#beneath the helmet (fc) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

everyhowlmarksthedead · 4 years ago

Text

no kisses needed.

JOHNNY ‘COCO’ CRUZ.

MAYANS MC ┃ USEFUL LINKS

❝ request by @blowmymbackout: reader has a co-worker who just won't take the hint that reader isn't interested and has a bf she tells Coco he picks her up from work confronts the man. Coco is a lil jealous. Co-worker facetimes reader while coco has her in this position (sorry if that didn't make any sense)

❝ words: about 1.2k.

❝ warnings: nsfw, unprotected sex, language, voyeurism (????), coco being a little possessive, mention of bodily fluids.

❝ a / n: as always, don’t forget to comment and reblog if you liked it!

You weren't expecting Coco to pick you up from work today, but you guess he has just done it to see who's the fucker trying to flirt with his girl. The guy is uglier than the back of a fridge, and he feels some comfort in it. But not enough to calm down his jealousy. He —better than anybody— knows that you don't care about a pretty face, you care about a beautiful heart, tho. His insecurities come afloat on your way back home, worrying you because he's more silent than ever, not even getting a response when you whisper in his ear how much you have missed him today after waking up alone.

Coming into your house with his face down, Coco leaves his kutte and both helmets on the coffee table, a second before falling onto your sofa. A leg over it, the other flexed to the floor. Your boyfriend looks at you, thoughtful and very concentrated on the way you have to remove your jacket and walk towards his position. You know exactly what's on his mind and that touches your soul. His demons eat him alive with no mercy. Kneeling a leg between his —placing your phone close to his black helmet—, you lean down with both hands on his chest for balance, landing your lips onto his left ear.

“Can you do something for me?” You hum with such a sweet tone, caressing his cheek with the tip of your nose. And you hear him swallowing slowly. “Fuck me, Coco. I need you so fuckin' much… You can't imagine… Can you do that for me, ah? Can you fuck me so hard I forgot my name but not who I belong to?”

He utters a feral snarl, noticing then that your right hand has made its way to his dick. You grip it over the rough fabric, swinging it with a tortuous pace, fixing your eyes on his. Coco is about to kiss you when you push him down using your left hand.

“I don't want your kisses now”. You whisper accommodating yourself over the delicious rock under his clothes. “I want your dick. I want you to fuck me till I have to beg you to stop”.

How does he manage to roll you down his body? You don't know. But the fact is that, in less than a second, you're lying on your stomach and your boyfriend is removing your sneakers and your jeans. He can't help but lick his lips keenly as he glances at the small spot darkening your panties, the evidence of how wet you are because of him.

“Fuck, ma'...”

Coco rips off the piece of clothing causing you to gasp, while you take off the shirt covering your torso, only leaving the blue bra you're wearing beneath it. He undoes it to throw it to the floor too, sliding an arm under your stomach to make you raise your ass. With his free hand, your boyfriend pulls down his jeans and boxers enough to let his hard cock spring free. He doesn't prepare you. Coco guides his glans to your folds to slam his thick length into your soaked cunt. You moan loud and clear his full name, as he settles his body between your spread legs.

Digging his fingers in your hips, aware that he probably will leave some marks there, he doesn't show any mercy. He hits your guts and your soul once and once with an insane pace that causes you to roll your eyes, nailing your hands on the armrest to find some equilibrium and receive every pound straight to your g-spot without falling over it. Coco is fucking you as hard as you have asked him, blanking your mind and making a mess of your vocals.

And he doesn't stop when your phone starts to ring. The name of your co-worker appearing on the screen. Your boyfriend has the brilliant idea of pulling your hair back by tangling his digits there, bringing his lips to your ear. His other hand grabs your device to put it at the height of your faces, sliding his thumb to answer the video call.

The first thing your partner can see is the pleasure gesture on yours, moaning and screaming Coco's name, not having noticed yet what he is doing until you hear your co-worker calling you.

“Tell him how good I fuck you, ma'”. Your boyfriend demands with such a throaty growl, thrusting his thick and hard length into you, impaling your body against the sofa.

“Shit…” You almost cry. “He fucks me so damn good”.

“That's it… Tell him… Tell him who you belong to”.

You know that he's enjoying it, but you can't answer when your partner hangs up the call. Coco can't help but laugh, tosing your phone to the table, to occupy his hand in a better place. Wrapping it around your throat, your boyfriend forces you to kneel on the cushions, sticking his chest to your back.

“Bet he won't forget”. He grunts into your ear, tilting your head to tuck his tongue within your mouth.

He drinks your pleas, your begs, your gaps, placing your fingers around his wrists, aware that you're not going to last much more because of what has just happened. And he feels it. He feels how your whole anatomy gets tensed with every push to your guts, creating an erotic melody of flesh against flesh. Pulling you down again and gripping your hips, Coco increases the pace of his lungs, giving you more pleasure than you can bear with, still enraged because of that shithead thinking he could have some kind of opportunity with you. You are his. Like your heart, your soul, your thoughts.

“Ah, fuck, baby”. You paint roaring, biting your lips until the metallic taste of blood floods your mouth.

The tickles in your lower belly grow by leaps and bounds, making your heart stop for a brief instant before the orgasm blows out all your senses and the electrical lash roams your back. It takes Coco only two slams more into your soaked pussy to cum inside you, filling you as much as he can press his body against yours. He doesn't feel jealous, nor angry anymore. He simply is too tired after that rough quickly, marking your skin wherever his teeth have reached it.

Loosening his grip bit by bit to pull his wet dick out from you, your boyfriend holds your phone again to take a picture of his warm seed spilling out from your abused lips. A piece of art under his dark eyes. Lying on your back and placing a smooth kiss on top of your head, he shows you the little mess he has done with a proud smile crossing his exhausted mouth.

“Was tha' what you wanted?”

“Uh-huh”. You whisper resting your cheek over your forearms, turning slightly at him. “Did you have fun, Coquito?”

“I always have fun ruining your sweet tight pussy, ma'. I don' even mind if that cabrón wanna come and look the next time”.

GENERAL TAG LIST: @mayans-sauce @peoniarose @destynelseclipsa @band-psycho @myakai13 @petlaufeyson @-im-fantastic- @horsesandwolvesaremyanimals @rocketqueen @rosieposie0624 @ellyseveronica @Jessprins13 @diaryofkali @ravenmoore14 @starrynite7114 @kenbechillin @miahelen @monkeyluver4546 @sheeshgivemeabreak @jadesamhart @rawrlittlepanda-95 @megapeacelovemusic-blog @katsav17 @skits90s @wildsould1221 @littlekittymeow @tenderclio @badame1240 @regalbanshee

MAYANS MC: @multiyfandomgirl40 @countryash345 @skyofficialxx @lovebennycolonmiguelgalindo @bellisperennis0 @chibsytelford @trulysuccubus @purrrrfect @witching-hour @leathercladmenfics @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @queenbeered @sesamepancakes @gemini0410 @pinguinstudiert @oscars-wifeyyy @meteora-fc @lozaa94 @arveeee @joupym @hanster1998 @missswritings @arana-alpha @lucillewinchester @theocatkov @telfordlowmans

#mayans mc x reader #mayans mc imagine #mayans x reader #mayans mc #johnny coco cruz imagine #johnny coco cruz x reader #coco cruz imagine #coco cruz x reader #coco cruz

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clanoffetts · 4 years ago

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someday. | paz vizsla x fem!reader

Chapter III

masterlist

synopsis: Paz Vizsla finds himself stuck on Dantooine with a broken ship and no credits. Luckily, he finds you, a mechanic that will fix his ship for passage to Hosnian Prime. Over the course of your time together, a courtship blossoms.

warnings/things to note: swearing; reader has hints of PTSD that will be expanded on in further chapters (and those will be tagged with stronger warnings); no use of ‘Y/N’; my fc for Paz is Winston Duke, I don’t describe Paz too much at the moment, but just know that’s who I picture!

word count: 6.4k

karyai - main living room of the covert - a big chamber for talking, resting, and even the last secure stronghold when under attack.

ba’vodu - uncle/aunt

The birds of Yavin IV’s song was calming as you came into full consciousness. The sleep from the night before was much needed, and very refreshing. You opened your eyes and looked to where Paz had been before you’d fallen asleep. He wasn’t there. Neither was your sleep mask. “Kriff!” You flung your body onto your right side, looking away from Paz’s side of the bed.

Shit. Shit. Shit. You’d told him you wouldn't look. Hell, you told him it was impossible for you to look. And here you are, no mask over your eyes. What if he’d been there? After all the time you’d spent convincing him to share the bed with you, that it’d be safe. Sure, you hadn’t actually seen him, but the possibility frightened you. You couldn’t violate him like that, even if it was an accident. You couldn’t live with yourself.

A few minutes of deep breathing later, you got out of bed, and headed into the ‘fresher. You wanted so badly to take another shower, to relax under the water, but you knew it was important to save water, not sure if the covert had water to spare for your journey. You’d have to be content with washing your face and pretending.

You stared in the mirror, into your own eyes. You replayed the night before: the vibroblade that now sat with your stuff, the idea of Paz taking you to his home and meeting his family, learning his traditions. The pure bliss you were in as you fell asleep, and then the violent jerk of the morning’s close call. Your eyes were no longer as tired as they had been when you’d looked at yourself last night.

You threw on jeans and a shirt, and finally left the safety of the ‘fresher. Would Paz be mad about the mask coming off? He was so hesitant as it was, you were terrified that this would push him away, make him realize that there’s too much risk in a relationship with a non-Mando.

“Kebiin’ika?” Paz called as he heard the door to the bedroom open.

“Yeah?”

He stood up and met you halfway between the room and the common area. “How’d you sleep?” He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into a half hug before leading you to the table you’d sat at the night before.

“Pretty good,” you said, taking a seat. “Paz?” He hummed and sat down a bowl of some type of porridge in front of you. “Are you mad at me?”

The helmet snapped up to look at you. “Why would I be mad? If you think you broke the towel rack in the ‘fresher, you haven’t. It’s always been like that.”

“No, Paz,” you said. “About the sleep mask. It came off last night. I’m so sorry, I thought it would stay on. I’m not really a wild sleeper so I don’t know how it happened, but I understand if you’re mad at me-”

“Kebiin’ika,” he says, cutting you off. You suck in a big breath, not realizing how long you’d been rambling. “It’s not that big of a deal to me, it was an accident. You didn’t see my face, right?”

You nodded. “Right.”

“See? No creeds broken,” he says. He can tell you’re still a little shaken up, and moves to lay his large, gloved hand over your small one. “If I didn’t trust you, mesh’la, I would’ve slept on the cot. I knew the mask came off when I woke up this morning, but I trust you enough that I know you wouldn’t use the opportunity of me being asleep to look, even on accident.”

You couldn’t see his face, but you swear you could hear a smile on his face. “Are you sure? I know I didn’t see anything this time, but I would understand if you want me to take the cot from now on.” He ushered you closer to him, his arm around you. It was a bit awkward with all his armor and clothes, but the heart was there. “Kebiin’ika,” he said. “I’m comfortable with sleeping the way we did last night as long as you are. I’m not worried.”

You sighed, leaning into him. The beskar was cold and you just wanted to feel him, his warm skin. “Ok,” you say. “If you’re comfortable, I’m comfortable.”

“Good,” he replies. “Now, why don’t you finish eating while I call the covert. Tell them that I’ll be there shortly to pick up some of our supplies, ok?”

You nodded, and he let you out of his embrace. While spooning the food into your mouth, you watched him at the hull, punching some numbers into his gauntlet and then speaking in what you assumed was Mando’a. It was such a beautiful language, especially coming from Paz’s mouth. And he spoke it with a pride in his voice that he didn’t have when speaking Basic.

“Alright, mesh’la,” he said as you got to the bottom of the bowl. “I’ll be back soon, no more than two hours.”

“Two hours?”

“Yes, two hours,” he laughed. “It may be sooner, but you never know. Mandalorians take a long time to say goodbye.”

You smiled at him. “Alright, have fun,” you say.

“Oh, I will,” he replies. You watched as the mountain of blue beskar exited the ship and mounted the speeder the two of you rode the day before. A lot has changed since then, you thought. Before you knew it, Paz Vizsla was gone and a dirt cloud took his place.

Paz’s ride back to his home didn’t take too long at all. And when he arrived, he spotted Din and Grogu on some rocks outside the entrance.

“C’mon, Grogu,” Din is saying. “You can do it.” Grogu sat on a rock opposite Din, with his eyes closed. In Din’s hand was Grogu’s beskar ball. Grogu and his ball were inseparable.

As Paz dismounted and began walking towards the hangar, Grogu’s eyes shot open and he let out an excited shriek. Paz didn’t speak fifty-year-old-toddler, but he figured it was something along the lines of “ba’vodu!”.

Din turned around, too, and stood. He picked up his little foundling and greeted Paz half way. “How was your evening?”

“Nice,” Paz says. “Yours?”

Din nods. “Mine was ok, but I don’t have a pretty mechanic in my room like you do.”

Paz rolled his eyes. “Din, it’s not like that.”

Grogu made a sound of protest. “Hm,” Din said. “My Jedi son seems to think differently. He’s never wrong about these things…” Din teases.

Paz stops just as they’re about to open the blast doors. “Din, Grogu,” Paz says. “Just between us?”

“Just between us,” Din says, and Grogu babbles.

Paz sighed, was he really doing this? He was. “We’re courting.”

“I knew it!” Din exclaims, and Grogu laughs. “I knew it, Paz. So what’d you give her?”

Paz patted the empty sheath. “Vibroblade.”

“Classic,” Din says. “What will you propose marriage with? Something of her homeworld’s tradition? Or wait and exchange blades that Armorer makes?”

Paz shakes his head, and he’s smiling beneath his bucket. “Maker, Din, I haven’t thought that far ahead.” Though he figured it’d be blades. You didn’t seem too fond of being reminded of Alderaan. “But I’ll put your name in if we need a wedding planner.”

“You better,” Din replies. “Armorer will want to know, too.”

Paz nodded. “I know. I’m not sure I’ll tell her this time. I don’t want word getting out.”

“She won’t tell anyone, you know that.”

“I know, but still,” Paz said, finally punching in the code and opening the doors. “But we’ve got a covert of eavesdroppers.”

There was a child tending to one of his chores just inside, and as soon as he spotted Paz, he practically lunged at him. “Paz!”

“Hey, ad’ika,” Paz says, taking the young kid up onto one of his arms. “I didn’t get to see you yesterday!”

“I know,” he said. “My buir had me at home practicing math. Math! Can you believe it?”

Paz laughed. “Knowing your buir? Yes, yes I can.”

The group walked further inside the winding the halls of the covert, adding new people to their crew as they saw them. Eventually they reached the karyai, and everyone got comfortable on the many cushions, chairs, and sofas littered about the room.

Paz stayed standing. “Sorry, everyone,” he said when he noticed their disappointment that he wasn’t going to be there long. “But I’ve got my end of a deal to hold up, and I don’t want to keep her waiting.” Paz noticed that at the mention of a her, helmets turned to the side, looking at each other, silently gossiping.

“Then come in here, Paz,” Armorer says, at the doorway to her forge. “And we’ll discuss what you need.”

Paz obeyed, making his way through all the Mandalorians relaxing in the karyai. He closed the door behind him, and sat at Armorer’s table. “We’ve compiled some things for your journey,” she says. “It’s not much, but it’s what we have. It’s in the hangar, I’m sure Clan Djarin would be happy to assist you in taking it back to your ship.”

“I’m sure it’s more than enough,” Paz replies. “Thank you, Armorer.”

She nodded. “Now, how happy was your mechanic at being left on the ship for so long yesterday?”

Paz could hear her smirk. “She got bored. Wasn’t there when I got back,” he said. “I almost lost my mind, but she was just in the little town, shopping.”

Armorer let out a soft chuckle. “And you’re trying to tell everyone you aren’t smitten? Maker, Vizsla, I’d think you’d be better with convincing by now.”

Paz sighed. “You’d think.”

Armorer’s stare bore into him. For Mandalorians, it usually wasn’t intimidating when another looked at you through their visor. It was normal. But Armorer’s presence was different, she was intimidating. “Where is your vibroblade?”

Kriff. “It’s right here,” he said, patting the sheath on his left side, where his second vibroblade sat.

“No, not that one,” she said. “The one I forged for you when you donned your helmet. I swear you had it yesterday.”

Well, he might as well tell her at this point. She wouldn’t believe that he’d lost it, this blade had Mandalorian and Vizsla carvings in it, he rarely used it in combat. “Don’t tell anyone this,” Paz said. “I want it to be a secret for now, ok?”

She nodded.

“I gave it to her. The mechanic.”

Armorer sucked in a breath so sharp that her vocoder picked it up. “As a courtship proposal?” Paz nodded. “I wish you both many blessings, many warriors,” she said. Paz didn’t know if you wanted warriors, but Armorer’s blessings were traditional, and carried a lot of weight.

“Thank you, Armorer,” he replies. “I will pass along the message.”

“If you two are courting, then why didn’t you bring her here? Are you still going on your journey?”

Paz nodded. “She has unfinished business in the Hosnian system,” he didn’t tell her what business. It wasn’t his place, and Armorer understood. “We’ll be back, though I’m not sure when.”

“Long hyperspace travel will be good for your relationship.” Armorer entered counselor mode. “Building trust and love.”

Paz always felt a bit awkward when she became a psychologist. So he just nodded. “Anyways, you said the supplies were in the hangar?”

She nodded. “Take care of her, Paz,” she said. They both stood. “This is the Way.”

“This is the Way,” Paz repeated.

Paz exited the Armorer’s workshop. Back in the karyai, some people had gone back to their rooms or to tend to their duties, but many still sat around. “Din?” Paz said to his friend.

“Yeah?”

“You don’t happen to know where Bezza is, do you?”

Din nodded. “Last I saw she was in one of the sparring rooms.” Paz thanked him and headed off down one of the long corridors towards the training rooms.

All the sparring room doors were open except one. Paz opened it gently, and looked inside. Bezza wielded the beskar staff Din had brought back with him. She was sparring with a reprogrammed droid, the only one in the covert. Paz watched with pride as she jabbed at the droid, careful not to hurt it too much. There were still children that would need to learn from sparring with the machine.

As she landed a final blow, the droid declared her the winner, and she backed off. Paz clapped from his place at the door. “That was very impressive,” he said. “You’ve gotten used to the armor quite well.”

“Paz!” She dropped the staff and walked towards her friend. “No one told me you were here.”

“That’s probably best,” Paz said. “I need to tell you something, and I need you to not repeat it, ok?”

Bezza nodded. “Ok. But if you tried to bring a Loth-cat in again, I’m not making any promises.”

Paz laughed. “It’s not a Loth-cat. It’s about my girl.”

“Your girl?”

Paz nodded. “We’re courting.”

Bezza threw her arms around her ba’vodu. “Paz that’s wonderful!” Their beskar sang as he patted Bezza on the back. When she finally let go she said, “Are you guys staying here? When do you think you’ll marry? I know Mandalorian courtships tend to not last long, but she’s not a Mandalorian so-”

Paz cut off her rambling by saying, “I don’t know. Like I told Din, I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.”

Bezza laughed. “Of course you haven’t. How many people have you told, Paz? You know if you tell the wrong person, your courtship will be the topic at many dinner tables tonight.”

“I know,” Paz replied. “Only you, Din, and Armorer know.”

“Ok,” she said. “So I take it you’re not going to stay here?”

Paz shook his head. “We’re off to Hosnian Prime as soon as I get back with the supplies.” Somehow, Paz could sense Bezza’s disappointment. He wanted so badly to be there for her, help her through her losses, but he’d made a promise to you. A Mandalorian’s honor was their everything. “I’m not sure how long we’ll be there, but we’ll be coming back here. Maybe even to stay.”

“What’s even on Hosnian Prime?”

Paz sighed. He wanted to tell her, to give her a detailed reason so maybe she felt better. But, again, it wasn’t his place. “She has some business to take care of, Bez.”

She nodded, somewhat satisfied. “Can I walk with you to the hangar?” Paz nodded and they left the sparring room. All the way there, Bezza asked questions in typical teenage fashion. What’s her name? What’s she like? What color is her hair? And Paz answered them all. He figured you wouldn’t mind, and they weren’t too personal. All her questions reminded Paz of just how young she was. Other Mandalorians would understand not to ask those questions, just as Bezza would, in time.

In the hangar were Din and Grogu and that kriffing ball. Din had already loaded the speeder bikes with the fuel and food, and was now just killing time with his son. “Din!” Paz called. “I’m just about ready.”

Paz turned to Bezza. “When I get back we’ll start a plan for your training. There’s still a lot to get used to in the armor, especially with the jetpack.”

“Ok,” she said. “Hurry back, alright? And be safe!” Paz and Bezza exchanged a few more goodbyes, and he promised to pass on her hello to you.

Finally, Paz and Din had mounted the speeder bikes. Grogu sat in a carrier on Din’s chest, obviously excited to feel the wind whip around his long ears. The men had unspokenly made it a race, revving their engines and attempting to pass each other without knocking their cargo loose.

You sat outside the ship, taking in the fresh air as the Mandalorians arrived in a cloud of dust, Mando’a, and a baby’s shriek. A baby? You thought.

You got on your feet and approached the speeders. To your surprise, the Mandalorian in unpainted beskar greeted you by name. Quite a lot kinder than the stare he’d met you with when you’d first arrived. “Hello,” you said. “It’s nice to meet you.” Then your eyes finally dropped from the helmet to the carrier on his chest. “Who’s this?”

“My son,” the Mando said. “His name is Grogu.”

You smiled at the baby. “Hello, Grogu,” you said, and introduced yourself to him. Grogu’s tiny little arms reached out for you, and with Mando's permission, you picked him up. “You’re a tiny little thing, aren’t you, Grogu?” He babbled excitedly.

The two of you stood back as Din and Paz began loading the supplies onto the ship. “Your dad is very strong, Grogu,” you tell him as Din lifts a large crate off the bike and into the cargo hold. “Are you going to be strong like him?” Grogu gives you a strong response. This kid has to be a handful, you thought. Grogu stayed gripped onto you, his three little fingers wrapped around your one, gurgling and babbling like he made all the sense in the world. You, of course, humored him, and had a deep conversation about the inflation of credits as the shift from Imperial credits to New Republic credits took place.

Eventually, the men were done, the ship was loaded and refueled. “Alright, Grogu,” you say. “I think your dad will be wanting you back.” You placed a kiss to the top of his odd green head, and attempted to hand him over to the Mando. Grogu had other ideas. His fingers stayed gripped on the back of your t-shirt.

“Grogu,” Din said. “We have to go. Come on.”

You laughed at the little baby, amazed at how he’d become so attached to you in such little time. “Go on, hon,” you coax. “Your uncle and I will be back soon, I promise.” His big, dark eyes looked up at you, and then he allowed you to pass his little body to his father, who fastened him into the carrier.

“Safe travels, you two,” Mando said, and attached the bike Paz rode to his own, and him and Grogu were off.

Finally, you were able to give Paz a hug. “Ready, kebiin’ika?” he asked.

“Yeah. Let me call Leia before we go,” you say. “I forgot to this morning.”

“Ok, I’ll be waiting in the cockpit whenever you’re ready.” He turned around and disappeared onto the ship.

You held the holoprojector in front of you, anxious. Surely Leia would want to see you, right? After all your time together…

You sat the projector on a rock and sat down in front of it. You punched in the numbers Leia had sent you a while ago, and waited. Finally, a young girl answered. “May I ask who is calling?” You told her your name. “And who are you calling for?”

“Leia,” you said, and then cringed. “Uh, her royal highness.” You’d never really grasped the royal protocol.

The girl looked closely. “Is the princess expecting you?”

“Uh, not really,” you said. “But we fought in the Rebellion together. She gave me this number, told me to call if I needed her.”

The girl nodded, and walked out of frame. Hopefully, she’d return with Leia. She did return, but no princess in sight. “Her royal highness will meet with you shortly.” And then she was gone again.

You sat looking around at the trees, taking in your last minutes on a planet for some time. And even when you got to Hosnian Prime, it would be way different. Hosnian Prime was busy, unlike Dantooine and Yavin IV.

“Finally!” said a voice. Leia’s. She stood in holo form on the rock, an elegant white dress covered her form and her hair was in two braids down her shoulders. “I’ve been wondering when I’d hear from you.”

“Leia!” you exclaimed. “I’ve wanted to call, but you know how I felt when the war was won…I wasn’t sure you’d want to hear from me.”

She frowned. “Oh, stop that,” she said. “I’ll always want to hear from you. I’m sorry it took me so long to get on the line, Korrie is quite protective of me.”

“I understand,” you smiled. “You are a very important person, your royal highness.”

Leia laughed. “Now, what did I tell you back on Alderaan about formal titles?”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a normal person when you’re with me,” you said, rolling your eyes. “I take it you’re a bit exhausted with decorum at the moment?”

She nodded. “And it doesn’t help that Threepio is the decorum police, either.” The two of you shared a laugh at the droid’s expense. You didn’t know how Leia could stand C-3PO all the time. “Enough with my complaining, are you ok? Is there something you need?”

“Well, I was calling to see if you’d receive me on Hosnian?” you asked. “I want to catch up with you, maybe even a few friends from the old days?”

Leia smiled. “Of course I’ll receive you! When are you leaving? And where from?”

“Yavin IV,” you say. “And hopefully as soon as I hang up with you, if that’s ok?”

She nodded. “That’d be great. I’ll have Korrie send you the coordinates. I can’t wait to see you!” Leia had a way of making anyone feel comfortable, and you couldn’t wait to be in her full presence again. You exchanged goodbyes, and Leia disappeared from the rock.

Back on the ship, you grabbed a fruit bar from the kitchen and sat in the cockpit. “How was your princess?” Paz asked as he copied the coordinates from your holopad.

“Good,” you replied. “I had no reason to be anxious, really.”

Paz put a gloved hand over yours on the armrest. “I’m glad it’s working out, mesh’la.”

“What’s that word mean? You’ve been calling me that all day.”

His thumb rubbed circles on the back of your hand. “It means ‘beautiful’,” he says.

“Mesh’la,” you repeat. “It’s a beautiful word, no wonder it means beautiful.” Paz chuckled a little at your awe.

His hand left yours and landed on the controls. “Ready to head out?” You nodded, mouth too full to properly respond, and the take off sequence was activated. The ship rose out of the clearing, and you watched as Yavin IV grew smaller beneath you. You saw a building off in the distance, it looked half underground, with a large hangar at the front.

“Is that your home?” you ask, pointing out at the structure.

Paz nodded. “Indeed it is,” he says.

“That was part of the Rebel base once,” you say, remembering your time here. “I didn’t spend too much time on that part, though. There was a main hangar a little farther down, but after the war Leia had a lot of it removed, so the wildlife could return to normal,” you say. “Guess not all of it was taken.”

The ship finally reached the atmosphere and Paz guided the ship through it with grace. The jump to hyperspace was made, and the ship was on autopilot for the next three days.

Paz turned to you in his chair. “We live in a rebel base now?”

“Indeed you do,” you say. “I think a lot of that building was quarters for officers and stuff. I’ll bet Leia can tell you when we arrive.”

“You want me to come with you to meet her?”

You looked at him, a little confused. “Of course I do,” you tell him. “I don’t know how long I’ll be there and I’m sure that a princess has room to spare. Besides, it’ll do you some good to sleep on a proper bed for a few nights.”

“Are you sure, kebiin’ika? Mandalorians aren’t greeted too kindly.”

“Maybe not in the Outer Rim,” you say. “But that far into the Core? And a guest of Princess Leia’s? I’m sure it'll be ok.”

He nodded. “Ok, then. I’ll come with you.” You smiled at him, wishing so badly to smile at his face and not his helmet. You took his hand in yours, stood up, and led him to the little common area. There was a small sofa pushed against one of the walls, and you motioned for him to sit.

“I’ll be right back,” you say, and retreat back to the cockpit. When you return, Paz is sat on the sofa, still as can be. It was still a little creepy, how he could just sit there. You held up your holopad. “First thing to know about dating me is I need designated snuggle and holodrama time.”

He laughed. “Is this a common thing or just a kebiin’ika thing?”

You sat down next to him, a little confused that he was wondering if cuddling and watching holos was common. “Am I your first girlfriend, Paz?”

“If I say yes will you think I’m weird?”

“No, I won’t think you’re weird.”

“Then yes,” he said. You looked at him, feeling a wave of sadness. Had this man been cuddled ever? Hugged? Loved? You cared for him so much already, and you wanted him to feel those things.

“Well, I’m not sure if it’s a me thing, but it’s an important thing,” you laugh, setting the holopad up to project against the blank wall of the ship. A show about a Jedi and a Twi’lek healer’s unrequited love played on the wall, a slight silver hue brought by the metal of the ship. You moved to cuddle against him, but the armor was stubborn.

“Could you, like, take some of this off?” You say, gesturing at the metal.

He feigned surprise. “You haven’t even taken me out, mesh’la, and you expect me to strip?”

You rolled your eyes. “Just lose some of it so I can cuddle you.” He obeyed, the cuirass and pauldrons going first, and then the gauntlets and gloves. He was left in his fly suit, made of a coarse weave fabric. It wasn’t the most comfortable, but it would do. You moved his arm around you as you settled into his chest. You could tell he wasn’t too sure what to do. “You’re warm,” you sigh.

“Sorry, mesh’la,” he says.

“Why are you sorry? It’s nice. Hyperspace gets cold,” you tell him. He was a little tense at first, he wasn’t used to this, he really hadn’t been properly cuddled since before he lost his buire so long ago.

Paz looked down at you, your head resting against him as you took in the predictable plot of the show. You were relaxed, almost like earlier that morning when he’d woken up. The mask had been gone, and your eyes had gently fluttered in your sleep. Paz felt a tightness in his chest, a feeling he’d been having a lot since you’ve been around. It’s gotten more and more intense, especially as you curled yourself into him. Your touch was burning into his skin in an amazing way, and he knew he’d be able to feel it long after you’d get up. He repeated your it’s nice in his head. No one had ever told him that touching him was nice. In fact, most people hated the touch of a Mandalorian. If they even lived to hate it.

As the drama went to an ad for some kind of Bantha milk, Paz felt you move to look up at him. “Paz?”

“Hmm?”

“I know you can’t tell me what your Mando friend looks like under his helmet,” you say. “But can you tell me how he fits his ears in the helmet?”

Paz laughed. “What?”

“Well, if his ears are anything like his son’s, I’d imagine it’s hard.”

He threw his head back in a bellow of laughter. “Mesh’la, my friend and his son aren’t the same species. Grogu is a foundling.”

“A foundling?”

He finally recovered from his laughter, and his breath steadied. “Yeah, Mandalorians take in children who’ve lost their parents. My friend was a foundling once, and his son is a foundling.”

“Oh,” you said. “Well that explains the ears, I guess. You weren’t a foundling were you?” You remembered him saying something about Vizslas being important on Mandalore.

He shakes his head. “No,” he says. “The Vizsla line goes as far back into Mandalorian history as I can trace. But most importantly, Tarre Vizsla, who was a Jedi, created the Darksaber. Whoever wields the dark saber is the Mand’alor, our ruler.”

“Who is the Mand’alor now?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “There isn’t one. Mandalore isn’t the same as it was, it hasn’t been in a very long time. Before I was born, even.”

“Well, you’re a Vizsla aren’t you? Shouldn’t you wield it?”

He laughs a little. “That’s not exactly how it works, mesh’la. Well, it worked like that for a while, but now you must win the saber in combat. Except no one knows where the saber is.” His voice had gotten sad, and he was running his right hand over his left while they sat on your back, some kind of self-soothing. “Besides,” he says, “There’s a lot of Vizslas out there I’m sure, and I don’t want to be a king. That is not the path that I follow.”

“I understand. It all becomes...a bit much,” you agree. Leia had offered you multiple positions on multiple committees in the new Senate, all dealing with labor laws and droids with a bunch of political nonsense you didn’t care to wade through. Not to mention having to represent the voice of mechanics all over the galaxy. No. Too much stress.

“Kebiin’ika,” Paz says. “As much as I like this old, lumpy sofa, don’t you think we’d be more comfy laying in bed?”

“I’m starting to think you’re a mind reader, Vizsla,” you say. The two of you awkwardly untangle in a mess of limbs and beskar clangs as you accidentally collide with his cuirass that lay on the floor. “Sorry,” you say, moving his armor up onto the sofa and off of the floor.

“Don’t be,” he reassured. “Beskar is practically invincible.”

The two of you made it into the bedroom, you set your holopad up properly to project onto the blank white wall ahead of the bed, there for this reason exactly. The show was brighter now, and clearer. It was technically late afternoon by Yavin IV time, but in hyperspace it was hard to tell. Paz got rid of the armor on his lower body, the codpiece, thighs and knees, and shins. He also kicked off his boots.

He looked so beautifully mundane. Doing something that he’d done a million times at this point, probably, and he was an expert. Could do with his eyes closed. And you loved it, you wondered if his brow furrowed under the helmet when he had to prod a clasp a little harder, or if he let out a soft huff when a piece was finally removed.

He climbed onto the bed and motioned for you to sit between his legs. Kriff, his legs were big.

You settled between his legs, back against his chest. His hands sat awkwardly on his thighs. “You know you can touch me, right?” you say, moving his hands to lay around your middle.

“I have to remind myself, mesh’la,” he says. “You’re not a quick fuck. You’re someone I want to be slow with, I’m just not sure how to go about it.” You were a bit surprised at how blunt he was, but honestly? You appreciated it. He wouldn’t be playing games with you.

You squeezed his hand. “We will go however slow as you want, alright? And don’t be afraid of me, ok? You can ask me anything.”

“I know, cyare, and I’m grateful for that,” he says softly. He wanted to kiss the top of your head so bad. He’d seen it in holos before, but never really understood the appeal until now.

At some point, you’d fallen asleep in the Mandalorian’s arms. It wasn’t until an hour later that he woke you up. “Kebiin’ika?” He’s whispering as much as the vocoder will let him. His voice is deep in your ear, and briefly becomes a part of your dream until you finally wake up.

“How long was I out?” You ask, sitting up and stretching your arms out in front of you.

He stood up, stretching his arms, too. “About an hour, I think. I dozed a bit, too.”

“I’m hungry,” you complain. He agrees, and you’re off to the kitchen. You start making sandwiches with a few of the vegetables you knew he’d bought back on Dantooine. You smiled at them, filled with a bit of nostalgia. That greenhouse of Aliria’s was always a peaceful place.

Paz is doing the same, though he’s making two sandwiches. You presume it’s because he’s such a large man, and such a strong man too. When you had relaxed into his chest, he was comfortable, a layer of fat that told you he took care of himself, and underneath you knew were strong, hardened muscles.

“Paz?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you want to sit with our backs to each other?” you ask. “So we can eat together instead of in shifts?” He nods, finishing up his sandwiches. You grab your plates and make your way to the sofa. He moves his armor back onto the floor a bit clumsily, and has to remind you that beskar is strong. He’s facing to the right, you to the left, backs together.

“You can lean back on me, cyare,” he says, and you smile at the switch of the nickname. It was kind of nice, not knowing which endearment would envelop you when he opened his mouth. You hear a click and hiss, sounds you’d heard the night before, and then the clunk of his helmet on the ship’s floor.

“I forgot to tell you earlier,” he says between bites. “Armorer and Bezza said to tell you hello.”

You remembered who Armorer was, but your brow furrowed, trying to recall where you’d heard the second name. “Bezza is the girl who you bought the journal for, yeah?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says. “I hope you don’t mind my telling her about us. I’m the closest thing she has to family at the moment.”

You smile. “Of course it’s alright, Paz,” you say. “I’d love to meet her. She sounds very sweet.”

Paz felt a wave of joy rush over him. Bezza was very special to him, even more so now. And now you were special to him, too, and he wanted nothing more than for you two to get along. “If I would’ve known I would’ve brought her with me to the ship instead of my friend,” he said. He had to catch himself before saying Din’s name, knowing that Din was very particular about his name. Bezza, on the other hand, was a more modern Mando. “Maybe once I teach you to use that vibroblade, I can teach you how to wield a staff. Then you two could spar.”

“I don’t know, Paz,” you say. “I’m sure you’re a fantastic teacher, but I don’t see myself holding my own against a Mandalorian in combat.”

He laughed a little. “I’ll train you the Mandalorian way. One day, mesh’la, you will hold your own.”

A silence followed, you could hear the crunch of the chips he’d put in his sandwich as he bit.

“Is Bezza your foundling now?”

Paz swallowed his bite. “Maybe if she was younger I’d take her in, but she’s practically an adult. I wouldn’t want to insult her by insinuating she still needs caring for.”

“Everyone needs caring for,” you say, leaning your head back against him. “I’m twenty-six and I need caring for, emotionally anyways. I’m not sure how old you are, but I’m sure you do, too.”

He wasn’t at all shocked that you were twenty-six. He was, however, shocked that his age didn’t ever come up. “I’m forty-three,” he said, hoping that wouldn’t scare you. It didn’t seem to, so he continued. “And I guess you’re right, but still, I can care for her without taking her in.”

“I guess,” you said, and decided to let the topic of Bezza rest for a bit. “Do you think you’ll ever take in a foundling?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’d like to father some kids as well, but also take in foundlings. Not only is it important to the Tribe, but I love kids. That’s why I’m their teacher whenever I’m not out hunting.”

“That’s sweet, Paz,” you tell him. “I’d like a kid, too, I think. Though, it scares me. Making a person inside my body for almost a year.”

“Mandalorians say to train your sons to be strong but your daughters to be stronger,” he says. “I’m sure you can see why. Having children is important, it’s even in the Mandalorian wedding vows: ‘we will raise warriors’.”

You smile up at the ceiling, picturing you and Paz having a wedding. Some weird mix of Mandalorian and Alderaanian culture, exchanging Mandalorian vows. Maybe it was a bit early to be thinking about this, but you didn’t care.

You watched as Paz cleaned the plates from lunch. He volunteered to take your plate, and now he stood at the sink, scrubbing away the residue of the condiments and components of your lunches. Again, he looked so beautifully mundane, gloves gone, revealing his dark skin to you. Through the bubbles of soap you saw small pink scars littering the top of his hands. He scrubbed away with the brush, working diligently. Again you wondered what kind of face he makes when he concentrates. Does he stick his tongue out a little? Bite on the inside of his lip?

You thought back to the wedding you’d put together in your mind. You thought about how after those vows were exchanged you’d get to see the face he makes not only when he concentrates, but when he’s happy or frustrated, too.

He was such a mystery, but also easy to read. It confused you in the best way possible, and all you wanted was to read chapter after chapter of Paz Vizsla until you got to the part where you’d get to see his face, kiss his face, talk to his eyes rather than a visor. Someday, you told yourself. Someday.

tag list (send me an ask or reply and i’ll add you!!) - @remmysbounty

#paz vizla x reader #paz vizsla x reader #paz vizla #paz vizsla #paz vizsla x you #star wars #star wars fanfic #Star Wars fanfiction #the mandalorian #mandalorian x reader

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ourmiraclealigner · 4 years ago

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Beyond This Place of Wrath and Tears

Don Malarkey x Reader

Gif not mine! Credit to owner.

synopsis: When Don is stuck during a hard time of losing friends to the cruel war, (Y/N) comforts him and reminds him of the future they still have to build together.

warnings: swearing, mention of death

taglist: @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant @mavysnavy @ivy-miranda-2390 @ya-yeeteth @rarmiitage @primusk @punkgeekchic @joesliebgott @weirdbiwitch @inglourious-imagines @wexhappyxfew @vintagelavenderskies @easy-company-tradition @meteora-fc @order-of-river-phoenix @immrsronaldspeirs @contrabandhothead

———————————-

Snow crunched beneath (Y/N)’s boots with every step she took. Her footsteps seemed to echo against the blown out trees as she approached the hunched over, gray figure of her boyfriend. Don was sitting on the edge of his foxhole, his upper half exposed while his legs rested inside. His knit camp was pulled tightly over his head and covered his matted, greasy red hair.

“Don?” She said quietly, placing her hand on his shoulder to snap him out of the daze he was in. “You still with me?”

He turned his head as she forced the warm mug into his hand, his dull eyes meeting hers. He was done, unable to take the cold woods of Bastogne after seeing too many of his friends leave.

“Yeah, yeah.” He shook his head and sucked his lips in, struggling to keep up with the strong front he had forced ever since Buck had been taken off the line. “What is this?” He asked as he held the mug up to his nose, taking a sip of the mysterious liquid.

“Coffee.” (Y/N) sat next to him, her eyes trained on his face as he stared at the German line. “At least, that's what they told me, it could be water for all I know.” He set the mug to the side with a huff, nothing sounded better to him than a hot cup of coffee.

“You know,” He started, his eyes still burning into the German side, “There’s this place back home, best coffee in the world.”

“Yeah?” He nodded. “When all of this bullshit is over, you’ll have to take me.” He let out a huff as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. His cold fingers brushed against the piece of black rosary shoved deep into his pocket. He brought the lighter up, attempting to light it because of the shakiness of his hand. “Here.” She spoke softly as she gently grabbed it from him, lighting it with ease before bringing it to the butt of the cigarette.

Don took a few long drags before speaking, the smoke making him feel a little warmer. “There’s no way we’re getting out of here.” He spoke with certainty, the smoke turning cold as soon as it left his lips and hit the frigid, winter air. “Look around, (Y/N), it’s only a matter of time.”

“Don’t talk like that.” She was quick to shut his words down. “We’re getting out of here.” She looked away, her eyes falling to all of the tree bursts, dead American and German soldiers scattered around. She took in a shaky breath before speaking, turning her head back to face him. “Everything is going to be fine, there’s life outside of here.”

“I don’t think so.”

She reached for his hand, taking his cold one in hers. She intertwined their fingers, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze before speaking. “There's a life for us outside of these tree bursts, outside of this war.” He turned to her, his eyes glossy as he stared at her, the cigarette dangling from his lips. “I want to go home with you, I want to get married and have a family.”

He nodded, almost in a trance by her words, trying to picture anything but the frozen hell he was currently stuck in. “I want that too.” He added lightly. “You have no idea how much I want that.”

“But I need you to stay strong, to stay alive, so we can have that.”

He shook his head and with that, was back to himself. “It's not that easy.” He contested. “Not after all of this with Skip, Toye, Buck. How am I supposed to just go home after all of that?”

“I know Don, but you have to try. For me, for our future.” She pleaded, hoping her words would be enough to get him to fight through whatever was next. “I don’t expect things to be the same, or for things to be normal. I’m scared too. But I want to go through it together, in a nice warm house in the States.”

“It’s just not right.” He confessed, his voice shaky. “They don’t fucking get that and they deserve it so much more than me.” A light snow started to fall, collecting on their helmets and jackets. The landscape around them was soon blurred with white.

“They’d want to see you happy, every one of them.” She wrapped her arm around his and rested her head on his shoulder, looking up at him with a pout on her lips. “Please let me make you happy, you know I can.” She pleaded softly, her eyes not leaving his as he turned to face her.

“I want you to be happy too.”

“I am, whenever I’m with you.” He pressed his cold, chapped lips against hers, his stomach filling with butterflies at the physical contact he had been craving.

“We’re going to be alright.” He spoke quietly when she pulled away, his hand gripping hers like his life depended on it. “We’re going to make it out of here.” He smiled as he brushed snow off of her thigh. “I’m gonna make you a Malarkey, (Y/N) Malarkey.”

“It’s got a nice ring to it.”

“Yeah, yeah it does, (Y/N) Malarkey.” He repeated before pressing his lips against hers

#hbo war #band of brothers #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers x reader #don malarkey #donald malarkey imagine #donald malarkey #donald malarkey x reader #don malarkey imagine

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tothewaterhq · 6 years ago

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ACCEPTED // WILLOW KORING

district 11 mentor → victor of the 40th games → angela bassett fc

positive traits: motherly, intelligent, level-headed negative traits: ruthless, cunning, blunt

describe their arena: The theme of the 41st arena was the lost city of Atlantis. The tributes were dressed in weighted scuba gear, with large round helmets resembling those worn by astronauts. They were released onto a platform surrounded by water, as far as the eye could see, with the cornucopia in the middle. The tributes were able to make it to the Cornucopia without entering the water, but it soon became clear that they would have to dive below to reach the rest of the arena.

Once the bloodbath was over and the tributes reached the lost city beneath the cornucopia, the water drained away and they were able to remove the scuba gear. Some parts of the city still remained flooded with water, up to neck high, whereas other parts were completely dry. Arena events included floods, vicious merfolk muttations, and sporadic earthquakes. At the finale, the middle city circle of the arena was raised into the sky, leaving the final four tributes to battle it out, with District Eleven’s Willow Koring emerging victorious.

biography:

Growing up in District Eleven was never going to be a walk in the park, particularly not coming from a family of twelve. Adam and Briony Koring had worked on a large vegetable farm for as long as either could remember when they first met, marrying by the time they were twenty one and moving into a tiny house at the edge of the fields where they worked. Briony always dreamed of having a large family, having grown up with just one sister herself, and Adam wanted whatever would make his new wife happy. Willow was born seventh of ten, and followed in her parents’ and her older siblings’ footsteps as soon as she was old enough. Willow was always nimble, and so she was assigned to work in the orchards when she was young, picking off the highest fruits and throwing them down to the workers waiting below with baskets. Though it certainly wasn’t the most glamorous job in the world, it put food on the table, and Willow was content.

When she was only seven, one of Willow’s older brothers was reaped for the Games. Thorn was only thirteen at the time, and didn’t make it past the bloodbath. Though her family was devastated, his death so early on in the Games was unfortunately unsurprising. That’s just how things went, District Eleven had never been lucky in the Games, and it couldn’t be expected that a thirteen year old farm hand would have a chance. Four years later, Willow’s sister was reaped, at age fifteen. Harper managed to make it through to the second day, before she was taken down by one of the careers. It was only two years after this that Able Koring died in the 36th Hunger Games. Their family became known as ‘cursed’ throughout the District. The Koring family curse – though it only took common sense to see that with enough children and enough tesserae, the odds were always stacked against the Koring family.

Willow’s mother couldn’t handle losing a third child in the same brutal way, and she became totally consumed by grief for her lost children. She wouldn’t work, could barely eat, and spent her days either sleeping or wailing. When her children saw her, she was a shell of a woman, sunken eyes and hollow cheeks. Briony grew detached from her remaining children, convinced that the fates were conspiring to take each and every one of them away from her. With Briony unable to work, and three of their older siblings gone, Willow and her siblings had to work even harder to provide for what was left of them, Willow often working well into the night on the orchards. Five years passed without another brush with death for the Koring family, and it seemed as though they were all holding their breath, waiting for the next sibling’s name to be drawn from the reaping bowl. Willow dared to hope that perhaps the worst was behind them, that they could finally move on and continue their lives. Of course, she soon learned that hope is a dangerous emotion.

Willow Koring’s name was drawn for the 40th Hunger Games, and all she could feel was numb. It was her second last reaping, and she’d been seventeen at the time. She remembers hearing her mother scream in agony as her name was called, her father with tears in his eyes as he said goodbye, and her siblings simply looking resigned. They didn’t believe she could get out, why would she be any different to her other siblings? During training, Willow was determined to give herself the best chance possible to win. She couldn’t let down her family again, she couldn’t see her parents lose another child, not after everything they’d been through. She charmed the Capitol with her effortless smile and her stellar wit, she formed alliances and trained with as many weapons as possible. She played sweet to the public, but she was determined, and she was fierce. She had everything to lose, and winning was the only option for Willow Koring.

As she was raised into the arena, Willow’s heart sunk. Though she hard learned to swim during her training, she was by no means a strong swimmer. Willow managed to run into the Cornucopia, retrieving a scythe and killing another tribute in the process, before meeting up with her allies; her district partner, Corbin, who was only twelve years old, the tributes from District Ten, and the girl from Twelve. They weren’t much, but at least they were something. The tributes from Four were the first to realise that the arena itself was underwater, and Willow watched as they promptly dove into the water, not emerging again. With a bit of convincing, Willow and her allies followed suit, none of them were strong swimmers so they allowed their weighted suits to carry them to the bottom, where they found themselves in a ruined city, Atlantis. As the water drained away, they removed their scuba gear and found somewhere sheltered to set up camp and come up with a strategy. The first two days were relatively uneventful, they stayed quiet and hidden. They weren’t as powerful as the careers, it would be foolish to take them head-on.

On the third day, the Gamemakers sent vicious merfolk muttations into the arena, creatures that weren’t hesitant to kill any number of tributes they ran into. They went after the career pack, Willow would later learn, separating them and leading the District One male right towards their hideout. He killed the District Ten male before they even noticed he was there, but one of Willow’s allies managed to finish him off before he could kill anybody else. Despite losing an ally, they tried to stick to the plan – stay hidden. On the fourth day, the group decided they were in dire need of water. Food, Willow could go without for well over a week, but even she was starting to feel the effects of the lack of drinkable water around them. All of the water on the ground was salt water, but she knew there must be a fresh water source somewhere. So, the group split up in hopes of finding it, Willow and Corbin, and the girls from Ten and Twelve. Unfortunately, it was on this day that the Gamemakers chose to flood parts of the arena, leading to the deaths of the girls from Ten and Twelve.

The fifth day passed with no deaths, and so on the sixth, the Gamemakers decided it was time for their big finale. The final four tributes were driven into the centre of the city by floodwaters, and the city square was raised high into the sky as the rest of the arena flooded below. The only remaining tributes besides Willow and Corbin were the girls from Two and Four, and the girl from Two quickly impaled Corbin with one of her throwing knives. Before Willow had time to process the loss, she’d killed the girl with her scythe. The girl from Four, to her credit, fought back, but Willow manage to get the upper hand, and send her to the same grizzly end as her ally. She expected to be raised out of the arena then, but no hovercraft came. As she looked around her, she realised Corbin was still alive. The girl from Two wasn’t as accurate as she thought – but Corbin was suffering, writhing on the ground. She did the only humane thing she could think to do, she ended his suffering for him.

As cliche as it sounds, when Willow emerged from the arena, she was a different person. She was horrified at the things she had seen, and more so at the things she had done. After her win, she made the mistake of asking one of the nurses if Corbin would have made it, if she hadn’t killed him. The answer would haunt her for the rest of her days, yes. She justified it to herself and to others as what was necessary for survival, but the voice in the back of her head, calling her a child murderer, it didn’t cease. She grew colder, more calculating. She came back to mentor, but only because District Eleven’s reserves of past Victors were stunningly low. As a mentor, she was harsh, critical, she just wanted her tributes to succeed, and she didn’t know how to do that without being tough. She was sure most of them hated her, but if it meant that even one of them would survive, it was worth it, in her opinion.

Willow had never realised how much burden came with being a Victor, she’d never even met one until she was one. Snow began selling her to the highest bidder only three months after her Games, threatening the lives of her family if she didn’t comply. The Capitolites saw her as a novelty, the young, jaded Victor from District Eleven, with intelligence, cunning, and the looks to match. She wouldn’t allow herself the vices other Victors turned to – she refused drugs and alcohol, even temporary escape from what she’d done seemed pointless.

Fifteen years after her Games, Willow met Durian Jackson, a baker, hailing from the same District as she did. Durian was kind, and sweet, and a light in a world that Willow had previously denied feeling any happiness within. They took things slow at first, but Willow found herself loving him more than she thought was possible. It took her a while, but Willow accepted that he made her happy, that she was allowed to be happy, that she wanted to be with him, and they were married. Willow retired from mentoring after the fifty-sixth Games, by this stage District Eleven had managed to bring home more Victors to take her place.

Together, they had four children; Martin, Harper, Rita, and Bean. Family was never something she thought she wanted, not after everything she’d seen and done, and falling pregnant with Martin was purely an accident, but the more she thought about it, the more she realised that she wanted the child, that she wanted to keep him, and to become a mother. Of course, every bit of happiness comes with a price. Three weeks before Martin’s twelfth birthday, Willow was called to the Capitol, and told in no uncertain terms that unless she returned to mentoring, her children would end up with their names in the bowl one too many times. She’d been absent from the Capitol for too long, and they needed her back to remind the younger Victors that time is no escape from the Capitol.

So, for the sixty-ninth Games, Willow Koring was back on a train to the Capitol, a place she never thought she’d have to see again. She’s remained a model Victor, charming the Capitol as she did all those years ago. She’s kinder to her tributes now more than she was when she first started out, but she’s still cunning and ruthless in her support of them, manipulating sponsors and the public in her favour.

Willow has never been one to half-ass anything, especially not with her kids’ lives on the line.

PLAYED BY // JENNA

#accepted #willow

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