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djarinsbeskar · 3 years

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EXPLORATION ARC: PART 3 - CRASH LANDINGS

A/N: I think I’ve read and re-read this part so many times that I’m not sure I’m fully happy with it anymore. However! I do hope you can all enjoy the latest instalment, with our lovely Din (finally) getting some well earned attention.

Pairing: Din Djarin/Fem!Reader

Word Count: 14.4k (I have no self control I’m sorry if it drags on)

Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)

Warnings: language, (some) dirty talk, SMUT! - oral (m receiving including deepthroating and gagging), handjobs, fingering, Din being slightly awkward before embracing his dom side

Summary: It’s mighty hard to distract yourself from your mysterious and alluring shipmate, so why bother?

AO3 | Stitches Masterlist | Main Masterlist

You could say with some confidence that most times in your life, you had smooth landings.

A small swell in your stomach as a ship glided down into atmosphere. The gentle, paced approach of land or sea, of mountains, forests and cities materializing as you descended. The gradual growth of buildings, speeders and individuals from pinpricks into distinguishable features of the landscape. A smooth landing was like sliding into a warm bath, where you only realized how good the water felt when it was lapping around your ears and soothing away the aches of a bad day; the touch down of a ship letting you bask in being on solid ground once more.

Sometimes, you admit, there were rough landings.

Your heart hammering in the back of your throat while you desperately tried to smother the creeping nervousness with every bump of turbulence or rattle of a ships’ engine. The rapidly approaching planet being anything but a welcome sight; the hollow, raw sensitivity to every noise both inside the ship and out suspending you in time before the worst passed. Rough landings to you, were like rolling down a hill as a child from a grassy knoll, the incline of which – to an adult – was nothing more than a slight slope. Chaotic in the movement as your head became dizzy from spinning, but once laying on your back and laughing breathlessly up at wispy clouds, you realized it wasn’t so very bad after all. The same could be said when a ships mechanical functions and sensors righted themselves through automation or a talented pilots guide to land… not so very bad in hindsight.

And then there were crash landings… rare but staggering in the impression they left.

Moments where you weren’t sure if you were hyperventilating or holding your breath, if up was down and if the ship you flew was evening functioning beyond alloying gravity to pull it mercilessly towards wreckage and death. Total clarity and yet, an inability to focus on any one thing as the rapid descent fogged any ability to see the ground coming hard and fast. The shrill alarms and warning lights ceaselessly reminding you of how fucked you really were. The adrenaline it inspired – having nowhere to go – could make you giddy and exhilarated despite the danger. In your life, the feeling of a crash landing couldn’t be compared to the physical; they were the sinking realization of someone falling out of love with you, of the betrayal from a loyal friend, the abandonment of a lifelong support. They were the serendipity of a chance meeting, the recognition of a hidden talent and the reciprocation of long held feelings. Crash landings were all the times you had ever been blindsided and helpless to prevent them: an embodied vulnerability.

The day you landed on Nevarro was a crash landing in more ways than one.

One being the literal – survived by the seat of your pants – landing that had you questioning Mando’s ethnicity beneath the helmet. Was he from Corellia? Or Maker-forbid, Pamarthe? Because there was simply no way, no way, that he managed to pull off that landing with one engine blown and a fleet of pirates on his tail. But he did, and you were all alive because of it. He guided the Razor Crest like it was an extension of himself, completely in control of every movement and never anything but calm as he did so.

For as long as you had known the Mandalorian, he had owned the fossil that was the Razor Crest, and now you could see why. You wanted to weep and apologise to her for every stray thought you had about how old and outdated she was. You knew a brand new gunship that people paid obscene amounts of credits for wouldn’t have survived the same strain the Razor Crest was just put under.

You had come to think of the two – Mando and the Razor Crest – as mirrors of each other; intimidating, ageless and well able to endure more than a ship – or a human body – was naturally capable of. It endeared you to both of them more than you already were.

The other proverbial crash landing you experienced that day, was the incident that preceded your less than desirable entry onto the Nevarro; the one that stripped away all pretense and ignorance that had strained your relationship with Mando in the weeks prior.

After hastily grabbing the child from his pod and staggering back up the ladder one handed as the ship shook violently to strap you both into the co-pilot chair, you didn’t have the presence of mind to notice the heavy scent still permeating the cockpit, or the slightly uncomfortable feeling of your release drying on your thighs. You couldn’t even begin to wrap your mind around the fact that Mando, that stubborn, stoic, recklessly unattainable man you had spent years patching up over and over again, had gotten you off with just his thigh and a few well placed rolls of his hips.

You were too busy trying not to panic at the prospect of dying or being captured which really, would just be your rotten luck after finally seeing the immovable control the Mandalorian exerted, waver. You were distracted from those thoughts right up to the point where the rough rasp of Mando’s voice as the pirates engaged with the Razor Crest’s commlink made your prior activities glaringly obvious. His voice, still thick and heavy with his unfulfilled released gradually morphed into a cold anger as he shut off the connection when the pirates’ demanded payment for your lives.

Of the things you came to realize about Mando since travelling with him, one of the few that surprised you was his refusal to negotiate with nearly everyone he encountered. It gave the small allowances he made when you treated him – and the many he gave the kid most days – a lot more weight. But you didn’t have time to think about that as he dodged shot after shot.

Your landing on Nevarro was a combination of whiplash, soot and precarious rocking before the Razor Crest skidded to a final, jarring stop a few meters away from the closest ship docked outside the main town entrance. Only when the ship stayed upright instead of bowling over from the momentum did you allow yourself to breathe again, grounding yourself back in the cockpit despite your stomach being left somewhere in space.

The return of your breathing and the realization that you had in fact survived, allowed the reality of what happened before to slam to the forefront of your mind.

You dry humped a Mandalorian. The Mandalorian. Him. Mando.

Like a kitten in heat… the echo of his words had heat instantly returning to your face at the memory. You remained flushed even as you attempted to distract yourself by running an unnecessary mental check on your body for injury. Apart from a small ache growing in your head from the whiplash, you were good as new. Too good if you were being honest, and the reason for that was hardly a mystery.

You ran your eyes over the child, smoothing a hand soothingly over his wrinkled head and along one of his ears to make sure he wasn’t hurt, cooing at him gently as he nuzzled back against your chest with a string of sleepy babble. He was more concerned with being woken up than the manner of your landing apparently,

“I know darling, I’m sorry I woke you,” you muttered against his head, the sheer relief that he was out of danger roiling in your stomach and made you close your eyes as his familiar scent invaded your nose while he settled back down to sleep.

As he settled, the cockpit swelled with a heavy silence, reality catching up with you both now that the distraction of pirates and possible death was gone.

The red warning lights and occasional alarm were flicked off one by one with every resounding click of a button. When you first entered the cockpit earlier that day, you struggled to keep your eyes off him and now, now your eyes focused on anything but the man who had groaned your name so sinfully. Those clicks and snaps of levers and buttons – while quiet – were the only sounds that filled the air, enhancing the silence you sat in.

Mando was tenser than before, his shoulders stiff and movements more forceful than necessary as he geared the ship down. A malicious thought surfaced momentarily that he might be regretting what happened already.

You rolled your eyes at yourself, recognizing the ridiculousness of the notion immediately; you had just spent several heart-stopping minutes being chased and shot at and only landed mere moments ago. Of course he was tense. Stars, your muscles had yet to relax from the anxiety inducing minutes before Mando finally out maneuvered them with an unfazed countenance.

But heightened emotions and the insecurities they could bring with them weren’t uncommon after an orgasm. You merely tried to keep the more ridiculous ones at bay, a benefit of maturity and age you appreciated. It allowed you to have had your fair share of purely physical relationships; one night stands and friends with benefits over the years. It wasn’t in you to get overly attached to a sexual partner after the uncertainty of the war. You were certain Mando would be no different. You appreciated sex for what it was; a release, a coping mechanism or simply just something fun to do.

Mando’s arm reached across the small distance in front of you, one final switch and silence reigned once more. He hesitated as he withdrew his hand, resting it heavily on the dash and his helmet turned marginally to look at you, your eyes instantly lifting to the visor. You cursed the damn shiny thing silently; you had never felt the lack of expressions, or small facial tells that might have given you an indication of how he was feeling more than now. The feeling of his gaze didn’t however stop the pang of arousal reawakening after being doused so suddenly before; it simmered low in your stomach now as he watched you.

Your eyes searched his visor, hopefully conveying – if nothing else – that you didn’t regret anything. A soft quirk to your lips and he released a long breath, hanging his head slightly before pushing back up to his seat. Your smile increased subconsciously; he seemed exasperated, not ashamed and that would have to be good enough for you.

It didn’t take long for the silence to turn more comfortable after that, more familiar as he stood from his seat to make his way past you, cape brushing your arm as he did so. He hesitated at the door, considering something before he left. When he evidently came to a conclusion, he turned back to look down at you, forearm resting above his head on the doorframe as he did so,

“I’ll be gone a few hours. The Guild will be by to pick up the quarries so…” he trailed off and you waited expectantly for what he was trying to tell you, “get some fresh air. We’re leaving as soon as I pick up the next batch of pucks.”

You craned your neck to keep your eyes on him and the sudden déjà vu of looking up at him wasn’t lost on either of you as a sharp exhale left the warrior. You nodded a few times to his suggestion, mulling over anything that was low or might need restocking, mind running a klick a minute before an idea sparked in your mind, making you sit up straighter in excitement,

“Mando? Is there an automated banking center here?”

Your question seemed to throw him because he didn’t answer immediately, mind more pleasantly distracted by your appearance,

“Why?” was his only response in the end.

“I want credits, that’s why,” you rolled your eyes in playful exasperation as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, which it was. Why else would you go to a bank?

“The New Republic pay a pension for anyone who served in the Rebellion. It gets fed into an account that can be accessed from most galactic banking centers,” you explained, excited by the possibility of actually having your own credits and being able to contribute rather than living off the credits Mando earned from his bounty hunting.

“Oh,” came the lackluster response, “I don’t know. I’ve never used one before,” he finished simply, dropping his arm from the doorframe and turning to make his way down into the hold without another word.

You deflated a bit in your seat before perking up. No. ‘I don’t know’ wasn’t a negative answer, just an unhelpful one. You chuckled quietly so as not to disturb the child sleeping again you, he was still no better at talking than when you first met him. Perhaps it was simply a case of not being able to teach an old Massiff new tricks. Funnily enough, you didn’t think he needed to. You were adapting well enough to his silence as it was.

You could find out for yourself. You were dying to get off the ship and it was the perfect excuse to explore a new town for the precious few hours you had planet-side, a chance to stretch your legs and get some much needed fresh air. It was also a much better alternative to sitting on the ship and replaying the last few hours in your head, working yourself up over a husky voice and a hard body.

No, that would just drive you mad.

Since he left the cockpit, some of the heat left with him and you were able to lean back and take a long, deep breath. Fuck… but he was still able to get to you without even trying, you admitted yourself as you closed your eyes. You didn’t even have the chance to touch him beyond that momentary glance against the smooth, burning length of him. You never believed in karma before, but you must have done something truly rotten to have been stopped from touching that man.

A warmth filled you at the thought of how good he felt under you; the promise of more taken away before either of you had a moment to think. You felt wrecked from the orgasm he gave you and that hadn’t even required the removal of clothing, let alone his hands or cock.

But he hadn’t finished.

Your brows furrowed at the thought, along with a small swell of guilt in your stomach. You considered yourself to be a generous lover and wouldn’t cheapen the sentiment of wanting him to feel satisfied by thinking you owed it to him. You wanted to make him feel good, knowing the bliss someone else could give you was infinitely better than one’s own hand. You wanted to preen with the knowledge that you could bring this man, this immovable force to his knees in ecstasy.

You wanted to make him feel that good now, not later.

Steeling your nerves, you gracelessly wrestled yourself out of your seatbelt, hindered by the loss of one arm that supported the child. Finally free, you followed the same path the Mandalorian took down the ladder (equally as inelegant but climbing a ladder was awkward with two hands let alone one so you forgave yourself). You hurried over to the child’s over-pram and, once he was tucked in and the pram itself closed, turned to where you had glanced Mando preparing to leave.

He was adjusting something on his vambraces’ control panel, so he hadn’t acknowledged your presence yet, but when he picked up the control that opened the ramp down, you opened your mouth,

“Mando!” you called just before he lowered the ramp onto the lava flats that made up the improvised spaceport on Nevarro.

Your voice stopped him in his tracks, and he turned his head slightly to indicate you had his attention.

Your feet were moving before you knew it, rounding in front of the warrior and removing the push-button control that hung from the wall of the Razor Crest; obviously, a temporary fix that had become a permanent solution. The remote fell easily from his grip when your fingers caressed the back of the hand that held it, your gaze never leaving where you hoped his was behind the visor.

You kept your hand on his as he lowered it down to his side, enjoying the tactile sensation of the buttery leather of his gloved fingers as they netted across your own before you pulled your hand away just far enough to trace along the duraweave at his hip and across the softer, more flexible ribbed armor on his abdomen.

“I—need to check the damage to the ship,” he rasped quietly after the control clattered loudly back against the wall it was attached to, no bite in his words as you stepped into his personal space. As expected, he didn’t move, your eyes searching for any indication of discomfort in his body language and – finding none – drifted down his body appreciatively, a knowing smile dancing across your lips.

“Gotta… collect the payment for---” he trailed off when your fingers returned to where they had been before you had been interrupted in the cockpit. His words petered off on a low exhale and you hummed in approval when you felt he was still half-hard under his flight suit.

“I don’t just take, Mando,” you said quietly so as not to break the little bubble you found yourself in with the Mandalorian. You were almost gentle in your cadence, as if anything louder would spook the intimidating man. Something inside you told you that his acceptance of your touch was no insignificant thing, not to him. You couldn’t pinpoint the reason, whether it was his devotion to his Creed he mentioned or some other personal reasons. Whatever it was, you didn’t take the liberties he afforded you lightly.

You wanted to make him forget his reservations, completely.

Your fingers easily undid the fly at his crotch and fit inside to wrap around the thick girth of his rapidly hardening length. Your stomach flipped at the sheer size of him, making you swallow while Mando braced his forearm on the wall behind you, folding over you slightly from his greater height. The deep sigh he released, a shuddering sound of relief and pleasure spread electricity across you, your body instantly reacting to the guttural sound instinctively. You gave his cock an experimental squeeze as you pulled him out from his flight suit in the hopes of hearing that noise again.

But Maker, your mouth watered when you finally tore your eyes from his helmet to his exposed length.

Rich, tan skin stretched taut across the thick length of his cock as it sat heavy in your grip, a shade darker than the skin you had seen while treating him before. Pearly precum was already beading from the blunt, swollen tip and your thumb automatically swiped through it to spread over the head. You reveled in the low moan you heard in your ear as Mando’s head dropped forward to rest on your shoulder, a shaky inhale making his shoulders shudder.

“It’s okay?” you whispered, needing to be certain. The immediate nod against your shoulder settled the last of your reservations and you gave him a long stroke in return. You wondered briefly if the dryness of your hand was uncomfortable so, releasing his cock briefly, you spat on your palm before wrapping it back around the base and started stroking him steadily.

“Fuck…” his voice was barely above a whisper, his cock heavy and rigid in your fist that barely managed to close around him as you squeezed him firmly.

Stars, he felt divine. All hard ridges covered in velvet skin, a hot pulsing weight in your hand that made you chew on your lip as you imagined the size and weight of him on your tongue or the sweet sting of him stretching your cunt around him. He was bigger than you had had before, and you knew you would probably feel him for days afterwards.

He twitched under your grip, but apart from the occasional shiver and low groan in your ear, he allowed your hand to explore and learn this part of him at your own pace. Your free hand skirted down his side to gently draw his tight balls out too and when you massaged them in your palm, you received a gravelly moan in your ear. It was followed by a heady rasp in that language you still couldn’t place; the sound of it running down your spine pleasantly and making your body react viscerally, your nipples peaked and sensitive against the material of your chest band and wetness soaking your underwear again.

His shoulders sagged as the tension began to bleed from his body, his helmet turning on your shoulder to watch your hand stroking his cock rhythmically.

You were throbbing with renewed arousal from just the feel of velvety steel in your hand and from hearing those low, gravelly sounds you had been thinking about for weeks. Nothing you had fabricated in your mind came close to the reality; deep and rich, they rumbled through his whole body until you could feel their echoes in your own.

Twisting your wrist on an upward stroke, his hips snapped forward and a groan left him. His free hand unexpectedly lifted to grasp the side of your neck, his staunch control wavering. His fingers spread around easily to tangle in the hair at the base of your neck to anchor himself and you had to bite down on your lip hard to keep from moaning at the sound of him panting your name in your ear. Your eyes fluttered closed when he tightened his fingers, holding your head in pace as you increased your pace to match his hips, random twists of your wrist making him curse and groan your name desperately.

“Fuck… kitten, don’t--- fuck, don’t stop,” he panted against the side of your head, the words interspersed with quiet moans as his control continued to bend, his hips thrusting shallowly into your hand as he chased the release that he had been denied earlier. You tightened your grip and it made him practically shake with pleasure. You were only using the weeping precum leaking from his head to smooth your hand along his length but Mando didn’t seem to mind the dry friction that tethered on discomfort. He seemed to like the added sensation that made his cock throb and his mind cloud with a primal desire to fuck.

“You feel so good, Mando…” your own voice was nothing short of a moan itself, heat gathering at your core and reminding you of how empty your pussy was. But you wanted to finish him first, to bring him to the height of pleasure like he deserved before you considered your own release again. The next time you got off, you wanted to feel him completely overwhelm your body with his own, whether that was with his cock or his fingers or hell, even his thigh again. Whatever he would give you.

You massaged his sensitive head at the thought, your cunt clenching. His fingers flexed in your hair, tugging on the strands and pulling a soft gasp from your lips as he lifted his head enough for the cool beskar to press against your forehead. Your eyes flickered frantically across the visor, the strength of his fingers tangling in your hair making your lips part,

“Fuck, you want more already, don’t you?” he growled with a hitch in his labored breathing when your thumb circled the head of his cock again. You didn’t try to hide the way he was making you feel, there was no point with the desire written plainly on your face.

Drunk on the heady, heavy scent of arousal that filled the hold, you nodded desperately to his question and released his balls to run your hand along the perfectly polished beskar on his chest, the warrior shuddering as if he could actually feel you through the armor,

“I want you…” you purred against his helmet before sinking your teeth into your bottom lip when he groaned.

His hand loosened in your hair, fanning up over your cheek and across the edge of your jaw before he cupped it roughly. His thumb swiped across your bottom lip to release it from the hold your teeth had it in. He repeated the motion, slower this time to savor the pillowy softness of the flesh before pressing his thumb into your willing mouth, the fingers he had around your jaw tightening to encourage your mouth to open for him.

You accepted the supple leather eagerly, letting it rest on the flat of your tongue before you closed your lips around it, the stagger in his shallow thrusts and the sharp, distorted exhale through his modulator telling you just how affected he was.

You moaned around his thumb when he pushed it deeper into the warm cavern of your mouth, letting your tongue circle it before sucking on it hard, showing him exactly what you were imagining doing to his cock and eyes still trained on the black shine of his visor. Your mind was filled with the sounds of his raspy groans and the quick drag of your fingers of the soft skin of his cock. You matched the pace of your hand as you sucked on his thumb and when he pressed closer to you, caging you against the wall, you arched against him and keened under his movements.

“You’re fucking filthy, aren’t you?” he muttered breathlessly and slightly awed, as if he had come across something so unexpectedly amazing when he hadn’t even been looking, “you wan---”

He was cut off as his commlink came to life.

“Mando! You ever going to come out? What’s taking so long?” the crackled, disembodied voice sounded from his vambrace, your eyes widening slightly before you deviously picked up the speed with which you stroked him.

Mando hissed, his helmet falling back on his shoulders at the pleasure that set every nerve in his body alight. He pulled his thumb from your mouth but kept his grip on your jaw firm,

“Dangerous game you’re playing, kitten,” he panted, his voice strained as you felt him twitch and grow harder in your grip if it was possible, the thrill of danger you both felt at someone else’s presence turning you both on more than you anticipated.

You ignored his words and watched him from under heavy lashes with a cheeky glint in your eye, “Aren’t you going to answer that?” your question was saccharine sweet, as if you didn’t have your hand wrapped around his thick cock.

Playing Mando at his own game – challenging him – might have been a stupid move, but he had you riding his thigh that very day and now you wanted to even out the playing field. You ached a brow when he didn’t respond, your hand slowing to a stop on his cock even as his fingers dug into your jaw. With a vicious snarl in his own language, you knew you had him beat and started stroking him again as a reward.

“You’ll regret this,” he promised darkly when he released your face to press the connection link on his vambrace currently braced against the wall above your head,

“Looking after the kid, won’t be---” his head snapped down when you sank to your knees now that you were free from his hold, eyes sparking with mischief while you tried to smother the smile that turned your lips up when you looked up at him,

“Don’t you dare,” Mando hissed down at you, even as his head feel forward against his arm when your tongue flicked out to glance across the tip of his cock, a choked moan caught in his throat.

“Dare? Dare what?” Confusion was evident in the booming yet jovial voice on the other end of the link.

“N-nothing Karga. The kid…. The kid is just somewhere he shouldn’t be,” he directed the emphasis down at you as you lapped around his head teasingly, giving him a taste of the soft, wet heat of your tongue and only a taste.

“Ah! Bring him out! I’ve missed the little womprat.”

“Just give me----”

Mando cut the connection off on a loud moan as your lips suddenly engulfed the head of his cock, your own moan at the salty precum on your tongue making you salivate and lap up every drop. Maker, he was big. You circled the head with your tongue a few times and pulled your mouth off him after a few wet suckles so that you could lick a thick strip along the underside, eyes still shining with mischief despite the dark lust clouding them as he shook above you.

Fuck, he was so sensitive. A rush of arousal pooled low in your stomach and you moaned around him when you took him into your mouth again and sucked on the head while stroking the rest of his length. You would have to get used to his size before taking any more of him. But damn, if your eyes weren’t bigger than your belly and you let him sink deeper once, getting about half of him along your tongue before you felt yourself gagging.

“Stars, yes—” he groaned, the tight heat of your mouth making him want to sink his cock as deep as it could go before you pulled off him with a gasp, your saliva making his length glisten.

Neither of you had the time to dawdle; you could feel the coiling tension radiating from him as he dropped his hand to card his fingers through your hair. You could have spent hours kneeling there with his cock in your mouth, happily keeping him on the verge of pleasure, but he needed to go sooner rather than later. Reluctantly, you gave the tip one last lick before using your saliva as lubrication to stroke him quicker when you stood back up, his hand never leaving the back of your head.

“Tease--- fucking tease, always---” the staccato of his speech was dotted with more frequent rumbling moans and when he bit out a curse as your fingers massaged along the thick vein under his cock, he dropped his head back to your shoulder, the space between you reducing to only as much as your hand needed to jerk him off.

“You can get me back later, Mando,” you purred, squeezing the head lightly, “but right now I want you to cum.” Your free hand went back to palming his balls, rolling them between your fingers and you could feel them tightening in your hold. Your cunt clenched needily when the Mandalorian actually whimpered.

He had slipped back into his native language as he muttered darkly in your ear and even if you didn’t understand the words, the rasp and sinful promise in them as his tone became more and more desperate was enough to make another gush of wetness drench your pussy.

You knew it hit him the moment his spine went rigid, and he choked on a gasp, his hand tightening almost painfully in your hair reflexively. You slowed your pace with a whimper, lazily stroking him through his orgasm as several thick ropes of cum splattered against your jacket, the rest coating your hand as it dribbled down his cock.

His breathing returned in short, stagnant gasps, his arm taking most of his weight while his forehead rested heavily on your shoulder as he recovered. He hissed tiredly, pushing your hand away when the overstimulation made his spent cock twitch even as it softened. It gave you the perfect opportunity to lift your hand and delicately swipe your tongue along your finger to taste him. Slightly salty and a bit sharp, you sucked the finger into your mouth with a hum and let your eyes drift closed at the taste.

A long groan pulled your eyes open again to see Mando lifting his head lethargically from your shoulder, tilted down to watch you clean your fingers of his release,

“Don’t waste any, kitten,” he rumbled, his voice rougher than usual and you felt a swell of pride at the fatigue you heard in it. His hand wrapped back around your wrist to lead your other fingers to your mouth, as if to be part of this ritual of you eating his release. You were only too eager to lap each of them clean, eyes heavy-lidded as you sought his invisible gaze. His chest was still heaving from his release, breathing labored and he looked absolutely wrecked.

You moaned your approval at his taste, enjoying his eyes on you as you did so. You spread your fingers and turned them to rest against his chest and he hummed a “good girl” as he fingers released your wrist to trace up along your arm and across your collarbone lazily, curious in their exploration as though he had never thought to take the time to simply touch for the sake of touching. He probably hadn’t, you realized when you thought about it a little deeper.

His fingers roamed up along the column of your neck and settled there, flexing before they relaxed into a content hold that made you lean into the solid weight of his caress,

“Be here when I get back,” he rasped, fingers spreading to spear up through your hair at the base of your neck for a brief moment.

He only released you when you nodded, mesmerized by the lights that caught on his visor and the shine of his unpainted helmet.

And then his hand dropped and the overwhelming heat and presence of his body leaning over yours was gone. A single input into his vambrace and the child’s hover-pram followed him dutifully. You leaned back against the wall to gather your own breath that you seemed to have lost and pressed the forgotten control button to release the ramp for him and when it flattened on the lava fields below, he offered you a nod before wandering down to his… welcome party?

You snorted on a laugh to yourself, turning back into the bowels of the ship to shower and get changed before going out yourself.

That’s a first.

You wasted no time stripping out of your clothes, flushing slightly at the stains on your jacket and pants from Mando’s release. You showered without washing your hair to save time and pulled on a new pair of pants along with a cream, loose linen top. For warmer climates like Nevarro, you were glad you had picked up the piece despite not wearing it often. You liked the feeling of not having layers of fabric clinging to you, the wispy soft length of the fit caressing rather than constricting and the dip in the neckline was tastefully offset by a string tied across your collarbones that gave it a breath of femininity. You stretched your arms above your head and enjoyed the occasional brush of the material on your back before you grabbed a satchel to make use of the unexpected free time you had been afforded without the child.

You greeted the mechanics setting up by the Razor Crest. Mando had obviously sorted the repairs out, whatever they entailed when he left the ship. Poor old girl was in some state after that landing but her condition wasn’t enough to wipe the content grin off your face as you walked in through the main gates with a small spring in your step. Despite the slight hiccup, today hadn’t gone quite so bad as you thought.

Nevarro was an… interesting place, you came to realize after a short while walking through the ragtag streets and down dusty roads. It boasted the same clientele as most Outer Rim planets, but the place wasn’t nearly big enough or significant enough to garner the attention of anyone more dangerous than a petty thief. The presence of the Bounty Hunters Guild also had a hand in dissuading criminals from setting up on Nevarro. It was charming, in a way. But then, you always were drawn to… unconventional things.

The marketplace – when you arrived – was, in a word, chaotic. There was no clear system of stalls or shops, hardly any signage and people seemed to make do with the most uncharacteristic objects upon which to sell their wares. You had seen no less than four sabacc tables, what looked like the carcass of an old mining trolley and you were nearly certain the Jawas were using stacked stormtrooper helmets beneath a large cloth to make a very wobbly table. You hadn’t managed to confirm that one unfortunately, instead trying to garner what information you could about what each stall and shopfront sold to know where to come back to after doing a leisurely loop of the market.

People bustled here and there, chatter flowed freely, and it felt similar to when the Empire first fell; as though a great weight had been lifted from these people, excited to enjoy the liberties freedom gave them. It was infectious, and you were charmed by it; swindling Jawas and all.

You had been delighted to learn from a helpful human man tinkering with the wiring of a pit droid outside a non-descript repair shop that there was a banking center on Nevarro – a New Republic one at that – recently installed with all the changes happening on the planet.

You threw your silent thanks to the Maker that at least now you had access to your own funds and could stop feeling guilty about living off Mando’s hard earned credits. Noticing the stiffness in the man’s legs when he stood to point you in the right direction, you stalled your journey to the bank to enquire about it.

“Only age, love. Nothin’ to be done about that,” he had waved you off with a dismissive chuckle.

You smiled in return with a brief nod before you took your leave, filing through information in your head about age-related joint stiffness as you did. You simply couldn’t help yourself; you hadn’t had a patient in months and Mando was the worst possible one whenever he was injured so you indulged yourself on your way to the bank with a pain relief plan for someone who had been kind to you. Not just because he reminded you of an elderly Mirialan who complained of similar pains what seemed like a lifetime ago.

The banking center was thankfully, a straight-forward experience. A gatekeeper droid scanned your chain code and then all you had to do was select the service you required. Withdrawing the sum of your accumulated pension that had been deposited but untouched for the last few months left you with a satisfying weight to your satchel as you left and was hardly dented as you went about your errands.

After a few wrong turns and your insistence that no, you didn’t need whatever piece of junk the Jawas were trying to peddle, you managed to replenish the food supplies you felt had either been running low or knew the other two enjoyed along with a few much-needed additions to the medical kit you were building and maintaining. You even went so far as to purchase a few tools you had been without since leaving Mynock, medical and otherwise that would no doubt come in handy eventually. The medical supply store was quite well stocked on Nevarro and given the number of bounty hunters you had seen prowling; it really came as no surprise.

A few tubes of heating liniment added to your satchel along with the other bags you carried, and you returned to the repair shop to hand them to the elderly man there. Your hastily demonstrated number of gentle exercises had him chuckling at you good naturedly and an hour later, you were still chatting over tea and some sort of oat biscuits.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” he asked conspiratorially when you had first sat down gingerly to accept the mug he slid over to you. The question had made you laugh,

“What makes you say that?”

He hummed in contemplation around a bite of his biscuit before pointing what remained of the biscuit at you, “Folk ‘round here are too caught up in their own lives, they don’t be worryin’ about others.”

“It could also be because I’m a medic, no?” you aired your thoughts aloud after a sip of the fragrant tea, a mix of what tasted like ginger and something floral.

“Ah, but you’da charged me if you were workin’ here,” he tapped his nose, a fond wink thrown in for good measure, “go on so, where are you comin’ from then?”

You weren’t able to stop the bubble of laughter that rose, “Pamarthe, for my sins,” you admitted.

“Ah!” he clapped a hand on his knee jovially, “A Pamarthan! Great pilots. Great drinkers!” he chortled, and you snorted into your cup on a laugh, nailed it. You chuckled as you took two biscuits off the table with a small explanation that they were for a child you were looking after. That led you to fielding questions about if the child was yours, but you were able to skirt away from that topic with a well-placed question,

“So, have you ever been to Pamarthe?”

“Me? No, no not with the Empire. Very hard to travel back in those days, very hard. Now, well. I’m not the lad I once was, love. Can’t be off planet hoppin’ anymore at my age. But a few of your people have been known to pass through here, like you.” he explained while you nodded along politely.

“Mores the pity, I can imagine you’d like it. It’s… very different to Nevarro,” you admitted with a glance around the bustling crowds kicking up ash and soot from the extrusive ground underneath. The temperate climate of Pamarthe brought grass and mud, not rock and ash.

“Is it true that all the islands are connected with rope bridges? And not something more modern?”

Your eyes widened pleasantly, the same rush of warmth anyone experienced when faced with the welcome surprise that someone knew about their homeland while not being native themselves,

“You do know your stuff!” a wistful smile broke out on your face at the thought, “and you’re right. It’s just always been that way,” you shrugged, “I’ve never really thought about why some of the old ways were kept; technology is used to prevent erosion of the islands themselves after all.”

“Remarkable, isn’t it? The things we miss that are right under our noses. Simply because that’s the way they’ve always been.” he hummed sagely, and you couldn’t help but agree.

And on your conversation went. It was refreshing, to have a conversation again. You had gotten so used to one-sided chattering on your part to the child and the simple answers from the Mandalorian that didn’t invite any more speaking than necessary.

This was nice, it was a change from the norm. But a part of you started to long for the quiet hum of the ship the longer you stayed away. Perhaps it was down to being unaccustomed to the prolonged sensory overload between the bustling crowds and loud bartering that had you eager to get back, and not just the thought of seeing a roguish warrior who seemed to embody the safety silence could provide. At least, that was what you tried to convince yourself of anyway.

So, bidding your new acquaintance a good evening along with a stern instruction to do his exercises that held no real bite, you left, your pace a little quicker than could be described as casually strolling, “be here when I get back” echoing in your mind and setting flurries of anticipation off in your stomach.

Life still seemed to go on even as the suns in the sky began to age and the shadows they cast on the low buildings and narrow streets shifted. There was still plenty of activity and you casually ruminated on where all these people went when the day was done as you reached the Razor Crest. The Guild had finished unloading the quarries in the time you had been away, and the engine seemed relatively repaired if your untrained eye was anything to go by. Lowering the ramp, you lugged the progressively heavier bags back up into the hold and unpacked them merrily; the outing and the fresh air had done wonders for you a world of good.

With the last of your supplies tucked away under the galley counter, you found yourself with nothing to do. Dismissing the thought of making something to eat after just eating biscuits, you found yourself climbing the ladder to the cockpit instead.

Chewing your lip contemplatively once there, you gingerly sat in the pilot’s chair before you could talk yourself out of it and took in the sweeping view of lava flats as far as the eye could see from this higher vantage point.

Honestly, you chided yourself internally, it’s a chair.

But in the same way you would never sit in your mother’s favorite seat at the table, where the view of the vast ocean framed by towering cliff edges of far off islands was best – even when empty – you still hesitated before you relaxed into the large seat.

Maker, was it always this big? It seemed much narrower when he sat in it… but with space on either side between you and the armrests, you were once again reminded of the size of his presence, unconsciously and perhaps foolishly dwarfed only by your familiarity with seeing him so frequently. You remembered how big he was on your examination table when he had been poisoned. The table had groaned under him and while you had seen taller, you had seen broader, his was the aura that told you he could put every inch of height, every pound of weight to better use than anyone larger or stronger than himself. Heck, even a Houk warlord hadn’t stood a chance against him.

Your fingers ran along the sturdy leather of the armrests, the dry fabric catching the pads in their exploration and reminding you vaguely of a tookas tongue, an abrasive yet gratifying sensation on your softer skin. Your muscles sagged as you relaxed further, the trepidation of being somewhere you shouldn’t be beginning to melt away and causing your head to rest back.

You enjoyed the tactility more with your eyes closed, the deprivation of sight transforming your awareness of the leather beneath your fingers; the shallow veins of aging cracks along the material, the dips where more pressure was repeatedly placed when the Mandalorian sat here and the small fraying of the stitching at the seams. It became a map under your fingers, with rivers and valleys and mountains and you lost yourself in the idle relaxation it brought to you.

So immersed in your tactile exploration, your ears didn’t pick up on the ramp lowering, nor the presence that paused in the doorway of the cockpit, startled at first before he relaxed against the side of the doorframe, admiring the sight before him where he could leisurely take you in while you were caught unawares.

“Planning on stealing my ship?” his voice came out rougher than either of you anticipated and your eyes immediately snapped open to look over your shoulder from where you sat, lips parted in a surprised ‘o’ and looking very much like you had been caught.

You took him in from your position and, after running your hand along the armrest to find the correct button, swung the chair around to face him. You were quite comfortable where you were and didn’t fancy getting up despite your prior hesitation. One leg crossed delicately across the other, you rested your chin on a propped-up hand with a grin,

“If I wanted to steal your ship, I’d have gotten it months ago,” you teased, the familiar ground you had somewhat lost with him over the last week making a welcome return, “you’d have never even known.” you finished confidently with a wink.

Mando said nothing for a moment, assessing your words and mannerisms, “You think you could steal a bounty hunters ship from right under his nose and not get caught?” he hummed, his disbelief evident in his dismissive tone, “Please.”

“No?” you tapped your fingers along your cheek where they rested, “You seemed pretty out of it after I had your cock in my mouth,” you threw at him casually, tone light as if you were merely discussing what you wanted for dinner, smirking at the surprised choke it pulled from him, “probably be pretty easy for me then, wouldn’t you say?”

His body stiffened as he collected himself at the abruptness of your words, fingers flexing on his arms where he had them crossed across his chest and head shifting to look away from you before his visor refocused itself on where you sat,

“I don’t think you were much better, kitten,” his husky voice was deeper than it had been, thicker.

Your stomach fluttered at that stupid fucking nickname, the rolling rasp of it on his tongue only enhanced by the natural lilt of his accent. Your flare of temper gave him the time to push off the wall and saunter over in that arrogant way you hated as much as loved and pressed a hand to the back of the seat by your head,

“I think sucking my cock got you wetter than riding my thigh, didn’t it?” he rumbled, as though his question was merely a token gesture, used to amplify the truth in the statement that came before it, “I don’t think you’d be able to do anything, let alone steal my ship.”

It was your turn to be flustered now, dammit. You had the high ground for all of two minutes before he effortlessly flipped the control. Your body thrummed with how close his was but not one part of him even brushed against you; not the coarse fabric on his arm where it was braced on the seat, not the solid beskar on his legs against yours, nor his helmet against your forehead as he leaned over you. Touch was not a language Mando knew well beyond violence, but he was well aware of how to use his body to intimidate… to dominate… to captivate.

Your eyes stayed on his visor, focusing your attention on breathing normally and to not let the effect he had on your body show. You could feel the heat of his gaze running down your face, over the exposed skin at your collarbones and down the light material of your shirt. The appreciative grunt slipping through his modulator had your thighs clenching together instinctively as the craving you had been distracting yourself from all day reignited with a soft gasp when gloved fingers traced over the bend of your knee that sat crossed over your leg.

“Take these off,” he muttered, patting your thigh once as his fingers traced up from your knee, running them along the outer seam of your pants before pulling his hand away as though it had never touched you and rested it on his belt expectantly as he looked down at you, “I want to see how wet sucking my cock makes you.”

His crass words, so unlike his usual stoic statements were characteristically blunt but filled with a vulgarity that simultaneously shocked you and turned you on. For such sinful words to fall from the mouth of a man who kept his thoughts and emotions in a chokehold, there was a thrilling sense of depravity that exceeded the fact that you had gotten each other off already today.

You leaned back languidly against the pilot’s chair, watching him leisurely as he stood over you and made no attempt to hide the way your eyes trailed down his body. You rode his thigh and sucked his cock already; was there really any point in trying to hide your attraction to him anymore? Life was too fucking short.

“Are you asking me to go down on you again, Mando?” you purred, loving the virility in his tone; there was nothing you loved more than an insatiable lover, it boded well for him being able to keep up with you.

“I’m telling you that if you don’t remove them now, you won’t be allowed to.”

There was a barely restrained thread of anger surfacing in his voice, possibly the residual effects of making him answer the commlink from his contact in the Guild while you had your hands and mouth on his cock, but instead of the spark of fear your instinct would usually alert you with, a trickle of desire kissed your senses instead.

“An interesting punishment,” you hummed, fingers toying with the waistband of your pants, “given that you’d be missing out as well.” Even as you said it, you were uncrossing your legs. He pushed back a pace or two from where he loomed over you to give you room or to get a better view, you didn’t know. Lifting your hips from the seat, you shimmied the form fitting material over your ass and down your legs, kicking the material off one foot before the other, panties staying on.

His helmet snapped up from the smooth skin of your legs to your face and, in a move that had a sense of déjà vu settling over you both, you reclined back comfortably against the chair again, your eyes dancing with the same challenge he had thrown to you on Klatooine.

The pants can come off, but the underwear stays on.

For now, you told yourself, but he didn’t need to know that right away.

The warning growl he emitted was the sweetest response you could have wished for. Revenge after all, was better served ice cold.

Your move. Your eyes dared him with a glimmer of amusement and a quirk of your brow even as a knot of anticipation began to curl in your stomach.

He surprised you by sitting in the co-pilots chair you usually occupied after a tense few seconds, leaning back into the leather, relaxed.

You frowned, breaking the nonchalant façade you tried to deceive him with as your mind scrabbled to figure out what he was planning. You hadn’t anticipated him sitting away from you and simply watching you. You were about to question him when your lips parted as the hand resting on his thigh lifted to palm himself through his flight suit slowly.

Your teeth dented your bottom lip, shifting yourself in the seat while your eyes immediately focused on the way his hand flexed and curled around the prominent bulge and your fingers itched at the memory of his cock filling your hand.

His game, obviously, was to drive you bantha-shit insane, because the moment he unzipped his fly to pull himself from the tight confines of the flight suit, already hard and leaking, you wanted him.

You’ll regret this…

The growl reverberated in your mind from hours before. He was using the very thing you had used against him, on you. Your eyes glazed over as they followed the steady path of the Mandalorians fist as he stroked himself, small grunts the only sounds he seemed willing to let you hear.

You swallowed, heat rose to your cheeks and your skin becoming uncomfortably hot. It made you increasingly aware of your own arousal as you remembered the weight of his cock in your hand, the pulsing length of him on your tongue… your tongue peaked out to taste your bottom lip, all traces of his earlier release unfortunately gone.

Your eyes darkened when a quiet groan was picked up by the modulator, his head dipping with a ragged breath as his thumb swiped over the swollen head. You had to stifle a moan of your own when you recognized that the movement of his hand was mimicking yours, twisting momentarily on the upward stroke and squeezing as it came back down to the base.

Your idle fingers itched to touch yourself and one hand began subconsciously moving between your thighs as they spread enough give you space. But the Mandalorians sharp eyes – even clouded with lust – didn’t miss a thing as his head rolled around to look at you,

“Hands by your sides, kitten.”

His voice was dangerously low, thick with lust as he slowed his strokes to a lazier pace, prolonging his desire and by default, prolonging your inability to touch yourself. You could practically hear the smirk in his voice as he spoke, and it made you huff indignantly, but you fisted your hands on the leather beside your bare hips nonetheless. The ease with which he gave commands, the casual control he exuded, it sent tremors of need through you, a baser side of you eager to obey even if it conflicted with your stubborn nature.

“Good girl,” he rasped with an unmistakable tease lilting his voice when you settled, “keep behaving and I’ll let you taste it.”

You hated to admit it, but the promise of having him in your mouth again was almost worth the silent torture you were being made endure now, cunt throbbing in neglect and skin humming with sensitivity. You had always been able to succeed with a mind over matter approach, with the constant knowledge that the reward was worth the work it took to achieve it but Maker, was he making it difficult.

The minutes he sat away from you felt like hours despite your resolve and the temptation to touch yourself only grew as the air grew thick with tension. Your eyes drank their fill of the warrior getting himself off mere feet away from where you sat half-naked. The sound of his hand stroking himself and those breathy exhales were going to drive you mad.

Your panties felt uncomfortable against your sensitive skin and you cursed your stubbornness in keeping them on, shifting in your seat and making yourself whine quietly when they brushed against your clit, drawing Mando’s helmet down to look at you once more,

“Take them off,” he repeated breathlessly, and you wanted to weep in thanks, eagerly lifting your hips to push the offending piece of clothing down your legs. You didn’t have time for shyness or modesty when the cool air on your bare cunt was soothing for all of five seconds before the throbbing heat made you ache with a renewed need to touch your clit, to somehow relieve the pressure. The approving groan that rumbled from the Mandalorian was a stroke to your ego as you spread your legs for him, revealing your damp folds to him and tempting him to break the rules of his own game.

“Maker, I can see how wet you are from here,” he moaned and picked up the pace of his stroking momentarily, caught up in the vision you presented him with, half naked in his pilot’s chair; you were a veritable galactic pin up girl.

You made a small noise of impatience, your darkened eyes pleading with him as your body burned under his unseen gaze.

“Tell me what you want,” he grunted, squeezing the base of his cock to slow himself down from simply getting himself off as quickly as possible as he would normally.

“Your cock,” you answered shamelessly before tagging a quiet “please?” to the end which seemed to break him just like you hoped it would.

He stood not a moment later and made the few steps to stand beside you and you wasted no time in greedily wrapping your fingers around the thick base of his cock. You turned your head so your lips could instantly wrap around the head of his cock again, beyond teasing him and addicted from the brief taste you had of it earlier in the day and making you moan around him in both pleasure and relief.

The vibrations made Mando hiss as they ran through him before his head tipped back on a moan when you relaxed your jaw to take a bit more of his length into your waiting mouth, tongue massaging as much of the underside as it could reach. You began a steady rhythm moving up and down his cock, your muscles relaxing to let him move easier along your tongue.

Your hand stroked what you couldn’t take into your mouth, using your saliva to glide your hand down to his base with a firm squeeze. You knew it would take a little time to get familiar with taking him in fully, so you enjoyed each drag of his length over your tongue and lips, along with the occasional teasing scrape of your teeth that had his breath hitching.

He gripped the headrest behind you when you pulled off him to latch your lips wetly along the length, licking and kissing your way to the base nestled among dark, trimmed hair, your hand massaging the head as you did so. The sight made you hum and lick a long strip back up the underside to suckle on the head once more. You had deduced he was probably dark haired given the beautiful tan of his skin, but having it confirmed made your stomach clench giddily.

Your eyes lifted back to Mando’s helmet when he cupped your jaw, pressing his thumb slightly against your cheek for you to open your mouth so his cock could settle back on your tongue. You moaned, taking his none too subtle hint and started sucking him off again in earnest, your saliva and his precum leaving his cock messy and wet and the sounds it made as you sank your head down on it were profane and loud in the otherwise silent cockpit.

You keened when you felt a gloved hand trace down your front, ghosting under the swell of your breast before giving it a tentative squeeze that had you whimpering around him and relaxing your throat to ease more of him into your mouth. He grunted and kneaded the soft flesh of your breasts above the thin linen shirt at the perfect heat of your mouth, learning you as you were him.

You dug your nails into the backs of his thigh to stop yourself from gagging when his tip pushed against the back of your throat, the sudden sensation making him jerk his hips forward with a gasp of your name and a hard squeeze to your breast while tears formed in your eyes. The slight burn was delicious, and the sounds he made as you took as much of his cock into your mouth as possible were even more so.

“Fuck yes…” he groaned, your mouth molten around his cock while he rocked against you shallowly, his gaze roaming your entire body and when it fell on the thin ring of ink surrounding your left thigh, his cock twitched in your mouth and caused you to pull back enough to swirl your tongue around the sensitive head before sinking back down on him to take in as much as you could.

The sound of him choking on a moan encouraged you to hollow your cheeks and swallow around him, your eyes glittering up at him with a mix of tears and teasing when he jerked his hips forward again, pushing his length that bit deeper.

“Such a… fucking filthy thing---” he moaned, releasing your breast to tangle his hand in your hair to slow your movements as you withdrew your head eagerly and sank back down on it, “but so… so fucking thorough in your examinations.”

You pulled off him, a breathless laugh leaving your mouth even as trails of saliva kept you connected to his cock and messed up your mouth and chin. You pumped him with your hand while you rested the head against your cheek,

“What did you call it again? Coercive medical attention?” your voice was hoarse, but it dripped with a lovely mix of amusement and desire.

“So long as it ends with my cock in this perfect fucking mouth, I’ll accept medical attention of any kind,” he bit out, the slight tremble in his voice when you gave him a long hard stroke was endearing in a way you hadn’t anticipated the warrior being.

“I’ll believe that when Mustafar freezes over,” you chuckled, giving his cock a squeeze for good measure before taking him back into your mouth.

“Maybe we’ll go there then---” he cursed when you let him hit the back of your throat again, “be—be the only way to shut you---” he never did get to finish that sentence, his head falling back on his shoulders with a sound that got caught in his throat when you took the remaining few inches into your mouth valiantly and swallowed hard around him, breathing deeply through your nose.

Feeling yourself start to gag, you pulled off his cock halfway, gasping around him before starting to lazily bob your head in order to get your breath back and do it again. His hand tightened in your hair but allowed you to move at your own pace. Your attention was pulled back up to him when he leaned over you slightly, a slap to your inner thigh making you moan and spread them for him eagerly.

“Fuck…” he groaned, and you felt the soft leather of a finger swipe through your folds, making you whimper. He growled something you couldn’t quite pick up with your blood pounding in your ears from that single jolt of pleasure he gave you but when you felt him again, it wasn’t the cool leather of his gloves, but the warm skin of his fingers instead.

The realization made you jump on contact with a mewl as he spread your wetness along your dripping cunt. You knew what he would find there without him having to say a word. Slick, swollen and burning with need as you keened, your sounds were muffled by his cock filling your mouth. You struggled to keep the lazy pace of bobbing up and down on his length when you forgot how to breathe from the slight calloused tips of two of his fingers spreading your slick lips and pulling a vicious growl from the Mandalorian.

“All this from sucking my cock?” his voice was labored, control razor thin as he struggled not to merely grip your head and fuck your mouth to chase the release dangling before him. It seemed every part of you was hot and wet and soft as his fingers spread through your folds and his cock buried in your mouth. Your bright, wide eyes, glassy with lust looking up at him made that struggle even harder as his hips rolled involuntarily, your cheeks hollowing and wet tongue massaging under the prominent vein pulsing on the underside of his cock.

You were addicted to the way he sounded, the ever-present discipline he exuded daily was being pulled taut as more primal urges overtook him. It was an intoxicating reminder of his humanity, of the man under the armor and the mere thought of his possible expressions beyond an impassive helmet as curses and moans and filth fell from his lips, had a wave of wetness slowly pulsing from your neglected pussy.

“Oh fuck--- fuck what, what was that--” he rasped, his fingers diving into the arousal that dripped down your open thighs and over your cheeks to the seat underneath you, making a mess. The sudden gush seemed to short circuit something in Mando, his mind struggling to focus on anything but the soaked cunt under his fingers.

When the pads of his fingers brushed over your aching clit, you cried around him, squeezing the base of his cock, and making him hiss your name; a surprised hitch that had him nearly doubled over you in pleasure. The next brush of his fingers was not as surprising, but no less intense before he began a stead rhythm of circling your clit, dipping his fingers down into your sopping folds before dragging that wetness back to soothe over the sensitive bundle of nerves.

You tried to mumble something, your head foggy with the need to cum from being filled with something other than your own fingers, but his cock garbled your words, the two of you slipping into that tangled, desperate side of lust. You couldn’t bring yourself to take him out though, lamenting the loss even for a moment as you greedily tried to take more of him again, the choked gasp above the only reward you needed when your nose brushed the coarse hair at his base. It had to be a sin, to feel this good from giving someone else pleasure. Maker, you could get off just by sucking this man’s cock for hours and be satisfied.

Mando however, didn’t seem to share that sentiment and when he suddenly pushed a finger into your tight cunt, your eyes rolled closed as you both moaned in unison. Your walls fluttered and clenched around the thick, foreign digit and you felt your orgasm cresting at your sensitivity before it abated somewhat when his finger settled knuckle deep inside you.

“Stars, so tight for me, kitten--- tight and wet and fuck,” he spat as you clenched around him again at how wrecked he sounded, giving his cock a particularly hard pull into your mouth while you whimpered around him, “can just imagine, shit, imagine how tight you’ll be around my cock.” His words were almost slurring in their delirium and you knew that if you tried to speak, you wouldn’t sound much better. Especially not when he added a second finger into your pussy and started pumping them achingly slow and more controlled than he sounded.

“So big, you- your fingers--- more,” you whined after pulling his cock from your mouth to suck in a breath, the task suddenly becoming manual as you struggled to remember what came first, inhale or exhale? “I want more, always more,” you were babbling against his cock now, begging words interspersed with wet licks and kisses to the length as if you could convince him with affection to give you what you wanted.

“That’s it kitten, fuck, t-tell me what you want—” Mando was panting now, the quick jerks of your wrist along his cock, slippery from your drool and saliva making his own breathing an unbearable task as his fingers pumped inside you harder, the wet sounds filling the cockpit both mortifying and evocative, “such a greedy, hungry, smart-mouth medic I—shit.”

He almost sounded angry, the tempestuous rumble rolling from his voice like thunder, but paired with one hand roughly thrusting a third finger into you and the other carding his fingers reverently through your messy locks, you knew he was as unhinged as you were with the intensity of the pleasure you were somehow able to give each other. As if the tension that had been steadily growing from that first fateful night on Klatooine was suddenly boiling over, spilling, and hissing as it stoked the flames beneath; a closed circuit that could no longer be stopped or broken.

When his thumb began working tight, practiced circles around your clit as his fingers fucked you into the chair, you knew you wouldn’t last long. The looming pressure that had been building the moment he asked if you planned on stealing the Razor Crest was coming at you faster than a TIE fighter,

“Gonna cum, Mando--- Mando, feel so good, please---” you whimpered, grinding your hips down on his hand desperately as your orgasm drew near.

He slowed his fingers despite your protestations, and he gentled your frustration with a well-placed curl of his fingers inside you, “Shh, shh—fuck, not yet---” he started and you whined as you sucked the head of his cock back into your mouth ardently, as if somehow, that would change his mind, a mixture of saliva and precum drooling down the sides of your mouth as you messily lapped at him, “fuck… kitten--- wait.”

He pulled himself from your mouth and his fingers from your cunt, chuckling breathlessly at your frown as you glared up at him, “wait…” he purred, the sound running down your spine and across your overheated skin while he hooked one hand under your knee to drape your leg over the armrest, giving him a better view and greater access to your soaked pussy.

You shivered as he gathered some of your arousal to coat his fingers before your jaw slackened when he spread your juices along his cock – the shudder down his spine evidence of just how effected he was – until it glistened with a combination of your saliva and arousal. The visceral image of your arousal coating his cock had any last shred of control or shame disappearing, impatience taking its place.

It was filthy, and your mouth watered at the sight of him. You dragged your eyes up to his visor slowly, eyes dark and cheeks flushed, lips parted and chin messy from your ministrations. The resounding growl he released had your cunt quivering, missing his fingers and it pulled an impatient whine from your lips as your nails raked down his covered hip.

“Mando…” you began, eyes dropping back to his cock with a silent plea.

He led his cock back into your waiting mouth, running the head along your plump bottom lip and smearing the mess already at your mouth and chin before pressing it back against your waiting tongue. His fingers immediately returned to push into you and began fucking you in earnest. The tangy taste of your own arousal mixing with his made you moan around him and your eyes flutter shut, your hips grinding down on his hand immediately once he found a rough, fast pace to bring you over the edge. You greedily engulfed the length of him, your hand stroking along the base as you hummed when you felt him get impossibly harder on your tongue.

His fingers curled against that small patch inside of you and made your hips jerk up to his rough chuckle, “there we go, good girl---” he panted, his thumb once again returning to your clit which had you practically sobbing around him with the need for release. You had orgasmed only earlier today and yet, it felt like you had been edged for weeks, months even. You were so desperate to come apart that when it did hit you, you were blindsided.

“Fuck, fuck! That’s it, kitten---” Mando pumped his fingers through your quivering walls, slower as they clamped down around him, trying to keep him inside while your cries bounced off the steel surrounding you in the cockpit and soaking his hand in your release. It kept going, for several long seconds and you were certain your brain wasn’t getting enough oxygen with how you were unable to take in a full breath and all you had to ground you, was your hand working over the solid thick length in front of you.

“So good, it’s so good---” you heard yourself babble, moaning his name like a prayer as you latched your lips to his length to drag open-mouth kisses to the shaft, hips still rocking against his hand as the last convulses ran through you, “want your cum, Mando- “

He didn’t respond, his fingers running sloppily over your clit once more as you whined with the overstimulation and tried to pull away despite being trapped against the seat,

“Another. Give me another,” he groaned, his fingers leaving no room for negotiation as they began a renewed onslaught on your sensitive nerves, already raw and frayed from coming so hard already. You shook your head even as you lapped at his head, eyes teary and unfocused as you looked up at him, “I can’t, it’s too much—”

“’More’ you said…” he released your hair to grip under your chin, pulling your head up to be pressed against his helmet, “I’m gonna… shit, I’m gonna give you as much as you need.”

His voice was strained, and you could hear it wavering the closer he got to his own release. But even in your foggy mind, you could feel the steel determination rolling off him. He wasn’t going to cum until you did. The thought alone made you whimper and despite your earlier declaration, a fresh wave of arousal pooled around his fingers as he pressed them back into you.

“Do it…” you heard yourself whisper, lowering your head enough to nuzzle the head of his cock against your cheek while he still held your jaw and you hoped you were meeting his eyes behind the helmet, “give me everything, e-everything I’ve been missing.”

His answering growl and the press of his thumb into your mouth for you to bite down on was all you could remember clearly before he built up a brutal pace once more. Your head fell back against the seat once he released you at the overwhelming friction on your swollen cunt, but Mando wasted no time in guiding your head back to his cock and with a whimper, you took him back into your mouth easily, his tip brushing the back of your throat now without hesitation as you swallowed.

His fingers stuttered while he groaned before regaining their rhythm and curling up against that spot inside you, a flick of his thumb against your clit sending flames scorching over your skin again as your release approached embarrassingly quick,

“Better than I ever imagined… this mouth—” he moaned, “you’re so wet and fuck… I bet you taste—” he was cut off on a long moan as you let him sink down your throat, breathing heavily through your nose before pulling back and repeating the action, your hands reaching into his flight suit to fondle his heavy balls once more.

You were equally determined to make him cum, a small taste earlier hadn’t been enough to satiate your craving and with a second orgasm about to overtake you, you were ravenous with the need to have him cum down your throat before you were struck dumb with the pleasure his hands would give you.

His breathless chuckle, such a foreign sound to come from him, made you want to smile had you not been preoccupied, “trying to beat me, kitten?” he asked, slowing the thrusts of his fingers so they were longer and harder, the change in pace heating you up beyond boiling point and you gave his balls a gentle squeeze in retaliation.

He was breathing hard, trying to limit his hips from thrusting into your warm mouth but even you could tell the shallow thrusts highlighted how close he was. But given his stubbornness, he doubled down on his efforts and with a final hard press on your clit and a perfect curl to his fingers your release crashed over you, less intense than the first but more surprising as it washed over you and kept you quivering and shaking under him, trying to ride it out with a silent cry. He pulled you through it once again with lazy strokes of his fingers, but they were messy, sloppy as he finally allowed his head to drop back on his shoulders, the tight leash he had on his control finally snapping,

“Yes, fuck�� you want my cum, kitten?” he snarled when you nodded around his cock, eagerly pumping him and the change in his breathing told you he was nearly there.

He braced the hand that had been inside you to the back of the chair while the other tangled in your hair to keep you in place, his hips movements uneven and erratic before he stilled, your mouth opening for his cock to rest on your tongue while you pumped him.

He growled your name when his cock pulsed, a rope of cum hitting your cheek before you closed your lips around the head for him to continue coming in your mouth, the thick fluid coating your tongue and making you moan at the taste of him before you swallowed it down. You sank your lips slowly down the length of him, coating him with any residual cum in your mouth while you languidly basked in both your orgasms with a fond lick to his tip.

His shoulders lifted and fell in great rolls as he struggled to catch his breath, the heat in his invisible gaze not lost on you as you held his cock up to lick it clean languidly, reveling in every twitch you could feel in his muscles as a result.

“Maker…” he whispered into the cockpit, now filled only with your combined breathing. He hadn’t stopped stroking your hair as you cleaned his cock up, and the gentle act belied the gruff exterior he presented. It wasn’t lost on you, even if it might have been unconsciously done on his part in his post-orgasmic haze. Your leg dropped from the armrest to fold closed, and you hummed at the pleasant ache you felt once they were together despite the stickiness of your release drying on your thighs.

Once your tongue had become too much for him, he pulled back from you slightly, just enough to push himself back into his flight suit and with a fleetingly soft caress to the side of your head, he dropped back down in the co-pilot seat where he had first begun. You swiped the warm cum from your face and licked your thumb clean while you both basked in the afterglow.

His helmet tipped back against the headrest but kept it turned towards you, his chest rising and falling in large swells. You probably should have grabbed your underwear to cover up, but you were still basking in the euphoria of two breath-taking orgasms that the most you could do was stretch an arm over your head with a soft moan to release any remaining tension in your muscles, your eyes blinking tiredly at Mando all the while.

“Keep that up, and I’ll fuck you right now,” he rasped; his voice lower from how much he had used it in the last while. He didn’t speak often, but you were tickled to find out how vocal he could be when aroused.

You hummed at the thought, relaxing your arms back by your sides as an amused laugh left you, “A tempting offer, but I think my bones have been liquified.” Your words inspired another unencumbered laugh from you, still high from your orgasm and his posture adjusted slightly as if proud of putting you in this state, “I wouldn’t be much use.”

“Until next time then,”

He sat up, the smooth words making you smile tiredly at the familiar phrase. He ran his bare hand behind his neck, a lethargic groan leaving him as he tried to wake himself up from a stupor and your eyes followed the movement. The flash of tan skin made you chew your lip on a smile, knowing exactly where those fingers had been not a few minutes earlier.

You finally pushed yourself to sit up properly, toeing your underwear closer to you so you could bend and shimmy them up your legs, feeling his eyes follow the movement silently. You decided against your pants, the length of your shirt covering your modesty somewhat and you released a long, satisfied breath before turning your gaze to inky darkness that had engulfed Nevarro while you were occupied.

“Did you finish up with your Guild contact?” you posed, and he nodded once,

“Five more pucks,” he explained simply, standing from the co-pilots seat, and you wrinkled your nose, you guys would be travelling for a while, so it seemed.

“Is the kid still asleep?” you hummed tiredly, “I have biscuits for him.”

“Still knocked out from earlier. We had come back to leave when---” he trailed off to your laughter, standing up once you felt your legs wouldn’t give out from under you and turned the pilot seat back to face the viewport,

“Are you saying I made us late, Mando?” you threw over your shoulder, startled when you found him standing directly behind you, his hand falling heavily to your hips and his chest against your back while he hummed in agreement,

“Exactly. You’re as troublesome as the kid,” he murmured against your temple with a squeeze to your thinly covered flesh while you rolled your eyes at him, no heat in the action as you were more pleasantly preoccupied with the comfortable weight of his hands and the warmth that flowed from them into your body.

“Please. Go on then, get us up in the air since we’re so far behind schedule.” You pressed back against him cheekily before his head leaned back to look down at you as he pondered something for a few moments,

“You do it,” he replied simply.

You blinked, he had never asked you to fly before, excluding the time he came back injured on Scipio, and even then, he hadn’t asked. You had taken it upon yourself to do. You couldn’t help but feel that this was a tentative move on his part, a small gesture of confidence he had in you that you didn’t want to refuse.

“I’ll… check on the kid,” he continued with one last caress to your side before he released you and disappeared out of the cockpit, leaving you floundering.

Orgasms put Mando in a much better mood, you determined with a chuckle, taking a seat again and beginning the routine procedures to take you up and off the planet, running your hands back over the dry leather of the armrests fondly.

Crash landing or not, today had been a pretty good day.

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splendidlyimperfect · 4 years

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Chapter Summary: Geralt and Jaskier try to figure out why Jaskier is glowing.

Chapters (3/3): 1 | 2 | 3 Fandom: The Witcher Rating: Explicit Relationships: Geralt/Jaskier Characters: Geralt, Jaskier, Yennefer Additional Tags: Canon Universe, BAMF Jaskier, Stardust inspired, smut and fluff, monsters, minor injuries, nonhuman Jaskier

-----

“You’re glowing.”

Jaskier frowns, leaning back from Geralt and bringing a hand up to touch his face. Nothing feels different, but Geralt won’t stop staring at him.

“I’m...”

“Glowing.” Geralt reaches out and runs his fingers across the bridge of Jaskier’s nose, very gently. The touch makes Jaskier shiver. “Like stars.”

Something soft and quiet creeps through the back of Jaskier’s mind, but before he can focus on it, it drifts away again, leaving nothing behind but the feeling of cool night air. He pushes himself up off the bed and stalks over to the mirror, brow furrowing in confusion at the tiny pinpricks of light on his face.

“What,” he says quietly, “the fuck.”

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“I take it this hasn’t happened before,” Geralt says wryly.

“Definitely not.” Jaskier turns back to him, chewing on his bottom lip and trying again to chase the strange sensation. Sometime familiar tugs at his mind but he can’t catch it. “At least,” he clarifies, “I don’t think so.”

“Seems like something you would remember,” Geralt says, gesturing for Jaskier to come back to the bed. Jaskier ignores him, still staring curiously at his reflection. “Can you feel it?”

Jaskier shakes his head, then looks at Geralt with raised eyebrows. “Have you... seen it before?” Unease twists his stomach. “Am I some sort of—”

“No.” Geralt interrupts him before he can spiral into panic. “Not any monster I’ve seen.” He pauses, then adds, “I’ve seen lots of monsters,” as if this is some sort of comfort. Before Jaskier can respond with something sarcastic, Geralt says, “It’s fading.”

Jaskier turns back to the mirror, touching his face as the star-like dots dim, then wink out several at a time until his skin is regular and unblemished. The strange sensation in his chest dissipates too, leaving him slightly breathless.

“Well.” He blinks a few times, then turns back to Geralt.

“What do you think caused it?” Geralt asks as Jaskier returns to the bed, sitting cross-legged on the sheets.

“Fantastic sex?” Jaskier grins when Geralt rolls his eyes. “No,” he concedes. “I’ve had plenty of other partners and they’ve never commented on my glowing visage post-coitus.” He gestures at his face. “Perhaps sleeping with a Witcher? Have any of your previous conquests started sparkling after your carnal encounters?”

Geralt gives him a half-hearted glare and Jaskier sighs, flopping back on the bed.

“We could ask Yen—”

Jaskier reaches up and slaps his hand over Geralt’s mouth. “We will not,” he says firmly. “It’s just glowing. I’d rather be radiant than talk to that…” He trails off at the mildly offended look on Geralt’s face. “Look, just because you wished yourselves together doesn’t mean I have to like her.”

Geralt shrugs, then removes Jaskier’s hand from his face and leans in to kiss him.

Despite Jaskier’s protests, Geralt does ask Yennefer. He isn’t planning to, but when they show up at an inn a few towns later and she’s sitting at a table in the back corner, Jaskier sighs in defeat and follows Geralt over to join her.

“Let me see if I’m getting this right,” Yennefer says slowly, raising an eyebrow as she searches Jaskier’s face. “You got… glowing freckles.”

“Mhmm.” Geralt watches Jaskier squirm uncomfortably under her gaze.

“Like stars.”

“Yes.”

Yennefer hums, expression shifting from disbelief to mild curiosity. “What were you doing before they appeared?”

“Having sex,” Geralt says before Jaskier can come up with a lie. Jaskier’s face moves from surprise to shock to indignation so quickly that it barely registers, and Geralt tries to hide a smile at the red flush that creeps across his cheeks.

“With… each other?”

“That’s not your—” Jaskier sputters, but Geralt interrupts him.

“Yes.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier hisses, kicking his ankle under the table. Geralt ignores him.

“I’ve never heard of anyone literally glowing after sex,” Yennefer says, lip quirking up in an almost-smile. “Has it happened again since then?”

Jaskier huffs and crosses his arms over his chest as Geralt shakes his head. “Just the first time.”

Yennefer taps her fingers on the table, then shrugs. “I’ll look into it,” she says. “But only because it’s an interesting magical phenomenon that I’ve never heard of before, not because I’m doing you any favors.”

Three days later, in the middle of the night, Yennefer’s voice wakes them both from their sleep.

You need to run.

Jaskier sits up quickly, untangling himself from Geralt’s embrace and pulling the thin blanket close as he looks frantically around the campsite. Roach nickers nearby, and everything is dark save for the soft glow of the moon through the trees.

“Did you hear that?” he demands, looking down at Geralt, who is propped up on one elbow and peering curiously into the trees. The moonlight reflects off his eyes and Jaskier shivers.

Run, Yennefer’s voice says again, and it takes Jaskier a disorienting moment to realize that it’s not coming from around them, it’s coming from inside his head.

“What the fuck,” he whispers, kicking the blanket off and standing up. “How is she doing that?”

Geralt holds out his hand, gesturing for Jaskier to be quiet as he moves to a crouch and reaches for the sword that’s lying on the ground beside them. There’s no noise to signal an impending attack – nothing beside a soft breeze rustling the leaves of the trees and the occasional howl of a wolf in the distance.

Jaskier’s about to chalk up the warning to paranoia when Yennefer’s voice tears through them again, this time much more frantic. RUN, you idiots!

“From what?” Jaskier shouts, looking around frantically. “There’s nothing—”

His words are cut off by something appearing in his mouth.

“Jaskier!” Geralt shouts, but Jaskier can’t see because whatever is attacking him is also covering his face. It’s cold and tastes like iron, but when he tries to bite down on it, it shifts and oozes. Jaskier gags, trying to spit whatever it is out, but it presses back further until he can barely breathe.

There’s more shouting and a muffled thud, but when Jaskier tries to grab at whatever’s on his face and pull it away, he realizes that he can’t move his arms. The thing pushes him backward, slamming him against a tree as it wraps around his chest and starts to squeeze.

Jaskier tries to scream, but nothing comes out around whatever it is that’s currently choking him. For a second, he’s sure he’s going to pass out, but then something sparks inside him, and he’s yanked back into a memory.

He’s twelve years old and hiding in an alley, hoping that if he makes himself small enough, Billy won’t see him. Unfortunately, the gods aren’t particularly kind to Jaskier, and he quickly finds himself face-to-face with a boy much, much larger than him.

“C’mere, you little shit,” Billy growls, grabbing Jaskier by the arm and yanking him out from behind the pile of flour sacks where he’s hiding. Jaskier growls at him, trying to tug his arm away. Billy’s still bleeding from his nose where Jaskier hit him, and there’s a mark on his forearm in the exact shape of Jaskier’s teeth.

“Fuck off,” Jaskier snarls, kicking Billy’s shin and struggling against his grip.

“You’re psychotic,” Billy says, tightening his grasp and wrenching Jaskier forward until he falls to his knees. Someone approaches from behind and grabs Jaskier’s hair, pulling on it hard until Jaskier’s eyes start to water from the pain.

“Where’s your sister?” Billy asks, voice terrifyingly calm.

“Fuck you,” Jaskier replies through gritted teeth.

Billy slaps him, hard. “I said, where’s your sister?”

Jaskier glowers at him, refusing to answer. Matilda is safe at home, away from Billy and his wandering hands and his inability to understand the word ‘no.’ She’s perfectly capable of taking care of herself, but Jaskier takes his duties as older brother seriously – even if it means getting the shit beat out of him.

“She’s gonna say yes eventually,” Billy says, hand moving to a small dagger that he keeps in his belt. “But first I’m gonna cut off all your pretty hair and kick your teeth in for fucking with me.”

Some of the rage in Jaskier’s chest turns to fear, and there’s a moment where he considers begging. Billy steps closer, blade glinting in the afternoon sun, and Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for the pain.

Nothing happens. Instead, the fear coalesces into a righteous anger that burns him from the inside out, and something sears across his skin. There are several screams, and when Jaskier opens his eyes, he can’t see anything but a brilliant silver light that beams out of him and pushes everyone else away. It’s warm and familiar, and he grins when it flows back into him, making his skin shimmer.

“Freak,” Billy whispers, scrambling back from where he’s been knocked on his arse. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Jaskier says, taking a step forward and feeling a smug sense of satisfaction when Billy flinches. “You’re the freak. Now fuck off or I’ll… I’ll light you on fire.”

He’s bluffing. This power is both familiar and strange, and he’s not certain he can light things on fire with it, but Billy is afraid enough that he takes the threat at face value and scrambles to his feet.

As the sound of footsteps fades and Jaskier is left alone in the alley, the light begins to dim, until Jaskier is left with nothing but a stinging scalp, bloody knees, and the knowledge that he is more powerful than he realized.

Jaskier opens his eyes.

This time, instead of the darkness, he can see the forest, lit up with a brilliant silver glow that’s exploded from his chest. It’s just like the memory. Starlight fills the glade, burning away whatever’s got him in its grip, and he stumbles forward when it eventually lets go of him. The bitter taste disappears from his mouth, as well as whatever was choking him, and he coughs and takes a few deep breaths.

“Oh.” Geralt’s voice comes from nearby and Jaskier turns to see him staring at the light. It’s spilling from Jaskier in waves, pulsing out with every heartbeat and driving back the darkness bit by bit. The creature – whatever it is – screeches and darts toward Jaskier again, only to be hit with another wave of light that burns it away.

Jaskier and Geralt stare at each other for a moment as the light starts to fade and sink back into Jaskier’s skin. The powerful feeling is back and Jaskier breathes it in, trembling at the rush.

He’s about to step toward Geralt when a roaring sound fills the air between them and a portal appears, spitting sparks in every direction. Yennefer emerges from the circle, looking pristinely put together despite the late hour, and her face is scrunched in concern until she sees that they’re both unharmed.

“Ah,” she says, staring at the way Jaskier is still glowing in the dark. “You’re all right, then.”

“Um,” Jaskier replies.

Yennefer nods, then takes a step back and gestures for them to follow her. “Come with me,” she says, and for the first time in his life, Jaskier listens to her without arguing.

They end up in the kitchen of a small but ornately furnished home. Geralt is given the awkward task of guiding Roach through the portal and then out the front door without damaging anything, and when he returns to sit next to Jaskier at the table, the starlight has dissipated. The rush disappears with it, and Jaskier is left exhausted.

“Thank you,” Geralt says, nodding at Yenn. He squeezes Jaskier’s arm. “Are you all right?”

Jaskier nods. “What the fuck was that?” he asks as he rubs his throat, wiping at his face again to try and get rid of the sticky sensation. He can still taste iron and ash, and he shudders at the memory of being unable to breathe.

“Void beast,” Yenn replies, handing him a cup of something that smells sweet. He takes it gratefully, too exhausted to be snarky. His entire body aches, and he can still feel thousands of tiny pricks of pain everywhere the light left his body.

“What would a void beast want with him?” Geralt asks, shifting closer to Jaskier and placing a hand on his thigh.

“The light,” Yennefer explains, sitting down across from them at the table.

“You mean…” Jaskier raises a hand to his face.

“It’s starlight,” Yennefer explains. “They feed on it.” There’s a brightness to her gaze that Jaskier’s never seen before – something akin to excitement. “I did some research, after you left. You were born in December, correct?”

Jaskier nods as Yennefer reaches behind her and pulls a book off her shelf. She flips through several pages, then turns it toward Jaskier and Geralt. It’s a full-page drawing of a couple standing on a hill under a sky of falling stars.

“Nine months before your birth, there was a shower of stars,” Yennefer says. “Not unusual, but this was the largest starfell ever witnessed. Reports say it was like watching the heavens fall to earth.”

“I remember that,” Geralt says softly, touching his fingertips to the paper. “We watched it from Kaer Morhen. The sky looked like it was on fire.”

Jaskier studies the picture intently, feeling the warm sense of familiarity bubble up inside him again. “I… remember too,” he says softly. “Or, I’ve seen it. In dreams, I think. Obviously I wasn’t there, but…” He brings his hand to his chest. “It’s inside me.”

Yennefer nods, and Jaskier detects a hint of jealousy in her gaze. “I’ve not seen it before, but I imagine others that were conceived that night have the power too.”

“But why now?” Jaskier asks, frowning. “I haven’t… since…”

He trails off as tiny snippets of memory begin to float to the surface – times where he’d been stronger, faster, braver. Protecting Matilda. Saving a little girl from drowning in the river. Helping his aunt give birth when she’d been weeks too early and managing to save the babe. Hauling Roach back from a precipice when she’d almost slipped.

Saving Geralt from the maurezhi.

“Oh,” he says softly.

Yennefer nods, and part of Jaskier is irked because he knows she’s reading his memories along with him. The other part is grateful that he doesn’t have to clarify. Geralt looks between the two of him with his eyebrows raised, searching for an explanation.

“Acts of love,” Yennefer explains. “And sacrifice.”

Geralt nods as if it’s the most reasonable answer in the world. Jaskier supposes it probably is for a man who sees the inexplicable on a daily basis.

“So why the glowing?” Geralt asks, reaching out and brushing his fingers across Jaskier’s cheeks. “When we slept together?” Jaskier ducks his head. Heat creeps into his cheeks because he knows the answer to that before Geralt’s even finished asking the question.

“Because he loves you,” Yennefer says simply. There’s no hint of jealousy or bitterness in her voice, and when Jaskier looks at her, she gives him a rare smile. “Don’t you?”

Jaskier huffs, dropping his gaze back down to the floor, but Geralt isn’t having it. He moves his hand to Jaskier’s chin and tips his head up until they’re looking at each other. “Do you?” he asks.

“Of course I do,” Jaskier mutters, and the expression of surprise and delight on Geralt’s face makes the embarrassment worth it. “What, you think I followed you around for years because I loved sleeping outdoors and having my life threatened on a daily basis?”

Geralt laughs. “Well, it could have just been my good looks,” he teases. Jaskier sighs in exasperation.

“You’re an idiot,” he says, and before he can stop himself, he leans in and kisses Geralt.

“I’m going to leave you two alone,” Yennefer says, and Jaskier hears her chair scrape along the floor as she pushes it back from the table.

“Yes, thank you,” Jaskier says, tone both fond and exasperated at the same time.

As soon as the door closes behind her, Geralt grabs Jaskier by the waist and pulls him into his lap. Jaskier sighs, tipping his head back as Geralt kisses his neck and runs a hand through his hair.

“So,” Geralt says against his skin. “You love me.”

“I already said I did,” Jaskier replies, resting his hands on Geralt’s chest and feeling the slow, steady beat of his heart. It’s a counterpoint to the frantic pattering of his own as he hesitantly asks, “And… you?”

“I do,” Geralt says, and even though he doesn’t say the word ‘love,’ Jaskier knows he means it in every way he can. “I do, Stardust.” The nickname makes something warm pool in Jaskier’s stomach, and he can’t help the grin that spreads across his face.

“Stardust, huh?”

“Mm.” Geralt kisses his throat, then leans back and grins at him, tipping his head toward the bedroom. “Now come with me. I need to see if I can make you sparkle again.”

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webcricket · 6 years

Text

Looking Glass

Chapter 21 - Eisodos

Pairing: CastielXAU!Reader

Word Count: 2105

Summary: Written erotica content warning! The reader comforts Cas who is brooding after killing his AU alter ego. They finally get some much needed and uninterrupted alone time at the resistance encampment.

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If Cas hears you coming, heels tramping the graveled-earth of Bobby Singer’s salvage yard as you traverse a path through bits and bobs of decaying metal, shattered glass, and the overgrown vegetation arising to swallow the remains of humanity’s vehicular ingenuity whole, the brooding stillness of his figure sat upon the rust-eaten frame of a vintage VW bug doesn’t betray acknowledgement of your approach. Sam said you’d probably find the angel out here, and here he is, eschewing social interaction in favor of isolation; or rather, seraphim segregation. Not that you blame him – half the people at the encampment think the only good angel is a dead angel, and the other half don’t trust him as far as they can throw him, which given the muscular build of his vessel and angelically weighted advantage, isn’t very far at all. The thing about people is, they tend to talk; and angels, well they can’t help but hear hushed murmurs in deafening detail.

From the vantage point of a dozen or so yards away where you slow to circumnavigate what looks like a hunk of an armored tank, Cas appears engaged in rapt observation of the vine-swathed backend of a white delivery van parked opposite shedding flecks of paint like snow on the surrounding soil; moving nearer in night’s shroud of dark, borders of blackness illumined faintly by flame flickering from barrels for warmth for those patrolling the perimeter, you see the intensity of his concentration bends not outward, but inward – inwardly sulking, you surmise.

“Hey, Cas.” Your breath fogs in greeting.

“Y/N.” The stern set of his jaw softens to form a slender smile around the utterance of your name; the respite sparked by your presence spreads to pink his pale expression and relax the stiffness of his shoulders into a rounded slump. His regard reels sidelong to settle on you; the grey already veiling his typically lustrous blues dims his gaze further in squinting distress at the sight of the five-fingered bruised imprint left by his doppelgänger deeply purpling your throat and imbuing your voice with a hoarse timbre.

Sensing his surge of remorse over the mark he didn’t create, you flip up the flimsy denim of your jacket collar to conceal it. Leaning against the hood beside him, palms flattening over the peeling paint to support your slouching frame, you avoid the imploring heat of his look. He offered earlier to heal the superficial, admittedly sore, reminder of the other Castiel; you refused, counseling him to save his grace for more important matters – after all, you aren’t home safe … yet.

In the distance, the stalled engine of the school bus Dean and Bobby are attempting to resuscitate explosively sputters and dies. Dean bellows a bitter note, quickly outdone by Bobby’s gruff rejoinder. The acrid odor of burnt oil wefts through the atmosphere, singeing the nostrils. They still have a couple of hours to get the boxy behemoth running. Faith – buoyancy of wellbeing unfamiliar to you from long disuse – that everything will be fine cushions any anxiety you might have about getting out of here; you attribute the mind quieting comfort mostly to the seraph who saved you in more than just the literal sense.

Cas’ continual steady stare, the silence encumbered with his desire to mend despite your protest, and the brisk bite of pre-dawn air coalesce as a spine-tingling shiver to prickle the tiny hairs at your nape. You want to return the favor of faith, save him too, even if it’s merely from himself. “Sam said you were out here avoiding everyone,” you remark to break the ice.

“Not everyone,” he corrects. Without looking, he shifts his hand, seeking and covering your own where it rests on the domed hood next to his leg.

At the tender touch, natural and totally unhesitating on his part, he earns a half-grin tossed backward in his direction gratifying enough to mollify his fretting, for the moment, over your minor wound.

“How’s it going?” you ask, wriggling your hand to fit and flex your fingers snugly between his.

“It’s quiet,” he states, wrongly inferring you’re asking about his self-assigned post as sentinel when you really want to know how he’s doing. “No sign of angels out there. Well, except Gabriel and Lucifer and Ja-”

“I meant” –you pivot, slotting your hips between his splayed knees. Reaching up to tuck a wayward curl overlying his temple neatly back into the hairline, two more dark-brown locks rebel to take its place– “how are you? What you did back there – I can’t imagine what that feels like, smiting yourself.”

Conflict contorts his countenance. Somberly glazed eyes tumble downward to the tangle of your hands. He pulls the bundle of digits into his lap where a thumb extricates itself from entwinement to swipe circles over your knuckles as he stalls to answer.

“I didn’t mean to pry,” you stammer, suddenly self-conscious about the accuracy of your supposition; laying a palm to his cheek, meekly smiling, you offer him an easy out of the awkward inquiry. He said it before – killing Castiel cleanly saved him from a worse fate for sparing you. Maybe it is that simple – a soldier’s mercy with no lingering regret. Maybe you misread the moping.

“No, it’s okay. You’re not prying.” His head shakes, unshaven chin scratching at your skin. “It’s just-,” he sighs, searching for the right words to describe the emotion swelling in his heart. Lifting your held hand to his lips, he presses a light kiss to the delicate digits. “It’s different to have someone care enough to ask me how I’m feeling. You asking, it’s … nice.”

The damp gathering on his lashes attests to how meaningful the cognizance of being the one cared for is to him. Not that he believes the Winchesters don’t care about him, but so long as the brothers have each other, neither of them is falling on their sword in sacrifice for the seraph self-sworn to stoically watch over them. Besides, Sam and Dean’s modus operandi relies on masking emotions and telling themselves and each other heavily tailored truths about how to feel as a sort of shield for coping with the bad day after day.

Killing Castiel was a mercy, for the reason he told you – the angel would have faced Naomi’s wrath, been forced to torture soul after soul until the day humanity ceased to exist, and then be left to endure unending eternity ostracized from his kin as an outsider, belonging nowhere and to no one, burdened by everything he’d done and lost. What he hid was the fact killing him was a mercy for Cas, too; a profound relief, because that version of himself – heart all but carved out of its celestial core with nothing except the fragile link Castiel witnessed and felt drawn to in your memory left to mitigate the capacity for cruelty – absolutely terrified him. His mouth motions to speak, to share with you the unabridged truth – no sound escapes except a smothered sob.

“C’mere.” Jerking at the lapels of his coat, encouraging him to slide to his feet and stand, you fold him to your chest.

The intimacy is the solace he needs. He nuzzles the sensitive stretch below your ear; scenting the dried sweat of day salting your skin, the sweetly exotic essence of you, a grateful growl of contentment hums in his throat for your existence. Winding his arms firmly behind your back, a climbing caress follows up the ridge of your spine to clutch you tighter. Anchored fully in the security of fondness found in your embrace, he tries once again to summon the words – they emerge, a secreted whisper upon your ear.

“Seeing what he was capable of, knowing his thoughts, so similar to mine – to look into that mirror and perceive what I would have become if not for Sam and Dean’s friendship, if I’d never learned what it feels like to … to-” he falters, confidence wavering in affront to the significance of what he’s about to confess and what it will change between you. Surely after everything you’ve been through together, you know; and yet doubt forever dogs his conviction, viciously barks qualms, and nips at his heels for each step he dares take in pursuit of personal fulfillment.

Kneading the nervous knots coiling at his shoulders, you incline backward to examine his features in earnest. “To what, Cas?”

The candor contained in your countenance, the collected pinpricks of light sparkling as a universe in the swirling color of your irises and burgeoning black of pupils, the sanctuary he perceives therein, a desire to lose himself in you unlike anything he has ever experienced before, overcomes all doubt. “To” –fingers braced at your nape, tips splaying to tenderly cradle your head, he leans in to impart the answer directly upon your lips– “love.”

Breathing in the single syllable sentiment, you surrender to the pliant mold of his mouth and insistent exploration of tongue. The hot honeyed taste of him flows thickly over teeth, tongue, and down your throat where arousal roots and blossoms; fronds of passionate fire unfurl from your heart, torrid tendrils traverse flesh and limb. Body pleasantly ablaze, overwhelmed outside-in by the seraph, your mind dizzies itself in a swoon.

Releasing you from the all-encompassing kiss, he bolsters your swaying body and rests his forehead to yours while you gasp to regain breath.

You blink several times to compel your blurred vision to refocus on his besotted blues. “L-love? Are you saying-?”

He nods, nosing your cheek and smiling against your questioningly parted lips before you can finish the question.

“Mmm-me too,” you mumble into the kiss, chirruping in surprise when he swiftly scoops you by the waist to spin you round, pinning your body between his quickening vessel and the hood. The bumper below you squeaks, breaks free, and bounces into the dirt in inanimate comment to his vigor.

Lavishing kisses along your jaw, his lips latch to your neck where it lolls to expose the unsullied side for him to savor. Easing you onto your back, his fingers dip beneath the hem of your shirt, delightfully ticklish in their calloused fumbling and tearing buttons from flannel in impatience. His thumb tarries at the strap and padded barrier of your bra; tracing the laced edging to the center of your torso to unlatch the hook, he moves his ministrations – molten kisses melting downward – to the newly bared breasts. Nipples pertly bud in the humid breeze of his breath, gentle brush of fingertips, and rough twirl of his tongue.

Teasing your fingers through his hair, legs wrapping his hips to draw him nearer in a bid for friction, a needful moan of his name mingles misty into the cool of night.

He stops to peer up at you, blue eyes blown to oblivion when they meet your fevered gaze.

“Cas,” you say his name again, giving a tug at a fistful of his hair. “Angel, need you … now.” You need him before the interruption of a rainstorm, a Winchester, a witch, a road trip, or a rift can interfere. Maybe you have hours, maybe only minutes, however much time you have before the next intrusion upon your intimacy, you don’t intend to squander it wondering or waiting. Groping a hand between your bodies, you grasp and yank at his belt buckle just in case what you need from him isn’t clear.

“Now,” he echoes your demand aloud in a husked rasp – understanding eradicates all but the slimmest rim of sapphire sparkle from his eyes. Understanding hastily shoves pants and boxers down around his muscular thighs as you wriggle out of your jeans and pull him back to your body using his tie for leverage.

“Now,” you whisper the word across his lips, gazes locked as he reaches down to stroke the thick curve of his cock, positioning and sinking into your slick.

Bliss flutters your lashes. Balance bending backward, you brace your elbows on the hood.

Broad hands cup your bare buttocks to guide you closer, your sultry skin sticky as it slides across the metal hood until he buries himself fully into your silken heat and drops his chin to your clavicle with a low worshipful growl. Tilting your pelvis to adjust to the divine burn of deep penetration, you tighten your walls in a pulse of encouragement. His hips piston and slam forward – the now no longer needs saying.

Half-dressed, urgently coupling beneath a starless apocalyptically hued sky, survivors, human and angel from different worlds, it’s certainly not the love you imagined – it’s so much better.

Next: Ch. 22 - The Devil Made Me Do It

#castiel x you #castiel x reader #spn x reader #castiel reader insert #castiel series #castielxyou #castielxreader #cas x you #cas x reader #you x castiel #reader x castiel #castiel fanfiction #spn fanfiction #castiel fanfic #cricket writes cas

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togafukagiftexchange · 6 years

Text

Kaleidoscope and Barrikuya

@pinlc-candy: This is my gift for @die-einzelganger. I went with “Prompt #2 for fanfic *Supernatural powers (NEXT abilities, Stands, bending, etc.)” and when I told you that I was going into your t&b fic blind, I KIND OF told a lie - I had watched the movie by that point. I threw in a few minor ships that you mentioned liking, but it’s my first time writing one of them though i tried to do them justice. I really hope you enjoy this. <3 I had a lot of fun writing this.

During the day, Hope’s Peak City looked like a lost civilisation, washed out with grey and blue hues. Buildings towered over the intricate network of roads, dominating the endless stretch of sky, and many, many, statues dotted the city, but at night, the city’s mood advanced by centuries. Warmer hued colours consumed the city, a starving fire with an unsatisfiable appetite, stinking up the air with the smell of spices and smoke. Sleek, silver trains with long noses careered along rails that wound through the city, not bound to only ground level, whizzing far above people’s heads too. They operated during the day as well, but when darkness usurped the sky, they hurtled like shooting stars.

A loud thump above one of the carriages jolted everyone onboard. People tensed, clustering into little groups or huddling by themselves, and they tried to appear smaller by hunching their shoulders and stooping their heads a little, all except one person. This person, dressed in a grey tracksuit, gazed up at the roof with the rest of the passengers, but he didn’t stay still for long. He spun around and shoved his way toward the door at one end of the carriage, and everyone that he elbowed out of his way tumbled aside passively.

When he reached the door, loud screeching grated on the ears of those present. The man looked over his shoulder. Seconds later, two men dropped into the carriage through a hole ripped into the roof, wearing clothes that were as outstanding as the other man’s tracksuit intentionally wasn’t. One of the men was gangling and wore black with red accents on the joints, red boots, shoulder pads and gloves, and there was red on his eye mask that resembled part of the distinctive mark of a widow spider, and his crotch completed the pattern. His outfit was vaguely reminiscent of a cyclist’s attire.

Beside him, the other man’s maroon mask covered not just his eyes but his head and cheeks too, and his white outfit had a different pattern on the front, marked with brown lines, also like a cyclist’s attire. Most notable were his eyes, rendered completely black by his mask.

Whispers and shouts overcame the passengers in a frenzy.

“It’s the Green Widower and Bloodhound!”

The only green component of the man dressed mostly in black was his long hair, which was streaked with red dye, but Bloodhound lived up to his name, with the flaps on his mask resembling ears and his gloves bearing claws. They both stared at the man in the tracksuit.

“It’s the end of the line for you!” Bloodhound snarled, raising a fist in front of him.

“Not literally,” Green Widower pointed out with an awkward smile. He scratched at his chin. “There are several more stops and the train’s still moving, but you’ve got nowhere to run.”

As if fate slammed down its hand with ill-judgement, the train stopped and the doors either side of the carriage drew open. The man in the tracksuit dashed out, carrying a duffel bag under his arm, and he burrowed through crowds as he tried to flee.

From the helicopter looming overhead, he seemed ant-sized, but the camerawoman zoomed in and after some blurring, his image blew up and he came into focus.

“And the thief has disembarked,” announced a man sitting in the helicopter, holding a microphone to his mouth.

Beside him, his redheaded companion pointed her camera at the scene below, following the man in the tracksuit as he sprinted down a flight of steps and recording his every movement until he disappeared into the station building.

“Will Green Widower and Bloodhound, his partner in more ways than one, apprehend him?” the announcer wondered aloud. “Or will the thief get away with stolen diamonds worth millions? Stay tuned!”

A beat passed.

“All right, we’ve got one minute of commercials,” said the announcer, dropping the hammy pleasantness and volume. He touched two fingers to the side of his jaw, placing them below his earpiece. “Togami-shacho, what do we do?”

Across the city, a blond man in a suit stood in a room where monitors occupied an entire wall, each one showing different perspectives of the outside of the station in District Sixteen. By now, Green Widower and Bloodhound had followed the thief into the inside part of the station, and so couldn’t be seen anymore.

The blond man pushed up his square, white-framed glasses.

“Hey, Touko,” he said, and someone squeaked behind him. He didn’t turn around and folded his arms over his chest. “You know what to do.”

“R-Right,” said the same person who squeaked. Touko Fukawa was a head shorter than him and her aubergine hair was styled into two long twin braids. She adjusted her circular framed goggles and opened the compact mirror that she had been holding in one hand, in case a situation like this called for it.

Her brow furrowed in concentration, and her body began to sheen blue. Just as she started to lean into the mirror, it sucked her in, and immediately after, she was spat out into a tunnel. It seemed to go on forever either side of her, and she looked around, floating, weightless.

For all she knew, the tunnel did finish at some point, but she had never reached the end of it. Then again, she had never tried to because as soon as she found the right exit, she left. Touko had entered the tunnel through a paneless window, and many more plastered the surface area all around her, showing snapshots of a variety of scenes frozen in time. Their colours bled out beyond their screens and tinted Touko’s skin with their light. Her dark grey full body suit, which covered everything apart from her head, remained unaffected, as did the leather holster strapped to her right thigh. Even as a keen reader and an experienced fiction writer, Touko would struggle to fully describe such an otherworldly environment.

When she entered this separate dimension, a short commercial break had been taking place. The hit television show, ‘Hero TV’, would resume its broadcast once the break finished, but here, time didn’t seem to pass, not on the outside and not inside of it either. Or if it did, it passed very, very slowly, which she greatly preferred over returning to reality with hours unaccounted for, and Touko flew through the tunnel at a slow and steady pace, glancing this way and that, occasionally pausing to study a particular window before proceeding forward again.

After peeking through a lot of windows, she came across one that showed a grey wall with a dark green stripe running horizontal at the top. The image trembled. Part of a poster advertising an opera could be seen near the edge, and from the kind of poster and the colour scheme, she knew that this was her destination.

Touko kicked her legs and boosted herself toward the window, soaring through.

On the other side was a corridor in District Sixteen’s train station. She jumped out of a puddle and stumbled as she landed on solid ground. People dodged out of her way. Sparse crowds stopped to stare, and she glared at them, holding her tongue for professionalism’s sake. They should have been used to this by now. Her heart raced. So should she.

She grimaced and pressed a discreet notch on the rim of her goggles. A pinprick of green light lit up on that spot. The thief was nowhere in sight, so she hurried down the corridor, trying to avoid bumping into people, and swerved into the next one, already out of breath.

With every step, her heart bobbed up and down. For those watching the developments unravel in the comfort of their own homes, or on their phones as their train sped them to their next destination, they were only exposed to certain sights and sounds. They didn’t feel the bounce back of hard floor against her feet, the tightness in her chest and the pressure from indoor heating cranked too high.

In an attempt to help people get off at their stop when music or a crowded carriage could prevent other senses from alerting a commuter, each district’s station had been assigned a certain smell. Touko inhaled. The smell of beer hops wafted over her, but that couldn’t be transmitted to the viewers.

Even with the senses available to them, the audience listened to the music that the television company played, or the rumble of people picked up during recording. Whatever the show wanted them to hear, they heard. Not the ringing between Touko’s ears or her shallow, uneven panting, and they saw what Touko saw.

Her foot twisted a bit as she stepped forward, causing her to stagger. She flailed her arms, but managed to stabilise herself and kept going. As jittery as she was, she refused to disappoint the viewers and most importantly, him.

The announcer’s voice chirped in her earpiece.

“Welcome back to Hero TV, the go-to show for all your hero needs. For folks just tuning in, diamonds worth millions of yen was stolen from ‘Fora Selec Thew’, and our favourite superhero couple Bloodhound and Green Widower are hot on the criminal’s tail. As the first on the scene, they’ve bagged one hundred points, but will they rack up more and capture the crook? We bring this to you live from District Sixteen - ”

Footsteps spluttered at one end of the corridor. Touko was halfway down the corridor at this point. The footfall didn’t belong to someone on their way home after a busy day, or a worker heading to their night shift, but possessed a mantic energy, and when Touko whipped her head around, her eyes locked onto the thief. He lurched forward, heading her way with no care to who or what lay ahead of him.

As the distance between him and Touko shrunk rapidly, she stiffened. No way could she fight him, not with her slender frame, with her lack of fighting experience. All she could do was avoid being flattened and give chase. She scrambled out of the way, making sure her goggles kept recording him.

“Oi, piss-for-brains!” yelled Bloodhound from the ceiling, back-to-back with Green Widower, their arms hooked at the elbows.

“P-Piss-for-brains?” Touko said, wrinkling her nose, but Bloodhound hadn’t been talking to her.

The thief glanced back but kept running. While Bloodhound’s legs were tucked up toward his chest, Green Widower carried him on his back and sprinted across the ceiling in a way that he always had one foot touching it. Blue light emitted from Green Widower’s body, like that which had been around Touko when she entered her mirror and until just after she had fully risen out of the puddle.

Bumping into people slowed down the thief, while Green Widower had no one to evade on the ceiling. Therefore, Green Widower easily overtook him.

Bloodhound unlinked their arms and slammed down onto the anti-slip platform panels below, not far from the thief. He bared his teeth in a wolfish grin. The thief widened his eyes and bolted off, with the spectators too stunned to change from their passive role, some even side-stepping to let him pass so they wouldn’t get run over.

With great speed, Bloodhound stampeded over and leaped forward, tackling the thief to the floor. They rolled but in the end, Bloodhound was on top. Above them, Green Widower stopped glowing and fell from the ceiling. He flipped in midair and landed expertly on the same surface as everyone else.

“And Bloodhound and the Green Widower have caught the bad guy!” roared the announcer as the spectators erupted into cheers.

Green Widower cupped the back of his head and waved his other hand with a sincere but creepy smile, which if it had a noise, would have been nails down a chalkboard. Bloodhound sat on the thief, posture stooped, and leered at no one in particular. He might have been trying to smile.

“Oi,” came the voice of the blond man with white glasses from Touko’s earpiece. “Get closer. We need some shots of our sponsors’ logos.”

Touko nodded, shaking the camera in her goggles by doing so, and approached them. On Green Widower’s chest, in black font, was the name of a Chinese restaurant, and on Bloodhound’s chest, over his heart, was the emblem for Bepsi.

“And our company name too,” said the blond man.

She shifted slowly and made sure to get the writing on their shoulders, as instructed. Across one shoulder in kanji and in romaji on the other, in gold text, on both costumed men, was ‘Togami’.

*****

In the sea of buildings that made up Hope’s Peak City was a tower called Togami HQ. It belonged to a young billionaire who had taken over the company from his father a few years ago. Or, rather, the position had been thrust upon him after his parent’s sudden death. Touko remembered that the very next day, he had come in, not taking even one day off despite what happened. He had thrown himself into his work more so than usual and continued to power through with the same level of formidable diligence to this day. People had doubted that a boy fresh out of high school would cope, no matter what his father had insisted should happen in the event of his demise, but the company had since thrived like it had never done before.

The automatic doors yawned open. Air conditioning hummed in the blue-hued room. Byakuya Togami took a few paces forward, leaving enough space behind him that Touko could follow him in. A silver-haired maid darted past them to the table, put down a tray, and bowed before leaving. Seconds later, the doors shut.

Further in, already seated at the table, were two men. One looked like a standard businessman. Short, dark hair, plain suit with tie, and the only bit of colour on him was his dark purple tie. His companion, in contrast, seemed like an eccentric time traveller dressed up for Britain in the 1960’s, and wore a white suit accented with orange, a few of his shirt buttons unfastened at the top, a matching trilby hat and a loosened tie. The first man turned his stony gaze on the new arrivals while the other man gave a crooked smile and saluted lazily with one hand.

“Don’t worry, we weren’t waiting too long,” promised the second man. As he inclined his head forward, his scraggly blond hair, hanging limply down to his chin, swayed a bit. He pinched the rim of his hat and twitched it.

“I wasn’t worried,” Byakuya told him.

Byakuya pulled out a chair and sat down opposite him. Touko dragged out another chair and seated herself a short distance away from the table. She plucked a pen from behind her ear and positioned the nib at the top of her clipboard. He crossed one leg over the other and poured himself some green tea from the teapot on the tray. Three other cups flanked the teapot still.

What reason would Byakuya have to be worried?

“I’m not the one with anything to prove,” said Byakuya. “All I’m losing is time that I could be spending elsewhere.”

The man with the hat chuckled. He slouched, resting his chin in his hand and hiding his goatee from view. His blue eyes studied Byakuya with a gleam.

“I assure you, Togami, this is a proposal that you will be very interested in,” said the plain-looking man.

“We’ll see.” Byakuya pursed his lips.

Touko jotted down everything being said.

“My name is Jin Kirigiri,” said the plain-looking man. He gestured toward his companion. “And this is Koichi Kizakura. Currently, I head a private tutoring company for Noted Entities with Extraordinary Talents. NEXT, as people call them. We currently have five students.”

“But with some funding, we could train more,” said Koichi as he rubbed his index finger and thumb together. His wide grin distorted the shape of his thin moustache, and the skin by his eyes crinkled.

“So you’re after money for your school,” said Byakuya bluntly. Touko flung a dirty look their way.

Koichi remained slouched and flapped a hand. “Ah, but it’s not like it’s all going toward alcohol, is it? This is something even more important. The Togami Conglomerate is a fair way down the scoreboard despite owning HERO TV, and it has mostly been the same two heroes doing all the work... and they’re getting on in age.”

His eyes stayed just as playful but his smile became more subdued. More like a smirk.

“We’re astute guys, but I’m sure other people have noticed too,” said Koichi. “NEXT are a fairly new phenomenon. They’ve only been cropping up in the last few decades, and younger, fitter people in their prime are going to be the ones bagging all the points, not middle-aged men. By the way, can we smoke in here?”

All of that, even the last request, was spoken in the same casual tone.

“No,” said Byakuya.

Koichi sighed and got out a lollipop from his chest pocket. He unwrapped the plastic and stuck the sweet into into mouth. His tongue pushed it to one corner of his mouth. It clacked against his teeth.

“So what do you say?” asked Jin.

“That was ‘no’ to both your requests,” said Byakuya icily. “Bloodhound has the ability to track people by their smell, as long as he has access to something that they have touched within the last twenty-four hours. That’s why he was first on the scene and him and Green Widower were able to pursue him. We don’t need more heroes.”

“But what if it wasn’t a petty thief they were chasing?” asked Koichi. He removed his lollipop and wagged it, pointing the sweet end at Byakuya. “Are your heroes capable of handling all possible crimes? Assault? Kidnap? Murder? Terrorism? Those are the crimes that people are most concerned about. Recovering a few diamonds won’t net you big points, like catching a bloodthirsty killer like Genocider Syo would.”

Touko accidentally scribbled a jagged line across the page. Byakuya’s face betrayed nothing.

“How many NEXT have you got?” asked Koichi. He began counting off his fingers. “There’s those two, and your gloomy assistant...”

She glared. Byakuya’s nostrils flared.

“Better gloomy than a vagrant,” hissed Touko.

Koichi’s eyebrows rose. His lollipop froze in place for a few seconds, and then he returned it to his mouth.

Jin squared his shoulders, regarding Byakuya with flinty eyes.

“We’ve done our research, Togami. Those two aren’t your biggest point-getters. They’re your only ones,” said Jin. “And new heroes are going to be coming onto the scene. Some already have. With us, you would have a steady stream of heroes who have been trained and will continue training while representing you.”

Touko glanced at Byakuya, whose brow had creased. He stared downward, drumming his fingers against his arm, and finally raised a hand to his chin.

“You have five students?” Byakuya asked without looking up. Koichi lifted his head a fraction.

“Would you like to see them in action?” asked Jin. “We’ve brought them with us, so we can provide a demonstration of our work. If you got the Green Widower, Bloodhound and your assistant together, we can show them off in a friendly spar.”

For a few seconds, Touko noted down what was being said, but when her mind caught up to the present, she tensed violently and jerked her head up.

“Don’t make such demands!” Touko snapped, gripping her pen tightly. “I don’t fight. I can’t fight. I won’t fight. That’s not - ”

“Fine,” said Byakuya. He met their eyes calmly. “Let’s go somewhere more spacious. There’s an abandoned factory just outside of the city that will be sufficient.”

Touko squealed, jumped up, slapped her clipboard against her legs, and bowed so deeply that her braids flopped down and smacked the floor. “I’ll be r-right there!”

She held her position. Kokichi scratched his temple.

Jin blinked a few times before saying, “That was a quick change of heart.”

Her body straightened.

“That’s not it. My heart is always with Byakuya-sama, you see,” explained Touko, hugging her clipboard.

Koichi cracked a grin. Byakuya continued gazing into space.

*****

Up until a few years ago, the building that Touko, Byakuya and everyone else walked into used to be a clothing factory until a fire devastated it, killing tens of people. She had woken up here once before, some time after the tragedy, and she had left in a daze. To some, that might have sounded shocking, but this sort of thing used to be a regular occurrence for her. Above their heads loomed a network of support beams, the blue metal discoloured by heat and with rust in places. The factory consisted of two floors, but the upper floor had been particularly ravaged and mostly destroyed, so much of the grubby arched roof was viewable. Streaks of light seeped through misshapen holes and crevices, and dust particles danced ring o’ roses in the spotlights.

A low whistle blew behind them. Touko turned and as she expected, Koichi had let off that sound. He cradled the back of his neck as he inspected their surroundings with Jin, who permanently looked like he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in a long time. With them were the five students that they claimed to have. They all wore a uniform appropriate for gym class, comprising of sneakers, a white t-shirt and navy unisex long-legged shorts. Two of the girls came to an expected height for people in their late teens or early twenties, a male fitted a standard height for those like him, and the last two, a woman and a man, surpassed their companions’ heights, but only the woman was taller than Byakuya. Just one of the girls was shorter than Touko.

“So these are the runts, huh?” asked Bloodhound, shorter than two of the five. He cracked his knuckles and showed off his teeth wolfishly. “You got their parents’ consent forms on ya? Extra packs of diapers?”

“They’re all around the same age as your boss,” Koichi pointed out while a few of the students glared, though the others seemed equally unamused, but Bloodhound blanked Koichi, eyeing the students like they were helpings on a platter.

The tallest male, who had a brown pompadour that had gone out of fashion before people even knew about the existence of NEXT, strained to keep his composure, hiking up one end of his mouth in a tight, lopsided smirk.

“These are the guys we’re meant to be beating up?” asked the male. “Their hips will probably break if we breathe out too much air near them. This feels like elder abuse.”

Green Widower jolted his head back like he just received an electric shock, features asymmetrical, while Bloodhound’s jaw clenched and his cheeks began to fill with pink.

“Remember, you’re representing our school,” warned Jin, but Byakuya apparently didn’t share this complaint in regards to his own heroes. He turned to Byakuya with the closest to a smile that he had given so far. “I’ll let our students introduce themselves. Shall we give them some space?”

Jin held his hands behind his back and without waiting for an answer or even acknowledgement, he retreated to one of the walls. Byakuya and Koichi did the same, standing themselves either side of him.

“You may begin,” said Jin.

The two groups of NEXT faced each other.

“Three against five?” said Green Widower, oozing a grin. “That’s not fair on you guys, is it? You’d need at least double our number to suffer a defeat that isn’t humiliating.”

Touko hesitated, but it didn’t take her long to count to three. Chills drenched her. Right. She had agreed to join in. Still, her first instinct was to run for cover or cower, but her legs wouldn’t budge and other than trembling, her body wouldn’t respond. The first person to move was the shortest woman, who leaped into the air with her hands above her head.

At the peak of her jump, the woman tilted so she was upside down, and she plummeted downward with her arms still stretched out beyond her head. Touko and her teammates braced themselves, but the woman didn’t go near them and dived into the ground like one would dive into a swimming pool.

Exactly like that. Her body glowed a gentle blue as the ground swallowed her whole, leaving behind no crumbs, no splatter. The trio squinted at the ground, while their opponents’ countenance didn’t change at all.

“W-Where did she go?” asked Touko, squeezing her hands together tightly.

Bloodhound sniffed ungraciously. His face remained screwed.

“I can’t smell her,” he said, and moments later, a large diamond crashed into him. He rolled several times. Touko shrieked and bent forward with her hands on her head.

The diamond didn’t bounce or tumble like Bloodhound. It hovered for a moment where it had smashed into Bloodhound and then transformed into the tallest of the men, the one with the pompadour. When he landed, small clouds of dust poofed by his feet, and he gritted his teeth, but he wasn’t in pain - the corners of his lips twisted upward.

Green Widower gasped and staggered over to Bloodhound with a hand extended, but then the woman who had vanished shot up from the ground just in front of Green Widower, and she dealt a punch to the underside of his chin.

He stumbled back with a yelp, and losing his balance, he fell down with an additional squawk.

“Impressed?” Jin asked Byakuya at the edge of the factory.

Byakuya’s smooth features were unreadable. Jin turned back to watch the fight.

Touko looked this way and that, hugging herself. Bloodhound had returned to his feet and thrown himself into a fistfight with the pompadour guy, who was able to turn parts of his body into diamond, ideal for punches and body parts that he predicted Bloodhound would aim at. Both exchanged heated cuss words between huffs as their strikes whooshed and thudded.

Nearby, Green Widower dodged the next attack from the woman who could flit in and out of the ground as she pleased like it was water. He swung a fist at the woman and caught her on the cheek. She tottered to the side and before she could recover from the first hit, Green Widower continued on his onslaught, dealing blow after blow, and though he lacked Bloodhound’s raw power and ferverence, his fighting style involved a lot of unpredictable movements, almost like he was breakdancing, his limbs jutting at strange angles as he glided from one stance to the next, sometimes striking, sometimes feigning. On top of that, or maybe partly due to that, the woman seemed to be in a stunned state, mesmerized, and she only managed to clumsily block some of his attacks until she fell onto the ground, not into it.

The remaining three students had been standing back up to this point. One of the women had long violet hair and wore dark purple gloves, while the other had scraggly white hair and leathery skin. Despite her appearance, the woman with white hair didn’t seem older than the others, and her hair thrashed against her back as she rushed over to Green Widower. She wasn’t just tall but wide as well, yet despite her heavy footsteps, she didn’t emit a single sound. Therefore, she was able to reach Green Widower without him hearing her approach, and she kicked his back hard. He was tossed through the air like a ragdoll and smacked painfully into a wall.

With Green Widower down at least for the time being, Bloodhound preoccupied with his own fight and Touko keeping to herself, the woman with white hair dropped to one knee next to the woman able to swim through solid matter, and she cupped the back of the smaller woman’s head, gently lifting it, while her other held her companion’s hand.

“Are you all right, Asahina?” asked the white-haired woman. She brought her head closer, causing her hair to brush against the cheek of who could only be Asahina, the white hair standing out starkly against Asahina’s skin.

“I’m fine,” said Asahina, her dark hair tied back in a ponytail. A paperclip kept her fringe in check. The white-haired woman smiled softly and helped Asahina up.

Touko turned away from them and watched the other fight taking place. Bloodhound reeled back and looked past his opponent. He spotted the downed Green Widower.

“Yuusuke!” he bellowed, and he sprinted over even though the man with the pompadour was more than able to continue their brawl. Bloodhound’s footsteps pounded and he pulled back his fist, growling, but halfway there, he was ripped from the ground by an invisible force.

The shorter of the two men had his arm stretched forward, and as he slowly raised it, Bloodhound elevated too. All Bloodhound could do was cycle his legs uselessly through the air, only able to make small movements side-to-side as he squirmed. His captor had a very serious face. Between his thick eyebrows, his skin puckered, and his red eyes were absolutely focused.

No matter how much Bloodhound flailed, he couldn’t break free, and the man with the pompadour charged toward him, kicking off the ground on the way over. Mid flight, he changed into diamond, and he ploughed into Bloodhound. Both collided into the ground together.

Only the man with the pompadour rose afterwards.

He swaggered over to his teammates. Touko gripped herself tighter and her feet dragged as she shuffled backward. She made sure to keep everyone in her field of vision. Her body shook as she got out her compact mirror from under her clothes, dipping her hand down her neckline, and her eyes darted about frantically in search of a reflective surface.

Across the open room, the violet-haired woman who up to now had kept to the sidelines now finally strode forward. Blue light flickered across her body and she summoned an ogre three times as big as the white-haired woman.

The ogre fixed its eyes on Touko and ran toward her. Touko could have used her mirror to escape. She should have used her mirror to escape and gone far, far away from here. But Touko, who had barely any fighting experience, who had been hit too many times since she had been a child, froze up, and she watched the ogre’s fist sail toward her.

To her surprise, the ogre passed through Touko harmlessly, not pounding a hole in her like she expected, or leaving any mark. Not a single hair moved on her and her skirt didn’t flutter even once, but though she didn’t feel anything, she shrieked and blanched. Straight after, the white-haired woman tried to follow up with her own attack, but her fist stopped just short of Touko. There was a loud crack and the woman flipped back, landing beside her teammates. Blue electricity rippled in front of Touko across an otherwise invisible plane floating in front of her, rectangular and wide enough to shield Touko. It had almost certainly appeared there prior to the ogre’s attack.

Koichi and Jin stared for a short while, and then in unison, they turned to Byakuya.

His body glowed blue. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

“You’re a NEXT too?” Jin exclaimed.

Byakuya didn’t bother answering. He ran forward and positioned himself between Touko and the invisible shield, with his back toward her. The ogre leered down at them.

Touko trembled. Her legs wobbled. In a small voice, she said, “B-Byakuya-sama...”

“Don’t just stand there, you dolt,” he said. The ogre punched him, but its hand carried on going through him like it had done with Touko. He turned his head so she could see half of his face and added, “It’s an illusion. It can’t hurt you.”

“Right,” said Touko. Next to Byakuya, she felt calmer and safe, and was torn between swooning and passing out with relief.

Asahina balled her hands into fists.

“Kirigiri-chan’s powers might be illusions, but ours aren’t!” Asahina cried out.

She dived into the ground, and she wasn’t the only one on the move. The pompadour guy lowered his head, like a bull about to gallop forward, and his male companion began to glow blue.

Like Bloodhound, Touko started to drift upward due to an unseeable force created by the man with the thick eyebrows. Byakuya hurled out his arm and launched a spray of invisible shards at him, each individual one smaller than the plane that he summoned before. In order to avoid them, the male had to sacrifice his concentration, and Touko was freed. Her feet returned to the ground. Some of the shards fired by Byakuya sliced the man’s skin, and he cringed and touched a hand to a wound on his cheek.

Blood. Touko averted her eyes, feeling woozy. If she stared too long, she would faint, and if she fainted, her other self would take over, and Touko didn’t want that. She couldn’t let that happen. Her desire to protect Byakuya hardened her resolve.

Byakuya activated his powers and formed a shield beneath him and Touko. He levitated it with them on it, lifting them off the ground, and Touko drew closer to his side.

Asahina emerged from the ground underneath them, but by then they had risen high enough that she couldn’t reach them even by jumping. Despite being able to swim through solid matter, she seemed unable to fly. Her fingers couldn’t even skim the platform, and she winced when she touched down again. Though Green Widower had been defeated, Asahina hadn’t left their fight unscathed.

The white-haired woman squatted and then leaped up. She was able to attain a height much greater than Asahina, but when she threw a punch at them, her fist rammed into something solid.

A wave of blue light swept through the transparent flat surface between her and the other two. Byakuya had generated another barrier. It didn’t break, dent or even shake, and the woman swooped back down to join the others on the ground. The man with the thick eyebrows turned his attention onto the pompadour guy, and he floated him over to Touko and Byakuya, suspending him in mid-air above them.

When he was high enough, the man with the thick eyebrows released him. During the fall, the man with the pompadour changed into diamond, but even someone with his hardness rebounded off the barrier without doing it any damage. Touko watched the man revert back to normal as he fell. She shivered. Byakuya had surrounded himself and Touko with barriers from all sides in a box structure, but though they had protected themselves from their opponents, they couldn’t safely leave either. They had reached a deadlock.

“Can you see any reflective surfaces?” muttered Byakuya.

Touko raised a hand to her forehead and studied the factory. Places that the Sun didn’t touch were as dark and dull as her outfit, and she shook her head. Even if she could travel to another area in the factory, all she would be able to provide was a distraction, and against five opponents, that wouldn’t help because with their number, they could deal with more than one person at a time. Maybe if Green Widower and Bloodhound were up, then they could have come up with a plan, but they showed no signs of rejoining the battle.

The woman with white hair picked up Asahina. Her palm cushioned Aoi’s behind, and she drew back her arm, readying a throw.

They didn’t know if Asahina could travel through barriers, but now was a bad time to find out.

Slow claps echoed from the side of the room. Touko and Byakuya turned, and so did the students. Asahina remained in the palm of the woman with white hair.

Jin lowered his hands and strolled over. Koichi sauntered toward them with his hands in his pockets. Both grinned.

“I hope that taster whetted your appetite,” said Jin. He didn’t shout, but the large room carried his voice. His violet eyes stared up at them. Touko noted that they were same colour as the eyes of the girl with violet hair who could create illusions.

Someone groaned nearby. The sound came from Green Widower. He raised his head groggily.

“These students and more would represent your company,” said Jin, not breaking eye contact with Byakuya. In the background, the man with the pompadour dabbed a handkerchief against the cheek of the man with thick eyebrows. “We would also be happy to have Green Widower and Bloodhound help train the new recruits, and our training wouldn’t be just for those we take on... but for the four of you too.”

“I’m not a fighter,” grumbled Touko, but Byakuya was holding his chin thoughtfully as he gazed down at Jin.

Green Widower limped over to Bloodhound and helped him up. Both were conscious.

“Togami, you were incredible,” said Jin. “And with us, we could unlock your full potential.”

Touko bristled.

“I’m here too!” she said, but she couldn’t disagree with Jin. “And of course Byakuya-sama was incredible. It’s a given, right? He’s perfect.”

She fidgeted, beaming widely, well aware of her face warming and unashamed of it.

Koichi gave a short laugh.

“Fukawa-chan’s not too shabby either. We’ve seen her on Hero TV,” said Koichi. He winked and whipped a hand out of his pocket to point up at Touko. “Her form-fitting non-glitzy outfit stands out, and she has a useful power too. After hearing some interviews - ” - which Touko rarely gave, so at least some of those must have been with other people - “I think ‘Kaleidoscope’ would be a good crimefighter name. And Togami-san could be Barrikuya.”

Touko pulled a face.

“I’m not a superhero,” she reminded everyone, but she fizzled out when Byakuya shot an icy look at her. He turned back to Jin and swished a hand.

“That name is stupid, but I suppose I can hear out the finer details of your proposal over dinner,” Byakuya drawled.

Jin’s previous smiles were up for interpretation, but this one was definite, and he bowed. “You won’t regret it, Togami.”

Byakuya finally lowered the barrier carrying him and Touko to the ground, and when he took a step forward, he revealed that the other barriers had disappeared too. Asahina slipped onto her friend’s shoulder. Bloodhound and Green Widower hobbled over with their arms around each other.

The man who could turn into diamond faced them. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Um... Sorry about all that. I get carried away when I’m fighting sometimes.”

Bloodhound sneered with a bloody nose. Touko wished he would clean himself, or at the very least get his husband to do it for him.

“If I were a few years younger...” He trailed off. The tension in Bloodhound’s face faded and he broke into a grin. “But today’s today, yeah? And this is nothing a little time in a healing pod won’t fix. You’re not bad, kiddo. You’ve got potential. You all do.”

He gave them a thumbs up and guffawed. Then he had a coughing fit. Green Widower looked at him worriedly, and only once Bloodhound recomposed himself did Green Widower relax a bit.

“Thanks,” said the pompadour-bearing guy, equally cheerful, and he returned Bloodhound’s gesture by thrusting up his thumb. “Hey, Togami, how’s about I buy us all a round of beer? My treat. We did a number on your heroes and I know we didn’t land a hit on you or your girlfriend, but she looked pretty freaked out, and I feel kinda bad about that.”

Toward the end of his offer, the man’s face darkened a little, though he maintained his smile. A muscle jumped in Byakuya’s cheek but he said nothing back.

“G-Girlfriend!” Touko said, hands over her heart. Bloodhound ignored her.

“Are you even old enough to drink?” Bloodhound asked.

“Don’t make me give you another thrashing,” responded the man with the pompadour but without any malice, and they both burst out laughing.

Asahina turned to the white-haired woman, who shrugged. The one with violet hair folded her arms over her chest and the man with thick eyebrows tilted his head to one side.

“I’m done here,” said Byakuya. He adjusted his glasses and marched toward the doors leading out of the factory. Touko hurried after him.

Koichi cupped a hand beside his mouth and craned his neck. “So that’s dinner and beer, right? Is tonight good?”

“Tonight is fine,” said Byakuya, not wavering in his pace.

Touko and Byakuya continued on in silence, but just before they arrived at the doors, Byakuya stopped, and Touko halted abruptly right after.

“One more thing.” Byakuya whipped his head around. His eyes narrowed. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

He grabbed her left wrist and raised her arm, to better show off the ring on one of fingers.

“She’s my fiancée.”

#TogaFuka #pinlc-candy #danganronpa #touko fukawa #byakuya togami #2018 #fanfiction

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johnandrasjaqobis · 3 years

Note

Vic and Jack!!!!

vic: constellations - ellie holcomb

when i felt the light of the moon on my face the memory of sun that'd been shining for days you've already been to this desolate place you've already been here and you've made a way

i'm so happy i got this one because god i've been obsessing over this particular song the past couple days, i would just post The Entire Thing if it wouldn't make it far too long because literally this entire song is Vic at the Luxon. he's not the most devout follower, but the Luxon is so intrinsically woven into his entire culture and upbringing and there's been a slow and still relatively minor crisis of faith going on for a while now and just pinpricks of glory strung out 'cross the sky, memories of darkness undone by the light, reminding me you are right here by my side there's a reason he's very likely to get a tattoo of the beacon and a constellation when the party gets anywhere civilized

jack: play dirty - kevin mcallister

do you want to put up a fight? or do you want to get out alive? everybody is picking a side and this can only end one way

Look. Sometimes you end up working on the side you know, logically, is the Bad One. Sometimes you have very little choice but to lean into it because this is how it is, and maybe that's just gotta be everyone else's problem instead. The betrayer kids don't play nice, and it's really better for everyone if you just give up, y'know?

#constellations is definitely a christian song but like #MAN it fits so perfectly #these are My Boys hi listen i love them thank u quill #viconis #jack fischer

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kisuminight · 6 years

Text

Corona curled upon his lap, winglets twitching as she dreamed. It was an exceedingly vulnerable position, trusting that Maiinomaia wouldn’t hurt her. There were so many ways that could be accomplished, beyond the most obvious vital points. A simple application of his claws to the base of the winglets would allow both a crippling blow to keep her pliant with shock and pain, and direct access to the spine, from which he could—

Maiinomaia pushed the Forsythe-borne thoughts of death and destruction from his head; they were unneeded and uselss. After all, the young chosen belonged to him as much as his Second. There was no reason to put out a fire just because he held little regard for the one who started it. Carefully, Maiinomaia flexed stiff fingers across those soft winglets.

Corona shifted lightly, relaxing deeper into Maiinomaia’s hold, nearly purring. Hmpf, such unfaltering trust. And yet, why should she not? It was a poor Lord indeed who needed to harm his subjects for their devotion. “Nepyrodhan, the situation.”

His ever-loyal Second stepped forward, kneeling at the base of his throne. “Taken care of. The paladin was particularly helpful.” Unspoken went the fact that this still didn’t make up for her initial failings, which had led to the kidnapping in the first place. “For your consideration.”

The trophy his Second presented was scorched from the heat of the blade used to flense the flesh from bone. They’d then been reassembled and bound in proper layout with gleaming gold wire and Maiinomaia grinned, pleased. Arrogantly, the Lord inclined his head, and Nepyrodhan placed the skeletal remains in their silken box in his hands. Maiinomaia gazed upon the tribute in admiration; the one who had dared to touch what wasn’t theirs would never touch anything again.

“Acceptable,” he deemed, “but be sure to remobe it before the Chosen wakes.” Better to avoid the fussing. Obviously Maiinomaia would never let a challenge stand uncontested, but Orono had crippled his most powerful weapon with far too much goodwill. Even knowing exactly what would happen didn’t mean it hurt Corona any less to witness such things. If Forsythe’s control had been stronger, it would have been so easy to break her.

But broken toys didn’t suit Lord Maiinomaia, and it suited him even less to have other people break them.

“Shall I remove them now, then?” Before the ensorcelled sleep faded away alongside the healing lash marks which striped across muscled shoulders. Soon the damage would be gone completely; already the pain and nerve damage had disappeared, by Corona’s pleased reaction to the stimuli.

“Return quickly,” Maiinomaia graciously allowed, “or you will miss the fun.” Lethal claws flexed, and his pretty Chosen melted deeper into his hold. After all, there was no reason for those-who-were-his not to belong together.

“Mm, thank you.” Nepyrhodan’s clever fingers felt good on Corona’s winglets. “Are you alright?”

“You have used far stronger abilities many other times, when we were not in the heart of Our Lord’s power,” Nepyrhodan commented absently, still preening Corona’s wings. Most of his attention focused on Maiinomaia as he prowled the edges of the throne room, fixing the holes Corona’s light had left in the boundaries of the Underdark.

There were a great many responses to that, but half of them were offensive to the Forsythenne and the other half obviously conciliatory, and Corona didn’t want to make someone she wasn’t even sure wished to be her friend angry.

Of corsse, that didn’t address the minor jealousy she always picked up, nor did any of them cover how to explain the sheer unneccessity of the emotion. For one, she had a huge collection of family and friends to divide her love amidst (not that she loved any less! Just, concentrating all that on one person wasn’t something she could do).

For another, Forsythenne energy was poisonous to literally all her systems, and if Auntie Starsong had to drag her back from severe anaphylactic shock again, Corona would be sent to live on the moon for the next century.

“Shall I do your wings as well?” Corona offered. The equipment was here; last time Corona had gotten dragged off by her counterparts, she’d brought along the proper polishing clothes and oil. Admittedly, it looked more like something you’d find in Citadel’s sword kit than one for wings, but the two Forsythenne always seemed more relaxed after a little pampering. Besides, there were several marks she’d left behind, speckled against the metal silk of their wings that needed to be buffed out.

“My Lord first,” Nepyrodhan bargained, and stood to fetch the box from the glass doored cabinet set against the side wall of the throne room. Corona recognized nearly all the items inside—the kit, but also one of her shed feathers from the fight with Forsythe, the cracked face of a Brass Dancer, glass from an Abyssal’s death, and the brace of throwing knives that Cia had used to pin the Forsythenne to the wall for a bout of familial threatening.

There was another box in there, one Corona didn’t recognize. It was made of a dark wood—about as long as Corona’s forearm, twice as wide, and fairly shallow. Reflecting back, there hadn’t been anything worth noting that Maiinomaia had gotten involved in. Well, there’d been the thing with the briarrose mice, but that would hardly be something to commemorate. The sheer embarrassment still survived even Nepyrhodan’s attempt to help him sweep the entire incident under the rug with extreme prejudice and excessive firepower. Neither wanted a trophy. Except….

Well, it seemed Corona hadn’t managed enough misdirection after all. Her winglets ached, despite the care being given, and a slight shiver built beneath her skin in a rolling wave, a memory of hours of lightning dancing across every nerve as she fought to keep it away from her heart. I shouldn’t be glad that somebody’s probably dead. Except they’d be dead anyway, if Elsu, Abayomi, or Tirian justice caught up with them. What was the difference?

The difference was justice and vengeance, and how it might impact two souls adrift, as they tried to understand how the world worked when not swamped with the rising tide of fury as Forsythe used them in an attempt to drown everything in his shadows.

Then again, Actaeon wouldn’t care either way, and he was the most similar to Maiinomaia. Mind, he’d had a very long time to learn and understand how to be comfortable in his own skin, and rule his emotions no matter where his actions took him.

Broad, sharp claws brushed against her cheek and Corona leant into the touch, eyes sliding shut. “You think too much,” Maiinomaia rumbled, wings extending to cocoon her.

“I can’t fix your wings like this,” Corona scolded, but leaned into Maiinomaia’s chest. The warmth suffused her body. Most people never thought or realized just how nice it was, to hold and be held by someone else. “What about Nepyrhodan?”

“I am here,” Huh. Corona had almost expected a lecture on being too weak, or too fragile. Not that it would have been anything other than unfailingly polite, but she wasn’t in the right headspace for another argument. Mm, now it was even warmer. The only thing that could make this better would be a nice patch of sunlight.

Now those claws gently combed through her hair, catching against small tangles and teasing them out; wind-touch, except caring. “You will not leave.”

Everything fuzzed in and out, like a drowsy day in midsummer. Corona barely heard him, but “Mom is expecting me back.” She’s nice, nicer than I am. You promised not to upset her.

“A blade belongs as much to the one who forged it as the wielder,” Nepyrodhan noted softly. No broken promises there, then. So what did Maiinomaia mean?

“I’m not a blade.” I’m not a weapon.

“A hearthfire, then,” Maiinomaia interjected. “I will no see you put out.”

Sweet. Unnecessary, but sweet, as far as the Forsythenne were concerned. “I’m okay. The dissonance between our auras encourages my healing.” We were designed to confront each other.

“And against normal people? Who hate you for your mortal heritage?” Nepyrodhan struck, logical words meant to flense away any and all objections. “Or those who survived the war through their brutality, who would kill you just to prove their strength?”

Dammit, that… “You know I hate fighting.” Corona had survived the war, if mostly on the edges. She’d seen the battlefields, and spoken to the pale-faced ghosts that had come off them—both living and dead. “Besides, I know who to stay away from.” Icedown didn’t appear problematic on paper, and he wasn’t on any watch lists. But her ghosts told a different tale, though not one acceptable for the courts.

“Does that include the person who tortured you?” Maiinomaia hissed. His claws dug in, but released with only the slightest pinpricks of pain.

“I suffer more damage in our quarterly fights than I did in half a day in that person’s care,” Corona shot back. “I’m in more danger letting our auras mingle than I am in a simple knife fight!”

“And in a knife fight, your blessing doesn’t speed your healing. The same blows you take have a much different impact on your health,” Nepyrodhan tried, cruel to be kind. Still, Maiinomaia spun out in a much different form of attack.

“You are my nemesis. No one else should be able to touch you!”

So that was the root of the problem. Not that Corona hadn’t expected to run into this sooner or later. What Maiinomaia conquered was his, his lieutenant and counterpart were his, and what was his was also his. And even if both Forsythenne had the mentality of adults, their emotional maturity still stood quite young in comparison to their outward appearance.

Hugs were nice, and Corona liked Maiinomaia and Nepyrodhan. When they figured out if they wanted anything else, then there’d be a talk as they all negotiated around limits. For now, “I understand. And I have tried to avoid those kinds of situations. But I can’t always, and you can’t always protect me. Would you appreciate it if I demanded that you never put yourself in danger?”

One impossible promise for another. Maiinomaia felt like a glower; sharp and tense, a gathering storm of power as frustration built—and collapsed, as Nepyrodhan deliberately pressed a hand between her winglets.

“Vengeance is still mine,” the Lord conceded, his mind turning away from the potential fight. “If you let the world break you, I will break it back.”

“Please don’t start another war in the process,” Corona joked weakly, absent-mindedly resettling her winglets into a more relaxed position—she’d responded with a threat display, oops. “I kind of like how the world had become more smoking crater free. It’d be a pity to undo the terraforming work.”

“I turned the perpetrator over to the Elsuii Justice System only a little worse for wear.” Which meant maimed as far as anyone else judged the matter. Corona thought back to the box; it—no, nevermind.

“I’m too tired to get upset right now,” Corona decided. “Just don’t rub it in my face, and I won’t lose my grip and start radiating holy energy.” Still, that either of them trusted the Elsuii government enough to rely on in, “Thank you. For allowing mortal justice to rule mortal matters.”

“It is not a mortal matter when the attacked is Orono’s own demigoddess Chosen,” Nepyrodhan corrected dryly. But his hands moved up to rub at the joints where her winglets met her back, so he couldn’t be too displeased.

“Of course.” Even though the initial hatred had arisen from rage against the Elsuii who helped raze Abayomi to the ground, for all that Starsong herself had seen each of them executed in turn. Forcing them to yield to Elsuii justice… a better revenge than Maiinomaia likely acknowledged, though Corona wouldn’t put it past Nepyrodhan to have engineered that way on purpose. “Now hand over that kit.”

“No,” Nepyrodhan replied succinctly. “You’ve been awake for too long. Go back to sleep, and let the healing finish.”

Maiinomaia delved into scowling again based on the way his blood roared beneath metal skin, a volcano about to erupt. Corona judged his displeasure as a result of reminding him or her apparent fragility. “If you break yourself through your own stupidity, I’ll break the world anyway for teaching you horrible habits.”

“…Stop trying to figure out ways to refocus all my attention; destroying everything is what Forsythe wants you to do.” And where are you going? Gotcha! Corona reached up to tangle her hand with Nepyrodhan’s in an iron grip. Sometimes, she was sure he didn’t like her, that he only put up with her for his devotion to Maiinomaia. “Stay?”

Well, clearly he didn’t hate her; Nepyrodhan leaned back into the cuddle pile with the slightest sigh. Mm, so warm.

Despite the briar prickles of pain as their auras carded past each other, like curling up to sleep alongside a stickerwolf, Corona relaxed. Outside this temple, only one place felt safe like this: the aerie. But even the aerie wasn’t impregnable. The temple was; nothing could attack her here (well, no unless Maiinomaia wished it, and when he did wish it, the spars tore apart the furnishings, smashed the stone floors, and collapsed columns. But she never felt unsafe).

In a tangle of wings and claws, Corona slipped into purring, and then sleep.

#my writing #project: updating the medium #mentions of:#torture #discrimination #dark gods #mental manipulation #mostly past-tense stuff #flip side of the reincarnation bit #Maiinomaia might actually figure out being a good person provided Corona survives #but that's hard when you weren't raised that way #Nepyrodhan has no time for nonsense getting in the way of his efficiency

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macabrecabra · 7 years

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Hmm…could you do a fic where Hanzo has leg prothestics and feels unworthy of Jesse's love because he thinks he's ugly and broken, and Jesse shows how much he loves his archer with cuddles and kisses. Bonus if Hanzo cries through all this. :)

Can give you a little something sure c: Not sureHanzo would break down and cry through the whole thing, but I can seeif I can work in a few tears XD;

(Note: still not taking Overwatch writing prompts, trying to clearem out so I can focus on finishing longer fics, one-shot collectionsin other fandom, and aquawatch asks c:)Title:UnworthyRating: PG-13Relationship: McHanzo Every time Hanzo's eyes fell upon the prosthetic legs, a sense of contempt roseup in his chest hot and heavy.

There was a sense of shame in it all,a reminder of how far he had failed not only his brother but the clanand all those years of traditions and training he had underwent tobecome a master of his trade.Yet what kind of assassin boresuch horrific scars from careless work born of a troubled mind? Hewas missing not a finger for his transgression or some minor injury.He was lacking both legs below the knee. It was a crippling injury,one that had taken years to recover from. It was a glaring flaw, animperfection that he did his best to hide. It was easy enough todress in a way to make the prosthetic legs look like some sort of boot orarmor. Yet if anyone were to look closer, they would note that it wasall too narrow to house a leg of flesh and blood. The movements weretoo fluid, as if metal had somehow become form-fitting for it to beanything natural.

The false legs were flaws that in his eyes, made him something farless than human. He was something unwanted, something scared, broken,and beaten until he was a lurking oni demon than a proud dragon. Hewas not worthy of anyone's attention, let alone love for the crimeshe had committed and the deep scars and wounds they had left upon hisbody.Yet life seemed to work its strange wonders upon him,first with the forgiveness of his brother to ease the burden of hissoul and then with bringing Jesse McCree into his life. TheAmerican was loud and boisterous and Hanzo had first amusingly thoughthim some sort of strange walking stereotype of the American dreambrought to life. A cowboy quick shooter with a heart of gold, raisedby bandits but not corrupted by their greed. He was the rebel withouta cause that moved heaven and earth to save those in distress and hadan easy-going humble personality to go along with it.At thevery least, Hanzo had found it easy to laugh around the other man. Hehadn't expected for love to find its way into the relationship. Thearcher himself hadn't even realized what he felt was love until Jessebrought it up first, pulling him close and saying “I love you” onthe New Years under the brilliant firework display over New YorkCity.Literally the corniest and cheesiest way possible andHanzo had only laughed long and hard at it all before pulling Jesseclose to return the confession with a kiss of his own.

Yet despite the happiness, the feeling of being too broken andflawed always reared its ugly head, filling the elder Shimada withdoubt. Not of their love, but of his own worth as a human. Jessedeserved someone so much better than himself. “Sometimes Iwonder why fate was so cruel to you to have your path cross withmine.”The statement had Jesse looking up sharply, archingan eyebrow in confusion, “Why do you say that darling?”Hanzochuckled softly although there was little humor in his expression,“Because you deserve so much better.”“I deserve thebest and I already got the best,” Jesse smiled over as he moved tosit next to his lover on the bed, wrapping an arm about him. “Whatbrought this sudden bout of a glum mood?”“Nothing really.I ...suppose it has always been there,” Hanzo admitted as his gazedropped to his feet, staring at the awful prosthetic. “I am not...the most whole man.”Jesse followed his gaze to the metallegs and a slight sad smile touched his lips. The sharpshooterreached over to touch where metal met flesh, sliding a hand over itsoothingly, “Nothing to be ashamed of sweetheart. I myself got myarm blasted off in my youth. Just made us all wiser men, not less ofmen.”He let out a laugh as he leaned in to press a kissagainst Hanzo's cheek, “Why, between the two of us, we gotourselves one whole complete human when you think of it. I got thelegs and you got the arm. Not to mention the smarts, the charm, andpretty much all the best in terms of character.”A flushrose to Hanzo's cheeks and he couldn't fight the smile on his lips ashe turned to regard McCree, “That was in rather poor taste,McCree.”“I never said I had good taste in things, otherthan my choice in lovers,” Jesse returned with a smile. “Thatis still debatable.”Hanzo sighed as he rested againstMcCree's shoulder, one hand idly reaching up to trace over thecowboy's chest. He really didn't deserve McCree. He was too kind, tooabsolutely wonderful and perfect. Yet here was, wrapped in a one armhug with the smell of gunpowder and cigarette smoke mixed with the heady sent of Jesse's cologne and couldn't be happier. “Whyme though? You could have anyone Jesse,” Hanzo murmured, closinghis eyes. “I could but a lot of people out there I couldhave are just too put together. They got their lives settled, theirfuture planned out, and want to settle down. Not really me. I'm abroken man and I'll be picking up the pieces of my life until I'mgrey,” Jesse chuckled, turning his head to press his face againstthe top of Hanzo's head, leaving a gentle kiss. “In you, I've got akindred soul, someone who understands and accepts me for all myflaws. Hell, sees all my flaws as something good. Something totreasure. That don't happen a lot no matter what the stories sayHanzo. The only one I want is you.”

Hanzo merely smiled, turning to press his face against McCree'schest. There was a pinprick of tears at the corner of his eyes butpride would not allow them to be shown. At least for now. Words werealready failing him even as he felt McCree stroke his backsoothingly. He didn't deserve someone like McCree but he wasthankful to whatever god or goddess or other divine above saw itfitting to give him a chance for happiness like this.

#Overwatch #Overwatch fanfiction #Shipping Snacks for Hungry Shippers #McHanzo #Hanzo/McCree #Hanzo Shimada #Jesse McCree #Fluff

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beejnbabes · 7 years

Text

Today, My Younger Cousin Texted Me To Say...

She was going to watch the new Death Note movie and she's never seen Death Note before because another cousin of mine won't let her watch anime. I immediately shouted for her to watch the original on Netflix first over texting. She took my word, tried to watch it, got scared and instead wound up watching the new movie. At first, I was disappointed. As I waited for her reply, I had to remind myself that my cousin would be too smart to believe the bsing that goes on in this movie. But I still bit my lip. Then she replied saying she didn't like it because it left a lot of questions unanswered. RELIEF! Now, she wants to try the anime again, to see those questions answered! I was worried she would LIKE Death Note butchered to hell and back! I really hope she can watch the anime tomorrow. I wish I was there to watch with her. She seems to become a lot less scared of things when I'm around and I'm usually good at lightening up what newbies are usually most afraid of at first with Death Note- Ryuk. I tell them all about his funny little jokes and stories, leading up to when he actually starts acting sillier in the series so they can get through the first episodes easier. I won't be surprised if she says Ryuk frightened her. This wouldn't be my first time rounding up another Death Newbie... and definitely not my first time this year. (It seems to happen to me on a yearly basis!) But I'm also generally upset to be reminded again that my other cousin doesn't let her and her brother watch anime. He tells them it sucks and they believe him without even giving it a chance. I feel sad to think about everything he's making her miss out on. For instance, Little Witch Academia. She LOVES Harry Potter and so do I, which is why I love LWA. But she won't ever give it a chance just because she's been told to avoid anything in that art style. I had to literally tell her that Death Note may have that art style, but it really doesn't have many of the other most used anime clichés that she's been taught to avoid. That's how I had to talk her into trying the anime! I mean, I know that not all anime is the best stuff. I have seen some bad anime in my time. But that doesn't mean that just because an animation has shading and lighting, large shining eyes, triangular faces and crazy hair colors/hairdos is guaranteed to have bad writing! I think I might be able to change my older cousin's mind one of these days if I can just get him to sit down for a round of Death Note. Because, as I told my younger cousin, it suffers only very little from minor pinpricks of clichés and mainly only in the beginning. From the age of 12 to 19, I sampled over 100+ different anime and manga series and not once, in anything else (unless it was a direct parody or reference of some kind) did I EVER see another character quite the same as ANYONE from Death Note. (STOP RIGHT THERE IF YOU ARE THINKING ABOUT THAT ONE SCENE IN FULL METAL PANIC. THAT DOES NOT COUNT.) Nor have I ever exactly seen a similar story! Actually, the most similarity that I have ever found to Death Note was either in films or books! THAT is one of the many ways to detect the scent of a good anime. If you have that hard of a time finding super similar comparison, it is definitely a type of setup or story that is not often used in the anime realm. I think he would enjoy that about Death Note. The fact that it isn't bogged down by clichés he's been avoiding. It might open him up a little more to anime. More over, at the core, this isn't even about making my cousins like anime. I'm not trying to make them. All I want to do is to open things up for them in a way that allows them to choose on their own, whether they like anime or not. If I show more of it to them and they don't like it, that's fine. We have other things we like a lot in common, anyway. My youngest cousin and I both love video games and sometimes have similar taste in movies. My slightly older cousin and I love to talk about our pets, boyfriends, movies, books, drawing, design, some video games and Disney. My oldest cousin and I both like conventions, costumes and Renaissance stuff... and Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers. So, whether they like it or not isn't what matters most to me. I, myself, haven't even been that into anime since I was like 19 and I'm almost 25, now. I watch anime like... once a month at this point. If that, even. But I have always been concerned with individual freedoms of self expression. Because my parents always told me about how they didn't always have that and that I was lucky I was getting to have it. My parents decided not to do things that their parents and siblings had done to them in trying to control their likes and dislikes. I was allowed to roam free and test my boundaries and the feeling of happiness that it gave me made me want it for everyone the world over. It also helped that I got to experience, through my OTHER cousins, what it was like to be told what to like and what not to like, what to do and what not to do. I still remember one Thanksgiving. I think it was the year 2000. I was eight years old, my cousin who lived here was five. We were sitting at the kids' table at our nana's house and I had gotten there first, so nana had given me control of the TV. I put the channel on Nickelodeon, because I knew they were going to be having a Rugrats Thanksgiving Day marathon and I LOVED Rugrats. About halfway through the Thanksgiving special episode, my cousin arrived. I was super excited to see her and she was excited to see me. Back then, she still loved me. She was also excited to watch Rugrats. She told me she liked it a lot, too. Shortly after, my aunt came into the room, grabbed the remote and changed the channel to something boring. Our nana asked her why she did that. My aunt looked at her, frowned and said, in a way that was made to make our nana feel guilty, "Sydney's not allowed to watch that.". My nana said "Oh, okay" and walked back into the kitchen. I tugged on my aunt's dress and asked her, "Why isn't Sydney allowed to watch Rugrats?". She frowned at me and replied, "Because t might give her ideas." before walking off to the adult table. It has bugged me every Thanksgiving and every time I have ever watched Rugrats ever since that my poor cousin wasn't allowed to watch something she really liked... and to boot, just because she wasn't allowed to watch it, I wasn't allowed to for the whole day either and I was really excited for that marathon. That was one of the first times it ever sunk in my child head that people should be allowed to freely like what they like and to dislike what they just dislike, all on their own. My parents constantly reminded me that they sometimes didn't get that freedom and now I knew I had a cousin who didn't, too. I didn't see the point in controlling someone else like that. In my eyes, having the freedom to choose things for myself did half the work of teaching me to be a better person! There was a lot that Sydney wasn't allowed to do until she was older and she grew up to be someone who belittles me, brags about herself all the time and completely ignores me at family events. I was allowed to do or see anything that didn't scare me. I'm not perfect, but who is? I watched Rugrats all the time and guess what? It didn't teach me bad habits like my aunt said it did for kids. Hell, every time those babies leave their play pen or their crib, it's usually to do things like help a friend in need or to band together against a common threat! Rugrats teaches caring for friends and general unity! Something Sydney seems to have forgotten. Anyway, to reiterate my point, I just want my younger cousins on my dad's side to have what I had. The freedom to choose your own personal likes and dislikes, something to which anime should never be exempt.

#rant #anime #personality #kids #family

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raindrenchedstories · 8 years

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Brave little knight 1. Caught G/t

Set in the “A new home” universe.

There was little surprise when the volley of arrows had sprinkled upward into his ankles. Hardly a pinprick. But it was a minor annoyance. Archibald did have to pick up his foot and remove the little thorns from the heal of his shoe. "Really now. Is this at all worth it?"

Glaring at a small rabble of humans, Archibald considered the possibility of capturing the whole hunting party. Drag them off to the stores, get paid for the trouble's he'd found in collecting godroot. And probably cause the women, elderly and children of their little troupe to starve. These were humans, not elves. They didn't attack out of malice, or hatred. They were simply frightened by him. Instead of getting upset, he should have taken pity. The blasts from the wars had done a great deal of damage on their people. Sending humanity back to the stone age in a matter of months. Often they'd be trapped by giants looking for a quick buck and sold as pets. Those that did hunker down in civilizations would soon be hunted by the elves. Leaving the species in near ruin. Forcing them to live as constant nomads. It was a wonder these little fellows were brave enough at all to even stand near him. Keeping that in mind. He simply discarded the little arrows near them, scowling. Taking a moment to recall what he'd learned from listening to William's little pet. Finally he formed a single, clear statement. "NO." Kneeling over the hunting party with his lips pressed in a thin line. Many cowered back. All but one in a bit heavier garb. This one stood up taller, glaring right back. Making a show of being unafraid. This impressed Archibald a bit. A smile trying to tug free from him. But there would be no smile for the little brat today, only a stern expression. Perhaps this one thought he'd distract Archibald. Giving the others option to escape. Or Perhaps Archibald had frightened off their little prey. For that he did feel a twinge of guilt. No many animals in the wood stayed around while his people were about. Usually figuring their steps to be small earthquakes. It didn't take long for him to stand up and leave. His feet leaving deep impacts in the ground. Finally his amusement managed to leek free as the mountain giant could only laugh. "Brave little thing. Must be a regular along the trail. Probably seen me before." Half way down the trail, he took a left. Approaching a sort of mountain. Odd bits of stone growing off the sides at random. This was a sort of dwarf ward. Keeping the tiny fellows from trying to populate the giants home. Though it still happened from time to time, he'd have an unexpected visitor. Generally someone trying to explore the area only to fall through his ventilation system. Archibald had put a one time falling spell on each vent in case of such emergencies. And all of them generally came with an alarm. In a careless motion of the wrist, Archibald asked the very earth to move and re-shape for him. The mountain opening like a great maw to swallow the giant whole. A set of crystals on the wall lit up, allowing Archibald to gaze down the stairs forming into the stone. Slowly making his way down, Archibald returned to his home in the earth. Looking to have a good long sleep, adjusting his dragon bone glasses on the edge of his nose, back to the appropriate place. Ending a less than eventful day. The night was another matter. Something made sound in his secluded mountain home. Small, scratching, and heading for him. Archibald chose to lay still in his bed. Waiting for the sounds to settle. Soon enough he felt a small tickle against his ribs. Scrabbling at the fabric on his shirt. Falling. And trying again. It wasn't an elf. They tended to throw spells first. This, was more like a tall dwarf. Or, an orc? That would explain how they got in. But why didn't his alarms go off? While he pondered this, the being made it's way to his chest. Sliding down softly until they landed just on his neck. And that was enough. With a snap of his wrist, the dull crystals in the cave lit up brightly. Stunning both him and the little monster on him. His left hand shot to grab at whoever was hanging off him and bring the tiny beast to view. However, the sight only brought more questions. It was, in fact, A human. The one from before. A tiny sword was gripped tightly in two fists. Though it was shoddy in make, and rather frail looking. Archibald quirked a brow at this, holding the tiny man carefully in his hand. "Now... What brings you out here?" His response was the little sword being plunged deep into his palm. Causing the man to yelp. He gripped the little jerk tightly enough to restrict movement, hissing in pain. It was all his restraint not to shout at the terrified little fellow. Who was now trying to cut his way through Archibalds hand with the restricted blade. It wasn't working, but the wiggling of the blade agitated the wound enough. In a split instant, Archibald began casting a simple translation spell. Poking the humans forehead back with a grimace. Finally the incoherent shouting became actual words to Archibald. Though he was quite sure he didn't want to hear what this little guy had to say any more after the first sentence was translated. "And drag your entrails across the path so non of your filthy over grown allies dare return!" The little man screamed out. This earned him a light squeeze as Archibald crawled out of bed. Making the trek to his kitchen and simply dropping the human into one of his spare glass cookie jars. He removed the small sword from his hand hissing. It actually had gone quite deep, and left a decent mark on his skin. Definitely a band aid situation. The little puncture making him uncomfortable. Archibald flexed his hand in front of the human. "Now. Look what you did! Look at this! BAD." The scolding did shock the little one. Only for him to fly into a further rage. "Look what I did? LOOK WHAT I DID? Are you even hearing yourself? YOU aren't my master, no one is. You've no right to scold me." "You stabbed me! I think that's enough call to be upset! How'd you even get in here!" Archibald retorted. Anger starting to boil. "I followed you. And if I'd had my way, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now." The small man admitted. Though there was no trace of guilt in his tone. "...You little prick." It occurred to him, the human was actively trying to slay him. Which did not sit well. Instead of getting angry, or even retaliating, however, Archibald took a deep breath. "Now, why, pray tell, did you break in my home in attempts to kill me?" He leaned on the table, staring in wonder. The human only scowled leaning back against the glass. "Oh I don't know. Perhaps it's because your species literally kidnaps mine on a regular basis. My self included at one point." To this Archibald perked up. He hadn't detected any spells on the little fellow before, but then, he wasn't looking. The man continued to speak while Archibald began scanning for any form of magic. "I only got out because the brute forgot to close a door during the sorting process. Taking men and women and transferring them into different cages. Small, wooden cages. Do you have any idea what it feels like to see that many of your own kind trapped like that?" "You're talking to a war veteran. At least your kind don't need literal spikes running through their limbs." He sighed. The human pausing a moment. Before starting right up again. "Those people were SOLD giant! Like slaves. No, actually not like. AS slaves. Now tell me how moral you are. My people don't have to take this shit." He kicked the glass with a fair amount of force. Enough to knock himself on his own ass, and give Archibald an idea. Lowering a hand into the jar, he lifted the small ball of fury. "Well, I can't let this behavior slide. I understand your point, however. If you slay a giant, the hope is your people will understand they aren't helpless." He held the man carefully in his palm, smiling down somewhat. "But I have a better idea. Something you may hate now, but it will give you the result you're looking for." With that, He covered the man with the other hand and focused. Spells worked their way into his skin, making the human squirm and yelp. Though they shouldn't have caused any pain. The spells slowly became a part of him. Soon after, the little man was placed on the table. Archibalds smile turning tender. "What did you just do you...Over grown bastard" Clearly this human was running out of insults. Which made him all the more entertaining. With a little chuckle, he spoke up. "Amusing myself. I'll take good care of you." With that, a small golden light flitted over the humans figure and sealed into his skin and clothing. The small man giving a horrified expression. He'd witnessed a claiming before. And clearly knew what had happened. "YOU ASSHOLE!" He popped up on his feet screaming in rage. Archibald picked up a clear glass, regarding it a moment, before carefully lowering it over the human. Waiting out the storm of slurred expressions of rage. "I told you, you wouldn't like it. My name is Archibald by the way." He took a paper and scooted it under the mans feet. Picking the little fellow up and placing him carefully back into the cookie jar. "I'll pick up some supplies for you later. Store's closed for now. And... We'll see about some proper spells to keep you safe. For now you're simply bound." He'd also have to see about a proper cage, and a name for the little fellow. Placing the slightly thin being on a high shelf in order to prevent the nasty little thing from escape. He gave the little fellow one of his old socks. Clean, of course, but baring a large hole making it unusable. For Archibald, at least. The sword was confiscated for the night and placed on the bed side table while Archibald returned to his bed. Setting his glasses to the side and closing his eyes. "Good night. Little human." His reply was a slur of hot, angry words. Ending in a useless threat. If that was how the little guy wanted to communicate, that was fine. Archibald woke to the usual methods. The spell on his bed making the great stone slab move slightly. Archibalds bed was a wonder of magic really. Well, to him. Mattress held in place by stone claws. And able to tilt away from anything frail or easy to knock over. The earth giant had enchanted it himself, to wake him around the eight hour mark of sleep. How it did this however, was a little abrupt. The mattress was slightly tilted. Giving him the option to wake. When he did not, it tilted more the incline making the blankets run off one side and leave Archibald bare and exposed. Still he refused to wake. Until finally, unceremoniously, The bed physically slammed the giant against the floor. Giving him a smack for good measure. A side effect of leaving items enchanted for too long. They had personality after a while. There was a tiny yelp from the kitchen. Indicating to the now groaning and displeased Archibald that his charge was awake. In slow, steady movements, Archibald dragged himself up. Making a slow trek to answer natures call. And with that and a few steps in between, the Giant dropped a few raw ingredients into the glass with the human. "I see you didn't perish over night. That's good." The man inside only hurled the first bit of fruit he could at Archibald. "Of course I didn't. You think I'd give you that satisfaction?" The man barked. He only received a shrug in response as Archibald reached into a sort of wooden box. Pulling a large hunk of what looked to be sandstone. With a yawn beforehand, Archibald brought the stone to his lips, and bit into it. The boulder crunched easily under the pressure, shattering part way into the giants maw. Casually chewing away, Archibald brought the glass cookie jar down from the shelf. The contents of said jar now attempting to scramble up the farthest side away from the giant. "A-are you....Is that a gods-damned boulder?" The man shrieked in thinly veiled horror. Archibald regarded the question a moment, before staring at the stone in his hand. He sighed and shrugged the comment off again. "Yep. Just a light breakfast for today. Any how. What do I call you buddy." Before the man could answer with more insults or twice as many questions, he clarified. "If you don't answer with anything but your name. I will be renaming you. I'm thinking Flopsy." He gave a soft smirk soon after. Leaning his cheek on a closed fist. The human only kicked the walls of the glass jar. Finally he spoke up. "May as well 'name' me. I know how magic works. You'll take my name and bind your sickening spells to it. And I won't stand for it!" He folded his arms, giving his back to Archibald. Who only hummed a little. Reaching to poke at the glass. "True. But you DO realize I can just bind the name to you. Making that your true name. What ever your human name is, it won't hold any value to the spells." Archibald was already thinking of things his human would need for his plan to work. Protection spells were a given. Probably some falling spells. Watching the human kick the wall and fall on his rump once more distracted him from his thoughts. But it brought another to mind. Something much more...personal. He reached forward and caught hold of the man in the cookie jar. "Speaking of which...We probably shouldn't dilly dally much longer. Right Flops?" The man definitely made an effort to escape his grasp. Leading Archibald to place him between two cupped palms. Gold light radiated out from his hands. Covering the human in a few simple spells. When all was said and done, he held the man by the back of his shirt with a smile. "Shall we give these new spells a test?" "What? Wait wh-" With that, Archibald let the man go. Confident enough in his own magic to know the human would be fine. If not a little shaken from the event. Sure enough, the man landed on the table. Unharmed. Though the distance Archibald had held him should have at lease broken a leg. The man only fell backwards, landing in a sitting position. Clearly bewildered, before letting off the most indignant, horrified scream Archibald had ever heard. "What the hell have you done! I should be dead from that! What, I mean. Why? I-" Whatever arguement he'd had, the man let it die in a string of fragmented words. "Simple fall safe spell. Most pets have it on them. Especially ones who live with kids. Just in case. You also have a few spells to protect you from becoming a little bloody pancake." With that, the man was placed back into the cookie jar. Confused, and clearly frightened. While finishing his 'light' breakfast of sandstone, Archibald began doodling plans for the new guy's cage. Being the sort of giant he was, Archibald was able to shape mother earth herself to his will. Making the wall produce a sizable cage to hold the human with. Bringing a handful of sandstone out once more, Archibald crushed his palms together. Rolling the rocks quickly and finally making a sort of wobbly glass. This he slid into place. Admiring his work a moment. The cage acted like a shelf, hanging off the wall neatly. Several rooms interlocked, and gave 'Flopsy' a need to climb, jump and work to get from one place to another. No easy ways. Unlike Williams spoiled little pet. Archibald reached into the cookie jar one last time. "Right. Well Flopples, looks like this is it. Welcome home I guess." The man fought, screamed and kicked to avoid being put in the cage. Only for Archibald to pull the glass aside and place him on the lowest shelf. "I'll be away for an hour or two. Need to get you all the good stuff. Bed, dishes, easy to make food because I can't- HEY!" In a mere second the little fellow had lept from the lowest shelf. Free falling with his hands up. In a mere moment, the little blond landed, falling backwards again despite his effort otherwise. In a few seconds he was bolting for the nearest bit of furniture. Only for his plan to be thwarted. A good stomp from Archibald shook the ground far more than normal. Small shock waves knocking the human back onto his rump. Only this time, there was no getting up. A stone sort of birdcage shooting up to cover him. "DAMNIT" "My sentiments exactly. I'm trying to be humane here Flops." Smoothly, the cage was lifted. Flopsy, as he'd come to be known, now keeping well away from the titanic hand delicately holding the stone prison. Carefully, he was placed back into the wall cell. Released from the birdcage easily. The human, Neil, had lost all patience with his situation. Trying for a second escape only to be thwarted. The glass panel was placed back in its slot. "Humane!? You call imprisoning me humane?" He pounded his fists against the glass screaming in anger. Archibald gazed down to this, but merely shrugged. "Well, back in the days of old, your people used to lock up criminals quite liberally. So I figure it's the best way to deal with the man who attempted to murder me." There was a sting in those words. Causing Neil to back off a little. Gazing into those hot gold eyes. "Now, I'm going to the store. Be good and wait there until I return with your things." The mountain opened with little effort on Archibalds part, Leaving Neil to sit and contemplate his situation.

#G/t

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