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itsapeterthing · 3 years

Text

Green || Bucky Barnes

pairing: bucky barnes x avenger!reader

summary: three times bucky realized you were more than a friend and the one time he finally admitted it (based on events from tfatws)

a/n: finishing this in time for the season finale tomorrow! reblogs and/or replies are super appreciated!!

word count: 3.1k

warnings: mentions of reader wearing a short dress, jealous bucky

masterlist || request || taglist

“Nice of you guys to call me.”

Your hands in your jacket pockets, you announced your presence as you strolled up to the group of four men standing outside of the police station. You could basically feel the tension in the air as each man had a resolute expression written on all over their faces.

“What’s going on here?” You asked, slipping your hands out of your pockets and gesturing towards the group.

“What are you doing here?” Sam asked.

You might have been nicer about the situation if you weren’t utterly pissed that the two men hadn’t informed you about the mission that they had gone on.

“Incase you forgot, Sam, you’re not the only one who’s had to pick up where someone else left off. It’s my job to keep track of you guys.” You said. “... Also I’m Bucky’s emergency contact.”

“Well,” The blonde man leaning against the police cruiser said. “You’re a little late. I handled it.”

Looking up at the man in front of you, you gave him no inclination of defeat.

“You must be John Walker.” You said.

“So you’ve heard of me?” He smirked.

You crossed your arms, stepping away from the man who you had seen on television playing the role of Captain America. You had heard about the decision moments before the government had first displayed the impersonator on screen, but it had been too late for you to do anything about it or to inform Sam or Bucky in time for his appearance.

“I’ve heard of everyone.” You deadpanned.

“Yeah?” He asked, standing up straighter. “And who are you?”

Just as you were about to open your mouth, you felt Bucky’s hand land on your shoulder. Turning to glance at him, you watched as he shook his head, giving you a serious look. Despite the fact that you were now tasked with keeping track of the former members of the group of Avengers and were one yourself, you had been able to keep your identity a secret. Although to the world you were “Sorceress”- the Avenger with magical powers similar to those of Wanda Maximoff- to members of the team such as Bucky you were Y/n Y/l/n.

He didn’t trust John Walker and he didn’t want to bring you into their own mess. Although Bucky had been avoiding Sam’s text messages, Bucky had kept in constant touch with you since you first met him after he had come back from the Blip six months ago- even going as far as spending time together multiple times a week in person- not because you had to keep track of him, but because the two of you genuinely enjoyed spending time together.

You were the closest thing he had to normalcy and he didn’t want the knockoff version of his best friend messing it up not only for himself, but for you too.

However, you didn’t see much of a way out of it. You weren’t going to just leave Bucky and Sam to handle the situation on their own, but you also didn’t see a way that you could work alongside them and not have John and Lemar figure out your identity sooner or later.

Gently taking Bucky’s hand off of your shoulder, squeezing it lightly before dropping it, you reached out your hand to John Walker.

“Y/n Y/l/n.” You told him. “Sorceress... and I guess the current caretaker of the Falcon and the Winter Soldier.”

Later, after the group had dispersed and you followed Sam and Bucky as they walked in the opposite direction, you were surprised when you heard Bucky’s tone of voice when he finally spoke up again.

“You shouldn’t have given him your name, Y/n.” He said.

You shrugged, hands tucked into your pockets once again. “It’s fine, Buck.” You assured him. “There wasn’t much else I could do. He was going to find out eventually-”

“Don’t act so casual about it. This is your identity- your life- and you’re just going to share it with some asshole like John Walker?”

“Woah!” You exclaimed, stopping in your spot. “What’s your problem, Buck? Why do you care so much?”

Noticing how both you and Sam were staring at him with furrowed eyebrows, trying to comprehend why he was making such a “big deal” about it, Bucky grew embarrassed, not understanding himself why he cared so much. Rather than admitting defeat however, Bucky threw up his hands, scoffing.

“Forget it, Y/n. I don’t care. Do what you want.”

And with that he picked up the pace, walking in the opposite direction of where you and Sam stood confused in your spots.

“I couldn’t have worn something- I don’t know- a bit longer?” You called to the three men ahead of you, following them into the club as you tugged on the hem of your short dress.

“This a club in Madripoor, Y/n.” You heard Zemo say. “If you wore anything else you would be giving us away.”

Groaning you steadied yourself in your heels following behind Zemo and Sam. You slowed your pace to walk besides Bucky who had insisted on being at the back of the line behind you- telling everyone that it would be safer for everyone if he kept their backs covered.

“How are you feeling?” You asked as quietly as you could in the loud club.

“What?” He asked.

“How are you feeling? With the while Winter Soldier thing? If you don’t think you can handle it we can find another way-”

“It’s fine, Y/n.” He said. “Don’t worry about me.”

Instead of letting it go, you gently placed your hand on his exposed, vibranium arm, causing him to stop in his spot, looking at you.

“Bucky, I’m serious.” You said. “You matter too. If you can’t handle it, I’ll find a way to get the information without all of this, okay? I care about you, Buck. Just say the word.”

He almost couldn't focus on the words coming out of your mouth as he tried to keep his eyes focused on your face, rather than trailing down your body, finally noticing just how short the dress that was adorning your body was. As good as you looked in green, he swore he would kill Zemo once he got what he needed from him for dressing you in that.

As gorgeous as you were, however, your words meant everything to him and he hung on to every single one- no matter what you were saying. Hearing the sentiment that you had for him and that you would stick your neck out for him of all people made him speechless.

Just as he was about to open his mouth however, the two of you began to feel the eyes of other partygoers staring the two of you down. As soon as you noticed, you quickly snatched your hand away from his arm and continued your pace in front of him, Bucky quickly following behind.

“Distracted?” Zemo asked as Bucky stopped beside him at the bar.

Rather than answering, Bucky remained silent, falling into character with the thought of your shared interaction still playing over and over in his mind.

Coughing on his hands and knees, trying to process what had just happened, all Bucky could hear was the obnoxious sound of the alarm blaring. When he opened his eyes again he saw the shipping container now consumed with flames and illuminated with a daunting red light. Recalling what had just occurred, he scrambled to his feet, calling out for you.

“Y/n?” He called. “Y/n!”

When he didn't immediately hear your voice, he began to feel his heart race in his chest. What if something happened to you? What if you were too close to the explosion? He wouldn’t know what to do with himself if something had happened to you. Just as he was beginning to start hyperventilating, the smoke catching in his chest causing him to double over and heave, he felt your hands wrap around either of his biceps.

“Buck?” You asked. “I’m- I’m so sorry. It happened so fast I couldn’t get a forcefield around everyone. Thank God you’re okay. I was so afraid something happened-”

Cutting you off, Bucky shook your hands off of his arms, instead pulling you into his arms. Although you and the super soldier had spent more quality time than you could count together prior to starting this mission, you had never hugged before, but being in his arms you couldn’t find a single complaint, instead silently wrapping your arms tightly around his torso, running your hands up and down his back.

“Hey it’s okay, Buck. I’m okay.” You said. “Let’s go, okay? Before this thing collapses on us.”

After that the two of you had followed Sam and Sharon into the area of shipping containers, taking out hitman by hitman along the way, when you had finally gotten through all of them, you watched as Zemo pulled up in a car besides the four of you.

“Nice ride.” You said as Bucky slipped into the front seat of the vehicle, yourself sliding into one of the seats in the back row.

“Thank you, Y/n.” Zemo replied, patting Bucky on the chest. “She’s a woman of taste.”

Bucky swore to himself for the second time within the past 12 hours that when given the chance he was going to kill the man beside him- with or without his therapist’s approval.

“You’re not going to move your seat up are you?” Sam asked.

“Nope.” Bucky said.

“That’s fine.” Sam conceded. “I guess I’ll just chill back here with Y/n.”

You laughed as Sam laid his arm against headrest of the backseats of the car.

“I’m fine with that.” You said. “Just me and my favorite person.”

Now Bucky knew that you were kidding, only teasing him to get a rise out of him, but glancing at the backseat and seeing Sam’s arm practically around your shoulders and you calling him your favorite person... just didn’t sit right with Bucky. Just as Zemo’s foot was about to hit the gas, Bucky shifted the car into park, swinging the door open and stepping out of the vehicle.

“What-”

“You can have the front.” Bucky said, swinging Sam’s door open.

“It’s really okay, Buck-”

“You said you wanted more space so you can have the front.” He said. “Go sit in the front.”

You watched as Sam turned to you, quirking his eyebrows before shrugging and stepping out of the car, switching to the passenger seat. You almost wanted to laugh as you watched Bucky squeeze into the backseat behind the passenger seat, his knees practically up against his chest.

“You good?” You asked.

Despite the groan that had involuntarily escaped his mouth from the discomfort of the front seat digging into his knees, Bucky nodded, stretching his arm out across the backseat, behind your shoulders.

“I’m great.” He assured you. “Now drive, Zemo.”

Although you didn’t catch it, the two men sitting in the front seat- despite their differences- couldn’t help but throw each other a knowing look before the car took off for their next destination.

“Hey!” Torres called. “I see you got your sleeve back!”

You chuckled as you turned to glance at the man stood beside you. Despite it being a joke, not a single hint of a smile cracked the man’s hard exterior. The only reason he didn’t walk out of the room on the spot was because you were standing beside him.

“He’s just in a bad mood today.” You said, reaching your hand out to shake Torres’. “I’m Y/n.”

Taking your hand and shaking it in his, he furrowed his eyebrows. “What are you doing hanging around these guys?” He asked. “...Not that you can’t handle yourself! Sam just won’t even invite me on these things.”

Pulling your hand away from his, you smiled. “Think you can keep a secret?”

As soon as you asked the question you watched as the confusion written all over his face grew even more and you could hear Sam chuckling in the background.

“I’m Sorceress.” You said. “Like the Avenger? I just try to keep my identity pretty secret, you know?”

As soon as you revealed your identity to him, you watched as the man’s face dropped and he turned to look at Sam who was standing behind him.

“Wait- she’s-” Torres stuttered.

Sam nodded, laughing.

“Yep.” Sam said. “She’s the one you’ve been hounding me about setting you up with.”

Although you weren’t paying attention to him, Bucky had already disliked how the conversation was going- finding Torres to be a little too friendly for his liking and not loving that you exposed your identity to him immediately- but when he heard Sam’s confession, he stiffened in his spot, hands balling into fists at his side.

“What? Dude!” Torres exclaimed, glancing back and forth between you and Sam before finally turning back to you, chuckling nervously. “He's just kidding! I would never have a crush on you- wait! That came out wrong! Not that you’re not pretty because you are- I just think you’re cool-”

You continued laughing as the man stumbling over his words in front of you, finding it endearing until you heard the super soldier scoff beside you. You glanced at him only to see him cross his arms while rolling his eyes before making his way out of the room.

Turning back to Torres you gave him a quick smile, pulling a card out of your pocket. “I have to go, but it was nice to meet you Torres. If these boys get in trouble again, make sure to call me first thing, okay?”

He took the card from your hand, nodding. “Uh yeah- yeah! Of course!”

With that you waved to both him and Sam before following the path Bucky had taken out of the room seconds before.

Seeing his figure pacing across the room, you threw your arms up in the air.

“What’s your problem?” You asked.

Stopping in his spot he turned to face you.

“What?” He said. “I don’t have a problem.”

You couldn’t help but scoff, crossing your arms.

“Uh yeah. You do.” You said. “Did I do something to piss you off or something? Are you mad at me for coming on the mission? Because I’m sorry if I wanted to help save the world and make sure you guys didn’t get killed in the process.”

Bucky just stopped and stared at you standing across from him with your arms crossed. He hated to admit it, but you look pissed at him. It hurt knowing that you were upset with him, but it hurt a little more knowing that you felt as though he was mad at you when in actuality that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

“Y/n.” He said, stepping closer to you. “I’m not mad at you.”

“Then why did you just storm out of the room?” You asked.

He couldn’t think of a reason besides the truth. He could lie and say that he was mad at you, but that wouldn’t solve the situation for anyone and could possibly strain your relationship farther- and that was the last thing he could possibly want.

The two of you stood there in silence, staring at one another as Bucky attempted to find the words in his head to ease your concern without exposing himself in the process.

But you were never one to back down with him.

“Bucky,” You said. “What’s the problem? What did I do? Why are you so angry-”

“Because I don’t like the way that guy was talking to you!” He exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air.

“What?” You asked. “What are you talking about?”

Bucky realized he was in it now. He couldn’t see a way out of it.

For the past week, Bucky couldn’t help but notice that he cared for you a bit more than friends should. Maybe he always did. He thought back to the times he would eagerly await your weekly lunches or the comfort he felt when you took him furniture shopping after seeing his empty apartment for the first time. He thought back to the times you would show up outside of his door when he was upset because you were the only person he trusted there with him in those intimate moments- he knew that you were more than just his colleague, but he realized now that you were more than his friend.

Recently it became more obvious, the burning in his chest he felt when others became a little too comfortable with you- he attempted to mask it with just wanting to protect you, but he knew you could handle yourself. He was protective over you so he wouldn’t lose you.

Just when you opened your mouth to speak again, he cupped your face in his hands. He watched as your eyes widened, but didn’t make any move to stop him. When he caught your eyes trailing from his eyes to his lips, he pulled you towards him, meeting your lips in the middle.

Maybe it was because he hadn’t kissed anyone in eighty years, but he had never felt the way he had in that moment before. He was so utterly consumed in you- the feeling of your hands reaching for his jacket, tugging him closer as you deepened the kiss, your soft lips against his, your warm breath against his face- he was lost in it.

When you finally pulled away, he didn’t want to let go, but leaned back anyway, staring at his world- you- that he now held in his hands.

“Buck...”

“I think I like you more than a friend.” He confessed.

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face at his words. You had always cared for Bucky as more than just your former fellow Avenger, but knowing that he felt the same as you was something you could hardly believe.

“I think I do too.” You laughed, then recalled what you had come in there for in the first place. “James, were you... were you jealous?”

Thinking back over the past week the two of you had spent together on the mission, he could almost laugh at the question you had just asked.

“You’re joking, right?” He chuckled. “Yeah. You could say I was a little bit jealous.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #Bucky Barnes drabble #bucky barnes blurb #Bucky Barnes fluff #Bucky Barnes angst

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mrpenguinpants · 3 years

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Childe/Tartaglia: Fiancé HCs

Aww, I give major points to anyone that actually reads my tags because it’s a whole lot of word vomit and brainworms. THIS IS MY FINAL OFFERING TO CHILDE SO BUDDY 👏 COME 👏 HOME 👏 This will probably be my last fic this week since I’m going to be busy with term tests and 1.1. Can you tell how slow I am with these asks?

I need to stop tagging so much because tumblr keeps making me repost...

This isn’t necessarily a part 2 from my other Childe fic [ “Enemies” to “Lovers” ] but you can go ahead and read it that way. Not sure if this counts for tags but it doesn’t hurt. To be honest, I was planning for this to be the direct part 2 but then his character story dropped and I got slapped in the face with inspiration.

[taglist] <- if you want to be added, please read this first.

@youaskedfurret @diaxfeliz @wintergreen-aix @dandelily @thegayrubberducky @lovelykittycatmeow @yuunoagivesmelife @dokidokisama @hanniejji @mikeysbike @unionwitch @musekala @twistedsunnshiii @stanzastic @akaasea

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Childe/Tartaglia: Fiancé HCs

Your relationship with Tartaglia is unorthodox to say the least. Usually, the average length of an engagement is 13 to 18 months but you didn’t need a calendar to tell you it’s been far longer than that. You probably spent more time with your fiancé’s sister than with the man himself but that was okay with you. Tonia was a really sweet girl and you knew what you were getting into when you accepted and returned his feelings when you two first started going out.

Before he became a Harbinger you were friend’s with him and Tonia. Almost everyone in Snezhnaya was part of the Fatui, working in factories, or a devote follower of Tsaritsa. So it was a breath of fresh air to meet two people that didn’t align themselves to that mindset or become a slave to work. You slowly became closer to the two siblings until the day a stuttering and pink Tartaglia confessed his feelings to you. You think back on that moment fondly since that was probably the first and last time you’ve seen him act in such a shy manner.

The day he proposed to you was the night right before he became a Harbinger. It wasn’t anything grand and you were pretty sure he hadn’t even told Tonia he was planning on proposing that very night. He said that he was waiting for the right moment and somehow felt the right moment was when you were in-between consciousness. When you couldn’t even give him a proper answer since he popped the question right as you fell asleep, but for all intensive purposes, that was probably on purpose. You had to chase him down in freezing cold weather, coat not even properly tied, as you yelled he was a piece of shit and that if he never came back you would hunt him down and kill him yourself.

He just grinned innocently and waved back to you as the ship departed. When asked by a curious merchant who wasn’t native to Snezhnaya asked if he had some...family issues he simply waved it off and said you were his beloved fiancé. The merchant was left very confused on Snezhnaya’s customs and traditions on marriage.

You both made an agreement that only he would write to you. He said that it was because trying to get in contact with him would be impossible, considering how often he moves, plus the different names he goes under. But in actuality, it’s because he want’s to keep the people closest to him as private as possible. The Fatui know of his sister already and most likely know of your existence but as long as he remains a Harbinger they can’t do anything. He won’t let them. But the Fatui have many enemies and while he hates denying your existence, if it’s to make sure you live a peaceful life with his sister, he’ll continue to pretend he’s never heard of your name before.

While he writes to his sister that he’s taking care of trivial matters when he’s on his assignment, he writes a bit more honestly and detailed in his hidden letters to you. You make sure to keep them in a box hidden away from Tonia so she never discovers them but you have an inkling she knows what her brother is up to. She watches the way your face pinches, that your fingers clutch the paper a little tighter, and how you seem to tap the page two times in sequence.

Despite the raging winter storms that swirl around Snezhnaya, you are always warm. He thinks you’re secretly a pyro vision user waiting for the right moment to make good on your word and burn him alive. Whenever his travel’s run late into the night and he arrives home tired and cold, he seeks Tonia’s room to make sure she’s sleeping peacefully. Then to you to do the same. Sometimes when you’re lucky and you wake up early, you’re greeted to Tartaglia clinging onto you refusing to move because you’re warm. Even going through daily routine’s he always has an arm around you or some part of his body against yours. You feel that his habits is rubbing off on his sister because slow morning’s like these see’s you as the human heater. With Tonia hugging you from the front, arms wrapped around your waist, while Tartaglia support’s from behind, arms around the both of you. Your hands laced with his as you both act as a shield for little Tonia.

Tartaglia’s hands are always numb. He could be in Natlan where it never snows or facing the harsh winters of Snezhnaya, they are always numb. As if the skin of his fingertips were scalded off. Touching anything gives him an uncomfortable sensation so he wears gloves all the time except for two occasions. When he need’s to replace his gloves with a new pair or to lace your hand into his. He can vaguely feel the heat from your hand, see that you don’t have the same callouses that he has from wielding weapons, and can feel the same tingling sensation that would usually have him wrenching his bare hand away if it had been anything or anyone else, besides his sister of course. Instead he holds on as if you’re his last lifeline in the middle of the ocean, commits to memory the feeling of your hand in his, and the pins and needles that prick his fingertips fade away.

He grows restless when life is ordinary and boring so he’s always off fighting or doing something completely dangerous. He was the same before he became a Harbinger which leads to some fights between the two of you. You both handle fight’s pretty badly due to the upbringing of Snezhnaya and it makes Tonia sad when she sees her family argue. So instead you convey your inner worries through taps. One is for annoyance. Two is for worry. Three is for anger. Likewise, Tartaglia has his own system.

On one rare occasion, Zhongli managed to catch the sight of a flicker of light on Tartaglia’s clothing. It confuses him since aren’t ring’s meant to be worn on the hand? The only response he get’s from Childe when he asks why is a vague answer filled with mirth. He say’s that he’s holding onto it for someone. Zhongli doesn’t quite understand since wouldn’t it be better to keep the ring in a box if it were meant for someone else? Childe wears a ring on his pinky already but it might be a Snezhnaya tradition to wear one ring on the hand, while the other is close to the heart.

He keeps his cheerful attitude on even when it feels as if the world is crushing him. That might be why he names himself Childe. But when it’s just the two of you he takes the mask off, the armor slips off, and let’s himself relax. Time’s like this he just wants to hold you and as he puts it, recharge.

For all his confident nature in fighting he knows that a committed relationship with him is hard. That if you ever want to walk away and find someone new he won’t stop you, but that you never contact him or his family. He won’t open his heart for another person for a long while or ever. He would still give you your ring and whatever you choose to do with it is up to you.

Tartaglia’s goals won’t change. He still has his family to take care of and even if you decide to leave, that doesn’t change the fact he still sees you as apart of his family.

You don’t mind if his goal takes him away from Snezhnaya for years and years. Or if the letter’s he writes become fewer and fewer. As long as he comes home you don’t mind waiting.

It’s the middle of the night and he’s still awake. He just returned from his last assignment and Tsaritsa is already sending him across Teyvat for “business” related reasons. He just finished checking up on Tonia to see her sleeping soundly. She’s growing up really fast, he smiles slightly at the thought. She can already sleep on her own. He gently opens the door to your room, well really it’s both of yours but he hasn’t been doing a lot of sleeping there, and cringes slightly at the creek the doors give.

He takes a small minute to lean on the doorway and relaxes. He won’t have enough time to bask in your presence if he’s too make it on time. The winter storm continues outside, as if Tsaritsa herself is yelling at him to start moving. He doesn’t think there’s ever been an instance when they’ve been silent.

“I care about three things in this world. My sister, you, and my home,” Tartalia says softly as he walks over and kneels down beside your laying form, resting his hand beside yours as he places a soft kiss on temple. “When those three things are safe I can rest.”

You tap him two times. Your hand has laced around his in a loose grip to which he tightens. You both sit in silence as he wait’s for the pins and needles to stop spreading across his arm before speaking again.

“I know I already proposed but let’s elope somewhere. My next assignment is taking me to Liyue. I heard it’s quite a beautiful place. I’m thinking a spring wedding perhaps?”

One more tap but he’s learned to take your annoyance as you jesting or being flustered.

“Promise me you’ll be safe,” you ask.

“I can try but I can’t guarantee everyone else will be,” he laughs.

You tap him three times. If you weren’t half asleep you would have probably thrown your pillow at him. He gives one last chuckle as his finger’s rubs patterns into your hand.

“I promise,” he swears.

He hears you hum happily as you begin to relax back into slumber. Slowly letting the feeling of his heartbeat lull you to sleep until your grip loosens around his wrist. Even as the winter winds howl outside you can sleep so peacefully. Unlike him where in the back of his mind are restless thoughts. Tsaritsa is asking something huge of him, another test of his loyalty and strength. He silently stands up as to not wake you again, gives you one last squeeze of the hand, one last fond look, before he leaves. Closing the door as quietly as he can, he steels himself to go back out into the cold.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin imagines #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact headcanons #genshin headcanons #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin x reader #genshin impact childe #childe #childe x reader #genshin childe #genshin impact childe x reader #childe imagines #childe headcanons #genshin fluff #genshin impact fluff #genshin fanfic

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intergalacticwanderer · 3 years

Text

It happened faster than any of them could react.

Overall, things had been going well. The sea monsters were on their last legs, they had the numbers with all of the Mighty Nein present, and it was only a matter of time before they’d come out on the other side. But in combat mere seconds can make all of the difference and one monster slipped through at just the wrong place and time, burying its claws into Kingsley’s back.

He swore, blood bursting from his neck and the monster’s eyes bleeding black, but it wasn't enough, the monster digging the claws in deeper and dragging him off of the ship, two of them going over the rail and into the ocean. He heard someone screaming his name, muffled through the water - and then the claws found his throat, and he didn't hear anything at all.

But something else started to happen.

He didn't know where he was. He knew, at the very least, that he wasn't in the ocean, his surroundings too indistinct and no longer able to feel the water around him. But even with being able to tell where he wasn’t, that still didn’t tell him anything about where he was. In fact, the only source of light Kingsley could see was - himself?

He looked down, startled, and saw that his own form seemed to be made of softly glowing light, a strange in between of tangible and intangible, floating in place. He... he didn’t understand. What was this? Kingsley raised a hand, both confused and awed at the sight.

The fingers began to disintegrate right in front of him.

He recoiled at the sight and the hand - HIS hand - broke apart even further, the once distinct outline now breaking into individual motes of light that slowly drifted away. He scrabbled with his other hand, as if to try and staunch a bleeding wound, but all that did was scatter the remaining bit of light from the hand even faster and he yanked his arm back. To his horror it was happening on other parts of his body as well, chunks carving out and being eaten away, motes continuing to drift, like paper burning into embers, or scattering sea foam, or or or - It felt like he should be hyperventilating. Was he hyperventilating? There wasn’t any sound, he couldn’t tell, could he even-?

Kingsley tried to hold on to his thoughts but they began to disintegrate too, and that realization, the fact that he could feel that happening, sent a bolt of terror through him even greater than the sight of what was happening to his body. He twisted in place, panic rising higher and higher as his body continued to disintegrate, looking for something, anything around him, but. Nothing.

The remaining parts of his legs and tail separated from his torso, stomach now gone, and while it felt like there should have been sound it continued to be completely silent, his thoughts reeling and disoriented as the parts spun away, quickly dissolving and scattering. What was- he couldn’t- who-

Further light scattered and so did his memories. His thoughts. His name. He drifted, motes rising up from near his eyes. Something from eyes. Tears? He didn’t know. Couldn't know. He was small, getting smaller, too small, no stop pleasenoPLEASESTOPNOPLEASE-

Sensation and clarity of thought slammed into him.

Kingsley (Kingsley!) gasped in a breath of air, coughing and shuddering. He was cold. Wet. Someone was holding him, cradling him between arms, one under his shoulders, the other under his knees, and his tail was dangling, limp. He blinked open his eyes. Two faces were directly above him, and there were glimpses of others in his peripheral, just out of direct sight but hovering close. The first face he could see was Fjord, wet hair clinging to his face and breathing heavily. He... he was the one holding him, wasn’t he. The second was Jester, shaking hands hovering over his chest and a faint shimmer fading from the air. He met her eyes.

“Jester...?”

A sharp inhale, and then a laugh, which turned into a heavy, wracking sob, and Jester buried her face into his chest and continued to cry. Others poured in then, crowding close with words of worry and comfort, but Kingsley barely heard them, still too stunned and numb from all that had just happened, and he didn’t react at all.

***

Over the next few days, Kingsley found himself in the company of at least one other member of the Mighty Nein at all times.

Fjord asked him for more advice and assistance around the ship. Jester sought him out even more than normal to ask about drawings, or tattoo ideas, or ship gossip. Caduceus invited him meditate. Caleb and Essek just happened to read their books nearby. Beau dragged him along to sparring practice, his complaints that he didn't even fight hand to hand normally falling on deaf ears. Yasha ended up clinging to him during sleep (though, in that case, he had been the one to initiate at least half of those). And Veth - well, he was pretty sure Veth was just straight up spying on him, but he didn't really begrudge her that.

Usually, Kingsley would have found the hovering his friends were doing to be suffocating, but this time? He sought their company right back, determined to not be alone.

There was no way around it - he had died. Full stop. That would have been bad enough on it's own but of course he had an... interesting relationship with death and revival, and it didn’t escape him that Jester had only started crying once he’d said her name. Like she’d been waiting to hear what his first word would be.

Wondering if that word was going to be “empty.”

He couldn’t tell if that made him feel better or worse. Better because they obviously cared about him, wanted him to be okay and to be the one to come back. Worse, because, well. Last time he’d been the one to come back saying empty. And they had to have gotten that fear from somewhere.

He sighed, pulling the blanket around his shoulders closer as he sat on the deck, watching the bright light of Catha above in the sky. Everyone was out on the deck at that moment, quietly talking after a late night meal and Caleb's dancing lights softly illuminating things along with the moonlight.

The main thing eating at him was the time in between falling into the ocean and the revivify spell, and he shuddered involuntarily at his mind’s word choice. He still didn't understand what that had been, but whatever it was it’d been terrifying, too strange to fall under normal experience and too vivid to “just” be a strange dream. The closest thing he had... his fingers tightened on his blanket. His reoccurring dream- nightmare- memory. Fighting in Cognouza, fighting back against Lucien, breaking free. Drifting away with hundreds of other lights. Drifting...

“Can I ask you all a question?”

Eight other heads turned to him, conversations stopping, and he had to fight to not shrink away. He was the one who’d asked.

“Kind of a morbid one but, wondering about who else has died here. You all know a lot more than me right now.”

He knew of a few past deaths. Glory Run Road. Those in... Cognouza. He wasn’t particularly fond of thinking about any of those from his perspective, however. Better to hear stories from others.

Several of them glanced between each other. Essek was the first to speak up.

“Personally, I have been lucky enough to not require any resurrection magic, and I hope it will remain that way in the future. I believe the same is true for Beauregard?”

Beau nodded. “Yeah. It’s gotten close a couple times but I’ve never actually died. Still kinda shocked at that, honestly.”

“I think I’ve died in a dream? Or maybe it was a vision...?” Yasha said, and when she got multiple confused looks she shrugged. “It was a trial from the Stormlord? I’m not really sure if it counts.”

“Let’s call it an in between,” Kingsley said.

“There’s the time I drowned and came back as a goblin,” Veth said quietly and the mood immediately dropped. She took a long drink from her cup. “And I guess there was also that time in the Happy Fun Ball.”

“Which is why we always check for traps,” Caleb said, giving her a pointed look.

Veth waved a hand in the air. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“Checking blast radius is also important,” Caduceus said, sipping on his cup of tea. “I was too close to an exploding crossbow bolt once,” Caduceus said matter of fact, and Kingsley was gobsmacked at how serene Caduceus was at having literally been blown up. Then again, it was Caduceus, so he shouldn't be that surprised.

Veth bristled. “Hey!”

“Not assigning any blame, just stating what happened,” Caduceus said and he took another sip.

Three people left, and he already knew what the answer could be from two of them. Jester met his eyes and he gave her a little nod. He was okay with them talking about it.

“The only one I’ve had was when we were fighting Lucien,” Jester said, hands resting in her lap. “It happened really fast, but Caduceus got me back up, and Fjord protected both of us. It was still pretty scary, though.”

“I also went down to Lucien, but later in the fight,” Caleb said. Essek looked particularly miserable at the reminder and Caleb gave him a squeeze on the shoulder. “But the Mighty Nein does not leave anyone behind, so I was okay. And the same is true for you,” Caleb said, giving Kingsley a meaningful look and a nod.

Kingsley nodded back, relieved both at the reassurance and the reminder that they never considered him to be the same as Lucien. Sometimes that was enough against the images of them lifeless below him.

(Sometimes.)

Fjord was the last one left, and he downed the rest of his drink before looking Kingsley directly in the eye.

“I died the first time we were attacked by Uk’otoa’s minions.”

Kingsley gave a start. “Wait, really?”

Fjord nodded. “Really.”

“But- that doesn't make sense.” Fjord was the captain and Uk’otoa attacks, those were just- they were just a thing. An annoying and very dangerous thing, sure, but what had happened to him, that was his fault, he hadn't been careful enough, or-

“Kingsley.”

Fjord still held his gaze, not looking away. “What happened the other day is not your fault. If anything, it’s mine.”

“It totally is,” Veth added in and Fjord sighed.

“Regardless, don't blame yourself. I died to just the same thing and it can happen to any of us. And taking care of this problem is why we’re all on the ship right now anyway.”

“Cheers to that,” Beau said, raising her cup in a toast. “I’ve had enough murder fish for my lifetime.”

There was murmured agreement around the group, several others draining their cups and Kingsley staring at the bottom of his when he finished. So that was six. Two thirds of the Mighty Nein had died at least once, himself included, and Fjord even had a similar cause of death to this last time. Definitely not alone. And yet...

“Do you remember anything? From when you died?”

He didn't look up from his cup but he could just imagine the amount of eyes that would be staring at him right now. Whatever, it was already out there.

“A little,” Fjord said. “Mostly just that it was cold, and feeling scared, but...” Fjord’s voice softened and Kingsley looked over at the change in tone. “I also feel like the Wildmother would have been there to catch me. And that’s comforting in its own way.”

Kingsley nodded, mind going back to the scent of a warm sea breeze. Even though he wasn't a follower himself he knew of the comfort that Fjord spoke of.

Which just made him feel even more miserable in that moment.

“So... nothing else? No kind of visions or anything?” No disintegrating and losing everything while completely alone? His voice cracked a little, no longer able to hide his anxiety.

“Nothing in particular.” Fjord frowned. “...are you alright, Kingsley?”

“... not really, no.” He was too worn out to lie at this point and he hunched over, pulling his blanket even tighter.

“Is that what happened to you Kingsley? A vision?” Jester asked.

“Yes? Maybe? I don’t know, vision isn't quite right, but- I don't know.”

“Well, how would you describe it?”

An involuntary shiver ran up his spine. “An experience, I guess? But not a good one, and if anyone ever tried to sell me that kind of ‘experience’ I’d straight up stab them.”

Kingsley went to take a drink before remembering he’d already finished his and he scowled at his empty cup. Caduceus passed over another one without a word and Kingsley murmured a small thanks, taking a long drink to wet his suddenly dry throat.

“I was made out of light or something like that? But-” His throat closed up and he had to loudly clear it to keep going. “I started to disappear. Like I was just a bunch of dandelion fluff and-” he mimed an explosion with his fingers- “poof. Just blowing away. And it wasn't just my body, it was my memories too. I think Jester got me just in time.” It took a moment for him to realize he was shaking.

“C'mere,” Yasha said quietly, moving closer and holding out an arm, Kingsley almost falling into her side and curling close. She held him in her arm and rubbed his shoulder, his shaking slowly subsiding. There was a stunned silence for several moments.

“What the fuck,” Beau breathed out, finally breaking the silence. “That’s so fucked up.”

“And concerning,” Essek said, a curled finger hovering over his mouth. “I have never heard of anything similar, even in death accounts from consecuted individuals. Caduceus?”

“I also have no idea,” Caduceus said, frowning. “Either way, that doesn't sound like how it should go. Not to me at least.”

“Or me,” Veth said, eyes wide. “Dying’s bad enough, that’s- that’s just excessive!”

“This isn’t exactly making me feel better,” Kingsley grumbled. Sure, it was commiserating, but mostly it was just reminding him of how alone he was with what happened.

Yasha squeezed his shoulder. “Well, what would make you feel better?”

“Answers,” Kingsley said without hesitation. “Just... what the hell that was. Or why it happened. Just something.” He curled further into Yasha’s side, his head and tail now the only things peeking out from under the blanket.

“I can research, but it will have to be after the voyage,” Caleb said. “I do not have a personal archive unfortunately.”

“Yet,” Essek added on, giving Caleb a quick smile. “My ability to help is limited but I could still assist with some of this research.”

“And I’ve got the Cobalt Soul stuff of course,” Beau said. “So, definitely a more long term thing but we’ll find out what we can.”

“Thanks guys,” Kingsley said quietly. He wasn’t a fan of the wait but just the chance of answers and the fact they were willing to do it still meant a lot.

All through this Fjord had had a hand on his chin, contemplative, and he looked over at both Jester and Caduceus. “Maybe you two could ask for some godly input? It’s worked before and it shouldn’t hurt at least.”

Caduceus nodded “I say it’d be worth trying out.”

Jester nodded as well. “Yeah! It’d be nice if we could get some answers right away. You want us to give it a shot Kingsley?”

“Please,” he said, latching onto the mention of ‘right away’ and pushing away the small shiver at directly asking the gods for help. That sort of thing was the entire reason he was even alive at all, but even when it was positive the idea of it still freaked him out a little. That didn’t mean he was going to pass up the help however, and he looked at the two of them expectantly.

Jester looked over at Caduceus. “You want me or you to go first?”

Caduceus gestured towards her. “You go ahead.”

“Okay!” Jester said, and Kingsley watched as she brought Sprinkle down from her shoulder and held him in front of her. “Okay Artie, if you’re there, we could really use some answers about what happened to Kingsley, it’d be suuuuper helpful.”

The moment Jester finished speaking Kingsley found himself hit with a sudden wave of tiredness, and as he slipped into sleep at Yasha’s side he saw one last glimpse of Sprinkle’s eyes flashing a brilliant green.

***

The first thing he heard was the quiet shuffling of cards.

He found himself sitting in a room. A tent? The lighting was soft, coming from a few candles scattered around the space and a lantern in the shape of a crescent moon hanging from the ceiling. Colorful cloth was draped from the walls (or was the walls, if the guess about the tent was correct), and while the colors were muted by the low light he saw it was mostly blues and purples, with a splash of red or silver here and there. The sound of shuffling cards came from the back, where a woman sat behind a low table and fanned out a set of cards in front of her, gave a satisfied nod, and shuffled the cards back into the deck, Kingsley catching a brief glimpse of one that said “The Dream” before it disappeared from view.

The woman was wearing a red coat.

She looked up, caught his eye, and smiled. “It has been awhile, has it not?”

Kingsley was unable to speak, heart in his throat but he nodded anyway. He recognized her, would recognize her anywhere, but he had never expected to actually see her again. That dream he’d had in his first day had been precious but fleeting, starting to fade even at the time and he’d resigned himself to never fully knowing what it’d been about. The two parts that had managed to stick with him were the sad angel and the woman in the red coat, and while the angel had been revealed to be Yasha no one had known anything about the woman, and over time he began to wonder if she had been based on an actual person at all. And now here she was.

She placed the deck of cards down on the table and gestured for him to come forward, Kingsley moving up to sit cross legged on a red plush cushion, setting down gingerly and his tail curling up next to him. The fact that he had fallen asleep just before this told him that this should be a dream, but at the same time it felt as if it were something more. Something important. Clasping her hands together on the table she held his gaze, expression serious.

“Normally, I would deliver this kind of message through a reading, to avoid saying too much and to allow ambiguity in the meaning. But what I must say is important enough to be blunt. Your soul is fragile, Kingsley Tealeaf.”

Kingsley swallowed hard. He didn’t know who she was, not really, but absolute truth still rang in her words. “W-what does that mean?”

“In practical terms, returning from death is far more dangerous for you than some of your friends.” She opened up her hands and in between them was a ball of softy glowing light. “If your soul is returned to life quickly enough, as it was this last time, there may not be too many complications. But if you are dead for too long...” At her words the ball of light shuddered and then it scattered just like Kingsley remembered and he flinched back, breathing heavily, having to catch himself on one of his hands as dozens of motes of light rose up around them and then dissipated. She brought her hands back together, looking at him sadly. “I am sorry you had to experience a portion of that. It is not something I would wish on anyone.”

He slowly brought his breathing back under control and righted himself on the cushion, emotions stuck between a giddy rush at the fact that Jester’s intervention seemed to have actually worked and terror at the reminder of what had happened to him. Not to mention that something was wrong with his actual soul itself, so, plenty more potential terror and possible nightmares for him there. But for right now, at least...

“Is there anything I can do to... ‘fix’ my soul? And do you know why it’s like that?”

“For your first question, it will mostly just take time.” She cupped her hands in front of her, smaller motes of light reappearing and coalescing until once again she held a ball of light, and she lifted it up to float above their heads, the space around them now brighter. “The longer it has, the better it will be. It is both as simple and as complicated as that, unfortunately.”

“As for the why...” She spread an arc of cards out on the table with one hand and smoothly flipped them over with a pass from the other, but instead of individual cards it was a picture that continued from one card to the next.

“The journey your soul has gone through is far from normal. In fact, some would say it is astonishing that it exists at all.” She trailed her finger along the edge of the card created artwork, narrating as she did so.

“Your soul began with the sundering of a different soul, life springing from death when none should have been there.” A body pulling itself halfway out of a grave, hands scrabbling on the ground, red eyes shining in the face but also on the body. “This soul fragment may have started as just one piece of a larger whole, but something important happened. It changed. And it grew.” Hands helping the purple tiefling to stand, him walking forward and gaining additional color and vitality with each step. Tattoos, jewelry, vibrant clothes, the gaudiest coat imaginable. A bright and happy smile. “The love and experiences your soul had, both good and bad, allowed it to become a full soul in its own right, separate from where it came from.” Helping out at a circus, performing. Blood flashing along blades and becoming ice in an early taste of combat. Sitting side by side, content, with a certain aasimar. Riding along in a cart with the aasimar and five other individuals, sun low on the horizon. “And then... an end.” Blood stains on snow by a road. A coat placed on a staff, fluttering in the wind. “But not the end.”

A new arc of cards was laid down and revealed below the first, with a new artwork. “The soul that yours originally came from was brought back, and it had forcibly reclaimed your soul.” Four figures standing next to an empty grave, the body of the purple tiefling rising into the air and surrounded by magic. “At first, it seemed that your soul had been subsumed.” The group of five, purple tiefling in the lead, bundled up and trudging through a harsh winter landscape. Bodies left in their wake. “But your soul had become its own, and because of that it could no longer slot neatly into place.” Two tieflings sitting across from each other, one purple, one blue, three tarot cards suspended between them. The purple tiefling standing in front of a circular gate before eight other individuals, many of them from the prior artwork. “Your soul fought back, and it eventually helped to free itself from its prison.” Screaming at those eight from a changed body, nine eye stalks coming from the back. An even more monstrous form, torn in half by its own hands.

One final set of cards was placed. Revealed.

“Your friends then attempted to return your soul. But it failed.” A body lying on the ground, partially covered by the gaudy coat and bisected by a new scar. Eyes closed. “It took a prayer to the Wildmother and her intervention for it to be successful.” The same body, standing, eyes open, the ground now covered in greenery and flowers. “However, your soul did not come out unscathed. Not broken, or missing parts, but... injured.” The body now shown as an outline, filled with glowing light. Light that was rough around the edges, shot through with spiderweb cracks. “The time it was forcibly shoved in with originating soul, and having to separate itself out from it again, was traumatic.” A large pair of hands, each hand holding a source of light, one angry and boiling, the other small and dimmed, but warm. “Still the same soul, but changed by the experience. Needing time to relearn. And to heal.” The purple tiefling sitting in a lush graveyard garden, surrounded by both flowers and friends. Sailing on a ship, hanging from the rigging and hair tossed in the wind.

She pulled back, resting her hands on the table. “Your soul is whole, and your own, but less... stable under stress, as it were. There is no way to know for sure, since it has not happened, but I suspect that if you were brought back after a longer period of death you would be in a similar state as to when you woke in the city, due to the healing your soul would need again. I do know however that your friends would do everything they could to return you from death.”

“They would,” Kingsley said, without even thinking about it. His attention was still stuck on the cards. The artwork, as stylized as it was, captured a certain life to it. It felt... real. Alive. But at the same time, something felt off. Something missing.

“Kingsley.”

He startled, as if released from a spell, and he closed his eyes and let out a long breath. When he opened his eyes again he saw her giving him a concerned look. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “I, ah. Thank you?”

Her concern didn’t fade.

“Something about this troubles you.” Not a question. A statement of fact.

“Are there other art cards in that deck?” The words spilled out of him. “I mean, they’re gorgeous, and they worked really well, but, are you sure there’s not more?”

She tilted her head, gaze growing sharp.

“There are if you want there to be.”

Something about the way she said that made him pause. He looked down at the cards again. Three rows.

Three names, he realized.

The last one, Kingsley. Him. His body, his soul, himself. The second, Lucien. Most definitely not him, and she had confirmed that as well with differentiating the souls, even with the strange situation of the shared body and his nightmares. And the first... Mollymauk. A different name, a different life, but according to her, the same body. The same soul. His hand gripped his knee, nails digging in.

His soul was his, and Kingsley would fight anyone who implied otherwise or tried to take that away. He knew from experience, however, that he might not have a choice. His eyes lingered on the second set of cards. Flicked to the first for just a moment.

“... maybe not.”

She inclined her head, and nodded. Her hands hovered over the cards and he made a go ahead gesture, and she scooped them up, one, two, three rows, shuffling them back into the deck.

“I admit, I am not accustomed to speaking of things so plainly,” she said lightly as she shuffled the deck. “Partially due to preference, and partially due to limitations I am often bound to. But a prior... interloper decided to facilitate as a way to make amends.” Kingsley saw a flash of another card, this time with a silver dragon, but it was gone too quickly for him to read the title. “It is difficult to judge the character of one such as him, but he was actually the one to ask for help first.” A small laugh. “Luckily for him, this was something I had wished to do anyway. He simply made it easier.”

Kingsley was almost positive the interloper she spoke of was Artagan, but that just raised even more questions. He’d known coming into this that she was mysterious, and that she had to get her answers from somewhere, but the fact that Artagan had been the one to ask her for help?

Another shiver ran through him, even stronger than the one he had pushed away on the ship. Caduceus and Jester would go to their gods when they needed help. So that meant that if one their gods (or sort-of-god, when it came to Artagan) asked someone else for help, that person was...

“I understand if you can’t answer, but. Who are you?”

The shuffling of the cards stopped.

“Do you want to know that answer?”

She was giving him an out. It was probably even a good idea for him to take it.

“Yes.”

He wasn’t going to take it.

She smiled again and set the now shuffled deck down on the table, drawing the top card and handing it to him. Moon and mirror, with the moon facing him, though with one key difference from the card in Jester’s deck - the crescent moon was strung like a bow.

Kingsley stared at the card, heart hammering in his chest.

“...I’m really sorry, but I have no idea what that means.”

She blinked, taken aback, before noticing his slightly manic grin and she burst out laughing.

“I think you almost believed that yourself for a moment,” the Moonweaver said and she graciously accepted the card when Kingsley handed it back to her, him immediately going and sitting on his hands afterwards to hide their shaking. “Unless you’d still prefer for me to say it out loud?”

“Nope, I’m good,” Kingsley said quickly. He was totally good right now, not panicking at all, nope. He got a raised eyebrow at that response, but her smile was still there as well and she didn’t press him.

Kingsley’s leg bounced as she placed the card back into the deck, having to actively work to keep his breathing steady. On some level, he knew that his perspective on the gods and faith was a bit skewed. Fjord sailed the seas with the Wildmother’s blessing. Caduceus had performed literal miracles with the Wildmother’s help (and, once again, one of those was the entire reason he was even alive at all). Yasha was a full fledged champion of the Stormlord. And proper god or not, Jester was still outright friends with Artagan.

In comparison, his own tentative explorations towards faith and the gods had felt like they didn’t really count. He’d learned about the Moonweaver, and her commandments had resonated with him, so he’d decided to follow them. He didn’t actively worship, or ask for blessings, or go out of his way to do things on her behalf. Instead Kingsley mostly just lived his life, sending a small prayer when it felt right and taking some comfort in the light of the moons. That was it. The big stuff, that was what his friends did. They were the ones who...

He looked around at the rest of the tent again, trying to distract himself. With his new knowledge he saw nods to the Moonweaver throughout, most of the decor having been subtle enough on its own to escape attention the first time around, though, okay, maybe the lantern hanging from the ceiling was a bit on the nose. It was an understated but beautiful space, and just one more reminder that he was talking to a literal actual god right now.

Maybe that hadn’t been the best way to try and distract himself.

Her casual comment of ‘something I had wished to do anyway’ spun over and over again in his head, him trying to figure out what the hell that even meant and dread growing at what it could mean. It didn’t make sense. Why-

“Why me?”

He’d just said that out loud. Fuck.

Kingsley looked back to her and nearly jumped when he realized that she’d been staring at him the entire time, swearing several more times in his head and wondering if he’d just pissed her off. But instead of anger her expression was soft.

“Why not you?”

Whatever he’d expected to hear, it hadn’t been that.

His brain stalled. There were so many things he wanted to say in response. So many things he knew he should NOT say in response. But she hadn’t said anything else yet, simply watching him and her hands resting on the table. He slumped, bringing his hands back to his lap.

“Because I’m not actually who you think I am?”

That got him another raised eyebrow, but this time there was no accompanying smile, and he quickly continued. “I know I’ve met you before, in that dream, but that wasn’t- I wasn’t even me yet. I didn’t know who I was s-so it makes sense that you were there for someone else.” Fuck, he knew this was a bad idea, second guessing the decision of, once again, A LITERAL ACTUAL GOD, but the sour sick fear that had been growing in the background was finally too much for him to ignore.

“Mollymauk, right? You said yourself that he’s where my soul came from and what if I'm just-” His voice cracked, and he hastily scrubbed a tear away from the corner of his eye. “I know he was a follower of yours, and he did a better job than any of the half measures I’ve ever sent your way, so. That’s why not me.” Kingsley couldn’t hold her gaze anymore and he looked down, eyes boring into his lap. “And maybe you were there for me, originally, whoever I was. But I still fucked that up anyway.”

A couple frustrated tears dropped down and landed on the back of his hands, Kingsley feeling like he was about to scream. His soul was HIS. He was Kingsley. He was himself. He knew who he was. He was. He was supposed to know who he was. He...

(Breaking apart. Disintegrating. Motes of light drifting away).

A hand cupped his check and his breath hitched, and then his breathing almost stopped entirely when a gentle kiss was pressed to his forehead.

“Time for that later,” she murmured, and then she was pulling back, tilting his chin up with her hand. She was kneeling in front of him, just a couple feet away and table now gone.

“Yes. Mollymauk is where your soul is from. And yes, my first visit in that dream was to see you, in part because of the sacrifices you had made in Cognouza, and in part because of a life lived in full and prior faith. But there is something important you must understand.” She held his gaze, not looking away. “You are not inferior to Mollymauk. You are not a mistake. And you do not have to fear losing yourself and becoming him, because he has already become you.”

Her hand cupped his check again, and she smiled softly.

“You are Kingsley Tealeaf. And I am so proud of all that you are.”

Mollymauk was... him?

Kingsley swayed in place. He didn’t know whether to cry, or to laugh, or what even to do at all. Instead he just sat there, feeling lightheaded at what had just happened. He wasn’t dead for disrespect. She had actually listened to him. Reassured him. Her. A god.

“I think I need to lie down,” he said weakly.

She gave a small laugh, withdrawing her hand and Kingsley slow motion flopped onto his side, before rolling to his back and staring at the ceiling. There were stars embroidered in the fabric up there. He hadn’t seen that before.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her sitting down next to him, leaning on one of her hands. “Feel better?”

“Yeah,” he said. He could almost pick out some constellations in the embroidered stars.

“Good.” She played with one last tarot card in her free hand, just barely visible to him. A sun rising over a grave. Dawn.

Slowly, almost so slow that he missed it at first, the lights in the tent started dim. Eventually the only light left was a faint glow from the crescent moon lantern, and, to his quiet awe, the embroidered stars themselves, silver threads glimmering with magic.

“There are only a few more things left for me to say.”

He tilted his head to look in her direction. Even in the low light he could still see her clearly, and he realized she was actually the final source of light in the space, her white hair and blue skin giving off a faint luminescence.

“If a day comes where things are not fast enough, where others are not able to reach you in time and you cannot remember with your mind, remember with your heart like you did once before. Even when starting over, a home and a family will still be waiting for you.”

She glowed a little brighter, surroundings starting to fade.

“Hopefully, by the time you pass on your soul will be healed enough that you no longer have to worry. But if that is not the case...”

She leaned down, held his face in both of her hands, and placed one last kiss on his forehead.

“I will be there. Shine bright, my little monarch.”

He closed his eyes, for a single blink-

-And opened them to the deck of The Nein Heroez.

“-I told you, I’m not the one who knows. I just sent him along to someone who does, he’ll be fine.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t smite you,” Kingsley croaked and Artagan whirled around, pointing at him.

“See! I told you, he’s fine.”

Jester gasped. “Kingsley!”

“Welcome back,” Yasha murmured, and she gave him a hug with the arm around his shoulder.

“Wait, smite? Who the fuck did you send him to?” Beau said, shooting Artagan a look.

“Well! It looks like my work here is done,” Artagan said, completely ignoring Beau and clapping his hands together. “Just let me know when you need something again Jester, tah!”

He vanished in a swirl of green cloak before Beau could get another word in, and she groaned.

“Ugh. He didn't even do anything himself.”

“Yes he did!” Jester said, and she looked at Kingsley. “... it did work, right?”

“... yeah,” he said, a little dazed, and he reached up to touch his forehead. He was going to need time to process that. A lot of time.

“See! He did do something!”

Fjord gave him a thoughtful look. “Who did he send you to? You seem a little overwhelmed.”

“T-the Moonweaver.”

That got everyone’s attention on him at once. A couple of them blanched.

“... you were not kidding with the smite comment,” Caleb said, eyes a little wide.

Essek looked around at the group and everyone’s expressions. “Being sent to a god is notable, but I feel I am missing some additional context here.”

“We um. Miiight have had a plan where Artie pretended to be the Moonweaver?” Jester said.

“It went badly,” Fjord said bluntly.

“As in dragged off into the sky in chains badly,” Veth added on.

Essek blinked, then shook his head. “I should not even be surprised anymore.”

“I was pretty surprised the first time I heard about it,” Kingsley said, shrugging. “And I only heard about it cause of all the times the ship docked at Rumblecusp. I think you're good.”

Essek gave him a wry grin. “Well. I am glad I am not the only one to hear about things after the fact.”

“You get used to it,” Caduceus said, smiling. “And we’re all here now, so, you don’t have to worry about it this time.”

“True enough,” Kingsley said and he stretched, sitting up straight but still at Yasha’s side.

“What did you learn?” Yasha asked.

“Well... the main thing is she said my soul is. Fragile? And that if I’m dead too long I might forget things again. But she also said it’ll heal after enough time so it’s not all bad?” Her last words to him, about what she would do if it hadn’t healed yet, echoed in the back of his mind.

“It’s still not great though,” Beau said, sitting with her arm resting on a raised knee. “She tell you any way to fix it sooner?”

He shook his head. “She just said it’d take time.” After a second he glanced over to Essek and Caleb. “And I don’t think she meant your kind of stuff. Sorry nerds.”

“Magic cannot fix everything,” Caleb said. “As much as we might want it to.” He was lost in thought for a moment before Essek squeezed his hand, Caleb returning the gesture.

Kingsley took a moment to inhale the ocean air, grounding himself, before fully flopping back against Yasha like a cat and she chuckled, starting to comb her fingers through his hair.

“What else did you guys talk about? You were gone for a while,” Jester said.

Kingsley hesitated.

He didn’t really know why he was hesitating. Maybe he was afraid. Of what, he wasn’t sure, but that fear that had bubbled over while talking to the Moonweaver wasn’t totally gone. And maybe it was the fact that he still didn’t know what to make of things himself yet. But he also remembered the words she’d said towards the end, that even if he forgot, he would still have a family. And a home.

(An even more distant memory. Of him asking for home, and Jester saying yeah, we can go home).

He saw Caduceus watching him out of the corner of his eye, expression knowing, but the cleric didn’t push, and that was what made the decision for him. The Mighty Nein was his family. And they would be there for him no matter what.

“Well,” Kingsley said, pausing for dramatic effect. “To start, she was wearing this red coat...”

He launched into retelling, knowing that he had his family, his home, and that his heart would remember for as long as he would need.

#Critical Role #cr spoilers #Kingsley Tealeaf #Mollymauk Tealeaf #Mollymauk #The Mighty Nein #The Moonweaver #Critical Role fanfiction #my writing #things get better for him don't worry #he just gets mildly traumatized first #AO3 link in reblog

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lovesanmotion · 3 years

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mafia!ateez reacts: comforting s/o with ptsd

💌 This is: Requested

[!] To those who are curious, PTSD or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is a mental health condition that is caused by a traumatic or terrifying event - either witnessing or experiencing it. A few examples of it are: childbirth experiences (losing a baby), serious accidents, war and conflict, torture, being kidnapped or held hostage and seeing other people get killed before you.

Taglist: @yunhobabygurl

Hongjoong:

You felt like a failure, not only to yourself, but to your in laws as well. Three years after your marriage, they were already expecting a heir. At first, Hongjoong would lie and say that he is too busy to go back home and sleeps in his warehouse, but the longer he lies, the more he lacks reasons. You, on the other hand, tried your best to do everything just to be blessed with a child. You went to various temples and recited prayers, lit up incense sticks and performed rituals. You consulted love doctors to know which positions is best to have a baby, ate organs of various animals and countless made love with Hongjoong during the full moon. But all those efforts became vain when you would still get your monthly period.

You would cry to yourself while looking at the baby gifts your friends and his closest friends gave you. You couldn't bare any insult thrown at you by his mother or his father. The sight of them alone already gives you anxiety. Amidst of your crying, a pair of arms would wrap around you from behind and engulf you into a hug.

"We'll get through this together" Hongjoong says, resting his chin on your shoulder while caressing your stomach.

Seonghwa:

Even though Seonghwa had given the enemy group the five hundred grand, they still had a little time to have fun with you. While Seonghwa and his men were on their way to claim you, the men and their boss made you watch them kill the lives of innocent adults and children. If you look away, they would stab you. And if you closed your eyes, they would stab you but ten times more.

Days after the incident, you found it hard to look at anything that is red and sharp objects immediately triggered you. Upon the sight of a cutlery knife once sent you to tears and a sobbing mess while Seonghwa catches you in his arms. Seonghwa had ordered all the maids to hide anything sharp and pointy and discard anything red that they have and replace it with any color. Whenever you cried, Seonghwa would take you in his arms and bury your face on his chest. Neverminding how your tears would soak his button down shirt.

Yunho:

When Yunho refused to give in to the enemy group, they held hostage someone very dear to him. You. They had locked you up in a room inside their warehouse, the room didn't have anything except a hanging light and a chair you're currently bounded in. While the enemy group was waiting for Yunho, a female members of their entertained your room. Fearing the worst, she started throwing punches at your stomach as if you were a punching bag. When she learned that Yunho and his men arrived, she gave one last punch and that is to your jaw and falling down on the ground.

The aftermath of the horrific event paid a price to you. Whenever someone tried to get close or lay a hand on you, you would immediately scream and run away from them, raising your arms around yourself in a defensive position. This was especially hard for Yunho since he wanted to comfort you by having you in his arms, but couldn't due to your new fear of being touched. With this, he signed you up for therapy and bought the prescribed medication your therapist had given. And as you undergo therapy, Yunho would be delighted to make you your breakfast, send you gifts and place them inside your room and leave you love letters on top of your bed table. Hoping that one day, you would be able to overcome it.

Yeosang:

When the enemy group learned about you, Yeosang did not hesitate to get you into hiding. Immediately ordering four of his men to get the helicopter and locate you to a secret island, but on the way, the skies became grey and foggy, Yeosang on the other end of the intercom monitored your safety, following you in a ship in the waters. However, the line started to disrupt until he heard your screams and multiple gunshots. He took off the headset and stared up in the skies where he could make out the figure of the helicopter about to crash down.

The helicopter carried five people, including you. And it so happens that it was only you who survived the accident. You weren't facing anything serious, just a few scratches here and there, but whenever you heard loud sounds such as banging and ringing, you would immediately jump in your spot and your hands would automatically hold onto him. Yeosang would comfort you by holding your hand and caressing it gently with his. While doing so, he would do breathing exercises with you, it was simple but effective.

San:

When San managed to hide you underneath his desk, you couldn't help but overhear their conversation. Though nothing what they were talking about made sense to you, what stood and stuck inside your head were the words "If possible, I would have killed you with my bare hands right now and watch as the color in your skin fade into purple and blue." left you hanging and pondering over it.

And ever since that day, you couldn't look at San in the eyes anymore. You once tried to, but your mind played tricks and you saw how his lips turned into purple. It came to a point where you find it hard to sleep at night because the image of him being dead would be the first thing to greet you as your eyes closed. San would everything in his power to get rid of your disorder, but most importantly, he would also pay attention to what you feel about his lifestyle because, without denying it, it was him who brought you into this.

Mingi:

The sound of gunshots and bombs rang all over your ears, you swear you could lose your sense of hearing already. Bodies lying down on the ground, unmoving and still. You wondered how could he face this kind of scenario everyday. You tried to get away when a bomb exploded near you, causing you to fall on the ground, losing consciousness.

A few days after the terrifying event, Mingi observed how you became startled and frightened at the sounds of loud ringing, how you would zone out of yourself and sometimes, feel detached. Mingi swears that you're physically with him, but mentally somewhere else. He knew that after witnessing something so terrifying would cause you this, and that is why Mingi had you signed up for cognitive therapy. Hoping that your mind would bury the past events and be able to help you overcome it.

Wooyoung:

It had not only happened once, but it happened twice already. You've lost two of your unborn babies while giving a heir that would soon inherit Wooyoung's business. The loss of your children brought you great stress to yourself emotionally and physically that your health started to decline and your hair slowly started to grow white in your middle twenties.

When Wooyoung learned all of this, he gave the maids an indefinite vacation. One wherein he told them to rest and eat good food while he took his time taking care of you. Before leaving, the maids wished the young madam (aka you) a goodluck and speedy recovery. And in the succeeding days, Wooyoung would get up early and prepare everything for you. After that, he would go on long walks with you in the garden and pick flowers and make flower crowns. He wanted to divert your mind and away from all the negative you were thinking of. And he also took a mental note to dye your white hairs.

Jongho:

Before Jongho came to your rescue, you were placed inside a large fish tank with chains around your ankles and arms. Not understanding what you were doing inside at first until you felt the cold water at your feet. Finally realizing what was going to happen to you, you kept banging your hands on the screen of the tank, yelling that someone would hopefully hear you. Fear would slowly start to get you as soon as the water rises to your knees, it was useless to climb out with both of your hands tied. Slowly, the waters dangerously increased until they reached your waist. You were already floating in the water and the coldness starting raising the hairs in your arms. You tried screaming for help, particularly screaming Jongho's name. But your pleas were answered by nothing. And as the waters reached to your neck, you tilted your head up to give you more oxygen. Until slowly, the waters fully engulfed you. You held your breath before you could be succumbed, but it wasn't enough as a few minutes later, your body started to jerk and your head moving front and back and slowly, your eyelids closing down on you and your eyes rolling back.

Jongho was quick to saving you. After closing your eyes, he was able to break the human sized tank and caught you in his arms. Laying you down on the nearest surface he could find and then performing CPR on you. But even though he saved you from near death, he noticed how you would avoid taking baths and not coming out of the house when it was raining. He knew that the past event caused you to like this. At first, he tried to convince you to watch the rain with him, but you disagreed. Whenever you would take a shower, Jongho would have to be inside with you. In every step, Jongho would be there for you to overcome your fear and be able to face the waters once more.

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gaiuswrites · 3 years

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King of Cups || Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Five of Pentacles

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | one

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: Still reeling from the attack on Jortho, you begin your journey to scower the systems for galactic aid. The Mandalorian takes you aboard his ship temporarily, agreeing to shuttle you to your next destination. You both figure your tenure on the Razor Crest will be short lived... But you've been wrong before.

Word count: 3.8k~

Rating: Mature

Warnings: blood/gore, minor character death (mentioning), mature themes/language, vomiting

Notes: Hi friends. Here we go. Chapter 2... The last paragraph is marked with ///|||///, denoting a change to Mando's POV— his pov will be cropping up now and again, and I have a tendency to play with the timeline/tenses when it does. Enjoy x

You have to think about it. Genuinely.

It takes longer than you’d like to admit, with the Mandalorian looking down at you expectantly, a gloved hand slotted against his belt—postured and waiting.

‘Do you have a way off this skug hole?’

You open your mouth, but no words come out. It snaps closed. You swallow, but the action provides no relief. Your tongue feels too big for the small space it’s trapped in; too swollen, too dust logged— like you could choke on it, if you really tried. Finally, a single syllable frees itself, the weight of it plummeting through your ribs, ricocheting off the bones until it lands in your stomach with a dull, sinking splash.

“No.”

He doesn’t move.

“Do you need to get anything?”

You shake your head, small at first, phantom movements, before stringing together a sentence. “N-No. It’s all gone. Everything I had- it all went up on the shuttle-“

Oh gods, the shuttles.

Your heart seizes, a cold hand like a vice, gripping the bloody organ. You feel green; sickly chartreuse slithering it’s way up your esophagus, poisoning your soft palate. There were pilots on board when the ships blew. Two on each one. That’s four— four people. You knew their names. Knew their home planets. Knew about their families. One had a kid. Fuck. That’s four dead, and you didn’t even think of them— Maker, how could you not have thought about them?— No, fuck, fuck fuck-

It didn’t before but it’s hitting you now, stabbing you right between the eyes, the image of their bodies disintegrating in the blast wave, charring up like coal and carbon. You breathed them in, you realize. Their corpses coat your lungs.

The thought is all it takes.

Your feet move on instinct, scrambling to the side of his gunship where you vomit, bracing yourself against the riveted siding as you hack and sputter, wretching bile and what little broth you’d had for supper to splatter onto the cracked earth. Mercifully you’re hidden enough around the corner that you don’t think the bounty hunter sees, and if he does, he has the curtesy not to say anything.

What a gentleman, you think dryly, wiping your mouth with your sleeve.

You pant, body beyond spent, chest heaving as you press your scratched palm into the durasteel, the cool metal soothing it’s sting. Moments stretch like this— you doubled over, catching your breath— before you stumble back into view, graceless and encumbered, as if you didn’t just casually throw up down the front of yourself. You stand below him at the bottom of the ramp. He’s still there, a fixed point. Steel boots welded into the steel ramp.

“Uhm, are you-“

You cough, and it’s an ugly, hoarse sound; your throat burns, roughened and raw around the edges, and your nerves are too strung out for polite colloquialisms. You don’t have the energy to play coy and tip toe around the question. You’re fucking tired.

You try again.

“Are you offering me a ride?”

And now it’s his turn to hesitate, almost like he didn’t fully think the proposition through— as if it’s all just dawning on him now.

The Mandalorian didn’t strike you as someone who familiarized himself with answering to anyone— or picking up hitchhikers, for that matter— even if the offer was his to begin with... That was what he was doing, wasn’t it? Those words in that order? He meant to give you transport off planet? He wasn’t just… making conversation? Did Mandalorians even do that? Maker, if you’ve read this whole situation wrong, no small thanks to a laser-brain full of mush, you reckon you’d die from embarrassment on the spot where you stood, splotched with soot and puke and blood.

You think he’s going to tell you to shove off— you see his hand balling into a fist at his side— and close the ramp right then and there. Be rid of you. Sluffed, like a flea from a dog.

But he doesn’t. He surprises you both.

“Yes.”

Oh. Oh. Kriff, okay. Think think think-

Your mind reels and you’re rambling now, words ending and beginning in the same breath— steamrolling over yourself.

“Okay, I-I need to go back in to town, just for a—I cant let them think I’m just leaving them like this... Is that okay? I’m sorry, I won’t take long, I promise, I just— they need to know I’m getting help. Is that- uhm, can you wait? Can you wait for me?”

There’s another unreadable pause that makes you want to bury your head in the cold, fallow soil.

The man is looking at you like you’ve grown another kriffing leg, but eventually he grumbles out a noise that sounds like an affirmative, turning on his heel, and disappears into the belly of the ship— leaving you there alone.

Alone.

Pin pricks needle at the nape of your neck and the hair down your arm stands on end.

Alone.

You’re alone for the first time since the attack and suddenly you feel half your size and shrinking smaller still, like atoms collapsing and folding in on themselves until they dematerialize completely—and you along with them. You tell yourself to breath. To fight the bubbles of panic as they burst and pop, dimpling you from the inside out. Breath. Focus, he said. Focus.

You shift your weight from foot to foot, gnawing at the inside of your cheek.

The Mandalorian never reemerges.

Well… you guess that was your cue.

///

Staggering back into Jortho is like sleepwalking through a nightmare.

The smoke from the bombing has completely engulfed the lower atmosphere, doming the town in a thick canopy; the sky is blackened, starless, and the moons hover noncommittally like mere suggestions in the dark canvas.

Half the town had been decimated to rubble, and the other half was covered in the shockwave of it’s explosion— caked in grime, windows knocked out, doors splintered open. You almost expected the pieces to have reversed themselves back up, like you’ve seen in holovid special effects—homes rebuilding, fires dousing themselves, air purifying itself from the smog… but they don’t. They remain in shambles.

Time has granted you the unforgiving gift of clarity, and it’s one you’d rather not have been given. You don’t want to see the aftermath without the saccharine filter of shock to cushion you. The town is just as you left it, but somehow worse— worse because you can hear the crying, now. The wailing. You didn’t before with the blood pumping in your ears, deafening you, but you do now. The woeful noises that reverberate over the crackling embers still smoldering, the muffled sobs being choked down behind fractured walls.

Tripping over stray debris, you find Hareem close to where you’d left her, her fuse short hair grey with ash. The blood you smeared from her cheek still clouds her skin there, staining it as it does your fingers that wiped it. She wobbles to her feet and meets you in the middle of the road.

Neither of you speak, not at first. You hold onto her shoulders, and like a pillar of salt, you quake.

You try explaining to her that the communication’s system on your transport freighter had been blown up alongside the town, that you’ve accepted a ride from the bounty hunter and that you’re getting off world to contact the RRM headquarters, that you’d stay if you could but you can’t and you need to call for assistance, for help. You try to tell her that you’d do anything— travel through dimensions, if you could, to undo all of this chaos— if the laws of time allowed it.

You want to go back and pretend today never happened. To unlearn the tremor in your hands as they grip her frame. To unlearn all of this. To unknow. But,

you can’t.

All you can do is move forward. Do the next right thing. Take the next right step.

You’ve explained yourself in circles but it still doesn’t feel like enough. The words feel shallow, like slapping some bacta on a severed limb, and guilt rips through you— your voice torn with it.

“But how can I leave now?” you ask helplessly, eyes skittering around you. “After all- all of this?”

Hareem finds your hands, her spindled fingers encasing your own. A crease engraves her forehead, little lines clustering around her eyes. “You’ve done enough, hm? You go now. Go with that Mandalorian. You can’t shoulder this alone.”

“Har-“

She doesn’t let you say it. The older woman soothes a thumb into the web between your knuckles.

“Make contact. Comm for aid. It will come, but it won’t if you stay here.”

Your shoulders release with a defeated sigh. You know the Balosar’s right— you’re the one who’s told her as much. That’s RRM protocol. In case of emergency, you were to comm in and reconvene with the closest branch to your system to send additional supplies and volunteers to the camp. You know this better than anyone here, and yet this woman, this refugee, was the one aping your mission back to you.

She’s firm. Kind. “You’re just one person.”

Briefly, you wonder if she’s a parent. You think her child would be lucky to have her as their mother-- all of her somber strength. You think you would have been lucky, too.

Maybe things would be different—maybe you’d be different.

You gather yourself, piece by piece, and give her knobby hand a squeeze. You bore into her, determined and unwavering. You need her to understand. “I’m not abandoning you—any of you. I need you to know that, okay? I’m not leaving you alone in this.”

She smiles. It doesn’t reach her eyes.

“I know, my friend,” Hareem says plainly, a sad sort of resolve quieting her tone. She has no fight left, nothing left to give— as empty as her pockets, lint lined and turned out. Barren. “I know.”

///

You weave your way back to the ship, feet padding across the arid landscape. You don’t blink, not even once, eyes crusted open and gaping. You barely remember the trek but somehow you’ve managed it, treading up the ramp, the thuds sounding hollow and foreign to your ear.

“I’m not a taxi service.”

You nearly jump out of your skin.

“Maker almighty,” you gasp, hand coming up to clutch your canary heart, beating fast and frantic. He’s just standing there, waiting, the dimmed lights of the hull glinting off his beskar. It’d only been a few hours, but you had already somehow forgotten how kriffing imposing he was, how ominous. A vacuum in space.

“O-Okay,” you stutter, a twitch in your brow.

“I’ll get you as far as you need to go, but on my terms. I’m not making a special trip— can’t promise you when.”

You nod. You’re not sure what to say. Lamed, all you can do is repeat yourself.

“… Okay.”

“What sector?”

“Bajic,” you start, fiddling with a loose thread poking from your sleeve. “We- uhm, the RRM, we have a branch there, but then—” your throat bobs as you swallow your words, and he gives you an exacting look, tilting his helm subtly. There was no getting around it.

You’re pinned.

“Coruscant. I’ll need to get to Coruscant,” you finish quietly.

Did you just hear him ‘tsk’ under that metal bucket?

“It’ll take a while to get to the Core. Longer than you’d like.”

And here you go, babbling again before you can stop yourself, throwing up defenses, excuses— back pedaling. You’re earnest, and it’s dripping from you. “Listen, if this is too much, I get it. You don’t owe me anything. Really— you don’t have to take me anywhere you don’t want. I-I, honestly, I’m just grateful you even considered it.”

Silence. An endless sea of silence.

No current, no breeze. It feels like you’re stranded in dead water, drowning in it. Again, you hang there on bated breath, just waiting for the man to chuck you from his ship. Not worth the effort. Not worth the fuel.

And again, he surprises you.

He tips his chin, gesturing to the side. “Fresher’s that way. We’ll be up in five.”

You exhale, visibly relieved, and mumble a thank you before shuffling off in the direction he motioned towards. You get one foot through the door before you hear him.

“Dala,”

Your attention snaps to the Mandalorian. There’s that word again—you think he’s called you that before—but there’s something different in his voice now, a lilt you’d not yet heard from him. What is that? Nerves?

“There is… one more thing.”

You cock your head just as a gargled coo comes from somewhere behind him.

///

You look like bantha shit.

Which, considering the events of your evening, should probably go without saying— and yet, the woman staring back at you in the small refresher mirror still manages to startle you.

You’re covered in dirt and cinders and contusions you hadn’t had the luxury to notice before. With the adrenaline retreated from your veins, you finally feel the full scope of your injuries and Maker do they hurt. Your tunic is torn at the collar and the fabric is discolored, pants and boots scuffed and ashen. Your bottom lip is swollen, a split running down the side of it, the seam of which is cracked with dry blood. Your palms are scratched— knuckles, too. There are narrow licks from shrapnel bites nicking your forearm. Twisting your body, you discover a dark bruise already blooming on your shoulder from the initial impact of the blast. You’re stiff and achy all over, and you can practically hear your bones creak and groan with each strained movement.

You turn on the faucet and begin to bend forward before you wince, a sharp pain gripping your skull. Ginger fingers come up to touch the back of your head, patting around tentatively until you find a raised bump and something viscous wetting the strands of your hair. You pull your hand back, inspecting it— more blood, glistening black under the low light.

Your eyes flit back up to your reflection.

You should be scared at this point, you guess. Worried, at the very least, by all of this—by the gore of it, the cuts and marks. But it’s your eyes that frighten you most— they’re hard. Devoid. You don’t recognize them. You’re a stranger.

You blink. She blinks back.

Rust red water eddies in the basin of the sink as you scrub yourself clean. You let out a hiss as the cold stream hits your skin. You count your breaths.

///

Being anywhere on board his ship without the Mandalorian feels wrong. Unnatural. Like you’re a tourist, out of place.

Unsure of where else to go, you find yourself in the cockpit with the bounty hunter, sitting in the seat beside him. Glancing over the knobs and dials and pulsing displays, your focus drifts in and out, posture slumping, lids growing heavy, darkening around the edges of your vision, blurring—

“Try to stay awake.”

With a sharp inhale, your eyes snap open, blinking wildly, and you scoot your hips up higher into the seat. You shoot the back of his helmet an inquisitive look you’re not sure he sees, but he responds to it all the same.

“Could have a concussion.”

“Didn’t know you were a doctor,” you reply, tone low and rolling. Maker above, apparently the final stage of shock was sarcasm. The fact that you thought it wise to damn near sass a Mandalorian on his own ship after he saved your kriffing life...

Stars, maybe it really was a concussion. Brain damage. Had to be.

He doesn’t acknowledge the quip, which you can’t readily blame him for. A quiet beat, red buttons flickering against the dark of the cockpit, and then—

“There’s bacta in the medpack. Might not be much left.”

You’re wide awake now.

Your rebuttal is immediate, bristled even, words escaping before you have a chance to even consider his suggestion. “No— no, thank you, but I’m not taking the last of your supplies. I’ll be fine, you’re- you’re doing enough for me already.” He graces you with another of his grunts, a hush following closely behind it.

Your gaze wanders—it wanders onto him, and you watch him.

Watch as the stars dance across his armor, incandescent and shimmering. Hypnotic, even. Something you hadn’t noticed before catches your eye, and you have to crane your neck to get a good look at it. It’s hard to make out, but you think there’s a symbol on the pauldron adorning his shoulder. You can’t imagine it’s completely cosmetic, seeing as the hem of his cape is frayed and worn (and the fact that being a lethal hunter didn’t really scream ‘needless decoration’), but maybe, if you work up the courage somewhere between here and Coruscant, you’ll ask him about it.

His posture is carved out of stone and he sits like a statue, spine rigid under all that beskar. Fleetingly, you wonder if it’s heavy, if it’s uncomfortable—to carry it with him wherever he goes. But you suppose he’s grown accustom to the weight, wearing it like a second skin.

He’s broad too, you note. Of course he is, you recognized that straight off, but inside the confines of the ship, without the towering Lothal sky as his backdrop, it truly strikes you just how large the Mandalorian is. He engulfs the space around him. Devours it.

You stay like this, entranced, studying the man properly for the first time, allowing the muscles behind your tired eyes to relax on him— until his visor notches up quickly and meets your line of sight in the mirrored pane of the window, catching you in the act.

Kriff.

You avert your eyes, an embarrassed warmth crawling up your neck, suddenly finding a particular panel soldered to the wall incredibly interesting— looking anywhere else but at the faceless stranger you’re saddled with.

The kid gurgles, interrupting the awkwardness, and you’ve never been more grateful for a three pronged toddler in your life.

He’s sitting in the copilot’s seat opposite you, as if the tiny thing is navigating for the Mandalorian, and he’s completely dwarfed by the massive chair. Everything about him juxtaposes the other man. He’s all brown robes and wispy peach fuzz, and he looks almost comically out of place against the interior of the gunship. He’s playing with a shiny metal ball in his lap, and with one small arm, he extends it to you like a gift.

Out of the two of them, the child was a one man welcoming party.

“Is this for me?”

He gives a soft patuu, and your heart nearly bursts. You take it from him gently, and the little guy coos through a babbling grin, cheeks round and impish. “Thank you,” you tell him, all serious-like, and you have to actively suppress the squeal that threatens to break free from you. He glances to the Mandalorian with such a look in those big eyes; its hard to make out, but you think its something close to pride or satisfaction, maybe: Look dad, I shared my toy.

Kriff, this kid is cute. Like, dangerously cute.

You both take each other in like this; your micro expressions, his pruned little forehead, your fleshy form, all soft lines and angles. You’re sure you look just as strange to him and he does to you, especially given the only other lifeform on board he has as reference is coated from head to toe in metal. The child’s gaze snags on a lock of your hair, little teeth peeking through his mouth, eyes glued to it like a metronome as it dangles. You give your head a little shake, strands waving, and he giggles. You skip the ball over the hills of your knuckles, dazzling him momentarily.

“Does he have a name?” You ask, his eyes like black saucers peering curiously at you, and you give him back his toy— an offer he eagerly accepts.

“No.”

“So what do you call him then?”

“Just ‘kid’.”

A beat. “... Do you have a name?”

“Mando.”

“Just ‘Mando’?”

“This is the Way.”

You nod, worrying your cheek absentmindedly as you stare out the transparisteel. This is the Way. You’re not entirely sure what the phrase meant, but you know respect when you hear it— how reverent it sits on his vocal chords— and by the manner of which the man, this Mando, spoke, you can tell there’s more to those words than you know.

And you can appreciate his desire for anonymity; it doesn’t bother you much—you figure you won't be around long enough for it to matter anyways. You don’t know a lot about the Mandalorian people, but you have heard rumors. Everyone had. That’s all they were anymore: rumors and stories. Legends. Just seeing one was rare, and talking to one even rarer. But flying with one and his adorable, green baby? It was… definitely unique, to say the least.

You share more dulled quiet. And although the silence isn’t entirely uncomfortable now—you’re settling in to it— it’s not exactly desirable either, but it doesn’t matter because it doesn’t last.

Mando clears his throat, breaking the white noise that’s blanketed the three of them. He doesn’t turn his helmet. He keeps his focus straight ahead. You watch his reflection in the ship’s window and you can’t know for certain, but you think you feel your eyes brush against his, if only for a moment. A unintelligible noise filters through his modulator.

“Do you?”

You grin, a slow smile tugging at your lips.

“Last I checked.”

It’s the first smile he draws from you. The first of many.

///

Despite Mando’s warnings and better judgement, sleeping is exactly what you end up doing. You pass out, hard, stirring only once when an errant beep sounds through the cockpit. You’d fallen asleep right there in the chair, chin tucked into your chest, hair fanned across your cheek, arms wrapped around your waist in a measly attempt to trap your body heat to you. You’ve woken to find the cockpit empty— the ship must be on autopilot, you think— and by the illuminating glow of hyperspace, you spot his medkit, sitting open on the seat across from you and in it, nestled among old wrappings and gauze, a single patch of bacta.

///|||///

That smile.

Din remembers this moment, much later, holding it like a photo in a locket. Private. Secret. He keeps you there, gold plated on a chain, to loop around his memory.

Encircling him. Strangling him.

#din djarin x reader #mando x reader #din djarin x fem!reader #mando x fem!reader #King of Cups #ngl i got kinda emotional writing some bits #idk why but the hareem scenes kill me #din djarin fic #mando x you #din djarin x you #no y/n #pedro pascal #mando x female oc #din djarin x female oc #ofc

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palaceofpassion · 3 years

Text

Tempverse: Episode 1:The Desert Flower

Sooo there is a special reason I’m reposting this.

Alone, that’s how this girl felt, no one in this world to talk to on one to be her friend. Throughout her years she found herself unsociable, unable to start up the simplest of conversations with her peers. She found herself eyed as if she was a strange creature, something that never really belonged. And despite this, despite her constantly being alone, and shying away from others she wanted to belong. Wanted to have a friend, to be with someone who she could be true with. One day, her parents set off, a vacation they had told her they would be back, they said. Leaving her with their neighbors, a house full of young girls they said, she could make friends they told her.

She didn’t believe them, she’d met the girls before, but never did it click. Never did she find herself drawn to them. They however, were nice, they never made fun of her, never joked about her loneliness but she still felt a level of uncomfort near them. But she heard the rumors, there was one more child, a child hidden away because the family was ashamed of him. Or so the nasty talks of the playground children went, she was unsure of how true this was. But she supposed… she would learn whether she wanted to or not.

And learn she did, however… The stories were quite different from the truth. A lone boy, born alone among a total of eight. Sickly and unwell he barely left his bed, but alone he was not. Unlike May who found herself ostracized, even her parents showed little care for her, he was surrounded by warmth and love. Despite his lack of use, he was greeted frequently by his sisters of different types. Despite being weak, he was treated as if he was one of them. Something May didn’t understand, this was not how children acted, they chose to ostracize those different than they. This was not how families treated one another, they rather not it be their problem.

Yet in this house of blondes and browns, she found herself… welcomed? The feeling of uncomfort soon vanished. The boy, he reached out to her, befriended her in a way none other had. And through him, the family grew close. She found herself suddenly wrapped in kindness, pulled into the embrace of a loving home. This boy would be first of many for her, the first to be her friend, a young confidant whom she could be herself. Another was the first she spilled her heart to, the first she considered real family, and a third, the first she would give her heart too. She felt like she could be herself, and the boy had stolen something important. But the fourth was a sense of fear and dread.

There was a time, when the boy's eyes shut, for a day he did not wake. The worst was assumed and the worst they prepared for. Not a single soul left him, all staying near his wake as they held him close. Thankfully the fear would pass, he would awaken fresh and anew. The girl knew that she would never leave his side, so long as she could afford to.

Unfortunately… she was but a young girl. Her fate was yet in her hands. She could not control the flow of time, could not control the will of those that could control hers. One day… she would leave, from Vale to Vacuo, she would travel back to her homeland. Begged and cried she did, but upon deaf ears her pleas fell. The family of ten held her close, they would miss her. The second eldest, she swore this would not be the last they see. That she was sure that destiny would intertwine them together once more. Perhaps there would be a Beacon, a Beacon that could guide them once again? She did not know the meaning of these words at first, but she held them true to her heart.

To the boy though, “I’ll miss you.” He said, holding the girl close. His tears did not fail, even as he struggled to hold her, even as he struggled to leave his domiciliary. He continued to hold, hoping that it was but a dream, that his best friend, his closest confidant wouldn’t depart. But… they both knew this wouldn’t be the case.

“I’ll miss you more…” She followed up, she would miss him, miss him more than she could ever imagine. True to her words, “I will never forget you…” She wouldn’t, his name, his eyes, his hair, his scent, everything about him would remain.

She prayed, prayed that one day they would reunite, that when they did she could take him from his lair, take him from the confines of his self defined prison. She knew how he dreamed of being a knight, but she would be his eyes, his ears, his world. She would take him and see him off, hoping that one day they could be together once more.

“We’ll meet again, I promise.” And so he promised her, and he was an Arc, true to their word till the very end.

However, life isn’t easy, and she knew this. And as she grew older, her hopes of seeing the boy grew dim. She aged into a fine young woman. Though she experienced… difficulties, oftentimes having to pretend to not be what she really was. She found ways to hide her true form, to pretend that she wasn’t something she was. Eventually her thoughts of a Beacon began to seep through once more… she knew what she had to do. There was a Beacon she could travel through, and then-

THUD

May’s eyes fluttered open, “Huh?” slowly she began to scan the room around her. “Oh… right…” She quietly spoke to herself, she was on a Bullhead, headed towards the start of her new life. Headed towards Beacon Academy, she… she remembered the Arc’s, remembered the words of Rua. She… she hoped that maybe, even with a sliver that the promise would come true. But, even as she tried to hope, she held herself tightly pulling herself into a ball around her backpack. For now she would stay small, insignificant to the world around her. She didn’t want attention, she didn’t even want to be surrounded by this many people. But she had a dream, and no matter how scared she was, she had to push through.

TCH

“We will be arriving at Beacon in 5 minutes, please prepare your property.” The jostling of the ship stirred her into action. Her right eye suddenly snapped open when she looked around the room and realized that several of the students had already started to walk out. Grabbing her bag she quickly got up heading outside and decided to take one last look around realizing that she was finally here.

It was exactly as she imagined it to be,It was huge and gorgeous. The various greens caught her attention almost instantly, how a school on top of a mountain made any sense went right past her, but she couldn’t ignore the spectacle.

However, she was pulled away from her admiration as soon as she heard an explosion. She blinked and once the dust died down amongst the chaos she noticed three girls. However, once she got a better look at one of them her face burned crimson. She tried to pull her attention to the other two, one was pristine white, full, a young woman who liked like she was made of snow. The other was a girl in a red hood, her hair was dark with tinges of red. However the third one was in nothing but rags, a collar, and a leash, a leash held by the red hooded girl. Though she didn't catch the start of the conversation she did hear the red girl say "I'm sorry I didn't know that she'd slam into your into your stuff sorry. I have to take better care of her next time I'll make sure she pays better attention to where she’s going, I promise!"

To her surprise several of the students simply walked by but she couldn't get over how the little red one was pulling on a leash as if trying to call the young woman away. Then she remembered from what she had heard before coming to Vale, something about a new law being enforced to entrap Huntsmen and Huntresses that broke the law. They would have their auras locked, their bodies bound, and they would be given or sold depending on if the person who brought them in wanted them or not. This… this must have been that, May did her best not to look, however as her gaze fell upon the lithe form of the dark skinned woman, currently on all fours looking away sheepishly as her master was berated, she felt a dark desire burn within her core. “Bad, bad May!”

Her attention diverted back towards the direction the remaining students were heading. Following the crowd she couldn’t help but let her nerves get the better of her. Her hand clenched against her jacket, pressing against her special binding. Her chest ached, a problem she had when her anxieties got the better of her. “Hopefully things won’t be so bad.” She eventually moved forward. Lost in her own little world she didn’t see the young blonde man who arrived shortly after her, greeting the girl with short red tipped hair.

Eventually she made her way into the auditorium, the sheer number of people sent goosebumps down her arms. “Too many…” Not wanting to garner any attention she made her way to the corner of the room, thankfully finding an empty spot with very few people. Eventually she felt her legs give out, her bottom bouncing off the tiled ground as she did her best to calm herself. However, as she tried to calm herself, sitting away from others, the hustle and bustle of the booming voices began to wear down upon her. She was never great with crowds, and the fact that so many were her age didn’t make it any better. She was all alone, perhaps it was her fault, but it didn’t ease her pain.

“You can do this… you can do this…” She tried to chant to herself, she was never good with lots of people, never good when any amount of attention was put on her. And though she knew that none of these people would even give her the time of the day, which honestly hurt in its own way, she just knew that she had to keep herself from losing it. Clenching her eye shut, she tried to chant to herself one more time, “It’ll be okay, it’ll be okay, it’ll be okay.” You won’t be okay, you won’t be okay, you’re going to fail. But even as she tried her best, as more people began to gather, she found herself being lost in the quagmire of doubts. Her eye began to sting as tears pooled in. She felt a deep pool form in her chest, her breathing became ragged, and her thoughts started to scatter. “Why now?” She thought she could do this, thought that this was the right idea. But then why were all her fears and anxieties suddenly hitting her now?

She felt herself being washed away by her negative emotions, a sea of dread surrounding her as she sunk to the bottom. She wanted someone to be there with her, though she had no one, she needed to be told she was going to be okay, but any words would simply sound hollow to her, she hoped to find help, but would help ever come? You don’t matter, go home, you won’t make it, why should yo- Suddenly her body jolted as a gentle hand pressed against her shoulder. In her panic she tried to shift away, her vision blurred by the clinging tears that stung at her eyes. “I… I’m sorry!” She hadn’t meant to bother anyone, she had wanted to AVOID attention! Panic filled her chest once more, her anxieties boiling over, until she heard a soothing voice call out to her.

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay, breathe.” Another hand gently pressed against her other shoulder. “Don’t think, just try to breathe.” She couldn’t see the other person, but hearing their voice call out to her was enough to calm her nerves just a little. Yet, that didn’t fully wash away her anxieties. Her chest still beat as her heart continued to pump uncontrollably. Then, another voice, this one a bit more masculine than the previous, though it was low and… and oddly calming, more so than even the first.

“Hey.” They said, keeping their comment short, “Uhm… here you can use this… it should help you just a little.” She felt something press against the base of her palm. Her fingers wiggled around trying to figure out what it was. After a minute inspection she realized it was paper, “Oh!” It was a paper bag… how did they? “Just bring it to your mouth and nose, and take deep long breaths. It helps me when I start to have uhm... yeah.” They didn’t finish the sentence, they hadn’t needed to. May brought the bag to her lips, surrounding her nose as well. “Okay, that’s good, breathe in.” She did so, “Breathe out.” She followed the instructions. Eight times she did so, her heart finally calming down. Eventually she pulled away, exhaling fresh air and not the carbon dioxide trapped in the bag, then once more she began to breathe into the bag.

Eventually she was able to calm herself, and thankfully the stinging sensation in her eye cleared up. She was finally able to open her eye, her vision flickering back into focus as she was met with the smiling faces of two very different individuals. The one to her left must have been the first one to come to her aid. A young woman with long bright red hair and clear green eyes, her lips parted into a warm gentle smile that seemed to brighten May’s mood instantly. The other… he was… her heart started to thump again, but not for the same reason as before.

“Hey, you’re okay, that’s good.” She… she almost started crying again. No wonder his voice had sounded so soothing to her, no wonder she’d felt herself calm almost instantly. “Uhm, I know this is sort of odd timing all considered but, hello. It’s nice to meet you two, I’m-”

Her lips parted as his name left her lips, “Jaune…”

He blinked stunned that she’d known who he was. “I… that’s right, how do you…” She didn’t give him the chance to answer as she practically threw herself at him. Her arms stretched out, winding themselves tightly around his back.

A soft, “Oh my.” Escaped the other girl's lips. May knew this was embarrassing, knew that she was probably drawing attention to herself, but for once she finally felt just a little bit safer.

“It’s been so long, I missed you so much.” Her old friend stood there frozen for just a moment. She hadn’t seen him in so long, so she couldn’t fully expect him to figure out who she was, at least not till she told him anyway.

But to her surprise, “May?” “Mmhmm.” She responded, his arms suddenly wrapping around her pulling her into a tightly knit hug. She thanked the brothers for her special binder, she would have never been able to get this close to him without them. Eventually though the two let one another go. Her heart finally calmed down as she felt she could finally relax.

Though, “Oh! I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have seen that.” She had nearly forgotten her other hero, the one who had shown up first. Her eye shifted over towards the absolutely stunning woman in front of her. She couldn’t help the unusually hot feelings burning inside of her as her eye swapped between the unknown woman and Jaune, and then back again.

“No! No, that's alright.” She felt Jaune’s hand press against hers, squeezing gently as if to reassure her that everything was alright. Her heart practically drummed in her chest at the way this reunion was going. “I uh…” May noticed the way that Jaune looked as if his words were lost on his lips. She couldn’t really blame him, the girl in front of them WAS rather beautiful. Though perhaps he hadn’t gotten any better at social interactions?

Now that she thought about it, what was he doing here? When had he gotten better? Did his parents end up training him? There were so many questions flashing through her mind and she wasn’t sure she WANTED to know the answers, none of that mattered though. All that did matter was that she was holding him, and oh brothers did it feel good.

She wondered though, was she supposed to feel jealous of how flustered the other girl made Jaune, cause she didn’t, which was weird? She wasn’t sure if that was weird, did she have feelings for Jaune? If he was anything like the boy she remembered, then absolutely. But, that brought up the question, why did she find herself drawn to the other girl's emerald eyes, she felt oddly warm, not uncomfortably so either.

Apparently the other girl noticed the staring, she seemed to give them an awkward laugh as she looked away trying to avoid their gazes. “Hahah… I should have known.” May caught the nearly silent comment, now she had questions, yet she didn’t know how to start them.

“What should you have known?” Thankfully she didn’t have to, apparently Jaune was still as socially awkward as ever, that again brought up the question of what he’d been doing up till now. She’d have to keep an eye on him during initiation, just to be safe. Though for now, she turned her attention back to the stunning redhead before them.

“Ah.” She paused, obviously trying to be polite to Jaune’s abrupt question, “You must have a million questions for me, yes?”

May and Jaune both blinked, “Why?” came the same question from both their lips.

This apparently stunned the other girl as she blinked at them owlishly. “Do… do you not know who I am?”

May sure didn’t, then again she wasn’t really in the know with a lot of things, she’d spent so much time training, trying to improve herself that she’d kind of fall out of the loop. She shook her head, “No… I’m afraid not.” She sure hoped that the other girl didn’t find it offensive.

“Same for me, are we supposed to?”

The girl paused once more, almost as if she was a dear who’d been caught in the headlights. “I… no.” The uncomfortable feeling that she’d fallen into had suddenly vanished, a soft smile suddenly spread across her face. May couldn’t help but feel the warm and fuzzy feeling coming back ten fold. “No, that’s actually…” She was full on smiling now, “It is a pleasure to meet you both. My name is Pyrrha, Pyrrha Nikos.” She stopped after, waiting on something and when that something didn’t happen she simply smiled.

She had such a really pretty name too! May felt like everything about this girl was just… oh gods she was amazing. She wasn’t sure she had the courage to introduce herself, thankfully Jaune did, “Hi… I… I’m uhm… I’m Jaune… Jaune Arc, Sho… you know nevermind.” May blinked, thankful she wasn’t the only nervous one around the really pretty girl.

She was about to introduce herself, finally getting her courage when suddenly two things happened. “Hi I’m May Z…” Suddenly the lights turned off, all of the other students suddenly swapped their attentions towards the stage, that was the first thing and the thing she would suddenly become VERY thankful for… then… then the second thing happened. SNAP She heard it first, then she felt it second, then she saw it third. Suddenly her binding came undone, her jacket which had been tugged due to her little anxiety attack had already been pulled up a little leaving only her thin white shirt… and finally she nearly screamed as her bust suddenly exploded from the binding, her bra nearly flying away smacking Jaune straight in the face and her massive horrendously titanic absolutely gigantic bust popped into view! Popping straight from under hear shirt she felt her face grow red hot as both Pyrrha and Jaune stood there for nearly a full on moment watching her ginormous tits jiggle freely, the fleshy uselessly big bags of flesh wiggled and bounced as if they had a mind of their own. Thankfully the shirt hadn’t come fully undone so they didn’t get to see her truly shameful secret! Them seeing the massive size was enough of a shame for her, she was going to cry, she was going to cry!

Then it happened, a strange sense of determination suddenly filled Jaune’s face as he eyed Pyrrha who suddenly seemed to wordlessly understand what he wanted. She watched as Jaune suddenly lifted his hoodie, handing her bra/binder over to Pyrrha like he was used to handling them, which he probably was now that she thought about it. And then suddenly her world went black as she was covered by Jaune’s previously worn hoodie. In the brief period of darkness she realized a few things, one she was suddenly being raised up and taken somewhere. And another…the jacket… it was filled with the scent of her childhood friend. A wave of nostalgia and… and lust oh gosh she felt her womb practically tremble as she inhaled his scent, washed over her. Lost in her own thoughts she didn’t notice the sudden thump behind her as her childhood friend nearly passed out at the new revelation… or TWO MASSIVE HULKING revelations. He had… had sent her away with Pyrrha to clear his own thoughts on the matter.

May did her best to hide herself within Jaune’s jacket as she could practically feel the gazes from the other students suddenly falling upon her, though to her surprise as they continued on the gazes began to die down. Even as she attempted to shelter herself within the jacket she could still feel the judging gazes coming from the other students. A soft whimper escaped her lips as she felt her world about to break down, then she felt a soft hand press against her shoulder. “It’ll be okay, I’m here okay?” An angelic voice called out to her, and her anxieties seemed to simply melt off of her shoulders.

With a nod the two girls eventually made it towards the changing room, Pyrrha stepping forward first making sure that no one else was in the changing room. Thankfully, the two of them were alone, though from the way Pyrrha began to shuffle her towards one of the small booths, she wasn’t sure for how long.

While the changing process didn’t take too long, the two of them found themselves wrapped in an oddly comforting silence. “So…” Pyrrha was the first to break it, much to May’s gratefulness. “You and uhm, Jaune… have you two known each other long?” It was an odd question, but May supposed there was no harm in answering.

“Yes…” She took a moment, perhaps long wasn’t the right word, “We used to live near one another, when we were kids, but my family moved away… we used to be very close…” May hid away a blush, as thoughts of snuggling closer to her childhood friend came to mind.

For her part Pyrrha seemed oddly displaced, May couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but something was off about the obviously popular girl. “A...are you okay?” When Pyrrha suddenly snapped from her confusion May noticed the small tinge of red on her cheeks.

“Ye...yes! Sorry! I’m just not…” She watched the Cereal Mascot stare blankly at nothing, wishfully. “I don’t have any close friends.” May, may have been shy and introverted, but she was also observant. She knew there was more to the story than just that, but she wouldn’t push it.

“I… if… you like I could be your friend, and… and I’m sure Jaune would like to as well.”

Pyrrha had liked the idea so much she hadn’t even bothered to give it a second thought as she quickly blurted her excitement out, “Yes please!” For all her sudden confidence the crimson haired beauty began to bluster, “I mean… yes please… that would be grand.”

May couldn’t contain the rampage of giggles suddenly bustling through her lips, she didn’t have many friends herself, but meeting Pyrrha had been quite pleasant. “That would be nice, I think Jaune already thinks of you as a friend as well.”

The crimson haired beauty simply smiled, May hadn’t really been sure of her sexuality up till this point, but she was starting to think she was bi, if the sudden beating in her chest was anything to go by. “Oh, we should get your uhm, Bra fixed.”

“Ri...right!” May had almost completely forgotten about their initial goal. Without really thinking about it, she began to shift, slipping her arms through the comfortable hoodie and pushing it upwards. What she didn’t notice, while her head was trapped in complete darkness, was the sudden lustful gaze that Pyrrha had suddenly formed upon her face. She didn’t notice the way emeralds stared at her, as the jacket began to shift upwards tugging at her voluptuous form. She wasn’t aware at the way that Pyrrha’s tongue instinctively ran across her lips, or the way that a deep crimson seeped from her cheeks running through her entire body once May had managed to free her luscious bouncing bosom. She also didn’t notice Pyrrha draw closer, getting incredibly close to her plump mounds of fat. “P...Pyrrha?” She called out behind the combination of clothing currently trapping her in place.

“Ye...yes!” The oddly anxious tone in her new friends voice caught her off guard, but she simply chopped it up to not being used to others, much like herself.

“Can you help me please?” She wiggled a little, unknowingly causing her monstrous mountains of fat to sway back and forth.

“O...of course…”

She wasn’t sure what had taken Pyrrha so long to answer that time, but the girl eventually moved to assist, taking a position behind her… for some reason? Eventually the two of them had managed to clear the jacket, stripping May of her top based apparel. While she hadn’t put much thought into it at first, the sudden realization that Pyrrha was LOOKING at her, caused a general warmth to flow through her. Her body shook as Pyrrha’s hands slowly sipped past her shoulders, gentle fingers running across her collar bone.

She wasn’t sure what had it at first, but something hot started to form inside of her lower region. The heat only grew stronger as the crimson haired goddess behind her, continued to slowly eat up her appearance. It was an odd feeling, whenever May had people look at her, they were always either one of two categories, treating her as eye candy, or simply thinking ill of her. But there was something coming from Pyrrha, something she didn’t quite understand on her own.

“You’re gorgeous…” The words came out of Pyrrha’s mouth faster than May would have anticipated. “I… uhm I…!”

“Thank you…” Was May’s response, unwilling to let Pyrrha backtrack. She wasn’t used to compliments, but… she really liked them. She let out a small sniffle, “I don’t get complimented very frequently… I’m kind of…” While she’d moved her hands to hold her breasts together at one point, she let her right one loose, running it across her side. May wasn’t… obese by any means. But when compared to women like Pyrrha, or that white haired girl from earlier… she was plump. She had a round bottom, wide hips, and a large chest. She had belly fat that she’d never been able to get rid of no matter how hard she tried… it was an odd thing, one she wasn’t very proud of.

“No… no you’re quite beautiful though!” She felt the heat radiating off of Pyrrha’s hands as they hovered just behind her back. It was obvious Pyrrha wasn’t used to giving compliments as she was just kind of blurting things out, but May liked them.

“Th...thank you… so are you… you’re really… you’re hair is really gorgeous, and you have stunning eyes.”

She missed the way that Pyrrha blushed, the trembling of her fingers, the way that she held her breath. The two of them sat in silence for quite a bit of time, at least till May ended up breaking it. “We should… we should get dressed…”

“Right… right, what time is it?” May heard shuffling behind her as Pyrrha pulled out her scroll. “Oh! Oh no!”

“What’s wrong?!”

“We’ve been here for almost an hour!”

“Wha?!”

May began to freak out, that meant there HAD to be other people coming in soon! She needed to get dressed quickly, but by this point they needed to put their sleeping wear on.

After a quick hustle the two girls began to get dressed, and despite the hesitation in Pyrrha’s touch, she did aid her with putting her bra back on. May didn’t like wearing it to sleep but she didn’t really have a choice at the moment.

Finally they’d gotten dressed, both wearing simple cute one colored pajama’s. May’s own were a light maroon, while Pyrrha’s were a deep crimson. “Odd…”

“What is?”

Pyrrha eyed the room, “The others should have shown up by now, I wonder why it’s so empty.”

May thought about it as well, it was strangely empty, though as they got near the entrance they noticed a ruckus forming on the outside of the door.

“Hurry up and move!” The shrill voice from that Princess Looking girl from earlier called out. A few more frustrated and angry voices called out as well.

Eventually as they opened the door they realized what was going on. Standing in the way of the door was Jaune, in what May thought was incredibly adorable looking blue onesie pajamas with a rabbit on them! He’d apparently been holding up the door for some time as he did his best to not eye the angry crowd.

May nearly jumped when she heard Pyrrha’s voice change its unusually calm tone, “What’s going on here?”

“Oh!” The white haired girl apparently noticed their change, “Pyrrha Nikos!” It was quick, but May saw the way that Pyrrha flinched at the girl’s words, obviously not liking the way she said her name.

“Yes, Ms. Schnee?”

The girl seemed quite pleased to be known, as she started to practically vibrate, “We found this lout in front of the changing room! He was obviously acting suspiciously of you in an attempt to do something most untoward!”

To her surprise May found her fist clenched, she was about to step forward knowing full well that Jaune would never do anything of the sort. But to her surprise she was beat to the task, “That is not the case Ms. Schnee.” Despite her fiery appearance May needed to take a step back as Pyrrha practically released an aura of sheer cold. “I asked Jaune here.” She pointed at Jaune who was currently bowled over, obviously having taken a blow to the stomach at one point, “To watch over us, as my friend, May.” She now pointed towards May, “And I got changed.” She turned her attention back to Ms. Schnee, “You must understand that I do need my privacy.” May wasn’t sure why, but she felt Pyrrha wasn’t acting like her true self, though she supposed she must have been someone important if everyone was suddenly listening to her. Questions for later?

“I… I understand! He could have said something however!”

“Tri.. tri…” Jaune was obviously trying to talk, however seeing as he was currently bowled over he wasn’t able to say anything.

“It doesn’t seem you gave him the chance.” Pyrrha stepped over to Jaune, hooking an arm around and under his own lifting him up. May herself quickly moved to the other side, doing the same thing. “Now if you’ll excuse us.” Pyrrha said nothing further as she started off with the duo.

May turned to Jaune once she knew they were out of ear shot, “Are you okay?”

“Ye...yeah… sorry… ow, they hit hard.” She heard him grumble something else but couldn’t understand it. “Sorry… I was worried someone may show up while you were getting changed, I tried to keep them out.” May smiled, not having once doubted Jaune, she could tell from the way he spoke that he was telling the truth, not to mention how he had been holding his arms outstretched in front of the door.

“Thank you.” Pyrrha was the first to say her thanks, “I appreciate it… and I”m sorry that I may have tangled you in a mess.”

“Huh? No, that's fine, you saved me, so thank you.” His head swivled back to her, “And sorry, I uhm… I always thou…”

“It’s okay.” May smiled, “I was kind of tomboyish growing up.” If she was being honest she was still pretty much a tomboy even now.

The trio made their way to a corner in silence, choosing to lay their sleeping bags close together. While waiting for lights off, the trio ended up making a bit of small talk, May and Jaune learned a few things from Pyrrha, firstly and to their surprise the three of them had been pretty friendless growing up. Jaune had admitted that he’d been mostly home schooled. Which May had figured, but at the same time she had noticed the lack of actual training… worry had started to build up inside of her upon a certain realization. If he was anything like the Jaune she knew… then well… ignoring that moment, May found herself quite entertained by the other two, and from what she could see Jaune and Pyrrha got along quite well as if they were two peas in a pod. The obviously famous girl is enamored by his talk of having to deal with seven sisters, and his day to day life. She noticed he’d kept a tight lip on how sickly he used to be, but that was perhaps for the best.

Once they called for lights out the trio began to head to their own beddings, however May had a different idea. Mustering up a bit of courage she turned her attention towards her friend. “Jaune?”

His eyes lazily fell upon her, “Hmm?”

“Can we… can we cuddle? Like old times?”

Even in the darkness cast upon them she noticed the way his face tinged red, and the way that Pyrrha suddenly looked quite a bit interested in their conversation. Of course she expected him to say no, but to her surprise he responded with a calm but quiet, “Yes.”

Her lips curled into a smile as she drew closer to him, the duo squeezing into his overly large sized sleeping back. May was much smaller than Jaune, so her feet only reached to about halfway between his own feet and knees. She found herself snuggling into his neck, his arms wrapping around her back and pressing her close.

What surprised her however, was how close Pyrrha had moved towards them, “Sorry.” Her quiet voice reached out to the snuggling duo. “I’ve never really… had friends… and I”d like to be closer, if that’s okay.”

A small hum of approval came from Jaune, “That’s no problem Pyr.”

“Pyr?”

“Oh hahah… sorry… well we’re friends, and I thought maybe calling you by a nickname wouldn’t be so bad?”

May herself smiled as she pressed her face into the crook of his neck, she knew he was trying to include her as much as possible.

“I… I like that, thank you.”

She couldn’t make out Pyrrha’s face, but by the tone of her voice she figured that the girl was most likely blushing. “Good night you two.”

“G’night.” Both girls called out simultaneously.

As the night rolled on May found herself almost unable to sleep, the thoughts of tomorrow eeking into her subconscious, however even that was overshadowed by how ecstatic she felt being so close to her childhood crush and friend.

Though as she started to fall into the daze of sleep, she felt him shift, his arms gently reaching to her lower back pulling her closer to him. Then quietly, almost too quietly, she heard him call out to her. “May?”

“Hmm?”

She tried to match his tone of voice, “May, I don’t belong here…” His voice was cracking, his anxiousness finally getting the better of him. Thankfully he’d spoken almost directly into her ear, the only way someone would have been able to hear is if they had been right next to them. And the only person close enough, the other students were keeping their distance, was Pyrrha who was soundly asleep. And the next closest person was snoring loudly, some blonde girl next to a shorter girl, the one who got yelled at learlier.

She’d honestly figured as much by this point, though… she wondered what she was supposed to do with that information. The right thing would have been to turn him in… but she wanted him by her side. Unknown to the two of them, while they had their private conversation, emerald eyes flickered open. Their neighbor hadn’t quite fallen asleep yet, although she hadn’t meant to eavesdrop on the conversation, she’d been unable to rest not with the two so close to her.

May simply nodded against him, “How so?” She quietly asked.

“I… I faked my transcripts.”

May hummed to herself, she doubted that fake transcripts would have gotten by the headmaster, or the Headmistress if she was remembering things correctly. “Do you have Aura?”

“Ye...yes… My parents unlocked it for me when I told them I got accepted.”

May nodded, she knew that uncle and auntie wouldn’t have left him high and dry like that. “Did they teach you anything else?”

“A little… they taught me how to use the shield to protect myself from falling, I’m not sure why.”

Ah, so they at least taught him a landing strategy, May had to wonder if they knew something? She was perhaps being a bit overly suspicious of the situation. “Okay.” Quietly she snuggled against him, taking a deep breath of his surprisingly fresh scent, a mixture of lavender and vanilla. This was no different than her original goal, just that the time table was pushed up a little. “I promised I’d protect you back then, I’m going to protect you now, okay?”

She felt him hesitate as he tried to think of the words. She knew he hated the idea of being protected, he’d been protected his entire life after all. “No… I ca-”

She cut him off, doing something so very unlike her, her lips gently pressed against his leaving a chaste kiss. “Jaune… I want to.” She could feel the temperature on the back of his neck heat up. And before he could get another word in edgewise she wanted to clarify, “We all need help… and… you haven’t been trained right?”

“Ri...right…”

“Then I’m going to help you… I don’t know if I could do a sword and shield, but I want you to succeed, and until then I’ll be by your side.”

“Oh… ok…”

She smiled, once more burying herself into his chest, though she pulled back as she suddenly felt something press against her. “Jaune?”

“Ye...yes?”

“What’s that?”

She knew what it was, but she was feeling coy, something she never thought she’d ever feel before.

“Oh uhm… I…”

“Am I turning you on? Now that you know I’m a girl?” Perhaps the accident WAS for the best after all.

She felt him rumble, trying to find what to say. “Well I mean… I’ve always… even when I thought… I still thought you were… uhm… really attractive… so it’s not… too different?”

A silent, ‘Oh’ escaped her lips at the sudden realization. “Well.. uhm…” Now she was the one at loss for words.

“I’ll be honest.” He started to speak, “Meeting two incredibly gorgeous women in one day, and then finding out one was my best friend, and the other wants to be friends? It’s kind of a lot to take in.” She nodded against his chest, she was in a similar position, except she was one of those women according to him, and that realization forced a blush to creep down her face. Though she had to agree about Pyrrha.

“She’s really pretty, and nice, and amazing.”

“Yeah, apparently she’s famous? Those girls were kind of being weird with her, and that uhm Schnee? I think her name was? She was kind of… I think she was drooling at one point?”

May tried not to giggle, mostly to keep her voice down. “Well it doesn’t matter if she is famous or not, she was nice enough to help me when I needed someone.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t really know anything about it either way, and she seems to genuinely want friends.”

While the two of them carried on their conversation, they still hadn’t realized Pyrrha herself hadn’t fallen asleep yet. The girl in question attempted to keep a small sniffle down, as she felt herself overwhelmed by strange yet positive emotions.

The duo continued on their conversation for a little more, until it came to an abrupt stop when May shifted a little, her thigh brushing against the thing poking her. “Can… can I touch it?”

If she thought Jaune was warm before, he was suddenly blazing hot. She was actually a bit afraid that he’d end up burning up before the big initiation at this rate. But “Okay…” Even she almost didn’t hear that one, his voice almost a mumble instead of a whisper. Unable to control herself she slowly brought one of her hands from around his back gently rubbing it against the front of his onesie.

A bit of excitement started to build as he shivered beneath her touch. Her finger gently brushing against the solid rod of mass resting against her leg. She couldn’t believe how big it was, like… she’d seen several already, going to an academy left very little to the imagination especially if you roomed with mostly boys who refused to… well now wasn’t the time to think about it. Still, none of them had even matched up to half the size of the beast between the two. If she hadn’t realized what it was earlier she would have sworn it was another arm or leg.

The anticipation in her bosom began to build the more he shivered at her touch, her fingers gently rubbing against the swollen thing through the fabric. She could feel heat pulsing from the staff as it started to throb against her touch. “It’s really big, really really big.”

He didn’t say anything in response, choosing to bite his lower lip in order to keep quiet. She could tell he wasn’t used to this kind of treatment, or at least she hoped he wasn’t. The more she touched it, the braver she got, eventually causing her to take a firm grasp of his thing. Despite being behind the rather soft fabric of his onesie she could feel each and every vein pulsing beneath her firm grip.

She wanted more, wanted to feel skin to skin, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to convince him… at least not if she didn’t offer something else up as well. “Jaune?”

“Huhuh?”

Fighting back a few giggles she continued, “Would you like to touch me?”

“Wha?”

“Yeah…” The very thought of having someone touch her directly would have made her skin crawl, but when that other person was someone she cared very deeply for? Well she knew she wouldn’t mind.

“Ye...yes please…”

“Okay.”

She felt his hand shift from behind her back, gently rubbing against the curvature of her stomach. She could feel his hesitance through his touch, so deciding to actually take hold of the situation she tugged against his sleeve, pulling his hand lower. Once he’d found the band of her shorts, she let him know what she wanted with another gentle whisper. “Inside please~”

To her surprise, he was quite quick to respond. Squelch his fingers sunk between her soaking wet lips, digits digging into her flesh. A soft moan escaped her mouth as she pressed her lips between the crook of his neck in order to stifle the erotic sounds.

Despite his earlier confusion, his interest began to overshadow his nervousness as his fingers began to curl inside of her damp viscous passage. His knuckle roamed against the back, while his finger rubbed against the front. Her legs parted allowing him to position himself better, and as he found his own pace, allowing soft quiet squelching sounds to escape between the two of them, she found her hands moving towards the zipper at the top of his onesie, thankfully placed in the front for easier access.

He didn’t question her, possibly too excited to be playing with a feminine body. Despite moving as fast as she could, she found the pace at which she pulled upon the metal zipper to be agonizingly slow. Finally, she’d found the bottom, tugging on it once more she was suddenly hit with a quick SMACK her body trembled at the new sensation. Something big, hard, and hot was pressing against her belly, pulsing against the swell of her stomach. A thin trail of something gooey and sweltering, rimmed her belly button as the two of them shifted around uncomfortably.

The more he played with her, his fingers now bearing into her sensitive kitten all the way down to the base, the more she applied pressure to her grip. He was even hotter flesh to flesh, with every stroke his member pulsed in her hands, the soft skin burned with excitement as she continued her own little venture. Eventually she pulled up against the tip, the massive swollen glans practically scorched her skin as globs of sweltering hot precum dripped from the tiny slit.

Something began to churn inside of her as their bodies paced back and forth their minds practically closing the rest of the world off. So much so that the duo failed to notice the sudden rustling besides them.

The young crimson haired champion could practically smell the sweetly sick stench wafting off of the duo. She could hear every word, every moment, despite what one may say about her she was still a young woman. Her hands had moved between her thighs, her fingers running across the smooth slick line between her vulva. Her core trembled when her middle finger slipped between her folds, running across the rigid insides of her deep moist canal. She tried as she may to scratch an itch she’d never truly experienced before, tried her best to stay quiet and calm herself as her body betrayed her. She wondered how it would feel to have another touch her so? To be wrapped in the warmth of someone that she could say she loved? She wasn’t sure… hopefully she’d find out one day.

The two found themselves enraptured with one another, May no longer able to hold back had tugged on the head, the member gently shaking beneath her touch, as she positioned it between her thighs. Jaune’s hands slipped past her belly, leaving a wet rope of juice against her tanned skin. “Jaune… please?” She asked, nay begged him to do it, to slide inside of her, to treat her like the woman she wanted to be treated like.

Yet to her surprise he simply placed a gentle kiss against her forehead. “No, not yet…” Before the disappointment could build she felt a sudden heave. His member sliding between her plump soft thighs, the thick veins grinding against her pussy, her lips split apart as the rough shaft glided past. “Ah~♥” His fingers scraped across her unprotected back, nails filing down her spine until he reached her plump bottom. She could feel him grasp upon each cheek, his strong hands sinking into her flesh as he squeezed at her bottom.

While the previous sorrow from having to possibly wait in the future started to vanish, the realization that they would still be getting intimate proved to suffice. “May.”

Her attention fell back to him, their varying shaded blue eyes meeting each other in a deep loving gaze, but only for a moment as he pressed his lips against hers. Their first kiss had been quick, simple, chaste, this one was fiery and intense. Their mouths wrestled with one another as their tongues clashed in fierce combat. Her arms slipped between his, her fingers grasping onto his surprisingly broad back. In a move unlike her normal soft demeanor she found herself digging into his skin, her nails raked across his flesh grinding into him like a cat in heat.

He responded in kind, his fingers plunging further into her taut bottom spreading her cheeks apart as his hips bumped against hers. Her core trembled whilst his member slid against her lips, rubbing against her already dripping sex. She wanted him so badly to mess up, to pull back a little too far until he pushed all the way inside of her. She knew how big it was from feeling it alone, she could tell it would ruin her, destroy her insides so no other man could possibly hope to satisfy her! And that’s what she wanted, she wanted to have her body split open, wanted him to crush her cervix right into her womb to mess her insides up and to churn her without a hint of remorse.

These feelings and thoughts were so unlike her, she’d never figured herself for the violent sex type, but… the thought of being dominated by Jaune just… it lit a flame in her. And yet as she closed her eyes, another person came to mind, perhaps in a different way. She knew she wouldn’t be satisfied with another man once they got to that point, but well… What if it wasn’t another man? What if it was a woman? Emerald and Crimson swarmed through her thoughts as Jaune continued to toy with her. “Oh gods~”

She knew she couldn’t keep her voice down anymore, her womb was already squeezing, begging to be filled with rich Arc seed, even though she knew it wouldn’t get that chance yet. She found herself lost too much in a fantasy that she wasn’t even sure would happen yet, “Wh...what about… abou… Py…” She didn’t get to finish her question as Jaune shoved his tongue down her throat, forcing her to silence.

By the time he’d pulled back she was too out of breath to continue. “Shhh, we can’t be too loud May~ And… ye...yeah I’d like that too…” She knew he was just being cautious, she knew no one could hear them, and Pyrrha was asleep by this point. But she supposed erring on the side of caution was for the best. “My shoulder… bite it.”

She wasn’t sure how she felt about the command, but as his nails pressed in between the valley of her ass she felt something coming closer to her. Far too quickly for her liking she latched her mouth around his shoulder, her teeth gnawing into his flesh to keep herself silent. Her eyes rolled back as the strongest orgasm she’d ever had in her life finally took over. A haze fell over her as everything practically faded to black, her hips shook while her sex trembled thin streams of liquid squirting from her quivering core.

She wanted nothing more but to fall into a deep slumber, however one thought kept her from falling over. Jaune had started to pull back, satisfied with having pleasured her. “Jaune, finish.”

“I… I can’t… it would get on the sleeping bag.”

She shook her head as she began to pull up her shorts, sliding the back against her plush round bottom and left the front part lowered. “Here, here.” She guided him to the slightly sticky center of her shorts.

She could practically see his face illuminate in the darkness, she knew he was the kind of person even till this day that wouldn’t want to trouble someone… but she wanted this. Before he could utter another word she reached for the base of his member, her fingers gently brushing against his soft neatly cut pubic hairs. From the start all the way down to the tip she began to stroke him, her hand unable to fully grasp around the entirety of its girth.

She heard him start to moan, a husky, low growl nearly escaping his lips only stopped when she pulled him into a deep loving kiss. She felt herself begin to buck against the air, excited for the cumming sensation. Thankfully she needed not wait long, hearing it before she could actually feel it, thick spurts of white began to splash against her clothing pooling in the center.

A rush of adrenaline filled her as she pumped him faster, harder, longer strokes! She wanted his body to give into her, to surrender all his precious seed to her. When he was done, she felt her confidence begin to pool for one final step. “Thank you~” She whispered into his ear, her fingers grasping against the hem of her clothing, tugging upwards till, SQUISH, “OoooooooOoOh~” There had been so much more of it than she thought. Her pussy drowned in semen as it pressed against her entrance, squirming inside of just the beginning however unable to get further. She found herself unable to contain a happy little squee as she kissed against him.

By this point the two of them had grown fatigued, exhaustion hitting them harder than they expected, they pressed themselves into one another, enjoying each other's warmth. She wasn’t sure what they would do for tomorrow, but she was going to make sure he passed no matter what.

Just to the right of them, the sleeping bag belonging to their new friend rustled louder, Pyrrha’s fingers dug into her pussy two digits reaching as deeply as they could into her soaking sex. The other hand rubbed against her backside, a finger gently sliding inside of her trembling hole. Her toes curled as a surprise orgasm struck through her leaving her nearly defenseless as her brain began to run haywire. She wasn’t sure what had compelled her, but as the thick sent of sex wafted her way, she wasn’t sure it would be the last… she had a lot to think about tomorrow...

#May Zedong #Pyrrha Nikos #Jaune Arc #Combined Arms #tempverse

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random-imagines-blog · 3 years

Text

Post Red Part ii {Viktor Krum x Reader Oneshot}

Sequel to : Post Red Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 2385 Summary: When you go to Hogwarts to support your school in the Triwizard Tournament, an unfortunate familiar face makes an appearance. More than once.

Your first glimpse of Hogwarts was spectacular. The ship erupted above the water, and you were finally able to see where it was that you were going to be staying. The glorious castle managed to look beautiful, even through the foggy September morning. You looked towards Viktor, who was sitting beside you, leaning his head to try to look out of your window. “Can you believe this is going to be home for the next year? I’m so glad that my parents let me come with you rather than stay alone at Durmstrang,” You spoke to him in your home tongue. Though you would be having to get used to speaking English more and more regularly, with all of the English students. You looked out the window again, your heart leaping in your chest. This was almost as exciting as going to the World Cup had been.

“It is a little small,” Viktor said, arms crossed in front of him. His loyalty was obviously to Durmstrang, and its own towering peaks. But you were used to his gruff behavior and just ignored him, focusing instead on the sights that were around.

You had no plans of entering the Triwizard Tournament. You were just there as a part of reaching out to other schools, building a sense of community, making friends, trying to see things from another’s perspective. So you did not go in with the dramatics of the seventh year boys, but rather lingered and stepped in after the displays, making yourself at home at a table with a Snake motif. It’s not as if you and the others were going to be noticed once Viktor had come in at your headmaster’s side. All eyes were on him, and conversation immediately erupted upon seeing his face. That grouchy Viktor face.

He slipped in across from you as the Beauxbatons students came through, and immediately started to put food on his plate. There hadn’t been a wide variety of food available on the ship that brought you here, so you were starving, loading your own plate up high. But you paused when you saw that Viktor had. He was looking down the table with a glare in those dark eyes. “Is that-?” He questioned with a motion of his head.

You looked down in the direction that he was staring at and it became very apparent just whom he was glaring at. Draco Malfoy. How could you forget that name when he had drilled it into your head during the World Cup? You couldn’t forget that head of silver hair either. You wrinkled your nose and nodded a yes. It was. Viktor started to stand, but you reached out and grabbed hold of his arm, fork dropping onto the table with a clattering sound. It had happened just as the Headmaster of Hogwarts had paused in his speech, and many eyes went to you and to the Quidditch Star. Or at least the ones that weren’t there already. You smiled uneasily and took your hand off of Viktor’s arm. “Not here,” You muttered.

“He disrespected you, he deserves to be punished,” He said, still standing, still glaring, despite all of the attention on him. Draco, on the other end of the table, looked like he was about to jump out of his skin. It almost seemed worth letting Viktor go, to see that expression on his face when he would come hulking over. The young boy must have put two and two together. He recognized you, and that’s why there was that fear. “Y/N...”

The teachers were looking at you as well. Only Karkaroff would be able to understand what you were both saying, since it was still in your native tongue. He looked furious that you two were causing such a ruckus, and it made your cheeks redden in shame. “Please. Later.”

Viktor finally seemed to notice all of the eyes on him, still standing, fists down on the table. He held a hand up to excuse himself and sunk back down onto the bench. You let out a breath of relief, and Dumbledore continued on with his speech about unity. All Viktor was thinking about was uniting his fist with Draco Malfoy’s face, no doubt. While you focused on uniting this amazing food with your stomach.

Viktor had been chosen as Durmstrang’s Representative in the Triwizard Tournament. You were both proud and deeply worried about him, but promised that you would help him along every step of the way. The first task was dragons, as he had found out from Karkaroff. He was growing distracted with trying to figure out ways of defeating a dragon, fighting a dragon, winning over a dragon, that he had nearly forgotten about Draco Malfoy. But Draco Malfoy had not forgotten about you. How you had turned him down, humiliated him in front of his father and the Minister of Magic. And he managed to catch you alone as you were heading back to the Durmstrang dormitories after a study session in the library.

“No bodyguard to protect you this time,” He said with a smirk, pushing himself away from the wall that he had been leaning against. There was no reason for him to be in this hallway, so far as you knew. So this crazy kid must have been waiting for you. He made you feel extremely uncomfortable for the second time in months.

“I do not need a bodyguard,” You said, in slow and careful English. “I need to get to my room.”

“Let’s go then,” Draco said, standing beside you. “I’ll go with you. I’m still waiting on that apology.”

“An apology? I’m waiting on one too, from you. You have been a pest since the World Cup. I would hate to have to report you to Karkaroff.”

You could have sworn that he grew a little paler, not that you thought it was possible with how white his skin already was. That made you feel a little better. Your headmaster as an intimidating man. “You won’t be getting any apologies from me, when you have been the little tease-”

“You’re one to talk about little, fourth year,” You taunted, since clearly being polite, and being avoidant wasn’t working. So you had to make sure that he wanted nothing to do with you. “If you do not leave me alone, I will tell Viktor, and the rest of Durmstrang, and Karkaroff - and they will all believe me about the annoying gnat you are. And then the word will get to Beauxbatons. Do you really want those pretty ladies laughing at you? If not, then you better back off.”

Malfoy took three steps back and you let out a breath in satisfaction. You hurried forward, slipping into the shadows of the castles to make your way back to your dorm. Once you were safe in there, you decided to write a letter to Viktor and tell him what had happened. Malfoy seemed like the sort of boy who liked to retaliate, and you wanted to be prepared in case he got any ideas. Maybe you did have a bodyguard after all.

Viktor started going with you everywhere, even after he was chosen as the Durmstrang Champion. It really was almost like being at your own school, and things were normal. Viktor was the person in this world that you were closest to, even more so than your parents. Nobody from Durmstrang batted an eye when you say beside each other at meals, or went for jogs together or went to the library. There was some people from Hogwarts and Beauxbatons who wanted to know about your relationship with the handsome Quidditch star; Viktor always answered them by putting his arm around your shoulders and grunting. He wasn’t a man of very many words, this Viktor Krum.

Whenever Malfoy was around, Viktor went in full shark mode, like he had when you were taken to the bottom of the lake and he had to rescue you as one of the tasks. He snarled and bared his teeth at the boy, and you usually ended up having to drag him away before he would put the blonde in the hospital wing. You always told him that he wasn’t worth it, and that after Viktor would win the Tournament, they would go back to Bulgaria and would never have to think of that rat-faced bastard again.

English slang was really starting to rub off on you.

When the Yule Ball was announced, you thought that perhaps Viktor was going to ask the cute, brunette fourth year that was always in the library, but he hadn’t. He asked you. And you, of course, had said yes. Not only just because him being around you had scared off any other potential suitors, but because you knew you would be comfortable enough around him to actually dance and have fun. Just another day, but he would be letting loose in front of other people as well.

You dressed up. And so did he. Though he definitely looked good - most Quidditch Players did, it was in their fitness regiment, he looked especially great tonight. And by the smile on his face, you thought you must have made a pretty picture yourself.

“Are you prepared to dance, Mr. Krum?” You asked in your native tongue, slipping in beside him and walked towards the winter-wonderland that the Great Hall had turned into. You waved and smiled at your friends, none of them surprised at who you were with. In fact, bets had been taken for who was going to ask who. Very few people lost a few galleons that night. “Because I am so ready.”

The Ball was a blur of fun, punch and music. Your feet were sore from all of the dancing. As were Viktor’s, because he did most of his sport above the ground. You definitely wore out your dancing shoes, and would have to awkwardly tell your parents that you needed a new pair for formal events. Once you explained that it was because of Viktor, you were sure you would have no problem getting more.

But the ending of the night wasn’t as fun, and it was because of that Ferret, Malfoy. He was pushing every last button that you had, which meant that he was poking at Viktor’s as well. All it took was one smug comment to his friends about how you had been ‘all over him’, trying to get all cozy during the World Cup, and Viktor saw red. You hadn’t seen that kind of anger in him before.

He went straight after Malfoy the way that a bull went after a matador. Nose blowing smoke. If he had horns, Malfoy would have been pinned to the wall by them, without a doubt. But as it were, all Viktor had was his brute strength - he didn’t even think about magic. Straight in with a punch to that self-approving face. Malfoy went down like an under-inflated balloon, sinking under the weight of that hit. But that didn’t stop Viktor - and neither did the other fourth year Slytherins trying to have their friends back. You even got involved, trying to pull Viktor out of the developing dog-pile.

It didn’t take long for the chaparones to notice that there was a fight going on, and you were all torn apart from each other by magic. You were now against the wall, feeling like someone had just cast petrificus-totalis on you. Your eyes rolled to find Viktor, only to see that he was beside you, with a bruise developing over one eye. One of those boys must have got him good. You wished you could see how they had come out of the fight. Viktor was sure to have given out twice as good as he got.

“What is the meaning of this?” Professor McGonagall, one of the teachers here at Hogwarts, demanded to know. “A champion? Taking part in a physical altercation?” She looked between you and Viktor, and then to the three Slytherins.

“My fault,” You said, giving up on the struggle against the magic. “I - tripped - fell on boy - Viktor defend me.”

Your English was still a bit rough, but that seemed to be working in your favor. You didn’t have to use as many words if they thought you didn’t know them. But obviously you were going to jump in and lie so that Viktor wouldn’t get in trouble. This tournament meant as much to him, if not more, than Quidditch did. You weren’t going to let him get kicked out just because of some rat-faced boy.

“Well,” McGonagall said, fixing her robes. Your mood perked just a little. She wasn’t even going to ask for the boy’s side of the story? She barely even looked at him now, except to give a hard stare. “20 points from Slytherin.”

“But Professor-”

“And be thankful that it isn’t more!” She said, and with a wave of your wand you were all set free. “I suggest you spend your time on different sides of the Ball this evening.”

“We will, thank you,” You said with a nod, taking Viktor’s hand and pulling him to the left side of the room. “You need to learn how to control your temper, or you might get kicked out of the tournament. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking he needed to shut up,” Viktor said. All of the good mood had been sucked out of the both of you by the encounter.

“I hope he learned his lesson,” You said. “I hate liars. It should be obvious I would never be all over someone like him.”

“Good,” Viktor said. “He makes me see red.”

“Makes me mad too,” You nodded. “But let’s not think about him, and enjoy the dance. Shall we?”

Viktor nodded and took your hand, bringing you back out to the dance floor to dance those emotions away, and forget that anyone else - especially a boy named Draco Malfoy - ever entered into your lives.

#Viktor Krum #Viktor Krum x reader #Viktor Krum oneshot #Harry Potter #Harry Potter oneshot #request #oneshot #one shot #x reader #viktork

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gusu-emilu · 3 years

Link

raven sun: Ch 1/3, 4.6k

for @mdzsbingo prompts “rarepair, mission, hostile, paranoia”

Ship: Jiang Cheng / Wen Ning

Summary: Wen Ning becomes possessed by a vengeful spirit. Unfortunately, Jiang Cheng is the closest target.

Rated M, contains nonsexual but dubconny dom/sub elements in later chapters

Post-Canon

Angst and Eventual Hurt/Comfort

Antagonistic Uncles to Less Antagonistic Uncles

Dom Wen Ning

for those who saw the golden core reveal and said “needs more degradation”

Swordplay with Suibian (and all its implications)

Jiang Cheng’s plans for this night hunt did not include this much physical contact with the Ghost General.

His plans hadn't involved any physical contact with the Ghost General. Nor did they involve his right leg being immobilized by a blast of resentful energy from a tiny figurine, or limping out of a crumbling farmhouse with Wen Ning supporting him, arm around his waist. But most things don’t go the way Jiang Cheng wants them to.

As he and Wen Ning hobble out of the farmhouse, each step sending a jolt of pain up Jiang Cheng’s leg, the figurine releases a fiercer storm of resentful energy. As if angered by their attempt to escape, it kicks up dust and shards of wood that fly around them as the house collapses.

A beam crashes to the floor.

Wen Ning grabs Jiang Cheng by the shoulders and leaps forward. His jump is so powerful that it propels them through the doorway and into the forest a few dozen paces away. Jiang Cheng lands on his stomach, the wind knocked out of him, Wen Ning on top of him. They slide across the forest floor, turning up earth, until they crash sideways into a tree trunk.

Ears ringing, Jiang Cheng draws on his spiritual energy to restore his breath. He tries to stand, impatient to check how the juniors fared the attack, but he can only push up against Wen Ning without going anywhere.

Wen Ning seems to be shielding him with his body, a gesture which is thoroughly insulting.

“Get off me!” Jiang Cheng growls.

He lets his anger grow, feeds on the frustration of being trapped. He ignores the disturbing sliver of comfort that the weight of Wen Ning's body brings.

“Get off!”

The weight lifts.

Jiang Cheng sits up. “Where’s Jin Ling?”

“I’m not sure. Jin-zongzhu and the others escaped the house before us.”

“At least they got out,” Jiang Cheng says tersely.

At least one part of this night hunt is going according to plan: Jin Ling is safe.

And, he must admit, he’s been almost as concerned with keeping the other juniors safe, too. He’d taken the blow of resentful energy for Lan Sizhui, managed to shield him just in time. He’d be injured for nothing if the Lan boy doesn’t make it out of the night hunt alive.

He would’ve thought that perfect Hanguang-Jun’s perfect little child—the “most promising disciple of his generation”—would’ve been able to hold his own on a night hunt. But if Jiang Cheng must run around saving the boy…fine. He’ll do just that.

Jiang Cheng’s right leg is still locked, completely immobile. He makes it to his feet with difficulty, but quickly enough that Wen Ning doesn’t have the chance to help him. Thankfully. A few more overly attentive, patronizing gestures from the Ghost General, and Jiang Cheng might let Zidian demonstrate why Wen Ning ought to keep an appropriate distance.

Calling for his nephew, Jiang Cheng starts to make his way back toward the farmhouse, which is likely little more than ruins by now. He wonders if he’ll ever make it there to find out. He can barely manage to limp, dragging his leg behind him.

“Jiang-zongzhu, let me help—”

“Forget it. Just go ahead of me. See how the juniors are doing.”

Wen Ning just stares at him. When he isn’t ducking his head and looking at his feet, his black eyes have a soul-searching steadiness that is both chilling and disarmingly gentle. It makes Jiang Cheng want to crawl inside of himself.

“…Thank you,” Wen Ning says. “For…A-Yuan—”

“I didn’t do anything for ‘A-Yuan,’” Jiang Cheng snaps, refusing to look at Wen Ning any longer.

Wen Ning remains in place for a few moments. Then he turns and runs away, chains clinking behind him.

Last month, Jiang Cheng had to help him put those chains back on after they got knocked out of place by a demonic boar. A lovely experience for everyone.

By now, Jiang Cheng has figured out that Wen Ning keeps those chains on not just to use a weapon, but also as some strange form of comfort. Jiang Cheng doesn’t understand it. But for some reason, he just knows it’s true.

After so many night hunts, he’s developed a disturbing level of familiarity with Wen Ning’s habits and expressions. It crept up on him slowly, a few threads woven in at a time. Yet another thing that was not part of his plans.

Unfortunately, spending time in each other’s company seems unavoidable. They are both committed to protecting their nephews. If A-Ling must be friends with the Ghost General’s only living relative, Jiang Cheng will just have to grit his teeth and endure it.

At least it’s somewhat useful to know how Wen Ning fights, as it allows them to coordinate their protection of the juniors more easily. But it’s still unnerving to know the finer details, like the exact way Wen Ning likes his chains arranged, as if Jiang Cheng ever wanted to have so much knowledge about the man.

He doesn’t even care about Wen Ning.

And if he owes a debt to Wen Ning—owes a debt to protect what remains of Wen Ning’s family, too—that doesn’t affect his feelings at all.

Doesn’t even enter his thoughts…

* * *

As willing as Wen Ning usually is to defer to others’ judgment, admitting when Jiang Wanyin is right pricks a nerve. Still, they do need to look after the juniors first, and Wen Ning can do that fastest on his own.

Wen Ning also feels a bit guilty leaving Jiang Wanyin behind while he’s wounded—especially when he’d taken that injury for A-Yuan. But there will be time to heal him later.

Maybe it's because he doesn’t have Jiejie anymore, maybe it's because he has A-Yuan to look after, but Wen Ning has become preoccupied with caretaking. Perhaps it’s for good reason. He has the ability to protect others, and he knows the lost medical techniques of the Dafan Wen. What better use for his unnatural existence than to help others? What better way to atone for the past?

He arrives back at the wreckage of the farmhouse, but it’s deserted. He returns to the forest to continue searching for the juniors.

“Wen-qianbei!” he hears from bushes in the forest near the wreckage.

“A-Yuan?”

The juniors nearly leap out of the forest.

“Wen-qianbei!” Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi excitedly call at the same time. They shoot somewhat surprised glares at each other, then hurry over along with A-Yuan and Ouyang Zizhen.

“We’ve been looking for you!” Lan Jingyi says.

“Yeah, we were really worried!” says Ouyang Zizhen.

A-Yuan puts a hand on Wen Ning’s shoulder. Fondness warms him as soon he meets A-Yuan’s gaze.

“Are you alright?” A-Yuan asks.

“Of course,” Wen Ning says, almost wanting to laugh with the relief that washes over him at seeing that everyone seems unharmed. “I’m always alright. I should be asking you.”

The juniors all seem so happy to see him. Even Jin Ling is smiling. He still isn’t quite used to affection from them, especially not from Jin Ling.

“Is everyone okay? Any injuries?” Wen Ning asks.

He’s met with a cheerful chorus of various variations of “We’re fine.”

Except from Jin Ling, whose smile is fading. “Where’s my jiujiu?”

Wen Ning nods over his shoulder. “Close behind. But he needs help getting here.”

Jin Ling flies off to find him.

After Wen Ning has checked the other three juniors for injuries, they start inspecting the ruins of the farmhouse to search for the figurine. But Wen Ning hangs back, a feeling of dread churning inside his chest, clawing at him.

He’d already felt unusually anxious for this night hunt before embarking on it. Still, he’d been able to face it.

But he hadn’t expected the figurine’s spirit to be this powerful.

The rumors about the figurine had all been similar, and had seemed typical for a mid-level vengeful spirit. Recently, a new footpath was created to connect two villages that lay a two-day traveling distance apart, with the abandoned farmhouse as the midpoint. If a lone traveler spent the night in the farmhouse, nothing happened.

But if a group of travelers slept inside, one of them would become possessed. The possessed traveler would accuse their companions of horrible deeds and attempt to murder them all in the name of retribution.

After some research, it was discovered that the family that used to live in the farmhouse had always gotten into fierce arguments—and one day, they all killed each other inside the house. The sole witness was a small figurine of an immortal. The figurine soaked up all the family’s hatred and bloodlust until it developed its own spirit.

And developed an aptitude for possession.

It’s possible that the figurine had destroyed itself when the house collapsed, but unlikely. The juniors will have to dig it up and figure out how to pacify it.

Wen Ning watches from a distance while the juniors search through the ruins. Anxiety continues to churn inside him. It’s different from the nervous excitement he usually feels about night hunts, having never gone on a proper night hunt before his death. And it’s different from his typical parentlike worry for the juniors.

The juniors should be relatively safe confronting the spirit. They have high cultivation levels for their age, and they underwent spirit-calming rituals as infants. Their risk of possession is low.

But Wen Ning is the perfect conduit for possession. To approach a spirit this strong would be like holding a metal rod in a lightning storm.

The memory of fighting against Baxia’s saber spirit still hangs heavy over him. Almost as heavy as what happened in Qiongqi Path. Despite Wei Wuxian having taught him how to maintain some autonomy while in the clutches of resentful energy and spirits, he still has so little control over himself.

He can’t get near this spirit. He could put everyone at danger if he does.

“They’re back!” Ouyang Zizhen calls. The juniors run over to the edge of the forest.

Jiang Wanyin and Jin Ling emerge from the forest. Jiang Wanyin’s leg doesn’t look any better. He’s still dragging it along behind him, with Jin Ling supporting him the way Wen Ning had a few minutes ago.

“Jiang-zongzhu,” A-Yuan says with a small bow. “Thank you for—”

“What are you talking about? I did nothing. Get back to work,” Jiang Wanyin says before he can finish. “The spirit is in that wreckage somewhere. We should deal with it fast before something else happens.”

A-Yuan glances back at Wen Ning, looking a bit disappointed. Wen Ning just shakes his head.

“That means all of you,” Jiang Wanyin says to Jin Ling when his nephew doesn’t move from his side.

With a mix of concern and displeasure, Jin Ling helps Jiang Wanyin over to a tree he can hold for support, then joins the others. The four juniors make to leave, then stop and look over expectantly at Wen Ning when he doesn’t follow.

Wen Ning should help them search for the figurine. Should help them pacify such a dangerous spirit. But anxiety freezes him in place.

A-Yuan seems to notice his discomfort. He smiles and gives Wen Ning a tiny nod, making gratitude swell inside Wen Ning for how perceptive his nephew is.

A-Yuan steps forward. “Wen-qianbei, Jiang-zongzhu, we can complete the rest of the night hunt. Facing the spirit on our own would be valuable experience.”

“We are an ideal team,” Ouyang Zizhen adds.

“Yeah, we can hold our own!” Lan Jingyi chimes in. “The four of us even escaped the spirit’s attack way faster than you guys.”

Jiang Wanyin frowns. A-Yuan shoots a chastising glance at Jingyi.

“You’re right,” Wen Ning says, feeling a bit more relaxed. “You’re all capable enough to handle this. I’ll stay behind to heal Jiang-zongzhu. The two of us will be close by if you need help.”

The juniors head back toward the wreckage.

Jiang Wanyin side-eyes Wen Ning. “Why so eager to let them run off without you? Is the Ghost General scared of a doll?”

His words wouldn’t bother Wen Ning so much if they weren’t absolutely true. “They’re all capable cultivators, and Jin Ling is a sect leader. They’ll be fine without us. But you need to be healed.”

“Worry about them first. I’ll last until the spirit is dealt with—and that’ll happen a lot faster if you put yourself to work.”

“They’ll be safer if both of us are on our feet and ready to help if they call.”

Jiang Wanyin sighs. “Fine.”

He winces as Wen Ning helps him to the ground, his back propped against the tree. Wen Ning kneels beside his injured leg. He lifts Jiang Wanyin’s violet robes and trousers up to his mid-thigh, revealing a black wound traveling from his ankle up to just below his knee.

“It’s a curse mark,” Wen Ning says in disbelief.

The skin hit by the curse is blackened and swollen, the muscle tissue immobilized. Currents of resentful energy snake along the wound’s surface like a second set of veins outside the skin.

It looks just like the curse mark Wei Wuxian transferred to himself from Jin Ling, but worse. Now both Wei Wuxian and Jiang Wanyin have received curse marks to protect a boy that the other cares about.

Wen Ning can’t decide whether he finds that surprising or not. He knows that Jiang Wanyin cares fiercely about his family, but he also knows that he isn’t the best at following through on it. And he definitely didn’t know that Jiang Wanyin might care about any member of the Dafan Wen.

He looks up at Jiang Wanyin. “This curse mark won’t disappear until—"

“I know how curse marks work,” Jiang Wanyin snaps.

Wen Ning takes a deep breath and reminds himself that Jiang Wanyin received this wound while protecting A-Yuan. “The curse won’t disappear until the spirit’s grievances are resolved, but I can apply a charmed tourniquet to keep it from spreading up your leg.

“…Alright.”

Reaching into his qiankun sleeve of medical supplies, Wen Ning pulls out the tourniquet and begins tying it around Jiang Wanyin’s leg, just below his knee.

Jiang Wanyin tenses as he continues tying. He isn’t sure if it’s because Jiang Wanyin is in pain, or if he just feels uncomfortable with Wen Ning touching him. Probably both.

“Don’t you need a windlass to tie a tourniquet?” Jiang Wanyin asks. Remarkably, it sounds like a genuine question, not criticism.

“The purpose of this tourniquet isn’t to stop blood flow, and the charm is very effective, so it doesn’t need to be so tight. It actually needs to be a little loose so your qi can flow to the wound and suppress the curse mark.”

“Hm.”

Wen Ning could explain more. Could explain how the charm was cast, how the material of the tourniquet was chosen, how it’s designed to last for hours. He enjoyed learning details like this from Jiejie when he was young, and now he enjoys teaching them to A-Yuan. He rarely has the opportunity to share his knowledge with anyone else.

But the topic of medical operations hangs between him and Jiang Wanyin with an uncomfortable weight.

He tries to fill the silence anyway. “Even if the tourniquet did need to be tight, my arm strength is probably good enough to tie it without a windlass. Not that…not that that’s good medical practice—it’s really bad medical practice, actually—so I wouldn’t do that anyway—”

Jiang Wanyin scoffs and turns away. “Just hurry up.”

Wen Ning finishes tying the tourniquet. “Done. Wait—”

Jiang Wanyin tries to stand up. Wen Ning presses down on his shoulder to keep him in place, which earns him a perplexed glare.

Wen Ning doesn’t want to return to the wreckage just yet. Not when he doesn’t know what to do about his dangerous susceptibility to possession. And Jiang Wanyin is the last person he wants to explain that to.

Thankfully, he has a good reason to stall: Jiang Wanyin still needs more treatment.

“I have some herbs that might be able to weaken the curse,” Wen Ning suggests.

“Fine. After that, you’re coming with me to go solve whatever that doll’s grievances are.”

Wen Ning pulls out a satchel of herbs that, at one time, would've smelled sweet to him. He begins rubbing them on the curse mark as delicately as his clumsy hands can manage, while Jiang Wanyin quite obviously tries not to flinch from pain.

“You aren’t here to heal me,” Jiang Wanyin says suddenly.

Wen Ning looks up, expecting to see Jiang Wanyin scowling. What he sees instead is a surprisingly calm gaze of careful scrutiny.

“You’re scared of something.” Jiang Wanyin continues. He speaks slowly, like it’s a question he isn’t sure he should ask.

Somehow, over the course of these night hunts, Jiang Wanyin has learned to read him a bit too well.

* * *

“Well?” Jiang Cheng says. “Is there some other factor in this night hunt that I don’t know about?”

Wen Ning looks unnerved by the question, but he just continues applying the herbs, swirling them in small, gentle circles—almost caresses—with his fingers. It creates a steady stream of pain that makes Jiang Cheng grind his teeth, but Wen Ning’s touch is light enough that it doesn’t hurt more than necessary.

That alone is enough to eat at Jiang Cheng. That Wen Ning is this careful not to inflict undue pain on him—that Wen Ning is helping him at all—when the man has no reason to care about him. Has no reason to be gentle with him other than out of condescension.

But Wen Ning has let down the mask before. Let his thoughts flow freely. Although Jiang Cheng hates to admit it, Wen Ning has hurt him before.

Since then, Jiang Cheng has tried to drop the mask a second time, to get Wen Ning to reveal the spite he knows lies beneath it, but he can only catch mere glimpses.

He knows he’s hurt Wen Ning, too. Knows he deserves nothing.

Knows Wen Ning despises him.

It would just be nice if Wen Ning acted like it.

“If there’s a reason for you to be scared of something,” Jiang Cheng says, “I think I should be informed of it. Unless you’re implying that I’d be of no use even if I did know.”

Wen Ning's jaw tightens. “I’m scared of being possessed,” he says coldly, without looking up. “I’ve lost control in the past, and I don’t want to lose it again.”

The honest answer catches Jiang Cheng off guard.

Visions of how the Ghost General might have looked like at Qiongqi Path flash through his mind—visions of how he might have looked as he slaughtered dozens of cultivators, as he drenched his hands in Jin Zixuan's blood.

Anger seethes through his veins. But something else rises in him, too.

Something almost like…pity.

Wen Ning lifts Jiang Cheng’s leg slightly to rub the herbs on the underside of his calf. His touch is still agonizingly gentle.

“You seemed fine on every other night hunt,” Jiang Cheng says, unsure how to respond.

“This spirit is especially skilled at possession.”

“If you’re so worried about it, what would you do if the juniors called for us right now? Ignore them and keep hiding?”

Wen Ning pauses, resting his hand on Jiang Cheng’s knee. He stares at the ground, his shoulders hunched. “…I’d go help them.”

“And if you get possessed?”

“A-Yuan knows what to do if that happens.”

“And if ‘A-Yuan’ can’t do anything?”

Wen Ning looks up at him.

“Then you can strike me with Zidian.”

A chill runs down his spine.

He’s struck Wen Ning with Zidian three times before—all in the same night, the night Wen Ning struck him with truth in the form of a sword’s blade.

He would strike Wen Ning with Zidian again if he had to. He wouldn’t hesitate. He knows he wouldn’t.

The only problem is that—

“Zidian can only exorcise spirits from the living,” he says.

The spiritual weapon can’t easily incapacitate Wen Ning either. Normal fierce corpses can be taken out in one blow, but Wei Wuxian, in his infinite brilliance, made Wen Ning several times stronger. Zidian would have to nearly destroy Wen Ning to incapacitate him.

Not that Jiang Cheng would have…hesitations about that. Not if it came to protecting A-Ling.

At least, he tells himself he wouldn’t.

Wen Ning is silent for an uncomfortably long time.

“You’re skilled enough of a cultivator to stop me,” he finally replies.

Jiang Cheng ignores how that makes the tiniest bit of heat rise to his cheeks. Silence envelops them again, and Wen Ning resumes rubbing the herbs into the curse mark.

Jiang Cheng has seen Wen Ning heal the juniors on night hunts before, but he’s never needed to be treated by Wen Ning. It feels strange to depend on him.

The thought gives him an inexplicable urge to kick something. Maybe Wen Ning. Maybe himself. He holds himself back for the sake of sparing himself another leg injury.

“What’s Lan Sizhui’s method to stop you?”

“…It’s not necessary for you to know.”

“If there’s a risk of you losing control and harming my family again, I deserve to know how to prevent it.”

Wen Ning’s expression hardens.

That came out more accusatory than he intended.

As if he cares. As if he was ever able to meet gentleness with anything but a daggered tongue.

“Unless you don’t truly believe I’m capable enough to manage it? Unless that was a lie?” Jiang Cheng continues, his tone biting.

He’s already dug himself a ditch. Might as well look like he intended it. At least dealing with an angry Ghost General is less sickening than receiving his kindness.

Jiang Cheng narrows his eyes. “Or maybe you don’t believe I’m reliable enough?”

“I do believe in your capability,” Wen Ning says sharply. It sounds like an insult. “But this has nothing to do with you, Jiang Wanyin.”

Jiang Wanyin, not Jiang-zongzhu. He’s losing Wen Ning’s respect. Good to know. As if he ever had it.

“Nothing to do with me?”

“No. This is personal, and I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Personal?” Jiang Cheng leans forward, already regretting the words he’s about to say. “Do you think the death of my sister’s husband isn’t personal for me, too?”

Wen Ning rises to his feet. At this angle, he towers over Jiang Cheng. The smallest bit of fear flares up inside Jiang Cheng’s chest, making him angry at himself for feeling any fear at all.

“I’m sorry,” Wen Ning says, raising his voice. “I’ve been sorry for sixteen years.” He gestures down at Jiang Cheng’s leg. “I’ve done all I can for your wound.”

He walks off, sinking into the forest. Rage and guilt erupt inside Jiang Cheng, biting at him like wolves.

“Wen Ning!”

Feeling every last bit of dignity leave his body, he manages to stand up and limp after him, using his sword like a cane and dragging his cursed leg behind himself. A pit grows in his stomach as he continues calling for Wen Ning.

Wen Ning—the one to apologize and walk away from an argument, something Jiang Cheng could never do. Just like how Wen Ning was the one to save Jin Ling in Guanyin Temple, the one to protect Wei Wuxian until the end. Of course Wen Ning is everything Jiang Cheng couldn’t be. Can’t be.

“The juniors are still at the wreckage!” he yells once he’s deeper in the forest. “Are you such a coward that you’re just going to abandon them?

“They’d be in more danger if I’m nearby,” says a quiet voice overhead.

Wen Ning is sitting in a tree, not bothering to look down.

Jiang Cheng sighs. He’s found Wen Ning, and now what is he going to do? Say he was wrong? Grovel at the base of the tree?

Having spent most of his life picking up broken pieces, always cleaning up Wei Wuxian’s messes, he should be better at putting back together the things he breaks himself. Instead he always cuts himself on the shards.

He thinks of how Wen Ning saved his life once. Thinks of how much A-Jie liked Wen Ning. The pit in his stomach deepens.

“Back then, maybe you weren't able to stop it from happening. I don't know,” he says, painfully aware of how much he’s stumbling through this already.

No response.

“But you need to snap out of it. You fought against Baxia’s possession in Guanyin Temple."

Still no answer. He'd rather just shake Wen Ning out of the tree at this rate. He grits his teeth, shoves down his impatience, and forces himself to keep talking.

"Look, you could’ve killed Jin Ling. But you didn’t. This figurine spirit can’t be any stronger than Baxia. You can fight it.”

Wen Ning shifts slightly.

“If you give up on this night hunt and the juniors…if you give up on Lan Sizhui—”

That gets Wen Ning to look down at him. He resists the way his body wants to shrivel up under that critical gaze.

“You’ve gotten control back before.” Jiang Cheng swallows and turns his face away. “You could do it again.”

You’ve saved A-Ling plenty of times. I trust you with him, gets stuck in his throat.

Wen Ning still doesn’t speak. The restless silence of the forest is too uncomfortable for Jiang Cheng to keep his mouth shut.

“What you can’t be doing is giving up on protecting the juniors! If you’re not an ally on these night hunts, then I’ll have to consider you a—”

“If it came to it, I would still face the spirit.” Wen Ning’s voice is quiet. Tranquil.

Jiang Cheng scoffs. "Good."

Wen Ning leaps down from the tree, landing with a loud thud. It’s a wonder his legs don’t break with the way he always throws himself around, as if he doesn’t care about looking after his body. Jiang Cheng finds himself startled that he wants to tell Wen Ning to stop doing that.

“I should still keep my distance from the wreckage if I can,” Wen Ning says. “Thank you for…I’m…I’m surprised that you—"

“Well, then don’t be so damn surprised,” Jiang Cheng hurries to interrupt before he has to hear more of Wen Ning’s deadly honesty. “We’re going back to the edge of the forest now.”

Wen Ning doesn’t try to support Jiang Cheng while they walk back. He isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but he’s grateful for the space either way.

Just before they reach the last line of trees, a loud boom comes from the direction of the wreckage, followed by shouts from the juniors.

Jiang Cheng tries not to panic.

Even if things get messy, the juniors can handle themselves.

He forces himself to limp faster—

“Wen-qianbei!”

“Jiujiu!”

Fuck!

“Jin Ling!” Jiang Cheng calls.

He tries to run toward them, but he can only limp so fast. He unsheathes Sandu to fly instead.

Can’t fly.

The damn curse wound must be distorting his spiritual power—

He turns to Wen Ning. “Come on!—”

His stomach sinks.

Wen Ning is frozen in place, staring blankly ahead.

Jiang Cheng grabs him by the arm. It trembles beneath his hand. “Wen Ning! We need to move!”

“I...I…”

“Now!”

Wen Ning sinks to his knees.

The juniors' cries grow louder.

Fuck.

#mdzsbingo #mdzsnet #theuntameddaily #chengning #jiang cheng #wen ning #ningcheng #mdzs #cql #the untamed #emilu creations #emilu fics

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no-droids · 4 years

Text

A Show of Good Faith

Part Six of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7.1k what i fuckin tell yall

Warnings: SMUT, rough sex, dirty talk, creampie, canon-typical violence, slight description of blood/injury

***

Isn’t it weird that nobody really ever talks about what happens immediately after you have a dead body in front of you?

It’s the part leading up to it that’s usually the most crucial, obviously. The adrenaline of the actual moment is overwhelming—you react without thinking, danger pumping through your veins alongside your blood and sharpening your survival instincts until they’re deadly. You do what you have to do to stay alive, nothing more. So it’s not really until you have a still moment with the evidence of your actions right there in front of you, glassy-eyed and staring lifelessly up at the ceiling, that you suddenly don’t know what to do.

Shocking is a word.

Debilitating is another.

Things… things come in flashes. You have blood on your hands; it’s thick and cold and electric blue in color, not dark or warm or crimson. One of them is vibrating violently, clutched around something heavy and clunky and unfamiliar, something with a handle made to fit a six-fingered grip. The kid is passed out in your other arm after expelling all his energy helping you take down the brutal assailant, choking him with… with some unknown baby shaman toad powers and holding him in place so you could grab this knife and you could… and you could…

The body of the man you just stabbed lays in a bloody pile on the floor in front of you. It was self-defense, but the reasoning behind it doesn’t take anything away from the gore, the blank state of shock rendering you motionless for Maker knows how long.

Corellia is a fucking shithole, you knew that coming in. If it was a sewer even with the Empire’s shipbuilding industry boosting the economy, it’s even worse after its collapse. To circumvent any unnecessary danger or attention, you chose to land the ship in one of the dense forest areas on the outskirts of the tracking fob’s radius. But unluckily for you, rats like forests just as much as they like sewers, and one of them apparently crawled his way onto the vessel a few minutes ago.

You drop the vibroblade to the floor with a clatter and slide down the hull wall, clutching the baby to your chest and trying to calm your breathing. There could be more of his friends close by. What you should do is climb into the cockpit and find somewhere else to lay low, send Mando a coded message with word of your new location.

But there’s a dead body in front of you.

And it’s… it’s dead.

Strangely, you default to something you’ve never actually done before. Something you probably shouldn’t ever do, in case your companion is in stealth mode or trying to hide from something, because it’ll immediately give away his position. You could theoretically get him killed, but you’re not thinking straight.

Your wrist trembles as you hold it in front of your lips. “Uh… M-Man-Mando?”

The sound of blaster fire and grunting crackles through your emergency comm link, before you hear a quick, breathless, “What’s wrong?” come through the speaker.

“It, uh—” you stare down at the oddly-colored blood on your fingers, wondering how you voice is able to come out so calmly, “it s-sounds like you’re busy, I’ll—I’ll just—”

More grunting. A thud. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

You’re at a loss for words. You take a second to look down at the dead body, before lifting your wrist back up to your mouth. “I’m o-okay now, but I… but someone followed me into the Crest and he tried to… I-I mean he’s—he’s dead now, but—”

“Are you hurt?” He suddenly sounds urgent. It’s ridiculous that he didn’t actually sound urgent until now. “Is the kid hurt?”

“We’re—we’re both fine, but…” You look down at the child in your arms. “But the baby did something I—I c-can’t explain—and now he’s… I-I think he's asleep…”

“Good,” he replies shortly. You can hear him running now, pounding footsteps and heavy, quick breaths. Another blaster shot. “We need to get out of here. Rendezvous Sector-15, soon as you can. You’ll see me.”

“Do I…” Maker, you sound like an absolute idiot. “Do I just… just leave the body here, or…?”

“I’ll take care of it when you get here.” He doesn’t sound frustrated with you, but for some reason you feel incredibly frustrated with yourself. You should be able to pull yourself together, but your hands are all tingly and you can’t actually feel your fingers unless you really work for it. Stars, when’s the last time you actually blinked? “Can you fly?”

You don’t respond. You don’t even feel like you can stand up right now. The blaster shots scream through the crackling comm link for a second, and then you jump when he barks your name even louder than the gunfire.

“—Listen to me,” he urges, and you blink rapidly, the seriousness of his low growl hitting you right in the chest. “You can fly. Understand? Get the kid, get in the cockpit, put your seatbelt on. Fly out to me, right now. We’re leaving.”

His voice doesn’t call for argument. It’s abrasive and rough and unquestionable enough to get through to you. Of course you can fly, you can fly with your fucking eyes closed. Coming that firmly and doubtlessly from him, it’s a universal truth.

“Copy. Sec-Sector-15.” You say, adrenaline beginning to pump blood through your veins again. Just. Just don’t look at the body, okay? Don’t look at the body, you can do this if you don’t look at the body. “I’ll see you?”

“You’ll see me,” he repeats. And then the noise cuts off with a click.

You struggle up to your feet, heart pounding. You can do this. You can totally do this. You can walk, because you can fly. Duh. Mando said so.

You admittedly almost fall a couple steps down the latter while trying to climb up it one-handed, the baby held tightly to your chest, but you’re eventually able to get the both of you into the cockpit. The kid is carefully buckled into his little booster seat before you’re collapsing shakily into the pilot’s chair and swiveling forward.

Okay. Flight check. Now. To your left, flip down these few switches here—one two three four five—okay, good. To your right, press those two buttons sitting just above the nav console. Yep, got it. Up top now, those two red ones overhead. Good. Good, you can do this. Type coordinates into the nav comp. Sector-15, locked. Easy. This is easy. That big, knobless lever to your right—yes, the one with the exposed threading at the end, push that long metal stick forward and set thrusters to full. Okay. Left thruster, looks good. Right looks good, too. Okay. Seatbelt… seatbelt is… Seatbelt: on. Hatch: sealed. Shields: engaged. Flight check complete. Now all you have to do is take off.

Now all you have to do is take off.

All you have to do… is…

You stare down at the joystick in front of you blankly.

And then you shake your head back and forth frantically, hoping the rapid movement will jar some sense into you. Maker, get it the fuck together. What did Mando hire you for? You told him you were useful, didn’t you? This is what you do. You fly. So fucking fly, yeah?

You lift the ship off the ground and immediately take her around southeast, taking deep breaths and feeling the powerful rumble beneath your chair. Yeah, you can do this. Don’t think about the blood on your hands, the dark streaks of sickly purple now smudged all over the controls. Don’t think about the dead body in the hull. Don’t think about how you’re the reason it’s dead. Just fly the ship. This is something you can do.

You coast over the thick treetops and into the industrial sector, carefully scanning the gritty streets below. You don’t know what he meant when he said you’ll see him—until you suddenly see him. Smack in the middle of the airspace, rising phoenix strapped to his back and hovering a few hundred feet above absolute chaos wreaking havoc in the slums below. Blaster flares light up the night sky, though the sparks and flash grenades illuminating the dirty Corellian streets have nothing on the beauty of seeing those small twin jets in the darkness, the ones beginning to fly towards the ship.

“Got eyes,” his voice says through the comm link. Relief pounds through you. Stars, relief shouldn’t feel like this much of a struggle for your cardiovascular system, should it?

“Beginning deceleration,” you confirm breathlessly, slowing down and pressing a few buttons to open the hatch with your free hand. You bring both of them back down to swing her around until he’s got a clear path, feeling the ship dip just slightly with the sudden weight of him dropping in.

“Landed,” he grunts. “Set course for Nevarro.”

You floor it and elevate the Crest up through Corellia’s smoggy atmosphere, punching in coordinates in the meantime. The ship dips just a touch once more while the computer takes a few seconds to calculate a hyperspace path, and your eyebrows narrow before it quickly pulls back up again. It’s not until you see the manual hatch override indicator light blink next to the nav console that you realize he must’ve dumped the body before closing the door himself.

Well, that’s one way to handle that, you suppose.

The computer beeps quietly when it’s finished. “Standby for jump,” you tell your wrist.

“Copy.”

You triple-check the positive seal integrity readings before your hand is reaching for the double-reinforced hyperjump control, still trembling slightly. You lean all your weight forward into it, trying to keep your arm from buckling as the stars slowly shift across the observation shield for a split second, before you’re being hurled into the interdimensional wormhole.

Quiet. Hyperspace is fucking quiet. You forget, sometimes. Not how quiet it is—but how loud everything else is, not until you’re hurtling through the closest thing to purgatory you’ll ever experience in life. It looks… indescribable, even after the thousandth time. Empty space collapsing in front of you and expanding behind you simultaneously. Starlight streaking across the windows, space-time curving around the ship faster than the ship itself is moving through it. You take a moment to consider it as you unbuckle yourself shakily, before standing up and checking the seat behind you.

The kid is still knocked out cold, but you press the button to close the shield to his crib just in case, setting an alarm protocol to Mando’s remote arm brace should it open.

And then you slowly make your way around bulky cockpit chairs and down into the hull, shakily climbing down the ladder one step at a time. As soon as you turn around, there’s a caped wall of beskar rummaging through something with his back to you.

“Did you…” You announce yourself while looking around, trying not to sound as small as you feel. This is a such stupid question, you already know what he did with the body. But you… you should make sure, right? “You already took care of… of the…”

“Yeah.” Mando spins around and pulls out the cot from the wall at the same time, and you jump when the bed rattles loudly on its track and ricochets a few inches backwards after reaching its full extension. He quickly makes his way around it and over to you. “It’s gone. Come here, you’re hurt.”

“I’m f-fine,” you insist, feeling your hands shake when he abruptly grabs the left one and turns it over, pulling your wrist out towards him and up to the light so you both can see. “What about the qua—oh.”

There’s a long, ragged slice decorating the inside of your forearm, dried blood staining the ripped fabric along your sleeve. You blink down at it, not able to recognize its pain even with the evidence of the injury in front of you. It doesn’t look deep, but its edges are a little nasty and it’s still bleeding. Why can’t you feel it? Shouldn’t you be able to feel that?

He makes a noise through his helmet—something you can’t quite figure it out. Something between a short growl and a low huff of breath, before he’s grabbing your hips and steering you over towards the bed, lifting you up and setting you on its suspended platform when you’re close enough.

“Didn’t find the quarry,” the Mandalorian says quietly, turning around and looking through the first aid kit once more.

“You didn’t find the…” You blink down at your injury. He didn’t even find the quarry? But then what was all that ruckus about? And why are you going back to Nevarro to collect payment? Shouldn’t you be turning around and… and…?

He’s suddenly in front of you again, and this time he’s got a… a syringe in his hands? An E-bacta shot, you realize with an uncomfortable jolt. He pulls the cap off and sets it down on the bed next to you before holding out his gloved hand for you, waiting patiently but expectantly.

“No,” you immediately tell him, heart beginning to pump faster as you bring your arm up and hug it to your chest. You didn’t even know those things were street legal—they heal incredibly quickly but people have been known to abuse them because… well, because they’re supposed to give you a wicked fucking high. Bacta isn’t addictive and there’s no possibility of overdose, but this shit is concentrated. You can’t imagine how expensive it was. “Don’t b-be ridiculous, Mando—you—you almost bled out from a knife wound and we didn’t use one of those.”

“What do you think that is?” He looks down at your arm.

“It’s a scratch!” You exclaim, starting to feel a bit hysterical now from the adrenaline comedown. Maker, that needle is big. You knew bacta injections were thick but holy fucking stars. “It doesn’t even h-hurt! I could’ve… I could’ve done this to myself on accident for all I—”

“This has boosted antibiotics, too,” he cuts you off, quickly losing his patience and grabbing your wrist when you still don’t hand it over to him. He levers your forearm down, holding it parallel to the floor on your lap. “We don’t have any bacta kits left, I looked. This’ll work fast and it won’t scar. Hold still.”

“No—” you try to pull your hand away, hating the way your voice jumps when you’re aiming for calm and reasonable. “—I’ll be fine, w-we shouldn’t waste th—”

He tightens his grip. “Listen. This isn’t a scratch. It’s a torn laceration from a dirty Corellian vibroblade. Now I’m giving you at least a quarter dose, so hold,” he tugs your wrist forward, “still.”

You see the large needle heading towards your arm with determination and you’re instantly going rigid with panic, whipping your head away from him and squeezing your eyes shut as you suck in a terrified breath.

You wait like a statue for the pain, frozen in anticipation and fright, but it never comes. Slowly peeking one eye open, you look back to find a chrome visor staring intently at you, unmoving.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” you eventually gasp when he doesn’t say anything, and Maker, are your eyes actually starting to water? “I-I’m sorry, I’m just—that’s a b-big needle and—and I actually just k-k-killed someone and it’s just—” oh stars, here come the sniffles, “—I’m s-so sorry, I’m trying t-to keep it—keep it togeth—”

He carefully places the syringe down on the bed next to you as you turn your head away from him and try to stifle your short, panicked breaths with the back of your hand. But then you’re being caught and pulled forward, hauled into an iron chest without a single word.

It should be uncomfortable, you think. You should want to take the armor off and feel the muscles of his arms wrap themselves tight around you instead of cold metal, but for some reason, you don’t. He feels… right like this. Like the beskar is a natural extension of his body, like it holds just as much comfort as his bare chest does.

The Mandalorian stands there between your knees and silently embraces you, holding stoic and steady for you, tilting his head so you can calm your breathing into the crook of his neck. It’s covered in fabric but it smells like him, warm and soft and damp with sweat. You breathe him in, clutching him tight with your uninjured arm and feeling your heartbeat gradually begin to slow as it’s pressed against cool metal.

“E-bacta has calming properties,” he says quietly after a moment. “It’ll help more than this.”

“Shut up.” You mutter against his throat, doing everything you can to drown yourself in him. Maker, he smells good. He just got finished bringing down an entire Corellian sector, why the fuck does he smell so good? “I'm not—not letting you stick that thing in me.”

“Yeah?” He returns softly, dragging a hand up your back. “Bet I can make you want it.”

“Not happening,” you grunt, tightening your hold on him. “You’ll put regular bandages on my arm until we can resupply on Nevarro and save that torture device for another poor soul who needs it.”

“This isn’t over,” he eventually warns you, gently pulling away. He turns around and starts picking out gauze and tape from the first aid kit regardless. “I was just blindsided. Tears don’t work on me, but. Don’t ever do that to me again.”

You relax, smiley and dopey-eyed and happily sticking your arm out for him for whenever he comes back, so fucking glad he gave in. You’ll get bacta on Nevarro, that sounds perfect. “So… so all that fuss and you didn’t actually find the quarry?”

“Someone tried to take off my helmet,” Mando replies shortly, starting to rip open a few packets of sterile gauze strips without looking at you. And then he doesn’t say anything more, like that should be explanation enough.

“Ah.” You remark after a second, thinking about how many blaster fires you saw. Maker. “I see.”

What a pair you two make. Someone who went into shock from hurting another person in defense of your life, and someone who brought an entire block down because another person tried to take his helmet off.

Something he’s done with you twice now. Without ever being prompted.

Stars, you’re both so different, aren’t you? Such massively different problems, different ways of life. You’re suddenly struck with how much you could learn from him, if he was ever willing to share. How much the both of you could probably learn from each other. His assertiveness; your humanity. His decisiveness; your consideration. His secrets; your honesty. None of them are true opposites, not in the way people normally think. They’re not polarizing, they’re… complimentary. Filling in the gaps neither one of you can fill in yourself.

“Does that scare you?” He finally asks, when you’ve been quiet for too long.

“No,” you tell him blankly, watching his hands work. “Just… no. Not really. I mean. It makes sense. Was just thinking about how different life must be for you.” You tilt your head thoughtfully. “Showing my face, telling people my name. Things I take for granted, I think.”

Maker, maybe you’re getting a little too honest here.

“Is that why you never ask about those things?” He’s quiet. You both stare purposefully down at your arm as he begins laying down the strips of white cotton over your cut. “Because you recognize what it means to give them up?”

“What—like your name?”

“Anything,” he says, and though he keeps working, his hands start to slow down. “You never ask me about anything. My name, my past… why I don’t take the helmet off. Everyone always asks, but. You never have.”

You shrug a shoulder. “Figured you get tired of telling people no, don’t you?”

His fingers still, hovering over your injury. He doesn’t move, so you elaborate.

“I mean… yeah, I’ve thought about those things, but…” you speak slowly, choosing your words very carefully. Your eyes narrow with the effort, trying to pinpoint and voice your exact opinion without making assumptions. “But I respect you. And your creed. I call you Mando because that’s what you told me to call you. And if you don’t take the helmet off, then you don’t take it off.” You shrug once more. “Some things don’t need explanations. They just are, and I’m okay with that.”

It’s a while before he goes back to dressing your wound, and even longer before he speaks again. When he does, he’s almost completely finished securing the bandages and it’s barely above a murmur. “Nobody usually thinks that simply about it.”

“Well. Fuck ‘em.” You blurt. “I think it’s the simplest thing in the galaxy. You should be the one who gets to decide who you are and what’s important to you, right? No one else.”

He stops again, this time tilting his visor up to look you in your eyes. You blink up at your own warped reflection.

“I think that shit is yours. Fundamentally. Doesn’t matter if you want to share it, change it, hide it, or burn it away forever. It’s your decision, and you’ll tell people what you want them to know. So fuck ‘em if they don’t respect that,” you tell him bluntly. “They obviously don’t know anything about you at all. Else they wouldn’t be asking.”

He doesn’t move. He just stares silently at you for a few seconds, and Maker, for some reason you wish now more than ever you could see his face. Even though it contradicts everything you just said, you wish you could see his face. What color are his eyes? You bet they’re brown. You bet they’re a warm, deep brown—expressive and soft and lovely behind such hard, unforgiving steel. His features are probably just as warm as the rest of him. Dark hair, wavy hair. Plush, gentle lips.

His hand comes up slowly. Gives you ample time to pull away before he’s softly cupping your cheek, tilting his helmet to the side as he studies you.

“Would you.” He’s quiet for a moment. And then he clears his throat through the modulator, before he tries again. “Would you like to know my name?”

You go shock-still, blinking at him and barely breathing. Why? Why is he asking this? He wants to give you his name? Immediately after you just told him why you don’t need it?

Your throat is a desert. “Only… only if you want to give it to me.”

He tilts his head the other way and takes a moment to consider you, gently trailing the leather of his thumb along your bottom lip. Your eyes dip down the length of his body, heat suddenly filling you when you realize how close and well he’s positioned right now, how his hips are at the perfect height standing right between your legs like this.

Mando slowly lowers his helmet to look down at your parted thighs, too. And then he’s shifting the visor to the side just a bit, eyes catching on something on the bed next to you. “Want to give you a few things,” he says lowly.

You probably would’ve melted into a puddle if he didn’t immediately hold up the E-bacta shot in front of you in both hands.

Your heart starts pounding though, all the same. “No—”

“Listen to me,” he tells you calmly, as if you could do much of anything else right now with how much space he’s taking up in front of you. His size and proximity gave you a thrill just a second ago, but now he’s nothing more than a giant fucking metal wall armed with a needle and blocking your escape. “I want to give you a few things, but only if you say yes to all of them. Are you going to listen?”

Maker, your heart is racing, rapid calculations going off in your head as your eyes flick between the syringe and his visor. Where the fuck is he going with this? “Y-yes. I’ll—I’ll listen.”

He holds the shot up between the two of you, as if you didn’t see it the first fifty fucking times. “First. I’ll give you a quarter dose of this. I’ll be gentle and I’ll give it to you somewhere where it won’t hurt, where you won’t even be able to see it, and it’ll make you feel better. Even good. Okay?”

You narrow your eyebrows at him. “You’re not doing a great job at selling me h—”

“Second. I’ll give you my name.”

Your breath catches. He continues on casually with the terms of the deal, as if he didn’t just set your whole world on fire with five words.

“You can’t ever use it around other people,” he tells you. “Only here. With me, on this ship. In front of the kid is fine. But if anyone else ever asks, you don’t know it. Okay?”

“Okay…” you whisper after a second, your chest filling with flames.

“Third.” He slowly catches your uninjured wrist in a gentle grip and begins to guide it forward. “If you… if you want, I’ll… I’ll give you this,” he murmurs, bringing it down to cup his cock. “I… won’t be gentle. But I will make you feel good.”

Maker, he’s already rock hard under your palm, throbbing and swollen for you. Almost as quickly as the urge first came on, you suddenly don’t want to escape anymore. Instead, maybe you can just… appeal.

“What if we…” You carefully reach down into his pants, holding his hips still between your knees and beginning to caress his cock. His skin is like silk under your hand, as hard as the beskar he straps to his body but so warm, and pulsing with life. “What if we reverse the order, maybe?”

“No,” he grunts immediately. “You’ll take the shot first, it’ll be a—” his breath catches when you give him a good, rough squeeze. “—a-a show of—of good faith.”

“That’s literally the only thing I don’t want from this all-or-nothing deal,” you reason, wrapping your legs around him to bring him closer. He acquiesces cautiously, slowly moving forward. “I’d be an idiot to give it up first. Ideally it should go second if there are three terms.”

“I know what you’re d-doing,” he tells you flat out, though he makes no attempt to stop it at all. He just growls low in his throat when he’s close enough for you to lean up and bite down onto his neck, one of his hands landing on your thigh and locking down onto it tight. “It won’t… won’t work. You’re—you’re t-taking the shot first, that’s the deal.”

“I could try crying again,” you proposition breathlessly, squeezing his cock once more and feeling him shudder.

“Ngh—meant it when I—” he gasps when you brush your thumb over his head, dampening the fabric covering his neck with your hot breaths. “When I-I said that you—you need to w-work on your… your negoti—tiating—”

“What if I just ask you really, really nicely?” You whisper, slowly starting to jerk him off. Your grip is tight and strong, and he practically sags and grabs the metal bedframe on either side of you. “Will it work if I ask you to please fuck me? Please? And then I’ll take your shot?” But then you’re struck by a sudden thought, and maneuver your head away just enough to look up at where his eyes should be. “But we don’t… we don’t actually have to… y’know, do the other thing, though, if you don’t want to. It’s okay.”

Mando abruptly pulls back, pinning you with a blank chrome stare. “W-what?”

“If you…” You want to find some way to word this to get the correct sentiment across, but it’s difficult with him looking at you so hard. The last thing you want to do is sound ungrateful. Your hands stop moving, carefully letting him go and resting on his hips instead, so he knows this isn’t you just trying to find some way out of this. “You don’t have to tell me your name, y’know. It’s okay, I’ll—I’ll take the shot, it’s fine. We don’t need to… to turn something like that into a. A deal, or anything. You can still tell me if you want, of course, I just… I don’t want it to be part of like, some sort of… agreement between us, or something.” You tap a thumb over his hipbone, tilting your head. “So I’m taking it off the table. Even if you were the one who put it on there. No pressure. I’ll take the shot. And then you can tell me whatever it is you want to tell me after that. Apart from that. A… a show of good faith.”

Mando holds still as a fucking statue in front of you. If you couldn’t feel the warmth of his skin under your hands, you’d say he looks like a droid in sleep mode almost. He stays like that for so long, you actually start to worry a little bit. Was that a thankless, bitchy thing to say to him after he offered to reveal such a big secret about himself? Should you have just kept your mouth shut?

You suppose he was right, your negotiation skills could use a bit more work. You did technically just… willingly give up something incredibly valuable in exchange for absolutely nothing in return, didn’t you? Actually not absolutely nothing, you just agreed to have an actual fucking needle shoved into your body just so he wouldn’t feel any sort of obligation to reveal himself to you whatsoever. That’s like… rule number one of what not to do when negotiating, isn’t it? Fuck, what have you done? Is it too late to take half of that shit back? Can you start this whole thing over real quick? How much pressure do you think that glass syringe can handle? You know you can’t outrun or overpower him, but do you think you’d be able to smash it with your foot before he can stop you? No. No fucking way, you would. Don’t be stupid, don’t be fucking stupid.

And Maker, he’s… he’s still not moving. You actually start to squirm a little bit under his unreadable gaze, before he eventually brings both hands up to your face and gently cradles your jaw in his gloved palms, bringing you to a still.

“Unbelievable,” the Mandalorian says softly, tilting his helmet at you and carefully brushing his thumbs along your cheekbones. He doesn’t sound upset. He sounds truly mystified by you. Stumped. Reverent.

You blink at him. “What?”

“Nobody w-would… but you’re…” He seems like he’s trying to find the words to describe what he’s thinking, but he can’t. “You can’t—you… t—? Not just. But be—because of. On—on… pr-prin…”

“I… I do still want you to fuck me, though,” you eventually whisper when he never finishes his sentence. He’s not the best with words, but that’s okay. You’re perfectly willing to entertain other mediums. “First. Even if it is part of a deal, I don’t give a shit.”

You bring your hand back to wrap tight around him, beginning to pull up and down in strong, steady strokes once more. The tips of his fingers tighten just slightly on your jaw.

“Please,” you whisper, turning your head to kiss one of his palms. “Just show me, it’s okay.”

He stays like that for just a split second more.

And then he’s suddenly whipping one of his hands down to grab your wrist. The other wraps itself more fully around your jaw in its absence and firmly holds your head in place in front of him.

“I won’t be gentle,” he tells you once more, voice coming out hoarse and shaky. “I—I c-can’t—”

You nod in affirmation as much as you can with his iron grip wrapped tight over your chin like this. “Th—”

You can’t even get a single word out before Mando shoots both hands down to grab your hips, abruptly yanking your ass off the bed. Your legs have just enough time to buckle once they hit the ground, but then he’s spinning you around and practically shoving you right back on top of the metal platform, facedown with half your upper-body and both arms hanging over the edge.

Your pants are being snatched over your ass and down your legs as you still work to adjust yourself to the chaotic shift in position. Holy fuck, he wasn’t ki—

Something blunt presses up against the apex of your thighs, pushes forward, and oh, holy fu—

—oh—holy fuck—

You’re surprised you have enough breath to shout as loud as you do when he slams full-force into you, rattling the bed as he sheathes himself in your slick warmth to the hilt, fully armored behind you and pressing cold beskar tight up against your ass and thighs. You claw your fingers over the smooth metal surface under the cot and try to brace yourself on something, but there’s nothing to hold onto. Fuck, he’s so fucking thick. Forcing you to yield to his hardness, tightening his grip on your hips and keeping you locked in position.

And then he pulls out and then slams back in—starts pounding into you, using your body as a counterweight to thrust himself into and Maker, you would probably be screaming if you could even breathe right. The inability to inhale just means you can hear him groan through the modulator, shuffle up closer to you and start to drill into you harder.

“Sweet, sweet girl,” he murmurs, and fuck, you would think he was suffocating you if it weren’t for both of his hands being anchored to your hips. It blazes through you like wildfire, burning your lungs and setting your body alight with flames. He leans over you and clamps a hand down over your shoulder, and your eyes roll back when he moves up and adjusts his angle just the slightest bit, pounding down into you instead of just into you, and—

“Maker, h-how did I deserve this?” He whispers quietly to himself, delirious and tight as stars explode behind your vision. His helmet rests on your shoulder blade, the beskar as heavy and unyielding as his thrusts are as he pummels into that one blinding, heavenly spot, over and over and over again. “What did I d—where were you when I was—when I was—?”

You finally gasp a ragged, desperate breath in like you’ve been underwater for the last minute instead of under him, taking his cock the way he needs to give it to you. And then you’re writhing, grinding your body back against his as much as you can, choking on the burning air and trying to put your needs together into a coherent sentence.

“T-take your helmet off,” you finally manage to lift your head up and beg, “please—please, I-I won’t—I won’t look, I sw-swea—” and then your cunt clamps down hard when he shoots up from you and practically rips the thing off his shoulders without another word, the sound of steel clanging loudly on the floor by your feet.

His hand comes around your throat and yanks you to the side before his teeth are sinking into your neck, not a single break in his hard, pounding rhythm.

He probably gets about ten good thrusts in like that before you’re going rigid under him and cumming—hard.

Everything below your waist locks down tighter around him than a fucking vice, and then you explode wet and hot around his cock with a hoarse shout, squeezing him and spasming through each rough, steady thrust as it launches you higher, and higher—

“Fuck—” he snarls into your neck, and then he suddenly kicks up from the rapid slapslapslapslap that got you over the edge to a surging, brutal bam—bam—bam that wrings a sharp, ragged cries from your throat. Your face screws up and you try not to scream at the sensation, wondering how it was possible that he could make the bliss even more debilitating. “Fuck, th—your cunt gets… s-so fucking tight when you cum—”

You just whimper for him helplessly, listening to the vulgar sounds of him fucking into you, the loud squelching as he keeps rocking mercilessly deep.

“You hear that?” He murmurs next to your ear, and the slick sound of it echoes obscenely through the silent hull. His voice is soft, contrasting blindingly with the way he’s holding you down and fucking you so strong and steady through the aftershocks. “Fuck—you get fucking wet after you cum, too, don’t you?”

You try to move, try to adjust yourself just slightly, but he locks down around you and holds fast to his rhythm. Fuck, it feels like he’s fucking the air out of you faster than you can breathe it in, grip like iron and tightening the more you struggle.

“‘M never leaving this,” he slurs, dropping his head to rest between your shoulder blades. “Never. Fuck, I’m—you’re—you’re never getting rid of me, sweet girl, I’m—I’m never—never f-fucking leaving—”

“Fuck, I’m—” you gasp, closing your eyes and trying to focus on the spark of a feeling deep inside you. “Stars, I think I-I might—”

And then Mando licks a slow, warm line up the curve of your spine and a second orgasm is suddenly burning a fucking hole through you, tearing another broken wail from your throat. You spasm and arch under him, bearing down on his thick cock and trying not to sob.

“Fuck, there we g-go—” he grits against your skin, picking up his speed and fucking hammering into you, completely deaf to your hoarse squeal at the change in tempo. “Good. Ngh, fuck—you—y-you want me to cum now?”

“Please,” you beg. “Please cum, p-please—”

“Where?” His voice is tight, breathless and shaky. “Tell me where—quick—”

“Fuck—inside,” you moan, eyes rolling back at the thought of taking his load deep inside you.

Mando’s hips stutter. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, they jerk back in before they could fully extend all the way out, and your abused lower muscles start to squeeze him in anticipation.

“I can’t—” he rasps, “—I’ve—I-I’ve never—and y-you’ll—”

“Safe,” you wheeze, because you don’t have enough air in your lungs or composure in your thoughts to tell him you have an implant contraceptive. All you can manage is a shameless, breathless, “Cum deep,” half-tossed over your shoulder.

Your hair is gathered and locked in a tight fist behind your head and if you thought he was fucking you full force, you soon realize he was only at about an eight. He flattens you against the bed and yanks your head up, arm coming around to brace across your chest and starting to just fucking wreck you from behind.

The change in angle forces his cock to spear up against something that blinds you, something so raw and impairing that you can’t speak anymore, even if you could find the air to.

“Fuck—m’gonna cum,” the Mandalorian grits, the bed rattling on its tracks as his head drops to your shoulder, “f-fuck, s’too fucking good, sweet girl—m’gonna f-fucking cum, I—”

He plows his hips into you just like that once, twice, three—

You lock down and everything goes blurs and goes out of focus, white hot pleasure ripping you apart from the inside as you do scream this time, clamping down and straightening your spine and convulsing in ecstasy.

He snarls and bites down on your neck, grrriiinndding his cock as deep inside you as it’ll go and shuddering above you. You can feel him pulsing, throbbing as he growls his way through it, breathing heavy and giving you his load just how you asked.

Mando pulls out of you much quicker than you want him to and stumbles backwards, suddenly dropping to his knees on the floor behind you with a metallic clang. He doesn’t do anything more than that, though; he just stares at your fluttering hole as you slowly start to leak his cum, one of his hands coming up to brace itself on the back of your thigh as he catches his breath and watches.

Fuck, you’re spent. Panting and exhausted in the same position he left you. You try to move, but you can’t. You just sprawl there on your tummy and slowly wait for the feeling to return to your body.

But then he says something. It’s too quiet—a soft, one syllable word you can’t quite make out.

“Wh—?” Your muscles feel like lead. “I couldn’t hear y—”

Gloved hands trail gently over your ass. And then you feel a small, sharp little prick on the swell of one of your cheeks, but it’s gone after a split second.

And then… fucking bliss.

You sag into the metal bed, feeling the room begin to spin. Fuck. He gave you the shot. The fucker just gave you the shot. How dare he? Before you could even work yourself up to the point of tears again? While you’re still… still fucking dripping with cum right in front of his face?

Until—

“Din,” he says softly. “It’s Din.”

Din.

How perfectly appropriate, you think.

Short, simple, and to the point. No flourishes. A quick, one-syllable punch of air. One singular, closed I vowel sitting quietly between two consonants, guarded on all sides. Hard at first, but then tapering off to a soft sound if you let it. Din.

“Din,” you whisper, fighting the overwhelming high with every last fiber of your gradually depleting consciousness, wanting so desperately to hear the word out loud with your own voice before you’re pulled under, trying to make sure it’s real. It comes out sounding that way, too; weak and quiet and straining for these last few precious moments with him.

Both of his hands wrap around the back of your knees and you feel his plush lips press gently against your upper-thigh, just below the curve of your ass. He opens his mouth and licks hot and warm along your damp skin, pulls both your knees apart just slightly and then starts to drag his tongue to the side a bit, and then—

And then everything goes dark.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #pedro pascal #fanfic #no-droids #smut

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