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bhaalspawnd · 2 years

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where the wolves dwell

— summary: a certain kind of scar binds warriors together in a broken world - solace can be found in the most unlikely of places.

— pairing: Blaidd + Tarnished (Aloyna)

— word count: 1.2k

— ao3

A slight chill runs up Aloyna's spine as she stalks through the forest of Mistwood. There is vast vegetation, a plethora of wildlife, and no shortage of things that want to kill her. She listens for the howl of the wolf, the reason she's here in the first place. The Tarnished begins to wonder if curiosity was making her reckless and if she'd pay for it in blood one day.

Kalé had sent her here with vague instructions, the impish merchant simply flashing her a grin as he'd snapped his fingers and said, "Next time you hear the wolf's howl, make this signal right under the source. Oh, don't fret, there is nothing to fear. I just have an inkling the two of you might hit it off."

Whatever that had meant.

She freezes mid-step just as she passes through some old ruins, the howl deafening as it rings throughout the wood. It sounds mighty and almost mournful. It also sounds close. Aloyna looks around, but sees nothing; just like last time. "Marika, I hope I won't regret this," she mutters to herself as she slowly raises her hand in the air, imitating Kalé's gesture. She snaps her fingers and all is quiet. Perhaps she didn't do it correctly.

That doubt is crushed as a massive figure lands before her, the ground shaking as it absorbs the weight. The Tarnished nearly collapses from the brunt of the landing being so close to her, and she falls back against one of the ruined walls, holding her sword out for protection. She sees the massive greatsword dug into the earth before anything else, shining in the moonlight, brilliant gems cut into the guard, and gold filigree traversing the length of the blade. Aloyna's eyes grow even larger when they land upon to whom the sword belongs.

He is enormous. His body is that of a man's, although larger; much larger. Aloyna is not short, but he'd still tower over her even if she'd been mounted on Torrent. He wears a long cloak of silvery fur that nearly reaches his boots, and the armour that shines beneath the pelt is nearly as bright as his sword. He appears to be shining, from top to bottom. Aloyna's gaze finally meets his, and she sees a frosty, lupine eye staring back at her. His left eye is slightly shut and scarred, and she notices patches of light skin around the long-healed wounds. His snout is long, and two rows of razor-sharp teeth are visible when he opens his mouth. He is both wolf and man, and Aloyna is speechless. She hasn't moved from where her back had hit the wall of the ruins, still leaning on the old stones for support.

"Ah," his voice is low as he speaks, and the sound seems to reverberate so much so that Aloyna feels it in her bones, "Hello, there." The Tarnished swallows and blinks, composing herself even though she's certain she's shaking as she clutches her sword unsteadily, "Hello." "What're you going to with that, eh?" he gestures at her sword, then looks her up and down, "You're quite a little one, aren't you?" She sheathes her sword sheepishly before pushing off the wall, ignoring his comment about her size, "Are you a friend of Kalé's?" The half-wolf scoffs, "Ever the bloody busybody." "I'll take that as a yes," Aloyna replies, feeling a bit braver as she straightens her posture and holds her hand out politely, "My name is Aloyna." "Aloyna," he repeats. Hearing her name come out of his mouth is deeply affecting; she brushes it off as he reaches for her hand and shakes it, his large palm completely swallowing hers, "The name's Blaidd. And why, pray tell, would Kalé send you to me?"

He drops his hand away and Aloyna trails it as it moves back to his side. She looks up at him, "He thought we could help each other." "Is that so?" Blaidd’s eyes narrow slightly, "What do you presume you could help me with? And what do you seek to gain?" He's wary; naturally so. "Well, I'm quick and quiet. And I know a great many incantations," Aloyna answers, taking a deep breath, "When it comes to what I seek to gain? I hardly know how to answer that, if I'm honest. I’ve heard a dozen different things from a dozen different people about what I should be doing, and I’m not certain I agree with any of them." He looks taken aback by her frankness, and even more so when she adds, "What I seek is purpose. And tonight, if that purpose is helping you, then so be it." "Pretty words, lass," Blaidd says after a beat of silence; he seems satisfied with her answer, "But how are you with a sword?" Aloyna's lip twitches up, "Decent enough." Although he has the head of a wolf, there is no mistaking that he's smirking at her, sharp, bright teeth bared amusedly, "I'll be the judge of that."

Blaidd raises his greatsword from where it's buried in the earth and leans it on his shoulder. He turns, and gestures for Aloyna to follow him. "For the aid I require, it's likely you'll be put in harm’s way," the half-wolf says over his shoulder, "I need to know you're capable." Aloyna follows him, her eyes on his back, "I suppose we'll find out." "I suppose we will," he says before quickly turning. He swings his sword at her, but it's plain to see he is holding back. Aloyna raises her blade to block him nonetheless. The edges of their swords meet somewhere in the middle and clash together as Blaidd leans closer, "Good." "Decent enough," the Tarnished repeats, a competitive smile appearing on her face.

The smile is a bit cocky, and it turns to one of surprise when one of Blaidd's massive hands connects with her stomach and sends her flying back. She falls into the grass, still holding her sword, but her grip is unsteady. The half-wolf drops his own and gives her a moment's rest before he jumps forward, almost landing on top of her, but far enough so that she wouldn't actually be hurt. Aloyna rolls to the side with haste, her heart pounding as she clutches her sword and holds it defensively across her chest. "Very good," Blaidd remarks from where he crouches on all fours. He stands up straight and nods at her, his upper lip curling, "Perhaps you are just what I need." The Tarnished is a little bit out of breath when she falls back, letting her spine hit the grass. She allows her sword to fall from her grasp and replies, air properly flowing through her lungs again, "Right." He approaches Aloyna and extends his hand, "Come on, I'll tell you all about what's to come." She moves to take it, but hesitates, pursing her lips as she looks up at the half-wolf, "You're not going to attack me again, are you?" Blaidd barks out a laugh, "Not unless you'd like me to."

She laughs, too, the first real one since waking up in the Lands Between, and takes his hand. Blaidd pulls her to her feet and picks up her sword, offering it to her. They begin walking in step together through the dark wood, the half-wolf slowing his pace so the Tarnished can keep up. Perhaps there is purpose here, after all.

#elden ring #blaidd the half wolf #elden ring fanfic #blaidd x tarnished #kel writes sometimes #otp: guiding moonlight

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shadlad24 · 2 years

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Episodic Ficlet #20: Hint

Hey, all. I’m still a bit out of sorts but trying my best. Coming in at 675 words, here is the ficlet for “Ties That Bind”:

“Well; I owe you one…”

“Come on! Loosen up, Gabrielle!” Xena laughed drunkenly. “Tonight’s about letting loose and having fun!”

Grimacing as she swallowed her ale, the girl shook her head. “Well, I’m not having fun…”

“Aw, you’re too uptight. Just live a little!”

“Ha! I can’t believe that you of all people are saying that! To me, of all people!”

Xena harrumphed. Then she took her friend’s mug, clunking it onto the table and pulling Gabrielle up from the bench. “Come on,” she mumbled.

The blonde’s breath caught in her chest when, in lieu of leading her away from the bar, or, at least, letting go of her as they lost themselves in the crush of people around them, Xena’s hands slid down from her shoulders to grasp her hips.

One released the girl only to wrap around her waist to pull her flush against her hero. A bronze breastplate imprinted its design into Gabrielle’s back as the pair swayed to the music. Hot breath tickled the bard’s neck and sent shivers up and down her spine. “You are so beautiful, Gabrielle. So radiant. …Sometimes, I’m not sure that you’re real.”

The air sticking in the girl’s throat gained the company of a lump, and tears sprung up behind green-blue eyes. Every muscle under fair skin pulled taut. “You don’t meant that, Xena. It’s the wine talking.”

“No, I do mean it! You’re special. You’re so special, Gabrielle…”

The bard fled the crowded tavern.

Xena froze upon finding Gabrielle speaking to Argo and petting her mane. Her heart shattered at the same time as her friend’s facade did, the girl throwing her arms around the mare’s neck and sobbing into it. Uneven fingernails dug into sword-calloused palms as the woman took a deep breath. “Hey… Gabrielle, I’m sorry.” The warrior princess gasped and swiped at the tear that had actually made it past the net of her eyelashes. “But I told you I’m no good for you! I-”

Gabrielle released the horse to whirl around and then flung herself at the brunette.

“What- What are you-”

“I hate Ares,” the girl hissed fiercely. “I hate him! And I’ve never hated anyone before!”

Xena chuckled shakily. “Well, this is not what I was expecting.”

“He ruins everything! Why can’t he just leave you alone? He-”

She sighed, finally, slowly—loosely—hugging Gabrielle back. “He’s not used to not getting his way. Obviously, he doesn’t know how to deal with that.”

Her friend’s death grip tightened. “Well, he’d better get used to it! He can’t have you! You’re m- d-different now! Gods, learn to take a hint!”

“And what hint would that be?”

Before Xena could push Gabrielle behind herself, the girl spun around once more. The warrior gaped when her companion shoved the appearing figure away as hard as she could.

In an instant, Gabrielle was whacking every bit of Ares she could reach with her new staff. “She doesn’t want you! Back off, Ares. I mean it!”

The god of war tossed back his head to guffaw. His hands flew up in mock surrender a minute later. “Oh; oh, no! A gnat is hitting me, and it really, really tickles!” He tried to flick the girl away but could not. “What the-”

His sister teleported to his side. “Can’t touch my chosen, Ares,” she said in a chuckle.

Gabrielle squeaked. “Artemis!”

The goddess smiled. “Hello, princess.”

“Sis!”

“Let it go, bro. You lost. Leave them be.”

“You-” Ares turned back to his adversary. “You are monumentally annoying!” Then he smirked. “Whatever. See you around, babe,” he said in a blown kiss at Xena before disappearing.

“Ooh!”

Artemis interrupted Gabrielle’s pique of temper. “Be careful, princess. I won’t always be able to protect you from him.”

The future leader of her Amazons grunted. “Fine. But he’d better-”

“You’re beautiful when you’re angry,” Xena blurted, still a bit gobsmacked.

The goddess of the hunt tutted her tongue. “Right,” she said after a moment, returning unnoticed to Mount Olympus as the two mortals mutely stared into each other’s souls.

Meh. I still think this one is weird. Too out-of-character maybe? Too subtle like last time? If you’re a bit thrown by GXe here, then please know that to my sensibilities, Ares’s tactics screw with Xena a lot more than she lets on; and, being early in the show, she’d more easily fall into old habits. Meanwhile, poor Gabrielle wants Xena’s attraction to her to be something real, and it is, but she also knew that Xena was just looking for a shallow distraction from her sorrows back in the tavern.

#xwp #xena #xena warrior princess #xena and gabrielle #gabrielle #xena fanfiction #xenafic #drabbles #ficlets #ares

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dr3amofagame · 3 years

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i think that although the theories/aus of puffy's son dream and wil's brother dream are interesting to think about, especially the implications, the (probably) canon statement that he really has no family to me hits the hardest. because it's just dream, you know. his friends hate him, he has none (p relatable), but i can't really imagine,, both not having friends and not having a family. that's kind of what keeps a lot of us sane and okay ( - quill anon (same anon from the c!tubbo c!wil ask) )

ouch quill anon ,, this ask Hurt. it’s true - usually, it’s our family and friends that keep us going, that are the ones that we fight for and live for and love for. c!dream’s “family” was his reasoning behind ,, a lot of the stuff he did, good or bad, and even now you can hear his desperation in getting someone, anyone to visit sometimes, in wanting to know how people are doing outside the cell.

at the same time, he’s a character very much defined by his solitude, by his isolation, by all of the time he has spent,, alone. by the alliances that had been broken, betrayed, forgotten. by how- at the end of the day - he sits for hours on end in an obsidian box with nothing but his thoughts to accompany him. it’s awfully ,, sad, despite everything he’s done. through it all, he’s alone. he survives the horrors of the vault (until this current arc) alone. nobody’s there to hear his thoughts. nobody knows his mindset, or feelings, or wants, or anything that really makes him human. for someone so driven by people, he spends so much time completely isolated - and it’s. honestly really, really tragic.

anyway, this is a sad little drabble set pre-roommates arc abt c!dream in the prison, alone, bc he makes me Sad.

tw: mentioned torture, abuse, violence, broken bones, blood, injuries, mental deterioration, isolation, panic attacks, self-deprecation, trauma, memory loss, death, contemplations of death, dark content, dark imagery

The blank book in his hand stares at him stubbornly, the stark white of the untouched pages nearly burning his eyes, used to the dark walls and floor of the cell. Dream’s hand shakes around his quill, ink splotches marring the pages from where his too-unsteady hand had let the nib brush against the paper and left freckles of black spots behind. He pulls his thumb back from the bottom left corner, hissing slightly when it leaves a dull red fingerprint behind, a smudge of half-dried blood further dirtying the paper.

He’d pulled out one of the books for some reason, probably on a whim, letting his hands run over the leather spine and along the thread of the binding absentmindedly after Quackity left for the day. He hadn’t touched them in a while - he liked to save them, at the beginning, just in case visitors came and he wanted to thank them or if he needed to communicate (though he hadn’t gone silent since Sapnap left, ‘cause Sapnap wanted him to talk and he doesn’t know why he still clings to that visit when it’s been months and he still hasn’t come back, but he promised that if Dream behaved he’d visit again and - it’s stupid to hope, but Dream can’t give up, not yet) and then he kept them because he would need them for the revive book and the Warden would confiscate them, anyway, so it was better not to get attached. Regardless, he’d stubbornly ignored the chest of books for a long time, let the remain closed and the clasp go unlatched as he wasted his days away watching the walls drip bright purple and pretend he didn’t miss his clock.

Until now.

He runs his fingers along the surface of the paper again, ignoring the red and black smudges they leave in their wakes, ruining the previously unblemished pages. The paper is smooth, bearing a very slight grain, and smells clean and woody - this book must’ve been a newer one the Warden replaced into the chest. He’d counted the pages a few times, front and back - there are fifty sheets, so a hundred pages to use as he sees fit, completely empty and untouched. The quill shakes in his hand, the tip pressed against the paper, unmoving.

What is there to write?

He’s forgotten why he pulled out the book in the first place, already - his head keeps getting fuzzier, memory impossibly fragmented and seemingly worsening with every passing day. He knows he had a reason because he’d been very determined about it, had spent what must have been hours dragging himself along the obsidian floor with a broken shinbone jutting out of his right leg and a dislocated left shoulder that he’d taken an extra few minutes to jam back in place by pressing it against the floor. Something had come into his head, probably in the middle of Quackity’s daily session, and he’d found himself desperate to write it down before he forgot despite the throbbing of his head and the pain in his chest making it impossible to take a full breath.

(He must have talked back, or acted defiant, or something - he doesn’t remember much besides the look Quackity had given him after, dark and angry and tight with rage. There had been a hand tangled in his hair, a blade jammed right up against his throat, curses and screams in his ears dying into a singular ringing echo as the blade was pushed deeper and deeper. It wasn’t until a few minutes later when Quackity realized that he’d gone too deep and that Dream was choking on his own blood - his memories shatter, and there’s nothing but more screaming, red and black and blood everywhere, warm against his skin, the sweet-sour taste of glistening melon on his tongue, a healing pot desperately stitching his skin together and bringing him back from the darkness that he’d swelled in the corners of his vision - mostly, he remembers everything going cold and numb and he’d realized, halfway into the Void, that he would never leave the Vault alive.)

His hands tighten on the book as he breathes a shallow, harsh breath through his teeth, because - oh. Oh. He looks back at the trembling white plume in his hand, at his shaking fingers clenched tightly near the end, and he swallows the thick, heavy feeling in his throat. Quackity had- and he had- and then-

Right.

He forces air into his lungs steadily, counting the seconds off in his head. He’d learned how to stave off panic attacks on his own ages ago, and the knowledge had come to full use in the Vault - the struggle to stay calm seems harder with every passing day, but he can’t exactly risk himself passing out every three seconds when he’s inevitably set off by the smell of blood or a twinge of pain or any of the million other triggers crammed into this tiny box that’s been the source of all of his torment for months. He keeps up the slow, steady breathing for another few minutes, just enough time to pull back the darkness creeping in from the edges of his vision, and looks back down at the blank paper.

It stares back at him, almost judgmental of his hesitancy. You opened me up, it seems to challenge him, why aren’t you writing? The quill still shakes in his hand. He doesn’t know if it’ll ever stop shaking again.

Dear, he begins, almost in defiance, proof that he Is Going To Write Something, thank you very much, he isn’t just going to chicken out and leave it a blank book (like you have before?) but the quill tip digs into the paper as he grinds to a sudden halt, the empty space next to the first word nearly taunting. He feels his mouth dry, heat rising behind his eyes - the book, silent and blank as ever, stays imprinted in his vision even as he squeezes them shut.

Dear, what a stupid, sentimental way to start a letter. He can’t even fool himself into thinking of it as a business venture, turn it into an elaborate plan to escape and address it to either Techno or Wilbur (who would never receive his message anyway), not without admitting his regard for the two edged past his pretense of professional interested and owed favors. He can hardly write it to Ranboo, not without compromising their already fragile alliance (if it even exists, anymore. The enderman hybrid had yet to visit for months - and sure, it was probably for the best, who knows how Quackity would react if he found out about the nature of their relationship, but that didn’t make it sting any less.)

In the back of his minds, name rise from where he’d kept them carefully buried despite his best efforts. Punz. Bad. Puffy. Sapnap. George. He shakes his head, trying to wave away them from his thoughts, but the effort is as fruitless as it has always been - he stares at the first word angrily, like it has betrayed him, and receives no response. The words are messy, shaking, his script overly looping and rounded like a child’s. He hates it, hates how cheery it looks, even on the bloodstained page - it looks like the beginning of a birthday card, or a perhaps a particularly dedicated Halloween party invite. Like he’s some sort of lovesick teen, writing letters to crushes that would never pay him a second glance. He laughed a little, without any real humor - minus the romance, that description isn’t all that far off.

Because- well. His memories might be shot to all hell, but he doubts he’ll ever forget the hatred on Sapnap’s face, a loaded crossbow pointed between his eyes, George’s expression set in disinterested apathy - “George, you can give the word.” Bad’s face, twisted in pity and resignation, voice carefully measured as he looks away and gestures at the cell, “you did do some pretty bad stuff to get put in here though, Dream,” the hidden “you deserve it” that he’d heard, just as clearly behind the words. Punz - “you should’ve paid me more” - jaw set stiffly as people poured through the portal, watching, wordless, as Dream bled out twice on that blackstone floor. Puffy, poorly hidden disgust flickering over her face as she looks away from him being dragged away in chains, sword held steady in her hands. Sapnap, that same fiercely determined expression on his face so familiar that thinking of it aches, even now, “it’s gonna be me, who takes your final life.” Months and months and months and months, alone.

Always, always, alone.

The page makes a quiet, complaining groan under his pen - he looks down to see it torn under the tip of his quill, the word completely unreadable under line after line of black ink scratched over it, each one deeper than the last. He stares blankly at it for a few minutes longer, the brief flash of anger that had seared through his body settling into numbness once more.

To whoever may find this: he scratches the words on the page slowly, keeping his print deliberately blocky and neat. The heavy feeling in his throat returns, stronger than ever, and he ignores it as he pushes on.

He pauses for a moment, wondering what more to write. Apologies? Accusations? He could detail every second that he remembers from Quackity’s visits, describe every inch of pain that had been pulled from his aching lungs, every line etched into his skin. He could apologize for every act of cruelty that had ever been caused by his hands, every bridge he’d ever torched to light the path to a better future. He could explain - everything, every tortured thought that had circled his head for hours on end and every night that had passed without any sleep and every time he’d pushed on without complaint or hesitancy because it would be worth it, even if he was the only one who saw it, it would be worth it because he’d sacrifice too much for it to be anything but. He could- he could, he could write and write until he’d filled every page of every book back and front, and would they even believe him? Would it even matter?

Goodbye, he writes at last. It feels strangely final. (He won’t be leaving this Vault alive. He knows this as surely as he knows that he will leave this world uncared for, unheard. As surely as he knows that he’ll always be alone.) With a quick snap of magic following the signing of his name, the book is preserved, shining slightly with a purple glow as he sets it back down in the chest. He looks around, the cell once again stiflingly quiet without the book to busy him, Dream once again completely alone as he’s been for - well.

(Pandas, eyebrows drawn in uncharacteristic seriousness from the usually painfully spirited eight-year-old, pinkie raised between the two of them, solemnity belied by the gap in his front teeth poking out between his lips.

“We’ll be together forever,” he whispered with the volume control you’d expect from a kid that age, which is to say that it wasn’t much of a whisper at all, but Dream, newly ten years old, remembers being particularly moved by the gesture anyway, moving to hesitantly hook his own pinkie in the other’s.

“And we’ll never be alone ever again,” he’d replied, voice faraway with a disbelieving sort of awe.”

“Never,” Pandas’ voice had been just as firm as his first statement, twisting his wrist to tighten the grip of their linked fingers further. “Best friends for ever and ever, right?”

“For ever and ever.”)

“For ever and ever,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut as he slumps down against the floor, and only the lava bubbles in reply.

#tw torture #tw abuse #tw violence #tw broken bones #tw injuries #tw mental deterioration #tw isolation #tw panic attack #tw self deprecation #tw trauma #tw memory loss #tw death #tw dark content #tw dark imagery #-> my writing #my writing :D #my asks !!#-> my asks #quill anon !

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willowcrowned · 3 years

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Hi, I just found your blog and I love it! I have nevere laugh so hard thanks to chewku and I started reading some of your others AUs. Can I ask you if you'd like to continue a bit the Gray Apprentice AU? The one with Obi-Wan both a sith and a jedi? Pretty please? I would love to see hin and Maul bicker for everything but then they form a brotherly bond and Maul gets adopted by Lord Zannah.

Okay, thank you SO much for reminding me that this AU exists because I love it very dearly (to the point where at one point I was starting to write full-on scenes and stashing them in a word doc for later). You can ABSOLUTELY have a bit of the Grey Apprentice AU

Obi-Wan, unlike his master, isn't really one for sticking his nose where it doesn't belong. During tenure as Qui-Gon's apprentice, he's had a firsthand view of what results from judicious snooping, which is mostly messes that he’s had to help clean up, and that has never endeared him towards the practice, but this is different. This is more than justified. After all, it’s not often that one gets to look at a rival Sith’s ship, especially when that rival Sith is trussed up in the hold like a Takodana chicken on a festival day.

Unfortunately, Maul’s ship is disappointing. Obi-Wan has long done away with his notions of Sith caves and fortresses dripping with filth and darkness, but he’d at least been expecting something more interesting than a closet full of black tunics and half a burrito wrapped up in the fridge. There should at least be some weapons— a few poisons, maybe, or a cursed pike if he’s lucky; Sith tend towards backups, and that extends to weapons as well as plans.

He frowns, looking around the hallway. He’s checked all the places he would hide things— inside the engine’s wiring, behind a second fake panel that is itself behind a wall panel, and even in the vents (though those are fairly obvious, and therefore a last resort)— but he hasn’t found anything. Obi-Wan reaches out with his senses, calling for the Dark in the hopes that the Sith-blessed weapons will call back, but there isn’t any response; the entire ship is peaceful, almost blank.

Obi-Wan slaps a hand to his forehead, swearing. He’s been looking at this as though Maul is a fallen Jedi. Of course he’s not going to bother hiding the weapons carefully, he’s just going to mask them with the Force. Instead of looking for where they are, Obi-Wan should be looking for where they aren’t.

He reaches out with the Force again, and finds several deeply suspicious blank spots. Obi-Wan grins. Perfect.

Which is, of course, the moment Maul has to wake up and start making noise. Obi-Wan sighs. That’s the trouble with kidnapping people. They never let you look over their things in peace.

By the time he gets to the hold, Maul is screaming (presumably with rage, though the bindings, physical and Force-created, are keeping him from moving even his face). It’s a rather funny scene— it’s always amusing to watch someone used to having power suddenly have access to none of it. It’s the panic, really, sort of like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow. “Hello there.”

Maul, predictably, screams.

“You know you’re just going to damage your vocal chords if you keep at that,” Obi-Wan says, undoing the bindings on Maul’s face, mouth and lips included. “Can we have a civil conversation now?”

“I will defeat you, Jedi,” Maul hisses, eyes blazing with fury. “You will know the pain of my saber as your flesh is rent apart.”

“Haven’t we already been through this?” Obi-Wan sighs. “I defeated you on Tatooine. You can’t seriously be expecting a do-over.”

“I will tear you limb from limb. I will break every bone in your body, and feed the splinters into your muscle. I will pierce your skin with one thousand needles, crush your brain inside your skull. I will—”

Obi-Wan gives him a flat look. “You’ll do nothing until I undo your bindings, which isn’t going to happen if you keep up with that.”

“My master will come for me.” Maul’s eyes are filled with such fervor that Obi-Wan almost feels bad for him.

“Maul,” Obi-Wan says, looking at him with a sincerity he hopes displays how utterly stupid he thinks it is that they have to have this conversation, “do you really think your master cares if you live or die?”

“I will tear your beating heart from your chest, rip your spine through your back—”

“Yes, yes,” Obi-Wan says, “we’ve been through this. I’m sure you know many ways to kill me gruesomely.” He huffs. “I mean, fuck’s sake, he’s already grooming a new apprentice. He won’t be finished cooking for another year or two, but you’ve not got more than a couple months before your replacement waltzes in and kills you.”

“I have no replacement,” Maul growls.

Obi-Wan wants to feel cheered that Maul has stopped issuing death threats, but the murderous intent gathering around the other man is somewhat dampening his triumph. “Yes, you do.”

Maul opens his mouth, but before he can argue, Obi-Wan continues.

“He’s been laying a trail, you know. Your killing my master was supposed to be the final straw for him to finally immerse himself in the darkness. Of course,” Obi-Wan adds, not very contrite, nor inclined to fake it, “he was then supposed to track you down in a little while, and kill you— for the light, of course. All that would be left then is the sacrifice.”

“You lie,” Maul spits.

“No,” Obi-Wan says, exasperated, “I don’t, and I know you know that because I can feel you listening to the Force to check. Sidious is going to do away with you, sooner rather than later, and you’re not prepared to face him.”

Maul’s eyes widen, the implications finally settling in.

“Work with me,” Obi-Wan offers. “Help me kill him before he can get rid of you.”

“This is a trick— you want me to give away my secrets, to betray my master, to turn us against each other to take us down.”

“Well, yes, that was the general idea.”

Maul’s expression doesn’t change, suspicion still clouding his features beyond all else.

“I’m offering you the chance to save your life,” Obi-Wan adds, gentler.

“Very well.” Maul grits his teeth. “But know this, Jedi, after we have disposed of him, I will come for you and your master, and I will make you watch as I kill him.

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes, disgusted. “Banites.”

#fun fact!#this is the tumblr au that's most likely to get turned into a fic by me #I did have most of it plotted at one point but I forgot to write it down #still—#fun premise #easy-yet-satisfying romance #lots of quips #and approximately half a complex theme #it's the polar opposite of what I'm working on right now and it'd be a really fun next big project #we'll see #grey apprentice au #willow's aus #star wars #star wars au #sith au #sith!obi wan #darth maul #asks #sarcasticamaleont

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asweetprologue · 3 years

Text

me lámh le do lámh - Part V

First | Previous | Next | Masterpost

They walked back in near silence, Geralt still dwelling on the swirling storm of guilt and yawning despair he found himself thrust into. Jaskier was quiet, unusually so, perhaps sensing Geralt’s sudden shift in mood. Geralt reminded himself once again that he wasn’t tricking Jaskier into anything. This wasn’t a marriage, not one that would be binding in any realm of men or even elves. It was a magic ritual he was using to save his friend’s life, he told himself firmly. That was all it could be, no matter how much Geralt’s heart demanded more.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Jaskier finally said, as they exited the stairwell they’d come down back onto one of the upper levels. “More than usual, I mean.”

Geralt gave a noncommittal hum, not even knowing where to begin in explaining his reticence. Jaskier shuffled along behind him, and Geralt could hear how he was clenching and unclenching his hands around the strap of his shoulder bag, the leather creaking. “Are you… having second thoughts about this? It’s quite the undertaking, I understand, and if you feel it’s not worth it—”

“Jaskier,” Geralt snapped, “shut up. I’m fine.” His skin felt raw and overexposed, as if he’d downed one too many potions. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this unmoored, not since the early days of gaining his Child Surprise.

He could feel Jaskier bristle behind him even before he spoke. “Well forgive me for checking in,” the bard bit out. “Gods forbid I do something that reminds you that I care.”

Geralt sighed through his nose, clenching his teeth. He could not take this out on Jaskier, not when this was a situation he’d fabricated for himself. “I know you do, Jask,” he said, the closest thing he felt he could muster now to an apology. “That’s why we have to do this. I—” the I care for you too died in his throat, too close to the truth for comfort. “I need you around,” he settled on, still too much, too revealing. But Jaskier deserved to know that whatever Geralt might be feeling, he wanted to do this. He needed to do this.

“Of course,” Jaskier said, sounding tired for some reason. “For Ciri, I know. But if it’s such a burden, you can always ask Triss, you know. Or Vesemir, or any of your brothers. If you don’t want to do this, I’m the last one who will force you to go through with it.”

Geralt struggled to find the words to convince Jaskier of his intentions without giving himself away, and failed. The silence stretched on between them, a condemnation, and Jaskier heaved a sigh before pushing ahead. “Forget I said anything,” he muttered, head down as he stalked forward. Geralt opened his mouth to say something, anything to smooth out the defensive line of Jaskier’s shoulders, but nothing came out. He had nothing to offer that wouldn’t drive Jaskier even further away.

So after a moment, he followed in silence.

He allowed the distance between them to persist, Jaskier walking some thirty feet ahead of him. If he’d been closer, perhaps he would have seen the crack in the floor, or heard the grinding of stone. As it was, he looked up as Jaskier gave a sharp gasp of surprise, just as the sound of crumbling rock reached him. Jaskier turned and Geralt caught one look of shock on his face before he was suddenly gone, swallowed by the fragile earth.

Geralt shouted, an abstract sound of panic, and dashed down the passage to the hole that now marred the cavern floor. Heedless of the crumbling edge, he flung himself down to peer into the darkness. The floor here was clearly directly above another tunnel or cavern, and the ancient supports must have given way somewhere, making the ground unstable. The space below was utterly dark; not even Geralt’s enhanced eyes could pierce the darkness. Jaskier’s torch had gone out in the fall, probably crushed by rubble. He didn’t know if it was ten feet down or one hundred. Jaskier could be lying below him, bones shattered on the unforgiving ground, head cracked open—

Geralt swallowed past the nausea that rose in him at the thought. Leaning over the chasm, he called out, “Jaskier!”

There was no answer, and Geralt couldn’t breathe.

“Fuck,” he said, fumbling at his belt, “fuck, fuck.” He pulled out his potion pouch and dug until he found the Cat, throwing the bottle carelessly aside after he’d taken a few quick mouthfuls. After a few seconds, the cave around him bloomed into focus, all shades of sharp grey. He squinted down into the hole again, eyes seeking. It was still dark, but now with the Cat coursing through his veins he could make out vague shapes. It looked like the floor of the lower level was ten to fifteen feet down, cluttered with the rubble from the above passage. Geralt sucked in a sharp breath when he spotted a limp figure lying amongst the debris.

Without thinking, he slid his legs down into the chasm and dropped.

It wasn’t a far drop, not for a prepared witcher. He landed on the balls of his feet and allowed the impact to roll up through him, only barely twinging his bad knee. What made him sway was seeing Jaskier, in clear focus now, sprawled out between the rocks that littered the floor. He was so still, his head turned away from Geralt, and for a moment he was frozen, unable to bring himself to approach. If Jaskier was—if he was dead—

Geralt forced himself forward.

He heard the heartbeat first, and the relief that coursed through him was so overwhelming he could only stumble the rest of the way to Jaskier’s side. He dropped to his knees, reaching out to touch his face gently. This close, he could smell the irony tang of blood, and when he turned Jaskier’s head he could see a smear of dark on the stone below. He swallowed heavily. Head wounds bled a lot, of course, it might not be too bad. But they could also be deceptive, especially in humans. He wasn’t sure how far the damage went, if Jaskier’s brain had taken any injury, or his spine. He hovered for a moment, indecisive.

Jaskier stirred, groaning.

“Don’t move,” Geralt snapped, slipping his hand behind Jaskier’s neck to cradle his head.

Jaskier paid him no mind, shifting minutely and wincing as he did so. “Owch,” he said, thickly. “Geralt?”

“You fell.” Geralt kept his hand in place, lifting his other to prod gently at the cut on Jaskier’s forehead. It was hard to see in the dark, Cat making everything indistinguishable shades of black and white, but he could see that it wasn’t exceptionally deep. It seemed like he’d landed feet first, and then fallen and hit his head afterwards. If he’d landed face first, Geralt assumed things would be a lot messier. “Do you remember?”

Jaskier twisted, shuffling until he was on his back instead of his side, panting up at Geralt. He was squinting, and Geralt wasn’t sure if it was from the pain or just because it was dark. There was almost no light down here, and Jaskier’s dull human eyes were probably utterly blind. Geralt kept his hand in place, steadying Jaskier’s head, not wanting him to injure himself further. “Ban Aine. Ruins. Fucking floor. You were being a dick.” He let out a disgusted sound. “Ow.”

“You probably have a concussion,” Geralt said, relief and affection swimming up through him and merging oddly with his lingering guilt. It wasn’t truly that far of a fall, though he wasn’t entirely sure how far humans could fall. Geralt could probably have made it twice the distance and been perfectly fine; Jaskier seemed alright except for his head. “Need to know if it’s safe to move you. Any pain in your neck? Can you move your fingers?”

He watched as Jaskier slowly took stock, clenching and unclenching his hands, moving carefully. Nothing hurt aside from his head, it seemed, and Geralt allowed himself to breathe out some of the worry that was compressing his lungs. Jaskier was fine. A little dizzy from the growing knot on his head, but otherwise fine. Unable to help himself, Geralt pressed forward until their foreheads were just barely touching, careful of the bump just below Jaskier’s hairline.

Jaskier exhaled slowly. “Don’t tell me you were worried, witcher,” he said, his voice gently teasing.

Geralt just breathed for a moment, letting the horrible fear that had overtaken him rest behind his breastbone. “Sorry,” he said, trying to keep his grip on the back of Jaskier’s neck gentle. “For being a dick.”

Jaskier snorted softly, reaching up to card his fingers briefly through Geralt’s hair. The touch smoothed away the tense, tight feeling that had been playing across Geralt’s skin since he saw Jaskier tumble from his sight. “It’s alright. I’m quite used to the dramatics of witchers. Besides, now you have to be nice to me. I’m an invalid.”

“And you call me dramatic,” Geralt said, unable to keep the helpless fondness from his voice. “Think you can move?”

“Mm, yes, I have an absolute fucker of a headache but otherwise all limbs seem to be in their place. And I still don’t fancy spending the night down here. Where are we?” Jaskier’s head began to turn before he clearly thought the better of it. It wouldn’t have helped, anyways; the tunnels were pitch black. “Can you see?”

“Took some Cat,” Geralt grunted, standing. He tucked Jaskier’s hand into his own and helped lever him to his feet. The bard sucked in a breath at the change in elevation. Geralt was sympathetic; moving around wasn’t going to be helping his head at all. He stayed close, ready to offer his support, which was why he was so quick to reach out when Jaskier took one step forward and his right knee gave out. Geralt caught him by the arm as Jaskier hissed, half sharp inhale and half curse. “Shit,” he bit out, clinging to Geralt tightly. “Oh fuck that hurt, Melitele’s tits—”

“Where,” Geralt demanded, throat tight again.

“Must have twisted my ankle when I landed on it,” Jaskier panted, managing to sound wry despite the way his face was twisted up in pain.

“Hmm,” Geralt agreed. “Too dark down here to look at it. Come on.” Jaskier made a noise of protest as Geralt began to pull away, but it was cut off abruptly as he reached down and swept his arm under Jaskier’s knees. The bard tumbled into his chest with a surprised gasp, one of his arms coming up around Geralt’s shoulders, clutching at his armor. The gasp quickly turned into a small grunt of pain, and Geralt tried to keep his movements steady enough that Jaskier’s head wouldn’t be jostled too much.

Jaskier gave him a dazed look as Geralt settled him. “Oh. My hero,” he said. Geralt was a bit worried by how breathy his voice suddenly sounded; if he was that winded from even that much light movement his head might be more injured than Geralt thought.

Geralt didn’t respond, more interested in getting them out before the Cat wore off. From their position he could see that the tunnel they were currently in—more of a path, really, with clear man-made walls—was elevated on one side. It was as good a lead as any, and he started up the slope.

It took perhaps half an hour for them to make their way back to the upper level, Jaskier tucked against Geralt’s chest as he navigated the winding corridors. Luckily it was fairly easy to tell when the air was closer to the surface. The tunnels that led lower into the ruins carried with them the stale scent of stone and ancient rot, so Geralt turned away from them and followed those that smelled fresher. They soon made their way back to what Geralt judged was the same level as where they’d left, though he couldn’t say whether they were in the same area. He could find no evidence of the hole that Jaskier had left behind, but eventually they reached a crumbled section of the wall that carried the scent of clean spring air. They had to squeeze through the narrow, natural crack in the rock beyond it, Jaskier set down in front of Geralt to limp his own way through. It had been too constricted to carry him, but Geralt still chewed on his cheek as he listened to Jaskier’s pained grunts of concentration.

Finally they stumbled out into the open air again—fully on the other side of the ruins from where they’d entered.

Geralt reached out a hand to steady Jaskier before he could fall, and the bard shot him a grateful look. Gently, Geralt pressed onto his shoulder until he was forced to sit on a rocky outcropping near the entrance to their little escape path. “Stay here,” he instructed. “I’ll go get Roach and we can make camp again on this side.”

Jaskier’s brows pinched together. “But we already made camp on the other side,” he said. His eyes were squinted again, but this time Geralt expected it was because the setting sunlight was hurting his head. Geralt wasn’t faring all that much better, though the Cat would probably be leaving his system soon. At the moment the world was overexposed, all the color leached out while the sky and reflections of sunlight on the surrounding rocks blinded him.

“You’re injured,” was all he said. “Just wait here.”

Jaskier pouted, and Geralt felt something unclench in his chest at the expression. If he was being a brat he couldn’t be feeling too bad. “Fine, witcher. But I think you’re being dramatic again.”

Geralt just raised an eyebrow at him. Jaskier huffed as if he knew exactly what Geralt was thinking. Hypocrite.

“Don’t get into trouble,” Geralt instructed, and then turned to make his way back to the other side of the ruins.

By the time he collected Roach and made it back to the rocky outcropping, it was nearing dusk. He muttered a few choice curses under his breath; it would be difficult to treat Jaskier’s wounds in the dark. As he rounded the bend in the ruins he had a moment of unbridled panic; the place he’d left Jaskier was vacant. It faded after a moment, however. Jaskier’s scent was still thick on the air, lavender and campfire smoke masked by a superficial irony tang. He found the bard tucked against a pillar, out of immediate view. Geralt released Roach’s reins to kneel next to him, reaching out to wrap a hand around Jaskier’s shoulder again. The bard startled under his fingers, moaning when the sudden motion jostled his head. The befuddled expression he turned on Geralt was tense with pain, but endearing despite it.

“You fell asleep,” Geralt informed him, his stomach twisted up with affection and worry. Gods, being in love was unbearable.

“Oh,” Jaskier said, reaching up to scrub a hand over his face. “Sorry. Roach?”

“Got her,” Geralt replied. “I’m gonna set up camp and then I’ll tend to your ankle.”

Jaskier didn’t look immediately thrilled by the prospect.

Geralt set up camp in record time, tossing out their bedrolls and lighting a few pieces of wood with igni, probably the sloppiest fire he’d ever put together. Once finished he helped Jaskier over to one of the bedrolls, sitting him down and pulling over the bag that they kept their basic medical supplies in.

There wasn’t a lot he could do for the ankle. If it was truly sprained it might help to brace it, but in reality Jaskier was just going to have to keep off of it for a few days. The head he could at least tend to, and he did, using boiled water to wipe away the tacky blood from where it had dripped over Jaskier’s forehead and clotted in his eyebrow. Jaskier winced away from the gentle pressure, but the wound didn’t start bleeding again, which Geralt counted as a win. Once done he checked the rest of Jaskier’s head for other bumps, but there was nothing aside from the one on his forehead. He was lucky; if it had been the back of his head he’d certainly have a raging concussion. As it was he seemed mostly fine, if a little dazed and photosensitive. Hopefully a few good night’s rest would see to that.

The ankle he did what he could for, strapping two branches on either side of Jaskier’s foot and pinning them down with bandages. It wasn’t professional work, but it would keep him from moving it too much while he slept. When he was finally finished Geralt tossed the bloody rags away and sighed, eying his handiwork.

Jaskier, who had been curiously silent through the entire production, said, “This certainly flips the script a bit, mm?”

Geralt blinked at him, pulled from his focus on Jaskier’s injuries. “What?”

Jaskier gave him a lopsided grin, almost sheepish. “Usually I’m the one patching you up,” he said. His eyes lost focus slightly, staring down at Geralt’s armor vacantly. “I think I like being on this side of things better.”

Geralt swallowed. He knew he should say something lighthearted, tease Jaskier about just liking the pampering, but instead he said, “I don’t.”

Jaskier’s gaze focused back on him, and eyebrows raised in a startled expression. And then the grin was back, wider than before but somehow more brittle. “Well then,” he said, “is the great Geralt of Rivia admitting that he cares?”

Something about his tone was missing the typical teasing lit, more self deferential than anything. As if he already knew the answer, and it wasn’t one he favored. Jaskier knew that Geralt wasn’t as emotionless as the tales claimed; he had seen first hand how Geralt had once twisted himself up over Yennefer, how devoted he was to Ciri, the affection he had for his brothers. Which meant that Jaskier just didn’t think Geralt cared about him.

It made Geralt want to fight something, or to pull Jaskier close and tell him just how wrong he was. He swallowed against the urge to reach out, instead looking down and needlessly adjusting the bandage around Jaskier’s ankle. “It’s not just for Ciri,” he admitted, allowing some part of the truth to float to the surface. Jaskier deserved at least that much.

“What?”

“It’s not—I don’t just want you around in case something happens. I mean, I do, of course, Ciri loves you, but.” Why was this so hard? Jaskier made finding his words seem so easy, effortless from years of practice and natural talent. Geralt forced himself to take a steadying breath. “You’re a good travelling companion. You make my life… better.”

Jaskier just stared at him for a long moment, his lips parted slightly. Geralt wanted, with an acuteness that bordered on physical pain, to put his mouth there, like a punctuation to his declaration. Finally Jaskier gathered himself and said, “Oh, well… Thank you. That’s rather good to hear.”

Geralt nodded, turning away to deal with washing out the rags and seeing about making them something to eat. After a few minutes of silence he could bear the tension in the air no longer, and stood. “I’m going to see if I can catch something,” he said, grabbing his crossbow from its place on Roach’s saddle. “Shout if you need me, I’ll stay close.”

Jaskier nodded absently, just watching him as Geralt gathered up the things he would need for the hunt. Just as he was about to make his way into the trees at the edge of the ruins, he heard Jaskier’s voice behind him, across the campfire.

“You make my life better, too.”

And Geralt didn’t even know what to do with that, the way those words curled through him and around his heart. He fled into the forest without a backward glance, the oathstone sitting heavily in his pocket.

Halfway through!! And another piece of art to go along with it! The piece in this chapter is by the amazing @herostag, and I just adore it. The black and white because of Geralt taking the Cat is such a nice touch!

#geraskier #geraltxjaskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt/jaskier #the witcher #witcher #fanfic #fic #writing #my work #me lamh #multichapter #big bang #geraskierbigbang #herostag #art

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help-im-a-gay-fish · 3 years

Text

The Night of the First Mistake

Sequel to

Synopsis: pre X-orcist, almost a year after Nightmare's death, Dream is still not on top of his grief and causes him to resort to desperate measures.

Tw mentions of death/dead loved ones.

X-orcist au belongs to me and @zu-is-here

Dreams, Demons and Desires is by me.

Enjoy

Almost a year had past since he'd last seen Nightmare. The skeleton couldn't say he had mourned him, but the news of his death had been unfortunate to say the least. Who could have seen someone like Nightmare dying in such a preventable way? Not him, that's for sure.

He was a friend... Or at least a friendly acquaintance, clearly he'd not been quite close enough to Night's inner circle to be invited to the funeral. He'd never even met Night's brother. Despite that, the news of his parting had deeply saddened him and every so often, he thought of him with a sigh.

A good customer and a good person.

This evening, Nightmare played at his thoughts again, probably drudged up by the anniversary of the accident approaching, he hadn’t meant to make note of the day, but he had. a few weeks would be the anniversary of the day he heard the news.

He thought back to a year ago, a few weeks before his death. The words he’d said about his brother and the increasing frustration about his sinful thoughts. Killer didn't judge him for such feelings, he was no stranger to sin.

Other then that, there was nothing at all strange about this night.

Tonight, just like any night, he was in his shop and the counter. It was a cold October and pretty soon he'd be closing up.

It was dark and chilly in his shop and had a strangely pungent smell, which hit the moment you walked in. A mix of crushed herbs and spices, old books and stale coffee.

An old set of scales sat on the counter top in front of him, as did a till, several glass jars and containers and a large collection of dirty coffee mugs.

Behind him there was a large book case full of many strange books. Ones with faded titles, ones with thick leather bindings, some with large strains spreading across the covers or pieces missing. If you asked him, he'd liked to have said that he'd read all of them... But there were a few he hadn't. He wasn't much of a reader outside of this collection.

As he nursed yet another cup of coffee from the café next door, he tapped his slender skeleton fingers on the counter top. He was bored.

With a glance at the clock, he decided today that he could close up early. It was his shop after all, he made the rules. A small collection of trinkets and charms hung around his neck and clinked together against his old coat, as he got to his feet.

Just as he prepared to take today's earnings from the till to count it, he heard the door and a jingle of the shop bell, indicating someone had entered.

He set an empty eye socket in their direction as they froze, looking nervous.

The person was new, but also something about them was strangely familiar. After scanning them for a moment, his face twisted into a sly smile upon realising who the new comer could be. He turned his face to them fully, staring his pitch eyes right through them. They tensed, which amused him slightly.

"well hello Little Light.... How may I help you"

Dream seemed taken back slightly by the pet name. It wasn't something he was used to. His hands fused with the fastening on his coat.

"uhh Hello.....I’m..... Uh.."

The shop keep chuckled again. Such nervous behaviour wasn't something he saw often from his customers. Looks like it was going to be an interesting night and to think, he was going to close up.

"nervous Lil light?"

Dream once again tensed and shuddered slightly.

"Please.... Don't call me that" he stammered slightly before taking a breath "My name is Dream"

The shop keepers grin got even wider and it made a chill run up Dream's spine. There was something extremely unnerving about this skeleton. Maybe it was the emptiness of his eyes or the strange carvings around them, but Dream was sure that it was more then that.

The atmosphere of the shop was very unsettling and kind of cramped in Dream’s opinion. There were many trinkets, stones, crystals and small animal bones stacked neatly on the shelves. It was this, along with bags of salt and bundles of sage and garlic, that reassured him he was in the right place for what he needed.

"Dream huh?.... Thought so" he said in a low tone "I'm so glad to finally meet you"

The nervous shifting of his hands continued, as Dream once again tensed even further. He was acting friendly, but it still felt ever so slightly...off.

"h-how do you know me?"

"I knew your brother and I'd recognise that pendant I sold him anywhere" he said, with his eyes looking at Dream's chest.

Dreams fingers quickly shot to the star charm hanging from his neck, and gripped it tight. Looks like this was the right place.

"Not to mention there's your golden eyes" he continued, shifting his gaze straight into Dream's eye sockets. It was strange how Dream knew where he was looking, even without eye lights.

"he often talked about them......He was right when he said they were very beautiful if I do say so myself~"

Dreams face blushed slightly, but he felt a familiar twist in this chest at the mention of Nightmare and a sinking feeling when he was reminded how Night felt about him. His brother had often complimented his eyes.....

He'd just never really understood it was more then brotherly affection. At least until now.

"I.... Uh" Dream said before clearing his throat "You're Killer.... Aren't you?"

Flexing his fingers, Killer nodded. The grin didn't leave his face.

"looks like my reputation proceeds me"

Dream let go of his necklace and a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "I thought it might be you.... Based off something he wrote in his diary".

Before Night's accident, Dream had never even considered reading his diary. That was just a basic code of conduct. However, after his death, it became something Dream had often thought about. The diary, and everything else Nightmare owned, now belonged to him. For that reason he'd taken the book out of Nightmare's room.

However, he'd just kept it on his bedside table for almost a year before he finally had the courage to read it.

It had mostly been a fond look over some old memories, some good and some bad. But there were also passages about his feelings for Dream, sometimes written confessions addressed him. Every word was full of truth, longing and pain. Dream had felt it all.

Those had been hard to read, but he'd not skipped a single page and read them each through several times.

Nearer the end of the book, Nightmare had started talking about his interest in the supernatural. Dream remembered his twin getting fascinated in that and spending long evenings talking with him about it over tea and biscuits.

One thing Dream hadn't known about, where his trips to the next town over, where he wrote about finding this shop and the shop keep. This had been where the interest started. It was this that had lead Dream to come here.

"right..." Killer said, downing what was left in his coffee mug and setting in on the counter top.

"well.... What can I help you with?"

Yeah.. Nightmare had written that Killer was always one to cut to the point. Dream knew that what he was going to ask sounded insane and he wasn't even fully sure if Killer was the right person to ask. But at this point he was desperate, he just needed to know. With his grip returning to his brothers pendent, he remembered who he was doing this for.

He took a deep breath.

"Can you bring people back from the dead?"

Killer didn't react visibly to that. But he drew out a long silence. After a little Dream was sure he saw his jaw clench. The silence was completely deafening, broken only by the sound of Killer's fingers tapping the counter top. Dream figured that he was probably struggling to think what to say. After what felt like a life time, he spoke.

"I specialise in charms and equipment for preventative measures to stop spirits inhabiting homes....I do not....." he paused

"I don't try and bring the dead to the living realms".

Dreams face fell. He really shouldn't have been so disappointed, it was a crazy ask. But with the way Killer spoke and what he sold in the shop, he'd felt so close to what he wanted. But maybe it really was just impossible.

He felt tears threatening to spill, he just couldn't take all this guilt anymore. All he wanted to do was tell his brother he was sorry. That night. That kiss. That dam horribly wonderful kiss...and that car.

"however...." Killer continued.

Dream felt hope flush through at those words and stood up slightly straighter. Killer turned his back to dream and started looking over the bookshelves behind the counter.

He didn't say a word, as Dream curiously watched him. He ran his thumb across the spines of several of the oldest and most dusty looking of them, eventually plucking out a large leather bound book with silver straps.

He walked back over, blowing dust off it as he did, and set it down on the counter with a light thud. The cover was extremely dusty and the leather was cracked and split in several places, yet the title still read fairly clearly and Dreams felt his heart skipped a beat.

The Practice of a Necromancer. Vol one of three. Summoning, Controlling and Banishing.

"I've not read this one fully, but it's been in my collection for years.... I suppose this would be the right place to look"

With that, he slowly opened the book and very carefully started to turn its pages. The paper was completely yellowed and clearly very fragile. There were no photographs, only hand done drawings of various items and also what looked like people, but with strange and uncanny faces. There were also other frightening images that Dream was trying not to look at.

Killer eventually stopped and ran his finger across a page.

"ah ha" he said "to summon a spirit into the living world"

He read over the text for a moment, as Dream watched impatiently. Killer knitted his non-existent eyebrows and narrowed his eyes.

"this stuff sounds overly complicated to me..... so I guess I'm not sure really"

But Dream didn't really seem to be playing much attention to Killer's words now. He was so desperately trying to read the text upside-down. Reading was something that Dream always struggled with anyway, so reading upside down would be near impossible. He reached forward to try and pull the book to him.

But he jumped back in surprise as Killer slapped his hand across the book, sending some dust into the air.

"now now now not so hasty Lil Light" he said returning back to a sweet tone, as he said the a pet name that made Dream's toes curl.

In his haste Dream had forgotten that this was a shop, not a library, so of course he wouldn't just hand it over.

The smaller skeleton knew that the book was probably pricey so it's not like Killer would just let him have it. It was clearly very old and Dream worried that he wouldn't have enough for it, but if he had to pay all the money he had to buy it. He would.

Reaching inside of his pocket, Dream pulled out a bundle of paper money and placed it on the counter and next to the book. Killer looked at it for a moment, before he took it and counted how much money was in the bundle. He ran his fingers across the notes, looking as if he was very tempted and contemplating his next move.

But then, much to Dream's disappointment, he put it back down on the counter.

"I don't want your money dream... That's not what I meant"

An unhappy wine left Dream's mouth, as Killer proceeded to hand his money back to him. Just as he was about to ask why, Killer cut him off.

"it's not for sale"

"but what if I just borro-

"or for rent or loan"

Dreams soul twisted. This felt so Incredibly unfair. He wasn't ever one to really get angry or feel hatred for people. But why had Killer gotten this book down if he didn't intend to sell it? Was he just trying to mess with him?

It was that moment that he wasn't sure he really liked Killer all that much.

He sighed.

"h-how come? Can I do anything to change your mind?"

Killer sadly shook his head.

"Dream....... I like to read the stuff for research purposes not for a practical use"

Dream opened his mouth to object, but killer silenced him.

"and I don't care what you say... but I don't think you're just interested in the topic"

Dream tried very hard not to show disappointment on his face, but of course Killer picked up on it. It upset him that his intentions were so easy to guess. Then again he'd opened with 'can you bring people back from the dead'.

He really should have asked in a different way. Feeling like an idiot, he tried to say that he wasn't intending to use the book in practice. But Killer once again shook his head.

He stood up slightly and gave Dream a sympathetic look, or a sympathetic as he could make it through his cold eyes.

"look....I know you miss him and that's ok I've lost people myself to" he said in a uncharacteristically gentle tone, which sounded fake.

Dream looked at his feet.

"but the dead need to be left dead. Trying to bring them back never ends well, Nightmare wouldn't want you to get hurt trying to help him"

Dreams eyes stayed fixed on the floor, not wanting to look at killer any longer. He didn't want him to see him cry. He didn't want to look like a baby. Just as he was going to try arguing again, behind him he heard the shop door open and the bell ring

He looked back at Killer seeing he'd straightened up.

"K-killer...." came a soft but slightly panicked voice.

Curiously, Dream looked over his shoulder at the source of the voice. It was another skeleton stood by the door.

In all his life, Dream had never seen someone look to tired. They seem to be slightly younger then Dreams age but it was hard to tell how much. Their appearance was clearly young, but the huge bags under their eyes aged their face several years. The most notable thing about them was that their eye lights where small, indicating that they were on edge.

They were wearing a oversized cream knitted sweater and had a maroon scarf decorated with a paw print pattern tide around their neck. They fiddled with it as their eyes a looked at Killer and then to Dream.

From where he was, Dream could also see them wearing several of the necklaces and charms that Killer a sold, as well as a few layers of bandages around their arms.

Killer hastily exited from behind the counter and approached them.

"Hey Cappuccino......." he said, trying again to sound soft.

Ccino wasted no time in burying his head to Killers chest and wrapping his arms around him.

In response, Killer stumbled slightly and looked momentarily taken back and very uncomfortable. After a moment he sigh, before gently placing an hand on his back.

"hey.....it's ok ya wimp... I'm guessing they're back right?"

Ccino simply nodded, Killer sighed.

"Dream can you show yourself out? I've got to take care of this, we're closing anyway. I'm sorry I couldn't help you better"

As Killer attempted to comfort the shaking skeleton, Dream turned his attention back to the book in front of him. It was just within his reach, the page was tantalising.

It was so clear, a set instructions of the exact thing he'd need to do to reach his goal.

Killer's warning played in his mind.

But he knew what he was doing right? It was his brother, what did Killer really know about what Nightmare would have wanted. He didn't know how.... Close... They were. At least he thought he knew.

It was a split second choice.

As Killer continued to try and comfort his companion, he saw Dream hastily exit the shop without saying another word. He stared at the door.

It didn't feel right.

He narrowed his eyes and stepped back from Ccino slightly.

"hang on"

He walked back to the counter and was relieved to see that the book was still there, however a moment later he noticed something else that make him freeze and curse under his breath.

"what's wrong?" Ccino asked, walking up next to him.

Killer didn't answer and instead picked up his book and looked at it closely to confirm what he saw. When he saw he was right, he near growled.

"Killer?" Ccino asked not seeing the problem.

"look....."Killer said quietly.

He ran his finger down the spine where the pages joined together. Once you looked closely you could see the remnants of torn paper sticking out.

"he took the page"

references coming soon.

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certifiedskywalker · 3 years

Text

Fett’s Foundling - Din Djarin

thewhitedannimal said: Hi! Could I request a mando x reader where the reader is also a skilled and famous mandalorian? They decide to work together and after sometime, the reader is impressed by mando and starts developing a noticeable crush on him, but mando thinks it’s cute and expresses his feelings? Tysm if u do, I love ur work!

AN: I kinda changed this up a bit. I hope you like it though! I think it turned out pretty well!

WARNING: SEASON 2 SPOILERS!!! and mentions of terrorism (Star Wars terrorism but still)

“You’re sure about this?”

Boba’s dark eyes were cold and searching as he held your gaze. The lines of his face, including those carved into his skin by the Snarlacc’s digestive acid, were creased as he tried to read you. You imagined you looked about the same as him, but less scarred. Brow furrowed, lips thin, and expression stern. You were, after all, Fett’s foundling.

“Are you sure about this? After all, we’ve been through a lot together. You might find that you miss me, go all soft on me, old man.”

At your teasing, the coldness in Boba’s tense features melted away. His mouth quirked upwards in one of his rare, closed-lipped smiles. The smile was a welcomed change of pace; the only hint of joy to be found on Moff Gideon’s freshly captured, Imperial light cruiser. Out of the corner of your eye you caught Bo-Katan looking grim, head ducked down in conservation with her subordinate. She had been whispering since the Jedi left, eyes darting around the bridge in search of the Darksaber.

You glanced around too, but found that the ancient relic was nowhere to be found. Neither was Din Djarin.

“And you say I’m going soft,” Boba scoffed, pulling your attention back to him. “You’re tied to him like a Kowakian monkey-lizard to a Hutt. Pathetic joke of a creature.”

“You would be the only one to think that,” you countered, “and the first to know that you’re wrong.” It wasn’t a threat. It was the truth.

Boba had found you as a child who, much like himself, was stranded on Tatooine, doomed to the wastes baked by the twin suns. Both of you had been lost, outsiders to an outside world. Then Boba found his way back to the way of the Mandalore and brought you with him. He taught you to be a warrior and the two of you took odd jobs for odd people.

All the while, Boba searched for his armor and, with his help and scraps of lost battle gear, you had begun to forge your own. Eventually, you forged a name for yourself. So, it surprised him when you had, many cycles past, asked Boba if you could use his: Fett. It had stuck and you had stuck together, through it all. Though now…

“Not pathetic,” Boba finally conceded, “but you’re tied to him. Any being can see it.”

Warmth spread through your body and over your skin like a blaster bolt singe. Tightness gathered in your jaw, forced your teeth together like a vice. To ebb the sting promised by further embarrassment, you tore your eyes from Boba’s, unwilling to let him see deeper in your heart and mind. He knew you too well and you knew him too well. The two of you knew what the other was after and how those paths no longer lined up together.

“You don’t have to ask for my permission to leave.” At his words, you lifted your gaze back to Boba’s. “All I ask is that you give your allegiance to no one-”

You roll your eyes at his words. “I know my value, my ideals. I’d never compromise either.”

Boba shook his head and leaned closer to you. Between you, he extended his hand. Your eyes glanced from his empty, open hand to his face a few times before he finally spoke up.

“-unless they prove to you that your life is more important than their own.”

“I don’t…”

Shock. You remembered the feeling from your first gunfight. All those cycles ago, when you were lost on Tatooine. It had been so long since something had truly rattled you. For it to be Boba’s words, the man who taught you to push shock and fear off to the wayside, you were left all the more shaken.

“From what I’ve seen, that Mandalorian is as honorable as an ex-bounty hunter can be.”

Boba gives you another closed-lipped smile. In your silence, you glance down at his hand again. You see him move it towards you, like an offering. Without another moment's hesitation, you move to rest your hand on his armored forearm. You feel his fingers on your own arm give a gentle squeeze before you meet his eyes again.

“You take care of yourself.”

Before you can return the sentiment, Boba pulls you in from your arm and into a tight embrace. Shock, again, freezes you, turns your limbs to carbonite for longer than you care to acknowledge. Boba’s embrace melts you free from it. You wrap your arms over his shoulders and hold to him as you did during that first gunfight.

“You too,” you whisper, your voice small enough to packed into a pulse rifle. You pull away before you let yourself melt away with the shock. “And tell me when you take Tatooine.”

“Of course,” Boba nods his head at you and glanced to his left. You follow his eyeline and see Fennec. Her lips quirk upwards when you meet her gaze.

“Watch the little duchess. She wants that laser sword.”

“I will.”

Fennec nods before she turns her attention to Boba. As if he never took it off, Boba’s helmet is already on. The dark visor focuses on you for one last moment before he starts off towards the bridge exit, Fennec on his heels. You watch the pair go for a moment, mentally tracking their path to the hangar where the Slave I rests in wait. At the thought of the old beast, your chest aches. The discomfort lingers only slightly as you turn your back on the only life you had known and to the darkness of space shown through the viewport.

“Fett, what a legacy.”

Your body tenses at the sound of Gideon’s low voice. When you turn your eyes over to where he is bound, you see dark eyes locked on you like a TIE target.

“To throw that all away for a dangerous sect of disenfranchised Mandalorians.”

“I am Mandalorian,” you said, starting towards him. Each step you take is with purpose, calculated to reach the total sum of Gideon’s fear. You see how his eyes widen slightly and feel a rush of satisfaction further dulls the ache of Boba leaving; of you staying. “And, the last time I watched the holonews, it seemed that the New Republic labeled your broken Empire as a terrorist sect, disenfranchised from power rather than freedom.”

Gideon shifted, his cape collecting more dust and wrinkles as it rested on the floor with him. He opened his mouth to speak but you quickly turned to Cara. She was smiling, watching Gideon flounder. When she raised her eyes to yours, she grinned.

“That may be the most I’ve ever heard a Mandalorian talk in one go. Mando is always so...quiet.”

“Speaking of,” you glanced back at Bo-Katan and saw her eyes on you. In the hopes she wouldn’t hear, you leaned closer to Cara. “Where is he?”

“He walked off the bridge when the Jedi left with the kid. He went down the hall and to the left.” You nodded at her in thanks and glanced down at a scowling Gideon.

“I think the bindings should be tighter,” you said before walking off in the same direction as Din. With every entrance of new hallway you walked past, you peered into each, searching for him. He had been rocked, set a kilter by the Jedi that had stormed in for a rescue.

He had lost the only family he had known, just as you had decided to let yours go. You could feel your own loneliness creeping up your spine and could only imagine that he felt the same doom sneaking after him. Despite being a hunter, you knew that you could not save him from that feeling, just as you could not entirely save yourself. Though, maybe, you could keep each other’s company and scare off the dark together.

The thought made you cringe. Boba was right: you were tied to Din. Pathetically stuck to him, nearly a stranger; but a stranger with skill. On Tython, you had seen him fight off a few Stormtroopers before running after the Child. He had bested a Darktrooper too, from what Cara had gotten Gideon to admit. He was a stranger with heart too.

A stranger willing to break his Creed, the oath he asked if you and Boba had taken, to say a true goodbye to the Child. In the moment, you didn’t catch a good look at his features. You saw only his head of dark brown hair and the curved tanned skin of his cheek. His looks don't matter to you though. You were already taken by him, from the moment he stood up to Boba on Tython, was ready to lie his life down for his Child.

You were so lost in the memory that you nearly overlooked the shine of his beskar in an abandoned meeting room. Silver casted in his armor, Din was starkly outlined against the blackness of space that shown outside the viewpoint. His helmet was still off, held tight in his left hand. The sight felt sacred, as if it were wrong for you to be looking at even the back of his exposed head.

“You can come in.” While he was only a few paces away from you, Din’s voice sounded far off. Slowly, you took a step inside before taking pause.

“Do you want me to walk in backwards?” Despite the seriousness in your tone, you hear a small, breathy chuckle from Din’s direction. “I’m just trying to be cautious.”

“It’s appreciated,” Din said and, much to your surprised, you watched as he turned his head. In the dark of the Imperial meeting room, it was hard to make out his features but you could feel him looking at you. “But not necessary. Not anymore, not right now.”

Defeat was plain and heavy in his voice. You were familiar with the weight of it, having heard it in your own after your first, and only, failed bounty. Slowly still, you started towards Din again. As you moved, you catch Din’s head turn back to face the stars. Closer now, you sneak a glimpse at the side of his face before settling at his side.

He was handsome, a word you thought you would never use before. Granted, on Tatooine, there weren’t many beings you felt adequately captured the essence of the word. Din, however, with his strong, curved nose and scruff-covered jaw fit the bounty. Not to mention the dark of his eyes that looked like empty space itself. Full of mystery, Din’s eyes were, and you were ready to dive right in.

Then Boba’s words echoed in your head. Any being can see it. At Din’s side, you forced your body still. Movement, nervousness that only Din could spark in you, could make your feelings all the more obvious. Now was not the time for that.

“You miss him already.”

“Yeah.” You snuck a glance at Din. His eyes were fixed on the view port, distant, like his voice. It was like he was trying to chase after the Child but was lost in space. You had no idea what to say to ease his search, his pain. Luckily, you didn’t have to.

A fast whoosh sounded out from the hangar below and distracted both you and Din from others presence. Roaring of a familiar engine reached your ears and, as quickly at you recognized it, the Slave I shot out of the light cruiser hold. Silently, like a swift and stalking hunter, the ship you were raised on rushed away. You watched it go until your lost the shape of it, saw it meld with the stars. It was then you felt the hairs on the back of your neck rise.

You looked over at Din and found that he was facing you now. Features once hidden under layers of beskar were now on full display. Din looked older than you imagined. There were strands of grey in his hair and patches in his scruff. Crows feet crinkles were gathered in the corners of his eyes; though it couldn’t be because he smiled so often, not with a life like his. Not with a life like yours, like all other Mandalorians.

“You didn’t go?” Concern, in his voice and in his brown eyes, warmed your chest. You could only nod in response. “Fett, what are you doing?”

“Making my own way, like all Foundlings must.” Unable to hold yourself back, you nudge softly Din with your elbow. “Like you are. What you did was brave, even if it broke your rules.”

“You inspired me,” Din said, his voice nestled closer now around you. You held his gaze with a quirked brow, entreating him to continue. “Remember what you said on Morak before Mayfield and I went in?”

“‘Don’t get killed’ wasn’t it?”

For the first time, you see Din smile. It’s not like Boba’s smile, the only other Mandalorian you had known. Din’s smile showed his teeth, even if it wasn’t for more than a second. Lines in his face grew more pronounced around his lips. You forced yourself to look away from his mouth and back out of the view port.

“No, I don’t remember.”

“You were talking to Boba. He said I wouldn’t break the Creed, even for the kid, if I had to. You said that I would, that my heart was in the fight.”

Want edged Din’s voice, powerful enough to get you to look up at him once more. His dark eyes were on you still and you don’t think they ever left. They dropped from your eyes to your lips and back again. As small as the shifting glance was, it was enough to tickle your stomach. You had to force yourself to stay still and quiet.

“You were right.”

“I am, most of the time, you’ll find,” you say breathlessly. It’s all you can manage.

“Is that why you’re sticking around?”

“What?” You lick your lips nervously and curse yourself for it.

“Because your heart is in this fight,” Din extends his hand as he speaks. In his open, gloved palm, the hilt of the Darksaber rested. You hadn’t truly even entertained the weapon, what it meant and stood for. Instead, your mind was clouded with Din, with want.

“In a sense.”

Din raised his brows at you. “That’s a Guild answer. A hunter answer. Give me yours.”

You already know it, you want to say but you held your tongue back. Silence, tense and unyielding, fell over the two of you. Din held your gaze, not backing down on his request. It had taken him a few minutes, but he had found his confidence without the helmet. You smiled at the thought; he was a true Mandalorian. A sense of ease overwhelmed you, made you too comfortable and your tongue too loose.

“My heart is in the hands of the fighter.”

You reached your hand over and pushed Din’s fingers closed over the hilt of the Darksaber. For a moment, you fingers lingered over his. You savored the warmth before pulling away. Finding enough courage, you held Din’s gaze again and felt your fear dissipate.

“But I think he knows that already.”

Din swallowed hard before replying, “he does.”

Burnt by embarrassment, you took a step back from him. Just as you were about to take another, dismiss yourself from the conversation and your ultimate rejection, there was a clang. You watched as Din’s helmet hit the floor and as he reached his newly free hand out. His gloved fingers wrapped around your wrist and pulled you back. You took not of his eyes again, how they flicked between yours and your lips. Was he nervous too?

“And he feels the same.”

“You-”

“I feel the same,” Din clarified, eyes focused solely on your face.

Then, it was just the two of you again. Two Foundlings once lost then found again by the other. Wed to the fight but tied to each other. This was the way, wasn’t it? You felt sure it was.

When Din bent down and captured your lips with his, you felt all the more strongly about it. Whatever way, whatever path Din followed, you would be close behind. You were two bounty hunters, fallen from grace and into a world unprepared for what would follow.

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barnes-dameron · 3 years

Text

As Strong as the Force

The Mandalorian x Jedi!reader

*gif not mine

Summary: After Grogu’s rescue, an arrival from an unexpected guest causes the Mandalorian to lose two of the most important things to him.

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: Kind of a sequel to Balance. Season finale spoilers, so read at your own risk The reader is gender neutral, btw

***

The rhythmic pounding of the Dark Troopers against the sealed doors didn’t scare you. Adrenaline was coursing through your veins at this point from the fighting you and the others encountered earlier. But it was all worth it. Your heart beat against your rib cage as you tightened the grip on your blaster. Ahsoka’s words rung through your head, A blaster isn’t a weapon for a Jedi. You shook it away, not needing to be reminded of your failed potential.

You looked to the Mandalorian, wielding his beskar staff as the others stood with their weapons ready. But in a split second, everything changed when an X-wing flew by and docked in the hangar. Grogu made his way to the security screen, and reached a tiny green hand towards the hooded figure’s image. You watched as the figure weilded a lightsaber, destroying all the Dark Troopers that he encountered. Another Jedi... The pounding at the door ceased, much to your surprise, causing the Mandalorian to turn and watch the monitor screen alongside you two.

The Jedi’s skill was nothing like Ahsoka’s, but he held the same power of the Force. Slashing through the heavy droids, and crushing one like it was nothing. It was at this moment when Mando picked up Grogu, and then ordered for someone to open the doors. This was the moment that he has been waiting for. This is the missing piece that will help him complete the mission he has been tasked with. A part of you, however, wondered if he would go through with it. You couldn’t deny that you watched him grow closer to the Child, surely it will be difficult to part from him if given the opportunity.

You took a sharp inhale of breath when the dark figure entered the bridge, his green lightsaber glimmering in the muted room, the hum coming from it filling the air as everyone else remained silent. He turned off his weapon, clipping it to his belt before removing his hood. Your eyes scanned over his face, observing the sky blue eyes and sandy blond hair.

“Luke,” you whispered, remembering the moisture farmer from Tatooine.

You’ve seen him and his uncle many times, and you remembered how much Obi Wan worried about him. But to Luke, Master Kenobi was just Ben. It was strange to see him in Jedi robes compared to his sandy poncho. He only wore one glove on his hand, causing you to wonder what he has seen and done during all these years away from your dry home planet. You’ve heard rumors and stories, but you never believed any. The same boy who grew up on Tatooine being the one to play an essential part in the fall of the Empire. But seeing him now, you could see it was all true. He lost his boyish grin, and the look in his eyes have changed from wide eye innocence to ones who hold wisdom despite his young age. He is so different from the last time you’ve seen him, but you’ve both changed. He was now a Jedi, and you were the Mandalorian’s traveling companion.

“Are you a Jedi?” the Mandalorian asked, as Grogu looked from his place on the seat.

“I am,” Luke responded, folding his hands in front of him. You watched as he raised his ungloved one towards Grogu, a smile playing on his face. “Come little one.”

Grogu cooed, then looked towards you and Mando. The Mandalorian turned his head away from the Child to yours, scanning your face before addressing the Jedi.

“He doesn’t want to go with you,” he said.

“He wants your permission,” Luke replied. “He is strong with the Force, but talent without training is nothing. I will give my life to protect the Child, but he will not be safe until he masters his abilities.”

You watched as the Mandalorian picked up the Child, holding him in his arms.

“Hey go on,” he encouraged. “That’s who you belong with. He’s one of your kind. I’ll see you again. I promise.”

You felt tears stinging in the back of your eyes as Grogu placed his tiny hand on the Mandalorian’s helmet, caressing the smooth metal. Mando raised up a hand towards his helmet. Sensing what he was about to do, you took a full step forward. You knew what his Creed meant to him, but the Child meant more. However, there was a part of you that wanted to give him the same respect before he broke his oath. You trained your eyes on the ground, resisting any temptation to look behind you. All you could hear was the Child’s cooing.

“All right, pal,” the Mandalorian said. “It’s time to go.” Grogu whined at Mando’s words, but he comforted him as any father would when letting go their child. “Don’t be afraid.”

You watched in silence as Grogu made his way towards Luke and his droid, and your heart nearly broke when it was Luke holding the little guy in his arms instead of the Mandalorian. You switched your gaze to the floor, concealing the tears that threaten to escape from your eyes.

“Come?” A voice said, echoing through your mind instead of hearing it with your ears. It wasn’t something you expected or even heard before, the sound so foreign yet familiar in a peculiar way.

You snapped your head upwards, meeting Grogu’s dark eyes as they peered into you with an expectant look. Your breath hitched as realization struck you like a force of lightening. He reached out to you. For the first time since your meeting, the little guy reached out to you. You looked to Luke with widened eyes. However he just tilted his head as he waited for your answer; he must’ve heard.

“Are you coming?” Luke asked, his blue eyes peering into yours the same way that Grogu’s did.

You began to stutter, trying to answer but not being able to form any words. This man, that you once knew as a simple farm boy from Tatooine, is now offering to teach you the ways of the Force. But in the same way, he’s asking for you to leave your companion whom you love. Your heart began to pick up as your nerves began to jumble and settle in the pit of your stomach. But you were drawn out of your thoughts and anxieties by a gentle hand that placed itself on your shoulder. By instinct, you turned your head and finally saw the face of the Mandalorian. His hair looked soft as his locks at the top of his head poked out in different directions, his lips were plush, and his eyes were a beautiful shade of brown, yet there was sadness traced within them. He brought his hand up from your shoulder to cradle the side of your face, swiping his thumb along your cheekbone.

“Go with him,” he said, his voice smooth without the helmet’s modulator.

“But what about you?” You asked, your voice trembling as a sob threatened to escape past your lips. A tear dripped out from the corner of your eye, trailing down your cheek before being swiped away from Mando’s thumb.

“I’ll be fine,” he reassured. “Go with him and the kid. I’ll come back for you both.”

“Promise?” You asked, gripping his wrist, feeling the rough fabric beneath your palm.

“I promise,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against yours.

You closed your eyes, squeezing them shut to keep away the tears. This is not how you want him to remember you, as a sobbing mess. Your heart ached in your chest at the thought of this being your last moment with him until he returns. The only time you’ve seen his face is when you have to leave. You reached up a hand, placing it on his cheek; feeling the slight stubble of hair peeking out from the skin. You opened your eyes, looking into his before Mando placed his lips on yours. It was as soft as you imagined, the gentle pressure washing away every worry that you held.

It was at this moment you realized that Ahsoka might be wrong. Holding an attachment doesn’t make you weak, but the fear of losing the person is what does. It was at this moment, with the man you love, you knew that the Mandalorian would come back and keep his promise. You knew that you always will be with him and him with you even if you’re light years apart, in both this life and after death. The Force wasn’t the only thing that binds the universe together, but love as well. Love doesn’t make you weak, but strengthens you.

You wrapped your hands into his hair, the locks threading in between your fingers as you pulled him closer. Your chest pressed into his beskar chest plate, the coldness of the metal coming through your seemingly thin shirt material. The hand on your cheek tightened, as he placed one on your hip to hold you against him a little longer. It hurt to do so, but you had to...you pulled away from his lips and it saddened you to see him chase them for a split second. But realization and sudden acknowledgment of his surroundings caused him to pull away as well, straightening his spine as he looked at you. You gave him a smile, squeezing his hand before turning around to walk towards Luke, who was waiting patiently with Grogu and his astromech droid. Luke nodded to Mando.

“May the Force be with you,” he said, before turning away.

You walked alongside him as you approached and entered the elevator. As you waited for the doors to close, you stared at the Mandalorian, memorizing every single detail of his face, from the bridge of his nose to the little dimple on his cheek. He kept his composure, even smiling a bit, yet his beautiful brown eyes were glazed. At this point, you were no longer saddened. You knew that you will meet him again, that you would be together again. What you two had, it was something as strong as the Force.

Taglist: @absurdthirst @tangledlove27 @caswinchester2000

#the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian season two #the mandalorian spoilers #the mandalorian #mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #star wars #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #fluff #angst

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little-diable · 3 years

Text

Yours, forever - Din Djarin (smut)

Requested by anon

Hope this is what you had in mind, enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The fem!reader helps Din on a job, but Din hates seeing his wife flirt with the bounty, so he takes her home, simply to remind her who she belongs to

Warnings: spanking, dom!Din, choking, restrains, unprotected sex

“Din” (y/n) mumbled his name, trying not to smudge her lipstick, eyes focused on her reflection, “Din” no words left his mouth, helmet staring at her as she got ready. “Do you not trust me?” she whispered the words, averting her eyes as he rose from the box he was sitting on, gloved hands meeting her waist, pulling her against his beskar. “Of course I do, it’s him who I don’t trust”.

He had known from the moment he had taken on the job that it won’t be an easy task, the bounty was known for his worth, he was clever and quick to slip out of one's hands. (Y/n) had been by Din’s side for long, would support him with his jobs and would look after the child, all while falling for the Mandalorian and eventually marrying him. She knew how much he was struggling with this task, so (y/n) had taken matters into her own hand, she’d try to lure the man in, flirting as he’d drown a few drinks, till Din would eventually step in and take him captive.

“Din” (y/n) turned around in his grip, cupping the helmet, thumb running along the cold beskar, “I’ll be careful, you’ll be there to protect me anyways. I only have eyes for you, my handsome, strong husband”. Din placed his forehead against hers, hands squeezing her sides as he let out a deep breath, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart. The child cooed, arms reaching out for Din, slipping into the bag Din would carry it around with.

The bar on Navarro was filled with different species, the atmosphere was buzzing, (y/n)s eyes instantly fell onto the bounty, a tall, quite handsome man who had his arms slung around a few barely dressed women. Din stayed hidden away in a dark corner, hands grasping the table, trying to stop himself from stepping in just yet. The harder he concentrated on his wife the more his bulge seemed to grow, twitching for her, how much he wanted to push her against the nearest wall, to fuck her into oblivion, reminding her that she was his, his alone.

As (y/n) stepped up to the bar she instantly felt the bounty's eyes on her, shamelessly checking her out, pushing the girls around him away. “My my what is a gorgeous woman like you doing all on her own?” the words made her cringe, forcing a smile onto her lips, “who said that I was alone?”, she took a sip of her drink, eyes hooked onto his piercing blue ones. A throaty chuckle bubbled out of him, placing his hand on the small of her back as he pulled her towards a table, hand wandering lower and lower with every step he took.

(Y/n) caught Din’s gaze from across the room, well at least she was fairly certain that he was staring at her, she shook her head, telling him to wait, he’d be gone before Din would have reached them. She barely focused on the words the bounty was speaking, mind wandering back to last night as Din had his way with her, eyes hidden by a blindfold, wrists bound together. “What are you thinking of beautiful?” he placed his hand on her knee, trying to move it up her thigh as she inhaled, clenching her jaw as a bile rose in her throat, “why don’t we get out of here?”.

It took her a few moments to reply, pondering over her next moves, praying that Din was still focused on her and the bounty, that he’d get to them before the man would manage to take (y/n) away. Hesitantly she took his hand, stepping out into the chillying night air, her heart was racing, palms sweaty, mind only set on her husband and their clan of three. “I don’t think so” the slightly metallic voice echoed through the night, coaxing a relieved sigh out of (y/n), thank goodness.

Din had to fire a few shots, till the man crashed down onto the floor, unconscious, “alright, we’ll turn him in, get our credits and then we’ll leave, I’m sick of this planet”. His voice dripped with something she couldn’t quite pinpoint, though his deep, raspy undertone shot shivers down her spine, made heat pool between her thighs, trying to keep her moan from rolling off her tongue.

The moment they were back on the razor crest Din had pulled her into his chest, murmuring a small “clothes off, blindfold on”, smirking to himself as she basically ran towards their shared cot. He placed the child down, its eyes were closed, already fast asleep, at least they wouldn’t have to worry about it for a few hours.

“I’ll never again let another man touch you like this” Din spat, ripping off his helmet, stepping into the dark room, door sliding shut behind him.

Her naked chest was pressed against the covers, ass high in the air, eyes squeezed shut, even though they stayed hidden behind the black blindfold. “I’m yours Din” (y/n) moaned, this beskar crashed down onto the floor, the rest of his clothes following shortly after, stepping towards the cot. “Yes, yes you are” Din pressed his length against her behind, rubbing it through her wet folds, hands kneading the flesh of her ass.

By now she was dripping, arousal sticking to her skin, nipples painfully hardening with every passing second, she was completely done for, Din had her at his mercy.

“Tonight, I’ll remind you who you belong to, you’re mine, mine alone” a harsh slap got delivered to her behind, skin wiggling from the impact, though it seemed like he was waiting for something, repeating his action, till finally a small “one” left her lips. The third slap knocked all air out of her lungs, he seemed to burn his handprint into her skin, marking her in more than just one way. “Two” her voice was quivering, teeth piercing through her lower lip, drawing a bit of blood, urged on by the iron taste.

He took it up to ten slaps, her skin was burning, painfully so, but no pain had ever felt as good as this, boobs rubbing against the covers with every harsh motion of his, adding to the pleasure that flooded through her. “Turn around cyar’ika” a hiss made it past her lips as her behind came in contact with the covers, legs wrapping themselves around his waist, trying to pull him closer. (Y/n) was aching for him, desperate to feel his length buried in her heat, to rip her open with every thrust of his.

“Don’t be impatient” he warned her, he was shifting around, as if he was searching for something, “wrists” Din pressed out, tying them to the bed, keeping her locked in place. “Din” (y/n) squealed his name, arousal dripping onto his length, coating the velvety skin with her slick.

He spat onto her clit, rubbing his saliva into the sensitive bundle of nerves as he pounded into her, he didn’t give her a warning, Din wouldn’t let her adjust, at least not on days where he needed to make one thing clear, that she was his, his alone. Her jaw fell slack, a few incoherent words bubbled out of her, walls tightly grasping his thick, veiny length, squeezing him like he was aching for.

Both were high on the adrenaline that took over their bodies, an indescribable force seemed to bind them together, bringing them closer to the edge with every passing moment. Though it seemed as if Din wasn’t satisfied yet, hand wandering up her soft skin, squeezing her nipples, a motion that let her arch her back, trying to press herself closer. The sound of their skin slapping reverberated through the small space, drowning out their moans, the air around them grew hotter, made sweat beard their skins.

Din’s fingers danced up her throat, squeezing a bit tighter, just enough to make her curl her toes, but not enough to cut off her airway. “Who do you belong to?” his thrusting suddenly stopped, completely stopped, patiently waiting for her to collect her thoughts, squeezing out a small, though powerful “you”, lips parted as he began to build up the pressure once again. She felt like she was on cloud nine, body belonging to the man her heart had started calling hers years ago, Din had her wrapped around his little finger, proving his love to her at any given chance.

“I love you” Din panted, forehead falling against hers, thumb rubbing her clit, pushing her closer and closer to her release. Maker it felt like they were made for one another, even after years of exploring their bodies both still felt like it was the first time all over again, excited to give into their orgasms, aching to hear the sounds that would rumble through them. “I love you too” (y/n) squealed, “not yet cyar'ika, you need to earn it”, she knitted her eyebrows, trying to process what he had just told her, overly and utterly confused.

(Y/n) shook her head in a rather pathetic manner, “please” she begged, tears soaked through the blindfold, hands tugging on his roots, walls clenching around his length, “oh please Din”. He didn’t reply, let go of her throat to curl his fingers into the covers, “try it again”, Din couldn’t stop imagining how beautiful she’d look with flushed cheeks as his length would rip her apart, disappearing into her with every thrust of his. “Stars, Din, please, please, I’m yours, please-” her cry made him groan, nodding his head as he finally gave in, finally pushing her over the cliff.

The inferno that began to rise in the pit of her stomach creeped up her vein, made white noises engulf her, body shaking from the powerful orgasm. Din needed a few more thrusts, pace faltering as his own release made him lose all focus, painting her walls white as he trembled on top of her, trying not to crush her underneath his weight. Wordlessly she interlaced her fingers with hers, pressing her lips to his skin, “I’m yours, forever”.

#Din Djarin #Din Djarin smut #din djarin imagine #din djarin x reader #The Mandalorian #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian imagine

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nightwishesworld · 3 years

Note

Hello! I love your writing and if you do take request, might I ask for a family night (including Heisenberg) playing Monopoly please? (OC is already in a loving relationship with Alcina and the girls love her)

Oh boy anon, this was by far the most difficult thing I’ve ever written. It’s not my best cause I know zero about the game so I had to try and work around it. Hope you enjoy anyway!

It's that time of the week again in the Dimitrescu castle. The most sacred and anticipated time of the week; not hunting, not harvesting, not even wine tasting... it's game night.

As soon as the sun sets the girls swarm in the drawing room to ready the space for the night's antics. Daniela digs out the game while Sorine opens all the curtains, letting the warm light of the moon shine through, and Victoria lights the fire and torches. It became a ritual not long after you moved into the castle. The girls often confided in you how they wished to spend more quality time with their mother on more than one occasion. Hunting maidens and harvesting their blood was fun, but they've been doing that forever! It was no longer as thrilling as it once was, not it felt more like a chore that needed to be done. And you can't count how many times Alcina admitted to feeling guilty about not giving her daughters more of her time. So when you pitched the idea of a routine game night, you got very little pushback.

The only one who hesitated was Daniela, and only because she insisted on inviting Uncle Heisenberg, which was totally fine. You get along rather well with the werewolf and enjoy his visits. Getting in touch with him was rather difficult though. Most of his visits were spontaneous reasons to see his favorite nieces, while the other few were strictly business-related held by Alcina. It took her some time to locate her brother, but it also gave you some time to make your way back down to your old home in the village to gather your collection of board games and puzzles. Some were missing a few pieces or cards, but they would have to do for now. Worst case scenario you just buy new ones.

When Alcina finally got ahold of Heisenberg he eagerly accepted and promised to start making his way back to the castle; the girls were thrilled. After all, it wouldn't be proper family bonding time without good ol' Uncle Heis.

In the beginning, it was decided that everyone took turns deciding what game they were going to play. The cycle started with you of course, since the whole thing was your idea, then went from oldest to youngest. Everyone had a blast playing against each other and laughing at one another. You can't remember a time you'd seen Alcina laugh so hard, she was almost brought to tears. Everything was just peachy until Victoria, ever the mischief-maker decided you should play Monopoly. The poor Dimitrescu's had no idea what brand of hellish gameplay awaited them. Only an hour and a half in and Daniela had successfully bankrupt her own mother. The proud look plastered on the girl's face would have been more amusing if it weren't for Alcina losing her temper. That was the one time you couldn't wait for the night to end, and hopefully, never play it again.

Much later that night in bed with Alcina curled up on your chest you woke with a chill running down your spine. It's Daniela's turn to pick the game.

Which is how you ended up lounging on your favorite chair by the fire watching Daniela and Heisenberg setting up the board and organizing the money. Again.

Alcina is sat on the floor next to you leaning comfortably against your chair sipping her third glass of wine. "Why are we doing this again?"

You give her a sympathetic smile. "You know why, dearest, it's game night."

She only rolls her eyes at you. "You know what I mean, draga mea. Why monopoly?"

"It was Dani's turn to chose the game. It'll be fun, don't worry Al."

"Yeah Mother," Victoria giggles. "What's wrong with monopoly?"

"You mean other than how overly competitive and childish you all become?"

You were about to open your mouth when Heisenberg started to laugh. "You say 'you all' as if you aren't just as bad."

Alcina chose to ignore him in favor of her wine.

"Ah! Mother's just upset cause she knows I'm gonna make her go bankrupt again," Daniela smiled as her sisters snickered. "I forget, what did you say you were going to do to me, Mother?"

This caused the chorus of giggles to erupt into laughter. "She said she was going to disown you!" Sorine choked out.

"Forging an alliance against your mother is just plain rude! And you-" she points to Heisenberg, "you stole my companion!"

Laughter erupted in the drawing room. You leaned against Alcina's arm as you lost the ability to breathe. "I did not steal them," Heisenberg handed you both your starting $1500. "I was in a financial bind and y/n was willing to make a deal."

"And just like that our alliance was born." You lean forward and fist-bumped the werewolf. "Let's let Al join us tonight, Heis, now we'll be even against the girls."

He ponders for a moment before noticing his sister's golden eyes burning into him and hastily shakes her hand. "Welcome to the team, sis."

Alcina sighed and accepted his hand in a near bone-crushing grip. You tried not to notice the man wincing. "About damn time."

You shot Alcina finger guns with a wink and "pew pew" and she full-heartedly laughs. "What on Hell's earth was that?"

"A dumb human thing, don't worry about it."

"Horray!" Daniela grinned. "Now Mother has a fighting chance."

"Now girls," you chided. "Let's try to keep this friendly tonight, ok? As funny as it was, and it was," Alcina glares at you from behind her wine glass. "We're going to let it go now. No more ganging up on your mother."

The girls gave an innocent smile, "of course y/n."

"Wouldn't dream of it, y/n."

"Cross my heart hope to die!"

Wait, aren't they already dead? You shook your head. Doesn't matter.

"Are we using the same pieces as last time?"

"Might as well," you saw before Daniela can get a word out. "We were all happy with our tokens last time, yes?"

Daniela huffed and crossed her arms. "I want to be the dog!"

"Aw come on, Dani," Sorine says. "I think it's only fair Uncle Heis gets to be the dog."

"Since, ya know, he is a dog," Victoria smirks.

To say the atmosphere of the room was intense would be an understatement. But, you couldn't be entirely unhappy with the course of events either since your alliance was winning. Victoria is bankrupt and Daniela has been sitting in jail for the past three turns. Alcina refuses to sell her Get out of Jail Free card. Oh, how the tables have turned. Daniela, much like her dearest mother, is far too stubborn for her own good. She refuses to pay Heisenberg the $50 to get out of jail and Alcina simply refuses to bail her out. Petty revenge, but entertaining nonetheless. It's after midnight now and you're finding it difficult not to doze off against the vampire's arm. Heisenberg is awake pacing around the room as he lost interest in the stalemate already. He was nice enough to take his heavy boots off so he wouldn't disturb Sorine and Victoria's slumber. His repetitive pace was starting to lull you to sleep. You allow yourself to close your eyes for a minute, listening to Alcina's breathing and Heisenberg's hushed stomping circling around you.

The fire was reduced to crackling embers and you were left shivering under Heisenberg's coat. Out of desperation, you kiss the top of Alcina's gloved hand. "Nu putem termina în dimineața? Hai să mergem la culcare." You know she loves it when you talk in Romanian to her. Hopefully, it will give you the advantage you need to end this ridiculousness.

"I've got her cornered, y/n. A little while longer and she'll crack."

Daniela only squinted her eyes and hissed.

You were about to give up and let yourself fall asleep on Alcina when Heisenberg came stomping over, pure anger painted on his face, and kicked the coffee table over. Sorine and Victoria were startled awake by the crashing sound and snowfall of cards. It was honestly the most magical thing that happened all night. He shouted something along the lines of "Go to bed!" but you couldn't make it out over Daniela and Alcina's screams. They pay you little mind as they chase Heisenberg out of the room and down the corridor, the sounds of vases and antique decor crashing following them as they go.

Sorine stands over you looking at you through bleary eyes, extending her hand to help you up. "Bed?"

A lion's yawn overcomes you and you smile. "Bed."

#lady dimitrescu x reader #lady alcina #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #tall vampire lady #lady dimitrescu #monopoly broke me

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angstywishes · 3 years

Text

Whumptober Prompt 1 - All Trussed Up And Nowhere To Go

(i finished this at 3:30 in the morning so if i made a mistake anywhere let me know, also happy october!)

(CWs: blood, stress positions, limb breaking, brief/temporary captivity(? i don't know how else to explain it))

Being tied up is nothing new, Beau reminds himself quietly. There's no reason to panic over it.

Everything is fine.

He can tell himself that over and over, but it doesn't change how much it hurts this time.

Beau is alone in the dark, with nothing to focus on but the pain. His knees and shins pressing hard against cool concrete, his back arched painfully, his hands tied to his ankles. It wouldn't be half as bad, were he tied with anything other than barbed wire.

At least it's creative, he thinks bitterly. It's probably only because he's gotten so good at squirming out of regular binds. Now he can't squirm anymore, problem fucking solved, apparently.

"Fuck," he breathes shakily, focusing all his energy on just. Staying. Still. He just needs to stay still, and he won't get too hurt. He's already bled too much tonight. And last night. And the night before. Behind him, he's aware of a door scraping open, heavy boots thumping the ground.

"Normally most people struggle when they're trapped," the voice echoes through the room. "But you're a smart little thing, aren't you?"

"Fuck you," he spits, not even thinking about it before the words are out of his mouth.

"Hm. Not as smart as I thought, though."

The footsteps thump closer, and Beau knows he's made a mistake. Like always, he can't keep his mouth shut when it matters. He bites down on the side of his tongue anxiously, screwing his eyes shut.

He knows when things are about to get worse. But he supposes it's obvious when he feels the thick rubber tread of a boot on his calf, and a heavy hand on the back of his head.

Without warning, the hand grips his hair and shoves, forcing Beau to nearly snap forwards, arms painfully shifting around the sudden repositioning of his chest.

The barbs have nowhere to go but in. Into his wrists, into his ankles, dragging, pulling, tearing through flesh and spilling blood. He's almost grateful just for the relief on his spine, but the pain is unbearable and he can feel so much blood, running down his hands, over his legs, pooling at his feet.

Beau's teeth dig into his lip as he fights the urge to sob. He doesn't want to, not here. He's been doing so well holding it together so far, he can't lose it here.

The hand shoves him forward further, and the boot presses down harder on the bone of his leg, the wires scrape and shred, and his body betrays him. With an almost violent convulsion, a wet, horrible noise comes out of his throat.

And the person behind him laughs. "Are you going to behave yourself now?" The voice goads, as if daring him to retort. Go on, it sounds like. Give me another reason to make you bleed.

"Please let go of me," Beau whispers, voice breaking despite himself. "I'll be quiet now, I promise."

Thankfully, mercifully, the hand unwinds from his locks, pulling back from his scalp. The boot lingers a little too long, and Beau doesn't know why until—

The boot lifts, and crashes down on his leg, crushing, pounding, breaking. He can't understand why, except.. he can. This person wants him to suffer. His body relents again, unable to keep the tremor of pain from coursing through him.

Every part of him feels the spasm, the heaving of his chest doing nothing but exacerbating the pain.

Stupid fucking body, he wants to shout at it, as though it isn't himself, it should have gotten the memo by now, should be used to hurting so damn often.

But it's not, and no amount of cursing it will make the mangled wreck of his leg hurt any less. Or his sliced up limbs. So he dips his head low, hair falling into his eyes, and tries ever valiantly to fight off the tears that are already falling down his cheeks.

He's not breaking yet, he isn't. He just knows when to stop fighting to stay alive a little bit longer.

It's what he tells himself, at least.

He hears the person behind him scoff disdainfully. "You know being quiet isn't what I want. We'll see if you feel like talking tomorrow." The footsteps gain a little distance from him, before stopping. "If not, that's no problem. I'll find a way to make you tell me. After all, it's not like you're going anywhere or anything ."

With nothing more than a brief chuckle, the footsteps finally leave, the door scraping shut behind them.

And Beau is alone in the dark.

#whumptober2021 #no.1 #all trussed up and nowhere to go #you have to let go #barbed wire #bound #OC #fic #blood tw #stress position tw #broken bone tw #oc tag; beau #wish writes things #this is both shorter than i wanted it and longer than i thought it would be somehow #no promises that i'll be able to keep up with the days but it feels good to get one out on time at least

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monaisme · 3 years

Text

The Battle

No one had seen Peter staggering through the portal. For what they were walking into, Peter could only guess that whoever was on the other side of things was focussing more on the masses and not on some kid from Queens in a spider-suit.

His eyes widened as he tried to take in the destruction before him. Dr. Strange had said that it had been five years and that they all had to go fight; that this was a battle for the very universe.

Peter had almost thought he was joking-- and then he saw this.

The sky was grey with smoke and fires still burned in the rubble that had once been the compound. Peter was sure he recognized the Asgardian symbol still etched into the grass next to what was left of the long drive that wound its way up to the now decimated building. The labs, the training rooms—his bedroom for all those weekends with Mr. Stark… everything was gone.

He choked back his panic.

Peter had tried to explain to the wizard what was happening before they’d even left Titan, but the abrupt, “Not now, Peter. We have to go,” followed by their arrival? Yeah, he’d never gotten the chance.

And now?

Now he was going to die. He was certain of it.

A wave of nausea washed over him and Peter tried not to visibly hunch over from the pain of his body cramping. Beads of sweat dotted his brow and he’d only walked a matter of feet-- granted, it was from one planet to another, but those portals were closed now and that wasn’t the point. It was happening to him again, and someone needed to know that he couldn’t use his—

“AVENGERS ASSEMBLE!”

The hush that had fallen upon their arrival was broken by Captain America’s battle cry, and the multitude of people, aliens, and allies were suddenly surging forward in an attack like nothing Peter could ever have imagined.

He did his best to keep up. Peter was an Avenger too, after all, though he wasn’t quite sure how effective he’d be with the asthma that was now acting up with vengeance. Already he was sure it would kill him before any of Thanos’s minions could.

He felt his muscles straining—maybe even rippling as he pushed himself onward, weaving through the clusters of fighting, trying to find some way to help. A tripping up here or the retrieval of a weapon there was all he could manage but he was grateful that he could at least do that.

He paused, doubled over and trying to catch his breath. He tried squinting through the chaos as he gasped-- hoped he’d see Iron Man red through the insanity—and then he did!

Iron Man was there, firing repulsor blast after repulsor blast at the enemy and for a brief second, Peter was reminded of why Mr. Stark was his favourite Avenger. Then a mammoth of an alien came up from behind, throwing his mentor to the ground and preparing to strike him down.

Peter moved without a thought. He ignored the ache in his lungs and the pain that was amplifying through his body again as he threw his arm out and thwipped at the creature’s ankles. Peter jerked at the taut webbing with everything he could muster to no avail. He was too weak. His only hope had been...

It took a step closer, lifting its weapon to aim and then... well, it tried.

Even with the explosions and blasts around them, Peter could feel the earth beneath him shudder at the impact of its body falling to the ground and he struggled to stay upright. It looked at the bindings around its ankles, seemingly confused by what could have confined it... not that it mattered. The big-small guy from Berlin was suddenly stepping over him and crushing their enemy.

If he hadn’t been so shocked by how that had played out, it might have been one of the coolest things Peter had ever seen.

He took a second to take in the scene, the people around him, and then Mr. Stark. Air not moving through lungs right be damned, there he was, and Peter could finally get the help that he needed. “Hey! Holy cow! You will not believe what’s going on,” He paused to try and catch his breath. “You remember when we were in space? And I got all dusty? Well,” he fought to hide the wheeze. “I woke up and you were gone but Dr. Strange was there, right?” Peter’s head was spinning, but he needed to get all of this out so that Mr. Stark understood. “He was like, it’s been five years. C’mon, they need us and he started doing the yellow sparkling thing he does all the time and, oh.” Mr. Stark rushed forward and grasped his shoulders. “What are you doing?” He didn’t understand.

And his mentor, the man he’d secretly thought of as a father-figure for months—or was it really years?—pulled him into a hug.

“Oh, this is nice.” Peter melted in the embrace, feeling safer than he could remember in a long time.

Their reunion didn’t last long enough. Peter pulled back a little and opened his mouth to tell Mr. Stark what was going on when the battle encroached again and the two were separated.

It was a blur. Mr. Stark went left and Peter went right—he’d lost sight of the Iron Man suit within seconds, and still no one knew. And then, if things hadn’t already been crazy enough, the Black Panther and that Squidward guy were in a battle for that damned gauntlet... and Peter was there in the thick of it.

Searing pain shot through his legs and spine so he crouched down, trying to relieve even a fraction of it, then the ground rose up beneath him. He’d barely managed to keep his balance when the Black Panther tossed the gauntlet at Peter directly and continued on with his fight.

He couldn’t hide the shock on his face. He’d caught it and even managed to keep hold of it while the earth below him dropped, leaving him winded and spread eagle on the ground. “Aw, shit,” he coughed out as he tried to catch his breath again. He just couldn’t catch a break.

And then he noticed the silence, again.

Every eye was on him.

In a burst of genius, Peter webbed the gauntlet to his chest and shouted out, “Activate Instant Kill!” Karen complied and within a blink, his red-lensed mask was back in place and six vibranium legs extended from their hiding place. Peter uttered thanks for Mr. Stark and his ability to create something so ridiculously intuitive. The legs brought him back up to standing, but he staggered as he tried to find his footing. The suit had been incredible to use on Titan, but that was before his powers had—

The crowd of enemies swarmed.

He hadn’t moved quickly enough. His reflexes were fighting with his new limitations, leaving him with exactly zero ability to fight back against the dogpile currently punching and kicking on top of him. He felt a couple of his ribs break and he collapsed from the sheer weight on top of him as he curled around their prize. It hurt so much more for his body’s rebellion. His six legs slashed and stabbed at his attackers giving him a hell’s chance of trying to claw his way out. “Help.” Peter choked out, “Somebody help.”

He could barely hear Captain America over his comms, “Hey, Queens! Heads up!” Like a man drowning at sea, he raised his hand up above the fray and webbed hold of Thor’s hammer handle as it flew past.

He couldn’t be sure if he heard or felt the pop of his shoulder dislocating as the hammer’s momentum pulled him from the fray. All he knew was that it hurt like nothing he’d ever experienced in his life. It took everything he had left—and it didn’t feel like much—to not release. Instead, Peter grabbed onto his web with his good hand, brushed against the gauntlet still attached to him, and prayed that his strength would hold long enough to get him far enough away.

A blast from a ship overhead messed that plan up right away as it sliced through the webbing and he plummeted to the ground. He was sure he was going to die in that very moment and closed his eyes, bracing himself for an impact that never came. Someone in an Iron Man-like suit caught him by his dislocated arm and flung Peter back up into the air.

He was sure he’d screamed, even as his vision whited out from the pain, and he was sure he was airborne, even as his head had barely cleared and the wind whipped past him. That he’d landed on something that was rising and dropping in a rhythm unlike anything he could place was confusing, even as his mind began to muddle—though he thought that might be because of the fever.

Dammit! The fever had been the worst last time.

He worked to focus on his surroundings—couldn’t, and then he was falling again.

No one caught him this time.

He came to with a start and a laser focus. The earth around him was exploding and it didn’t matter that he couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t see and that his muscles were screaming out in agony and that his nerves were on fire and that he was so damned hot—all that mattered was that he do his part, ‘cuz Spider-Man was an Avenger. He couldn’t move though, it was too much for all of the weapon fire, save for closing his eyes, curling himself protectively around that damned gauntlet and waiting for the end.

Please, let this end.

And then it did.

If Peter had known to open his eyes, he’d have seen a bright light streaking through the clouds and then cut straight through the ship that had been raining down hellfire, even with his poor vision. He’d have seen the ship darken and then tilt, even as it floated above the battlefield, then crash into the hoards of Thanos’s alien soldiers, decimating their numbers. He’d have seen the streak of light slow, and then descend to exactly where he lay.

But he kept his eyes closed, hoped it would make him invisible...

Someone tapped on his shoulder.

He gasped at the shock of the touch and his eyes flew open, though he had to blink a few times to clear his vision. The dirt and dust were still settling and the grit was irritating his eyes something awful. But then he could see—crouching on the ground before him, a woman, all glow and smile.

He could have wept with relief. An ally.

He staggered as he climbed to his feet. Black spots danced before his eyes, but he fought against them, tried to take a deep breath, and then fought again the pain of his transformation and battle injuries. “Hi,” he rasped out. “Peter Parker.”

Her smile disappeared and her brow furrowed in concern. “Hey, Peter Parker. You got something for me?”

His ears started ringing then, and the earth tipped just a little to the left. He couldn’t understand, “What?”

He thought she was looking at him a little weird, which was okay, ‘cuz Peter was a little weird, but then she stepped towards him, cautious. “Peter? Can I have the gauntlet now?”

His eyelids fluttered and he could see the blackness edging in at the corner of his vision, but he knew he had to fight it. She needed something from him and it was... was...

“Peter?”

He swayed.

“Peter, I’m gonna lay you down, buddy. Okay?”

He nodded dumbly.

She placed a hand on his good shoulder for comfort, he thought, but then she was laying him down in the dirt.”

“Stark!” He heard her bark out to no one. “Something’s wrong with your kid. Get to my position now!”

He closed his eyes as the woman stood up and starting firing at something over wherever because it didn’t matter anymore. He was just gonna rest for a minute and closed his eyes and—his head lolled to the side.

“Peter!” A hand tapped against his cheek. “This is not the time for checkin’ out, kiddo. Wakey, wakey!” The hand tapped again.

“Stark, I need to get the gauntlet over to the quantum tunnel.” Weapons fire blasted over him. “Is there any way you can get that thing off of him for me?” More blasting. “I didn’t want to damage him or the suit anymore, in case...”

The tapping turned to light slaps and Peter tried to swat it away. “Nghhh.” He turned his head away.

“Hey! Peter! C’mon, kid. I need you to listen to me.”

Mr. Stark?

“We need you to switch your web settings to the solvent. I don’t know if it’s your suit or mine, but a suit is damaged and FRIDAY can’t connect to get Karen to make the switch.” He slapped again. “Pete, we need the gauntlet and can’t get it off without burning you. Are you hearing me?”

More shots and then an explosion off in the distance.

Mr. Stark muttered a “shit.” The slaps started to hurt. “We gotta do this now, kiddo. Please wake up.”

It was like he was just waiting for someone to ask nicely. His eyes widened and he gulped in air like he’d been underwater. He looked around, trying to get his bearings. “Wha’s goin’ on?” He asked, using the last of that breath.

“Thank goodness! Pete, your web solvent. Activate it. We need to get the gauntlet off of you and away, okay? Can you do that, buddy?”

Peter looked at Mr. Stark, who’d definitely been hurt since they’d last seen each other, and then at the woman standing as protector over them. He thought he understood, nodded a yes to Mr. Stark, and then whispered, “Karen, web solvent.” He knew that the change had happened. Karen never let him down—and then he moved his arm to spray and release... or tried.

Mr. Stark saw what he was doing and saw what the problem was right away. “Kid, the shooter’s damaged. You’ll need to use your other...” Mr. Stark must’ve finally noticed his other arm—and the obvious malformation at Peter’s still dislocated shoulder. “Oh. Shit.”

Even for the everything going on inside of and around him, Peter’s brain cleared enough to mutter, “Just move it and double tap.”

Another explosion, this one closer than the last one, went off and the woman looked at Mr. Stark, announced that she’d be right back, and flew off into the chaos.

It was just the two of them.

Mr. Stark looked lost as he shook his head. “I don’t want to hurt you, kid, but we don’t have time...” He gripped Peter’s limp arm and closed his eyes, like he was praying. “I’m so sorry for this.”

“I’s okay, Mr. Stark,” he coughed out. “Fix it later, ‘kay?”

Mr. Stark teared up a little, then nodded. “Yeah, kid. We’ll definitely be fixing this.” He lifted Peter’s arm and manoeuvred it so he could access the webshooters. He looked back into Peter’s eyes and said, “I’ll be quick.”

And with a nod from Peter, Mr. Stark pressed down on the webshooter and covered the gauntlet—finally releasing it from its webbed confines.

The world spun as Peter grunted through the pain of having his arm manipulated. The grunting led to coughing and, as Tony lifted the gauntlet off of Peter’s chest, the coughing became uncontrollable and turned into choking.

“Is he okay?”

The woman had returned.

“I’ve got him. Just deal with that,” Mr. Stark commanded as he handed her the gauntlet and the woman flew off.

If Peter never saw it again...

He suddenly gagged as he struggled to find a rhythm, but he couldn’t. The gagging turned to dry heaving and he could barely inhale. Peter started to panic.

Mr. Stark was right beside, but moved—shifting Peter onto his side and ignoring the lighting pain in his arm altogether as he moved him into the recovery position.

His throat tightened and then his body purged. Bile and Titan’s dust filled his throat and mouth as he tried to expel it, but he was so weak and so tired...

A hand slammed against his back, “Get it out, Peter. C’mon! Out!”

It helped, as he tried to empty himself of that other planet, and Peter thought that maybe he’d be okay until—

Muscles rippled once more and his entire body burned from the inside, out. His senses amplified it all as he could hear everything from the cries of people dying on the battlefield to crackling of flames still not burned out. Beyond the vomit and Mr. Stark’s blood, the smell of dust and ash filled his nose and he choked again as the wind sandblasted his face.

He tried to cry out.

Mr. Stark pressed firm against his back, “I’ve got you, Peter. I’m here.” He whispered, and he leaned over the boy to sweep the vomit from his mouth. “We’ll fix this, kid. I promise.”

And Peter was just grateful that he wasn’t going to die alone.

The fight was dizzying in its intensity, so he closed his eyes to the onslaught of visual stimuli. His timing was impeccable, as a flash of light bright enough to burn through Peter’s eyelids burst out from somewhere—Peter couldn’t focus on it for the pain of the overload. He writhed as though tortured.

And then the wind caught again—this time it carried with it a different ash, one he’d smelled on Titan and that he couldn’t bear to smell again. He clawed at the ground, tried to get away from the inevitable... tried to get away from the hurt and darkness and moaning and wailing and emptiness...

And then Peter finally succumbed to the nothing.

* * * * * *

“—eter! Wake up! C’mon, ki—“

* * * * * *

“—incredible! His DNA is literally rewriting its—“

* * * * * *

“The overload must have been just—“

* * * * * *

“Hey, Peter Parker, you’re pretty badass considering—“

* * * * * *

“—on his side! Bruce, grab the compresses again, now! Dammit, he’s seiz—“

* * * * * *

“—May. I know. I wish you could be here, too, but as soon as he wakes up we’ll give you a call and set up a video chat, okay?” A pause. “Yes, May, I’ll tell him that you love him.” A snort laugh. “Yes, May. I’ll give him a big kiss and tell him that he’s grounded.” Another pause. “I know, May. Do you need anything? I can have—“

* * * * * *

“—eter? Hey, kid, are you coming back to us now? I’ve waited a long time to see you, bud, and you’re making me nuts here. I can’t do another five, ‘kay?”

* * * * * *

“—don’t wake him up, Pepper. I’m telling you. Dr. Cho did some tests and it looks like he’s coming back to us. We just need him to—I don’t know? Finish cooking?”

Ms. Potts snorted. “Cute, Tony. I’m just worried that you aren’t getting the rest that you need and with everything going on now—“

“Hey, hey, hey! You know you don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine—and tired is like a perpetual state of being for me—even now that I’ve been domesticated.”

Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts laughed quietly, and then Peter was sure he could hear the sound of kissing. He groaned. Seriously? He was dying and his mentor was making out with his fiancée?

“Peter?”

He inhaled deep, trying to wake up a little more before answering, and noticed the mask on his face. He tried to bring his hand up to remove it but it caught on a—a sling? “Wha-?”

A hand pressed his arm back to his chest and adjusted the mask. “Try to be still. And no touching that, too, Pete. Dr. Cho says you need this for a little bit longer, okay?”

“Mis-er Stark?” He finally managed to open his eyes and tried to understand the monitors and equipment in the low-lit room. “Wha’ happened?” He pushed out.

“We had another go at Thanos, Roo, and this time, we won.” Mr. Stark replied, but he looked so sad—

“Mis-er Stark?” Peter remembered the battle, remembered seeing Mr. Stark bruised and bleeding. “Are you o—“ Peter’s words cut off as a jolt of pain lanced through legs and he almost cried out. He caught himself though, and tried to keep going.

Mr. Stark stopped him. “Hey, I’m okay—just worried about you right now.” He ran his fingers through Peter’s hair, pressed his hand against his still fevered forehead, “I am so sorry that you have to go through this again, Spider-Man.”

Peter didn’t know what to say to that, so he shrugged, wincing as he jostled his still bad shoulder. “It’s okay.” He mumbled. “Couldn’t be helped...”

Mr. Stark’s sadness morphed to tortured. “No, I guess it couldn’t... I’m still so sorry.”

Peter could feel the exhaustion trying to claim him again, but he was missing something. “Uhhh- is somethin’ else goin’ on?” He looked between Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts, who had stepped back a few steps to give the two heroes a moment alone.

“Everything is fine, Peter.” Ms. Potts piped in, looking far less melancholy than Mr. Stark. “Tony is just upset that you’re having such a rough time of it, but all’s right in the end and...” she looked at her watch as she dragged out her answer then looked at Mr. Stark, “I believe we’ve probably delayed telling Dr. Cho that you’re awake long enough, so if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to inform one of the nurses.” She smiled at the boy in the bed, rubbed at his calf affectionately as she walked by the bed, and then stepped out of the room.

It was getting difficult to keep his eyes open. “Mis-er Stark?”

The man leaned forward and pressed a tender, paternal kiss to Peter’s forehead. “Why don’t you rest for now, sweetheart. I’ll tell Dr. Cho that you fell back to sleep and we’ll talk when you’re more awake, okay?”

The smile Peter offered up was kind of goofy. “Okay—but...” Peter looked around the room. “Can you stay with me?”

Mr. Stark knew how much Peter hated the med bay— always stayed, “You know I will, Petey. I’ll always be there for you.”

Peter muttered a quick, “Thanks,” and closed his eyes.

If he’d been more alert, he would have noted the underlying tone that Mr. Stark had used... would have realized that the man was making a promise bigger than an evening.

But he didn’t, and it didn’t take long for the boy to give in to his exhaustion. He’d slept through the last stretch of his transformation the first time—and this time seemed no different, save for the injuries he’d suffered, and even they’d heal soon enough.

And as he slept, he missed the prayer that Mr. Stark offered to whatever deity would listen—that Peter would know just how much he meant it. He would be there for him, no matter what.

#fanfiction #Irondad and Spiderson #Avengers: Endgame #Non-compliant #ao3fic #OBlossom

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dreamescapeswriting · 3 years

Text

Captivated ~ MYG [M] [Request]

WORD COUNT: 6.1K

GENRE: Hwarang AU, arranged marriage, crushing, strong woman, my poor history skills, virgin reader, first time, smut, soft smut, slow soft smut, slow burn?

PAIRING: King!Yoongi x Princess!Reader

A/N: I’m not to greatest at politics so I hope this is okay for you sweetie pie, I love getting to do AU’s as I feel like I can be a bit more free with them so I hope you enjoy this! I tried to keep details of Y/n’s warrior side to a minimum as I didn’t know much about the Nomadic tribes and I tried to do some research but there weren’t a lot of sources out there. If you have any please send them my way I would love to learn more. @justfanonfan

Riding through the courtyard to your stables you laughed loudly as the knight that was assigned to stand by your side every minute of every day trailed behind you. You'd managed to lose him in the meadows for a while letting yourself be free in the vast outdoors, surrounded by wildflowers, animals and enjoying the freedom that you had for yourself,

"Torturing me isn't going to make us get along," He grunted as he dismounted his horse handing the reins to one of the stable boys that were laughing at the knight.

"Relax Jimin, it was just a little freedom for myself, can't I enjoy the great outdoors?" You questioned, turning to look over your shoulder when you heard your name being called by your chambermaids, probably wanting you to get washed up in time for the meal you were having with your father. He told you that morning he had something important to discuss with you which was why you had taken a sudden interest in wanting to go out and get some freedom, you had a sinking feeling it was going to be your last chance of getting any in the coming months.

There had been a battle between your Kingdom and a Kingdom in South Korea and your father had been doing everything he could to stop the battles from happening. Your father never wanted something like this to happen, he prefered peace over fighting with people.

"You're covered in dust and bits of grass, your father will kill you." Your maid said as she began brushing off the pieces of grass from your outerwear, you rolled your eyes at her as you walked into the low-ceiling bedroom you had, oak beams on the ceiling with an orange glow from candles on each wall of the room.

"He has something important to talk to me about, what's happening with him?" You knew she would never tell you the truth, she only took you further into your room, giving you some dinner appreciate clothes to wear with a saddened look on her face. That look was one you knew too well, it meant someone was getting fired from their job or that you were going to be going away from a long time. That had happened many times in the past, whenever things got too rough in the battles your father would send you to safety to wanting you to reach the same fate as your late mother. As peaceful as your father was when it came to you and your brothers he was a ruthless man, if something happened to you he would turn into a different person.

"Is he sending me away again?" She ignored your question before leaving the room, going to announce that you were ready to eat no doubt but you were too worried about what was going to happen with your father. No good came from you being sent away, you could fight just as well as any man in his army so you weren't going to be sent away so easily this time.

Sitting down at the dinner table you waited for your father to say something, your two brothers were sitting across from you not looking up from the meat in front of them which was another sign something was going on behind your back.

"Can you tell me already? Am I being sent away?" Your father choked back the wine he had been sipping and stared at you, over to your chambermaid and back to you as he fumbled over the right words to say.

"I can fight just as well, if not better than any man you have! You know this! I can help!" You raised your voice hoping that he would finally stop seeing you as his daughter, someone that needed to be protected at all costs and start seeing you as the warrior princess that you were that you had trained to be.

"You will not fight. There will be no fighting, I don't need that kind of help from you," You frowned as he didn't dare meet your gaze, normally he would give you eye contact no matter what but this time his eyes were focused in front of him.

"Dad?" You asked softly, reaching your hand out to touch his. The small touch made him look at your hands together and sigh, he noticed how small your hands were in comparison to his, you were always going to be his little girl no matter how old you were.

"It's time we spoke about your mother," You were taken back, normally he wanted no one to speak of the late Queen, she was killed in a battle and whenever someone even so much as uttered her name he'd have them thrown out.

"Boys, give me and your sister some space." Without a word, your brothers left the table, the maids and other staff leaving with them so it was just you and your father alone in the dining room with nothing but a candle lighting up his face. Even in the low lighting, you could see what he was about to say was torturing him on the inside.

"Your mother and I, we never told you the true story of how we met," He poured you some wine as he began to tell you a small story,

"We were in an arranged marriage...Arranged between two battling kingdoms who wanted to end their feuds," You nodded along to what he was saying to you, arrange marriages weren't completely uncommon some of your friends had been placed into them before.

"What I'm trying to say to you is that arrange marriages can be a blessing in disguise, you might not get along with the person you marry at first but you fall in love with that person soon after," The way he kept saying "you" in his sentence sent a chill down your spine, everything began to click together in your head.

"You've arranged somebody for me?" You asked, staring down at the red liquid that was swirling around in your cup as you shook it gently, your heart sinking as you realised what this meant. No more spending time with your family, you'll be moved to the other kingdom with whoever you would be marrying.

"I have," His voice cracked but you smiled weakly reaching your hand out to his wanting to calm him down, you knew it must not have been easy on him. You were his only daughter so letting you go was never going to be easy on him,

"I'll do it but...The only Kingdom we have problems with are-"

"South Korea, you'll be marrying the King's son." Your breath caught in your throat, Yoongi. You'd heard the stories, almost everybody had heard the stories of bloodshed Yoongi.

"Yoongi?" Your eyes scanned over the table before looking at your father as you studied his facial features, from one glance you could tell he didn't like this idea but it was needed for the Kingdom.

"Yes, Yoongi." He repeated his name but this time it didn't send a shiver down your spine you simply nodded at your dad deciding you had to do this for his sake and for your people's sake. If not many more would die in pointless battles.

"I'll do it," You whispered as you drank some of your wine, not daring to think more on why they called him Bloodshed Yoongi, it all could have been hearsay but even if it wasn't you were Y/n. You were a warrior princess who had trained with some of the best warriors to work alongside your father, nothing and nobody could scare you.

"You don't have to worry about me, I'll be okay...The battles will stop and we can be a happy united Kingdom." You promised him as your father nodded, wanting to believe you as he thought back on the deal that he had made with the King.

The marriage would bind you both together, allowing the King to step down from the throne and for Yoongi to take his place with you ruling alongside him. No more fights, no more battles for food, water or just because either Kingdom wanted a battle, it would bring peace and harmony, something your father had wanted for the longest time.

"You'll travel by boat and horse, Jimin will be with you along with Jungkook and Taehyung. They'll be with you throughout everything, I'll come and visit when I can," That was the heartbreaking part about all of this, never getting to see your real family again. Not waking up to sword fight with your brothers in the yards, battling over breakfast and getting to help your father whenever he made political decisions it was just going to be you in that palace not knowing what to do but you kept on a brave face. It was all going to be worth it if it meant peace for your father and your brothers, not to mention the people in your Kingdom.

The boat journey had taken almost two days to get to the Silla Kingdom where Yoongi and his father were waiting to greet you, you had changed into some royalty attire from your Kingdom wanting to greet them and they were dressed in theirs. Yoongi's hair was up in a ponytail style, long and blonde and he had a mean and stern look on his face as he watched your carriage arriving.

"He may look mean but I bet he's a baby," Taehyung whispered to you, wanting you to relax since he could sense how stressed you were from the other side of the carriage. The journey had been spent with you learning as much as you could about the Kingdom, ignoring the brutal stories about Yoongi and focusing on the good things this would bring.

"You said I would be King after we're married, right?" Yoongi mumbled to his father as there was still some distance before you arrived in the Palace courtyard,

"That means no more fraternizing with the maids or other female members in the palace. I mean it." His father ordered, nodded his head to his guard that was awaiting your carriage, they opened the doors and Taehyung stepped out first. Bowing to the King and Prince before rising again,

"I present to you, Princess Y/n," At your cue you stepped out of the carriage and onto the pavement, bowing to the King and Yoongi as they bowed back.

"Your highness, what a pleasure it is to meet you." The King greeted as he made his way over to you, taking your hand in his and laying a gentle kiss on the top of it.

"Yoongi, come and greet our guest." You glanced up at Yoongi and your heart lept, he was much more handsome up close than he had been from afar. Up close you could see that the long blonde hair he was sporting was a wig, attached to some black short hair, his eyes bore into yours making you shift your weight from one foot to the other. Nervous to be in front of someone so handsome and different from you,

"It's nice to meet you," You smiled, doing another bow as Yoongi blushed softly. From the second you stepped out of the carriage his heart had been skipping a beat, he could barely take his eyes off you from the way you moved, spoke and looked everything about you was truly beautiful and if the stories about you were true then this was just the tip of this iceberg.

"I've heard great things about you," He said proudly as he began walking with you towards the palace entrance, his father watching with a smile on his face as he realised the marriage would be a success. His son was already smitten with you which was a great start, all Yoongi had to do was keep his anger under control and convince you that the stories of "bloodshed Yoongi" were exactly that. Stories.

"I wish I could say the same," You knew bringing it up early would get the awkwardness out of the way, you didn't want anything awkward between you since you would be living with him after all.

"Straight forward, I like that in a woman." He chuckled nervously as he began to take you on a tour around the palace. The ceilings were higher than you were used to, all of them brightly coloured with red and green paint. Laterns running along the walls none of them lit since it was still bright outside,

"I'm doing this for my father, we need peace between the kingdoms. Don't you agree?" He nodded his head with you as he thought back on it, everything in battles was pointless to Yooni but it didn't stop him from being ruthless and merciless when it came to be in charge of things. People had to fear them or they would be taken for granted, Yoongi wouldn't stand for that.

"You understand I do all of those things for the sake of the Kingdom, correct?" You nodded this time, it wasn't completely unheard of but you believed there was a way of being intimidating without killing mercilessly.

"There are better ways of dealing with things than killing all of the time," He stopped walking but watched you as you continued to walk around, it already looked as though you belonged there, you looked comfortable around him.

"How? By having female warriors?" He arched his eyebrows following after you before turning you in the direction of a back courtyard, a training area filled with men and swords.

"Females can fight just as well as males, just because we have breasts does not mean we should not fight," You mumbled as you watched all of the soldiers he had fighting one another in practice, it was along the same way you and your brothers would battle in your Kingdom.

"I didn't say anything against it," He smirked as he watched the way your eyes lit up at the training methods they were using,

"Hwarang, that's what my soldiers are called. Hwarang soldiers." He explained as you continued watching them, watching their fighting styles, the stances they were standing in to guard themselves.

"Your men can train with my close men," He looked over at three other soldiers that were overlooking everyone else,

"Namjoon, Jin and Hoseok." He announced as they made their way over to you, bowing in the introduction as you did the same to each of them you weren't used to being treated like real royalty. In your Kingdom everyone was equal, everyone got along with one another even chambermaids and Royal members.

"Taehyung, Jimin and Jungkook?" You glanced over your shoulder at them, they had been following behind you the entire time wanting to keep an eye on you as instructed by your father. The men introduced one another before Yoongi stepped into one of the fighting areas, taking two of the swords and holding one out for you to take,

"I can't fight in a dress," You laughed looking down at the outfit you were in but Yoongi kept the sword held out for you to take so you did, kicking off the shoes you were wearing.

"I'll go easy on you," Yoongi laughed as some of his men joined in with him, none of them truly believing that you would be able to fight Yoongi by yourself or with help.

"Good, because I wasn't planning on going easy on you." You smirked, matching the one he was sporting back at you, Taehyung exchanged a look with Jimin as he smirked. They both knew what you were capable of but they also knew what Yoongi was capable of.

"You'll back off if you know what's good for you," You joked as you began getting ready, Taehyung, Jimin, and Jungkook all getting ready for the entertainment part of the evening.

"Place your bets now," Hoseok mumbled as he watched you smirking, you knew that no one was going to believe you could truly beat Yoongi which was why you were going to do it.

The sounds of the bon Kuk gum swords hitting against one another seemed to drown out the gasps from everyone watching, even some of the maids had come to spectate what was happening between you and Yoongi.

"I heard she's beheaded a man before," One of the maids mumbled to her friends as they continued to watch you and Yoongi battling, giant smirks on your faces as you realised just how skilled you both were.

"I heard Yoongi has to stop seeing those concubines he had, and the women he saw on the side," Another grumbled with an unhappy look on her face, they had all once been with the young prince, hoping that one day he would fall in love with one of them and make them Queen but now that you were in the picture it was clearly never going to happen.

"I never thought I would see the day," Namjoon laughed loudly as he helped Yoongi up from the floor, ignoring the grunt Yoongi gave out as he got back up onto his feet. A small cut along his cheekbone where you had caught him with the sword before knocking him to the ground,

"Want me to clean that up?" You questioned as he saw a little bleed dripping down his face, you ripped off a piece of excess fabric from the dress you were wearing and wiped it away gently. Ignoring the gasps that people let out around you, no one was allowed to touch the Prince unless instructed.

"No, it's fine, nothing more than a scratch. I should show you to your room so you can wash up for dinner." He smiled, handing the swords over to a servant boy as he began to lead you back through the door. Glares coming your way from different directions as Yoongi placed his arm near your waist, not touching but hovering above you.

"Everyone's staring at you," You mumbled as you watched another maid glaring over at you both,

"They hate that you're here to marry me...I won't sugar coat it, they'll hate you." He laughed softly, stopping in front of a sliding screen door before looking at you.

"This will be your room until we're married, it won't belong. I hear my father already has most of everything planned." The idea of a wedding being just around the corner when you had only just arrived terrified you but you nodded your head and opened the door to your room. Already it was larger than the one you had back home, there was a bed in the centre of the room, surrounded by some mesh curtains.

"You have a bathroom next door, a maid will run you a bath soon...I can't promise she'll be nice to you but I'll warn her," You nodded at him, mentally thanking him for warning her but you knew why they were pissed at you. Stories of Yoongi and his concubines were all over the Kingdom, it was known far and wide that he liked to be with different women which only made you anxious about the marriage.

"I'll leave you to unpack and bathe," He mumbled, bowing to you before he left the room, shutting the door behind him as you stared around the room.

There wasn't much unpacking to do, you hadn't brought much from home, just some books, fighting gear, armour in case you wanted to train or fight, and some basic clothes for you to wear around the palace. The king promised your father you would be treated as one of their own, fitted for their clothes, your wedding attire and anything else you may need in the future.

"What do you think of the palace so far?" The king's voice filled the entire eating hall you were sitting in, you and Yoongi were facing one another from opposites sides of the table while his father was at the head of it. Yoongi's hair was still up in the wig but the small abrasion on his face you'd made earlier was patched up neatly, he must have had one of the nurses do it for him.

"It's lovely, so much to explore and see. I can't wait to see the Kingdom tomorrow if that's okay?" You directed the question at both of them, you knew Yoong would have to be the one to take you and you didn't want to be putting him out of work or stepping on his toes.

"Nonsense! Our Queen should see what she will own soon enough! Yoongi will take you on a tour, you can see the markets and people in our Kingdom then you'll be back in time for a fitting," A fitting? Already? Your eyes widened and Yoongi could tell you were worried about the timing of everything and so was he. Meeting you and marrying you within a week was one of the fastest things to happen but it was normal within royal bloodlines.

"You don't have to look so worried you know, whenever he brings up the marriage," Yoongi whispered as he began walking you through the halls to your room, a maid in front holding a candle as she lit the way for you both. Doing her best to bite her tongue in front of the Prince, she had been his latest conquest until you came along and now she was made to be your personal chambermaid as if it wasn't already torturing enough to see you around the palace.

"I'm not worried, I just...I've never been in a relationship before never mind a marriage." A laugh came from the maid and Yoongi shot her a glare, taking the candle from her and excusing her out of your way.

"You don't have to be so worried, it's easy. We can start with friends and see how things develop between us," He nudged your side making you smile, at least he was understanding about you wanting to take things slow with him.

"There is one thing that's bothering me." He nodded his head as he began to light all of the candles in your room, you kept your eyes on him watching his body language.

"I know you sleep with many women and maids but will-"

"It stops now that I'm to be with you, father doesn't want me to be unfaithful." His body language was still relaxed as he turned to look at you with a genuine smile on his face,

"My father believes that this marriage will make us happy and I'll try it," He handed you the candle before bowing and leaving the room,

"I'll see you at breakfast." He smiled once again, shutting the door and leaving you speechless. He was hardly anything like the stories, he wasn't as cold as you were told, nor was he rude or nasty to you as people had proclaimed him to be.

The marriage ceremony between you had been small and intimate, the Hwarang soldiers that were close with Yoongi had attended as well as your two brothers, father and your three guards but that was four months ago. Now Yoongi was the King and you were his Queen but it was nothing like you had imagined it, instead of ruling by his side you were always behind closed doors. Kept out of business that should have concerned you and ignored mostly all of the time, except for when Yoongi came back to the bedroom for the night. The two of you would spend hours talking to one another, though neither of you had slept with one another yet as you weren't ready the occasional kiss and hug was shared here and there. There was a spark between you both, a relationship was building and you knew you loved him but it was too soon to say anything since you hadn't spoken about what anything between you meant.

"How are Taehyung, Jimin and Jungkook doing?" You questioned as Yoongi wrapped his arm around your waist, the boys had been training with Namjoon to become good enough soldiers for Yoongi leaving you alone with a palace full of women that hated you and wanted nothing to do with you they'd made that clear from the start.

"They're good, Namjoon thinks they're more than ready." Yoongi yawned as you laid your head on his bare chest, running your fingertip up and down his chest to try and get him to relax from the long day he had.

"What are you doing tomorrow? I figured if you were free we could ride to a meadow together, have some food..." You whispered as you kissed his chest, trying to seduce him into agreeing to spend the day with you but it was never going to work he had to spend the day doing royal consults with people from the village, markets and surrounding areas.

"I have consults to do," He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose at the thought of sitting on his throne and talking all day when he would love nothing more than to ride around with you on your horses. Your father had brought your horse from home along with him to the wedding, leaving him with you so you would have one friend in the palace.

"Can I come and watch? Anything is better than listening to the maid's gossip about me," You mumbled, drawing patterns into his skin but Yoongi tensed at the thought alone.

"They're gossiping about you?" It wasn't your intention to get them into trouble but you nodded your head, you were the talk of the palace whenever they thought you weren't around.

"What do they say?" He sat up in the bed facing you as you looked down at your hands, the nightgown you were wearing suddenly felt too revealing to be sitting in, in front of your husband but he tilted your head up to look at him.

"That I'm nothing more the palace trash...You'll find a concubine in no time or that you probably already have one...I'm-" You sniffled at the last one, wiping your eyes at the thought of it.

"That I will end up like my mother, dead in the ground." Yoongi's face ran red as he stared at you, his heart beginning to break at the thought of people being mean to you right behind his back when he'd instructed them against it.

"I'll fix it, I promise. You won't have to deal with them anymore," He whispered to you, kissing your forehead before kissing your lips softly. A spark flew from the moment you kissed, you smiled against his lips as you began to kiss him back only deeper this time. Pushing him against the bed only for him to pull away,

"Not yet...I want to wait a little longer," He whispered to you, kissing your lips deeply again before getting you both comfortable under the covers once again.

The next day you were sitting in the throne room beside Yoongi, he was on the larger throne while you sat beside him on a smaller one. It shocked people at first to see a female sitting beside him when normally the space in which you were sitting was reserved for his royal advisor who would tell him what to say in times when Yoongi didn't know what to do. Since you were a Queen there was a screen placed in front of you so you couldn't be seen by those who were speaking to the King, you were only meant to be there to be moral support for Yoongi and it had been this way since before Yoongi's father ruled. It was a way of life.

"You see the market is losing business, we think it's because people no longer think we're good enough to buy from," An elderly man managed to say as he looked at Yoongi, you glanced up at your husband as he nervously tried to think of something to do.

"You need to advertise your market, erm..." You stopped speaking when the royal guards around you began to glare, Yoongi held up his hand and nodded for you to continue.

"You need a way of letting people know that you're one of the best sellers. You could provide the palace with food, I'm sure our kitchen staff would pay good money for your produce." The elderly man was staring at you and so was Yoongi, Yoongi was amazed by how well you were giving advice and he asked for the screen in which was sitting in front of your chair to be removed so you could be seen properly by everyone who was coming for consultants.

"I think that's a perfect idea, I'll ask the kitchen staff to come to you in the future." He smiled as he sent the man on his way, watching you throughout the rest of the day as you continued to way in whenever he needed help. Taking charge of political debates whenever they were bought up and he couldn't help but fall more in love with you by the second.

"You did good today," He laughed as you crawled into the bed beside him, yawning tiredly as you thought back on everything you had done that day together. Despite being sat down for most of the day you were utterly exhausted and ready to sleep for a week straight,

"You're cute when you're in charge you know," He chuckled as you looked up at him, he was blushing while sporting the gummy smile that you loved about him,

"I think I'm really falling for you," You whispered, finally admitting it out loud to him as you looked into his eyes. You no longer wanted to keep it from him since it was something he would figure out soon enough,

"Good because I'm falling for you too." He whispered, inching closer to you before kissing you softly on the lips, a small and innocent kiss before he began to run his hands down your body sending small waves of shock through you. No one had ever touched you this way before but it only excited you more.

Yoongi deepened the kiss by pushing you into the bed, running his hands up your thighs as he looked at you to make sure it was okay for him to be doing this, you nodded eagerly at him, wanting him to touch you. You were desperate for his touch, he smiled softly as he pulled off the nightgown you were wearing and ran his hands down your body.

"You're so beautiful," He breathed, making your body heat up in embarassment at the sudden compliment he was giving to you. Your hands fumbled with his robes as he kissed your neck,

"Relax baby." He whispered as he began kissing down your body, blowing cool air onto your throbbing clit as you let out a whine. He stripped from his clothes leaving your mouth to drop open as you saw his cock standing to attention, your core dripped at the thought of him being inside of you.

"Not so fast," He chuckled as you tried to pull him down onto the bed, he kissed your lips softly,

"We have to make sure you're ready, I don't want this to hurt anymore than it has to." He kissed your hips before placing his lips on your clit, your head spinning at the new sensation.

"You like that?" He questioned as he began to run his tongue through your folds, pinning your hips to the bed as he ate you out.

"F-Fuck!" You screamed bucking your hips against him as he continued his movements, slowly adding one finger into you as you clenched around him.

"Relax," He breathed as he kissed your thigh softly, slowly pumping one finger in and out of you as he curled it. Your head began to go foggy as you enjoyed the feeling,

"I'll add a second one," He whispered as he began to lick your folds again, sliding another finger into you making you winch out in pain for a second only to be replaced by loud moans of his name as he continued to push two fingers into you, meeting a spot that made your toes curl.

"Y-Yoongi," You whimpered in an uneasy tone, there was an unfamiliar feeling building up inside of you and it was aching to come out. Your head rolled back against the bed as he continued to move his finers, fucking and licking your clit as he continued to make you feel good.

Soon after the feeling couldn't be held back anymore, you let go and came around hid fingers. Your hands making their way into his black hair as you tugged on it to bring him closer, not wanting the feeling to fade away as quickly as it had come on.

"It's okay, plenty more of those where that came from." He whispered in your ear as he kissed you deeply, he postioned himself between your legs and looked at you.

"Are you sure?" He questioned, running his cock along your folds as you nodded your head, bucking your hips as you tried to chase the feeling he'd given to you before.

"Need you," You whimpered, locking eyes with him as he pushed his hips slowly forward until he was deep inside of you making you hiss. A single tear rolled down your cheek at the pain but you bucked your hips wanting him to continue,

"S-Shit, you're so warm." He moaned out as you giggled, you knew he'd done this before so none of this was new to him but it still made you fill with butterflies at the thought of him getting so stuttery with you.

"Y-You're so big," You moaned out, running your nails down his arms as you cried out his name, you could feel every inch of him deep inside of you, he began to thrust softly as he held onto your hips. Grunting out your name as he continued to fuck into you,

"You're so god damn tight," He moaned out in pleasure as he continued to thrust into you, his words getting lost as he continued to thrust. Your head was spinning as the feeling you had before came back, you clenched around Yoongi.

"Oh, you're close?" He chuckled as he raised his eyebrows, thrusting just a little faster into you as he began to rub your clit. You let out a scream of his name and he smirked as you came around him instantly, setting off his orgasm as he came into you, bucking his hips until he was empty.

"S-Shit," He chuckled as he laid down beside you, panting out of breath as you both laid there enjoying each others company for a little while.

"C-Can we go again?" You whimpered, wanting to experience the feeling of orgasming again and again, you didn't know how people got anything else done when it was this intense.

"Soon, I promise." He whispered as he leaned across to kiss you.

The next morning you were sitting down to eat with Yoongi and his father when he brought up the subject of children, one of the maids giggled to the other while Yoongi shot them a look. He was working on getting all new maids to work in the palace but it was proving to be hard, he knew that none of them would do anything to you directly since you were a warrior Princess but it didn't mean he couldn't protect you.

"All I'm saying is, you need to produce a son who will take over for you, you might have to start early." You choked back the water you were sipping on and Yoongi placed his hand on top of yours on the table, the maids stared in silence as he looked at them and then to his father.

"That might be happening sooner than you think dad," Yoongi smiled before looking at you, proud to be starting a future family with you as well as ruling the Kingdom with you by his side as King and Queen of Korea.

Tagline: @lyoongx @mitzwinchester @rjsmochii @taestannie @sw33tnight @sweeneyblue1 @jin-from-the-block @acciocriativity @mwitsmejk

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