-> Mighty Nein (+Essek) x GN!Reader
Notes: A Campaign 2 version of my Bell's Hells post. Once again, no one requested this, I just love doing the last one and it seems you guys did too!! 💜
Crown Keepers version 💚 Bell's Hells version 💙
Laughs when you give her a half-hearted smack on the shoulder when she calls you this, able to quickly overpower you and hold your wrists out of swatting range. There's a teasing lilt in her voice as she suggests you give her a kiss to make her stop.
It's casual, an arm draping itself over your shoulder or a hand reaching for your elbow. She draws you close, eyes flicking rapidly all over you, trying to assess the injuries received after battling some douchebag bandits.
Relieved that it's nothing too serious, she rasps your name before letting herself hug you in front of the others. It's her sentimentality - the vulnerability - that she so desperately wants to ignore she has, but she simply can't when you're standing before her, breathing and alive.
It started off as a joke, when it was early on in your friendship and career as the Mighty Nein. Tight for coin, you insisted on keeping your coppers just as close as you kept silver and gold.
It's becomes your go-to undercover name when pulling off not so legal shenanigans. It sounds like some trashy detective title, and she facepalms when she says so because Nott and Jester are already dragging you away to help in their latest scheme.
Some days she just says "Copper," a reminder of a time before you both were joined at the hip, broke and still learning to trust. What was an unassuming mineral and nickname, becomes something important that's too valuable to lose. A metallic taste left on your tongue as you part from a kiss.
A classic and reliable petname when he doesn't want to simply call you by your name. He does a double take and blinks comically should you reply in Zemnian, the familiarity of the language reminding him of better days. Often with a hesitant reach for your hand, only to pause, suddenly shy before you grip his tight.
Heart soaring, exciting, and new. Not a morning goes by that he wakes up next to you without feeling butterflies in his tummy or his lips already forming a smile when he sees you laying beneath the sheets at his side.
The floor is scattered with parchment and books, and the room smells of paper and sleep. He mutters as he presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, grumbling at the fact it is still too early to get up ("It is 5:37 precisely.") So he settles for throwing an arm over you torso and drawing you closer to him, mumbling the word before drifting off again.
It genuinely was a slip of the tongue before you even became an item. He wanted to be open with you, about how much he respects you and values your contributions to the party. But his heart ached and his skin felt flush under your gaze, and ended up confessing how endearing your character was.
It took even longer for him to admit his feelings, but once you both found your footing in the new territory as lovers, it became second nature to refer to you as one of the traits he first associated you with.
Throws in a few "Beautiful" "Lovely" or "Handsome" nicknames for sure. This man has spent so much time denying himself simple affection, thinking it was not only for his sake but for the sake of others. With you, after everything that's happened, he's able to learn to be comfortable and soft again.
People would swear that you're married from the way he looks at you, the way he shields you in battle or when he seems less self conscious of his tusks when sharing a giddy smile with you from across the room like a secret. He's asked by a stranger what's got him in a good mood and he simply says the loving nickname.
It seemingly came from nowhere at a random point on the Nein's journey. Shortly after reuniting following the Iron Shepherds situation, with the party one member short, he made the decision to not take life for granted. He was softer with you, tender even.
His hand on your shoulder, a thumb brushing away a tear sliding down your face and his voice but a whisper. And instead of calling you by your name, he calls you Darl, easing your mourning heart enough to stop crying and look at him with bloodshot eyes. He'll stay by you - he made a promise to.
There's salt in your eyes and sand in your hair, your skin is windburned and your knuckles are skinned, and your shirt is frayed at the cuffs, but there's no where else you'd rather be than at the bow of the ship. You're loosely gripping onto a rope, swaying as the breeze takes you somewhere far away and new, with the promise of adventure.
You look over your shoulder at him, standing proudly at the helm, natural and comfortable and in his element. He catches your eye and you grin, returning the little mock salute he sends your way before he mirrors your expression.
It's the way in which he tips his hat to you, holding the Captain's Cabin door open like a gentleman for a nightcap before turning in for the night, the colour that floods his cheeks when you kiss him briefly with a sigh. He removes the hat from his head with a slow reverence, and nestles it comfortably on your own.
Puts on an old grandma type voice when she says this, patting you on the head or arm when she links hers with yours, her skirts flowing behind you. When she's conversing with the Traveler, she realises it's the only name he knows you by.
She just has the urge to reach out and pinch your cheeks and attack your face with flurries of affection. So she does, often in the presence of strangers without any shame.
She snuck up on you one day, freshly painted rouge lips at the ready. Before you could even comment on the lipstick, you were interrupted with smooches all across your chin, nose, forehead and mouth before she skipped away, cooing the name before you broke into a sprint after her.
There's an obvious theme here with tooth-rottingly sweet nicknames.
Whenever she partakes in the bakeries the Nein passes on their travels, you're often the one she drags along with her, oohing and ahhing at the muffin varieties and signature sweet recipes.
She shares every one she snacks on with you, offering a bite here, insisting you taste the frosting there, or keeping what's left for you in her pocket when you're busy somewhere else. She smears a bit on your nose, giggling with delight at your baffled expression.
Says it with a purr, a hand at your back when you least expect it. You can hear the smile in his voice, that shit-eating grin. Call him it back and his eyes light up, one of his sharper canines tugging into his bottom lip. His tail curls slightly, his fingers moving to tangle with your own.
Upon first meeting, he called many people both in and outside of his social circle this innocent nickname. But the closer he got to you, and the more the walls separating you began to crumble, it ended up being strictly assigned to you. In fact, many of his terms of endearment became reserved for you alone, often forgoing your real name and coming up with something else.
The tip of his nose is lightly pressed to your own. His hair is tangled, knotted where you thread your fingers through it, and his hands gently hold your waist. The only music to dance to is the distant thrum of the tavern downstairs, and his muttered lyrics of songs he didn't even know he knew. They're from another time, maybe one he'd rather forget.
His body has lived through so much. He has been buried, crawled out from soil, found friends, fallen in love, fallen to his knees at the mercy of others, and now has woken up for the final time as Mollymauk Tealeaf, and will remain so for the rest of his days.
It's hard not to believe in some form of angel or personal valkyrie after the things he's endured, a lingering and comforting presence grounding him and helping him stand when he was bare, his tattooed flesh turned markless, and his thoughts confused.
He says it in the dark under the sheets when he dreams of you, when he takes his spot by your side at dinner, when you kiss his mouth and make his heart sing.
It's said in private, behind closed doors and when she's looking through the bits and bobs she's collected over the journey. She compares you to the shiny buttons and gemstones she keeps in her pockets, little riches she'll value above all else.
There's bravado, a bit of holdness in her grin as she stares up at you, almost in a daze when you ask her what is she looking at. She sighs dreamily, resting her chin in her hands and acts like a swooning maiden.
Your face feels aflame when she gives your ass a playful smack before she charges into battle with her crossbow at the ready, but you settle for the encouragement with a laugh as you run after her.
The best thing about being a travelling band of adventures is the vast lands and cities you come across and explore. There was one town in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing but farm land and fields of orchards - the origin of the nickname.
She's standing on your shoulders, hushing your worries as she swipes a couple of the juicy fruits from the branches overhead.
Of course, the moment you heard the farmer returning you bolted, holding her in your arms like a child. Back in town, she's feasting on the sweet fruit and holds up slices to your mouth, sharing the spoils with her partner (in crime).
Her face is flushed, and she's trying to not babble as you chuckle at her new attempt of a nickname. It ends up clumsy, childish, but so so endearing and you cannot help but reach up and kiss the tip of her nose and call her it back.
A heart to heart moment, taking a long rest in a half burned down barn while it pours rain outside. The others are asleep and snoring, and she's a comforting, strong presence by the fire as the storm passes over you.
She's a bit nervous, agitated, hopeful that she's not reading into something that's not there. But when you take her hand in yours and lean into her toned arm, she lets out a sigh of relief, and perches her chin on the top of your head.
Soft and delicate, something she cherishes and keeps safe.
She's pressing flowers that you gave her into a new notebook, dating it and asking you to sign your name next to hers. Little things she wants to remember and to show her children, hold close to her heart and look after her long time spent wondering and wandering.
Her thumb brushes against your cheek, the setting sun's glare through the window highlighting your skin and the flora set to the side. The collection is forgotten the longer she looks at you.
It's reserved for after long periods of time spent apart, when you're wrapped up in his arms and cloak once more and he knows that you're safe. It's been too long, and a laugh is shared between you in a room with only a single candle to see.
He says it as a greeting when the Nein approach him, a simple flirtation when he addressed you for the first time, a hand on his chest in respect. You return the gesture, albeit mockingly, and it only sparks his curiosity further.
It soon developed to have a greater meaning as you got closer, combined with lingering looks and touches, a confessional letter you found in your pocket, and his attempt at remaining stoic when you confronted him about it later. You grip his collar, tugging him close and promise your affections already lie with him.
It's classy, it's romantic, it's passionate~
He has your chin pinched between his fingers as you regard each other, huddled close in a quiet corner of the ballroom. His eyes are flicking to the side at your rejected suitors, but you bring his focus back to you with a purr of his name.
He calls you his smooth talker, the corners of his lips lifting into an all-knowing smirk. He leans in, suggesting a kiss, but intentionally moves past your lips and plants his own on your cheekbone instead. A tease. You'll get him back later.
Thanks for reading if you got this far, I hope you enjoyed 💜
