiggle off him and start crawling away, but then he heaves over and snatches at your pant leg—
Which means you pull them down yourself as you keep clawing yourself forward by your arms, raw excitement coursing through your veins, the fabric pulling tight over your ass and then bunching around your thighs.  You squeal and flounder and kick at him—but Din just grabs at your ankle and then pins your leg to the ground, pushing up and using your calves to clamor on top of you with brute strength, catching your underwear and ripping them down too.  Your heart pounds and your pussy just about floods itself hearing him dig in his pants to pull his cock out, his breath coming heavy through the helmet.
Maker, you’re so fucking ready for it.  You keep struggling just because your body is telling you to, but nothing close to the word ‘stop’ ever leaves your mouth, never even comes to mind.  You feel wetness slicking your inner thighs as Din grunts and plants an arm next to your head, his bare hand shooting out to hover in front of your face.  You flinch—but he keeps it there, palm open in front of your lips in silent expectation.
“Wet or dry,” he snarls when you don’t immediately react.  “I don’t give a shit.”
Still, his hand stays right in front of your face long enough to let you make up your mind.
And… not lick it.
After a moment, Din makes a sound that drops another wave of white hot arousal down through your stomach—a furious, growly noise that resembles distorted static passing through the filter.  He angles his cock against your opening and when you hear him muttering angrily, you think he’s scolding you for it.  Calling you dirty under his breath, promising you you’ll regret saying that in a second.  But no—he’s—
“Perfect.  Perfect little girl, fucking perfect,” Din hisses darkly, pushing into your soaking entrance without anything but your slick to ease his way.  “H-How are you—s-so fuck—ing—”
Oh Maker, you turn your head into the grass and cry out through the delicious, blissful intrusion, pushing your hips back against his—and Din curses as he quickly bottoms out, making sure he lurches fully into you before his hands find out exactly where they want to be.  They land on your lower back and he mounts up, pinning your body hard to the ground with almost his full weight.  It means you can rip out as much grass with your useless arms as you want—he doesn’t even give you a single moment now that he’s successfully rooted you to the crushed greenery.  You bloom for him all the same, as soon as Din pulls out with a wet sound and then starts fucking you strong and steady.
It’s sharp.  Biting.  Even the pleasure has a hard edge to it, completely paralyzing you even if you could struggle in this position.  His hands are pushing down so hard that the ground digs into your tummy and makes his cock angle and slam right into your g-spot each and every time.  You want to moan out your ecstasy but he’s wringing the air from your lungs with every shattering swing of his hips back and forth, quickly speeding up as he goes and taking out a full night’s worth of deprivation on you.
“Ngh.  Take.  Cock.  So.  Fucking.  Good—” Din grits with every mean thrust, the staccato growls of praise getting lost in the echoing, rhythmic clap of his hips.  You can’t fucking breathe—the pleasure is too overwhelming, your face is pressed into the grass, he’s got almost all his weight on you.  You’re helpless to do anything besides close your eyes, furrow your brows, drop your jaw, and just let him own your body in the middle of this beautiful oasis.  The heavy, wild thrusts steal every sense away from you, any ability to think beyond the fractured piece of heaven he’s striking inside you over and over.  You don’t even feel him grabbing your asscheeks and spreading them—
Somebody makes a pitiful, breathless whine—it’s you, you realize.  You make that sound, because worn leather lands right on the entrance he was denied last night and shamelessly breaches it before anything else can interrupt him.
“Tight,” he hisses, slowly sinking his thumb all the way down to the knuckle while you clench your eyes shut and choke out his name, “—f-fucking tight—”
His cock pulses inside you and you bear down as hard as you can on it in return, trying to get accustomed to being penetrated in two places at once.  He doesn’t move his thumb after that—he just keeps it there, deep inside you while he continues wrecking you with the brutal hammering of his hips from behind. 
Still—the impropriety of it starts to burn you up, how… dirty it is.  Getting the life fucked out of you in broad daylight, in the middle of a wide open field, the thickest finger he has buried deep in your ass, helpless to do anything else besides lay here and let him—you feel yourself start to clamp down, steadily getting tighter and tighter around the intrusions while he grits out hard curses and keeps giving it to you through the rapid build.
His name—you start repeating it into the ground like it’s the only thing you’ve ever known.  The word scrapes from your throat over and over, and you try to pull at the grass but your hands are clenched into fists and you can’t seem to remember which muscles to use to open them.
“You like this?”  You’re able to hear him grit from above you.  “Like when I—fuck—when I fuck you l-like this?  When I just.  H-Hold you down and take—” he chokes, “—take what I w-want—”
You can’t respond, but fuck yes, you do.  The kindling spark inside you suddenly flares up and starts to spread through your body like wildfire, tightening, tightening, tightening, but then—
He’s so pent up—Din cums.
Devastatingly early.
The savage thrusts suddenly stutter to a halt and the gasp he takes in sounds like it physically hurts him.  Like the orgasm is just ripped out of him.  His hold turns to steel on you, as if he thinks you can somehow get away right now, and Din cums deep inside your spasming cunt with a shuddering, desperate groan of your name. 
It’s like it drains everything from him—he slumps, just conscious enough to slowly ease his thumb out of your tight asshole, and then he collapses in the grass next to you.  You stay there for just a second and shake next to him, muscles feeling like they’re creaking even while just laying on the ground like this, completely motionless.
“Shit—was that—”  Din pants, turning and scooting over to you to brush your hair out of your face with his bare hand, “was that… okay?  Do you… do you need…?”
You’re still so submissive, still so high on the overwhelming rush of pleasure, your mouth opens and croaks out a response without your permission.  “It was good.”
“Yeah?”  He huffs, dropping back on the grass and trying to catch his breath.  “Good.”
And… it’s true.  It was good, it was absolutely fucking amazing.  So overpowering, such a hard fuck that you almost don’t think about the fact that you didn’t actually cum from it.  The thought doesn’t really even register with you fully, not yet.
Eventually you both push yourselves up, each of you equally lacking in energy, just in different ways.  Din looks like he’s drunk—unbalanced and dizzy while he removes his glove and stuffs it into one of his pockets, before carefully tucking his spent cock back in his trousers.  In contrast, you’re nothing more than another trembling blade of grass in an enormous landscape of them, flimsy and yielding to the powerful, rippling wind as you attempt to adjust your clothing.
It’s fine, you tell yourself on the slow, quiet walk back.  Sex doesn’t always need to end in a fiery orgasm.  Sometimes a rough pounding hits the spot, scratches that itch.  You feel like you’re a newborn blurg trying to balance your oddly proportioned weight on two noodle legs as Din’s hand patiently guides you from your lower back, and a bright flare of arousal arcs through you feeling how gentle his hold is compared to the way his cum is steadily leaking from your throbbing, aching cunt.
You don’t need to cum every single time he fucks you.  It’s fine.
***
Upon returning to the sight of the unbothered, napping kid, you both decide to walk a bit more, and you learn your lesson this time.  The sun glints bright against Din’s left side while traveling in this direction, so you stick purposefully to his right the entire time.
In the meantime, you share easy conversation and attempt to regain some semblance of control over your still slightly… restless body.  Slowly but surely, your feverish arousal for him dims and fades to the backburner, replaced instead by… softer, quieter feelings.  There’s not a solid word for it, not really.  If you were mixing on a palette, you’d start out with a base of gentle contentment and then add a big dollop of affection, diluted with silence until it’s a swirling, pastel… color you don’t have a name for, but cherish all the same.
The baby wakes up about halfway through the afternoon hike, and he’s better now too.  Eventually your ragtag party finds a place to settle for the night—a small clearing in the field at the edge of a thick forest.  There’s a sizable log and boulder situated relatively close together, with a wide open space to make a fire in the center.
Din disappears for a bit to go get some firewood from the looming forest while you entertain the kid; the log is tilted perfectly to allow you both to watch the sunset, and you easily converse with the riveting baby talk as if he’s an absolute genius.
“I’m not so sure about that, honestly,” you tell him diplomatically, receiving nothing but unintelligible babbles in response as he climbs all over you.  “Well, no actually, because there’s two major schools of thought concerning that, the first being—”
He pops up in front of your face to interrupt you heatedly and you scoff, rolling your eyes over the loud gibberish.  “Look, I’d appreciate it if we could tone down the passive-aggressiveness, okay?  If we can’t have a respectful discussi—”
Three green fingers settle over your lips and you gasp at the nerve of him, forced to let him continue to ramble on your lap about absolutely nothing at all, the size of his ego soon growing to match the size of his ears.
“Hear that, shiny?”  You turn your head and ask his father upon his eventual return, and Din grunts distractedly as he dumps the firewood down and rummages around in the bag for a lighter.  Tilting your head back towards the kid, you prompt him with a raised brow.  “Tell him what you just told me.”
The baby bursts into more nonsense, encouraged by your attention, and Din crouches down to set the wood into position in the dusky twilight glow while saying nothing at all, and it somehow manages to pass as listening intently.
It continues to go on like that far longer than you expected it would, the baby apparently having quite the bone to pick about something that’s been on his mind, and one point you have to rest your hand over his mouth so he finally stops babbling.  “Hey, that’s not very nice,” you scold him quietly.  “I’m sure his face is perfectly normal under there.”
The helmet turns just slightly towards you, unamused while you snort at your own joke for a little bit. 
“I didn’t say it,” you remind him after far too long of just celebrating your own hilarity, clearing your throat through the stifled chuckles.  “I’m just translating.”
“Oh yeah?”  He eventually murmurs, beginning to ignite some of the crumpled twigs at the center of the pile, and if you worked at it, you could probably convince yourself he’s sharing your gentle smile.  More muted than yours perhaps, but beautiful and easy on his face, fitting him simply and perfectly.  “What did… What did he say I look like?”
You would’ve shot something ridiculous back at him, something snarky and facetious, but you stop short.  You catch it—underneath his voice, it sounds… timid, almost.  Uncertain.  It makes you take just a second in responding.
“Brown eyes,” you tell him after a moment, and Din doesn’t visibly react, just continues to slowly add small branches to kindle the flame.  It’s so quiet out here, but it’s different from hyperspace quiet.  This quiet is… natural.  Warm, and.  Free.  Fleeting, allowed to roam.  In a way that hyperspace just feels compact, stifling.  “He said you have… brown eyes.  And a… a strong bone structure, striking features.  A sharp, chiseled jaw, dark facial hair.  And, uh.  He also said…”
Din keeps silently feeding the fire until it’s crackling and bright, and then he settles back on his butt next to it, both elbows resting on his knees, not moving the visor towards you but waiting for you to finish regardless. 
The stunning backdrop gives way to a stunning surge of bravery.
“He said you make a bunch of faces under there that nobody ever sees,” you say softly, blinking at Din in the fading twilight while the kid sits silently in your lap.  “That you’re an open book.  Behind a metal wall.  And you have a really nice smile, I bet—he bets… he bets you probably do it more often than anyone realizes.  And your… your hair starts to curl when you let it grow long, and.  And you’re almost guaranteed to be drop dead gorgeous under there, and it’s a real fucking shame that you’ve probably never had anyone tell you it.”
Din tilts his helmet at you, looks at you for a long time—long enough for blood to rush to your cheeks and for you to get fidgety.  But when he finally does respond, his voice is gentle through the modulator.  “He said that.”
You mhm at him quickly, nodding your head and turning away as casually as you can, heart beating incredibly fast for some reason.  “Just the translator.”
A lovely silence soon blankets the both of you, a warmth permeating through to your bones that has nothing to do with the steadily growing fire.
***
A little while later, the kid has retired to his reflective cradle and the dancing flames are the only source of light besides the bright moon hanging directly overhead.  Din sits with his back to the large boulder and digs through the bag, pulling out all sorts of food you picked up before leaving the village this morning and handing them to you.  Something red and unfocused flashes oddly against the curve of his helmet when he reaches his hand back in, but it’s only for a second—he’s already pushing more food at you and filling your arms with bags of dried meats, fresh fruit, and loaves of bread.
“Stars,” you whisper under your breath, examining the feast in the flickering firelight.  “Here, take—take some of this, it’s too much.”
“There’s more in here,” he counters lowly, zipping the bag and dropping it somewhere on the other side of his body.  “The kid hasn’t eaten all day.  Might crawl away and catch himself a Gungan later if you don’t feed him soon.”
“No, I mean—” you let all the food drop into your lap and start sorting the items, “—you need to eat.  What do you want?  There’s plenty.”
“I’m not hungry,” he answers, far too quickly to have actually taken a moment to check.  “Just give me whatever you two don’t eat when you’re finished, I’ll put it back in the bag.”
Okay, if he’s gonna play it like this, you’ll just have to choose for him.  You’ve already dedicated at least two bags of dried meat to the kid, which takes care of him.  So, you take an extended moment to methodically find the ripest fruit in the bunch, the one with the most squish to it, and then search for the softest loaf of bread, not caring that Din is silently watching you.  You gather both of them in your arms and then pluck three bags of meat from the pile, before depositing all of them back into his lap.
“Eat,” you urge quietly, grabbing another portion of food for yourself, heavy on the fruit.  “Don’t inhale it.  Please.”
With that, you grab the kid’s food and then scoop the little guy up from his shield with your free arm, standing and walking to the other side of the fire.  You carefully plop yourself down with your back purposefully to Din, the kid happily finding a place on your lap with his back to you and reaching six little fingers out for the food.
You start eating, and after a moment, you smile around the large bites of fruit at the sound of metal clinking against stone.  The baby, of course, refuses to even open the bag of dried meat you set in front of him, so you roll your eyes and do it yourself, hoping he’ll at least eat like an adult and give you some time to feed yourself.  But no—the fifty year old creep demands to be hand fed, and any other day, you wouldn’t have let him get away with it.
Today, you’re just really fucking.  Happy.
You’re unbelievably happy.  Having spent a few days on this gorgeous planet, your two favorite people in the galaxy with you.  It fills your heart with air.
You start out quiet, praying you aren’t bothering Din as he (hopefully) continues to relax and enjoy his food behind you.  You begin humming your favorite melody under the sound of the crackling flames, the source of heat burning pleasantly against the curve of your lower back, setting another piece of dried meat into the kid’s cute little mouth and only just slightly annoyed that he refuses to do this himself.  Admittedly though, you do love babying him, especially when he shows you his adorable little chompers.
One bite for him, two bites for you.  That’s the deal, even though you’re hungry and you deserve way more than double his food intake rate.  You try to be quiet enough that your gentle humming will get lost with the fire between you and Din, and he never says anything or tells you to cut it out, so you just continue to let your cheerful mood provide a quiet soundtrack to the moonlit evening.
Even better, you and the kid actually finish snacking before he does, and you’re more than willing to wait for him, thrilled that this is actually happening.  It’s so simple, such a throwaway thing, but.  Knowing he used to eat his meals as quick as he can and now he’s comfortable enough to just take a second and enjoy it… you don’t know, there’s something inherently meaningful about it, something that you specifically notice.  Something about this, about sitting around a fire and sharing a meal together for the first time—even with your back turned to him, it just feels… familial.  In a way.  More than it’s ever felt before.
You have a little moment.  It’s nice.  You drop your head back and gaze up at the night sky, in awe of how different the stars look from this side of the galaxy and remembering how far you’ve come.  The kid follows suit, leaning back against your tummy and blinking silently at the universe, the star-speckled sky reflecting in his gigantic dark eyes.
He starts to doze after awhile, listening to you hum softly to yourself, but the noise of a helmet finally lifting from the boulder and most likely fitting itself back in its rightful place snaps him awake just enough.  The kid pushes off you and waddles over to his dad, and you scoot yourself back over to your little log while he unceremoniously clamors up onto Din’s thighs.
Admittedly, it’s really fucking cute.  The visor moves just enough to watch him plop his little green butt down and find a comfy position on his lap, not helping but not preventing the movement either.  A heartwarming, silent kind of tolerance hardened men have for innocent little creatures that makes you bite your lip to hide your smile.  What a softie.
You sit there in companionable quiet, staring deep into the dancing firelight and losing track of time just a bit.  They’re hypnotic, the flames.  Crackling and popping, warming just the forward-facing parts of you and nearly burning your cheeks, but you love it.  Breathing in the woodsy campfire air, hearing the gentle breeze float through the field surrounding you, the quiet forest waving dark and deep in the distance.  The midnight sky stretches long above you and the stars seem… brighter than they were on Arvala-7.  They probably aren’t—that planet is practically abandoned and has almost no light pollution whatsoever compared to Naboo, but… maybe it’s because now they feel… in reach.  Something you can touch.  Interact with.  Something you can cover your eyes, blindly point at, and then say—that one.  That’s where we should go next.
After awhile—you have no idea how long—you blink your gaze over to Din and startle to find the helmet facing you directly, shamelessly, the kid completely passed out on his lap as the flames reflect in the visor.
Without intending to, you’re already thinking back to earlier today.  How quickly he bolted after you, how strong he was bringing you to the ground, pinning you under him and taking what was so rudely denied to him last night.
You didn’t actually finish, and you can still feel it simmering down low.  Din’s cum has been steadily leaking from you all day, and while you eventually became successful at blocking out the sensation, it suddenly slams to the forefront of your mind again.  The visor pierces deep into you while you start to squirm just a bit against the rough log pressed into your back.  You can still feel him when you flex your lower muscles, and you bite your lip and do it repeatedly while blinking at him, waiting, squeezing your thighs together and loving the reminder.
He still hasn’t said anything to you, and you start to get antsy under his stare.  Your body works itself up even more, fueled by the flames reflecting in his helmet.  After a few more moments of silent tension, you’ve finally had enough.
“Din,” you whisper, trying not to make it sound like a whine and his head quickly lifts when you didn’t even realize it was slightly tipped forward.  The helmet rolls back in a drowsy little circle, as if his neck is suddenly remembering the weight burdening it.  Embarrassment instantly floods you.  “Oh.  Shit.  I’m so stupid.  I’m sor—”
Only he’s already pushing himself up with his free arm, lethargic and drunk with exhaustion, not saying a single word as he sets the conked out kid in the cradle and closes the shield over his sleepy little head with the push of a button.
You bite your lip as he drags himself over to you, swinging a leg behind you and then dropping down without any ceremony, firmly inserting himself between the uncomfortable log and your back.  Your butt is shoved forward from the sudden displacement but he’s not done.  Din wraps both his arms around you and pulls, dragging you up onto his long torso while his legs close under you and you’re off the ground completely.
Oh Maker, he’s already thousands of times more comfortable than sleeping up against the log would be.  He makes the best bed in the galaxy, big and warm and firm under you, letting you stretch out long on him.  You lounge on his lap and drop your head to his shoulder, resting your arms on top of his as they drape heavy across your belly.
“Sorry,” he gruffs, voice low and rough through the modulator.  The filter rings sharp through your ear when it’s pressed up against his helmet like this.  “Just need a few hours.  Didn’t… didn't sleep great last night.”
You close your eyes and internally scold yourself, now taking responsibility for his lack of rest for the past two days.  Shit.  You don’t actively respond, feeling slightly put out, but your body is of another mind altogether.  It still continues trundling down the steep slope you shoved it towards earlier, when you stupidly thought he was giving you eyes under the helmet instead of him being passed out cold.  You wiggle against him just slightly under the guise of finding a comfortable position, but it has unintentional consequences.
You breathe out a soft sigh when your hips move over his cock, biting your lip at the sensation but trying so hard to stop it in its tracks.  He’s exhausted, and he already fucked the life out of you today, there’s no way he’ll want to go again this soon.  Except—then he shifts and mmms low in his throat.
“And you,” Din murmurs quietly, reaching a hand down to slowly push under your pants, “need to start being more honest with me.”
“What are you t—oh, stars,” you whisper, your body shuddering as one of his thick fingers slowly dips into your slit.
“Shit, you’re wet,” he groans, sinking his hand down lower to feel remnants of himself still easing its way out of you.  Your lashes flutter as your jaw drops, and his cock gets hard against your spine almost immediately.  “You’re fucking… soaked.  I—I asked if you came and you said yeah,” he whispers low to you, but you shake your head.  “Why’d you lie to me abo—”
“No, no—” you protest breathlessly, “—you asked if it was okay, and then I said—”
“You said it was good.  It’s not good if you didn’t cum,” he grunts quietly, and the tip of his finger now drawing tight circles over your clit makes it damn near impossible to argue.  “I didn’t fuck you right if you didn’t cum.  You should be fucked right.”
“Maker, you fuck me exactly how I need to be fucked,” you whimper, tilting your head until your lips are pressed against the curve of his helmet while his hand steadily works under your pants.  “And—oh, fuck, that’s… h-however you need to fuck me.”
“Fuck—obedient little thing…” he huffs, starting to rub harder over your clit.  “What I need is for you to cum.  From now on, you’ll tell me.  Say yes.”
“Yes,” you moan into the beskar, your eyes fluttering back at the slowly building pressure.
“Say, ‘yes, Din,’” he breathes.
“Yes, Din,” you dutifully repeat, lifting your hips up against his hand, and he groans softly through the modulator.
“Say, ‘Din, I need something to cum on’,” he whispers.
You’re delirious, you don’t even catch it before most of it is already out of your mouth.  “Din, I need something to c—” you cut off but he’s already reaching down between your bodies to ease his cock out, before yanking your pants down your ass just enough to position himself up against your entrance.
He rocks his hips up and he slides in easier than ever before, and you… don’t know what you’re expecting, but he surprises you nonetheless.  He doesn’t start thrusting into you at all.  Even though he’s rock hard inside you, thick and pulsing and breaking you open, he doesn’t move a single inch.  He just keeps himself there, continuing to rub circles around your clit and giving you exactly what he prompted you to ask for.
Something to cum on.
Your body tenses and squeezes him, and Din shushes you before you realize you were making noise.  His free hand comes up to settle tight over your mouth and guide you turn your head away from his helmet.  At first you think it’s because your heavy breathing was probably fogging the visor up, but no—his fingers leave your pussy for a split second and you hear him maneuver himself out of it.  The hollow noise it makes thunking to the ground is beginning to become your favorite sound in this universe.
But then of course, Din buries his face into your neck and starts talking again, whispering low praises behind your ear with that bassy, dark chocolate rasp, and you have to remind yourself to keep breathing.  His fingers return to your cunt to slowly rub your clit and his cock throbs hotter than sin inside you, building your pleasure into a strong, slow crescendo.
You start to whimper unintentionally, but his hand is wrapped tight around your mouth, muting and confining the desperate sounds to your throat.  His finger presses down harder on your clit and his cock flexes inside you.
“That’s it, sw—sweet girl,” Din mutters, his voice interrupted by his own staccato breaths and tight gasps the longer he talks you through it, the longer he keeps himself perfectly still while engulfed in your drenched, fluttering cunt.  “That’s—that’s it, I can feel it c-coming.  Fuck—make it good for me, give me a good one—”
His words shove you right over a cliff you didn’t even realize was there until you were dangling over the steep drop for an extended moment like a cartoon.  Everything squeezes around him unbearably tight—your hands dig into his forearms, your back arches up against him, your pussy constricts his thick cock until you feel like you’re hurting the both of you with it, and Din’s breath catches next to your ear while you’re both suspended in thin air for a split second—
—before you’re convulsing in pure bliss, flooding his cock with cum while he rasps out, “good girl,” into the crook of your neck and rocks his hips up into yours.  The few heavenly inches of movement hits something jaw-dropping inside you and nearly makes you scream against his palm, launching your body even higher into mind-bending rapture.  Fucking Maker, you cum hard for him, on him, around him.  You downright drown his cock in your pleasure, suffocate it and work out the aching tightness in your pussy all over him until you feel like you can’t breathe anymore.
“Mmm…” Din murmurs quietly, continuing to circle your swollen clit hard through the shattering aftershocks.  His voice is deep and sinful and vibrates your whole back with its frequency, but something underneath it also sounds as if he’s considering, before he seems to land on an answer to a wordless question he just asked himself.  “…One more.”
And, like the fucking Maker himself commanded it, another blazing hot wave of fire suddenly rips you apart and sends you spasming rhythmically around the throbbing cock buried inside you once again.  This one wrings you completely dry, robbing you of every sense.  The ragged whine you make behind his hand must be too loud—his fingers quickly tighten around your jaw and lock down, keeping you as still as possible while you give him everything you have to give.
Eventually the sparks die out and you’re left a shell of what you once were, clamping down hard on him and shuddering your bliss at the night sky.  He lays there silently under you, holding you as you fall back down to reality.  Your breathing is a mess and so is everything below your waist, and your whole body jerks when Din carefully slides his hand from your pussy and rubs gently over your thighs, your tummy, your chest.
“That was…” you croak out, trying to remember how to speak, “ … g-good.”
“Go to sleep,” he whispers, pressing soft kisses against the side of your neck.  You can hear the gentle grin he’s hiding from you, knowing he completely incapacitated you.
“But what about—” you start to protest, when Din’s teeth sink into your flesh and your pussy seizes up tight around him, making him choke a hoarse little groan into your skin.
After a moment, he eases his throbbing cock out of you, and he resets your clothing while you whimper in distress.  “Go to sleep,” Din murmurs, before softly kissing your neck once more, and your eyes slowly droop against your will.  Fuck, his body beats a king size mattress any day of the week.  “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
***
He…
He isn’t.
5K notes · View notes
wesimpforxiao · 3 years
Text
Say My Name and I’ll Be There:  10.3: The FINAL Chapter!
Author’s Note: IM SO SORRY IM A DAY LATE I ENDED UP BEING BUSIER THAN EXPECTED AND HAD TROUBLE WRITING BUT HERE IT IS!!!! THANK YOU FOR READING! Be sure to stick around for Inception(Childexreader) ;)
"Xiao! Come here real quick!"  
The yaksha glanced your way but didn't bother to get up since you were the one approaching him.  It took a moment to register that your hands were entangled in his hair, placing something in it.  Your smile was unusually bright today--so much so that it was blinding.  Not that he minded though; you've been through a lot these past few months.  Maybe this was the happiest you've been in awhile.
"I knew it," you beamed as you admired the flower crown atop his head, "You look so cute!"
"C...Cute?"  His gaze flicked away from you for a moment while the tips of his ears reddened. "I-"
"Oh, take the compliment already.  We've been together for awhile now.  You don't need to be so shy around me."  You let yourself fall back onto the grass that was shaded by a large orange tree.  Is it a gingko?  I need to ask Aether next time he comes in here, your mind trailed.
"I..."  Xiao returned his attention to you and lay down next to you, careful not to invade personal space and always leaving an inch or two of space between the two of you.  He let his hands lay on his abdomen until he jumped a little from you scooting over without a word.  When he looked at you, he was greeted by a cheeky smile.
"I know you're not used to this type of thing called affection, but I can tell you don't mind it."
"Hmph.  You've gotten smarter."
"Hey, I told you I'm not a stupid human!"
"You're beginning to sound like Aether's companion."
"Okay, there is a huge difference between emergency food and a stupid human."
"So you admit it?"
"Ugh, keep this up and I'll have no choice but to put more flowers in your hair."
"Do you dishonor every adeptus you come across?"
"Well, you're the only adeptus I've met besides Rex--Er, Zhongli!"  The filtered sunlight peeking through the leaves above blinded you when you broke eye contact with Xiao, so instead you propped yourself on your side and admired the view behind him.
Aether's Serenitea Pot was massive.  It had to span a mile or two in every direction, and the entire territory sat upon five tall cliffs that were connected via wooden bridges and held flowing waterfalls.  The weather was always pleasant day-round.  There were several pets outside of the main house on the main cliff that you had befriended, while Xiao seemed to connect the most with one of the gray tabby cats near the entrance.  You had caught them sitting quietly together on several occasions.
"Granny would've loved this place," you sigh.
"I shall go with you to visit her grave."  He didn't look at you as he said this, but the sincerity of his words rang as clear as the sky above.  "...She'd be happy to know you're safe."
"All thanks to you."  Despite originally admiring the scenery, your eyes had drifted downward and landed on his stomach.  Both of you were fully healed by now because of Bennett, and neither of you had any lasting effects from your battles minus the required resting time.  Your side held a prominent scar both at your front and your back, but did Xiao even get scars?  He never revealed the answer--mostly because you were too embarrassed to ask--and thus leaving the idea to your imagination.
"I should probably check on the situation outside soon; it's been awhile since Aether updated us."  Xiao sat up and summoned his spear--he had mentioned a few times that it was difficult for him to relax here and needed to keep himself busy since a comfortable life is a foreign concept.
"Oh, right..."  Your gaze followed his figure as he rose to his feet.  Sensing your--what was it, disappointment?--Xiao turned to you and removed his flower crown before gently placing it atop your head.  That action was followed by a faint smile, then his lips lightly pecked the tip of your nose.
"I shouldn't be long."
"You two love birds have made quite the nest here!  I've gotta say, Aether's got great taste."  A familiar voice caught both of you off your guard and Xiao's stance became aggressively defensive in an instant.  You and Xiao were supposed to be the only ones in the teapot at the moment, and even then, those who did occasionally stay in here didn't greet you like this.  The person that voice belonged to wasn't welcome--or at least, belonged to a presumably-dead man--regardless of that savior act he pulled in Snezhnaya.
"Childe?"  More shocked than afraid, you too rose to your feet.  "What're you doing here?"
"Isn't it obvious?  I came here because I had something to say."  The harbinger was as carefree as ever, but as he walked towards you a slight limp became noticeable in his steps.  He was hiding an injury, but was it from Scaramouche or from Aether?
"What did you do to Aether?"  Xiao's voice was as low as a growl as he raised his spear higher.  He stood slightly ahead of you to ensure your safety since you no longer had a vision and couldn't use those mysterious anemo powers ever since the rescue.  And knowing you and your idiotic tendencies, he had to make sure you didn't do something stupid like try to fight Childe if provoked.
"Haha!  Relax!  Aether and Mr. Zhongli are doing just fine; in fact, they allowed me to enter!"  Childe hid a wince when he stopped walking, but noticed the flicker of recognition in your eyes.  His lips curled upward with flattery.   "Don't worry, ojou-chan.  A little scuff isn't going to take me out."
"I-I wasn't worrying about you."
He seemed unconvinced but faced Xiao again anyway.  "You'd be pleased to know that both Aether and Zhongli let me in on their own accord--no manipulation from me whatsoever."  The fact that he had to clarify that! "Why don't we chat over lunch?  I'll cook.  Show me to the kitchen, girlie?"
.............
To say that you and Xiao were staring was a bit of an understatement.  Here you were, both sitting at the dining table in the main hall of Aether's adeptal house watching Childe cook up a meal fit for a large family while expertly navigating the kitchen like it was his own.  And when he served you, the delicious aroma that wafted into your nose was nothing short of enticing.  You and Xiao withheld your utensils--one out of weariness, and the other because it's not almond tofu.
"What?"  Childe let out a slight chuckle as he took his seat and dug into his plate.  You have no idea how thankful he was that there were forks in the drawers instead of chopsticks.  "Oh, perhaps you two already ate before my arrival?  More for me then I suppose."  
"Um, so why are you here?"
"I figured I'd give you an update regarding our little situation outside."
"'Little?'"  Xiao couldn't contain his scoff.  He hadn't dismissed his weapon either, and it levitated beside his seat.
"Seems like the quiet life hasn't changed you one bit, yaksha."  The harbinger stopped stuffing his face and set his fork aside to look at you.  "Regarding what happened with Scaramouche, I think it's safe to say I won."
"If it weren't for you coming here today, I would've assumed your untimely demise."  Ignoring Xiao's look of disapproval, you reached for your utensils and started to eat.  Both of you hadn't taken your eyes off of the harbinger as he cooked, so the chances that he may have tampered with the ingredients were low.  Plus it'd be out of his character to go about eliminating enemies like that.  "I'm grateful that you saved my life, but don't think for a second that that makes up for everything you've done to us."
"Oh, I wouldn't dare.  I know I've been aggressive for lack of a better term, but I'd like you to know that I'm only like that when it comes to my duties as one of the eleven harbingers.  Aside from that, I'm happy to call you a comrade just as I view Aether and Zhongli."
"Woah woah woah," you nearly choked.  "I'm certainly not going to start viewing you as a friend now."  
Childe simply laughed at your objection.  "Think what you may, but I do respect you and the rest of Aether's party.  As for my motherland and it's affairs, I think you'd be happy to know that the Tsaritsa has stopped her pursuit of you and Xiao.  She's not exactly appreciative of you wrecking the palace and would like to avoid any further destruction that can hamper her current plans."
"That's all it took for her to leave us alone?  You must be joking."  The archon had spent so much time and resources on hunting and imprisoning you--the idea of her giving up just like that had to be unrealistic, right?  And the fact that Xiao managed to bring the entire palace down...there's got to be some sort of bounty on your heads.
Childe met your gaze and held a level of sincerity equivalent to the time when he confessed his feelings and offered you a position among the harbingers on Dragonspine.  "Not in the slightest.  Regardless, you're free to lead carefree lives from now on.  Though if you'd like to rejoin the Fatui I'm sure I can pull some--"
"Nope.  I'm done with that."
"Ha! Very well then."  Childe resumed eating with an amused grin on his face, but Xiao wasn't satisfied with this conversation yet.
"You've given us no reason to trust your words."  His stare was hard and calculating as he tried to decipher any hidden motives behind Childe's friendliness.  It wouldn't be unusual for this to be some kind of trick.  In fact, he expected that there'd be some sort of catch.
The harbinger sent a brief glance Xiao's way before guiding another forkful of food into his mouth and shrugging.  "...Like I said, think what you may.  I don't care if you two choose to live in this realm or in Teyvat with the rest of us.  But then again it must be incredibly boring for a guardian yaksha to be lounging around in this domestic place.  I know I'd be driven mad if I had to live in such a quiet place for so long."
Xiao didn't flinch or give any indication that he was right, but your eyes briefly flicked his way.  It was uncomfortable for him to be 'relaxing' here with nothing to do.  It wasn't surprising that he'd be yearning to go out and uphold his contract with Rex Lapis again.
............
"Childe, wait."  Your hand gripped his forearm rather aggressively as he reached for the door handle to take his leave.  Xiao had heard a disturbance outside and went to check on the realm just in case, so it was only the two of you inside the mansion.
"What is it, ojou-chan?  Miss me already?"
"Yeah right."  As he turned to face you, your grip lightened until you let go.  He hadn't called you 'Mezzetin' once since he got here, only referring to you with this nickname like old times...Childe raised a confused brow.  "Why?"
"...Why?  Why what?"
"Why did you save me?  You could've just let Scaramouche kill me back there.  So...why did you risk your life to save mine when you didn't care less when I was tortured?"  Your stance was firm as you faced him head-on.  "I need to know."
"Ah," Childe awkwardly scratched the back of his head, "that."  Some sort of conflict flickered in those blue eyes of his as he formulated an answer he didn't quite know himself.  "Like I said earlier ojou-chan, I've always seen you as a com--no.  As a friend.  Just as Zhongli and I converse despite the Osial controversy, I see you in the same light despite my loyalty to the Tsaritsa."
"That doesn't answer my question, though.  You had several opportunities to stop what was happening, and it was only then when you decided to step in.  So why then?  What changed your mind?"
"I don't know."
"Bullshit, Tartaglia.  There's got to be strings attached to this, right?  You expect something in return from me? Just get on with it already and tell me."
"I doubt you'd be satisfied with my answer regardless," he muttered mostly to himself.  "I may be kind of a bad guy, but I'm not completely heartless."  He observed the stumped expression that sat on your face as the gears turned in your head.  Then, he turned to the door again.  "When you're ready, you should join Mr. Zhongli and I for drinks sometime.  Farewell, girlie."  He was gone.
Despite the deep-rooted grudge you held against the harbinger now, you couldn't help but still hold some sense of familiarity or gratitude for him.  You might just take on that offer if only to purposely antagonize him at the dinner table.
......
"Xiao, how did you get your tattoo?" The two of you were sitting beneath another one of the many trees native to Liyue in the adeptal realm, still waiting for news regarding your return to the mortal realm.  Several days have passed since Childe paid you a visit, and Zhongli and Aether still had yet to check in on the two of you.  To keep Xiao occupied and keep him from worrying, you'd ask him questions.  "I don't have any of your memories of it."
Despite his memories being shared with you due to your bond, the further back in time they're from, the blurrier they got.  The oldest memory you could 'remember' dealt with the god that enslaved him, and even then, there was no mention of the mysterious green markings that sat on his arm.
"I've always had these markings," he answered gruffly.  He had sat up a moment prior with the intent to exit the teapot out of concern for your companions, but your random question caught him off guard.  His amber eyes narrowed cynically when your fingers traced them.
"Do they have a special meaning?"
"'Meaning?'"  His gaze averted for a moment as he decided whether or not to indulge such a topic.  But your eyes were so full of life as you traced his arm, and your touch was so warm...  "They represent my true form."
"True form?"  You tilted your head and attempted to picture whatever the heck he would be, but all you saw were a bunch of random shapes.  The other adepti in Liyue are shaped like deer and cranes, but what the heck was this mosaic supposed to be picturing?  "And, uh, what would that be?"
Xiao let out a tiresome sigh and realized he may have made a mistake in answering these questions.  Now that he had told you, you weren't going to stop asking until you got to see for yourself.  He never uses his true form; very few had ever seen it and those who have have already passed.  Zhongli had only ever seen it once.
Seeing his apparent concern made you raise a brow.  "No way.  Don't tell me your true form is a bug or something!"
"Tch.  Is that really what came to mind?"  Xiao shot you a glare before standing.  He was planning on walking away and ending the conversation, but your silent pleading made him reconsider almost instantly.  We are alone, he thought.  Perhaps I could show her once.  "Fine," he grumbled.  "Close your eyes."
You obeyed.  He didn't exactly say 'no' when you asked if he'd be a bug.  He wasn't going to appear as such...right?  Butterflies fluttered in your stomach at the anticipation.  And just as your excitement grew, so did the winds that brushed past you.  Even the leaves in the tree above were shaking violently. Then, everything stilled.  Something soft brushed your fingertips, which were resting on your knees.  It was a cue.
"Hm?"  Xiao was no longer standing over you.  Instead stood a majestic bird with blue and green feathers that shimmered like glitter in the sunlight that filtered through the tree branches. "You're--!"
"--a bird," he finished.  He didn't say anything for a moment and allowed you to take it all in, seemingly shy or even embarrassed as you instantly reached out to touch him.
The blush that rushed to your cheeks was ignored by the both of you while your fingers grazed over the feathers that stuck up from the top of his head. He was beautiful; as breathtaking as a peacock, even.  Your fingers trailed down the back of his long neck, earning a rise of feathers as Xiao contemplated your movements.  His feathers were softer than the finest textiles in Liyue! And the tail feathers he had must've been as long as you are tall.  They glowed a light blue that's similar to the eyes of his mask.
"So beautiful," you whispered in adoration.  Xiao shifted his wait to his other foot.  "Thank you for showing me."  The fact that he did showed how much trust he placed in you--
The sound of a twig snapping scared the crap out of both of you--so much so that Xiao immediately transformed back into his mortal self.  Since he was so close to you though, it looked like he was sitting on you from the front angle.
"Hey guys! Sorry it took so long to check in--" Aether nearly stumbled when he approached you.  "Um...am I interrupting?"
"No!"
"The Vigilant Yaksha is BLUSHING?!"  Paimon squealed so loud that the three of you scowled.  "And what's with that sitting position?! You--"
"Paimon!" Aether swatted at his companion before she could say something that angered the yaksha.  "We came here for a reason!"
"Hey! Paimon is NOT a fly!"
"It's confirmed to be safe now.  You two can come home!"
"Wait, really?"  The two of you stood up.  "Are you sure?"
"Yep! There's no issue with the Fatui anymore.  Everyone's backed off.  We'll see you at the Pavilion for dinner to celebrate, okay? Don't be late!"  The two partners exited the realm in a flash.
"Ready?"  Xiao turned to you.
"Right now?! It's so sudd--"
"You don't have any belongings here anyways."  The statement cracked a smile on both faces.  "Let's go."  He reached to tap the symbol on his hand.
Your hand grabbed his.  "Wait!  Let me see you a little longer."  He was confused to say the least, but you didn't bother explaining how gorgeous he looked in the light right now.  Those amber eyes mirrored your own--though perhaps it'd be more accurate to say the opposite.  This is the last chapter of the crazy 'adventure' and the dangerous waltz with the Tsaritsa.  In just moments you'd be back in reality, return to Liyue Harbor, return to your Granny's grave, and he would return to his duty of protecting Liyue.  One more moment in this peaceful environment is all you need to admire him before life got hectic again.
Now your new adventure will be permanently at Xiao's side for however long your lifespan is: training with him, supporting him at his darkest moments, and loving him.  No matter what Teyvat brings next, you'll be able to take it on head-first despite lacking a vision and at his side.  You'll both thrive, not just survive.  And as you peered into his eyes, you could tell he felt the same.  "Okay," you nod.  "I'm ready."
94 notes · View notes
another-tmnt-writer · 4 years
Text
You Fell From the Sky
Leonardo x Reader
Author: Admin Mo
Prompt: okay this'll sound real dumb bUT- this universe!reader meets bayverse boys? like maybe reader wakes up in the bayverse and is very aware about the turtles? i dunno it sounds confusing but maybe it's an interesting prompt?
Note: I love this concept. I’ve dipped my toes in the water before, but this time, I’m going all the way. Also, I know you didn’t specify a turtle, but I zoned it in on Leo. I can definitely write another if y’all want more because I’m obsessed with this idea. <3
Warnings: Some language…
Word Count: 1.9k
Tumblr media
“Okay, guys, don’t crowd her. I’m sure she’s gonna be disoriented, and-”
“Donnie, is the angel alright? It must have hurt, falling from heaven.”
“Get outta the way, Mikey. Go wash the pizza off your hands.”
“Could we give her some room, please?”
The voices echoed around in your head, which was pounding painfully. You opened your eyes and everything was blurry. You were just about positive you were hallucinating, because when your vision finally started to come into focus, you were surrounded by four very tall, very familiar mutant turtles.
“No fucking way…” you murmured, looking up at each of them. They were even more detailed and lifelike than they were in the movies. Which was to say, very lifelike.
“Not the reaction I expected, but I’ll take it.” Mikey smiled, shifting to present himself to you. “The name’s Michelangelo, but the ladies call me—”
“Mikey, yeah, I know.” You cut him off and he gaped at you, his blue eyes wide.
“Are ya psychic or something?” Raph asked. You stared at him for a long second. His muscles were impossibly large, his eyes just as green as you thought they’d be.
“N-No, not exactly. I…well, I’m pretty sure I’m from an alternate universe. Or something.” You looked at Donnie, who was furiously taking notes and way taller than you expected him to be, and then to Leo, whose arms were crossed, his clear blue eyes analyzing everything you said. “Because where I come from, you guys are fictional.”
“Woah. I did not expect that.” Mikey said, looking at Raph for some sort of reaction from his older brother. “Bro, did you—”
“Shut up for like two seconds.” Raph snapped, his attention turning to you. “Can you say that one more time?”
“You guys are fictional. When I was growing up, I watched your cartoons, collected action figures, read your comics…This is unreal.”
“Comic books?” Donnie inquired.
“Cartoons?!” Mikey’s eyes widened.
You nodded.
“So…you know everything about us?” Leo asked, a twinkle of amusement working its way into his icy gaze. He wasn’t quite convinced yet, but he had to admit you were convincing at the very least.
“I mean, not really. Kind of. Maybe?” You shrugged. “I know you have a bonsai in your room.”
You didn’t think it was possible for them to blush, but after that comment, Leo proved you wrong, chuckling and rubbing the back of his neck.
“Just about everything then, yeah.”
“So what happened, Donnie? Why am I here?”
Donnie straightened up when you addressed him by name. “Uh, well, I was trying to figure that out, actually. We were out on patrol and there was a bright flash in the sky and you fell from it.”
“Leo caught you even though I called dibs.” Mikey pouted.
“You saved my life.” You gasped and looked up at Leo. “Thank you.”
“I couldn’t just let you fall, ma’am.”
“(Y/N).” You introduced. “My name is (Y/N).”
“Well, (Y/N), I hope ya like the smell of sewer.” Raph chuckled. “If not, you’ll get used to it.”
***
The turtles spent the rest of the day asking you lots of questions about your world and the representations of them that were in it. You told them that the universe they were in was closest to a series of movies by Michael Bay, which, Raph and Mikey found exciting given their love of the Transformers movies.
Leo didn’t say much, but he was always in the room, listening. When night came, Donnie was the first to leave the room, retreating to work in his lab. Then Leo went to his room to sharpen his swords and water his bonsai. Raph went to sleep next, and Mikey stayed up the latest, playing Mariokart with you until pretty close to dawn. You’d almost forgotten that the boys usually slept during the day.
When you were out alone in the living room, Leo came into the room, holding a large knitted blanket and a pillow, a tentative look on his face.
“Hey.” He approached you quietly. “I figured you’d need these. It gets kind of cold down here.”
“Thanks, Leo.” You tucked your hair behind your ear. “I really appreciate you guys letting me crash here.”
“Don’t mention it. It’s the least we could do.” He shook the blanket out and draped it over your legs. “If you need anything, my room is over there.” He pointed back towards where he’d come from.
“Thank you.” You smiled. “I’m sure Donnie will figure this all out soon enough and then I’ll be out of your hair.”
“Well, you’re welcome to stay for as long as that takes.” Leo smiled and then added, “Good night.”
“Night!”
Once he was gone, you laid down on the couch and stared up into the darkness for a little while, thinking about the events of the day. You were stranded in the Bayverse. And…well, actually, you weren’t all that upset about it.
***
When you opened your eyes the next morning, you half expected it to all have been a dream. I mean, that was the only logical explanation, right? Well, then you took a look around at your surroundings and realized that it was three in the afternoon and you were in the lair instead of your bedroom.
Once you stretched and got your bearings, you got up and walked to the kitchen, where Splinter was pouring tea from a teapot.
“And you must be the girl who fell from the sky.”
You had to stop and admire him for a second. Master Splinter, the boys’ dad, a wealth of endless support and wisdom. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t looked up to him when you were young. Hell, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t look up to him now when you needed advice.
“It’s an honor to meet you, sir.” You were shaking. “I’m not sure if the boys told you where I’m from…”
“They have, yes.” He nodded. “Donatello told me of the alternate universe you came from.”
“You helped me through so much when I was growing up. You all did. It’s really surreal being here.”
Splinter smiled and stroked his beard, that wise twinkle in his eyes. “I’m glad you found your way to us, child. We’ll make your stay here as easy as possible.”
“Thank you.”
“(Y/N), I made eggs.” Leonardo’s voice from behind you scared the hell out of you.
You jumped and turned around, laughing as your racing heart slowed back down to normal.
“Sorry. Do you like eggs?”
“I do, yeah.” You chuckled. “Thank you, Leo.”
“Of course. They’re on the stove.”
“There’s cheese on the counter!!” Mikey added, already sitting at the table. “I saved you a chair over here, angelcakes.”
You had to admit, hearing him say that in person did make your heart flutter a little bit. You put some eggs and toast (with jam, provided by Donatello) on a plate, sprinkled some shredded cheddar on top and settled into the seat Mikey had saved, conveniently located between the youngest brother and the leader in blue.
“So every day, you guys wake up this late?” You asked, still a little bewildered that breakfast was at three in the afternoon.
“That’s just the downside of living in the shadows.” Raph shrugged. “But it ain’t so bad.”
“Right, of course. It’s just different than what I’m used to is all.”
“So what do you do, normally? Like, in your world, I mean.” Donatello asked. He didn’t have his notebook on hand, but you could tell he was taking mental notes.
“Well, I’m a student. I’m in college. I read comics and watch movies, and sometimes I write in my free time.”
“Comics about us?” Mikey raised an eyebrow, smiling knowingly.
Your cheeks burned red and you laughed. “Maaaaaaybe.”
Leo let out a little sigh and shook his head. “That’s still so weird to me.”
“Let me tell you, that’s a two way street.” You chuckled. Even thinking about it was still almost too weird to comprehend. You pulled out your phone, which still worked, fortunately, and went through your photos, scrolling all the way back to Halloween. You held it up to show them. “My roommates and I were you guys for Halloween.”
“And you were Leader Boy, huh?” Raph pointed out. “Noted.”
“I mean, yeah.” You didn’t think your face could get any more red.
“Wait, Leo’s your favorite?” Mikey pouted. “Aww…”
“I don’t think it’s fair to pick favorites. I like all of you guys for different reasons.”
“It’s alright if you admit you had a crush on Leo.” Raph whispered, cupping a hand around his mouth.
“Alright, alright, enough of that. She’s our guest. We’re not gonna grill her. She just got here.” Leo stepped in, a faint blush on his cheeks. He wasn’t sure why, but he couldn’t get the picture of you in a blue mask with little foam katanas out of his head.
“Right, there’s a two week minimum before we get to grill her.” Donnie added, grinning as he pushed his glasses up his nose.
“Aww, how considerate.” You laughed.
The rest of breakfast was pretty uneventful. You finished eating and then went out to the living room and settled onto the couch. Luckily, your backpack had made the trip over with you, so you had your laptop and some of your homework. Not that you could get online and get in touch with people from your universe, but at least you could get some writing done if you wanted to.
Leo wandered out, his muscular arms crossed over his chest, a soft look in his eyes. He hovered behind you for a few seconds before finally speaking. “Hey.”
Unaware that he had been there, you jumped. “Jesus! You guys are quiet, holy fuck.”
“Sorry about that.” He laughed, carefully sitting on the opposite end of the couch, giving you space, but still sitting close enough to make your heart flutter the teeniest bit. “And, uh, I’m sorry about them earlier. Raph specifically. I’m sorry if he made you uncomfortable or—”
“No, it’s fine. Really,” you said. “But thank you for checking. I appreciate it.”
“Of course.” He was quiet for a few moments before he asked. “Do you believe in fate?”
“Until yesterday, I’m not sure I did. But there’s gotta be something like that out there for me to end up here of all places.”
“For the record, I’m glad you ended up here, too.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He nodded. His blue, blue eyes met yours. “Is it selfish if I say I wouldn’t mind if you stuck around for a while?”
“Is it selfish if I agree?” You replied, causing him to laugh.
“Glad we’re on the same page, then.”
“Me too.” You smiled and just spent a few long moments admiring him. The movies truly didn’t do him justice. Honestly, it was the truth: you wouldn’t mind sticking around for a while. For a long while…
Part 2
925 notes · View notes
mello-jello · 3 years
Text
Levihan Drabble Week - The Wrong Assumption
Here's my contribution, @levihan-drabbles . I chose the Hurt Levi/Caring Hange Trope. 1271 Words. This is set sometime after Isabel and Farlan die, and before Levi becomes a captain.
Two new recruits drove the wagon that carried Hange and Levi back to the safety of wall Maria. It was an unpleasant ride, to say the least. The constant bumps and rattling of the cart did them no favours. Levi laid on his right side, both arms above his head, firmly clutching the opposite elbows, so his upper arms cradled his head, covered his ears and blocked out some noise. He also had his cloak draped over his face to block out light.
Hange was on her left side, propped up by two blankets rolled up on either side of her to prevent her back from moving too much. She used her left arm for extra support, while her right arm was tightly bound to her torso.
They got injured on the first day. And it was all Levi’s fault.
When the torturous wagon ride began, Levi couldn’t wait for it to be over, but now that they were back home and he was expected to move again, he almost wished the ride would have been longer. Levi hesitantly removed his cloak. The sun was setting, and the light was less harsh, but it hurt like hell and his vision was still blurry. He saw two Hanges sitting up, staring down at him.
“I got you a bucket,” Hange said, a little too loudly for Levi to handle. “You’re going to hurl”.
“Tck, shut up, Four-Eyes. I just need quiet”.
Levi winced as one of the recruits gently brought him to a seated position, when to his own surprise, he promptly vomited. Hange managed to catch most of it in the nick of time. Her left arm outstretched, pressing the bucket up to Levi’s chest.
“Ugh. Disgusting” Levi said, breathlessly. He gripped the side of the wagon to steady himself.
“I told you s-”
“Yeah, yeah, you told me so.” Levi dismissed, as he pushed the bucket back. “Now shut up, or the next one is going in your direction”.
He was lashing out and they both knew it.
The two of them were escorted to their respective quarters where they were seen by medical personnel. Levi had a severe concussion, Hange had a few bruised ribs and at least one was broken. Nothing they won’t heal from. However, their injuries were still serious enough for Ervin to order both of them to return to the barracks, while the rest of scouts carried on with the expedition. Levi couldn’t shake the guilt he was feeling. For screwing up. For getting Hange hurt. For getting himself hurt and being unable to continue the rest of the mission.
It took a few days, but once Levi was able to walk in a straight line, he decided it was time to get out of his room. He should check on Hange too. His head only hurt if he made sudden movements. He still squinted in the light, but it was tolerable. He headed to the kitchen, where he kept his good tea.
He slowly descended the stairs, where he found Hange sitting about halfway from the bottom, breathing hard. She held her glasses in her hand, as they had fogged up from her exerting herself. Beside her, sat a pot of tea.
“Oi, Four Eyes. What the hell?” He resisted the urge to kick her.
“Oh, h-hi Levi,” Hange managed to breath out. “Care for a cup of tea? It’s been so long that I half expected to find you dead in your room”.
He picked up the teapot and held it up to his nose, and scowled at the scent. “Ugh, this is way too strong. How long have you been steeping this?”
“Uhm, I guess how ever long I have been sitting on these stairs,” Hange replied sheepishly.
Levi’s chest swelled with an unfamiliar emotion. How was she this kind? Putting herself through this just to bring him tea? She should be pissed at him. She should be yelling at him. And he shouldn’t be getting away with his shitty attitude.
He looked back at her, and his face resembled that of a guilty child that just was caught red-handed. He didn’t know what to say. He crossed his arms and glared at the floor.
Hange put her glasses back on and said, “how about you help me back downstairs and you can show me how it’s done,” she pointed to the teapot in Levi’s hand.
Levi nodded. He gingerly helped Hange to her feet and placed her left arm around his shoulders so she could put most of her weight on that side. It was a slow pace, but Levi was grateful, for it did not exacerbate his concussion.
They arrived at the kitchen, Hange leaned on a tall stool while Levi emptied the teapot and started boiling water for a new one. He sat across the table from Hange, arms crossed. The only sound was the low hum of the kettle. Levi started to sway, he gripped the edge of the table so he wouldn’t fall over.
“Are you okay?’ Hange asked.
“Why aren’t you mad at me?” He blurted out before he could stop himself.
“Huh? Why would I be mad at you?”
They stared at each other in more confused silence for what felt like ages. Hange was trying to process the meaning behind Levi’s words, and Levi was afraid to add anything else and make it worse.
Hange finally spoke, “Levi, why would I be mad at you for trying to save my life?”
Levi huffed and looked away, staring at something in the corner. “Because… you didn’t need me to. I caused an accident because I made an assumption. The wrong assumption.... I’m sorry”.
“Oh I think I get it now. When I leapt out in front of that titan, you -not knowing Miche was on my flank- must have thought I was a complete moron! So you changed course to come rescue me and that’s how our ODM cables got crossed”.
If only he had waited one more second, he would have seen the whole picture. It was a pretty genius strategy, too. But in the moment, he was convinced Hange was looking to get herself killed. He remembered the moment of impact vividly. He put a hand to his temple. The pained look on Levi’s face was all the confirmation she needed. Hange burst out laughing, wincing as her ribs protested the movement.
“Ow, ah”. She sighed as she focussed on steadying her breaths. “Did Humanity’s Strongest forget that we’ve been fighting titans long before you joined us? We’ve survived and thrived this long without you, you know!”
Hange’s expression softened as she delicately placed her hand on top of his. “Listen, Levi. I know it sucks sitting here and waiting for the bad news to come. It’s maddening. But this feeling isn’t unique to you. Your special title doesn’t actually place all of humanity on your shoulders. One person alone can’t save everyone, even if it is ‘humanity’s strongest’. You have to trust your comrades. That's a lesson we all have to learn. Including you. Especially you.”
Levi let out a long exhale. She had put what he had been feeling into words. Sarcastic words, but they did the trick. And it did ease his mind. The Scouts could handle themselves. Hange could handle herself. And he needed to remember that. He would always remember.
"Thanks Hange, I needed to hear that.”
“Oh I know! Because...and you didn’t hear it from me: Ervin’s planning on giving you a squad of your own!”
Levi gripped the table harder.
“I’ll get you another bucket”.
54 notes · View notes
kai5621 · 3 years
Text
Deja vu [Heisenberg x OC]
Warning: age gap, slow burn, platonic to romantic relationship. Grammer issues (english is my first language criiii) . Child abuse, family abuse, death (not major character ). Eventual smut (maybe?)
Note: OK !!!! SO after drawing a bunch of RE8 OCs I finally could resist my self writing my own story about it. Cuz damm Heisenberg stole all my heart and I have no complains about it.
This is my first time writing a fanfic, so I will try my best !! And lastly-----
HEISENBERG DESERVES SOOO MUCH MROE LOVE.  
And here’s a little potrait thet I drew for the oc (as for why I didn’t draw heisenberg as well, is bcuz im shit at drawing males ┭┮﹏┭┮)
Tumblr media
1.
The first time Heisenberg met Erin, she was only eight, can barely reach his waist and always be smiling everyday, like an every single child would at her age. She came to this shitty village with her dad, which claims to be her only family member. They are obviously foreigners to the villagers, as no one remembered there’s anyone in this place would have a such strong British accent, therefore they must be new.
Their family history has remained a mystery to most of them, oddly enough, only a few people who are about eighty or ninety years old do recall their family name, and were quite surprised to see that Erin’s father is back here again. Although every single one of them would shoot him with fierce glances that are not so friendly, even towards Erin. Except for Luiza, but even though her kindness was mainly for the poor little girl.
“I don’t understand, Charles. If you decided to leave this place before with such determination, why bother came back?” She asked her father sternly, while watching Erin just quietly standing behind him. She was thin, with a long, dark raven hair tied into a loose pony tail. But she does look endearing, those big, innocent watery eyes could gain everyone’s sympathy.
“That’s none of your business, and why does it even matter to you?” He seemed annoyed when answering this question, he roughly grabbed Erin’s wrist, without looking any of the people here, he just simply left, leaving others remain in silent confusion. Some younger villagers did ask Luiza about Erin’s origin, but all the time she just shooked her head, signed heavily.
 “May mother Miranda bless that little girl. She does not deserve such man as her father.....”  
Of course, Heisenberg would never missed such local news from the village. He did pay a visit to the new “guests” before informing Miranda and his siblings. The appearance of new faces surely hooked his curiosity quite high, but to be honest, he doesn’t even understand why he was that excited, as surely they would probably just end like the locals here, worshiping Miranda like she’s an actual god, and then would went missing mysteriously but eventually end up on her cold, metal operating table, with chest being cut open, blood splatters all around the body, while the Cadou parasite just devouring the remains.
Didn’t someone mentioned the family also has a daughter? Ah, then perhaps that lucky little thing would go to his sister’s castle and can becomes one of the “maid”. Just another victim, Heisenberg thought to himself, he could not hide his grin back. Holding his hammer at the back of his shoulder, he walked quickly to that infamous cottage where the new family is settled, a few quite whispers can be heard during his journey, the villagers were all surprised to see the presence of the metal lord, and naturally inquiring behind his journey.
Just like before, Heisenberg ignored all of them,
When he finally reached the shabby wooden door, of the cottage, he didn’t even bother knocking, just pushed the door wide open violently, using his ridiculous strength meanwhile announcing his arrival.      
“Well, well, there’s been news all around the village about the new family, and I thought I could a pay a little visit, to get to know the new members! You are welcome, by the way......”
 But when all he saw was a little girl standing by the dinning table, looking confused and stunned at him, his smug smile disappeared quickly, and even the eyes behind his dark specs were filled with momentary surprise.
“Uh, sir?” She asked quietly, putting the tray of cookies down on the table in a panic.
“Are you.... my father’s guest? I’m really sorry, he will be a away for a quite long time, and I’m not sure if.....”
 He stood there for a moment, and then realized that she must be the daughter, although she’s much much younger than he anticipated. He cut her off before she finished the sentence : “Huh, so you don’t know who I am ?”
 She looked so lost, after blinked her eyes a few times, she nervously said : “Sorry sir, I’m afraid I don’t.”
 Heisenberg was never good with children, never, he didn’t really know what to do, after all he wasn’t expecting to meet a child who probably doesn’t even know what a dick is. So, they just stood where they were before, and staring at each other awkwardly in silence, to a point that even the little girl started to feel uncomfortable. She looked around quickly, trying to find something that could resolve this situation, then her eyes fixed on the tray of cookies on the table.
“Um, maybe...do you want to have a cookie, sir?”
The man with the hammer went speechless, he coughed a few times, put his hammer down next to the door frame, and blankly replied back with a tiny bit of fluster.
“Alright then. ”
   2.
It was fucking ridiculous.
Heisenberg would never imagined himself sitting in a old cottage, eating chocolate cookies and drinking teas like a normal human, while chatting with an eight years old girl.
Yes, he’s never good with kids, why would he? Being brought by a psycho bitch means he shouldn’t have any sympathy towards anything, everyone in this village had a good taste about his temper before, even his “Lord” title makes it too intimidate for anyone to have any contact with him. Thus, he never had a decent conversation with anyone else besides his cursed family. Frankly speaking, they were not really conversations, more like endless quarrels.    
He had a quick look around in the room, when Erin went to the kitchen to make tea. This place is shabby, there’s no doubt about it. No painting, no decorations, only an old wool blanket laying down on the floor of the living room. He could see a few photo frames on the bookshelf, cover by dusts. He tried to have to closer look, but all he could see was three people standing together, presumably a family photo that was taken a long time ago.
“Here’s your tea, sir. And there’s milk and sugar.” She was holding a big tray, walking carefully towards table and almost got tripped by the chair. Heisenberg almost chuckled at her clumsy yet cute actions, but he remained silent, and finished his ninth cookie.
“Well, thanks, little one.” He said simply, then started to sip his tea. He saw Erin was standing next to the table like a lost little lamb, he can’t help but chuckled a bit, gesturing her towards the seat across him.
“ Oh come on, no need to be so frightened! I won’t eat ya.”
She was a bit hesitate at first, but eventually took his offer, sit across the table facing him. Although the teapot blocked half of her face.
“So....” Heisenberg started again, with his smug smile back on his face: “You are new here aren’t you, with your family.”
“Yes. Me and my father came a week ago, from England. But he used to live here, at least that’s what I know. ”
That made his curiosity even higher. An outsider, that originally lived here, how interesting, and how did they even escaped this twisted place.
“Where’s your father now?”
This question let her seemed a bit troubled, she shooked her head, looking disappointed : “I don’t know, sir. He said he’s busy, and that’s it.”
His grin became wider:  “And didn’t your daddy tell you, that do not let strangers come into your house while you are alone?”
To his surprise, she did not seem scared, but instead she tilted her head as she was a bit confused, and answered him back politely.
“But I didn’t let you in, sir. You just opened the door and, broke in........”    
 Heisenberg burst into laughter right after he heard this answer, it was really loud, even the teapot and the cups on the table started to shake a bit, but thankfully Erin didn’t notice, she was completely stunned by his reaction and didn’t know what to do. She thought she probably offend him by saying that. But the truth is, Heisenberg is not mad at all, this child’s unintentional boldness is exactly what he likes.  
“ Oh yes! I did break into your house, and aren’t you scared?”
“Should I be scared?” She calmly asked him back, filling his cup again with more tea. “I was tho, but you seem like a nice guy. At least I don’t think a bad person would eat my cookies and having tea with me. If you want harm me you would've done this way earlier.”
He could have so much fun with this kid, Heisenberg though to himself. An outsider was rare enough on its own, no praying, no worshiping, and he won’t hear all those “Miranda bless us” shit. Although, it’s quite ironic that his first decent conservation in 20 was held with a freaking child.
But he’s not complaining. He finished his tea, looking around the room for the last time then shoot his glance back on her. He stood up, ignoring the girl’s skeptical look, Heisenberg chuckled a bit.
 With that, he simply waved his hand, and left the house.
“Well, thank you for your service little one, I’m afraid I must got now. But I’m sure we will meet again soon.”
 He grabbed his hammer by the door frame, opened the door in a swift motion.
“And send my greetings to your father, will you, little one?”
18 notes · View notes
anubislover · 3 years
Text
A Tea Party for Baby 5
(Gift fic for @velvety-love for the OP Secret Santa 2020! I really hope you like the fic - it was a ton of fun to write!)
It was quite the sight, the infamous Donquixote Doflamingo sitting at a small table in a child-sized chair, his knees practically pressed into his chest, but he would maintain that for a man of his status, any seat was a throne. Before him was a decadent assortment of pastries, chocolate-covered fruit, finger sandwiches, and quiches. Baby 5 had recently begun training to be the family’s maid, and this tea party would be a useful way to hone her serving skills. Since the eight year old girl was still too short to reach the dinner table, this was a perfectly reasonable alternative.
And yes, the dolls and stuffed animals sat up in their own chairs with cups and saucers was also absolutely necessary. She needed to learn to serve multiple people, after all.
“More tea, Young Master?” Baby 5 asked, hefting up the large china teapot, a hopeful smile on her face. There was a bit of tension around her mouth, though; visible strain from the weight of the pot that she desperately sought to hide for fear of disappointing him.
Doflamingo grinned, holding out his pink floral-patterned cup. “Yes, please.” The child had insisted on being useful to him, and while his main interest was in the deadly Devil Fruit powers she possessed, it was nice having some proper servants around.
However, her little arms trembled, the pot far too heavy for her, resulting in her inadvertently missing the cup and instead spilling hot tea onto his hand.
“Gah!”
“Oh no! Young Master, I’m so sorry! Let me get you a towel, or some ice!” she cried, nearly dropping the teapot in her panic. Luckily, Doflamingo was able to grab it before it could fall and set it on the table, preventing tea from splattering everywhere and staining his suit pants.
For a moment, his hand clenched and he glared down at her through the lenses of his fierce red sunglasses. The former Celestial Dragon wanted to be upset. She’d burned him! How dare she—
But then he looked at her distraught little face, eyes already wet with tears, and he was suddenly reminded of his precious little brother when they were children and how hard he’d tried to please him…
Picking up a napkin, Doflamingo wiped his hand clean of the tea. Honestly, it hadn’t hurt. Barely anything to someone like him. And she was trying. Really, it was impressive she could even lift the pot, considering it was nearly as big as she was and how thin her arms were. They really needed to get some meat on her bones—she wasn’t the half-starved waif who’d come to him in desperation anymore. She was part of his family. It was his job to take care of her.
Coming to a decision, Doflamingo removed a stuffed dog from the chair at his right and patted the seat. “No worries, Baby 5. Come here and I’ll pour the tea.”
“Ah! But Young Master, I—”
He gave her a reassuring smile, one as gentle as he could manage. “It’s fine, Baby 5; proper tea party etiquette says that the host should serve.”
“But then, you don’t need me,” she said sadly, small body slumping miserably.
Inwardly he grimaced. The last thing he wanted was for her to cry. So, he grinned more widely and picked her up by the back of the dress, plopping her down into the chair. “Sure I do! I need you to be a good guest! I can’t work on my hosting skills if I don’t have guests. These guys,” he said, indicating the dolls and toys, “are terrible conversationalists.”
Baby 5 visibly perked up, thrilled at still being needed in some capacity. “Oh! That’s true. Then I’ll be the perfect guest for you! I’ll be anything you need, Young Master.”
A small sigh of relief escaped his chest. Crisis averted. She was happy, and while serving himself was not ideal in most circumstances, the child could learn by example and he wouldn’t have to worry about his suit.
Getting an idea, he attached his strings to one of the dolls sat around the table, making it lift the teacup so he could pour. “Watch carefully; it’s important to hold the pot from both the handle and the spout to avoid spilling. We don’t want even a drop on the nice white tablecloth, do we?”
“No, we don’t,” she agreed, studying his technique carefully. Her dark eyes took in his every movement with near-reverence, her own little hands even miming him to ensure she would get it right later.
Satisfied, he filled Baby 5’s cup and offered her a blueberry scone. “Here, eat up—you’re a growing girl, and someone who works as hard as you deserves a treat.”
“Really?” she asked, even though she was already practically drooling as the smell of the pastries she’d baked that morning wafted up her nose.
“Really. Now have a scone, then some sandwiches, and then you can help yourself to the tarts and cupcakes.”
Practically glowing with happiness, she snatched one off the plate, but froze before she could shove it into her mouth. “Oh. Sorry,” she said, setting it on her plate and picking up her knife and fork.
Doflamingo shook his head. “Nah, you were right the first time. Eat the scone with your hands. Save the fork for the quiche.”
Thrilled that she was getting to sit at the Young Master’s side and enjoy the goodies she’d baked and laid out to his specifications, she tucked in, smile so wide her cheeks ached.
It was…kind of cute, seeing her so happy. Just a child eager to belong. Sure, she would make a fantastic assassin, but there was no reason not to let her have little moments like this, right? The chance to just be a kid and have fun? His father’s foolishness had denied him that joy after they’d left Mariejois, but he was far better than Homing.
He was the patriarch of the Doflamingo Family; it was his job to keep everybody happy. To give them all they could ever ask for so that they would do the same for him.
Looking her over, he wondered what else he could do. Her bow and dress were looking a little worn. He’d order replacements. Simple ones for everyday wear, but he was sure he could get her something cute and fancy as a reward the next time she got back from a mission. Dress her up like a doll and show her off. New shoes would be a must, too – he and his brother had constantly been outgrowing theirs, and while he doubted she’d every reach his exalted stature, she certainly would grow up to be a lovely young woman.
And lovely young women attract boys, he thought, scowling for a moment behind his teacup. Gonna have to watch her like a hawk once that happens. Can’t have anyone thinking they’re good enough for Baby 5 and trying to steal her away. I’ll make sure she’s got no reason to leave the Family. Who could provide for her like me, anyway?
On a whim, he got another idea – something that would surely amuse and delight her. Holding out his hands, he attached his strings to a pair of dolls. Like a puppet master with a pair of marionettes, he made them waltz around the table, chuckling while Baby 5 applauded and laughed with joy.
“Figured the least they could do was put on a show for us as thanks for our hospitality,” he explained, making a few more join in so it almost resembled a ball. “Too bad we can’t bring the toys to life—then they could dance without the strings.”
“Maybe there’s a Devil Fruit out there that can do that,” Baby 5 said excitedly, eager to help in any way she could.
“Hmmm, maybe there is. I’ll have to look into it,” Doflamingo agreed, rubbing his chin. The hand fell to pat her on the head. “What a clever girl you are.”
As she beamed up at him, there was a knock at the door, and without delay Corazon strolled in carrying Buffalo and Law by the back of their shirts like a pair of squirming kittens. Law even seemed to growl at his manhandling. Clearly, they’d been caught by his right-hand man doing something they shouldn’t, at least if the way he ground the cigarette between his teeth was anything to go by. However, all three of them froze at the sight of their leader serving tea to his maid-in-training surrounded by a bunch of dancing stuffed animals.
“What the he—” Law started, staring in utter bafflement.
“Ah, just in time! Baby 5 and I were having a tea party! Sit down and join us!” Doflamingo exclaimed cheerfully, indicating the newly-empty seats.
“Yes! Please, join us!” she chimed in eagerly. Even though they could be rude and mean, she considered the two boys her closest friends, so of course she wanted to have them involved. Corazon, too, even though he was grouchy and clumsy and might make the tablecloth catch fire.
Corazon looked between the tiny chairs and the uncomfortable-looking way his brother was sitting, then raised a disbelieving eyebrow.
“Oh, come on, little brother! It’s perfectly comfortable,” he said, even though he could already feel his legs cramping up. Ah well. At least he wouldn’t suffer alone, and Baby 5 could have some time enjoying herself with friends. She needed more socialization. Maybe he should call up Vinsmoke Judge – he had a daughter about her age, didn’t he? Maybe they could set up a play date.
“I’m not taking part in some stupid tea party,” Law groused, glaring at the utter ridiculousness around him.
“Kid, you can either sit down under your own power or I can tie you to the seat,” Doflamingo warned with smile. He turned to the child beside him. “But thank you for providing Baby 5 with another valuable lesson – boys are obnoxiously stubborn.”
“Law, c’mon, let’s play along-dasuyan,” Buffalo not-so-quietly whispered, eyeing the tray of cupcakes.
“Fuffuffuffuffu! But they’re easily bribed with food,” he added, smirking when she giggled. Pleased with himself, Doflamingo gave the three new guests a terrifying smile. “Now, you gonna join us like proper gentlemen, or am I going to have to show you to your seats?” he asked, raising his hand meaningfully.
A shiver ran down their backs and neither Law nor Buffalo argued as Corazon plopped them both in a chair before gingerly taking the spot opposite his brother, grimacing at how sore his legs and back would be after this.
Pleased that her friends were in fact joining the party, Baby 5 instinctively rose to her feet to serve them. A large hand on her shoulder stopped her, though, causing her to look up at Doflamingo inquisitively.
The patriarch smiled down at her, sincerity in his tone. “Now now, I told you the host should serve. The hostess who made all the preparations needs to take a load off and enjoy herself. Let us take care of you for once,” he said, pinching her cheek.
Yes, he’d take care of her, she’d take care of them, and they’d all live together as a big, happy family. What more could anyone want?
@op-secret-santa-2020
72 notes · View notes
diana-3 · 3 years
Text
Crow’s Nest.
Diana sighed as she climbed the last few stairs to Devrim’s perch. The Gentlemen Sniper pulled his rifle back inside the windowsill and turned, having earlier waved to Diana he smiled at her approach. “Ah,” His warm tone brought a smile to her face, “Di, hello dear, how are you?”
“I’m alright I guess..s’been a while...huh?” There was guilt layering her tone, like a child who was admitting to a wrong--ready for a scolding.  
“Works kept you busy,” Devrim settled against the wall and his smile held, but his eyes turned downward and with it the mood lowered. “Seems as if the whole world is trying to burn around us.” He nodded to the radio on the shabby table with the teaset near by. “I’ve been keeping up on the radio chatter, you’ve been busy out toward the Tangled Shore lately?”
“Oh yeah,” Dianna removed her helmet and went to settle on the floor next to Devrim who glanced out the window. “There’s this new baddie, Xivu Arath? A hive celebrant...whatever that means...trying to corrupt Fal---Eliskni and Cabal into being Hive mind slaves. Causing a lot of trouble on the Shore and in the Dreaming City. Been working with Spider’s crew to get it cleaned up but its been weeks now.”
“A month yesterday,” Joel corrected as he appeared by Diana’s side. “I overheard Glint and Crow talking about it as we were walking away yesterday.”
“A month…” Diana repeated with weight behind her long sigh that followed. “Has it been that long already?”
“Between the constant crucible matches and vanguard operations to charge the lure, not to mention the individual hunts themselves, I’m not surprised we hadn’t realized.” Even Joel sounded exhausted, flying low until he settled in Diana’s hands as she crossed her legs and closed her eyes. “It’s been...hectic to say the least.”
“When was the last time you had any time off?” Devrim asked, raising a dark brow as he removed himself from the window completely now. Hanging his rifle on carefully placed hooks in the collapsing church to avoid accidental misfires. “You both look absolutely ragged.”
Diana hummed in thought. Her head slowly lulling from side to side before she spoke. “The Festival of the Lost?”
“Can’t really count that as time off when we were fixing the infinite forest…” Joel reminded her and she nodded.
“Soooo, before then?”
“My word,” Devrim’s shocked outburst made the tired guardian and her ghost both open their eyes and look at him. He was standing with his teapot in hand, “You’re going to need something a bit more strong than tea then to unwind.”
“You know what I want?” Diana chuckled softly, the fatigue showing through her defeated tone. “A nap. A nice, warm nap.”
“You’re more than welcome to come back to the farm,” Devrim offered, putting down his teapot and reaching for clean cups and saucers. “You could rant about anything bothering you until you can rest, or you’re free to do so after over a nice hot cup of tea.”
Diana smiled, watching the older man go through his motions to prepare his staple drink. The care he put into making it and the glance he gave her when he felt her stare. “Thanks,” She smiled back, “But,” She tapped Joel’s shell and woke the little Ghost from his quiet rest, his eye blinking open and his shell twitching in a stretch. “I think seeing Mythrax would just wind me back up again...remind me of everything going on on Europa.”
“Ah,” Devrim’s smile fell as he watched Joel take a lazy flight, hovering just above Diana’s shoulder as she climbed to her feet wearily. “Do you have somewhere else to stay then? I have no bed or blanket here, but I can offer great conversation and drink, a little light on snacks I’m afraid.”
“Actually…” Diana rubbed her head before her face and sighed, “I think there’s somewhere I want to...revisit. It’s not the Tower, but right now I’d rather avoid the tower if possible too…”
“Just seems like there's nowhere for us to go to get a rest away from everyone.” Joel admitted, his eye downcast as his shell shook side from side. “There's always someone looking for the next report, the next ship out, the next bounty to be taken…” He glanced at Diana who was lost in thought, her cyan eyes following the floorboard toward the window. When she slowly walked away to peer out Devrim’s window, Joel flew near Devrim and whispered. “She’s had a lot thrust onto her shoulders lately Devrim, I don’t know...I don’t know how to help her right now…”
“Is she alright?” Devrim asked, pretending to busy himself with cleaning his table as he waited for the water to boil.
“Physically she’s fine, she’s just so mentally worn out...A lot of old emotional wounds opened up…” Joel twitched in the air, flying a few degrees lower, “You’ve heard about Io, Mercury and Titan?”
“I had.” Devrim nodded, his face stern with thought. “She had friends on those planets didn’t she?”
“Yes, Asher Mir for one,” Joel shook his shell, “She’s still holding out hope that he’s in the Pyramidian, holding out. But no one’s heard from him...or Sloane and Vance...Then...we heard about Sagria…”
“Sagria?” Devrim whispered back, glancing over his shoulder to Diana, who was watching something out the window. “A guardian?”
A Ghost,” Joel corrected, “She was Osiris’ ghost...she sacrificed herself to save Osris from Xivu Arath’s influence...he’s Ghostless now...without the light...he’s taken refuge in the tower and asks Diana about how she and Crow--”
“Crow?” Devrim asked, raising a dark brow as he picked up the teapot and began pouring the tea into two cups. “Is that a guardian?”
“S-something like that…” Joel hesitated a tad too long and it drew a long and measured look from the marksman. “He’s a new guardian but...it’s part of the old emotional wounds opening up...that’s all I can say…”
“Mmhmm..” Devrim kept his stare on the little ghost who twitched and flew a few inches away.
“The less you know, the better.” Joel sighed.
“Wouldn’t happen to wear red pants...would this...Crow?” Devrim asked softly, glancing back at Diana who was still preoccupied with scanning the distance.
“You’ve seen him?!” Joel flew close to Devrim’s face, making the older man chuckle and straighten his back a bit.
“I’ve seen someone bustling around in the distance,” Devrim nodded with his head toward the direction of the dam, “He’s never come close though, and always seems to keep a hood up or a helmet on..I’ve never seen his face. Causing our girl some trouble is he?”
“He doesn’t mean to,” Joel said, “He’s new to everything and Di….she doesn’t know how to handle her feelings. He really reminds her of someone she’d rather forget, but at the same time she’s grown closer to him, and is having trouble letting go of that….resemblance.”
“Sounds messy,” Devrim picked up the cup and took a small sip to taste before nodding. “She needs a good rest, and time to herself away from everyone to let herself work through things. Is there a Hunter hideout where she might be able to take cover?”
“None that wouldn’t turn her over to Zavala to keep themselves from being called to the tower..” Joel had a hint of irritation in his voice, “We tried a few of the old spots, but some people have a sore spot for Di. Shaw hasn’t exactly warmed up to her and he’s made a name for himself in the cosmodrome. People think, that she thinks she’s too important, that she abandoned them in their greatest hour of need…And with the Hunters still without a leader...”
“Did they forget the part where the entire universe was at stake?” Devrim asked too loudly, drawing Diana’s tired attention finally from the window.
“Who knew the Cosmodrome was separate from our universe.” She had no mirth to her voice now, she seemed to shake slightly from side to side as she pushed away from the window and walked over to take the cup offered to her gingerly from Devrim. “Thanks…”
“I’m sorry that you’re dealing with so much,” Devrim put a gentle hand on Diana’s shoulder and squeezed it. A flicker in her eyes caught him off guard, was she going to cry? “I hope that the vanguard has at least given you some hefty time off to recoup after running you so ragged?”
“Hawthorne helped,” Joel said with a hint of pride, “When Diana was ready to just drop off the tower to get away from Zavala and Shaw, she spoke up and advocated for Diana to have a relief mission.”
“Tore into them did she?” Devrim chuckled warmly, “Ah, I can hear her now.”
“It was quite a sight,” Joel laughed, his shell squinting as he bobbed up, like a smile. “She wasn’t about to let Zavala just walk all over Diana.”
“M’ just too tired to fight anymore.” Diana admitted as she took a drink from the cup, taking a moment to shiver at the bitterness. “I wanna sleep for a week in a hole in the ground…” She paused…”Or...in a wall…” Her eyes widened slowly before she downed the rest of the cup, filled only half of the way before handing the cup back to Devrim. “If anyone asks,”
“I haven’t heard from you in months.” Devrim winked at her as he took her cup and replaced it on the table. “No idea where you could be. Haven't’ seen you in the EDZ in quite some time.” He turned and lifted his own teacup to her in salute, “I really should contact you via radio to come spend some time with this old man.” He could hear Diana and Joel speaking softly as he turned and sipped at his tea, trying not to listen to the quiet planning. He couldn’t help but hear.
“Are you sure you want to go there?” Joel was asking, concern filling his voice.
“Where else can we go right now? Unless you really wanna watch me dig a hole and bury ourselves.”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this...but we could go to the Derlict?” Joel offered in a hushed tone, “Drifter would hide you for a while.”
“He’d also bug me to death for answers, or to get me into Gambit again…” Diana sighed heavily. Devrim kept himself turned around, studying the hand written notes from Marc laying on his desk, hidden out of direct sight behind the radio he used to listen to chatter, or talk to Suraya who was living in the Tower now. “No, I think it’ll be the one place no one, except one person would think to look…”
“Do you think he would?” Joel asked softly.
“No, his leash is too short right now. He might wonder to himself, maybe to Glint, but he won’t actually come looking. Which will give us all the time we need to rest.” Diana sounded sure of herself and her mind was made up. Wherever they were going, it was going to be a secret between them.
“It won’t be very comfortable,” Joel complained slightly.
“We can find a few ways to make it work.” Diana said a little more loudly, the time for private conversation over with. Devrim was refilling his cup, still pretending to be lost in his own little world when he felt two taps on his shoulder. He put down his cup and turned to receive the gentle hug Diana offered without thinking. “I’ll come by again soon Devrim, thank you for letting us rest and clear our head.”
“I don’t need to tell you that you are always welcome,” Devrim told her as he squeezed her, returning the hug. “But I will anyway, just so I’m sure you know. You can always come up here to hide out, and I won’t tell a soul if you don’t want me to.” He felt her start to pull away and he kept his hold until she leaned more heavily against him, allowing him to share her weight. “You be careful out there, hm?”
“Yes sir,” Diana’s chest vibrated with her voice, chuckling into his ear as she squeezed him back. “I’ll make sure to stop by for the dawning.” When Devrim pulled away she nodded, “I’ll remember the Shortbread cookies you love so much.”
“It pairs so well with my favorite festive tea,” Devrim sighed at the thought of such a comfort item. “It is getting around that time...isn’t it?”
“A few more weeks…” Diana nodded, “Hopefully I’ll get to feeling better before then. I’d like to go to the tower to see everyone…”
“Then you best get to it,” Devrim winked at her and grabbed a small bag from under his table, protected by a sheet that had hidden it from sight. “Here, take this, a self care package if you will.”
“Tea?” Diana laughed as she took the bag without looking at it.
“And a few biscuits and hot cocoa, some tripemines to set up a perimeter, clean water etcetera.” Devrim smiled as he poured a second cup for himself. “Little things that will help make the roughing it less...rough.”
“Thanks Devrim but shouldn’t you need this?” She asked, holding the bag up.
“Not for a while, I’m going on vacation too..of a sort. It’s Marc’s Rezzing day soon. We decided to go to Suraya in the city and spend time together. I’ll have all the comfort I need. And I can replenish my supplies.” Devrim watched as Diana nodded and looked toward the stairs. “Go on now, I won’t keep you any longer.” He turned his back and pretended to busy himself with the radio dial until a heavy baritone voice came over the waves.
“Thanks again…” Diana gave a small salute before disappearing over the ledge, not bothering with the stairs.
“It’s like they’re allergic to safety,” Devrim mused to himself, chuckling as he watched her go.
//
“Are you sure about this?” Joel asked as Diana picked her way over the rubble, careful to make sure that Devrim’s care package wouldn’t rip.
“Like I said, I’m out of ideas, unless you know of somewhere else we can go…’S not like we can go chill with Asher anymore…” She paused down the dimly lit corridor and sighed. “I miss him.”
“I know,” Joel touched his feckle to her cheek and accepted the loving caress she gave him that pinned him to her cheek gently. “I do too.”
“So this is the one place I can think of that...they won’t know to look and if they did think to look, I don’t think he’d tell.” Diana finished softly. She was outside the  little alcove now and started to go inside but hesitated.
“What's wrong?” Joel asked, blinking his yellow cat eye and watching how she hesitated. It wasn’t like her.
“I should ask permission…” She said firmly. “This is the one place that’s his and his alone...if I were just to barge in here and use it without asking? I’d be taking that away from him, I’d be just as bad as Spider. We’re not that close...in reality. He might think...I’m overstepping boundaries if I don’t ask…” The heavy silence in the air didn’t last long before she asked, “Can you patch me into a secure line to him?”
“Just a moment.” Joel busied himself with twitching, extending his shell and rotating back and forth until the sound of static washed away and a familiar voice asked.
“Who is this?”
“Glint, it’s us. It’s secure right?” Joel asked, replacing his shell to its rightful shape. Diana noticed one of his cat ears was coming untapped and tried to push it back down in place, only to knock it off and make her gasp in both shock and sadness.
“Of course!” Glint’s voice perked up, “It’s the Guardian and her Ghost!”
“You can call me Joel,” Ghost reminded him, “And Di.”
“New news on Xivu Arath or some wrathborn? A new cryptolith?” Crow’s voice came over the coms and Joel watched Diana pause in her fussing over his shell.
“No,” Diana admitted after a moment of silence. “I’ve...I’ve been given some...a reprieve…” She said slowly, remembering once what Glint had said over coms after a hunt. “But I…” She paused again and the lights inside her mouth dimmed with a sigh. “Could I...Would it bother you if I...used your...nest, for a while?”
“It’s most certainly not a nest.” Crow said a little too quickly. Diana could practically hear the flush to his blue-grey face. “But...why? I thought you would have a place in the tower in the last city?”
“I do, but not everyone understands the need for...alone time.” Diana admitted.
“About your report, could you do this run for me, we should go out tonight, could you sit in on this mission debriefing, we need someone on coms for this vanguard operation, could you help me adjust my sights,” Joel started listening off all the things that had been asked of them when they had returned to the tower the last time. “It’s like it never ends. We used to go hide out on Io when things got like this…”
“I see.” Crow interjected before silence could fall and swallow them up. “You...need a place to breathe for a while. Of course, feel free. I’m...honored that I could help you this way...Guar--”
“Di.” Diana reminded.
“Di…” Crow’s voice was soft, like he was afraid of breaking her name should he say it with too much force. “I’m sorry it’s such a mess, I haven’t been out there in a while and Glint’s a terrible maid.”
“It’s not my fault you keep everything you find that has a little shine to it.” Glint said playfully, hinting at his name.
“It’s not exactly comfortable either, but it works...in a pinch.” Crow continued, ignoring Glint’s jest. “Use it as long as you like.”
“Thanks,” Diana smiled and looked inside the alcove at the small collection of crow’s things. “I owe you one.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” Crow chuckled softly, “You could have used it and I never would have known. It’s not as if I’m in and out of there a lot these days.”
“Boundaries and Respect are important.” Diana told him firmly. “Guardians and good people a like do not trample over either…” She put a hand to her head and realized how much like Quin she sounded. She shook her metal head and continued. “Want me to get you some time off?” Diana asked as she stepped through the crack that served as the door. “You deserve it as much as I do.”
“Spider wouldn’t allow--”
“Spider won’t know the difference if I tell him I need you in the EDZ to track down Hive movement. Maybe they’re trying to set up a cryptolith here? Savathun did find that piece of the Traveler where we found the new Hawkmoon.”
“Not to mention we could give you a run through on being a Lightbearer. Guardian school if you will. More tips and tricks to make you more effective for Spider.” Joel added, his shell contracting in the way that made Diana say it looked like a smile.
“Time away from Spider,” Diana said in a singsong voice, “Nice hot fires under the stars, good drinks. Stories swapped.” She flopped down on the sleeping bag Crow had left on the concrete slab and regretted it, there was still a bit of debris under it and it hurt. “R and R is just as important to Guardians as it is to non-lightbearers.” She added with a grunt.
“That’s true...I just don’t think Spider would allow it.” Crow sounded defeated, tired and annoyed.
“Well, I am not going back to work for a bit….you think about it and when you want me to, I’ll talk to Spider.” Diana stood and rolled the sleeping bag up, watching how the dust and concrete of the collapsing ceiling was leaving a layer of dust on everything.
“Spider called him.” Glint said in a hushed tone, “I think some time off and not so alone would be good for him. He’s been obsessing over these Cryptoliths. He’s so sad to see the Eliskni that was good to him turn into...wrathborn…”
“He needs time away just as much as we do,” Joel sighed.
“It would be good for him, all he does is talk about work, and when he asks about Guardian things, he feels like such a stranger to it all. I think a fellow Guardian talking to him would make it feel more real, for now its just...stories of something he thinks he doesn’t deserve..” During the pause, Joel and Diana gave a look to one another. Sadness. Fatigue. Guilt. “I’ve been called by Spider, cutting the link. You two have a good rest.”
“Glint--” Joel started to speak but then hesitated. “The line’s dead.” He rotated to see Diana removing rubble from the concrete slab and cleaning it off with her hand. “This place really is a mess...huh?”
“He’s tried to make it his own…” Diana said softly. “It reminds me...of that cave in the Cosmodrome we had when we first started out...Remember?”
“Heh.” Joel floated closer and bobbed before rolling his shell over. “You kept Hive bones until you heard about Dredgen Yor, then you dumped them all over the cliffside and wanted nothing more to do with them.”
“Got rid of the dice I whittled too.” She nodded and replaced the sleeping bag, stretching it out to find it wouldn’t fit, the slab was too short. She glanced around the tiny alcove, at all of Crow’s belongings. A sleeping bag that had holes in it. A pristine Dawning bowl. His death shroud. A hive knight sword from when he save Osiris. A table and chair. A tool chest as tall as her and tools to fill it with. 8 things. He only owned 8 things. Yet the room told so much about him.
He was a repairer. Using things left over and forgotten to serve a new purpose. “It’s almost...poetic...or.” She laughed, “Ironic, whichever you wanna look at it...I guess…”
“What is?” Joel had floated off on his own, inspecting the crack in the wall that filtered in some sunlight from a room beyond the rubble.
“He takes things that are broken or forgotten. Things people don’t think twice about because to them it's used up and gives it new life...new purpose…” She picked up the bowl and placed it on the sleeping bag. “Like a guardian...we were just empty shells until you guys came along.” She smiled at Joel who twitched in silent thought. “You found me, an empty shell. Having used up all my life and been lost to time and the elements and you gave me a purpose. You brought new life into me and told me what I could do to help those around me.” She picked up his death shroud and frowned. “Uldren was a cold hearted bastard of a person.” Her grip tightened on the cloth before she sighed heavily.
“He paid his price. Blood for blood. Eye for an Eye. The debt for Cayde was settled. I know his tapes said he’d be…” She started folding the shroud gently. “Crow was a shell that was tossed away. People were trying to forget...or avoid remembering for the time. Including myself...And Glint gave him new life and purpose. He’s a guardian now. He’s not who he was before. And now he takes things Spider tries to throw away or has forgotten about and makes them into new things.” When the shroud was folded into the shape of a flag, she placed it into the bowl and busied herself cleaning off the slab where it had been placed haphazardly. “He’s just like a Ghost that way. A repairman. An artist..” She recalled the art form he had mentioned before when she saw his nest the first time. “He mentioned an artform with precious metals...do you know what it's called?”
“I hadn’t when he first mentioned it, but I talked to Zavala’s ghost and he knew what it was called, apparently it's called Kintsugi, or kintsukuroi, it’s a Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum.  It treats breakage and repair as part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise.” He paused for a moment and flew a little lower, “Oh, I see what you mean.”
Diana straightened up the room in silence for a while. Dusting everything with her hands as best she could and being as gentle as possible. It didn’t take her long to clean up the room, tossing out the debris into the hall. She looked around and realized it wasn’t cleaning she wanted to do.
“I wanna do something nice for him.” She said out loud, throwing out a fist sized piece of concrete into the hall. “And I don’t mean dusting.” Joel was flying around the room and scanning the area, inspecting the walls and ceiling.
“He doesn’t have a lot does he?” he asked as he came down to her height. “We could get a few things for him.”
“Yeah..spruce the place up a bit...he deserves better than this but…” She glanced at the shroud sticking up from the bowl where she had placed it. “Baby steps.”
“What do you think he would like?” Joel asked.
“Anything is better than this…” she glanced at the mop bucket in the corner, and cringed. “We could get him a sturdy cot to sleep on. A better sleeping bag…” She looked back to his area and tilted her head, “Another table, a chair...we could clear these slabs out.” She kicked at the one he had been using for a bed. “Hang that sword up.” She pointed to the sword as it was propped up against the wall, waiting to topple over. “And a heater…”
“A heater?” Joel asked, spinning back to watch her as she nodded.
“It’ll be snowing soon. If he’s gonna get time off and come stay, then he’s gonna need heat...and some food that won’t spoil…” Her faceplates shifted to show irritation. “The boy doesn’t even have the basic necessities to live on his own. He won’t be under Spider’s four thumbs forever.”
“You think he’s going to let Crow go eventually?” Joel didn’t sound convinced, but when Diana settled her cyan eyes on him, he knew that look. He’d seen it before the battle against Crota...Oryx...Gaul and the darkness. It was what he called her ‘try me’ look.
“Oh he will. And we’re getting that bomb outta Glint too.” She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “Glint doesn’t deserve that treatment, and neither does Crow. The boys are literally as pure as new fallen snow, and Crow’s as green as Venus.”
“I remember when Leland used to say the same about you,” Joel offered softly, flying close to her chest, his sign he wanted to be held in her hands. She obliged him, cradling him gently and stroking his feckle lovingly.
“I’m not gonna comment on that,” she chuckled and planted a kiss on her Ghost’s shell. Going to sit on the sleeping bag. “I guess this means we’re going back to the city after all.”
“What are we gonna tell people who ask what we’re doing?” Joel twitched his shell so he was looking up at Di from her hands she stared longingly at the Dawning bowl.
“That we’re helping out a kinderguardian. They’re new and scared to come to the city. Or that I’m literally burying myself in a hole and making a fuck off bunker so people will leave me alone for once.” She stopped and blinked, “By the light, I sound like Osris now.”
“I like the second one better,” Joel laughed, “It sounds more like you than Osiris.”
Both of them laughed, their voices bouncing off the three and a half walls until it sounded like it would drown all their sorrows. They hadn’t laughed like that in a while. It made Diana sad to realize this. She tried not to look at it, but it was like a living thing staring at her. The death shroud. One of the triangle corners was peeking up from the bowl and taunting her until she stared at it.
“I’m not...weird am I?” She asked Joel, still staring at the white cloth.
“Is that a question you want me to answer honestly, or be serious?” Joel asked with mirth still in his voice.
“No, I mean…” Diana’s tone made Joel twitch in her hands, bringing her attention to him. “I know I didn’t remember anything, not a thing when you brought me back. But you said I’d been dead a long time...I’ve never…” She trailed off and looked toward the floor. “I’ve never run into anyone who recognized me before. But Uldren...he…” She sighed. “He killed dad...I know I said Crow was different and he IS but…” she made a clicking noise. “Sometimes when it gets quiet, and I see him, I can still SEE Uldren there. Does that make me a bad person?” She looked to Joel sadly. “Am I a horrible person because I sometimes still see him inside someone who's new? If Crow didn’t have the same meatsuit...if he’d been changed into an Exo like me when he was first brought back...I woulda never known….I wouldn’t be...questioning myself like this.” She looked to the shroud again. “He’d just be a new guardian. A fellow exo. A nice guy...But I find myself wanting to reach out to him. Be...more than kind to him. To be someone for him and then that moment happens when I don’t see Crow, I see…and then I feel like I’m betraying Dad’s memory by being chummy with the meatsuit that killed my leader...”
“I could tell,” Joel admitted softly, speaking in barely a whisper, as if afraid the truth would cause the ground to swallow them up. “When you two are having a good talk and it gets quiet, I see the way you look at him. It’s kindness and then fear, mixed with guilt.” He twitched again and the eye blinked. The other ear was starting to come loose and Diana peeled it off with a gentle hand. “You’re trying so hard to not hold him accountable for a crime you know Crow didn’t commit. But it’s still the same face. It’s still the same hand.” he blinked again, “It’s a situation I don’t think any other guardian has ever had to face like this before.” Only a heartbeat passed before he added. “I don’t think it makes you a bad person, I think you’re struggling with a situation that no one else has ever had to be in before and you’re doing a lot better than others who have seen his face.” He flew up from her hands and hovered a little ways from her face.
“You loved Cayde like a father, and he was taken from you by someone you didn’t particularly care for when you knew him. Now that person is no more, but their body is still up walking around with someone new inside...sorta. It’s like that pottery thing, he has his scars. His past is part of him, but he has a new life and a new outlook.” he tilted his shell toward the ground. “Uldren hated Guardians, he tried to make our life hell when we had to deal with the awoken. But,” he titled his shell upward and squinched himself into a smile, “I’ve seen Crow absolutely light up when you walk in a room. He’s excited to see you, to work with you. If that’s not proof he’s totally different then I dunno what would be.”
When she didn’t respond he bonked her on the forehead with his feckle and made her blink at him in bewilderment. “Others have outright killed Crow when they saw his face. You didn’t.”
“I tried…” She put a hand on the spot where he hit her. “If Quin hadn’t stopped me...I would have put a bullet in him.”
“Are you glad she stopped you?” Joel asked firmly.
“Yes?” she sounded unsure, when Joel tightened his shell around him she felt like he was glaring at her so she repeated with conviction. “....Yes. I am.”
“Would you put a bullet in him now?” Joel’s voice was hard, he was trying to test her resolve. He already knew he answer, he just needed her to know it.
“No, absolutely not, I’d...” She paused and remembered her fight with Hunter-1, they still hadn’t spoken since they introduced Crow to him. When he tried to murder Crow, even after learning he was a guardian and Uldren no more. Quin had ushered Crow to safety while Diana wrestled with the fellow Exo. He hadn’t looked at her the same since. On Wrathborn hunts he wouldn’t watch her back anymore, and he would ignore her when she spoke to him. “I’d fight those who would try...”
“Then you’re already leaps and bounds ahead of others.” Joel told her with a flip. “And the fact you want to give him what he needs to survive on his own, until he can be accepted as Crow and not as Uldren, shows you have compassion for him.” He tilted his shell halfway, like he was being coy. “And do not think for one millisecond I haven’t seen you smile at him with that same look you used to give Drifter either missy.”
“I. Give. No. Looks.” Diana’s voice was low, gravely, she was willing to die on this hill.
“And I wasn’t born in the Light.” Joel gave a small hummpf sound before flying out of the crack, forcing Diana to follow along behind him if she wanted to argue.
85 notes · View notes
Text
100 Days Princess Event - Royal Prince Stage Episode 01 (Translated)
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Quick Links:
Events Page
Prologue
Next: Episode 02
Louis Howard’s Route
Giles Christophe’s Route
Note:
Usually MC calls Byron “Byron-sama” but because she is his agent and probably because he is still seen to be at a respectable high rank, she calls him “Byron-san” in this event.
Byron Wagner’s Route Episode 01 Part 01/05
The afternoon wind blew with the hustle and bustle of the lively crowd…
There was a stage in the corner of the large shopping mall.
Countless women gathered around it in the audience.
Woman 1: “Is that Wystein recording their broadcast...?”
Woman 2: “Isn't Nico the MC? And it looks like Louis and Byron-sama are today’s guests!”
Woman 1: “No way! It’s a dream come true to not only be able to see Nico, but also two other idols!”
(All three of them are very popular.)
I looked up at the stage while making sure to not be swept away by the crowd.
Nico: “I'd like to ask our two guests something...I'll read the next letter!”
Nico: “‘Hello, Nico, Louis-san, and Byron-sama.’”
Byron: “Hi.”
Louis: “...Hello.”
Nico: “'I’ve always dreamed of becoming an idol when I was a kid...”
Nico: “‘Was this a dream Louis-san and Byron-sama also wanted as kids?’”
Nico: “...That’s the question. Well, how about it?”
Byron: “I knew who idols were...”
Byron: “But it wasn’t something I always wanted to be.”
Louis: “Same as Byron.”
Nico: “Then why did you two become idols?” *Top Left Picture*
Louis: “I was scouted.”
Byron: “Both Howard and I were approached by our agent.” *Top Right Picture*
At Byron-san’s words, a memory from several years ago grazed my mind.
(I still remember the day I scouted them.)
Byron Wagner’s Route Episode 01 Part 02/05
(I still remember the day I scouted them.)
At the time, I was just a fledgling agent at “Wystein,” an entertainment agency.
I had been walking around the city in search of an idol to back up.
(I first met Louis on the promenade…)
-flashback-
Louis: “You want me to be an idol...?” *1st Middle Left Picture*
MC: “Yes!”
Louis: “Why me?”
MC: “You were the one who sang a song just a while ago to that lost child and made them smile, right?”
MC: “Weren’t you the one who sang the song just now to that lost child and made them smile?”
Louis: “...”
-flashback ends-
(And I had passed by Byron-san on a busy street…)
-flashback-
Byron: “You want me to be an idol…?” *1st Middle Right Picture*
MC: “Are you interested?”
Byron: “I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I am not. ...Why are you trying to scout me?”
MC: “I saw how you broke the silence over there a little while ago...”
MC: “Every time you speak, you seem to attract everyone around you.”
Byron: “...Really?”
MC: “Yes. You have an aura that attracts people…”
MC: “I'm sure you can become a popular idol well known by everyone in the world.”
Byron: “...This is the first time someone has told me something like this.”
-flashback ends-
Neither Louis or Byron-san accepted right away.
A few days later, they each contacted me saying “Please give me more details.”
Nico: “So, neither Louis-san or Byron-sama were interested in being idols at first, right?”
Nico’s bright voice brought me back from the past to reality.
Nico: “What changed your minds?”
Louis: “That is…”
*princess check*
Byron Wagner’s Route Episode 01 Part 03/05
Nico: “So, neither Louis-san or Byron-sama were interested in being idols at first, right?”
Nico’s bright voice brought me back from the past to reality.
Nico: “What changed your minds?”
Louis: “That is…a secret.”
Nico: “Huh…?”
Byron: “Mine is also a secret.”
Nico: “Byron-sama, too? That’s fine.”
(Speaking of, I don't even know why they chose to become idols.)
I had once asked them the same question as Nico before, but…
They never gave me an answer.
(Maybe their reasons are too personal.)
I became interested in the gathering crowd.
Many raised voices were calling out “I want to know!” and “Tell me!”
Louis: “There seems to be many people who want to know.”
Nico: “They all want to know what both of your secrets are.”
Louis: “Is that so…? Then I’ll tell you.”
Louis: “I became an idol…because I wanted to make everyone smile.” *2nd Middle Left Picture*
As Louis smiled at the crowd, loud cheers erupted.
Byron: “I have a similar reason.”
Nico: “Was it…also for smiles?”
Byron: “Yes. Idols bring happiness to many people.”
Byron: “Seeing everyone smile is the most important reason to stand up on that stage.” *2nd Middle Right Picture*
The deep and sincere voice of Byron-san made the women grow excited again.
(Both of them have become more and more like idols ever since their debut...)
Louis and Byron-san had caught the eyes of many women.
Now they were the perfect idols.
(But…)
(There must be other reasons why they chose to be idols.)
Nico: “Oh… sorry, but it looks like our time is up.”
At Nico’s words, a voice announced the end of the broadcast.
***
That evening…
I visited the dressing room of the next shooting site to meet with Louis and Byron-san.
MC: “Louis, Byron-san, thank you for all your hard work.”
Byron Wagner’s Route Episode 01 Part 04/05
MC: “Louis, Byron-san, thank you for all your hard work.”
Louis: “MC, what’s that…?”
MC: “They’re sandwiches. I was wondering if you were both hungry.”
Byron: “Sorry to bother you.”
MC: “No, please, eat a lot so you can do your best for your next shoot.”
I put the plate of sandwiches on the table.
Byron-san, who was next to me, pulled out a chair.
MC: “Byron-san…?”
Byron: “Didn’t you watch the entire broadcast while standing?”
Byron: “You should rest your legs for a little bit.” *3rd Middle Left Picture*
MC: “Thank you…you noticed.”
Louis: “MC, do you want some tea?”
MC: “Ah, I’ll go get—”
Louis: “I got it.”
Louis gently cut my words off and began to put tea leaves in the teapot.
Louis: “Let us at least occasionally help take care of our agent.” *3rd Middle Right Picture*
MC: “...Thank you. I guess I’ll be satisfied with that.”
Louis: “Good.”
(Byron-san and Louis are very kind...)
When I first met them, they both carried cold demeanors.
As the days went by, they began to show softer expressions.
(I’ve gotten to know them a lot better.)
(Now will they be able to tell me what they didn't tell me before...?)
Louis gave me my tea as I searched for words.
MC: “I have something to ask Louis and Byron-san...”
MC: “Why did you become idols?”
Byron: “Wasn’t that the question from the broadcast…?”
MC: “Yes.”
Louis: “Didn’t we say the reason was to see everyone’s smiles...?”
MC: “Well, yes, but there must be other reasons as well.”
When I told them that, Louis and Byron-san stared at me…
*princess check*
Byron Wagner’s Route Episode 01 Part 05/05
MC: “Why did you become idols?”
Byron: “Wasn’t that the question from the broadcast…?”
MC: “Yes.”
Louis: “Didn’t we say the reason was to see everyone’s smiles...?”
MC: “Well, yes, but there must be other reasons as well.”
When I told them that, Louis and Byron-san stared at me…
Louis: “Does MC remember that I’m originally from an orphanage?”
MC: “Huh...? Yes, of course I remember.”
I was confused by the sudden question.
Louis: “The orphanage I was raised in was facing difficulties...”
Louis: “They needed help in order to prevent getting shut down.”
MC: “No way, so that’s what’s made you agree to be an idol…?”
Louis: “Yes. If I became famous, it would be easier to collect money so I can help make donations.”
Byron: “There was a predecessor who failed my family’s business.”
Byron: “I needed to find someone powerful enough who could help rebuild and support the business.” *Bottom Left Picture*
MC: “That means…Byron-san wanted to try to make connections in the entertainment world.”
Byron: “Yes. Because many people suffered when the business went bankrupt.”
(So…both of them are on the stage for a cause.)
Louis: “...I know it’s not a very good reason, so I've kept silent about it until now. I'm sorry.”
MC: “It is a good reason. Thank you for telling me.”
(They both became idols to help out with their personal lives...)
(As their agent, I want to support them until the end.)
After finding a new sense of determination, my mobile phone in my pocket started to ring.
Byron: “Is that your phone?”
MC: “Yes, it must be the company president…”
(What is it...?)
MC: “I’m sorry, I have to answer it.”
I excused myself and left the dressing room.
***
A few minutes later, they both turned their eyes to me when I came back from outside.
Louis: “What was it?”
Byron: “Judging by that face, it doesn't seem like it was anything bad...” *Bottom Right Picture*
MC: “Yes, I have good news…!”
MC: “Byron-san has been offered a modeling gig.”
13 notes · View notes
obaby-wan · 4 years
Text
Unlawful
Summary: Anakin is still a novice and Obi-Wan goes on solo missions. That is until the Council gives him a particular assignment, and he requests you to join him - posing as a couple. You had not seen much of your close friend since he lost his Master, and the mission serves as an interesting reunion.
Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Jedi!Reader
Wordcount: 9.5k I AM SORRY
Rating: T?
Warnings: Hurt? Slavery, child trafficking, mention of kidnapping. Someone inappropriately approaches Reader. Please let me know if forget something. But otherwise rather safe, basically soft fluff with a plot(ish).
Notes: I’ve done it! I’ve posted my first fic EVER, thanks to @maybege​! This was her request for a fake marriage!Obi-Wan, which was a very scary and challenging and intimidating request given that it is the basis of her Play Pretend series, but I am overall quite proud of what I have produced. Naturally, any feedback is very much welcomed. Thank you!
Tags: @maybege​ @profkenobi​ maybe? If you have time and are interested and want to make a little me very happy but no pressure
Tumblr media
You put down three cups and the teapot you had prepared, the smoky aroma steaming out from its mouth. Your life-long best friend Obi-Wan Kenobi and his padawan were seated across from you in your quarters, the young one still recovering from the training session he just finished with other younglings, his arms crossed and lips pouting. Obi-Wan has approached you earlier with a mission brief, suggesting - no, requesting, really - that you accompany him. Without his padawan. This earned you both a resentful silent treatment from him ever since said padawan has arrived and learned that he will not be needed. You, on the other hand, were internally as giddy and excited as Anakin was moody. You had only recently been knighted yourself. Your solo mission count was now steadily increasing, their success rate following the same trend. Yet, you still welcomed new assignments with the same eagerness you had in your early padawan days. Not to mention that this time, it seemed you will be partnering with your favourite Jedi master.
“Don’t look so frustrated, Anakin. Your first mission will come sooner than expected.” You smiled at the young boy, your words doing nothing to alleviate the frown between his brows. “Honey?”
He nodded in agreement, extending his hand to accept the cup you offered. You slide Obi-Wan his cup and put yours down in front of you, twirling the liquid around in an attempt to accelerate the cooling process. No honey for neither of you. Not with smoked teas. “Only fruited infusions deserve a bit of sweetness” He once told you. You had thought the words he spilled over your tea conversations were enough of a sweetener.
“Maybe I could come and pretend to be your son?” Anakin’s voice was small, hopeful. This pulled a laughter out of you and Obi-Wan, his smiling eyes meeting yours. The mission he was assigned involved infiltrating the court of a powerful king in the outer-rim, thought to be the general quarters of a slave trafficking ring. Young, underage slave traffic, to be specific, which explained why Obi-Wan would not let Anakin join. You wondered if he even told him about the nature of this mission. Your presence was requested to play to role of his spouse. The king was soon hosting his bi-yearly public exposition of newly acquired slaves, presenting them to potential buyers and you were to pose as a couple of such. It could have been a solo mission, but the king had a harem of wife whom the council suspected to be heavily involved in the court’s internal affair, and only women were allowed to interact with the spouses. That is why and where you were stepping in.
Obi-Wan shook his head, putting a hand on his padawan’s shoulder. “It is better you stay here, little one. Focus on your training. Besides, I believe you will be in possession of your lightsaber when we get back - and I expect you to be able to strike me down on our next spar”. They both smirked at the unspoken challenge.
“Is that true?” You took a zip of tea. “I was not aware you were already chosen to be in the next shuttle to Ilum. That is impressive”. The young boy’s chest puffed up with pride. “Master Yoda said it was learning too fast for the youngling group I am with!”
You glanced at Obi-Wan. Anakin building his own lightsaber meant he will have to take his training more into hands, relying less on common lessons with other young Jedi. Which also means that the time of his solo missions was short-lived and coming to an end soon. You were honored to be part of what could even be his last padawan-less assignment. Yes, this will definitely be an entertaining mission, a reminiscence of your mischiefs and adventures before you were both knighted.
You’ve know Obi-Wan for almost all your life, having arrived at the Jedi temple around the same moon as him. You were probably in the same crèche, although you did not have much recollection of that time. No, your friendship with him genuinely blossomed on the very same occasion that Anakin will soon face – the Kyber harvesting on Ilum. You were both selected for the same trip, the two youngest of your training group, and the two bests. A friendly competition ensued, which over time grew into a deeper complicity, unspoken rivalry trying to best each other’s records, pressed lips failing to suppress giggles when sneaking into the kitchen past bed time, understanding glances across training rooms when one would get caught and chastised, longing and warm reunions after your respective missions during your years as padawans and – support and understanding when he lost Qui-Gon, a dozen moons ago.
You had been the one to cut his braid off. You had taken the habit to keep your quarters unlocked for nights when meditation would no longer suffice to tone down the guilt and the grief he felt, preferring to spill his sadness to you over a cup of tea, burning his tongue on the beverage. You had watched as tears dripped into his cup, hoping the hot tea would burn away the sadness, too. He was grateful for your patience and comfort, always listening without a judgement. How he was unsure about being a master. How he did not feel ready to train Anakin. How he feared he would fail. “But fear is not the Jedi way”, he has whimpered in the dark, sitting on the floor in front of you, legs crossed, his forehead pressed to your knees as you sat on your bed. “No. But it is the human way” you had answered, your fingers slowly stroking his golden red locks in an attempt to sooth his ache.
You push those memories away. Obi-Wan has recovered, in his own way. He has slowly but surely gained confidence in his skills and his ability to pass them on, even warming up to referring to Anakin as his “little one” more often than as his padawan. The informality was not lost on you. The boy was clinging to his master like a young greysor to its mother, looking up to the man and telling him all details about his day in great lengths and details over dinner, every evening. Your eyes settled on your friend, realizing that it has been a while since you’ve got a chance to study his features with such proximity and you could not recall the last time you had been alone with him. You noticed how his traits have hardened since, how his hair, longer and now always neatly arranged, was now framing his mature face. He even started growing a beard, which you had not yet decided if you liked or not. His cerulean eyes met yours, and you couldn’t help but melt a little when you realized that those, at least, have remained as soft as you remembered. Anakin must be equally succeeding at painting more wrinkles and frowns to Obi-Wan’s traits as he has at keeping his heart tender.
“I am happy to hear that. I’m sure you will find your little trip to be insightful and… dangerous”. A spark returned to the boy’s eyes upon hearing your last word. He shuffled a little in his seat, his resentment about the mission suddenly forgotten and replaced with a curious fascination. You jumped on the occasion to ensure his mood remains lightened, a smug look on your face. “Have I told you about the time your master and I went to find our crystals, and Obi-Wan was afraid the dark?”
…………………………………………………………………………………………
Your destination coordinates where set into the navicomputer, the autopilot engaged. Everything was settled for the travel, and you both decided to indulge with an early dinner, hoping to be able to get a full night of sleep before landing at your destination. Obi-Wan headed for the ship’s kitchenette, opening the cooling storage and excitedly took out two packs of what appeared to be rye soup. “This is wonderful! I usually only get ration bars on these council ships”. He skipped back to you, face beaming, holding a box in each hand. He was met with your suspicious glare, lips tight together.
“Come on now darling, I only have to heat it up. There is no way I can mess this up”.
“Obi-Wan, I would trust you with my life, but allow me to doubt you on this one”.
You took the boxes from an exasperated Obi-Wan and headed back to the kitchenette, deciding that you will take cooking matters in your hands. Obi-Wan was… lousy, when it came to handling sustenance in any other way than putting it directly in his mouth (and even then). Burnt eyebrows and meals have been evidence of his previous attempts, and you may even have a scar somewhere on your arm, a relic of that time he believed the oven would be a safer cooking method. He had apologized profusely after managing to short circuit and set the whole thing on fire and had treated you with take-out from Dex’s every time you were meeting up for weeks after the incident. “If it still hurts, I can try to kiss the pain away.” He swore it was not just an imaginary balm for younglings, something about receptors and muscles and pain signals. You pretended the burn stung for days after you had removed the last bacta patch.
Once dinner was prepared and ready without having to call an intergalactic fire brigade, you both settled around the small and only table on the ship. Obi-Wan was practically lounging on the bench seat, and you were pleased that despite your high and respected status of Jedi Master, he would still feel comfortable relaxing casually around you. You set your bowls on the table and sat on the opposite bench.
“I have got to ask though Obi, why did you choose me for this mission? The council could have just assigned anyone else”.
You hoped the question did not come out as a complaint. You were more than happy – looking forward to, even – to start this mission with him. Although you knew that assignments from the Jedi council were usually of the utmost importance and highly serious, undercovers still help an aftertaste of game to you. And who better to disguise yourself with than your favourite partner?
“Well, given the delicate nature of our role, I would rather conduct this mission with someone I truly feel at ease with. Besides, I can’t imagine having to kiss Master Shaak Ti, if it came to that”. He laughed lightly at the image, raising a spoonful of soup to his lips – and burning the tip of his tongue on it. “I keep telling Anakin to be patient, but I daresay I cannot ever wait for my meals to cool down”.
You chuckled in response, hoping he did not notice the blood rushing to your cheeks. While you were glad he confessed to feeling serene in your presence, you had to admit you did not think of the implication of this disguise. You knew Obi-Wan well enough to be able to read him, and the Force could help you anticipate his actions. This would allow you to pass as long-term, close acquaintances, but how exactly were lovers behaving together, in public? How much affection must a crime lord couple display to pass as, well, a real, intimate crime lord couple? “We may need to go through quite a bit of details before we land. You know, setting our story straight and such”. He nodded, now passively stirring his bowl, his eyes fixing you intently. You averted his gaze and dipped your spoon in the rich soup, catching yourself realizing that you wouldn’t mind so much if the mission was to “come to that”. You made a mental note to strengthen your walls and empty your mind before landing.
“You must know, I am glad you accepted to join me. I haven’t got the chance to enjoy your company since you were knighted. You’ve made yourself busier than an old senator.”
You refuted his words, retorted that he was the constantly unreachable shadow, wandering between planetary systems and moody pre-teens. How often you went and knock on his door any time you were on leave only to be met with a locked door silently mocking you. He said that more often than not, he would meet the same fate (it’s true) and would try to fill his absence with little souvenirs he brought you back from his various destinations (it’s also true), leaving them under your doormat. You chastised him about it, complaining about that time he deemed wise to leave a bar of sweet-smelling treat in that specific spot, knowing damn well that colder days were approaching and the Temple had a floor heating system. By the time you had come back to your quarters, the bar was but molten goo and host to flowery mycelium. You complained about the mess it was to scrub and intentionally omitted to mention the blue box you kept under your bed, home to pressed flowers, amulets and other trinkets he has gotten you – you’ve kept every single one of them (expect the bar, which found its way straight to the waste bag).
Bowls were emptied, cleaned and stored away (Obi-Wan insisted on doing the dishes), and you both returned your focus to preparing the mission. Two travel bags and a satchel were waiting in your shared sleeping quarters. Digging through your belongings, you felt slightly anxious at the lack of neutral-coloured clothing and were met only with luxurious, expensive looking fabric with colours that would fit into any rainbow. You took out and set aside a long emerald dress and the heavy brown cloak, deeming them to be a believable travel attire to change into before landing.
Obi-Wan dug out datapads and a sealed, square box from the satchel. He gave you your datapad, which you supposed contained more details about the mission, and eyed the box curiously, turning it between his fingers, examining the object to find its opening mechanism. Finally, twisting the top part from the bottom of the box revealed its content; two rings and two identical pins.
“Ah, right. Married and crime lords” he stated matter-of-factly. He passed you one of the pins; it was golden and represented a wild bird, wings spread and embedded with precious gem stone. You supposed it represented the sigil of your imaginary crime syndicate, operating from the deep underworld of Coruscant, coordinating heavy weaponry and oil trafficking. Your cheeks blushed a little when you realized the rings where, in fact, wedding bands, and Obi-Wan has already slipped his on his finger, holding yours between his thumb and index. His other hand was extended “May I, milady?”
Your head jerked up to meet his cerulean eyes, a playful glint in their corners. You put the tip of your fingers in his calloused member. “I hope you have asked for my parents’ permission before so bluntly asking for my hand, sir.” He winked, running his hand through his hair to push back the growing locks. “I am afraid we are eloping, love.” Sliding the band onto your ring finger, the cold metal feeling foreign there, he added: “My dear wife.”
Somehow, your heart jostled a bit upon hearing his words and you smiled shyly. “Husband.”
Obi-Wan decided to meditate for a few moments before arrival. You offered he use the sleeping quarters for peace, as you wanted to go over the mission’s detail one last time in the cockpit. You must have dozed off reading about inter-rim smuggling routes because when you woke up, you were still curled in the pilot’s seat, a blanket you later recognized as Obi-Wan cloak draped over you.
…………………………………………………………………………………………
The outer-rim planet hosting your mission’s location was filled with luscious flora and where no greeneries grew, cities spread outwards rather than upwards, reminding you of a deceptive replica of Naboo. You landed in the royal spaceport, along with other foreign ships surely belonging to other “buyers” invited to the king’s exposition. Immediately upon setting foot on land, Obi-Wan’s hand found its way to the small of your back, then around, finally settling on your hip. So it begins, you thought. He met your eyes with a reassuring smile, giving you the confidence you needed to kick start your brain into immersing yourself in this new persona. You awkwardly leaned into his touch as the palace’s servant gathered your belonging, leading you to meet the group of newly arrived guest to the main palace, on the city’s rim, where you were all dispatched to your assigned quarters.
“His Majesty and his court expect all guests for a welcome dinner after sunset. He will be opening the exposition.” You were told when the servant opened the door to your room before handing Obi-Wan the keys.
The room, as could be expected in such milieu, was large, but decorations remained modest. Obi-Wan was already checking every corners of the room for anything suspicious when you were still taking in the beauty of the quarters. A thick deep orange carpet covered the dark wooden floor. A large mirror adorned a wall, reaching all the way up to the ceiling, reflecting the more-than-two-person canopy bed and its white veiled curtains. In a corner, a dining table and four chairs, in the other, a curved loveseat with white pillows. Another long plush couch was pushed again the wall under the window, next to the mirror, which offered an exclusive view on the forest surrounding the palace.
“Don’t even think of offering to sleep on it. I will not put up with you complaining about a sore back every morning”
“Actually, since I am quite larger than you, I thought I might be taking the bed – and you get this marvelous couch.”
You threw a pillow at him, and missed. “I do hope your fighting skills are better than your throws!” He set his bag down on the bed, claiming his side, his hand again in his hair, and your stomach sank a little at the realization that yes - you will really be sharing a bed, and it sank a little more when you couldn’t understand why it made you feel warm and shivering at the same time.
“If you steal the duvet, I will put my cold feet on you. Consider yourself warned, Kenobi.”
“Don’t worry darling, your body temperature is safe with me. Now let’s go for a walk, assess the surroundings. We have a few hours before the sunset.”
And then the sun set, and you had to get ready for dinner. You excused yourself to the fresher first, taking your bag, Fumbling again through the coloured fabrics with the same anxiety, you pulled out what you deemed to be the least ostentatious outfit offered – a loose satin grey dress, with straps so thin you were afraid they would snap at the first sudden arm movement, but at least it was long enough to cover the rest of your body. You put it on and stood awkwardly in front of the mirror, your eyes failing to recognize the reflection starring back. You did not like it – you were too uncovered, to bare, to exposed. This was unlike anything you ever wear daily, and the smooth fabric sliding on your skin felt too foreign for you to be comfortable. Turning around, you grimaced at how low the back was, now confronted with a literally visible underwear problem and decided against wearing one, cursing at the impracticality of formal attires. At least the cleavage offered more coverage. You keep most your hair down, still overly conscious about your bare shoulders, only twisting the strands that would frame your face behind your ears and securing them with crystal-decorated pins. And then you stepped out of the fresher.
And then Obi-Wan thought he died a sudden death and an angel has come to reap him. His mind wandered back to stories Anakin always rambled about beautiful being inhabiting the deepest corners of the galaxy and how they just seem to float in an aura than made them glow and he thought – this is it. This is his end, and you were his angel. And then only this last par was true, because angels aren’t reals but you were both real and ethereal and this was everything but his end, if anything it was the beginning of something he wasn’t quite understanding yet. He’s seen you before, but how has he never noticed you? You, the strong warrior he was practically raised with, now glowing in your silver gown, hiding glittering stars in your locks? If angels resided in the deepest corners of the galaxy, then he’s now found you a home in the deepest corners of his mind, and he knew he won’t be chasing you from there anytime soon – if ever.
You swore you saw Obi-Wan… blush? But before you could give it any second thought, his hand was holding yours and his lips were delicately pressed to your fingers and his bright irises searching for your eyes. Now it was your turn to blush. His other hand then scrabbled for something in his pocket, reaching for the golden pin with the wild bird and he once again whispered “may I?” before clipping in to the your dress, where the thin strap met the bodice.
“Is this all too much? It feels very inappropriate on me.”
“It’s beautiful.”
You wished he had said “you” instead of “it” but you gave him a smile and took his arm as you heard a knock on the door - the messenger servant sent to lead you to the dinner hall. You slip him your lightsaber, easier to hide under is loose clothes than your elegant dress. He opted for brown trousers and a deep purple linen shirt that he did not button all the way up. You silently admired your partner’s ability to just fit in anywhere, his posture straighter and more confident than usual (if it was at all possible), and his hold on you firm as he lead you sternly behind the servant. The jedi he is was well hidden under this new demeanor, and you did your best to mirror his expression, worried that you’d make your couple look underwhelming.
“Darling, I believe we have not talked about boundaries yet. The veracity of our act inevitably requires displays of affection, which I trust we both understand. But you must let me know if I ever overstep, as I may not keep my hands off you tonight.”
You nodded in agreement, very aware of the fact that he basically said he will be touching you – quite a lot. You were led through sun colored corridors, large windows illuminating your surroundings with the last rays of the dying day. Your arm still around Obi-Wan’s, you followed the servant out of the residential building, crossed a lush court surrounded by gardens and fountains and flowers smelling of power and credits into the main building. On your previous reconnaissance walk, you had noticed the exotic architecture, vaulted arches and high ceilings, pillars forming straight lines occasionally broken by mural ornaments. Everything was open, spacious and bright, but like your room, the decorations remained simple yet refined. Mouldings ornated each corner of the ceiling and the floor was a mosaic of orange-toned tiles. You passed by an atrium, open to the sky and home to yet another fountain. High class for an outer-rim world.
The dining hall followed the consistent décor of the palace. High ceilings and their mouldings and oh, – the whole ceiling itself was one big mirror. Three large tables were set, arranged in an open square formation. The atmosphere was already lively, and you were surprised at the number of people assisting to his exposition. No matter how hard the Republic claimed to fight against slavery, it remained a very much widespread practice in which too many lords seem to indulge. Another the thing that hit you – the women. You immediately noticed the contrast between the guests and the locals. The former wore similar attire as you, expensive evening gowns cut in noble materials (you winced internally as you realized that your outfit was indeed underwhelming in comparison), and the latter were covered head to toe in colourful fabric, long dresses trailing behind them, hair hidden under an assorted scarf. The different shape of their silhouettes betraying their diverse origins. They sat aligned at the table in the middle, two empty spots at its center, talking only to each other. The harem.
No other chairs were arranged, it will not be a seated dinner for the guests. You both approached the table on the left and when all guests have arrived and settled around the dinning arrangement, an old Zygerrian announced the king and his First Wife. Enter a tall, slim man wearing a long navy robe and a small, round, severe looking women. She was wearing a similar attire has the other wives, but the colour matched that of the king. He started his speech, something about lineage-long tradition of exploring and harvesting innocent youth across the galaxy to serve the best of the men and women. How he has mastered the art of finding only the best, most beautiful and promising beings and how excited he was to show them, how he will have them “parade” with his wives as dinner progresses, so each guests can get acquainted and take the time to choose their preferred match. Sales would be finalized at the end of the week and you wondered how choosing a slave could take so many rotations. You finally decided to pay a little less attention to the words and a little bit more to the people, your eyes scanning through the crowd for any interesting face, carefully probing them with the Force. You felt a little sick at the dangerous energy that emanated from the group. Malice. Greed. A little bit of fear?
You reluctantly left Obi-Wan to get you both drinks once the king finished his oration, glass raised and inviting the festivities to start. The reality of this mission sank in when hooded figures, too small to fit in, too young to be here, were brought in to the wives. All except the First Wife were assigned a figure and you noticed how each pair seemed to be of the same species. Guests immediately found their way to the drinks and sustenance before approaching the colourful covered pair closest to them. The man would always examine the subject as the women immediately started talking to the wife, and you understood your purpose in the mission. You could not shake away the nausea slowly building up in your stomach as you strayed through the crowd, eavesdropping on bribes of conversation, glancing each time a buyer your lift the hood off a little figure, revealing little boys and girls, face too round, eyes too wide, soul too pure to be put in this situation. Trying not to overthink their origin and breathing your distress out, you were making your way back to your fellow Jedi, two ruby wine glasses in your hand when:
“I am surprised someone in your youth would already be looking for another toy. Aren’t they too young for you?”
You turned around and were met with a handsome man, visibly an unaccompanied guest. You did not fully understand the meaning of his words, but you observed he was roughly your age.
“I am not quite sure what you mean sir, but I suppose I could address the same question back to you?”
“A man never has too many toys”.
The way he said it, his tone, sent a shiver down your spine and you crossed your arm to hide the goose bumps you could feel rising your hairs there. He flashed you a smile, all teeth and undeniably, dangerously charming, and you smiled back curtly, every fiber of your being screaming at you to turn around and cut the conversation short. You were starting to get an idea of what was really going on at this auction and you did not like it one bit.
“However do you mean by that?”
He stepped closer to you, taking one of the wine glasses from your hand, shamelessly taking a long sip of it. You straighten your posture, refusing to break his stare with a blink. Against your better judgement you readjusted a stand of hair behind your ear, bringing your own glass to your lips.
“Look around, my dear. We are about two decades younger than most buyers here, surely we must be seeking different things from them.”
“And what is it that you seek?”
Another sip of wine. His eyes bore into yours.
“Pretty things.”
And before you could answer, Obi-Wan has found you, his hand back to its place again on the small of your back. He was followed by by a pair of Togrutas, a veiled wife wearing light blue garments, her hand on the shoulder of a little Togruta girl, dressed in similar colours, eyes fixed on the floor.
“There you are my love. I need you to officiate my study of this young girl.” Then, turning to the lad beside you, “I don’t believe we’ve met?”
You all introduced yourself, and Obi-Wan stiffened when Perry, from Cantonica, bowed and managed to brush his lips against your knuckles, holding your hand a second too long to his liking. He reinforced his grip on you. You were already too close to him when he spotted you, and he did not miss the way Perry’s eyes crudely wandered over your figure. He nudged you towards the waiting Togruta pair, and you began asking questions you believed slavers would ask – her age, her health, strengths and weaknesses. The wife answered patiently answered, her eyes never leaving your face and her hand never leaving the girl. From the corner of your eyes, you saw Obi-Wan kneeling down in front of the girl and his hand moved to examine her limbs and montrals. To an outsider, he would seem like a natural, but you saw has his touch was firm but gentle, and how he seemed to softly ask permission to the little girl before moving to another body part. Obi-Wan’s heart broke a little when she only nodded in agreement, her lifeless eyes never leaving the floor. Perry was still observing you in silence, his eyes curiously darting between Obi-Wan and you. Finally, he released the little girl and you thanked her matrona.
“I see you are unaccompanied. Given the situation, I will be happy to lead an interaction in your name.”
“I will be happy to just join you in your meetings, if you’ll allow me.”
You seeked Obi-Wan’s eyes for approval and he nodded. The evening continued like this for a while, the three of you alternating between the buffet and meeting other younglings, some more talkative than others, and you mediating the interactions, repeating the question the men were asking directly to the matrona, who would only answer to you. Perry seemed to take a particular interest in two of the older ones (you tried not to gag), and Obi-Wan chose a little Twi’lek as fake target. You noted that the little boy reminded you of Anakin. Some of the kids surely originated from the core planets, noticing a Pantoran, and you wondered how the king managed to have such a broad diversity. Not that you’d know much about slave trade, but you were still surprised. By the time the event drew to its end, both your mind and body were exhausted, and when Perry tried to drag Obi-Wan into a private game of Sabacc in the king’s quarters, you nudged him to go (for more information, you whispered softly). Perry noticed how you hastly took your leave, excusing yourself for the evening.
“Do you not kiss your wife goodnight, Kenobi?”
Obi-Wan’s eyes met yours, unsure what to do, trying to fight the urge to just slam his lips against yours and giving in to the temptation to explore your skin, drawing constellations along the trail of his mouth on your neck, but not daring to without consulting you.
“Only in the privacy of our room.”
He still pulled you close on last time and his lips brushed your temple, inhaling your sweet scent. You tried to ignore your disappointment. He didn’t want to let you go alone, and there was no way he could discretely slip your lightsaber back to you. But you were a resourceful women and he trusted you to make it back to the room without incident. As you left the main building, you spotted a group of the wives discussing around the fountain, seemingly more relaxed and joyful than they were in the dining hall. Their conversation died and a stern look settled on their faces as you approached, asking if you could join them. With a little use of the force to sooth any distrust, you managed to ease into their discussions, hoping that the wine that flowed this evening would loosen tongues and appease suspicions.
…………………………………………………………………………………………
Your mind was wandering on the sharp edge between awake and asleep when Obi-Wan came back to your room, tiptoeing his way across the entrance. You had let his bedside lamp dimly lit for him, and you observed quietly as he removed his shirt, his bare chest and their red hair and taut muscle on full display for you. Has he noticed you were awake? You felt guilty for prying, like you were witnessing something deliciously illicit, but the way his skin seemed to gleam under the dim warm light, shadows only enhancing his features, how he look strong yet tired and vulnerable had something too mesmerizing for you to tear your eyes away.
Of course he had noticed you weren’t sleeping, but he wasn’t going to let you feel embarrassed for starring. Besides, he couldn’t resist putting on a little show, one last treat to end this tedious day before slumping next to you. But as he was pulling his shirt above his head, he suddenly felt self-conscious about his nakedness, and decided to quietly disappear into the fresher. You were right, joining the Sabacc tournament gained him access to exclusive information, some he could easily pull out from drunken lords, gladly taking hints he was dropping to steer the conversation the way he wanted to. He had so much to discuss with you, but for now he had to focus on getting the smell of spirit off his scent and getting himself into bed with you. That last part was making him more anxious than having to face a tantrum-throwing Anakin, and despite the late hour, he opted for a quick shower.
Clean and absolutely worn out, he silently slid under the duvet next to you, careful not to wake you up. You were really sleeping now, your back facing the edge of the bed, your breathing soft and steady. He took one last look at you before turning the light off, how your lips were slightly parted and pouty, and your chest rising and falling in a peaceful rhythm. How your hair framed your beautiful face, and he chastised himself once more for not looking at you earlier, for taking so many years to realize what he had just here, right in front of him, and how he didn’t know what to do with it. It – the fuzzy feeling in his stomach that did not seem to settle since you landed but only to grow in intensity as he could not peel his eyes off you the whole evening. And when he fully put his weight down on the mattress, you shifted a little bit closer to him, your warm radiating under the blanket and he thought he might suffocate when he noticed how small the straps of your nightdress where, and he couldn’t help but wonder how soft you must feel if he were to hold you, but then your leg brushed his and he scooted just a millimeter more against you.
“Good night, little one.”
…………………………………………………………………………………………
It was in a silent mutual agreement that you both ignored the fact that when you woke up this morning, your legs were tangled together, his arm somehow found their way across your middle, your head resting in the crook of his neck, and he stole an innocent kiss from on your forehead when you were still weary. It was in a silent understanding that when you got dressed and went down for breakfast, the hands you held with each other was nothing but another façade, another prop to the act you play. At least, that’s what you both tried to convince yourselves with. That was why the overall you chose this morning was a little bolder, red, mind you, and the cut twice as deep, this time both in the back and the front. The visible underwear problem remained and at this point you gave up on wearing any. The bodice hugged your curves in all the right places (he tried very hard not to stare), the wide bottom pants flowing around your legs despite the thicker material. On the practical side, it had pockets, and the looseness of the pants allowed you to strap your lightsaber to your inner thigh. That was also why, like yesterday, Obi-Wan secured the pin to your strap, his fingers lingering a moment longer on your collarbone, a subtle caress to the skin above your breast.
“It’s the wives” you say later, your voice low, briefing him on your findings from the previous night while munching on some local fruit. “Did you notice how they are all from different worlds?”
“The king steals them from their home. People he deals in business with, or poorer, farther-rim systems. He offers protection to whoever is the sovereign there. In return, they have to give up their first daughter as wife, or son as slave – I don’t know what is worse. And they have to send two child here each year, a boy and a girl, elected by their people as the most beautiful.”
“I can’t believe such an elite slave trade exists with such young ones. The younglings are to be auctioned. It starts tonight. You can already place your bid with the respective matrona. Most buyers are from the core planets too.”
“They must hold a record somewhere.”
“The First Wife. She coordinates everything. She should have an office. And Obi-Wan, we might want to sneak a matrona back to Coruscant as witness – not all of them want to be here nor agree with this. Stars, Anakin would hate this place.”
He nodded approvingly, his look shutting you up as Perry appeared in your line of sight with the First Wife. She greeted the both of you, saying she insisted on meeting each customer personally, asking about if you’ve already spotted any preferred candidate, and what kind of leverage you were interested to offer up as deposit to secure a higher chance of acquiring them. You kept your answers short, ignoring Perry’s eyes on you, mentioning the young twi’lek, and a shipment of unrefined oil and spice, lying perfectly when needed and sticking to the cover story the Council had prepared. But then:
“I couldn’t help but overhear – who his this dear Anakin?”
You felt Obi-Wan tight tense up under where your hand was. You sent him a reassuring nudge through the force, putting on your most tender smile and said:
“Our son, your Majesty. He is ten.”
“Ah, then you might be interested in our little Saya. She’s a bit younger, human, but it’s good to have them match a younger age. Makes them more malleable, you know? I will have her matrona and her meet you tonight.”
You thanked her politely, saying you will need to discuss the matter with your husband first but appreciate the gesture. She updated you both on the activities the king has had organized for the guests; a visit of the baths for the females, a hunting game for the males, and left, moving on to the next table. Obi-Wan was admiring your quick wit, growling after Perry’s insistent gaze on you, at the fact you will again be separated, and you were still processing the interaction.
“Brides,” you whispered in horror. “They’re selling the girls as child bride, Obi-Wan.”
His hand squeezed yours in understanding, and you both decided to head back to your room to discuss your next plan of action – getting evidence. Tonight.
…………………………………………………………………………………………
When you got back to your room after hours dipping in various bath waters, Obi-Wan had scrambled a note that they had come back early from the hunt and already had to join the dinner party. You took yet another shower today – who could have thought so many different baths existed? Mud, sea salt, ocean salt, dead salt (whatever that was). This night, you opted for a an exquisite chiffon blue dress (his favourite colour), again with an open back (you both secretly enjoyed when his fingers absentmindedly caressed your skin there) with a slit high on your leg (but not high enough to reveal your saber) and your hair tied in a high bun (maybe his fingers will wander to your neck too) and when you left your room that evening feeling like a million credit, you arrived at the window where we was waiting for you in the hall just in time to catch the sunset.
“It’s beautiful.” You said as you reached his side.
And despite the horrific truth behind the mission, and the exhausting day he just had putting up with the other crime lords talking about the slaves like lifeless objects, he thought you must have been bathing in the very same sunset because when he replied with “yes, beautiful” it was you and not the window he was looking at. His knuckles again found their home on the skin on your back (you screamed a little inside) and you could feel his chest pressed into your side, his warmth welcomed on your bare flesh. And then his breath against the back of your ear, the ghost of his lips barely brushing against your pulse.
“I like it.”
“What?”
“Your beard. I wasn’t sure before, but I’ve decided I like it.”
“Oh. Anything else you’ve decided to like about my body in my absence? Perhaps I could give you a tour?”
“Obi-Wan,” you gasped, amused. “Are you flirting with me?”
A light chuckle escaped his lips before they found their way to the soft skin behind your ear again. “Perhaps.” His voice was sweet, teasing. “What kind of husband would I be if I did not woo my beloved wife every now and then?” His lips dipped lower to the crook of your neck and pressed a chaste kiss there, his stubble deliciously burning your skin. You turned around, hiding your shiver. His impossibly deep cerulean eyes were smiling at you, and you swore you saw them trail down your cleavage first and you rolled your eyes at him behind your lashes. His cheeks were flushed, a smug smile spread across his face. You really wanted to feel those lips on your too, now. Thinking of something to do to break this tension that surely you weren’t the only one feeling, your hands went to readjust the collar of his tunic.
“While I do highly enjoy this, I need you focused, Kenobi.”
“Given how little I can do without your presence with the wives, and the drinks I was peer pressured into drinking, I might let you take the lead tonight.”
You made a point to tease him about it the whole evening when guests were called, and like last night, the matronas were already aligned with their protégés. Unlike last night, the atmosphere was tense, and you could already see quarrels rising when two buyers started bidding wars for a same subject. You refused the drinks the servants were offering (one of us has to stay sober, you said with a wink) and led Obi-Wan to the little twi’lek from yesterday. Speeches were made, more bid placed, food served, live music played and peoples have started dancing when Obi-Wan excused himself to the fresher (your skin burned where his had was resting this whole time). Perry approached you.
“Will the lovely lady grant me this dance?”
With no valid reason to excuse yourself, you had to accept. Immediately, his hand was too low on your back and his grip on your hand too tight, his breath smelling heavily of spirit. “Your husband is very protective of you”. You did not like the way he whispered into your ear; too close, too wet. “Would not agree to share you – and I’ve never heard prices go this high.” You tried to pull away a little, but he only pulled you closer, his hand now even lower. “Did he tell you I killed the largest game today, hm? I shall deserve a prize for this, don’t you think, pretty thing?”
You were about to get back to him, ready use some force to get out of his grip if you must.
“That’s enough.”
Obi-Wan was back between the two of you, jaw clenched and eyes dark, his voice deep and threatening. You took advantage of this distraction to untangle yourself from your unwanted dance partner, who gave you both a polite nod, an irritating smirk never leaving his face before leaving.
“Are you alright little one?” His hands were cupping your face, thumbs tracing circles on your cheeks. You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch.
“Drunken men and their wandering hands aren’t enough to upset me, Obi-Wan.”
“My brave girl.”
He pressed his lips to your forehead, pulling you closer to him. Your heart skipped a beat at the praise.
“What’s the trouble?”
“These men –“ he looked around, “tried to bid to have you, all day. Perry was the most insistent.”
“And?”
“No one will lay a hand on your as long you are mi- you are with me”.
He wanted to say mine. “You are mine”. Because you were, and you knew it, but he would not dare to call you as such yet. You said nothing and placed one hand on his shoulder, taking his hand in the other. He picked up on your unspoken requests, balancing his weight on his legs, and soon your head was resting on his chest as he tried to clumsily lead you to the rhythm of the music, trying to follow a melody neither of you knew. He may have stepped on your feet once or twice, but you didn’t mind. You looked up to his face and his gaze was already on yours, and your hand went from his shoulder to the back of his head, pushing it down to your neck because you couldn’t stand him looking at you like that without your stomach doings somersaults.
You looked up to the ceiling, the large mirror reflecting the dining hall, a whirlwind of people and tints and tones tangled together, mixed into an incoherent splatter of colours that made you dizzy. You tried to spot your own reflection, wondering what you’d look like in his arms, but you couldn’t make out a single face in the mist of the dancing crowd.
What you did spot, however, was the First Wife, her bright golden reflection standing out from the crowd, slightly apart. And then it clicked, and you were back in the present moment. The mission. The girls. The records. You whispered in his ear, your voice tinted with urgency.
“She spies on people. The mirror. We can’t wait until the end like we planned. We must slip away while the room is still full, it will make it harder to spot us.”
He agreed silently, and with a few more steps and twists and turns, gradually led you through the mass of dancers, towards to back door, and when you were far enough, you waited for that beat, that moment to sneak out of the dining hall in silence. Obi-Wan produced a computer system key from his pocket and lead you through corridors and stairs. “I spied on her when we got back earlier. Her quarters are above the halls,” he explained. And that where you went. You hoped his inebriety has lowered and kept your senses in alert as you arrived in a pink clay corridor, in front of a large wooden door. You trusted Obi-Wan that this was the right place, and when you found the control panel, he gave you the system key. You were fast enough, and with a little bit of guidance from the Force, managed to unlock the door.
“Be quick,” you whispered, and he slipped into the office, leaving you to guard the passage.
And he was quick, reappearing with a triumphant smile, slipping what appeared to be a holochip under his tunic. You proceeded to attempt to close the door, only for it to get stuck half way. To make matter worse, you could hear footsteps coming down the corridor, approaching at a steady pace. Calling on the Force to keep you grounded, you focused on the key turning in the panel, aware of all the notches position it went through. Then the door closed and locked, just as the footsteps were reaching you, a flash of golden yellow hinting something bad, and before you could think, you grabbed Obi-Wan’s hand and pulled him to you, pressing your back to the wall, your dress covering the still open control panel.
“What are you doing?”
“Covering us.”
You put your arms around his neck and pulled him for a kiss. He didn’t react at first, slightly dumbfounded and taken aback, but once he caught up to your thinking he snaked his arms around your waist and pressed himself further against you. His lips responded to your, engaging them in a silent conversation that only grew more heated at you heard the footstep stop. Your heart must have also stopped too, and you weren’t breathing anymore, too aware of the pair of eyes on the two of you, too excited by the tongue that was now requesting entrance to your mouth, and you granted. Conversations turned into a dance, tongues trying to dominate the other, teeth grazing and nipping at lips. You closed your eyes, this was all too much. And then he moved down to your neck, his tongue laving at the skin there, tracing kisses into a pattern down to your shoulder. You felt his hand reach behind you, down your leg, his body following his movement and his lips now nipping at the side of your arm. A slight tug on your dress, and he was reaching back up, his hand now dipping beneath the slip of your dress, pulling your leg to hook it around hip. His fingers kneaded the skin on your inner tight, and you gasped at his audacity, but when you felt something cold pressed again your skin, you realized he had removed the computer system key and secured it to your strap, next to your lightsaber.
You heard the footsteps again, their echo a diminuendo as they departed. And Obi-Wan heard it to, but he did nothing to pull away, and you did nothing either. Instead, his ministrations toned down, growing softer, turning into tender nipping at your jaw, timid kisses on each corners of your lips. You slowly withdrew your leg from his side and he sighed at the absence of contact. You kept your eyes shut, knowing that if you were to open them, the blue gaze that would meet you will be your end. So you waited until he relaxed his grip on your waste, his teeth grazing your skin one last time, and there was nothing left of the two jedi on a mission but panting bodies and hungry stares and cheeks flushed with blood and intertwined fingers. Then a scary thought crossed your mind – this meant nothing, this was just a cover, and you turned your face away, gently pushing him back. He released you, trying to regain his composure. You kicked the door of the control panel closed, and when you looked back at him, nothing on his face betrayed the events that just transpired – not even wet lips. He was all serious eyes and stern face, and you both agreed to head back to your quarters to contact the Council immediately.
…………………………………………………………………………………………
The holo-records Obi-Wan stole were sent via a secure pulse transmission to the council, which revealed that numerous high placed personalities from Republic planets were involved in this slave ring. The Senate thus took the matter in their hands, deciding to send their law reinforcement for arrests before the sales would be concluded at the end of the week. Obi-Wan and you were to leave the premises before things got dirtier, and a few standard hours later, you were both back in your Jedi robes, all lavish make-up and attire stored away in their original travel bag, like a circus would fold up its tent after a show. You stayed silent as Obi-Wan typed in the coordinated back to Coruscant, drawing your legs up to your chin in the co-pilot’s chair.
You turned the wedding band around your finger, the last piece of your costume you had not gotten yourself to remove yet, thoughts wandering around the symbolism and the implications that came with such a small piece of metal. Obi-Wan sensed your inner turmoil and, the autopilot engaged, turned his chair to face you, taking your hands in his.
“What is it, love?”
“The band. It is strange to think that two people fall in love, and the whole foundation of their trust, their intimacy, everything they share is held like a promise on one finger, and taking this away means taking everything away.”
“Very much like us, our lightsabers and the Order. It is but another token to a lifetime commitment.”
“We commit to a code, to a place, a lifestyle and the Force. But do we ever really commit to anyone? I feel like a fraud wearing it.”
He gave you a strange look, and you hoped he understood that you were not questioning your allegiance to the Order. Just where my heart belongs, you thought. He stayed silent, his fingers playing with said band, turning it around your finger. You couldn’t tell where this was coming from, thinking that your emotional ramble was no longer valid now that the mission was over and he would not understand why you suddenly felt so empty – because it means going back to being Jedi, and not unlawfully wed husband and wife. But then he pressed both your hands to his forehead, bending in front of you like he did that time he was crying over his fears in your room.
“Please don’t ever think what happened on that planet was meaningless. There is no one else in the galaxy with whom I would have wanted to indulge in this experience but you, and I would like to do it for as long as you’ll have me. If you’ll have me.”
Your heart skipped a beat, and your thoughts had not caught up with your words when you blurted out:
“I want you Obi-Wan. Always.”
You pulled him up to you. His lips met yours again, and this time you knew it was real. It was soft at first, as if he never kissed you before, lips exploring lips and when he familiarized himself with the map of your curves and corners, his teeth nipped at your bottom lip, his tongue seeking yours. You opened your mouth to him, and he pulled you up, pressing your body into his and you melted a little as you became one with him. His arms wrapped you in a tight embrace and your hands found their way around his neck, in his hair, tugging the lock affectionately. He hummed in content, you sighed in relief.
You knew this could – would – mean long discussions about your values, the conflicting dichotomy between listening to your feelings but not indulging in them, that it would mean more secrets, stolen glances and forbidden touches, another perception of the time and space between you and him, parsecs and moons away from each other during missions. You smiled against his lips as you thought about how things always come in pairs; light and dark, moons and suns, seas and skies, days and night, and how maybe, you and him could be the two counterparts of your own binary system.
86 notes · View notes
crystalgirl259 · 3 years
Text
The Flame and the Dragon Chapter 29
Chapter 29: Brotherly Advice
Cole had to face it, making out with someone was not the worst thing the staff had caught him doing, but that didn't make him or Kai feel any better. Harumi had already left with little Nelson, trying to salvage the boy's remaining innocence while they still could. Shade groaned, crossing his arms with mock annoyance, completely unaffected by Cole's incensed glare. After he had heard Neuro screaming, he took a risk and abandoned his post in the kitchen.
He was shocked to find Neuro and their friends screaming along with Kai and Cole who were both in an awkward position on the bed.
It didn't take him long to figure out what had happened. Neuro just slouched in his seat and pressed his fingers to his lower temple. Across from them, Cole was growling like a caged beast. Jay, Echo, Tox, and Ronin all looked at the floor or off into space, unable to look anyone in the face without blushing. Kai buried his mortified face in his hands, refusing to even meet the perverse chef's smirk. After the incident, Kai had practically kicked everyone out of his room, grabbed the clothes they had bought him, and locked himself in the bathroom.
Though he could still feel the chill of his recent illness, Kai felt an instant relief being fully clothed.
If he simply been naked when everyone arrived he wouldn't have worried. He would have changed into the clothes just as calmly as he had since the day he arrived. However, being caught with his captor, the very Master of the Castle no less, in such a compromising position that shattered the youth's entire demeanor. Though he might be naïve in matters of seduction, he didn't deny that he had enjoyed his time with Cole before they had been interrupted.
Now Kai just wanted to curl up and hide until he forgot this was over.
Despite the thick sweater, warm overcoat, pants, gloves, and socks, Kai felt naked and exposed in front of everyone's awkward eyes. Unable to take anymore, he stood on wobbly legs and headed back to bed. He almost groaned when he saw everyone was still here. He might hide in the library until everyone forgot about this. He wouldn't delude himself into thinking there was any chance Shade wouldn't tell the whole castle about this if they didn't already know.
Shade interrupted, scooping up the abandoned teapot, poured the dark green liquid into a cup, and shoved it into Kai's hands.
"I fixed this for you and you better drink the whole pot while it's still hot 'cause I'm not bringing you another one." He warned and Kai opened his mouth to protest but after a hard look from Cole and Shade and looks of concern from the boys, he sipped the hot tea. Heat immediately filled his being but he grimaced and stiffened at the strange combination of bitter, mint, and sweetness crafting an unpleasant blend. He gasped after swallowing a large gulp and shuddered.
"What's in this?" He asked, pleadingly. The chef plopped onto the edge of Kai's bed, ignoring the teen's disgruntled scowl.
"Just something that should knock that chill right out of your system, and you better drink all of it, or you'll just break my heart." He shrugged as he refilled Kai's cup with a wink. Kai sank into the pillows and downed the cup quickly. His mouth and throat burned from the hot liquid and he felt heat suddenly flood into his system but the bland taste in his mouth made him feel sick.
"Ugh, this tastes awful."
"Most things that are good for you are awful, like staying in bed and getting plenty of sleep." Cole teased lightly. Kai glared and opened his mouth to protest but was instantly silenced when Cole tilted his chin and kissed his cheek. Kai forgot to breathe. For a moment, he forgot everyone else was there. Cole stepped away and fished the comforter off the floor and draped it over Kai's body that was now propped against the pillows. He then took a thicker fur blanket Harumi had left out from the previous night and added that as well until his flame was safely tucked beneath the warmth.
"I'll be checking on you every so often, so don't even think of getting up." He warned, kissing Kai's forehead and ushered his staff out the door. Neuro smirked and dragged Shade behind him back to the kitchen before he faded. Jay, Tox, Ronin, and Echo were not far behind him. Once gone, Cole handed Kai a second teacup. "Make sure you drink that as well, I don't want you dehydrating either; I'll ask Neuro to fix you something but I have no doubt the whole house will know you're awake by the time I get downstairs." He chuckled.
Monetarily breaking his trance, Kai shook his head and pulled on the neck of his thick sweater suddenly feeling very hot.
"Can I at least open the curtain? Get some light in here? It's too stuffy," He complained; the thick air felt hot and bothersome. Cole pondered for a moment before shaking his head.
"I'll put the fire out, but that's all; your immune system is still too weak, and the last thing I want is you catching pneumonia, too." He said as he got up and opened the fireplace across from Kai's bed. With a flap of his wings, the air blew out the flames. The resulting back wave sent a refreshing wind across Kai's front.
"Thank you." He said but glared at the teacup.
"Glaring at it won't make it go away you know," He chuckled and Kai growled in response.
"I really think this is all too much," He sighed as h looked away with a turn of his nose and set the tea on the nightstand.
"Maybe, but I don't like taking chance with someone I care about." He smiled warmly as he removed himself from the fireplace and swept to his flame's side and kissed his forehead. Before Kai could answer, the prince pulled away and left the room, a small smile on his face and he closed the door. Kai touched the cheek Cole had kissed and hissed at how cold his fingertips felt. A sudden lump in his throat made him cough violently until he grabbed the tea and downed as much of it as he could without coughing.
Maybe the tea wasn't such a bad idea.
Kai grimaced and set the empty cup next to the still steaming teapot. Kai pulled off the thick sweater, leaving himself in just his shirt, and gently tossed it to the end of the bed. Then he settled down beneath the thick covers and lied on his flat stomach. He rubbed his shoulders more out of confusion than cold. That had been the first time Cole had shown him any open displays of affection, let alone in front of his staff. Before, anything they had done together had been in the shelter of the library or Cole's room.
The most open they had gone was probably the dining room or outside, but even then it was only when Cole was positive they were alone.
Kai assumed that was for the sake of the servants. It must have been uncomfortable seeing their Lord partake in such open displays of affection, let alone with another person, no matter how much they encouraged it. A flush of heat darkened Kai's face when memories of that morning flashed before his mind. Embarrassment flooded his being at the memory of being caught. What they were about to do suddenly hit him with the blunt force of a sledgehammer.
He buried his face in his pillow dug one hand beneath the pillows, and another through his sweaty bangs.
Shade's bitter tea was working after all, and the crimson blush of the morning's events only made his body heat up unnaturally fast. He didn't know what he was going to do. The brunette released a muffled moan and collapsed as if sleep would erase all his confusion...
****************
True to his word, Kai had obeyed Cole's orders and reluctantly remained on bed rest until Neuro and Echo firmly agreed that he was fully recovered, but by the end of the week, the lack of movement and being trapped in his room had driven Kai to the last of his nerves. He would have left the room if he didn't fear the wrath of the gossiping staff. That and he was worried Cole would get upset if he disobeyed him again. Fortunately, despite Cole's insistence that Kai needed as much rest as possible, Kai had had lots of company since the entire castle had been more than ecstatic when Shade flooded the staff with news of his awakening.
That and the buzzing with gossip about what had occurred in his room after Cole had forbidden the chef from speaking a word.
Ultra Violet and Harumi had come to check up on him occasionally while Neuro and Shade would bring him food. Echo would check his health and on more than one occasion Nelson would be with him, making sure Kai ate or drank all of his medicine he had been given, though most of the time he would just talk to him. Kai had been extremely grateful for the conversations since on more than one occasion he swore he would go insane from lying in bed all day.
Thankfully the boy didn't seem to affect by seeing Cole and Kai making out.
When the brunette thought about it, with what that child and everyone also had been through, seeing two people kissing would be the least of their trauma. Nelson was not much older than Lloyd and Kai could cry at the thought of his little brother and sister going through anything like that. Then again, he could cry just thinking about them at all. He hoped that they were settling into their new normal, without him. Perhaps if things keeping going well for him and Cole, Kai might be able to convince the prince to let him visit them from time to time.
But with what happened the last time Cole thought he would leave, Kai didn't think it would be wise to ask.
That didn't mean he didn't miss them every minute of every day since he was imprisoned in this castle. He also missed the boys always barging into his room asking to play games. He didn't blame them for keeping their distances at first, knowing full well he wouldn't be able to look either one of them in the eyes without blushing. Fortunately, however, on an occasion when the staff was currently occupied, they had been charged with keeping Kai entertained as it was Jay's profession.
That didn't mean it was uncomfortable at first.
After a few awkward stares and embarrassing questions, they confirmed that he was fine. The four servants were happy to finally see with their own eyes that Kai was alright. They were so happy that they all sprang onto his bed and hugged him tightly. Kai thought he would burst, but he just laughed and didn't complain. For the rest of the afternoon, they had done nothing but play games. Since then the quartet made it their personal job to see that Kai was kept happy and entertained while he recovered.
During their time together, Kai admitted that he had been scared about doing the deed with Cole.
He did care about Cole, more than he had anyone other than his siblings, but he wasn't ready for that stage of a relationship. Maybe when he was a little older and dated Cole a little longer he would be ready. They would have to see how things played out between them. However, it didn't solve one problem that had been on Kai's mind for well over a week. Cole hadn't come to see him since the morning he had awakened...
****************
Cole sighed happily as he walked down a familiar hallway, a large bouquet of bright, crimson red roses and Griffin's newest lace creation tucked securely under his arm. His razor-sharp claws were extremely careful not to damage the delicate red petals. Once he concluded that the lace was simply for decorative persons and that the tailor was not attempting anything, he had gladly agreed to bring it to Kai. He had felt insanely giddy when Echo had come back from his daily check-up on Kai.
He confirmed that Kai was finally healthy enough to be up and about but that it was still best he remain indoors and continue to dress appropriately for the Winter to be safe.
Griffin, in his excitement, presented Cole with a new outfit he and the girls had been stitching in their spare time while the others kept Kai company. But at the same time, part of him felt extremely nervous. An emotion previously deemed unthinkable for the Dragon Lord. Yet for all his confidence and arrogance, Cole honestly felt like he had rather face an army than carry on down the hallway to his captive's bedroom. But still, he pressed on.
After all, it would be the first time he had seen him since the morning he and Kai almost slept together.
At least he believed that was the modern term for what it was. The memory made him growl in anger and shame at his own stupidity. How could he allow himself to lose control so easily? In this form with its superior strength, sharp claws, rough scales, and powerful muscle structure he could have easily damaged or severely hurt Kai with his brutality. Never mind the fact that Kai had just woken up from a coma and was recovering from freezing death.
Both of which Cole had caused thanks to his own paranoia.
Cole paused for a bit to cover his face, but his sharp claws gently poked his skin causing him to pull back. He glared at it with a mixture of hatred and disgust. He didn't have fingers, just curved claws that furled and unfurled according to his whim. His palms and hand was nothing more than a paw coated in rough scales and soft underpads. His scaled tail twitched almost arrogantly at his side. His disappointed wings hung limply about his back and he exhaled an exasperated sigh.
He had been very grateful Jay and the others had taken the liberty to keep him informed on Kai's reaction and feelings about what happened between them.
He knew he shouldn't have been surprised by them though. Kai was roughly the same age he was when he had first become interested in physical intimacy. Over the years, curiosity and loneliness had compelled the young king to seek relationships that branched beyond emotional commitments. It didn't surprise him Kai had the same urges. But Cole had to keep reminding himself that Kai was still young, compared to him. He was young enough to be his grandson, even if Cole's personality hadn't evolved much beyond his twenty-one years.
It didn't surprise him that giving himself to someone probably still scared Kai.
Again, he was grateful the others had taken upon themselves to keep Kai company and trusted him with the information they had received. Cole wasn't naïve. He knew even without his dragon form he was an intimidating figure. With it, it only made things more difficult. He knew even if his and Kai's relationship had been healthy and prosperous, and built on their mutual affection and trust in one another rather than the lust for physical contact, the desire was still there.
The emotional attachment only made the need much stronger, and that much more terrifying.
But it didn't change the fact that Kai was still human and he was a dragon and the physical difference created another problem. Cole wasn't about to deny that he wanted Kai, but he had known for a while it was much deeper than lust. He wanted Kai in a way he had never wanted anyone or anything else. Want couldn't even begin to describe what he had felt. Need didn't sound right either. He wanted Kai in mind, body, and soul, but at the same time, he had also wanted Kai to want him in the same way.
Just being near Kai was enough to heighten all of Cole's senses.
Kai's smiles and laughs and clever wit were enough to make him smile, even laugh for the first time in decades. Kai's fiery spirit and temper both challenged and delighted him at every turn, but Kai's kindness and gentle, fun-loving nature never ceased to amaze him, and though his hot-headedness and obstinacy annoyed him to the bitter end, there was simply nothing to dislike about his flame. The fact that Kai was by far the most beautiful person he had ever met.
He possessed gorgeous amber eyes that left him breathless with every gaze was only a bonus.
His flawlessly tanned skin looked like it had been carved by the very sun and glowed in the right light. Kai truly was a gem, and in the past, Cole's arrogant self would have said such a gem should only be his, but now he wondered if he even deserved the right to call Kai his. Not when he had taken so much from him. Not when there was so much he couldn't give him, even if Kai willingly gave him everything. Kai deserved so much more than what Cole could give him.
He deserved everything.
He deserved to live his life as free as a bird. He should be surrounded by everyone that cared about him. To be loved by someone who could love him more than anything else until the end of time. Not a prisoner to the man who tore him away from everything in hopes of using him to break the curse still looming over his head. Even if Kai did return Cole's feelings it wouldn't change anything. Cole swore that come spring the cruel mistress known as fate would return to reap his soul.
Kai deserved better than that.
"Are those for Kai?" A familiar voice suddenly asked and Cole was immediately taken out of his depressing thoughts by the innocent question, but the tone held ulterior motives. Cole stopped and followed the voice of his Steward. Zane leaned against a pillar with his arms crossed over his chest. Instead of his stoic expression, he sported a sharp, proud smile and confidence, almost arrogant eyes. Cole matched the steward's smirk with one of his own.
"As a matter of fact, yes they are, I thought he'd enjoy them, and Griffin was just begging me to let him try them on," Cole said with a confident flare and continued his quest. Zane didn't answer. Instead, he waited. When Cole walked past him he finally replied.
"He's pretty spoiled for a prisoner." He said, causing Cole to stop in his tracks, and whirled around.
"I beg your pardon," He spoke dangerously low. Zane's expression faded in an instant. His neutral mask returned.
"I'm only stating a fact."
"You dare jest about this?!" Cole accused, exasperated.
"I never jest." Zane cut him off and turned around to meet Cole's dangerous eyes with his own grave icy ones. "Think about it Cole, even though no one would dare even think of him as such, and he possesses an extraordinary amount of freedom, he is technically still your prisoner." He explained. Cole wanted to scream, protest, yell, and scold and dismiss his steward in a way that would ensure he never dared to disrespect him again.
Instead, he was silenced by his own anger.
Not at his steward, but at himself. There was no denying the truth in the man's words. He had just confirmed it not moments before. But hearing it from someone else, having that fact that the boy he dared call his own was, in reality, his captive, sent him into such a state of anger and remorse he couldn't speak. His body could only shake in fury. Zane said nothing to that but waited patiently for his Master to regain control of the emotion raging within him.
He watched Cole's trembling paw move to cover his face and run a hand grip his raven locks.
He watched Cole exhale and his posture become that of a man graciously accepting defeat.
"What would you have me do then, Zane? Though I am bitter to admit it, you're correct, Kai is still my prisoner, so how do you suppose I go about fixing it?" He asked.
"I thought that would be obvious; how else? Set him free." Zane chuckled. The words hit Cole like a hurricane knocking him off his feet. Each word dropped like a stone in a well. He had to set Kai free? Send him back to where he came from, away from his side, possibly forever? The thought clutched at his heart like a deathly cold hand squeezing the breath from his body, filling him with a viperous terror he couldn't see.
"How can you even suggest that? You were the one who suggested he might be my key and now you're telling me to send him away" Cole asked, his words were all breath. Zane raised an eyebrow, unaffected by the prince's outburst.
"You misunderstand, I said you should set him free not send him away."
"There's a difference?" Cole hissed.
"Let me finish; first, you should set him free, assure him that he is no longer a prisoner, then ask him to stay with you." He asked but Cole was dumbfounded. "Ask him to stay, not as a prisoner, or captive, or hostage or guest or even as the key; simply because you want him to stay with you, not out of any obligation, but out of his own free will," Zane answered his master's unasked question, his confident smirk more evident.
"You think I should ask him to remain with me, purely because I don't ever want to be parted from him?" Cole asked, bewildered.
"Don't you?"
"More than anything."
"I'm glad." Zane smiled as he removed himself from the pillar and leaned forward against the banister of the hallway. "Everyone in this castle cares for you Cole, we more than just respect you as our Master, we all want you to be happy and Kai makes you happy, and I have little doubt that he's the one for you; all you have to do is accept it and we'll accept you," Zane spoke with the purest of loyalty. Cole nodded, grateful for his Steward's words.
"And what of you, Zane?" He asked, his turn to flash the smirk of a cat with all the cream. Zane's eyes narrowed.
"I don't know what you're talking about," He replied, but in his voice, it was a lie.
"Come now, Zane, I know you're not naïve, nor are you oblivious, I severely doubt you haven't noticed your own brother's intrigue?" He smirked but Zane said nothing, choosing to close his eyes. His face was a cross between a pout of annoyance and a scowl of defeat. "How long have you known?" Cole asked, crossing his arms.
"I've known before he did." He answered, knowing it didn't exactly answer the question. A chuckle escaped him. "Back when they were too young to know what it was they were feeling; ironic how romantic feelings are obvious to everyone but those experiencing them."
"Perhaps, but perhaps that's the nature of love, it doesn't see with the eyes," Cole smirked as he leaned against the banister, next to Zane.
"That's true." Zane agreed though he sounded reluctant. Cole gave him a sympathetic smile.
"You do know no one can love him more than Jay does, I think that is more than clear."
"He's the one for Echo," Zane admitted, grudgingly. "I've known that for a while, too."
"You know he's not the child he used to be, Echo, I mean, I remember when he used to be a timid little boy who would follow you everywhere but was always exceedingly shy around you; I always thought that was because you acted more of a father to him than a brother, but not everyone has chosen to remain stoic this last century as I have, some of us have used this time to mature, evolve, and become stronger," Cole explained.
"Yes, Echo doesn't need a father anymore, he needs a brother and not one to take care of him, he has Jay for that, and he's mature enough now to know exactly what that means and what it entitles and to be completely honest," Zane spoke like he was irritated but there was legitimate respect and pride in his voice. "I truly do believe Jay is the one for him, and that just annoys me even more!" He growled as he gripped the banister. Cole couldn't help but laugh.
"Oh come now, Zane, you knew Echo would grow up eventually? That's no reason to treat Jay like he's trying to take Echo away from you."
"He is!" Zane snapped, before regaining his composure. "In a matter of speaking." He sighed and Cole laughed again.
"It's no wonder they've found it impossible to tell you?" He asked with another light laugh and Zane snorted.
"I really do hate being right sometimes." He huffed as he regained his composure and lifted himself to meet the prince. "So, will you be taking my advice then?" He asked and Cole remained still. His face neutral and his eyes betraying no emotion.
"I'm not sure." He replied and it was Zane's turn to smile.
"Do you doubt he will say yes?" He asked, catching Cole off guard. He pondered them for a moment, then turned on his heels and continued towards Kai's room.
"I appreciate your assistance, Zane." He called over his shoulder.
"That is my profession." The Steward nodded as he watched Cole disappear down the hall. A moment later, Cole found himself strolling down a familiar hallway. Zane's words continued to run around in his head. He smiled when he found himself outside Kai and room and shifted his clothed burden to open the door. He already knew Kai's answer...
8 notes · View notes
silencebetrayer · 3 years
Text
Little People - An Irish Fairy Tale Part 2
The reign of dreams and roses
"Don't bother them, my dear. You were lucky they found your little trap hilarious!" "Mister O'Reilly, what happened in this valley? Why is everyone warning me against the little people?" A long silence followed, during which the old man sipped his Connemara peated whiskey. "Sweetheart, you may hear a lot of tales down at the pub, but also in our family there's something to tell. You've never known your cousin Billy, haven't you? Well, he might tell you about that time he became slave of the Queen of Spiny Roses for a whole moon cycle." "Slave?" "Don't be surprised. They're ancient souls. They conceive only those rapports they can understand and here in the citadel for a thousand years there was a Count and his servants. They don't understand this free life thing, without owners, where everyone seems equal to each other. They have a very strict hierarchy and I can promise you.. if you keep giving enough rope, they will tie you up. At least, that's what happened to Billy." "What did Billy have to do for the Queen?" "At that time Billy would have sold his soul to fill his glass, to those vices the good people like to cling. A night in the woods a little crowd of fairies bumped into  giant Billy, the Queen ordered her folks to bring their guest a glass of the bitter Spirit's nectar. He guzzle that witches' brew without a single word. He could swear it was tasty like ambrosia of all forgotten Gods. The Queen claimed a payment for his drink and Billy started to mock her 'Is it I pay you?' said Billy 'could I not just take you up and put you in my pocket as easily as a blackberry?' The Queen did not let go of that insolence and the good lords  tightened the invisible harness they caught him in and led him to their ruler like a steed. She imposed a vow of obedience till the end of next moon cycle and on occasion she showed off their rivals her power over him, claiming his tongue as footrest." "I don't get what you're saying, sir. You did tell me we've got power over fairy manifestation.. that it depends on our thoughts and our desires, our hopes and fears." The old man smiled "From what slavery would a man be freed? From drink-slavery or from a queen-slavery?" The girl understood that story was concealing a metaphor of redemption and humility. The old man's stories are indeed so bewildering: you never know where the symbol ends and the anecdote begins. "Anyway when we found Billy he was covered in stings from the waist up. He said the ball of Roses court had been held on his chest. A ball where every damsel's heel is a thorn of a flower and all skirts are petals. To us he had fallen in a field full of nettles." "What a strange story. I would never be enslaved by such a wicked Queen. Why didn't he rise up against her, I wonder." The old man shrugged muttering a proverb of his parts "The lake is not burdened by its swan, the steed by its bridle, or a man by the soul that is in him".
***
That night Elizabeth wrote a quick note in Gaelic by the windowsill:"I want to meet you. Come and see me.". She left a sugar cube as gift. The girl rolled over her bed restlessly, hoping her message would reach its destination and, as often happens, sleep came  all of a sudden, like a swoon. She found herself in a very strange place never seen before. It resempled an ancient kitchen on the basement of a castle, with no windows, red briks as walls and roof, painted cardboard as wallpaper on one side, a makeshift chimney. Outside the noise of the rain was heavy and emptied out of the comforting sensation with which it gifted melancholic souls. She was identifying in that room a combination of minuscule things. All chairs were small wooden cubes of an old child's game, and so was the table. They weren't comfy, but pieces of cloth stuffed with wool, roughly sewn, gave softness to the seat. A pocket mirror served as tray for a miniature porcelaine tea set, a bit chipped, but lovely at first sight. The sugar cube she had left in gift was lying right next to it, with an awl sticked at its center. The girl realized she was falling in a bizarre dream scenario, but something real was also taking place. "Is this a dream?" "Of course, little girl" answered a middle-aged male voice from the outside. The small door of that sort of kitchen was a metal shutter. A man was moving it with his shoulder, carrying a bundle of sticks or twigs bound together and a bucket of water. Covered with a waterproof plastic bag, the man laid down all the materials and cast a glance over the table to be sure everything was in place. His big nose and bushy eyebrows gave him an austere touch and there was something of the  craftsman's wisdom in his skilled hands and his silence. He hunged his unusual coat on the knight's head of a chessboard (his clothes rack, she guessed). The girl was paralyzed and hugged herself in the nightgown. She wasn't cold, the atmosphere was warm enough, she was feeling a sense of vulnerability that made her closed off. The man took care of the fireplace and fill the water on the teapot. "Come closer to the fireplace, kid!" He had a raspy voice and an unjustified scowl to her feeling. "Why'd you bring me here?" He looked her up and down like a fool, then he nodded toward the table where a piece of paper was serving as tablecloth. 'I want to meet you.' read the girl, recognizing her handwriting. "But.. are you Tuvia!?" After a moment of silence, during which the man was trying to  catch the sincerity of the question, he laughed outright "AHAHAH Me? That leaf in the wind? Do I seem a rain spirit?! I thought you were a smart one, kid, but if these are the premises.." The girl didn't seem to appreciate the little man humour "So Sir.. you picked up a message that was not addressed to you. Why should you interfere with my correspondence?!" "Correspondence? Look, sweetie.. what do you think we have a mail service here in Bluebell forest? We give more values to a tree then your own kind.. we don't waste their sheets for a futile message." "Who the hell are you, anyway? Little people? What are you doing here in my dreams?" "That's how we meet for the first time. We don't accept invitations from strangers." The teapot started to splutter on the fireplace, the steam bubbles looked like small domes and the water sounded so much deeper then usual.. she understood that her size was making every sound so alien and unsettling. From the infusion aromas of wildflowers started to spread in the room. "What's your name?" "My dear, what sort of question is that? I'm the guardian spirit of O'Really's family. My name's O'Really, of course" "So.. Do Guardian spirits take the name from the family they protect?" He didn't answer. He didn't seem to like rhetorical question, but was forcing himself to stay kind and served the tea calmly with a piece of sugar cube in it. "Listen, child. We Home spirits don't talk more than is strictly necessary. Our silence is our invisibility. So let me get right to the point: you heard elder O'Reilly advice before.. Do not upset the spirits of these woods. He's telling you this for your own good" Being called 'child" from that Spirit turned Elizabeth against him. She changed attitude and the tone of voices turned sharp and bitter. "So you just don't collect someonelse's letters, you also eavesdrop their conversations!" Talking to her was a great exercise in patience, he acknowledged. "It's not what you're thinking.. I can't just ignore whatever happens inside these walls. We're born from the feelings of this family, if they are worried for you, so am I. That's why I appear in your dream." "I weep from your sudden sentimentality" she said sarcastically "but I'm willing to bet that you were able to eavesdrop on our conversations simply because your lair is not so far from the fireplace" "I'm warning you, don't try to find it. You'd cause trouble to the O'Really family!" "Perhaps you should've considered that before you invited me in first place, you silly little man! Now, give this KID here a good reason she should not wake up and start to play cat-and-mouse game with you?" She sipped the tea, staring at the little spirit with an imperious smile that didn't bode well. "A reason, you say? With humans reasoning is not persuasive. I just pointed the sill you shall not cross, my dear, I didn't mean to push you through it" "Advice I didn't ask for" she crossed her arms and the situation freezed up. The home spirit resigned himself. "How do I wake?" she asked. "Don't worry, soon enough you'll be laying in your bed. Humans have control over the waking hours, but we spirits have our revenge in dreams realm. You're lucky we didn't inherit your cruelty. Anyway, if I can't dissuade you, I will be your messenger and maybe one day I will lead you to Tuvia" "I don't get if you're here to sabotage me or to help me" "We should not threaten the delicate balance currently in place in Bluebell forest. The Queen of Roses is the keeper of this equilibrium, she can't bear humans intrusiveness into her reign. Especially from someone that does look like her." "Do I look like the Queen of Roses?" Elizabeth's questions were to him as sharp and wit as the echo of a well. "Tuvia fought The Court of Roses, you know?" "That light thingie? He's fragile like a blade of grass. I bet if I dare to lay down in the garden he'd become a stain on my dress. Also, if he's so brave why isn't he in the forest, why doesn't he just keep fighiting?" "He's an exile, he no longer knows the comfort of a border. He's devoted to the rain, cause he sees himself and his destiny in the clouds. A new Queen would save him. But he doesn't want to be saved!" The Spirit of O'Reilly got pretty mouthy with sadness. Elizabeth recognized some of the distinctive features of elder Mr O'Reilly and the hardness of Mrs O'Reilly too. A weird mix of both personality traits. Elizabeth sipped the infusion, this time fully enjoying the aroma of freshly picked flowers. She felt her body tossing in her sleep.. she didn't want to wake right now. O'Reilly spirit stared at her then nodded as a farewell. When she opened her eyes, the Spirit's last words were echoing in her head, filling the heart with an odd hope "a new Queen.." she repeated to herself. She could have sworn to feel the wildflowers taste on the tip of her tongue.
To Be Continued...
Ita version
Il regno delle rose e dei sogni
"Non disturbarli, ragazza mia. Sei stata fortunata che abbiano preso con umorismo la tua piccola trappola! In qualche modo devono aver trovato la tua provocazione uno spasso!" "Signor O'Reilly, cosa è successo in questa valle per cui tutti mi mettono in guardia da loro" Ci fu un lungo silenzio in cui il vecchio sorseggiò il suo Whiskey, rigorosamente torbato del Connemara. "Sweetheart, ne potresti sentire un bel pò giù al pub. Ma in famiglia abbiamo già di che raccontare. Tu non lo hai mai conosciuto il cugino Billy. Beh, lui potrebbe dirti di quella volta che restò schiavo per una luna intera della regina delle fate Rosa Spinae." "Schiavo?" "Non ti stupire, sono anime antiche, concepiscono solo i rapporti che conoscono e per più di 1000 anni qui nella rocca c'era un conte e i suoi servi, non la capiscono questa faccenda moderna del vivere senza padroni, dove tutti sembrano uguali eccetera. Hanno una rigida gerarchia e puoi giurarci che se continui a dargli spago ti daranno il bel servito, come fu per il vecchio Billy" "Cosa fece Billy per la regina?" "A quel tempo Billy si sarebbe dannato l'anima per riempirsi il bicchiere, ed è ai vizi che il buon popolo si appiglia. Quando una notte in un bosco la piccola schiera si imbattè in quel gigante, la regina ordinò che gli fosse portato un bicchiere del fiele degli spiriti, lui non se lo fece ripetere e lo trangugiò d'un fiato. Billy giurò che era il nettare liquoroso di tutti gli dei ormai dimenticati. La regina reclamò un pagamento e Billy la derise 'Io pagare te? Ma se posso metterti tranquillamente in tasca come una mora!' La regina non passò sopra quell'insolenza e il buon popolo lo legò a briglie invisibili che non potevano essere sciolte e quel che è peggio gli impose il voto dell'obbedienza per una luna intera. Di venne il destriero della regina, ma all'occorrenza la regina dava sfoggio di potere alle sue rivali, reclamando la lingua del gigante come poggiapiedi" "Non mi torna quel che dite, signore. Avevate detto che noi abbiamo potere sulla manifestazione delle fate e che dipendono dai nostri desideri" Il vecchio sorrise "Quale schiavitù potrebbe desiderare un uomo? Quella del suo bicchiere o della sua regina?" La ragazza capì che quella storia celava una metafora di redenzione e umiltà. Avevano questo di disorientante, i racconti del vecchio: non sapevi mai dove finiva il simbolo e cominciava l'aneddoto. "Comunque quando lo trovarono Billy era ricoperto di punture dalla vita in su. Disse che sul suo petto si era tenuto il ballo della corte delle Rosa Spinae, in cui ogni damigella ha per tacco una spina di un fiore e per gonna i suoi petali, ma per molti era solo caduto su un campo di ortiche" "Che storia strana. Ma io non sarei mai schiava di una regina così perfida. Perchè non si è ribellato, mi chiedo?" commentò lei "Il cigno non pesa sul suo lago, la briglia non pesa al suo cavallo, né l'anima sull'uomo che la possiede" cantilenò l'uomo, facendo spallucce.
Quella notte scrisse una piccola nota in gaelico che lasciò davanti al davanzale. Diceva soltanto: "Voglio conoscervi. Venitemi a trovare", lasciò una zolletta di zucchero in dono. Si rigirava nel letto inquieta, nella speranza che il messaggio arrivasse a destinazione, e come spesso accade il sonno arrivò come un deliquio, senza preavviso. Si ritrovò in un luogo che non aveva mai visto prima d'ora. Una specie di antica cucina, senza finestre, mattoni rossi tutt'intorno, carta da parati di cartone con le sembianze di un giardino davano più respiro alla stanza. Fuori il rumore della pioggia era pesante e svuotato della sensazione di conforto che regala agli animi malinconici. Individuava negli oggetti della stanza una combinazione di cose minuscole. Le sedie erano piccoli cubetti di legno, appartenuti a qualche antico gioco. così come il tavolo. Non erano per nulla comodi, ma i pezzi di stoffa imbottita e cucita grossolanamente davano sollievo alla seduta. Uno specchietto da beauty asserviva alla funzione di vassoio sul quale erano poggiate tazzine che potevano provenire da un servizio da the in miniatura per bambole di porcellana, un pò sbeccato, ma grazioso a vedersi. La zolletta che aveva donato stava su un lato del ripiano di legno, con una specie di punteruolo conficcato al suo centro. La ragazza capì che era un sogno, ma aveva qualcosa di reale. "E' un sogno, questo?" "Certo, ragazzina" Rispose la voce di un uomo di mezza età dall'esterno. La porticina della cucina non era che un pezzo di serranda di ferro, l'uomo entrò con in mano dei legnetti rilegati e un secchiello d'acqua, avvolto in un impermeabile di tela. Poggiò l'occorrente a lato della porta, le sopracciglia cespugliose gli conferivano un'aria severa e le mani vissute, una saggezza artigianale. Appese l'insolito impermeabile sulla testa di un cavallo di scacchiera, che evidentemente fungeva da appendiabiti. La ragazza era paralizzata e si stringeva nella sua camicia da notte, non per il freddo, l'atmosfera era calda nonostante il rifugio sembrasse improvvisato, erano le pareti laterali di mattone ad emanare calore, ma avvertiva un senso di vulnerabilità che la faceva chiudere a riccio. L'uomo si premurò di accendere il fuoco in un buco del mattone e di riempire la teiera sospesa sul paiolo sostenuto da una corda e un ago, dalla capocchia ornata da una manigliuola. "Vieni più vicino alla luce del fuoco, ragazzina!" Aveva una voce roca e il tono presentava un cipiglio ingiustificato agli occhi di lei. "Si può sapere perchè mi trovo qui?" L'uomo la squadrò come a darle della matta, poi con un cenno del capo fece notare che la tavola era apparecchiata sul suo frammento di pergamena "Voglio conoscervi", riconobbe la ragazza. La sua scrittura. "Ma.. siete.. siete Tuvia?!" Dopo un attimo di silenzio, in cui l'uomo la fissava per cogliere in lei la sincerità della sua domanda, scoppiò in una fragorosa risata "AHAHAH Io? Quell'uccell di bosco di Tuvia!? Ho l'aria da piovano, io? Ti credevo sveglia ma se queste sono le premesse.." La ragazza non sembrava aver apprezzato l'umorismo dell'omino "Allora signore.. avete forse raccolto un messaggio non rivolto a voi!? Come vi permettete di interferire con la mia Corrispondenza!" "Corrispondenza? Senti dolcezza, cosa pensi che abbiamo il servizio postale in quel di Bluebell? Noi ai fogli d'albero diamo ben altro valore. Non lo sprechiamo per messaggi futili e sconsiderati." "Chi diavolo siete voi e che ci fate nei miei sogni?" "E' così che ci si incontra noi, la prima volta! Non accettiamo inviti dagli sconosciuti" La teiera cominciava a scoppiettare sul fuoco, le bolle di vapore avevano un aspetto cupolare e un suono più cupo del normale, dovevano essere quelle dimensioni a rendere ogni rumore anche il più familiare totalmente estraneo e inquietante. Nella stanza cominciò a diffondersi un odore di fiori che proveniva dall'infuso. "Come vi chiamate?" "Che razza di domanda è? Sono lo spirito protettore degli O'Reilly, quindi mi chiamo come loro" "Gli spiriti protettori portano il nome della famiglia?" Non rispose, sembrava un pò scocciato dalla retoricità delle domande, ma la ragazza aveva l'impressione che si sforzasse di essere gentile. Aveva messo in infusione una manciata di briciole di the e polline che raccoglieva da una bustina dilaniata come un sacchetto. Versò l'infusione nella tazzina che stava di fronte a lei. Staccò un paio di pezzi dalla zolletta per lei, sapeva persino come prendeva il the. "Ascolta ragazzina, noi spiriti della casa non parliamo più dello stretto necessario. Il nostro silenzio è la nostra invisibilità, quindi fammi andare al punto: Hai sentito cosa ha detto il buon vecchio O'Reilly stasera no? 'Non disturbare gli spiriti del bosco', lo ha detto per il tuo bene." Al sentirsi chiamare 'ragazzina' il tono della voce di lei si fece più risentito e squillante "Quindi oltre che profanatore di lettere, anche un origliatore maleducato" L'omino sospirò con enorme esercizio di pazienza "Non è come pensi.. non mi è possibile ignorare quello che succede entro queste mura, siamo nati dai sentimenti della famiglia che ha costruito questa casa. Se ti appaio in sogno è perchè questa famiglia si preoccupa per te" "il vostro sentimentalismo mi commuove" disse sarcasticamente, "ma sono pronta a scommettere che voi avete origliato per il semplice fatto che questo vostro rifugio si trova vicino al focolare" "Ti avverto ragazzina, non cercare di trovarlo, causeresti un dolore agli O'Reilly" "Dovevate pensarci prima di invitarmi qui, razza di stupido omino. E adesso datemi una buona ragione per cui questa 'ragazzina'" rimarcò la parola "non dovrebbe svegliarsi e venire a farvi fare la fine del topo" Sorseggiava la tazza di the adesso, fissando l'uomo con un sorriso imperioso, che non prometteva nulla di buono. "Ragioni? Se c'è qualcosa che so degli esseri umani è che la logica con voi non è persuasiva. Ho solo indicato la soglia da non varcare, ragazza mia, ma non era mia intenzione regalarvi la determinazione per attraversarla." "Il vostro consiglio non è richiesto" Incrociò le braccia. Calò un pò di gelo tra i due. Il sadismo giovanile di lei aveva fatto affiorare al viso del vecchio uno sguardo triste, leggermente rassegnato. "Come faccio a svegliarmi?" "Non ti preoccupare, presto sarai sul tuo letto, bambina. Voi avrete pur il controllo dei momenti di veglia, ma noi abbiamo la nostra rivincita nei sogni e sei fortunata che non abbiamo la vostra stessa crudeltà. Comunque.. se non posso dissuaderti, sarò il tuo messaggero e un giorno, forse, ti porterò da lui." disse quasi burbero "Quasta poi.. volevate sabotarmi e adesso vorreste anche farmi da guida" "La foresta di Bluebell si basa su un fragile equilibrio, il custode di quell'equilibrio, la Regina delle Rose, non ama l'invadenza umana, specie da una che le somiglia così tanto" "Io... somiglierei alla Regina?" Ignorò ancora quelle domande che avevano la stessa arguzia dell'eco di un pozzo. "Tuvia l'ha combattuta, sai.. la Corte delle Rose Spinae." "Quel cosino? Ma se è fragile come un filo d'erba. Scommetto che se mi stendessi in giardino, potrebbe diventare una macchia sul mio vestito. Se è così coraggioso, poi, perchè non è nella foresta a combattere?" "Lo vedi in giardino perchè è un esule e non conosce più la comodità di un confine. Si è consacrato alla pioggia, perchè si riconosce nelle nuvole. Una nuova regina.. questo lo salverebbe. E lui.. non vuole essere salvato!" Lo spirito degli O'Reilly con la tristezza si era fatto stranamente loquace, riconosceva qualcosa nel vecchio in lui, aveva la stessa dolcezza sotto una scorza dura che era più simile a quella della signora O'Reilly, uno strano mix. Elizabeth sorseggiò quell'infuso, stavolta godendone appieno l'aroma. Era come di tiglio. Avvertì che si stava agitando nel sonno. Non voleva svegliarsi proprio ora. Lo spirito degli O'Reilly la fissava e con un cenno del capo sembrò quasi accomiatarsi. Quando riaprì gli occhi sul suo letto, le ultime parole dello Spirito riecheggiavano ancora nelle sue orecchie riempiendola di non so quale speranza.. "Una nuova regina", si ripeteva. Poteva giurare di sentire ancora il sapore di tiglio sulla punta della lingua.
9 notes · View notes
yellowcanna · 3 years
Text
Promise of a Lifetime
Summary:
“Where have you been, Xiao?! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Hu Tao shouted, grabbing Xiao’s hand and dragging him into the parlour where Zhongli was waiting.
“Master,” Xiao dipped his head towards Zhongli who was standing there looking at him…apologetically?
Xiao instantly had a bad feeling, and that feeling came true when Hu Tao went on a ramble about how they received a huge sum of mora. The green-haired youth gritted his teeth and took a deep breath in an attempt to stay calm.
“Young master,” he stopped the girl who wasn’t getting anywhere other than mora. “These mora you mentioned…were they by chance given by Tartaglia?”
“Yep!” Hu Tao answered cheerfully, not the slightest bit ashamed in admitting that she had once again sold Xiao to the bastard.
The corner of Xiao’s lips twitched, but he controlled himself as to not show any form of disrespect towards Hu Tao and Zhongli.
“May I ask what is requested of me this time?”
“Simple! You just have to attend a party as his lady partner!”
Xiao was going to kill Tartaglia.
[AU where the gods and adepti are humans in Teyvat and Xiao was a former assassin of the Abyss Order]
Genre: Fluff, Canon Divergence, hurt/comfort, touched-starved, Enemies to friends to lovers, shounen-ai
Rating: T
Pairing: Childe/Xiao
Author: Canna / Yellow Canna
╔ ✦✧✦ ═══════════╗
Available on AO3!!
╚═══════════ ✦✧✦ ╝
It was a bright sunny day in Liyue Harbour.
The green-haired youth sat on the open windowsill with one leg propped up and his elbow resting upon his knee. His bright, cobalt yellow eyes gazed out to the endless blue sky without a speck of cloud.
He closed his eyes when a warm breeze blew by, carrying the scent that was exclusive to Liyue. Feeling something settling down onto his elbow, he opened his eyes and was greeted by a little brown sparrow. The tiny bird chirped and hopped around his arm. Xiao didn’t move. He quietly observed the bird jumping all over him. And then, the serenity was ruined by the sound of footsteps before the door was rudely opened without any knocks.
The sparrow squawked and flew away while the youth heaved out an irritated breath.
“I figured you’d be here, Xiao!” A cheerful voice greeted, but the youth on the windowsill didn’t move.
He stared at the sky, determined to ignore the nuisance behind him.
The intruder didn’t mind the silent treatment. He sat down by the table at the center of the room where there was a teapot and a cup of half-drunken tea that had already gone cold. He picked up the ceramic cup and drank the remaining content.
That earned some reaction from the youth who glanced over his shoulder, eyes narrowing.
“The master is away,” Xiao finally spoke. Although he tried to keep his voice indifferent like he usually does, there was a mild irritation which the other man was keenly able to pick up.
“I know,” the man smiled around the rim of the cup before setting it back onto the table. He reached for the teapot and poured himself some more tea. “I’m not here for Mr. Zhongli.”
“Young master Hu is away as well.”
“I’m not here for your young master either,” the brunet took a small sip on the hot tea and frown. “I don’t get why the people of Liyue prefer hot drinks when their climate is so warm. Wouldn’t cold tea be more convenient?”
Xiao didn’t respond and turned his attention back to the outside. Instead of looking at the sky, he was now eyeing the street below.
“Hey now, don’t be so eager to leave!” The man chuckled, easily seeing through what Xiao was thinking. “Aren’t you at least curious what I came here for?”
“No.”
“You’re no fun,” the man lamented with a soft sigh. “Someone is after my life.”
“I see,” Xiao turned around to fully face the man. “The Wangsheng Funeral Parlour will accept to host your funeral. Come back once you've brought the necessary funds.”
“Hahaha!” The man laughed. “Looks like staying in this old place has rubbed off on you! I didn’t think I would ever hear you crack a joke!”
Xiao just stared at the man impassively.
“Fine, I’ll get to the point. I need your help.”
“I refuse.”
“Aw, don’t be like that!” He pleaded. “Help a friend out.”
“I don’t recall ever being friends with you.”
“How could you say that after all of our bonding time?”
Xiao’s brow twitched upon remembering what this man viewed as bonding time. This man would keep pestering him, keep pushing his buttons, keep crossing the boundaries until Xiao couldn’t take it anymore and in the end, they would always clash with their blades.
Xiao could still clearly recall his first meeting with the man around this time last year.
As an envoy from Snezhnaya and one of the Eleven Harbingers—Queen Tsaritsa’s Royal Knights, this man known as Tartaglia was a formidable opponent.
The first time Xiao met this man was through his saviour and master, Zhongli. Xiao knew little about the world of business, so Zhongli brought him outside to see the world.
When Xiao first laid his eyes on the Harbinger with ochre brown hair, he knew he wouldn’t get along with him and he was right. The next time they met, this man came up to him and brought up his past.
This envoy from another nation had dug his claws deep into Liyue and pulled out a secret that was meant to be buried, and that was the Yaksha.
For as long as Xiao could remember, he was already walking within the darkness—chained and broken. Perhaps there had been a time when he was freed, but it was a time he couldn’t remember anymore. With a slave mark engraved into his soul, Xiao was powerless against the creature he was forced to acknowledge as master. Without his master's command, he couldn't even take his own life.
The Abyss Order was the name of the organization and Xiao was one of their few human slaves that survived. Since young, Xiao was trained to become an assassin and spy so that the Abyss Order can keep their eyes on each nation. Because he was originally from Liyue, that was where they assigned him to. Due to the demon mask he wore whenever in a battle or assassination, he was given the name of the Yaksha by the citizens of Liyue as a symbol of their fears and hatred.
Xiao could no longer remember how many people he had killed. All he knew was that two years ago, all seven nations combined their powers to finally rid Teyvat of the Abyss Order. During that battle, Xiao was naturally called upon the battlefield where he met Zhongli.
Though the man claimed to be a councillor from the Wangsheng Funeral Parlour, he was in reality part of the Qixing. Zhongli was the only person who saw through the slave mark binding Xiao and freed him from the chains that had bound him for so long instead of slaughtering him like the rest of the Abyss Order.
The name Xiao was the new identity given to him and since then, Xiao had settled within the Wangsheng Funeral Parlour.
Xiao never understood why Zhongli would go through so much trouble when it was easier to kill him. Even though Xiao may not want to be saved, he was nevertheless grateful for the man’s kindness—as well as Hu Tao’s for giving him a place to stay. Xiao was never one to take anything for granted. Since they extended their kindness to him, he must repay them.
It was as simple as that.
A year following that battle, he tried to live putting the past behind him, yet talks of the Yaksha would still be heard from time to time. There were still people investigating the origin of the Yaksha, for that the demon mask in Xiao’s possession oddly resembled the mask of an ancient clan of exorcists that was annihilated twenty years ago.
Though Xiao heard the rumours, he never bothered to investigate the truths behind it because it did not matter anymore. That clan was no more and even if there were survivors, Xiao doubted they would accept him—especially when he was the one who had killed so many of these exorcists during his time in the Abyss Order.
For a whole year, Xiao’s real identity was only known to Zhongli. Not even the other Qixing or Hu Tao knew about his identity.
No one had ever linked the Yaksha to Xiao.
No one but the Eleventh Harbinger, Tartaglia.
Tartaglia had found out about Xiao’s identity as the Yaksha and confronted him at Tianqiu Valley when Xiao was sent there on a task. He even used his identity to provoke Xiao. Enraged by the man’s action, Xiao drew his spear for the first since the battle that ended the Abyss Order.
Xiao had gone all out, even donning the mask Zhongli had specifically told him not to bring out. Tartaglia had put on a mask of his own, wielding both Vision and Delusion. The whirlwind summoned by Xiao’s power mixed with the violent rain and lightning from Tartaglia created a storm Liyue had never seen before.
Had Zhongli not arrived in time to stop their fight, one of them would surely die that night.
The third time they met was two days after when the man waltzed into his room as though nothing had ever happened. Needless to say, another fight broke out between them and half of the parlour was blown apart.
Hu Tao was hysterical when she returned to find the second floor of the parlour completely gone. However, that matter was swiftly settled when the Fatui shamelessly offered to reconstruct the entire building and even expanding it as compensation.
Since then, whenever Tartaglia dropped by, the young master would look at Xiao with stars in her eyes, desperately hoping for the two to start another fight.
As much as Xiao tried not to, he was still provoked into stabbing the man on multiple occasions. Each time something within the parlour was destroyed, Tartaglia would pay for it. Eventually, this became a pattern and Xiao’s fight became the highest source of income for Wangsheng Funeral Parlour.
“Leave, I have no interest in fighting with you.”
“I’m not here for a fight this time.” The brunet rested his chin into his palm. “I need your help, Xiao Xiao~”
“Do not call me that,” Xiao gritted.
“But you let the young master call you that—Ah! Wait, wait!” He called when Xiao had already gotten up, crouching on the windowsill and preparing to jump out any moment. “I got information that someone is plotting against me and there’s a high chance of assassination. Unfortunately, the mastermind’s identity is covered up pretty well so my men are having trouble locating them. I want to hire your help as a former assassin.”
“I reject.” With that, Xiao leaped out the window and was gone in a gust of wind.
Knowing how persistent that man could be, Xiao took his time strolling around the outskirt of the city. It wasn’t until the sky became completely dark and the lanterns on the street lighting up that he returned to the parlour.
“Xiao Xiao!”
What greeted him when he stepped through the front door was the excited young master of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlour—Hu Tao. The raven-haired girl ran up to him, eyes sparkling in a way that Xiao long learned to be wary of.
“Young master Hu,” he greeted politely with a bow.
“Where have you been, I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” She gasped, grabbing Xiao’s hand and dragging him into the lobby.
“Master,” Xiao dipped his head towards Zhongli when he spotted him standing there looking at him…apologetically?
Xiao immediately had a bad feeling, and that feeling came true when Hu Tao went on a ramble about how they received a huge sum of mora. The green-haired youth gritted his teeth and took a deep breath in an attempt to stay calm.
“Young master,” he stopped the girl who wasn’t getting anywhere other than mora. “These mora you mentioned…were they given by Tartaglia?”
“Yep!” Hu Tao answered proudly, not even the slightest bit ashamed in admitting that she had once again sold Xiao to the Fatui.
The corner of Xiao’s lips twitched, but he controlled himself as to not show any form of disrespect towards Hu Tao and Zhongli.
“May I ask what is requested of me?”
“Oh, that’s easy! You just have to attend a party as his lady partner!”
Xiao was going to kill Tartaglia.
✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧
Xiao sat in front of the mirror and stared at his own reflection. He fixed the Glazed Lily ornaments on the left side of his hair before picking up a piece of red Silk Flower paper and smeared the colour onto his lips.
He put on the pair of emerald earrings, slipping them through the earholes which he had not used for a long time. He then picked up the pair of black satin gloves on the table and slipped them on. The long gloves reached to his elbows, leaving his upper arms bare.
Xiao skillfully wrapped a piece of thin red string around his Vision before tying the string around his neck, creating a necklace. He tucked the necklace under his cloth with his vision hidden under the fake chest he made.
He buttoned up his top and closed the collar over his throat to conceal the budge on his throat that woman would not have. Once he was done, he stood up and headed for the door. His elaborate green and black qipao with Ameno pattern flowed down to his ankles and each time he took a step, the qipao would flutter, splitting at his hip showing off his long, milk-white legs.
“Eeeh? Why can’t I go in?” Xiao heard the familiar whine of Hu Tao from outside his door.
“Xiao said he can dress on his own, young master Hu,” the deep voice of Zhongli’s explained.
“But what is he needs help? And do you really think he would put it on? For all we know, he could have already shredded it and—”
Xiao opened the door. The raven-haired girl who was facing Zhongli spun around on her heels, mouth already open to say something, but her voice never came out. She stood there, her eyes as wide as her open mouth as she gawked at Xiao.
“Xiao Xiao?!”
Xiao heaved out a sigh and let the girl inspected him. He looked over to Zhongli and bowed respectfully. “Master.”
“You look beautiful, Xiao,” Zhongli complimented with Hu Tao hurriedly nodding in agreement before her eyes fell to the B-cup swell around the man’s chest.
If possible, her eyes widened even more and she reached out both hands to start groping them.
“T-they feel so real…!” She gasped in awe as she squeezed and kneaded the softness on Xiao’s chest. “Don’t tell me…Xiao Xiao you’re actually a—”
“It’s made with condensed slime,” Xiao deadpanned, not even wanting to hear the rest of that sentence. He took a step back and angled his body away so he could save his fake chest from her devilish hands.
“Ahem…young master Hu,” Zhongli coughed into his hand. “I believe Childe has been waiting long enough.”
“Huh? Oh! That’s right!” Hu Tao clapped her hands together. “That guy’s already waiting for you in the lobby and—oh, shoes! Let me get your shoes!”
The girl rushed off and came back with a pair of black heels with the same Ameno pattern that matched the qipao. Xiao slipped his feet into the shoes, finding it odd how well it fitted, just like this dress. At first, he thought these clothes were something Hu Tao prepared, but considering her personality, that now seemed highly unlikely.
Zhongli couldn’t have prepared these for him either, since if it was Zhongli, he would have bought all the clothes the store had to offer and piled them into Xiao’s room.
“Young master Hu, may I ask where you got these garments?”
“Oh, Childe gave them to me!” Hu Tao said happily and immediately veins started to stick out from beneath Xiao’s pale skin.
To the side, Zhongli lightly shook his head.  
With another bow to the two, Xiao headed for the lobby, his heels clicking as he went.
As he was descending the stairs, he spotted Tartaglia in the lobby, dressed in the same clothes as usual. Hearing the sounds of heels, Tartaglia looked up and froze. For a split second, the man was taken back, looking completely stunned, but he recovered the next moment with a weirdly serious look on his face.
That made Xiao’s step slowed just a little. He had expected the man to come up to him and tease him, but not eye him with such stoic expression. Xiao kept his face blank and finally arrived in front of the taller man.
He crossed his arms, waiting for the other to speak.
He waited for five long seconds and Tartaglia still didn’t say anything. Instead, the man turned to the attendant that was beside him.
“Bring the good.”
The attendant looked a bit dumbfounded at first, but when he realized what his master was asking for, he hesitated.
“But Master, that’s the gift for—”
“Do I need to repeat myself?” Azure blue eyes narrowed dangerously. In an instant, the attendant bowed down and hastily excused himself.
Xiao watched the man ran out and came back only seconds later with a beautiful ice blue box. From the unusual design on the box as well as the material, the green-haired youth knew it was a box crafted from Snezhnaya.
The attendant presented the box to Tartaglia who opened it up to reveal snow-white fur within.
“This is made by the pelts of the snow foxes that dwell within the mountain of Snezhnaya,” Tartaglia explained, pulling out the long white fur with great care. The pelt sparkled under the lighting and even looked as though it was emitting breathes of coldness from its origin.
Tartaglia ran his fingers over the pelt before he walked up to Xiao and wrapped the pelt around his shoulders and over his forearms. The rest of the pelt flowed down his side, the soft fur tickling his exposed hips and stopping just a couple inches below his knees.
Xiao was stunned by the man’s act. His previous anger was forgotten the moment the fur touched his skin. Never in his life had he ever felt something as soft as this. He looked down at the pelt hung around his arms, able to feel the strange coolness seeping into his skin despite how fur was known to do the opposite.
From how stiff the attendant was standing behind Tartaglia plus his previous behaviour, Xiao could tell that this pelt was meant to be for someone else.
“Master, then the gift…” the attendant began meekly.  
Tartaglia spared the man a sideways glance and waved him off. “Just replace it with something else in the treasury.”
Tartaglia looked over Xiao up and down as his hands reached for Xiao’s face. Xiao stood still, watching the man warily as those hands disappeared from his vision and he felt his earrings being removed. The brunet didn’t say anything. He took off the right earring first, then the left one.
After that, he tossed the two earrings to the attendant and reached up to remove his red earring hanging off his left earlobe. Xiao was quiet the entire time, even when the man leaned over him and slipped his earring through Xiao’s ear.
“Does it hurt?” Tartaglia suddenly asked.
“…No,” Xiao replied, feeling the weight of the new earring before looking up at Tartaglia. How odd of the man to question him such a thing considering how many times they left each other injured after a fight.
“Good!” Tartaglia wrapped his arm around Xiao’s elbow and pulled him outside where the carriage was waiting. “Then let us depart!”
The ride in the carriage was quiet.
Xiao was always one to enjoy the silence, yet silence with Tartaglia was never a normal thing. He glanced over to Tartaglia who was blatantly staring at him which made Xiao shift in self-consciousness.
“If you have something to say, just say it.” Xiao finally said after a long while.
“Hm…” Tartaglia hummed, eye drifting down Xiao’s form then shifting back up to meet the other's irritated gaze. “I thought you would at least try to punch me by now.”
“Because you made me dress as a woman?” Xiao huffed, turning his head away and stared out the window. “I am not unfamiliar with such disguises.”
“Past experience?”
“…Due to my build and face, I was required to dress as a woman many times to approach my targets.”
“I see…” Tartaglia’s voice was quiet and distant, yet there was no form of pity or sadness in that voice. It was the one reason why Xiao always found himself comfortable with talking to this man about his past.
That and the fact that even if he didn’t say anything, this man will dig it out anyway.
“What did they do?”
“Surely you don’t need me to answer that,” Xiao said dryly.
The Snezhnayan did not try to pry anymore, because he knew the answer. While it was obvious these people could never get far because Xiao wasn’t a real girl, some level of intimacies were still inevitable.
“You look gorgeous.”
Xiao glanced back at the man with narrowed eyes. The distrust in those golden orbs was as clear as day.
“I’m serious,” Tartaglia chuckled before his smile fell again. “More than I ever thought you’d be. I’m just disappointed. These clothes don’t fit you at all.”
“What do you mean?” Xiao bristled lightly at what he assumed was an insult.
“For one thing, they pale compared to your beauty,” Tartaglia lamented. He reached out and pinched his fingers around the tail of the fur. “Even the finest fur of Snezhnaya failed to match up to you.”
“Enough with your empty flattery.” Xiao shot the man a sharp glare. “How did you know my size for the dress and shoes?”
“How many times do you think we’ve fought?” The man laughed. “I’m a keen observer! I’ve memorized how your body moves in order to predict your next attack. Knowing your size is hardly anything special.”
Xiao didn’t believe that kind of explanation, but he didn’t bother trying to find out the real answer and instead got down to business. “I assume the one after your life will be attending the party?”
“Yeah, most likely.” Tartaglia nodded. “I have a few suspicions, but I can’t be certain yet. As an assassin, I like to hear your input.”
“You’ve hardly given me any information for me to have opinions.” Xiao crossed his arms and looked back out the windows. “But…I can think of some methods they may use. Halfway through the party, find an excuse to leave me alone and I will identify the perpetrator for you.”
“How dependable!” Tartaglia clapped. “But if you’re alone, you’ll need to talk. Can you take up that task?”
Xiao’s brow twitched, but he softly cleared his voice and spoke in a higher-pitched voice, “naturally.”
It was a beautiful sound with no signs of forced or strained as fake voices generally have. If Tartaglia hadn’t heard this voice coming out of the apathetic man before him, he would have believed the voice to be a real woman’s. He laughed, looking thrilled and extremely interested at how Xiao was able to change his voice like that, but the former assassin was done humouring him.
Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at the dock where Xiao saw people dressed in fancy clothes being escorted onto a ship. So the party will be in the sea…
Xiao was now a hundred percent certain the assassins would come for Tartaglia after they return to land. With this, Xiao was now certain what kind of method they would use to take Tartaglia down, but decided to keep that to himself. Tartaglia hired him for protection, so he will fulfil it to the contract.
The door to the carriage opened. Tartaglia stepped out first before turning to Xiao and offered his hand. Xiao didn’t hesitate to reach for his hand. He placed his hand upon the larger one like a woman would and allowed himself to be guided out. Once standing side to side, he wrapped both of his hands around Tartaglia’s arm and pressed his body close to the man.
Tartaglia’s attendant was already waiting there. At the sight of his boss, he hurried over and presented the same fancy box that once contained the fox pelt. The Harbinger opened the box a little, taking a quick glimpse inside and snapped it shut.
“It will do,” he said, putting on his smile and led Xiao towards the boat.
At the appearance of the young handsome man with a beautiful female companion, eyes were automatically drawn towards them and whispers of the pair began to travel. Neither of the two at the center of this attention cared as they boarded the ship after Tartaglia showed the guards his invitation.
With the sun long set into the sea, the ship was lit with large lanterns, brightening the dock with waiters walking around carrying beverages. When Tartaglia made his appearance, these people swarmed towards him like bees to honey. As the Harbinger who oversaw all the Snezhnaya banks across the nations and establishes trades, Tartaglia has made quite a name for himself in the business world.
Every merchant in Liyue knew about him and was all too eager to establish a relationship with him. That and there was also the fact that the female companion he brought was simply breathtaking. Many men ogled Xiao, though none dared to look too long in fear of being discovered.
With Xiao latched onto Tartaglia’s side and Tartaglia taking control of any conversations that came their way, the green-haired youth didn’t need to participate in any of the interactions. While pretending to not care about everything around him, Xiao was cautiously eyeing their surroundings and checking on all the people that came up to talk to Tartaglia.
The boat has now set off into the sea and the host of the party was making a long speech on the stage.
Xiao was staring at a group of people talking not far from then when a glass of wine came into his vision.
“I don’t drink,” Xiao said quietly, keeping his voice low so no one would overhear.
“Try it, you’ll like it.”
Xiao frowned but knew this man would probably keep pestering him if he didn’t. He took the glass by the stem, swirling the fluid inside around to release the aroma. He took a small whiff before putting the glass against his lips and tilted his head back to take in the fluid.
There was a very unusual taste in the wine—one that was foreign to Xiao.
“I told you you’ll like it,” Tartaglia said with a knowing grin. “It’s Dandelion wine from Mondstadt.”
“…I prefer not to drink, especially during work.” Xiao handed the glass back to the man.
Tartaglia chuckled, bringing the glass to his lips—exactly over where Xiao’s mouth had touched—and took an elegant sip.
Once the speech was over, the guests started to go up one by one to hand their gifts to the host of the party. It was then that Xiao—having not paid any attention to the speech, realized that this was a birthday event.
“Come now,” Tartaglia wrapped his arms around his waist and guided Xiao up the stage where he had his attendant offer their present. “A small gift from Snezhnaya, for the beautiful Madame Zhang.”
The attendant opened the box to reveal a large green gemstone that Xiao had never seen before.
“Oh my!” The woman who Xiao assumed was Madame Zhang gasped at the sight of the gemstone. “Such beautiful emerald! This is the first time I’ve seen one in such quality!”
“We offer you only the best, for you are the star of tonight,” Tartaglia replied smoothly. 
“That is very thoughtful of you, master Childe,” Madame Zhang giggled while her servant took the box and set it aside with the other ones. “Though I believe that there is a lady that shines brighter than any stars or emeralds I’ve seen. What is your name, young miss?”
“I am Xiao, Madame Zhang.” Xiao dipped his head and spoke in his fake voice. “It is an honour of mine to be invited to your party.”
“You two sure make a lovely couple.” Madame Zhang hid her smile behind her paper fan. “Reminds me of when I was in my youth!”
“What are you talking about, Madame? You’re still in your youth.” Tartaglia commented, earning another round of giggles from the old Madame.
They left the stage soon after, making room for others to step up.
After all the guests had their turns presenting their gifts, the party resumed.
More people came to speak with Tartaglia and Tartaglia politely spoke back while making lighthearted jokes. When one man came up to the Harbinger and requested on speaking to him about business ideas and proposal for the bank, Xiao knew this was a chance.
Just as he thought, Tartaglia smoothly accepted the man’s request to talk privately.
After telling Xiao to wait here for him, he walked away with the man to discuss the matter somewhere more private and away from the rest of the people. He didn’t go too far on the deck, but far enough where the light of the lantern did not reach. Many people took notice of the two men’s distance, but the people that gathered here are high in social status. They all knew better than to walk in or interrupt a private conversation.
Xiao stood by the banquet table with his arms crossed and eyes closed, acting disinterested in everything that was happening around him—which was not so much of an act.
With Tartaglia gone from his side, men around began to openly stare at him. Many had the desire to approach him, but the cold aura Xiao was emitting created a barrier that only few dared to cross.
Those who managed to gather enough courage to speak to Xiao always ended up walking away seconds later, discouraged by the lack of conversation yet they dared not to bad mouth him due to him being Tartaglia’s companion.  
“Miss, I couldn’t help but notice you are alone,” another man said, walking up to Xiao as though he did not notice all the other men that were sent away. “If I may have the pleasure—”
Xiao just turned his head and tune the man out. After a long minute of not receiving any response and being ignored, the man walked away defeated like many others.
Just as Xiao was getting tired of these useless people trying to approach him, a glass of wine came into his vision. It was a familiar sight, except the glass of wine was held by an unfamiliar hand.
Xiao stared at the wine for a long moment before his bright Aureolin eyes shifted to meet the man standing in front of him. He was dressed in foreign attire, but Xiao had little knowledge of anything outside of Liyue so he didn’t know which nation those clothes were from.
“Pardon me, my lady.” The man bowed, taking off his hat and placing it over his chest. “I couldn’t help but noticed you seem to enjoy Dandelion wine.”
Xiao’s eyes dropped back to the wine held towards him. He reached out and took the glass, their gloved hands brushing as he did so. This was not the first time a man came up to him with drinks. Some of the men that Xiao brushed off earlier had as well, though all of them offered him women’s cocktails instead of actual wine.
He swirled the cup around under his nose and took a whiff of the aroma. There was a very light and bitter scent coming from the wine that Xiao was quite familiar with. His lashes fluttered lightly, yet his face betrayed nothing.
“I don’t dislike it,” he said, lifting his eyes to meet the man’s. “How did you know I enjoy this wine?”
“You were so beautiful I could not help but stare,” the man admitted bashfully.
Xiao softened his gaze and for the first time that night, he smiled. It was a fake smile that didn’t reach his eye, yet that was enough to cause those who saw his smile blush—including the man in front of him.
Xiao pressed the rim of the cold glass against his lips. Just as he was about to drink the content inside, a gloved hand came in and took his glass away. The former assassin was immediately alarmed, but he couldn’t show it with so many eyes on him. He just pretended to look annoyed and turned to glare at Tartaglia who appeared behind him with an arm around Xiao’s waist.
“My apologies, my partner here isn’t good with alcohol, so allow me.”
Xiao placed a hand over Tartaglia’s chest and pressed his body into his side. In the eyes of other people, it was a very seductive and affectionate move, but in reality, Xiao was pressing his palm hard into Tartaglia’s chest.
The Fatui’s smile didn’t even falter as he drank the entire glass in one smooth motion.
He didn’t even leave a drop behind.
“Master Childe can certainly hold his alcohol!” The man complimented, raising his glass and also downing the wine inside. 
The two happily chatted for a short while before the man walked away.
Xiao on the other hand already couldn’t be bothered with that man anymore. He tightened his grip over Tartaglia, only to feel a hand overlapping his in a reassuring gesture. Tartaglia didn’t say anything and continued greeting other people.
As time slowly passed, Xiao began to see sweats forming over the man’s forehead. Tartaglia’s face was becoming even more flushed and the grip around Xiao’s waist tightened. Eventually, some of the guests noticed Tartaglia not looking well and asked if he was alright, but Tartaglia just laughed and brushed it off as being a little drunk.
Tartaglia managed to keep up his appearance to the very end as the ship returned to the dock.
The moment they got back into their carriage and closed the curtain on the windows, he collapsed into the seat.
“You fool!” Xiao hissed, face distorted with rage. “You should have let me drink that, my body is capable of withstanding poison!”
“They wouldn’t use poison. They’re not so stupid to kill me with so many witnesses,” Tartaglia laughed as though this was something he could joke about. “Though…ngh…this is some potent stuff.”
“Which was why you should have let me drink it,” Xiao retorted and looked down to see the noticeable bulge in the man’s pants. It was impressive of the man to hold his hard-on back for so long. “Shall I drop you off at a brothel?”
“You’d abandon me?” Tartaglia groaned, cracking open one eye to look up at him. “How cruel...”
“I’m trying to help you.” Xiao clicked his teeth, not sure why this man was being so difficult. “If you had let me drink it, you wouldn’t be in this situation.”
“Your body might be able to stand poison, but not aphrodisiacs, am I right?”
Xiao paused a bit before he let out a small huff. “I would have been fine. I’ve endured through it plenty of times.”
Now, both of those blue eyes were open and staring at Xiao. Xiao knew the man wanted to hear more. If this was normal circumstances, he would have ignored him, but…
“Events that required me to dress as a woman were always messy. Uses of drugs were not unusual. We were all trained to fight while enduring the effects of strong aphrodisiacs to see if we would succumb to pleasure.”
Xiao paused when Tartaglia let out a quiet, barely suppressed groan.
“You’re going to a brothel.”
“What if the assassins are waiting there to finish me off?”
Xiao pressed his lips together, unable to deny such a possibility as he had done something similar in the past. Finally, he let out a deep sigh before he ordered the carriage to bring them to a secluded alleyway where there won’t be any civilians or Millelith passing by.
Xiao took in a deep breath and glanced down at the person lying on the seat. “If you ever speak of what I am about to do, I will peel your fingernails off and shove them down your stomach along with your tongue, am I clear?”
“Hmm…then let’s do a pinkie promise," Tartaglia suggested, not the slightest bit fazed by the threat.
“…A what?” Xiao blinked at the man, wondering if the drug was getting to his brain.
“Pinkie promise.” Tartaglia raised a pinkie at him. “I do it with my siblings all the time. Come on, hook your pinkie around mine.”
Xiao was skeptical but did as he was told and resisted the urge to pull his hand away when the man hooked his pinkie around his.
“You make a pinkie promise, you keep it all your life.” He began, lightly swaying their hands back and forth. His voice was quiet and calm, but Xiao could hear a strange tenderness within it. “You break a pinkie promise, I throw you on the ice. The cold will kill the pinkie that once betrayed your friend, the frost will freeze your tongue off so you never lie again.”
Xiao stared at their linked fingers until Tartaglia finished the strange vow and pulled away.
“Is that a custom of your home?”
“You could say that,” Tartaglia smiled wearily before gritting his teeth to swallow back another noise threatening to come out.
With the man giving him such a vow, Xiao felt a little more at ease and undid the collar of his qipao to free the restrain around his neck.
Once the carriage arrived at its destination, the coachmen scurried away with his face flushed in embarrassment. The carriage was rocking lightly despite not moving anymore. Inside the carriage, moans and huffs of two people echoed softly, accompanied by the sound of rustling clothes.
Dark figures crept along the shadows and surrounded the carriage. With the curtains on both sides of the carriage down, the inside couldn’t see what was happening outside.
“Haah!” A woman’s voice cried, followed by an indecent wet sound. “Ahn!”
The men edged closer and closer to the carriage. The moment they were within range, the ground beneath their feet shook with green spears made from condensed Ameno power shot out from the ground below them.
The spears pierced through their flesh and shattered their bones. In a blink of an eye, half of the assassins were slaughtered on the spot. Those who evaded the attack instantly realized they had fallen into a trap. They pulled out their weapons and aimed for the carriage, but all they saw was a flicker of green light before their heads flew off into the air by a strong current of wind. Flying up along with the detached heads was the top of the carriage that was sliced clean from the body.
The blast of wind swirling around the carriage vanished, revealing Xiao who stood with one foot on the seat of the carriage and his Jade Winged-Spear glowing eerily within the darkness.
On the floor of the carriage behind him…was Tartaglia.
The Harbinger was shaking all over and curled up like a shrimp in boiling water. He was red in the face, but Xiao knew it wasn’t due to the man being under the influence of the drug…but that he was trying to hold his laughter in.
The former assassin felt his veins throbbed and clutched onto his spear even tighter. Thanked to the man’s reaction, his cheeks were slightly red from embarrassment—which he had never felt until now. He briefly pondered the possibility of silencing this man and dumping him amongst these corpses but knew that even if he was drugged, Tartaglia could still put up a fight.
“Since you now know who the mastermind is, my job is done.” Xiao was about to leap out of the carriage and go home when his hand was grabbed.
“W-wait, wait—pfft…ahahahaha!” Tartaglia was laughing so hard that tears were rolling down his eyes. “That was the best! Hahaha! I didn’t know you could put on a show like that all by yourself! And those sound effects were—”
“Enough!” Xiao stabbed his spear into the carriage floor, missing the man's head by half an inch “Another word and I will make sure you won’t have a mouth to laugh with!”
“D-don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me,” Tartaglia let out another good laugh before finally sobering up.
He snapped his fingers and a man dressed in black and red cloak appeared. With just a simple glance, Xiao knew this man was also an assassin, one that worked for Tartaglia.
“I’ll leave you to deal with the bodies,” Tartaglia ordered before he stepped out of the carriage and pulled Xiao into the dark alley.
“Let go,” Xiao said after a while of being pulled around. He finally had enough and jerked his hand out of the other’s grip. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the droplet of sweats rolling down the brunet’s face. “If you have subordinates around, you should let them take care of you.”
Tartaglia turned and gave Xiao a small, tired smile. “Tell me, Xiao. When was the last time you were able to sleep peacefully, knowing that the world around you is safe?”
Xiao stiffened at that. He looked up at Tartaglia who was looking down at him seriously. Xiao understood the meaning behind the man’s word. Despite those being his subordinates, Tartaglia didn’t trust any of them. At least, not enough to allow them to witness or be near him during his moment of weakness.
Xiao let out a quiet sigh. “What do you want?”
“Let me crash at your place for a bit.”
“And you trust me?”
“Yes.”
Xiao was taken back. He didn’t expect Tartaglia to answer that without even giving a second of thought.  
“You think I won’t stab you in the back?”
“I think if you were to stab me, you’ll do it when I’m awake so I would know who stabbed me,” Tartaglia pointed out.
Xiao couldn’t argue with that. Despite his many dislike of this man, he also couldn’t leave him here like this when he was so vulnerable. In the end, Xiao reluctantly brought him back to his room. He used his Ameno power to carry them there while avoiding the eyes of the people in the streets. He didn’t inform anyone within the parlour and slipped inside through his room’s open window.
Xiao laid Tartaglia onto his bed before locking the windows and door.
Tartaglia’s condition was worsening by the seconds. Large beads of sweat were coming down his face and soaking through his clothes. His face was red and his breathing was harsh. He was even grunting in pain due to the tightness of his clothes—pants especially.
A normal man would have lost it long ago. They would have long thrown away their clothes and rubbed on anything that could provide them with relief, but Tartaglia didn’t do that. As someone who had periodically undergone those pain, Xiao could sympathize with what Tartaglia was going through.
He thought back to those long and cold memories, the burning pain of needs and wants…but most of all, it was the fear and loneliness that broke him. The fear and horror was something he remembered clearly even to this day.
Xiao lowered his eyes and sat down on the edge of his bed. He leaned over Tartaglia and reached a hand towards the brunet’s pants when a larger hand seized him by the wrist in an iron grip. In an instant, Xiao was thrown onto the soft mattress of his bed with Tartaglia hovering over him, pinning both of his hands over his head.
“What were you trying to do?” Tartaglia demanded, his blue eyes darkened and lips pulled into a thin line. At this moment, he was every bit as expressionless as Xiao. Beads of sweat dripped from the tip of his nose and splashed onto the youth’s pale’s cheek.
“You’ll feel better once you get enough relief,” Xiao stated the obvious.
Tartaglia’s expression turned even colder and Xiao felt the hands on his wrists tightened. “So you thought to offer yourself to me? How selfless of you.”
“It’s nothing I have not done before.”
That made Tartaglia stilled and the coldness in those eyes gradually melted away. He leaned down until their noses were an inch apart.
“Had you done a lot of such things?”
“Only with my mouth and hands,” Xiao replied in a tone as though they were talking about the weather, not his sexual experiences. “I have no knowledge other than that.”
“…I see.”
Xiao let out a quiet gasp when the man lowered his entire body onto him, pushing him into the mattress.
“What are you doing?” He inquired, looking down to see the Fatui rubbing his cheek against his fake chest with his arms wrapped tightly around his back.
“Hm…these things are in the way. What are they anyway?” Tartaglia complained, unwrapping one arm to poke at the jiggly object. Xiao slapped the man’s hand away. He undid the top of his qipao, reaching inside to pull out the slime essence paddings and tossed them across the room. He also pulled out his Vision that was hidden there and set it onto the nightstand.
Tartaglia hummed happily and rubbed his face against his now flattened chest. “Much better.”
“What are you doing?” Xiao asked again. If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought the man was going to…
“I’m going to sleep this off, what does it look like?” Tartaglia mumbled tiredly. “But of course, if you offer to spar with me, it might let me work off this drug’s effect even faster!”
“Exercising will do nothing but make your condition worsen,” Xiao stated dryly. He stared at the man on top of him. In this short moment, he could already feel the man’s sweat soaking onto his skin and clothes.
Feeling extremely uncomfortable lying down like this, Xiao used his elbows to push himself up. The brunet was latched onto him like some sort of boneless animal, refusing to even budge. At this, Xiao created a gust of wind that swirled around his room. His pillow and blankets that were neatly folded on the corner of his bed were picked up by the wind and placed against his back to prop him up.
Xiao then looked across his room to see there was a pot of tea sitting in the middle of the table. He used the wind to bring the teapot into his waiting hands.
“Open your mouth.”
Tartaglia opened his eye to look at the teapot and did as he was told. Xiao carefully poured the cold tea into the man’s open mouth little by little. It was a good thing that the tea Xiao usually drink was made with Qingxin flower that replenishes the body’s moisture.
Once the man drank every last drop of the tea, Xiao let the wind pick up the teapot once more and placed it back onto the table.
“You’re asking for needless pain.”
“If suffering through this means I get the infamous Yaksha to take care of me, I think I'm getting a pretty good return.”
Xiao frowned but didn’t say anything as he stared down at the man.
“Xiao…” Tartaglia muttered against him. “Did you know that when you accepted that glass of wine, you had a particular look on your face?”
“…Look?” Xiao frowned. Had he made any expression when he noticed the wine was spiked? No, he shouldn’t have. He always had a good grasp over his expressions.
“Your eyes became hollowed, like a child who can no longer cry.”
Xiao’s eyes flew wide and flinched upon the feeling of something touching his cheek. When he looked down, he realized that was Tartaglia's hand which was raised halfway in midair. There was a small smile on the man's lips as his hand moved again.
This time, Xiao didn’t flinch away and allowed the hand to cup his cheek. Through the thin layer of the man’s glove, Xiao could feel his unnaturally high body heat.
“So you pity me?” Xiao questioned, yellow eyes carefully searching the blue ones for any signs of lies.
“Of course not,” Tartaglia chuckled, brows furrowed with pain from the effect of the drugs. “You’re strong. You’re the last person I would ever pity, Xiao.”
Then why…?
Xiao opened his mouth, but instead of asking the question on his mind, he asked something else.
“When was the last time you were able to sleep peacefully, knowing that the world around you is safe?” It was the very same question Tartaglia had asked him in the alley, and now Xiao threw it back at him.
“When I was fourteen,” Tartaglia replied.
Xiao stared into those eyes that held so much darkness and secrets, yet he was unable to hate it because his own eyes were the same.
Xiao lifted his hands. He hesitated for a moment before he wrapped his arms and clasped his pale legs around his hips. Tartaglia froze, obviously not expecting the former assassin to suddenly embrace him like this.
He tightened his right arm around Tartaglia’s shoulder while his other hand was behind Tartaglia’s head, pushing him into his chest with Xiao dipping his head down until his soft cheek was pressed against the brunet’s forehead.
It was a very protective embrace rather than intimacy. It was as though Xiao was trying to wrap himself around the man so no outside danger could ever reach him. For someone in a vulnerable state like Tartaglia, it was a very comforting gesture.
The Harbinger felt like he was going to melt within this warmth…
“I will watch over you, I won’t let any harm befall upon you, so sleep for that I will be here to protect you.” Xiao softly spoke out his promises with his warm breath tickling Tartaglia’s face. “May you fall into a dreamless slumber, yet should you dream of nightmares, call my name.”
Xiao tightened the hold onto the man, using his action to prove that he wasn’t going to go anywhere. He didn’t know what expression Tartaglia was making, nor did he look. He raked his fingers through the ochre brown lock and waited.
None of them spoke again that night. The only thing that could be heard within the silence was the man’s laboured breathing. Xiao understood all of his pain, yet this was the only thing he was able to offer, but Xiao knew this small gesture was what Tartaglia needed. Because this was what Xiao always wanted when he still lived within that nightmare.
All he wanted was simply for someone to hold him…that was all he wanted.
So now, he will give that to Tartaglia.
At some point in the night, Xiao found himself beginning to hum a soft tune. Because of Xiao’s limited use within the parlour, most of his tasks were to go around gathering the items for the funeral. Wild Glazed Lily would be one of the traditional items needed. Due to the…unique requirement when picking these lilies, Zhongli taught Xiao a song to sing before picking them. It was the only song Xiao knew. Of course, Hu Tao taught him some songs too, but they were songs Xiao swore to never sing and threw them into the back of his mind to be forever sealed away.
Xiao hummed this song to the Snezhnayan while occasionally conjuring some wind to provide him with a bit of comfort. He didn’t know how long he had been humming that same tune for, but it must have been a long time, for that the sunlight was shining through the rice paper covering his window, brightening the room.
The body in his arms had gone completely quiet sometime in the night. The only sound Xiao could hear from the man was his soft breathing. He never let go of the body in his arms. He kept a secure hold onto the man, his face still pressed against the Fatui’s forehead.
The brunet’s hair was now stuck together in clumps from his dried-up sweat. Some of that brown hair was sticking onto Xiao’s skin, but Xiao didn’t mind the itchiness on his skin or the stench. He had smelled way worse than sweat back in his days in the Abyss Order.
Xiao looked down at the man’s closed eyelids and the way his lips were neither curving upward or down. He threaded his fingers through the messy brown hair and wondered which side of this man was real.
The one who was always smiling and making jokes, or the one that was every bit as expressionless as Xiao?
Xiao only thought over that question for a brief second before deciding that it didn’t matter at all. Whichever side was this man’s real side, they were equally as annoying.
He continued to hold the man as the sun rose to the highest point in the sky before dropping back down.
Throughout the day, Xiao would sense people coming towards his room, trying to see if he was there but a small gust of wind would always send these people away. No one thought it was weird, for that Xiao had always been like this when he didn’t want to see anyone. The only one who would barge into his room other than the man in his arms would be Hu Tao, but the lack of the young master's voice told him that she most likely went out somewhere to play and wouldn't be back any time soon.
Xiao didn’t drink.
He didn’t eat or sleep either.
He kept holding the man until night came once more and the rowdiness from the street quiet down.
It was late into the night when the city was asleep did Tartaglia finally stirred.
Cobalt yellow eyes shifted down to the man in his arms. Xiao brought a hand to the man’s face, brushing aside those brown bangs and was greeted by the sight of those azure blue eyes.
“Hey there…” Tartaglia grinned, voice raspy from his long sleep. He turned around in Xiao’s arms and reached up a hand to touch Xiao’s cheek. “Were you with me this entire time?”
“I do not go back on my words,” Xiao replied.
“Yeah…” Tartaglia whispered and soon noticed something was off. He brought his hand down and took a sniff of his sleeve before breaking out into laughter. “I can’t believe you were able to hold me like this when I smell so bad!”
“If you realized, then get off.”
Tartaglia finally sat up. He stretched his arms over his head until he got some satisfying pops from his joints. “Aah, I haven’t had a sleep like that in ages.”
He hopped off the bed, taking Xiao’s hand and pulling him along.
“Come on!”
“What are you doing?” Xiao frowned, but still followed him.
“Bath. I think you and I both need one. And I’m sure you’d want to change out of those clothes?” He said, making a show of looking over Xiao who was still dressed like a woman.
Xiao huffed but was unable to argue with that. The two of them went into the parlour’s bath that night. Since it was in the middle of the night, everyone was asleep so both baths they had were unoccupied.
Tartaglia insisted on sharing one bath, but Xiao ignored him and went into his own before locking the door shut. Once he rid himself of the Snezhnayan’s scent and dressed into his usual clothes, Xiao walked out to see Tartaglia already standing there waiting for him.
“Where did get those clothes?”
“The guest rooms.” Tartaglia smiled cockily. “Since I crash here so often, I left some of my clothes behind.” He replied as though leaving his clothes in other people’s homes was the most natural thing to do.
Xiao made a mental note to speak with the young master the next time he sees her. He tossed the red earring back to the man and walked past him. "Since your business is done and the culprit identified, leave. I will inform young master Hu that my duty is over.”
“Always so eager to leave,” Tartaglia said with a light smile. “You’ve stayed with me all this time so you didn’t eat or drink anything, right? At least let me treat you to a meal.”
Xiao paused and it was then he became aware of how empty his stomach felt.
Reluctantly, he agreed and followed the beaming man out the parlour. They arrived at the Liuli Pavilion where Tartaglia booked a private room for them and ordered an entire table of food. Xiao was dumbfounded by all these food considering there were only the two of them, but since it wasn’t his mora they were spending he had no complaints. During the entire meal, Xiao ate quietly with Tartaglia chattering next to him and introducing him to the dishes he picked. Though Xiao didn’t want to admit it, Tartaglia had good tastes in his choice of menu. If there was any fault Xiao was to comment on, it would be the fork in the Snezhnayan's hand.
After eating a hearty meal with Tartaglia paying out of his wallet, they were back on the street, heading towards the Wangsheng Funeral Parlour. The entire journey, neither of them spoke. They just enjoyed the silence and each other’s presence.
When they arrived at the main door of the parlour, Xiao was about to go inside when Tartaglia said something unexpected.
“I will be returning to Snezhnaya very soon.”
Xiao turned to the man who was gazing back at him as though he was expecting him to say…something.
The green-haired youth opened his mouth, but he didn’t know what he could say to that. He had almost forgotten that this man was a diplomat, that his stay in Liyue was temporary. The fact that he had stayed for a whole year was already surprising enough.
Liyue would never be home to someone like him.
His place will always be in Snezhnaya.
“I see…” Xiao’s gaze unconsciously shifted away from the man. “I wish you a pleasant journey.”
Tartaglia laughed weakly at the expected response. “So cold…and here I thought we have something special.”
Xiao stiffened at that last part. Before he could figure out what Tartaglia meant by special, the man took his hand into his and pulled him inside. As a frequent guest at the parlour, he knew his way around the building—especially Xiao’s room which he frequently intruded upon.
Once they were back in the room, Tartaglia sat down on Xiao’s bed and pulled the smaller man into his arms. Xiao hastily put out his hands onto the mattress to stop himself from falling against Tartaglia, yet he couldn’t pull away with the man’s arms wrapped around his waist.
“You—”
“I’m just returning a favour.” Tartaglia’s fingers brushed over the tender skin beneath the mesmerizing golden eye. “You should get some sleep. It’d be a pity if such beautiful skin gets ruined.”
There was hesitance in Xiao’s eyes, but the warmth being emitted from the brunet’s body and the weight of the arm over his back was extremely tempting. A longing Xiao hadn’t felt for a long time burned him from the inside and he found that he was too exhausted to fight against it.
Xiao knew he wasn’t thinking straight, but he couldn’t help but cave in. He hesitantly lowered himself against the man, like a cat testing the water.
Tartaglia waited for him patiently, watching him with a gentle look on his face. It was only when most of Xiao’s weight was put against him that he moved. He wrapped Xiao up in his arms and pulled the blanket over them. He leaned his back against the wall next to the windowsill and held onto the smaller body protectively.
Xiao closed his eyes and let out a small breath at the warmth and comfort surrounding him. Pressed up against the man’s chest, he could hear and feel the heart that was beating beneath the other’s ribcage was strangely calming.
“Xiao.”
Xiao didn’t respond, but Tartaglia knew he was listening.
“Come with me to Snezhnaya.”
Aureolin eyes snapped open in surprise. The body in Tartaglia’s arms shifted, but the man held the other tighter and continued.
“The Wangsheng Funeral Parlour gave you a home, but you and I both know this isn’t where you belong. Blades are meant to be sharpened and used on the battlefield, not to be locked away in the shed to rust, don’t you agree?”
Xiao dropped his gaze. He knew that for a long time, but he was saved by Zhongli who gave him a place here. Both Zhongli and Hu Tao were important people to him and leaving them would feel like he was betraying them.
“I…cannot answer you at this time.”
“But you’ll think about it?”
Xiao hesitated before answering with a small nod.
“Good.” Tartaglia smiled and buried his face into the silky green hair. He rubbed his hand up and down the curve of Xiao’s back while his other hand gently rubbed his nape.
“Rest, Xiao. In the name of her majesty, the Tsaritsa, I promise I will always protect you.”
Xiao felt something inside him trembled at such promise. He knew Tartaglia well enough to know that this man always kept his promises no matter how ridiculous that promise may be. But even so, this was the first time he heard the man use his Queen’s name when making a promise. Moreover, Xiao keenly caught how Tartaglia said always protect, and not just for tonight.
Xiao parted his lips but quickly close them again. He knew there was nothing he could say at this moment—not when he didn’t know what his own feelings were. He wasn’t so cruel as to give the man a half-hearted answer.
So Xiao closed his eyes and tried to will himself to sleep.
Xiao didn’t actually think he would fall asleep, given the heavy promise Tartaglia gave him, but he did. He fell asleep listening to Tartaglia’s voice that was softly singing a lullaby to him.
For the first time since he could remember, Xiao fell asleep feeling warm and safe.
When Xiao woke up, he was still bathed in the warmth of another living being. Even though his mind was still muddled by the sleep, every part of his instincts was screaming to him that something was wrong.
The first thing Xiao noticed was the weird rocking feeling and the second thing was the smell.
Being in the Wangsheng Funeral Parlour, there was always the smell of incense and because Xiao’s room was always so dull and empty, Hu Tao took it upon herself to always fill his room up with flowers. Right now, there was no scent of flowers or incense anywhere, only the smell of old wood and the saltiness of the sea.
In a split second, Xiao was up, eyes snapping open with the thick quill slipping off his body from the movement, causing his exposed arms to come into contact with the chilly air.
“Careful now,” the Harbinger’s voice came from the darkness before the Xiao was pulled back against the body with the blanket wrapped around his back once more.
“Tartaglia? What is this?” Xiao demanded, looking around the unfamiliar that was most definitely not his. It was a luxurious room, but the style of the room and furniture was not the style of Liyue.
There were no windows in the room, but the constant rocking motion gave Xiao an idea as to where he was. He leaped out of the man’s arms and in a flash of green light, he was across the room, tearing the door open and running out. He sped down the narrow hallway and up the staircase.
In a matter of seconds, Xiao was standing outside on the deck with the bright afternoon sun beaming down at him. He winced at the brightness and had to bring a hand up to shield his eyes from the unusually strong sunlight.
The cold assaulted his body, but Xiao could barely feel it when he saw all these people walking around him, moving the cargo of the ship. These people were all dressed in Snezhnaya clothes with some members of the Fatui as well.
Xiao’s breath came out of his open lips in a visible puff of white. His eyes scanned over the sea before stopping at the land in the far distant—covered by a sheet of white.
“Underestimate the cold and you’ll die in Snezhnaya,” Tartaglia said, coming up from behind Xiao to wrap a thick layer of white fur coat around the fragile-looking youth. Unfortunately for him, his gesture wasn’t welcome when Xiao whirled around and seized him by his collar, pulling him down until they were eye to eye.
“What is the meaning of this?” Xiao snarled, his eyes nearly dilated in his rage.
“Well, you’ll have to ask your young master Hu about that.”
“Young master Hu?” Xiao was taken back, not expecting such an answer.
Tartaglia held out a letter to him with Xiao’s name written at the top. Xiao snatched the letter from his hand and unfold it to see Hu Tao’s familiar handwriting.
He read through the long letter which basically came down to one thing.
Hu Tao had sold Xiao to Tartaglia for ten billion mora.
To be precise, Hu Tao has sent Xiao to Snezhnaya to work with their business partner as a diplomat at the contract agreement of ten billion mora.
Xiao ripped apart the letter. As though that wasn’t enough, he even used his Ameno power to shred papers until it was nothing but dust that was blown away by the ocean wind.
Where in Teyvat had anyone heard of a funeral parlour needing diplomats?!
“You!” Xiao glared at the man who had the audacity to look amused. “I did not agree to come with you to Snezhnaya!”
“Didn’t you say you’ll think about it?”
“That did not mean I agreed!”
“But if I don’t bring you here, how will you think about it?” Tartaglia laughed before he pulled Xiao into a tight embrace. The green-haired youth was mulling over whether or not to toss this man overboard when he heard the following words. “You’re not a prisoner, Xiao. You’re free to leave any time.”
Xiao frowned, trying to figure out if this was another trick.
“The contract I made with Hu Tao only says for you to help me out. As for when this help ends, that is up to you. If you want, you can end it right now and return to Liyue. The money has already been paid in full and by the rules of the contract, I won’t be able to ask the Wangsheng Funeral Parlour to give it back.” Tartaglia slowly released him and took a small step back.
Xiao stared at the man, his anger of being lied to had already faded into nothingness. Despite having pulled him here without asking him, the man was now presenting him a choice to leave.
“What’s your purpose of bringing me to your nation?”
“…I guess I just really wanted to show you my family,” Tartaglia laughed. “They’re the most precious people to me, so I wanted you to meet them.”
“Why?”
“Do I have to spell it out?” Tartaglia tilted his head and smiled at Xiao.
Xiao shook his head and looked back to the land of white the ship was heading towards.
“…Three months,” he finally said after a long time.
Xiao suddenly realized that when it came to this man, he was surprisingly lenient. Had it been anyone else that had kidnapped him into another nation, he would have killed that person already. “You have three months to convince me to stay. Otherwise, I will go back to Liyue.”
“That’s more than enough.” Tartaglia smiled before he held up his hand. Xiao watched as his fingers curled up, leaving only his pinkie behind.
“There is no need for a promise,” Xiao stated.
“Give me your finger.” Tartaglia waved his hand to urge Xiao to do the same.
The green-haired youth slowly held out his hand, raising his pinkie and hooked it around the man’s. Xiao only felt the pinkie around his tightening before Tartaglia pulled him into his arms through their linked fingers.
“I promise that I won’t make you regret this choice you made today, Xiao.”  
37 notes · View notes