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sacerdotessa · 3 years

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Neptune in the houses

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Neptune's key words🗝 dreams, secrets, imagination, fantasy, art, beauty, ideals, hope, psychology, art, music, chaos, confusion, illusion, psychic abilities, intuition, religion, inspiration.

Neptune in 1st house:

These people are extremely sensitive, they actually absorb all the energies around them, good and bad ones. They're not good defending themselves from negative people and they easily fall victims of emotional vampires, psychic attacks, energetic vampires and toxic people, they have to work really hard on building strong boundaries. They're extremely psychic, intuitive and sensitive, it's common for them to have visions about the future, vivid dreams and spirits / angels / spiritual beings from other dimensions are attracted to them and always tries to communicates with them. These people tend to have an attractive and feminine appearance. They tend to be mysterious and private about their life, they don't like to overshare and people tend to misunderstand them a lot. They hate labels and the idea of being putted in a box repels them, feeling free and fluid it's extremely important for them. They tend to wear spiritual clothes (crystals, spiritual symbols, etc). Being naive is their biggest flaw. They could suffer from body dysmorphophobia or mental illnesses in general. They need to be careful with drugs and anything that causes addictions, when they're upset they tend to isolate and escape from reality with substances or damaging addictions. They're usually a bit lazy and loves to sleep, usually they're introverted and needs to be alone to recharge. They loves everything that's magic, they find the real world quite boring.

Neptune in 2nd house:

These people needs to be careful with money, they're not so good in dealing with them. Usually they're generous and people take advantages of that, they tend to fall victims of thief and burglars or liars in general. They tend to spend too much money and losing objects is very common for them. They could make money from an activity connected with neptunian values, evade taxes and makes money in a way that confuses other people, they could even be drug sellers. They have a spiritual view of life and they don't care about money in general. They're quite lazy when it comes to find a job or working, they need to follow their own rhythms. They're usually musicians or singers and their voice is usually beautiful and charming. They could have the tendency of eating too much or developing eating disorders. In general, they prefer to keep their financial situation private, they're also quite private about their home and hates inviting people in their home, they would love to live in a isolated place by the sea, they usually dreams about living somewhere else.

Neptune in 3rd house:

These people tend to have mental illnesses, learning disabilities and it's hard for them to communicate with others in a clear and assertive way, they tend to prefer metaphors over a direct discourse. They loves to read and fantasy is usually their favorite genre, non-fiction does not appeal them. They're also talented with writing and could be amazing songwriters or musicians. At school they're talented with humanistic subjects (they're straight A's students when it comes to writing essays) and school could be a place to escape from their family (especially if Neptune is close to the 4thhouse). They loves to write and they could uses alter-ego or hiding their identity when it comes to their creations. They're introverted and have a tendency to read between the lines, this behavior causes paranoid feelings in them. It's hard for them to communicate and they could have the tendency toward telling white lies to others, it's common for them being misunderstood by others. They tend to have many friends and family members with a prominent water quality in their charts. Expect many travels by the sea with this position.

Neptune in 4th house:

This is not an easy position for Neptune, these people tend to have forgotten their entire childhood or important parts of it. They have the feeling of not knowing their parents, this could be metaphorical or literal (I know many people with an unknown father and Neptune in their 4thhouse), their parents might be absent or very private and mysterious, this position brings parents with massive water placements, psychic abilities, mental illnesses and drugs addictions. In general, magic and spiritual themes are not taboos for their parents. They could have spent their whole childhood by the sea or the family might have a second house by the sea. These people could feel like their parents filled them with alienating beliefs about reality, they might have been “too protective” not letting the child exploring the world around them, home could have become a place to escape reality. In a different scenario, the parents could have been too absent and not protective at all. These people could have been experienced difficult in expressing their feelings, extreme emotional responses or mental illnesses during childhood. They need to be extremely careful with thief, an alarm system in the house should be a priority for them.

Neptune in 5th house:

These people tend to be private and mysterious about their love and sex life. They usually have an history of delusions and illusions in their love life, they tend to fall in love quickly and idealize the partner, they also tend to fall in love with toxic and confused people. They need to work a lot on their boundaries when it comes to love. They tend to be amazing partners: generous, sweet, caring, romantic and charming, unfortunately it's not common for them to find balance in a relationship, usually is never 50/50. Their partner might have neptunian qualities or massive water placements. They should avoid partners with mental illnesses and drugs addictions. They should avoid taking drugs and drinking too, they're become easily addicted to toxic behaviors and develop addictions easily. They're talented with any music instrument, art in general, acting, dancing and singing, they're natural born performers. They should always have protected sex, unwanted pregnancy could be common for them. They could have children with neptunian qualities or water placements, mental illnesses, addictions, extremely talented in art and music, with psychic abilities.

Neptune in 6th house:

It's difficult for these people to make planes, organize their life, structure their daily life. They tend to be careless with their diet, kinda lazy when it comes to physical activities, it's extremely important for these people to take care of their health in a proper way, they tend to ignore their physical symptoms or to suffer from hypochondria, this position suggest psychosomatic illnesses too. It's hard for these people to find a job and they could suffer from financial problems during their life time, if they choose a profession related to neptunian themes, they have more probability to achieve success. These people tend to be attracted to alternative medicine, spiritual practices and tend to use the law of attraction in their daily routines, a spiritual life style is extremely important for them. They could be vegan or vegetarian, they're sensitive to animal rights. They could feel connected to fishes or aquatic animals in general. Water is therapeutic for them, showers and baths have regenerative proprieties, they love to recharge with water. They could love volunteering for causes they cares about, they're amazing listeners and have a compassionate nature.

Neptune in 7th house:

These people tend to be attracted to people with neptunian traits and water placements in their chart. Unfortunately they have the tendency to fall in love with toxic, emotional unavailable, inconsistent people, they need to work a lot on their boundaries. Like Neptune in 5thhouse, usually their relationships are never 50/50. These people tend to attract to them artistic and spiritual partners. The idea of marriage tends to be idealized and their ideal wedding party should be somewhere by the sea. These people tend to attract secretive partners, they should be careful about cheating or these kind of things. These people should also be very careful when it comes to contracts or legal actions. They're the kind of people that use to make fantasies in their head about love and romantic scenarios but in real life they tend to avoid relationships. They're also at risk of co-dependency in relationships, they need to be careful. They could also be that kind of people who are in love with art, music or fictional characters, real life relationships tend to bore them.

Neptune in 8th house:

Those with this position needs to be careful with their finances, they tend to be too generous with money and easily fall victims of thief or dishonest people, they need to be careful with heritages too. This position could suggest that these people avoid taxes and have many debts (that they keep hidden) during their life time. This position creates amazing mediums and occultist, those with Neptune in 8thhouse are the best psychics. These people should be careful with their sex life, they have a tendency towards unprotected sexual activities and their sexual fantasies could be wild and eccentric, usually they keep their sexual life hidden too, sex and masturbation could become ways to escape from reality. They'll love tantra and spiritual sex practices for sure! They don't like casual sex, usually they tend to have it only with those they're in love with, unfortunately they're easily victims of f*ckboys and cheaters, they need to be very cautious and work with their boundaries.

Neptune in 9th house:

These people are extremely religious, spiritual and they master the law of attraction like no one else. They could actually decide to be priests or to make religion or spiritual practices the center of their lives. Their faith is incredible, they always have a positive attitude towards the future and they look forward with faith in every situation. These people could actually attract miracles from God or have the feeling that they could actually talk with the Divine Source, good luck always flow toward them. They have an open mind and are respectful of other people ideas and beliefs, however they have the tendency toward being manipulated by others, they need to be careful toward spiritual gurus or religious scammers. Their biggest flaw is their blind optimism, sometimes they ignore every risks and become victims of dangerous situations. They love to travel and daydream all the time about where to go for the next travel, sea locations are their favourite.

Neptune in 10th house:

These people are talented in work areas related to neptunian themes and are huge dreamers, a standard job is not enough for them, they need something special and coherent with their dreams, usually when these people were children they had the tendency toward daydreaming about their future job and adult life. They're passionate about art, music and psychology and they need to feel flexible with their work. Usually they're kinda lazy and don't like to work too much, they need to recharge often. They have amazing healing qualities and could built a career around that, spiritual practices, alternative medicines and energy works could be amazing career fields for them! It's hard for them to chose a profession, they tend to be indecisive about what kind of job they would like to do and usually they change their profession often, in their life time they will do many temporary jobs. These people could also become priests and made a career in religious field. They could also become drug sellers and evade taxes. They're not good at all with planning and organization. They might hate capitalism and have communist ideals.

Neptune in 11th house:

These people should be extremely careful when it comes to their friendships, there could be many liars around them. They tend to be too generous with their friends and could easily fall victims of manipulation or lies. They tend to attract friends with mental illnesses and drugs addictions. They tend to identify a lot with their friends group and tends to make them do all the decisions, they have an amazing community spirit but tend to fall victim of the wrong people. They're insatiable dreamers and they daydream a lot about a better world without wars, hate and filled with peace and love, like Neptune in 10thhouse, they could have communist ideals. These people seriously need to work on their boundaries, they tend to trust anyone very easily and are that kind of people who overshares their life with strangers on the internet or in real life, they need to learn that not everyone is going to be their friends. They also tend to attract many artists and musicians as their friends.

Neptune in 12th house:

These people are gifted with psychic abilities, telepathy, intuition and prophetic dreams. They're natural born psychologist and healers. They tend to have a tendency toward being introverted but it's easy for them to connect with others thanks to their amazing empathetic abilities. They're extremely sensitive and connected with universal energies, they tend to feel overwhelmed by other people energies and need to sleep more than others to recharge, they also need some alone time as well, they could even become hermits for some periods of their life. Unluckily, they have a tendency toward depression and melancholic feelings, they need to take care of their mental health. Art and music could become actual therapies for them, they're extremely sensitive toward sounds and could heal themselves with frequencies. They should be careful with drugs or addictions in general. These people tend to feel a vocation for spirituality since young ages, usually they were more reflective, dreamy and introverted kids compared to others.

ko-fi ☕️: sacerdotessa

#astrology #astroblr #astrology community #astro notes #astro observations #astrology tips #neptune #neptune in houses #spirituality #divination #witchcraft #witchblr #zodiac signs

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jingyismom · 3 years

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Time for more sex-cursed Lan Wangji!

a messy, self-indulgent spree imported from twt and lightly edited

explicit, wangxian, 9k, canon divergence fix-it

mild dubcon because of the nature of sex curses (but like, they do their best to communicate around it), and cw for brief thoughts of self harm, no other warnings

This curse's origin is mysterious, perhaps politically guided. Someone is trying to throttle Gusu Lan's alliance prospects by removing Lan Wangji's stellar marriageability after Sunshot. It works, after a fashion.

Wei Wuxian is in the Burial Mounds, farming and hardening his heart as the resentment worsens his health, subsisting on memories of Lan Wangji's single visit.

Lan Wangji is at home in Gusu, pining away while they rebuild the Cloud Recesses.

One day, he begins to burn up with unexplained fever.

The healers examine him quickly and thoroughly and determine first that he's been cursed. This is not entirely shocking, but it of course angers the entire sect. Next they test for the curse's nature. It turns out to be a very classic, very coarse type of love curse.

The afflicted will burn up, losing all their sense and senses, and eventually die, if their body's “needs” are not satisfied by the one it craves most.

The healers are disgusted. Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren are outraged. But Lan Wangji becomes very calm at the news.

Before, he felt anxiety. The urgent desperation of a dying man waiting to be told how to live.

Now he is just waiting to die.

For you see, the choice between throwing himself at another human being—no matter who they may be—and meeting death with dignity, is an easy one.

Everyone else privy to this information disagrees. The argument that follows is short, but heated:

"Well, Wangji?" Lan Qiren begins once the initial furor has died down. "How do you wish to...go about this?"

Lan Wangji, over-warm and aching, looks up at him from the examination bed. Gusu Lan funeral rites are ancient and immutable. He does not understand the question.

Lan Qiren purses his lips and glances around. "We must find the person first," he prompts.

Ah. The person responsible. Yes, Lan Wangji does have business with them before he dies. He stands, only swaying slightly. "I am well enough to exact justice. Let us cast the rebound."

Lan Xichen steps forward then, and gently pushes him back to sitting. "It has been cast. However, justice can wait. Your health must come first."

Lan Wangji looks between his uncle, his brother, and the one doctor allowed to be present. Surely they would not be joking at a time like this.

"I do not understand," he says.

The three exchange a look. "Breaking the curse must be our priority," says Lan Xichen.

Lan Wangji is not sure he heard correctly. But it would be cruel to give him unfounded hope. "I was unaware there was another way."

"...There is not," says Lan Xichen, his gentleness unfailing.

Lan Wangji experiences a moment of deep confusion before the horror sets in.

"You cannot mean this," he says through his shock. "Surely you cannot mean to cast aside so many disciplines at the whim of a base villain."

"The disciplines are a guide," Lan Qiren says, hands behind his back, looking into the distance, "to ensure a life well-lived. They are not meant to inspire martyrdom."

Lan Wangji's mouth falls open. He stares at his uncle, mute with betrayal. He has never heard of any such leeway before, not in regards to disciplines of such a serious nature.

"You can understand, can't you?" Lan Xichen says. "That no rule is more important than your life.”

Lan Wangji disagrees vehemently. "I would not buy my life with such behavior."

Lan Qiren huffs in irritation. "We may perform a marriage in haste, if you wish."

Lan Wangji balks at him. That his uncle should speak so flippantly of...such a thing. It is unimaginable. And besides, forcing a marriage on Wei—on anyone in this way is surely only adding insult to heinous injury.

"I refuse," he says.

Lan Xichen exchanges a look with the doctor, and sits beside him. "Perhaps the other person should be allowed part of that choice."

Ridiculous. "There is no such person." Preventing this course of action is worth one lie, Lan Wangji reasons.

"With respect, Hanguang-jun, if that were true, the curse would not have been able to take hold," says the doctor.

The use of his title feels uncomfortably ironic from a woman who helped deliver him at birth. He glares at her. She smiles tiredly in return.

"Wangji," Lan Xichen says. His tone is beginning to grate on Lan Wangji's raw nerves. "You will at least try, won't you?"

Lan Wangji stares at him in disbelief, in anger, in righteous indignation.

"Never," he says.

A hand slaps his shoulder. "Apologies," says the doctor, and the world goes dark.

-----

Lan Wangji wakes to dark wood beams dappled by lacy sunlight, and a faint smell of char in the air. His head is heavy, his limbs full of lead. He swallows around the dry thickness in his throat.

"Water," comes a familiar voice.

With effort, Lan Wangji sits up. His stomach is roiling, his mind fogged from the coma and the curse both. The doctor, crouching beside him in the carriage, offers him a bowl of water.

He takes it, and asks, "What have you done?"

She sighs.

"My duty," she says, "with the help of your brother."

She draws back the curtain at the carriage entrance, revealing a sea of black, twisted trees and gray tumbled walls.

Lan Wangji's blood freezes in his veins. He just barely stops himself from asking how they knew.

"Why," he asks instead, a much safer question.

She considers him. "Your brother said if he was wrong, he would beg forgiveness afterward. But it couldn't hurt to have an expert in resentment and curses look at you anyway."

A stab of sick embarrassment makes Lan Wangji’s stomach clench.

Has he been so obvious? Is he such a lovesick fool that anyone with eyes can see his shame?

The doctor pats his shoulder gruffly and he flinches, expecting more needles.

"Ah he's your brother, he's bound to know things you don't want him to," she says. "Come on. Out you get."

He allows her to tug him out of the carriage and onto solid ground. The air is stifling with resentment, but he is glad to be free of his bonds. Now he can look for his chance to get away.

There are six Lan disciples flanking them. He eyes them warily, wondering what they know. When the doctor pulls him out of earshot, and pitches her voice low, he is satisfied that they have not been fully informed.

"Your family and I agreed to give you a chance first," she says. "You have 24 hours to take care of this yourself. After that, I will personally tell Wei-gongzi of your brother's message. I have been assured he will not jeopardize your well-being if fully-informed."

Lan Wangji gapes at her. He does not know what he expected to happen, but it was not this...this...mercenary attempt at...forcing...

The curse has weakened him such that he cannot fly his sword. He can hardly walk in a straight line, let alone run. He has very little recourse now that everyone in his life has gone absolutely mad. His heart is racing with the adrenaline of upheaval, of fear, of impending death.

He wrenches his arm from her grasp and stalks off of the road, into the brush. She calls after him, but he does not mean to escape. He cannot manage that alone. Instead, he sits. He takes a deep breath. He sinks into meditation.

"Hanguang-jun," she calls. She approaches, hands on her hips. She sighs. "Well, if it's like that, then there's nothing stopping me from telling him right now."

She turns, and Lan Wangji feels a lurch of helplessness, when a new voice rings clear through the fog.

"Tell what to whom?"

Lan Wangji's eyes snap open. Wei Wuxian is standing on the other side of the carriage, the child A-Yuan in his arms, eyeing the Lan delegation with suspicion. Wen Ning is with him, and the Lan disciples shift nervously just looking at him, but Wei Wuxian sets A-Yuan in his arms, and he leaps away up the mountain.

"Might I assume this little party has come for me?" Wei Wuxian goes on, twirling his flute. His eyes are shrewd and cold, similar to the way they had looked when he had first returned during the war.

At the sight of him, at the sound of his voice, the curse...reacts.

A horrid, uncomfortable shiver of need runs through Lan Wangji's body alongside his own simple relief and joy at seeing Wei Wuxian again, looking relatively well. He fights it, keeping still among the weeds, hoping against hope to go unnoticed.

"Yiling Laozu," the doctor greets him with a deep bow. "We have indeed come to humbly beg your aid."

"I see," he says. "And what will you give me in return?"

The doctor hesitates, clearly discomfited by the context Wei Wuxian is currently unaware of. "We may...discuss that. Once we have informed you of the details."

Wei Wuxian hums, considering. Cold. Detached. "And if I am disinclined to—"

He breaks off. The doctor has moved so that she and Lan Wangji are both in Wei Wuxian's line of sight. Lan Wangji closes his eyes rather than see the moment of recognition, rather than feel the weight of Wei Wuxian's eyes on him, like this.

"Lan Zhan?"

Lan Wangji clamps his jaw shut. It is a struggle not simply to crawl to him.

The renewed ice in Wei Wuxian's voice when next he speaks makes Lan Wangji aware of the warmth with which he had said his name. His curls his shaking hands into fists on his knees.

"What have you done to him?"

The doctor sighs. "We have done nothing. He has been cursed, which is why we brought him here. If you—"

"Daifu," Lan Wangji interrupts, his voice thin.

She stops speaking.

Lan Wangji opens his eyes, but does not look at Wei Wuxian, not yet. If he is careful, and uses his remaining strength correctly, he can perhaps...perhaps guide the situation. Toward escape. With Wei Wuxian's help.

He may have to lie to him. He hopes he will be forgiven, all things considered.

Lan Wangji stands slowly, carefully, considering each movement so as not to reveal the state he is in.

"I will speak with him," he says to the doctor.

She eyes him. "24 hours," she says.

He does not acknowledge this. He thinks they both know it will not come to that, though his idea differs greatly from hers. He judges, from the time they have allotted and his own weakness, that he has perhaps a day and a half, total, to wait them out. Doable, if he is careful and intelligent about it.

He can manage.

He walks over to Wei Wuxian, careful to keep two arm's lengths between them. This close is already too close: a fine, constant tremor has made a home in all of his tightly-locked muscles. He feels the moment his fever begins to rise further. The sides of his throat hurt, the interiors of his ears. He wonders if his hearing will go first, or his eyes.

"Allow me to explain," he says to him.

"Of course," Wei Wuxian answers.

He sounds strange. Cold, still. Lan Wangji wants to look at him, and almost slips, but manages to stop himself. He follows him up the hill, past the wards, through the resentment that clings to them both, now. He keeps his careful distance, following behind.

"What happened?" Wei Wuxian asks, as they walk.

"A curse," Lan Wangji says carefully. "Origin unknown. The rebound has been cast. I did not wish to burden you with this, but they are...they will not listen to reason. Wei Ying, if you would but help me, I would deal with this on my own."

"Oh?"

"I...wish to seek justice. They will not allow it. But you understand. If there is another path off the mountain, if you would show me the way past them, I could—"

Wei Wuxian stops dead, and Lan Wangji, with his eyes in the ground, runs into him.

For a blazing, agonizing moment, he is touching Wei Wuxian, clinging to him, every element in his body sighing and crying out at once in satisfaction, in the torturous need for more.

He tears himself away, stumbling back, almost falling. Wei Wuxian reaches out as if to catch him, but falters.

"Lan Zhan, you can hardly stand," he says, alarmed, "and you want to go and fight someone?"

Lan Wangji draws himself up taller again, trying hard to stop his shaking. He cannot look at him. He cannot look. He is already dying, now, just from not looking. "It is my right."

"...It is..." Wei Wuxian says at length, watching him closely. "And it still will be once you're well again. Your doctors really couldn't tell what type of curse it is?"

Lan Wangji says nothing, trying to think past the way every inch of his skin feels as if it is burning clean off. The pain of it screams through him, worse than anything he has ever felt. Wei Wuxian is still speaking, but it is hard to make sense of it. When Wei Wuxian begins walking again, slowly, it is all he can do to both follow and stay away from him. This, here, now, is worse than death. If it lasts, he certainly will not be sane when the end finally comes. He lets go of any thoughts of a dignified death.

Fortunately, by the time they reach the cool dark of the cave Wei Wuxian calls home, the pain has subsided to a distant roar. Unfortunately, he hoped never to reach this point. He tries his only play again, unable to think of any new tactic.

"Please show me the way off the mountain," he says without preamble.

Wei Wuxian is quiet for a beat. "You really don't want my help that much?"

Lan Wangji is so confused by this question, and then struck by the irony of it, that he almost begins to laugh. A shivery, jittery feeling fills his chest, and he leans against the nearest solid surface. He wishes he were wearing a loose outer layer over his blue travel robes, the better to hide his shaking. He does not know how to respond.

"You haven't so much as looked at me once since you got here," Wei Wuxian goes on, digging through strange pots and objects on a table, "so I get it. But you'll have to forgive me if I disregard your objection to the kind of work I do, when it comes to your life."

"My life, my life," Lan Wangji mocks, accidentally out loud. Why is everyone suddenly so obsessed with his life? He was ready to give it freely in the war, but chance let him keep it. What difference does giving it now in the name of keeping himself clean of shame make? Why will nobody allow him this choice?

"What shame?" Wei Wuxian asks.

Lan Wangji buckles at the realization that he has said all of this out loud. He goes to the floor, to his knees.

"Nothing," he says. "The shame of not having warded off such a simple attack."

"Lan Zhan...you want to die because you didn't defend against a curse you didn't know was coming?"

Lan Wangji lapses into silence. He has said too much already. He does not know how to get out of this. He can only...he can only stay quiet. Refuse to speak or move.

"Lan Zhan...I feel like I'm missing something here. I only want to help.”

Lan Wangji grits his teeth and stares hard at the floor in front of him. He has rarely ever felt so trapped, so utterly helpless. The extended, full-body pain is dulling his mind by the moment. The hems of Wei Wuxian's robes come into view, and it takes everything in him not to fall forward into him, to plead, to beg. His breath is hitching at random intervals now, his heart tripping as it prepares to fail entirely.

There is a soft gust of air, and an odd prickling sensation across his face.

"Now let's see—oh," Wei Wuxian says. "I...oh."

Lan Wangji wilts at his stilted, awkward tone. He knows now, surely. Can see him truly.

"So that's why you want to leave, and why they won't let you. They want me to find another way to break it, to stop you from...ah."

Lan Wangji sorts through the words, trying to comprehend them.

"Sorry," Wei Wuxian goes on. "I...it's unbreakable, otherwise. A very old, airtight spell. You...will Gusu Lan start a war with me if I do just let you go...ah, handle this the old-fashioned way?"

Comprehension dawns. And with it, a way out.

Lan Wangji rushes to agree. "They—" He cuts off. Will they? If they think Wei Wuxian has willingly let him die, rather than...

He takes a breath. Another. Forces his mind past the endless litany of pleas for relief.

"Show me the way " he says, his words breathless and short, "and then tell Lan-daifu what you have done. And why. But give me time to. Get away. And you will be safe."

Wei Wuxian pauses. "How...ah. How far—how much time?"

Lan Wangji tries hard to come up with an answer for that. His progress will be slow. But he need only find a place to hide.

"Half a day," he hazards.

Wei Wuxian seems to vacillate. "Are you sure you can make it on your own?"

Lan Wangji wants to rage. To weep. To curse himself to the heavens for being so depraved toward so endlessly kind a man. His heart hurts, even as his body strains toward him.

This lie may be the worst he will ever tell.

"I will be fine,” he says.

"Alright." Wei Wuxian sounds unconvinced. "I trust you."

Lan Wangji nearly convulses, holding back a sob. How will he ever be forgiven?

He cannot think of it. Only this, only what comes next. Only keeping Wei Wuxian safe from this mess.

"Lan Zhan?"

"Mn," he manages.

"Would you look at me, now? I haven't...used any demonic cultivation on you. It's safe, I promise I won't. I just. Can't we say goodbye properly?"

Lan Wangji has not moved from the floor. He does not move. He should try. A parting gift. Just one look.

But if he is going to leave. If he is going to succeed. He cannot.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says again, frustrated now.

Lan Wangji does not look. He is so close to freedom from the horrible pull, from the way his very veins are trying to tear themselves free to wrap around Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian steps forward, and Lan Wangji's breath leaves him all at once. Suddenly, there are fingers beneath his jaw, kind but firm, tilting his chin up. He has no choice but to look.

(Inspired by this art.)

Wei Wuxian is there. Tall and strong and perfect, tiredness mixed with something bittersweet on his lovely face. Lan Wangji's entire being melts toward him, a deep, sharp tug from inside his bones, a mindless, helpless, straining need that pushes a low, wanting sound from his throat.

Wei Wuxian snatches his hand away and backs up half a step, staring at him.

"Sorry," he says, blank. Confused. "I thought it was...I didn't realize...sorry."

Lan Wangji, now that he has looked, cannot look away. He has overbalanced without Wei Wuxian's support, fallen forward onto his hands, but he cannot stop looking at him. He will look at him, and keep looking; he prays Wei Wuxian is the last thing he sees before he dies.

The most shameful part of this is that none of it is the curse twisting his thoughts. None of this is. All the curse is doing is making the way he always feels impossible to ignore.

"Wei Ying," his voice implores. He does not mean it to.

Wei Wuxian takes another step back and looks down at the bowl of powder in his hand, confused. "I was certain it was that curse," he says to himself. "If I was wrong, then maybe I could break it..."

Lan Wangji tries to scrape his composure back together. He tries. He tries. His fingers scrape on the rough stone floor. He does not reach out for him. That is something.

Wei Wuxian looks at him again, then hastily away. Lan Wangji does not ever want to know what it is he sees.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says, as Lan Wangji shakes, and shakes. "Where...where were you trying to go? I thought you...I thought you were, ah, thinking of a certain someone."

Lan Wangji's arms are weak. They are going to give out. He cannot answer him.

"I'm confused, and I...may have made a mistake," Wei Wuxian goes on, still backing away slowly, "but I just want to help. Can you tell me what was happening before, and what's happening now?"

Lan Wangji shakes his head, and the motion shatters his fragile balance. He falls, and curls tightly around himself in the dirt.

"Lan Zhan!" Wei Wuxian says, suddenly close.

Lan Wangji sees his hand reach out, then pause, and he can't stop himself from taking hold of it, just to be touching him. His body screams for it, and he gasps raggedly at the contact.

Wei Wuxian wrenches his arm free. Lan Wangji wishes he were dead.

"Fuck," Wei Wuxian mutters to himself. "I...I'm sorry. I made this so much worse, I..."

"No," Lan Wangji rasps. He cannot hear Wei Wuxian berate himself thus. His dignity has now died, and he himself will soon follow. This is all that matters. "Not your fault."

Wei Wuxian huffs, crouching beside him. "It is...at least partially my fault, at this point, I'm pretty sure. You wouldn't be...reacting. Like this. If it weren't. Is...can I...do a few more tests? To check what I got wrong, and maybe—"

"You were not wrong."

He does not mean to say it.

His need to reassure has overridden his sense, and his mind is too slow now to piece together what it will mean before it leaves his mouth. The regret once it does is instantaneous. He tries to curl himself yet smaller in the dirt.

Wei Wuxian is silent. Lan Wangji cannot stop making small, pitiful, pained sounds in the back of his throat. Everything hurts. Everything.

"I don't understand," Wei Wuxian says quietly.

Lan Wangji lies shivering on the floor, arms locked around himself to prevent any more untoward behavior. He cannot take it back. He cannot try to explain. There is nothing he could say, regardless.

"Lan Zhan...but you..."

He can hear Wei Wuxian thinking, but it only registers in the far back of his mind. The rest of his consciousness is taken up by pain, and by ruthless restraint.

"You wanted to leave to get away from me," Wei Wuxian says, finally.

Lan Wangji does not answer. He wishes he had his sword. He would use it now to end this.

Wei Wuxian begins to back away again, and Lan Wangji’s body moves without his permission. He grips the skirt of Wei Wuxian’s robes in his fist and drags himself closer, pressing his cheek to Wei Wuxian's knee.

Shameful. Wanton. The small part of himself that is still aware berates the action. But he cannot let go. He cannot move away. The only part of him that is not howling with pain is the side of his face pressed to coarse fabric.

"Lan Zhan, you…," Wei Wuxian is trying to gently pry Lan Wangji's fingers from his hem. "You wanted to leave, remember? You don't want...you don't."

"Want," Lan Wangji croaks, pressing closer. "Wanted to spare you."

"Ah, Lan Zhan...I...I'm still not sure it's that specific curse, it could...there could be other..."

"It is," Lan Wangji says, half-crawling up Wei Wuxian's leg. He wants to stop himself. It is impossible.

"Lan Zhan...you...you shouldn't—"

"Stop me," Lan Wangji pleads, nuzzling against Wei Wuxian's thigh, "Wei Ying, I can't...please. Stop me."

There is a long near-silence filled with harsh breaths, in which Lan Wangji is almost certain he imagines the light touch of fingers brushing his mussed hair back from his forehead. Then Wei Wuxian speaks.

"No," he says. "You'll die, if I do. Lan Zhan. I won't let that happen."

He touches Lan Wangji's face. Lan Wangji whimpers into him.

He knows this will break the fragile repairs they have made to their friendship. He will likely never see him again, at least not on good terms. The thought makes him feel ill. He should protest. Refuse. Flee. He can do exactly none of these things. He reaches for Wei Wuxian's wrist, to hold his hand to his face, but Wei Wuxian flinches away.

"You can't...Lan Zhan. I'm going to help you," he says, "but you have to...you can't...you can't touch me."

Lan Wangji feels another tight clench of shame. He nods against his leg. He understands: he knows any small part of this is too much to ask, let alone bearing his unwelcome, curse-fevered grasping.

"Okay," says Wei Wuxian. He slides his fingers beneath Lan Wangji’s chin again, tipping his face up.

He looks so uncertain. So beautiful in the dim light. Lan Wangji wants to weep with it.

"Lan Zhan, I know it doesn't count for much like this, but you have to tell me. You have to tell me what you need."

Lan Wangji turns his head, pressing his face between Wei Wuxian's thigh and stomach, trying to reach into him, to feel more of him, to stop hurting just enough to think. It does not work.

"You," he breathes, into the scent of earth, and stringent soap, and Wei Wuxian.

A harsh, uneven breath ghosts across his hair, and Wei Wuxian's hands grip his shoulders. He thinks he is about to be pushed away again, but instead Wei Wuxian pulls him up, pulls him close, folds him into his embrace.

Lan Wangji sobs into his shoulder, trying at once to get closer and to hold himself apart, instinct demanding, even now, that he try to conceal his obvious, disgraceful hardness. His muscles quake under the strain of doing both and neither, and Wei Wuxian smooths one hand down his back, pressing him close, pressing them flush. Lan Wangji chokes back a shocked sound.

"Shh," Wei Wuxian soothes. "It's alright."

It is not alright. It is the end of the thing Lan Wangji holds most dear.

But he does not have it in him to argue. He is shifting against him, his overheated body begging for touch, indeed for ravishment. He is mindless with it. The pain is not subsiding but slipping sideways into something more, something different, something necessary.

He is on his knees on hard stone, breathlessly held in the arms of his beloved. He has dreamt this: sweetly, hazily, with and without hope. But never like this. Never sick with remorse, with need, dying and demanding and defiling. His deepest desire twisted into a nightmare.

He whimpers again, his lips finding the soft coolness of Wei Wuxian's throat. Wei Wuxian jerks away again, and Lan Wangji fists his hands tighter at his sides, trying, trying not to overstep again.

"I—sorry," he gasps out. He will never be able to apologize enough. But he will try.

"Don't apologize," says Wei Wuxian. "I—"

He cuts himself off. Lan Wangji does not have enough sense to wonder why. In the same moment, one of his thighs gives under the strain, and he falls against him heavily. They tip over, to the floor, and he reaches out on instinct to brace them both. When he is again conscious of himself, Wei Wuxian is lying on top of him, breathing hard, both of Lan Wangji's wrists pinned to the floor in one hand. Lan Wangji arches against him inadvertently, and turns his face into his own bicep.

"Sorry, I...so sorry," he pants, his hips flexing, searching for friction. "I have...no control...”

"I know," Wei Wuxian says, "I know, I shouldn't have..." he swallows hard. "I'm going to keep you like this. Can I?"

Lan Wangji nods frantically, his eyes shut tight. He does not care. Anything that he can do to make this any less invasive for Wei Wuxian, he will do.

Wei Wuxian pulls away then, his hold still firm on Lan Wangji's wrists. Lan Wangji squeezes his eyes shut and tries to stop moving, to stop searching for touch, to stop making such a disgusting spectacle of himself, but to no avail. What feels like centuries later, he hears the telltale sounds of talisman activation. He is too far gone in his pain to look up, to see what they are. He simply lies there, pinned and writhing, his breath catching in his throat. The sounds it makes are small, pitiful, desperate.

Just like him.

Eventually, Wei Wuxian leans back over him, a considering look in his eye. His hand hovers at Lan Wangjis belt.

"I—should I..."

"Yes," pleads Lan Wangji.

He needs Wei Wuxian's skin on his skin. He does not know how discerning the curse is about what happens now, but it feels as if he will die without it. Wei Wuxian takes what looks like a fortifying breath and unties the belt. Lan Wangji, unable to help, instead hinders the process with his ceaseless movement. But Wei Wuxian manages it with deft hands, and immediately unties each layer of robes in quick succession until Lan Wangji’s chest and stomach are bare.

The cool air of the cave does not soothe his burning. It burns like ice instead. Lan Wangji shivers, an ugly whine escaping him.

"What," Wei Wuxian asks, pausing, "what is it?"

Lan Wangji shakes his head. He will bear it. He will not make demands.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says, "you need to talk to me, I...I don't want to make this even worse, or, or draw it out longer."

Something small and dark crumples in Lan Wangji's chest. He does not want that either. He will need to speak. To ask.

"Hurts," he says, rough and thick.

"Where?"

"...Not...not touching me."

Wei Wuxian makes a distressed noise and lays both his palms flat over Lan Wangji's ribs. Lan Wangji groans, pressing up into them.

"Please," he whispers, helpless. "Please."

"Oh, Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian murmurs, something sad like regret. He leans closer and slides one hand down. Lan Wangji shudders under him. "I'm just going to..."

Lan Wangji nods again, holding his breath to stop the whines from escaping the back of his throat.

Wei Wuxian unties Lan Wangji's trousers and slips his hand inside. Clever fingers wrap hesitantly around him, and he bucks up into them with an obscene moan. It is minor relief from the most consuming pain he has ever felt, and it is simultaneously the most intense pleasure he has ever experienced. All of these sensations, coexisting in his fallible human body, feel likely to rip him apart.

"Wei Ying," he moans again, when Wei Wuxian moves his hand.

He gasps for air, his body twisting into it, his whole being searching for Wei Wuxian. He makes another piteous sound, the torment of it all overwhelming. Wei Wuxian leans down against him then, his own robes open, pressing them skin to skin.

Lan Wangji sobs. It is something. It is something. The pain abates somewhat, and he sighs, turning toward him, his mouth brushing Wei Wuxian's hair. He has the wherewithal now to fight the urge to kiss his head properly, his face, anything he can reach. He holds himself still beneath him instead. And Wei Wuxian touches him, and touches him. The incomprehensible pleasure builds, and builds, until Lan Wangji cannot breathe. But it does not break.

Something almost like soft lips brushes his throat.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says into his ear, "this, is this...will this be enough?"

The pleasure is just another kind of pain, now. Lan Wangji shakes his head as sweat rolls off of him, as he tries and fails to get enough air to speak.

Wei Wuxian clears his throat. "What, then?"

Lan Wangji's body knows what it needs. But he does not want to tell.

"Come on, Lan Zhan, after all this? Don't get shy on me now."

He misses the joking tone he is aiming for, but the pure, unmistakable Wei Wuxian-ness of the tease sends a surge of genuine desire through Lan Wangji. He wraps his legs around Wei Wuxian's hips and pulls him down. Wei Wuxian breathes in sharply.

"You just...you want...but only..."

"Please," says Lan Wangji, barely voiced. "In—" he cannot say it. "Please."

"Ah," Wei Wuxian whispers, into his skin. "If—are you sure?"

Lan Wangji whines. He wishes he were not so very sure. He wishes he were not asking Wei Wuxian to do something so intimate, so extreme. He wishes Wei Wuxian had let him die before it ever came to this.

"Alright Lan Zhan, just hold—hold on," he says, and is gone.

Lan Wangji clamps his mouth shut on a scream as the agony slams back into him, worse even than before.

Not soon enough, Wei Wuxian returns to divest him of his boots, socks and trousers. Lan Wangji fights him without meaning to, trying to keep his knees curled up to his chest, trying to minimize the hurt. Wei Wuxian is briskly patient, handling him with aching care he does not deserve.

And then he is upon him, chest and stomach, hips and thighs, smooth and hard and exquisite. Lan Wangji almost forgets the pain in the rush of gratitude, of solace. Their robes trail off them both, gathering dust as they move together in halting fits and starts.

"Don't let me hurt you, Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian grits out, a strong hand lifting one of Lan Wangji's thighs by the back of the knee.

It is nonsense. He could not hurt Lan Wangji any more than this. And Lan Wangji could not stop him now if he did.

But the kindness. Even in this. Tears prick at Lan Wangji's eyes. He will miss him. He will miss all of Wei Wuxian with all of himself. He will never stop missing him. He will never move past this regret as long as he lives. How could he? Every breath he draws will be by the grace of Wei Wuxian.

Suddenly there is slick pressure against him, against his most private of places, and he gasps, loud and wretched. Wei Wuxian exhales, uneven and deep, and pushes in, in, in. Slowly. So slowly. Lan Wangji bites down hard on his lip to keep from begging for it. His arms are pinned, as are his hips, Wei Wuxian holding him steady, holding him still. Lan Wangji loses all sense. There is only the weight of Wei Wuxian, the full, stinging press of him, the searing pain, the devastating euphoria of being this close, and yet so very far in every way that counts.

Ages pass before Wei Wuxian is fully seated inside him. By then Lan Wangji's breaths are wet and shallow; scraping, desolate things. He does not know any longer what hurts and what feels good. It is all one and the same. He only knows he needs more, in some primal, wordless way.

He asks with the arch of his back, the squeeze of his thighs. He tries, somehow, to keep quiet, but fails more often than not.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says tightly, "try to relax, I'm going to move. Tell me if it...if it's right."

Lan Wangji manages a loose nod, though he barely understands.

And Wei Wuxian moves. He rolls his hips against him, shifting inside of him, and Lan Wangji groans. Each deep, short thrust pushes air from his lungs, and he lacks the strength to catch it again. It is beyond pleasure. It is ecstatic. To have Wei Wuxian around him, inside him, panting above him. A deep, villainous part of him wants it never to end. The rest of him howls for release.

He is dripping now, steadily, onto his own stomach. He can feel it pooling on his belly, unpleasantly cool. He whimpers between desperate, panting breaths, beyond words.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says, breath shivering across Lan Wangji's collarbone, "I can't...can't keep this up, you feel too—" his breath catches, and he pauses. "I'm going to finish. You need to come."

Dimly, distantly, the idea that Wei Wuxian should derive pleasure from this, no matter how perfunctory, gives Lan Wangji a perverse sort of satisfaction. It snuffs out like a candle at the nebulous thought that perhaps in another world, they could have had this for real.

In this world, the fact remains that this has gone on far too long. But Lan Wangji can do nothing about it. He meets Wei Wuxian's thrusts, leans into the pleasure, tries to gain the momentum to go over the edge. He should be able to. It should be easy. He has been so hard for so long, has been given more now than in his absolute wildest and wettest of dreams, and yet he hovers, scant inches away.

Wei Wuxian loses patience, his head dropping to Lan Wangji's shoulder. He grunts softly and fists Lan Wangji's wet cock, quick and merciless. Lan Wangji cries out, shuddering violently with the extended, expansive stimulation, worked both inside and out, helplessly, utterly unmade by Wei Wuxian's touch.

And still he does not crest. He is sobbing steadily now, ugly and jagged, and Wei Wuxian kisses his shoulder, his throat, his cheek.

"Were we wrong?" He asks, breathless. "Lan Zhan please, tell—show me, I...I can't...you...I can't lose you. Lan Zhan?"

Exhausted, Lan Wangji turns his tearstained face toward him, blindly seeking. Perhaps they were all wrong. Perhaps he will die now, like this. And perhaps it is selfish of him, but having heard those words, he finds his regret to be less than it should be. Everything, everything hurts. But Wei Wuxian will miss him, too. Of course he will. They are zhiji. This, miraculously, will not erase that. It is more than he deserves. Wei Wuxian has always been more than he deserves.

Lan Wangji heaves, and writhes, and cries.

Wei Wuxian kisses him. Soft, gloriously cool lips on his.

An odd, fleeting, hollow feeling.

The dam breaks. The pain goes suddenly quiet. Roaring to fullness in its absence is the killing swell of such a long-delayed climax. It is possible that he calls Wei Wuxian's name. It is impossible to know.

The world, again, goes dark.

-----

Lan Wangji wakes to gray light and distant birdsong. A sharp edge is digging into his shoulder. He shifts, then goes still at the deep ache in his entire body.

He remembers.

"Hanguang-jun should drink this," says a brisk voice to his right.

Wen Qing sits there, watching him. His heart skips a beat and he looks down. But he is fully clothed once more.

Her smile is wry as she holds a cup out to him. Laboriously, he sits up to take it. It is bitter, but familiar. A restorative. He thanks her formally.

She shakes her head. "No need.” She turns to go.

"Wen-guniang," Lan Wangji says. She pauses. "How long has it been gone?"

She turns to stare at him. He knows she knows what he means.

"How? When?"

She looks away. "You'll have to ask him."

The pang of loss he felt upon waking with Wei Wuxian gone speaks for him. "Will he let me?"

He lies on the slab of rock that serves as Wei Wuxian's bed for too long. It is difficult to tell the passage of time in the Burial Mounds, but it seems slightly brighter than it had...before. He reasons that it could well be the next morning. He wonders if Wei Wuxian slept beside him, then tosses the thought away as gross indulgence. He wonders instead, as he has many times since his last visit, if Wei Wuxian sleeps at all.

First, his excuse to tarry is meditation. He works at it, simultaneously restoring his drained core and healing himself, until the discomfort fades from his every movement to just a specific few.

Once that is done, he has no reason to be idle. But the voice in his head, Wei Wuxian's blisteringly cold one that had called him his proper name all those months ago, keeps him in place. He hears it saying all manner of things in response to seeing him now.

"What more could you possibly want of me?" Wei Wuxian sneers in his mind. And he would be right to do so.

But Lan Wangji does not intend to ask anything of him ever again.

And there is the other thing. The fact that his robes should be uncomfortable, filthy, but they have been cleaned, dried, and arranged back onto his body properly. Comfortably. Almost as if—

He dares not imagine. But at the very least it does not speak of utter contempt.

So he rises. He follows the path Wen Qing told him of. And he does something foolish. He hopes.

After no short while of walking, he comes to a slightly darker, more silent corner of deadened forest. He rounds a bend and sees Wei Wuxian crouched a little ways off, and then hears high, lilting notes as if through water. The energies are strange here, and Wei Wuxian is speaking to with them in their own language.

Lan Wangji approaches until he sees Wei Wuxian go still. He says nothing. Wei Wuxian drops his flute from his lips.

"Are you well?" He asks without rising or turning.

"I am."

Wei Wuxian nods. "Your people are waiting for you."

It is a dismissal. Lan Wangji recognizes this. But he will impose just a little bit longer.

"Your core," he says. Wei Wuxian stands abruptly, still facing away, gripping Chenqing. "Can it be replaced?"

Wei Wuxian whirls to face him, anger and fear warring with the questions on his face.

Lan Wangji has other questions, too. But they do not matter. He is intelligent enough to piece together the cold, empty space where Wei Wuxian's core should be, the tired guilt on Wen Qing's face, and...

"Your scar," he says, dropping his gaze to the scorched earth.

He should not know of it. But he does, now, and he also owes a greater debt than he can ever repay. Wei Wuxian does not respond. How dearly Lan Wangji wants to see his expression. But he will not infringe on any more of his privacy.

The wind howls. He waits.

"You won't tell anybody," Wei Wuxian says uncertainly.

Lan Wangji stiffens. "I will not."

"Nobody told you?"

"Nobody.”

Wei Wuxian pauses, momentarily satisfied.

"You're not going to ask how? Or when?"

Lan Wangji would like to. He would like to know everything of Wei Wuxian, even his sorrow, his pain. But he is not entitled to those things. There is only one point that matters.

"Can it be replaced? Can the procedure be reversed?"

Wei Wuxian sighs. Lan Wangji can tell he does not wish to speak of this.

"So single-minded, Lan Zhan," he scolds, then shakes his head. "The chance of success would be small; the chance of finding a donor, much smaller."

But this is all Lan Wangji hoped to hear. It is enough. He goes to his knees, arms circled in front of his chest.

"Allow me," he says.

"Lan Zhan!" Wei Wuxian darts forward, trying to pull Lan Wangji up from the ground. Eventually he gives up and goes to his knees in front of him, pushing at his arms. "Lan Zhan, stop this," he says, panicked. "Don't be stupid, stop—Lan Zhan, you can't be serious."

"Please allow me," Lan Wangji repeats, eyes downcast.

"Stop this!" Wei Wuxian shouts. "It can't be done, and I wouldn't take it from you anyway!"

Lan Wangji flinches bodily. He had not considered...but yes. Everything in him is sullied. He bends at the waist, bowing further.

"Apologies for the offense," he says, then snaps his mouth shut. His voice is too obviously strained.

"Lan Zhan?" Wei Wuxian says, still alarmed.

Lan Wangji needs to leave. He has already overstayed. But he...he has not tried hard enough.

"This debt is too great to repay in one lifetime," he says. "Please inform this one of what he may do to begin."

Wei Wuxian sags, dragging one of Lan Wangji's wrists with him. "Lan Zhan, there is no debt between us."

Lan Wangji only just stops himself from glancing up. He does not understand.

"I owe you my life and more," he says. "You took great pains to save me, even as the situation proved me unworthy of it. I owe—"

"You owe me nothing," Wei Wuxian insists, shaking Lan Wangji's arm. "There were no great pains. Nobody is unworthy. Well...you aren't."

Lan Wangji opens his mouth to protest, but Wei Wuxian speaks over him.

"People have...desires, Lan Zhan. There's nothing unworthy about it."

"But you—"

"Stop," he says. He sounds so, so tired. "If you hadn't been...dying. If we—" He stops. "Just keep my secret," he says, and lets go of his wrist. "And live well."

Lan Wangji closes his eyes. The thought of going back to his home, his life, after this, had not yet occurred to him. It sinks him from his knees to the ground. How can he do this? How can he leave him this way?

"Wei Ying," he pleads. "I must...I must do something. I cannot...I..."

"Why, Lan Zhan?" Wei Wuxian asks, not unkindly. "You have responsibilities. People to protect, just like me. Live well, and count things even between us. Why not?"

Lan Wangji’s chest caves in. He does not make the sound clawing up his throat.

"You...truly, you must know why," he says. "After... you must know. I would not leave you in need. I could not."

"Ah, Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says sadly. He shuffles forward. Lan Wangji startles at the feel of fingertips on his cheek. "You're too good. But all I need is," he huffs, "political asylum for me and 40 friends? It's not your burden."

Suddenly yet slowly, like the first burst of sunrise, an idea reveals itself on the horizon of Lan Wangji’s mind. It is unorthodox. And likely unwelcome. But it is all he has.

"My uncle made a suggestion," he says. "When my affliction became known. It is true that he did not know what it would mean, but I would hold him to it. If it is not...hateful, to you."

"I don't know what you mean," Wei Wuxian says warily.

Lan Wangji steels himself. "You are perceived as the head of a sect. A proper alliance could protect your people, and Gusu Lan is in need of hands for rebuilding. The person who cast this curse upon me has given the perfect excuse, and made themselves scapegoat. If you would...I would not ask anything of you, if you agreed. It would be a marriage in name only, as you wish it."

Wei Wuxian's silence turns to spluttering. "M—Lan Zh—marriage?? What—how—"

"If the idea is odious, I will not mention it again. But as I said. My uncle suggested it. And under the circumstances, he cannot refuse."

"Your—he—Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan, look at me. Look at me, please."

Lan Wangji looks at him. His eyes are wide. Disbelieving. Concerned.

"Your uncle would qi deviate if you even hinted at such a thing," he says. "Gusu Lan is in a precarious enough position, you don't need...I have nothing to offer in return." He pats his lower stomach, empty of spiritual energy, emphatically. “Nothing. Don't be ridiculous."

"It is not ridiculous," Lan Wangji argues, certain now that he is right. "You can offer more protection for us, and we can offer legitimacy. The person who cast this curse can be seen to have forced our hands. Has—has forced our hands."

He stops himself. He should not push this. Wei Wuxian is looking at him as if he does not know him.

"You don't want to marry me, Lan Zhan."

This gives Lan Wangji pause. It is a confusing objection, to say the least. He stares, trying to comprehend. He clears his throat. Takes a breath.

"If you are under the impression..." he stops. Drops his eyes once more. "...that the...impetus of the curse. Is the whole of the way I—”

"Demonic cultivation," Wei Wuxian interrupts. "It would be unhealthy. For you. And your elders! They wouldn't let me, not if I were...attached to your sect. To you.”

A fair concern, and one Lan Wangji has been turning over in his own mind as well. "Is this your only objection?"

Wei Wuxian casts about. "Ah..."

Lan Wangji takes one last plunge. "The elders can be reasoned with, compromises can be made. I am not concerned for my health: being near you could never be harmful to me." He hears himself, then, and amends, "Though you need not. Be near me. That is not a condition."

"You would defend this?" Wei Wuxian asks, bemused.

"Defend what?"

"My cultivation path. You..."

Lan Wangji resists a sigh. "I understand the reason, now. And I believe...if you did not object. We could work toward making it safe, without stripping you of what your hard work has created."

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian says. He reaches out, then stops.

Lan Wangji stares at his hand, hovering between them. His heart is beating so hard he can feel it in his eyes, in his tongue.

"Wei Ying."

"You would let me, though?"

His tone is gently mocking. His head is cocked to the side, the edge of a smile playing across his lips. It knocks the breath from Lan Wangji's chest.

"Let you?" He asks, dazed.

"Be near you."

Lan Wangji's heart stops. It is a moment before he can respond.

"I would. Always."

Wei Wuxian takes his hand, and sighs. "You don't owe me this," he says again.

"I do," Lan Wangji counters, off-kilter. "I owe you. And I want to. I would want to, even if—"

He loosens his tight grip on Wei Wuxian's hand. He is saying too much, taking too much, being too much. He settles himself. Finds the words that matter.

"It would be a thing happily given, with no strings attached, should you wish it."

Wei Wuxian laughs strangely. "Lan Zhan, you really..." He shakes his head. "I'd marry you in an instant, you know," says.

Lan Wangji's neck hurts from the speed with which he looks up at him. Hope, warm and liquid, blooms through his limbs.

"But I can't make this decision on my own," Wei Wuxian goes on. "It's not just my life. We have to talk it over with everyone."

"Yes," Lan Wangji says, surprised, and eager now that he sees the possibility of success. Of doing something of use.

"Alright," says Wei Wuxian, a smile hidden in the corner of his mouth. "I can't promise...but it...it could work."

"It will," Lan Wangji says, certain that the strength of his conviction alone will carry them through if need be.

He feels strange and dreamlike, confused but heartened by the turn in this conversation. That Wei Wuxian can stand the sight of him, let alone wish to ally with him personally, seems too wonderful to be true. Another Wei Wuxian hallmark.

"But Lan Zhan, no more talk of strings," Wei Wuxian says.

Lan Wangji sobers and nods. It is unseemly. Of course their understanding must be a tacit one, now.

But his hand is suddenly in both of Wei Wuxian's.

"You need to stop feeling guilty," Wei Wuxian says, looking down at it. "If I were your husband...if I were. We could try all that again, but without the impending doom. We could try it again any way we like, any time—all the time—and we'd—"

"Wei Ying," Lan Wangji interrupts, strangled. His heart is in his throat. He cannot comprehend what he is hearing. His ears, his face, are on fire.

Wei Wuxian smiles down at their hands, one part shy, one part mischief. "I think we could get really good at it, if we had the chance, don't you?"

Lan Wangji stares at him. "You..."

"Mn," says Wei Wuxian, meeting his eyes.

He shines so bright, even without any core to speak of. He takes Lan Wangji's breath away.

"I take it back," Wei Wuxian says, his voice suddenly urgent. "I like strings. Mine is that if this happens, I want to be your real husband. In name, in practice, in bed, and in your heart. Because you would be, in mine."

Lan Wangji's voice sticks in his throat. He feels...he feels unreal. He does not know what to do, to say. Perhaps they never broke the curse at all and he has simply gone mad. But Wei Wuxian's fingers stroking his palm, the root-knotted dirt beneath his shins, are real. He sways, unbalanced.

Wei Wuxian reaches out. Catches him. Folds him into his arms for a second time. Lan Wangji's breath shudders out of him.

He is on his knees, breathlessly held in the arms of his beloved. He has dreamt this many ways. But never has it been so real, so full of hope. He wraps his arms around Wei Wuxian in turn, buries his face in his shoulder.

Wei Wuxian huffs. "Jiang Cheng is going to be so angry."

Lan Wangji comes back down to earth. It is true he had not thought of this. He makes to pull away. "How should—"

Wei Wuxian clutches him tighter. "I don't care," he says, "I don't care, we can manage him." He pauses, then speaks more softly. "Maybe...I could see shijie's wedding after all. Or—no. It's too soon, I—"

"Yes," says Lan Wangji. "You will. We will go together."

Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath, and lets it out into Lan Wangji's hair.

"Together," he says.

It takes several serious, and at times uncomfortable, discussions, but in the end, Gusu Lan’s Second Jade is indeed thoroughly removed from the marriage pool of the great sects. The curse caster is found and punished. And everybody else lives happily ever after.

The end.

-----

(Thank you for coming on this wildly self-indulgent journey, I hope you enjoyed it. If you’d like to read some actually nicely-polished, fleshed-out fics by me—including another sex-cursed LWJ—check out my AO3.)

#my fic #mdzsnet #the untamed fanfic #theuntameddaily #bottom lan wangji #that tag just...has to go there bc i know people actually find things through it #on tumblr??? you ask #yes my friends evidently #anyway here's...this #angst that morphs suddenly into the MOST indulgent of fix-its #does it have a consistent tone??? is it Good??? who knows. unimportant #is it not enough to simply tweet 9 thousand words in 3 days and then yeet it at your tumblr followers too #this isn't FOR a literary award....it's for melodrmatic wangxian Feels and nothing else #i hope you enjoy it!!!! <3

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niqhtlord01 · 4 years

Text

Humans are Weird: The Nightmare of the Universe

Below are transcripts from former Eternal Federation president Dokova Mince regarding humanity.

“When I was a child, my father would tell me that unless I did what he and my mother said the Packrils would get me and take me away. They were small scaly creatures with dozens of talon arms that they would grab you with and drag you away into the night.”

“At the time I didn’t understand why my father would do this to me, but in time as I grew older I came to realize his method. He told me this because he knew I would be more afraid of monsters than I would be of him, and that I would do everything I could to make sure they didn’t take me.”

“When I learned the truth I was outraged, and yet I could not deny its effectiveness. I did everything my father and mother asked of me and in return the Packrils never came storming through my windows in the dead of night. Over time I came to find it rather amusing, the notion of imaginary monsters creating such order in my chaotic life. I thought to myself “Why did I ever believe monsters were real?””

“It wasn’t until much later on in life when I became the sitting president of the Eternal Federation that not only were monsters real, they had a name.”

“That name….was human.”

“Upon first discovering humans the other great powers of the universe thought them a joke; the latest in a long line of primitives trying to reach space by strapping themselves to explosives and shooting off into the sky. I must admit that I was among those who laughed at their feeble stumbling into space as they tried to colonize their home system. It wasn’t long though that their stumbles began to turn into sprints.”

“As time passed so too did these savages, these humans come ever closer to reaching the galactic community. It took them nearly 7,000 years before they left the bounds of their world’s gravity. A mocking number for many but it was what came after that which began warning me in the very back of my mind that something was very wrong.”

“Eight of their years after they achieved space flight not only did they land on their moon but they also established their first orbiting space station. Seven years after that their first robotic explorers began traversing the outer worlds of their system, relaying countless images of red barren wastelands that enthralled the small minds of humans all across their tiny world. Within the next twenty years they established a vast and complex network of satellites for sharing information around their planet for every moment of every day. Fifty years later they were landing manned missions to other worlds and spreading out like a deadly plague.”

“These small beings, these humans, though slow to progress went through a rapid paradigm shift and began a rapid expansion of science and technology; pushing the very boundaries of their understanding farther and farther.”

“Still, the powers that were stood by and watched; yet only I saw the danger unfolding before our eyes.”

“Only I could see the monsters waking from their sleep.”

“These humans…..they were walking paradoxes of themselves.”

“They claimed to want long lives, and yet they bathe in their suns radiation for enjoyment.”

“They claimed to want peace, but their military spending far exceeded every other aspect of their society.”

“They said they were explorers cresting the ever changing tides of the cosmos, yet with every planet they touched a flag was planted and a claim staked like conquerors.”

“It wasn’t long before I was not the only one to see this rising threat, and together we decided to act.”

“Energy barriers and engine disrupters were placed around their system and any attempt to leave was halted immediately. A rotating fleet of ships to patrol the system and ensure any ship disabled would be safely returned to the nearest human world.”

“We thought by closing them off from the rest of the galaxy would ween their more confrontational traits away, that they would mature more; to give them time to understand their place in this vast and wonderful universe. At the very least it would give me peace of mind that the monsters were still far off from my doorstep.” “Instead we only drove them deeper into the pits of madness. They looked up from their worlds and saw the wonders of the universe all right; but they saw it through the iron bars we put them behind. They saw our protection as an insult, a challenge. “Why should we be denied the grandeur of the cosmos? Why must we be locked away and forgotten?” “

“The years passed and our watch began to wane as the rest of the galaxy required our attention. Our watch became lax and in time even I forgot about the humans. That was until one day I received a priority message from the patrol fleet.”

“The humans had breached the barriers, engaged the patrol fleets, and had stolen their ships. I immediately ordered replacement ships to be sent in but by then it was too late.”

“Human ships poured out of the breach in every direction. Primitive compared to our ships, yet their jump drives were effective enough to spread them in nearly every direction before we could close the breach again.”

“They spread out like rodents fleeing a sinking ship at best and a deadly plague at worst. We tracked as many down as we could, but with them fleeing in seemingly every direction many slipped through our fingers. When we did find them many years later what we found was almost too impossible to believe.”

“Somehow they hacked into our captured ships and stole our star charts. They pulled dozens of uninhabited worlds and set coordinates for them at the fastest speeds they could go. Some of these worlds could support life, and yet many more were near total death worlds floating in space.”

“On planets so cold a single second spent outside was enough to freeze you solid they had carved elaborate cavern cities of dazzling beauty.”

“On planets of nothing but scorched sands they planned massive rail systems that carried entire cities around the planet at just the right spot between the night and day sides to maintain life.”

“On countless asteroids and dead moons massive space stations clung to the rock faces housing hundreds of thousands of living beings that lived in conditions borderline unimaginable.”

“Worse yet was how humans began appearing in other civilizations across the galaxies. For all their barbarism they seemed to have a knack for merging themselves into different cultures; adopting new customs and beliefs as easily as one would breathe air. Some even rose to positions of power within these new cultures and gained followings.”

“I had the government issue demands that any humans found outside of their containment system should be handed over at once. Some of the species gladly handed them over, eager to keep us on their good side. Some bartered and negotiated for the humans, seeing them as a resource to be used. More often the other powers out right refused to hand them over. The reasons varied but the theme was that they did not see the humans as the monsters I knew them to be. It wasn’t until my own government began to question my own sanity and even began softening the rules against humanity that I knew I had lost.”

“For all my efforts, all my struggles, all my sacrifices to stem the tide of monsters at our door I was defeated by the weakness of others.”

“Now as I lay here dying in my bed I find it rather ironic that the only face I now see every day is that of my human caretaker Julie. She smiles at me every time I see her; yet I can see the dark glint behind her clear green eyes. She knows who I am and what I have done to her people, and she smiles not at me personally but at the soon to be moment when my life sheds off this mortal coil once and for all.”

“I had done everything that was ever asked of me and the monsters were still waiting at my door…..waiting to drag me away.”

#HUMANS ARE WEIRD #humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #scifi #story

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apompkwrites · 3 years

Text

love in their own way || albedo, childe, xiao, zhongli

masterlist characters: albedo, childe, xiao, zhongli genre: fluff summary: in which their s/o's aren't as forward about their emotions, but still manage to have their little tells that express their love. notes: i hope this meets the request! i had a lot of fun writing this! i just want the boys to be happy :)

albedo -

i like to think albedo is secretly clingy but doesn't allow himself to show it to anyone.

naturally, it's just because he's always holed up with his work.

when he consciously does it... it's because he's nervous.

remember the end of his quest when he's talking to himself at dragonspine?

that's why he's nervous.

anyway!!

he's not too bothered by the fact that you're more reserved.

he has a lot of work so he can't really dwell on the idea for too long.

just you being there when he's working is good enough for him :D

as we all know, this boy is very into experimentation and learning.

so trying to decipher your minuscule facial changes is actually really interesting to him!

he has a bunch of notes just on the little details he can find about you.

and since he's so observant, it doesn't take him long to realize that there are certain signs that only appear around him.

he'll notice them when he's painting you.

whenever he's waiting for results, he'll use the time to draw you <3

because he's done this, he practically has you memorized.

so imagine his surprise when he sees your expression change whenever he leaves your sight.

it takes him a while to actually be able to see this, but i'm sure it's because of timaeus and sucrose.

after all, they're around you a lot whenever albedo is busy.

they probably take a picture to show him something they did while he was gone and that's when he notices.

he doesn't even have to look at a different picture of you.

he can just tell you look different.

the little crinkle next to your eyes was gone.

your lips were more pursed than usual.

you now had a crease in between your brows you didn't have before.

the next time he sees you, he'll hold up the picture next to your face to confirm they're different.

he wants to ask why there's a "clear" difference in your appearance but he already knows why.

he'll ask you just to be sure, though--

your cheeks get a tiny tiny bit darker when you answer wholeheartedly.

it does make him chuckle when he hears that you're so smitten for him in your monotonous voice.

the picture sucrose and timaeus took isn't his favorite of you, so he ends up taking a new one when you two are both exploring dragonspine.

it's a reminder of how much you really love him <3

childe -

out of the four boys here, he's definitely (in my opinion) the most affectionate.

like, this boy will take whatever he can get to just hold you for a second.

especially if you're also from snezhnaya but came all the way to liyue to keep him company.

he's very family-oriented as we've seen, so he treasures these relationships.

now, with an unaffectionate s/o?

honestly, i don't think he'd be too upset about it.

like i said, he really treasures these familial relationships.

because of this, it's his top priority to make sure you feel comfortable in the relationship.

he won't necessarily keep his distance, but he won't be too clingy either.

he'll stand right beside you, enough to where you can almost feel his skin touching yours.

as for your expressionlessness...

it'll take him a bit to really understand how you're feeling.

it's a lot of communication because he doesn't want to mess anything up.

near the beginning of the relationship, he'd ask how you're feeling and if there's anything bothering you.

but once he finally notices the subtle differences in your face, such as a slight eyebrow raise or a tilt of the head, he'll be able to read you easier.

nothing too complex, but just enough for him to tell your emotions.

there is one subtle change that he always looks for, however.

he's realized, with the help of zhongli of course, that there is a specific characteristic that only happens when he's in your line of sight.

your lips are normally pressed in a fine line.

however, around him, the corners lift up ever-so-slightly.

the only reason he's able to see it is that he'll catch himself staring at your lips because he wants a kiss :)

once he sees that, he starts noticing your little quirks whenever you're around him.

you'll lean closer to him as you're walking through liyue harbor.

your eyes start to soften as he talks on and on about his day (and complains about scaramouche--).

he loves the idea that all of these little details about you only happen around him,

it makes him feel... important.

and loved.

even if he holds back from touching you, he'll settle for seeing your cold exterior melt around him.

xiao -

he's not too well versed in affection...

i mean, he's the vigilant yaksha that is known for being stoic just like you are.

you two are basically carbon copies of each other.

no affection and no clear expressions of love.

people (who know both you and xiao) often forget that you two are actually together.

like, they just think you two sit in silence when you're both tired of dealing with people.

they... aren't necessarily wrong.

the two of you are often found sitting at the balcony looking over liyue.

sometimes you bring him almond tofu to share :)

it's very rare for the two of you to actively show your love for each other, mainly because you both know your feelings.

although... xiao does have those moments.

it's not like he's completely oblivious to the whispers about you two.

and on the days where his karma acts up, he gets insecure.

he's... really scared that one day you'll leave just like the others.

it doesn't matter if you're a mortal or an adeptus, he's scared that one day he'll wake up and you'll be gone.

and if that ever comes, he's scared you'll pass on either doubting your feelings or his.

it doesn't help when he notices the difference in your attitude and appearance when he's around.

his first instinct is that he's doing something bad.

either you're angry or upset at his mere existence...

verr goldet's the one who has to explain why you seem different.

she's quite observant on her own, especially because you're the first person that xiao actively enjoys being around.

she'll be the one to tell him that it isn't because you're mad at him.

you have minuscule changes because that's how xiao makes you feel.

you're so soft around him and she can tell just from the small interactions she's seen of you.

for example, when you're talking to the chef downstairs, you have the same expression that xiao has when he's talking to people.

you're annoyed but you know how to handle it.

but when you're around xiao, it's like everything that bothers you disappears.

it's like you're in your own domain whenever he's around.

nothing else matters except for him.

and even if she's relying on small observations and pure intuition, she can tell that the changes are good.

your eyes that seem to look anywhere besides the person you are talking to are completely different from the ones that seem to only focus on xiao.

your normally stiff body relaxes every time you summon xiao at the balcony.

the tiny smile that graces your lips when you disappear to the top of the inn for hours on end.

verr goldet's explanation calms his heart.

his worries seem to disappear and the next time he sees you...

this is the one thing his karma can't take away. he'll be sure of it.

zhongli -

zhongli is also another person who isn't well versed in relationships.

although he isn't as inexperienced as xiao, it'll take some time for him to figure it out.

he's not someone who craves affection like it's the only thing keeping him alive.

he definitely would appreciate it but he completely understands that it isn't something you tend to give.

so instead, he'll show his love in the smaller things.

such as telling you stories, sharing tea, going out on walks, etc.

he's another person who is very observant, especially in people close to him.

his storytelling friends often ask him about your relationship with one another.

they try to bring it to his attention that you may not be as interested as he thinks you are.

of course, he'll simply laugh them off and tell them that they should listen to the person who knows you best.

he'll turn those questions into a big story and explain how they're mistaken about you.

he's never actively told anyone this, save for hu tao who tries to bug him into telling her, but he'll tell them about all of the tiny details that tell him your feelings.

when you're feeling upset, you puff out your cheeks a small bit.

when you're angry, your glare hardens at whatever is making you mad.

when you're happy, your lips part slightly.

when you're in love... well, that's a detail he'll keep for himself.

he's quick to say goodbye to his peers, practically rushing back to your shared home.

he's greeted by you as soon as he opens the door.

your stoic expressions... would be exactly the same to anyone else.

but to him, it's like you've lit up like a small puppy seeing their human parents come home after years.

you don't run up to him, but you turn to look at him and away from the book on the table.

he'll greet you with a quiet nod, pulling out the chair and sitting next to you.

he'll take the book from you, taking in your appearance for a moment.

your shoulders relax by a hair and you move your chair an inch closer to his.

you don't lean your head on his shoulder but you lean towards him as if you were about to.

it's these moments that make everything worth it to zhongli.

here, in your home and in your life, he's simply zhongli.

the man you fell in love with and allowed your reserved self to open up to.

and he would trade anything just to have these moments with you.

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crack-whore-who-fuckedup-already · 3 years

Text

The Man Needs His Cat

Bucky x fem!reader

Word count: 1,960

Warnings: mentions of animal death, fluff, Tony/Bucky interaction

Summary: Bucky and Reader stumble across a kitten in the woods and Reader is tasked with asking Tony for a huge favor.

A/N: y'all- I'm head over heels in love with catperson!Bucky

The situation had to be dealt with carefully, (Y/n) knew. She didn't want to come on too strong or he'd be quick to turn her down. Maybe a hypothetical would be the best course of action... She took a breath and pulled her shoulders back. Then, with only a second of hesitation, she entered Tony's lab.

He greeted her from his hunched over position at one of the many cluttered tables, barely sparing her a glance. In the heat of engineering, he worked on some odd piece of tech he had yet to fully present to the team. She echoed a small 'hello' back and rocked awkwardly back and forth on her feet.

Still not looking up, Tony indulged the girl with idle conversation. They spoke of their day, of current world news, of the weather. That's how he knew she wanted something. The girl would always engage him in casual conversation just before asking a favor. Tony didn't mind much, of course. If anything, he found it entertaining how intently she tried buttering him up. But today he had quite a bit of work to get done so he wanted to get this show on the road.

Putting his tools down, he looked at her pointedly with a knowing grin. "Alright kid, what's up?" He asked.

(Y/s)'s eyebrows raised in question, playing dumb. "What do you-"

"Drop the act, (Y/n)," he chuckled, and grabbed an already greasy rag off the desk next to him to wipe his hands. He stood and made his way to her, tossing the rag back on one of the several tables in the lab. "I know when you want something, so just go on. Ask." He said, his face light with a smirk.

(Y/n) flushed with warmth, embarrassed by his boldness. But she continued anyway, determined to fulfill her promise to Bucky.

The night before, she and Bucky were on their way home from the movies. It was a beautiful night out and in their comfortable silence, they found themselves on a slight detour through the woods. At some point, Bucky had pulled over off the side of the road and onto a look out.

Bucky, ever the silent communicator, simply stared at (Y/s) confused face with the softest smile on his own, before stepping out of the car. While (Y/n) scrambled to open her door, Bucky walked the couple of feet towards a barrier fence overlooking the river beneath him. His eyes followed the shine of the water as it drowned the boulders lining the river bed. He thought for a second how exciting the challenge of rock hopping sounded, never really having gotten the chance to as a child.

The call of an owl pulled his attention to the tree line which he observed with such intensity that (Y/n) nudging his arm made him tense. She flashed him a smile to calm the surprise on his face and in an instant, his arm was around her, pulling her close. They both looked out at the shadowed woods and (Y/n) was even sure to point out the moon and stars themselves.

In the silent moments that passed, they both had turned to embrace each other wholly. They stayed like that for a moment and then Bucky pressed a kiss to her forehead. Pulling back to look at his warm, loving face, she found acute concern instead. He was glancing just past her head, off into the bush leading down to the river bank.

"What's the mat-" she asked quietly, shrinking away.

Bucky pressed his fingers to his lips and hushed her quickly and gently and then slowly gestured to his ear. Listen, he was telling her.

She didn't hear anything at first. Nothing but the rush of the river below them and the gentle night breeze above them.

But then, just as she was about to ask again, she heard it. The faintest of mewling. Barely audible but definitely there.

Bucky grasped her shoulders and looked her in the eyes once more before he squeezed them tightly and moved past her. He approached the thicket and hesitated for only a second before pressing forward. The branches hurt his skin but he'd suffered worse.

(Y/n) tentatively called his name to which he responded "I've almost got it." His voice sounded distant and strained and it worried (Y/n) that she could no longer see him through the darkness, being so close to the river and all. But as long as she could hear his grunts of discomfort from the branches whacking him in the face, she remained calm enough.

Eventually, he emerged. Even in the dark, (Y/n) could see the pure white fluff sticking out between Bucky's fingers. As he approached, the fuzz ball revealed its face from its careful hiding spot in the crook of Bucky's arm and glanced around. Two dark eyes and the palest little nose swung in her direction, its whiskers twitching with cautious curiosity.

A kitten.

The poor thing was trembling but so was Bucky. Placing a hand on his forearm, she beckoned his attention and spoke low.

"What was it?"

To bide his time, he shifted the kit closer to his chest and took a deep breath. He didn't meet her eyes but he mumbled just loud enough to hear.

"A whole box of them but…." He didn't dare finish the sentence and instead held the kitten in front of his face, ignoring the unwarranted feeling of loss he felt for its siblings. Swallowing hard, he finally met the girls soft, understanding eyes and smiled sadly.

Before she could say anything, the small creature let out another indignant mewl that seemed to reassure Bucky just a bit. With that, (Y/n) moved to his side and slung her arm around his waist.

"Alpine," he mumbled.

"What's that?"

"I think I'll call him Alpine." Bucky said fondly. His eyes never left the baby and the girl knew he was in deep.

"Oooh, I know that look." She tittered. Bucky only stared, his eyebrow creased, questioning. "That's the way you look at someone you love. That's the way you look at me." She said with a blush, nudging him lightly.

His face melted into that soft loving one she cared for so dearly. The kitten settled into the warmth that embraced him as the couple kissed.

"Let's get a move on. It's getting colder and colder by the second and I'm sure this little guy agrees." The kitten mewled one last time.

With a light chuckle, they spared one last glance over the look out before returning to the car where Alpine slept peacefully in Bucky’s lap the whole way home.

The two couldn't help but discuss what they were going to do with little Alpine. Bucky was set on keeping it and had even decided to clear his schedule the next day to make a vet visit. The only issue was their living space. They weren't too sure how Tony would react to them bringing a cat in off the street. But the girl could see how much the kitten meant to Bucky already so she promised to talk to Tony in the morning.

Well, morning came and now here she was.

Tony crossed his arms impatiently. "Well?" He pressed, tilting his head up.

(Y/n) anxiously grasped her hands in front of her and leaned forward a bit. "What would you say to the idea of us getting a pet?" She stared openly at his face as he stared back at hers. The question bounced around in Tony's head, leaving his eyebrow slightly creased and the room painfully quiet. (Y/s)' nervously raised eyebrow gave him a clue into the situation.

"Right….and who exactly is this 'us' you're referring to? Cause something tells me I'm actually being iced out of this decision." Before she could even get a full breath in, he continued on. "All right, what are we working with, huh? A rabbit? A goldfish? If it's a parakeet, it won't even get past the front door, so help me god."

The girl shook her head as she let out a laugh. She could tell he wasn't overly fond of the idea. It was clear by the way his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. But judging by the way his voice didn't fall completely flat, he wasn't opposed to it either….not entirely, anyway.

"No, no. Not quite. It's a cat. A kitten, actually, so there's still time to train it and all," She reassured him. "And Bucky should be getting home any minute from the vet with him if you'd like to say hello."

Tony caught himself before he let his expression drop at the name of the elusive ex soldier. He'd gotten better at watching himself since the two of them moved in. Bucky and (Y/n) weren't together when they did, but being only a few steps down the hallway certainly allowed them a closer relationship.

Tony nodded his head reluctantly and dropped his arms to his sides.

He followed the girl down the various halls as she recounted how they found the poor kit, and found themselves approaching the common room. Or the family room, as (Y/n) preferred to call it, while simultaneously prattling on about how much time and energy the team wastes pretending to hate each other. Huh.

They could hear the tinkling of a bell being wacked around from down the hallway. As they entered the room, they stopped in the archway and took in the sight before them.

Bucky sat crisscrossed with his back to them. In his hand was a feather wand, standing out bright purple, blue, and white against the dark brown floor. In front of him, white fluff darted back and forth. There was the smallest sound of tearing as its tiny claws ripped against the carpet, no doubt leaving it frayed.

Tony tried his very best to suppress his dissatisfied grumble...

They watched for a bit as Bucky went back and forth with the kitten. Tony didn't have to look hard at all to see how much the ex soldier cared for the tiny thing. No only because of his undivided attention towards the cat but also because of the many beige bags labeled "PetsPlus+" full of toys, treats and towers scattered around the sofas.

He thought it might be good for Bucky to have another companion around. Maybe it would help him relax. Maybe even lighten up a bit.

Tony stepped forward.

"So, uh, I'm not a big fan of funky smells so that's got to be top priority as far as pest control goes with this thing, alright?"

Bucky jumped to his feet and Alpine followed suit, hackles raised. Bucky quickly scooped him up and held him close. "Of course." (Y/n) made her way over to them. "Our rooms are big enough to keep him there most of the time and we have already worked out all the responsibilities between us. We've got it covered."

Tony stepped back a bit looking them up and down, humming. "I expect weekly visits in the family room," he said pointedly, then waved his hand. "Keep it tidy, folks." And with that he left the couple to their new fascination.

Tony lingered at the doorway on the way out. While the couple was distracted, he found himself watching that wretched arm. The dark, intimidating metal turned soft and gentle as it reached out fearlessly to antagonize the tiniest, weakest thing in the room. No hesitation, no fear. Not in Bucky or the kitten. Tony knew then that it stayed, no question.

The man needed his cat. And damn it, he'll get it.

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lululawrence · 3 years

Note

Can u please be nicer on ao3? Maybe you should try answering people's comments

when i read the first line i was honestly flabbergasted and wracking my brain trying to figure out when in the world i wasn't nice on ao3 ever. because i honestly truly try to be nice to everyone always, even when i'm angry or frustrated or people are going after those i love and want to protect. if there was a time i WASN'T nice on ao3, i wondered if it was maybe because my comment had been misunderstood or someone saw me razzing an author i'm good friends with and they didn't get that we are close and i said what i did with so much love and appreciation, you know? like what??? did i do???

but then i read your second line. and please forgive me if i come off as rude in my response to this, because honestly i'm in a pretty bad spot mentally and emotionally in general right now, but PARTICULARLY today, and this ask triggered an anxiety response in me. so. i'm trying really hard to word this in a way to educate without being condescending or mean, but i might not succeed.

firstly, thank you for your comments i'm assuming you've left. i'm also assuming they were nice comments, in which case extra thanks. i'm sure i'll send you effusive responses on ao3 when the time comes.

secondly, please understand that sending an ask like this, on anonymous no less, is incredibly entitled. writing is not my profession, i receive no compensation for my works that i post for free online, and as a part of that it is not required of me to respond. i do my very best to reply to every comment i receive, but it is not always in a timely manner, because i have other priorities in my life. all of which leads us to my third point, which is:

writers do not owe you a reply to your comments. end of. there are no other qualifications or quantifying modifiers to be added to the statement. is it nice to be acknowledged and know your comment was seen? sure. but do they OWE you one? hell no.

in fact, i'd like to offer you a suggestion. a way of tweaking your thinking about the comments you leave on fics. instead of looking at comments you leave as being something that deserves a reply from the author, think of your comments as your way of paying the author for the gift of their time and talents that they have shared with you by posting their fic. that's how i think of the comments i leave for authors. i'm giving them my thanks for the words they've shared! i want to help THEM feel as amazing as they have made ME feel when i read their fic. in fact, my hope isn't necessarily a response from them, but instead my hope is THE GIFT OF THEM SHARING MORE FIC WITH ME. i'm a selfish bitch in that way and i always want all the fic to read. i never want that well to go dry. one way i can ensure that doesn't happen is by supporting authors and being kind to them and spreading all the love and excitement i can about their writing in the hopes that my words will inspire them to share more.

because whether they reply or not, i GUARANTEE they are seeing your comments. i PROMISE they are. and for all you know, your comment might be the one that keeps them writing even when their words aren't coming easily or when they are tempted to give up.

but, again, please remember that no matter what, these authors (including me) don't actually owe you anything.

the rest of this is going under a cut, because honestly my reply is already far too long and i have a LOT more to say now that you've gotten me started.

now, all of this in mind, i'll explain to you why i'm not great with keeping up with comments made on my fics the last couple of years. i don't owe you this explanation any more than i owe you a response to your comments, and i'm honestly not sure you deserve this explanation either, but i'll still offer it anyway. it'll help me feel better knowing i at least put this out there, whether you care or not, mainly because if i don't do that it will cause me greater anxiety having you possibly think i am not responding to people because i feel all high and mighty or that i think i'm better than the comments or whatever the fuck kind of motivation you're attributing to me to see my lack of a response as something "not nice" towards the commenters.

i'm not sure if you've noticed, but i put out a lot of fic. like a lot. a lot of words and shit. i love writing, it's often my therapy and a way for me to help keep my anxiety and depression and ptsd at bay.

now, more personal shit for you, i've got three kids ages 9 and under. the oldest has adhd which we have yet to find a med for that helps to the extent she needs without side effects that aren't healthy for her to continue with, she also has anxiety, AND she's extremely gifted and starting a new program at a new school, all in the midst of a pandemic. and all of those situations exacerbate her anxiety! huzzah! she's also dealing with the beginning of her tween growing up shit, which is great fun because it means where she used to be pretty damn understanding of her younger brother, she is finding it much more difficult to. because the second oldest? he's autistic with some pretty significant gross motor, speech, and socialization delays that have only been exacerbated because of the previously mentioned pandemic. PLUS he transitioned from his special needs preschool to a fully integrated elementary school for kindergarten last year and then had to deal with all the ups and downs of the switch from e-learning to hybrid to all in schooling when everything in him screams for a normal schedule he can rely on to keep his own anxieties and fears and struggles at their minimum. and that youngest child? he was born in january of last year. he STILL barely leaves the house and has only met other children in close range a couple of times because, once again, pandemic!

add onto all of this my own mental health issues, the fact that my husband ALSO battles major clinical depression, adhd, and anxiety, AND we live with my parents who have their own health issues, both mental and physical. i run the home for our house of seven. i keep this place functioning, fed, clothed, clean, and everywhere we need to be for all of our five million appointments every. fucking. day. there is a REASON i've been borderline burnt out for the last fucking year and a half.

now, for fun, i have fandom shit. i love it here, even if it is a dumpster fire on the best of days, and getting to be a part of the writing community is so very lovely. i adore it. honestly, it's because of those friendships i've built with other writers that i have been able to keep writing and have found just how helpful it can be for my mental health. but i'm REALLY. INCREDIBLY. BUSY. i hardly have time to get on tumblr for just a quick swipe through my dash most days. i put off asks so long i forget i have them. i don't have the mental and emotional capacity to talk to people on here or interact fully a lot of the time. but i do my best to do so and be kind while i'm at it even when i don't want to be.

then, on top of that? i also run fic fests like @wordplayfics and help friends run their own. because not only am i a writer, i'm a reader. i LOVE fic. fic has saved me soooooo many times over the past seven years that i've been here. i want to do what i can to support other writers the best way i can, which is to provide a space for them to create their works that welcomes and helps promote them, but also by doing my monthly fic lists and pocast highlighting what i've been able to read, reblogging their fic posts, and then commenting and kudosing their fics too.

sometimes i get really fucking down on myself because i'm so behind on replying to comments, but my brain is very much a "if you start this, you have to finish it" kind of a brain, and i feel even WORSE sometimes if i reply to comments on some fics and not all of them. but i do my best and reply when i can. i was actually really fucking proud of myself because i had a couple days to myself in june, and i spent hours replying to comments on 20 of my fics. when you have almost 150 fics (i think? i don't even know how many fics i've posted by now), that is only scratching the surface. but i tried and i was so so happy i did that many fics at once. it's exhausting, though, and takes a lot of spoons for me to reply to them in mass like that plus time consuming. so i tried to be happy with those 20 fics and the comments i responded to there and told myself that when i ha a moment to breathe, i'd go and work on replying to some more.

but see, that again causes anxiety and guilt. because i haven't replied to all of them. and that anxiety and guilt can cause me to put it off further OR to put off important things like feeding my children or getting sleep in order to finish it, so i have to make myself put things into perspective and ensure i'm doing the important things, like taking care of myself and my family, first.

and then, i have a moment where i CAN go ahead and reply to comments... but i also have MANY fics that are on deadline and i actually have a schedule. a SCHEDULE. for when i'm going to focus on which fics. i can spell it out for you if you really want. i made it back in APRIL to make sure i didn't sign up for too many fic fests because there are so many going on right now that i want to participate in, but i know i can't do all of them so i had to pick and choose. and when you are SO overscheduled and busy that back in APRIL you had to figure out what fics you would focus on at what time to ensure you got everything written when you wanted to through THE END OF THE YEAR, more choices have to be made.

for example. my writing time and time for myself came down to only one evening a week for ALL fandom things i'm doing and a part of right now once the kids were out of school for the summer. it quickly became apparent that for my own self care i needed more time, so i worked with my husband to find two other days i could carve out at least 30-60 minutes to myself to write every week. and i did. but if i'm already only getting that much time and have committed to those fics and fests and things that you're running etc, you have to choose am i going to use this time to try to squeeze in some comment replies? or am i going to write? and i choose to write. simple as that.

so yeah. see it as selfish if you want. see it as mean. you can honestly see it as whatever the fuck you want, but for me? i know that as soon as i possibly can and i can breathe freely for once and not feel like i am constantly drowning in my day to day life and am doing pretty well when it comes to my fic deadlines and getting started on those christmas cards i'm once again going to be making by hand for everyone on tumblr who chooses to sign up for one this year out of the KINDNESS of my heart and the love i really do feel for so many of you, then i promise i'll be on ao3 catching up and commenting. my friends laugh and make fun of me for it sometimes, because they will sometimes get 10-12 replies to their comments in a single day. they know that's how i work. i WILL reply to every single comment i get, no matter how old it is. but for the love of all that is holy, do NOT add to the anxiety and guilt i already feel over it. the only place that will get you is the ask/comment getting deleted if it's a good day, a fucking long rant like this one if it's not, and a block if it's a REALLY bad day.

if you're asking me to be nice on ao3, then i ask in return that you also be nice by not demanding things of people that they are not in any way obligated to give.

#long post #rant #i almost deleted this #but you sent it on just the right day and instead i let loose #this is unedited and unbetaed lmao but ENJOY #or don't #whatever #writing stuff #i should tag it #writing SHIT #but that's not really a tag i keep cause who wants to keep track of the negatives #not me

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whirlybirbs · 4 years

Text

✶ ——— MENDING ; d.d.

summary: something has unsettled din. you set to find out what. affections brew. * set post!chapter 11. contains spoilers! *

pairing: din djarin x gender nuetral!reader

word count: 1.8k of pure pining ‘n’ identity crises !

a/n: it’s another notes app fic, baby! the gif above is from this set by the lovely @thewaythisis! anyways, din can plow me like a field of wheat under the harvest moon whew (panting spongebob meme)

something is bothering him.

it would be a lie to say that din djarin was quiet soul — plainly put, he wasn’t.

he was, if anything, a purposeful and succinct soul who knew how to measure the weight of words when they were spoken. with all the little bell-like tinkers that came from his every step — beskar on beskar — quiet was not a fitting adjective to match that of din djarin. no. he was strong. sturdy. a chant of mando’a in the afternoon sun. intimidating.

something is definitely bothering him.

the ship is a wreck — you’re sure that alone is enough to strike a sore nerve with the mandalorian piloting the vessel. so, as he plots course for the little planet on the edge of nowhere that the striking bo-katan spoke of, you make work on what you can. reinforcing some structural plating, running diagnostics on the fuel-lining that runs beneath the floor plates, and welding the paneling the mon calamari engineer installed to cover the gaping hole in the side of the ship occupies you for a long while.

just the bright flicker of flame and your thoughts.

din hasn’t uttered a word since entering the ship.

you hope, at the very least, he’s taken the time to eat something away from your prying eyes.

the welding torch is hot in your gloved hands when you hear footsteps coming down the ladder into the swaying belly of the razor crest. you knew it was the wing equilibrium counter-weights the moment you took off. not much you can do about it from the inside.

the good news is that the rocking put the child right to sleep.

you pull your goggles down and watch as din djarin carefully carries the little woolen bundle to the hanging hammock within the small cot compartment. he’s exceedingly gentle, incredibly careful. once the child is inside, din dims the lights and closes the door.

you work your gloves off.

he sighs.

again, you can’t help but be struck with worry. the sort that nibbles on your heartstrings just enough to wring a flinch out of you.

“have you eaten?” he asks. his voice is even, almost cold.

you shake your head.

his helmet glints in the overhead light as he juts his chin to the cockpit; wordlessly, you stand and follow — swallows whole by his bulky shadow that looms over you as you hike yourself up the ladder.

din has done some mending of his own, it seems. the netting and twine that was keeping the dash steady had been removed. you can see the tedious, small welding marks from his own tool kit along the seams. you make a mental note to go over it later. in the corner, there’s a pile of the mess.

you land into the passenger’s seat with a huff.

the tube of protein paste that din offers you from his stash beneath the razor crest’s controls has you frowning. but, it’s bantha flavored. better than nothing. if you close your eyes, you can almost imagine it being a piece of steak.

almost.

if a steak was cold, pureed, and poured into a jerky-shaped tube.

din is quiet when swings in his chair, turning to nearly face you. he stretches, straightening his back out, then he crosses his arms. his boots plant themselves on the floor. his stance is wide. his posture is sagging.

you swallow your meal.

“did you eat?” your voice feels small.

din nods.

hm.

“... are you hurt?”

more silence. finally, he shakes his head. you know it’s a lie — the last forty-eight hours have left you both with your fair share of lacerations and deep-tissue bruising. beneath the armor, you can only imagine the sort of bruises he’s gotten.

“... tired?”

“this checklist you’re doing,” he rasps out, head lulling to the side as he looks up at the ceiling, “you should be doing it on yourself.”

you scoff into your meal paste.

“maybe.”

a grunt.

silence follows the exchange for a few minutes. it’s once you’ve managed to choke down the entirety of the bantha-flavored mush that you speak again. it’s not courage the drives the question, but concern.

“be honest, din,” you breathe, “are you alright?”

his helmet turns, t-visor glaring at you in the dim light of the cabin. you can see his fingers, gloved and tucked neatly against his biceps, twitch. he inhales deeply. the beskar glimmers with the light of stars that pass by beyond the cockpit window.

he’s rather a sight to behold.

“no.”

you’re startled back to the moment.

when you speak, your voice is soft. the sort of soft that’s begun to erode din’s usual beskar-grade composure. he’s begun to waver, begun to hesitate around you. he finds he can’t help it. he’d grown quite fond of you and your innate ability to give a shit. you’re not asking because you want to get paid, because you expect something of him. no, you’re asking because it matters to you.

he’s finally starting to understand that after cycles and cycles of time spent trying to find the child’s true place in this mess of a galaxy. you’ve been traveling with him since before nevarro — before... before the covert’s split.

before he started to feel so alone.

and confused.

and angry.

so angry.

how many moments has he denied himself because of this armor? how much kindness, how much care? how many friendships has he ignored for the sake of the creed? how many loves have come and gone, as fickle as stardust? what has he missed?

... has he truly even missed anything? that is the way.

he is all sorts of swirling bitterness now, mouth pulled into a firm line beneath the lip of his helmet. to see those others — true mandalorians, ones with clan-names, with lineage-graced armor, who speak the tongue and have touched the soil of the place he has never called home, but always idolized — reveal their faces...

he’s one of them...

children of the watch...

din’s foot taps.

you lean forward.

“din...?”

“the others,” he speaks suddenly, almost in a bark, “called my clan a coven of zealots. fringe radicalists. they showed me their faces and —”

a ragged sigh.

suddenly, you’re beginning to understand.

he’s frustrated.

“i’ve lived my life under a strict code,” din continues, helmet tilted up the ceiling. he’s tracing the bolts with his dark eyes, “one that has given me a purpose, a family, a home. but i can’t help but begin to question the cost.”

you’re listening. you’re pulling your knees up, arms cradling them close. your expression is soft.

“i thought...” then, he lets out a gritted huff of frustration, “i — i never considered my practices to be radical. i thought they were as every mandalorian lived.”

your words are soft. “... in all fairness, your people are living in a diaspora, din. the empire scattered you all to the far corners of the galaxy. it wasn’t as if you were seeing your kin every weekend."

din grunts.

you roll the hem of your tunic between your fingers.

“why is this bothering you?”

“i’ve spent my entire life in armor.”

you frown. din’s head turns and you feel a sad look pull your brows together. you hadn’t... well. his mood is beginning to make a lot of sense now. the frustration, the quiet. all of it.

“i’ve never felt the sea breeze on my face,” he continues, “or... or the kiss of another person. all because i lived my life by the creed i was raised upon. and i was told upon breaking that creed, i’d no longer have a purpose. dar’manda.”

“dar’manda?” the language is harsh on your tongue.

“to... to lose your heritage. to not be mandalorian. the covert believed that bearing your face to another outside of marriage was grounds for ex-communication from the clan. exile.”

“well,” you say after a long moment, crossing your legs and perching on the chair, “that explains the lack the kissing. certainly wasn’t the most important thing on the docket, was it?”

that manages to worm a laugh out of din. the sort that rattles his shoulders and makes his armor swell. he ducks his chin. the sound is still warm as it crackles through his vocalizer.

“interesting point of focus.”

“shut up,” you shirk, “you brought it up.”

“... do you blame me?”

you grow quiet at that but shake your head. your chin finds your hand.

“no,” you say softly, “i don’t. i’m sorry.”

“don’t be.”

“what will you do?”

din straightens a bit at that.

there’s only kindness in your eyes.

“it doesn’t matter now,” din says curtly, as if it’s the easiest answer in the world, “the child is my priority. keep you both safe is my priority.”

slowly, you amble up. your hand finds his pauldron, pressing gently into the fabric between his neck and shoulder oh-so-gently. you mind the affection blooming at his words; you’re careful with how you approach it, just as he is. as if a reflex, his hand snatches up to grip yours tightly.

you welcome it.

you squeeze the cold leather of his gloved hand.

“it does matter,” is uttered out like a sigh; din can’t look up at you. he’s sure his entire chest will burst, “you can’t bear the weight of the world on your shoulders, din.”

“i can manage.”

“let me help.”

a scoff. suddenly his hold tightens. his thumb, ever-so-carefully, ghosts the knuckle of your hand.

“you do enough.”

it’s your turn to snort.

“i’m practically freeloading, din —”

“no,” he barks, sitting up a bit straighter. now his visor tilts up, and you swear if you looked hard enough, you could see the slope of a nose, the curve of a lip. maybe, if he tilted his head, you could see his jaw — a ghost of a beard, a flash of a throat. he is human. it’s moments like these that remind you, “no, you’re important. you care.”

“— and i eat all your food —”

“you care about me and you care about the child and it matters more than you realize.”

his tone is so final, you feel as if it’s struck an ending note. as if the conversation has ended. that the welling of emotion behind his words is not to be questioned, not to be considered. in the last few cycles, moments like these have become more frequent but still cherished. as rare as they are, they never fail to make you feel like there’s star-shine in your veins. he isn’t one for grandiose confessions. but... this feel special.

his words leave your lips parted, mouth agape.

and then, in the tiny cockpit, hand in hand with din djarin, all you can muster is a flustered:

“you know, if that helmet wasn’t in the way i would have kissed you cycles ago.”

now, he’s embarassed. it has him laughing — but quiet and shy and all sorts of meak that make the brute of a man seem boyish. his voice is crackled alive with a new-found comfort. he is better now, more like himself and more.

“don’t feed the indentity crisis.”

#din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine #din djarin x you #mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian imagine #mandalorian season 2 spoilers #OHHH DIN MY BABY BOY

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mandoalorian · 4 years

Text

Borrowed Time [Din Djarin x F!Reader]

ੈ♡˳‧₊*: • Chapter 6: The Proposal ✩࿐ ˚.✧

Summary: You are the princess of Mandalore, held hostage on your own planet by Moff Gideon and his army of Imperial troopers. Left with no choice, you send out a distress signal; a plea for protection— and who comes? None other than Din Djarin, a foundling of The Death Watch. He, by creed, is your sworn enemy. And where you have asked for his protection, he has been told by his mentor that he must marry you and gain the ability to restore Mandalore to its former glory.

Word Count: 3000>

Warnings: arranged marriage mention, childhood trauma mention, food mention

Series Masterlist

Why was he so nervous? He shouldn’t be this nervous. Din was subconsciously pacing backwards and forwards, the weight of the beskar wedding ring pulling him down with every step he took. You were sitting in the corner, cradling Grogu in your arms and cooing sweet nothings into his ear. Grogu looked up at you with complete adoration, his big, dark eyes gleaming with admiration. Din could understand why he was so fond of you. You were so easy to love.

“I’m hungry,” you announced with a small frown. You had been stuck in the covert for around four hours and it was already well into the evening. “And so is he.” you said, smoothing your hand over the little green bean’s wrinkly forehead. Din omitted a small ‘hmph’, simply acknowledging your comment but choosing not to do anything about it. Everytime he looked at you, the butterflies in his stomach only became more erratic, and his heart swelled with yearn and anticipation. He was actually going to ask you to marry him.

There was no telling how you’d react. But rather than manipulating you into believing he loved you in order to gain the throne of Mandalore, like he had initially planned on, Din had gained far too much respect for you to do such a thing. Besides, how could he possibly pretend to love you when the chances were, he was already falling. So he had opted to be honest, and it would be brutal. But he had no other choice. It would be foolish for you to refuse his proposal considering everything that was at stake.

“We need to talk.” Din announced, taking Grogu from your arms and settling him down into the hovering cot. Taking a handful of sourberries from the sack in his pocket, he dropped them into his son’s claws and used his gauntlet to close the crib, offering a sense of privacy.

“We need to talk,” you quoted him, your frown only deepening as you stood up. “That doesn’t sound good.”

Din shuffled around awkwardly. He’d never imagined marrying anyone. He was a lone wolf, and always had been. But now he was with the most beautiful princess in the entire galaxy, and you looked like something straight out of a fairytale his mother would read him when he was just a child. You were too good for this world. You were filled with care and compassion and unconditional love, but not only that, you were a warrior and a fighter. You knew what you wanted and you wouldn’t stop until you got it. And it was his duty, as a Mandalorian, to protect his Manda’lor.

“We’re surrounded. By Imps… hunters… people who want you dead. People who will turn you in for a reward. You’re safe, here, in the covert. But we’ll have to leave eventually, and it won’t be easy.” Din confessed, shaking his head. He sounded uneasy, and the tone of his voice wasn’t lost on you. Just for once, you wished he’d remove that helmet of his so you could take a look into his eyes. It would help you gauge what exactly was going on.

“But the Mandalorians here will protect me, right? That’s what you said?” you asked, and Din wanted to curse himself. You were right, he did promise that, but as it turned out, not everything was as it seemed.

“On a condition…” he exhaled, trying to hold himself together. You furrowed your eyebrows in bewilderment, waiting for him to spit it out.

It annoyed you, slightly. Din hadn’t mentioned anything about conditions before. As far as he and the other Mandalorians were concerned, you were the Manda’lor, and so you expected the warranted protection from them without question. And honestly, Din had thought that too.

Din squeezed his eyes tight shut and tried to compose himself. He felt guilty, in a way. He could ask you this and even if you agreed, you could still hate him. And he really didn’t want you to hate him. He’d grown attached to you, and gained feelings for you, and it wasn’t ideal for a man of his nature, but it was just the way it was. You’d come into his and Grogu’s life and changed it completely.

Maybe marrying you wouldn’t be so bad. You were kind and gentle and absolutely beautiful. And Din had considered settling down before. Maybe this was his moment. He just had to suck it up and go for it.

“They will protect you only if you join the creed… our creed,” Din informed you, taking a deep breath. You stiffened up, wondering what exactly this implication was. You could never join his creed. He was Death Watch, responsible for the war and murder of not only Mandalore’s civilians, but also your mother. “Since you were born into another creed, and you are not a foundling, the only way you can join the Watch is through eloping.” Din continued and you couldn’t contain the small gasp that fell from your lips. You watched as the Mandalorian fished out the beskar wedding ring and held it before you between his gloved fingers.

“Are you… are you proposing?” you asked, feeling the tears well in your eyes.

“This is the way,” Din replied softly, and you had to force yourself to look away from the silver ring. “Please, please understand.”

“We… I…” you were speechless. Asking you to join his creed who you had spent your whole life despising (and for good reason) was one thing, but then asking you to be his wife as well? Those were two very separate ordeals that you were not expecting when you woke up this morning. “We’ve only just met…”

Din closed his eyes and sighed, preparing to face the rejection. “I know.”

“And I-- I can’t join your creed. I can’t. I can’t do it Din.” you pursed your lips together as you tried to hold back the tears. “Please don’t force me.”

“Hey hey, no, I would never force you,” Din shushed, stuffing the ring back into his pocket and taking a step closer to you, breaking any distance. He wrapped his strong arms around you and pulled you into his chest. “I wish there was another way, but there isn’t. The Armorer has made that very clear. If you refuse, then you’ll have to leave, and I won’t be able to help you anymore. I-- I don’t want you to leave…” Din admitted quietly and you swallowed.

“I don’t want to leave either.” you confessed, wiping away your tears and looking up at him.

“It’s your call. But you have until nightfall.”

It wasn’t necessarily the marriage you had a problem with -- but how could you join a creed that you spent so long hating? A creed that had caused you so much distress and dismay.

“The Watch has done bad things, and I can’t… I can’t. Din… you must understand.”

“I do,” Din said, taking your hands and sitting you back down. “My parents--my real parents--were killed by Separatists. It’s been thirty years and I still can’t think about it. They are my enemies, and to be asked to join them would feel like treason to my own bloodline.”

Obviously, Din had no idea why the Imperial’s had targeted a bounty on you. He had no idea why they wanted you so bad. But you knew exactly. The burden on your shoulders of being a runaway princess who was also pretending to be the Manda’lor was unbearable, but the knowledge of you being the Manda’lor was the only thing keeping Din by your side. If he learned the truth, he’d have no reason to protect you anymore. He’d leave you, just like everyone else had. And you couldn’t even blame him.

All you had to do was retrieve the darksaber once more and regain your right of passage to the Mandalorian throne.

“How can you just sit here and let them do this, let your creed do this? I get that they’re traditionalists but their actions have caused the onslaught of millions. They’re a danger.” you shook your head.

Ever since you had told Din of what his creed had done to your home and family, he’d thought about it, a lot. The process of leaving the Watch was never an option. They had brought Din up, trained him, and protected him. He owed it to them to stay. But if what you said was true, could he really stand and represent such a harmful community? He had a son to look after, and you. The last thing Din wanted was to get unbeknownst wrapped up in some terrorist organization he once called home.

He was grateful for the Watch, and the Armorer, but they had blackmailed him and gaslit him. He’d been so blinded by it all this time, brushing off their actions as ‘the way’ and knowing to never question it. But now it was all becoming more clear, especially after telling him that your protection relies on you joining their creed.

He understood how great it would be for the Watch if the literal Manda’lor became a member, but that didn’t mean it was right. Din’s delay in a response prompted you to speak up again.

“I’m sorry, this isn’t your fault.”

Din looked back up at you and tilted his head slightly as he admired your delicate features and tear stained cheeks. “Look, I shouldn’t say this, but as long as you pretend that you’re part of the creed and pretend to follow our rules, then there shouldn’t be much of an issue. We can utilize our warriors and get off Nevarro in one piece, and that should be our priority at the minute,” You nodded your head in understanding. He was right. “But we still need to elope. If you agree, the Armorer will bear witness and marry us tonight. And we can head out first thing tomorrow morning, before dawn.”

You bit your lip as you contemplated his suggestion. It wasn’t a bad call at all. It was simply just a negotiation. Din began to prepare himself to face another bout of rejection, but instead, you reached back into his pocket and took out the beskar wedding ring. Examining it carefully in your hands, you slid it down your wedding ring finger and held your hand to the candlelight, admiring the way it sparkled against your skin.

“Okay.” you hummed, not tearing your gaze from the ring. It was a symbol of commitment, although you certainly weren’t happy about it. What other choice did you have?

“Okay?” Din repeated incredulously.

“Okay,” you said, eventually looking up at the Mandalorian and offering him a shrug of your shoulders. “I’ll marry you.”

An air of silence filled the room, but, just like always, it was comfortable.

“I’ll go tell the Armorer--” Din said eventually, straightening out his posture. He couldn’t get the image out of his head. You were going to be his wife.

“--Din?” you said before he could leave the room. He paused in his tracks but made no effort to turn around and face you. “Thank you. For everything.”

The guilt was eating you alive. You had been lying to him. He’d taken you in, done everything in his power to protect you, and even trusted you with his kid. And this entire time, you had been lying to you. He was going to marry you because he believed you were the Manda’lor.

And you weren’t.

That was going to be an issue.

When Din returned from his conversation with the Armorer, he informed you that the ceremony would take place at midnight. And that you were both to exchange vows.

“With all due respect, we barely know each other. Vows might be a problem,” you giggled, feeling a blush cross your cheeks from his presence alone.

“We’ll do the traditional Mandalorian vows, then.”

You weren’t really surprised, with his creed in particular being such traditionalists. It wasn’t a bad option, though. “Do you think… uhm… before the ceremony, we could spend some time together? Learning about each other? In the midst of all this chaos, I think it would be nice to just… talk.”

Why were you so nervous? Clearly, Din was a man of a few words. He wasn’t one to just ‘talk’. But after this sacrifice you’d made, Din thought it was the least he could do. You were going to be his wife, after all.

“Okay.” Din mumbled, sitting down next to you.

“Uhm…” you felt your voice trail off as you wondered what you could ask him. “What’s your favourite colour?”

“Don’t have one.” He answered quickly.

“Everyone has a favourite colour.” you retorted, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Not me,” Din responded, and he was thankful in that moment his helmet shielded you from seeing the smile that graced his lips. He loved it when you pulled faces like that. He thought it was adorable. “What’s yours?”

“Uhm…” you thought for a moment, and then remembered the colour of your favourite and most delicious fruit. Sourberries. You hadn’t stopped craving them since the morning. “Pink.”

“Okay…” Din replied, storing that piece of information to the back of his mind as he pondered a question to ask you. “What was it like, growing up in a palace? Being royal.”

You and Din had led very different lives growing up, there was no doubt about that.

“It was all I’ve ever known. I recognise my privilege but… it wasn’t always easy.” you replied. You had never really talked about your experiences simply because you had no one to talk to them with.

“I remember when Duchess Satine died,” Din said, his voice quiet knowing that the mention of your mother might still have been sensitive. “Were you alone, after that?”

“Not really. My aunt looked out for me. And… there was this one Jedi Knight.”

Now that was certainly something you had never expected to talk about. In fact you had been warned by Bo-Katan to never mention the relationship between your mother and that one particular Jedi. You couldn’t remember him clearly, but still to this day, you felt some kind of attachment to him. It was hard to describe. It was a type of unconditional love. He was always there for you and Satine, protecting you both. Similarly, it was just like how Din protected you and Grogu.

He never spoke to you, but when you needed him, he was there. You could always rely on him. You weren’t sure where he was now, or if he was even alive. It had been many years.

“A Jedi?” Din questioned, his curiosity piquing. He remembered what the Armorer had told him when he took in Grogu -- about his ‘kind’ being Jedi. About how they were enemies. Sorcerers. “Wasn’t there a war between the Mandalorians and the Jedi?”

“There was, yes,” you said, looking down at the floor. Din pulled off his gloves and took your hand. The skin on skin contact was enough to take your breath away. He rubbed comforting circles into your wrist as he waited for you to continue. “But my mother, like the Jedi, was a pacifist.”

“I wouldn’t say the Jedi were pacifists…” Din uttered a little too quickly.

“You have a point,” you replied after a brief moment of silence. “But this Jedi in particular… he was a good man. I wish I could’ve met him in my adolescence. I wish I could thank him.”

“Do you remember his name?” Din asked, his mind immediately thinking about the prospect of somehow locating the Jedi. If there was a way he could bring his parents back and thank them for all they had done, he would. This man was clearly a parental-like figure to you, and if he was important to you, he was important to Din.

“I don’t,” you shrugged helplessly, biting back more tears. “A few years ago I asked my aunt. I know she remembers but she just chooses to withhold that information from me. She tells me that she’s doing it to protect me.”

“I’m so sorry.” Din whispered, smoothing out your hair and pressing a keldabe kiss to your forehead. The coolness of his beskar helmet stung your forehead and, in that moment, you found yourself yearning for more.

You yearned to feel his body heat and the warmth of his lips. You yearned to see his face and memorize every detail. You yearned to tangle your fingers in his hair… you assumed that he did, in fact, have hair.

At least now, you wouldn’t have to wait so long.

“I should get ready for the ceremony, and you should too,” Din declared, eventually pulling away from you completely. He dug into his pocket and pulled out the small sack of sourberries that he’d gotten earlier. “These are for you.” he said, putting the sack into the palm of your hand.

You loosened the straw ribbon and took a peek inside. It was the pretty pink fruit you had been craving for so bad.

When you told him you didn’t like the bone broth, he’d gone out and found you sourberries.

Even though he said they were far too expensive.

He’d done it for you.

Because he loved you.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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swan-of-sunrise · 3 years

Text

Taking Care of Business (Chapter Nineteen)

Summary: (Y/N), Din and the others recruit two familiar Mandalorians to help them rescue Grogu, and the pair shares a quiet moment before the siege on Moff Gideon’s cruiser.

Pairing: Din Djarin X Reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: I hope you all enjoy!

Chapter Nineteen The Rescue (Previous Chapter)

“Maker, these Lambda shuttles are hunks of junk,” (Y/N) grumbled to herself, entering the shuttle’s cockpit and moving to sit in the main pilot’s seat. After checking that Boba hadn’t accidentally damaged any of its functions when he’d used the ion cannon or when he’d latched onto its roof, she began charting their course; they’d all agreed that if they were going to storm Moff Gideon’s cruiser, then they’d need all the help that they could get and Din was dead-set on a familiar group of Mandalorians. “‘Might of the Galaxy,’ my ass…”

Just as she finished prepping for the jump to hyperspace, Cara entered the cockpit and plopped down in the co-pilot’s seat. “I took care of the bodies, stowed their weapons in the back. How’d everything lookin’ in here?”

“There’s some very minor damages caused by that ion cannon, but nothing too serious. We’re just waiting on word from-”

“Come in, (Y/N).”

She pressed a button beside the shuttle’s communication radio and replied, “(Y/N) here. Is everything good on your end?”

“Yep, we’re ready to leave when you are.” Once she assured Din that they were, the shuttle shook as Boba unlatched the Slave I. “I’ll see you when we land. Cuyir morut’yc, alor’ad. Be safe.”

(Y/N) smiled at his parting words, the Mando’a making her heart warm in her chest. “You too.” Switching off the communication radio, her hands flipped several switches before settling on one of the main levers. “Jumping to hyperspace in three…two…one.” She pushed the lever up, sending the Imperial shuttle flying into space; glancing away from the shuttle’s viewport, she took in Cara’s tense demeanor and furrowed her brow in concern. “Are you okay, Cara?”

The marshal glanced up with a brief smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah, I’m good. One of those Imps said some things that hit a little close to home, that’s all.” Nodding, (Y/N) moved to turn her attention back to the shuttle’s controls but stopped when Cara softly spoke her name and asked, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but what made you decide to join the Rebellion?”

Biting her lip, (Y/N) hesitated for a moment before answering. “After my mother died and I left Naboo, I thought that I could turn a blind eye to the Empire and live my life the way I wanted. I’d spent my entire childhood under their control, after all; no one would fault me for wanting to enjoy my freedom. But the older I got, the harder it became to ignore all the suffering across the galaxy and when I caught wind that the Alliance Starfleet was looking to recruit smugglers, all I could think about were my mother’s last words to me…” Her fingers began playing with the bottom hem of her Shaak-skin jacket. “‘Choose courage over fear, and you can change the stars.’ So, that’s what I did.” She sniffed and let out an awkward chuckle before turning back to the controls. “I’m not sure if that’s the answer you were looking for, but it’s the only one I’ve got.”

“I just needed to be reminded of all the good people who fought on our side…so yeah, it was a pretty good answer.”

The pair spent the rest of the journey in comfortable silence, soon coming out of hyperspace and entering the planet’s upper atmosphere. (Y/N) landed the shuttle beside the Slave I and followed Cara out onto the planet’s surface, where Din and Boba were already waiting. Although they’d only been apart for a short while, (Y/N) felt herself begin to relax as her eyes met the visor of the Mandalorian’s helmet.

“You three go ahead, Fennec and I can keep an eye on Pershing,” Cara gave them a brief nod before turning and boarding the Slave I, where Fennec was securing the clone engineer’s wrists in binders.

“Let’s hope that this idea of yours’ll work.”

Din’s hand came to rest on the small of her back as the three of them began walking towards the small outpost. “It’ll work, alor’ad.” They made their way through the quiet outpost and entered the nearly-deserted cantina, where two familiar Mandalorians were enjoying their meals in the back of the room; exchanging a glance with Din, (Y/N) followed him over to their table and watched as the one Din claimed was named Koska nudged Bo-Katan, who immediately looked up at them. “We need your help.”

Bo-Katan’s brow rose as she examined the three of them. “Not all Mandalorians are bounty hunters. Some of us serve a higher purpose.”

Frustration was evident in Din’s voice as he shot back, “They took the child.”

“Who?”

“Moff Gideon.” (Y/N) frowned, taking in the sudden shift of Bo-Katan’s demeanor. “What?”

The Mandalorian looked back down at the table before replying, “You’ll never find him.”

(Y/N) bit her lip to keep from saying anything derogatory and Din’s gloved hands tightened into fists, but it was Boba Fett who decided to speak up. “We don’t need these two, let’s get out of here.”

Din and Boba began turning away but (Y/N) froze, her eyes narrowing as she watched Bo-Katan look up at the bounty hunter with barely-concealed distaste. “You are not a Mandalorian.”

“Never said I was.”

Koska snorted in amusement. “I didn’t know sidekicks were allowed to talk.”

Chuckling, Boba stepped closer to the Mandalorian. “Well, if that isn’t the Quacta calling the Stifling slimy.” Koska quickly stood, her chin jutted out in defiance, and (Y/N) had to stop herself from rolling her eyes at the scene the two were making. “Easy there, little one.”

“You’ll be talking through the window of a bacta tank.”

“All right, easy,” Bo-Katan commanded. “Save it for the Imps.”

After a tense moment, Koska sat back down at the table and (Y/N) sighed in relief as she focused her attention back on Bo-Katan. “We have his coordinates.”

The Mandalorian blinked in surprise. “You can bring me to Moff Gideon?”

“The Moff has a light cruiser; it could be helpful in your effort to regain Mandalore.”

Beside Din, Boba scoffed at his words. “You gotta be kidding me, Mandalore? The Empire turned that planet to glass.”

(Y/N) exhaled through her nose, crossing her arms over her chest as both Mandalorians glared at the bounty hunter; it would’ve been less of a hassle to visit Tatooine and ask kriffing Cobb Vanth for help, she thought to herself, wearily watching Bo-Katan level her hardened gaze at Boba. “You are a disgrace to your armor.”

“This armor belonged to my father.”

“Don’t you mean your donor?”

Din and (Y/N), who’d both started forward to break up the confrontation, both froze in their tracks; the bounty hunters shoulders were tense as he took another step towards Bo-Katan. “Careful, princess.”

“You are a clone,” Bo-Katan smirked and both Mandalorians stood, their meals long forgotten. “I’ve heard your voice thousands of times.”

“Mine might be the last one you hear.”

Boba’s threat spurred Koska into finally attacking and the two of them began to viciously fight. Wrapping an arm around (Y/N)’s waist, Din tugged her to his side and held her securely against him as they watched the fight, sighing deeply in frustration. “Mandalorians.”

“I told you that we should’ve gotten Cobb Vanth’s help instead.” At her words, Din grumbled something under his breath and all she could make out was something that sounded suspiciously like ‘flirt,’ making the corner of her mouth curl into a small teasing grin. “I never would’ve pegged you as the jealous type, you’re such a calm and level-headed man…”

She could feel Din’s arm tighten around her waist and she just knew that he was rolling his eyes at her beneath his helmet. “Mir'sheb.”

“I love you too.” They both turned their attention back to the fight and (Y/N) nearly facepalmed when she saw the pair ignite their flamethrowers. “Dank farrik, this is getting ridiculous.”

It seemed that the second Mandalorian felt the same. “Enough, both of you! If we had shown half that spine to the Empire, we would have never lost our planet.” Boba and Koska both extinguished their flamethrowers and as the bounty hunter got to his feet, Bo-Katan turned to face her and Din. “We will help you. In exchange, we will keep that ship to retake Mandalore.” The Mandalorian stepped closer to Din, and (Y/N)’s brow furrowed as she continued, “If you should manage to finish your quest, I would have you reconsider joining our efforts. Mandalorians have been in exile from our home world for far too long.”

“Fair enough.”

Din let go of her waist and was beginning to lead her towards the cantina’s door when Bo-Katan spoke up again. “One more thing. Gideon has a weapon that once belonged to me, it is an ancient weapon that can cut through anything.”

“Almost anything,” Koska interjected.

Bo-Katan nodded. “It cannot cut through pure beskar.” At her words, (Y/N)’s thoughts instantly went to Ahsoka Tano and her two pure-white lightsabers; why would someone who’s not a Jedi want a weapon like that, she silently wondered, an uneasy feeling settling in the pit of her stomach. “I will kill the Moff and retake what is rightfully mine. With the Darksaber restored to me, Mandalore will finally be within reach.”

“Help us rescue the child and you can have whatever you want,” He nearly snapped, and (Y/N) could tell that Bo-Katan was beginning to frustrate him. “He is our only priority.”

“If we’re all done fighting with each other, we should head back to the ship.” (Y/N) interjected, turning and leading the way back to the Slave I; walking beside Din, she quietly asked, “Was it just me or was that whole Darksaber thing a little strange?” He nodded but remained silent, and soon they were all boarding the ship.

Bo-Katan and Koska joined Cara in pulling up a hologram of Moff Gideon’s cruiser and Fennec made her way over to where (Y/N) and Din were leaning against the wall of the ship. “These two seem like they’re fun to hang around.”

(Y/N) smiled in amusement. “Yeah, they’re a barrel of laughs. I’ve gotta admit, it’s a little aggravating that they care more about Moff Gideon’s cruiser and his Darksaber than Grogu.”

“I know, but we need them to get onboard that cruiser.” Din glanced over at Dr. Pershing. “Has he said anything yet?”

Fennec shook her head. “Nothing. Want me to make him talk?”

“No, it’s okay; I’ve got a feeling he’ll be helpful on his own.”

Bo-Katan called them over and they moved closer as she pointed to the hologram. “This is Moff Gideon’s Imperial light cruiser. In the old days, it would carry a crew of several hundred but now it operates with a tiny fraction of that.”

“Your assessment is misleading.”

(Y/N) turned around to look at Dr. Pershing; the clone engineer was staring at the floor, his mouth set in a firm line. He certainly doesn’t act like the typical Imp, she thought to herself while Cara scoffed. “Oh great, an objective opinion.”

Dr. Pershing’s eyes flicked up to meet theirs. “This isn’t subterfuge, I assure you.” He turned to (Y/N) and after taking a moment to examine his pleading face, she nodded for him to continue. “There’s a garrison of dark troopers on board. They’re the ones who abducted the child.”

Across from (Y/N), Cara began cleaning one of her knives with a spare rag. “How many troopers do they have armed in those suits?”

“These are a third-generation design; they are no longer suits. The human inside was the final weakness to be solved…they’re droids.”

(Y/N) nodded in agreement. “It’s true, I saw them when they took…when they took Grogu.” She turned back to the clone engineer. “Where are they bivouacked?”

Dr. Pershing got up from his seat and moved to stand beside the hologram. “They’re held in cold storage in this cargo bay.” He pointed to a section of the cruiser. “They draw too much power to be kept at ready.”

“And how long to power up?” Fennec asked, her eyes narrowing as she examined the hologram before them.

“A few minutes, perhaps.”

“Where is the child being held?” Din’s words were clipped and business-like, but (Y/N) could detect the pain in his voice as he spoke.

The clone engineer brought up a different section of the hologram that clearly looked like a cell. “This is the brig. The child’s being held here under armed guard.”

“Very well,” Bo-Katan examined the hologram while she continued, “We split into two parties.”

(Y/N) felt the smooth leather of Din’s glove brush her hand. “(Y/N) and I go alone.”

Bo-Katan sighed but nodded. “Fine. Phase One, Lambda shuttle issues a distress call. Two, we emergency land at the mouth of the fighter launch tube, cutting off any potential interceptors. Koska, Fennec, Dune and myself disembark with maximum initiative. Once we’ve neutralized the launch bay, we make our way through these tandem decks in a penetration maneuver.”

“And the two of us?” (Y/N) asked.

“We’ll be misdirection; once we draw a crowd, you two slip through the shadows, get the kid.”

Cara stopped cleaning her knife and glanced up at them all. “Those dark troopers are gonna be a real skank in the scud pie.”

Leaning closer to the hologram, (Y/N) observed, “Their bay is on the way to the brig.” She looked over at Dr. Pershing. “Can we make it there before they deploy?”

He nodded. “It’s possible.”

“Here,” Fennec grabbed a code cylinder from the clone engineer’s pocket and handed it to Din. “Take his code cylinder and seal off their holding bay. Anyone else, we can handle.”

Din clutched the code cylinder in his hand, the visor of his helmet looking down at (Y/N) while he replied, “We’ll meet you all at the bridge. Now, let’s start planning out Phase One…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After they finalized their plan, they all boarded the Lambda shuttle and entered hyperspace, closely followed by Boba in the Slave I. (Y/N) was seated in the main pilot’s chair at the others’ insistence; for their plan to work, they needed to look as if they were under attack by Boba’s ship, and there was no one better qualified to perform that type of flying than her. The others were keeping busy by cleaning their blasters and donning their armor, but Din was motionless in the co-pilot seat beside her; Moff Gideon doesn’t have a clue what’s in store for him when Din gets a hold of him, she thought to herself, her eyes still trained on the swirling blue outside of the viewport.

As if in-tuned with her thoughts, Din suddenly stood and asked her to join him in the back compartment. She followed him deeper into the shuttle and once they entered the compartment, she shut the door behind them; just as she was turning around to face him, she heard the unmistakable sound of his beskar helmet being removed and her heart leapt into her throat. She reached a hand out towards the control panel to dim the lights, but a larger hand appeared and halted hers; Din’s tanned fingers gently held her wrist, bringing it up to where he stood behind her and pressing his lips to her knuckles. “Please, I…I need you to see me, alor’ad.”

Taking a steadying breath, (Y/N) slowly turned around and looked up at Din’s face. Back in the refinery on Morak, she didn’t have much time to closely examine her partner’s features but what she had studied were his eyes; they were the warmest shade of brown and, much to her surprise, incredibly expressive. Meeting his concerned gaze had quickly calmed her down and made her feel safe in that mess hall, and the same was true in the shuttle’s back compartment.

Her gaze left his as she took the opportunity to examine the rest of him; his hair was also brown, the soft waves matted a little from the helmet, and his facial hair was neatly trimmed, the hair above his lip a little thicker than the rest of it. His brow and nose were prominent, but his jawline had more of a curve to it, and the last thing she looked at were his lips; they were chapped and his bottom lip was more plump than the top, something that she’d noticed whenever they’d kissed in the dark on the Razor Crest. As she watched, his lips parted and when her eyes flicked back up to his, he was closely watching her with nervousness written across his features. Smiling, (Y/N) rested a hand against the soft skin and stubble of his cheek as she brought his hand up to her lips, kissing each knuckle before finally speaking. “Mesh’la.”

Din released a shuddering breath as his eyes darted over her face. “You…?”

“That’s Mando’a for ‘beautiful,’ right? Oh Maker, I didn’t say an insult by accident or anything, did I?” (Y/N) rambled, her panic beginning to rise as Din remained silent. “Son of a-”

In a flash, Din’s lips were on hers and he was kissing her with an unrelenting passion as his arms held her close. (Y/N) got over her initial shock and began kissing him back, her hands moving up to his hair and carding through the thick locks; Din moaned as her fingernails lightly scraped against his scalp and before she registered what was happening, he was hoisting her up into his arms and stumbling backwards to sit on the edge of the bunk. She was straddling his thighs and their bodies were flush against one another when they finally broke apart for air, but that didn’t stop Din; while she struggled to catch her breath, he began pressing kisses all over her face and neck, finally pulling away after kissing her lips one final time. He was beaming up at her, his brown eyes bright as his smile widened, and one of his hands came up to caress her cheek.

“I’d ask if you really meant that, but I already know that you do.” Din’s hand trailed down her neck to rest flat against her chest, right above where her heart was. “Because of this. You have the biggest heart, alor’ad, the biggest heart out of everyone I’ve ever met. It’s just…I can’t help but think I don’t deserve the love you’ve given me.”

“That makes two of us, Din.” (Y/N) replied, watching his eyes flutter closed while her fingers brushed the hair away from his forehead. “Sometimes I feel that you’re too good to me.”

Din shook his head, the loving look he gave her when he opened his eyes almost making her cry. “You deserve everything I can give you and more, you and the kid…” At the mention of Grogu, Din’s smile dimmed a little and his hand moved away from her chest to rest against the side of her neck. “(Y/N), if I…if things end up going sideways, I want you to continue our quest. Find a Jedi that will train the kid; you’re the only person I trust to do it.”

Swallowing the lump in her throat, (Y/N) nodded. “Of course I will, but don’t forget what you promised me that day in the meadow. ‘Ner cyar’ika alor’ad, I swear on the stars I’ll never leave your side.’” She held his face in between her hands and lowered her head to rest against his. “Please don’t forget that.”

“Never, alor’ad,” Din breathed, pressing feather-light kisses to her lips that managed to soothe her shaky nerves. “I could never.”

They sat there in the shuttle’s back compartment for several more minutes, their arms wrapped tightly around one another as they took solace in each other’s embrace. But their peaceful solitude came to an end when Din suggested they return to the shuttle’s cockpit and with a final kiss, (Y/N) slid off his lap and he put his helmet back on before opening the compartment’s door. That wasn’t a goodbye, she sternly told herself while they walked side-by-side, even if it felt a little like one.

Once back in the cockpit, (Y/N) resumed her seat, methodically checking system functions in preparation for Phase One as Bo-Katan took the co-pilot’s seat beside her. I’m not sure if she can be trusted, she thought to herself, watching the helmet-less Mandalorian out of the corner of her eye; Bo-Katan was hell-bent on finding Moff Gideon and retaking Mandalore, and (Y/N) had an uneasy feeling that she didn’t care who perished in her pursuit for vengeance. Her suspicions were confirmed when Bo-Katan called out, “Moff Gideon is mine. Got it?”

“He’s ex-ISB,” Cara pointed out from behind them. “He’s got a lot of information, I need him alive.”

Bo-Katan merely shrugged. “I don’t care what happens to him as long as he surrenders to me.”

That made (Y/N)’s brow arch but she stayed silent, her hands continuing to fly over the buttons and switches; despite the seriousness of their situation, she couldn’t help but thrill at the opportunity to pilot a ship in a combat situation again. She sensed Din moving to stand directly behind her seat just as Boba Fett’s voice emitted from the communication radio. “Prepare to exit jump space.”

“Copy that,” (Y/N) replied, pressing a blinking button beside her before resting her hand on the shuttle’s main lever. “Get the hell out of there as soon as they clear us to dock.”

Beside her, Bo-Katan smirked to herself. “And your shots have to look convincing.”

(Y/N) heard Din heave an exasperated sigh as Boba chuckled. “Power up those shields, princess. I’ll put on a good show.”

“Watch out for those deck cannons, okay? They’re real pieces of work; I’ve seen them take down X-Wings with a single shot.”

“Don’t worry about me, Captain, I’ll be all right.” Boba reassured her. “Just be careful in there.”

Nodding to herself, (Y/N) gripped the main lever and announced, “Exiting hyperspace in three, two, one…”

She pulled the lever down and returned her hands to the joysticks in front of her as the shuttle exited hyperspace. Moff Gideon’s cruiser loomed ahead of them and her stomach clenched in fury, speculations about what they might’ve done to Grogu unwillingly filling her mind. Giving her head a small shake, she yanked the joysticks to the right and dodged the shots Boba aimed at them before connecting their communication radio to the cruiser. “This is Lambda Shuttle 2743, requesting emergency docking.” She swerved again, making sure that her flying didn’t look too skilled as she continued. “Repeat, requesting emergency docking. We are under attack!”

There was a brief pause before a female Imperial officer responded. “Copy, Lambda Shuttle. Request received. Stay clear of launch tube, deploying fighter squadron.” They watched as the one of the cruiser’s TIE Fighters deployed and with a sideways glance at her co-pilot, (Y/N) flew the shuttle towards the exposed launch tube; she winced a little when they were almost clipped by a second TIE Fighter and the female officer called out, “Request denied! Please clear launch tube until fighters deploy!”

“Negative, negative! We are under attack!” Flipping a switch above her, (Y/N) increased their speed and steered the shuttle towards the launch tube straight ahead. In all her time as a smuggler, she could honestly say that this was the first time she’d ever piloted a speeding shuttle directly into another ship and without a proper landing array; it’s like Ahsoka said, she thought as her forehead began to bead with sweat, good or bad they’re always memorable.

“Clear launch tube immediately!”

(Y/N)’s arms began to shake with the effort of holding the joysticks steady, biting her lip while Bo-Katan activated their landing gear just in time for them to speed into the launch tube. Behind her, Fennec shouted, “Hang on!” and Din’s gloved hands clutched the back of her seat when the shuttle bumped against the sides of the launch tube. (Y/N)’s hands were on autopilot as she flipped switches and slammed buttons and in no time, she succeeded in making the shuttle slide to a complete stop. Her chest heaved and she struggled to catch her breath as the others got up and gathered their weapons, a part of her in absolute disbelief that she’d succeeded in landing them safely inside the cruiser.

“Well, alor’ad, you finally convinced me,” Din remarked, watching as she got to her feet and drew her blaster. “Smugglers are better pilots than bounty hunters.”

That made (Y/N) smile. “I think you meant to say that smugglers are better at everything, not just piloting.”

“Don’t push your luck, mir’sheb,” He jokingly retorted, his gloved hand resting against the small of her back; the two of them made their way over to where the four women were preparing to lower the shuttle’s ramp. “Good luck.”

Cara flashed them both a brief smile. “You too.”

Once the ramp lowered, the four of them stormed out of the shuttle and began taking out the Stormtroopers that had surrounded them. Blaster fire and dying screams rang through the air while (Y/N) and Din waited to exit the shuttle, their free hands holding each other’s tightly until everything was silent once again; (Y/N) looked up at Din just as he turned towards her and gave him a firm nod. “Let’s go and get Grogu back.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Thank you guys so much for reading!

Mando'a Translations: Cuyir morut’yc, alor’ad-Be safe, captain Alor'ad-Captain Mir’sheb-Smart-ass Mesh’la-Beautiful Ner cyar’ika alor’ad-My darling captain

Chapter Twenty

Taking Care of Business Masterlist

Tagging: @remmysbounty @sinon36 @seninjakitey @thatonedindjarinfan @ginger-swag-rapunzel @mostclevermiss @momc95 @welcometothepedroverse @sarahjkl82-blog @zukoyonce @itsnottilly

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din x reader #mando x reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #cara dune #fennec shand #boba fett #dr pershing #bo-katan kryze #koska reeves #moff gideon #grogu #the child #baby yoda

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nugnthopkns · 4 years

Text

i’ll tell you i was wrong if you dance with me

word count: 3.3k

warnings: explicit fem!reader, slightly unhealthy relationship moment (lack of communication), mention of infidelity, cursing, alcohol consumption, a fair bit of angst

recommended listening: fred astaire | adam brock

a/n: communicate with your partners!!! also yeah this is the song from lady bird. it’s a banger

This seriously isn’t happening.

You never fight with Travis. Communication comes easy between the two of you, but you also make it a priority to talk about your feelings. It keeps things from boiling over; both of you are known to unleash wicked tempers on occasion and have found being direct stops issues from occuring. Arguments still occasionally happen, but they’re typically over trivial things like what movie to watch or where you’re spending the holidays. Travis apparently forgot about the fact you talk to each other about things.

He’d been upset when he came home from practice, but you were pretty sure he was fine after he woke up from his pre-game nap. Knowing he’s a superstitious person and has a lot of pressure on him to put up points, you had made the choice not to ask about what was bothering him. Throwing off his routine could have detrimental consequences. Tonight's game is tighter than it should have been, but the Flyers come out on top. Travis spends a bit more time in the penalty box than you would have liked, but everyone was getting chippy by the start of the third period. Claude tries to talk to him on the bench but he gets shut down. Whatever Travis was upset about before is still clearly bothering him, and it’s affecting his game.

You’re following Travis home from the game, and can tell he’s uptight from the way he’s gripping the steering wheel. As you wind through downtown Philadelphia you try and prepare yourself for any bomb that could drop. Chances are that when you reach your apartment things will explode. Maybe it’s nothing; Travis is fine and just wants to be a responsible driver for once. You pull into the free spot beside his car and see him walking towards the elevator, suit jacket balled up and tucked under his arm. This won’t be good. Trying to buy yourself some time, you take the stairs. Seven flights later you arrive outside your door; he left it unlocked, which gives you a sliver of hope things will be fine.

“Do you want to talk about what’s bothering you?” you call into the darkness of the apartment. Your sneakers are left at the door and to retreat towards the bedroom, looking for a sign of life. You find one in the bathroom: the light is on. A gentle push on the door reveals your boyfriend is in the shower and ignoring you.

“Trav?”

“Yeah,” he huffs, words muffled by him tossing his head back to rinse the shampoo of his hair. Apparently the shower isn’t as relaxing as he had hoped.

You don’t bother to tread lightly, upset that he’s acting like a child. “You’re being an asshole. I get that you had a bad day, but you can’t take it out on me. I just want to help.”

Travis turns the water off suddenly. “Can’t help if you’re the problem,” he scoffs.

His statement doesn’t make sense. You’ve done nothing out of the ordinary the past couple of days; nothing that would warrant the behaviour you’re receiving. “What do you mean?”

Shouldering passed you to exit the room, Travis doesn’t bother to respond. You’re beyond frustrated: partners in healthy relationships communicate, not show emotions like grade schoolers. “You’re not giving me the fucking silent treatment Travis. You gotta talk to me.” The bedroom is dark when you enter and you flick the overhead light on to see better.

“You really don’t know?”

“Of course I don’t know,” you seethe. “If I did know we wouldn’t be in this predicament because we’d be solving the issue.”

The glare you receive is sharp enough to cut stone. He pulls on a t-shirt, anger clear in the aggression he does it with. “Why did I have to find out from Carter that you’ve been getting coffee with your TA?”

You’re shocked. In no way is it what he thinks it is. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you sigh, upset that Travis would take someone else’s words at face value and not talk to you about it.

“I’m dead fucking serious Y/N. You preach communication, but it looks as though you’re the one who hasn’t been doing enough talking.”

The room around you starts to spin. You can’t comprehend what he’s insinuating. “Wait, you think I’m cheating on you?” you ask. There has been a gross miscommunication error somewhere; never in a million years would you think of having an affair.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Well what the fuck did you say?”

Travis tugs at the roots of his hair in frustration. He doesn’t answer immediately, pacing the length of the bed a few times. “I just–” he struggles to articulate his words. “I just said that you’re being a bit hypocritical, don’t you think? You’re standing here yelling at me because I didn’t voice my concerns, but you haven’t been talking to me about what’s going on in your life.” Travis’ tone is sharp, and it stings.

It’s your turn to show how upset you are. Your hands curl into fists at your side, and you squeeze your nails into your palms before releasing them. “I do tell you what goes on in my life Travis,” your breathing ragged as you try to not lose your cool. “I ran into my TA at the coffee shop yesterday, and he paid for my drink because my card wouldn’t work. Didn’t think it was breaking news, sorry I don’t send you every single fucking life update that happens. What’s gotten into you?”

“You could have been cheating!”

“But I wasn’t!” you scream, no longing caring about keeping up appearances. You can’t believe Travis would think that. It hurts. “And I never would! You know this”

He turns his back to you, like it pains him to look at you, but you don’t understand why. You're not the one suggesting infidelity. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got to say?” he seethes.

“That’s all there is to say! There’s nothing to explain, no secret to uncover. I’m not in the wrong here.”

“And you think I am?”

You look at Travis like he has three heads. “Are you serious? You’re the one who’s so fucking upset over a situation that could have happened to literally anyone.” Your tone suggests that you’re exhausted with the conversation, and Travis gets the hint.

He slinks towards the door, still visibly angry. “I’ll take the couch tonight,” he grits out before tightly gripping the doorknob and shutting the door with more force than needed.

The bed doesn’t look appealing, full of much happier memories, but fighting with Travis has knocked any and all energy out of you. You gingerly pull back the covers and slip underneath. Tears trickle down your cheek as you toss and turn, trying to fall into some sort of slumber. However, your mind has other ideas, replaying the blowout. You can’t begin to understand why Travis is so bothered by the instance, and more importantly why it caused him to disregard a fundamental part of your relationship. There’s little movement from beyond the door, but you can hear the faint noise of a Johnny Cash record playing from the speakers in the living room. After hours of staring at the ceiling your eyes close and a fitful sleep follows.

You might have gotten nine hours of sleep, but you wake up feeling exhausted. Fighting with anyone drains you, but fighting with Travis is especially terrible because it rarely happens. There doesn’t seem to be any movement from the other side of the door; maybe he’s still asleep. You refrain from heading into the kitchen, unsure of what will happen if you see him. After nearly twenty minutes you can’t wait any longer to start your day and pad into the main living space. It’s empty: no sign that Travis has been there for many hours. Guess you don’t have to immediately deal with the fallout of last night.

A post-it note is tacked onto the fridge handle and your heart skips a beat. In Travis’ chicken scratch it reads I’ll see you at the gala tonight. We’ve got media all day and I won’t be back in time for us to go together. There’s no mention of the fight, and you can’t judge from a two sentence note whether or not he’s still pissed off.

“Fuck,” you groan. “The gala.” Tonight’s the annual Flyers Give Back gala, and you’re expected to be in attendance. It’s not even a charity event; the organization is offering a chance for business men to chat up the players in hopes they continue to donate. You find things like these unbearable and tedious, but Travis does his best to make them enjoyable. Not knowing what page you’re on with him is going to be terrible. There’s a pretty good chance he’ll ignore you if he’s still upset.

As if someone is reading your mind, the better halves group chat starts to explode. Everyone is chattering excitedly about tonight, and under normal circumstances you’d be excited to see them in such a relaxed setting. It’s been a while you’ve all hung out, but you can’t find yourself to contribute to the conversation. You mute the notifications and do your best to move on with your day. The rest of the morning is spent working on your thesis; mind numbing work that almost makes you forget about everything that happened in the past twenty-four hours. Once you’ve hit an acceptable word count for the day you shutdown your computer and make lunch.

The grilled cheese sandwich you eat while watching a John Mulaney comedy special fulfills your appetite but doesn’t curb your dread. You decide to call your sister, hoping she can be a welcome distraction. Dialling her number you sink further into the couch cushions, wrapping yourself tightly with a blanket so that only your head is poking out. “What’s up?” she asks, and you hear her shuffle in the background, presumably to move somewhere more private. It isn’t normal for you to call her unannounced.

You hold it together for approximately two seconds. The tears start and they don’t stop. Every emotion you’ve felt since getting home last night comes to the surface, and before you know it you’re sobbing into the receiver.

“Woah, slow down,” she says. “Y/N, take some deep breaths.” When your breathing returns to a somewhat regular level she continues speaking. “What happened?”

It takes you nearly twenty minutes to tell the whole story because you’re so distraught. No detail is spared, and you go back much farther than is probably needed. You recount what happened after yesterday’s practice, pretty much the entire game, and the fight that followed. “I just don’t know what brought this on,” you sniffle. “We don’t fight, we talk about things. I’m not sure if I’m more upset at what he insinuated or at the fact he broke a cardinal rule.”

Your sister sighs, and you hear her breath fan in slight annoyance. You’re worked up about something kinda stupid, you know, but you can’t let it slide. “It’s probably a bit of both. So, what are you going to do?”

“What can I do? I know that we need to talk about what happened, but a public event is not the best place to do that. I also can’t not show up or ask Trav to ditch in order to figure this out. We have to be there.”

“Sounds like you’ve got it figured out then.”

You really don’t. “What happens if he ignores me the entire night?”

She laughs and tells you to not to anything stupid, and to take your mind off of things tells you a story about your nephew eating dirt. It does the trick; you’re momentarily distracted and forget about Travis. You talk for a while longer before she has to go. “Miles is crying, will you be okay if I let you go?”

It’s your turn to laugh. “I’ll be fine,” you insist. A glance at the clock tells you it’s time to start getting ready. “I’ve gotta shower and start the process. Beauty is time consuming you know.”

Against your better judgement you open your text messages to see if there’s anything from Travis. His text thread is the same as it was yesterday and you’re disappointed. You had hoped that maybe he’d get bored between interviews and check in. With no new notifications you exit out of the application and pull up a playlist you hope will brighten your mood. The steam from the shower relaxes your tense muscles and warms you up. It’s comforting in the way a cocoon is; you practically have to drag yourself out of the bathtub.

Your bedroom is cold and doesn’t offer the same respite as the bathroom. The music continues to float in from the hallway, and you allow yourself to get lost in it. It’s been a while since you danced around your room; it worked to cure sadness when you were a teenager. Hopefully the magic hasn’t worn off. You flail your arms, not caring how silly you look since no one is here to see you anyways, and scream along at the top of your lungs. After a few songs you feel better and return to the task at hand. The dress code is labelled as ‘black tie’ on the invitation, but that isn’t what you’re worried about. You own a million dresses for situations like this after being with Travis for so long. You don’t know what he packed to wear, and there’s a decent chance you’ll be pushed together for photos. Clashing colours will look terrible.

A quick glance through his side of the closest leaves you no clues, so you decide to be as literal as possible. Black is a flattering colour and works well with every colour combination. There’s a jumpsuit hanging in the back that catches your eye and you think it’s the perfect choice. After pulling it on you move back into the bathroom to do your hair and makeup. Everything is natural and relaxed; once again for the sake of potential photos. The clock strikes on the hour and you realize it’s time to leave. A pair of heels are slipped on and you order an Uber before locking the apartment and heading to the lobby. You had thought about driving yourself, but on the occasion that things don’t end well with Travis you’ll probably have more than a couple of drinks.

The entire way to the venue your leg bounces up and down. It’s been years since you’ve been this nervous about being around the team. You’ve been with Travis for a few seasons now, and the organization has become a second family to you. No one is going to know about the fight and you worry they’re going to talk about your solo arrival. The outside of the convention centre is sharply decorated, and your driver lets out a low whistle at the extravagance of it all. “Thank you so much,” you gush, and exit the car. Thankfully no photographers are set up outside, and you dart inside without being seen.

Once in the main event space, you scan for the bar. There’s no sign of Travis, which should make you more relaxed but doesn’t. What if there was an accident on the way to the venue? You have no idea where he was all or who he came with. Overthinking distracts you from your original goal, leaving you standing aimlessly in the middle of the room.

“You look like you might need one of these,” Ryanne chuckles, handing you a champagne flute. You gladly accept and down it in two gulps. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, eyes scanning to see if your boyfriend has made an appearance.

She sees right through your facade of calm and wraps you in a tight hug. “What’s going on?”

For a second time today you explain what happened last night. There’s no judgement from Ryanne as there might have been from your sister because she understands. Dating a professional athlete isn’t easy; things like this happen much more frequently than you’d expect. Perhaps it’s all the time spent apart that makes the occasional lapse in communication so apparent. She listens quietly, full attention on you. To your credit you don’t cry this time, slightly more numb to the situation to due more time passing. It still hurts a tremendous amount.

“He’ll come around,” Ryanne insists. “TK is a little moronic sometimes, but he’d never jeopardize his relationship with you. You’re quite literally the most important thing in his life.”

“I know. I’m just upset because the whole thing could have been avoided.”

She offers you a sympathetic smile. “I know.” Ryanne links her arm through yours. “Let’s go find something to snack on.”

You spend most of the night with Ryanne, and occasionally Claude when he can get away from the hot-shot businessmen. Travis eventually came in, flanked by Nolan, but was immediately pulled into the politics of the night. The two of you occasionally sneak glances at each other and you tell he’s uncomfortable. You can only hope it isn’t because of your presence. It’s nearing eleven; the party has become a much more relaxed affair, and the DJ is playing sappy love songs in an attempt to get the media team some good photo ops. An intern asks the Giroux’s if they’ll dance for an instagram story and they both look hesitant. “Go on guys, I’ll be fine,” you reassure. It’s the subtle push they need to enjoy a quiet moment together.

As if he can sense you’re lonely and feel out of place, Travis approaches you. It’s tentative, like he’s petrified you’ll turn him away, but he comes regardless. Drinks are in each of his hands and he extends one to you. When you don’t take it he sets it on the table behind you. “Hi,” he says sheepishly, fiddling with something in his pocket.

“Hi Travis.” You’re determined not to let his presence crack your resolve; last night illuminated a big issue and it needed to be dealt with. It’s proving to be difficult because he bumps a shoulder against yours and all you can think of is kissing him senseless.

The song changes to a Bruce Springsteen ballad, and you recognize it instantly. It played at the coffee shop on your first date with Travis all those years ago. One look at him tells you this isn’t an accident, that he had requested it specifically for the two of you. “Dance with me?”

You sigh deeply, looking him in the eyes. “Trav, this isn’t going to magically fix things.”

“I know, baby, I know,” he pleads. “I fucked up so bad last night because I was being an idiot. I wrote down everything I would do differently if I had a time machine, look.” A hand reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a piece of paper filled with his nearly illegible print. “Just one dance, and then we can go home and talk about it like I should have suggested in the first place. Let me know we’re still okay.”

If you hadn’t been in public you’re sure Travis would have been in tears. It’s not necessarily a good look to cry in front of hundreds of sponsors. He has a reputation as the goofy boy who takes no shit to uphold. “You have a lot of talking ahead of you,” you say, and let him drag you onto the dance floor. Swaying in his arms you realize things are going to be just fine. Travis loves you and you love him; there’s nothing the two of you can’t work through.

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

taglist: @jamiedrysdales @kiedhara @tortito if you want to be added shoot me an ask :)

#travis konecny imagine #travis konecny x reader #travis konecny fic #philadelphia flyers imagine #hockey imagine #hockey fic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #cwrites

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