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thetriumphantpanda · 8 months

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i'll be needing stitches | din djarin

Summary | The Mandalorian has never had someone else tend to his wounds.

Pairing | Din Djarin x F!Reader

Word Count | 2.1k

Warnings | Future chapters will include smut, but this one involves mentions of injuries, a dead bounty, explicit descriptions of an untrained professional stitching someone up, blood, some explicit thoughts and some yearning.

Authors Note | My favourite tin can man is back and ready for business. I am having such a wonderful time imagining all the things Din has never experienced before and the idea that he has only ever been the one to patch himself up was more than I could cope with. As always, comments, reblogs and freaking out in my ask box are all welcome and if you enjoyed this, please consider supporting me with a donation to my Ko-Fi.

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Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

He’d been gone a few days. That was nothing new. Off hunting his next bounty, leaving you in charge of child. You didn’t mind it, once you’d gotten used to the fact that you couldn’t really reason with him, and that you’d be tired from constantly keeping an eye on him, he was actually pretty decent company.

You’re fussing with him, trying to get him to go down for some rest when the Crest doors open and there’s the sound of a body hitting the floor. That’s nothing out of the ordinary, so you don’t rush to see what’s happening. What is out of the ordinary is the sound of metal crashing to the floor right after it.

You whip around, looking at the scene before you. There’s a dead bounty on the ground, being kept company by Mando, who is crumpled on the floor in his armour, a pool of blood seeping out from underneath his left leg as he struggles to push himself up.

“Bloody hell,” you exclaim, immediately dropping all worry of the child to drop to your knees next to him, “What the hell happened?!”

He doesn’t respond, just grips at the injured leg, trying to get the bleeding to subside. His trousers are torn and there’s a nasty gash to the skin of his thigh that is about to cause a whole world of problems if you can’t fix it.

With your hand on his shoulder, placed there to let him know you’re near, you whip your head around trying to remember where he keeps the healing equipment. He’s needed it before, but only for minor injuries, and has never needed your help before, but with the way the blood is spreading across the floor, he’s going to need you now.

He feebly lifts a hand, pointing in the direction of his bunk, “Left it…. There.” He struggles to spit out.

“Okay, I’ll fetch it,” your voice is laced with panic, like if you leave him now, he’s going to pass out, or worse, “You’ve gotta promise me you’ll stay with me, okay?” There’s no response, “Mando? You hear me? No sleeping!”

He mumbles something unintelligible under his helmet but at least he’s talking. You let your hand drop, guiding him down to lie on the floor whilst you rush to his bunk, pulling at the haphazard sheets until the first aid box appears at the foot of the bed. You’re back on your knees next to him in no time, and he’s still moving about and groaning as you put your hand on his thigh to get a better look at his wound.

Your fingers tear at the edges of the material, wanting to allow him to keep his modesty but see the extent of the damage. The gash is angry, blood seeping from it with red edges. You tip the top of the box open and root through it. There’s a single bottle of bacta spray, which you pull out, give a little shake and go to take the top off, when his wide palm circles around your wrist to stop you.

“No.”

You let a frustrated growl leave your throat, “Then what, Mando?!” You exclaim, “You’re bleeding out, what am I meant to do?!”

“The thread,” He chokes out, “Just stitch it up.”

You look him straight in the visor, hoping your disapproving look is landing through his beskar. You are not a nurse, if you try and stitch him up you’re only going to make it worse.

“I’m going to make it worse like that,” You insist, “I’ve never stitched anything in my life.”

“Y-yes you have,” he squeezes your wrist, to reassure you, “Y-your tunic.”

“Mando, this is your fucking leg we’re talking about, not my clothes, it’s completely different.”

He pulls on your arm now, dragging your attention to him, craning his helmet as much as he can to look at you, “Do not waste that spray.” He demands, and even when he’s bleeding out on the floor, he commands you, knows that no matter what, he calls the shots - he lets your arm go, pushing you away gently but towards his leg.

You could argue with him that saving him from certain death is not wasting it, but the longer you bicker, the less time you have, so with shaking hands, you put the bacta spray back, and instead find the needle and surgical thread. With shaking hands, you do your best to thread the needle and tie it off at one end, before your hands are grasping at his thigh.

“This is going to suck,” You mutter, because it is, it would suck at the hands of a trained professional, so it’s definitely going to suck at the hands of someone who could barely sew their own clothes together, “I’m sorry.”

You don’t give him enough time to respond, or yourself much time to consider what you’re actually doing, you just push the needle through the skin closest to you and over to the other side, trying not to look up or focus too hard on the sounds he’s making as you drag the needle back and forward through his skin, watching as the skin closes together the further along the wound you pull. Your hands are shaking, and you’re holding your breath, but you don’t seem to be making it worse, which is something you’ll take.

You’re trying your best to concentrate on making the line of stitches as neat and tidy as you can, but all you can really focus on are the sounds that are coming from underneath that helmet of his. Low groans and grunts of pain as you work the needle through his skin, groans and grunts that you can’t help thinking about in another context, like if you weren’t currently trying to stitch him up and instead he had you pinned down and was- okay, no absolutely not.

You shake your head, trying to rid yourself of the now incredibly distracting train of thought. Sure, there have been moments when you’d thought about it, though about what kind of lover he would be, mainly only out of curiosity than your own desires. But ever since he took that damn helmet off in the rain and touched your face, you can’t help but wonder what kind of lover he’d be for you.

Whilst he’s led there on the floor, all his trust put in you to patch him up and make him better, make sure he lives, and all you can is wonder what those sounds would be like for you. What the press of his thighs would do to your own when he put himself between your body, or what this specific thigh, gripped in your hand, clenched as you push the needle through once more, would feel like between your legs. Would he guide you through it, with those big hands on your hips, or would he lean back and let you take what you needed? Would he snake that hand down the front of your trousers and help you along, or would he let you do it all yourself?

He’s agitated, and understandably so, it’s been a slow patch up, with you making sure that the scar your sutures will leave is as neat as it possibly can be. As you bend your head to look closely as you tie another knot in the end of the stitches, you realise he will have this for the rest of his life. A permanent mark on his skin, made by someone else sure, but patched up by you. The Mandalorian will always have this reminder of you etched into his skin, even if, for some reason, you cease to exist in his life. It’s primal, the way is makes you feel, that one day, if you’re gone, he’ll have to explain your existence to someone when they ask how he got that scar. You will forever be a piece of him.

He’s gone suspiciously quiet, the pain you were causing him by driving a needle through his damn skin has made way to a dull throb. You reach into the first aid box, pulling out some gauze and tissue. You use the tissue and what little disinfectant there is to clean the sutures and the blood from his skin, before haphazardly taping the gauze over it to try and keep it clean and free from infection.

He pushes himself up on his elbows once you’re done, watching as you clean away your mess. He wants to reach out to you, he wants to touch you, to anchor himself to you and never let go, to thank you, but instead he simply tries to push himself up whilst trying to keep the stitches you just put in him intact. He lets out a pained groan, you whip your head around.

“Maker, help me,” You grumble, dropping the things you were attempting to clean up to rush back to his side, “I just sewed you up and you’re trying to move on your own?” You’re trying to speak in a tone that is authoritative but it doesn’t seem to come out that way, “Can’t you just sit still for a minute?”

“Need to get us out of here,” He mumbles, taking hold of your hand that you’ve offered him, using your body to steady himself as he pulls himself up off the floor, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” You ask, letting him lean on you slightly for support as he hobbled toward the ladder to the cockpit, despite him weighing considerably more than you.

He doesn’t actually respond to your question, once he’s at the cockpit ladder, he seems to not need your help anymore – struggling up the steps, grunting with each movement of his injured leg, so you let him go, turning around to finish cleaning up. As you’re cleaning the blood from the floor, you’re face-to-face with the body of the bounty he’d dropped on the floor. You’d seen him deal with these bounties more than once – normally when they’re talking back and fighting – so this will prove easier than anticipated. The bounty is slight, so dragging it into the carbonite chamber is easy enough. You flip some switches and press a few buttons and in no time the bounty is stuck there, waiting to be handed off whenever Mando gets you back to Nevarro.

It’s not until much later that he reappears. You’ve fed the child, fed yourself, left a ration pack for him, and you’re just killing time, waiting for the child to wear himself out so you can finally let the exhaustion take over your body and sleep. Mando leans himself against the wall, watching you as you fuss over the child.

“Thank you,” His modulated voice hits your ears, “I’ve never had someone to help me like that.”

You look at him – this one doesn’t surprise you, the lone warrior who hasn’t allowed anyone but you to travel with him, of course he’s only ever had himself to stitch up his wounds.

“Well, I don’t know how to drive this damn thing,” You speak, knocking your knuckles against the wall next to you, “So it was pretty important for you not to die,” you wait for him to laugh but he doesn’t, “You’re welcome,” you speak quietly then, “Sorry it was a horrible sewing job.”

He walks towards you now, visible limp but better than you imagine anyone else with a similar injury would walk, sitting down on the bench next to you. He’s so close that you can feel the heat emanating from his body. He sets a gloved hand on your own thigh, squeezing it slightly, making your pulse jump. He has to know, right? He has to know that he has this effect on you? That whenever he touches you, though that isn’t often, it makes your blood boil with want. Does he know that as your hands worked to close his wound earlier all you could think about was what his perfect, meaty thigh would feel like wedged between your own?

He doesn’t move his hand, just lets it rest there, thumb rubbing across the material of your trousers, comforting you, because he’d scared you earlier, he knows he did, and he needs you to know he’s never going to leave you, even if he’s not quite ready to verbalise that to you yet. You let your head drop to his shoulder, closing your eyes as he stays there for you, his body offering you’re the comfort you so desperately need.

“I’m always going to fix you Mando,” you speak quietly, “You’ll never have to stitch yourself up ever again.”

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rebelliousstories · 16 days

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Ten Thousand Candles

Kiss Me You Animal

Relationship: Cooper “The Ghoul” Howard x Zylia “The Freak” Shelley

Fandom: Fallout

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff, Strong Language, Mentions of Death and Killing

Word Count: 711

Main Masterlist: Here

Fallout Masterlist: Here

//Chapter Two//

Kiss Me You Animal Masterlist: Here

Summary: Cooper is not too sure if he is impressed or fed up with this new girl. Probably both.

Have you ever seen someone who just looks like if you say the wrong thing, no matter how small, they would hurt you and everyone in the immediate vicinity? That was Cooper Howard right now. He was tearing through the town faster than a bat out of hell, trailing after a girl. Why was he following this girl? Because just a few minutes ago they met, as she stole his bounty that she was now cashing in on.

Walking into town, he just caught the trail of the unearthly colored hair disappearing into the shop where the bounty originated. He gritted his teeth, and waited outside until she was to return. Cooper found a rocking chair, and waited. He was a patient man, and that was being put to the test as he sat there. Most people passed by him without so much as a glance, but others took one look at him and scurried away. It did not much matter to him anymore. He had two hundred years to come to terms with his new state.

Seeing her white hair come through the door, he took note and noticed her shoving something in her bag. He stood up slowly, marching his way up to her while she was distracted.

“Well, gotta say, sure as shit been a long time since someone stole my bounty from right under me.” Howard drawled, almost jovial in his speech. The woman’s head whipped up to see The Ghoul in front of her once more.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be so slow then, Ghoulie.” She teased, finding joy in annoying him.

“I wasn’t slow,” he growled, “you were just a sneaky little minx who can’t keep her sticky fingers away from what’s not hers.” Cooper stepped closer to the woman, assessing whether or not he needed to draw his gun. But she just laughed.

“That ain’t how I remember it.” The still unknown woman got even closer to Cooper, and toyed with the edge of his jacket. He snatched it away, and stepped away with a flourish.

“Now, only time Imma tell you. Give me the caps that you got paid for my bounty, and we’ll be on our way.” His hand rested on his pistol while the other was outstretched.

“And if I don’t give you my caps for my bounty?” She replied, brushing a hand through her hair nonchalantly.

“I’d hate to kill someone as pretty as you now darlin’.” Cooper smiled, and hoped she would do the right thing. As she stood there, contemplating, The Ghoul was steadily losing his patience. She came closer and closer to his outstretched gloved hand, until it was resting right against her stomach. Sifting through her bag, she placed a singular bottle cap in his hand and closed his fingers around it.

“For you troubles. Name’s Zylia, by the way. Next time don’t be so slow.” The now named woman patted Cooper on the shoulder, and began to walk away from him. However, he had different plans. Howard stood there with the cap in his hand, and a million thoughts running through his head. Pocketing the cap, he turned to where Zylia was walking away.

“Do you have a death wish?” He called, making her stop for a brief moment. Even from all this distance, the pink eyes she held pierced his very soul.

“Maybe. What’s it to you?” Zylia responded, toying with a strand of hair.

“Do you know who I am?” Cooper questioned again, fully turning his body to face her.

“No. Should I?” Once more, his patience was being tested. Cooper moved his duster out of the way and rested a hand on his pistol that was still holstered.

“Little girl, I’m really not in the mood for this. Give me the caps.” He repeated, fully ready for a shoot out.

“Little girl? Well, I might be little, but not young enough to be a girl. I’m just gonna be on my way if that’s alright with you, Ghoul.” Again, Zylia turned around and began to walk away from the man. He chuckled softly, before drawing his pistol and aiming it at the girl.

It all happened in a flash, but the sound was one that was an everyday occurrence in the Wastelands.

Bang!

#rebelliousstories #writing #cooper the ghoul howard #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard imagine #cooper howard #cooper howard x oc #the ghoul imagine #the ghoul fallout #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul #the ghoul x oc #fallout imagine #fallout

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danaewrites · 2 months

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Helmet Over Heels

part i: the winter of our discontent

din djarin x reader // read it on AO3

word count: 3.8k

summary: When your path literally collides with a beskar-covered Mandalorian one night, neither of you expect how that meeting will irreversibly change the trajectory of your lives.

You’re pulled into his powerful orbit, agreeing to take care of his son in exchange for adventure and freedom– when he’s not off hunting bounties and inadvertently saving villages in need, that is. It’s the perfect plan. Or it would be, if only your quiet crush on the man would stop growing into something more with every hour you spend together. There’s no way he’d ever feel the same, right?

And Din? Well, he’s been trying (and failing) to convince himself that he’s not completely helmet over heels for you since day one. But a Mandalorian can only repress his emotions for so long…

(This fic takes place sometime after Season 2. Din’s back on his bounty-hunting business with a Razor Crest that was never destroyed and an adorable green sidekick who won’t stop chewing on its wires.)

tags: strangers to friends to lovers, slow-ish burn, nicknames, touch-starved din djarin and fem!reader, canon-compliant through season 2 and then Jesus takes the wheel :P

author's notes:

hello and welcome to my first ever mando fic!! i binged the entirety of the first two seasons in a week to get me through tedious internship work and accidentally fell in love with our favorite space dad and his cute green child along the way. oops (i regret nothing)

with the outline i currently have for this fic, it’ll be around 11-12 chapters, although that’s likely to grow as we get deeper into the story. the posting schedule might be anywhere from once a week to once a month, but this wip *will* be finished.

the second chapter's scheduled to upload next week as a little treat for y'all, so if you want to catch it then hit that follow button or ask to be added to my taglist! ;)

read it all here: part i, part ii, part iii, part iv coming soon!

You watched the last of tonight’s drunken patrons stumble out of the cantina and into the bitter Nath night with a relieved sigh. Wiping your hands on the stained apron tied around your waist, you fished a set of bronze keys out of a tiny pocket and began your nightly walk around the perimeter of the bar, locking doors and pulling down rusty shutters as you went. The cantina was silent aside from your quiet shuffling– a welcome reprieve from its usual crowded bustle and chatter so hectic you could barely hear your own thoughts.

You hummed softly as you adjusted booths back to their original positions and swept crumbs off of battered tabletops, wishing that the small holospeaker at the edge of the room hadn’t been broken in a recent bar fight. Swaying to its pre-Imperial oldies throughout your long, exhausting shifts had been one of the only perks of working in this run-down cantina, but without the soothing ambience of music, a chill threatened to sink into your bones and paralyze you with the deep depression this side of the planet seemed to have succumbed to.

You never planned to stay here for as long as you had. No one really did, except for criminals who knew that no one would willingly come here to search for them and locals who had never known anything else. Nath might have been charming, once– all soft snowflakes and peaceful walks under sepia-toned streetlights– but that was before the Empire had destroyed every semblance of comfort and culture and replaced them with brutalist brick structures that were already crumbling under the weight of their makers’ crimes. The fear lingered long after the Imps had finally left the post, reflected in the sad eyes of the fishmongers’ children and the way one would be hard-pressed to find a factory worker who didn’t spend his nights nursing a bottle and the ghosts of blaster scars across his back.

You had your own scars, of course, but you still held out hope that things would change and you’d make it out of here– although that hope was gradually diminishing as off-world shuttles visited less and less frequently and the permanent winter worsened. Five years ago, you’d been unceremoniously dropped off at the town’s dingy port, forced to land after your shuttle to Corellia was damaged by an unexpected detour through an asteroid field. You’d taken the cantina job thinking you’d only stay long enough to pay for passage on an outgoing ship, but soon learned that any shuttle risking the terrible weather to land here would also charge an exorbitant boarding price– one that would take you years to afford with the meager pay you received. And your tentative plan of stowing away on a spice freighter and sneaking off once it arrived at its destination (you weren’t picky about where, so long as it wasn’t Nath) was tempered by the increasingly likelihood that you’d get blown to pieces the minute you entered space by one of the pirate gangs that ruled the atmosphere these days. So– you were stuck here, at least for now.

The smell of something burning in the back of the cantina drew you out of your thoughts. Cursing, you raced to the kitchen, where your dinner was quickly blackening on the stove. Kriff. You shut off the burner, staring at the charred mess before you for a few seconds before dejectedly scraping it into an almost-overflowing trash bin. Well, there went your plan to eat quickly and head to your tiny flat before the storm outside worsened. Your rental pod had barely enough space for your bed and a miniscule bathroom, so you had to use the cantina kitchen if you wanted to stay fed– but the stove here was so old, it took half an hour longer than usual to cook anything. You resigned yourself to another night sleeping in a booth, since the flurry outside would prevent you from navigating your way home safely.

You sliced up a few vegetables and set them to simmer in a pot with the last of the herbed broth and sandseed noodles from today’s lunch special, glancing at the bin next to you. It was probably a good idea to take out the foul-smelling waste before you were sealed in next to it all night. Wrinkling your nose at the unappealing scraps of food threatening to fall off the top of the pile, you hefted the bin up and maneuvered it through the back door of the cantina, being careful not to stain your apron any more than it already was. The harsh winds nipped at every sliver of exposed skin and dusted your hair with a pearlescent sheen of snow, making you wish you’d thought to slip on something warmer than your thin blouse and trousers before leaving the protection of the kitchen.

You navigated through the blizzard to the end of the dark alleyway behind the cantina, your path lit only by two buzzing lamps at each end of the narrow corridor. You scrunched your face up against the cold, willing yourself to keep walking despite your extremely limited night vision. Just a few more steps, and then you’d be free of your compostable burden for the night. You turned the corner, stepping to the left where you knew the trash compactor was, and immediately collided with a giant hunk of metal.

Said hunk of metal cursed loudly as it stumbled head-first over the garbage bin you’d dropped in shock after the impact, falling forward into the snow. “Dank ferrik!”

Your eyes grew wide as the glow of the flickering streetlights illuminated the very-much-alive Mandalorian lying in front of you. It was just your luck that you’d managed to potentially injure the kind of warrior you’d only heard about in hushed rumors, or at least someone who was wearing the armor of one. Okay, injure was a strong word, but all that cold, hard beskar couldn’t be very comfortable to fall on despite the protection it offered.

“Stars, I’m so sorry, let me–”

You reached forward, stretching out a hand to help the Mandalorian up when a small green head suddenly popped up out of a tawny bag slung across their side. You yelped in surprise, losing your balance on the icy road and toppling forward. You winced, bracing yourself and preparing for the inevitable impact– except right as you were about to hit the ground, one steel-clad arm shot out to grab your wrist while the other steadied your hips. You gasped at the warmth of the unexpected contact, pulse quickening as you stared at the–man? person?–beneath you, the only thing preventing you from a nasty collection of bruises appearing across your side tomorrow.

A deep baritone sounded from the helmet– likely modulated, from the slightly grainy tone. “Are you alright?”

Definitely a man, then. You pointedly ignored the butterflies that stirred to life in your stomach at the sound of his voice, praying that he would attribute your shiver to the cold and nothing more. Stars, this was getting more embarrassing by the minute. You tucked away the thought, making a note to do some serious soul-searching later on about the depth of your touch-starvation and its potential impact on your mental state.

You gave a quick nod, muttering your thanks and carefully rolling to the side as you dusted clumps of snow off of your trousers. You looked up at him to see him gently picking up the little green creature you’d been so startled by earlier and tucking it back into the bag, pulling his cloak over its head to shield it from the chill. That was… rather cute, actually. You thought Mandalorians were supposed to be scary fighters, dedicated to nothing but their Creed, but this one was clearly fond of the small thing clinging to him. You couldn’t blame him; the green creature’s big ears and bug eyes were adorably endearing.

The cold winds picked up pace, and you wondered why anyone would be out here during such a storm as you got to your feet. Anyone local would have sought shelter hours ago, and no freighter would dare to land in such conditions.

“Are you... lost?” You tentatively asked. “Can I help you find someone?”

The Mandalorian remained silent for several long seconds, helmet tilted slightly. Whatever he saw in your face seemed to have settled well with him, and he released a quiet huff through the modulator.

“I need to get food. For my son,” he eventually admitted, gesturing to the baby peeking up at you.

“Oh!” You brightened up considerably as you remembered the flavorful soup you’d started earlier. “Well– I work in a cantina back there,” you said, pointing behind you at the rusted door that led to the kitchen.

“We’re technically closed right now, but I’m sure I can work something out.” You winked at the curious child, smiling as he let out a happy babble.

The Mandalorian’s helmet hadn’t moved from its focus in your direction, and you suddenly felt nervous. Which seemed stupid, because–yeah, it felt intense, but was he even looking at you from behind the dark visor of his helmet? For all you knew, he was making the most ridiculous expression at you behind all that beskar and you’d never know. The absurd thought made you snicker softly. If no one could see your face, you’d definitely act goofy at people all the time.

The Mandalorian’s head tilted slightly, and whoops, he’d definitely noticed your little moment now if he hadn’t been paying attention before. Your face reddened and you quickly gestured for him to follow you as you unlocked the door to the kitchen, relieved when you heard the soft clink of his armor come through the doorway behind you.

You placed your hands on your hips, surveying the dimly lit cantina and deciding to lead the duo to a worn table close to the bar. It looked unassuming, but the chairs were the comfiest in the cantina and you figured the baby would appreciate something softer than the coarse bag he’d been in.

Once they’d gotten settled in, you set about finding a mug of blue milk for the kid and some water for the Mandalorian. You brought the drinks over to the pair, hiding a smile at how eagerly the little green baby reached for his.

“You’re pretty thirsty, huh?” You observed as the baby slurped up the cerulean beverage. Shooting the tall, beskar-clad man a glance out of the corner of your eye, you continued, “Must have been quite the trip. Most people don’t usually travel to this side of the galaxy for vacation.”

To your disappointment, the Mandalorian remained as still and stoic as ever. Well, that just wouldn’t do. He was your first visitor in years from anywhere outside of Nath, and you were absolutely not letting him leave without getting a bit of juicy detail on life outside of your current drudgery. You decided to go for another angle.

“You know, kids need good role models in their lives. Ones that show them how to socialize with others and communicate. Display generosity of the loquacious sort, even.” You shrugged innocently in your best attempt to mimic the overly casual air the old women at the tea shop always used before passive-aggressively attempting to set you up with their stay-at-home-nephews. “Never too late to start.”

You got the distinct feeling that he was laughing at you under that helmet. Rude. Huffing, you sat down across the table from him and crossed your arms, trying to guess where under his visor his eyes were. Once you were half-confident that you’d found the spot, you stared intensely at it with your most intimidating expression. Which wasn’t saying much, seeing as you had the firepower of a soggy Lothkitten and probably came off as more desperate than anything.

“Isn’t there some sort of honor code for Mandalorians? One that includes being noble to strangers and whatnot?”

No response. Argh.

“Well, I’d consider it pretty noble to provide a lonely soul such as myself with a bit of storytelling entertainment on this frigid evenin–”

Your final attempt at prying some information out of the armored man was interrupted by the sound of the kitchen timer beeping increasingly louder and louder until you were sure the whole cantina was vibrating with the tinny noise.

“KRIFF, not again!”

You bolted out of your seat towards the kitchen, but not before you heard a thinly disguised huff of amusement coming out of the modulator. Okay, he was definitely laughing at you.

Once you’d successfully saved the soup from imminent destruction-via-cursed-stove and somewhat regained your pride, you finally made your way back to the table with three steaming bowls of noodles. You placed the smallest one in front of the child, who cooed happily and immediately began plopping his hands in the bowl. The Mandalorian huffed in exasperation and began prying little green fingers out of the bowl. “Hey. Quit that, we talked about this,” he grumbled. You winced as broth sloshed out of the bowl, landing dangerously close to the baby’s tunic. The kid’s lower lip started to tremble, a blaring warning sign that a tantrum was going to occur in approximately ten seconds if he wasn’t distracted from his current petulant state.

“Oh– hey, bug, don’t do that,” you said as both father and son turned to look at you. You leaned closer to the wide-eyed baby and pointed to his bowl. “That’s pretty hard to scoop up, yeah? Look, there are easier ways to eat it,” you explained as you brought the bowl up to your lips and raised an eyebrow, hoping that he would do the same. The kid blinked up at you for several long seconds before turning to his father with outstretched hands. The Mandalorian sighed, but held up the dish as requested. You hid a smile behind your bowl at the sight.

“Good job! Okay, now we’re going to try something fun–” You mimed slurping up the soup with a silly face at the baby, who burbled something incomprehensible in response but finally followed your example and focused on his food.

When you were sure that the baby’s clothes were no longer in danger of being drenched by broth– and by extension, frozen stiff whenever the pair headed back into the storm–you quietly tucked into your own meal, closing your eyes at the warm memories the comforting flavours brought. Not for the first time, you missed the earthy smell and placid weather of your homeworld, a stark contrast to this icy prison of a planet.

“You are… good with him.”

Your eyes darted up to find the Mandalorian’s helmet angled directly at you. Your face heated at the observation and you gave a small laugh, willing yourself to resist fidgeting under his gaze.

“I– thank you, I’ve always liked kids. Used to volunteer in the nursery back home, actually, before the Empire stole every resource from it they could.”

Your eyes widened with sudden realization. “You’re not Imperial, are you?”

The Mandalorian scoffed vehemently, the most emotion he’d displayed since he’d fallen back in the alley. “No.”

Well, that answered a few questions at least. You were prepared to move on from the conversation when he hesitantly spoke, “My ship ran into a few… asteroids. Is there a mechanic nearby?”

You set down your spoon, thinking. The closest asteroid field was four solar systems away and almost entirely inaccessible if one was traveling through hyperspace, so the likelihood that he’d truly run into one was small. In that case, he probably had damage from some kind of fight— seeing as the average pacifist wouldn’t need that much armor— and would want someone reliable who wasn’t going to ask questions about laser-sized holes in his ship’s hull.

He hadn’t tried to kill or rob you yet, so you figured his personal tussles were none of your business and decided to give him an honest recommendation. You directed him to a small mechanical hub close to the ice huts where there were few ships and even fewer nosy citizens. “The owner, Sanna, is the best in town,” you admitted. “I haven’t had the chance to visit her personally, but she’s known for being very discreet.”

He nodded, entering the coordinates you’d given him into some sort of device on his wrist. You tried to contain your pleased expression at correctly guessing his reason for being on Nath. And it had only taken you… well, four tries, but that was better than nothing!

“What is your price?”

You blinked, confused. “My price?”

There was that increasingly frequent head tilt again. His helmet tipped forward, scanning you. “For the food. And information.” He clarified slowly.

“Oh,” you spoke, surprised. “It’s okay, I was making dinner for myself anyway. And you’d have found out the location of the mechanic from someone else eventually,” you shrugged.

You couldn’t see his face, but from the disbelieving tone of his voice you imagined his eyebrows to be raised. “Not many people would turn down credits.”

You winced, reminded of your costly dream to get off-world, but there was no way you’d accept this stranger’s money for such a small favor when he had a kid he needed to provide for. “Yeah, well. Guess I’m not most people,” you laughed sheepishly.

The Mandalorian muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like no, you definitely are not. You squinted at him accusingly.

“Hey, you better not be making fun of my interrogation tactics, metal man.” You leaned forward to poke his soup bowl emphatically. Hm, that was strange– he hadn’t so much as touched it. Did Mandalorians follow some kind of special diet? You resolved to look that up the next time you had access to a datapad.

“Wouldn’t dream of doing that to a lonely soul like yourself.” He responded dryly.

You gasped in mock offense, forgetting your previous train of thought and internally groaning that he’d remembered that part of your disastrous attempt to weasel information out of him. Yeesh. Not your most eloquent moment. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you cared,” you shot back in the most syrupy-sweet tone you could muster.

The kid grinned up at you with sharp teeth and blew a soupy bubble towards your face in response. You smiled down at him, adding, “But if you really want to repay me, then bring me back a good story about this little guy the next time you crash land through a— what did you call it? Asteroid field.” You highly doubted the duo would ever willingly return, but if making a deal gave this man peace of mind to know his imaginary debt was settled in some future way then so be it.

The lights in the cantina began to flicker and you got up with a frown, walking over to the electrical box behind the bar. The dull grey display, crammed with incomprehensibly labelled switches and flashing lights that would give anyone a headache, alerted you that the main generator had been depleted of power. You scrambled over to a window, prying open the shutters a crack only to be met with a dark swirl of snow that completely obscured your view of the street. Stars, the storm had worsened quickly— there was absolutely no chance you were making it home tonight. You slammed the shutter closed and turned around with a grimace that didn’t go unnoticed by the Mandalorian.

“What is it?” He questioned, modulated voice growing wary at the expression on your face.

“We’re running out of power, the main generator’s down from the storm so these lights are going to have to shut off soon. I think there’s enough in the emergency generator to heat the cantina through the night, though.” You hesitated, not sure how to break the bad news. “Unfortunately, the weather is— unmanageable. You’re not making it out of here to the mechanic’s until the blizzard lets up.”

He didn’t respond for a few seconds, so you continued talking. “I was.. planning on sleeping here tonight.” You muttered, trying to think of a plan. You glanced at the sleepy child resting on the Mandalorian’s beskar chest plate. “I usually keep a couple blankets here for that reason— pretty sure there’s enough to cover the baby, but you might need to be okay with sharing.”

You worried your bottom lip between your teeth, searching your memory for where the emergency supplies were kept. Kriff. How were you supposed to know that you’d be snowed in, and with guests no less? Your grumpy boss really should have put instructions for this type of situation in the closing shift directions instead of the usual “sweep the floors” or your personal favorite: “if the customer creates a corpse, they gotta clean it up themselves”.

The Mandalorian interrupted your musings with a firm, “No need,” gesturing to the charcoal cloak fastened around his pauldrons. You eyed it dubiously, but supposed that the material looked thick enough. That was probably to your benefit, anyway, since you were something of a notorious blanket hog and didn’t think he’d take kindly to having his sheets ripped off him in the dead of night. That seemed like a quick way to wake up with more bruises than you went to sleep with.

“Well— alright then,” you sighed at last, tossing the smaller of your blankets to the man and tucking the other into the side of a nearby booth. “I’ll shut off the lights in a moment. Refresher’s that way, if you need it,” you pointed to the end of a dimly lit hall. The Mandalorian nodded once, then returned his attention to carefully cocooning the child in his lap. You set to work fluffing up your own makeshift bed, folding the cleanest dishtowel you could find into a pillow before trudging over to the light switch and enveloping the room in darkness.

Quietly feeling your way back to your booth, your eyes adjusted to the pitch-black little by little. You pulled your hair out of its messy updo and curled up on the seat, body slowly relaxing. It was strange, hearing the muffled rhythm of breaths coming from lungs that weren’t your own, but oddly soothing in its own way.

“G’night,” you mumbled, half-asleep already, consciousness swirled down the psychological drain by the overpowering storm raging outside. The lull-and-hitch of the baby’s soft snores echoing off of solid beskar set you drifting off to sleep faster than you had as a child, so lost to the world that you were sure you dreamed the quiet, belated whisper that sounded back to you.

taglist: @magpiencrow @that-kid143 @lilly-aliyah @itmustbegreattobecalledtheitgirl

comment if you'd like to be tagged for any of my works/fandoms in the future! :)

read on: part ii, part iii, more coming soon!

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sunflowersteves · 1 year

Text

forehead kiss || d.d.

chapter one of partners in crime

pairing || din djarin x f!reader

summary || With a bounty on the loose, you and Din are off on a chase.

author's note || i can't wait to get more into this series, i have so much planned!! also i promise next chapter will have smut ;)

warnings || angst, insecurities, fluff, lowkey slowburn, canon-typical violence, eventual smut, no moff gideon plot, din in love, mutual pining

series masterlist || masterlist

Beads of sweat run down your forehead as a defeated sigh leaves your lips. Your muscles were screaming at you for an ounce of a break. The bounty was supposed to be easy, incredibly easy—but it felt like you had been chasing him for hours on end.

You huffed in annoyance, while the Mandalorian just stayed silent and calculating.

Greef had offered you and the Mandalorian a hefty bounty since the last one he slid over was almost nothing—only about fifty credits to be split between the two of you. A Prince from Toydaria had lost his way in the depths of the galaxy after pirates had attacked his ship and held him for ransom.

From some unknown sources that Greef gave, you were able to find information that the Prince was alive and hiding on Tatooine. The King and Queen placed a bounty on him, unharmed, in hopes to find their son.

You figured he would want to return back as quickly as possible—no doubt missing his family and the luxury life as royalty. What you weren't expecting, though, was how good the Prince was at hiding. He never seemed to ever want to return.

He was quick and cumbersome—any trail that you and Mando left behind, he was able to sniff the two of you out. He somehow knew each and every time you were nearby as he ran through alleyways and hid in crowded markets.

He out ran the two of you all around Mos Eisley. First, you went through a cantina. Then a guild, and then some poor woman’s home. You three scared the living shit out of her as she flung a greasy pan into the air. You and the Mandalorian even dodged the soap bottle she threw at you.

Unfortunately, though, the Prince was also exceptionally great at dodging your attacks, which only made you groan in annoyance even further. The last time the two of you saw him, he had headed straight for the busy markets. So, the two of you sat tight—shoulders nonchalantly leaning against the cantina wall while the Mandalorian stood rigid.

“Still no sign of him yet?”

An exasperated sigh buzzed through his modulator and it was the only signal he gave to you that there was no sign of him. You knew how stressful some of these hunts could be. He didn’t want to stay on this planet for long in fear that someone might stalk near the ship as the kid was fast asleep.

You and the Mandalorian are partners in crime, of sorts. It was the closest thing you could call whatever was happening on the Razor Crest. One day, you were both after the same bounty and you fought tooth and nail for them.

Your lip was bloody and your stomach was bruised, his head swirled slightly to the right—his balance a little off. You could tell by his dazed stare that you had only a few seconds to grab the bounty and go—and you almost did until you saw a pair of green ears poke out from under his bag.

The Mandalorian tried to shove the kid back into his brown pouch, but you had already seen him. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out—a swirling of thoughts crossed your mind. Then, unexpectedly for the Mandalorian, you let the harsh grip that you had on the bounty’s arm go, and shoved the tied up man toward the Mandalorian.

“Here.” You said. “For the kid.”

The Mandalorian didn’t say a word as he shoved the bounty over his shoulder and started to walk away. Almost ten feet passed you, though, he stopped. He turned around and nodded his head toward you—inviting you to come along. You, confused, stayed silent as well, but followed the strange Mandalorian and his green baby.

You would help around the ship with the baby. You would give him aid in catching bounties. You would tinker around on the ship, despite his first panicked expressions.

Sooner or later it made Din realize that he never wanted to let you go. You were his family. His clan. He had finally found his purpose. Little did he know, you sought the same visions too.

So ever since that day, you never left.

You scan the crowds and search for any signs of the Prince. Your hand traced the blaster that sat right in its holster. It was something you did when you needed to concentrate. Din, personally and secretly, took note of the little details of you. “Maker—where is that fucking kid?”

He turned slightly to look at you, watching as your fingers glided over the barrel of the blaster once more. He could feel his heart thump loudly against his armor—pressing against his ear drums.

“He’ll turn up soon.” He breathed in deep, trying to stay focused on the task.

Ever since the two of you met, he had always been so enamored by your presence. There was just something about you that had him aching to know more, to know every single detail about you. Yet every single time, he would push those feelings down to the bottom chasm of his mind.

Every laugh, every smile, every kick and punch, every soft touch, every star-crossed glance, every little thing he compartmentalized inside of his head. He couldn’t get you out of his mind if he tried.

He was in love with you, that much he knew. His mind was constantly clouded with thoughts about you. His mind was becoming antsy—itching to press his fingertips against the soft plains of your skin. He wasn’t sure just how many more times he could pass you in the ship without wanting to kiss your cheeks.

“Mando! There he is!”

You don’t even wait for an answer as you race down the middle of the market. The kid turned around with bright wide eyes at the sight of you bolting towards him.

You could see his chest start to come closer and closer, your arm reaching out as far as you could to snatch the kid. You could hear Din’s heavy armor clunk behind you, the fast speed of his legs carrying him.

Suddenly, the Prince cut a corner and ran into a small area of jorgan fruit stands. Your body almost crashed into a handful of crates, but you still chased him nonetheless.

The kid looks back at you and sticks his tongue out, teasing you for being slower than he was.

“Oh for—this fucking kid!”

Your eyes widened slightly as an old man started walking right in front of your path. You panic at the thought of hitting some poor old man until you feel a sharp tug at your waist, and you flung forward, soaring over the old man. You were able to catch yourself from falling, and you continued to run after the Prince.

You turn your head back around and see Mando’s grappling hook start to sling back towards him. He gives you a small nod before you turn back around, trying to focus on the hunt.

To your luck, the kid finally starts to get tired from all the ducking and dodging, and his speed starts slowing down. Your heart is racing as you stretch out your hand once more. You were so close, fingertips just barely touching the leather. You try to pick up your pace a little bit, your legs tensing rapidly from the hard ground.

You smile in victory as your hand encloses around the jacket, your whole body leaning forward to snatch him. The two of you tumble forward and roll onto the hard ground, sand flinging around in a dust cloud.

Your hands immediately wrap around the bounty’s arms, while he pushes his arms against you in an attempt to get out of your grasp. Shiny armor beamed in front of your eyes as the Mandalorian approached the two of you. He reached down and cuffed the squirming Prince.

He held out his hand to you, one which you gladly accepted. Din’s heart skipped as he watched your smile beam up at him. His body becomes rigid and still as your hands find themselves perched up against his chest.

His ears almost warmed at your excited laughter from finally catching this simple bounty. Out of all the problems of today, he wasn’t expecting to feel the soft warmth of your skin radiate onto his beskar. He wasn’t expecting your touch to be so soft or the smile on your face to be so contagious.

He found himself smiling wide, one hand reaching down to capture your wrist. What stole his breath away, though, was when your hands moved up to his helmet, slowly making him lean down to touch your foreheads together.

He whipped his head backward as fast as he could, his heart slamming against his ribcage.

“W-What was that?” He breathed heavily.

You didn’t dare move out of his arms at first, not wanting to make any sudden movements. Although, he didn’t move either, so you both stood there with your arms secured around his forearm.

“On my planet, touching foreheads is a greeting but it can also be a way of celebration.”

There was a small pause as you hear Mando’s chest rise and fall hard like he couldn’t quite breathe right. Your eyebrow twitched in concern. “Why? I didn’t do anything wrong, did I?”

His head moved down to stare at the way your hands rested upon his forearm, squeezing the indestructible metal.

“I- No.”

When his visor made its way back to your face, you didn’t look too convinced. He wanted to snap his eyes close and retreat to the Razor Crest. He wanted to let the ground swallow him whole. His hands started to become clammy, while thoughts raced against one another.

He couldn’t tell you that what you had done was a kiss. A Keldabe kiss that he has seen many of those in his covert do with their clans.

“Okay.”

He watched in agony as that bright smile you wore started to fade, your arms slowly retracting themselves. You still weren't convinced, that much he definitely knew.

“I’m sorry if I disrespected—”

Before his brain could really catch up to his heart, Din interrupted you by pulling your wrists forward, and you crash into his arms. Your hands were bunched up on his broad chest, and your heart thumped against your chest. Your eyes start to flutter close as his head leaned down to touch yours.

You could hear the long breaths leaving his modulator, and you could feel his shaky hands move up and down your back, soothing the rough outlines of your shirt.

Finally, Din's heart felt calm. He could feel the warmth that spread across his body at the feeling of your head pressed against his helmet. His hands squeezed your wrists even tighter, as if he never wanted to let go.

“Thank you.”

You swallowed, only allowing yourself to nod as a response. Mando was trying—an attempt to make amends and follow the culture of your own people.

However, the tranquility only lasted for so long as his brain panicked and his heart thumped across his chest. His ears almost not able to catch the sound of your breath as it flowed through his modulator. Just as quickly as he had done earlier, his body retracted itself from you.

You almost shiver at the lack of warmth that surged through your body from the mere touches he gave you. You looked down at the golden sand, awkwardness filling your stomach. You knew Mando wasn't telling you something.

You could tell that it must have been something important from his reaction and silent glances he had been giving you after you parted from him.

Mando says your name, the modulator picking up the confusion in his voice.

"Yeah, Mando?"

He looks around, then turns back to you. "Where's the Prince?"

“Oh—fuck—maker—where did the kid go?”

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #din djarin #the mandalorian x y/n #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #star wars #star wars fanfiction #star wars x reader

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1moreoffkeyanthem · 9 months

Text

Aight here’s a few of my favorite SP fics that no one asked for

I’m generally more of a one shot kinda lad but since getting into South Park I’ve read SO MANY GREAT longer ones so here’s just some highlights: (all on ao3)

Ship In A Bottle FayOfTheForest. One of the first sp AU’s I read, we got PIRATES. HOMOEROTIC SWORD FIGHTING. WLW CREEK. SLOW BURN STYLE. (Injured stan my beloved) KENNY. BUNNY. The parents SUCK. Literally such a kickass story!

This House of Mine by OrcaTimes. VIOLENCE. GANG ACTIVITY. CREEK. I really love the characterization of everyone in this fic, especially Craig. Seriously man. Also THE K2 IN THIS SLAYS (we got some PRIME Kyle injury too god I love him) THE ENDING IS SO SATISFYING TOO!!!

Peppermint by boxwinebaddie. Bro. Literally my all time favorite style fic. I’m so serious. The writing and story are BEAUTIFUL LIKE SO FUCKING AMAZING The PINING. THE HEADCANONS. I COULD GO ON FOR HOURS. Pls if you check out any of my Recs READ THIS ONE.

Maybe For Real This Time & The Kids Are Alright by WeirdBBQDad. Dude. I have no words other than KENNY FUCKIN MCCORMICK. Also Style. Also families. Just- just check it out.

Hang ‘Em High by littledeathsinmusicalbeds. Cowboy au. Creek. Established Style. Bounty hunter Kenny. Massive slay.

The Thief Trilogy by wintergrew. WHEN I SAY IT LIVES IN MY HEAD RENT FREE. The world building is PHENOMENAL literally my favorite SOT AU OF ALL. Long as hell, but SO worth the read holy fuck. I adore Stick Of Truth.

You’re The Prettiest Boy I’ve Ever Seen by burnt_pancakes. CREEK. STYLE. MISCOMMUNICATION. BUNNY. KENNY IN GENERAL. the friendships in this are PERFECT.

Your name written upon mine by sooduhnim. SOT STYLE. Soulmate au that’s INCREDIBLE seriously I love this one and can’t wait for an update.

How We Began by PastorCraigEnjoyer. Ok yes I’m cringy as shit for the self promo but this is my favorite long fic that I’ve written. Slow burn SOT STYLE, no war just fantasy gays falling in love, injury, sickfic, all my favorite bullshit and I loved writing it ok.

N1SM by kiritila. A classic in the fandom. Style. A masterpiece.

Between the Sinners and the Saints by KaiterTot. Oh. My. God. When I say this one altered my brain chemistry… THE ENDING DUDE HOLY-

A Few Last Wolves by Jwink85. Yes, I am a resident of the State Of Style by way of Creek Nation but this is Cryle. And it’s a slay. If y’all liked Frank and Bills episode in TLOU, it’s kind of an au of that. It works man.

Winter Butterfly ALSO by Jwink85 and ALSO Cryle. What can I say it’s incredible. The Style in the beginning is CUTE until shit hits the fan, too, and I thought this fic was a really interesting take on all the characters and relationships. I adore Tweek in this one too.

Something Sweet Like Honey by bluebryy. Ok this one is unsettling and creepy Craig makes me feel icky but I cannot WAIT for an update on that fic, I got my fingers crossed for Style endgame. Also CHECK OUT THEIR ART ON HERE they converted me to a short king Kyle truther and it’s a slay tbh.

Ladies and Gentleman We Are Floating In Space by gremlinteeth. A classic. The first sp multi chapter I read. THE LORE BRO. CREEK. STYLE. STANS CHARACTERIZATION GOES SO HARD HES MY BOIIIII

Ok. That’s all my recs for now. Sry for being insane.

#fandom #south park #style #fanfiction #creek #au #stick of truth #ao3 fanfic #sp bunny #south park kenjorine #fic rec #i’m insane #sp fic #cryle #recommendations #south park k2

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fushipurro · 4 months

Text

Red Lights Red Flags

Chapter 5 - Gold

<- Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter ->

☆ Content: 18+ MDNI, f!reader, ronin!toji, courtesan!reader, jjk historical au, mentions of death/alcohol/abuse, past non-con, pet names, past trauma, angst, hurt/comfort, little smutty, dry humping, biting/scratching, nipple foreplay

☆ Word Count: 2.7k

New Year’s Eve is one of – if not – the busiest days of years, and that goes for the brothel. Some folks choose to spend the holiday with their family, paying homage to higher powers. Others choose to spend it by partaking in a false sense of love masked in decadence.

The streets of the district are packed with patrons coming and going. Many are barely able to keep themselves standing on their own two legs given the sheer amount of alcohol coursing through their system like it’s their lifeline.

Rumors of the murders have evolved into many taking sides thanks to previous victims of the four coming out to honor the assailant. That side tends to lean more into the women, specifically other courtesans or unlucky girls as opposed to those with more hidden, but similar values to the deceased.

The Zenin Clan went forward with their plans, posting the bounty through their military network. Their appearances in the brothel have been becoming more common as of late according to Shion. It’s mostly in attempts to scour the public in search of Toji, hoping to use his habits against him. No such luck so far as he remains three steps ahead of their every move.

You’ve done your best to keep a low profile, diligently working on your tasks and staying close to Shion’s side. Toji sneaking in through your window just before dawn to see you has become your thing, like some forbidden love. Daybreak has since become the time of day you most look forward to, with the sun peeking through, lighting up the darkness as it heralds in his return.

He stays by your side as long as he can until you fall asleep, admiring your performances, wanting to hear about your day, and all the little things in between. So long as he can leave having made you smile or laugh, then that’s enough for now.

Toji tells you of his own stories too. Now that his samurai title as been stripped, he’s now become something of a boogeyman to the populace. A stray Oni, disguised as a ronin, that wanders the historic city.

As you bided your time with chores, you’re alerted by your coworker to a guest waiting in your room. A tray of food is passed to you, and you make your way up to whomever awaits.

You take a deep breath before announcing yourself. It’s the most you can do to pump yourself up for whatever sort of client is on the other side of the doors. You enter as calmly as you can, keeping your head low in a bow, but your expression is stripped away when an all too familiar voice calls your name.

In that moment, the air is taken from your lungs and your skins gone clammy and cold.

No… it can’t be? Why here? Why now!?

You raise your head, ready to confirm it with your own fearful eyes.

“…Dad?”

This feels like a sick dream. So much so that the nausea is already bubbling up yet… you’re awake, no doubt about that.

“It’s good to see you again,” he starts off calm, like nothing the past two years happened. “You look good.” And it’s as though every emotion you could possibly feel comes crashing down you with the force of a tidal wave.

Here before you is a man who you were supposed to be able to trust with your entire being. The man half responsible for bringing you into this world to teach you the ways of life and love. Instead, he became a coward; tormenting you until finally abandoning you to your demise all for a bottle of sake.

Which speaking of, this is the first you’ve seen him in so long not holding one. Even the tray in your shaky hands is lacking that foul liquid. He looks to you with a smile nearly forgotten from your memories, so different from the grief-stricken anger you’ve come to know hauntingly well.

What do you even say in this situation? “Hi dad, it’s so nice to see you again, how have you been? Oh yeah no I’ve been perfect, I love getting beaten and fucked against my will!” Excellent conversation!

Before any coherent response comes out of your mouth, your eyes have long since glossed over in tears. The sensation of one droplet landing on your cold skin is enough to pull you from your head as you tighten your fist around the fabric of your kimono.

“W-what do you want?”

“It’s been a while,” He’s silent for a moment, ultimately sighing, “I just wanted to see how you’re doing, and… to apologize. For everything.”

Now that’s rich.

“You can’t possibly expect me to forgive you now,” you spit venom, fueled by the fiery emotions you’ve worked hard to keep at bay.

You feel a knot of thorns constricting your heart with every passing moment spent in this room. What was once a source of happiness was now just a cesspool of poison, so toxic and vile to breathe in.

“I know, and I don’t expect you to,” he says with your name punctuating the sentence. The pang you feel in your chest hearing it from him hurts from all the lost love. “I’m trying to get better and make things right.” He looks down to his knees with a sullen expression. “I’m sorry. I truly am.”

Now what do you do? Can you even believe him?

Part of you wants to break down and sob, wishing that he can experience a fraction of what you’ve suffered. The other half of you wants to forgive him in an effort to restore the family you once had that brought so much joy and purpose to your life.

You don’t do anything just yet, just staring between him and the walls with such bittersweet feelings conveyed in your gaze. The more he smiles, the more you can almost see your mother by his side alive and well, smiling at you like everything’s okay. That everything can go back to normal if you let it.

But she’s not there ─ she can’t be ─ no, not when she’s buried six feet under.

The only thing now to tether you to this Earth is the one hope you have left. A man equally as scarred as you who always has his head held high no matter what he’s up against. If he’s able to do against all odds, then that’s all the more reason for you to try and do the same.

Just as you had done before entering this godforsaken room, you take a deep, grounding breath.

“I cannot forgive you. Not now, not after everything you’ve done.” You continue to hold the fabric tight in your hands, knuckles white from the pressure. With a stern voice, you tell him, “I am however willing to listen to what you have to say.”

Your father sighs with relief, still giving you that gentle smile of old. “Thank you, that’s all I ask.”

“Don’t be mistaken. I’m not doing this for you.”

All is quiet again in your room after your father leaves.

You walk over to the window, propping it open to take in the cold, crisp air. A nice bit of relief after the turmoil you just went through. The first blush of dawn was still a bit off. Stars dotted the breaks in the clouds, meshing with the falling snow. You blink, and suddenly that view is obstructed with the sly grin of Toji himself.

“Hey princess.”

“Toji!” You shoot up from the ground, reaching for his free hand to welcome him in. His other hand grips the framing of the window as he steps inside, onto the tatami.

“Too many fuckin’ people out there tonight,” he scoffs.

“Well it is the new year after all. We’ve been pretty busy ourselves.”

“Yeah?” He settles onto a floor cushion with a resounding huff. “Any assholes bother you today? Seen too many of ‘em outside on my way here.”

His demeanor doesn’t go unnoticed by you, and you can just tell something’s bothering him. Crowds are one thing; it hasn’t made him act like this so that’s not it. You put your worries aside for now, sitting down at his side.

“Thankfully not, but–“

“But?”

You look down and away, “My dad showed up.”

Toji stays quiet, looking to you for any reaction with darkened eyes. He knows of your past, and more importantly the abuse committed by the father in question. He can only imagine why he’d want to show up now.

“He apologized to me,” you tell him. “Told me how he’s trying to quit drinking, taking better care of himself. Even mentioned to me how all my siblings are doing which was nice to hear.”

Toji can just feel his blood boiling. He doesn’t like this feeling nagging at him one bit.

“It almost felt like old times again when…” your voice trails off as tears begin to fall from your eyes. “…we were happy.”

He clasps your side, ushering you into lap in a warm embrace. Not a care in the world as always to how soaked his robes were quickly becoming with your sorrows.

“Did you forgive him?” he says through gritted teeth.

You shake your head against his chest. “No… I don’t think I’ll ever be able to trust him again. But I still want to hear him out.” He sighs, one hand smoothing over your back. “I thought of you though.”

“Oh?” He raises an eyebrow. “Should I be worried?”

“No, no, not at all,” you laugh, relieving him even more. “You’re always so brave no matter what… so I tried to do the same.” You pull back from his body, wiping your tears. “Guess I’m not quite there yet.”

Toji raises his hand to clean any missed spots with a calloused touch, gently fixing your hair on the sides. “You’re doin’ just fine, sweetheart.”

He notices the moonlight reflecting off the dewy look on your face, eyes moving downwards to your lips that are all too close, pulling him into their orbit.

One kiss is all it takes to send warm shivers down your spine, butterflies swarming in your core. His breath ghosts your lips after, jade eyes looking to you for approval.

You nod your head, letting himself return to your plush with desperate pulls and nips. His hand settles in the small of your back, pressing you against him once more with a firm grip. Your fingers reach around his neck, finding purchase with his raven locks, allowing the two of your bodies to unite as one.

Even in the height of winter, all the warmth you needed is right here holding you, refusing to let you go cold without him. His kisses are unrelenting, breaking your mouth with a whine from your own as he moves across your jaw and over your neck.

Your robe slips away from your shoulder with a turn of your head, granting the starved man access to more and more, letting him mark you up at his. Short gasps of pleasure escape from your throat, earning a groan from the man.

Toji’s other hand settles over your hip with his thumb dutifully rubbing circles over your thigh. In between your legs, a pool of warmth fills you like never before. There’s a pressure ─ undoubtably from Toji ─ that builds, threatening the confines of his clothes. It urges you to rock and forth, desperate for some friction.

His lips leave your skin with a pop, a trail of saliva still connecting him to you. “Fuck–“ he grunts, involuntarily jerking his hips upwards. “You feel so damn good.”

In the process of him pulling back, your kimono completely slips off your body, revealing your bare chest to him in all its glory. A salacious grin befalls his face, enraptured by your beauty when you take his hand and place it right over one of your breasts.

A jolt of electricity sparks you when his calloused thumb meets the bulb of your chest, sending a higher pitched moan straight out of your lips. Toji’s head falls to breast unoccupied by his hand, flicking your nipple with his tongue just to hear you mewl again.

Your fingers move from his head to his shoulders, gripping like the talons wielded by a bird of prey. Stars begin to dot your eyes, coming ever closer to a climax from the nipple stimulation alone.

And to Toji, it felt good.

He wants more than anything to lose himself to you right now. To make you happier than anyone ever could because he knows he can. If only you knew just how much you truly meant to him. But as quick as these feelings come, his thoughts are just as fast to remind him of his conversation with Yuki.

Even with you giving him full consent, it doesn’t stop it from feeling wrong to claim you when you’re not fully free just yet.

So, he finds the resolve to push you back just slightly by your shoulders, a scowl over his face over his disappointment with himself.

You say his name breathlessly, that oncoming high dissipating from your body. A slight look of panic came over your eyes at the suddenness, easily enough for Toji to see as he wraps you tightly in his arms.

“’m sorry,” he murmurs alongside your name.

“Did… did I do something wrong?”

“No,” he replies without missing a beat, firm as could be in his tone. “You did nothing wrong.”

You allow silence to take over, relaxing into his vice grip of comfort. His heart hums in your ear like a lullaby of sorts, slowing down as time goes on. His head falls deeper into the crook of your neck, sighing heavily.

“Are you okay?”

“…Yeah.” He pauses, pressing his nose to your neck, inhaling that sweet, comforting smell of you. “Just not the right moment to do this together.”

A gentle light begins to fill the room through the window, the shadow of Toji consuming you as the warmth hits his back. He clicks his tongue, unready to leave just yet despite his best wishes.

“Our first sunrise together,” you softly speak, raising your head to meet his eyes. “Happy New Year, Toji.”

His face lightens up at your smile, shamelessly staring back into your eyes. He decides right then and there they’re his favorite color. For a final time this night (morning), Toji plants a kiss right on your lips, feeling you smile against him as you return the favor lovingly.

You can still feel some lingering tension from the man, so you figure now is as good as any to ask, “What’s troubling you? Not a fan of the holiday?”

His voice rumbles in his throat, “Never had a good reason to celebrate it.”

“Well now you do,” you tell him while tapping his cheeks. “I for one look forward to another year of getting to see you, hopefully.”

“Hopefully?” He raises an eyebrow, lifting you from his lap. “You aren’t getting rid of me that easily, princess. Who do you think I am?” The corners of his mouth upturn into a smirk, one that you’re happy to see dancing across his face again.

“Good, I wouldn’t want to. These meetings are what make me want to celebrate another year of living, much more now than I did before I met you.”

Toji’s hand comes down on the crown of your head, rustling your hair until it looks like you just crawled out of bed after a twelve-hour nap. You open your eyes as he steps away towards the window.

He looks over his shoulder as he steps up onto the frame. “Thanks for the gift, sweetheart.” He winks.

“Gift?” you question, walking after him. “What are you talking about?”

“It was my birthday yesterday,” he answers, dropping out of sight to the ground below.

“Excuse me? Wait– Toji!” You stick your upper half out the window, finding his form looking up at you with a wolfish grin. “You should’ve told me sooner, happy birthday!” you shout, watching as he fades into the alleyways. “You better come back soon; you hear me!?”

While not visible to you, Toji’s face is beaming with joy, just for you ─ because of you. You’re his sacred treasure, glimmering like gold, making the price it takes to live worth it in the end.

☆ Notes: happy birthday my pookie bear <333 my turn to be oiled up and wrapped in a bow for my babygirl jiji to unwrap and enjoy

☆ Taglist: @fandomtrash5092 @catmania-choco

#jjk #toji fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen #jjk toji #jjk au #toji x female reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x reader #toji zenin #toji x you #ronin!toji #courtesan!reader

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entomolog-t · 10 months

Text

Finding Strength

Finally finished a G/t July Prompt; Impulsive! I’ve been planning this story for a little while based off of this post, and I’m so happy for an excuse to start posting it!

- - - -

Next Chapter: Chapter 2

Word count: 2715

CW: Adult language

Life was good, thought Tamius, and he needed it to stay that way. The tiny man slipped out from the small hole he’d made behind the fridge, with more than just a little skip to his step. He found himself dancing as he trotted out from beneath the appliance, some peculiar human song stuck in his head as he strutted out in the open. Like clockwork, at 4:01 pm he had heard the human clamor down the stairs, apparently giving up the hunt for some misplaced bottle of perfume, followed by the thud of the door as she darted out of the house. A near identical scene would play out almost every other day; Always in a rush.

This human's apparent lack of time management leading up to whatever it was humans did when they left their homes was the greatest blessing he could ask for. That titanic fool would pick up her phone, notice the time and barrel out of the house, hastily leaving whatever it was she had been doing unattended. Most days this was usually in the form of food left on the table, alongside whatever they had been doing on their laptop.

He quickened his pace to a jog, the air around him filled with the scent of something absolutely divine awaiting him on the kitchen table. His parents had been so worried about him going out to find a place of his own- but man, they were worried for absolutely nothing. All that fretting and bothersome nagging about safety protocols and potential dangers had nearly had him question if he was ready to go out on his own- but this was so easy! He’d somehow managed to stumble across the easiest human imaginable; The epitome of obliviousness. This colossal oaf a woman was scattered, unorganized, and inattentive; the perfect combination in his mind. Scavenging was always plentiful, and even better yet, she never noticed a single thing he took.

A total ditz, he thought.

His luck hadn’t stopped there either. Even with her chaotic nature, this perfect mess of a human was somehow still wonderfully predictable; Out of the house by 4:00pm nearly everyday, back by 7:00pm, in bed by 10:00pm.

But the best part? That enormous twit was the least intimidating human he’d ever seen. He had watched them countless times, almost pitying them as they struggled with each step up the stairs. Their movements were perpetually stiff and sluggish, as if they were perpetually exhausted… The only time he’d seen any sort of energy from them was when they’d dart out of the house.

He tossed his hook upwards, a smirk playing across his face as it caught the edge of the table on the first try. Oh yeah, this borrowing stuff is a cakewalk. Hand over hand, he scaled the length of kitchen twine he’d swiped a few weeks back, loving how its rough texture provided him extra grip as he climbed.

Heaving himself up, he surveyed his score. He could have kissed that bumbling idiot. There it was, a half finished stack of banana pancakes, complete with chocolate chips and maple syrup. His mouth watered. He walked up to the plate, hands perched on his hips. He had brought a wad of cling wrap to take back food in his bag… but…

Fuck it.

She wouldn’t be home until 7:00, why not enjoy a meal at the table?

Tamius continued to hum that strangely catchy human song, reveling in the freedom of being out in the open. He found himself bouncing along to the rhythm, anticipation building for the oh-so-sweet bounty before him. Nimbly, he danced around the plate, his skillful movements filled with lighthearted vigor, as he avoided stepping in the pools of syrup. He ripped off a large and syrup soaked chunk of pancake, and proceeded to stuff his face. Thank God for dumb huma-

His thought was interrupted by the slam of a door and a myriad of expletives. He felt his body go rigid.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m going to be late.”

Fuck was right.

Deep breath. He hastily scanned his surroundings. Kleenex box on the table. Cup to his right. Bag on the chair- Bingo.

He dove.

Tamius landed in the open bag with a soft thud, rolling into a stand.

He felt a familiar cocksure grin creep back onto his face. Too easy. This human could throw no curveball that could catch hi-

For the second time in the span of less than a minute, his thoughts were interrupted. His world lurched and he was flung back, narrowly stifling a yelp.

Oh- oh no.

She had come back for the bag.

It was his turn to curse; a torrent of expletives slipped from his lips, whispered fiercely through gritted teeth. Where the fuck was he supposed to hide?? He was trapped. Unknowingly caught. No. This couldn’t be happening. His heart pounded in his ears, nearly drowning out the thunderous steps taking him further and further away from his home. He felt his throat tighten. Fuck. He ran trembling hands through his hair, pulling at firstfulls as if should he pull hard enough he’d rip an idea straight from his scalp. The booming slam of the car door pulled him from his spiraling thoughts.

He needed a plan, and he needed one now.

Breathe. Scan. Asses. Decide. He inhaled deeply, and tried desperately to ignore how his breath quivered in his chest. He was fine. Not scared at all. This human was an absolute ditz. The epitome of human idiocy. He just needed to figure out how to keep out of that colossal ditz’ line of sight. The car engine roared to life and Tamius felt as his every muscle stiffened. They were leaving. He steeled his nerves.

Think. Don’t focus on the car. You need a plan.

His legs seemed to move on their own, as if trying to keep pace with his frantic thoughts.

Okay, so I’m trapped. We are driving away from the house. If I stay in the bag, the bag will get brought back to the house around 7:00…

He chewed his lip. Three hours was a long time to lay in wait in the stupid confined space of the bag, but what other option did he have?? He could try to escape while that big oaf was driving, but then he’d still need to get back in the bag to get back into the house… The house that was growing farther and farther away by the second.

What if he had to abandon the bag? He had no idea where he was. Even if he did, the distance to get back would be insurmountable. His heart hammered in his chest. Leaving the bag was not an option. There was no way in Hell he was leaving this easy life behind. He would figure something out… He had to.

Tamius scanned his surroundings. The bag hadn’t been zipped all the way, and there was just enough light pouring through the opening that he could aptly assess his situation. He sat atop a towel, a pair of shoes to his left, haphazardly thrown in. There was a water bottle beneath him, along with various articles of clothing and a mishmash of smaller items scattered about; pens, deodorant, a granola bar, lip chap, perfume... He let a small smile creep on his face. This human was a mess, and he would not let himself be unintentionally found by someone incapable of intentionally finding their own belongings. If this idiot would just put things in the proper pocket, she’d have no-

Thats it!

He took the small knife he’d fashioned from a discarded razor from his hip. That massive idiot never used the proper pockets! Carefully, he crawled towards the front of the bag. Closing his eyes, he tried to visualize how the pockets were oriented on the bag. In his mind's eye, he saw it; the pouch that sat at the lower half of the front of the bag. Yes! This would work! Opening his eyes, he cautiously judged the distance to right and left. He was dead center. Perfect.

Taking his knife, he sliced methodically, keeping the incision as small as he could manage, lest his handiwork be noticed before returning home. Gingerly, he cut his way into the front pocket, clambering inside. He breathed a sigh of relief; it was completely empty. She had no reason to peek in this pocket. He was safe.

Tamius barely managed to finish his sigh of relief when he felt himself lurch forward as the car came to a halt. He clenched his teeth. Everything is fine. There’s nothing to worry about. The dumb human was just going to do dumb human things for a few hours and then he’d be back home, safe and sound. He just needed to wait it out.

His world was jostled as the bag was haphazardly lifted up and slung around the human’s shoulder. He gripped onto the internal fabric of the bag’s front pocket to avoid getting sent flying around. His stomach felt as if it dropped farther and farther with each step, and he swore he could taste the sweetness of the banana pancakes rising up in his throat. Tamius swallowed hard.

Enough of that. This was pathetic. He’d found a safe spot. All he had to do was wait around for what? Like 2 hours and change? A total cakewalk. Baby Food. An absolute nothing. This was fine and he was fine.

He listened intently, trying to gather any information he could about his location and surroundings. The sound of a door closing shut... Foot falls echoing… Voices… Voices with a particular resonance. He grimaced. Wherever he was, it sounded like a large open space. As he continued to listen, his scowl deepened. He counted the voices; one, two.. Three… four, five, six… seven…

He stopped after he reached 10. Suffice to say there were too many humans.

The feeling of dread was overwhelming. He couldn’t see a damned thing, and though he doubted he wanted to see his predicament, the lack of sight gave him a creeping feeling of being vulnerable. The booming voices resonating in an open room so far above him… he felt so small.

No.

Not felt.

He was so small.

Of course he knew he was small. He’d never stood taller than a coffee mug for the entirety of his life… and yet… he never truly felt small. Not like this. This was overwhelming. The mental barrier he'd work so hard to wedge between his conscious mind and the primal fear that lurked just beneath the surface shook under the realization of his own insignificance. Just the presence of beings so astronomically larger than himself made his stomach churn. His head fell into his hands as he struggled to keep himself from shaking. God, he felt pathetic. Just a few hours. He could manage. He would manage.

The booming chatter died down as the sound of human music filled the room. A strange rhythmic thundering coincided with the change in ambiance. He could feel the floor shake beneath him. As strange as the surrounding noise was, he welcomed the sound of human music.

You could never know what it's like

Your blood, like winter, freezes just like ice

And there's a cold, lonely light that shines from you

You’ll wind up like the wreck you hide behind that mask you use

He found his voice joining in, shaky and soft,

"And did you think this fool could never win?

Well, look at me I’m coming back again,

I got a taste of love in a simple way,

And if you need to know while I’m still standing, you just fade away,”

As he sang along softly he felt his anxiety melt away, slowly but surely. The minutes dragged on, punctuated by changes in songs, and occasional muffled shouting, indistinguishable from the surrounding noise. Tamius tried to calculate how long he had left by adding up the approximate time of each song… two minutes here, four minutes there -

Thud.

A tremor far more impactful than all those preceding it shook him from his thoughts. He heard a distinct grunt, and then, again, another thundering sound of impact, like something colossal crashing down. The noise was far greater than any foot falls he’d ever heard.

Thud.

He heard a human speaking somewhere above him. Though muffled, he recognized it as his enormous dolt of a human. She had muttered something about needing to use more.. hip?? Surely he couldn’t have heard that right.

Thud.

“Better, but like, I feel like I’m not getting any pop, you know?” What??

Another voice muttered something in apparent agreement.

“You mind if I try one more time?”

This piqued his interest. Carefully he gripped the rear of the zipper, opening the front pocket just a fraction. Just enough to see what could be causing such a commotion… and what it could possibly have to do with hips and popping??

As he laid his gaze on the pair of humans the fear he felt was instantaneous and palpable (tasting strangely like banana pancakes). He knew no amount of quiet singing would quell the rising panic from what he’d seen. For a moment, it was as if his brain refused to register the scene before him, as he stood unmoving, mouth agape. He saw his human, but it was as if he was truly seeing her for the first time.

Her messy hair, slick and soaked in sweat, and tied back revealing sharp and focused eyes. Her figure, no longer drowning in her typical oversized clothing, was not at all what he had expected. Her broad frame had always seemed to suggest she was heavier, and he'd assumed they had just been soft, or chubby… Looking now, she was certainly broad, but the size she carried was overwhelmingly muscular. Each thundering step caused her legs to tense and relax, giving Tamius flashes of muscular definition. He swallowed numbly. Awe and horror swirled in his mind. He wanted to look away… pretend he'd never seen the sheer power that had been sitting underneath her lazy attire, but he couldn't. This couldn’t be her.

She was smiling; saying something to another human towering above him. He hated how familiar it was; her smile, her laugh… it was undeniably her, yet it was as if he could barely recognize the behemoth standing before him. He stared up at the pair, mind somehow both racing and numb simultaneously… And then they moved.

He felt like the wind had been sucked out of him.

Humans were supposed to be slow. His human especially. But the reality he had become so accustomed to seemed to crumble around him. The other human reached towards her, but with uncanny precision, she redirected the incoming arm before it could touch her, her body moving with obscene fluidity. Tamius found the ease of her movements disturbing, as he watched her clear past the oncoming arm, stepping in flush to the other human's side. Her free hand reached around their body, with her trailing hand snapping around the opposite side, locking her grip tightly around the other human's body.

Before Tamius’ brain could catch up to what was happening, the human was airborne.

Thud.

His whole world seemed to shake. Both physically and metaphorically.

No.

No. No. No.

He felt bile creep up his throat. This… this couldn’t be her. She's a mess. An idiot. A ditz. Not.. not this! She fucking threw another human with such well practiced ease as slinging a bag over her shoulder. His knees trembled for a brief moment before giving out entirely. He fell back into her bag, tension rising as reality set in around him.

That human was a threat.

He looked down at his hands. They trembled. Stop.... Stop. Stop! STOP! FUCKING STOP! It felt as though he was pleading with his body, begging it to submit to him. His hands never stopped shaking. Hiding was all he had, wasn't it? Not strength, not speed, not agility… The only thing keeping him safe was the fact he was too small to be noticed.

And he needed it to stay that way.

#LETS GOOO #G/T JULY BABY #I actually proof read something for once #praise me #Bonus points is anyone realizes what Tamius is named after #NEW OC WHO DIS #g/t #g/t july #g/t july 2023 #g/t fearplay #giantess #borrower oc #macro/micro #TamiusOC #Finding Strength #Giant/Tiny #g/t writing #Entowrites

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justagalwhowrites · 1 year

Text

Beskar Doll - Ch. 4: Even the Score

It's not often that a Mandalorian asks for help. It's even more surprising when he asks you. A continuation of Beskar Doll Ch. 1-3 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Female Reader

Warnings: None for this chapter, whole fic is violent and smutty so minors DNI!

Length: 5.5k

You weren’t in pain when you woke up.

It took you a moment to even realize where you were, the lighting in the Mandalorian’s quarters dim. You had to fight to remember what happened, the last thing you recalled staggering up the ramp of the Razor Crest and collapsing in the hold. The rest came back quickly, though. Finding the medical supplies, sewing your side shut, Mando returning with the quarry - a quarry who knew who you were. The bounty hunter helping you to his bunk and stitching the gash on your back while you dug your fingers into his leg.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been out but your body felt strangely intact. You tested moving your fingers and toes before bringing your hand gently to your side to examine the wound there. It was closed - completely, like you’d never been cut at all. You frowned, reaching around to find your back. It was healed, too.

Sitting up slowly, you tested your oddly healthy body’s range of motion. Nothing hurt, you weren’t even sore. How long had you been out? There was a bottle of water beside the bunk, which you took, your mouth suddenly feeling very dry. You looked down. Your legs were bare and you were in a shirt that was a few sizes too large for you and suspiciously blood free.

Standing took a bit more effort. It was obvious you hadn’t used your legs in a bit and they were shaky as you made your way slowly from the bunk out to the rest of the ship. The hum of the engines made it likely you were en route to your next destination - wherever that might be. You stopped where you’d been stitching yourself up but there was no blood on the floor. He’d cleaned up then.

You made your way slowly through the ship, peering into the galley only to find it empty, before climbing the ladder to the cockpit. He’d told you to keep out before but you figured this was an exception to the rule. You knocked on the hatch to give him a second to prepare before easing it open.

He glanced over his shoulder as you hovered near the hatch, arms crossed over your still only partially clothed body.

“You’re up,” he said, looking back to his screen. You nod in response before realizing that he couldn’t see you.

“How long was I out?” You asked.

“Two days,” he replied, not looking at you. You nodded slowly.

“You used the bacta patches,” you said, more a statement than a question.

“Yes,” he said. You caught a tension in his voice, one you may not have noticed when you first met him but seemed obvious now.

“Why?” You asked.

“Watching someone suffer for the sake of suffering isn’t in my nature,” he still wouldn’t look at you. You nodded again, more for yourself and to give your body something to do.

“Where are we headed?”

“Coruscant,” he replied. He glanced back at you again. “The people who… want you. How many are there? Would you be safe in a spaceport there or should I find a shuttle to the planet?”

You considered just how much you could keep to yourself while still answering honestly.

“Spaceport is fine,” you said. “I’m valuable, but only to a handful of people. Most won’t have any idea who I am and, as far as I know, those who do want me are playing it close to the chest. They’re powerful and have plenty of resources but they’re not sending someone like you after me. Not yet, anyway.”

He didn’t say anything, leaving you both there in silence.

“Sorry for intruding,” you muttered, climbing back through the hatch and returning to the hold. You missed him turning to watch you go.

Usually, you got dressed every day in the fresher, but the crate offered a better mirror. You decided to risk changing in the hold - suddenly realizing the Mandalorian had to have seen you naked to have gotten you changed, anyway - so you could examine the places where your injuries would be. You twisted in the reflection, nothing but a red mark - like someone had slapped you - left where gaping wounds had been just two days earlier. You touched the flesh at your side, almost like you wanted to prove to yourself that you were whole. It was still strange that the Mandalorian had used bacta. The patches cost an arm and a leg and it’s not like he cared what happened to you beyond delivering you alive to Dantooine. You’d been surprised that he’d helped you at all, his hands surprisingly gentle as he cleaned your wounds and sewed you up. He’d let you collapse against him, tried to take your pain while he worked on you… it didn’t make sense. He didn’t trust you enough to take his helmet off anywhere near you but seeing you hurting bothered him. You shook your head as you put on some of the clothes you’d bought on Hosnian Prime. You didn’t understand him at all.

You wanted to go through your routine - train, use your body and feel strong - but, while you weren’t in pain, your body was tired. It felt like you’d spent days doing nothing but work to become stronger and better. Instead, you climbed on top of the crate and jumped, catching the pipe to pull yourself into your hiding spot. This time, though, just that made you out of breath. You stretched out, the new skin stretching and pulling, before seeing if there was something - anything - on your data pad you might have missed about Mandalorians.

You were only there for a few hours when you heard the telltale sound of the hatch opening. You peered down from your perch, watching as he came to stand below you. He looked up at you, his arms crossed as you frowned down at him.

“We’re coming up on Coruscant,” he said. You nodded, still frowning. He turned to leave before stopping and looking back to you. “How do you get up there?”

“I could show you,” you said. “But then I’d have to kill you.”

He laughed once, shaking his head, and you smiled. You hadn’t made him laugh before. It was a nice sound.

“I’ll show you how I get down, though,” you said. “That’s a less closely guarded secret.”

He stepped back, giving you space as you slipped to the edge of the nook and jumped down, landing lightly on the balls of your feet.

He just watched you as you stood up straight. His visor stayed still but you could feel how his eyes went up your body, making you frown. He turned and walked, wordlessly, to the cockpit and you trailed behind him.

Coruscant, at least, looked like you remembered. You’d been all over the planet before the fall of the Empire but the context was so different that you doubted anyone who knew you then would recognize you now. Mando guided the ship into a port not too far from where you’d usually dock near the Imperial Senate building - probably the New Republic Senate building now, you realized. A lot had changed in the last two years.

The Mandalorian was wordless as always as he went to the hold, you following again, pulling yourself on top of a crate to watch him prepare. But he gathered less than usual before standing next to your perch, looking up at you. “Come down,” he said, nodding toward the ground. “I need to talk to you.”

You sighed but obeyed. Of course he’d only want to talk to you if you had to look up at him instead of the other way around.

“Can’t handle talking up to someone, can you?” You asked, partially because you meant it but more because you wanted to go back to your old rapport. It’s not like you had much of a relationship but this dynamic - one where he’d helped you and maybe showed that he cared about more than just dropping you off on another world - was uncomfortable.

“Here,” he thrust a com link into your hand. You frowned down at it, turning it over in your fingers. “What, have you never used a com before?”

“Yes, I’m a newborn babe in the woods,” you rolled your eyes. “I just don’t know why you’re giving me this now, you didn’t when you left before…”

“I don’t like coming back to my ship to find someone screaming when I don’t expect it,” he said bluntly. “Get in trouble, call me. Get in a bad enough spot, take the ship and get off world and I’ll meet you.”

“I thought you’d hunt me across the galaxy and kill me for taking your ship,” you frowned up at him.

“For stealing my ship,” he replied. “It’s not stealing if I know you’re taking it and where it’s going.”

You didn’t say anything.

“I’ll be back tonight,” he said, turning for the gate. Your eyebrows raised. He must have sensed your shock because he answered your unspoken question without even looking at you. “I have a meeting. It should only be a few hours. Stay on he ship.” He turned to look at you. “And if you get hurt, use the damned bacta.”

Part of you wanted to defy his orders on principle. You’d always liked Coruscant, the place was so different than your home world. Naboo was lush and green and natural while Coruscant was sleek and artificial and bursting with so many different cultures melting together. You loved Naboo but Coruscant was exciting.

But you knew better. Yes, the chances of anyone recognizing you here now - especially among billions - was basically zero. But what were the chances of the Mandalorian’s quarry knowing who you were? Equally low, you figured. If you got into a fight now like you had on Hosnian Prime, it was highly unlikely you’d leave it alive. You wouldn’t be able to move as quickly as you had then, and you could tell that - while your flesh was knitted together and muscle connected - you were still a bit low on blood. Staying on the ship was the smart thing to do.

You felt strangely antsy, waiting for Mando to walk in at any moment. It was odd, being more aware of his plans. You weren’t sure if you liked it or not.

He was right, he wasn’t gone long. Only three hours after he left he returned, shaking his head, frustration pouring off him in waves. You’d been sitting atop a crate when he came back and you watched him pace as he took off his gear, putting things away in his fastidious fashion, before he came to a stop in front of you.

“I need a favor,” he said, looking up at you.

“The great Mandalorian is in need of help,” you leaned forward so your elbows were on your knees and your face was almost level with his helmet. He grunted an affirmation. “Surprised you’d ask an Imperial for assistance…”

“You’re not Imperial,” he said, impatient. You were taken aback, blinking away your shock. “I’m not going to pretend like you are.”

“Maybe I pissed off an old boss,” you replied with a cavalier shrug. Really, you were panicking. It suddenly felt like the history you’d invented based on his assumption - the crafted web of lies you’d tended to to hide your identity - was threatened. “Imperials kill each other all the time.”

“Imperials don’t put their lives on the line to protect a stranger,” he said. “You’re not Imperial.”

You considered him for a moment. You’d never even seen this man’s face, you couldn’t trust him, not really. He knew exactly who wanted you now. What if the meeting he’d just been to was discussing terms of surrendering you to them?

But something in you told you he was safe. He wasn’t going to turn you in or slit your throat in your sleep. The lie he’d inadvertently invented about your allegiances wasn’t going to change that.

“Fine,” you said. “You’re right. I’m not Imperial, never have been.”

“Why did you say you were?” He asked, arms crossed over his chest.

“I didn’t,” you shrugged. “You did. I said I had Imperial ties, which was true. I had to talk to a lot of Imperials. I worked with some for almost a decade.”

He considered you for a moment.

“I don’t like being indebted to people,” he began but you cut him off.

“I’m only able to breathe without writhing in pain right now because of you,” you said. “I owe you. Even the score.”

“Fine,” he said. “I need help… getting into a party.”

“A party,” you said, tone flat. He nodded. “OK… how can I help?”

“I need a…” he looked you up and down again. “Doll to get me in the door.”

“Why?” You said, ignoring the use of his infantilizing nickname. He sighed.

“A brother Mandalorian has a foundling,” he replied. “She’s been in his care for three years, since the Empire killed her family. She’s been taken.”

Your stomach clenched, all urges to joke out of your system.

“The party?” You asked.

“According to my contact, there is a party tonight where the person who took her may be,” he said. “We can’t just go in with guns blazing. We’re not sure who has her, if she’s safe and what might happen if we do. We need to be sure so we can find her and bring her home.”

You nodded slowly.

“So you want me to go in and see what I can learn?” You asked, frowning. He shook his head.

“I want you to use your diplomatic skills to get me in,” he replied. “I need someone who can pass as an invitee to get me in the door so I can follow this lead. It’s supposed to be a…” he paused, searching for the words before reluctantly settling on one. “Fancy affair, with the flesh traders of the galaxy there. Do you think you can get us in?”

“I can get me in,” you replied. “But will anyone there know your face? Do you have anything besides a flight suit to wear?”

“I’ll wear this,” he said, as though that settled it. You scoffed.

“No,” you shook your head. “I can’t just get a Mandalorian into a party with slavers, they wouldn’t let you past the door. But if you just take off the helmet…”

“No,” he said, so sharply it made you jump a little. “I can’t. You need to find another way to get me in.”

You considered him for a moment, thinking.

“Does it have to be that helmet?” You asked, nodding at the shining metal. He didn’t respond. “Because if it can be any helmet… I could retrofit a Kel Dor mask for you, make it a whole headpiece.”

“You could?” He asked, sounding surprised.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I’ve done something similar before. I know a place on planet where we could find one to start with… when is the party?”

“Two days,” he replied. You nodded again.

“That’s a time crunch,” you said. “But I think I can do it. Assuming I can find a Kel Dor mask, anyway.”

“How are you getting in?” He asked.

“Please,” you snorted. “I can get me in. I’ll just need some makeup…”

“Get whatever you need,” he cut you off. “It’s important.”

“I’ll need some measurements for you,” you replied, nodding toward his head. “Without the helmet, to make sure the mask fits right.” He took a step back from you, his hands dropping to his sides, fingers clenching. You frowned. “What?”

“Find a way to do it without them,” he snapped, turning to leave. You sighed.

“You know what, Mando?” You followed him. “You’re going to have to trust me eventually, you’ve seen me naked, what difference does it make if I see your damn face?”

“I’ve never seen you naked,” he turned back to you. “I changed my helmet to heat sensor so I could get you out of your bloody clothes without looking. And it has nothing to do with trust.”

You blinked in surprised, oddly touched by the lengths he’d gone to to preserve your dignity while you were unconscious in his bed.

“So what is it then?” You demanded. “You can’t wear that thing all the time around everyone…”

“Yes I can,” he said. His voice was quiet. “I cannot remove my helmet or have anyone look on my face. I would be an apostate. This is the way.”

Your eyes searched where you were sure his were under the mask. You could feel him there, like you were looking into him. In your readings about Mandalorians, it made it seem like - while the armor was important - it wasn’t a constant requirement. You’d been wrong.

“I’m sorry,” you gripped your upper arms. “I didn’t know.”

He didn’t say anything, both of you just looking at each other in the hold.

“Are you allowed to take it off alone?” You asked quietly, eyebrows drawing together. He nodded. “OK…” You thought another moment. “Could I hold it if I couldn’t see you?” He paused before nodding once. You nodded back. “How about this. You go in the fresher. Take off the helmet and set it outside the door. I’ll wait in the galley. You tell me when you’re done and I’ll take measurements based off the inside of the helmet. I get the measurements, your face stays secret and we have a way for you to infiltrate the party.”

“OK,” he said, still looking at you.

“OK,” you said back. You held his gaze for another moment before going to the galley. You heard him go into the fresher, the distinctive sound of the metal of his helmet meeting the floor clear even from a room away. The door closed. “Ready,” he called through the door.

You emerged and found the helmet there on the ground. You sat down beside it, back against the fresher door, before taking it in your hands. It was heavier than you’d expected. You wondered how his neck wasn’t killing him, holding this up all the time. You felt the inside of it, getting a vague idea of the size of his head and making what estimation notes you could on your data pad.

“Is it OK if I put it on?” You asked through the door, holding the helmet in your hands and looking down at it. Your image of him was so tied to this mask it was like you were holding him there, touching him. “Then I can try on the Kel Dor options and compare.”

“Yes,” he said after a moment. His voice without the modulator was oddly comforting. You could listen to him read ship maintenance logs and enjoy it.

You held the helmet so it was level with your face, like you were looking him in the eye before turning it and, with some reverence, lowering it onto your head. It was loose but not too massive. When the back of your head was flush with the back wall of the helmet, if you pursed your lips like a kiss, you could just brush against the front of the helmet.

You took a moment and sat there, looking at the world through his eyes. All this time, you’d assumed he was faceless to you because he chose it. That he had all the respect for you that he had for his quarries. You thought he’d hated you and the persistent presence of the mask was proof of it. You hadn’t realized what the helmet actually meant to him.

You took a deep breath, realizing the slightly woodsy scent must be what he smelled like below the armor and the flight suit. It suited him, you thought. A hunter smelling wild but like home.

After a moment, you lifted the helmet off your head and set it, gently, on the floor. It felt strange to leave it there. It wasn’t just a helmet to you anymore but an extension of the man who’d nursed you back to health, taking care to protect you while he did. Leaving it on the ground was wrong. But you got up and went to the galley before calling out to him. The door opened and you heard him pick up the helmet, putting it back on his head where it belonged.

***

He regretted letting you put on the helmet. He knew it was helpful, that you needed a way to get him into this party to rescue his brother’s foundling. But now he knew how you smelled. There was a sweetness to you, something floral and fresh and he found himself straining to pick up the scent of you long after he was sure you no longer lingered in his helmet. He’d gotten a taste and wanted more.

You’d apologized before you left to find supplies you needed to make his disguise, your voice soft as you explained that you hadn’t understood his creed. He got what you meant, could feel the change in your demeanor. You’d taken it personally, all this time. Thought he’d been looking down on you or insulting you by refusing to show you his face. No wonder you’d clashed with him so much.

It’s not like you were even gone for very long. The part of Coruscant he’d docked in was apparently the area you were most familiar with and you took off in search of materials, returning just a few hours later with bags but the whole time you were away from the ship, he paced. It was, in part, because such a vital part of his plan was outside his hands. But it was more because he didn’t know where you were. The last time you’d been out of his sight and weren’t safely stashed in his ship, he came back to find you bleeding and in agony. What if one of the people searching for you found you and he didn’t know? What if you just got jumped by a criminal while you were too weak to properly defend yourself? What if you got hurt or died trying to help him?

He didn’t understand why he cared. You were cargo. He didn’t get attached to cargo. Even now he knew almost nothing about your past, only that you were, in fact, not Imperial. Getting just that out of you was like pulling teeth. But he wanted to know and that bothered him.

The relief that washed over him when you came back in one piece was shocking in its intensity. The closest comparison was when he realized he’d reached you before the lightning struck you dead. The feeling was the same, just stronger now. He ground his teeth. He couldn’t get attached to cargo.

You worked diligently all night and all through the next day, constructing a convincing helmet for him. He watched you from afar, trying to do it out of the corner of his eye so you wouldn’t know or be disturbed but he wasn’t sure how good a job of it he did.

Just a few hours before the party, you found him in the galley, where he’d gone to try to distance himself from the tightness that appeared in his chest when he looked at you.

“I think I have it,” you said, the helmet tucked under your arm and a bundle of fabric in the other. You handed him the helmet. “It’s not going to be as nice a fit as your actual one but it’ll be fine for a night. I tried it on, you should have good vision but not all the toys you are apparently used to.” You set the bundle on the small table, pulling pieces out one by one. “I think, if you need to have your face covered, your skin all has to be covered too, right?” He nodded, surprised. You didn’t seem to notice. “That’s what I thought. OK. This shirt should cover your neck and tuck up below where the helmet meets so you’re set there. The sleeves are long and there are these gloves…” you held them up for him to see. “That should handle the rest of you. On top there’s this caped jacket that I found that should cover where your armor sits, and be big enough that your plates can go on underneath. Same with the pants. Your boots should be fine for them, too.

“The helmet is a little off from what Kel Dor wear but I doubt we’ll run into another one and almost no one outside the Kel Dor will know what an off-world ceremonial piece will look like, anyway.”

He picked up the jacket and pulled it on over his flight suit and armor. You reached up and adjusted the shoulders, tugging the sleeves into the right position, smoothing the collar before stepping back and looking him over. A moment later, you nodded. Satisfied, apparently.

“This should work,” you said, more to yourself than to him, a hand idly touching the jacket before looking up to his face, your mouth a grim line. “This will work.”

“It has to,” he said. You nodded, your face serious, before turning to get ready yourself.

Din took his time. He cleaned his weapons, using it as a chance to center himself. A child’s life was at risk. If they failed now, they may never get her back. He found ways to stash armaments as he got dressed in the different clothes, uncomfortable about how much he’d need to leave behind on his ship, before slowly taking his helmet off. He looked at himself in the small mirror he kept in his quarters for things like shaving or cutting his hair. It had been a long time since he’d seen himself in something besides his fight suit and armor. It may as well have been a stranger looking back at him. He put the helmet you made on his head, breathing deeply as it slid into place. Your scent was there, faint, but waiting for him.

It fit him better than he’d anticipated. It would stay on securely and move with him like he was used to but he would’t have the tools he liked to have when he was hunting. He growled to himself. This was going to be dangerous.

He emerged, pausing at the entry to the hold, calling out to you.

“Are you…” he stopped. How to ask this without offending you? “…Decent?”

You laughed a little.

“It’s safe, Mando,” you said and he stepped into the hold but he froze the second he saw you.

You were walking toward him, putting an earring in your ear. The ship could have been burning around him and he wouldn’t have noticed. He’d have only seen you.

Your gown was long, covering your feet and brushing the ground, but it fit your shape perfectly. The dress softly flowed over you, like someone had captured water as it washed over your body and made it corporeal, the fabric light enough that he could glimpse the color of your skin below. Your shoulders were bare and the neckline was low, your breasts pressed high, the lush curve making him want to remove his gloves and brush his fingertips over your flesh. He imagined, for a moment, what it would feel like. Your warmth, your softness. It had been so long since he’d really touched something soft. He wanted, desperately, to know what you looked like with nothing but yourself.

You’d styled your hair, too, half of it up in twists and braids, exposing the slender column of your throat, the rest hanging in soft curls down your back. And he’d never seen you with makeup, your lips painted red, lashes long, like if you put your cheek against his he’d feel them brush his face. He wondered if you’d leave red marks where your lips met his skin.

He shook himself mentally. Cargo. He didn’t get attached to cargo.

“I rented a speeder earlier,” you said, completely oblivious to the fact that Din had spent what felt like a small eternity thinking of what it would be like to touch you, to truly see you. “Used an old name, one I’m leaving anyway, so it shouldn’t be linked to you at all and shouldn’t make any new problems for me… How are you feeling? Comfortable?”

It took him a moment to realized that you were asking about the clothes.

“Fine,” he said gruffly.

“Good,” you smiled softly before your face hardened. “Tonight, let me do the talking unless you really can’t avoid saying something. I have a plan and I’ll need you to go along with it for this to work.”

“Do I get to know this plan?” He asked.

“I’m going to be your slave,” you winced as you said it but it passed quickly. “You bought me when I was young - around the age of the girl we’re looking for. How old is she?”

“Six,” he said, his stomach turning at the thought. You nodded.

“Six,” you said. “You’re after someone new to meet your needs and you want me to… train her. You’re leaving me in charge of finding a girl and picking her.”

He ground his teeth and you must have sensed the disgust rolling off of him.

“I know,” you said quietly, meeting his eyes beneath his new helmet. “We’re going to save her.” He nodded once. Failure wasn’t an option. “For this to pass, you’re going to need to actually touch me. Back, side, shoulder, arm are all fine. Try not to be too physically far from me and when you’re next to me, keep at least one hand on me. We need to demonstrate ownership. If I ask you for something, it will be for a reason. It will be something we need to do and I’ll need to ask your permission, so say yes. I’ll stick to yes or no questions, so just nod when you can. Don’t make me push you hard, someone in my position would never disobey, it’d put me at risk of severe injury or death.”

You absently adjusted his clothes, running your fingers over the places his armor sat below the fabric.

“How are you going to protect yourself,” he asked, looking down your body. There wouldn’t be a place for you to have put a blaster.

“That’s a bit of a problem,” your face scrunched, knowing he wouldn’t be happy with the answer. “It’s not like I can wear armor under this thing but it’s the only option I had that could pass for what will get us in. Believe it or not, this fabric has a lot of stretch and I have good range of motion. It’ll also help soak a blaster bolt. Not fully, but it’ll take more than one shot to kill me unless they go for the head.

“I’ve also got this,” you lifted your hand and showed him a ring with a large, black stone in the middle. “It adds to a punch but it also…” You twisted the stone and a needle emerged from the center. “Has got enough sedative to take down a bantha.” You put the needle away and dipped a hand between your breasts. Din swallowed and hoped you didn’t hear as you pulled out the knife he’d seen in your teeth. It was closed this time. “And this has always served me well.” You slipped the knife back into place and adjusted yourself.

“You were a spy for he rebellion,” he said. Your lips twitched into a half smile.

“Not exactly,” you said. Then you paused. “Well, I suppose I was, some of the time. Let’s just say that wasn’t my day job, but my position in life and the skills that came with it made me a useful tool when it came to moving information.”

Din nodded slowly. That would explain a lot. Not everything, but enough. He noticed how you spoke of yourself. A tool. “We never should have asked so much of you.” That’s what your father said. Had anyone ever seen you as a person? More than something to be exploited?

“What name did you use?” He asked. You raised your eyebrows. “For the speeder. What should I call you tonight, if I need to?”

“Oh,” you said. “Amira.”

“Amira,” he repeated, testing the name on his tongue. It fit you but it wasn’t quite right. “That’s not your given name.”

“No,” you smiled sadly. “It was what I used on Tatooine. Figured it could have one last day in the sun before I left it behind. What name do you want? I obviously can’t call you Mando. I’m not sure if anyone even knows your real name, but I doubt you want that out there…”

“Duraan,” he said, picking the name of a man who’d helped raise him. It was fitting that the name would help bring another foundling home.

“Duraan,” you repeated back to him. “That’s not your real name, is it?” He shook his head.

“OK Duraan,” you said. “Let’s go get the foundling back.”

#mandalorian fanfic #fanfic #din djarin #enemies to friends to lovers #slow burn #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x f!reader

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fandomstatewrites · 23 days

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LARKSPUR - Chapter One: all that glitters ain't gold

“Colm, then?” asked Hosea, arms crossed across his chest. Arthur shook his head and took another pull from the bottle. “Girl's got her own demons chasin' her, by the looks of it,” “She ain’t an outlaw too, is she?” Another shake of his head, “Naw. This seems personal. Something about that ring of hers. Someone’s going through an awful lot of trouble to get it from her. They chased us out of Emerald Ranch,” Arthur explained, “She managed to divert him away from the camp while I rode on ahead with Karen, but by the time I doubled back...Well, let's just say she roughed him up good before puttin' the bastard down." “Tough girl,” Hosea mused. Arthur hummed in agreement. - When amateur outlaw and bounty hunter Ramona Kostka ends up on the wrong side of a robbery, she's swept into the world of the Van der Linde gang. A surprise reunion with an old friend deepens her involvement, forcing her to navigate alliances to clear the bounty on her head. As danger mounts, Ramona must outwit both friends and foes in a desperate bid to protect her freedom and her life.

Read on Ao3 - Chapter One

#rdr2 #rdr 2 #Arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x oc #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x original female character #arthur morgan fanfic #Larkspur #fanfic #fanfiction

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umbralsound-xiv · 8 months

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Prompt #16 - Jerk

Character: Mist The Black Shroud, 1568

She wasn't exactly trusted.

Duskwights in the Shroud generally weren't to be trusted. Or at least, so people said. Liars, thieves. Bandits. Murderers at worst. So often did they carry ill repute, be it deserved or otherwise.

But Mist had made a habit of proving people wrong. In fact, she often enjoyed it.

A Keeper dangles from a gauntleted hand; nose bloody from the impact of her shield, and decidedly broken. Lips pulled back to bear pointed teeth, his ears pin back in a hiss at the woman.

"Let me go, you bitch! Fucking grey!" His words would have been cutting if Mist had cared enough to let them get to her.

"You had your fucking chance, Rhul'to. But you didn't listen."

He'd have swung for her were his limbs not bound. Bound, half dragged, half dangled across the thick brush of the Shroud. Mist wasn't all too gentle with him.

"No better than any other fucking Duskwight! They won't even give you the gil i'm worth!"

"Probably not." Mist was under no illusion, as the Keeper is jerked up to be tossed across the back of the waiting chocobo; easily large enough for two people.

"Then why?" He yells out as the saddle sticks him in the ribs. "Keepers get the same treatment! We're on your side!"

"I don't hold children for ransom." She snaps, watching as he squirms. "Stay still, and don't touch his feathers, or he'll bite your fucking hands off. He doesn't like people. I do it because it's the right thing to do. I told you that last time, but you clearly weren't listening."

"Bitch! Grey! You piece of shit!" Every insult he could think of rolled off his tongue, but Mist didn't care a whit for it.

Her only retort was that she'd gag him, if he kept it up throughout the journey.

#FFxivWrite #FFxivWrite2023 #Muse: [Mist]#Chapter: [Bottles And Bounties]#FFXIV #IC #Writing

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satancopilotsmytardis · 3 months

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Changing Currents Ch. 2 Sneak peek

Oh this chapter is gonna be a beefy boy, enjoy a sneak peek because I can't help myself.

Toga, Kenji, and Jin are excited for the party, which means that they are more than happy to take Dabi under their care and bring him along the reef to one of the smaller spires. This one is particularly well-suited for reef-wide revelry, built over years by their sorcerers carefully carving out the rock. It looks the same as the other sharp spires along their reef, with sharp walls high enough to hide that inside it has been carefully hollowed out. There are levels going through it, until at the top, there is a large pool in the stone for those more comfortable in the water, but with plenty of room around the edges for a fire to be lit and for tables of food and drink to be brought for their indulgence. The ship that Toga and her school sunk was more than stocked enough to bring them the means for them to have four or five more large-scale celebrations which he can't say that he's exactly looking forward to.

Parties, open to all of the reef, are just excuses for people to come and try to ply him with alcohol to earn favors or make requests. Or try to seduce him. Make no mistake, Yotsubashi is a strong community organizer and he could really have no one finer in charge of their supplies, but he does not want to get romantically involved with him, even well before Dabi was pulled in by the tide. At least when his father is here there are less Folk trying to pull his attention to get this or that without going through the appropriate channels. At least Shuichi is as uncomfortable in these large crowds as he is and usually will stay nearby to help him out of conversations that he doesn't want to engage in. Atsuhiro also does a good job of distracting, and honestly if Tomura wasn't well aware of how sharp his mind is, he would wonder why he didn't become a bard himself with how he loves to entertain and perform.

He watches Dabi as he's pulled onto the dance floor, Kenji and Atsuhiro quickly surmised that he's more comfortable moving on the land than through the water and showing him how to move along with the music and dance. Like with everything else that he has been shown, Dabi adapts rapidly. He learns that the other two are moving to the rhythm and he watches what others do around him. He has a sharp mind himself, able to watch and build his skills based on the new information he takes in. He dances, holding Kenji or Atsuhiro's hands as they pull him in and out, as they spin him around between the two of them, for a while, but soon he's laughing and smiling, dancing between stone and water to his friends. Their friends. He has been told in no uncertain terms that if he does not do right by Dabi all of his companions will be very cross with him.

He sees Toga and Kenji pull him over to one of the tables, picking up three different bottles and a goblet and thinks that he should probably save his lover before he ends up with an awful hangover, he's stopped as a familiar and unwelcome voice at his shoulder.

"Your Highness,"

He schools his expression into one of disinterest rather than disgust as he turns to the shrimp. "Chisaki." He greets carefully.

The other Folk bows just enough for it not to be considered an insult before straightening up without being given permission. "I trust that you're doing well this evening?"

"Very well. The sirens more than deserve the revelry after their hard work these past few months. Their bounty has brought good tidings to us all."

"That's true," but he doesn't give a fuck about that. "Though speaking of bounties, it could be favorable to look to the future, could it not?"

Here it comes, "I hope," he lets some of his annoyance slip through. "That you aren't attempting to suggest an idea that would infringe on our neighbor's territory and bring us to war. An idea," he stresses as he sees the other Folk start to open his mouth, "that was dissuaded by your late father, the King, and myself on multiple occasions."

"An idea that was unrefined," he says smoothly, though he sees his pincer twitch slightly. "But one that I took the criticisms of and used to create a better one. This kingdom could stretch across this entire reef--"

"It will not." He says putting a bit more force behind his tone. "Our people flourish because we maintain our territory carefully. We keep our reef in balance. Extending our reach in a war that will kill our people for land and resources we don't need is misguided at best and entirely foolhardy at worst." He turns from the other Folk, looking to see where his friends have taken his mate. "We will not be discussing another one of your proposals again, Chisaki. Good evening." It's not often that he uses his status as the prince to end a conversation so bluntly. He's usually more tactful, but neither he nor his father are really interested in war. Not now. Though he would, on a very personal and petty level, like to destroy Hollow Barrier for what they've done to Dabi. But he doubts his mate would actually appreciate that sentiment and he is not going to risk the lives of his people to take revenge that doesn't belong to him in the first place.

He doesn't look back to see if Chisaki is seething, if he rejoins the party or if he departs to sulk, it doesn't matter much to him. Not a surprise though when Shuichi comes up to his other side to check in, "Should I have Jin's people make more patrols near his district?"

"Yes. He's getting more discontent, I would rather know sooner than later if he decides to do something as foolish as attempt a coup." He considers for another moment. "Coordinate with Toga as well, I want to know if any of her school have made their way to his area and anything they might have seen. If anyone can supply evidence of his treason, they will have the pick of his innards."

"He really pissed you off tonight, huh?"

"I'm tired of him nipping at my limbs. No matter the service that his father provided mine, that does not make him above or equal to the crown. He will learn to bow or I will have him broken."

"And you're sure you're not just extra pissy that he distracted you from making sure that Kenji and Toga don't get your boyfriend drunk?" He would normally have let that go, for as frustrated as he is with Chisaki and his lack of respect, there is a difference between him and his lieutenants. The circle of friends and community leaders that he has relied on to ensure that each part of his kingdom works harmoniously together. Friends he trusts to do their jobs well and professionally, but who are his friends when they aren't working. But there is an edge in Shuichi's voice that gives him pause now. The lizardfolk must have heard it too because he winces slightly, looking for all the world like he wants Tomura to ignore it.

"What is it?" And he comes to a full stop, giving a glance at the other Folk around them and very quickly having a section all to themselves to talk.

"...So you're just gonna kidnap him?"

Tomura feels a frown tug at his lips, his friend not meeting his eyes. "Is that what you feel we did to you? You know that if you want to leave, we'll find a way to get you home."

Shuichi runs a hand through his hair. "That's not what I meant. I was a slave on that ship, I was sold by my family. This is the best place I could have found myself. But I don't want to leave. What about him? Just cause he likes it here doesn't mean he's gonna want to stay forever. Doesn't he have family he actually cares about?" He finally meets his eyes again. "I don't mean to overstep, but what happens if he gets homesick? Are you really just gonna let him come and go as he pleases, knowing that he's going back there to starve? And what happens to him? If his people find out where he's been going, who he's mated to, what he's been eating?" He huffs a breath, bubbles billowing out of his snout. "I'm glad you're happy, I am, but you're normally more level-headed about stuff than this, Shig. If you really want to spend your life with him then it might be time for the honeymoon phase to end and for you two to have a serious conversation about this."

He pauses, mulling over the words before he speaks. Friends who keep him grounded and focused where his father encourages his whims and passions with a single mindedness. "We haven't even had the honeymoon yet." He says somewhat mournfully.

Shuichi snorts. "Yeah we know, he would have been more black and blue if you had."

He's well within his rights to smack him across the back of his head with a tentacle. But he does take what he said to heart. "You're right. We have been having some of these conversations, but not all of them." And they should. He would like to know where they stand on this before his father returns and he has no idea how soon or far that might be. "I do appreciate the concern. Though this isn't something I thought you would be interested in discussing with me."

"Oh, trust me, I would have much rather not, but the rest of them are hopeless romantics. Atsuhiro said that every first love should be a whirlwind, but you don't do things without commitment anymore. Figured someone should check in that you're thinking about what that looks like long-term." He leans against the edge of the stone lip, "Besides, we like the guy. Can't have you fucking it up."

"I'm sorry am I claiming him or are you all?"

"Eh, you belong to us and he does too if he decides to stay, and we get to decide if you two are better together or apart. Watch out, Kenji thinks he's a cutie."

"I hate you all, you're insufferable. Tell Jin to put his people on Chisaki's territory."

"Yes, Your Highness." Shuichi takes the dismissal with far less frustration than they began the conversation with and departs to find the starfish.

Tomura doesn't watch him go. He is more interested in getting over to Dabi as quickly as possible as he sees Kenji pouring his cup full and Dabi eagerly bringing it to his lips. Oh no. He weaves his way through the crowd and swims up to the edge of the pool at Toga's side.

"How many has he had?"

"Tomura!" Dabi immediately starts purring, choosing to kneel down against the stone so he can lean in and unabashedly nuzzle their noses together as his purrs get even louder. "Where did you go? I missed you. Will you dance with me?"

"We let him try the rum and the gin--"

"Blech," His mate immediately sticks out his tongue like a guppy and Tomura thinks he's going to perish from how cute he looks like that.

Kenji snickers, "Yeah, he didn't like those, but he is partial to the whisky and red wine."

He sees his lover start to look for his goblet again when he hears the names of the drinks. He uses a tentacle to take it from the stones and shove it into Toga's hands. She, at least, can hold her liquor. "How partial?"

Dabi makes the saddest little chirp at him. "'on't talk around me. I'm here. I'm not small," And there's a slight tremble in his voice that breaks his heart. He catches his mate's face between his palms and purrs back at him softly.

"You're right, I'm sorry, sweetheart. Do you remember how many drinks you've had?"

"...No. Can I have another?" He looks up at Kenji and oh, he is going to let Dabi kill her for the hangover he's going to be suffering in the morning.

"I thought you wanted to dance with me?" He distracts before Kenji can enable him.

Dabi brightens immediately, "Can we?"

"Of course we can, precious." He coaxes Dabi back into the water, he is absolutely not dexterous enough to move on the stone with any kind of coordination, and his mate comes with him eagerly. He does glare at his friends over his shoulder, slashing a tentacle through the air to tell them very firmly that Dabi is cut off for the rest of the night. He has no idea how the other Folk will react to the alcohol and he would much rather not have his first experience drinking end with him needing to see Shuichi for healing.

He's never been one for dancing, but it lights Dabi up the same way he'd first seen when he'd started being able to catch his own fish. A joy fills him up behind his skin that makes Tomura achingly aware of just how empty he looked when they'd first met. His chest aches as he twirls Dabi through the water and his mate laughs loud and bright, blue eyes shining with his glee. He seems so much happier here.

But Shuichi is right. No matter the abysmal relationship with his father, the strained one with his youngest brother and sister, he loves his mother and other brother. He wants them safe and thriving. If Dabi disappears, then he'll be presumed dead. His food rations will stop going to their home, stop going to his mother. He won't want her to starve. He wonders if he would bring her here. He would happily open their home to her. But that's something they have to talk about. There is so much that they have to discuss.

Dabi spins into his arms and gives him a messy, happy kiss before he's darting away again, moving like his body isn't sure if they're playing or dancing. But that's all things that can come tomorrow. Or maybe the day after, given how relentless he's sure his hangover will be in the morning.

#tanco speaks #shigadabi #my writing #mha fanfiction #fanfiction #fic wip #fic excerpt #mer!au

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2kmps · 9 months

Text

volte-face; noun; a sudden change from one set of beliefs or plan of action to the opposite.

vash x plant engineer!reader

story synopsis; plant engineers are a rarity in no man's land, let alone good ones. you stand as one of the best humanity has to offer, having worked alongside vash for two years to alleviate the suffering of humans and plants alike. you're immediately attracted to the rumors of plants dying in a metropolis built above a geoplant hub; an oasis in the desert. with no way to know whether the city actually exists, you and vash set out into the unforgiving wasteland, chasing myths, and unprepared for what's hidden at the end.

story warnings; gun-violence, vash and mc have a complicated relationship, explicit details, democide, mentions of human trafficking, religious themes, erotic details/sexual themes, issues of autonomy, heavily implied sa, co-dependency between vash and mc, suicide, weird spin on "childhood friends to lovers" trope. mdni.

chapter one; 6.7k; rumor has it...

It was the man with one eye and a top row of silver teeth hunkered over a bottle of jack who spoke of New Oregon; a city-oasis veiled by beige wasteland and tempestuous sandstorms. A heavy haze of gray smoke and booze made the air in the cramped space stagnant; hard to breathe, sending the man into a fit of dry sputters that he chased with the burn of whiskey down his throat.

He never offered his name once that evening; a drunk nobody like everyone else there. It didn't matter how they crowed about bounties and conquests, modified their bodies with gatling guns, metal, shiny gold or silver. They simply didn't matter, so their nights were spent suffocating on dirty air that dimmed the flickering amber light from metal lampshades overhead, and the smell of unwashed men.

Not many turned from their card games or glistening liquid in sticky cups to hear this prattling fool at the bar, though. He was a regular; morning, day, and night, in fact. A sad shape of a man desperately clinging to any lasting stares, or perhaps remnants of a better time in his life imitated through liquid courage.

Boisterous, nonsensical, slurring words through coughs that made his barrel-shaped chest flounce, he was extremely ignored by everyone--

All except for you and Vash.

In a nondescript little corner of the bar nearest to a brown-tinted window just slightly cracked, you swirled around the speckled ice cubes in your glass; loud enough to hear it, not loud enough to fade the man's adamant claims.

"Bah, no one here wants to hear it, but I'm tellin' y'all! It's a whole damn city! No, no, wait!" He forced more whiskey down his throat, wetting his mustache when he nearly missed. "It's bigger! It's like July, a metropolis! Except, it doesn't look like July, it- it- it looks like- like- shit, I don't know. It's nothin' like we've ever seen here on No Man's Land!

"It's all lush, lush, lush green! There are water fountains, and trees and flowers! Flowers! You've heard of 'em, right? They're all livin' in a real lap of luxury there. Been hearin', though, that it's goin' extinct like everywhere else; plants are dyin' off. Innit just shit? I haven't even had a chance to look for it yet."

Everyone in the bar knew that New Oregon was a fabled place, sort of like a eutopia; somewhere, if you found it, you could live out the rest of your days in comfort and bliss. Surviving human artifacts from the bygone millennia on earth told legends of similar places: El Dorado, Atlantis, Avalon, and Zerzura. All places humans wanted to venture, into yet have never found. And never would.

Vash nursed his drink, the alcohol here didn't leave a good taste in his mouth, and neither did the stifling air. He looked to you occasionally, perhaps watching you more closely than he did anyone else in the bar. You were oddly fixated on this man's story and for good reason--

You were a plant engineer; one of the few, one of the best humanity had to offer at this point. Staking out the saloons and unsavory spots in outposts and trading posts for information on towns falling into disrepair and death was your hobby; tracking down these places and their plants was your bread and butter.

"You ain't ever even been to New Oregon; who you getting your info from, brother?" called a newcomer to the bar, throwing down his losing hand in poker. "These rumors are starting to get around more now. You're the fifth person in two months I've heard talk about that damn place."

Elated, the drunk shouted back across the room with all the eagerness of a smart schoolboy, "Lambertonville! One-fifty iles southeast! Good watering hole, lots of hawkers. There's a guy named Jetson, said he used to sell in New Oregon a while back."

A couple of the men groaned, laying down their cards, slugging their absinthe, whiskeys, and beers. "It's all crock! All bullshit! New Oregon is just made up, we're tryin' to have a good night. Stop talkin' about it!"

"It ain't made up!" he thrust a fist onto the solid wood bar repeatedly. "It's a geoplant hub! Are you gonna say those don't exist, because they do!"

Vash took a finical sip, mainly trying to wrap his tongue around a chipped piece of ice. It crunched against his molars as he chewed slowly, gaze darting between the quarreling men, to the splendent look in your eye just as you hopped to your feet and made for the doors.

"I don't know if you're going to be able to convince Meryl to drive one-hundred fifty iles to this place," Vash admitted to you on the way back to the hotel, shaking his slight buzz off into the cold night air. "It sounds like a longshot to follow rumors from a random guy in a bar."

"Don't worry about it." You said, untying the white coat at your waist to slip your arms through it. "I've got an idea."

Vash was worried clear up until the point of the one-hundredth ile ticking on the van's dashboard several hours later. Meryl drove with an otherworldly determination now; skillfully weaving the vehicle around mountainous sand dunes, looming rib bones of ancient beasts long gone, and the frequent wild thomas attempting to cool their bodies in layers of dust.

"What did you say to her?" Vash tried to pry out of you more than once in that four-hour trip.

You had your jacket bunched up against his shoulder, a comfortable barrier between you and him until he tried flattening it down to whisper in your ear.

He was too close, so you swatted the air near his face. You stumbled through your words, letting your grogginess win over actually caring enough to explain. "Exclusive interview with magical hawkers saves humanity in the city."

It wasn't as obvious to decipher what you actually meant to say.

For a while, he left you alone to drift off into a mostly heat-induced nap, your thighs still housing a tremendous insulated tumbler. The water and ice cubes would slosh and chatter against metal walls, only briefly eclipsing the roaring engine pulling the vehicle your bodies through the sand. Roberto's snores from the passenger seat came closer to dwarfing either of those, though.

You slept more heavily during the day than any other time, he noticed. Often times spending your nights in town or rummaging your twin dufflebags of equipment to account for each and every piece; all components necessary to repair the reactors housing plants. You were meticulous and careful; clinical yet easily one of the more excitable people he'd ever met.

He only ever saw you wrapped up in a task or work, or sleeping, rarely anything in between. A byproduct of your upbringing in a pale, sterile, and technical environment more focused on progression and results, rather than personal development within.

Still, he could think of you fondly. A very rare, single constant he's had in his life for two years since you left that pristine environment with bright lights, holopads, and computers. You had told him once, fate decidedly pushing you to cross paths again in the desert, that progress couldn't happen by waiting like Luida chose to do with her glass dome and flora.

A faint smile touched his lips when he looked across the balled fabric at you, finally resting after a long night. You didn't stir when he shifted his arm, letting your head and body slump into a new crevice he made--hopefully more comfortable for you than having your neck bent at an odd angle.

He looked up when Wolfwood moved--switching one cramped, crossed leg for the other--not missing the meaningful, pointed stare he received through the other man's darkly tinted sunglasses. The bent cigarette bounced as it was pinched in a crooked, knowing smile and silent laughter that instantly sent Vash's gaze sweeping to the blurred, brown landscape out the window with a body-wide burn that he suppressed.

It stayed like that for the last hour or two of the trip; complete silence apart from Roberto's planet-shaking rumbles and the engine sputtering beneath oppression of the binary suns. They glowed white and hot, vaguely reminiscent of the searing fluorescent lights that plagued his youth; long hours simply lying and staring, unfocused and shackled by his own unwillingness to move.

Some days, it felt like nothing had changed at all.

Lambertonville appeared distantly just before dusk, while the pitched rooftops of houses and reaching steeples of sleepy churches were caressed by the faraway sky hued in wreaths of scarlet and orange. They were chased away by the sprawl of night, of a black blanket dappled by uncountable glittering stars observed only by a pair of moons slowly rising overhead.

The headlights on the van illuminated an old wood sign hanging above the entrance to town, all at once fading to dark when Meryl killed the ignition, slumping over the wheel while gripping it with both hands.

"We finally made it." She expelled a hard breath, almost as though she had been holding it for a long time. "It was starting to feel like we'd never get here. I'm so hungry and tired. I want to take a bath."

"No rest for the weary, rookie," Roberto said, unclipping his seatbelt to let it reel back into its slot near his head. "We still gotta check in somewhere and move our luggage. Don't forget to consolidate your notes for your article, too."

Meryl nearly triggered the horn when her forehead landed with a dull thunk on the steering wheel, her sighs of suffering growing. "Sure thing, boss."

"Must be hell to be a reporter." Wolfwood mused aloud, barely pushing the door ajar with his foot before his hands were cupping a quivering flame and he was puffing away on his cigarette. "Can't say I envy either of you. Oi, Spikey. Buttercup. You both awake?"

"With how loud you talk, it's impossible not to be." You groused, sorely tempted to send your tumbler rocketing at his head while collecting your things. "I have a name, Churchman."

He grinned. "Could've fooled me, Sweetcheeks."

"Oh, shut up."

Wolfwood sucked in a breath and shrugged, throwing the door shut when you chose to get out on Vash's side; a trivial act of petty vengeance, but certainly one that he would retaliate at some point, somewhere down the line.

When you finally had your bearings after the long car ride; hard stretches and bends, joints cracking as you flexed them out and wrung out your spine, everyone's belongings were laid out in the sand with exception to your white jacket. Vash approached you with it neatly folded, a few creases forming that he looked particularly doleful about, as though if were his responsibility to fix.

"It shouldn't be too hard to get them out," he was telling you, hiking the narrow strap on his knapsack higher onto his shoulder. It was then that you noticed your black duffle bags hanging off of his other one, managing the weight of all of your equipment with impressive ease.

He saw your eyes, offering a disarming smile as he tilted that side towards you. "You just woke up. I thought I'd just lend you a hand. I can't believe you carry these around everywhere, they're pretty heavy."

Once slipping into your coat, you took your bags from him and flattened the shoulder straps on your body. "I guess some people are just built differently."

Your back was to him then, starting after Meryl and Roberto to hunt down the cheapest inn that'd take your double-dollars. The look he fixed on you was one he didn't think was possible to show to your face; wistful and somber, a beautiful ache spurred by memories that gouged him whenever you were near. You were a working mechanism in his daily life; part of routine, part of a peaceful sameness he desperately sought out, yet eluded him and slipped through his fingers like water.

If you weren't there now, he wasn't sure if he could go back to how it used to be. Wandering. Wandering. Wandering aimlessly and all alone; lost amid the vastness of No Man Land's desolation, praying the next town would hold out longer than the rest.

And yet, he saw all the things in you that he didn't want to. He saw the suffering of humanity in you and what it meant to claw and struggle to survive; saw hope and depravity in the white coat you kept close, now lightly browned from age and elements. He saw his past when he looked at you, the very thing that kept him walking on and on and on...

"I'll be back later." You announced to the group a little later on, having antsily tossed aside your equipment in the room you planned to share with Meryl and Roberto. "I'll try to be quiet when I come back."

This was work time, everyone knew.

No one tried to stop you on your way out, Vash and Wolfwood keeping pace, flanking you on either side. It was easy enough for them to anticipate where you were going: the closest dirty, rowdy bar you could find to scrape out some information or buy it with a couple of shots of hard liquor.

Wolfwood was a simple man, he held as much interest in your investment with plants as he did knowing what Meryl's next article was about. What he did enjoy, though, was a lively crowd after half a bottle of whiskey. Besides, places with cheap booze always had the best food, for whatever reason.

You did a double-take towards Vash, catching the dull sheen across his eyes; a distracted, thousand-yard stare.

He nearly started, pulling at the cold arm you touched. "Hey, you doing okay? You should go back to the inn and sleep off today."

"Yeah," Wolfwood injected, flicking his lighter a few times until the bud of his new cigarette glowed hot. "Don't think I saw you sleep at all the entire ride. Besides, a bar in a trading town probably isn't the best place for you to be, Spikey."

When he gestured past you both, towards a nearby building with bullet holes pocking outmost layers of brick and limestone, you saw a row of wanted posters. It was everything you could do to keep yourself from yelling expletives as you rushed over, tore them down, shredded them in half, and let the breeze carry them far, far away.

"Nice work." Wolfwood clapped languidly, giving your shoulder a hard smack on his way by. "Just gotta do that with the hundreds of other ones hanging around."

You could kill him sometimes, you really could.

"Vash." He didn't look at you immediately. "Seriously, you should probably head back. These small towns are the worst places for us to be. All it takes is one person to recognize you."

He already knew that. He's already heard it all from you before. Many times over.

"What about you?" he said, at last, gesturing weakly with a hand to your mostly white uniform. "You stick out a lot more than most people. No one is going to see you and think you belong there."

You spaced your arms and legs out, looking down at yourself, frantically patting away dust on your pants. "Do you know how expensive clothes are? Besides, everything is heat resistant. I'd probably actually die of heat stroke if I wore anything else."

He was inclined to agree.

You yanked the coat zipper down when he spoke again. "What I'm saying is: I'm not letting you go alone."

"Mister sixty-million-double-dollar bounty, I think you need to worry more about yourself. Besides," you pulled away one side, the handle of a pistol peeking out from a brown holster. "I'm packing, too. If it came down to it, I'd be just fine."

"As if you know how to shoot!" Wolfwood yelled from somewhere, his voice carrying on the breeze and spearing through the back of your head with all the sting of an untuned instrument.

Tonight, you would kill him.

Wolfwood was right, Vash thought glumly. This was all talk; handling weapons much less firing them was nowhere within your scope of practice, nor expertise. In the two years he had traveled with you, that gun had never been set off once. He had been the one to force it into your hands following a particularly nasty scuffle, one where you almost didn't make it out with him.

You scared him that day, and you still manage to scare him most days in how you purposefully flaunted yourself around, brandishing the uniform-clad on your body in hopes it attracted the very attention he tried so hard to thwart.

"Can..." Vash had to sigh, shoulders rolling forward as he rubbed his nape. "Can we at least stick to the back corners or something? Out of the way?"

That's exactly what didn't happen.

Vash sat at the bar, fingers so tightly clenched around his bourbon he thought he felt the glass splinter against his skin. The insides of his cheeks were raw from how long his teeth had been gnawing on his skin. He had been sitting with the same drink for over an hour now, too tight in his shoulders and back to will himself to take a sip, too on edge to think he even could.

The bar met every expectation between the three of you; Wolfwood was having an adamant chess tournament, the long neck of a bottle of wild turkey closed in his fist while he and others hollered over every poor move and checkmate.

Fortunately, you stayed nearby to Vash despite having about three shots in you already. Just enough to loosen you up to socialize and pry for information; always work-related, never for pleasure. Vash kept his eyes on you whenever you roamed away, palms full and fingers splayed across multiple shooters that you passed around. The favorite candy of hapless, drunk men.

"Jetson?" echoed one man returning for a drink. You handed it to him, he thanked you, slammed it back, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Jetson. Jetson. Oh! That hawker guy. Yeah, he's been long gone for a few weeks. Who knows where he's at now."

Not what you were hoping to hear. "That sucks. Well, did he share anything about a place called New Oregon?"

"That mythical city or whatever?" came a new voice, this one belonging to a fairly young, lanky lad. He didn't look old enough for alcohol, though laws like that didn't really apply to towns sitting this far away from major cities. "I remember people talking about it. It's supposed to be some sort of oasis, right? Run by geoplants?"

The first man nodded. "S'posed to be a big hub for 'em, I guess."

"I've heard rumors about their plants dying." You said, leaning a hip into the nearest table while looking between them both. "Anyone mentioned that around here recently?"

"Well," the young guy started, pouting when you kept the drinks in your hand out of reach. "I don't know if it's related, but there were a couple of merchants here last week talkin' about how these really wild sandstorms keep picking up near Serpent's Tongue. And they're just too... weird to be natural."

The one man squeezed a whistle through his parched lips, kneading them together after downing another shot. "Serpent's Tongue is a ways out there. Didn't realize these guys were going that damn far."

"How far are we talking here?" you asked, skeptically.

"Let's put it like this," the drunkard stumbled closer to you, holding both his hands erect and a distance from each other. "You're gonna have an easier time getting to July; sand steemer, fed checkpoints, all of that stuff. That's almost two weeks. Serpent's Tongue is two huge rock faces with a passage between 'em. Real nasty area in certain parts. You're lookin' at almost a month just to get there, not countin' how many days you stop to build your strength back up."

You nearly let the liquor in your hand smash to the ground at the mention. The very notion of spending a month or more on the move to a city that may or may not exist was insane. It would mean a month of praying the elements didn't get you first, that bandits didn't find you, and that grand sandworms didn't plague those areas.

"Has anyone ever actually been to New Oregon?" you pressed, taking a shot for yourself to dull the panic beginning to twist in your gut. "Has anything ever been verified? Anything at all?"

The lad watched you pointedly, heard the glass clicking as your fingers curled into the makings of a fist. "You tryna go there? I don't think you'll have any luck, but something I'm remembering: Apparently there were some wind turbines in the area. They weren't old, either."

You felt your heart pinch in your chest and then lodge in your throat, this was the feeling you lived for. The sheer elation of a breakthrough, a sliver of light somewhere cast in darkness. The very small, very few straws you could grasp and hold onto with dear life.

This was justification enough.

With a splendid smile that pulled your lips taut over your teeth, you said, "Two things: A map, and where do you stable your thomases?"

Vash tried to gauge the bright look on your face as best he could. You had been that way since meandering back to his side, finally satisfied enough in your pursuit to sit down at the bar and order something a little more digestible. He watched your lips dance across the rim of your cup, teeth clicking into the glass a time or two, letting your mind hazily turn over the possibilities.

At that point, his shoulders were a little loose and he was on his third drink, having switched over to jack a while ago. He had questions he wanted to ask: Who did you talk to? What did they say? What are we going to do? What was that pamphlet they gave you?

He couldn't will himself to utter any of it; instead, he leaned forward on his arms, pads gripping the wide rim on his glass while observing you and your entire lightness. A side of you he rarely saw apart from a successful job; a glimmer of happiness often so easily stripped away.

It looked dazzling on you. He smiled tenderly.

"Alright, compadres!" Wolfwood was at both your ears suddenly, an arm over each neck as his weight bore down. "I can say that these hicks don't know shit about chess. I'm also fucked up. Time to go."

Your malicious edge had all but dissipated by now, giving way to someone far more malleable. Between the three of you, it was bottoms-up one more time, the hot liquid gaining purchase in your throats as it burned inside your nostrils and behind your eyes. A nice way to keep warm as you left the bar, the cold desert air still making your teeth clatter as it caressed your neck and jaw.

Far ahead of you, there were glints of orange and the smell of smoke. Wolfwood wasn't looking back at either of you, now grumbling on about the inbred hillbillies not knowing how to play chess, and resorting to cheating. You meant to take it that he lost a few too many games, and couldn't stand to sulk about it in the bar with everyone around.

"Better luck next time, Pastard*." You laughed.

He stuck a finger up at you, pocketing that hand afterward to keep it from getting numb. "You guys are too slow. Figure out your way back on your own."

Vash tilted towards you, whispering conspiratorially, "I think you struck a nerve."

"I think anything we say to him strikes a nerve." You rejoined.

"Yeah," he looked over his lenses, trying to scope out any lasting trace of Wolfwood, finding none. "Can we get back on our own? Was the inn along the main street, or the next one over? I think I drank too much."

You grunted at him, giving him a once over while sidling some paces away so he couldn't reach you even if he projectile vomited. His only response was to whine pitifully and apologize, once again closing that gap as you both swayed along the unpaved road, stirring up puffs of dust and sand that felt coarse in your throats when you'd laugh.

It wasn't as cold as it usually was at night, a simple thought that crossed your mind. You figured it was all because of your shift in good fortune for a change, the booze playing a secondary role in it. Maybe, you considered, it was also Vash's shoulder brushing against yours while you walked. For some reason, you noticed it so much more right now.

And so did he.

Trying to keep his mind elsewhere, on anything other than that slight pressure when you'd bump into him felt insurmountable in that moment. He let his eyes roam all around; noting the rusted street lamps with cloudy glass cages glowing a murky yellow, homes casting pillars of light into the streets through curtained windows, relishing how unaffected Lambertonville felt to everything outside of it.

It was the type of place he'd try to hang onto for as long as he could; days, a few weeks, a month at most with any luck. He would get to know names, the regulars at the bars, all of the local gossip and food. An impermanent haven where he could rest awhile and know you were safe.

Vash felt it then, yours and his knuckles touching, brief, but burning. The world spun around him a little too fast when he stepped away, opening the space between your bodies as much as he could, but managing to tangle his legs in a bucket that sent him staggering into the side of a building. He caught himself easily enough, the cold off the brick seeping through his skin and bone, straight to his nerves and spine.

He heard you call out. "Whoaaa, you okay?!"

"I'm good! I'm good!" he assured, raising a hand towards you as proof. It didn't stop you from trotting over anyway, nearly smacking into the wall yourself when your shin caught the very same bucket. "Are you good? I really think we overdid it tonight."

You edged along crumbling, ruddy brick with your shoulder, getting close enough to pluck one of the arms of his sunglasses from behind his ear and then the other. They were tucked away neatly in his coat pocket now, leaving you to fully see him bathed under a warm, faint glow from overhead.

"We're fine." You said, moving in until your chests just touched. "It was nice to have a few drinks with you."

Vash didn't know what to say, he didn't know what to do or think. All he knew is that he didn't want to move away, something kept his legs rooted there; waiting and anticipating, sending his heart into a frenzy against his ribs. And, when he felt your cold fingertips press into the sides of his face, guiding his head down to where your lips met his in fervor, everything went blank.

Your hands pushed divots into his skin, thumbs resting against the peaks of his cheekbones. The kiss was hard, leaving a searing imprint in his mind and on his lips. It was such an unfamiliar thing; the feeling, what he imagined a kiss was like, you so near in proximity he wanted to melt into the warmth shared between your bodies.

And, it was so quick. Just when he had gathered the nerve to reach for your shoulders, nursed the thought of kissing you back-- you pushed him away with a satisfied smile and gentle slap to both his cheeks.

He yelped, taking the chance to shield as much of the red blistering across his face as he could. "What- what was that for?!"

"That was for helping me out last night," you wagged a finger at him, stilling it midair. "For tonight too, actually. I just wanted to thank you for everything up until this point. I know following me around looking for plants isn't what you want to do. So, do me a favor and don't."

He wasn't processing what you were saying, troubled creases forming in his brow. "Where is this coming from?

"Oh," you scoffed, swiveling the balls of your feet, arms shooting out at your sides to catch your balance. "Don't worry about it. It's nothing. Let's make sure Wolfwood got back, and get some sleep. I have a feeling we're gonna have some nasty hangovers."

Three o'clock rolled around hours later and he was still thinking about what you said. Vash wasn't sure how much sleep he actually got before giving up, knowing he had spent most of the night thrashing on the mattress, making old boards underneath groan and squeal.

Wolfwood had made a point to hurl his wadded-up, dirty socks, and both loafers across the room, slurring out any expletive he could come up with when Vash moved around too much. After several minutes, things settled once again and Wolfwood's snores were a welcoming invitation for him to scoot his back upright against the headboard, eyes trained at the empty streets outside the window next to his bed.

Too much had happened in one day for him to be able to muddle through it all right now. More than anything else, he wanted to know what was going on with you; why you were so preoccupied with rumors of a place that may be conjured up by men on the verge of death-- a final deception from their brains to make the agony bearable.

'What did you figure out? Why won't you tell me?'

His eyes swept the moonlit streets. Unlike before where the street lamps faintly illuminated your paths to guide you back to the inn, the lights housed within walls of dingy glass had all extinguished, leaving just the pale glow from the binary moons to shine off of gabled, tin rooftops and the corners of metal signs swinging by rusty chains in the wind. Simultaneously an eerie, peaceful scene that did well to quiet his distress, until--

You came into view of the window, riding astride a fully saddled thomas with your duffle bags and belongings tied down behind your seat. A high-beam flashlight lit your way through town towards the looming archway leading out into the desert.

Vash came close to smashing his face against the window, his warm breath trembled and fogged over the glass. His mind started to race as he scrambled off of the bed, hobbling around creaky floorboards by the tips of his toes, slipping on socks and boots and his coat, cramming all his things into the tawny bag he had slung across his shoulder by the time he was closing the door behind him.

Why were you leaving without saying anything?

Why were you leaving without him?

Why were you being this way?

The thomas let out an agitated cry, stretching its long neck to peck at him as he tightened the girth around its undercarriage. He moved his fingers in time to avoid being bit, giving the large avian gentle shoves until it grew tired and relented to his weight soon settling on its back.

He ran the large beast for a long time, wondering just how far out you managed to get. A column of hot white light bounced across the dark ground, showing him tracks already being swallowed by sand and dust, carried by frigid southern currents. It wasn't until those same prints started to appear more vividly; newer until very fresh that the lines in his face smoothed with a wave of relief wracking his body.

You had finally slowed your thomas, giving it just enough rein so it could move its neck more freely. It stayed on path dutifully as you unfolded the map the drunk man in the bar had given you a short while ago. The paper opened more wide than tall, sprawling most of your arm span, and seemed to cover most of the explored territories on No Man's Land.

"So, next town is going to be Jukeblight." You spoke into the air, moving your wrist across the map, dulling your flashlight. "That's about three days. Yoke is--"

There was a sound. Rustling sand moving fast.

You whirled around in your seat, flashlight set to maximum and spinning around your body. It could've just been a bird, or a hive of worms that were startled by the noise, at worst a smaller sandworm looking for its dinner. It was all meant to keep your composure, though you immediately lost it when you flicked the light towards the right of you, snaring a flash of red in the glare.

Vash caught you by the side of your coat, keeping you in the saddle despite screaming and nearly falling off the other side. "Hey! It's me, it's just me!"

"Vash?!" you didn't know whether to be glad or throttle him. Either way, you slapped his hand off of you once he pulled you center in the saddle. "You're following me even though I told you not to?"

"It sounded more like a suggestion to me." He replied, gaze flicking towards the map now creased in the corners from your scare. You offered him a view with light, giving him time to study it. "How are we going to find New Oregon when it isn't even on the map?"

With the way he was already talking, you knew he would be in it for the long haul, dissuading him now would be impossible. "I'll catch you up to speed later. It's going to take us a month to get there."

Vash's jaw unhinged, emitting an airy groan in disbelief. "A month?! Seriously? You're- you're really being serious about this?"

"Of course," you said, tucking the map back into a satchel hanging off the side of your thomas' breastbone. "I've been serious about this since day one."

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Vash never looked away from you. "We've got some really vague clues with no guarantee New Oregon is real. We could be just going around in circles."

Your eyes were fixed straight ahead stubbornly. "Then, wouldn't it be easier for you to go back?"

"I won't do that." He frowned. "I'm not going back without you."

This was a constant with him. No matter how hard you'd try to shake him off, turn him around, lose him-- he'd always find you, completely unperturbable regardless of your nastiest tactics and vitriolic comments. If anything you said to him left a lasting scar on his heart, he never showed it.

Still, it didn't stop you from trying time and time again.

"To be honest," you sighed, "I was hoping you would be drunk enough to just sleep through the night."

He gave you a reaction; mouth agape again, face twisted in despair, eyes gleaming in a way that nearly convinced you he would start to cry.

"That's the only reason you've been letting me drink with you?"

You tipped your chin down into the collar of your jacket, masking a smile trying to tug your lips. "Duh. I always forget how fast your body metabolizes everything under the suns, though. Being a plant has its benefits, I guess."

Vash turned away sharply, nose in the air, chest flouncing with one large puff of air. "That's a dirty move, even for you."

"Can you blame me?" he definitely thought he could, but bated his words, letting you finish first. Something shifted in your demeanor as your shoulders sunk a little deeper in the oversized coat, sweaty palms making the stiff reins squeal. "Will you be able to handle the pain of being there with me?"

His lips were forced thin and tight.

"A theoretical city that size doesn't run on just a handful of plants, Vash." You said quietly, voice above the distant howls of wind and skittering sand. "If we find it, there's no telling what we'll see."

It came back to these moments most days. They reminded him why you could be as elusive as you were towards him. One of his sisters in agony was hard enough, he didn't want to imagine dozens of them screaming at once; a cruel cacophony of suffering. And he would be the only one to bear it all.

"Vash?"

"I'm not sure." He was honest, a solemn gaze towards the horizon where dawn broke through the shroud of night, bringing with it a burning sky and the first warm breeze of the day. "I won't know until I'm standing there with them."

The conversation whittled away after that; you had nothing comforting you could say to him. It wasn't your thing, and it wasn't realistic given the nature of your work. He knew that just as well, perhaps it was the reason why the silence worked so well between you in these moments. It was amicable, calm, and easy; part of the reliable sameness that he sought out from you.

"So," he tried again after a while, venturing a curious look that you met with a tired one. "You didn't let anyone know you were leaving, did you?"

"Do you ever?"

He sputtered in embarrassment, hunching over his beast with a pout that made your nostrils flare when you laughed.

You grinned. "I left a note, actually."

"Really? A note?"

"Yeah." You said. "They have all the details they need to know. Maybe we'll cross paths with them again in the future."

Once again, the somewhat somber look returned to Vash's face. In some ways, it was bittersweet knowing that they wouldn't be able to follow you two anymore; their journeys would continue separate from your own. Your intention for leaving them behind was equal parts selfishness and love, something you would never freely acknowledge, but something he knew to be true.

He kept his thomas in stride alongside yours, flicking out the arms of his orange-tinted lenses as he set them on his nose and looked out towards the rising suns.

"Yeah, it'd be nice."

LATER...

The upstairs of the inn was steeped in chaos by eight in the morning. Heavy footfalls rattled the light fixtures in the downstairs dining room, frantic shouts traveled from individual rooms towards the main staircase as Meryl, Roberto, and Wolfwood stomped their way down with their things hardly in shape to travel.

"I- I can't believe they left us behind again!" Meryl didn't hide the flush of frustration on her face, fist overhand on her luggage as she yanked it through the front door towards the vehicle. "Why do they always do this?!"

Roberto didn't share the same urgency of the rookie, nor of Wolfwood's seething anger when he stormed past the front desk, thrusting down a brass room key for the terrified employee to take once he was out of the building entirely.

"Sorry about them," was all Roberto said, leaving his key behind as well, along with a few double-dollars in sympathy.

He climbed into the passenger seat a little later, tugging his seatbelt a few times to seal himself in. The flask tucked inside his worn, old blazer came out once Meryl put the van into drive and thrust her foot into the gas, making tires spin on sand before it lurched forward.

Roberto took his first sip of alcohol that day, swishing it around his gums a few times to let the burn dance in his mouth. "Ay, rookie, don't get so upset that you wreck."

"Just wait, just wait..." she chanted, her face screwed up in concentration.

Next, Roberto turned to look in the backseat at Wolfwood. The man continually fussed with his dark sunglasses slipping down his nose, teeth clenched around four crimped, unlit cigarettes.

"I knew that fuckin' brat was up to something." He spat his venom, foot tapping on the floor. "I'm gonna kill both of them when I get my hands on them. The fuck is their problem just bailing like that?"

Roberto faced forward in his seat, an arm hanging out the window as he took a larger swig this time.

He wasn't going to be the one to ask where they were going.

divider; @/anlian-aishang

this is a repeat from my deleted blog: cardeneiv.

please leave a comment and reblog if you enjoyed this! likes do not help spread the story around! id love to talk to y'all about this story 😭🥺

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