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sprout-fics · 3 months

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The Hunt

König x 'Maus' F!Reader

(Part 13 of 'Little Mouse')

Word Count: 5.3k Rating: Mature Tags: Stealth missions, Banter, Cat and Mouse, Hypothermia, Sharing body heat, Cuddling, Snuggling, Angst Warnings: None A/N: Thank you for staying with the series despite the break!

You're starting to think you might die out here.

It's been hours since you three dropped into the Kazakhstan mountains, just narrowly avoiding an incoming snowstorm that has since painted the steep mountains white. The air is thick with the blank, icy taste of snow, and you struggle to catch Soap and Ghost in their snowgear as they ascend up the cliff to the remote radio tower station that is the source of your intel. They're strong, clambering up the slope one at a time while the other watches their six. You supervise them from afar, perched on a cliff opposite of the valley, trying to catch sight of them despite the curtain of white that falls between you.

Laswell was the one to point you here, as she usually does. The station chief has been combing through intelligence for months, searching for breadcrumbs on Makarov. The man is a ghost in the wind, vanished from prison and now hiding secretly as he plots his next move. He could be anywhere in the world. Your hunt for him had been delayed by your tangle with KorTac, but now even they seem to have vanished into the breeze with nary a trace.

You adjust your scope, zooming in on the sight of Soap and Ghost perching on a cliff edge, shoulders heaving with exertion. You smirk under your snow mask and sweep your sights further up the slope towards the target they are ascending towards.

The tower itself is unassuming, a lone and decrepit thing in the middle of nowhere. Yet all it had taken was a single errant ping from a satellite to realize the traffic out of this seemingly normal outpost was far larger than originally thought. It could be nothing, it could be everything, but one thing remains clear, and it's the message Laswell managed to pull and decipher from a single static transmission, letters spelled out in Russian.

KorTac.

It's the first lead you've had in over a month. The mercenary group had seemingly gone underground following your raid on their satellite base. By the time Laswell had managed to pull an order to survey the site via drone footage, there was nothing left. The entire place had been burnt to the ground, devastated, nothing but ashes to comb through in search of answers. Since then the group had vanished, gone in the wind. Not defeated, but biding their time, waiting in the dark and drawing plans that would eventually come to full fruition.

"Bravo 09, this is Bravo 07, how copy?"

You barely catch a glimpse of Ghost as he raises a hand to his headset. The transmission is tinted with static due to the snowstorm, but you can still make out the low, hushed accent of the older man's voice as he checks in.

"Got you in my scope, 07." You report back, mouth moving behind your snowmask, wet with condensation. You shiver, feeling half an inch of snow on your back, not moving from your sniper position, ready to wait here hours more if need be. You hope for the sake of your fingers and toes it doesn't come to that.

"It's cold as balls out here, LT." You grouse in addition, and you see Soap's head tilt towards Ghost as he regards his partner.

"My balls are cold." Johnny agrees irritably, but there's a touch of playfulness there that hasn't been dampened by the snow.

“Feeling a little shriveled, Johnny?” You snark crudely, and hear the Scot make an indignant little scoff in return.

"Focus, both of you." Ghost snaps, to which you both silence yourselves with a snicker. "We're almost at the perimeter. We'll be going radio dark after that."

"Copy." You reply, adjusting your scope with numbing fingers to focus on the steel fence that surrounds the radio tower and the adjoining building. "Good hunting, you two."

Neither Soap or Ghost reply, focusing instead on climbing the last few ledges on the opposite side of the mountain. You watch as they take a break at the top, crouched near the edge. Eventually you hear Ghost’s voice filter over the comms.

“Break’s over, Johnny.” Ghost declares, and stands, offering him a hand and hauling Soap up so they advance forward along the slippery, snow laden cliffside. An incoming wall of white obscures your view of them as they round the edge towards the fence, and you hear one last garbled transmission from Ghost before they vanish.

It’s silent after that, with nothing but the wind howling in your ears and prickling under your skin. Even with your thick, downy parka there’s little respite from the bone biting chill that seeps into your veins. Perched in place as you are on overwatch, you know there’s no moving until your two comrades find their way out to you once more.

So you huddle in, ignoring the chatter of your teeth and trying to steady your hands on the rifle, hoping and praying that the chamber doesn’t freeze, and that you won’t need to use it. The cold grips tight to your veins, and you try to imagine the lulling warmth of a campfire that you can’t afford.

Hurry back. You think towards your two comrades. Before I fucking freeze to death.

There’s a tinny sort of whine in your radio, and you shift to adjust so the transmission comes through.

"Bravo team, this is Watcher-01, do you read me?" Laswell's voice comes in, tinny and crackling but still recognizable.

You blink, brow knotting. Laswell had signed off shortly before your parachute jump into the mountains. Whatever has caused her to reach out like this must be urgent. Maybe the tower is a bust, and she's decided to pull you from the mission.

Ghost and Soap don't respond, and you think they might have already switched off their radios. So instead, after a pause, you respond in their stead.

"This is Bravo 09, send traffic Watcher."

There's a pause before Laswell responds. "Bravo 09, advise all stations we may have KorTac operatives in the field."

You suck in a breath, feel cold air seize your lungs and descend into your veins with icy realization. If KorTac is here, then that means this tower is much more important than originally thought. You haven't run into any members of KorTac since Price's rescue, which means...

He could be here.

You store the thought as quickly as it came, trying to find Soap and Ghost against the rocky outcrop, only to come up empty handed.

"Copy, Watcher. Ghost and Soap have gone radio silent." You report with a little grunt of frustration, knowing the two of them have already made their way inside. It could be too late, they might have found out the hard way just what waits for them. “They’ve likely breached the perimeter.”

"Then keep an eye out, Rookie, we need to-"

You blink as static garbles Laswell's next words, swallowing them with a crackle that fades to a high pitched whine.

"Watcher, repeat." You try, leaning a hand up to your headset to try and regain the signal.

Static.

"Laswell?"

Silence.

The storm must have knocked out the signal, which does not bode well for your mission. You try once more to raise Soap and Ghost, to no avail. You breathe in and quell the uncertain flutter of your heartbeat, feeling a familiar sense of knowing dread thrum low through your chest. The extrasensory insight you rely on to discern the state of the world around you hums with warning, does little to ease the low roll of your stomach.

It's fine, you tell yourself. Soap and Ghost have handled far worse than this. You weren't there for Las Almas, having joined the team only after, but you heard the story from Johnny. Barely armed, pursued, injured, out of supplies and ammo, and yet somehow they had survived. This, with them well armed and in pursuit, should be no challenge.

It takes a few minutes to repeat this to yourself, but it does nothing to relax the anxious, knowing pulse of sixth sense that hovers in the back of your mind.

When the radio crackles again you nearly jump, muttering a transmission before anything can come through.

"Laswell, do you copy?"

Static.

Then, a different voice.

"Hello, Maus."

If you were cold before, the voice that filters through your radio sends you hurtling into hypothermia, jolting at the familiar, purring intonation of the man who has long since pursued you.

“König.” You breathe, unable to contain the shocked breathlessness from your voice.

“Long time no see, as they say.” He murmurs, and you can hear the low, sultry delight of his voice at your response. You should have stayed quiet, shouldn’t have spoken, switched to another channel to get a hold of Laswell, tried to reach Soap and Ghost to tell them to retreat.

“What are you doing here?” You hiss instead, gritting your chattering teeth.

“I could ask you the same thing. You’re a long way from home, aren’t you, fraulein?”

You don’t respond to that, too busy trying to ignore the way the KorTac operative’s voice itches pleasantly under your skin. It’s a vain betrayal, and you internally chastise yourself for remembering the darkness of the supply closet that accompanied your last rendezvous, the soft, yearning words between you. You’ve tried to lock away the memory of it, the way his voice rumbled softly down at you with a traitorous promise that you know will mean the end of you both.

"I might try and kill you again." You breathe, voice wavering as you desperately try to reign in the wickedness of your heart. "I can't promise you I won't succeed."

"You won't." He tells you, and his voice is resolute. There is no uncertainty, no hidden conviction in the utter confidence of which he speaks. "You can try, Maus. You won't be able to."

"And if I don't?”

König blinks at you, eyes fluttering shut for all of a moment before he speaks.

"Then we'll be here again." He murmurs, and you want to shudder at the sudden softness of his voice, allowing that forbidden thing inside you to stretch forward into him. "Again and again, Maus. Over and over until one of us surrenders."

You’ve tried to forget in his absence, shutting out the way you’d closed your eyes when he had tried to kiss you, vainly attempting to replace it with the knowledge that he’s tried to kill your friends, that he was responsible for Price’s capture, for your capture so long ago. In the weeks he’s been gone you’ve curled silently into your bunk, trying to convince yourself how wrong, how selfish you are for allowing yourself to harbor feelings for him.

Now, when he’s here, now that his voice purrs into your radio with that beloved endearment, Maus, you find your steadfast resistance crumbling down around you like snow shifting on the mountains- preceding an avalanche.

“I missed you, Maus.”

It sounds almost like a whine, a needy thing that would be pouting if there wasn’t an undertone of secret, gleeful intent beneath.

Don’t. You remind yourself, body scrunching tight as you try to control your breathing so he doesn’t hear your shuddering exhale.

“Where are your friends?” You ask instead, voice even, flat.

He’s silent then, and you swear the absence of his words speaks of disappointment.

“That’s not how this works, Maus.” He replies, voice betraying his discontent.

You snort. “Tell me then, how does this work?”

There’s a strange crackling sound over the radio, and if you listen closely you can hear him chuckle.

“It works. Just with you and me.”

You let out a freezing breath at that, and you know it crackles over the comms towards him. You’re silent, but it’s different now as you begin to ease from your original surprise. Against your better judgment, you allow yourself to be soothed by the gentle tenor of his voice, allow yourself to remember what it felt like to nearly be kissed by him. The phantom touch of his knuckles under your chin, tipping you up towards him ghosts across your skin with a wicked, traitorous temptation.

“What are you doing out here, Maus?” König asks, and it's more like a sigh, a reminiscent thing that seems to recall your previous wayward parting.

“Recon.” You tell him flatly, refusing to divulge any more details lest it compromise your mission.

“Alone?”

You think of Soap and Ghost struggling up the cliff side, vanishing in a cloud of white towards the perimeter of the radio tower. He can’t be allowed to know they’re here. God only knows what may happen to them, to him if they find each other.

“Yes.” You breathe, but your hesitation betrays your lie for what it is.

König hums in consideration, and you know him well enough by now to know the narrowing of his eyes, the slight tilt of his head as he weighs your words.

“I think you’re lying, Maus.” He intones, and you stiffen at that, at the small whisper of threat that lingers in his voice- the sound of a man born and bred to kill, to hunt and maim.

You, in your naive fantasies, forgot he too was a hunter.

“I think your friends are here.” He goes on, voice low with danger, and you feel your muscles go taut, eyes wide and shoulders stiff. “Should I go say hello?”

“I’m alone.” You tell him again, but your voice is a thin, desperate thing, caught tight in your chest.

König chuckles, as if he finds your rising panic amusing.

“A joke, Maus.” He explains, and it does little to relieve you, not with the way it failed to sound like anything other than a threat.

“But...” He continues, his voice hanging between you like suspended frost. “I guess if you are alone, you wouldn’t mind company, mm?”

You close your eyes, scrunching them shut at the way your heart clenches with an excitement you shouldn’t feel. The idea of his touch on you again is both exhilarating and terrifying- like drinking poison just because you love the taste. He’s a venom that slips into your veins, purrs under your skin and warms you through even as you burn from the inside out.

The logical part of you knows to refuse him. Yet there’s also a chance that if he remains where he is, he has a very good chance of bumping into Ghost and Soap, which is the absolute last thing you need right now- for the mission, and for yourself. You need to draw him from the tower, away from the others.

“You’re welcome to.” You purr back, refusing to show your wavering voice. “That is...if you can find me.”

He pauses at that, and you wonder if he expected you to refuse him and instead pleasantly surprised.

“A game?” He asks, and you hear the rising excitement in his voice, like a predator who has caught the scent of something delicious. “And my prize?”

You huff at that, oddly endeared by his sadistic sort of playfulness. “I suppose you’ll have to find out, König.” You reply, voice low with promise.

“You’re a vexing woman, Maus.”

Thank God Laswell can’t hear this.

“Try and find me if you can.” You goad, narrowing your scope on the fence perimeter where Ghost and Soap have yet to emerge. “Good luck.”

“Oh I won’t need luck.” He purrs, and you shiver.

“Then I’ll see you soon.” You reply, and switch the channel on your radio off.

Silence follows, and you release a deep, slow exhale to steady yourself. The snow muffles all sound, even the thump of your heartbeat as it beats unevenly against your tender ribs. You try to tame the excitement that hums inside you, forcing yourself into stillness until the cold embraces you again.

It’s unlikely he’ll be able to find you, buried as you are. You’ve allowed snow to accumulate on your back and legs, slowly engulfing your pale snow gear in a further camouflage. You’ve been here for well over an hour, and can stay much longer than that if you need. Not moving, barely breathing. Still and silent in the way snipers are, waiting for your chance to pull the trigger.

There’s a part of you that hopes he finds you, somehow. It’s a selfish, dangerous thing, fed by the excitement of hearing from him for the first time in weeks, scratching the itch you’ve desperately been trying to bury inside yourself. It’s the thing you’ve felt for a while now, a secret desire that betrays all the values and loyalty you hold dear to.

The desire to be caught.

You scrub a snow laden hand across your face, hoping somehow the frost will clear your mind of traitorous thoughts. You need to focus on the mission- ensuring that Soap and Ghost make it to the extraction point without anyone tailing or firing after them. You drew König out not because you wanted to see him, but because you were trying to protect your teammates from an enemy operative. That’s all this is. No wayward, illicit romance, no purring over the comms and suggestive flirtations, and certainly no memories of staring up at your enemy in a dark room and hoping he would find the courage to kiss you.

For fuck’s sake, get a hold of yourself.

You push the image away as far as you can, and train your scope once more on the ice laden cliff across the narrow valley.

It’s quiet in the minutes that follow, and you feel the heavily falling snow continue to pack along your spine. You try to contain your chattering teeth and shivering hands, noting with irritation the undue wobble of your scope as you sweep your sights across the landscape-

What?

A shape, there and gone in a mere moment, vanishing along the narrow path off to your right in a cloud of white. You’re certain you saw something, but when you train your sights, there’s nothing there.

Maybe...

You should move to a better position.

It might be a good idea. The motion would heat up your trembling, frigid limbs, and the snow would hopefully cover any tracks you leave behind. Yet there’s risks of doing so. The second you move, even with your snow camouflage, there’s a risk of being spotted by the operative hunting you through the snow.

You purse your chapped, cold lips under your snow mask, and weigh your options.

-and that’s when you hear the sound behind you.

You flip over quickly, reaching for your side arm, but the weapon is buried against your side in the snow, and as you fumble for it a huge, towering figure lurches into view.

“Found you, Maus.” König rumbles as he steps from behind a tree, and before you can bite a reply, try to raise your silenced pistol, you freeze.

“What-” You manage, a little forced, blinking. “What are you wearing?”

König pauses mid-step as he stalks towards you, eyes wide under his hood. Your question catches him off guard, and he glances down at himself in confusion. His hood, normally a dark, ominous black, is now a strangely, ghostly gray that matches his long, snow-white layers and tan tac vest. Black boots and thick gloves are tugged over his pants and sleeves, but his helmet remains the same.

“...You don’t like it?” He asks, and you laugh out of pure disbelief.

“I-” You try, side arm now forgotten. “Yes?”

You shake yourself, and reach once more for your weapon.

“Ah-” König tuts, quickly moving forward too fast and gently placing a boot over your arm. “Please don’t, Maus.”

You frown at him, try and wiggle your arm, only for him to increase the weight on it. “Asshole.” You seethe, and König huffs an indignant little sound. “What if I said that was your prize?”

“A bullet?” He tilts his head at you. “You shouldn’t have.”

“No, I really should.” You insist past chattering teeth, and tug more severely at his ankle despite your heavy, shivering limbs.

He watches you struggle in vain, and you hate the amused little glint in his eyes.

Finally, you flop back into the snow, winded.

“I won.” He provides smugly, and you punch at his calf in one more outraged attempt to dislodge him, with no success.

“So what then?” You seethe. “Are you going to capture me again?”

“No.”

You blink, look up at him, startled by the sudden severity of his tone. He bites out the word like you’ve insulted him, sneering and dangerous. You’d only sort of been joking, but the reflexive refusal that you’ve managed to elicit has you pause, considering.

“We’re...past that, Maus.” He goes on, voice softer. The boot eases from your arm a bit. “I thought we agreed on that much.”

"Some things are more beautiful when they are free, Maus."

It’s difficult to decide how you feel about that.

Part of you is relieved that König has decided to forego the obsession of capturing you. For reasons still unknown to you, O’Connor had kept Price alive during his captivity. You have a feeling that for you, your fate at the hands of KorTac would be far less kind. Held by ransom at best, an unmarked grave at worst, it’s fortunate for you that the Austrian towering above you has decided much the same.

Yet you also wish somehow things could go back to what they were- simpler. König trying to take you alive, and you- trying to kill him for it. Instead, the haunting memory of the darkness inside the storage closet of the KorTac base, of how you’d almost let him kiss you, of how you saw his face, remains a treacherous addiction you desperately try to rid yourself of. Now, this, whatever it is, seems to have spiraled beyond your reach, unable now to discern the lines between villain and dangerous ally, a balance you fail to reconcile with every frost-bitten breath inside your chest.

You try to force a glare up at him, but instead feel your expression cast between dismay and doubt, a visage that he absorbs and blinks slowly down at you.

“You’re shaking, Maus.” He notes quietly, voice barely audible above the ice-laden wind. “Are you afraid?”

“No.” You bite back, and that at least is the truth. “Just freezing my ass off.”

König tilts his head at you, and is silent for a moment, considering. Yet then you see his eyes behind the mask, crinkling at the edges as he smiles.

“Poor little liebling.” He coos, and you frown harder at that, the almost condescending dip of his voice. Yet before you can protest König uses his boots to gently roll you onto your stomach back to the position you were at before, and then abruptly dropping his weight onto your back.

“W-what-” You croak in surprise, face warming as you try and squirm under the massive bulk of him pressed flat against your spine. “What are you doing?!”

“You said you were cold.” The giant above you reasons, settling in so he blankets you on all sides with his larger frame. “I’m just trying to keep you warm, Maus.”

Your brain short circuits, fizzling into nothingness as you battle the absolutely absurdity of the situation with the welcome body heat bleeding into your bones from above.

This is so beyond the field manual I might as well burn the thing.

König happily nuzzles into your back, trapping you underneath him. He arranges his arms in a cradle to rest your head in, his own cheek pressed to the nape of your neck with a pleased sigh.

You can’t even find the words to object to this bizarre development, eyes blinking dumbly into the wall of white that obscures the other side of the valley where Soap and Ghost have vanished to. You can only silently thank whatever higher power there is that they can’t see this- can’t see you as you find yourself cuddling with the enemy.

“I’ll take this as my prize.” König murmurs cheerfully, and you make a sound of utter disbelief, confused yet not entirely displeased at this development.

The more you fail to squirm free, the more heat radiates from the form of the soldier behind you, encasing you in a small cocoon of heat that blessedly chases above the shiver in your muscles. Slowly, you find yourself relaxing against him, taking in the warmth for all its worth and silently convincing yourself it’s just for survival.

Can’t RV if I’m hypothermic, after all. You try to reason, blatantly ignoring the tiny voice inside you that speaks otherwise.

“You’re keeping me alive.” You muse aloud, mouth partially covered by your snow mask and the cradle of his arms.

“I am.” König replies simply with a small shrug.

“Why?”

König pauses for a moment. You swear you feel him stiffen, feel the thump of his heartbeat pound between your shoulder blades as he attempts to summon an answer.

“Because I like you, Maus.” He tells you at last, soft and breathy in your ear. “I like you better alive.”

The cold air in your lungs seems to punch at the staccato rhythm inside your chest, forcing a cold intake of air that you pray he doesn’t notice.

“Since that first time we met.” König goes on, voice rumbling low from his chest into the warming dip of your spine. “I saw you, saw the way you fought, the way you...weren’t afraid. You were so soft and small in my arms...”

He trails off then, but when he resumes his musings he chuckles low against your nape. “You were like a little bird, but when you woke up it turned out you had fangs, Maus.”

You feel a small flush of pride at that, at the reminder of the way you had challenged him, had refused to back down despite the towering, intimidating stranger before you. In truth you’d been terrified, knowing your capture could have meant torture, even death, knowing that Gaz had been left behind bleeding and unconscious.

Gaz...

Your face falls in dismay.

What would he think of you like this? With the man who once had almost killed him? Who had dared to steal you away right in front of his eyes? What would he make of this? With you in the arms of an enemy, refusing to squirm free, to kill the man who had once helped kidnap Price.

...With a man who had saved your life more times than you could count?

“We can’t...do this.” You breathe quietly into the snow, eyes half lidded and scarcely gazing at the wall of white before you. “König...”

The man behind you is silent, and you know without seeing his eyes he’s taking in your words, thinking very much the same. Like you, König knows the danger of his fascination with you, the way he’s already betrayed his own company to aid you, to keep you safe. You both know that the lines you have both crossed betray the allies you’ve sworn yourselves to, caught in a dangerous abraxas that neither of you can control.

“Would you?” He asks in a whisper shielded by the wind. “If things were different, Maus?”

You close your eyes, feeling your chest clench with an emotion you dare not name. You should lie to him. You should tell him that this, this is something you never expected, something you can indulge in no longer. You should tell him next time that you won’t hesitate, that you’ll squeeze the trigger and watch this horrid affair finally come to its fateful, bloody conclusion.

Instead, you offer in a scarce whisper:

“Yes.”

There’s a long pause before König sighs behind you, his chest deflating into your spine and the warm breath of him spilling across your nape. You shiver under him, purely out of sensation rather than the cold, reminded of the intimacy of the position you two find yourselves in.

“What am I going to do with you, Maus?” He asks, and despite the melodrama involved you know it’s a genuine question- one you yourself have asked many, many times.

“We could go back to trying to kill each other.” You offer with feign cheerfulness.

“I never wanted to kill you, Maus.”

Right.

In some ways you wish he had. If König never had qualms about killing you, perhaps this could be avoided.

“You could desert.” You say suddenly, surprising yourself. “Defect and surrender to the 141.”

“Do you really think it’s that simple, Maus?” He asks, almost dismayed.

You know it’s not. With everything König has done, with the legacy he’s left on you and your teammates, you know they’d never trust him. Even if you explained to them that König wasn’t the monster they think he is, that he had never done the things they suspect him of, you know all you’d receive in return is your friends’ disbelief and distrust for lying to them, for asking them to trust the man who had once captured you.

The image of their faces, of the hurt and despair and disappointment etched across their eyes, is something you can hardly bear.

This is your fault, you think quietly, with dawning despair. You should have killed him long ago. You should have told your team. Perhaps they’d have forgiven you if you’d confessed, consoled you and told you that this was all just a horrible maladjustment to your capture back then. If you’d told them, if you’d killed him...

“Maus.” König observes at the small shuddering breath you draw in, emotions bubbling inside your chest.

If things were different, then somehow....maybe...

“Bravo-09, this is Bravo-07.”

You jolt, muscles seizing at the sudden staticky tenor of Ghost’s voice over your comms. König braces on his forearms to allow you to scramble for your radio, voice breathless as you respond.

“Go ahead Bravo-07.”

“Sweep cleared. Proceeding to rally point Alpha. Fifteen minutes.”

“Good copy, LT. Are you being followed?”

A pause, then. “Negative, Bravo-09. Place was empty. Looks like they’d just burned it.”

You blink, then twist towards König.

“You bastard.” You manage, eyes wide as you realize what he’s done. “This was a distraction.”

König’s eyes soften with a remorse that fails to quell the anger warming in your veins.

“A necessary one, Maus.” He offers simply, removing the weight of his body from yours. You twist onto your back to face him, a mixture of rage and hurt written clear across your face. König towers above you, a massive shadow that easily dwarfs your prone form.

“You’re lucky you and your friends came when you did. A day earlier and you’d all be dead.”

“Why?” You manage, voice strangled. “Why distract us?”

“You know I can’t tell you that, Maus.” He offers, almost sadly. “We’re still enemies, after all.”

He steps away from you then, and even when you know he sees your hand reach for your sidearm, he doesn’t flinch. Instead he pauses, offers you a clear line of sight that would allow you to take the perfect shot at his turned back.

“...But maybe not forever.” He finally offers, and steps easily into the trees, vanishing.

You watch after him, expression pained, asking the snowy sky for answers it cannot yield.

In the place where he once was, your finger trembles on the trigger.

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djarincore · 4 months

Text

The Name of Love

SUMMARY: You knew him by three names: Mando, Din, and finally, riduur.

PAIRING: din djarin x gn!reader

WORD COUNT: 6.9k

WARNINGS: fluff, angst, canon typical violence, blood, hypothermia, happy ending

A/N: a repost from my previous blog! i've only written 2 full din fics so far but this is def my favorite one <3 thanks again to @xiadeptus for beta reading this

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You first knew him as the Mandalorian, the stoic and aloof bounty hunter that drifted in and out of Tatooine looking for work or ship repairs. The glinting armor was hard not to notice under the scorching twin suns, along with his infamous reputation that followed in whispers—whispers which mainly revolved around the strange, green child he carried around in a bag and the fact that he never showed his face.

When you first got the job at Peli’s garage, thanks to the favor she owed your mother, the sight of the Mandalorian descending the ramp of his beaten-up Razor Crest had you slipping behind a couple of stacked crates with the rest of the quivering pit droids. He strode down the ramp toward your boss who was already reaching for the green child trailing after him.

“There’s my little guy!” She exclaimed, scooping him up and cradling him in her arms. The child cooed and clasped her finger in his three-fingered grasp. His keeper watched on with hands on his hips; the helmet remained solely focused on the child.

“We need a repair,” he said, the rasp in his voice still remaining despite the modulator.

“Sure thing but, just so you know, it’ll cost you a little extra this time. Got a new hire.” She jerked her thumb in your direction.

You took it as your cue to reveal yourself, noting the way his helmet turned, carefully looking you up and down, and his hand slowly moved toward the blaster at his waist, like he wasn’t above shooting the harmless mechanic’s assistant and a couple of droids. You lifted both hands, stained with oil, as a show of goodwill.

“Aw, relax, Mando,” Peli drawled, swatting the air with her nonchalant attitude. “They’re not a droid.”

His hand slipped off the handle, but remained at his side, ready to draw if necessary.

You sent him a friendly half-smile and his gloved fingers twitched.

“Fine.”

The remainder of the day was spent repairing the left wing and engine of his ship, which looked like it had seen the losing side of a gunfight, and you couldn’t help but wonder how he managed to limp down to Tatooine without crashing and burning once he broke through the atmosphere.

The job would have been faster if you had some assistance from the droids, but Peli made it clear they weren’t allowed anywhere near the ship or the Mandalorian, making his disdain for them abundantly clear. You wondered the whole day what a droid could have done to make him hate even the smallest of droids. The theories you built in your head ran wild, ranging from a nasty betrayal by a trusted ally to tripping him in a crowded cantina, embarrassing him so badly he vowed to never show his face ever again.

You leaned against the rope of the swing suspending you off the ground, taking a break from welding metal back together, and watched the Mandalorian move below your feet. He walked with purpose, something a fearsome bounty hunter with a widespread reputation was expected to do; every step was carefully calculated like a predator hunting prey. Behind him was the child clumsily waddling, as fast as his legs could carry him, after the man.

Your lips curved into a soft smile while observing the dichotomy of the two. It warmed your heart to see how attached the child was to his guardian. More questions formed in your mind about their relationship; the rumors didn’t contain the exact details of how the two came to be together.

Maybe the child is his biological son and beneath all the armor is green, wrinkly skin and comically large ears tucked into the helmet, you joked to yourself.

You pressed one of the buttons on the side of your swing to lower yourself to the ground. Your feet touched the floor, but you didn’t get up.

“Your ship should be up and running in no time.”

“Thank you for your help.”

“No pro- Oh!” You exclaimed when something poked at your leg. A three-fingered hand was tapping your leg; large black eyes gazed up at you. You cooed, “Hello there, little guy.”

He tugged at the cuff of your pants, waving his arms in the air. You waved back, fighting back the urge to smooth your fingers over his floppy ears.

“He wants you to hold him.”

“Ah,” you chuckled, cheeks warming. You didn’t have much experience with children; in fact, you didn’t know the first thing about caring for one. They had so many needs, so many different ways of communicating them too. The pressure to mold them into upstanding beings—it was just too much. But, you could definitely hold a child, especially one as cute as him.

You pulled him into your arms and he immediately found the strings of your shirt vastly entertaining.

“I think he likes me,” you quipped.

The child’s babble sounded like a positive response.

“Me too,” the Mandalorian said, leaning against a crate and watching the two of you.

There were multiple rotations between their visits. Each visit brought a new scratch, ding, or completely wrecked engine that made you look on in disbelief, but you were eager to see the two nonetheless. They brought stories of their adventures, bounties, and new people they met.

You would be the first to greet them, standing at the base of the ship’s ramp with a wide grin and many questions budding on the tip of your tongue.

“Hey.”

The modulated voice made you snap out of your thoughts.

“Yes, sir?”

You could hear him huff behind the modulator. He said to just call him Mando the first time you called him sir, but you never picked it up, finding it too entertaining to hear his exasperated sighs.

“Want to get off this planet? I’ve got a job proposition.”

Your goodbyes were easy—a hug for Peli, head pats for each droid—and suddenly, you found yourself sitting in the cockpit of the ship you had been repairing for the past few rotations.

You quickly learned space was cold and you were not prepared. The thin clothes you were used to on Tatooine wouldn’t cut it anymore and it left you shivering in the passenger seat.

You sunk down your seat, wrapping your arms around yourself to find a semblance of warmth.

You weren’t sure what your purpose was in the time between ports, but even if you knew, you were frozen to your seat and unable to move without feeling stiff.

Soon, you fell asleep, lulled by the stars and the sound of beeps and hollow groans of an old ship.

You woke to fabric being draped over your body and a glimmer of beskar.

The hands over the fabric paused; the Mandalorian stepped back, hands returning to his side, flexing at his waist. “Should have told me you were cold.”

You gripped the fabric and realized it was one of his thick, woolen capes which smelled of caf beans and leather. You resisted the urge to nestle your cheek against the wool and savor the comfort it offered.

“I didn’t want to be a bother.”

“You’re a part of my crew now,” he said firmly. “We take care of each other.”

Your heart stuttered, fingers curled tighter around his cape, and you muttered a pathetic, “Yeah.”

From the kindness he offered, you made a silent promise at that moment; as long as the three of you were together, you would do anything to protect them.

It wouldn’t be long before you realized he felt the same.

—

Then, you learned his name, his real name—Din Djarin. It had been a while into your partnership. You learned far more about the two than your theories could have imagined—his Creed, his force-wielding child.

The three of you had a good routine. He would scout out bounties while you either worked on the ship or found other mechanic work elsewhere if the ship was (miraculously) undamaged. Grogu would be passed between the two of you. If Mando’s bounty was too dangerous for him to follow you’d take him for the day, letting him pass you random tools and praising him for helping. And at the end of the day, the three of you reconvened with separate checks that would go toward supplies and other basic necessities. If it was a particularly rough day, you would be forcing him onto a crate and checking his wounds.

“I’m fine,” he would insist, attempting to push your wandering hands aside. But, you could see the unsteady shake of his hand and the sliver of skin and blood showing on his waist where he was cut.

It was a simple routine, but it worked. You had no complaints…

…Well, just one.

“ Kriff, we’re gonna crash!” You cried, shutting your eyes to avoid seeing your imminent doom that took the form of two towering cliffs of ice far too close together for the ship to slip through. The two tailing bounty hunter ships had followed you from Nevaro, after accusing Mando of stealing a bounty from them, which he rightfully caught.

You knew working for a bounty hunter wasn’t going to be easy, comfortable, or safe—but, you trusted him. He was good at what he did and you never doubted it.

The ship turned on its side, jerking your entire body to the right, and left you at the mercy of the belt across your body to keep you in your seat. You could hear the scrape of ice across the bottom of the ship and cringed, knowing you’d have to repair that (if you even made it out of this alive).

When the ship slipped free from the narrow gap and straightened. you let out a breath and opened your eyes. Snow, miles, and miles of it, touched everything your eyes could see.

He glanced at you over his shoulder. If you could see his face, you’d guess it was smug.

You were getting better at reading your faceless partner. He didn’t say much but his body did with every head tilt and shrug. And you would catch yourself spending a lot of time just observing him.

“You’ve gotta stop piloting like that,” you huffed, cradling your head when you feel the slightest throb. “You’re gonna kill me one of these days.”

“Don’t plan on it,” came his monotone response.

The ship cruised, his helmet scanning the horizon, and kept low in the meantime. There was no sign of the other two ships.

You unbuckled your seatbelt and stood; a wave of dizziness had you staggering. When your hand flew out to catch on to something, you found his, already reaching out to steady you in his strong grasp. The brush of his thumb over your knuckles made your breath catch.

“I have to lie down.” To stop your heart from racing at his subtle touches.

You thought you had gotten used to it by now—the way he made you feel safe. Whether it was his hand hovering over the base of your spine as he guided you through a crowded market or how he would always position himself between you and whatever shady character he had dealings with. The small gestures piled up and toyed with your mind. You understood the signs—heart racing, nervous tension in your chest—the budding symptoms of love.

“We’re not in the clear yet.”

You brushed the heat crawling over your neck off and said, “Can’t we land somewhere and wait them out a while? I’m gonna be sick if you start flying upside down.”

The beginning of his argument was cut off by the cockpit door opening. You slipped out and down the ladder into the cargo hold. Some crates shifted to the right of the ship as a result of the sharp turn. You weren’t concerned with them as much as you were with your makeshift bed space, a flimsy sleeping bag and some blankets, which were also flung off to the side. One of your blankets was stuck under a crate, too heavy for you to lift by yourself.

You groaned, weakly tugging at the fabric peeking out beneath. You were cold, tired, and sick—you already hated this planet.

You heard a curse from above and Mando shouted, “Hold onto something!”

You didn’t have time to react before the ship was nose-diving, throwing you against the wall. You clung to the ladder as the ship's sporadic movements jostled your entire body. It continued for a few more seconds before settling and the engines cut out. Everything was finally still, except your heart.

You heard the creaks of ice settling beneath the ship, then cracks. It wasn’t long before the ice gave way to the weight, shattering into a cavern below and dragging the ship with it.

You don’t remember hitting your head, just the scream that came before it. But, when you finally came to, numb and confused, Mando was rattling your shoulders with a panicked voice.

“Wake up.”

You could have sworn in your daze there was a desperate ‘please’ added at the end.

You groaned, peeling your eyes open, “Mando?”

He sighed like a massive weight was lifted off of him. “Yeah,” he said, there was a hint of a smile in his voice. He carefully slipped his arms behind your shoulders and knees. “It’s me. I’ve got you.”

You were half aware of him lifting you, too dazed by the cold settling under your skin and making a home deep in your bones.

The hull was dusted with snow and frost. You spotted a large hole in the side of the ship, crudely covered with a tarp and some crates.

“Got t’ fix,” you mumbled, leaning your head against his shoulder pauldron. You didn’t even know where to start with something that large on this barren planet. If you weren’t so cold, the dread would have set in, realizing you were stranded on a barren planet with little resources to dig yourselves up from a cold grave.

“Not right now,” he grunted, kicking your toolbox aside—the one he gifted you on Nevaro after you eyed it at a stall for too long. He approached the small corner beside his bunk, which was caved in, where there was little snow piled. He set you down, supporting the back of your head with his hand as he laid you against the wall. “I’ll be right back.”

You could’ve protested if your mouth or eyes didn’t feel frozen shut; all you wanted to do was drift off.

“Hey, hey,” he said. He ripped a glove off and pressed his warm hand to your cheek. “Don’t fall asleep.”

You moaned, pushing closer to the warmth, and tried to focus on his visor.

“There you go. Good.”

With your thoughts slowly catching up, you glanced around his shoulders, not seeing a floating pram anywhere. You wanted to get up and rush around him in search of the child, but all you could muster was a sharp turn of your head that still sent pain down your neck. “Where’s-”

Mando brought your face back to him. His steady voice pulled you out of your panic. “He’s fine. He’s up in the cockpit; I’ll bring him down after I get you some blankets.”

“Okay.” You rested your head against the wall and watched as he untied his cape and slipped it over your shoulders, tucking it close around your body.

He disappeared up the ladder. You heard his faint footsteps, scouring the upper level. He returned soon, a few blankets slung over his shoulder and Grogu tucked in his other arm.

He set Grogu down and moved you forward just enough for him to sling more blankets over your shoulders.

If you could feel your face, maybe you’d laugh at how ridiculous you looked and felt, like a small child being coddled by a worried parent. But, he wasn’t a worried parent, he was your employer—your incredibly kind and caring employer, who you often dreamt of as more than an employer, more than a friend.

“Aren’t y-you,” you chattered, “cold, too?”

You worried about him under all that shining armor; he could be hiding an injury like he always did, pretending he was fine and limping off somewhere else to lick his wounds alone. You wished he wouldn’t be so stubborn all the time.

Grogu crawled into your lap, playing with the tips of your frozen fingers. Mando said something about his armor keeping him warm, but you didn’t register any of it when his hands enveloped yours—calloused and warm.

“Try to keep your arms and legs moving,” he said, massaging the palm of your hands. Then he directed his attention to Grogu. “Okay, kid, keep your buir warm. I’m going to repair the ship.”

“Hm?” You cocked your head at the word. Sure, he liked sneaking Mando’a words into his sentences from time to time—sometimes calling you mesh’la or cyar’ika, which made you blush because of how sincere he sounded—but you just assumed they were nicknames. You assumed buir meant babysitter or something along those lines, too. “Stealing my job, Mando?” you quipped instead.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

When his hands slipped from yours, your fingers twitched, almost asking him not to go. You would warm up faster if he were with you.

He slipped past the tarp, into the cavern of snow. Grogu’s babble drew your attention; his arms were raised.

You apologized, “Sorry, kid, I’d lift you up, but my arms are a bit sore right now.”

He continued to babble as he found comfort nestled in your lap instead. You rested your head against the wall and stared at the opening where Mando left, still feeling the ghost of his warmth on your hand.

The minutes you spent slowly flexing your hands and feet paid off; your strength was slowly returning. Grogu crawled off of your lap and watched as you, with the grace of a newborn calf, pushed yourself onto unsteady feet.

“Okay, kid, let’s go help your dad.” You scooped him up and braced yourself with Mando’s cape, making sure the two of you were snug beneath the fabric before pushing aside the tarp and stepping outside into the frigid weather.

The cold winds were the first to greet you; already, your cheeks were growing numb. Grogu let out a disapproving grunt, clearly not favoring the cold either.

You stayed close to the side of the ship in case your legs gave out and rounded the tail end before finding Mando, with frost coating his armor and hands on his hip, staring at a jumble of wires hanging from an open panel.

Upon seeing his father, Grogu cheered in your arms, alerting the Mandalorian whose head snapped in your direction.

He was already approaching you before declaring, “You need to rest.”

“I can’t cozy up in there while you’re out here all by yourself. Look at you.” You drew a line in the frost coating his chest plate. “You must be freezing under all that.”

“I said I’m-”

“Fine,” you finished. “I know, I know—you’re always fine, Mando.”

You were growing tired of his stubborn attitude concerning his well-being and of standing for so long. You were beginning to sway without realizing it, but Mando’s quick hand on your shoulder steadied you.

“I got you,” he murmured. He took Grogu from you and moved to your side. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, silently guiding you back into the ship’s hull and onto the spot where the blankets were piled.

Once you were settled, you expected him to wander back out but, to your surprise, he began detaching pieces of his armor.

You watched, mouth agape, as one by one the shining beskar revealed a dark flight suit that molded with the contours of his body. The helmet, of course, stayed.

He eased himself onto the floor beside you and wrapped the three of you beneath the blankets. Your eyes widened when his arm pressed against yours. You dared to rest your head against his shoulder; you relished in the comfort of his presence, finally feeling warmer than ever. His body began to relax gradually with your head on his shoulder and his chest rose and fell in an even rhythm.

With Grogu resting in your lap it almost felt like the three of you were a family, settling in after a long day.

“You’re always protecting everyone,” you said, exhaustion beginning to creep over you once again. “We’re a crew, right? Let me take care of you too.”

You knew the irony in saying that while he was taking care of you, but you hoped he would remember it.

He slipped his gloves off to flex the stiff muscles. “I’m,” he started, “just not used to this.”

“Having a crew?” You guessed.

“Having someone care.”

Your mouth dropped open with a response dying on your tongue. Instead, you resolved to take his hand and curl your fingers through his. They were stiff from the cold, but relaxed once your thumb ran over the ridges of his knuckles.

“You’re a good man and I trust you with my life. Don’t think for a second I don’t care about you, Mando. I-” You cut yourself off.

You what? Loved him? Kriff. He just started opening up to you. Telling him you were in love with him right after would surely make him run in the other direction. You doubted he felt the same. You could read him, but not that well.

“Din.”

You snapped out of your thoughts, relieved he didn’t attempt to figure out what you were going to say. “What?”

“My name’s Din.”

He was looking at you now. Maybe if you squinted hard enough you could catch a glimpse of his eyes behind his darkened visor, but you wouldn’t disrespect his Creed and you didn’t think you could handle seeing his strong gaze, boring into you.

So, you turned your eyes down toward your intertwined hands; you tested his name on your tongue and smiled.

Getting off the ice planet took work—a mix of frustration and determination—and you swore to get a nice vacation on some far, far away planet, preferably with a warm, sunny beach.

But, the ship needed heavier repairs, forcing the three of you to find the nearest planet, Trask, for maintenance. A dock worker was quick to offer his services, charging more than necessary, once you landed.

You frowned when Din agreed without hesitation, dropping the credits into his slimy hands. You could have rolled up your sleeves and got to work yourself with better equipment at hand, but Din insisted on the three of you getting some real rest after the stress of the past three days.

The place was seedy, smelled of fish, and you couldn’t shake the feeling of unwanted eyes stalking the three of you as you passed through the quiet harbor. You and Din walked on either side of Grogu’s floating pram.

You, with a scowl glued to your face, pulled your cape, one of Din’s, tighter around yourself. The toolbox Din gifted you was clasped in your hand, deemed too precious to leave behind while strangers fixed the ship. You leaned into Din and whispered, “We should just go back to Tatooine for the repairs; I can do it.”

“I know you can, but the ship’s too damaged and you know it.”

You huffed.

Grogu mimicked your huff, putting on his best grouchy face, and your frown lightened into a smile, pointing at the boy. “See—even he agrees with me.”

Din let out an amused hum. “When did the two of you decide to team up against me?”

“We hold secret meetings when you’re out and conspire against you.”

“Guess I should watch my back,” he deadpanned.

Night fell quickly on Trask and before you knew it, the streets were oddly quiet, only lit by dim street lights in rounded sections.

Din’s stride grew cautious; his helmet subtly turned to scan the area.

You also took caution, straining your ears for anything out of place, but all you heard was the nearby tide pulling in and out.

There was a shift in the gravel behind you. Din’s hand shot out to shove aside Grogu’s pram, sending him off to a nearby stack of crates, and he could only brush your shoulder before turning and deflecting a blaster shot with his vambrace. The heat from the blast radiated in the air around you.

“Run!” He barked, ripping his blaster from its holder and firing off a shot into the dark.

Your feet hesitated and your heart stuttered when another blast hit his chest plate, forcing a grunt from him. But, the sound of worried coos snapped you out of it. You turned and ran toward Grogu who watched the fight with large eyes.

Three figures emerged from the darkness, dressed like pirates, and armed with unrelenting blasters all aimed at Din.

“Give up the armor, Mando.” One of them demanded.

“It’s time to hide, okay?” You said, tucking Grogu into the pram. Your thumb brushed over the mythosaur necklace he always wore like a lucky charm and you were praying it would work. You pressed the button on the outside of his pram to shut it.

The fight was coming to a close by the time you turned back, much to your relief. Two were knocked out cold, sprawled across the floor while the remaining one continued to fight. Both of them resorted to hand-to-hand combat after they managed to disarm one another.

Just when you thought you could relax, the remaining pirate pulled out a blade and took a swipe at Din, plunging it deep into his side and back out. Your breathing stopped when Din staggered and fell to his knees.

The pirate grabbed him by his cowl, pressing the bloodied blade to his throat, and sneered, “Give up.”

Your hands shook. Not like this, you thought. You couldn’t— wouldn’t —lose him. You dropped your toolbox and fell to your knees, wrenching it open to look for anything that would help. You pulled the largest item free, the hammer, and ran. Adrenaline pushed your feet toward the two and, putting all your weight into it, you swung at the pirate's head, sending him stumbling back.

Only dazed, the pirate sent you a menacing glare, lips pulled back into a snarl, and spat out curses, promising you’d regret it.

Your hand clenched the hammer, heart racing, ready to swing again as he prepared to lunge at you. Not even fear or the promise of death would stop you from saving Din.

Then, something ignited, cold and droning like echoes of the abyss, behind the pirate.

You smelt the smoke before the nauseating burnt flesh. It made your stomach roll.

A haunting glow emitted from the pirate's chest before it was sliced clean through. He fell—lifeless—with a thud, crimson leaking from the gash and pooling around him.

Din stood over him—one hand clutching his waist and the other holding the darksaber. His chest rose and fell; his helmet was fixated on the body. You could hear the leather of his gloves cry as his hand tightened around the hilt of the saber.

You never saw him use it before. It looked more like an accessory on him rather than a weapon. He once explained its bloody history and how he came to acquire it. The weight of its importance haunted him, a burden he never wished to bear.

“Oh, Maker,” you cried, rushing toward him. The darksaber unignighted; the heavy atmosphere disappeared along with it and time continued. You dropped the hammer and pressed your hand to his wound. Blood seeped through his fingers and onto yours.

He grunted, “I’m…”

Your wavering voice saying his name made him pause.

“Let’s get out of the street,” he said instead. He waved Grogu’s pram forward with the controls on his vambrace. It opened, revealing the whimpering child.

The three of you limped all the way to an inn. When the innkeeper sent you a weary look, you demanded the first room available and a medical kit—whatever the price. After slapping the credits on the counter, you snatched up the kit and dragged Din toward the room, not caring about the drops of blood staining the hallway.

The room was small and gray; a single bed set in the middle of the room, a nightstand on either side, and a fresher. You eased him onto the bed, where he slumped and groaned.

The medical kit was meager; a suture kit, antiseptic wipes, and a few bacta patches, but it would do. You dashed to the fresher to wash your hands. You scrubbed them viciously, watching his blood run down the sink. Tears blurred your vision. The red wouldn’t stop running.

When you emerged from the fresher, his shirt was already rolled up and he was attempting to clean his wound. Grogu was asleep in his pram, wiped out from all the excitement.

You released a tired sigh. “Let me.”

You moved to take the cloth from him, kneeling at his feet and wiping around the area of the wound gently.

“Don’t do that again,” he rasped.

“Save your life?” The playful tone you attempted fell flat. As much as you wanted to be amused, the fear of losing him still suffocated you. He was safe, your thoughts repeated.

Once the wound was cleaned you pulled the needle from the kit. You were in over your head and a bit nauseous. Cleaning wounds was easy, but stitching them up was something else.

You’ve seen him cauterize his own wounds and pinched your nose when the smell became too much. He didn’t deserve the scars they left behind and this was your opportunity to finally take care of him.

You willed your hands not to tremble as you notched the needle through his skin, apologizing when he sucked in a sharp breath or flinched.

“I told you to run.”

Your voice was finally firm when you said, “I’m not going to leave you.”

He was your partner, through and through, and you cared for him.

When you were finished, you unwrapped a bacta patch and laid it over the suture. You smoothed over the patch and withdrew your hands.

He was already sitting up taller, no longer hunched over or wheezing. You knew it was a good sign but you still trembled all over.

You raised your head, but your eyes were stuck on his cowl where a sliver of his blood was left from the blade. The tears were returning, flooding your bottom lashes.

Would that pirate have killed him right there on the street, stripped him of his armor, and left him like trash? You would have had to drag his body back to the ship—would have to tell Grogu his father was dead.

“Cyar’ika, look at me,” he said, finding your cheek with his palm. “Just breathe.”

You didn’t realize you were gasping for breath, tears running down your cheeks until your eyes finally connected with his visor.

“I just can’t lose you, Din,” you cried. “I can’t .”

There was so much you wanted to say—so much he needed to know. You were so close to losing him and losing the chance to admit how you’d grown to feel over the course of your partnership.

He guided you onto the bed and held you until the tears stopped and subsided into sniffles. Your face was buried in his cowl and your arms were thrown around his shoulder.

“I can’t lose you either,” he admitted, a waver in his voice. You were so close you could almost hear the sound of his real voice. His words were tender and sincere.

Your breath hitched and a realization washed over you.

He pulled back and you pulled yourself out of his neck with wide eyes. Cold metal met your forehead.

“You mean far too much to me.”

For a man of few words, he still said so much. Your hand brushed below the rim of his helmet. “I love you, Din,” you confessed.

Your heart pounded as you waited for his response—for even the sharpest intake of breath. But, it was silent—all but your heart remained still as he processed your words. Your hand slipped away, back to the safety of your personal bubble, which was beginning to shrink as the silence became an oppressive weight on your shoulders.

Say something, you wanted to shout. Did you read his words wrong? Was it just appreciation for his… employee?

“Close the curtains and turn off the light.”

Your brows furrowed and you cocked your head to the side. “What?”

“Please.”

You stood with a frown and shuffled to shut the curtains, then made your way to the light switch. You took one last glance over your shoulder, before flipping the switch and submerging the room in darkness. You could hardly see his silhouette as you shuffled back to the bed with your hands out in front.

A calloused hand found your wandering ones, carefully pulling you down to sit beside him once again, not letting go. Then, you heard a click and a hiss, like he was detaching his—

Your eyes widened when you realized what he was doing and you tried pulling away. Even in the darkness, where shadows fell across the silhouette of his body, you couldn’t risk seeing him—no matter how curious.

“Din, no-”

“It’s alright,” he reassured. The low rasp of his voice was no longer modified by his helmet. He chased after you in the dark; his hand moved to the back of your neck, drawing your face closer to his. You could feel the warmth of his breath brushing across your lips.

The smell of caf and leather drew you closer you and you fell into its embrace. It was your safety, your haven—the home you found in him, along with his son and his beaten-down ship.

“ Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum, ner cyar’ika, ” he whispered into the darkness, gentle devotion laced in his words. “ I love you .”

When he kissed you, it was slow, a tender meeting of lips which you both relaxed into. The weight off your shoulders disappeared and all you could do was smile against his lips and draw him closer.

That night you traced his features in the dark, committing every outline and curve to memory, with a content smile and full heart while he held you close. You didn’t need to see his face to love him; it could wait—forever if it meant you’d still have him.

“You know,” he said in the darkness with you tucked close under his arm, “you wield a hammer well. It reminds me of someone I know.”

“Really? Who?”

It was nearly a full cycle before you met the Armorer, the mysterious figure Din would mention from time to time, a woman he seemed to respect.

You were nervous. Though he never said it directly, she was like a maternal figure and you wanted to make a good impression.

Ever since Trask, the two of you were closer than ever. He had no reservations when it came to you. His hand would lay firmly against your lower back as he crowded around you, guiding you through busy markets, pulling you close whenever someone bumped into you. You no longer slept alone, trading out your flimsy sleeping bag for a cozy spot in his bed. At night when the lights were out, you’d finally get to kiss him and share dreams.

The covert was located on a barren planet. You wouldn’t have guessed there was any life if it weren’t for the scattered Mandalorian sparing at the mouth of a cave.

By the time you landed near the lake, only two Mandalorians emerged to greet you.

“It’s been a while.” A large, blue man said upon approaching, greeting the three of you with a simple nod. He towered over everyone, a mass of muscle and armor that radiated intimidation.

As he approached, your foot slid back as you bent your neck to meet his visor and you bumped into Din. He rested a hand on your shoulder. “This is Paz, my brother.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” you said, sticking a hand out.

The hand that takes yours is firm; he shook once and let go. The hand on your shoulder squeezed.

“It seems your clan has grown.” The figure to Paz’s right spoke, her visor trained on the hand over your shoulder. You needed no introduction for her. It was obvious in the way she spoke, authoritative and clear, that she was the Armorer.

Your lips quirked. A clan, huh?

She welcomed you briefly and Din requested a private audience in her forge. When Din handed Grogu off to you, he said, “Stay with Paz, cyar’ika.”

“Cyar’ika?” The Armorer paused. “Have you claimed them as your riduur?”

You cast Din a curious glance. Riduur?

“I… haven’t,” he said carefully.

“I see.” She resumed her pace and disappeared into the cave.

Din followed, not before pressing his forehead to yours. It was like a kiss, he explained once. You were fine with it. You knew as soon as the day was over, he’d make up for all the kisses you’d missed out on.

“He seems to like you.”

“I would hope so,” you quipped, turning to Paz once Din was out of sight. “He loves me, after all.”

You finally got your well-deserved vacation—on a planet called Pabu, with bright blue skies and a sparkling blue ocean—and more than you could have ever wished for.

Gentle waves lapped at your bare feet as you leaned back against the palm of your hands to soak in the last of the dying sun.

Relaxing like this felt rare and fleeting; part of you was worried some other danger would rear its ugly head and ruin the tranquility. But, a quick glance toward Grogu, who was splashing in the water, and Din, standing watch to make sure he didn’t snatch up any crabs as a snack, dispelled any worry and replaced it with a warmth that spread through your chest like the sun's rays.

You cracked a smile at the Mandalorian who was barefoot as well, after you convinced him to step into the waves, with his pants rolled up to the bottom of his knees.

“Stop that,” came Din’s chastising demand. Grogu was levitating a poor crab toward his mouth before letting it fall back into the water with a grumble, his ears pulled back as he looked up at his father with a pout. “You’ll ruin your dinner,” he reasoned, reaching down to scoop the fussing child from the water.

You stood, wiping away sand clinging to your thighs, and walked over to the pair. Din’s helmet followed you as you approached, his shoulders were far more relaxed than you’d ever seen them.

Even when you stood in front of them, finger brushing along Grogu’s ear as he cooed, his gaze did not stray. You just thought it was your bathing suit; it showed off more skin than usual. Which, you admit, you hoped would catch his attention.

“Problem?” You teased, looking at him with a sly smile.

He shook his head slowly. He was uncharacteristically quiet, more so than usual. Ever since his private chat with the Armorer, he’d been distracted. Staring more than usual—at you, the controls of the ship, the floor—like he was lost deep in thought.

You looked out at the sunset, a wash of orange and gold against a glittering sea. You let out a wistful sigh. “I could spend forever here with you two.”

“You mean that?”

“Nothing would make me happier.”

His hand drifted toward the pouch on his belt, fingering the hem. A nervous habit, you assumed, he picked up after visiting the Armorer.

You rested your hand on his and asked, “Are you sure there’s no problem?”

“Marry me.”

You froze, mouth agape.

“M-marry you?”

“I wish for more days like today, too—safe, peaceful days together with our son.” He opened his pouch and pulled out a silver ring that glittered against the setting sun, reminding you of his armor.

Your hand slipped from his to your mouth, covering up the shock written across your face. Your watering eyes moved between the two who’ve grown so close to your heart. They were your life, your home, and you’d spend forever with them. You knew your answer—you’ve always known, ever since he asked you to join them. In your heart it was always—

“Yes,” you cried, throwing your arms around the two of them. “Yes, absolutely!”

You stayed tucked in his arms with Grogu nestled between the two of you. And, in the foreground of a golden sky, he asked if you would cite the Mandalorian vows.

Riduur, he said, you would be mine, and I you. Our hearts will be written together in song.

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.”

“We are one when together, we are one when parted, we share all, we will raise warriors.”

Finally, he was no longer just the Mandalorian or Din, he was your riduur.

#the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfic #gn!reader #my works

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ultrone · 7 months

Note

I’m up late so here are some HC’s I have of the girlies

Nat:

- You get her one of those “back off, I love my gf” shirts as a joke, expecting her to never put it on and she wears it RELIGIOUSLY. She is so proud to wear that shit

- (If you’re lucky enough to have a positive male figure, a grandfather or father in your life) one time overhears Nat talking about her home life and now that male figure is determined to make her feel safe and happy. He’ll insist that you both join him for fishing and while you’re apprehensive, Nat is 100% down.

-She never has water or lunch because she forgets/chooses to not take care of herself so you drop it off to her at practice everyday

- She sleeps with a stuffed animal but will not let ANYONE know

Shauna:

- Early riser, even when sleeping w you but she will just happily lay next to you, holding your hand, admiring you while you sleep just taking you in for a few extra moments.

- she has a scrapbook of everything you guys have done (movie tickets, Polaroids, etc), and she also keeps all the flowers you’ve ever gotten her in there after they’ve dried and withered

- She loves stargazing, she knows astronomy and can and will point out the constellations to you

- Reading to or with each other is common and probably a love language, especially reading the other to sleep

Lottie:

- Surprisingly very good at all the fine arts; she can draw well, she definitely can play the piano bc her rich parents paid for her to have lessons, etc

- Blanket stealer; she insists on having the AC CRANKED at night, then steals the blankets while you both are sleeping and you wake up with hypothermia while she’s snuggled up in all your blankets

- She wasn’t allowed to have a pet so you buy her a single goldfish once and she loves it so much, she let you name it (you named it something stupid but she still calls it what you want) it dies in like 2 days because as intelligent as she is she is incapable of taking care of another living thing and she is inconsolable for days. You got her a succulent to make her feel better

Jackie:

- Clingy (derogatory) sure it’s cute of her at first until she’s waking up at 5 am for her morning practices and wakes you up too so you both can “brush your teeth together”

- She will always ask for your old marked up books to read and she makes small notes in the margins in a different color before giving them back (She has reading glasses too, and she looks gorgeous in them)

- She asks you to help her stretch, or roll out her muscles before practice but she doesn’t need help she just wants to get you flustered and have your hands all over her

I LOVE THEM 🤭

nat would wear that shirt 24/7 istg 😭 especially as her pjs, and omg i love the idea of your male parental figure inviting nat to everything as well 🥹 even if it’s just something simple like going out for brunch, it’d make her feel way better and more welcomed. and her forgetting to bring lunch everyday is SO REAL 😭 then she’ll prolly buy a bag of chips and a soda as her first meal of the day and then complain about having a stomach ache 🙄 GIRL… also for sure, i bet her plushy is a little white bunny with long ears that was given to her as a toddler.

shauna has always given me the vibe that she wakes up at 9am idk but yeah she’d def just lay there looking at you 😭😭 and the scrapbook thing is SO TRUE, i bet she also adds entries of everything you do together 🫣 since she loves stargazing you got her one of those custom star maps of your anniversary day and she LOVED IT 🥹 and she for sure loves reading to you and hearing you read her favourite books to her

i def see lottie being good at drawing and playing the piano 😌 i also bet she’s especially good at painting landscapes and stuff like that. whenever u complain about her taking the blankets, she’ll just tell you to snuggle up to her to get warmer instead of actually sharing her blanket with you 🙄🙄 but if you’re the one stealing the blankets she’ll pout and whine for hours until you share them with her… the AUDACITY 😒 my girl came back from school on a random day and realized the goldfish wasn’t there anymore, she got concerned and asked the domestic helper what had happened, and she told her that the fish died like two weeks ago ☠️☠️ when i tell u lottie was SHOCKED… she was so embarrassed that she told you that it got a weird disease and died from natural causes LMFAOO

jackie waking you up so you can brush your teeth together is so real 😭😭 my girl doesn’t get the concept of having “alone time.” i just know it takes jackie an hour to read 3 pages, i bet she spends half of that time drawing silly little doodles all over the margins ☠️ and for sure, she also asks u to rub sunscreen on her body even though she could do it herself, she just wants to feel your touch 🫣

#.yjs-inbox #yellowjackets thoughts #jackie taylor thoughts #shauna shipman thoughts #lottie matthews thoughts #nat scatorccio thoughts #jackie taylor x reader #shauna shipman x reader #lottie matthews x reader #nat scatorccio x reader #yellowjackets headcanons #.soffsh

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ghostinthelibrarywrites · 1 year

Note

23 for any combination of geraskefer please? 💖

23. Cold feet warming each other up under the blanket

Geralt is nearly back to camp, holding a werewolf’s severed head in each hand, when Jaskier’s shriek cuts through the stillness of the night. Dropping the heads to the ground, Geralt starts to draw his sword, only pausing when Jaskier shrieks again and he notices that the sound is entirely lacking in fear.

“How are your feet so fucking cold?” the bard whines. “Ye gods, is your icy heart spreading to other parts of your body now?”

There’s only one person who brings out such dramatics in Jaskier. Jaskier was alone at camp when Geralt left to hunt the werewolves, but Yennefer must have portaled in to join him at some point. Too pleased to be truly annoyed by the shrieking—though he can't count how many times he's told Jaskier not to start screaming unless there's actual danger—Geralt retrieves the dropped heads.

“Yes, that’s exactly it.” Yennefer’s voice is quieter, but still audible to Geralt’s witcher hearing. “It has nothing to do with the fact that it’s almost winter.”

“Stop pressing them against me!”

“You’re warm.”

“Yes, and I’d like to stay that way, thank you. Is this your plan to finally do me in? Will Geralt return to find me blue-lipped and silent, frozen to a block of ice?”

“He should be so lucky.”

With a snort, Geralt resumes his trudge towards camp.

“I offer you the warmth of my body,” Jaskier says with the gravity of Lebioda facing his final martyrdom. “And in return, I’m treated like… ack, Yennefer, are you well? I don’t think feet are supposed to get that cold.”

“And I don’t think anyone is supposed to get so annoying, and yet here you are.”

“It’s an art that I take—Yennefer, your hands are worse! How are your hands worse? What sorcery is this?”

“I don’t know what you’re whining about.” Yennefer sounds smug. “I’m comfortable.”

“Dreadful, horrible, blood-sucking…”

Geralt clears the trees and finds the two of them curled together on Geralt and Jaskier’s pushed-together bedrolls, cocooned in enough blankets to keep a small village warm, even though the night is mild for being past Saovine. Despite his protests, Jaskier has Yennefer wrapped up in his arms, doing little to hide how pleased he is. From the musky scent in the air, they’ve been busy while Geralt was gone.

“Geralt!” Jaskier looks up at Geralt with beseeching eyes. “Oh, thank the gods, my savior. Yennefer is freezing me to death with her horrid paws. I’m seconds from expiring of hypothermia.”

“Hm. From the way you were shrieking, I thought another werewolf got you.”

“At least werewolves are warm and fuzzy.”

“You’re fuzzy enough for both of us, bardling,” Yennefer grumbles.

“Oh, don’t pretend you don’t like it.”

Geralt pats Roach’s neck—she, at least, is being quiet and well-behaved—and starts shucking off his armor. “Now you know how I feel all the times you decide to use me to warm your hands and feet, bard.”

Jaskier gasps. “But you have witcher body heat! Surely, you aren’t selfish enough to keep it to yourself.”

“I’ve been letting you use my body heat for twenty years, Jaskier. Doesn’t mean having your cold fucking feet against my legs feels good.”

Yennefer guffaws. “So you have cold feet and you snore, bardling. What a prize you are.”

“I do not snore!”

“You do,” Geralt and Yennefer say at the same time. To Yennefer, Geralt adds, “First time I shared a bedroll with him, I thought a grave hag had slipped into bed with me during the night when I woke up and felt his feet against my shins.”

“I can see how you could make that mistake,” she says.

Jaskier yowls in protest, wiggling away from her the best he can while wrapped from chin to toes in blankets. “Unhand me, you cold-hearted harpy! You can’t slander me and then use my body to warm the icy depths of your soul, you fiend.”

Shaking his head, Geralt slides onto the bedroll behind Jaskier, slipping under the blankets and putting his arm around Jaskier and Yennefer’s waists, pulling Jaskier flush against him. Jaskier gives a token grumble of protest, then melts back into him.

“Thank the gods,” Jaskier breathes. “Geralt, your witcher warmth saves the day again. Now I may not freeze to death during the night.”

“I’m going to portal you to an iceberg somewhere,” Yennefer says.

“I don’t think I’d notice the difference.”

“You both have fucking cold feet,” Geralt says. “Now go to sleep.”

He’s unsurprised to find four icy feet pressed against his shins and thighs.

“Hers are colder, right, Geralt?” Jaskier asks in a stage whisper.

“Maybe,” Geralt grumbles. “But she doesn’t snore.”

He drifts off to sleep to the familiar sound of Yennefer laughing while their bard squawks in outrage.

Twenty-four touches prompts

Tag list: @kueble @mollymawkwrites @feral-jaskier @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @dawnofbards @thisislisa @tsukiwolf42 @mosaicscale @rockysstupidity @fontegagrilledcheese @kuripon @help-i-need-a-cool-username @julek @flowercrown-bard @eveljerome

#the witcher #geraskefer #geralt x jaskier x yennefer #geralt of rivia #yennefer of vengerberg #jaskier #ghost's writing #prompt fills

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probably-writing-x · 1 year

Text

Who Needs To Know? - Part 2

Summary: It was the typical story wasn’t it? The Kook girl and the Pogue that she shouldn’t fall for. Even worse when that Pogue is the absolute epitome of everything your parents hated. But there was just something in that grin, wasn’t there?

Warnings: Cursing, I think that’s it???

Author’s Note: This is such a fun story to write so thank you to everyone that was asking for a part 2 - I hope you enjoy !! Please send in any requests you might have / any questions for me

Not my gif

“Alright, you wanna try again or are you done?” JJ asks, swimming over to you with ease, holding his forearms up onto the board.

You two had spent the morning, since the sun was just rising, with JJ trying to teach you to surf. You’d stood up for less than five seconds, and had spent the majority of the time catapulting below the surface when the waves crashed over you. He hadn’t lost his patience like you thought he would, and everytime, he’d swam over, helped you get back onto the board, and never been too far from your side.

“I’m so cold,” You shiver, your legs dangling from either side of the board as you sat bobbing over the surface.

He laughs, running a hand over your leg, “Alright, let’s get out, I can’t send you home with hypothermia.”

JJ holds the board and pulls you in behind him, holding out a hand to help you off. He was such a gentleman with you that it still managed to surprise you.

“Okay, so what we’ve learnt, is that you’re still a little bit of a Kook with surfing like that,” He grins, grabbing your towel and his from the pile of your things on the sand.

You hit his arm, “Hey, I thought I did well for my first lesson.”

He hums, leaning into you until his lips are centimetres from yours, “Only because you had a crush on your intructor.”

“No I think he’s pretty full of himself actually,” You raise your brows, JJ silencing you with a kiss to your lips, one that injects some much needed warmth back into you.

You shiver as you pull your top and shorts back on, your fingers tingling as the warmth draws back to them.

“Here, take this,” JJ reaches his hoodie out to you, pulling it over your head until he sees your face poke out from the other side.

Your hair is damp and sticking down against your head, your eyes tired this early in the morning, your lips a little chapped in the air. It’s in moments like that when JJ realises how he feels for you must be the closest to love that he’s ever felt. To him, you were everything.

“Stealing your clothes? That seems a bit official for us,” You cock a brow, pulling the sleeves over your arms as the baggy material drops low over you.

“Oh don’t be fooled, I give one to all my ladies.”

“Fuck you.”

He can’t ever let you be mad at him, instead choosing to wrap his arms around you and kiss at your jaw and neck until you’re giggling in his grip. But it’s terminated too early as you hear the all too familiar alarm ringing out from your phone, telling you to go home before your parents realised you’d even left.

“Come on, I’ll walk you back,” And he slips his hand into yours - the perfect fit in their mismatched size.

~~~

JJ’s at the chateau for the majority of the rest of the day, counting down the minutes until he could see you. The rest had noticed it too, the way his nose was buried more in his phone recently, and he’d found more excuses than ever to not be hanging out with them.

“What do you think JJ? Smoke boat and beers?” John B cuts into his thoughts and JJ looks up from the loose thread he’d been pulling at on the couch.

“I can’t tonight,” JJ shakes his head, chewing at his lips as if it wasn’t the most obvious trait of his nerves.

“Are you kidding?” Kie laughs, “Since when did you have so many plans without us?”

“I’m just busy!” He stands up and goes to grab one of the beer cans from the cooler, “And I’m here now aren’t I?”

“And he’s defensive too,” Pope raises his brows, “Something you need to tell us Jay?”

He looks at them all, their eyes burning into him, and scratches the back of his neck, swallowing down the nerves in his throat, “What are you talking about?”

“Is there a girl?” John B gasps, standing up to join the blonde, wrapping an arm around him and clapping his chest, “Is our little JJ in love?”

JJ ducks out of his grasp, shoving John B away from him, “Relax man, it’s nothing.”

The other three all exchange a knowing look but JJ chooses to ignore it, picking up his phone and seeing a text from you instead -

So I’m being forced into going to a party at the beach tonight, any chance you can get the pogues to come too?

“Hey, what about a party tonight?”

~~~

The beach is already flooding with people by the time you get there, instantly being spotted by Topper who waves you over. He’s got a can in his hand for you already, a grin on his face.

“I’m surprised you weren’t too busy for us,” He quips, slinging an arm over you.

“Yeah, I guess I could just about fit you into my schedule.”

It was true, since you and JJ had started seeing each other, you spent nearly all of the time that you could with each other - every night when everyone else was asleep, every early morning, every day you could spend in quiet corners of the island without prying eyes. It could only be you two when you were together, and you made the most of all of the time you could.

“Come on, Kelce and the rest are over here,” He guides you through with a hand on your back, slightly too low so it makes you hyperaware of the contact.

The rest of your friends were crowded around one side of the huge bonfire, all revelling in the heat and cheering at Kelce finishing off his drink. Across the flames you can see John B stood pouring out a can into a red solo cup. He hands it down to the blonde sat on a log just in front of him. His hair is pulled back from his face with the bandana looping around his skull, a hooded flannel around his shoulders that you were sure you would inevitably steal.

When you stand on the other side of the fire, his eyes look up to you instantly. JJ tries to hide the obvious brightness now covering his face, and tries to avoid looking at you for too long, but he can’t ever seem to take his eyes away from you.

It’s then that his eyes fall to Topper, now stood with his arm still on your back, too close to you to be natural. You see JJ’s jaw clench and unclench.

“You got a problem pogue?” Topper calls over to him, lifting his cup in the direction of JJ and his friends.

JJ smirks, piercing his lips and shaking his head, “Nothing.”

You take the opportunity to step away from Topper’s touch, making it as subtle as you can. JJ stifles a laugh, looking down at the sand and smiling to himself.

Eventually, your friends all disperse within the party. John B and Pope go to find Kiara and get distracted before they can come back, Topper and Kelce head off with Sarah and the girls to find more drinks. And so it’s just you and JJ sat on opposite sides of the fire, waiting to finally be yourselves with each other.

“Seems like you and Topper are getting on well,” He raises his brows.

JJ wasn’t the type to get mad about it, he found it funnier more than anything - he knew you weren’t looking at anyone else but him.

“Oh yeah, totally,” You smirk, “He seems to be a big fan of you too.”

“Maybe we should give him a show, just to remind him whose girl you are,” JJ quips, leaning forward a little like he is desperate to get closer to you.

“Whose girl I am? Really?” You shake your head, “That’s the route you want to go down?”

He laughs at you, the kind that brightens his eyes. It’s the face you want to kiss.

John B walks over with Pope and Kie, placing an arm in front of them to stop them in their tracks, “Are we interrupting something?”

You and JJ both look up and he scratches the back of his neck like he’s got to find some way of getting back into the mode of lying to them.

“No, just waiting for you guys to come back,” He clears his throat, “I don't know about (Y/N), uh," Another cough, "Hey Kie, did you get more drinks?"

You look at him and can't help but laugh, and in the moment, lying seems pointless, "You're seriously this bad at this?"

JJ looks at you with a flash of panic over his eyes, "I-"

"Oh my god you're terrible," You shake your head, "You're telling me they've believed you lying to them all this time and you're that bad at it?"

He narrows his eyes at you like he's sure you've lost your mind.

"Okay so we definitely were interrupting…" Pope cuts in, "What the fuck is happening? Is this a bit?"

JJ looks at you and then at his friends, "(Y/N)'s my girlfriend."

All three of them look at him and look back at you, and then again in the same order, the pieces fitting together. John B points a finger between the two of you, "Are you kidding?"

"Yeah, no offence JJ but you two are like polar opposites," Kie points out, "And (Y/N), are you sure?"

You laugh and shrug your shoulders, "He's not so bad."

"Alright enough of the questions," JJ stands up, finishing off the rest of his drink before crossing over to you, "We're getting out of here."

He grabs your hand and pulls you up next to him, and you'd be stupid to object. It’s like his eyes were made to solely be on yours, his hands made to only roam your body, his lips just for you. Different sides of the island and somehow you’d never met someone who you’d been so drawn to, so determined to never lose. It felt comforting to no longer, in some way, have to do that completely behind closed doors.

“So are your friends going to hate me now that they know I’m the one using up all of your time?” You ask him as the two of you walk off of the beach.

JJ laughs, “They’ll come around, you have a way of convincing Pogues to like you.”

He wraps his arms around you from behind and kisses your temple, leaving his lips lingering there.

“Okay, so as much as your friends now know, my parents still don’t,” You point out, leaning your head into his, “So where to now?”

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thescribblings · 3 months

Text

So i was gonna finish the background but I'm really bad at them soooo-

Avoiding background responsibilities is my specialty (i did like making the sky tho, vv nice)

But here's a drawing i did of the boy

This is based on how leo met leonardo in my personal fic,(it's a private fic but i will summarize it here) the context behind this is;

Leo went on a late october walk and stumbled upon.. wait for it.. leonardo!

Who is covered in his own blood and probably suffering hypothermia.

Before leonardo found his younger self he had been injured by a krang hound in a last ditch effort at saving the world, aka sending casey back in time

After casey went through the portal, dear ole leonardo was yanked backwards into a portal by mikey's chains, narrowly avoiding the krang laser that would have otherwise ended his existance, instead plunging him head first into dalecarlia reservoir.

It was the middle of the night, the moon high in the sky, and his prosthetic was damaged, dead weight on his shoulder as he tried to swim. (Did i mention his pants are a type of chainmail? Oops, they weigh like 20 pounds, my bad leo)

He panicked, almost drowned when the emergency release for his prostetic jammed, yadda yadda, he got it off, it broke apart at the joints, he crawled on land, had an impromptu nap half submerged in water, mid october, (still bleeding out btw) woke up when the sun was rising, found a frog sitting on his plastron..

Had an emo moment where he realised he was now an orphan AND an only child (that's rough buddy)

Then dove back in to retrieve the pieces of his arm (by the power of me, the prosthetic hand held onto his sword even when it broke, so he got that back too! Yay :D)

He broke into and raided the nearest hospital (sibley memorial) and managed to get a tetanus shot and cauterize his wound, then stuck around in the shadows to warm up before wandering for literal days, like, it took him five straight days to get from here to leo

Anyways, they meet, leo calls casey, leo looks away from the seven foot feral turtle a few dozen feet ahead of him (bad move dude) said seven foot feral turtle charges leo and picks him up mid sprint, basically a kidnapping

Eventually casey picks up, leonardo lets leo go, (my boy is exclusively making turtle noises rn lol) they get home, treat his wounds and omg he starts using words here

They quarantine him, cause this man is fucking radioactive (to the point that he now has a tail that his younger self very much does not)

And guess what! My boy has hidden markings that glow bright blue around radioactive objects .^. He's like a living geiger counter lmao

Here's a pic without the background

Anyway, I've had to restrain myself from making this too long, meet my boy! I haven't thought of a creative name for him yet, so i usually just call him leonardo, nardo, or Blue. I'll let ya'll know if i come up w something, tho

Have nice day

#rottmnt #save rottmnt #art #third season #my art #rottmnt future leo #future leo #leonardo hamato #my au #sffl(wg)

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ltbarnes · 1 year

Text

Anachronism - Part I

Or the placing of persons, events, objects, or customs in times to which they do not belong

Summary: Sprained ankles, snowstorms, blood-thirsty wolves and feral super soldiers. What was supposed to be a peaceful walk in the woods surrounding the cabin you're staying in with your best friend Steve quickly turns devastating, forcing your path to cross with the mysterious and burly man who can't seem to grasp social cues and the concept of privacy. His past is a puzzle that can't seem to be solved and your feelings for the sweet and giant man quickly develop from friendly gratitude to something neither of you can't quite grasp.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader, Steve Rogers x fem!reader

Word count: 7.6k

Warnings: Bigfoot!Bucky? Yeti!Bucky? 6'6" Bucky (he's massive. so beefy), manhandling, technically kidnapping but it's all good, hypothermia (almost),

(Specific warnings in each chapter)

A/N: be kind and ignore the ridiculous amount of times i have written "furs" in this chapter. also my very first series! please read and give feedback and your thoughts i will love you forever if you do!!! this is obviously an AU but also includes a lot of things that are canon, but i've tweaked some things to fit my story. it's a mini-series that will be released every Friday which i'm also still writing so any suggestions regarding the story are welcomed and appreciated

Masterlist

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"Are you scared Bigfoot is gonna come kidnap me?" you say, a faux serious expression on your face. "Notice my great hips for childbearing? Smell my excellent pheromones from his mountain top?"

"You're hilarious, aren't you?" Steve answers, rolling his eyes fondly because you are hilarious. Self-proclaimed.

"It's not my fault I'm a fantastic mate. Bigfoot won't be able to resist his feral urges to claim me once he sees my healthy glow and extra layer of fat that will keep me warm through the winter."

The argument has been ongoing the entire morning—should you go out on an exploration walk with the threat of a snowstorm looming while Steve finishes his work or should you instead stay inside and keep him company? Steve is heavily in favor of the latter option, it seems.

You've been here for an entire 24 hours without leaving the cabin a single time. Usually that wouldn't bother you, but when your travel companion keeps insisting on finishing sketches and answering emails and doing everything but hanging out with you, exploring your surroundings seems a lot more exciting.

Yes, you were aware of the fact that working was a part of the deal when borrowing his boss's mountainside cabin. But you didn't know exactly how strict a certain Tony Stark could be when it came to deadlines. Technically Tony is only your boss and not really his, but the version of Stark you meet does not hand out deadlines. You came with because you wanted to spend time with your best friend, not stare at him in front of a computer and sketches of how to improve stuff at the compound-thingy.

"Steve, honestly. I won't even be gone for long," you say, leaning over the back of the couch while watching him draw lines over the large paper with his pencil. "I need to get some fresh air. You know, for my health and all that. Exercise."

"Since when do you care about exercise?" Steve asks you, reaching for a red pen on the other side of the table.

"You know what? I'm going out no matter what you say. I'm adventurous. Independent."

You walk over to the hallway, sliding your arms into your large puffer jacket while Steve watches you with raised eyebrows. He had an inclination that you would be getting your way in the end, but engaged in the benign argument in hopes of convincing you to stay with him. The truth is that you're not an adventurous person with any valuable survival skills, and both of you know that. You get lost in grocery stores—the endless snowy woods will do you no good.

"Okay," he tells you, laying down his pen for the first time in an hour. He didn't stop working for the entire time of your conversation, until now.

"Huh?"

"I can't stop you. But don't go too far, Y/n," Steve pleads, looking at you with those blue doe-eyes that piss you off. "I mean it. As soon as the first snowflake falls you go inside again."

A sigh. A roll of your eyes that he absolutely notices. "Yeah, yeah. We know I'll probably come inside in fifteen minutes anyway."

With your hat, mittens and a thick scarf wrapped around your neck you decide to take the leap and open the doors. The wind whines as you wave Steve goodbye. He tells you to be safe once more and you tell him to mind his own business if he wishes to have dinner served tonight.

Honestly, the man has no faith in you. Yes, you might have no sense of 'street smarts', but what good will those things do you in the mountains? You are perfectly capable of taking a walk. If anything would happen resembling trouble, you absolutely have dormant biological survival instincts waiting to be activated somewhere. Wether those lean more towards freezing than fight or flight is no one's business.

Nature is beautiful and gorgeous and miraculous, you have always thought that, and your beliefs are confirmed on your thirty-minute walk. Several inches long icicles hang from mile-long trees, glistening with shimmering snow and at least two squirrels hunting each other down the tree trunk.

If you're not careful you might convince yourself you are in a Hallmark movie, if judging only by the seven days left before Christmas Eve and the appropriate environment. But you are also painfully cold and longing for the crackling fireplace in the Stark cabin more than you wish to continue explore.

The urge to pout over following Steve's rules is ridiculously strong while heading back during the first snowfall of your trip. You don't know why you've acted like a spoiled brat around him these past few weeks when you really just want to kiss the life out of him. Stupid fucking Steve Rogers. Unnecessarily attractive—he really is. He doesn't need to be this handsome and gorgeous with that perfect personality of his.

You've known him for five years now. It's hilarious and heartbreaking at the same time, that you have spent so much time infatuated with a man without ever speaking your admiration out loud. Steve was just a friend for many years, the steady confidant and chivalrous caretaker. And then the meaning of chivalrous became devastating and the ability to listen without intervening turned horrifying when all those traits summed up into the absolute, certain definition of the man you have a hopeless crush on.

And what's sad is that you're still here. Feelings still unconfessed and unrequited. You can't let him go even though it fucking kills you to see him live his life without being yours.

When you were a teenager you feared you were incapable of love after your first date left you feeling absolutely nothing for the perfectly nice and sweet guy. Now you're so deeply sunken into the man that is Steve Rogers, but you can't confess in fear of destroying the only real friendship you have. Fear is a funny thing, and it manages to ravage your sense of self-worth in any which way it appears.

If you ever gathered the courage to tell him, he would be real nice about it. Assure you that nothing is ruined, and he won't look at you differently. Steve would actually try to appear as unbothered as possible going forward into the friendship if only to make you as comfortable as possible. But you know it would eat him up inside—his best friend is bordering on being in love with him and he can't reciprocate it. Steve's selfless and caring like that.

You can barely feel your fingers anymore despite the thick gloves on your hands. The temperature was a crisp kind of cold when you first started walking, now it's wet and icy and biting. Seeing more than three feet in front of you is getting slightly hard through the punishing snowfall, but you have faith. You walked in a straight line the entire time so you wouldn't lose yourself in the woods.

When you get home again you will make two cups of hot chocolate and curl up on the couch. Watch a movie with Hugh Grant if only to annoy Steve. Despite how you've complained about his time being occupied the past day you really do like it here. Quiet and peaceful and warm despite the freezing temperature outside. You could live here if only work wasn't an obligation and you had money enough to buy a house.

"Fuck," you seethe as you trip over a branch, landing face down in the snow.

The ground is soft and almost powdery and you still manage to twist your ankle during the landing. Of course you do.

"Ow, ow, ow," you whine while trying to stand up again, once more falling down onto the ground with a soft thud.

Your face is covered in snow in mere seconds. The urge to cry is overwhelming as you sputter to rid yourself of the white snowflakes burying you. Skipping breakfast doesn't seem like a great idea anymore now that your blood sugar is low enough for you to cry over things like this. It's stupid—the pain will most likely go away in a few minutes and the cabin can't be that far away.

But right now the snow is too heavy for you to drag yourself through on a bad foot. The temporary solution you find underneath a thick tree whose branches are so compact almost no snow makes it onto the ground underneath it. Cold, but dry. It will do for ten minutes.

Checking your phone connection almost feels stupid. Cell towers are usually not a frequent part of the infrastructure in the midst of mountains and woods. You send a text to Steve anyway, hoping that it'll come through once you get closer to the cabin, risking the well-being of your poor fingers during the short time you're required to take off your mittens.

I'm still alive

Also sprained my ankle

Don't laugh at me when I get back

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Cold. So, so cold. Oh my god.

Too many spots on your body are freezing to the point where you can't move. A panicked breath forces your eyes open just halfway, revealing a white landscape of blur.

There's sounds other than the wind and your ragged breathing, you're sure of it, but you can't distinguish what they belong to. Your eyelids fall closed once again, despite willing them to stay open so you can see what the fuck is going on for more than a second.

You hear growling. Yeah, that's what it is. Animals growling. Animals growling.

The sudden epiphany is what forces your eyes open for real this time, awakening your nearly hypothermic body with a start as you take in the gray, furry hounds on all fours surrounding your resting place.

Wolves bare their teeth at you as you sit frozen in your spot, literally and figuratively, eyes wide with fear and heart beating a lot faster than the minute before. Tears are already making their way down your cheeks, because what are you supposed to do? The underlying survival instincts you thought were laying dormant are seemingly not doing anything for you right now.

You press yourself closer against the tree, watching as two of the wolves stalk closer, assessing their prey like bloodthirsty beasts. Dying of being mauled by wolves were not on your bucket list, if you're honest. Right now you're rapidly going over every prayer to every god, begging for your life. And the only thing you manage to do is have a panic attack in your place, struggling to match your inhales to your exhales. Death by asphyxiation must be better than being torn apart, right?

The largest wolf, tall and built with dried blood in his fur, leans back, readies himself for attack. You close your eyes with a sob, chest heaving so frantically you can't get any air into your lungs.

A roar sounds right in front of you, and you know in your bones that now is your last moment of life before your flesh is pierced by sharp teeth. But when three seconds pass by without a feral animal ripping you to shreds, you open your eyes dizzily.

The wolves are sprinting away, howling and whining, disappearing between the trees and snow until they're out of sight.

A heaving figure stands too many feet away for you to see clearly what chased the predators away. You're disoriented, sight becoming blurry again.

But right before you succumb to the sleep, you see the outline of a large man nearing you. He crouches down, grabs a hold of you, and you can't even protest.

Everything is upside down. You don't have the energy to stay awake anymore.

Steve is going to fucking kill you.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Orange and yellow flickers dance over wooden walls, painting shadows of make-believe figures in an unknown space. It's overbearingly warm—beads of sweat rest underneath your hairline and pools on the back of your neck. A world of difference from the biting cold you lived through what seemed to be just a moment ago.

Several furs cover your body, working alongside the fire undoubtedly burning somewhere in the room to warm your already overheated body. It feels claustrophobic and also deeply concerning because who in the hell has furs lying around in this amount and who brought you here and where are you?

You remember the cold and the snow and the tree and the wolves—there were wolves about to attack you. Actual, real life wolves two feet away. And somebody chased them away.

Turning your head away from the wall you faced takes more effort than you would have wanted to, and you almost wish you didn't when you come face to face with a bearded, blue-eyed man staring at you less than a feet away.

An ear-splitting shriek escapes your lips without your consent, furs flying off of your body while you scramble to get away from the strange man who's breath is literally hitting your face.

But you're pushed down onto the bed before you have the chance to escape, once again covered with the furs you desperately wish to keep off.

"No. You cold," the man growls at you.

His voice is rough, like he hasn't used it in a long while. There's a thick scruff on his face, complementing the dark brown hair almost reaching down to his shoulders.

You get stuck in your movements, left staring at him feeling like you can't tear your eyes away. He's so ruggedly handsome and nearly soft in his gaze, but the way he's clenching his jaw tells you he's rougher on the outside. Strong, judging by the way he pushed you down with only a palm to your shoulder.

"Still. Don't move," he tells you, furrowing his eyebrows into a frown while keeping his hands on you. And then he tucks you in, keeping you locked in place with the furs. "Cold," he whispers to himself, barely loud enough for you to hear.

You gulp, trying to rid yourself of the dryness in your mouth and gather courage enough to speak simultaneously. Assessing wether he's dangerous or not is painstakingly hard—you have probably established to yourself by now that you have no survival skills nor instincts.

"I'm—it's too hot. Warm," you stutter, keeping your gaze on him to gauge his reaction. It seems you've adopted his simple language, lacking complete sentences and any form of addition besides the most crucial information. You suppose it's more efficient to communicate that way.

"Warm soon," he speaks once again, getting closer with each word. It seems like he's nearly sniffing you, inhaling your scent which must consist of mostly sweat right now. A low grumble sounds from his chest, a pleased hum on his lips. What the hell is going on?

You tense underneath his figure hovering over you, blinking while searching for a way to make him understand. Despite his tough exterior he seems soft in some way—kind. He wants to keep you warm because you must have been freezing when he found you. No matter how much waking up in a strange man's home is alarming and deeply frightening, you feel safe. That's disturbing.

A second effort to push away the bear fur proves to be more successful, even though the man actually growls at you. He really doesn't want you to escape the makeshift nest he's created.

"No, I'm already warm. See?" you tilt your neck, showing the bare skin glistening with your sweat. "Not cold. Hot."

His gaze zeroes in on the exposed skin, brows furrowed in confusion. In a decision not very thought through when you reach for his hand, bringing it up to your forehead so he can feel how you're practically burning up.

And he obliges, except that the hand pressing against your face is not warm human skin. Metal, hard and flexible, runs up the entirety of his arm. You can't help from flinching, scurrying away from his touch into the corner of the bed you're laying on.

But fuck, it hurts when you push away on your feet. A blinding pain strikes up from your ankle into your leg, drawing a distressed cry from your lips that has the man tense and rigid in a second. He straightens from his crouching position, moving back from your writhing figure.

"I did not—did not want to hurt," he says, looking just about as upset as you are in pain.

The genuine concern in his blue eyes throws you off guard. His face is all chiseled and gruff and a little dirty, but his eyes are softer than the fur draped over your body. He's beautiful. And big. Now from a distance you can see his large build clearly, the muscles bulging out from his worn henley. You know he'll tower over you when he stands up and the knowledge doesn't scare you anymore than it exhilarates you.

"No, no," you whimper, kicking away the fur completely before holding onto your foot, squeezing your eyes shut while trying to breathe through the pain. "It wasn't you."

Stretching your leg out, you bring your swollen ankle forward for him to see. Purple bruises run around the small of your leg, even one on your knee. You didn't really notice until now how little clothes you are wearing—neither your thermal trousers or the leggings are on your lower body anymore. All that's left is the long-sleeved henley you stole from Steve and your underwear. You guess you and the giant are matching now.

A shriek escapes as he suddenly drags you forward to the edge of the bed, both arms underneath your body until he has you where he wants you. You cling onto his shoulders for a few seconds, trying to rid yourself of the momentary shock. He moved you like it was nothing—as easily as if you were a pillow.

"Wolves, uh—wolves did this?" he asks you without lifting his focus from your leg, cradling it a little too harshly for your comfort. He lifts your foot, inspecting. It's like he doesn't really know his own strength.

You shake your head, finding it hard to search for words with his hands on your bare skin. The metal arm still really hasn't made its way out of things you've gotten over. You're not scared of it, you weren't before either, but more shocked. How does it even work? It feels kind of miraculous in a way.

"I tripped over a branch," you tell him. But he looks confused, like some part of the sentence contains words he doesn't understand. "Uh, I fell, over a—a tree on the ground?"

You try show with your hands as you are speaking until he nods. He repeats "tripped" under his breath, lips parting softly as the word sounds from his mouth.

"I need to go the bathroom," you say suddenly. "Can you show me where it is?"

It's not like you expect him to have a full-blown ensuite in this little cabin. You can see quite clearly that it's a simple place, but hopefully he has at least a mirror and running water hiding somewhere. You feel icky from all the sweat.

As carefully as you can, you bring your legs to dangle off of the bed while scooting forward. The man rises while you begin to push yourself up, expecting him to take your arm or something to help you walk.

Upside down again. Instead of aiding you in your walk he threw you over his shoulder within a second, picked you up just like that. Who is this man?

"Wha—hello?" you shout. "What are you doing?"

His answer comes in a grunt, but that's more so because of opening the door at the same time. All you can see is his back, but you feel the temperature drop significantly as he brings you outside into the snow. Judging by the rapid pace of snowflakes landing on your bare legs you assume the snowstorm is still brewing.

After a few seconds of shuffling through the snow, his fingers dig into your waist as he lifts you down. The landing is wobbly and you have to bite down on your lip to stop from crying out. Despite your efforts a broken whimper manages to slip out, making you sound like a kicked puppy.

"Good?" he asks you, holding onto you even after you have let go of him.

You nod, cringing over the icy cold snow against the sole of your feet. "Be a little more careful next time, maybe, if you're gonna keep...lifting me."

Your teeth are already chattering, arms crossed over your chest while waiting for him to step away. But he just stands there, two feet away while staring at you. He's been staring at you the entire time since you woke up but now is really not a moment requiring an audience.

"Could you look away?" you ask, gazing up at him impatiently. You're wearing a shirt in a snowstorm in which you nearly can't see the man standing right next to you while barely managing to stand upright.

"Away...why?"

A little taken aback by the confusion, you answer with his lack of understanding in mind. He's strange—knows what a bathroom is but doesn't understand the privacy part of it, the metal arm, standing so closely all the time, the inhaling your scent and communicating in incomplete sentences.

"Privacy," you tell him. He only furrows his brows just like he did inside when you talked about tripping over a branch. "I want to be alone for a few minutes. Not you here."

"But, uh, wolves. Bears and—cold," he says, taking a hold of your freezing hand. "Protect." He points at himself.

He wants to protect you.

Your lips part just slightly while trying to find something to say. He's known you for less than an hour.

"So small. Tiny." He pats you on the head, and it would be patronizing but you know he doesn't mean it that way. He looks genuinely bewildered by the difference in size between you, as if he hasn't seen anyone without his impressive build before. Most people are quite a lot smaller than him. "Small can't fight bear."

"Oh," is all you manage to get out. "That's very nice of you, but I—you can turn around? Please? I feel uncomfortable having you stare at me."

"Uncomfortable?"

"Like not feeling good. Not happy, nervous. It's not a good feeling," you explain, trying to ransack the dictionary of your mind for synonyms.

"I will be close," he tells you after a few seconds of contemplative silence.

It looks like it pains him to step aside, despite not walking very far away from you at all. He's so different from anyone you've met before, more innocent but also animalistic in some way. Primal. You kind of like it.

The snow is used as water for cleaning while your teeth chatter against each other, limbs shaking to keep yourself warm. Your feet hurt from touching the snow, and the entirety of you is getting increasingly wet as the icy flakes melt on your body.

Only a minute passes before he seems to have had enough of waiting, turning around to see that you're done.

"This time, could you not—"

Before you can finish your request of not being thrown over his shoulder again, he puts his large hands on your waist and lifts you into the air. You're less surprised this time, maybe, but definitely not used to being picked up like that. A harrumphed breath is all that can be said as you once again, with your ass in the air and his as your view, are brought inside.

An hour later you have concluded that your phone must be left underneath the tree you fell asleep against, your ankle is definitely sprained and the man has not spent much time in civilization. But he still knows certain things that makes you believe he's somewhat civilized, like he spent time with other people a very long time ago.

He's wearing clothes at least, even though they are worn out and torn in some places. He knows how to make a fire and there's a few plates on a shelf and a wooden spoon. It's relatively tidy in here, but that's mainly because he doesn't have many things.

Most of all, he's been taking care of you. He knew enough about hypothermia to rid you of your wet clothes. Now he's wrapped you up in all those furs again and planted you in front of the fire place after you were shaking like a leaf when you came inside. He hasn't let you take a step by yourself on that bad foot of yours.

And even though all of these things are so sweet and slightly peculiar, you can only think about Steve. You don't know how long you have been gone for, but those fifteen minutes you said you would be back after have since long passed by.

God, he must be freaking out. He told you to stay inside and you stubbornly went against his wishes. Look where you are now—stranded in a cabin with a malfunctioning foot and a strange man who's nice but also extremely mysterious and hasn't been a part of civilization for many, many years.

"I have a friend who's probably looking for me," you say after an hour of relative silence. He's been gutting fish for some reason, taking out bones and bad parts with a pocket knife. It's now roasting over the fire. You don't really know how he got a hold of fresh fish in the middle of December.

He looks over at you from where he's sitting a few feet away, arms draped over his knees.

"Who is friend?"

"His name is Steve," you tell him. "He's my best friend. We are borrowing someone's house a few miles away from here."

A low murmur of 'Steve' is heard from him, and it almost makes you laugh. The way he says his name—like it nearly offends him—is so humorous you're bound to tell your blond friend about it when you get back.

"He is tall, almost like you. And very strong. I think you would like each other."

That implication was apparently not welcome. His face scrunches up, jaw clenching down while shaking his head to himself.

"No. Do not like Steve," he tells you. "No Steve."

"No?" you chuckle. "Why? You haven't met him yet."

"No. Steve." He glares at you, showcasing those blue eyes of his once more with a stare so intense it has you squirming. "No man."

Your chuckle dies down under his stare, leaving your cheeks to heat while he's observing you. He certainly does have a staring problem, but you don't really want to do anything about it even though it unnerves you. In a good way, mostly.

"Okay," you say softly, letting a small smile grow on your lips to dissipate the sudden tension. "What's your name? I don't think I've asked that."

He thinks for a few seconds. The smile drops as quickly as it appeared when you see his confusion, because who has to think to remember their own name?

"They call me Asset," he speaks up nearly a minute after you posed the question.

Your lips part in quiet shock as you stare at him with your brows furrowed into a concerned frown. Whoever he's speaking about viewed him as an asset. Not a person, a human being, but merely something to serve them. It makes you nauseous. He doesn't look very bothered about it, and that makes you even more sad. Sure, you've made it this far without calling him anything but you want to know his name. You want to know him.

"Asset? I can't call you that," you whisper, shaking your head. "Well, then we'll have to come up with something."

"Your name?" He points at you.

"My name is Y/n."

He lights up slightly when he hears it, looking up at you again. You feel heat traveling to your face, glancing away for a second because eye contact for that long is still hard for you.

"Y/n?" he asks, nodding at you.

His curiosity makes you giggle like a schoolgirl while nodding. Even more so as he repeats your name several times under his breath, as if he barely notices himself what he's doing.

"Asset?" he says again while pointing at himself.

"No," you answer, gripping the furs tighter around your body. Funny how two minutes outside could instill a cold so deep you're still feeling it over an hour later.

"No?"

"No. It's dehumanizing and disrespectful. You are a person, not an object."

"Don't understand..."

You gulp, blinking while glancing into the fire burning a few feet away. He still stares at you.

"You know what? I'll just call you Winter for now. My imagination is lacking and I feel like that encapsulates your energy," you say, maybe more for yourself than him. You know he doesn't understand much.

He nods, seemingly accepting his new name pretty quickly. "Winter...like Y/n?"

"Yeah. Your name." You point at his chest. "Do you like it?"

"Yes. You, uh—you gave it. Like it," he tells you.

Content with the conversation, the two of you fall into a silence while he watches over the grilling fish in front of you. Winter. Somehow it suits him—cold and to the point, warm and soft when he wants to. Yeah, that's a good nickname.

It's your turn to stare at him now. Observing as he takes the fishes off the spear, moving them onto one of the wooden plates he has stacked on the shelf above you.

He crouches down until he's sitting opposite to you, legs bent but still taking up so much space. The plate is pushed in your direction as you unravel your arms from the blanket-cocoon.

Carefully and with slight hesitance, you begin to reach your hand out towards your plate, but it's pushed away with a grunt from Winter's mouth. Instead, he pulls a large piece of the grilled fish and lifts his finger towards you.

"Eat."

You stare at it for a second, blinking before lifting your gaze to his face.

"Oh," you breathe out while he pushes it closer until the fish touches your lips.

You let him feed you, for some reason. But it feels natural when he's the one doing it. Though you have to slow him down sometimes, stopping him from choking you with the rapid pace and quantity of food he seems to want to feed you with.

After finishing one and a half fish, you feel overtly content with your meal. You would have stopped eating after the first one but he keeps insisting on you eating more.

"Winter," you tell him, gently pushing away his hand. His eyes flicker upwards to you when his new nickname falls from your lips.

He nearly pouts at you. "More," he says, holding up his fingers. You shake your head.

"I'm full. No more food."

"But—ugh," he snarls, breathing out a frustrated puff of air. "Don't know how to say."

"It's okay."

You lay a careful hand on his arm, nodding for him to continue. He gulps, letting a few seconds pass by as he thinks hard and thoroughly. You don't want him to feel dumb just because he doesn't speak your language well.

"Want you to feel good. Not sick."

"Healthy?" you ask with a smile as soon as you get the sentiment.

"Yes, healthy. Much food for healthy."

Winter touches your stomach, pressing his fingers into your skin while you chuckle. He's sweeter than you ever would have expected him to be and it hurts to know that you have to leave him soon.

You could very well visit him during the rest of the week you're here, but after that you will be far away. Keeping contact with someone who's barely been socializing with humans for what must be years upon years could be very hard. He doesn't have a phone and probably doesn't take trips that often.

"Not happy?" Winter redirects the subject when he sees your fallen expression, gazing out of the window.

Your short-lived trance is broken by his voice. "No, sorry. I just got distracted for a second," you tell him. "I have to go back soon. To Steve."

All he does is grunt, leaving you to raise your eyebrows in amusement.

"No," he mumbles after a few seconds of shaking his head. "Snow is too much. Much—very dangerous."

You immediately look out of the window again, which is nearly covered in white snowflakes to the point where you can't see much. But you can hear the strong whines of the wind outside, and despite wanting to assure Steve that you're fine you know Winter is right. On this foot you can't go anywhere far, and it's not like you're gonna force him to carry you the entire way.

"Okay," you say softly. "I'll stay until the storm is over."

"Yes? Y/n stay with Winter?"

"Yeah. I'll stay."

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

The crackling sound of the fire has been slowly lulling you towards sleep for the past half an hour. You constantly fight to keep your eyelids open but you know you're going to lose the battle soon if the furs keep enveloping you in a big hug while trying to shield yourself from the cold.

You went out for another bathroom break a while ago. It's dark now, but the soft light from inside of the cabin lit up the grounds outside enough to see a bunny and her babies jumping through the snow.

You just about had a meltdown and Winter thought you had hurt yourself because you were crying. Having to explain to him that no, you were not sad, but just extremely overwhelmed by how cute and pretty the bunnies looked and the dramatics of the whole day was equally difficult and amusing. He seemed quite confused by that explanation, even more so than your reaction.

"Don't understand," he had told you while picking you up again to throw you over his shoulder. Standard practice by now. "Happy crying? So strange."

Now you're leaning against the couch with your legs stretched in front of you. You've been watching Winter carve a handle to the knife blade he just sharpened twenty minutes ago. Somehow you feel he has no real need for a knife when he's built like he is, when he could chase away a whole pack of wolves with merely his presence.

He's so concentrated. Nearly passionate in the way he sculpts that piece of wood, eyes never straying from his craft except for when he looks at you when he thinks you're not looking. With each minute he's nudging himself a little bit closer, thinking you won't notice.

It's cute, really. But you're too tired to read into it and the way your eyelids grow heavier with each passing second tells you that you might not be awake much longer. You don't want to sleep yet—if what you have left with Winter is only this night and tomorrow morning, you want to spend it on something else than laying passed out on his floor.

You want to know more about his story and why he's living in the middle of the woods and why he doesn't have a name and why in the goddamn hell he's so sweet and attentive and god, you might like him a little too much for only knowing him a day.

It's weird, right? You're not supposed to want to stay here with him while having the man you've been in love with for half a decade waiting for you at a cabin you borrowed from his boss, probably (hopefully) worried sick for you. Steve most likely thinks you're dead for god's sake and you're out here thinking about if some Bigfoot man would be able to bench press you. He has to, right? It seems like he could.

And spending time asking yourself rhetorical questions while you should be trying to keep your eyes open is apparently the downfall of your self-control. A poke at your side forces your eyes open with a flutter, gaze flickering down to Winter's finger pressing into your cheek.

"Sleep? Y/n, uh, lay down?" he asks you, nodding towards the bed.

You shake your hand with a yawn, wrapping the furs tighter around your shivering figure.

"No," you say softly. "I can—I'll sleep here. You can take the bed."

He doesn't have a chance to answer before you're slowly lowering yourself down to the floor, snuggling into your blankets with a tired hum and closed eyes. In all honesty, you might freeze to death if you're more than three feet away from the fireplace.

"Y/n," Winter says, nearly chastises. "Y/n."

You don't answer. Too tired to form words and actually speak them. You know he's going to offer you the bed again, but he's been so good to you this past day. He deserves some comfort.

"Small—little bunny," he says, nearly mumbles, hand brushing over your arm and your eyes shoot wide open like a comic book character.

"What?" you breathe out while rolling over until you're facing him.

"Name for you. Like Winter but for Y/n," he says, cheeks flushing red and you can't help but let out a girlish giggle.

"Nickname?" you ask him, smiling much too big for your dignity to still be intact.

"Yes. Not listen to Y/n so use other name."

"You think I look like a bunny?"

The tiredness you felt half a minute ago has suddenly dissipated into thin air while you prop your chin up on your hand, gazing up at him with amusement.

"No," he tells you. "Like words you say—"

Winter stops a few seconds to think, furrowing his brows in frustration. He gets really irritated at himself when he can't find the right words, you've found these past hours. You don't mind at all, but he gets frustrated so quickly when he can't communicate his feelings. It's equally adorable and sad.

"Like cute and uh...pretty. Like bunnies."

You don't say anything—you can't. Laying there dumbfounded and a few degrees warmer than the second before, struggling to hold the intense stare Winter has decided on.

But he keeps on looking at you with those stone-cold and intense yet innocent blue eyes of his, wanting to say something but refraining from doing so. The staring problem is really starting to become an actual problem for you when you can't reciprocate it anymore. Instead you curl into yourself, snuggling into the blankets while avoiding his gaze.

It's getting to the point where you can't decipher wether it's due to his lack of social cues or genuine interest in you. Just one day in his presence and you feel like you can truly exist. He doesn't really judge in the way other people do. It feels nice spending time with someone who doesn't have to know things about you to know you. But it's been less than twelve hours for god's sake.

After what must have been a few minutes but felt like half an hour you drowse into a half-sleep once more. You know Winter is sitting right beside you, hopefully planning to relocate to the bed soon. If he's going to sleep there on the floor your sacrifice would have been redundant but somehow you feel he's stubborn enough to do that.

You've been descending towards sweet unconsciousness for a good while when you hear him rise from his seated position. And you should've known it was coming, even after knowing him for such a short time, when his arms snake around your figure.

For once, Winter hauls you up into a bridal carry, though still lacking that sense of gentleness most people would use on a sleeping person. But you're not sleeping, and maybe he knows that too.

The bed sinks underneath your weight as he lays you down, pillow cold against your head and shivers instantly breaking out when the sheets meet your body. And you suddenly hate the idea of laying alone in this bed absolutely on your way towards freezing to death.

"Winter," you mumble, eyes barely open.

You feel him stop in his movements, hands still on your body from when he laid you down just a few seconds ago.

"Will you lay down with me? I'm cold," you nearly pout. It's childish and bordering on mirroring an opening to some bad 70's porno, but still sincere. The hellish warmth you felt when you woke up before has escaped your mind entirely.

"Sleep?" he asks.

"Yes. Only if you want to. It's okay if you don't," you tell him, breathing out deeply while fighting your tiredness for just a little longer.

You scoot over, lifting the furs draped over your figure to make space for him if he decides to lie down next to you.

And he does.

It's ungracious and a little awkward when what must be at least a 6'6" man climbs into a bed that fits half of him when it's empty. His warmth instantly streams over towards you the moment he lays down, drawing an embarrassingly loud hum of pleasantry from your lips.

A groan descending from the very depths of his stomach sounds from him only a few seconds later. It nearly makes you laugh, but mostly pleases you that he finds this comforting too.

It scares you a little that you might be seeking this closeness to make up for what isn't there between you and Steve. That this natural ease you find in Winter's company is a figment of your imagination. Maybe you're still sitting underneath that tree, on your last few seconds of life with your dying mind creating stupid fantasies?

But it sure feels real when your cornered position against the wall turns into Winter using that goddamn strength of his to maneuver you to lay on top of him. You barely react to his touch until you realize just what position the two of you are laying in.

A soft 'oh' escapes your lips as your cheek meets his chest, large hands wrapped around your back while he snuggles into the crook of your neck.

"Smell so good," he mumbles as he takes in your scent, nose pressing against your skin. "Little—hm, bunny smell good."

Your eyes open wide where you're laying, and he can't see that luckily, but he must be hearing the increased pace of your heartbeats against him. This man is going to be the death of you.

"Hm?" you hum in answer, a strained one and slightly shocked and one that comes out when you don't know what the hell to say.

Winter does that thing he did when you went outside the first time—he pats your head gently, like he's petting a cat or a small child. It's humorous to think that he might've learnt it from those scenarios a long time ago.

You prop your chin up on his chest so you can see his face. It's an awkward angle but somehow you feel he doesn't think about things like that.

He's staring down at you, palm still resting on the back of your head as it slides down to rest at the back of your neck. His eyes are so fucking blue that you are mad about it—who gave him the right? What kind of crazy ass genes did his parents have for him to be so tall and strong and beautiful?

"No tired now?" he whispers, as if it's a secret he's telling you.

You shake your head, which turns out to be a little difficult in this position, while blinking slowly. "I'm still very tired. But I just—I wanted to look at you for a second." You move your hands until they're underneath your chin, palms splayed out against his chest. "Your eyes are very blue. Almost cerulean."

Winter scrunches his nose. Adorable, of course. Ugh.

"What is that word?" he asks you, furrowing his brows and drawing a smile from your lips. "Your words—so hard. Use words I don't know all the time."

"I'm sorry," you answer through a soft chuckle. "Cerulean is a certain shade of blue. Like the sky when there's no clouds."

"Oh," he answers, brows still furrowed in thought.

You wonder if he's seen his own eyes in recent years. Somehow you feel like he doesn't spend a lot of time in front of mirrors. You can't really say the same for yourself—your insecurities make you so paranoid that looking yourself in the mirror has become an addiction. Ever since you woke up in this cabin you haven't thought about how you looked a single time.

"So cold." Winter takes a hold of your hand, lifting it up while running his thumb over your fingers. "Like snow almost."

"Yeah," you sigh. "Hopefully that'll change soon."

"Yes. I, uh—I will warm. Make your hands not so cold anymore."

All you can do is give him a closed-mouth smile while already feeling yourself grow several degrees hotter. Honestly, if he keeps talking he could warm you up from the other side of the room with his words.

"I'm gonna sleep now, Winter," you tell him quietly, holding off a yawn but also feeling that you can't keep your dignity intact much longer. "Thank you for keeping me warm."

"See tomorrow?" he asks you, still holding onto your fingers.

"Yeah," you answer through a chuckle. "See you tomorrow. Goodnight, Winter."

Part II

#marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fluff #bucky barnes smut #steve rogers smut #marvel Christmas fic #bucky barnes angst #steve rogers angst #beefy!bucky #anachronism

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soulofapatrick · 1 year

Text

Cold, Hard Honesty - Tommy Miller x Reader

Summary: Y/N has to trudge home from patrol cold and wet in the middle of winter and Tommy is there to help you warm up before you catch a cold but things get admitted

Words: 1.8K

Warnings: none (I don’t think)

Notes: Just something small while I try come up with more ideas x

Y/N’s POV

The gate opens for me and I ignore the huddled group of my friends and family who by the looks of it were about to send out a search party for me. Ellie and Tommy are calling my name but I just ignore them, not in the damn mood for anything. I head straight to my small house, wanting to get out of my sopping wet clothes that have been chaffing painfully for the last hour, ripping the skin open and drawing blood in some places that has been my only source of warmth. I must look like shit and am definitely deathly pale, my lips and fingertips are tinged blue and they’re practically numb to any feeling so I keep trying to flex my hands to keep some blood running through them. I would rather kill myself than get hypothermia and have to have my hands or fingers amputated.

Of course, my not so trusty horse - Indiana - decided that today he would spook at a flock of birds and reared in panic subsequently throwing me into the ice cold lake then bolting back to Jackson. Today was the first time I was allowed to take this route on my own to prove myself and I’m pretty sure I won’t be allowed on any patrol routes on my own anymore let alone this one. With Indiana gone the only way home was to pull myself out of the river and trudge my way back, through the heavy snow for a hour and just hope no raiders or infected appear as my weapons are attached to Indiana’s saddle and I’m too slow to defend myself. The cold’s too busy setting into my bones and wrapping her icy fingers over every inch of me despite how much I try and warm myself up by rubbing my arms. It just speeds up the process of chaffing so I have to stop, keeping my arms around myself as I walked, barely able feel my feet and my whole body is trembling from the cold and water, my hair practically frozen against my back.

The snow crunches behind mine as one of them breaks away from the concerned group to follow me. I don’t dare look behind me because as soon as I look at whoever is following me I’m going to break down and… I don’t cry. I’m not that type of person. I’ve killed hundreds of infected, clickers and blasters alike, many are scared to hear my name let alone meet me.

I. Don’t. Cry.

My keys fumble in my hands and I let my eyes slip shut when the person’s body presses up against my back and gently nudges the keys from my shaking hands so they can unlock the door. They smell of vanilla; coffee and woodsmoke and I try not to groan knowing it’s Tommy. Tommy is the one currently ushering me into my own house with large hands on my hips before he’s kicking the front door shut behind us, his chest still practically pressed to my back. He doesn’t speak, just keeps his hands on me being slow with his movement as he drags them up my front and carefully unzips my coat, letting it fall to the floor between us. I almost whine when he steps away, the cold making its way back through me until hands are gripping mine and he’s now in front of me.

I don’t want to meet his gaze but he’s staring, waiting for me to do it so with a shaky breath I’m flicking my eyes up from the floor to meet his cognac ones. They’re full of concern and worry when I barely react to his thumb brushing over my trembling bottom lip, hardly feeling it through the chills. He’s drawing me forwards with every step back until we’re in the bathroom, only letting go to begin running me a bath. Quicker than I can process he’s back, nimble fingers moving to my shirt now, carefully unbuttoning it and a gasp escapes his lips when he sees the blood. It’s trickling down my shoulders, red and watery trailing little bits of heat over soaking my entire being. The shirt is flung aside before I just watch as Tommy sinks to his knees, popping the button on my jeans and sliding them down just as slowly, pressing scorching kisses on hips every time I wince at the drag of the denim. Soon enough they’re joining my shirt and Tommy’s standing, checking the bath is ready for me.

“T-Tommy…” My voice is hoarse and shakes, hands reaching for him and he just pulls me against his chest, wrapping those strong arms around my shoulders and pressing a sweet kiss against my forehead that has me burying my face in his chest as the tears prickle behind my eyes. The feeling of safety and comfort wafting off of him is almost too much and he cards a hand over my slowly melting hair, rocking us on the spot and I let the damn burst. I’m sobbing, being done with everything and just so fucking wrecked and Tommy just holds me through it all, not saying a word knowing I’ll talk when I’m ready, “Stay.”

“I’m right here sweet girl,” He soothes, holding my face in his hands and making me look at him, thumb brushing away the tears before he’s guiding me towards the bathtub, “You need to get warm before you catch a cold.” His lips pressing against my forehead again and the water stings as I slowly step in, sinking down with his large hands helping me. He’s moving away from the edge of the bath and I’m letting out a whimper, grabbing his hand tightly as I don’t want him to go. I need him here with me and keeping me safe. I don’t want to be alone and his gaze softens until he’s kneeling next to the bathtub. His arms resting along the edge of it and head on his arms as I sink back, letting the water warm my freezing joints, the chaffing making it somewhat uncomfortable.

It’s as if Tommy can sense my discomfort as he’s moving, leaning over me to grab the wash cloth and I let him run it over the open wounds, hands gripping his arm at the pain but he soothes every action with quiet praises. I wish this was real, him soothing and praising me but he doesn’t see me like that. I’m just his niece’s best friend and nothing more, he’s looking after me out of courtesy and the fact I won’t let anyone near me like this except him and maybe Jesse. I want him to want me back but he’s not going to.

“Hey sweet girl,” His thumb brushes another tear off my cheek, “What’s wrong? Am I hurting you?”

“N-no Tom, no you’re okay.”

“What’s wrong?”

“N-Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m in love with you.” I blurt out, keeping my face turned away from him, not wanting to see the disgust on his face. He’s silent, the washcloth still making comforting strokes over my skin and I want to just sink under the water. I’m sliding myself down but his hot hands grip my shoulders and he’s turning my upper half to face him. His cognac eyes are full of a mixture of emotions but the way they dart down to my parched lips and back up has a little bit of hope swelling in my chest but I could be hallucinating really. A reaction to the changing temperatures or something.

It’s very real and heartbreaking when he gets up and walks out, hesitating by the door and I’m breaking down again. Embarrassment and loss adding to the pain encompassing my body as it tries to find the base temperature. I just stay there, laying back so just my face is still above the water and cry, feeling so stupid. I’ve probably ruined my friendship with Tommy forever now and that seems to hurt even more than him walking out on me after my admittance.

I don’t know how much longer I lay in the bath but by the time I get out the sun is setting and the water has gone cold. My muscles scream at every movement as I dry myself gingerly with the towel before pulling on a clean shirt and pants then trudging to the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee and find something to eat. Just my luck my fridge is practically empty and if I had any more tears left I’d be crying again but instead I’m resting my elbows on the cool counter and my face buried in my hands as I wait for the water to boil for my coffee.

I’m so wrapped up in my thoughts about Tommy and they way he looked at me, looked down at my lips, before he walked out that I don’t hear my front door open and close. I’m jumping, spinning around with my hands raised ready to defend myself, at the clearing of someone’s throat.

Oh. It’s Tommy. He has a sheepish look on his face, a bag in his hand and he’s just standing there. I want to yell and throw something at him, instead mustering a broken, “Get out.” His face breaks and he’s putting the bag down before moving towards me with purpose, “I said get out Tom-“ Lips are on mine, feverish and needing. Strong hands on my hip and cupping my cheek as he kisses me like I’m the air he needs to live. My hearts pounding but then again it could be Tommy’s but all I know is I need him like I need oxygen.

“I’m sorry I walked out. I didn’t expect you to say that let alone feel the same way,” He gasps out when we part and I just turn my head away but he’s holding my face between those gun-calloused palms, forcing me to look into those endless pools of cognac before he continues, “I am madly in love with you too and I want you so much, if you’ll still have me.”

“What’s in the bag?”

“Dinner, I saw your fridge was empty.” He blushes, his sun kissed skin flushing red and he’s ducking his head. A surprised sound leaving those beautiful lips when I yank him closer and steal his breath away with another kiss. I forgive him. Of course I forgive him. How could I not forgive him? He’s so addictive and I could spend all day like this, his lips bruising mine with a passion that I have only ever dreamed of and read of in those books from before the outbreak, “Come on, let’s eat before it gets cold.”

“You won’t leave me?”

“Never.”

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