#the prickling and prodding fade into the night | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

okay-j-hannah · 2 years ago

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Part 1: An Academic

The Hobbit / Doctor Who : Multishot

The Company x Reader x Tenth Doctor

Word Count: 5315

Warnings:

Request: “Hi so know this is a bit of a weird one but could I request maybe a two part type thing or it can just be super long if that’s easier for you. But the reader is from earth but finds herself in middle earth and help’s reclaim Erebor but gets sent back and then around the 10 years later or something they meet the doctor (you pick on what doctor) and he takes her to middle earth but it’s set in the lotr time and they are just confused at how much has changed and that they get to meet the company and they are happy to know that they are alive and refuse to believe that they have grown up. If it’s too much then don’t worry about it and have a good day/night and drink some water :)” @tree0frog

A/N:

(Y/N) bit into an apple, crisp and sweet as she jogged up the steps of the apartment complex. She used her keycard to scan the lock, entering her humble student housing. It was by no means a luxury with it’s outdated appliances, shotty internet, and suspicious black spots growing on the shower walls.

But it was what she could afford considering the part time job, full time student schedule, and car payments. She was just thankful to have a private room.

She finished her apple and sought the computer to finish a few homework assignments. Having just started her first semester of college, she made it a goal to prioritize schoolwork.

Of course, there was nothing wrong with watching something while finishing an essay. She opened a streaming service and found the Hobbit trilogy, letting the droll of dwarves and the fire of dragons fill the background as she typed away.

The endearing antics of Bilbo making her smile while the stories of Bofur made her laugh. Her eyes whipped to spot the scenes containing the line of Durin: Thorin’s wavy hair or Kili’s beautiful face.

She began to hum the tune of Misty Mountains, standing to find herself a drink. She went for her bedroom door –

Far over the Misty Mountains cold,

To dungeons deep and caverns old.

We must away ‘ere break of day,

To find our long, forgotten gold.

(Y/N) walked through the door and screamed.

“Holy shit!” She danced on her bare feet, feeling soil and weeds tickle her toes. She was covering her face, suddenly blinded by a harsh orange light.

Her heart was beating so fast it was propelling itself into her throat. She began to blink rapidly, adjusting to her new surroundings.

She was outside on a rocky outcrop. A nearby ledge spoke of the base of mountains. Sparse pine trees and crumbling rock descended to a wide stretch of field land below. Birds could be heard near the pinecones and snapping twigs told of life all around her. The overwhelming orange glow that attacked her sight turned out to be the setting sun.

It blazoned the horizon with its ombre of colors, quickly fading into pink and violet. It flooded the surrounding land, not a house or building to be seen.

(Y/N) gapped, inaudible noises falling from her open lips. She whirled around, seeking the chipped bedroom door she had just walked through. But there was nothing but the steady incline of the rocky mountainside behind her.

��What in the…” she gasped, “What?” She raised a hand and touched her face, prodding at the soft skin there. It felt real. She reached out and touched the pine needles of a nearby tree. It poked her finger, acute and sharp. That felt real too.

“Did I fall asleep at my computer?” she whispered to herself. She pinched at her arm, “Am I dreaming?”

She suddenly slapped at her face, gasping at the sting. “There’s no way this is real.”

But the chill of the coming night air was prickling her bare legs and feet. She was wearing nothing but her pajamas, a sweatshirt with her college logo on it and a pair of black shorts.

“Am I just disassociating?” she questioned, “Have I just fallen into my imagination?”

A terrible growl reverberated between the jagged slopes of the mountainside. It was so low and menacing it grumbled in her abdomen. It made her jump.

“Oh, god.” She found her feet beginning to descend the rocky outcrop, arms flailing to keep her balance, “God tell me there isn’t something chasing me.”

She winced and groaned as little pebbles and sharp needles stuck in her feet. The large rock mounds were becoming smaller as more and more pine trees grew from the ground. (Y/N) ran towards the open field, at least getting away from whatever the terrible growl was.

“I’ve finally lost my mind,” she decided, “It’s been a week and college already broke me.”

Her feet slid against the loose soil, toes jabbing into rocks. Spiney branches of pine needles snagged at her hair and sweatshirt. Another spine tingling growl bounced through the air, making her squeal and stumble.

One of her feet dug into a tree root, throwing her into the ground. She rolled down a portion of the mountainside, nearing the bottom. Gasping and crying all the while, she landed in a heap near the beginnings of long field grass.

She could already feel the bruises forming along her joints, but her bare legs had the worst of it. Long jagged cuts and scrapes covered her skin.

The newfound pain combined with the rising paranoia sent crazed tears to her eyes. “Can someone please tell me what is happening?” The answering roar was not the response she was hoping for.

It sent her scrambling to her feet, “I magically appear on the Rocky Mountains and a grizzly bear decides to hunt me.” She began treading more carefully through the grass, “Definitely not how I pictured spending my Saturday night.”

She spent the next hour limping about the tall, sage green grasses. Bunches of lavender and daisies led her to a tree line much different to the pine of the mountain. Broad leafy branches provided cover as she followed the sound of trickling water.

Resting at a pebbled stream, she drank her fill and took the time to clean her wounds, scrubbing away the grimy feeling of dirt.

“I haven’t seen a single road or car or building,” she thought, “There’s got to be a city nearby.”

The sky was now a deep purple – soon it would be blue black with night. If she didn’t find refuge somewhere then she’d fall prey to wandering beasts and the bitter cold.

Using the last hour to collect her thoughts, (Y/N) found her shock wearing off. Replacing it was the instincts to survive no matter how unbelievable the transition from bedroom to the wilderness was.

She followed the stream until something other than the periodical growl caught her attention.

A deep round of laughter.

She limped towards the noise – where there was laughter there had to be people that could help her.

She was cautious as the sound of conversation accompanied the laughs. Loud, bellowing voices led her out from behind the trees. In the distance she could see a house, complete with a barn, wooden fences, and wandering cattle.

Near the entrance was a pile of logs, a trio of men collecting what appeared to be firewood. One was slumped to the ground trying to hold the many planks of wood. The other two were tossing an axe between them and laughing merrily.

“How do you fair folk get wood for your furnaces?” one said with mirth, a scottish accent to his words.

“You can hardly carry three logs,” the other added, swinging the axe. He tossed another cut piece at their third companion.

The shortest of the three attempted to catch the wood, but failed miserably as he was put off balance and crashed to the ground.

“Blasted dwarves,” he muttered, “And your ridiculous fondness of axe wielding.”

(Y/N) scrunched her brow, spying on them from the bushes. Dwarves?

“Come now, Mr. Baggins,” a braided dwarf said, “We’ve all got to pitch in to help our host.”

“Yeah, I don’t fancy being eaten,” the younger dwarf said.

(Y/N) was blinking hard. Did that dwarf just say Mr. Baggins?

“He’s not going to eat us,” said the dwarf with braids. They were sticking rather funnily out from under his hat. “Though I wouldn’t want to anger him by any means. Not out here at night.”

After a great deal of squinting, (Y/N) could now see who she believed to be a Mr. Bilbo Baggins readjusting planks of firewood in his arms.

He huffed, “Best get back inside. Shall we?”

The younger dwarf was still swinging the axe in a manner of showing off. In a swift throw he had the blade imbedded into the ground at Bilbo’s feet.

“Oi, watch it!” cried the hobbit.

The hat wearing dwarf burst into laughter despite the scolding of his words, “Now, Kili – what would we do without our burglar? I hear his feet are his best asset. He’ll be useless in a heist without them!”

Kili returned the laughter, clapping his friend on the shoulder and saying, “Apologies, Bilbo, but you should see the look on your face.”

(Y/N) was slowly revealing herself from behind the bushes, her mind whirring a million miles an hour. If the young, dark-haired dwarf was Kili, then the hat wearing dwarf had to be Bofur. She knew all of them.

All three of them were characters in the movie she was just watching.

That meant that those mountains behind her weren’t the Rocky Mountains… they were the Misty Mountains. And the wide expanse of land that didn’t have any bustling cities or busy roads… that was Middle Earth. And the house that hosted the company, that had to be the home of Beorn.

Beorn the skin changer. He was the terrible growl that she kept hearing in the woods.

This was the beginning of The Desolation of Smaug, and the company was taking refuge before venturing towards Mirkwood.

No, hang on a moment. This was absurd! How could she have walked through her bedroom door and have ended up on the slopes of the Misty Mountains? Sure she was watching the movie when she left, but how could that have…

She put a hand to her head, watching the trio of company members decide to return inside for the night. Her feet started moving against her will.

“Ex-Excuse me,” she whispered, clearing her throat to say it louder. “Excuse me!”

The three characters turned to her voice with quick precision, their previous laughter missing from their faces. Bofur was the first to speak – kind words with a hint of hesitance in them.

“Evening, lass,” he smiled though it didn’t reach his normally jovial eyes. “Who might you be?”

“I’m…” she swallowed hard, “My name is (Y/N). I’m not from around here. And I’m lost.”

Kili darted his eyes to her bare legs before trying to keep them resolutely on her face, “Pardon me, miss. But where are the rest of your skirts?”

(Y/N) tugged on her sweatshirt sleeves, letting them consume her hands, “I’m afraid I have nothing but shorts.”

“Shorts?” Bofur tested the word, “What are shorts?”

“Ah, they’re trousers, but cut at a short length.”

“Why in the name of Durin would you want that?” Bofur snorted. “It’s freezing outside.”

(Y/N) felt her cheek twitch in an almost smile, “Yes, I’ve figured that much out.” She gazed down at her legs, “I’ve been robbed of my supplies and have been wandering these woods for hours. I ask only for a place to stay the night, please.”

Bilbo began looking between his companions, expecting them to answer her instantly. But when they did nothing but contemplate her, he piped up, “Of course you can come in.” He scolded the dwarves, “Honestly, you two.”

“Now Bilbo,” Bofur said loudly, “We don’t know this lassie.”

“And she doesn’t know us,” Bilbo said firmly, “I’m not about to let this poor woman freeze to death.” He nodded towards (Y/N), “My dear, let’s go find you some proper clothes.”

“It’s not our house,” Kili said, still flustered by (Y/N)’s lack of pants. “We can’t accept new guests without consulting the host!”

Bilbo beckoned (Y/N) with his hands full of firewood, “He’s rather busy at the moment seeing as he’s currently a bear and all.”

That finally got a smile out of her even if the dwarves were still suspicious of her. She didn’t blame them – dwarves were a race full of pride and secrets, they don’t easily trust a newcomer.

“I’m very grateful,” she said to them, following Bilbo. “Really I am. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I hadn’t come across you chopping wood.”

Bofur trailed behind, “Have you got a limp there, lass?”

“I took a tumble down the mountain,” she said quietly, “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

Kili snorted, then shook his head as if he weren’t supposed to find suspicious strangers funny.

“We can get you on the mend,” Bilbo said, almost like a mother hen. “There’s plenty here to share.”

“How we’ll explain it to the others, I don’t know,” Bofur sighed, “Thorin won’t be pleased.”

“He’s hardly ever pleased these days,” Kili muttered, helping to open the door.

Inside the great wooden front doors was an oversized house. Everything was a size too big, even for a human. But it had that rich oak atmosphere where everything was warm and alight with the glow of the fire.

There were large wolf hounds guarding the entrances and ginormous bumblebees buzzing about the rafters and open windows. She could see the heads of cows popping in for a visit and a dwarf or two was feeding them straw.

The hoard of dwarves congregated mostly by the roaring fireplace, attempting to sit at too large of chairs.

(Y/N) was finding her eyes darting from one face to the next, cataloguing the familiar characters. Dwalin was sharpening a battle axe apparently ignoring the fussing tone of Dori beside him. Oin was stoking the flames while his brother Gloin was eyeing the fine gold plated jewelry box atop the mantelpiece.

Nori was polishing a thing of silver, admiring its shine while his younger brother Ori was scribbling away in his journal. Bombur and Bifur were washing dishes at the sink, which was the size of a bathtub and required both dwarves to stand on stools to reach. This left Thorin, Fili, and Balin – all three of them conversing quietly at the table.

“Right then,” Bilbo huffed, dumping his armful of wood. “You’re taller than me,” he addressed (Y/N), “But I suppose one of my shirts might fit you better than a dwarf.”

Bofur and Kili were sharing looks as their companions sensed the shift in atmosphere. Dwalin stood, battle axe poised in his hands in his most threatening stance.

Ori’s charcoal pencil paused in its scribbling, catching the attention of those beside him at the fireplace.

“What is this?” Gloin grumbled behind his bushy beard.

The table of conversers lifted their heads from where they were bent together. (Y/N) swallowed hard, looking to each with very clear fear in her gaze.

Bilbo was completely unbothered, rummaging in his pack for some extra clothes, “Some suspenders will help, but we’ll have to hem a pair of pants to fit you.”

“What have you done?” came the low growl of Thorin Oakenshield.

(Y/N) tugged on her clothes, suddenly wishing to be as small as possible.

Balin put a hand on Thorin’s arm, “Who have you brought with you, cousin?”

“Someone lost in the woods,” Bofur said awkwardly, picking at his knitted gloves, “She was seeking shelter.”

Thorin stood, hulking in his furs, “Is that all?”

“Where do you come from, lassie?” Dwalin drawled, moving to stand beside his king. “You and your strange clothes.”

(Y/N) mumbled as she searched for her voice. “I was – was in the Misty Mountains. Attempting to scale them, more like.” She blessed her knowledge of Middle Earth. “I was ravaged by goblins and sent tumbling down the mountain.”

“Goblins don’t leave their tunnels,” Nori said lowly, “They’d burn in the sun.”

“I was caught resting in a cave,” (Y/N) said quickly. She had to stop herself from adding, ‘that’s what happened to you guys too, right?’

Balin seemed more content with that answer, “Sounds like goblins well enough.”

“But your attire,” Gloin grumbled, “It’s not of any style I’ve seen on this earth.”

“The stitching is immaculate,” Fili remarked, “The lettering is such a strange pattern.”

That’s because it was mass produced by a mechanical sewing machine, (Y/N) thought. “This is the lettering of my house,” she gestured to the college logo, “I come from a family of academics.” She prayed that was believable, “We have some rather eccentric ways of thinking. That includes the evolution of clothing.”

Some of the dwarves became lost in that statement, clearly not as versed in academics and sciences. But others like Ori and Balin were intrigued, Bilbo as well as he produced a linen shirt and suspenders.

“I’ve never heard of such a house,” Balin mused, stroking his mighty beard. “Not in all my years working with genealogies.”

(Y/N) bit the inside of her cheek, “We are but a few. We created our own sigil and broke away from others to form our house.”

“How do we know this isn’t some trick,” Dwalin glowered, “I would like to know why this academic decided to venture over the mountains alone.”

She felt scrutinized under every eye in the house, it was making her quiver.

Bilbo was scolding everyone again, “For goodness sake,” he muttered, “Can’t you see she’s cold and injured. Honestly, don’t any of you have manners for the lady.” He offered the linen shirt and (Y/N) promptly held it to shield her legs from view.

Kili seemed torn between being a gentleman and respecting his uncle’s hesitance. In the end his conscious won, nudging (Y/N) to stand behind him.

“There’s no harm in providing her some supplies and a place to stay. We can consult our host in the morning.”

(Y/N) was feeling cornered. Did she tell them the truth? No, they’d never believe her. Does she reveal that she knows them all? That she knows their fate? She eyed the back of Kili’s head, envisioning what was to become of him during the Battle of the Five Armies.

“I don’t blame your suspicion,” she said quietly, “I know who you are and what you are trying to reclaim.”

Kili sidestepped to reveal her face. “What?”

Thorin growled, “Impossible.”

“She is an academic,” Ori muttered.

“What do you know?” Fili asked.

(Y/N) licked her lips, choosing her words carefully. “You are the company of Thorin Oakenshield. You’re on your way to reclaim Erebor beneath the Lonely Mountain. The throne of Thror, grandfather of your rightful king.”

Tension was building in the house, tangible in the way shoulders straightened and hands went for their weapons.

“I study tales and stories from all over Middle Earth. I know of all its secrets.”

“And I suppose you thought you could reclaim the treasure for yourself,” Dwalin said, “Seeing as you have such a wealth of knowledge to guide your path.”

“No,” she said loudly, “I only have an interest. I have no wish for glory. There is a dragon in that mountain, you know – how could I approach it all by myself.”

Oin said gruffly, “There is word that the dragon might’ve moved on. Birds have been…”

“… seen flocking to the mountain,” she finished, “That’s doesn’t mean anything. Believe me there’s still a dragon there asleep.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Dori asked.

“I told you, I come from a house of academics. We have eyes everywhere and they send us knowledge from all over the world.”

Balin harumphed, “Spies. The lot of you are spies.”

“In a way,” she muttered, “I grew tired of reading things secondhand. I wanted to experience it for myself. That is why I left my home.”

Bofur chuckled, “For someone so knowledgeable, you seem to have fallen short in your survival.”

She smiled warily, “It’s apparent I don’t have skill as a traveler. But I am still valuable.” She eyed Thorin, “I know the path your taking and the perils you’ll meet on the way. I know all the people you’ll converse with and the kingdoms you’ll pass through. I could help.”

“What is your name, lass?” Balin asked.

“(Y/N),” she said.

The old dwarf considered her before speaking, “Well, Kili – let’s get a pair of your pants and hem them for (Y/N).”

“Um…” Kili whipped his head around, eyeing his uncle as he said, “Yeah, of course.”

Bilbo held his head up, exasperated that it took that long to assist her. “Her legs will need tending as well.”

Thorin kept his piercing gaze on (Y/N) as she was led to the fireplace where Oin could mend her injuries. Balin and Fili kept his head level as they discussed the possible benefits of this new traveler.

(Y/N) spent the rest of the night conversing with the dwarves and Bilbo. They shared bread and honey with her as she wove an imaginative tale of where she came from and where she was going.

All she could think was how grateful she was for making the night.

~~~

They had made it to the woodland kingdom of Mirkwood, full of the arrogant, secretive elves under Thranduil’s reign. (Y/N) knew how they’d lock the dwarves up just for being of the opposing race.

She also knew that Bilbo had found the One Ring and was currently using it to remain invisible.

“Listen to me, Bilbo,” she had said to him the morning before being ambushed by the Mirkwood spiders. “In the Woodland Realm there is a river you can access through the wine cellar. Should we ever find the need for escape from that place, the barrels can be used to float down the river.”

Bilbo had looked at her with such clear confusion, still being affected by the poisonous air of Mirkwood, “How do you know that?”

She smiled at him, eyeing his pocket that concealed the ring, “We all have our secrets.”

He scrunched his face in thought as she led the company back through the forest.

Now slumped against the wall of the prison cell, (Y/N) hummed to herself, thinking of all the things she yearned from her past life. A hot bath with that lovely soap she got from the mall. Clothes warm from the dryer as she sang to her favorite playlist. Fast food she picked up on her way home.

“We’re never getting out of here,” Ori moaned in the cell across from her.

“I refuse to die by the hands of those prissy long eared fiends,” Dwalin grumbled. “We’ll find a way through these walls.”

“Yes, you will,” (Y/N) whispered to herself, banging her head against the cave wall.

She didn’t think anyone heard her until Balin muttered through the connecting window between their cells.

“What was that, lass?” he shifted closer, “How can you be sure?”

She choked on her words, “I have faith.”

“Hm…” Balin hummed, “You seem to have many predictions that have come to pass. Gandalf leaving us before Mirkwood…”

(Y/N) started rubbing at her temples, “I overheard him saying something.”

“The fact we would get lost in those woods.”

“Everyone gets lost in those woods.”

Balin chuckled, “How we would be captured by the elf king’s son. That Bilbo would somehow not be with us.”

She sighed, “Are you trying to make a point, master dwarf?”

The old dwarf paused, “I feel as though your circumstances arriving to this place are not what they seem.”

“What do you believe them to be?”

“I’m not accusing you of anything, lassie. But I do wish you would be honest with me.”

She continued to bang her head against the cave wall, trying to will some inspired lie to grace her tongue. But her crafted mask was so layered it was exhausting to keep it on. She wanted to tell someone the truth.

“I come from a place very far from here.”

Balin remained silent for a minute, “We may be locked in here a while longer – I’m settled for a good story.”

“Yes, Bilbo will be here shortly.”

“How can you know that?” Balin chuckled again.

(Y/N) shrugged, unable to see any of her companions past her cell. “I just do. The elf guards are going to overindulge on wine as Bilbo makes his way down here to rescue us. He’ll take us to the cellars to escape.”

There was silence as the information was processed.

“Where I come from,” (Y/N) said quietly, “It’s a different universe. I’m not sure if you have a concept of what universes are.” She laughed to herself, “I’ve only ever seen them in movies.”

“Movies?” Balin questioned, “Never heard of such a thing.”

“It’s a form of storytelling, like a play. Everyone has scripts and costumes and characters to portray. They tell stories for others to watch.” She didn’t dare touch the subject of cameras and technology. “One day I was watching one of these movies. One of my favorites.”

She stared up at the ceiling, “And when I walked through my bedroom door, I ended up inside the movie.”

Balin cleared his throat, “Inside the story?”

“Yes,” she said, “I somehow got sucked into one of my favorite stories, in the middle of the act. And I know everything that’s going to happen because I’ve seen the story so many times. I know all the characters and their path forward and what happens to them all.”

Balin kept his voice steady, “Such as how they get captured and how they escape?”

She laughed sadly, “Exactly.”

“Seems like witchcraft to me,” Balin muttered, “Something fit for the wizard to explain.”

“It’s hard to believe, I know.”

She couldn’t possibly know that just about every dwarf in those cells were listening in on their conversation.

“So far, lassie, your knowledge has kept us safe. It’s kept us hopeful while trapped in these cells.”

“You don’t think I’m insane.”

“Perhaps a little,” Balin smiled, “But I do know there are things you say that are unexplainable.”

And the dwarves all kept to themselves until the fateful moment that Bilbo reappeared with a dramatic flourish, keys in hand. He saved the day, unlocking all the cells until he reached (Y/N)’s.

He thrust the door open, “(Y/N)! You were right. The elves are drunken on wine down below. We can sneak into the cellar and ride the barrels out of here.”

(Y/N) shared a look with Balin, oblivious to how many of the other dwarves had similar interactions.

“Lead the way,” Balin said, “We trust you.”

And their journey forward was marked with orcs and elves alike. (Y/N) made a great effort to save Kili from getting an arrow stuck in his leg. They tumbled and rolled through the rapids, bobbing in their barrels.

(Y/N), considerably less stable then the dwarves, fell into the water, her head slamming into the surrounding rocks. She hissed, inhaling a mouthful of water, burning a path down to her lungs.

A sturdy hand reached into the river and pulled her up from the depths. It was Fili, dragging her onto the slippery shoreline.

Spluttering water from her lungs, she groped Fili’s arm for support, “Is Kili okay?”

“What do you mean?” the blonde brother questioned, “Where is he?”

Kili came sliding to his knees, beside her, “I’m perfectly alright,” he said, “But I don’t believe you are.”

(Y/N) sighed in relief, ending in a fit of coughs. She went to hug the brothers, “Then I did it.” She muttered into their soaking wet linens, “I can change the future.”

“What are you going on about?” Kili wheezed, trying to yank (Y/N)’s fingers from his back.

Thorin came tromping towards them, “Precisely.” He towered over them, “Explain yourself.”

(Y/N) stared up at him, a torrent of fear washing away the relief on her face. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Enough,” the king said, “We all heard you in the dungeons, girl. We know there is something mysterious about you. We know you seem to believe to come from a strange different world. That you are able to predict things with unnerving accuracy.”

She was now surrounded by fourteen dripping companions, many torn between their growing fondness of her and their superstitions.

“How did you save Kili?” Thorin growled, “As you were just so relieved about.”

(Y/N) calmed her breath, a pounding in the back of her head. “The way the story goes – Kili was meant to be impaled by one of those orcish arrows, in the leg. It would be poisoned and would slowly begin to kill him.”

Fili grabbed his brother’s shoulder, bending down to look at his legs.

“I’m fine,” Kili said quickly, spotting more family members wishing to inspect him themselves. “I would have felt an arrow sticking out of my leg.”

(Y/N) wringed her hands together, “By the time you got to Lake Town he would’ve been incapacitated. It would require healing from one of the Mirkwood elves to save him. You would leave him in the town with some of your companions while the rest of you continued towards the mountain.”

“We would do no such thing,” Dori said, “We’d never leave our brothers behind.”

“You would if he was ill enough to hinder the journey. And with your belief that the dragon is gone, you wouldn’t need your full numbers to investigate Erebor. But you will be sorely mistaken. You’ll awaken the dragon and reign death and destruction across the people of Lake Town.”

Thorin took a few menacing steps towards her, eyeing her down with a piercing blue gaze. He sought any trace of deception in her face. He called upon all the times they were together, her stories by the fire, the care she showed towards the company, the motives for every kind act.

“Your head,” he said quietly, finally backing down, “You’re bleeding.”

She gulped, moving a few fingers to the pounding of her head. They came back red with blood. “That explains the growing headache.”

Thorin chuckled. He actually chuckled. “Tend to your wounds. We’ll need to move in an hours’ time.”

She nodded, “Thank you.” Fili and Kili remained by her side, lowering her to the ground. Bofur came around kneeling beside her as Oin gave orders for herbs that could be found along the tree line.

“You alright, lass?” Bofur asked, hand on hers, “I thought perhaps your journey with us was over.”

“I will be fine,” she said, feeling Kili grasp her shoulder.

“How can you know that?” the younger brother said, “Have you ever been a part of this story before?”

(Y/N) felt a trickled of fear, “No, I’ve only ever watched it. I don’t know what becomes of me.”

“But you know what becomes of us,” Fili said quietly, “Would you be able to tell us how the story ends?”

Her eyes flew to Fili’s face, young and full of promise. To Kili’s roguish eyes and lopsided smile. To Thorin a few feet away, standing firm with orders to his company.

She tried to keep the tremble from her voice, “I could. But I don’t know if I should.”

~~~

(Y/N) was stuck in Middle Earth for the coming weeks and months. She traveled with the company of Thorin Oakenshield all the way to the Lonely Mountain. She bonded with Bard and his children, she discovered the secret door into Erebor, she helped Bilbo sneak around Smaug, and she concealed the Arkenstone when Thorin fell prey to the dragon sickness.

In the coming days leading up to the Battle of the Five Armies, she gave sound advice to Fili and Kili, begging them to remain in certain areas. She tried to tell them with her eyes rather than her words that she was trying to save their lives.

But she never got to see the actual battle.

In a strange turn of events, she fell asleep against the makeshift barrier of Erebor’s gate. Fell asleep against the gate but woke up someplace else.

Her face was stuck to a keyboard, “Oh god,” she groaned. Her neck was stiff as she peeled her cheek away from the keys, “What the hell?”

She was facing the computer in her bedroom, one side of her screen rolling the credits of the last Hobbit movie.

“Did I…?” she blinked, “Was I asleep the whole time?”

Had she really dreamed months of her life in one sitting?

~~~

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#the hobbit x reader #the hobbit #the hobbit kili #the hobbit bilbo #the hobbit bilbo baggins #the company x reader #the company of thorin oakenshield #the company #kili x reader #kili #fili x reader #fili #bofur x reader #bofur #thorin oakenshield x reader #thorin x reader #Thorin Oakenshield #bilbo baggins

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liminal-storage · 2 years ago

Text

Cold Rain

(A bit of writing just to get the juices flowing once again. Kuni, melancholy, and musing. Name a more iconic trio) ----------------- Ancient magics, along with those who wield them, are meant to be feared and respected. The leshy is no exception to this rule, even if the odd shift from winter's chill to the far-off hints of spring do make the fae cranky and impatient.

But instead of respect, Kuni feels that his words and lessons have given her too many things to ruminate on. Usually they leave her with a burning and insatiable need to know more, do more. Today, they've left her adrift in a detached sort of melancholy.

It's not a rare thing for the beast to question her, to prod and get under her skin when she's having troubles mastering a new sigil. Spite motivates her to press on, as if to prove him wrong. But it's not uncommon for him to stare at her as if he's staring through her, either, pondering some mystery he must've read in her face.

"What is it you want?" He'd asked of her.

Down was his glamour, and he appeared before her in his true bestial form. The vine tendrils hanging from his head brushed the cold, dry dirt, and from where she sat he seemed almost to melt into the earth.

"What is it you truly want?"

The query came after the end of a particularly long lesson, wherein the leshy attempted to guide her in honing a sigil meant for minor self-healing. So engrossed in the process of memorization was she that the woman didn't initially understand exactly what he meant.

"From these lessons," he spoke, as if he could hear the voice of her thoughts. He sounded annoyed, as he often did when she failed to notice the obvious. "From your time here, from all of the work that you do?"

It had been a taxing session, and the woman had difficulty in understanding how to adapt the sigils to something she could more comfortably use. As she tended to do when frustrations bubbled over, she'd become vocal and agitated, expressing a need to get it right. But for the sake of whom? She wondered that even before he posed the question.

A question which continues to echo in her head even now, long after the old stag's footfalls have faded. For her otherworldly tutor clucked his tongue and took his leave, remarking on how unbelievable it was that she could change so much and yet still falter so badly in other ways.

What is it all for? What does she want?

The dead, dry grass juts against her palm and prickles her skin. In the silence of Actaeon's departure, twilight has descended to kiss the brow of night. It grows cold, and Kuni sinks deeper into thought.

Who are her promises for? What purpose does her tireless workaholic effort serve? As the wind sighs over the treetops and rattles dry branches, so too does she sigh. The answer is there, etched shamefully into her weary bones and she knows it.

She makes promises every day. Swears she'll find things for people. Find the old bastard Vadeboncoeur. Find the wayward denizens of the Threshold. Help find the things plaguing those at the Rest. Help discover truths for strangers. Help clients find what they seek. Find reasons to keep people coming to her for assistance.

She wonders if kindness still counts as kindness if it has an ulterior motive, if it's to keep people needing you.

Her fingers curl against the sleeping earth. Doesn't she know better? Satiate her curiosity. Learn more, see more, feel and hear and taste the world for her own sake. That is what she should do.

But as she tips her head back to feel the icy touch of a cold evening rain, she must confess that the answer to Actaeon's question does not fill her with pride.

What does she truly want?

The rain stings, frigid needles running over her skin. Tomorrow the icy layer it leaves behind will crack and groan underfoot. Slices of razor-sharp frozen rain will shower from creaking branches as the world wakes itself up. Nature always does have an easier time of shaking off distress than she does.

I want someone to see me as I am, even should I have no service to offer, and tell me "I want you here."

Not need, but want. Such a hard thing to give voice to.

Frustration pulls her to stand, fury directed inward. Is she truly still thinking and acting as though her presence requires a transaction? She scoffs, thoroughly pissed off that it took the stag prodding her again to get her to see what she needs to see most. Even so, the road to getting there seems infinitely long and empty. She brushes rain from her shoulders and sets off, wondering what force in the world it will take to get her to say what she wants aloud.

#my writing #kuni muinvel #technically the first bit of writing of the year!#gotta shake off the rust somehow

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fatale-distraction · 2 years ago

Note

For DADWC! "Alleyways"

I'm gonna go a little experimental here. It's been a really long time since I played DA2, but I love Fenris and have recently been obsessed with him and Merrill. So have some random-ass Fenrrill for @dadrunkwriting I guess lmao?

Bare feet skidded across wet cobblestone. His lungs burned and rain dripped from his sodden hair into his eyes, but Fenris kept running. He could keep running all night if he had to, even with his injured arm clutched to his chest. He'd escaped worse situations with far uglier injuries than fleeing from a couple under-trained city guards with a broken arm.

Being a known collaborator of Hawke had its drawbacks. Especially when one had glowing silver-blue tattoos to set them apart from the crowd. He'd fallen off the roof he'd been using as an escape route, a stupid mistake. He'd come down wrong on his foot, slipped on rain-slick terracotta tiles and plummeted two stories, landing on his right side in a haphazardly stacked pile of lumber. His arms were practically flayed open, and his feet had splinters and cuts that left clouds of red in the puddles behind him.

"Kaffas," spit the elf as he turned a corner and nearly broke his nose on a dead end. He must have taken a wrong street. The alleyways in this area all looked the same. He turned to face his pursuers, ready to fight with his teeth if he needed to. The heavily armored buffoons approached cautiously, with swords drawn.

"Surrender, knife-ear," one of them sneered. "Or taste iron."

Before he could think of something excellent and witty for his last words, a sudden, violent blast of lightning arced between the two guards. Crackling and screams filled the air, along with the smell of burnt flesh and hot metal. Their helmets began to melt, dripping down over their skulls like wax. Fenris squinted and shielded his eyes against the unexpected, blinding light. He looked up once it faded and witnessed the smoldering remains of the two humans. Behind them, hands clasped behind her back, rocking to and fro on her heels, was Merrill.

"Hi!" she called.

"For fuck's sake..." Fenris muttered, sliding to the ground with his back against the wall. "Why are you here?"

"I heard a commotion, and then I saw you running from those brutes, so I followed you and then..." she tilted her head at the hunks of metal and flesh sizzling in the light rain. "Well. Brutally murdered them, I suppose." She shrugged.

"They deserved it, I'm sure." The white-haired elf grimaced, clutching his arm. Merrill was by his side almost without a sound, inquisitive fingers prodding at him. However gentle her touch, the pain was still agonizing, between the lyrium markings and his broken arm, and Fenris hissed at her through clenched teeth. The mage was unfazed.

"Oh, I've no doubt they did," she assured him. "I can fix this." Merrill gestured unnecessarily at his arm.

"I don't need your help," he bit out. Merrill turned to glance behind them at the dead guards. "I don't need more of your help."

He did need it, actually. Desperately. Adrenaline was fading from his system now, and his arm was almost unbearable. His feet were worse than he'd thought, too. He could see dark red blood spreading at an alarming rate under one foot, and he couldn't feel the other. But he almost felt he'd rather die than admit to needing help from a blood mage. Even one who meant well, who only used her dark gifts to hurt those who truly deserved to suffer. A mage was a mage, he told himself.

Merrill sat down in a puddle, legs crossed, holding her ankles. She stared Fenris down with a pleasant expression. An ear twitched as a fat drop of rain splashed on it. She blinked. Fenris did not.

"Fine," he growled, lyrium sparking through his skin.

Merrill placed her hand in the blood pooling under his foot. His skin prickled. He hated this. The mage drew a sigil on the bottom of his foot with her blood-soaked finger, a matching one on top of the other. She shifted to her knees and made more marks across his arm, taking great pains not to put too much pressure into her touch. Another mark was made on his forehead. Fenris blew a strand of hair out of his eyes with a malicious expression. Finally, Merrill closed her eyes, and pressed her bloodied hand against his chest. The lyrium running through his body responded, crackling with energy. It wasn't painful, as it usually was. This sensation was actually...almost soothing. He could feel his skin knitting back together, pushing splinters out, healing over smooth and scar-free. His broken bone tingled. Shifted. That certainly wasn't comfortable, but it didn't hurt. Just felt...unnatural. Like his arm was made of pudding with sticks floating in it.

Merrill opened her eyes and smiled at him. "All better," she said. Maddeningly, she kissed him on the forehead, hand still pressed to his chest. Fenris resisted the urge to hiss at her again, and settled for an angry grumble instead.

#idk man im drunk #fenrrill #fenris #merrill #fenris x merrill #da drunk writing circle #dragon age #writing down fatalities

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 4 years ago

Text

When We Were Young Part Four

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader Rating: T Notes: Not beta-read I hope everyone's had a good week and is doing well :) Thank you for all of the likes/reblogs/replies!! Warnings: Uuuuuh none Summary: “I’ve never come across a boring case, Lord Dawson. Some have perhaps been easier to solve than others, but the truth is never boring.”

“You seem a little agitated, if you don’t mind my saying so.” You did mind her saying so, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be irritated with Mrs. Lloyd. She was Uncle Cornelius’ housekeeper, had known you since you were very young, and was familiar with your moods. “I’m not particularly looking forward to this evening,” You excused. Mrs. Lloyd glanced at you in the mirror as she adjusted the off-the-shoulder sleeves of your royal blue evening gown. “Could it have anything to do with the fact that Lord Dawson will be in attendance?” She asked. “Among other things,” You replied stiffly. She hummed, lifting her hands to smooth over your hair. “Shall I tuck a flower into the braid? I got a lovely bunch of gardenias at the market this morning,” Mrs. Lloyd offered. She didn’t wait for your answer before she headed for the door. “Why gardenias?” You asked, turning to look at her. “They symbolize purity and gentleness,” She told you. You grimaced. “Are there any flowers that symbolize resentment?” You asked. Mrs. Lloyd frowned. “Petunias. But I didn’t buy any of those.”

-- “It’s the last thing this country needs, reform,” Mycroft had been prattling on for nearly twenty minutes now. Most of the men’s voices uttered murmurs of agreement, though you noted Sherlock’s was absent. You glanced in his direction to find him eyeing the man that had been seated across from you. Lord Fredrick Adelbert Dawson did cut a fine figure, you couldn’t deny it. With a sharp, pointed jaw, dusty blonde hair, hawk-sharp steel blue eyes, and an aquiline nose, he tended to draw the eye of many a young lady. He had even drawn yours when you’d first met him. And then you’d had a conversation with him and any interest you’d had faded quickly. You lowered your eyes to your plate as you saw Sherlock’s gaze flit to you.

“Come now, gentlemen, I do believe we’re boring our companions,” Cornelius chuckled, casting looks around the table, “Perhaps Mr. Holmes could tell us about the case he’s currently working on?” You felt yourself grow tense as everyone’s attention shifted to Sherlock. If he was rattled by this sudden spotlight, he didn’t show it. His face retained its usual mild expression; the only noticeable change was a now quirked brow in Cornelius’ direction. “What is it you’d like to know?” He asked. “Whatever it is you can tell us,” Cornelius pressed. “I’m not sure there’s much Sherlock can say about this one at present,” Mycroft’s voice was tight as he reached for his glass of wine. You watched him take a rather long sip before he lowered the glass to the table. The hand that had been holding it rested on the cloth, balled into a fist. “Is it because it’s confidential, or is it simply dreadfully boring?” Lord Dawson asked. You cast Sherlock a glance, watched him tip his head and narrow his eyes at the question. Oh dear. “I’ve never come across a boring case, Lord Dawson. Some have perhaps been easier to solve than others, but the truth is never boring.” “The truth?” Dawson repeated, brows raised in amusement, “What excitement can one find in the truth?” “About as much excitement as you find at the Theatre Royal in Covent Garden. Is it still under the management of Madame Vestris?” “Sherlock,” Mycroft hurried to hiss from the other end of the table. But the damage had been done. You watched as the blood drained from Dawson’s face. The comment had landed with the other gentlemen at the table, and, unfortunately, with you. Uncle Cornelius, in one of his more intoxicated states, had once made mention of ‘the pretty ladies he’d been in the company of’ at the Theatre Royal. You weren’t naïve; you knew that they were ladies of the night. You reached for your glass of wine, avoiding the eyes of both Sherlock and Lord Dawson as they looked to you for a reaction. “I quite loved H.M.S. Pinafore!” Cornelius piped up in the hopes of breaking the tension. -- After dinner, the ladies had adjourned to the sitting room for a glass of wine and some conversation; the men had remained in the dining room for brandy and cigars. You had only been able to stand the chatter for a few minutes before you excused yourself. You stepped out into the garden, sighing into the night air and allowing your shoulders to sag just a little. Dinner had been no less than a disaster. Even after Cornelius had moved the conversation on, there had been glares and harsh words veiled as polite conversation between Sherlock and Dawson. You had hated it; you knew that this would be awful, but you couldn’t have fathomed it would be nearly this bad. “Are you cold?” You jumped at the sound of his voice. Sherlock held his hands up in apology as you brought your hand up to your chest, feeling your heart pound. “No,” You lied, the word harsh in your irritation. If he knew you were lying, he didn’t call you on it. Sherlock turned, beginning to wander around the garden in silence. You rubbed your hands over your arms, trying to warm them as he was looking elsewhere. As you saw him turn back toward you, you quickly lowered your hands, clasping them in front of you. “What are you doing out here?” You asked. “I wanted some air,” Sherlock excused. “There’s plenty of air inside.” “And you?” Sherlock asked, “What drew you out?” “... It was too warm in the sitting room,” You fibbed. Sherlock hummed, clearly unconvinced before he began to wander the garden again. “Did they teach you to lie at finishing school?” He had meant it to be a joke, but you nodded and said, “In a way.” His brow furrowed. “Explain,” He requested. You looked down at your hands, considering. “Well... You’re taught to comport yourself according to the rules of society. How to sit, how to eat, how to smile, how to speak, how to laugh. And you’re taught to act that way regardless of however you may truly be, or however you may feel. You learn to become someone else, for the sake of society...Though everyone tells you that it’s for your own sake.” When you looked at Sherlock, you found him watching you closely. “...Promise me you’ll find Enola before Mycroft does,” You pleaded softly. His mouth turned down in irritation. “I’m doing everything I can, dove,” Sherlock swore. “If you were doing everything, you wouldn’t be taking breaks to ruin dinner parties,” You retorted. Sherlock grunted, turning away from you. “Your Lord Dawson is quite the character,” He commented. The butterflies in your stomach began to swirl about in an uneasy flurry. “How so?” You asked. “Well, he’s quite blunt, firm in his opinions. He seems to be under the impression that you’re meek, soft...Though maybe that was the fault of the gardenia,” he glanced back at you. You let out an irritated huff, reaching up and yanking the flower that Mrs. Lloyd had put in your hair out, tossing it on the stone bench near you. You glowered at the sight of Sherlock’s amused smile. “I’m sure Mycroft will be quite cross with you for what you said to Fredrick,” You commented. “Fredrick?” Sherlock repeated, stopping in his place, a thread of incredulity in his tone. You arched a challenging brow, silently daring him to comment on the name further. Rather than press, Sherlock said, “I’m sure Mycroft is already taking the pains to smooth things over. You’re familiar with Dawson, do you think he’s amenable?” “Your brother has a reputation for being persistent to the point of ruthlessness. I’m sure his success is imminent.” “I wasn’t asking you about my brother,” Sherlock pointed out. He tucked his hands behind his back, regarding you. “...Could you be happy with him?” The question took you aback, but your answer was prepared - it was the same thing you’d been telling yourself for months: “My family would stop worrying about my future. It would be a weight off of their mind, and therefore mine.” “That isn’t an answer.” “Yes it is,” You argued. Sherlock considered this. “I disagree,” He finally said, “Let me ask again.” He began to cross the garden toward you in slow, steady steps as he spoke, “Would you be happy, being Lady Dawson? Attending opening day at Ascot? Wearing the latest fashions? Having your name in the papers whenever your husband takes up another of his several affairs?” Your stomach churned uneasily, heart pounding as Sherlock stared you down. “Stop it,” You mumbled. “Bearing two, three little lords or ladies? Shipping them off to school--” “Stop it!” You snapped more loudly. Sherlock went still at that, close enough for you to see the flicker of shock in his eyes. You shook your head a little bit, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment to quell the tears that had begun to prickle, taking a deep breath to steady yourself before you looked at him again. “You’re just as bad as Mycroft sometimes, you know? Prodding me to see how quickly you can get a rise out of me like I’m some experiment and not a person. It’s cruel.” Then you saw it again - the flash of hurt that had crossed Sherlock’s face back at Ferndell. But it didn’t disappear this time. Instead it settled, twisting his handsome features as his eyes lowered to the ground. “You did it when we were young, too. Maybe it was fair then, maybe I was just this irritating noise-making thing that you wanted away from you. But we’re not children anymore,” You reprimanded him, “And what I may have to do to maintain my family’s social standing is none of your concern, Mr. Holmes.” Sherlock looked at you then, eyes skating over your face before he met your gaze. “Your eyes are red,” He said. Irritation shot through you. “I’m not a case, Sherlock,” You sneered before you turned away, intending to leave. Sherlock’s hand caught hold of yours, stilling you. “Let go,” You hissed. “Dove.” His tone was beseeching, gentle. You didn’t trust it. “Let go of me,” You demanded. He did, and you strode away, leaving him alone in the night. -- “Are you alright? ... My dear, you’re shaking,” Mrs. Lloyd gripped you by the shoulders, steering you back into the study. “I-- It was colder than I anticipated,” You excused. You allowed yourself to be steered into a chair by the fire, folded into a blanket, the others fussing about you catching your death. No one noticed the gardenia missing from your hair. No one noticed the white petals peeking out from the pocket of Sherlock’s jacket as he bid Cornelius a good night. -- “Breakfast is on the table. And there’s been a delivery for you - it’s in your study,” Your mother informed you. You thanked her quietly before turning back to your vanity to finish pinning up your hair. You were glad to be home. Your last two days in London had been entirely uneventful. You’d met with your father’s other investor (with minimal condescension; the gentleman had actually been somewhat pleasant) and dropped in on your aunt one more time before traveling home. You hadn’t heard from Dawson, which was a relief. You’d heard nothing from Sherlock. That should’ve been a relief, but it was, in fact, agonizing. You told yourself it was because it meant that you had no news of Enola, but you knew that it was more than that. You couldn’t help but wonder what the two of you may’ve said or done if you’d turned back to him when he’d wanted you to. You hadn’t sought him out despite this curiosity, either in person or by post; he had a case to work on. Besides, you didn’t know what you’d say to him even if you did see him. You two seemed to turn to bickering when left to your own devices. Your curiosity about the delivery won out over your hunger, and you went into your study. There was a beautiful white satin glass vase sitting on your desk filled with purple hyacinths. You knew what those flowers meant well enough - you’d sent them to your Aunt Mary the last time you’d failed to send her a formal thank you note for a dinner party you’d attended at her home. Purple hyacinths were for apologies. You stepped closer to them warily, gently fingering the petals. Your eyes fell to the envelope beside the vase, and your stomach gave a little flip. Sherlock’s handwriting hadn’t changed after all this time; his penmanship had always had a crisp, almost tight quality to it. You picked the envelope up, pulling the note out. Please forgive me, dove. -S.H. At the very bottom of the note was an address for Miss Harrison’s Finishing School. Tag list: @run-through-wa11s ; @thefallenbibliophilequote ; @bitchy-witchy-post-mortem ; @maan24 ; @awkward-walking-potato ; @madalore ; @alexa-lightwood-blog ; @chelseaxaz ; @marwritesgood ; @runawayolives ; @parkerismybaby

#When We Were Young #Sherlock Holmes x Reader #Sherlock Holmes x You #Sherlock Holmes Imagine #Sherlock Holmes Henry Cavill #Sherlock Holmes/You #Sherlock Holmes/Reader

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ghoultramp · 4 years ago

Text

his voice resides [hawks x reader]

▷ bnha

↳ pairing: hawks x f!reader

↳ content: injured/wingless!hawks, depression, (implied) eating disorder, (implied) suicidal ideation, angst, mutual comfort

↳ words: 3.2k

⇢ summary: “it had been three agonizing months of not knowing whether he was alive or dead, you had no one to ask; and if anyone knew anything, they certainly weren’t sharing it openly.

also available on ao3

⇢ note: my mh took a dive so i ended up writing this :’)

It had been three agonizing months of not knowing whether he was alive or dead, you had no one to ask; if anyone knew anything, they certainly weren’t sharing it openly.

You sat hunched over your laptop, squeezing your eyes shut as you rubbed hard against your temples. You weren't sure the headaches had ever gone away, just ebbed and flowed with intensity over time. Unfortunately for you, it didn't seem to be showing any sign of reprieve tonight.

You braced yourself as you admitted defeat, it was no use. You were spent. You heaved a sigh as you closed your laptop and stared at the colorful light on the lid as it entered a sleep state.

Your heart dropped as you picked up your phone, watching the screen light up; even that hadn’t got any easier, still expecting a notification from him. Tonight was testing you and you weren’t appreciative of it as you heaved your fatigued body up from the desk. You shuddered as the metal legs of the chair came in contact with the cheap wood flooring, a high-pitched screech rang a bell in every tooth.

“Oh Christ, please stop,” you whined, sidestepping as not to antagonize the chair again.

You stretched your arms above your head and this time it was a satisfied groan that left your lips as several deep popping sounds came from your spine. While it may have been a temporary release of tension, you were grateful for it all the same as you lumbered your fatigued body toward the bathroom.

Opening the door, you felt around for the light cord that hung from the ceiling. You heard its heavy weighted end knock against the tile wall when your hand brushed against it; another, unnecessarily loud—and quite frankly horrifying—sound. You felt the slight prickle of tears as the pounding inside your head chipped away at you.

You regretted your decision to pull the cord, the harsh white light of the bathroom wasn’t friendly on the best of days. You set your phone down on the wide sink basin and when you looked up at the mirrored cabinet in front of you, you found it hard to identify with the person staring back at you.

Dark half-circles that looked more akin to bruises sat under your eyes, your cheeks looked gaunt, the bright spark in your eyes had left after that day, and your once radiant, bright skin now closely resembled ash. You watched the reflection, prodding at your own cheek, fingers pressing lightly against the hollow where there once had been rosy flesh.

You were so sure you had cried as much as anyone was humanly possible but didn't bother to fight against your blurring vision, letting the tears flow of their own accord.

Your head hurt, your body hurt, your heart hurt.

Everything hurts.

Bracing your hands on either side of the basin, you exhaled a heavy sigh; you felt your body shrink as you emptied your lungs of air.

The distinct vibration of your phone against ceramic echoed reverberated against the tiled walls; you felt worse when your jaw instinctively clenched tightly against the pain. Glancing briefly at the illumined screen, although your vision might have been blurry, the bold text that read unknown number was unmistakable. No one worth their salt would be bothering you at this time of night, most of all someone whose number you didn’t have logged.

You felt your brittle fingers grip tighter against the basin.

“Shut up,” you snarled under your breath, you liked to think it might make a difference.

When it vibrated again you felt your anger bubbling.

“What?!” you screamed as you picked it up.

You stared blankly for a moment, not entirely sure what you were reading.

╭ ╮

Meet me at our spot.

╰ ╯

╭ ╮

Please, trust me.

╰ ╯

You felt your lips curl in anger as your fingers trembled against the touch-screen, typing out the only reply you could think of.

╭ ╮

Who is this?

╰ ╯

You waited for a brief moment, you felt winded when the next message appeared in the thread.

╭ ╮

Please, Songbird.

╰ ╯

This isn’t real. This can’t be real.

The result of your thoughts racing too fast was the overbearing screech of white noise. You felt the bile in your empty stomach start to burn at your esophagus, you whimpered as you lowered your frail body to the bathroom floor while the edges of your vision began to fade to black.

“Nononono,” you repeated the word in one breath as you steadied yourself on your hands and knees. Your heart felt as though it was twisting in your chest while your lungs collapsed on themselves; you sobbed as you gasped for breath.

Your body shook as you silently sobbed, choking against the rasping at your throat, the air felt thick as you lowered your head. You stopped to rest your forehead against the tile, the cooling relief was only momentary as you felt your temperature rise and your limbs vibrate with adrenaline.

You deliberated with yourself about what you might do. If it was him, maybe things could go back to normal, and if it was some sick joke…

If this is some sick joke, maybe it’ll…

You breathed hard as you gathered the courage to finally pull yourself back up; you held a death grip around your phone as you made your way toward the front door of your apartment. The matter of turning the light off was inconsequential now.

Unhooking your keys from the hook next to your coat, ignoring it at first. You looked back at your screen and read the last message again; with another sigh, you grabbed it and pulled it around your feeble shoulders.

The heavy wood door that stared back at you suddenly felt foreboding, still unable to decipher any rational thoughts over the loud static that bounced around. And what if—

You yelped at the vibration alert. Another text. Your breath shuddered as you opened it.

╭ ╮

I can’t wait here long.

Please, make the right

decision.

╰ ╯

It was the push you needed, shoving your phone away in your pocket and reaching out open the door. You may have had your keys but your feet only carried you toward the stairwell. Not even after the first half-flight did you start to feel the searing heat that tore through your muscles, you cursed at yourself as you pushed against it. As you leveraged yourself against the handrail, you were thankful—for maybe the very first time—that you’d taken a top floor apartment.

You stood in front of the heavy fire escape door, the florescent green-and-white glow of the sign flickered as your hand reached for the bar that opened it. Your heart stopped upon the discovery of a brick that propped the door open; you didn’t truly want to believe someone would play such a cruel trick on you but the evidence was starting to suggest that that might just be the reality.

You were welcomed with a cold slap to the face as you breached the frigid, night air. The silence was eerie as you gently guided the door to rest against the rock, you felt unpleasantly nauseous as you surveyed the rooftop, there were too many shadows that could hide too many things. You decided against taking any steps forward, instead choosing to keep your back to the door with your fingers tightly wrapped around the outside handle.

You wanted to open your mouth, desperate to be able to say his name and for him to answer, but the dread was soul-crushing. There seemed to be nothing in the silence, the only sound you heard was your panicked breathing.

You took a deep breath, your lip trembling as you finally convinced yourself to speak. You just couldn’t bring yourself to say his name, it felt impossible in practice.

“H-hello?” your voice was nothing more than a squeak, fighting against your tight throat.

You scolded yourself for having even just a shred of hope when nothing replied. But maybe, just maybe…

You cleared your throat.

Just one more try. One more try and that’s it.

“Hello?” you called again, a bit louder but still almost as squeaky.

The distinct shuffling of feet could be heard in the shadows to your left, the scared gasp that left your lips was involuntary as your head snapped to find the source. You gripped the handle tighter when your eyes adjusted to the silhouette of someone who was tall, and the outline of a heavy jacket was deceptive; there were no discernible features you could see.

You strained your ears, attempting to hear what the stranger was saying. You noted that the tone was masculine but the words sounded like croaking. They raised their arm, and you squinted to see them press their hand against their throat.

“Look, if this is some kind of sick--“ you were unable to finish your sentence before the figure emerged from the shadows.

You felt dizzy, sick, relieved, and wholly and completely overwhelmed as you attempted to process the sight in front of you. Your body refused to react, so desperately wanting to run at him, throw your arms around him, and yet… You released your grip on the handle to stand unaided on unsteady legs, willing yourself to take just one step.

He took another step toward you, he seemed just as unsure of himself as you when he opened his mouth to speak.

“I’m…. I’m so sorry,” his voice cracked with each syllable.

He reached for his throat again, eyebrows drawing to the center as he pressed and strained against the pain that talking seemed to physically cause. You watched, helpless, as his ochre eyes developed a glassy sheen, the first sign of tears.

You took a step, closing the gap to only one short stride. You felt your own tears start to well as you examined him more closely; the majority of his visible skin pocked and tight with an almost glossy quality; the harrowing aftermath of extensive burns.

“I didn’t--” he coughed, wincing.

“No, please…” you interrupted, your hand instinctively reaching out for the arm that hung at his side.

It broke your heart when he flinched away, and as you looked into each other’s eyes, that is when you both shed the first of you shared silent tears. He seemed ashamed to look at you, now casting his gaze to the floor. His sandy unkempt hair fell to frame his face, casting shadows on the hollows of his cheeks; it was longer now, to his shoulders.

He continued to hang his head as he tentatively reached his hand out to yours, gently brushing his fingers against your own. You softly entwined your fingers with his, careful not to hurt him as you felt his damaged skin.

“Keigo,” you finally allowed yourself to say his name, choking back a sob that threatened to blurt out.

“Songbird,” he responded, barely a whisper.

You could have stood there, regardless of the cold, forever; to feel even just this small part of him against you again was enough for you. You weren’t sure how long you stood in a peaceful silence when he cleared his throat, readying himself to speak again.

“They’re gone,” he croaked, you felt his fingers tighten around yours.

“Who’s gone?” you asked, looking up at him confused. He shook his head.

When he finally looked at you, you saw the anguish in his eyes.

“No, my… my wings,” his voice was so quiet, “they’re gone.”

You had been so taken aback at the sight of him that it hadn’t even occurred to you; you felt so horrible, selfish. You watched as his face twisted as the uncontrollable sobs escaped his weak body, you welcomed his grasp as he pulled you tightly against himself.

“Let’s get you inside,” you offered, muffled against his chest.

--- --- ---

Keigo gently closed the door behind him while you busied yourself with your coat, carelessly laying it over the back of your small sofa. He turned to see you standing there, heart sinking when his eyes examined you closer; your lanky arms hung lifelessly at your side, your shirt—a few sizes too big—exposed the deep recesses above your clavicles.

His face twisted in discomfort as he struggled to shrug his own coat off, you stopped yourself from helping when, upon shedding his bulky outer layer, you saw just how well it had concealed his own frailty. You brought your hands to your face, stifling a gasp with a firm palm as the tears prickled painfully behind your eyes. He hung his head, holding his coat in front of him with both hands.

You were both such a mess.

Swallowing hard against your tightening throat, you reached for the coat in his hand. Despite still flinching, he allowed you to take it from him to place it next to yours.

“I just…” you shook your head, still unable to find any words.

“It’s okay,” he told you, a gentle, sigh of relief left your lungs as his warm palm cupped your cheek.

You felt his thumb gently brush away the stray tear that fell as you looked up at his soft, sad smile.

“I thought you were—“ you choked back your sobs, desperately trying to spit the words out, “I thought you were dead!”

Your efforts were futile, your knees buckled beneath your weight and your feeble shoulders shook with your overwhelming sobs. Head spinning, Keigo held your upper arms, hoping to keep you steady.

“I know it’s selfish,” you cried, “and I—“

You stumbled forward into his narrow chest, gripping his shirt for dear life as you wailed. The veil of shock had finally cracked.

You keened, thumping the bottom of your balled-up fist against his chest, pulling against his shirt with the other. You felt his hold tighten, he was shaking with his own sobs, quiet and subdued.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked as he brought a hand to rest on the back of your head.

He gave you little room to hit him in the chest again.

“No!” you bawled, hitting his chest with your forehead instead. “I just want…” you whimpered, breathing sharply against your sobs, “It’s not…”

Keigo felt the tension leave your body as you buried your face into his chest, no longer soft and muscular. It didn’t matter as you breathed in deeply; you smiled ever so delicately, his scent the same as you remembered.

“Can we just lay down?” you asked him meekly.

Keigo tightened his arms around you ever so slightly, resting his chin gently on the top of his head. You felt him nod.

“I didn’t mean for it to be like this,” he kept his voice at a whisper, the less agitation on his throat, the less likely it was to send him into a coughing fit.

“It’s fine, I…“ you began to interrupt, but the shake of his chin on your head cut you off.

“I just want to finish by saying this,” he coughed, you felt his body spasm against yours, “I’m just happy to be with you again.”

Keigo felt you gently pull against him and let his hold drop, you looked at him.

“Keigo?” you asked, holding out your hand.

There was no hesitation as he enthusiastically placed his palm in yours. You didn’t say a thing as you turn around, heading toward a door at the far end of your apartment. You felt his hand tighten around yours when you entered.

You released his hand as you made your way across to the bed, all you wanted was warmth and comfort; the streetlights beyond the window cast alternating orange and shadow stripes across the wall and bed through open blinds.

Keigo watched from the door as you moved clambered on top of the bed, curling into a ball. He accepted your invitation when you patted the space next to you. The mattress barely shifted when he sat down on the edge of the bed; he leaned forward with his elbows on his thighs, hands clasped together.

Feeling him shudder, you tilted your head to look up at him; bolting upright when he began to wince. Instinctively, you put your arm around his shoulder; you yelped and threw yourself back when he howled at your touch. He bought his hands to cover his face, shaking his head, trying to silence himself.

“I’m sorry, I—“ you whimpered, tentatively inching back to his side. “What’s wrong?”

When he eventually turned to face you, bringing his legs up onto the bed, his eyes were red and puffy; much like your own, you supposed. You watched the way the light and shadow settled across his face; orange stripes illuminated his golden eyes and his lips, his nose concealed in shadow. You watched his lips twitch while he searched for his words.

“I can still, um,” he tried to compose himself against his ragged breathing and looming coughing fit, “I can still feel them and, um—”

His mouth drew to a thin line, trying his hardest not to have another outburst. He struggled as his eyebrows pulled to the center of his brow and his lip began to quiver, despite being under so much tension.

You rose up on your knees, shuffling the closing divide between you, and pulled him into your bosom; he clawed at your back gently, desperate for your comfort as he nestled against you. You brought one hand to rest gingerly above his shoulder blades, cautious not to trigger a response, and lay your other hand on his head.

“Hold on,” you told him faintly, slowly releasing your hold; Keigo was reluctant to let go. “This is uncomfortable,” you told him truthfully, shifting your knees; he let go.

He studied you as you lowered yourself down, shuffling back on the bed. His approach was slow and awkward on his weakened limbs, crawling into the space next to you. You interlocked with each other without hesitation, Keigo was quick to pull you close to him.

“I’ve missed this,” you told him, adamant you weren’t going to cry again as you felt another prickle at your nose and eyes, “I’ve missed you.”

Keigo brought a hand under your chin, lifting your head to meet his. His palm was warm as he brought it up to cup your cheek, he smiled softly as he watched close your eyes and nuzzle against his hand; you placed your own hand against his, holding it there.

“Let’s just stay here forever,” he murmured, brushing his lips against your forehead, his thumb rubbed gently against your cheek.

“I’d like that,” you replied with a distracted whisper, enjoying the sensation of his warmth next to you, touching you—at last.

A soft sigh escaped your lips as he planted another gentle kiss against your temple, another high on your cheek. He leaned his forehead against yours, your noses touching.

“Forever, Songbird,” he promised you before pressing his lips to yours.

286 notes · View notes

beskarberry · 4 years ago

Text

Bilgerat

Bargaining with Beskar, Chapter 10

(The Mandalorian x f!reader) (+18)

"The grip on your back tightened, and a low growl reverberated through the iron underneath you. You’ve got company."

<-Previous Next->

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 18.3k whoopsie

Content warnings: Big kinky: cock warming, wet-ish dreams, knife play (no blood), vibrator play, squirting. Small kinky: predator/prey dynamic, lots of biting, soft choking, mentions of chapter 9's shenanigans. Kinkles (kink sprinkles): breeding/pregnancy, begging, overstim. Not-smut stuff: alcohol consumption, lots of story, introduction of OCs, more backstory for reader, some fuckin ANGST.

A/N: Story time! Some slice of life, some romance, some adventure! Once again Mando and his love get themselves in trouble because they tried to be cute so shocker-roony-roo there's some long fluff scenes cushioning the smut that I hope you enjoy~

Chilly.

You grumbled and squished yourself closer to the heat source you were wedged against, but your backside was uncovered and prickling with goosebumps in the faint, icy wisps that still made their way through the slap-n-patch fixes you’d made to the Crest’s busted walls. Groping blindly you searched for your bantha wool blankie, but all you found was the cold, unforgiving durasteel of the sleeping alcove under your fingers. You flopped an arm over the hot body pressed to your chest, trying to see if the blanket was on his side, but only found more frigid steel. Din rumbled and hugged you closer, nuzzling his face against yours like a big dopey massif and snoring right in your ear. His arms and chest were wonderfully warm, but the skin on your booty stung in the chill air. Blanket.

You pressed a lazy kiss or two to his sleeping face and started trying to untangle yourself from his limbs. His fingers burrowed deeper into your sides, begging you not to leave. I know, just gimme a sec. Somehow you managed to get yourself sitting up, and you glanced around the cot trying to find your cover. The only thing beside you in the narrow space was the stretched out body of your Mandalorian, the dim emergency lights catching on his many scars. The smooth patches of skin outlined his form in the dark like lost stars that had come to rest next to you, shimmering over the sleeping warrior with each slow breath.

It was still a little strange to see him so vulnerable, though you had earned the right to see him this way, he usually chose to wear his full beskar even in your presence. However, squashed into the sleeping alcove next to you he was buck-ass naked, and you couldn’t help but stare. Stars above he’s beautiful, even as a dark smudge in the faded light you could see the way he was built. Muscle, and lots of it, laying gracefully under his marred skin. He wasn’t bulky by any means, but he was big. At his full height he was an impressive stack of meat and sinew, but laying on his side he looked like a mountain range, rolling peaks and valleys that called you to climb them.

You let yourself indulge in the sight of him, just for a moment. Battleborne shoulders nestled on either side of a wide, sturdy back that led your eyes down the dip of his spine to the rise of his hips, over their swells, and down to the slopes of his legs. His angled knees sent your eyes right back up, past the tuft of fuzz that hid his groin and over the soft, sweet rolls of his tummy. The breadth of his chest was hidden by his long arms, but their lovingly chiseled curves brought your eyes to his wide, calloused hands.

Maker above those hands. Versatile and strong, hands that fired weapons with lethal accuracy, tossed bounties like bags of garbage and drove blades through bone like it was wet paper. And yet they held you so perfectly, so softly when they wanted to. They sat beautifully anywhere on your body, your hips, your shoulders, your breasts. Perfectly cupped to lay flush with your skin wherever they roamed, and just the right size to lace between your fingers while you slept. Or finger you til you passed out.

Distracted by the sleeping warrior you shivered in the cold air, reminding you that you could lay back down next to the man you’d chosen to walk the stars with as soon as you found your fucking blanket. As you worked yourself off the bed you set a hand on his hip, gliding your fingers through the soft fuzz that dusted his thigh while you snuck out of the cot. He grumbled and twitched from your touch, his own hands fidgeting in his sleep to try to find you.

You scootched off the bed, holding onto his leg for support as you did. Your bare feet hit the floor, and you nearly screamed from the cold of it, oh fuck cold! The icy floor of the ship woke your ass right up and had you doing a stupid dance to escape the frostburn. Ouch ouch ouch! You jazzed your way to the closest locker, grabbing a blanket and a pair of socks and hobbling back over to the bunk. Why don’t I have socks on? Oh, that’s right, hehe.

Yesterday’s events lazed through your mind while you tugged the tubes up your legs, realizing that they weren’t your socks when the heel stretched past your ankle. Sitting on the edge of the bunk you noticed the beskar strewn about the cabin like so many scattered plates. It wasn’t like him to just discard his cultural armor, but you remembered what the hydra’s nectar had done to the both of you, your face going hot at the memory of his face buried in the apex of your thighs, dripping with sweetness.

Idley you ran a palm over your middle, poking yourself in the guts just to be sure. Nope, no stragglers. You pushed your fingers as far into your stomach as you could, relieved and a little surprised to find that you felt no pain. Din had done a fantastic job of ridding you of your…quarries, though you were still a little bummed that you had only managed to capture one. You weren’t sure where it was at now, probably stashed in one of the many mangled lockers with the trophy you had taken from the last hunt, hopefully not growing anything. Hmm, wouldn’t mind taking another ride on that amorous anemone though, truth be told. You chuckled at the thought, the movement of air in your throat making you thirsty, and you headed to the fresher to get something to drink.

Draped in your blanket like a cloak you tip-toed in your stocking feet to the tiny space, squinting your eyes closed before you turned on the light. Dark, slime-covered shapes clogged up the narrow alcove, and you begrudgingly collected the laundry to chuck into the automated cleaner. Something clankered out of the fabric when the clothing hit the drum of the washer, check the pockets, dingus!

Son of a bitch there was a lot of shit in those pockets, from munitions to bacta to petrified teeth, and you started to tick yourself off that you had somehow started doing chores in the middle of the night. I should have just stayed in bed! The fresher sink heaped with junk when you finally had all the pockets cleared and the fabric piled in the scrubber. You punched the cleaners activator, mindlessly watching the clothes spin round and round while you sipped at a cold cup of water.

Frazzled neurons blared the word ‘foundling’ through your head, and you strode through the poorly illuminated space to where the child’s pram hovered on the other side of the cabin. As you went you took a moment to glance up at the distant night sky through the ladder hatch, cursing when you tripped over a piece of tossed beskar. You slid the cradle’s lid open as quietly as you could to see the sleeping prince, curled in a little ball in his father’s cloak. It’s too cold for you to be by yourself, you need to be with your boo-ear.

Out like a light, he didn’t budge when you scooped the heap of fabric into your arms and snuck back over to your bed. You clambered over your sleeping partner and plopped down on your butt, keeping the child in your lap while you adjusted the warm blanket to fit over you and your mate. You tucked Goobs up under your chin and made yourself into the middle spoon, pushing your backside into the hollow of Din’s hips. The mighty warrior hummed fondly against the back of your head as he spooled himself around you. Aaannd… there it is.

You grumbled and reached down to adjust your thighs, settling the pillowy flesh around the stiffy that prodded against your ass. Din huffed and rutted between your legs with a deep sigh, his cock twitching softly against your mound. It’s only natural you’d once told yourself, and it’s not like either of us are going to accomplish anything. Fine, you can bunk with me, mini-mando. You ignored Din’s poker to get the foundling comfy in between your arms and the arms that were wrapped around you like a big warm octopus. Snug as a bug in a rug the baby was, and a gurgling snore made your heart swell. Like father, like son.

A whiskery muzzle snuggled against the back of your head, brushing through your hair and bumping against the shell of your ear. Tiredness tugged at your eyelids, and you were almost back to sleep when the beast between your legs shifted, sliding backwards and forward again to catch uncomfortably in the dip of your mound. Damn it all are you kidding me! You shuffled your hips, dislodging him from the poorly stuck spot to sit like a sausage in a bun between your thighs. There, stay put you big horndog.

Nope, the sleeping mountain humped again, snagging himself in the same spot. You suck. With a groan you stuffed your hand down between your legs and notched the tip of his cock into the slick space it was made for, the heat of it making a delicious shiver work its way up your spine. Din moaned and hugged you closer, rocking himself deeper into your core and mumbling some Mando’a against your hair with another warrior’s snore. You were still decently lubed with yesterday’s happy fun times, and you slid your thighs against each other to roll your coils around the deliciously thick spear you now had sheathed in you.

His warm, velvety length sat perfectly in your hearth, sending plumes of heat spreading through your body. You were nice and toasty now, snuggled under the wooly blanket and squashed between the snorers on either side of your body. Din sighed in his sleep and let himself be still, keeping his cock warm in the blessed heat of your core. You could feel him, not just as the human blanket impression that he was doing wrapped around your body, but also between your legs, the gentle thrum of his heartbeat felt inside and out; and the slow, steady rhythm put you to sleep in seconds.

Thirsty.

Din was thirsty, the dryness in his mouth waking him up from the most wonderful dream. In his nectar-addled mind he was making love to you on some lush, sundrenched world while the setting sun lit up like a halo behind you. Your legs had been thrown over his hips while you rode him, the swell of your pregnant belly sitting heavily on his abdomen. What a sight she is! Maker above truly there can be no other creature as beautiful as her. In his dreamscape his words were distant, but he remembered telling you how much he loves you, how much he will love your younglings, how proud he is to be your husband. He watched awestruck as you crested above him over and over again like a ship breaking the waves, mighty and unyielding as a galleon in a storm.

He didn’t want to wake up from that perfect vision, but the feeling of his tongue sticking to his teeth forced his eyes open. You were pressed so close to his chest he couldn’t tell where he ended and you began, and he carefully slid his hand down your arm to find the foundling nestled against your chest. When did he get in bed? Din didn’t remember you getting up, and he knew he had left the child in his pram right before the ambrosia took control. I must be sleeping heavier than I realize.

Bantha wool brushed against his arms while he let his free hand roam, sliding his rough palm over your soft skin. He made a loop from the sides of your hips, up the curves of your waist, and down your arms to the foundling again; running his thumb over the long green ears of his adopted son and smiling at the gentle coo noise that came from under your chin. How did he get so lucky to have the two most precious creatures in the entire galaxy right there in his arms? He kissed the back of your head, the movement reminding him what had woken him up in the first place, thirsty.

Din carefully started to pull himself upright, only to find himself stuck, and he shuddered at the sensation of discovering what else he had slept through. Brows knit together, he blinked and squinted in the dark down the curve of your spine to where he was buried to the hilt between your legs, wondering if he was still dreaming. How rude of me, hasn’t she had enough of that? Hot embarrassment scalded his cheeks as he tried to work himself out of your silken folds, but the squeeze that you bore down to keep him in place had him biting his lip to keep from moaning out loud. Stars above…

Gently he slid himself out, torn between trying not to wake you and desperately needing to free his wandering cock. Fuck though you were so warm, and wet… wonderfully wet. He’d nearly pulled his length free when you shuffled in your sleep and stuffed your ass back against him, and the groan that broke its way out of his throat couldn’t be suppressed, the heat of it fanning steam against your hair. He bit down hard on his tongue and tugged his cock out, wincing from the quick draw.

Din pressed a chapped kiss to the side of your head and snuck himself out of the sleeping nook you both shared. It was frigid inside the ship, and the cold air that circulated in through the damaged air ducts stung against his flesh. Silent as a lothcat he slinked to the fresher, and the first thing that caught his attention was the sound of the automated cleaning unit spinning round. It had nearly finished its cycle, and he smiled a little sheepishly at the pile of trinkets that heaped out of the sink.

He picked a krayt’s tooth out of the pile, slowly running his thumb over the intricate patterns carved into the opalized bone with a lopsided grin on his face. My riddur. Pushing the rest of the items aside, he carefully turned the faucet and filled a mug. She must have gotten up at some point then. Din sipped quietly at the chilled water, watching the laundry spin round and round in the hazy lights. I wonder why, it’s not like her to wake up in the middle of the night. He giggled to himself in the dark, that woman sleeps through everything, including me.

His brain was slowly coming out of power-saving mode, and the reason for the clothes needing to be washed gooped its way into his frontal lobe. Quarry. A weird mix of emotions sloshed its way through him, first and foremost was rage. Knuckles cracked in his tightening fist, I’ll strangle whoever commissioned that bounty, there was definitely some need-to-know information missing from that fucking puck!

Gross jealousy sizzled behind his eyes at the thought of what that thing did to his wife, followed by a shudder at what it might have done to him. He took another swig, the ice water burning on the way down, at least she’s not hurt. She actually looked like she enjoyed it. A new heat made itself known across his cheeks, what had that looked like before I showed up, I wonder?

His shaft had just started to cease its midnight delinquency, only to perk right back up at the thought of the show he had missed out on. He shook his head and strode over to a mangled locker, finding himself some long johns to pull up and contain himself with. But the thought wouldn’t leave him, that thing had literally fucked you fuller than his wildest dreams. Lust tangled with envy in his chest, between the image of that thing pumping you full and the memory of what it had filled you with he was starting to sweat. But both feelings lost against the ultimate competitor: fear.

What if she’s in pain?

Suddenly fear crept its way to his throat, tasting like bile on the back of his tongue. That was a lot to take in at once, what if that’s why she got up to dig through the pockets, to find some bacta for her sore stomach? The sweat on his brow turned to ice, maybe it wasn’t your stomach that hurt. He cast a glance over to where you still laid with your baby, curled up in a protective ball around him. She would have told me if she was in pain though, right? One thing he knew for sure about you was that you were stubborn, and you usually chose the ‘suck it up’ route over asking for help. Help. I should help! I’m a good helper!

Downing his drink he dug through another cabinet, trying to stay quiet as he did; though probably more so for the foundling than for the bantha he bed with. He found one of the big tubes of bacta salve that he kept for emergencies, forgoing using one of the e-bacta shots he kept for emergency emergencies. Tube in hand, he slid back into bed behind you, carefully bunching the blanket over your side so you wouldn’t get cold. He warmed a big glob of bacta between his palms and slowly massaged it over your tummy, trying not to get it on the blanket or the foundling as his fingers kneaded the soft, supple flesh.

Bacta was a strange marvel of science, and maybe a little bit of magic. With enough of it you could patch a wound or heal a burn, and Din hoped that if he slathered enough of it on it would soak into your guts and fix anything that might be broken. This is mine, and I must protect it. Protect her. You grumbled in your sleep at the sensation of the medicinal salve, but your eyes stayed closed, allowing your riduur to lovingly caress at your precious belly. Never hurts to be cautious.

When he’d finished his administrations he wiped the remaining bacta off on his under-armor, trying to clean the ointment off his fingers before they went numb. Squeezing himself back into place along your spine, he burrowed his nose in your hair and sighed deeply, letting the scent of you fill his lungs. I told you I would bring you the stars, my love, I can bring you bacta as well. His adoration for his lifemate lead his lucid mind back to the dreams he had left, and he curled himself around you and the foundling as he drifted back to sleep.

“Electrical?”

“Up and running, seventy-eight percent capacity.”

A frosty morning had greeted you in the bottom of the glacial basin you were still stuck in, though hopefully not for much longer. Ship repairs had been finished to the best of both your abilities, and you were scurrying from task to task, helping Mando make the final prep checks before you hobbled your way off of fabulous vacation destination: Hoth. You had woken up that day feeling like a fat, lazy lothcat all curled up on your bunk, comfy and warm in a pile of bantha wool.

“Comms?”

“Operational, for now. Might lose those when we break the stratosphere, though.”

A mug of hot, watery caff had been waiting for you in the nervous hands of your re-armored riddur, and you’d drank it like you’d been stranded in the desert for days. He’d watched you eagerly, those honeywell depths of his full of curiosity and reverence, never leaving your form until you’d emptied your mug. Din had offered you another, and three more times you drank it down. Thirsty.

“Cabin pressure?”

“Holding!”

Still covered in the bacta you had been slathered in while you slept, you’d finally gotten to do the repairs on the ship’s exterior like you had planned to. The foundling was left on the flight deck, and you would wave to him through the transparisteel while you were on the roof. The pair of you gave it everything you had to piece the broken bird back together, but you had been right in your assumptions that an actual mechanic would be needed to suture the gashes that still twisted the iron flesh of the Razor Crest. Hyperdrive was too much of a risk to take in such a condition, and you would be holed up in the crowded cockpit until you were able to limp your way to the nearest station.

“Navigation?”

“Functional, sorta…”

“Radar?”

“Hot garbage.”

Everything you didn’t want to lose to the vacuum of space had to be moved into the upper deck. Weapons and quarries and all the amenities that made space travel bearable had to be crammed into the auxiliary space between the flight deck and the fuselage access door, leaving very little room for the living creatures that called the Razor home.

“What’s our offensive capabilities?”

“Zilch, unless you wanna roll down a window and we can shoot at whatever comes our way.”

“Fucking fantastic.”

This would be dangerous. Your forecanons were mangled, curling upwards like a pair of tusks from the mechanical beast. The blackmarket blaster cannons would probably need to be replaced, though the last dredges of your credits would have to go towards the ship itself.

“Foundling?”

“Snacking! Want a biscuit? They’re double chocolate.”

“...Yeah. Thank you cyare.”

Din stuffed the cookie in his mouth and pulled his helmet back down, signaling the start of the launch sequence. Your checklist was complete, and you made to buckle yourself and the foundling down to enjoy your pile of trip snacks when a heavily armored paw caught your arm. “How are you? You haven’t said anything about… the encounter.”

You shrugged, truth be told you were fine, though you weren’t sure if your ‘encounter’ had left you numb or if it was the ridiculous amount of bacta you had been drenched in while you slept; but either way you were just dandy. If anyone was still reeling from the events in the creeping reef, it was him.

“I’m alright, fussbucket. Really!” You curled your lips with a sneer, “Wanna open the thermos? Take a sniff?”

“No! Keep that damn thing locked up, if anything just so it doesn’t dry out. When we turn that fucking puck in I’m going to strangle whoever commissioned it…” Rage quaked his shoulders, but he shook the fury off, bringing his attention back to you. “Do you need more bacta?”

“No I do not need any more bacta! I feel like a damn stifling I’m so slimy. Do we even have any left over?” He gave a half-assed shrug, and you added bacta salves to your mental grocery list. His gloved hands fidgeted against his armrests, and you reached out to squeeze one. “How about you, are you alright?”

“Fine.” came a curt reply, quick and decisive and obviously a lie. ‘Fine’ was a four-letter-word as far as you were concerned, but it would have to do for now. You could discuss whatever was bugging him more in depth when your ship wasn’t threatening to fly apart at the seams and you were off of this frozen hell-hole.

“If you say so.” You tugged his hand to you and gave it a long, strong kiss. He pulled your hand back to him almost too quickly, knocking your knuckles against the brow of his helmet. A foolish tug of war ensued, both of you trying to keep the other’s hand for themselves. Neither of you won the battle, opting to just lace your fingers in the space between the two chairs and let your hands hang together. He was motionless besides the gentle roll of his thumb over your knuckles, and the tension in the air gave you the feeling he wanted to say something, but a final squeeze was given before he returned to the steering controls. Later.

“Alright, starting engine sequence.” Rocketeer extraordinaire, your Mandalorian fired up the old ship, carefully taking her through her paces. “Routing power to main ion accelerators… now.” The turbines that jutted out from the ship’s sides sputtered and roared, backfiring so loudly that chunks of ice fell from above and crashed into the window. Mando cursed under his breath and eased off the accelerator, flipping a handful of switches and gently pushing the joystick forward again. The engines spooled back up, barking out a few more explosions in protest before they were chugging away.

“Yeah that’s not terrifying or anything.” You held your hands over the foundlings ears, trying to protect his sails from the noise. The child was happily distracted by the crumbly snack he was working on, and glanced up at you with eyes too big for his head. Out the window you could see one of the offending engines, sparks splashing out over the patch job the two of you had made. “Come on baby girl, you can do it! Booger, help me out.” You held your hands out in front of you and waggled your fingers at the engine, and the foundling did his best to copy you without dropping his snackies.

Your combined sparkle fingers must have worked, because a final -kErPlOw- rocked the boat to her core before she was lifting off from the ground. As dainty as a cement mixer full of bricks she rose through the cerulean cathedral, shaking snow and ice from her iron mane. The Mandalorian’s grip on the steering controls creaked when she tilted to one side, listing unevenly while he tried to level her out. Slowly she ascended, and soon the -KaRunCh!- of the frozen ceiling hitting the roof echoed threateningly in the cabin. Just a bit more…

The breach fell away beneath you, a dark, jagged stain on an otherwise pristine sheet that blazed with the fading sunset. The ice plains of Hoth spiraled away until you were in the clouds, crystals freezing on the window as you started to break through the atmosphere. The Crest rebelled, shuddering and creaking as she bullied her way through. Over the roar of the engines you could hear the sound of your heartbeat, galloping like a fathier while you clutched the foundling to your chest. He didn’t give a royal fuck, and you wondered just how much bullshit he’d gone through before you met.

The shuddering stopped when you broke the exosphere, and you watched the secretive ice planet glide out of view. Ideally you would have flown to an on-world shipyard to get repairs, but aside from the ‘friends’ you’d made, there was no sentient life left on the forsaken snowball. The Empire had seen to that. Your star maps indicated that there was an outpost near the system’s rim, but traveling under the speed of light meant you would be on the proverbial road for almost a cycle. At least you had good company.

Sorta. The foundling was a riot, and the two of you sat on the floor and played with the little silver ball that usually screwed onto one of the levers, rolling it back and forth trying to score ‘goals’ against the other; and you were losing by a landslide. Your pilot on the other hand was dead quiet, focused intently on getting to the station. It was just as dangerous not to be in hyperspace as it was to be, though for entirely different reasons. The streaking stars could rip you to pieces if you got your math wrong, but taking a leisurely stroll through the void could make you an easy target for roving outlaws.

The foundling grew bored of the ball game eventually and wandered over to his papa, who pulled the silly creature into his lap to look out at the unmoving stars. The child went right for the flashy buttons on the dash, earning himself a weak scolding and unfortunately inventing himself a new game: bug dad! So many buttons, so many choices! What does this one do? How ‘bout this one? Oooooh, levers! Tiny green paws raised hell from his perfect perch until the metal monolith sighed and hugged the baby tight, making the tiny terror gibber grumpily at his living prison.

“That’s enough, womp rat, we don’t need to crash a second time.” Though he was trying to be stern, Mando couldn’t help but bounce the baby on his knee, making the child giggle sweetly. You glanced quickly at the star maps before joining your crew, noting the distance you had put between here and Hoth and how much further you had to go. There were a few orbits you would have to pass through before you got to the station, and you made a mental note of a planet that seemed to mark the halfway point of your journey.

You joined your boys at the front of the flight deck, lazily draping your arms over your oathsworn’s shoulders and patting the baby on the head. Din leaned his helmet into the crook of your neck while you tried to teach the foundling how to play patty-cake. “Ok hands up, lemme see your- there we go. Hold your paws up like this...” You clapped your hands together and slowly patted the child’s palms in turn, “Say, say oh play-mate, come out and play with me…”

Beans gibbered and laughed, though he wasn’t able to follow along very well, but as long as he was having fun then so were you. You finished a round and grabbed Din’s gloved mitts, holding on to his wrists and making him play with the baby too. He huffed against you, but your ears had long since learned to tell the difference between a disgruntled huff and a contented sigh.

A handful of road trip games ensued until the child yawned, and the two adults yawned with him. Din passed the baby off to you, insisting that he take the first watch and that he would wake you when you were closer to the planet that marked the half-way point.

Snuggled up with the foundling you had yourself a catnap, though more to pass the time than to actually rest. You were dreaming about a parade of Ewoks in funny hats when you felt something tug on your leg. Opening sleep-crusted eyes you squinted at the visor that was in your line of sight and grumbled, “Are we there yet?”

A warm laugh rumbled his beskar, “No, but there’s something I want you to see. Look.” He cocked his head towards the front window, and you followed his gaze to see the jaw dropping view spread out against the transparisteel. You had traveled space for many moons, seen countless wonders that many a spacer had written odes to, but the ships you sailed on rarely got so close to a gas giant as big as this.

It was massive, clouds the color of a raging wildfire swirling over its surface, a fireball of reds and golds that overtook the starry backdrop it hung against in a blaze of glory. A broad splotch of crimson smeared over the atmosphere’s surface, a storm the size of a hundred worlds. Though the celestial sphere was a beauty on it’s own, its crowning jewel was the expansive ring that curled around it. Thousands of miles wide, the glittering bands of ice and nebular material shimmered in the distant light of the star that the planet orbited, and only got brighter as your ship glided closer.

Your captain brought the old gunship in smoothly until the belted disk was directly beneath you, and at this range the rings spread out to infinity on either side of the window from the radiant planet to the void of space; chunks of quartz and silica flashing like flames with the reflection of the gas giant as they disappeared under your keel.

The faint whirring of the ship’s innards didn’t do the scene justice, though her engines seemed to be tuned to a specific note that started a symphony between your ears that soon grew an entire orchestra for your thoughts alone. The rings of the world before you would serve as the staff that the notes rested on for your celestial song, and you let your own mind be the maestro to lead it.

A swell of strings, clear and mellow would rise to the occasion, lifted by a deep harmony of bass. Bows slide over the strings of oaken cellos, low, slow and strong, their notes as rich as gold. Like an outstretched hand their swells beckon a viola to dance. High and fast, beating like a hummingbird's heart. One two three, one two, one two three, one two. Step, slide, spin, throw! The notes become a ballet, the viola pirouettes, leaping from the arms of her cello she soars! Cosmic wings unfurled like solar sails she climbs, higher and higher, her flight sending a meteor shower down to fall on a brassy percussion that serenades the stars.

A minor chord summons the viola back to grace the stage, and she bows before the major key returns victorious. A woodwind competes with the melody, a challenge of fire and ice, knives of frost and bolts of lightning. A rise like a comet burning through the atmosphere fills the astral amphitheater as the polyphonic harmony blends into one single sound. A crescendo blooms the symphony away into the depths of space, and it fades from your thoughts to herald the planet’s dawn to the unending corners of the Universe, pouring like molten gold.

Magnificent.

Spellbound by the music that never met your ears, you were almost startled to feel a gloved hand settle on your arm; careful not to disturb the foundling that you still cradled. You peeled your eyes away from the window to meet with the tilted visor of your companion, giving him a sheepish little smile when you realized he had been watching you. With one hand still on the steering he brushed the backs of his knuckles against the skin of your arm, and you adjusted the sleepy green baby to let one of your hands find your husband’s.

Din tugged gently on your hand and bid you to him until you were seated across his lap in the way you sometimes rested together. Leaning your head against his beskar, you cuddled the foundling and watched the enormous span of rings flow under you. Din only needed one hand to drive, the other wrapped protectively around your back to hug you tight. There was no reason for him to be this close to the planet’s rings, you realized, he had chosen to bring the ship in, just for you to see.

Or maybe just to see you see.

“Thank you.” You whispered against the armor where his ear should be, pressing a kiss to the cool metal as you did. “It’s beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you, mesh’la.”

You’d left your own beskar by your seat, so there was no chime when you knocked your brow against the side of his beskar, but he rumbled against you anyway. With a flick of his wrist he angled the Crest through a thin patch in the ring, flipping the disk over your head. The artificial gravity in the ship was the only source of relativity in the vastness of space, and the change in position gave you a slight sense of vertigo now that you appeared to be flying upside down. The Mandalorian could probably thread the old ship through the rings more adventurously if the busted bird was in better shape, but for now just a few dips would do.

The ship breached back up through the rings once more like a durasteel whale, sailing towards the black smear where the planet blocked the closest starlight from reaching the disk. The shadow of the sphere draped over the rings ahead of you, a blanket of night on an otherwise glaring garter of galactic glitter. Your ship coasted into the umbral shadow, making the daylight side of the planet fade into a sliver of light, eclipsing the stars with a ring of fire. The darkness made the belt nearly invisible, but the stars above glittered brighter than ever against the backdrop of the void.

You’d nearly cleared the dark side when something else glittering caught your eye. Against the black, starless space where the planet was something shimmered.

Something metallic.

From out of the celestial giant’s shadow a wide-winged ship soared out of the umbral cast, the distant starlight shining brightly on its copper-colored hide. A sleek aerofoil, long and flat like a manta ray with a wide receiving port on its bow coasted towards you, casting its own shadow over the planet’s rings. The grip on your back tightened, and a low growl reverberated through the iron underneath you. You’ve got company.

A red light began flashing on the comms panel, announcing that you were being hailed. “The fuck do they want?” You stood up from your armored seat and made to hit the open frequencies button when an armored paw stopped you.

“What are you doing? We have enough to deal with.” His voice was level and cold, commanding like a captain’s should be, and the rasp of it almost made you want to be complicit at his orders. He wasn’t wrong though, you had no guns and barely a ship to sail in, the last thing you needed to do right now was make friends.

You glared at the blank radar screen, giving it a bit of percussive maintenance until the nearby ship flashed to life on the green and yellow field. “Hunk of junk! So what, we're just going to ignore them?” A single stiff nod was your only reply, but the comms light kept flashing away. If they were in distress then they were shit out of luck, because fuck, so were you.

The blinker on the dash was joined by another, more ominous blare: enemy targeting systems locked on. “Shit balls of hell, Din, they’re going to shoot us! Fucking answer them!”

He slammed down on his only option, the busted communications transmitter sputtering to life with a maliciously friendly voice. “Greetings and salutations! You lost, friend? Nobody comes ‘round these parts, especially at such a leisurely pace as you! Don’tcha know how dangerous it is through this system? We’d be happy to… escort you out of the area...”

“No, thank you.” Din barked into the microphone, “We have everything under control.”

“Oh do ya now? I reckon’ by the looks o’ that hackjob holdin’ yer fuselage together I’d say you were in quite a pickle. Haven’t you heard there’s pirates in this neck o’ the woods?”

Pirates. Of course there’s pirates. Your armored companion growled low in his throat, the timbre of it making the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. These spacers were threatening his crew, and to him and his Creed that was an act of war. He cleared the venom from his throat before opening the receiver again. “We can handle it, please go about your business.”

The copper ray’s propulsion engines flared as it drifted closer to your ship until it was nearly on top of her, drifting along just behind your stern and casting shadows over your wings. Big. The Crest was nothing to scoff at, but the monstrosity that floated over top of your little old lady could swallow her alive.

It just might.

The voice on the other end chuckled darkly. “Ah but my friend that’s where you’re mistaken, y’see, helping others is our business! And business is boomin’!”

-CruNcHa-krUnCH!-

The rancorous words were articulated with the destruction of something striking your already damaged wings. From the jagged maw on the front of the ray a pair of vicious grapples had coiled around the stinted wings of the Crest, sinking their teeth into her wounded flesh. The old girl lurched when the lines were pulled taut, the screams of twisted durasteel echoing loudly behind the blast doors that protected you from the vacuum of space. Mando swore, “Fucking pirates! As if there isn’t enough bullshit going on-”

You cut him off with a hand on his shoulder. “Let me take the comms, I might be able to negotiate something.”

“I’ve heard your negotiating, I don’t think that’ll help us right-”

“Just let me try? We don’t have much in the way of options.”

For a moment he was still as a statue, then he gave the faintest nod. “Alright.”

You cleared your throat and took a long, deep breath, switching into your best communications mode. “This is the co-captain speaking, We have nothing of value on this ship or anything that would be of use to-”

“Now, listen ‘ere, missy, I know bounty hunter sigils when I see them. Hand over your quarries and your credits and maybe we won’t clip your wings!”

“As previously stated we are not carrying anything of value, including quarries. We were engaged in a skirmish planetside that rendered our ship unfit for hunting. Release our ship and we will exit your domain posthaste.” Ugh, I hate using this voice.

The pirate was silent for a time, then a slow, malicious laugh rumbled through the comms.

“Then I guess we’re taking your weapons as consolation! Prepare to be boarded, bilgerat!”

Fucksake is it that obvious?! Auxiliary jets fired on the grapple’s edges, adding power to the winch aboard the rayship, and the Razor was dragged backwards against the pull of her engines. The wounded bird sputtered and died from the strain, giving up the ghost as the cutthroats hauled her towards the open hangar. You watched as a bluish field slipped over the rounded window, the edge of a magcon field that protected the maw. Your ship wasn’t just being boarded, it was being captured.

The Crest was swallowed whole by the assailing ship, and in a few more seconds your ship was dropped unceremoniously to the floor when the artificial gravity kicked on inside the hanger you now found yourselves in. More screeching metal told you that some of your patchwork had been ripped back open in the hold below. Well fuck, there goes our motherfucking repairs.

“Damn it!” Mando roared, “I thought you said you could negotiate?!”

“I did my fucking best, ok?! I didn’t see you coming up with anything better!” Ahead of you the jaws of the hangar snapped closed, trapping your ship inside the belly of the beast. You scurried back to your seat, grabbing your armor and your guns. “If it’s a fight they want, then it’s a fight they’ll get! We can handle Imps and poachers, I think we can handle some motherfucking pirates, don’t you?” Your armored companion nodded sharply, rising from his seat and drawing his blasters; slamming a fresh cartridge into each one.

“I don’t care how many there are, they’re not getting you or our foundling.” His growl made you shudder, and a nagging thought in the back of your head wondered if you would ever get used to how scary he was sometimes. Mandalorians were drop-dead lethal, and this hunk of metal was no different. Good thing he’s on your side. He snapped his wrist, making an array of lights pop out of a conical prong that jutted off of the vambrace. “I have spoken.”

“Cool.” Beskar slid over your face, replacing your vicious grin with Mandalorian steel. You made to hide the foundling in his pram when something on Mando’s belt caught your eye.

Something red.

Something flashing.

Fast.

You tore his cloak out of the way to yank the flashing bounty fob off of his belt. This is what you get for not checking your pucks! It wasn’t often that quarries just delivered themselves to you, but at least that meant you might save yourselves some fucking fuel. You dug through his pouch to get the accompanying puck, but before you could find out exactly who aboard this copper coated colossus you were hunting, the light on the comms panel flashed again, this time with a secondary light: incoming holo.

Mando slammed down on the receiver, making an image flicker to life where only a voice had once transmitted. A tiny ghost arose from the dashboard, showing the image of a tall, overly dressed Togruta woman. She very much looked the part of ‘space pirate’ in her complicated overcoat that stretched past her knees and the bandanas tied around her montrals and lekku. She was crisscrossed in holsters and belts that were straining under the weight of all the armaments she carried, from blasters to vibros and everything in between. Show off.

Her voice was clear now that your fucked-up transmitters were in such conveniently close range. “Hello hunters, put down your-”

“You listen here,” Din snarled, his teeth biting down on his venomous words. “You’ve made a big mistake, capturing my ship, putting my family in danger-”

Aww he said family. You peeked around your bristling oathsworn to brandish a pistol at the miniature maiden that was making demands of you, but your phantasmal orchestra started to ring the bells of familiarity between your ears. Din was still going off like a Nexu firing his verbal barbs, and it took several good shoves to move him out of the way so you could get a better look at your host.

Though the blue light of the holoprojector gave her a monochrome appearance, her lavender skin and tall swirled montrals were still clearly visible. She smiled arrogantly at your tilted armor, making her sharp fangs glitter like polished pearls and rolling her cheeks right up into her sapphire eyes. It can't be…

You slid your armor to the top of your head, bunching your brows at the tiny, noble-birthed face until they were nearly dancing off of your forehead.

"Alewyn?”

The pirate princess cocked her head, and the whites of her facial markings went wide around her pedigree eyes. “No fucking way!” Her melodic voice chimed with a laugh, “Hunter! Long time no see! What in Maker’s mishaps are you doin' out here?"

"I could ask you the same fuckin’ thing! Hey don't shoot me I'm comin' out!" You could hear Alewyn yelling at her crew to stand down as she hung up on you, and you stood with hands on your hips and a big stupid grin on your face. "How the fuck…"

Behind you Mando was staring at you with that black hole gaze of his, his visor tilted with confusion. "Friend of yours?"

You nodded "You could fuckin' say that!" You scooped up the foundling and patted your partner on the shoulder, trying to be reassuring. It took him a few good breaths to clear the adrenaline from his veins, though his shoulders still jutted wide like he was ready to tackle the entire galaxy to defend his clan. Another twist of his wrist had the little explosives on his vambrace tucking themselves away, and he watched you disappear down the ladder first before following suit.

The Crest's ramp chuggered as it opened, sticking halfway down and forcing you to jump off of it to escape. Your boots hit the hangar floor, putting you in front of almost a dozen of the most ragtag looking bunch of scoundrels you'd ever seen. They were a myriad of species, from Twi'leks to humans and even a Gungan for fucks sake, but what struck you as oddest of all was that they were all ladies. Ferociously armed to the teeth, the gaggle of gals murmured amongst themselves before a loud, commanding voice soared over their heads.

"Move aside you bunch’a blaggards! Lemme greet my guests…” The crowd parted, allowing the newcomer to saunter between them. Long, lavender-swirled montrals waggled on top of the well-dressed and well-armed lady who was making her grand entrance, and you couldn’t help but stare. She walked with an undeniable air of nobility that couldn’t be hidden even by her swashbuckling swagger, the strength of her bloodline showing through even at her most roguish. She swung her arms wide as she rushed you, “Hunter! It is you! Can’t get enough’a me can you?”

"Alewyn! If you wanted to see me again you could have just called!" You took her wild-armed hug with gusto, ignoring the many pokes of the blades you both carried. Stars above, of all the strangers in the galaxy you’d run headfirst into the one and only Princess Alewyn of Shimi, the Togruta woman who you had let escape your bounty so many moons ago. Freeing her had sullied your reputation with the Guild and put a hefty price on your head that had led the most fearsome bounty hunter in the parsec to your doorstep, and eventually into your heart. You had a lot to thank her for, but for both your safeties it was best that you never saw each other again. Yet here she was, decked out in blasters and blades, surrounded by a wild pack of pirates that she no doubt led as their captain. Good for her.

She squeezed you tight, making the child that you had tucked under your arm grunt in protest. The captain stood back from you to get a look at the creature you carried.

"What in blue blazes’s that thing? It’s cute!” She reached out and ran her thumbs over the child's long green ears and pinched his chubby face, making him fuss and bat his tiny paws at her. “Aw I’m sorry pumpkin, I didn’t mean to upset you! My baby girl is so rough’n tumble I forget little’uns are s’posed’ta be soft. She’d love’ta play with you though!”

That’s right! The last time you had seen Alewyn she was defending her swollen belly, ready to shoot you dead if you tried to stop her egress. Your big mean bounty hunter heart couldn’t take the idea of a mother not being able to raise her youngling, and you’d given up your own ship so she could escape. How time flies.

“Alewyn, this is my boy.” You covered his ears, “He’s adopted.” The princess snickered at the obviousness of your statement, but the mirth quickly left her face at the sound of armored thunder dropping down off of the ramp behind you. Her lovely eyes did their best to hide the terror on her face as the Mandalorian you traveled with sauntered up behind you. “And this,” you made a grand gesture of waving at the mountain of living beskar, “Is my partner. Life partner.” You grabbed his hand and threaded your fingers through his, making his helmet tilt just slightly on an otherwise stiff stance.

“Well a’ll be damned, you’ve been busy! But I guess... so have I!” The captain threw her hands in the air, and the crew around her cheered. “Alright you lot! Show’s over, we’ll not be rescuing anything other than these two guttersnipes from that ship.” The fem fatales groaned and roared, laughing and shouting in a multitude of galactic obscenities as they wandered away.

You cocked a hip, jutting your baby out on one side and stabbing your hand to the other with an air of indignation. “Rescuing? You nearly tore our wings off! What kind of rescue operation are you running here?”

Alewyn laughed, bright and chipper. “Let’s just say all bounties aren’t warranted, I should know! Come on, I want you to meet my wife and daughter and the rest of my crew. I can tell you more over some spicewine. Welcome aboard the Sunskate!” She stuck her hand out to you, tugging on you so hard you almost keeled over. You cast a wayward smile over your shoulder at your husband as you were led over the hangar floor to one of the corridors that branched off of the open space. He sighed and looked back forlornly the busted body of the Crest before dutifully following along.

A multitude of crewmates scurried around you as you made your way through the ship on the arm of the pirate princess, listening to her tell you all about her travels. “-and then my dad said ‘Wynnie you disgrace this family with the company you keep! You will marry the duke and stop this nonsense’ blah blah blah.” She made talking motions with her hand, bobbling her montrals with sassy head tilts. “And I said fuck you dad! I’m in love and nothin’s gonna keep us apart!’ Course daddy wasn’t gonna have none’o that, sending fuckin’ hunters after his own daughter.” The sting in her voice was obvious on that last word, anger and pain enunciating her words. “But you know what they say, love conquers all, yeah?”

“Yeah!” You squeezed the foundling under your arm, bringing him in range of a kiss. The sound of armored footfalls echoed behind you, your oathsworn keeping a polite distance. The winding corridors of the Sunskate flowed more organically than anything built on Corellia, and eventually they led you to a recreational space where more of the pirate crew were talking and eating. At the center of the group was another Togruta, this one a gradient from navy blue to bright sunshine yellow. On her knee a tiny cotton-candy colored baby nibbled on the woman’s lekkus, adding fresh marks to her already scarred tendrils.

The infant noticed your approach first, throwing her chubby arms up in the air and flashing her razor sharp teeth in a smile a mile wide. Alewyn let go of your captured hand and strode to the pair. “There’s my girls! Fae have you been trying to eat mama’s lekku again?” Alewyn bent and picked up her daughter, peppering the gibbering baby with kisses before leaning down to kiss the other woman. “Hello kitten, need me to kiss those, make them better?”

“Wynnie you flirt!” The sunrise Torgruta laughed into the kiss that was being pressed to her lips. “Can you be professional for one second?”

“Would you love me if I was?” The princess chided, brushing her palm down the swell of the other woman’s lekku until she had the chewed-up tip of it in her hand. “Fay-fay has done quite a number on these!” She pressed a kiss to the marked skin before turning back around to face you and your own crew. “Lilah, you’re not gonna believe who we picked up! It’s the hunter, the hunter! The one that spared me from carbonite back way back when.”

Lilah stood and reached for your hand, clasping your elbow as she shook it. “Well blow me down, I never thought I’d get a chance t’thank you for what you did.” The handshake slid flawlessly into a brash hug, the air squashed from your lungs in the process. “Thank you for giving me my Alewyn back, her father didn’t exactly approve’a us.” She patted you on the back and held you out at arms length. “I don’t s’ppose you got a name now do ya, hunter?”

“My name is Tra’laar!” You beamed, flexing the sound of your gifted name against new ears. At that Mando placed a hand on your shoulder, giving it a gentle pat before falling back down to his side. Lilah’s emerald eyes flickered between your face and the armored man standing at your side, then down to the baby that you carried in your arms.

“Well, Tra’laar, you gonna introduce those two?”

You knocked a knuckle against the beskar of your partner “Oh sure, this is-” Uh…

“Mando.” Din filled in the blank for you, sequestering his true name to be known by his clan alone. He stepped forward and gave a stiff, respectful handshake that made Lilah’s montrals whip with the strength of it. She laughed heartily at his uptight demeanor.

“So, we got Tra’laar and Mando, who’s’s lil’ guy? What’s’s name?” She gently took your foundling from you, and the change in the electricity in the air was palpable. At your side your oathsworn was bristling defensively under his armor, fighting the urge to pull his child away from the stranger you so easily trusted with your precious cargo. You ignored Mr. Scary to ponder the question you had just been asked.

His name...?

HiS nAmE?!?!

Oh fuckadoodledoo! What a question! Nobody in your crew got called their own name that often, from cyare to tinman to Beans the Crest was full of fondly fabricated titles. You’d just accepted it, using what Din called him: the foundling, the child, womp rat sometimes. You usually went for more adoring choices, beans and goobs and booger, but the child never had a real name.

How?! How does this child not have a fucking name?!

The gears in your head spun out of control, you can’t tell these women that your baby's name is Booger! Shit fuck fuck fuck!! Uuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhh…

You stared at the child, meeting his nebulous eyes with your own distressed gaze. He tilted and blinked at you as though he could hear the machinations in your head melting together with the friction of them grinding to a halt. Your thoughts went wild, the musicians in your mind dropping their instruments and tripping over their own feet, crashing cymbals and tooting horns in cacophony of confusion.

Green Beans… Goober… Booger...Grooboog… Groobeans... Grooberoo... Grober Gro…

“Grogu.” You didn’t break eye contact with the child, watching as his cosmic orbs lit up like fireworks. “This is our son, Grogu.”

Fucking Maker are you kidding me?! Grogu?! What kind of-

“Patu!” The green terror shrieked in delight, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. He churruped and flailed in the wide blue palms of the Togruta woman that held him until she was passing him back off to you. He wiggled like a womp rat in a trap, flashing his tiny toothy grin at you while he wildly patted at your cheeks.

“I’m so sorry, that’s a terrible name.” You whispered to him alone, but he took your whole face in his arms and squeezed, giving you little baby kisses that made your heart flood with warmth. The baby didn’t usually do kisses, that was supposed to be your job. “Do you like that or something? Grogu?” The foundling kissed your nose and butt his forehead against your own,the most sacred show of love known to his clan, his family, and suddenly it just clicked.

Grogu.

You pulled the child to your chest, hugging him tight while you looked at your partner. He was motionless as always, a silver statue catching the fluorescent lights of the wardroom on his many plates. His visor tilted slowly, so imperceptibly slowly that only the light sliding over the black gloss of his singular eye gave away the movement at all. In that moment everything faded away. No more pirates, no more Alewyn and Lilah and pointy-fanged Fae, or their band of misfits. Even the Sunskate disappeared into the background noise of the universe. Nothing else existed except for you, your Mandalorian, and the foundling.

“Grogu?”

The name rasped out of the modulator with gravelly relevance, tentative and soft. Sailcloth ears perked up at hearing his papa repeat the ridiculous name you had bestowed, followed by a pair of fat grabby baby paws reaching towards the metal mountain. The potato sack of a child was passed again, this time into the armored embrace of his father where he could patta-patta on the indents of his cheeks.

“Grogu…” Mando spoke it again, lowering his brow to meet with the baby’s. Seeing the pair of them so close together in that moment almost made you melt into the floor, and you sighed heavily before turning back to your hosts, recomposing yourself.

“Yep, them’s my boys. Mando and... Grogu.” You puffed yourself up, trying your fucking damndest to stay dignified. Alewyn snickered again, sweet and trilling as she leaned over to Lilah.

“He’s adopted.” She whispered, making the other woman giggle as well.

“Good to know, I was starting t’wonder how Mando kept ‘is ears hidden under that helmet’a his.” Her laugh was warm and rich like aged whisky, reverberating around the rec-room. “Welp, you kids wanna stay for dinner?”

You thought back to the ruined ship that you’d left back in the hangar, not going anywhere any time soon. “Yeah dinner sounds great, thanks.” You followed the pair of pirates to where the rest of the crewmates had gathered, preparing to take supper. Mouthwatering scents wafted from the galley while you made friends with the rest of the wild women, getting to know them between the uproars they frequently broke out into. They were rough, undisciplined, and unbelievably vulgar, and you loved every second of it. Though you had a family now, you never really had a people after you left your sailor life behind, but if you did, they would look just like this.

When dinner was served you nearly drooled on yourself, but you forwent eating to feed your son, opting to eat with your partner later. A bottle of spicewine was opened by your rambunctious hosts, and a tall goblet was filled for you more than once, so at least you weren’t insulting them by not accepting any of their offerings. Grogu ate heartily, and in between his bites you spoonfed little Fae who sat in her mama’s lap at the dinner table. Alewyn razzed you several times about not eating her chef's hard-cooked meal, and you slugged her playfully each time.

“So whut, he don’t take that thing’off? How’s’at work?” She said with a mouth full of food, swirling her fork in the air.

“We make it work.” You scolded, and she shrugged.

“Is’e cute?”

Next to you Mando went stiff as a board, and you snorted a laugh, trying to hide your smile with a spoon. He gawked at you behind the visor, thankful that it hid his embarrassment so well.

“Yeah he’s cute, I think so, anyway.” You poked at his armor with your spoon, earning yourself a trademark huff. He didn’t say much for the remainder of the dinner, though your conversations with the runaway royal got progressively more invasive until you could feel the heat coming out from under his beskar.

“Is he human?” Yes

“Does he have a nice ass?” Well obviously, look at it.

“Is’e good in bed?” Fucksake.

“DOES THE HELMET STAY ON?!” Alewyn!!

Lilah scraped her plate directly into her mouth and slammed it back down on the table. “Wynnie leave’em be! Look how fuckin’ red her face is, can’t you tell you’re embarrassing her?” She laughed and shook her head, pouring herself another full glass. “Since yer not gonna eat then you better entertain. Tell me, hunters, do either’a’ya know any songs?”

“Do I- do I know any songs?!” You sputtered, thankful for the rescue but feeling just as indignant. Jumping up from your seat made you wobble a bit from the wine. “Do you know The Ballad of Transport Eighteen?”

Lilah nearly cackled, raising a glass and clearing her throat, “We were thirty-eight crewmen on Transport Eighteen-”

You joined in: “The hour was late and the talk was obscene!”

The towering Togruta stood up, one boot on her chair and one boot on the damn table, and you followed suit, singing the old sailor ditty in unison and waving your wine through the air.

“When the raiders streaked down and their bright lasers cut, some twenty-odd holes through her steel-plated gut!”

The noise the two of you made was absurd, and a handful of other cutthroats joined in with their own ragged voices. By the time you were to the second verse the walls of the Sunskate were ringing with your songs. When you’d finished Ballad, another pirate stood and started up a shanty that you didn’t know, and you did a silly little dance that you were finally getting to learn a new song or two.

Most of the ladies had songs of their own, but after several rounds you were so shitfaced on spicewine that you couldn’t remember them if you tried. But what you could do, at least what the wine told you that you could do, was dance! You swung Grogu around in your arms, kicking your feet and prancing around the room with the rest of the swashbucklers. A bug-eyed Rodian whipped out an instrument that resembled an accordion, pumping out an upbeat ditty that had the whole room stomping. Lilah took Grogu in her arms, holding him next to Fae while you danced with Alewyn, the two of you knocking elbows and spinning one way and then the other, laughing like schoolgirls the whole way.

The shanty slowed way down, letting some of the gals catch their breath or get another swig of ale. You took your son and the Togrutan youngling in your arms so that the captain could dance with her wife. With a babe under each arm you swayed over to your partner, who had only been tapping his foot along to the beat. You dipped Grogu to him, then Fae, swaying in time with the music. Mando brushed a gloved palm over his son's wrinkly little head when it came back to him, tilting his helmet softly.

Fae yawned and rubbed her emerald eyes, and Grogu followed suit. You danced over to where a padded bucket seat was, setting the two younglings down so they could rest and you could free your hands. Sauntering back to your tinman, you took his hands in yours and pulled.

“Mando dance with me.”

He stayed firmly in his seat, “I.. I don’t know how.”

“Pff, neither do I, bucket boy. Just.. just get up here!” You yanked again, and this time he allowed you to pull him along. You held his hands and did your own dance, using him like a mannequin to hold one of his hands up in the air and spin underneath it. He barely moved, too nervous to show any softness in such company. The slow dance started to near its completion, and you moved one of Din’s hands to your waist, lacing your fingers between the other and leaning in close to his audio intake. “Hey, remember that ‘courtship ritual’ you tried on me the other day?”

Heat radiated out from the beskar you were pressed against, any hotter and you could cook an egg on it. “Y-yeah…”

A catty smile crept over your face, “Think you can do it again? I’ll say when.” He was still for a moment, then nodded faintly. You waltzed around him slowly in time with the music, doing the dancing for the both of you until the final stanza was being played. Pressing yourself as close to his body as you could so you would only have to whisper, you met his visor with your own gaze. “...now!”

The arm on your waist went tight, and the one holding your hand twirled you around until you were parallel to the floor, earning a slew of cheers and whistles from the schnockered swashbucklers. You’d known the dip was coming, but your face flushed beet red anyway, and you fought the urge to knock his helmet off and kiss him right then and there. He seemed to feel the same longing, his breath catching in his modulator above you and making his chest heave. You could just imagine it, the feel of his plush lips against yours, the heat of his kiss on your face and the softest touch of his tongue making its way past your teeth to find your own.

“Later.” He whispered, slowly spinning you back up to your feet. Blushing, you nodded, only now realizing that the music had stopped before you were standing back upright. Many eyes on you made your face burn until it was nearly melting off your skull, and you sheepishly looked to your hosts. The Togrutas were sitting back down, though Alewyn was using Lilah as a chair and playing with her lekku.

“You two make quite a sight.” The captain purred, crossing her boots on the table. “Maybe you should get a room!” She shouted with a laugh that had the rest of the crew in an uproar. Inside you wanted to shrink away until you didn’t exist anymore, but brashness and vulgarity came more naturally to you than cowardice.

“We would, but somebody totalled my ship! I’m lookin’ at you two tangle-heads.” You glowered at them with a cocky grin. Alewyn’s chiming laugh coupled neatly with Lilah's oaken bass, perfectly in tune together. The pirate princess twirled the end of her wife’s lekku between her fingers and fixed you with a playful glare.

“Yeah yeah sorry ‘bout that. We can give ya a lift’ta Elgon Station since it’s conveniently on the way. We’re makin’ our way to Thrask to drop that’un off.” Alewyn jabbed a thumb back over her shoulder at a short, pinkish frog woman who had been hiding back in the corner. Between her knees sat a large tankard filled with orangish orbs. The dainty woman croaked with surprise at being noticed finally, hugging her container a bit closer. “Can’t get in’ta hyperspace with that jug’o eggs she’s got there. They’ll pop.”

The ovatious reminder of your last hunt wormed a shiver up your spine, but you shook it off to throw your host a nod. “Thanks, Alewyn, ‘preciate it.” Your host hopped up from her lavish throne, slowly letting her wife’s lekku fall from her hand as she sauntered to you. She reached for your hand and pulled you along behind her, asking you to walk with her through the Sunskate's corridors. Eventually you passed through a bulkhead to the flight deck of her ship, the transparisteel showing nothing but stars as far as the eye could see. A radar screen near the navigation panel blinked with a lazy yellow light, showing the location of Elgon Station where only void met your naked eye.

“Hunter, I wanted to talk to you in private.” Her voice was level, and all traces of her raunchy, spacefaring, swashbuckling accent evaporated, and you were once again talking to the Queen-in-Waiting of Shimi. She didn’t meet your eyes, her sapphire globes flitting between the stars ahead while she locked her elbow to yours. “Remember when we met? I was pregnant with Fae, on the run, just… just trying to get back to my Lilah…” Her voice trailed off at the memory. You nodded, but allowed her to continue without interruption. “If it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t be standing here right now. Doing exactly what I want to do with my life. I wasn’t cut out for nobility, no matter how badly daddy wanted me to be his perfect little princess, I just wasn’t. He never did take that well.”

She forced a laugh, patting your forearm with her other hand to compose her thoughts. “First and foremost I wanted to tell you thank you,” She turned to meet your eyes with the jewels that sat in her orbits, their vibrancy shining with more stars than there were out the window. “Since that day we’ve been living on the edge, just like I always dreamed of! Taking out hunter ships, sorry about that, by the way, and rescuing their quarries. That fucking Guild of your’s is indiscriminate. Princesses, pirates, popes for fuck’s sake I’m sure.” Her eyes rolled at her own joke. “Not all of them deserve to be carted off in carbonite. I certainly didn’t.”

She took herself off of your elbow and held both of your hands, asking you to face her directly. “Hunt- Tra’laar,” There was an edge of seriousness to her words now, sharp as a dagger with her noble voice. “If you ever want to stop working for those quacta-kissing skuglords, you give me a call, ok? You’re always welcome back aboard my ship. Could use a good pair of asskickers, and your baby boy too, of course.”

The smile on the lavender lady’s face could melt Hoth with its warmth, and you let her pull you in for another hug. “You’re welcome, Alewyn, and thank you for the offer.” You hummed against the side of her montral where an ear might be, though you couldn’t be sure. “I’ll… I’ll consider it.”

“Fair enough.” She stepped back from you, holding you at arms length so you couldn’t escape her eyes.

“Alewyn, were you on the comms? When you roped our ship?” She nodded. “How… how did you know?”

Her head tilted. “Know what?”

“That… that I was a bilgerat.” You spat the word out like it was poison, but the captain only laughed.

“Half of my crew were bilgies at some point, you get an ear for it after a while. Nobody else uses the word posthaste besides those that were raised as boat-brats.” You rolled your eyes at her, relieved and a little offended that she had clocked you so well. She saw your half-hidden embarrassment and decided to dig a little deeper, a wry smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Is he good to you?”

Her question caught you off guard, making your brows fly high and your cheeks flush. “Y-yeah, he’s good to me. There’s a lot more to him than meets the eye, y’know.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Like… he’s sweet. And caring. And he loves that boy of ours, he’d die for either one of us, nearly has once or twice. Fuck me sideways you’re nosy!”

Her lilting laugh was bright as a fresh spring day, and just as sunny. “Just checking! You wouldn’t believe some of the stories those women have told. Don’t even get me started on that Gungan! She’s deadly, if you catch my drift.” She said with a wink and a laugh, though you weren’t sure if you did. “But seriously, if he treats you wrong you tell me and I’ll gut him like a fish!”

“I can handle myself, Wynnie!”

“I know that! Just looking out for you is all. I’m glad we ran into each other again, and I’m glad to see you doing so well for yourself.”

“Right back atcha, Captain.”

“Come on, we better get back to our spouses before Lilah challenges your Mando to a fight, she’s dastardly! I love her so much, and our daughter Fayfay. Pair’a lucky ladies, ain’t we?” Her spacer accent returned, coarse and arrogant as ever while she jabbed you in the side with her elbow.

“Unquestionably.” She started to walk back towards the door you had come in from, but you stopped her, grabbing her hand. “Wait. I have something for you.” From your pockets you dug out the blinking fob and puck, stuffing them into Alewyn’s purple palms and closing your fingers over her fists. “Not all bounties are warranted.”

Stars shimmered in her noble eyes the same way they had the first time you’d met, glittering softly when she nodded and pocketed the hunter tools in one of her many secret compartments. You’d never know who the puck was meant for, and you didn’t care.

The captain's frock coat swished against the side of your leg as the two of you walked back to where you had left your crews. Contrary to what she had predicted, the crewmates that weren’t passed out on the floor seemed to be engaged in some kind of discussion, circled around Lilah and Mando in the center. You couldn’t see much over the heads of the many miscreants, but you caught the wave of a sheathed vibroblade in the blue palms of the co-captain’s hands. Mando was listening to whatever it was that she was saying intently, leaning forward as not to miss a single word.

When they noticed the approach of their wives, Lilah smacked your tinman and cut the conversation short, but not before she flashed him a wink and a grin. She stood and pocketed the knife, “There they are! We were startin’ta think you’d gotten lost.” She made an exaggerated gesture of yawning and stretching. “Whelp it’s gettin’ late, since you two ain’t goin’ anywhere any time soon, why don’t you two getcher selves comfortable. We got space.”

You grabbed the plates of cold food from the table and made to follow her when you remembered your foundling. He was still curled up in the padded seat with the Togrutan youngling, though even in her sleep Fae was trying to nibble his ears. You rescued his ear from her relentless biting, but he looked so comfortable that you were reluctant to move him. Alewyn stood beside you and brushed her hand over her daughter’s montral buds, “Let them sleep, they’re safe here.”

Mando loomed over you, and you could feel the reluctance coming off of him without him uttering a single word. You turned and flashed him a look, somewhere between a glare and a plea. “Let’s go eat dinner, then we can come back for him, sound good?” His slight nod was almost nonexistent, but it was good enough for you, and you followed your host to one of the many extra quarters that the Sunskate boasted.

You waved a thank you to the departing co-captain, ignoring the lecherous wink that she gave you before walking into the modest suite. The room was small, though not cramped, and it even had a little porthole for you to look out of, fancy! Instead of beds there was a broad hammock hanging in the corner, heaped with blankets and quilts; an unusual choice in space but welcome nonetheless. The Togrutans made sure that any of their ‘rescues’ would be comfortable, though you were curious as to how both of you would get in the hammock. But first, dinner.

A small table and singular chair wouldn’t be enough for the two of you, so you plopped down on the floor and beckoned your partner to you. He glanced around the room, suspicious as always, then closed the door and carefully dropped to the floor behind you. You dug in, shoveling much-needed sustenance into your gob, but your partner remained still. You turned to him with a mouthful of food, “You gonna eat?”

“There might be cameras, or people watching. I can’t-”

“Fuckin’ bucket, hang on.” With a groan you set your plate back on the floor and wobbled over on your knees to the hammock, tugging one of the blankets off of it and accidentally pulling down the entire stack. Picking what you guessed was the biggest you fluffed it in the air and draped it over his head, giggling as you snuck underneath your blanket fort with him. “How’zat?”

Hissing latches answered you, and the offending beskar fell away to reveal the handsome man that had remained hidden from you for so long. “Thank you, cyar’ika.” Dinner was obliterated in a matter of minutes, but once you’d both finished you stayed under the covers with him, just to enjoy seeing his face in the low light. Scooting around to his front, you brushed the side of your face against his, feeling the stubble on your skin. He hummed and nuzzled against you, bringing his hands up to cup your jaw and slide you over for a much-awaited kiss.

He tasted like dinner, but the scent of him was strong, and the combination of flavors and smells made you giggle a bit. Din’s lips were soft against yours, gentle and tender and a little ticklish from his facial hair. Arms wrapped around you and hauled you up into his lap, making you gasp faintly into his unbroken kiss. Seated on his lap side saddle, you kissed him with vigor, only now aware of the twinge of jealousy you had felt at the two lekku-laden-ladies getting to kiss each other whenever they wished. Speaking of…

“So, what were you and Lilah talkin’ bout?” you asked directly into his mouth. A sharp little inhale hinted that maybe you’d caught wind of something secret.

“She was just giving me some… uh… suggestions.” Even in the dark of the pillow fort you could see heat rising to his face. Like a knife you dug in deeper.

“Ohoho? What kind of suggestions?”

A boyish smile tugged on the edges of his lips, and his eyes went a little darker. “Why don’t you let me show you instead?” Warm lips were pressed to yours again, longer and deeper with every kiss. You were only marginally aware of the change in your position, slowly being lowered onto your back while his tongue pushed its way to yours; licking into your mouth. Soon you were laying down fully with him over top of you, caging you in with his metal plated arms. You felt him shuffle, then an ungloved hand snaked its way to your shirt, tugging it up over your head and taking your mask with it.

A strong hand kneaded at the pillowy flesh of your breast, letting the weight of it fill his palm. Warm fingertips pinched at your nipple, rolling the sensitive bud gently til it pebbled between his callouses. The sensation pooled heat in your belly and tightened in your guts, but this wasn’t anything new. Appreciated, for sure, all of his touches were, though you couldn’t help but wonder if this was what was suggested. His kisses continued in tandem with his fingers, building with intensity until his teeth were biting at your lower lip and tongue, catching the sensitive skin in his sharp bite.

Hot breath fanned against your neck as he tilted his head to chase along the edge of your jaw, letting the bone’s curve lead him to the soft spot under your ear. He wrapped his lips around your earlobe, and the nick of sharp teeth coupling with the steam in your ear made your eyes flutter and roll. You tried to kiss at his neck, wanting to repay the favor, but the teeth on your ear snarled and sank into the meat of your pulse point, making you cry out against him. Biting turned to sucking, his fervent kisses pulling the tender skin up and leaving blooming welts to mark you as his.

His hand left your breast and disappeared from your body, but you were too busy worrying about having your throat ripped out by the man who had you pinned. Of course he wouldn’t hurt you, but the flight instinct was still there, making your heart try to pound out of its cage when those sharp canines bore down on your larynx. Without taking his vicious teeth from your neck, he started digging at your belt, and you let your body relax since you knew what was next.

The hand came back up, forcing a needy groan out of your captured throat from his teasing, but your eyes snapped wide when you felt cold metal on your skin. Din released your throat and met your eyes with his half-hooded honeywells, bearing his teeth to you in a wolfish grin. “Cyare…” he purred with a lust laden drawl. “Tell me to stop, and I’ll stop, but I want to… try something.” You weren’t looking at him though, you were looking at the blade that he had drawn, the edge of it pressing into the side of your neck.

“Um… ok… I trust you.” Eyes wide with fear and stuck fast to the knife you watched him move it down your chest over your sternum. “Do not cut my clothes off.” You scolded, and he hummed a deep, dark laugh. The blade coasted over your belly, your belt line, and then sat right at the top of your mound, sending adrenaline burning through your veins. What the hell?

Leaning back from you, Din rocked up to his haunches and traced the sharp edge of the vibro over where your slit pushed against the duraweave, and you furrowed your brows at him trying to decipher just what the fuck he was up to. Please don’t stab me in the snatch. From your belt he tugged the empty leather sheath off and slipped it over the knife, then holding it by the blade end he flipped on the thrummer, making the vibroblade come alive in his hand.

“Are you ready, cyar’ika?”

Shrugging, “Yes? I still don’t- ooo-ooo-ooh-hhhh~!” Your entire body tensed up when he pressed the vibrating hilt to your crotch, using his whole body to keep your knees from snapping together. The muscles in your abdomen convulsed, forcing your hips to cant upwards with each shaky spasm. “F-f-f-fuuck! Th-th-hat’s n-n-ne-ew-ew-w!” You stuttered through clenched teeth like you’d been shot with a pulse rifle, but this was a thousand times more pleasurable. Even through the thick fabric of your pants the strength of the vibrations felt raw, untethered. Hands dug like claws into the blanket’s edge, knees squeezing at armored shoulders, eyes screwed shut. The intensity was overwhelming, and your bootheels scootched out from under you when you tried to find your footing, squirming on the floor like an electrified worm.

The knife was pulled away from you and its vibrator silenced, and you were instantly torn between happy to catch a break and desperate for its return. With blurred vision you squinted at him in the low light, panting and shaking. He had used no effort whatsoever to coax you so close to climax, and the pride of it was obvious across his face.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Bared teeth and a snarl was all you could muster, and you stabbed your thumbs down to your belt, trying to pull your remaining clothes off. Din grabbed you by the hem and yanked, nearly ripping your pants off to expose you to him. The salacious humming started again, and you stuck your tongue out between your teeth in a wry grin that was obliterated in seconds when the pommel found your clit. High pitched cries broke their way out of your throat as the Mandalorian softly rubbed his fun new toy around the pearl of nerves that quickly spun you to a frenzy. Every muscle in your body went tighter than a guitar string, making your back arch and quiver until Din was pushing a palm to your sternum, holding you down against the floor. Aside from keeping you in place he exerted barely any effort, meanwhile you were being flung into hyperspace, trying not to lose your mind.

Molten lava burned in your veins and your tightened muscles, an eruption building quicker than you knew how to stop, and the fire of it nearly burned you alive when it combusted. Knees jerked and claws scratched when you came, and through the feverhaze of it you were almost aware of your scream. You squirmed in his grasp, the singing dagger playing its song with your own vocal cords, unable to stop coming. Hot slick coated your thighs, drenched them, flooded them, fuck! Blinded by your ecstasy you wailed, crying and straining, begging him to stop. Only when the knife left your swollen, engorged clit did you notice the tears in your eyes, pooling in their corners and streaking down your cheeks.

You threaded your hands through your own hair, trying to force yourself back down out of hyperspace. A question was posed to you that you didn’t hear, one that was repeated a second time. “Are you ok?”

“Fuuuuuuuck...” Was all you could come up with. You felt him shuffle between your legs, and you jerked when his hands found your drenched cunt. Warm, villainous laughter oozed against your ears.

“That’s a good girl, coming so hard for me. Did you like that?” Breathless, you nodded. “Hmmm… I wonder if you can do that again.” His fingers slid up your sopping wet pussy, soon joined by the vorpal blade and making you choke on the air in your throat. Long, calloused fingers pumped in and out of you, digging at the sweet spot he had so expertly learned to find, working in tandem with the vibro that was spinning you right back up faster than you could think. “Come on, come on my hands, ner riddur, give me all you- oh!” You sucked air between your teeth in a silent scream and bore down on his fingers with bone-breaking strength to squirt a hot splash of cum all over his hand and wrist. “Holy shit.”

“Th-that’s not u-usually what… what someone w-wants… t-to hear after th-they come…” You let your legs drop to the sides, letting you get a glance at the man between your legs. He looked mystified, staring at his hand and wrist and vambrace with some kind of mix between arousal and reverence. He licked a broad stripe up his wrist and palm, taking each of his fingers in his mouth one at a time to lick them clean. You sneered at him, “Dirty boy.”

He pulled the last of his soaked fingers out of his mouth with a pop!, glaring at you with hooded eyes that swirled with desire. “Dirty? I’ll give you dirty, cyar’ika. Flip over.”

“Make me.”

Din growled and wrapped his arms around your boneless form, flipping you effortlessly on to your knees. He stuffed his own legs under your hips, keeping you up off the floor that you so desperately wanted to melt back down onto. He freed himself in short order, giving himself a couple of warm up tugs before he was thrusting his length into you; but rather than fuck you stupid he just let himself fill your folds as if he was warming his cock.

You were about to give him hell when you heard the -wrrrrrrrrr- of the vibro again, and suddenly you didn��t need him to move for you to be pleasured. The wet, slick pommel tapped against your clit, and every muscle in your gut snapped tight, curling you nearly into a ball. Behind you you could hear him hiss through clenched teeth, and the little spasms from his thighs told you that he was enjoying the toy as well. Again you were sling-shot to your climax faster than you could process it happening, making you clamp down on his thick, girthy length and forcing a choked moan from the Mandalorian that was lost so deep inside you.

He fell forward against the curve of your back, trying to roll up in a ball as well, but you were conveniently in the way. The cold of his beskar stung against the arch of your spine, but the heat coming off of you warmed it right up. Hot breath puffed against the back of your neck, followed by the nick of sharp teeth and the drag of a flattened tongue. He slid a hand up between your breasts to your collarbone and he fell backwards to his haunches again, making you straddle his legs with him still buried in your heat. You were squished as tightly to his chest as he could get you, and the knife’s blunt end was pressed again to where you were joined together.

Little thrusts were all he could manage in the throws of the vibrators strength, as if you could do any better, squirming and thrashing on the spear that split you while the vibro tore another climax from you. If your eyes had been open you would have gotten to see yourself come, the glistening splash flying out from where the hilt met your swollen bud and coursing hot down Din’s shaft and balls til it was dripping onto the floor. You mewled against the side of his scruffy jaw, feeling the tears spring to your eyes from the overstimulation; but thankfully it didn’t last too much longer. He gasped and growled in your ear, pressing the vibro against the marriage of your slick lips and his throbbing cock, and a handful of short, desperate thrusts were all he needed to drop over the edge of ecstasy with you; adding his own cum to the growing pool between your knees.

The vibro was dropped, rattling on the floor until you bent down and grabbed it, flipping the switch and silencing its song. Ragged panting filled the tiny space of the blanket fort, yours high and shaky, his deep and growling like a wild animal. You reached back and found him, tangling your fingers through his soft curls, digging into them so his face was pressed against yours. Bristles tickled your skin with each breath, followed by sloppy, needy kisses. His lip dragged against your skin, whispering praises in your ear and sneakily trying to eat you alive. Teeth nipped at your cheek, then down your jaw, finding the spot that he had started with and sinking them into your tender flesh a second time. A third. Fourth.

“Din p-please!” You begged, your voice going higher and whinier than you had intended, but he ignored you, lost in the wellspring of desire that he called his wife. He licked a broad stripe up from the crook of your shoulder to the bottom of your ear.

“I like it when you beg.” He bit down and sucked, turning your throat into a red and purple patchwork of his territorial markings. “You sound so pretty. So needy.” His cock throbbed between your legs, refusing to soften just yet, forcing another hot gush of your mixed cum to flood down your thighs. A broad hand snaked its way to your tormented throat, squeezing ever so gently but still making you gasp. “I want you to beg every time I breed you.” His armored embrace constricted around your ribs and throat, making you choke on the air you so desperately needed. He forced his cock in just a little deeper before pulling his length out, making the head of it bob against your engorged cunt and sending shivers through every inch of your body.

You were gently lowered from his arms, flopping on the floor like a glob of useless jelly. The Mandalorian laid down on top of you, slowly returning to his loving, doting self. He kissed at the welts he had put on your neck, each one a delicious combination of pain and pleasure. Dark, lust-soaked eyes became soft and doelike again, watching your heaving form with adoration under lifted brows. He kissed your lips tenderly, plush and promising, gentle as a rose petal and just as sweet.

“Are you alright? I’m sorry if that was a little rough…”

You shook your head, feeling your brains slosh around in your skull, drowning in dopamine. “What? That wasn’t rough, I’ve seen you rough, but that was… different.” A little pouty face told you that might not have been the best word to pick, so you tried again. “That was amazing, but maybe we should invest in an actual toy instead of using the same tools we use for work.” That got you an excited nod and a dazzling smile. Realization dawned on you, “Is that what Lilah suggested?!” His magnificent smile went sheepish under bright red cheeks, and a slow nod made the curls on his head bounce. “We should hang out with them more often...”

The Mandalorian laughed, kissed you deeply once more, and pulled his helmet back on, allowing the two of you to get back out from under the blanket fort. You readjusted your clothes and armor, making yourself presentable, then strode over to the door to go find your foundling. The bulkhead door lugged open, and you swore you saw something, or someone, dashing down the hallway. Was someone eavesdropping!?

You didn’t see anyone until you got to the rec-room where you had left your child. Grogu and Fae were still curled up in the padded seat, but the seat itself had been scootched closer to where the Torgrutas had fallen asleep in their chair. You stepped over the handful of pirates that had passed out on the floor until you could get to your foundling. He gibbered at you, and you tucked him under your arm, jumping slightly when you caught the glint of green eyes.

Lilah watched you drowsily, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, and the ice froze in your veins at how well she had read you. She winked and hugged her Alewyn closer, burying her face in the other woman's lekku and letting you escape ungoaded.

The ship was quiet all the way back to your room, and you tucked back into the little suite with your foundling in hand. He had woken up during the walk and chirruped at you sleepily, cooing softly when he saw his papa as well. “Fucksake...You know what I need? A shower! You want a rinse, Grogu?” He chittered at the sound of his goofyass name, and you held him up to your nose, tickling him your sniffs. “Hm… Nope, you’re good. Stay here and keep papa company, won't cha?” Grogu chirped with what you decided was a ‘yes, buir’, and you set him down in the hammock. “What about you, tinman? Shower?”

Din was seated in the little chair, cleaning the stains from his armor, stains you had made. “No thank you, I’d like to keep my armor on while we’re here.” You shrugged, since you were used to his strange rituals by now, and strode into the fresher room to find something you hadn’t seen in a long fucking time.

A mirror.

In the fresher stood a formidable figure, though definitely one that needed a fresh change of clothes. There were no mirrors on the Crest due to some kind of mando mumbo jumbo, though you guessed if you spent all your life in the same outfit you really wouldn’t need to know what it looked like every day. You leaned on the modest sink to inspect the bags under your eyes and pick at something on the side of your nose, the tilt of your armored crown catching the light and drawing your eyes. The beskar slid around its pivots until it covered your face, and you stared at the warrior before you.

Maker above, is that what I look like? No wonder that merchant had fled from you so quickly, the sight of your armored visage was terrifying, just as ferocious as the bonafide Mandalorian you traveled with. You tilted your head and jutted your chin, trying to intimidate your own reflection as if that was difficult. The foggy vanity lights streaked like quicksilver over the beskar and the black gloss of your visor, catching faintly on the embossed mudhorn on your brow. You reached a hand up to brush over the raised emblem, feeling it with your fingers and watching how the light moved over its curves.

You were just reaching the tip of the animal’s horn when your doppelganger was joined by another armored hunter. Standing behind the woman in the mirror was a large, broad shouldered Mandalorian, his own visor rising a whole head above hers. He towered above her, tilting his helmet slightly while he rested his palms on her waist. The yellow tipped gloves coasted down her sides to her hips and pulled her backwards, and you could no longer ignore that the show you were watching was your own reality.

“Hello, mesh’la.” Din pressed his chestplate to your back and wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly to his armored chest. Though he had gotten his armor cleaned he still smelled like sex, sweat and sweetness; the mix of your bodies pooling together like your arousals had pooled on the floor. He tucked the edge of his helmet against the side of your neck, and you turned enough to chime your beskar softly against his. The ironsong rang clear and true over a rumbling hum.

“Hiya bucket boy.” You set one of your palms on where his were overlapped on your middle, bringing the other one up to hold the indent of his cheek. He leaned his weight on your back, rocking with you slightly.

“How did you come up with that name, Grogu?”

“I’m… I’m not really sure.” That wasn’t a lie, though it felt like it was. “I’m sorry, I know It’s terrible, we can change-”

“No, it’s perfect. Did you see his face when you said it?” You nodded softly, thankful for the beskar that covered your shyness. “He likes it, that’s what matters.” His gloved hands brushed over the fabric of your tunic, wrapping one around your waist and crossing the other between your breasts like a seatbelt. “You make a very good buir. I’m proud to call you my mate.”

Your face stung against the cold of your faceplate, flushing with heat at his term of endearment. “Aww you like me.” You whispered with just a touch of sass, blushing at his adoration. The hand on your middle slid lovingly over your tummy before moving up your chest with more direction. In the mirror you watched your reflection as she was attended to by the man behind her. His gloved hands came up to her mask and lifted it gently away, setting it down on the counter. It was hard to break your own eye contact, but those yellow tips of his gloves were so much more fun to watch.

Din brushed the back of his hand down your cheek, setting his fingertips on the bottom of your chin before dragging them down the expanse of your bruised neck. For a moment you thought he was aiming for your breasts, but instead his palms came to rest on your shoulders. His own armor plated shoulders stuck wide out past yours nearly by the entire width of his arms, dwarfing you with their size. You were just about to ask him what he was up to when you felt his thumbs dig into the meat of your back, making you groan whorishly at the sensation.

“Does that feel good?” You could barely nod, letting the circles his thumbs were making do the work for you. The feeling of him working the knots out of your shoulders hurt so good, and you let your eyes close while he massaged your back. His wide hands captured the muscles in your back with ease, diligently kneading the residual tension away. He pushed the pads of his thumbs closer to your spine, and you heard the crack-crack-crack of your vertebrae popping with each honed squeeze.

You had to lean on the counter for support, though your Mandalorian wouldn’t let you fall no matter what. Din’s hands followed the path of your spine, rolling strong circles into the aching muscles and putting extra pressure on each rib joint to get them to pop. His fingers hugged the bottom of your rib cage once he’d made it that far down, keeping you in place as he slid his circles down to the top of your pelvis. The pressure on your sacrum had you arching your back into his hands, more or less accidentally pressing your ass into his groin. He pushed back, but maybe more to keep you steady then to be suggestive.

Deft hands glided back up your spine, and you flickered your eyes back open to see the pair of you in the mirror. Heat returned to your gut at the sight of the massive mountain of metal standing behind your bent figure, pressing his hips tightly to yours. You bit your lip and smiled at him in the mirror, watching the way his visor cocked at the look you were giving him. “You seem to be very good at picking up new tricks, tinman.”

He shrugged, “I just want to take care of you.” What an understatement that was. You and the foundling were his everything, there wasn’t a single thing in the entire universe that mattered more than the two of you. You were his wife, his riddur, the living culmination of all his dreams and desires strutting around like you owned the place; and he was honored to be asked to stand in your presence. “Can I get you anything?”

“Hm…” Poking your head into the shower you inspected the soap that was provided, giving it a tentative sniff. It smelled like a girl, flowery and pretty and not at all what you were expecting from a literal pirate ship. It wasn’t for you. “Don’t happen to have any of our soap on you, do ya?” He shook his helmeted head, and you batted your lashes at him with a pleading pout. “Pwease would you get me some of our soap? Please… oh please?” You begged him sarcastically, reveling in the way his shoulder puffed up while you exploited his kink. His cape billowed behind him he spun around so fast, dashing out of the fresher and the room without another word. Laughing, you turned on the shower, letting it heat up a bit before you got in.

The curving hallways of the Sunskate were quiet and dark, save for the few gravediggers that ambled through the corridors, sipping at their piping hot caff. Soon the hangar doors parted, and he felt a wave of sadness at the sight of his ship. The old dropper had been through so much, but at least she was still kicking. As he got closer he noticed a few tools scattered around the area and a fresh, silvery patch job that had been added to the side of her hull. Somebody has been busy. He ghosted a hand along a welding scar, it wasn’t enough to get her starborne, but it would keep her from dissolving into a heap of scrap metal when you reached the station.

He would have to find out more later, for now he was on a mission: soap! Climbing up the half-hanging ramp he strode to the ladder, hauling himself up to where all of your utilities were stashed. You had packed like you were on the run, shoveling shit in wherever it would fit, and Din was cursing to himself at the mess he was sifting through. While he was at it he grabbed you some fresh clothes, filling up a little satchel with goodies for his lovely, can’t-pack-worth-a-shit wifey-poo.

The smell of fresher soap caught his nose, and he dug down into a deep crate, looking for his objective. He pulled a rifle out, a bundle of towels, an electric kettle, the smell growing stronger the deeper he got. A severed tusk was tossed aside, then a full thermos.

-sloshCLAck!-

Din stopped his search at the noise, clack? He picked up the impromptu quarry capture device and shook it carefully. -slosh-clack-slosh-clack-

That was very much not the noise it had made when he had filled it, distinctly remembering the sound of a metallic plonk instead. Heebie-jeebies prickled under his many layers, and morbid curiosity drove him to place his hand on the lid. No! What if it’s alive? He set the canister down and fished a knife from his belt, holding it in his pinkie while he unscrewed the lid. Heart in his throat and breath held firm he opened the jar, pointing the end of his blade at the syrupy goop that sloshed around, ready to stab anything to death should it try to jump him.

Nothing moved.

He swirled the container, watching the holographic slime shimmer on top of the large purple pod that had sunk to the bottom, and he heard the metallic noise again. Running out of air, he carefully poked his blade into the pool of nectar, nudging the seedpod out of the way to reveal something sitting underneath. Using the vibro’s tip he scraped the curio up out of the goop, slamming the lid back on the jar the moment he had whatever it was in his hand.

The deep breath he took filled his lungs with the residual essence of the hydra’s perfume, sending fresh blood to his spent cock. Focus, Djarin. Glistening in his palm was the tiniest microchip, about the size of a grape and roughly the same shape. On one side it had a set of tiny legs with little grips on their tips, designed so that it would stay in place wherever it was at. Had this been what the bounty was for? Maybe it wasn’t the pods at all, maybe it was this thing. Though what was it doing all the way down at the bottom of a cave?

He bumped it with the tip of his knife, getting it to stand on its feet and making the rainbow sludge slowly reveal the item in its entirety; and suddenly he had more questions than answers.

Blood turned to ice in his veins, freezing him solid. There, in the light coming off of his helmet, proudly stamped on the top of the device, was an emblem. It was a circle with a gear in the center, sort of shaped like a snowflake with a second gear hollowed out in the middle. It wasn’t popular any more, but Din had seen it many times in his life, most recently when Moff Gideon tried, and failed, to take his son away from him.

But the first time he had seen it had been burned into his memory for decades. Emblazoned on the sides of gunships and walking tanks that rained decimation on to his adopted homeworld, purging all life from Mandalore and turning the wartorn planet’s surface into a sea of glass.

It was the mark of the ones who had tried to hurt the child.

It was the mark of the ones who had decimated his clan.

It was the mark of the people who would destroy entire planets just to assert their dominion over the citizens they subjugated.

It was the mark of the Empire.

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#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #bargaining with beskar

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daddy-chiluc · 3 years ago

Text

Sing You To Sleep | Chiluc Week Day 2

College AU/Only one bed/preforming arts

Chiluc Fluff | M/M

TW: Explicit Language

★━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━★

“This is absolutely not happening.” He whispered under his breath, nails biting into his palms as he marveled at the vast room before him. The view of the city was beautiful, the balcony promising endless nights of twinkling lights and gorgeous starry skies. A full sized bed in the centre of the room lured him forwards, gently laying down his violin case to succumb to the soft sheets of the bed.

He took in a deep breath, relaxing as the faintest of smiles shyly touched his lips. The warmth of the linens was enough to almost lull him to sleep. To his dismay, a knock rang through the small room just as his eyes began to close. Hesitantly, he sat up, walking to the door to find his professor and a classmate behind him. Childe.

“Mister Ragnvindr,” he nodded, turning to present the out of breath ginger than gave a cheeky grin, monster and guitar case in hand, “Due to the sudden addition to the performances this week and lack of available rooms, Ajax here will be sharing this room with you for the remainder of this week.” And there goes his brief moment of relaxation. Gone within seconds.

Of course he’d be the one to pair with him. There had been an odd amount of people who had signed up for the trip to the Mondstadt Theatre, well known judges and critics there to give them feedback and training before their big show by the end of the week. He just so happened to get the short end of the stick and be the only person with their own room. It was nice for the five minutes it lasted.

It was rather rude the way Professor Zhongli had pushed him into the hotel room — his eyebrows stuck in a permanent state of irritation with each twitch as he tried to keep a friendly smile. Childe had stumbled in, eyes wide and glued to the guitar case, stickers and writing covering the case. They looked like…children drawings? Perplexed, Diluc saw it fit to ignore the matter for now.

“Hey…uhm,” a subtle hint of pink dusted along the other’s cheeks, stretching to his ears, “You’re that violin player right? With the solo this week?”

“Yeah, what about it?” His voice was heavy and almost intimidating…if it wasn’t for his beauty.

“I just thought…well, I…you’re just really cool.” He stuttered, his voice soft as he scratched at his bird’s nest of hair. It was rather endearing the way he was so…so shy around him. Typically he’d see him causing some form of ruckus at the college, in the middle of class. Always having crazy ideas to try different notes here and there, different instruments in one piece and another singer in this piece. Yet, when it came to Diluc’s performances and practices, he’d be silent. Dead silent, eyes wide in a childish wonder and fascination that always confused Diluc. It confused him to a point he’d try to ignore it but no matter how hard he tried, he’d always be there, eyes sparkling in amazement in the corner of his eye.

“Thank you.” It was blunt, quick and straight to the point. He wasn’t in the mood to dwell on such pitiful small talk. It annoyed him, wasted his time…not that he had anything to do to begin with. To be honest, for some reason, the other had annoyed him. Annoyed him so much so he found himself rolling his eyes subconsciously.

“…There’s only one bed.” Horrified, Diluc’s head turned to look at the full sized bed that once promised peaceful nights, now mock him. It mocked him as the faint sounds of car horns blared in the background, drowned out by his anxiety that prickled and pinched at his skin, “I can sleep on the floor.” His kindness was a harsh stab to his gut. Of course he had to be this nice to him after he berates him in the deepest corners of his mind.

“It’ll be alright, we’ll just put a pillow in between us.” Him and his stupid puppy dog eyes guilt tripping him and making him feel bad. Fuck him for being cute. Diluc’s cheeks flushed a deep red at the sudden thought. Surely not. No. Absolutely not. There was no way he found Childe cute.

He found Childe cute.

Earlier that afternoon he had bought them food, insisting on buying the most expensive food he could find, and coming back with enough food to hold them over until dinner. He’d gone off to explore, giving Diluc the option to go with…and when he returned, he came in with bags in multiple sizes, an elated grin plastered on his face.

“This is for you!” He handed him a bag and inside it was a numerous amount of keychains — animals all in the color red and a little rose keychain inside, “I didn’t know what to get you.” There were a lot of red items, a dog, cat, pheonix, a slime, you name it, it was probably buried in the vast amounts of knick knack items. He remembered trying to give them back, desperately trying to get him to take them back…yet he insisted he keep them. So he had, attaching the phoenix keychain to his violin case.

When night came he was more than anxious. His heart would thump in his chest, his mind busy with far too many what ifs and possibilities for sleep to come easy. Surely he knew he detested him. Why else would he go off and spend his money on such intricacies? It didn’t make any sense. He was sure he disliked him. Of course, his…assumption was quickly disproven.

With fiery cheeks and wide scarlet eyes, he caught glimpse of Ajax — black sweats with droplets of water streaming against every dip and crevice of his upper body. He could hear a faint wince, the sound muffled by the towel he used to dry his hair. The pull and twitch of every muscle didn’t aid Diluc in stilling his heart and gathering his breath.

“Sorry about that,” he laughed, his voice light and airy as he headed to his shirt, discarded and almost forgotten on the floor, “Dropped it on my way over,” Slipping it on, it was rather baggy, the sleeves coming down to his elbows as he yawned.

“Right, I’ll…” he paused, cerulean blue eyes gazing down at him, “I’m gonna go down to the lobby to see if they sell tea…you can head to bed if you’d like.” He smiled softly, his kindhearted demeanor — far calmer than his normal chaotic self — was rather off putting. It made Diluc’s spine shiver with anxiety and his skin rise with goosebumps. He watched as he headed out the door and for a brief moment, he wasn’t sure what to do with his freedom.

Deciding to wear a faded, gray sweater and black shorts, he turned off most of the lights, leaving on the desk light for when Ajax had returned. Undoing his hair tie, he crawled beneath the sheets, letting his weight sink into the soft mattress. He wasn’t sure how long he was alone in the hotel room, but he heard the soft click of the door opening, the lights twinkling and distant sound of cars driving below not doing much to overpower the quiet noise to ease his worry.

He could hear every step he took — they were hesitant and quiet, almost scared to move in fear of waking him up. Truthfully, Ajax had never been more terrified. Part of him wanted to check and make sure he was asleep, but he knew if he had, he wouldn’t be able to look away. Diluc Ragnvindr was beautiful. Far beautiful than anyone he’s ever laid eyes on…so to even be allowed to sleep beside him doesn’t feel right. He doesn’t feel like he should. So his best bet?

His acoustic guitar. It would be loud, without a doubt, but he’d play it out on the balcony and keep the door shut. It wouldn’t do much but it would be enough. So, undoing the clasps of his case, his fingers running over the pictures Teucer, Anthon and Tonia drew for him, he gently picked up his acoustic from it’s case as he slipped outside.

Sitting outside, he let himself be soothed by the gentle breeze, the pads of his fingers coming to rest flat against the strings before he strummed, checking each string to tune them before mindlessly playing. It didn’t take much, it was almost second nature. He could stare off and simply play, his calloused hands having a mind of their own.

There were numerous questions that poked and prodded at Diluc’s mind, all of which he chose to ignore in favor of listening to him play. The sound was beautiful, he couldn’t help but get swept up within its current, letting it drag him into a sense of security he hadn’t felt in quiet sometime. Minus how rambunctious Ajax could be at times…he was rather relaxed.

Choosing to set that aside for now, he could smell the aroma of the tea, chamomile, as it’s scent filled the rather small space. Leaving the comforting, warm embrace of the bedsheets, he covered his hands in the sweater as he carried the scalding hot cup of tea out to him. The slide of the door was enough to grab his attention and he swore he could feel his heart almost jump out of his throat.

He was stunning. Too cute for him to handle in all honesty. His hair a fountain of red as his locks began to shine under the city lights. Part of him desperately wanted to run his fingers through his hair, braid it, brush even if he was just cradling his head, he’d be satisfied.

“Your tea will get cold.” His voice was quiet. Very quiet. Almost out of the ordinary. Perhaps it was because of how tired he was.

“I didn’t wake you did I?”

“No, it takes me awhile to sleep. You didn’t wake me up.” His kindness felt out of place. Sudden. Ajax wasn’t sure what to make of it, he was so used to Diluc giving him the cold shoulder, it was different having him treat him like this.

“Let me sing for you?” It was abrupt as he gulped, his jaw clenched as he searched those scarlet eyes. From where he sat he couldn’t see a single sign of hatred or resentment.

“Sing for me?” Ajax nodded, as he gently set the guitar against the wall.

“I could help you sleep tonight. Only if you’re okay with that though.” Diluc knew why he accepted his offer, he just wasn’t ready to accept it yet. Ajax wasn’t a bad person…he was just…Ajax. There wasn’t much else he could say. Maybe he just needed to hang around with him for a little while longer and get to know him better. This seemed like a nice start though. For now.

Crawling back into the warm linens of the sheet, his hair pooled around him as the soft pillows sunk under his head. The taller male slid in beside him, practically melting into the warmth of the bed as the comforter covered them both.

“Any requests?” He smiled, the small pull in his lips reminding Diluc that yes, he was in fact sharing a rather small bed with Ajax.

“I don’t care, so long as they aren’t children lullabies,” he grumbled, fingers twisting in the bed sheets as his eyes fluttered shut from time to time. Turning on his side more, Childe studied him, thinking briefly before lying on his back. It was just to help him sleep, he wouldn’t get onto him about form would he? All well, guess he’ll found out in the morning.

“Fly me to the moon sound good to you?” He whispered as he turned his head. His breath catching in his throat. He was relaxed, his cheek resting against his palm as he hummed. The faint blue lights seemed to make his skin glow even more.

“Yeah…,” he whispered as his shoulders sank forward. So that’s what he did, he sang for him. His face burning bright enough to light up the room as tiny snores soon filled the room. He didn’t mean for his eyelids to get so heavy. For him to fall asleep next to him, the promise of a pillow to separate them quickly forgotten as they bathed in each other’s warmth.

“In other words…,” he mumbled as his heavy arm came down to wrap around his waist, “In…other words….”, he voice became a hushed whisper, eyes falling shut as the end of the song rang in his head.

I love you.

Waking in a panic to find himself cuddled beneath Ajax, he shoved him off the bed, a loud thud ringing through the room.

“Ow! Fucking shit—!” Curses and a mix of Russian spewed from his mouth as he held his head.

“I’m so sorry, are you okay?” Diluc’s panic didn’t ease as he groaned, laying flat against the floor.

“Just…just give me a moment,” he sighed, laying flat against the floor.

“C’mon and sit on the bed, I’ll go get ice for your head.”

★━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━★

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bosmermage · 3 years ago

Text

Whumptober Day 13

That’s Gonna Leave A Mark

(”This is gonna suck.” / Burns)

Characters: Legend, Dawn

TW: MCD, Burning, heed the tags

Part 1 here

Pinned against a sheer cliff face, the fight didn't take long. Even with the bombos medallion a second wave of soldiers had caught up to his weak escape attempt quickly. He was dragged, weak and stumbling back to a camp to be bound. Grumpy with fatigue and thrilling with fear he gave a good fight but he could barely keep his eyes open against the magic drain. They spared no thought when they informed him of the fact he was being led to the executioners block, as though it were something natural that he should have no ill feelings about.

“Get those rings off him,” Legend kicked at the guard that approached him, sending him sprawling. He was pulled prone by someone behind him.

“GET OFF ME” He screeched, thrashing wildly away from the guards.

“Look, it's nothing personal kid, Queen's orders and all that.”

“Look, jackass, it is something personal, you're the one choosing to go along with this madness.” Legend bit back, he could tell his own fury was biting through Hyrule's face and he couldn't bring himself to care.

“Whoa calm down there-”

“You try getting hunted down like a deer and see how calm you are,” Legend bared his teeth, and the guard backed down stiffly. “You're here drag me to my death and you would really deny me the simple dignity of my best clothing? Pigs the lot of you.”

Legend's bluff worked because no one else bothered him about his rings again.

“Rest's over, we're making the castle by sundown.” there was no arguing with the captain. He was redeposited on his feet and prodded forward like a plow ox. The last spike of adrenaline faded and he began to flag, and eventually he succumbed to the exhaustion.

When he woke, it was dark, or at least, the room he was in was. His hands were still bound, numb from the lack of circulation, swelling against the rings that were blessedly intact. He had a horrible fever from the magic drain that left him in prickling discomfort, but he was layed out in a soft bed, at least his back didn't hurt. A girl who had been sitting with her head slumped over a desk looked over and then away from him as if she couldn't bear to meet his eyes, the bags were dark under her eyes as if she had stayed up a whole night watching over him, but she wasn't a guard or a soldier, too soft, too well dressed. He held his tongue, not wanting his ruse to end by an imperfect impression cursing whoever it was who would care enough to watch over Hyrule and yet not enough to try to save him from his death.

“Good morning Link,” Her voice was hoarse as if she had been crying. Good, Legend hoped it had given her a migraine to boot. He turned his head away, unable to look at her without wretched hatred welling up in his chest and spilling across his face.

“I'm so sorry, Link, my hands are tied on this. Here” She whispered, pressing a bottle up to his lips with her very free, unbound, hands. A strong scent of alcohol spirits washed over him like a wave and he drank deeply. The kindness of incoherence sounded nice right about now. She attended him patiently as he drank the whole thing and a pleasant warmth overtook him as the world began to spin.

“thnks,” he slurred, head lolling against her floral scented shoulder as she helped him to his feet. He scoffed and rolled his eyes at the little tears that began pouring down her face and she turned to hide them.

He was carted out of the dark room by invisible hands that appeared at his back as he stood, led into the light by the weeping girl through a stone hallway to an expectant courtyard. Ah. A public execution. A small crowd was gathered, Legend stumbled forward over a loose flagstone.

“This is gonna suck.” He whispered, and it felt like the understatement of the century when he turned the corner and saw his pyre with no gallows to match it. They were going to burn him like a heretic. He had to fight down the urge to flee that very second, knowing that bound as he was it would be a futile escape attempt that would only call Hyrule's virtue into question.

He was layed down rather gently, though that might be due how quickly his fight fled him in his dizzying drunkenness, onto a waiting ladder and suddenly he was utterly frozen from the panic and dread seeping in through the fuzz, he turned his head, hiding away tears until his face was obscured from the crowd. He would bear this so Hyrule didn't have to, he must. He refused himself the hope of rescue, it would only make the disappointment more painful. The hands reappeared, attached to a set of guards this time, ropes in hand. They tied his legs first, then his torso, then his hands. The rope was itchy and stiff, but he supposed, darkly, he wouldn't really have to deal with it long.

“I'm really sorry Mr. Hero,” Ah, but that wasn't Ravio and this wasn't his home. A young recruit looked on, trembling, tears dripping down his face pathetically.

“'s okay, I understand,” It wasn't. He didn't.

He was hoisted up and the world spun beneath him. The pyre was an uncomfortable bed and his heart was in his teeth. So he would be burned, not with the kindness even reserved for a heretic then, but like a pig. What a cosmic joke. He couldn't find it in him to laugh.

“My-” the girl started, choked off by a desperate sob, “My people. We are gath- gathered here t to to give thanks t to. Our thanks to the hero. And. And to see him d delivered safely to the afterlife. Our deliverance is in flames, only. Only then will our kingdom be free. I. I ask you all to pray for h his swift ascension.”

The crowd cheered. Legend's stomach lurched. He looked, the princess' pink dress stained gold by the firelight of her shaking flame. How difficult this must be for her, he thought bitterly, and Legend looked up to the sky as she came to light his pyre. He'd always known it would be flesh and blood to finally do the honours.

To the eternal credit of his rings, he saw the first licks of flame appear before he felt them. How thoughtful, they hadn't evenly spread the kindling so as to spare his head. But the feeling did come. The enchantment, pushed at last to it's breaking point, gave way and all the heat he had been spared came crashing into him at once in a terrible tidal wave, and he screamed and began to thrash. His entire lower body was consumed in flames. The ladder and bindings turning to flames in the heat, replaced by sharp wood caving in on him from the structure of the pyre becoming unstable and he began to blessedly loose feeling as the flames rose. It would take a further three minutes for the flames to reach his head and his screaming to be put to a stop.

It took five agonizing minutes for the fire to catch in the kindling the sound of the restless crowd nearly drowning out Dawn's weeping, and he bore it in silence, he would not give them the pleasure of hearing him give them a single peep. How long had it been laying out here, awaiting his descendent, that it had gotten damp? How long had the princess given her sickening little smiles to Hyrule all the while holding the torch behind her back? How long had the kingdom leaned on his saint like kindness only to plot such a cruel betrayal?

He noticed smoke begin to drift upward into his field of view before he felt the heat. It was gentle at first, and for a blessed moment he was able to focus on the crackling of the fire and the scent of the smoke and pretend he was with his family laying near the campfire. Then the heat became sweltering, though, not hot enough to break through his ring's enchantment. He knew the process would be faster if he took off the ring but he couldn't bring himself to do it, his heart hammering in his ears and the smoke dancing in the blurry sky were the only things he could focus on. He clenched his hands as he began to hyperventilate and shake with the rising horror.

Dawn had bore witness to it all. As the body of her hero became burned and then bubbled and then blackened as he screamed curses to the open air, and then dissapeared into the collapsing pyre to be turned to ash. As her hero burst into the courtyard surrounded by an armed guard. As her guards were quickly subdued. As her hands began to go transparent, and the world began to melt into ruin, and her hero began to dissapear into motes of light, to the horror of all around them. Dawn realized with a numb resignation that they must have burned the wrong person. Aurora would never be woken again, and Ganon would reign with the full weight of the triforce behind him, unchallenged by people who never existed.

#whumptober2021 #no. 13 #thats gonna leave a mark #this is gonna suck #burns #linked universe #fic #mcd tw #burns tw #burning tw #lu legend #dead dove do not eat #this one gets a bit graphic so stay safe!#my fic #nocturnalswhumptobertag

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jaskierswolf · 4 years ago

Text

A Thirst Like Flames

Part 1/6 - Also on AO3

(Part 2, 3, 4)

Rated E - for smutty reasons. __________

There was an itch prickling over Dandelion’s skin, a constant ache in the pit of his stomach and his mind felt hazy at all hours of the day. He watched the sun creep behind the horizon, quill in hand, the long feather brushing against his cheek, willing for some kind of inspiration, anything to distract him from the never ending lust. He couldn’t help it, he was a young man in his prime and he’d spent the last few months in the wilderness with a rather gorgeous witcher.

They’d barely had enough coin between them to stock up on supplies let alone stay at inns or whorehouses, and Dandelion was really starting to feel it. He hadn’t even had the privacy to have a good wank in days. As much as he adored his new witcher companion, he was ready to drive one of those beautifully made witcher swords through Geralt’s chest. There was only so much they could take of each other’s company and living in each other’s pockets for months on end was taking its toll on the poet.

“Geralt,” he snapped as the witcher prodded the growing fire with a stick, sparks flying into the sky.

The flames bathed Geralt in a soft warm orange glow, casting almost magical shadows over his features. The witcher looked ethereal in the forest, a real creature of the wilds. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and Dandelion couldn’t help but stare at the muscles of Geralt’s forearms, muscles he’d seen kill both man and monster like they were nothing but flowers underfoot.

“What is it, Dandelion?” Geralt grumbled, not looking up from the flames.

Dandelion scoffed, pulling his hat from his head and placing it carefully on the ground beside him, smoothing out the feather, relishing in the sensation of the soft bristles between his fingers. It tickled slightly against his sensitive skin, and his traitorous mind imagined what it would feel like for a lover, that definitely didn’t resemble Geralt, to stroke the feather across his naked skin. His cock started to harden in his trousers and he pulled his hat into his lap. “Can you go get some firewood or something, anything, please?” Dandelion hissed, feeling utterly pathetic but if he didn’t get his hand on his cock soon then he was going to go absolutely mad.

Geralt frowned, finally looking up at Dandelion which was the sweetest torture. The witcher’s golden eyes glowed in the dim light of the fire. It was so bloody gorgeous and Dandelion wanted him, and he couldn’t tell whether it was just his frustration or an actual deeper rooted desire. “We have firewood.”

“Yes, well,” Dandelion huffed with a flick of his wrist “wouldn’t hurt to get more, my dear witcher.” He swallowed, desperately trying to keep his voice steady. He wasn’t going to ruin the adventure of his life by flirting with Geralt and pushing him away.

Geralt snorted, but, praise Melitele, stood up and left the camp. Dandelion watched him go with a tilt of his head, Geralt’s arse a finer view than any sunset, and as soon as Geralt was far enough away, Dandelion tore at the laces on his trousers. He barely had time to spit on his hand, too desperate for his relief, sighing as he finally gripped his cock in his hand.

It didn’t take long to bring himself to completion, muffling his cries behind his hand, teeth sinking into the flesh of his palm. He cursed as he looked down at the mess of his hand and trouser, whining when he saw the state of his poor hat.

“Oh bloody hell,” he grumbled, wiping his hand on the damp grass. Hopefully there was a river nearby and he could clean up properly in the morning.

Geralt, contrary to Dandelion’s belief, had not been nearly far enough away from camp when the poet had lost all control. Witcher hearing was keener than Dandelion realised, and he’d barely left camp before he heard the soft sighs of the poet.

Dandelion’s sweet scent of arousal had surrounded him for days, and it was testing his control. They hadn’t managed to visit a brothel since before meeting Gulet, before Posada and Filivandral and the Edge of the World. The last thing he’d needed was to be followed around by a horny poet who could barely contain his desires. Geralt’s back hit a tree when he heard Dandelion’s muffled moans ring through the forest. The poet was obviously touching himself, and he’d wanted privacy.

Yet Geralt was listening in like a pervert.

He groaned, his own cock starting to ache, begging to be released from the confines of his trousers, but he refused to touch it. He wouldn’t disrespect his friend like that.

“Fuck,” the poet whined. “G- Geralt…”

Geralt’s eyes went wide and his nostrils flared, taking in the heady scent of Dandelion’s arousal. His mind was filled with images of Dandelion’s pretty pink lips wrapped around his cock. He could finally pull Dandelion’s head back by his soft blond hair, kissing the long swan-like neck, biting into his pale skin, marking him as Geralt’s.

“Shit,” he growled, stuffing his hand into his pants. It was rough, and desperate, driven by the cloud of lust that had taken over his mind. The cocky little shit that had run up to him in the tavern, in need of protection, thinking a witcher was his best bet, had completely changed the course of Geralt’s life.

Before he’d enjoyed the quiet of the forest, being at one with the creatures around him, the only conversations he’d had on a daily basis were with his horse, and he’d been happy.

Or so he’d thought.

Dandelion, the beautiful golden poet, had brought music and warmth to his life. Dandelion, a friend he’d never really known he’d needed until he’d met him. Dandelion, the bastard who was fucking masturbating back at camp whilst Geralt hid beyond the trees.

It was pathetic.

Geralt grunted as he spilled over his hand, not enjoying the pleasure of his orgasm, the sensation soured by the knowledge he was doing this in secret, eavesdropping like a coward. Grimacing, Geralt tucked himself back into his trousers. He didn’t deserve Dandelion. He didn’t deserve his light. The poet would be better off without him.

He stalked off into the woods to gather the firewood they didn’t need. At least it would give him time to think, time to process. This needed to stop before they both got hurt, because Geralt would inevitably hurt Dandelion. It was all witchers were good for. His life wasn’t made for one as beautiful and soft as Dandelion.

Geralt was scowling up a storm by the time he came back to camp. It had taken him longer than Dandelion had expected to get the firewood, and the poet was starting to wonder whether his friend had heard him and decided to abandon him in the middle of the forest. It was only Roach’s presence that calmed his fears. The witcher would never leave his precious mare behind. Dandelion had seen Geralt go through hell for that horse, even if she was a stubborn arse that Geralt complained about on a daily basis, and yet he never exchanged her for a more amenable horse.

Geralt was caring and sentimental in that way, not that he would ever admit it, and he’d probably have Dandelion’s neck if the bard ever said the thought aloud.

A blush warmed his cheeks as Dandelion grinned widely at his friend, deciding to ignore the memories of his recent activities. “Geralt!” he greeted warmly “there you are, my friend.”

The witcher growled at that, and Dandelion pouted, pulling at his hair. “It’s late, Dandelion. Go to bed.”

Dandelion scoffed haughtily and put his hands on his hips. Geralt was ruining his good mood. He’d just about driven away that maddening itch of arousal and now Geralt was being all grouchy. It was unbearable. Perhaps Geralt should have taken advantage of Dandelion’s plea for privacy, clearly the witcher was as pent up as he had been.

“I’m not tired,” Dandelion stated.

“I am.”

Dandelion tutted and glared at the witcher as he started to move the bedroll around the camp, making sure they were as far apart as possible. They’d never slept that far apart since the day they’d met. The nights were cold and Dandelion was a cold-blooded bastard, once the fire had cooled to embers he would start to shiver far too soon. Geralt, in contrast, seemed to radiate heat and Dandelion had found himself tangled up with the witcher on more than one occasion.

He sniffed haughtily and mirrored Geralt’s movements, dragging his own bedroll as far away from the campfire as possible. He might freeze to death but it would be Geralt’s fault.

“What are you doing?” Geralt asked.

“Well, clearly you don’t want to be near me, which is quite frankly unfair, rude and completely unwarranted, but I will gracefully respect your wishes and move away.”

Geralt grunted. “You’ll freeze. Don’t be stupid, Dandelion.”

“Stupid?!” he shrieked. “Oh, that is rich coming from you. I’m not the one making a fuss about nothing, and you won’t even tell me what’s wrong. No, no, don’t look at me like that. I am quite aware. You heard me, but I won’t apologise. I have needs, Geralt.”

“That’s not it.”

Dandelion laughed and put his hand on his hips. “Care to elaborate, my dear?”

“No.”

“No of course not. So I’ll be sleeping over here whilst you sulk all the way over there, and you won’t change my mind!”

It didn’t take Dandelion long to regret his decision. Only an hour after the sun had completely faded away behind the horizon, his teeth started chattering. He shivered in his bedroll, and fidgeted restlessly on the ground, trying to stay warm.

Geralt let out a heavy sigh from across the camp. “Come here, Dandelion.”

Dandelion pouted, wanting to stay true to his word but Geralt was offering him warmth and a body pressed against his. How could he say no? He whined and pulled his bedroll back until it was next to Geralt’s, scuffing his feet in protest. He wanted Geralt to know that he was still cross with him despite their new sleeping arrangement.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt said softly “I didn’t mean to listen.”

Dandelion’s mouth dropped, and he turned away from Geralt. The yellow eyes glowing softly in the moonlight could no doubt still see him and he felt exposed, especially as he himself was nearly blind in the darkness. “I thought you were far enough away.”

“Witcher have heightened senses. I would have had to travel a long time before you were out of earshot, and… and I can smell it.” Geralt admitted quietly as Dandelion settled back down, pressing his chest against the witcher’s back. He buried his face between Geralt’s shoulder blades, forcing down the embarrassment.

Of course Geralt could smell it.

Foolish, idiotic, bard. He knew that witchers had tracking abilities beyond that of a normal man.

“You, you can smell it?” He asked softly.

“Yeah.”

“Well shit.”

An awkward silence fell between and Dandelion had to fight back the urge to start humming under his breath. They were trying to sleep now, despite the awkward confessions. Geralt hummed but didn’t respond so Dandelion decided to pretend he’d fallen asleep.

Next time he’d wait until they could find an inn. He didn’t want to lose Geralt over something so stupid.

_____

#the witcher #gerlion #geraskier #geralt of rivia #geralt/dandelion #julian alfred pankratz #wolfie's witcher writing

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that-one-girl-behind-you · 4 years ago

Text

A reversal of the last scene in Illicio's 13th chapter to go with this amazing art by @ivehadanapophany

There has to be another way to destroy this thing. If anything, Gertrude and Dekker never failed with their bombs and their concrete, so that's always an option.

Gerry tries to prod at the Eye for information, but gets nothing more than a vague feeling of annoyance. However much the Watcher wants the Dark Sun destroyed, it's perfectly clear who was supposed to be doing the-

THUD

Something collapses to the ground behind him-

"Jon!" Basira screams, and Gerry's blood runs cold. He whips around at the sound of her gunshot, but all he finds is an already raging fire, and there's a split second in which all his mind supplies is 'I told Martin this would happen'.

But the tether at his chest does not point to the person enveloped in flames; Gerry recoils when he recognizes the broken form at her feet.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck.

"Jon?" Gerry crouches at his side to turn him on his back, and flinches back immediately. His eyes are a mess of mangled flesh and blood, and he looks- he looks like an empty husk, a broken mannequin and he's not healing, why isn't the healing?! "J- FUCK!"

There's- there's more fire now, and Gerry darts a look at Tim, his brain going into overdrive. The man's panicked gaze also fixed on Jon's bo- on Jon, and his face looks like it's melting off its frame, the hand extended towards Manuela Dominguez shaking with barely-there restraint.

"Basira!" Gerry screams, slipping his arms under Jon to lift him. He comes easily enough, limp in his grip like- don't think about it, don't- "We have to get out now!"

She doesn't even stop to acknowledge him, just bolts towards the exit. The air in the warehouse is overheated way past the point of being breathable by now, and the cool night breeze outside hits Gerry like a brick to the face when he steps outside.

He collapses a short distance from the burning building, with Jon still a dead weight in his arms. His- his eyes are mostly gone, the light of the fire reflecting against the thick blood on his face in an almost hypnotic dance of reds and oranges.

"What's wrong with him?!" Basira snaps, coming to her knees on Jon's other side. "Why isn't he healing?!"

"I don't- he- I think he-" the word gets stuck in his throat like so many others, his thoughts bouncing uselessly inside his head. Jon is gone, slipped through his fingers again and it somehow feels even crueler this time, now that Gerry has come to terms with having him for himself, when- "He's-"

"He's not dead." Basira declares firmly, and when Gerry lifts his gaze he finds that her eyes are green with Beholding, as she looks intently at him. "You're still here, so he's not dead, he's just-"

"In the Dark." The realization is like a slap to the face and if anything, it makes it worse. Jon is- Jon is alive, but he's alone in the Dark, and there was no time to prepare, no time to even feed appropriately, all he has is that statement he took from Manuela and-

"Keay! Do something!" Basira snarls again. "Come on!"

"I'm- yes, I-" his mind is still screeching, but now there's a course of action at least. He- Jon said Daisy fed him a statement in the Buried, but he's alone now, and he can't just feed himself. The- the tapes called him back last time, but they don't have any at hand. Still, there's- that's an idea. "We need a statement-"

"Well, give him one! I thought that was your thing!" Basira yells, and Gerry flinches back before forcing himself to focus. It's- it's not the fucking time for his ridiculous trauma, it's- Jon needs him, Jon-

A statement. A statement from the Dark, preferably. He's got some of those, he definitely does, it's-

'... A man defeated the Dark through the power of breakfast food, is what you're saying?' Jon's voice says in his head, and he can almost feel the ghost of his hands on his scalp.

'You said a man used quiche as his anchor!'

'It was not about the quiche, I thought you'd understood that!'

It feels almost arrogant, to think that this particular statement might lead Jon out not just because of the subject matter, but because of the memories associated with it. With him.

"There was a- I met a man once, that told me about the time he got lost in his living room." Jon's body feels cold in his arms, but it's got to be a trick of his mind, because he can still feel a faint pulse where his hand is white-knuckled around Jon's wrist. It's just that, it's his fear. Which entity's feeding on him right now? It's- it doesn't matter, not now, not when Jon's life is on the line, not- "He'd always been afraid of it, could always see the things moving just out the corner of his eye. He said his dreams were always in that not-grey color you get when your vision is just getting used to the lack of light."

It's not working.

It's not working, he thinks as he goes through the statement, the man making sure as always that everything was in order, that his path to the stairs across the room was clear, before flicking off the lights.

Why did he think it would work? Why did he think that it- that he would be enough, when even Martin wasn't able to pull him back from the Buried?

The man in his statement finds himself in the Dark, lost in an expanse too massive to be his little suburban living room. He tries walking on a straight line, convinced he will find the stairs, but the shadows in the darkness stalk around him, waiting for him to falter in his step before pouncing.

Is Jon lost in a similar way? Can he see the things in the dark even though his eyes are- why isn't it working?! Even if Gerry's not enough, the Eye is being fed. The Archivist is listening to a statement, he should-

"He was- Jon, please. He- he said he had just about given up. He was about to sit down and let whatever it was that was lurking in the shadows tear him apart. Are- can you hear me?" Jon's wrist is growing colder even when they're sitting so close to Tim's inferno, and he can't lose him, he can't. "He said it made him think of his wife, because he was too tired to keep walking, and she was always trying to get him to exercise more. And then he- he said he remembered what- what his wife told him before he turned off the lights at the living room."

Jon's forehead is cold as well when he bends down to kiss it, and he feels Basira's pitying gaze on him, but Gerry can't bring himself to be ashamed at the display.

"She- she reminded him to set the alarm, because they would be having breakfast with her parents next morning, and- and he said he remembered the way then, Jon, because he wanted- you were right, alright? It was the fucking quiche, he just-" are Jon's eyelids twitching, or is it just wistful thinking? Is his skin growing warmer, or is Gerry growing colder himself, his life fading away even as he tries to cling to Jon? "He walked out, just like that. And he was at the top floor, with- with his wife, and he could see the light of his clock, and he knew she'd already set the alarm for him because she knew he'd forget- Jon, open your eyes please-"

And he does.

Jon's eyes are their usual brown, with only the slightest hint of green at their depths, and Gerry's quite sure if he'd been given a heart, it would have stopped by now.

"What- where's Manuela?"

"Tim dealt with her. And the Sun as well," Basira answers immediately, and Gerry's glad. He wouldn't be able to form a word if he tried.

Jon's eyes -his eyes are alright, he's alright, he's back- turn to the still roaring fire. Gerry can see the first stirrings of worry and of course this man would walk straight out of the Dark and be worried about someone else.

"Is Tim-"

"In there." Turns out he can form words, if it is to reassure Jon. "He'll be alright, it's- fire can't hurt him."

And then Jon's gaze is on him, pinning him in place with something much more effective than the power of the Archivist.

"I heard your voice. I followed it out." Jon's fingers graze softly against his temple when he reaches up to push some hair behind his ear, and Gerry blinks as the corner of Jon's lips twitches upward in a smirk. "Like quiche"

Oh.

It's- the wave of relief that washes over him is overpowering. Gerry's eyes prickle with heat, and it's all he can do to laugh before he collapses against Jon, burying his face in his neck.

"I- I'm back. I came back." Jon mumbles above him. Gerry squeezes him tighter, clinging to him like daring the world to take him again. "I'm home."

"You really are." He mutters, his voice thick and strained and wet. "You are, Jon."

He's glad his face is hidden, when the first tear slips past his tightly shut eyelids. The whole world at his disposal, and the only place he wants to be at is in Jon's arms.

And really, isn't that what home is?

#illicio #jongerry #ivehadanapophany #vit writes

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imagineclaireandjamie · 4 years ago

Text

Shielded: Chapter Six; Spring Watch.

Anonymous said to imagineclaireandjamie:

A hard man is good to find. [Mae West]

Jamie woke with a start, the alarm blaring in the background.

The dream had been intense and had left him panting, a sheen of sweat on his skin as he pushed the duvet aside and stood. As always it was light outside, the sunrise half blinding him as the blasts of orange and red permeated the old curtains. Washing the night from his skin, he plunged himself beneath the pounding rivulets of water coming from his power shower, his body temperature receding slightly as the morning wore on.

Fortunately Claire wouldn’t be awake yet and he could slip from the house almost unnoticed. He needed to get a good day of work done, and to forget the memory of his dream before he faced her again. The mere thought brought colour to his cheeks, the heat in his belly reminding him of how incredibly realistic it had been.

Delicate pink skin appeared without his permission and once more he could feel the remnants of it haunting him as he slid his wellies on and closed the door softly behind him. Working in a daze, he prepared his cows for milking, the heat of the morning fading slightly as the clouds rolled in. The animals barely paid him any mind, going about their own business as he fed, watered and tended to them.

She hadn’t snuck into his bed, as she had in his dreams, but she had infiltrated his thoughts and no matter how hard he tried, sporadic jolts of her came unbidden throughout the day as he worked.

She’s married, he told himself, although the argument felt pretty weak in his own mind. In the abstract she was, he could tell that she still thought herself that way despite starting her new life. Without knowing it, she often rubbed her wedding ring finger - though the ring had long since been removed. It was obvious she was struggling with the transition and who could blame her, it had only been a couple of weeks. She was still hesitating on her name whenever he spoke it out loud to her, the subtle twitch betraying her.

But she was beginning to thaw, the shocked reaction he received when he spoke to her growing less and less as time went on (which, secretly, made him smile).

The baby lambs were out in force as he pulled the sandwich from his rucksack - one Claire had made him the night before. He smiled to himself as he perched on the fence, watching his first time mums as they paraded their babies around the perimeter of the field. Food somehow tasted better when someone else had made it for him, the slight differences in style allowing him a great enough change in routine to be noticeable.

She, it seemed, had a penchant for adding multiple salad products on her ham sandwich. Whereas Jamie was always in a rush at 4am, trying to collect his thermos as well as various food items to keep him going for the day, usually he would just throw slices of meat on top of bread without much thought. Lettuce, tomatoes, cucumber and *butter*, however, made all the difference. He even had potato salad on the side and a bag of what looked like homemade crisps.

Before Claire had arrived, John had given Jamie a very brief update as to her situation. Knowing a limited amount, he gauged that the difficulties she’d encountered recently hadn’t really set in yet and, instead, she was going through some sort of nesting, using her time at Lallybroch to cook and clean, ensuring that her mind is actively kept away from thinking about much at all.

His mind needed something similar as the image of her pottering about in his kitchen whilst he was away brought to the fore those visions that had him startled awake this morning before his alarm had even a chance to ring and he shook the picture of her bare skin from his thoughts, turning back to his task list.

The orphaned lambs were thriving now. Most had been ‘adopted’ by other nursing mothers but he still had two rogue ewes who were waiting for collection - Rupert, his nearest (mostly by proximity but also by friendship) neighbour had offered to take them for him but had yet been unable to drive over to collect them. In lieu of this, Jamie had been spending time hand feeding them every day though he worried each time he left them that he might return to something unmentionable.

Luckily, they’d survived another night in the small outhouse and he crawled in between them, the straw poking and prodding him as he settled with the warm milk bottle. The first, the largest of the two, squirmed in excitement, rushing to plonk herself by his side and suckle noisily at the teet.

“Easy now, lass, there’s enough for the both of you.” He soothed, watching as she butted the bottle, falling to her knees as she fed. Sheep were notoriously terrible pets, losing their fear of humans when in contact for too long and he had worried this close contact wouldn’t be good for the ewes, but watching the smaller of the pair sit helplessly in the corner made him think of Claire.

An idea came to him all of a sudden as he moved towards the lone female. He could, if he wanted, take the lamb home that evening and leave her in Claire’s care. Not only would it give the poor wee thing a greater chance, it might give her something else to turn her attention to in the day. There was a large chance he’d lose this one if he didn’t do something drastic.

-- --- --

An odd feeling settled in her stomach from the moment she woke up. Though she couldn’t put her finger on what the issue was, she felt a strange atmosphere hovering around her. Her skin prickled as she got out of the shower and she immediately felt as though there was something she should be remembering but couldn’t quite hold onto the memory.

She’d heard Jamie leave this morning, which was odd in itself. Usually she was fast asleep at dawn, not waking until much later when the house was quiet and she was alone. But she’d been woken this morning by some forgotten thought or dream that she couldn’t picture from the second she’d opened her eyes.

After barely speaking for two weeks, the weekend had been a welcome change.

Conversation had not been forced or odd, Jamie had allowed her time for quiet reflection and had seemed really quite pleased with her suggestions for the upcycling of his old furniture.

She felt useful, finally. A feeling she hadn’t had in some time.

Putting herself to work, she opted for cleaning downstairs for the best part of the morning. There was still a lot of dust residue from the sanding epic they’d had on Saturday, even spending most of Sunday dusting and hoovering hadn’t removed it all, so she pulled the dyson from under the stairs and tried to be as thorough as she could be.

Like cooking, she had never considered herself to be fluent in the art of housewifery. Before...when she had been able, her time had been dedicated to studying. There had been a cleaner for such tasks and, even afterwards, she hadn’t *needed* to be useful in that way. Here, though, there was nobody else to clean, do the dishes or cook and she found that losing herself to each task kept her mind (and body) active.

Sitting with the remnants of her crisps, she decided that was the dish she’d been most proud of since her introduction to the kitchen. She found herself thinking of Jamie and hoped that he was enjoying them too.

Their food deliveries now consisted of a greater variety of produce and she’d been able to add some colour to his lunch - which she had been making every evening and putting into the fridge for him to take when he left in the mornings.

She felt pleased as well as shocked at how easily she had moulded to fit her new life here.

Happy with her efforts, she turned her attention to the bookshelves in the back living room. There were titles dating back hundreds of years. Thick leather covers with yellowed pages sat proudly amongst the newer softback novels. She could tell which books had been read just by glancing at the spines, though there had been fingerprints in the thin layer of dust that had been there only hours before.

They were categorised, it seemed, by the surname of the author, carefully and methodically organised so that each time a new title had been purchased, it had been added in the right spot though there wasn’t room for many more.

His taste was eclectic, from non-fiction books on farming, agriculture, holistic medicines and horticulture to the classics (neatly bound with multiple editions ordered together, oldest first) including Jane Austin, Victor Hugo, Descartes, Melville and Hemingway. Jumbled in were some biographies but she’d assumed those belonged to either his parents or sister as none had been touched for some time.

Her fingers ran over the spines, stopping to hover over the drawing and painting books she’d first read when learning to doodle on the post-it notes in the first few weeks. She didn’t stop until she reached a relatively new title that she hadn’t noticed before. There was ruffling on the edge, a clear sign of frequent use, and some damage to the corners. Pulling it from the shelves, she settled into the comfy armchair, her cup of tea now cool enough to drink, and began to read.

It was modern, eloquently written with intricate plot weaving from the moment she turned the first page. The front cover clearly denoted that of a romance but there was intrigue and art as well as carefully homegrown characters. Before she’d had time to digest the prose, the front door opened and closed and she blinked. The clock on the desk ticked loudly and she noticed that hours had passed without her knowing.

Placing the book back on the shelf, she decided to leave it where it was for the time being and come back for it before bed. Though the visuals she’d imagined for herself stayed with her as she stretched and went in search of Jamie.

A loud noise caught her attention and she burst out laughing as she walked into the kitchen to find him wrestling with a small lamb.

“A new friend?” She said, her shock fading quickly.

“Ah; lass, I need ye!” His words were breathless, his cheeks a vibrant pink from the exertion of keeping the lamb from darting off and wrecking the joint. “I have a challenge for you, if you’re up for it!?”

#anonymous #;mod mbd #shielded #Jamie X Claire

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corpse--diem · 3 years ago

Text

Blinding Lights | Marley & Erin

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @detectivedreameater LOCATION: Nichols Funeral Home SUMMARY: Another accident sends Marley back to the man and the tree, returning with more questions than answers. Marley and Erin finally get (1) good thing. CONTENT WARNINGS: Car accident tw (mentions), head trauma tw

There was something light floating around her stomach. It was small and airy, carrying her up the stairs in record speed. If it wasn’t for the ferocity within the way it moved, Erin may never have noticed it to begin with. But it was there and it felt dangerously close to something she was afraid to call hope. She wouldn’t call it that. Not out loud. Even if it was true, the phrasing was cheesy and it was just her luck that verbalizing it would snuff out the small light like a candle on a windy day. So she stowed it away, protected it within herself and remained patient as it fought to grow. Felt like it was working. It didn’t have to be this way. Things didn’t need to be so unbalanced. They didn’t need to incite a war or recklessly take things into their own hands to dig themselves out of holes they never saw coming. Living, just living, was hard enough for most. The possibility of adding balance to a world that punished the disadvantaged and ruined the naive? To personally be the one righting wrongs she understood intimately with a flick of her wrist? Or snap--Josephine always snapped. She’d have to ask her about that. Either way, it seems almost too good to be true. She needed to think, needed space and quiet so she could listen for the sound of the other shoe falling from somewhere.

“Marley?” She called out into the hallway, fingers flexing at her sides as she searched for the other woman. At this point, she’d been staying with Erin longer than she’d been at her own home. Erin found she didn’t mind that at all. Water ran on the other side of the door. “Hey! When you’re done in there, come find me in the kitchen. I need to pick your brain about something.” She paused, listening more sounds. “Okay?”

A hot bath had sounded like just what Marley needed. She’d looked up online for things that might help aching cuts, and balked at the suggestion of using something called epsom salt and had immediately stopped looking. The internet was never helpful. So, just normal hot water it would be. Her limbs still felt stiff, even after sleeping almost a week straight, and the bite marks on her arms were fading into little, blue scabs that looked like someone had played connect the dots on her skin but forgot to connect them. She stuck a hand under to test the temperature, nodding when she felt satisfied with it. Being at Erin’s meant she still had on a pair of cotton shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt, despite being alone in the bathroom. She didn’t exactly have her own room here, even if it felt like she spent much more of her time here than at her own house. She didn’t want to go home. She was even planning on asking Erin if she could move JD and Jose here. Maybe that was too much to ask, but it would save both her and Erin from needing to run across town just to feed a hare with antlers a slab of meat and make sure the tarantula had water. She’d put Jose on the same feeding schedule as herself, a nice weekly meal with snacks sprinkled in between.

Tonight was a relaxation night, though, and when Marley turned back to the tub to turn it off, something peculiar caught her eye. It was her own reflection, but there was something off about it. Last she’d checked, it was still the middle of the afternoon, and with summer drawing nearer, that meant the sun sat longer in the sky. And yet, her eyes were glowing red in her reflection. Furrowing her brows, she reached out to disturb the surface of the water and as the ripples broke up the image of her face, something else appeared. It looked as if it were floating just beneath the surface, a strange, enchanting looking world. It drew clearer and cleared the more the water settled and Marley was entranced by it. She reached her hand out for it and watched it disappear into the strange hole that had opened up in the water. And as she stared at it more, she realized what it was-- it was that place. The place in her head. The place she kept trying to get back to. The place with answers. She wanted to go there. She had no control of herself when her head plunged into the water. The illusion rippled away, but Marley wasn’t in her head anymore. Her body convulsed uselessly as it struggled to breath.

There was an uncharacteristic silence on the other end of the door. Marley probably just hadn’t heard Erin over the rush of water. Another few seconds went by with just the sound of the faucet--then a thud. Water splashed to the tiled floor. “...Marley?” She tried again with sharp knocks punctuating her voice. Nothing. And again. And again. There was a fearful shrill to her voice by the fifth call. That was when the splashing started. “Alright, I’m coming in! This is your only warning!” The silence that followed was one of the worst things she’d ever endured and what she saw next was worse. Confirmed all the icy prickles needling at the back of her neck. She was here. Half-submerged and still clothed. Her eyes were closed like she was simply napping and the haunting peacefulness on her face--an expression the funeral director was all too intimate with--shook her to her very core. The next few moments were a wet blur as she hauled Marley out of the water and onto the tile below. She wasn’t breathing. She wasn’t fucking breathing. Erin’s hands shook as she Did she know CPR? There was some disco song you were supposed to hum along to, right? Every direction her mind ran tangled into each other and only worsened when she couldn’t get Marley to look up at her no matter how hard she shook her shoulders. That’s when the anger kicked in. She could feel it taking over, like her mind had just shifted into autopilot. She wasn’t losing her. Not today and not like this. “Marley, c’mon,” she muttered, starting the motions, her hands pumping down on her chest. “Wake up. Wake up!”

Marley’s eyes snapped open and she was lying on the cold ground. Fog swirled around her. She’d made it. She was back. She stood up and water dripped from her hair, her clothes. It left puddles under her feet. For a moment, she coughed, choked. Water dribbled from her mouth but she ignored it. She forged forward, towards the tree. The man was there again. Marley tried to call out to him, but it came out just a gurgle. She reached for him but her arms felt too heavy. He saw her and his eyes widened and he shook his head. “You can’t be here!” he said again, but Marley wanted answers. She needed answers. She’d fallen through portals and lived through a car crash and having her skull crushed and being beaten down again and again and again and she needed answers.

But her legs fought against her. They sloshed in water that was filling up the space between herself and the tree and the man. Each step sunk her further into the ground. It was swallowing her. Her chest hurt. She felt her lungs bursting. Water poured from her mouth. Something felt like it was pounding on her chest. Pounding, pounding. She wanted to stay. She needed answers. “Please,” she begged through the water in her throat, “I just need answers. Who are you?” He didn’t answer. He was sinking into the water, too. “Why do I keep coming here?” The water was rushing up to her chest, her neck. “Who am I!?” The water rose above her head and she sunk like a rock, black swallowing her up. Until--

Marley sputtered and gasped and choked as she spat up water. Someone was above her. The lights were so bright. She coughed again and turned her head to the side as she spat up more water, more spit, more bile. Her chest ached, her whole body ached again. She drew in a deep breath but didn’t say a word. She couldn’t speak. She wanted to go back.

Time seemed to drag on endlessly as Erin desperately waited for life to shudder back into Marley’s limp body. She couldn’t have been under long she guessed, judging from the timing of the noises she heard. Long enough, it seemed. In the same moment Marley’s lungs coughed up the contents of her bath water, a resounding chill crept up her spine. A chill easily overlooked in the moment. A chill that, Erin didn’t doubt, was just a reaction to the multitude of emotions that spilled out of her. If she remembered it all later, she’d realize it was far from that. But that wasn’t important right now.

As she wanted her lungs fight for air, a cry of her own broke through Marley’s sputtering. It was only when her vision blurred that Erin realized she was crying. Fat, wet tears dropping down her cheeks as steadily as the water overflowing onto the floor. “Hey, hey,” her voice soothed out, brushing back wet hair from her face as she choked up water, trying to persuade her with gentle prods to stay down. The relief was overwhelming but there wasn’t a word in the english language to describe how over she was with this bullshit. Had it even been a week since she’d nearly lost her to a portal? Now her own bathroom wasn’t safe? What was? “You’re okay,” she repeated, leaning forward instead to wrap her arms around her. She was breathing at least. That was a start. That was a very good start. She pulled away when she realized how hard she was squeezing her. “Sorry, I’m sor--don’t try to talk yet. Just lay there and take deep breaths for me right now. Okay?”

Marley sputtered. She wanted to go back. She had so many questions, still. Why had the tree done that? What was the shimmer? Why did he keep telling her not to come back? But then there was a voice above her, and someone was holding her, hugging her, tightly to them, and Marley remembered that she couldn’t go back. She had someone here. She had people here. She had a something more here. Marley blinked, trying to get her eyes to focus. Her head was pounding, and her throat hurt. She opened her mouth to talk, but then Erin told her not to. Why shouldn’t she talk? She didn’t remember what happened. Her body felt so stiff, so pained. Hadn’t she just gotten over that? From the portals? So, then, this wasn’t portal pain. She looked up into Erin’s eyes, blinking. “What--” she choked, “where…” Her head spun, the world above her spun. Every time she blinked, she saw words and faces etched against the back of her eyelids. She lifted her hands to press them into her eyes, trying to shake the feeling away. “Where am I?” she finally managed to mumble out.

“You’re with me. It’s okay,” Erin answered, straining to keep the panic from her voice and gingerly helped her turn onto her side, hand running down her back. Water pooled around her knees and she cursed under her breath. Reluctantly, she let go of Marley, scrambling and sliding to turn the faucet off. “You had an accident. Uh--a seizure, I guess and I found you in--” Her words were shaky no matter what she did and she couldn’t finish her thought as she peered down at Marley’s soaked, stiff form. Stiff. Like a corpse. Almost. Her throat grew dry. “You’re okay,” she assured her again, fingers moving along her head and neck, checking for damage under wet hair and clothes. The water was clear, no blood staining any droplets. That was a good sign, if she could find anything positive right now. Her ribs. Oh fuck. She’d just been pounding on her chest and her ribs were still healing. “I’m sorry, I had to--” she murmured without thinking, then quickly stopped and shook her head. “Just take a breath. A lot of breaths. Slow though, and try not to move too much right now.” She’d never assisted in a near drowning before but if that sounded like the right course. Here was hoping. Taking her own advice, she let out a long, heavy one herself. She couldn’t help her if she wasn’t settled herself. Something felt off. Something she couldn’t shake the longer she watched Marley struggling for breath. A suffocating dread that didn’t and wouldn’t loosen itself from her own lungs. She was quiet for a long moment before she managed a softer tone. “How are you feeling?”

You’re with me. Marley was confused. She knew it was Erin, but her brain was confused. She hadn’t been with Erin before, right? She’d been in that place. She’d seen it again. She wanted to go back. She had to stay here. Blinking, she coughed again, water dribbling from her mouth. Hands planted on the ground, cool linoleum against her palms. She shivered. There was something in the room with them. Something had happened again. She tried to push herself up but collapsed against the floor again. Erin was telling her not to move, just to breathe, but something wasn’t right. Bewildered, Marley looked back up at her. “I--” didn’t know what to say. She felt words dying on her tongue, drowned by the water in her lungs still. “Feel like shit,” she mumbled, putting her head in her hands. Her chest ached again. The world around her seemed to glitch for a moment-- it felt like a tear and a fear creeped back up her spin. Was it another portal? Opening here? No, no. It righted itself almost immediately and she blinked again. “Sorry,” she managed to grumble out, still laying on the floor, trying to catch her breath, “don’t know what happened. That’s never-- happened before.”

Erin’s eyes narrowed with shocked concern. “What? No, don’t be--” She shook her head again, trying to press Marley back down while reaching for the closest dry towel to put under her head. Feeling like shit tracked, considering. “What do you mean?” This was far from Marley’s first seizure. Erin had been present for enough of them to know how to handle that part. Make her comfortable, make sure she was safe, hydrated and to just be there until she came back to herself. This was what she’d been afraid of--of not being here. Between this and the car accident, and all the dangers that Marley encountered just existing in this town? She was exhausted and terrified and she wasn’t even the one who was actively enduring these traumas. Her mind jumped back to a few weeks ago and she settled onto her knees beside her, giving her space for now, pulling her shaky hands into her lap to calm them. “Was this like--before? Like when it was getting really bad?”

Marley scrunched her brows, trying to figure out how to say it. She didn’t really know what she meant, just that it had felt different this time. She had felt both pulled and repulsed from that place, like she needed to be there, she knew there were answers there-- but that place didn’t want her there. It didn’t. She didn’t care, she needed to go back. “Just-- different,” she answered, her mind still trying to keep up. “Not bad. Not like last time.” She wanted to reassure Erin, but she couldn’t find the right words. She laid her head down on the towel, wet hair still clinging to her face. “Just wrong place, wrong time I guess,” she muttered, finally moving her head to look up at Erin. Clarity found its way into her head for the first time since she’d sprung awake with water in her lungs. She even managed to smile. “Didn’t mean to worry you.”

Erin wasn’t sure what ‘different’ meant in this capacity, and with the way Marley struggled to explain, she had a feeling she didn’t exactly know either. She didn’t press it. For now. Wrong place, wrong time. She hated that too. Hated the lack of security that hung from those words and the implication that this kind of thing could have happened anywhere or that, inevitably, it could and probably happen again. Maybe not to this same degree but after a car accident and now this? Her stomach tied into thin, tight knots and she slumped to her knees into a puddle on the floor beside Marley. “You never do. And yet…” She tilted her head towards her, reaching to brush the hair from Marley’s face. The skin beneath her fingertips was clammy and cold but it was still comforting all the same and grew warmer the longer she held them against her cheek. Comforting because the warmth meant she was still with her. Still here. “You really, really scared me this time,” she said quietly, aware of how vulnerable even that small confession made her feel. “We should get you off this wet floor. Can you stand up yet? Do you need a few minutes?”

Marley stayed quiet and still, as Erin laid beside her, fingers brushing her cheek. This was new and strange and she felt so strangely vulnerable yet safe. How was that even possible? Her stomach churned. She’d wanted so bad to go back to that place, but would that mean leaving Erin behind? Would it mean leaving her here to find Marley’s body cold and lifeless? She took in a breath and held it. “I can probably stand,” she said on the release of her breath, “might just need some help.” Need somebody to lean on. She’d never assumed her life would be one that could be something for someone, could mean something for someone. But that’s why she’d done it, right? That’s why she’d pushed Erin out of the way of Roy’s anger and taken the hit herself. She’d meant something to someone and she couldn’t let something that precious die when she had the ability to save it. “Think you can manage?”

Erin’s chest constricted with each breath, like little tears lining her lungs making every inhale sharper than the last. Something was different. Not just the seizure or whatever was going on in Marley’s head, or even the brief waver she’d felt in the air earlier. The longer she sat here, the harder it was for her to pretend that she didn’t notice the extra beat between her ribs whenever their eyes met a little too long. “Yeah,” she nodded vigorously to make up for the way her voice cracked. “For you? Yeah, I think I can handle it.” Flashed a smile her way as she moved to stand, using the towel to dry some of the path. She groaned at the water dripping down from the side of the tub, splashing against the shallow flood slowly but surely enveloping the tiny room’s tiles. It wasn’t until now she realized she was nearly as soaked as Marley. Her black dress shirt clung to her skin, a heavy nuisance as she maneuvered around the other woman. “Christ, you made a mess in here, you know,” she chided gently, helping Marley to her feet, holding her close to both steady and support as they made their way towards Erin’s bedroom. “I don’t know what you do after something like this. Which means you know I’m going to have to call your doctor again so don’t even bother arguing with me about it. After we get you dried off,” she paused her nervous ramblings, glancing over to raise a brow in Marley’s direction. “Unless you still need to take that bath?”

Marley was quiet again. Erin was talking and saying things. Her voice was cracking, even though she was trying to give her usual witty banter to Marley. Trying to make anything feel normal or okay about this. Marley didn’t have much to say about any of it, though. She just took Erin’s hand gratefully and leaned against her and wondered why her chest felt like it was still being pushed on, as if someone was still trying to pump air into her lungs to the rhythm of Stayin’ Alive. She sagged against her and just smiled, despite herself. There wasn’t much to smile about, but how could she not? Her legs were jelly, and her arms felt like swinging ornaments at her sides. “Not unless you wanna go with me,” she mumbled, her mind not quite registering her words in its still strained state.

Marley was handling the walk better than she expected for what she’d just gone through. Worry still wracked Erin’s entire body but every even step elicited tendrils of relief that worked to calm her mind. But not her heart and not when she saw that smile on Marley’s face. Erin’s steadiness shattered at the innocent quip, standing with Marley still just as they were reaching the bed. She didn’t know what she was saying. An offhand comment. That was all. Exhaustion crinkled at the corner of her eyes. She was exhausted. And tonight, Erin had almost lost her. The weight of that sunk in, heavy and harsh enough in this silence to sink her in place. She’d almost lost her. Death was a familiar concept in these walls but attaching that concept to Marley wasn’t something her mind could wrap itself around. Death dwelled in most of this house but it didn’t belong in here. And not on Marley. Not yet. There was still time. They still had time.

She couldn’t manage the words to fill this new, awkward quiet. The only thing she could muster was a half smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Marley’s clothes, which already had a place in one of her drawers, were dropped onto the bed next before Erin realized she’d stepped aside to grab them. Time felt weird and she was painfully aware of the absence her hand left now. “I should go call the doctor, see what I need to do--” she gestured with her thumb behind her but her mind was elsewhere and her sentence frayed off with it. She started slow steps backwards when she stopped again only a few feet from the door. A sudden spark of fleeting annoyance across her face, straightening her shoulders almost indignantly. “You can’t just say things like that. I’m not--you can’t--just don’t, okay?”

It wasn’t like Erin to be silent like this, but Marley let her be and focused on careful footsteps as they made it down the hall to the bedroom. Her mind wasn’t exactly gone, but it wasn’t quite there either, she was still trying to fight off visions of that place, with the tree, the man, the strange world. She sank onto the bed when they made it in, and still, Erin hadn’t said anything. She was sitting on the bed beside Marley for a moment, before she moved away, almost mechanically, over to the dresser, where some of Marley’s clothes had been stored. She’d never stored her clothes at another person’s place before. Not even with Anita. She’d left jackets and pants and boots behind-- sometimes even bras or underwear-- but never a drawer full of anything. It was strange how not strange it was here, with Erin.

She put her hands on the pile of clothes and nodded as Erin got back up and headed towards the door. Call the doctor, good idea. Probably a good idea. Not really much a doctor could do about having a seizure in the tub, but probably a good idea that she knew it happened. Marley was still getting used to that idea. Then Erin was talking again and her voice was harsher and Marley was confused a moment. She opened her mouth, then closed it. Felt her chest clenching, like ice in her heart. “Okay,” was all she said. She’d pushed too far again, just like when she’d kissed Erin in front of their stupid Christmas presents. She swallowed and nodded to herself, slowly reaching to peel the wet shirt off her body.

Erin stood for a moment, waiting to see if Marley was going to say anything else. When she didn’t, the guilt that trickled in for her small outburst fueled her frustration. She knew it was unfair and unwarranted but all she could manage was an “Okay” in return, short and cross like moments ago but flavored with uncertainty. Turning on her heel, her cheeks flushed red as she rushed out the door. What was she doing? She stopped, turned to stomp back into the room. Stopped again just outside the door. No. This was stupid. She was being stupid. And she wasn’t done.

Her throat ran dry as she stormed back in, tripping over some of the gusto that fell to the floor with Marley’s shirt. She tried again. “No. No. It’s not okay, you asshole. You can’t just flirt with me after you almost died in my arms in my bathroom or after disappearing into a portal for a week with no word. Not when I’m trying so, so hard to not think about Christmas or how you let a woman you love and fought for just... walk away. For me.” She was rambling again, she knew it, grabbing at snippets of their recent past in a frenzied rush. But she couldn’t stop it either. There was a point. She was getting there. She was sure of it. For once she didn’t think, she was too tired to think and too tired to fight. So she continued, the anger dissolving from her voice the longer she spoke. Her eyes fell to her’s, raw and open, like she was torn from stem to sternum. “I love you. Like in a really big, annoying way that keeps me up at night and makes me call the police station a thousand times when I can’t find you.” She stared for a moment, realizing what she’d done, the words that had actually come out of her mouth and froze. “So… no, Marley. It’s not okay.”

Erin left and that really shoulda been that. Marley didn’t expect what happened next. Maybe she should have, but she didn’t. How could she have? People didn’t love her, not really. Anita hadn’t loved her as much as she had thought, and maybe Marley wasn’t as capable of it as she thought she was. She’d fought tooth and nail to figure out how she could love, if someone like her could love. If loving meant she wasn’t a monster anymore, or if she wasn’t a monster at all because she was loved. Her eyes went up to Erin’s when she came storming back in, but she still didn’t speak, hands dropping as she let go of her shirt, dropping it to the floor. She listened and waited and felt her insides doing something strange. Her throat felt tight, so tight, but there was too much oxygen in her lungs, now, and her head felt like it was floating. She just stared at Erin, for a long time, even after she’d finished her little tirade. She didn’t mind. No, she didn’t mind at all.

Maybe she’d known it when she’d first looked at her phone and found over 30 missed calls and more missed messages. Maybe she’d known when Erin had nearly cried over her car accident. Maybe she’d known when Erin looked at her with those eyes after Marley told her she’d let Anita leave for her. Maybe she’d known when Erin was the one who stuck around after Marley pushed everyone else away. Maybe she’d known the second she’d pushed Erin out of Roy’s warpath.

Maybe she’d just always known. She didn’t move, just smiled. “I love you, too.”

Erin stood stunned to her spot. Speechless as she watched Marley’s lips curl up into a smile and let those four words repeat in her head. Let them sink in. She had said that, right? The smile confirmed it. Marley didn’t smile much, not like that, but she was smiling at her and Erin slowly smiled back. Her entire body unclenched, slowly sagging with relief as tense muscles calmed. Marley didn’t say anything else after her rambling speech and it while she felt the irritation nagging under her skin for it, but she supposed that was part of the reason she loved her, huh? Somewhere along the line, it’d become as endearing as it was annoying. She wouldn’t change it for anything though.

She slipped onto the bed next to her, out of words, a little shy but still smiling. And sure. Her eyes searched hers for a moment, dropping briefly to her lips, then back up. Felt a warmth spread through her when she remembered Christmas, how familiar and right Marley’s lips were against her own. It’d been terrifying at the time and she understood with alarming clarity why exactly that was. Tentatively, her fingers grazed against her cheek, over the scars that marred her cheek and her chest swelled as she leaned in closer. She didn’t want to think about anything outside of this room, about cleaning up the bathroom or calling the doctor. She’d get there. She would. She always did. Right now she just wanted to feel that familiarity again. “Can I--?”

The moments between Marley’s confession and Erin moving towards her were like long, arduous eons. Even though Erin had confessed the words first, Marley hadn’t been able to find anything more to say than those few back. She wasn’t sure there was anything to say, even though the flicker of annoyance across Erin’s face-- something she recognized oh so well, how many times had she seen it when Marley had said something stupid? It was as frustrating as it was endearing-- told her that might not be true. She blamed it on having almost drowned. Once again, her breath left her, but it wasn’t taken by water, only by fingers grazing across her cheek, over the scars that she sometimes forgot existed, until she saw her reflection in anything. She reached up and put her hand over Erin’s. “I thought you’d never ask,” she said.

Erin’s heart pounded furiously in her chest and for the first time in a long time it wasn’t because she was running from the horrors that popped up like weeds in this town. Pluck one out and another popped up in its place the next day. There was fear, she wouldn’t deny that. But this was Marley. She was safe with her, and she was loved, and there was no more hesitation when she closed the distance between their lips. Her fingers threaded into her hair, slow and sure. Cautious of her injuries as she pulled her closer--and she was right about before. This was right and it was hard not to quickly lose herself in the peace that her touch brought. When she pulled away, she kept her forehead pressed to hers as she caught her breath, eyes closed, a small smile stuck in place at the corner of her lips. “I’m sorry I yelled,” she murmured on a soft breath, pulling her head up to find her eyes properly again, soft and vulnerable. And uncertain--but just for a moment. Just when she remembered how spectacularly terrible Christmas had ended. “Is this still okay?”

As a mara, Marley had the ability to take people’s breath. But the second Erin’s lips touched her, it was exactly the opposite, as someone else was now stealing hers. And she didn’t care. She liked it. A lot. She lifted her own hands, cupping Erin’s face, kissing her back. Finally kissing her again, after she’d thought about it for so long. She never thought she’d get this, not again. Not after she’d chosen to leave it the first time. And not Erin, surely not Erin. Not stubborn, unstoppable, compassionate Erin. So fragile, so human Erin. She pulled away and leaned her forehead against Marley’s and Marley looked at her with unblinking eyes. “S’okay,” she mumbled, both tired and giddy from everything that had happened, was still happening, “I deserved it a little.” Maybe a lot. She didn’t know. She just kissed her again. That would answer her question, right? It was okay. It was so okay. It was more than okay. It felt natural, it felt like there wasn’t six months between this kiss and the last one. It felt like she’d always been kissing her, holding her. It felt unreal. Maybe she was dreaming. She didn’t know what that felt like, but it was possible, if it’d happened before. But, no-- this felt too real to be anything like that. It was even more real than that place, with the tree. Too real. She pulled away again to breathe. “I saw that place again,” she mumbled, “when I--” almost drowned. She didn’t want to keep things from Erin. She should probably know. “It keeps trying to...pull me back.”

You didn’t, was on the tip of Erin’s tongue when got her answer in the most Marley way possible. Not a single word necessary. This time she didn’t mind. Didn’t huff or tilt her head in annoyance when she didn’t get the verbal response she thought she wanted. By some near-fatal, miraculous series of events, this had turned out better than she could have hoped for. Almost too good to be true. But that wasn’t entirely accurate. Every part of their relationship was riddled with scars and the general wear and tear of rough edges colliding. There wasn’t a day that had gone by since Marley had dropped that body bag into her basement over a year ago that hadn’t required work. It was good, hard, important work. The kind of work not many people in their lives would dedicate to strengthening a sustainable foundation. Somewhere along the line, they’d managed it. The thought comforted her and she let herself slip into an embrace that felt new and comfortable and made her heart pound furiously all at once. Her eyes struggled to open, her mind reluctant to return to her as Marley spoke. “Pull you back?” Definitely didn’t like the sound of that. Straightening, she sat back, unprepared to digest this new information when that had just happened. “It’s the same place? Again? What do you--I don’t understand. Are you sure? What do they want? And why do they want you?”

If it weren’t for the weariness growing in Marley’s bones, she would have asked to stay like that. But her strength was slowly waning, and visions of that place were coming back to her like old film reels. This strange yet familiar feeling building inside of her was the only thing keeping her grounded, keeping her from drifting back away. She could feel something heavy in her muscles, and looked down to the bite marks that marred her body, both healed but unable to heal completely. “I’m sure,” she said, “I don’t-- don’t think it’s anyone. Think it’s more...the place.” The feeling of it. The idea that there could be answers there. Answers she needed. Marley scrubbed at her eyes. She hadn’t felt such exhaustion since getting back from the portal. “Don’t think it wants me, either. I keep coming back, don’t I?”

“So... it keeps pulling you in and then spitting you back out? What’s the point of that?” Erin questioned, though she was sure Marley was just as confused as she was. Astral realms, dream scapes? She was only just now getting a firmer idea of how the magic Josephine kept promising her functioned. But this? This blew her comfort level right out of the water. “How often is this happening? Just when you’re sleeping? Or when you get hit with a seizure? Both?” That tension in muscles crept their way back up her shoulders again when it became clear this had become a priority. Her safety was always at the top of that list. “I don’t know how the hell to help you with this but I can’t try if you don’t talk to me.” Right there was one of the cracks in that foundation. Old habits die hard, Erin supposed. She took her hand, pulling it into Erin’s lap with both of hers. “Is there more I don’t know?”

“Don’t really know,” Marley answered quietly. Words were quickly failing her. Her eyes were drooping fast. “I think it’s like-- some part of me is still there. From when I-- when I almost, you know.” She motioned to her head. “That was the first time I saw it. I didn’t know what it was or where I was. Kinda thought it might’ve been hell or some bullshit like that.” Not that she really believed in a hell. Death was just death, and it ended in nothing and a rotting body. “Not very often,” she answered. She didn’t want to tell Erin the truth behind it, but she had to. She knew she had to. “It only happens when I-- get close to that again. Close to--” dying. She swallowed. “It’s gotta be about that, then, right? About dying.”

“Dying? You think almost dying keeps triggering this?” Erin couldn’t stop the scoff that followed. “No. That’s--” Erin turned to face her better, poised to argue that her theory was a little dramatic. But it wasn’t. Proof soaked her damp dress shirt just the same as it marked bruises down Marley’s ribs. Between the car accident, the portal incident and now this? “Too often, you mean,” she corrected. Most people had heard about those supposed out of body experiences when someone was on the brink of death. Distinctly remembered rolling her eyes and laughing at some of the stuff people came up with and wondered how much Unsolved Mysteries paid for this particular brand of garbage. Her eyes dropped to their fingers and she shrugged one shoulder. “If that’s the case, then this whole thing’s already solved. Stop almost dying. There. Done. Personally, I’d appreciate it.”

Marley was quiet for a moment. She knew Erin was both serious and joking. Her tone didn’t sound like it was, but she had to know the dangers of this town, of Marley’s job, of Marley’s species. She was forced to feed on other sentient beings, and even some of the more heinous monsters-- like vampires and zombies-- even looked down on the mara for it. At least they could feed on animals. At least they didn’t destroy a person completely while feeding from them. She drew in a breath. “Not sure it’s all that easy, but I’ll give it a try,” she answered, tugging on her hand. Squeezed it. “I’ll do my best. Wouldn’t wanna leave JD and Jose all alone in your care, anyway. Do you even know how often Jose molts?” She grinned, trying to make things light. Trying to pull them away from the shadows that look like the ones that had tried to eat Marley alive in that portal. The ones that still tried.

Erin wanted to laugh, could feel it tickling her chest, but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes right away. “I’ll believe it when I see it. Which means I’m going to need you to try harder than you have been. And if you can’t do it for me, do it for JD and Jose because there’s no way in hell you’re sadling me with an oversized hare with horns and a giant spider. No. Absolutely not.” Her head shook through that last sentence and her words came out sure, but they probably both knew she was just making a liar out of herself if it ever came down to it. She kept glancing down at their hands unconsciously. Was this their normal now? Just like that? Question after question piled up on her tongue. About this. About them. About this place that kept trying to pull her away. One look at the exhaustion in Marley’s eyes held them all back. Her eyes narrowed slightly and she looked at her hands one more time before finding Marley’s again. “Whatever you need, you’ve got it. We’ll figure this out.” She smiled again, nudging her arm gently. “We took on a supernatural crime boss. This isn’t anything we can handle. Probably. Either way, it’s just a bad dream we’ll forget all about in a few years time.” Placing her other hand on top of the once in her lap, she took a breath, eyes lingering respectfully, and briefly, along Marley’s exposed skin before she turned away. “You should finish getting dressed and lie down. I’ve got a bathroom to deflood.”

“Tarantula,” Marley corrected, “she’s a tarantula.” A question popped into her head, though, and Marley had to wonder if this was fair. Erin was talking about about years, and Marley...didn’t expect to live anymore than about two more. She’d never even expected to get this far. Not with what she was, the way she lived. She was surprised death hadn’t come for her yet. It had certainly tried, several times. And yet she was still here. Maybe she could try and stick around for a few extra, then, if it was for Erin. She could probably pull that off. “I can’t dream, remember?” she teased, squeezing Erin’s hand when she looked down at their hands again. Did it not feel real enough? Marley wanted to make sure Erin knew it was real. She lifted a hand from their laps and curled her fingers around Erin’s chin before she leaned in again and kissed her. She wasn’t always good with words, but actions-- she could do those. She was good at that. “I’ll do it for you,” she said, before she let go of her, reluctantly, and reached back around to the dry clothes placed next to her, “JD and Jose can take care of themselves. You seem like you need a hand through all this.” A tease as she smirked at her. There was probably shit they needed to talk about, she’d learned that lesson already with Anita, but for tonight, they could rest in the knowledge that it was finally real. “Go clean up the bathroom. Just come back soon.”

#wickedswriting #chatzy #chatzy: marley #blinding lights #car accident tw #head trauma tw

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puppy-prose · 4 years ago

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How about jaskier is a dragon and determines that Geralt is very much his mate. He wants to make it official by fucking on the summer solstice, as dragons do to get married/bond. Geralt, not knowing that he's Jaskier's mate, is v. Confused when the bard starts pawing at his clothes and whining for his cock and that talk about "make me yours Geralt" but is Very Into It once he realizes just what's going on

ahh my first request!! thank you so, so much!! i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it!!

Geralt was a witcher—a very good witcher. He could sniff out a bruxae from a mile away; he could track down a wyvern from only a few drops of blood. He knew the differences between rotfiends and ghouls and alghouls, he knew how many spikes were on a manticore’s tail, he knew how to identify and defeat hundreds of monsters, creatures, and beasts of myth.

So, logically, Geralt knew he was a dragon. Jaskier was sure of it. Right?

He didn’t do a very good job of hiding it. How anyone thought he was human baffled him. He hoarded songs and scents, with his precious lite at the center of it all. Notebooks filled to the brim with lyrics and lines—not all of them his. Bags, once he had settled in with Geralt enough to trust him with it, that were always packed with oils, bath salts, and ointments. His temper, too, easy to flare, but easy to forgive. His affinity for shiny, pretty things. And perhaps the most damning of it all, the way he didn’t always act human. The half-raw meat that he never had a problem devouring; the way he always managed to find his way back to Geralt every spring without fail, no matter where on the Continent the witcher was. His unchanged youthful looks, years and years after they met.

So, Jaskier was reasonably certain, Geralt knew what he was. He’d simply not said anything because it was easier—because Geralt disliked honest and open conversations like that. So Jaskier didn’t bother to bring it up either, content in his companion’s silent acceptance.

But truth be told, Jaskier wanted more.

So he asked for it. Subtly, of course. Geralt wasn’t an emotional man—going to him and declaring his love wasn’t exactly an option. So Jaskier started slow, poking and prodding, testing his interests through his kind’s courting traditions. And when his first gift—a pair of gloves made from his own scales, the proud jeweled red dulled and dyed purposefully to keep Geralt safe when he was out stalking beasties—was accepted with a huff, a tiny smile, a roll of the eyes, and Geralt taking awfully good care of them, Jaskier knew his affections were accepted. Perhaps even returned.

More gifts, more rituals followed. Ointments of his favorite scents, carefully diluted for a witcher’s nose, to sooth his dry hands. Intricate braids done during baths, telling stories in his hair; Dutch braids for devotion, crown braids for loyalty, fishtail braids for patience, lace braids for fidelity, with all of them begrudgingly left alone until the next time he desperately needed a bath. The vernal equinox celebrated together by getting awfully drunk on honey wine, procured from the fae themselves.

And lastly, a final gift that could be an equivalent to a human’s engagement ring, he offered to Geralt a plaited bracelet made up of his lute strings, worn and representative of himself, a piece of his prized treasure and a piece of himself practically along with it. And Geralt? Well, Geralt accepted. He wore that bracelet every day, even if he pretended, quite transparently, to be only humoring Jaskier and nothing else. And that was that.

They were mates.

And today was the summer solstice.

Jaskier was antsy. Then again, Geralt was of a mind that Jaskier was always antsy. Fidgety and twitchy, always moving. Like a hummingbird, he thought. It was as if Jaskier expected himself to die if he fell still for even a single minute. But no. This was a different kind of antsy. He’d been extra energetic all day. It was as endearing as it was annoying--though he’d never admit to it.

He’d been whining about leaving the city all day, too. The little bird, always ready to fly away when bored. Gods, Geralt had a hard time hiding his small smiles as Jaskier went on about the boring foods, as he tried to bother him into heading out to the next town as soon as possible. But he’d had to hunt, unfortunately; the city had been plagued with a manticore on its outer regions, and Geralt needed the coin. So he’d had the bard wait for him at the tavern, taken care of the issue, and came back in need of a bath. Jaskier, never one to turn down a bit of pampering whether it was for himself or other people, was happy enough to do so, and they left the city on Jaskier’s insistence in the late afternoon, Geralt’s hair pulled back into a dragon’s braid.

While he’d expected Jaskier to calm as they got further away from the city, the opposite quickly proved itself true. He became more agitated, more twitchy. It prickled at the sense of amusement and content that generally followed him when Jaskier was involved, and as the sun was setting, Geralt finally pulled to a stop, leading them off into a copse of trees. “Go get wood for a fire,” he told Jaskier, hoping getting the man to sleep early that night would fix the issue. “I’ll find us something to eat.”

Together, they set up camp. Geralt had a rabbit caught quickly enough, roasted it over the open fire, and the two of them ate. All throughout the meal, Jaskier jabbered as usual--but his foot kept tapping, his fingers kept rubbing together, his words kept stumbling over themselves. And as the sun disappeared beneath the trees, Geralt caught a whiff of burnt rosemary and sweat. For whatever reason, Jaskier was getting himself worked up.

With a frown, concern marring his brow, Geralt used the tip of his boot to push into the meat of Jaskier’s thigh. “What’s wrong?” he demanded, leaving no room for argument. He wasn’t going to allow the bard to wriggle out of this--not when he’d been acting strangely all day.

Cornflower blue eyes turned up to his. “What? Oh--s’nothing.” Jaskier smiled. “Just a bit nervous, I suppose.”

The witcher’s brow arched. “Nervous?” he repeated. Yes, he could smell that. But he hadn’t expected Jaskier to give that feeling up so easily. “What about?”

“Oh, you know.” Jaskier waved his hand at the sky, his eyes catching--glinting--in the rising moon’s light. “Today was the summer solstice.”

Geralt wasn’t following. He blinked. They’d spent many solstices together. Not winter ones; not yet. One day… But plenty of summer ones. “Why?”

Whether it was the right or the wrong thing to say, Geralt couldn’t tell. It drew a laugh from his bard, slightly hysterical though, and he suddenly found himself with Jaskier’s full attention. He didn’t have that very often. The little bird flitted about here and there; he paid attention to Geralt, all the time, but to put all of his focus on him? To see those blue eyes turn focused and determined, to feel Jaskier staring into his very soul? Yeah, that was a bit intimidating.

“Silly witcher,” Jaskier replied. “This is why, of course.”

In the next moment, too quick for even Geralt’s senses to catch it--though that was likely due to surprise more than anything else--Jaskier was right before him. His breath got stuck in his throat--and then they were kissing.

Gods, Geralt had dreamed of Jaskier’s mouth on his for years. He’d wondered what it tasted like--sweet like the wine he was so fond of? Fruity and full from his dietary preferences? Deep and heady as the forest that Jaskier continued to force himself into with dogged determination? But no. He’d been wrong. It was, somehow, all of those things, and more.

He drew back a little for breath at one point, hardly registering that he’d lifted his hand to cup the nape of Jaskier’s neck, that his precocious little bird had pushed his way between his legs, on his knees before the log Geralt was sitting on. But Jaskier didn’t let him go for even long enough to open his eyes, dragging him back into another kiss. It was searing and hot, really hot, and he gave a soft, involuntary groan.

Finally, though, Jaskier moved back. It was only so he could tug and pull at the leather of Geralt’s armor, swearing under his breath as he pulled at the stubborn closures, swaying close to him and interrupting his own progress. But even with Geralt’s head still reeling from the sudden makeout session, even with him bemused by Jaskier’s usually smooth seducing capabilities turned into him fumbling with a jerkin, he didn’t miss the fact that Jaskier did not look like Jaskier.

Two horns, ivory, ridged in a spiral growing pattern, protruded from Jaskier’s head. They curved back and downwards towards his skull, before turning back up towards the night sky, the tips deadly sharp. Red scales were slowly emerging from his skin to smatter over his cheeks like rouge, like a glamor being revealed bit by bit, Geralt’s medallion not so much as twitching--ancient magic, powerful magic that slipped by even his detection. And he was fumbling, the witcher realized, because his nails had sharpened, those same jewel-toned scaled stretching up the backs of his hands, disappearing up the pale blue of his doublet.

“Dammit,” Jaskier whined, impatience thick on him, the nervous scent already beginning to fade away. “Just want you to fuck me, and this stupid--this--fuck!” He turned his eyes up to Geralt, cat-slit pupils just like the witcher’s own blown in the dark of the night, wide with his desire. “Geralt, please,” he begged, leaning in for another kiss--a kiss that Geralt didn’t refuse. And not just because he was caught off-guard by the novel sensation of being kissed with a newly forked tongue. “Please,” he continued when they broke apart, rubbing his cheek against his like a cat, like he was scenting him, the scratch of the scales not at all painful, instead kind of… Nice? “C’mon, help me, please, need you in me so bad…”

A lot of things clicked together in that moment.

Jaskier’s quick loyalty. His ability to walk hours and hours every day, nonstop. His music, the notebooks that he filled and then sent back to Oxenfurt to be kept safe. The bag of oils and creams that Geralt had not been allowed to so much as touch until two years ago, while they’d been traveling together for over a decade.

The gloves. The vernal equinox. The braids.

Fuck, the bracelet.

Jaskier saw him as his mate. And he’d been courting him, quietly, without drawing attention to it, for months now. And here they were--Jaskier believing him to have accepted his claim, Jaskier looking to seal their relationship by bonding on the night of the summer solstice, tying them together by the ancient magics of the earth for many, many centuries to come. No wonder the poor bard had been nervous.

Geralt was sort of glad he only realized now what was going on, because he knew he would have been nervous, too.

The revelation settled under his skin with surprising ease. Vesemir, should he ever catch word of how long it took him to identify a dragon that had been living side by side with him for years, would tan his hide. But all Geralt could feel was relief. His little hummingbird--or, he supposed, his little dragon, now--wasn’t going to suffer a mortal’s tragically short life. He’d live for hundreds of years more, thousands even, if he didn’t get himself killed first. And Geralt? Geralt could have every single one of those years if he accepted this. If he chose to become Jaskier’s mate.

It wasn’t really a choice at all.

Geralt’s calloused hand took Jaskier’s chin between his fingers. He dragged him up into another kiss, swallowing down the keen that fell between them, and nipped at Jaskier’s bottom lip as they pulled away. “Needy,” he huffed, a smile twitching at his mouth. He dropped his own hands to his armor; it got tossed to the forest floor quickly, Jaskier’s hands immediately setting upon the pale, scarred skin of his soon-to-be mate.

Feeling a bit vindictive for the years that Jaskier had never outright told him what he was, Geralt got hold of the bard’s doublet. He jerked the edges of it, eyes twinkling in satisfaction as the buttons popped off, no chance against his strength. “Hey,” Jaskier reprimanded, the seriousness he intended to put in his voice severely undercut by the breathy way it came out. “I liked this doublet.”

“I’ll get you a new one,” the witcher replied.

It brought a smile to his wicked, wicked mouth, and Geralt dove in for yet another bruising kiss. He pushed the doublet off Jaskier’s shoulders, the satin dropping into the dirt with as much care as his armor had gotten, and he managed to wrestle his chemise off between wet kisses. His mouth was red and wet when he pulled back; Geralt didn’t resist the urge to cup his cheek, to drag his thumb over the abused bottom lip. Jaskier, eyes dark, quickly sucked his thumb into his mouth. He had fangs now, Geralt noted absently, pressing the pad down onto his tongue until Jaskier was forced to open his mouth wide. He rubbed a small arc over the muscle, the dragon obediently still. It didn’t stop him from whimpering when drool pooled and dripped from the sides of his mouth, though.

His thumb was soaked when he pulled it from Jaskier’s tongue. He looked gorgeous--pupils dilated and wanting, chin glistening from the spit, the red of his scales seeming to bleed into the rest of his face for the way his skin was flushed with lust.

“Geralt,” Jaskier begged. “Please.”

So Geralt went.

He wrapped an arm around Jaskier’s middle and pushed him back, back, supporting his weight to keep him from slamming into the ground, but none too gentle otherwise. The roughness seemed to excite Jaskier; he moaned and wrapped his legs around the witcher’s waist, those clawed hands finding purchase behind his shoulders. Geralt didn’t mind the sting. He licked his way into Jaskier’s mouth yet again, and then let his mouth trail down, exploring the other parts of him. His scales were rough against his tongue and he had to be mindful of the direction he went to avoid getting scratched; his jaw and throat were velvety soft and tasted of sweet orange and a deep earthy musk. Jaskier’s pulse fluttered under his lips, and he paid special attention to the edges of the scales that had appeared along his collarbone as well, the dragon shivering with delight.

“Fuck me,” Jaskier pleaded. Geralt reached down between them; his hand was hot over top of Jaskier’s trousers, palming his cock underneath, making the bard’s babbling turn into high pitched whining, hips rocking up.

“Be patient,” he scolded, biting into his throat, watching a bruise blossom there. What was the use in having a dragon as a mate if he didn’t indulge in his own more animalistic urges? Yes, by the end of tonight, he’d have Jaskier claimed just as thoroughly as Jaskier had claimed him.

The bard stammered, bereft, when Geralt moved his hand. He forewent telling him to be patient again, instead hooking his fingers into Jaskier’s trousers and yanking them down, shifting until he could get them and his boots and his smallclothes off all in one go. More ruby scales wrapped around the outside of his thighs, dipped into the hollows of his hips--and his dick was definitely part of pieces of him that hadn’t quite stayed human.

Thick, red, ridged, and with a pointed tip, Geralt couldn’t help but smirk as he drew it into his hand. His little dragon cried out and he watched, fascinated, as a pearly few drops of precum beaded at the slit. It wasn’t anything like he’d fantasized about, when he’d taken himself in hand in his weaker moments when the bard was asleep, imagining what Jaskier’s cock might look like. But it was good, better than good, better than anything he could have dreamed of. Smearing his thumb into the wetness, he spread it down Jaskier’s cock, dragging his hand up and down the shaft. A few more drops appeared from the attention, and he did the same with those as well, slicking him up nicely.

He dropped his hand away, then, to get rid of the rest of his own clothes. Most people didn’t like to see him without clothes. Certainly, they enjoyed his figure, but the scars--the crisscrossing of monsters’ marks, the hunts that had gone wrong, the people that had hunted him instead painting a gruesome picture across his skin. But with Jaskier, it had never been like that. He’d never been bothered. And, considering he was about to fuck a man with scales all over, horns, and a dragon dick, Geralt supposed he wasn’t bothered, either.

Bare at last, Geralt dragged Jaskier’s hips up close. He wrapped his hand around them both, only just managing it really, and the both of them groaned at the sensation. Heat flourished between them and he jerked them off, stretching out over him to bite his stomach, his chest, his shoulders, his neck. Yes, Jaskier would be a patchwork of bruises come tomorrow morning, and by the way he jerked into each one of them, Geralt had no doubt that he was just as enthusiastic about that prospect as he was.

But as good as this was, it certainly wasn’t what either of them wanted. So he let go soon, smirking again as he wiped the sticky precum on his hand onto Jaskier’s thigh. “Knees,” he commanded, leaning back onto his own so he could reach for Jaskier’s bag. Might as well use what he had there, after all. Being his mate meant being privy to his hoard.

For perhaps the first time in his life, Jaskier listened to him. He keened but turned over, propping his hips up onto his knees. His shoulders pressed low, nearly to the dirt, and he rested his forehead on his wrists, the upturn of his horns just barely above the ground.

Geralt came back to him with a vial of lilac oil. It was one of the ones he’d begun to create for Geralt--that was to say, the scent was heavily diluted, only just strong enough for a hint of smell in consideration of his nose, and perfect for their purposes. He uncorked the vial and used his knees to open Jaskier’s legs wider; his free hand pulled one side of his ass away, leaving him free to get at his puckered hole, where he then dripped the oil down onto. Jaskier gasped and lurched, the liquid no doubt cold, but the witcher held him firm. He lathered up his own fingers, set the glass to the side, and leaned over top of him, licking and kissing the dragon’s scaled shoulder blades as he slowly, slowly sank a finger inside him.

“Geraaaalt!” Jaskier cried. Gods, if he was already this desperate, panting into the dirt and shivering with a single digit, Geralt couldn’t imagine how he’d be once he actually had his cock inside him.

“Lucky this is what it is,” he huffed, dragging Jaskier’s ear into his mouth and relishing the cry that came from it. “Otherwise I’d gag you and tie you down, make you learn some patience.” The dragon’s response was to moan wetly, shoulders shuddering, his tapered cock twitching.

Geralt pressed in a second finger, then. He kept his attention with those bites, scissoring him open, loosening him up. A third joined swiftly after; gods, they were mating, not just fucking. He was going to make sure this was good for Jaskier.

Finally, finally Jaskier was loose enough. He pulled his fingers out and grabbed the vial again, using the rest of it to slick up his cock, the subtle scent sweet between them. His hands found Jaskier’s hips; the dragon’s stomach dropped down further, ass staying in the air. “Breathe,” he said kindly. He waited until Jaskier drew a shaky breath in, out, and then in again before lining up his cock and pushing inside.

The cry of Geralt’s name was more broken syllables than anything, too loud and desperate to pronounce much of it correctly. “Fuck,” Geralt himself said, bending over the dragon. “Fuckin’ tight, Jask. Godsdammit.” He was so fucking tight, so hot around him, his body giving way each inch to the witcher’s intrusion. Jaskier could only mewl in return, his nails clawing into the rich earth, his sides heaving with each panting breath.

He bottomed out, and stayed there for a moment. Being inside Jaskier was dizzying, wonderful; he swore he could feel the air turn lighter around them, easier to breath, sparks flickering underneath his skin. Was this the ancient magic, readying to bind them? Or was this just Jaskier, was it just the fact that finally, he could give in to the feelings he’d ignored for so long, the urges he’d repressed, now that he knew not only did Jaskier feel the same way in return, but that he wouldn’t have to face his demise in what would be, for him a blink of the eye? He wasn’t sure. And, well. Quite frankly, in this moment, Geralt didn’t really give a shit.

“Fuck me,” Jaskier finally managed to say. “Geralt, my mate, please, please! Breed me, fill me up, wanna be yours!”

The words shot through him and what little patience he had left quickly fled. “You want to be bred, little dragon?” he asked, fingers tightening, bruising Jaskier’s hips. “Fine.”

A single kiss to his throat, and then Geralt pulled out to just the head of his cock. In one smooth, brutal motion, he slammed back into Jaskier. It sent the dragon rocking forward a few inches--it sent him roaring, the mighty sound seeming to shake the very trees around them. It was fucking hot, Geralt had to admit, and he groaned before he did it again, and again, setting a merciless pace. He’d never been much of a talker during sex, but he found himself rambling now, bearing his weight down on Jaskier, driving into that tight, wet heat.

“Like it, don’t you, Jask?” he asked, breathing too hard himself to properly bite for the moment, little strands of hair come loose from his braid and before his face, making him look wild, animalistic. “Wanna be bred like the bitch that you are. Fucked in the dirt. Look at you. Such a noble, proud beast. Taking every inch of a beast-slayer’s cock.” Jaskier sobbed, the sound wet, but he kept rocking his hips back into every thrust. They’d traveled together far too long; after the nights Geralt had been forced to listen to through thin inn doors, he knew better than anyone how rough, cruel words could reduce the bard to putty in any man’s hand. The best part? Now they were his hands. And there would never be anyone else.

The thrill of the thought shot through him. Geralt wrapped his arm tight around his middle; his other hand reached up, grabbing onto the base of one of Jaskier’s horns. He used the leverage to haul him up, going back on his own haunches and making the dragon sit on his lap, his cock driving in deeper, brushing against the bundle of nerves so far inside him. Jaskier thrashed, his nails digging into Geralt’s arm, drawing blood; the witcher didn’t mind, holding him through it, keeping his head still even as he fucked up into him, unforgiving and fast. “You’re mine,” he growled. “All mine.”

Jaskier nodded quickly, gasping for breath, only just getting enough air each time to expel it in some noise or another. The tingling under his skin got stronger--definitely the ancient magic, then. Especially considering he watched as sparks of golden light glittering below Jaskier’s skin, barely noticeable, like the chaos was struggling to burst free at any moment. Geralt suspected he looked much the same.

“Gonna breed you,” he promised, tightening his arm around him. “Mate you. Make you mine forever.”

Without warning, he shoved them both to the ground once again. His cock drove into Jaskier and the dragon roared again; Geralt’s hands moved to grab his wrists, push them into the dirt. He used his weight, every inch of their bodies flush together, to keep Jaskier down. And, with the both of them getting closer and closer, he gave in to the beast side of himself. His teeth, sharp and pointed, sliced into the back of Jaskier’s neck. Blood welled up in his mouth immediately, copper and sharp, but he didn’t let go, Jaskier’s pained moan doing little but encouraging him, pinning him against the earth.

It was too much. Jaskier’s sounds got louder, more desperate, more unhinged, before he screamed, his whole body quivering with the force of his climax. His cock pulsed as he came, streaks of white painting the dirt below and flecking onto his stomach above, too. It made his walls tighten around Geralt--and that was it. He was done for. The witcher growled and bit down tighter, his thrusts growing erratic, wild.

With a snarl, he came. He rocked his hips down into Jaskier as he filled him, splashing hot cum inside him, the dragon whimpering. The tingling grew in intensity for just a moment--and then it faded away, leaving him feeling whole in a place in his very soul he hadn’t realized he’d been empty beforehand.

A few more little thrusts and then, with care, he slid his teeth from his neck and pulled his softening cock from Jaskier’s tired body. He grabbed a rag from one of the bags and wiped them both down, pausing for a moment to watch his own cum leak out of Jaskier’s red, loose hole and down his thighs, before getting them clean and, with effort, transporting them both into one of the sleeping rolls.

Face to face with Jaskier, the poor bard blinking slowly, languidly, he couldn’t help but smile and lift his hand. His fingers brushed over the scales on his cheeks, utterly gorgeous.

“Mm,” the dragon hummed, forcing his eyes to flutter open. “My mate.” Nothing could change that now. Not a mage, not a spell, not even destiny herself. Geralt was his, and he was Geralt’s. End of story.

The smile Geralt gave in return was soft, genuine. His golden gaze was gentle, and he gave a tiny nod. “Yes,” he confirmed, barely a rumble in the night air. “Sleep, now. You deserve the rest.” He let his hand fall to Jaskier’s side instead, holding him close. Jaskier gave a gentle hum, shifted a little bit closer, closed his eyes--and slept.

#geraskier #devilkin-kink #my writing //#filled requests //#lemons //

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