#after nine months | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tennessoui · 3 months

Note

For the prompt list, nanny/single parent obikin would be amazing!!

(from this prompt list)

(the first time I answered this prompt two years ago, the nanny anakin au was born)

so to do something different, here's some gffa widowed anakin, nanny (sort of) obi-wan!

(2.5k)

It is hard to find time to grieve. There are too many things to do. Too many appointments to make, too many decisions Anakin isn’t sure he’s qualified for. Some decisions are easier than others. For example, the funeral will be on Naboo. There will be two services: a public one to honor Padmé’s public service, and a private one to honor who she was as a person. The casket will be closed, because his wife died when her cruiser exploded. There isn’t much left to bury anyway.

But some decisions are harder. Which flowers should go on her casket. What songs would she want sung and who should sing them? Would she prefer her grave closer to her ancestral home or the home she created in her adulthood?

If she told anyone the answers to these questions, it wasn’t Anakin. But then, the people who knew her best, who loved her most, died with her. Sabé, Rabé, Saché, Yané, all of her handmaidens—an assassination such broad strokes that it was impossible for it to fail.

So Anakin chooses Yali lilies, because Leia’s eyes linger on them the longest. He chooses a small Nabooian folk band to play after her service because their music is the first thing to make Luke lift his head from his coloring books in days. He formally requests that her body be buried among her ancestors, and the Nabierres agree immediately.

And he keeps telling himself that he will grieve, but there is so much to do.

And then—then there’s after the funeral. Then there’s the rest of his life, sprawling out before him in a long, hazy road.

There are more decisions to be made.

There are people who have opinions on them now, people who sat back and let Anakin muddle through flower arrangements and kriffing seating charts, who now step in to peer over his shoulder, monitor his every breath.

Should he really move the children back to Coruscant? Does he truly plan to continue to work as a mechanic in the Mid-Levels? Should he not think of the children, their needs? How can he support them on the thin amount of credits he makes? Would it not be better for the children to live on Naboo in the care of their grandparents and their extended family?

It would be what Padmé would have wanted.

Anakin cannot care about what Padmé would have wanted, because she isn’t here. Not to argue with him, not to make her wants known. She is dead. She doesn’t get to haunt him in the waking world too.

“What do you want?” he asks plainly, sitting down across the table from his two children. The twins blink back at him. Leia has finished her cereal. Luke has barely touched his.

“Bacon,” Luke says.

Anakin hadn’t meant for breakfast, but he figures it’s as good of a start as any. “Alright,” he agrees.

He stands once more and goes to the kitchen. It’s not exactly his domain. It was never Padmé’s either. The way Padmé grew up, food was made once you requested it—by droid, by cooking staff. Not by the hand of a Nabierre.

The way Anakin grew up, food was cobbled together carefully, sparingly no matter how much you requested it. And no matter how you cooked it, it always tasted a little like dust, which took the joy out of experimentation.

But the serving staff have been dismissed for the past two weeks to give the family time and space to grieve in private.

(Padmé’s parents have been given a schedule for visiting hours for that exact reason.)

Anakin locates the pan; then, he locates the package of bacon strips.

When he glances up, both twins are watching him over the edge of their barstools, tiny faces showing both skepticism and incredulity.

“I want to know what you want to do,” Anakin says, raising his voice as he places the pot over the heating plate, the meat in a moment later. “Do you want to stay here with your grandmother and grandfather? Do you want to go back to Coruscant?”

The twins are quiet. Anakin twists his neck to look at them again, and they’re looking at each other, silently communicating the way only twins can.

“Where will you be?” Leia finally asks, looking at him with narrowed, suspicious eyes, bottom lip already jutting out.

Anakin blinks. “Wherever you are,” he answers.

“You won’t leave too?” Luke asks rather tremulously.

Anakin takes the pan off the heated plate and turns it off with a decisive flick of his wrist. “Of course not,” he says. “Come here.” He crouches down and barely has enough time to open his arms before the twins are there, pressing in as close as they can get to him. He holds them back just as tightly in return.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises into Leia’s hair. “Not without you two.”

—-----------------

It becomes apparent fairly quickly that this is, by necessity, a lie.

The twins don’t want to stay on Naboo, which Anakin is secretly incredibly grateful for. He doesn’t want to either, but he knows he’d just be called selfish should he express the opinion.

But the twins don’t want to go back to Coruscant either. This makes sense as well. It would be incredibly jarring for them to go back to living in the quarters they shared with their mother, her Upper Coruscanti apartments in the nicest district of the planet, without her there.

Anakin wishes it were as simple as sticking a pin on a planet and deciding to uproot the entirety of his family to live there.

But it’s not.

Perhaps if he were still young, nineteen, newly free and in love with the taste of that freedom, it would be.

But he’s a widower now. He has his children to think about, their futures. Any planet he chooses must have what they need as well.

And they are four year olds who have just lost their mother. Their needs are numerous.

What makes the decision for him in the end is that his boss knows a man from Stewjon, who is willing to hire him. Who is willing to pay a premium for his expertise with mechanics.

Anakin doesn’t know the first thing about Stewjon, other than that it’s an ocean planet in the Inner Core and his dead wife always said the Senators from Stewjon were so frigid and tight-lipped because they spent the first few days of each visit trying not to be seasick on the Senate floor.

Anakin isn’t sure why this is the very first thing he tells the man—his potential boss—he meets behind the counter in the mech-shop on Stewjon.

He’s left the children with their grandparents for the week—long enough to fly from Naboo to Stewjon, meet with his potential employer, interview, apply his work practically, and fly back out.

He’d explained to both twins why they had to stay on Naboo. He’d explained many times. That hadn’t changed the betrayed look Leia had worn as she saw him off. It hadn’t wiped the tears from Luke’s eyes.

“Ah, well, I can’t say I’ve heard that one before,” the mechanic says. He sounds amused, and Anakin is incredibly shocked to hear a Coruscanti accent. Everyone he’s spoken to since arriving planetside has had such a heavy brogue that he’d honestly struggled to understand their directions to the shop—Kenobi & Sons.

Anakin lets himself look again at the man behind the counter. He’s rather clean for a mechanic, he decides. His beard is red, a common factor around these parts apparently, but his beard is short and neat, trimmed to accentuate the strong lines of his jaw. His eyes are a stormy blue, the kind of blue that matches the Stewjoni ocean.

“Between you and me though,” the man smirks and leans onto the counter with his elbow. His tunic is dark gray, white starchy fabric peeking out beneath the v-necked collar. “I’ve never been a fan of Stewjoni politicians anyway.”

“Oh?” Anakin asks, sidling a step closer to the counter. The man has the beginnings of gray at his temples, and his eyes are lined with wrinkles. They don’t make him look old though, Anakin decides. They make him look…well-lived.

“I’ve not a head for politics much at all,” his future employer shakes his head slightly with a small smile. His eyes flick up and down Anakin’s face, lingering on his lips and then lingering longer on the scar over his brow. Anakin feels rather flushed under the inspection, and he shifts his weight forward until he’s leaning up against the counter too.

There’s something about this man that’s rather…magnetic. It pulls him in. It makes him want to linger.

Good characteristic for a shopkeeper to have, though Anakin privately decides that the man before him has a face that’s wasted on mechanics, buried under some ship’s underbelly in a backroom.

“Me neither,” he admits, a moment too late to sound anything but highly distracted. It makes the man smile again though, a flash of straight white teeth.

“Is there anything you do have a head for then?” he asks. His tone is light, airy, rather teasing.

This is the strangest interview Anakin has ever had.

“Um,” he says. “Well. There’s mechanics.”

“Oh?” The man’s eyebrow lifts at an elegant angle. He props his chin on the palm of his hand and looks up at Anakin through his eyelashes. “Then why come here to us then?”

“Um,” Anakin says, and not because the man looks rather unfairly flattering like this, amber eyelashes in sharp relief against the blue of his eyes.

They’re interrupted by the sounds of clattering in the backroom, stomping and cursing. The man before him straightens with a slight sigh and picks up the closest flimsipad. “And what brings you in here today, sir?” he asks rather loudly, pitching his voice back to the other room of the shop pointedly. “Problem with your speeder? Serving droid? Cruiser? If it’s your astromech droid, I regret to inform you that I’ll have to refuse you service on account of the fact that I don’t particularly care for them.”

Anakin thinks he splutters, but whatever noise he makes is definitely drowned out by the rather irritated shout of Obi-Wan! that comes from the back.

A moment later, a man storms through the door, looking annoyed. "We will service an astomech if that's what's broken, Obi-Wan."

Now this is a man that Anakin can believe is a mechanic. His nails are blackened with oil, and his bare, burly arms carry smudges of the stuff. He’s much broader than the man—Obi-Wan—that Anakin had been talking to. He’s bald with a reddened scalp and a rather large red beard that’s the antithesis of the other man’s in every way. His clothes are dirty, loose, and the color of ash. He looks older too—whereas Obi-Wan could easily be in his thirties, this man must be pushing fifty.

He snaps at Obi-Wan in a language that Anakin doesn’t understand. Obi-Wan shrugs and hands over the flimsi pad without argument.

“Um, actually,” Anakin says, feeling incredibly wrong-footed. “Which one of you is Kenobi?”

“I am,” both of them say. Obi-Wan’s smirking slightly. The other man’s voice is louder, carrying that Stewjoni accent so obviously lacking in Obi-Wan’s speech.

The older man closes his eyes as if he’s praying for patience. “We both are,” he says. “Though if your ship’s malfunctioned, sir, I’m the Kenobi you want to see. This one’s good for naught but magic tricks.”

“I have been told I’m rather good at other things,” Obi-Wan turns his smirk full-force at Anakin, dropping his eyes to Anakin’s lips once more.

“My name is Anakin Skywalker,” he says very quickly in a very normal tone of voice that is most definitely not a squeak. “I’m here to interview for a position. As another mechanic.”

“Oh,” the older Kenobi says.

“Oh,” the younger Kenobi says in a much different tone.

The older Kenobi pinches at his nose for a moment before turning around the counter and offering his hand. “Ben,” he says. “Ben Kenobi.”

Anakin takes his hand and shakes it, eyes traveling back to Obi-Wan. Is he supposed to shake his hand too?

“I’m the Son in the sign,” Ben says gruffly as if that answers his question.

“I’m the reason it’s plural,” Obi-Wan adds, busying himself with the contents of the counter. From what Anakin can tell, the man is just messing up the carefully organized piles of receipts.

He decides that he would rather not get the job than point this out to Ben.

Ben huffs out something in Stewjoni that sounds downright insulting, but that doesn’t stop Obi-Wan from smiling sunnily up at Anakin. “My brother enjoys bitching and moaning that I came back home when I was seventeen, but he’s awfully quick to foist his children off on me when he’s called to shift at the rig offshore and Marci’s off-planet too.”

Anakin blinks. He feels like that’s the safest answer.

“Only thing good that blasted Jedi Order ever taught you was how to handle younglings,” Ben says, and then spits on the ground as if the words themselves have left a bad taste in his mouth.

Anakin blinks and wonders if he should say something to remind the brothers that he’s here. For an interview. “And my magic tricks,” Obi-Wan rolls his eyes slightly before catching Anakin’s eye and winking. With a wave of his hand, a flimsi-sheet flies over the counter and into Anakin’s chest. He catches it unthinkingly. “Would you like to sign in, sir?” “Get out of here,” Ben barks, snatching the flimsi from Anakin’s hand and pushing it back to the counter. “Like I said, the only one’s impressed with that is the younglings.”

“I don’t know, your man looks impressed,” Obi-Wan says slyly, even as he pushes himself away from the counter and around the edge of it.

Anakin isn’t sure what he looks like. He doesn’t think impressed is the word he’d use though.

When Obi-Wan brushes past him, the static electricity in the air jumps between their shoulders. Anakin feels as if he’s been shocked.

Obi-Wan must feel it too because he stops only a few inches away and looks at Anakin. For the first time, his expression is open. Curious. Considering.

“Get!” His brother insists, and Obi-Wan obeys, throwing one last look over his shoulder at Anakin before he slips out the door.

The shop feels somehow much bigger now that the other man has left. Ben sighs and rubs a hand down his face. He looks older now. More worn. “So that was my brother,” he tells Anakin wearily. “Who you would most likely see frequently if you were to take this job. I would understand completely if you would like to start by talking compensation.”

#asks #prompt fills #obikin #so he's not a nanny YET #i absolutely got too into the exposition lol #but in my mind he looks after luke and leia while anakin is at work #and then after a few months anakin is asked to do a few week stint at a rig off shore #(thnk of it either like oil rig or like the underwater station in the kenobi show)#and he goes and obi-wan looks after his kids #ok mostly i just wanted to write obnoxious little brother obi-wan #he leaves the order at 15 to go to melida/daan #and isn't allowed back in so he fights and rebuilds #but eventually leaves and goes to stewjon where he finds his family #and his brother both hates him and loves him more than anything else in the world #and hates the jedi order for rejecting him and letting him fight and risking his baby brother's life #and obi-wan finds this amusing and also secretly touching #you can tell i thought way too much about this brother dynamic lol #but just imagine the you hurt my brother speech this guy will give to anakin #and obi-wan's in the back like im thirty nine

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vaughnwrites · 1 year

Text

Stressed Out

adaman x reader

(after a hell of a long hiatus, i am back from the dead! kinda. so, i'm not going to promise anything anymore as i apparently never know when inspiration is going to strike, and i never know where the hyperfixation will take me. i was trying to get this out for nine months now, but this was... not coming until tonight. sorry y'all for the wait, but here it is after all this time! also, this is my longest one to date. the others barely scratched 1000 words, some managing 1700, but this one... is a beast. it's near 3000 words. the inspiration to write struck me hard. hope you guys enjoy! )

reader is gender-neutral. they/them pronouns will be used if any pronouns at all.

finally, i bring to you this prompt

—

Everything was overwhelming.

The past few weeks, the stress had been mounting as you fought tooth and nail to be seen as an asset rather than a nuisance. You wore yourself down to the bone, putting your heart and soul trying to please everyone so the suspicion would die down only for it to mount more and more with people with each passing day. You had already been cast out once, and earned your way back into the Galaxy team. So why were people still suspicious? How much would you have to do to gain everyone’s trust? Why did you constantly have to fight for everyone’s approval?

Why did the other clan leaders believe in you more than your own clan did?

All you craved was somewhere to call home again. Somewhere you could rest your head at night and simply sleep, rather than spending all your time being anxious about one wrong perceived move and you’d be kicked out of the village again. The stress felt like it was piling up on your already tense shoulders, and you felt so overwhelmed.

Everything was overwhelming.

Instead of slamming your fists into the first and cursing everyone to please, for the love of all that is holy, give me some credit — you got to work. Like always.

You’d overheard about a Zorua outbreak in the Alabaster Icelands, which was exactly what you needed. A young man in the village had asked to see the completed entry for Zorua, so this would be the perfect opportunity to finally cross this Pokemon off your to-do list. So, off you set toward the Pearl Clan settlement so you could check in in case something goes wrong. Even though you were far more trusting of Pokemon than others around you, you still didn’t underestimate the ones that were absolutely ready to kill you in a moment’s notice. Alpha Pokemon were far more angry than any other Pokemon you’d come across in your time.

Arriving in the Pearl settlement, the snow softly crunching under your boots, you hear not one, but two familiar voices to the side. Oh, Adaman is here as well. You vaguely remember them talking about a meeting about… something about traditions, or something? The details were fuzzy. You have been focusing far more on your own tasks and stresses than anything else.

Irida noticed your presence almost immediately and smiles, waving you over. Adaman joined along when he sees you as well.

“Well, our favourite Galaxy member is here! How are you?”

“I’m good, Irida, thank you.” You offer her a kind smile, keeping all your stresses tucked away neatly into a corner of your mind. Put them in a box, and file it away. Not the healthiest coping mechanism, but one that’ll at least get you through this. “How are you guys doing?”

“We’re just discussing our cultures and possibly having a party to mingle the clans a little easier,” Adaman responded easily, throwing up his three fingers as a hello with his signature grin that never fails to make you smile in return.

“Sounds like fun.”

“It isn’t.”

“Hey!” Irida responded, stomping her foot down with her hands clenched at her sides. “I’m not the one being unreasonable!”

“Yeah yeah,” he waved her off, then turned his attention toward you. “What brings you here?”

“There’s a Zorua outbreak around the Bonechill Wastes area, and I wanted to complete my research on this guy while I still have the chance.” You neglected to tell them someone from Galaxy wanted the information as well.

Adaman raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you have someone to come along with you?”

You opened your mouth to say no before Irida cuts in. “You volunteering? Provided you don’t freeze to death first,” she teased as she jabs him in the ribs playfully, and grinned at his responding yelp and pout. “Jesting aside — you really should have someone to accompany you. An Alpha Glalie tends to roam that area, and no one has dared to come close to it. It seems really powerful. I wouldn’t be comfortable with you going alone.”

Adaman pursed his lips in thought. “Yeah, now that you mention it, I feel like I’ve gotten a glimpse of that Glalie before.” He turned to Irida. “You said no one has come close to it before to know its true strength?”

She shook her head. “We’ve all been too scared to try.”

“I’m sure it won’t be a problem for me,” you interjected, trying to quell their fears. “After everything I’ve faced, it feels like I should be dead at minimum four times over.”

The clan leaders share a glance to each other. It seems they’re talking through just their looks, but what they could possibly be communicating is lost on you. “Adaman, please go with them. I would go if I didn’t have a meeting later on that I cannot miss. But I know you’ll keep them safe.”

“Do I get a say in this?”

“No,” both clan leaders respond at the same time.

You were split on this decision. Deep down, you did really like Adaman — and not just as a friend. Any time spent with him you keep near and dear to your heart. His smile that could light up a room and his long hair that you wanted to card your fingers through. But with the stress you’ve been under and how overwhelmed you’ve been, you’re unsure if you can handle a couple hours of him bitching about how cold it was. One too many comments and you weren’t sure if you could keep it all bottled anymore.

Yet, you also knew having someone with you would be more helpful than not. You didn’t know how strong the Zorua were going to be after all. If they ended up being feisty and ganged up on you, there’s no way you’d leave the battle unscathed. Add an Alpha Glalie to the mix and you’d be dead as dust in less than a heartbeat. You weighed your options (which, technically, they weren’t giving you any) and finally caved in. You weren’t gonna win this fight anyway. “Think you can talk about more than how cold it is?”

“I’m sure I can come up with something. But if it wasn’t so damn cold I wouldn’t complain about it all the time.”

“It’s not even that cold!” Irida scoffed, throwing her hands in the air. “I don’t know how you don’t boil over in the Crimson Mirelands!”

“It’s barely warm enough there for me. It can get really cold by the water, y’know.”

“You’re both impossible,” you cut in to break off the sibling-esque fighting before it can truly start. “Now c’mon, I wanna get going before it gets dark outside.”

And off you and Adaman went, hands in your respective pockets.

You didn’t expect to fall in love with the Zorua like you did.

They were so cute with their flowy hair and expressive eyes. Most were on the attack if they saw you, but crouching down from a good distance away and just watching seemed to be okay. One had strayed away from the group toward you and Adaman, and you both held your breath so it wouldn’t notice you. It failed, as it did notice you, but it didn’t seem to be angry. It walked up to you slowly, and out of habit you gave it your hand to sniff so it wouldn’t see you as a threat.

It rubbed the side of its head against your hand, causing you to smile from ear to ear.

“You really do have a way with Pokemon, don’t you?” Adaman commented, watching everything with a small smile of his own. “They just trust you so implicitly. It’s one of the many things I love about you.”

Your cheeks went up in flames at the compliment, but the cold would cover it up as they were already pretty red. “I think they can just sense that I’m not here to harm them.” You started to pet the Zorua behind its ear, causing its eyes to close. “Sometimes I feel like they’re the only ones that can.”

“What do you mean?”

Oops. You hadn’t meant for this to be a therapy session. “I just… I don’t know. I guess it feels like humans always think they’re about to be betrayed, stabbed in the back. One wrong move and you’re crucified. But Pokemon… They don’t seem to be that way. Some Pokemon can sense a good person when they see one. That seems to be… a lot more rare in humans.”

“I know you’re a good person,” Adaman said softly, putting one hand on your arm.

Before you can even think about a response or the fact he’s showing a more sensitive side of himself to you, a noise catches the three of you off guard.

“Shit,” you breathe, feeling your entire body freeze with fear. “The Alpha.”

You both bounce to your feet as the Alpha comes over the hill behind the Zorua and Adaman. You can see the Glalie is pissed off that people are invading its territory, and wants to get rid of the intruders. An ice beam begins to form, and before you can think, you jump in front of Adaman and the Zorua.

The blast hit you in full force.

Your fingers and feet go completely numb almost immediately, though it almost feels like you’re not even cold anymore. You almost feel warm, actually, and you know that’s an incredibly bad sign. The sky is a beautiful haze of orange and purple as the sun is setting behind the clouds, and for a moment you just take in the colours swirling in your vision. It feels like everything has a layer of clouds over it, and your mind feels stuffed full of cotton. Oh, this is probably a very bad sign.

You can hear a call of your name, as warbled and muffled as you heard it, but can’t really respond to it. Adaman lifted your torso and pressed your back against his chest, his arms wrapped around you with his haori encasing you against him. The Zorua was curled in your lap, and you just felt… warm. You try to say thank you, but your lips feel tingly. Funny. You know you’re slurring even if you can’t hear much yourself. You try your hardest to communicate one word to Adaman.

“Camp.”

With that, though, you go unconscious.

—

You have no idea how much time has passed, but the next thing you know, you’re nice and warm in a tent. Blankets are stacked on top of you, and the fire in the furnace is crackling softly. You’re cozy and warm, but something feels… different. You sit up a bit, and promptly look down.

Oh. You’re definitely not wearing the clothes that you were wearing when you were out hunting for Zorua. You were wrapped up in a yukata that you didn’t recognise, but definitely knew the pearl clan symbol and colours. You wrapped it closer to yourself, then wrapped the blankets around you tightly for warmth. The clothes you had been wearing were hanging over a rack by the stove, seemingly drying off after the long day they’d been through.

You didn’t really know what to do. You’re not even sure what you managed to accomplish for research, or what you’re wearing, or what time it is, or really… anything. You don’t know anything that’s happened since you were out with Adaman. Now, it seems you’re alone in this little area.

The tears fall before you even really mean them to.

When the first teardrop hit your hand, you realised what’s going on. The stress of everything was finally boiling over now that you feel comfortable and safe. You’re confused, but you’re comfortable and safe which is all you’ve wanted to feel for a while.

You allowed yourself to cry.

Trying not to be loud, you cry silently to yourself while wrapped up in blankets and the yukata, pulling the items tightly against you so you feel swaddled. You rock back and forth and let yourself have your small breakdown.

Until Adaman popped open the tent flaps to check on you, apparently.

Almost immediately your hands fly to your face to cover your tear-tracked cheeks and red eyes, burying your face into the softness of the blanket. You don’t say anything, and neither does he. But all it takes is him walking up and gently touching the top of your hair before you break completely.

The stress of everything came boiling over the edge, the fear of almost dying, the unknown of whether the research you obtained was enough to complete the entry on Zorua, whether you would have a home to go back to in Galaxy. Everything boiled up and you pressed the top of your head into Adaman’s stomach to cry.

He rubbed your back and shoulders gently as you sobbed, gently shushing you and reassuring you that you were safe, you were okay, everyone was okay. He was the much-needed rock in your mind to cling to so your head stayed above the water of emotions. Everything was going to be fine.

Everything was going to be fine.

Eventually your tears slowed and your breathing evened out, pulling away from Adaman to give him room and let him back up if he wanted. (You couldn’t help but notice he didn’t.) “I’m sorry. I didn’t… mean to break down.”

“You’ve been through a lot today, it’s understandable why you would.” Adaman sat down on the bed next to you and handed you a towel to wipe your face. “You’re in a spare tent right now, one they have set out for visitors or harmed individuals found in the wild. Do you remember what happened?”

You nodded, refusing to speak any words.

“You really scared me, y’know. When I saw that ice blast hit you, I… I saw you skid backward in the snow, and your lips were already blue. That was one of the scariest moments of my life, but I’m glad I went with you to keep you safe. Makes me want to go everywhere with you to always make sure you’re safe.”

An eyebrow raised as you look at him. “Wouldn’t that be a waste of your time?”

“Saving you wasn’t a waste of time. And I’d do it all over again, and again, just to keep you safe.”

You’re stunned speechless. You don’t know how to respond with words, so you do the next best appropriate thing — hug him. It starts as a side hug that quickly develops into a full hug, and by the way you’re both gripping each other… it seems neither one of you wants to let go.

“Adaman…” you whispered, holding him tightly. “Thank you. I couldn’t ask for a better —” you pause. You can’t say friend. He’s more than a friend at this point, in your heart, but that’s not something you can say. “— for a better person in my life. You’ve been so helpful to me, and I just… I’m so thankful for you.”

You can feel him smile against your shoulder, which makes you smile. “And I, you.”

He pulled back from the hug slowly, as if he was fighting himself. But he let go and instead stood up, grabbing the bowl he’d at some point set on the counter next to you. “I brought this in to try and wake you up to get something in your stomach, when… well, y’know.” Adaman rubbed the back of his neck. “You should get some warm food in your system though. It’ll help out.”

You grabbed the bowl of what appears to be some sort of soup, and you’re glad to have something else besides potato mochi to eat tonight. “Thank you.”

As you began to eat your soup, Adaman began to explain everything. “So that Zorua you saved came back with us. It’s sleeping with all your Pokeballs in Irida’s tent so she could keep an eye on them, and so they didn’t try to warm you too fast.” Ah, that explained the lack of Pokeballs with your clothes. “That Zorua seems pretty attached. I think you found yourself a new buddy.”

Both of you talk about the Zorua, about the research of all types of Pokemon and how it’s all going, talk about how cold it is and how much warmer the Crimson Mirelands is, how the clan meeting seems to be coming along well even through the bickering Irida and him do. Eventually, you finish your soup and set the bowl onto the chest next to you. Adaman clears his throat and begins to stand.

“It’s about time for sleep, so I guess I’ll —”

“Please stay with me.”

Adaman’s eyebrows shot through the sky as he looked at you. “What?”

“Please, stay with me. I could use another person here so I’m not… I’m not alone.” You bowed your head. “And I don’t want you to go. But if you do, I understand.”

Hands rest on your shoulders and you looked up, meeting his eyes and matching his smile. “I would love nothing more than that. I don’t want to leave your side. Not now, not…” he stopped, but you finished it.

“Not ever?”

He smiled warmly, and it warms your soul. “Not ever.”

“Then stay with me. Tonight, at least. We’ll figure out the rest later.”

“You got it.”

He slid under the blankets with you, and without a second thought, you curled up next to him for warmth. You were warm, but after how cold you were today… warm didn’t seem to be enough. Adaman’s arms wrapped around you protectively, and with your head on his chest, the sound of his heartbeat gently lulled you into a peaceful slumber.

#pokemon x reader #adaman x reader #reader x adaman #vaughnwrites #gender neutral reader #rises from the dead after nine months. finishes this all in one go. slumbers

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