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noisynaia · 2 years ago

Note

Hey! I really love your Mando fics. Can I request something where the reader is traveling with Din and Grogu on the crest (could be Grogu's babysitter or something) and Din has a huge crush on her and seeing how much she loves grogu makes him want to confess his feelings. Just some nice Mando fluff, can be sfw or nsfw, whatever you feel like. 💕

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐌𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐝𝐲

Thank you for the request! I had so much fun writing this ♡

word count: 5.7k

pairing: Din Djarin x afab!reader

note: Explicit (18+). Smut and fluff. Thigh riding, unprotected P in V (with use of contraception), creampie. Love confessions. The helmet comes off. The Razor Crest lives. No use of (y/n). This has not been beta nor proof read and English is not my native language.

Din’s heart skips a beat at the sight of you. He has tried to fight the feelings he has developed for you, convinced himself that his feelings aren’t truly as deep cutting as they feel. Tried to be content with the time you would spend with him and Grogu before you eventually would move on and he’d be left with the memories and the fantasies of how it would have been if you had really been his. The sight of you and Grogu is almost too much for him, and it makes it very hard for him to not just give up everything and tell you how you make him feel. Your features are highlighted by the silvery moon light that is shining down from the night sky.

You are beautiful.

Din had thought so from the moment he first saw you. But now, after you have travelled with him and Grogu for almost a year and he has gotten to know you, really know you, ‘beautiful’ simply doesn’t cut it anymore. The word in basic is feeling too banal, too trivial, to describe the true beauty of your being. You are the most beautiful person Din has ever known and he is confirmed in this by you every day.

The way you smile up at him when you walk side by side in a crowded market when you’re on supply runs, always insisting on finding a treat or a new toy for Grogu. The way you always greet Din so happily when he comes back from a hunt, like you truly are happy to see him again, like you have actually missed him… How you will always make sure he is okay and hasn’t been hurt, and how you will insist on helping patch him up on the occasions he is. The feeling of your soft hands delicately placing a bacta patch on his bare shoulder a few weeks ago is still burnt into his skin… The way you take such good care of his son, you look at Grogu like he is the one who hung every moon and every star in the galaxy. The kindness and beauty of your soul is truly bewitching. Maybe that is why he started calling you mesh’la.

The first time it had just slipped out. It was a couple of months ago. He had come back from a hunt late at night, tired and muddy. For a short moment, Din had felt like all the air had been knocked out of his lungs by the sight he had found. There you were, so lovely, so beautiful, fast asleep on his bunk with a sleeping Grogu curled up beside you, his little green fist closed around one of your fingers.

Din’s heart had yearned by the sight. The feelings you and Grogu are bringing to him are new territory for Din. He has never wanted anything like this before, or at least never let himself admit that he does. But you and Grogu make it impossible for Din to keep lying to himself. The kid is under his care, under his protection, and from the moment he chose the armour instead of the sabre and came back to Din, his ad'ika. Din and Grogu are a clan. A clan of two. A clan that Din wishes was a clan of three.

He had been quiet when he started to walk off to the cockpit, something he usually was good at, but you had stirred awake anyway, like your sleeping subconscious had felt his presence. You lifted your head from the pillow, sleepily blinked until your eyes had found him.

“You’re back.” You had said, your voice had been a little hoarse from sleep, but still as sweet as usual, a tired smile had painted your face as your eyes had found the dark T of his visor.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” He had said, but you had just shaked your head and hugged Grogu close against you. Oh, how Din had wished he could have crawled into the bunk and joined the two of you.

“Are you okay?” You had asked, just like you always do after he comes back from a hunt.

“Yes, I’m okay.” He had reassured you before continuing. “Go back to sleep, mesh’la.”

He has never told you what it means and a part of him feels guilty about that. Maybe you wouldn’t like to be called that by him. You are technically his employee, even though the lines between you feel pretty blurry by now. An undefinable bond has been built between you, Grogu and Din. Maybe it is the small proximity there is forced upon the three of you, due to the size of the Razor Crest. Or maybe it is due to the undeniable connection there has been between you and Grogu from the beginning, but your presence on the Crest feels too domestic, too loving, for you to simply be Grogu’s nanny.

Din has felt feelings this past year that he has not been acquainted with before. Desire, jealousy, a desperate yearning, all fairly foreign to him until you had entered his life. It is an emotional disruption he hasn’t felt since Grogu had come into his life.

When Grogu had come crashing into his life it had been an upheaval beyond anything Din could ever have imagined. He was so used to not having anyone around, let alone a small child that was so dependent on him. It had been confusing and foreign, but Grogu had climbed into his heart and carved out a space there. A space that Din never wants to become empty again.

Din had never been aware of how lonely he actually had been before Grogu. It had been a hard realisation, but he couldn’t deny it any longer, especially when he thought that he had lost him. Forget hunting bounties and fighting ferocious creatures, handing his foundling over to the Jedi was the hardest thing Din has ever had to do. Din had ended up caring more for Grogu than he had ever thought possible, he had removed his helmet for his foundling, the little green child had given din a whole new purpose in life.

And now Din is a changed man. Grogu has changed him, down to the very atoms of his DNA. Din had never thought he would have what he now has. He had been settled with the way his life had been- lonesome and brutal, in order to support his covert and give back to the Mandalorians that had taken him in, or he had at least used to think so…

But seeing you now, there is really no way of running from his feelings any longer. You are gently bouncing Grogu on your hip as you point out a constellation for him, but the youngling seems to be more interested in playing with the hem of your tunic than looking at the stars over your heads. The silver light from the planet’s moons illuminates you and bathes you in the shine.

Din had landed the Crest on the little planet not even twenty minutes ago and even though it was past Grogu’s bedtime you had insisted on letting him have a couple of minutes in the fresh air before putting him down for the night. Din had not objected, the three of you had been in space for almost a week straight so a little moonlit night stroll before bed had sounded tempting.

A light breeze sweeps over you and Grogu lets go of your tunic to instead nuzzle himself close against your chest as he lets out a cute little yawn. You let out a low chuckle before looking up at Din and his heart skips a beat for the second time this night. The stars are reflecting in your eyes and you have a sleepy smile on your lips.

“I think it is time to get our little one here back to his bed.” You chuckle while you hitch Grogu up a little higher on your hip.

‘Our little one…’

Our!

Dear Maker how Din wished that you had meant it in the way he secretly yearns for.

“Yeah, let’s head back to the ship, mesh’la.”

—

Grogu is sleepily blinking his big eyes up at you as he slowly snoozes off in your arms. You let out a content sigh as you plant a kiss on top of his little green head before carefully placing him down into his little hammock. The sound of his small soft snores echoes through the little sleeping chamber. You are never gonna get tired of this. You smile down at the little sleeping figure as you back away, turning the switch for the door to give the youngling peace to sleep.

You look around the hull for Din, but you don’t find him so you climb up the ladder to the cockpit where you find him sitting in the pilot chair. He looks like he is lost deep in his thoughts, looking out through the window at the night dark meadow where he had docked the ship.

“Hey.” You say as you approach him, sitting yourself down in the passenger seat next to him.

“Hi.” He says without looking at you.

A silence falls over the cockpit, not necessarily an uncomfortable one, but it does feel loaded with something you can’t really put your finger on. Din had been silent for the entire walk back to the Crest and you wonder if something is bothering him. Maybe he is just tired. You had told him to take the bunk tonight when you made it back to the ship, but he had refused. You were supposed to be taking turns sleeping in the bunk under Grogu’s hammock, but it has been weeks since Din has slept in it and wasn't like he did it often before that. You feel bad about it, his back must be killing him after all these nights on the hard mat on the floor.

“Din is-” You lean forward in the passenger chair, leaning slightly towards him to try and catch his attention. “Is something wrong?”

He finally looks away from the window and turns his helmet towards you, and despite only being met by the dark visor of his helmet you just know that his eyes under it are locking with yours. The thought of that always sends a little shiver through you. You know that you shouldn't think about it. Maybe it is wrong, an insult to his creed, but you can’t help but fantasise about the man he must be underneath all the beskar. He is handsome, that is for sure. It doesn’t even matter in what way, it is deeper than that. He is a handsome person no matter what he actually looks like under the helmet and armour. You have seen some of him in glimpse. A bare hand as he removes a glove to get a better grip on as he fixes a clasp on a crate, or the time he had gotten hit in the spot between two pieces of armour and you had helped him getting it bandaged. His face is still a mystery to you. It is a little weird not to know what he looks like, especially considering that you have fallen in love with him.

You had not meant to fall in love with the Mandalorian. You had tried to fight it, but it was a fight you had no chance of winning. You know that you are being silly, but you sometimes get the idea that he might feel something for you too. It also doesn’t help that you have ended up loving Grogu as much as you do. You don’t think you could love him more if he had been your own. It is kind of scary, the thought of the day din decides he doesn’t need you anymore. That your feelings for Din never will be reciprocated hurts, but you will be able to get over it with time, but the day you will have to get separated from Grogu… Oh, that day is going to kill you.

“No, mesh’la nothings wrong.” Din shakes his head, he isn’t looking at you anymore, back to looking out at the night. “I was just lost in my own thoughts.”

“Oh, okay...”

You sit in silence for a little while, you don’t know if you should go and let him be alone with his thoughts or if you should break the silence. You are just about to open your mouth to say something, what you don’t even know, but the silence feels too much. Din beats you to it though.

“The kid, he uhm…” His voice is much softer than usual, almost close to a whisper. “He really likes you.”

“Well, I really like him too.” You say, you can’t help the soft smile spreading on your lips.

“I’m glad you do, mesh’la…”

“You know… You keep calling me that, but you have never told me what it means.”

“I guess I haven’t…” His voice is low and a little shaky through the modulator.

You don’t know what it is with him tonight, but something feels different.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your fluttering heart. “Are you gonna tell me?”

He freezes in the chair, sitting more still than usual, if that is even possible. He is almost reminiscent of a statue. The silence builds, and you begin to regret that you asked. The air between you feels charged, but you can’t figure out with what. It feels like whatever his answer is gonna be it is gonna fundamentally change something between you. You are starting to think that he is going to ignore your question when he finally breaks the silence.

“Beautiful.” His voice sounds a little weak, almost like he regrets telling you, but he continues in a more confident tone. “It means beautiful.”

Beautiful… He’s been calling you beautiful all this time? The word always falling so naturally from his lips, soft and earnestly.

The rapid beats of your heart against the restraints of your ribcage thumbs loudly in your ears. You can’t believe what he just said. He is finally looking back at you again, but any signs of what he is feeling are hidden behind the dark reflection of the visor.

“You call me beautiful?”

“Yeah, I do… Trust me, if anything or anyone has ever deserved to be called that, it is you.”

You can not believe that this is really happening, is there really a chance that he might feel the same as you?

“I don’t know what to say.” You say, the hope that has bloomed in your chest is scaring you.

“You don’t have to say anything. I actually would prefer it if you don’t… I’m sorry if I have made you uncomfortable.” He stands up from the chair, turning his back to you.

“Din please don’t go…” You grab his wrist before he can get to the ladder and disappear down the hull. “Din, I need you to tell me how you feel, please… I need to know.”

“Dank farrik.” He curses under his breath and turns around to face you again. “I don’t know how to do this…” He shuffles anxiously from one foot to another.

It is always so surprising to see Din like this, the usual confident and stoic bounty hunter all anxious and nervous, but you have seen it a few times before. He might be a tough and hardy bounty hunter, but put the man in a social setting and he can get nervous. But this is a whole new level.

“Grogu he…” He pauses, the sound of his breath sounds shaky through the modulator of his helmet. “He means the world to me. I love him, he… he is mine. I never thought that I would have that, my life was never set on that path, I didn’t think I was ever meant to be anyone’s buir, but… now I can’t imagine my life without him in it. It was hard for me to accept that I wanted someone around, but I couldn’t deny it any longer.”

His words come out with so much emotion, you have never heard him like this before. You know that he loves his son, he shows that every day, but hearing him say it like this… The rawness, the emotions. Your vision starts to turn blurry as the tears start to build in the corner of your eyes. You want to be a part of that love so bad.

“What I’m trying to say is…” He takes a shaky breath through the modulator, his shoulders are tense under the shoulder plates of his armour and his gloved hands are curled into tight anxious fists. “Now I can’t imagine my life without you in it either.”

“Oh…” Your lips part, you are founding yourself dumbfounded. Is this really happening?

“I want you to be a part of my life, both our lives…” He is actually shaking as he tells you this. “I don’t want to just be a clan of two anymore… I want you mesh’la.”

You suddenly understand. The way you will sometimes worry that he is avoiding you, or how you sometimes feel like your presence is making him uncomfortable. It makes sense now, you rise from the chair and close the distance between the two of you. You search for the eyes under the helmet, even though you can’t see them you want him to know that you are looking at him - the man and not the Mandalorian. You realise how hard this must be for him, he has been hidden away for all of his adult life, physically, but emotionally too. You reach out for him, placing your palms on the sides of his helmet.

“Din…” You start out, it is probably just something you imagine, but it is like you can feel the heat of his skin through the beskar on your hands. “You already got me. I’m already yours.”

“Really?” It is Din’s turn to sound like he doesn’t believe what he is hearing.

“Yes, Din.” You can feel the tears sliding down your cheeks now, and you can’t keep the grin off your face as you nod up at him. “I’m yours, okay. Yours and Grogu’s.”

“And we are yours... Kriff, mesh’la I’m all yours.” He gasps through the modulator. He rests his forehead against yours, the coolness of the beskar is feeling nice against your warm skin. You stand like this for a moment, simply enjoying the intimacy of the closeness, your hands cradling his helmet and his resting on your hips. The silence stretches until Din finally breaks it.

“I want to kiss you so badly.” He confesses.

“I know.” You say, but you know that he can’t and that is okay. You have accepted that things with him are going to be different than it would have been with others, so the shock you’re feeling when a loud hiss is echoing off the durasteel walls is big. You squeeze your eyes tightly shut without even thinking about it. Your hands land over your closed eyes, like an extra protection to make sure you don’t see him.

“What are you doing?!” You shriek as you hear the loud thud of beskar landing on the metal floor. Din has removed his helmet! He didn’t even give you a warning so you could close your eyes before, you had been quick so you haven't really seen him just gotten a quick blurry peek.

“Open your eyes, mesh’la.” His voice is so low and soft, it is so close to a whisper, you almost miss it. His fingers brush against your hands to make you remove them from your eyes. His bare hands, you notice, and the skin on skin contact makes a hot shiver run down your spine. “Please.” He adds.

You can’t believe this. First you learn that he has been calling you beautiful for months, then he tells you that he wants you to stay with him and Grogu and now… Now Din is helmetless in front of you and he wants you to see him?

“Are you sure?” You stutter.

“Yes, mesh’la.” This time he speaks with his whole chest, like he has never been more sure about anything in his life. The sound of his voice without the modulator of his helmet hits your ears and you feel like you might cry. It’s deep and rich, reminding you of the sonorous melodies played on a f'nonc horn.

You inhale a shaky breath before removing your hands from your eyes and slowly blinking them open. And there he is. Din Djarin, your Din Djarin, staring back at you. You let out a little gasp as you take in the sight of him. You can’t believe that this is what he has been hiding all this time. You knew you would like the way he looked, because it would be him, but the reality is still exceeding all expectations you had. Din Djarin is gorgeous. The brown hair, that curls up at the ends, matches the colour of the irises of the prettiest most soulful eyes you have ever seen. His strong jaw is covered with a short, slightly patchy, beard that frames his face nicely. A moustache is framing his mouth. A mouth with the most kissable lips you have ever seen.

Another long silence breaks out between you, both of you are shocked by the situation.

“Hi…” He finally says and it is all that you need to break out of your haze.

“Hi.” You smile at him, maybe the brightest smile of your life.

You reach out for him, you need him closer.

“Do I disappoint?” He asks, but he is smiling too now.

“Hell no.” You shake your head with a laugh, the thought of this face disappointing anyone is an absurd idea.

“You’re beautiful.” You whisper, your hands find his hair, wrapping your fingers in his soft locks. He leans his forehead down to rest against yours again. It had felt good before, but this - his skin against yours, oh that is heaven. The two of you stay like this for a while, enjoying the affinity between you.

“What about that kiss?” You finally say and it is all he needs to hear. His lips crash onto yours. It is like a switch has been turned, the softness from before replaced with an intense hunger. The kiss is heated and needy, like he is desperate to taste you, wanting to map out every corner of your mouth. His hands are on your hips, a tight grip as he pushes you closer against him.

You gasp into his mouth as you feel the solid curve of his bulge press against your pelvis. It is sending a warm shiver through you that settles in your lower stomach. You press yourself into him, slightly grinding your hips against his clothed cock which pulls a low groan out of him. His broad hands squeezes your hips, guiding your rhythm as you rock against him.

“Do you really want this?” You ask him

“More than anything.” You can hear the smirk in his voice. “Do you?”

“Yes!” You nod wildly. “I’ve never wanted anything or anyone as badly as I want you.”

Your confession makes him let out a deep groan from deep within his throat, it makes a new shiver run through you. His fingers find the hem of your pants which he starts to slide down your legs. You take over, kicking the garment of your legs as you push him towards the pilot’s chair.

“Sit.” You command. You don’t know what it is, you are usually not the commanding type, but you are feeling wild tonight, drunk off of Din’s lips.

Something flickers in Din’s eyes at your sudden bossy tone. “Yes, ma’am.” He mutters as he sits back in the seat, his strong thighs spread out and a cocky smile on his lips. Fuck, he is going to be the death of you aren’t he?

You take a second to enjoy the view, before walking over to him, stepping between his thighs. Your hand lands in his hair as you look down at him through hooded eyes.

“Come here, mesh’la.” He whispers as he reach out for you, gripping your hips and pulling you closer. You lift your leg over him, straddling his broad lap.

He groans at the pressure, as you start to rock your clothed cunt against his muscular thigh. You suspect that he can feel the warmth of your dampness through the fabric. Din adjusts his hold on your waist, helping you set a rhythm as he begins to move your hips. He is moving you slowly at first, but the eager sounds you’re letting out is quickly making him pick up the pace. You purr out his name as you feel his thigh flex under you.

“Kriff… Doing so good for me, mesh’la.” Din curses under his breath. “Looking so pretty.”

“Mmm..” You hum out, burying your face into the crook of his neck as you keep grinding against him until you can’t take it anymore.

“Fuck, Din, I...” You whine, feeling the fabric of your panties getting gradually more and more damp against him.

“I need you, Din” You remove your head from his neck so you can look deeply into his eyes. His brown eyes are burning you, his hands coming to a still.

“Okay, yeah…” He nods at you, his pupils are blown wide and a flush is covering his cheeks. “Ne-need you too, mesh’la.”

His eyes are still locked with yours as he moves you, making you lift yourself up from him so he can start on removing some of his armour plates. You use the time to get rid of your tunic, leaving you in only your bra and panties. He ends up removing most of his armour, leaving him warm and soft for you.

He pulls you down on him again, connecting your lips once more as his hand dives down to your panties, sliding his fingers under the hem and finding your clit which he begins to stroke with slow, firm circles after coating his digits with your wetness, making you moan into the kiss.

“Fuck, mesh’la, you’re so wet. All soaked, just for me. My sweet, sweet girl.” He whisper against your mouth.

He keeps circling your clit with one hand, setting a faster pace as his other hand finds your breast, squeezing it gently through your bra, making you let out another desperate moan. Your hands find the clasp at your back, fingers fumbling slightly from eagerness as you open the latch before zealously removing the item from your body. Din lets out a pleased groan as your exposed breasts appear. His free hand, that isn’t occupying your clit, eagerly kneads the soft plumpness of one of your tits before taking its nipple between his fingers and gently twisting it.

“Oh, fuck… Fuck, Din, I…” You whine out, feeling your orgasm approach. You don’t think you have ever felt it come this early before, but he has you so riled up.

“I know baby, I know.” He encourages. “You can mesh’la, you can come for me.”

It is all you need to hear, the last string that holds you together gets cut and the warm euphoric waves of pleasure wash over you. His name is falling from your lips over and over again as you ride out your orgasm.

“Did that feel good?” He asks you with a kiss to the top of your head when you’ve finally come back down from your high and now has relaxed into him.

“So good.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He says and you can hear the smile in his voice without even looking at him.

“Wanna make you feel good too.” You say letting your fingers find his cheek and gently stroke his cheekbone. “Want you inside me.” You feel how his cock twitches underneath you from your confession.

“You sure mesh’la?” He asks, placing his hand under your chin to gently holding your head up as he look deeply you in the eyes for your answer.

“Very.”

“Okay.” He hums, pressing a gentle kiss onto your lips, but it very quickly turns heated.

Your hands reach down between you, finding the buttons of his pants which you quickly begin to unbutton. The angle is slightly awkward, but you manage to get the last button undone without breaking the kiss.

Din taps your thigh to make you step back for a second so he can pull down his pants and free his cock. Your eyes widen at the sight. You had gotten the idea that he was big from what you had felt when you grinded against his bulge, but nothing could prepare you for the view that met you. He is big. His cock is throbbing and thick, laying heavy against his stomach, the tip is already dripping with precum and you feel your mouth water by the sight.

You slide your panties to the side as you readjust yourself, and start to slowly sink down on him. You’re really taking your time, both so you can adjust to the imposing size of him, and so you can enjoy the sounds he’s making for you as you slowly take more and more of him, until you finally are taken the entirety of him.

“You are so perfect…” He sights. “Cyar'ika you have no idea…” He adds before he starts on leaving hot kisses up and down your neck.

‘Cyar'ika.’ Another word you don’t know the meaning of, but you are too far gone in your shared pleasure to stop up and ask him the meaning.

The two of you sit like this for a little while, letting you adjust to him, but you soon can’t take it anymore, you need some movement.

You lift yourself a little from the chair before sinking back down on him, making Din choke on a throaty moan. His hands stay on your hips, as you begin to bounce on him in a slow, but steady rhythm, but he occasionally slips them down to your ass, squeezing the soft plum skin with his broad hands. It makes you go wild. You pick up your pace.

“Dear, Maker…” You gasp “Din, you’re feeling so good.”

“You too, mesh’la. So fucking tight.” Din praises, lifting you up with his strong arms and pulls all the way out of you before slamming back into you, filling you up again. “So warm, so perfect.”

His hips now meet yours with every bounce as he thrust up into you, burying himself so deep inside you it has you bite down hard on your lower lip to not scream loudly and wake up Grogu. The sound of Din’s heavy balls slapping up against your wet cunt, as well as the loud creaks of the chair, is echoing from the walls and it is honestly the hottest thing you have ever heard. Your arms have begun to shake as your grip on the armrest of the chair is getting tighter and tighter. You keep bouncing up and down on him as you feel your second climax getting nearer and nearer.

“Oh, kriff… Mesh’la you’re so tight.” He groans through gritted teeth.

“I… I won’t last much longer.” He warns. His thrust falters a little as he gets closer and closer to his release.

“It’s okay, you can come, baby…” You pant out. “Please come for me, Din”

He let out a throaty groan at your encouragement.

“I have an implant.” You add. “Please, I want to feel you inside of me.”

You pull his face up to you, kissing him hard. Your lips connected passionately as you both get pushed over the edge. His fingers dig into your hips as he comes, your name spilling from his lips like a prayer.

You moan out his name, as your walls clench down around his cock. You feel how his dick twitches inside you as he comes undone. The warmth of his release coats your inside, and you dote on the feeling of being filled by him, milking every drop of his release as he keeps pumping into you, fucking his cum deep into you. You feel like the two of you have melted together as you both ride out your climaxes. Tears of pleasure are wetting your eyes. You have wanted him for so long, never thought that you would have him, never thought that he would feel the same as you.

You find his lips again, kissing him as you both ride out your climaxes. He hums content into your mouth and you can feel the smile on his lips. His hands are leaving your waist and he is instead cupping your cheeks, gently holding your face and the rough and heated atmosphere is soon turning soft.

“Are you okay?” He asks while caressing your cheek with light strokes of his finger pads.

“Yes.” You assure him with a small smile. “More than okay.”

He smiles back at you. He has the prettiest smile in the galaxy you decide. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, mesh’la.”

You don’t know the meaning of his words, but they fall from his lips with such warmth and care that you it has your heart flutter with warmth in your chest.

“What does that mean?” Your voice is nothing but a whisper.

“I will know you forever.”

“That is beautiful.”

“It’s…” He looks into your eyes, the deep mahogany of his irises make your heart clench. You can’t believe that these are the eyes that has been looking at you from under the helmet all this time. “It’s how we tell people we love them.”

“It is…?”

“Yes.” He nods. “I love you, mesh’la.”

He loves you… Din Djarin loves you.

“I love you too, Din.” You say before connecting your lips again in a long passionate kiss. “You and Grogu.” You add when you eventually have to pull away for air.

He smiles at you as his eyes are filling with grateful tears. You, Din and Grogu – a little clan of three.

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barrel-crow-n · 6 months ago

Text

Something that makes me crazy is the difference in how Kanej deals with their issues.

Kaz was hurt so he hurt others. He got scammed so he became the scammer. He was beaten up so he became the one beating people up. He found a way to thrive in the toxic cycle of violence in the Barrel. This keeps him alive, but makes him a bad person. Kaz doesn't care. Kaz left decency behind the second that was what was necessary to survive. He shrugged it off like a cheap coat. Don't like touch? Simple. Break anybodies wrist that dares touch you; break their arm. Give them a reason to keep away. Make them scared because that keeps you safe (and as a result will keep them safer from you).

Inej was hurt so she prevents others from being hurt. She hunts down slavers so children won't have the same fate as her. She can't just leave decency behind, her values and beliefs won't allow it. She does penance after every kill, she cried after killing the first time, she isn't keen on violence and only does it when completely necessary (at odds with Kaz that attacks at the slightest provocation to the point of everyone giving him a wide berth). The violence committed on her makes her angry (and righteously) but she doesn't lash out at everyone like Kaz does, she holds that back for a select few, to make them pay for the suffering they've caused.

Kaz felt like he died and became someone new so he leaned into it. He change his name from Rietveld to Brekker, he became someone new, a stranger. Nobody knew who he was, or where he came from. Kaz Rietveld was dead, and a monster had taken his place.

Inej also says that she feels like she died. She says that the girl she had been died in the belly of a slavers ship. However, unlike Kaz, she refuses to change her name. And dehumanisation links to this!

Kaz was dehumanised so he dehumanised himself further. Dirtyhands. Per Haskell's rabid dog. Demjin. Kaz thrives in this, because it makes him feel safe, it makes him feel untouchable. Kaz Rietveld was weak, so was replaced by Kaz Brekker. When that isn't enough, Dirtyhands is there to get the rough work done.

Inej was dehumanised so she humanised herself. She is not a lynx or a spider or a wraith. She is Inej Ghafa. She is a pirate vigilante, rescuer of slaves. And the interesting thing is that Kaz offered this to her too! He asks her "Is that what you prefer to be called?" (referring to her name, Inej Ghafa) when buying her indenture at the Menagerie. He is offering her the same thing he did. A change of name, a clean slate. But she declines. She is a Ghafa and no matter what happens to her, she always will be.

Kaz was traumatised so he isolated himself. He holds people at arms length because he sees them as weaknesses, or as obstacles between him and his revenge. He put his gloves on and doesn't take them off, he failed once with Imogen and decided to never try again. He yearns for connection but it only serves to isolate him further. Because they have no idea what it's like to watch friends hug, knowing you can never have the same. Kaz builds up armour (the gloves) but he doesn't tackle the root problem that is his fear of touch. He tried once and failed and quit (which is actually out of character for him, in contrast with him learning magic ceaselessly until he has mastered it - and shows how terrified he is and how disgusted he is at himself) and this serves to make him feel like he just can't. Like the dream of friends is hopeless.

Inej was traumatised so she seeks human connection. She has Jesper and Nina. She has the other Crows. She tries to heal, to open herself up. She might still flinch at touch occasionally but her friends are helping her and she wants to try and heal. She knows how to ask for help.

In all, Inej's ways of coping are a lot healthier. Kaz is stuck in a toxic cycle, and has been for years, but Inej is giving him a way out of it. Finally, he can make the step towards proper healing. He won't change his name back. He won't stop being a gangster. But he can feel more comfortable in himself and with his friends. And that's what Inej wants to give him, because she knows how important that is.

#kaz brekker #inej ghafa #six of crows #grishaverse #six of crows duology #my analysis

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inkonparchment · 3 months ago

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there's a man in the woods | Leon Kennedy

Leon Kennedy x f!Reader

summary: everything changes when you find a man beaten, bruised and bleeding half to death in the woods.

word count: 2.4k

warnings: horror imagery. unsettling themes. mentions/description of blood, organs, guns. canon-typical violence. injuries. slow burn. eventual romance. hurt/comfort. plot armour goes crazy. language.

a/n: with the way i decided to title these posts i can never figure out which part is getting the notes LMAO anyways i did this to myself nbd. also please take care in reading this!! description of corpses and blood!!

series masterlist

Chapter 3

The fluorescent lights sting in your eyes, bouncing off the white tiles and multiplied by the same stain of the walls. You bring your hand up to shield your eyes, blinking harshly. A lump sticks at the bottom of your throat when you notice the white sleeve of your coat. Glancing down to your body, your blood runs cold at your attire; neatly buttoned up white coat, your black pants and pointed brown heels. The scent of antiseptic floods your nose and it takes every fiber of your being to keep down the acid in your stomach.

The hallway you’re in is narrow, too narrow, enough that if you put your hands out, your fingernails would just barely scrape the walls. The fluorescent tube lights hang overhead, a straight line slicing through the centre. The silence hurts your ears, almost deafening, feeling your eardrums on the brink of collapse. The sound of your heels echo as you shift on your feet in unease. You look as far down the hallways as you can, twisting your heads to look both ways. You don’t see an end, the file of tube lights endless in their pursuit.

You muster up your broken courage and take a step, the sound echoing, reverberating and multiplying as it travels down the hall. You wince with every step, hoping to locate an end; a door, window or just about anything with an exit. Click-clack, click-clack.

Your breath stutters, huffing and puffing with sweat breaking out over your forehead. Your eyes dart around the walls, in hopes of catching a glimpse of something, some flaw, some piece that doesn’t fit, some part that chips away at the façade of perfection. The hairs on the back of your neck, stand upright, an eerie cold breath harsh against your nape. You nervously run a hand over it, eyes bulging and heels now clicking faster on the floor. Click-clack, click-clack.

A presence looms behind you, flickering into existence, steadily closing the gap. You don’t dare look back, eyes drilling a hole in the end of the hallway that you cannot see, peeled open and barely blinking. Perspiration drips down your temples. But it doesn’t relent, creeping closer and closer, almost mocking in its approach, enjoying watching you try and scamper away from it. But where will you go, how far will you go? Click-clack, click-clack.

You dig your fingernails in your palms, grip so tight that it breaches the layer of your skin, blood prickling and painting the crescent shaped indents. It’s toying with you now, slowing down and then suddenly lurching forward, feeling it grow satisfied at the wobble in your footsteps, never closing in but dangling you far away enough to delude you into thinking you could escape. A push and a pull.

Helpless and powerless to decide when it has had its fun with you.

And suddenly it surges forward, your skin erupting in goosebumps as it hunts you down, penetrating through your chest and gripping your throat. Just before it can tighten around you, before you can scream in terror, it vanishes. And takes the lights with it, plunging you in darkness.

You freeze, ragged breaths harshly resonating in the air, heart beat furious in your chest. Your ears are ringing and in an instant, the lights turn back on.

You suck in a harsh breath, eyes so wide they nearly spill out of your skull, forearm shooting up to save your nose from the assault of the acrid smell. Tears spring in the corner of your eyes, burning at the sight before you; hundreds of bodies lay scattered around you, seeping into the endless void of the hallway, drenched in red as their skin are marvels of blue and grey, torn at the edges, rotting away and hollowness in their eyes. The lights blink above you, broken and dull, sparks of electricity raining upon the bodies.

The walls once so carefully white are stained, swipes of blood cracking the plaster and making it peel away. You double over, a strong wave of nausea nearly knocking you off your feet. Regaining your footing, you look up and stumble back, eyes falling on a lone figure standing hunched over in the distance, fluorescent tube light flickering over the figure ominously.

She looks different than the rest on the floor; white coat, black pants and pointed brown heels. The words are lodged in your throat, forehead creasing in worry when your eyes flick to her hands, the drops of blood falling slowly, splattering on the pristine floor, sleeves wholly drenched in maroon.

She turns at a snail’s pace, time beginning to compress, its weight crushing down and sucking all the oxygen out of the room. And you recognize her in an instant; the dip of the nose, the curve of the lips, the bags under her eyes, the vacant look occupying her face and the way her hands shake.

It’s like looking in a mirror.

“You could have stopped this,” You hear yourself speak, voice trembling, tears gathered at your waterline, “Why didn’t you stop?”

And then it all melts away.

The scent of wood pulls you back, eyes fluttering open to the blanket that lays on the armrest of your couch. A shiver rakes your body, spine straightening in your chair, followed by an ache from having spent the night in an awkward position. The rifle stands loosely between your legs, nozzle pointing up, the leather strap skating the fingers of your free hand.

A dull glow enters through the windows, painting the inside of your cabin in streaks of monotonous grey. You blink away the sleep in your eyes, muscles jostled awake from their slumber as you stand and approach the windows, welcoming a distraction of the horrid sense of doom gripping your being. A dull ache forms behind your eyes, shivering at the phantom that graces your nights.

The morning sun rises, hidden away behind the firm curtain of the clouds, ashamed from having lost the battle against the tempest of yesterday.

The leaves are heavy, bowed down in surrender under the morning dew collecting with the onslaught of raindrops, a sheen atop the grass blades. A sigh escapes your lips, dropping the curtains back in place, making a mental note of assessing the damage done outside later.

You forgo the rifle, setting it against the couch, revelling in a sense of security as no unexpected guest had showed up. Luna is awake, not having moved an inch from her spot as you step over her, halting in the threshold. Not much has changed, the man still fast asleep under the layers of blankets, a stray empty bowl with a spoon inside on the side table you had used to spoon a mixture of water, salt and sugar down his throat as much as you could.

You chew your lip, your words from last night suddenly swimming in front of your eyes. ‘All good on my end’. What the fuck was that? You can’t remember what had possessed you to say that, why didn’t you confess and rid yourself of this issue? He would have been a distant memory by now, the indent of his body on your mattress reduced to nothing but a fleeting moment.

You stare at him, long and hard, a shiver raking through your limbs. You’ve never had another person in here, the feeling of another in your home erupting sensations of discomfort all around you. It’s long since you’ve been around anything living that wasn’t Luna or your chickens. A long while since you spoke words and got a reply in turn, not counting the bare exchange of words during the weekly phone calls.

You wonder about him, who he is and what he is. Someone dangerous, you guess. It may have been a while but you are certain that baristas don’t show up bloody in the middle of the woods, armed to their teeth with gashes on their body that were given to them by anything resembling a human. You wonder if he’s here for you, finding the thought slightly ridiculous. If he was, you would have been dead already. The sentiment scares you; if he is, you hope he takes pity on you on the account of saving his life.

You shift closer, trying to better hear his breathing. You will your hands forward, peeling away the covers to inspect the wounds underneath. Nothing bleeds, the angriness of his cuts, subsiding to a gentle simmer. The paleness of his skin offers a sharp contrast to the purple bruises littered across his muscled body. You graze his skin with the back of your hand, pausing to assess his temperature, eyes fixed on his face that relaxes under your touch. Some warmth has returned, easing your heart and you find it hard to pull back, the scratchiness of his stubble marking a foreign sensation against your hand.

You wonder if he’s kind. Kind in the way he speaks, in the way he approaches life, mind wandering with the pictures of him living in a cozy apartment in a big city. You wonder if he has a family, friends or co-workers, anyone who misses him. You swallow harshly. They must be worried sick at his disappearance.

He begins to stir under your touch, the movement startling you as you flinch and retreat from him haphazardly. Your feet get caught up on the rug, causing you to stumble, hand knocking the metal bowl onto the floor, the spoon clattering across to the corner of the room. And you stand paralyzed at a distance, only able to watch as he moves. His hands crawl out from underneath the blankets, eyebrows creasing as his frown deepens, finally registering the pain he is in. His eyelashes begin to flutter, peeling open but not fully, the sunlight nearly blinding his hazy gaze.

You can see the blues of his irises from where you stand, dulled out and unfocused as he stares at the ceiling. He shifts, removing the blankets away from his chest and immediately grimacing, letting out a low, “What the fuck?” as he finally notices his tattered shirt and stitches across his torso.

You feel yourself move forward instinctively, your boot against the floor sounding out a loud thud that has his whipping his head towards you, as though just realizing that he’s not alone. You freeze, fists clenching under his icy gaze. Your heart stutters, unease shooting up your spine as he regards you with hostility, his hand immediately reaching for his thigh, wincing as you realize that his hand itches for the comfort of his gun.

And you’re glad that you stripped him off his weapons, Luna immediately bounding towards you, barking at the man in warning. You slip your fingers under her collar, holding her steady as he switches his attention between you and Luna. The tension in his shoulders doesn’t relent but he halts his actions, looking back at you.

“Who the hell are you?” He asks, an edge to his tone.

The image you had of him shatters, finding no kindness to his voice or the way he is carefully watching you. But it satisfies something in you, one restraint snapping off of your chest, making it easy to breathe as you register his words. He doesn’t know who I am. And that means that he’s not here for you.

You find your voice, hoarse from disuse, “You’re the one who showed up in my woods all bruised and bloody. I should be the one asking you that.”

He winces again when he readjusts himself, thigh protesting at the movement.

You scowl, twisting your hands tighter against the material of Luna’s collar, “Stop moving so much or you’ll rip your stitches. And I’m not wasting my time doing it all again.”

He looks confused at your words, glare softening for just a moment behind his bangs, gaze flickering to the dropped bowl next to you, hand retracting back to help in holding him up. “What happened to my gear?”

“It’s safe.”

“Where?”

“Safe.”

His breathing shakes like he’s already out breath, swaying on his propped arms, eyes shut to hold on to his consciousness. He lets out a sound, almost sounding like a scoff. He tries again, the edge softening a bit when he speaks, “Where am I?”

The blood loss seems to be catching up to him, you note, biting back the retort to tell him to lie back down. You hesitate, still unsure at the nature of the situation you’re in, and how much you’re at a liberty to reveal the details of his circumstances. So you settle on something that is just enough, “In my cabin.” And it slips out regardless, “You should really lie back down.”

He doesn’t listen, eyes still shut.

Your eyes linger on his wounds, the image of how they had looked when you found him. It sends a shiver through you. His blood stricken body renders in your mind, flashing between the nightmarish vision of your blood stained doppelganger. “Who are you? What are you? Your wounds don’t look like something you’d get on a hunting trip.”

He opens his eyes at your words, not saying a word.

You gulp, continuing your questions, Luna growing agitated in your grip, “Are you military? A mercenary? Or just someone with a shit luck?”

Luna barks, unnerving you together with how unaffected the man looks despite his weakened state. He slowly moves down, head connecting on the soft pillow, ignoring your inquisitive expressions. “Look,” You say, trying to control the tremble in your voice, “You have to tell me something. Especially if someone comes knocking at my door-”

“No one will come. You don’t have to worry.” He mutters, exhaustion seeping in his words.

That shuts you up, blinking rapidly, the distant rumble of thunder filling the air. He covers his eyes with his forearm, taking deep breaths, fingers splayed out over the blanket, stroking the material under his touch.

His chest starts to even out, falling into a rhythm, his hand pausing in its movement. You know he’s drifting off and you’ll lose him to sleep very quickly. Frustration grows in you, not a single question having been answered, still standing in the dark and nothing real in your grasp. You bite your lip, thumb rubbing against the back of Luna’s neck, her presence grounding you.

“At least tell me your name,” You whisper, hoping he can hear you.

His reply doesn’t come instantly. He shifts his arm slightly, revealing his eyes as he grazes you up and down, taking note of your squared shoulders, worried expressions and the scrapes across your knuckles.

“Leon.”

Its Leon!? No way! I did not see that coming!

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #TMIW

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dailyadventureprompts · 10 months ago

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Homebrew Mechanic: Fixing D&D’s Gameplay Loop with Item Degradation

Normally I have snappy titles for these, but in this case I wanted to be super upfront with what I was getting you all into.

Some people are not going to like the idea of introducing item degradation into the game, and they’re ABSOLUTELY right to be hesitant. Just about every attempt I’ve seen (includig both RAW versions from previous editions, examples from videogames, and those I’ve put together myself in the past) have been horribly clunky exercises in beancounting that only ever existed to needlessly slow down gameplay for the sake of joyless realism.

I’ve come at it from another angle however, but to explain we’re going to need to get into some game design talk.

The basic gameplay loop of D&D is supposed to be:

Seeking adventure leads you to face challenges

Overcoming challenges leads you to rewards

Rewards Help you get stronger

Getting stronger allows you to seek tougher adventures

After a while this system starts to break down specifically with regards to gold as a method of reward. Even if you’re the smart sort of DM who flouts the rules and gives their party access to a magic item shop, there’s an increasingly limited number of things to spend gold on, leading to parties acquiring sizable hordes of riches early on in their adventuring career, completely eliminating the desire to accept quests that pay out in gold in one form or another. This is a pretty significant flaw because adventures that centre around acquisition of riches ( treasure hunts, bounty missions, busywork for rich patrons that will inevitably betray you) are foundational to storytelling within the game, especially early on in a campaign before the party has gotten emotionally invested. Most advice you can find online attempting to solve this problem tends to dissolve down to “let them pour money into a home base”, but that can only really happen once per campaign as a party is unlikely to want more than one secret clubhouse.

TLDR: What I propose is the implantation of a lightweight system that forces the party to periodically drop small amounts of wealth into maintaining their weapons/armour/foci. The players will be motivated to seek out gold in order to keep using their best stuff, giving value to treasure drops that previously lacked it. Not only does this system act as an insulation against powercreep at higher levels, it also encourages a party to engage with the world as they seek out workshops and crafters capable of repairing their gear.

The System:

Weapons, armour, shields, and caster foci (staves, holy symbols etc) can accumulate “ticks” of damage, represented by a dot or X drawn next to their item entry on the character sheet. Because you get better at handling your gear as you level up, an item that exceeds a total number of ticks equal to its bearer’s proficiency bonus breaks, and is considered unusable until it is repaired.

Weapons and Foci gain a tick of damage when you roll a natural 1 on an attack made with them, or if they are specifically targeted by an enemy’s attack.

Armour and shields gain a tick of damage when you roll a nat 1 on a saving throw or when an enemy beats your ac by 5 or more. A character equipped with both can decide which of the two items receives the tick

Creatures with the “siege” (or any “does double damage to objects” ability) deal an extra tick when attacking gear.

A character with a crafting proficiency and access to tools can repair a number of ticks of damage equal to their proficiency on a four hour work period. This rate is doubled if they have access to a properly equipped workshop. A character with access to the mending cantrip can repair ticks on any kind of item, but is limited to their proficiency bonus per work period.

Having an item repaired by an NPC crafter removes all ticks, but costs vary depending on the rarity of the item: 5g for a mundane item, 10g for a common item, 50g for uncommon, 250 for a rare, 1250 for a very rare, 6250 for a legendary. The DM decides the limit on what each crafter can repair, as it’s likely small towns have access to artisans of only common or uncommon skill, requiring the party to venture to new lands or even across planes if they wish to repair end game gear.

As you can see, degradation in this system is easy to keep track of and quite gradual, leading players into a position where they can ignore obvious damage to their kit for the sake of saving their now precious gold. It likewise encourages them to seek out NPC crafters (and potential questhooks) for skills they do not possess, and encourages the use of secondary weapons either as backups or to save the more potent items in the arsenal for a real challenge.

Consumables

Everyone knows the old joke about players hoarding consumables from the first adventure past the final bossfight, it transcends genre and platform, and speaks to a nature of loss aversion within our shared humanity. However, giving players items they’re never going to use amounts to wasted time, resources, and potential when looking at things from a game design perspective, so lets work on fixing that.

My inspiration came from witcher 3, which encourages players to make frequent use of consumables by refreshing them whenever the character had downtime. The darksouls series has a similar feature with the signature estus flask, which provides a limited number of heals before it must be refreshed at one of the game’s checkpoints. When the designers removed the risk of permanent loss and the anxiety it creatures, players were able to think tactically about the use of their consumables confident in the knowledge that any mistakes were just a resupply away from being fixed.

My proposal is that while the party is in town they can refill the majority of their consumable items for a small per item fee. Just like with gear degradation, this encourages them to seek out crafters and do quests for the hope of discounts, while at the same time encouraging them to explore new realms in the hope of discovering higher level artisans.

The price for refills is set at: 5g for common, 25g for an uncommon, 125g for a rare, 625g for a very rare, 3125g for legendary. I encourage my own players to keep a “shopping list” in their inventory with prices tabulated so they can hand out a lump sum of gold and have their kit entirely refreshed.

Characters with a relevant skill and access to their tools can refill a number of items equal to their proficiency bonus during a four hour work period. With access to a proper workshop, this rate doubles. ( At last, proficiency with brewers supplies, carpenters tools etc become useful)

I encourage you as a DM to check out this potion flasks system, which I’ve found adds a delicious factor of uncertainty back into the mix. Attached is also my super lightweight rules for tracking gear and supplies, which I absolutely refuse to shut up about.

Artist

#5e homebrew #dnd mechanics #crafting #item degradation #mechanics #homebrew

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ayautjaslover · 1 year ago

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hii could you write about s/o who was training with her elder yautja bf and they are very tired so the yautja gives them massages on the bed please and ty!

Training With An Elder

OH MY LAWD YES I CAN I LOVE THIS IDEA!!! (Also first ask ahhhhsjjdjdjd thank you!)

Attaching the final part of your armour, you fitted the large helmet to your head, the custom padding providing a soft layer for comfort and breathability. Finally being lowered into the pit after multiple months of training ,you felt nervous, almost giddy. Knowing that your elder mate had finally deemed you capable of fighting and beating the serpents that they use to test and train.

Your devout mate had spent hours schooling and testing you on how the weaponries, helmets and general armour work. Along with hand to hand combat and techniques you use to scan for and hunt down prey with the utmost efficiency.

I mean who would be better to teach you then an elder yautja themselves? Not only are they your mate, they know your body and how your mind works, enabling them to tailor your training to you specially.

Before you began your descent down to the pit your mate had given you a small overview of what was going to happen. Though they'd be coaching you through the auditory systems they thought it would be best to remind you. Though the look of pure pride they held when they saw you clad in the armour was all the encouragement you needed.

Bringing you out of your thoughts you felt the hard metal stage you were on halt and cement itself into the ground beneath. Upon this a loud click sounded throughout the area followed by your mates gravelly voice.

"Situate yourself then scan your surroundings, a skilled yautja hunter never lets any detail slip and you are no different my little ooman."

Helmet activated, you scan the area, noticing the distinct heat signals the serpents were giving off and the subtle outlines of two yautja hunters above. Definitely there to keep watch and jump in if need be, though you deflated a little at this you knew better then to question it. Your mate was only looking out for you.

"Now, the serpents are going to be released soon so stay on guard and be vigilant. I have faith in you."

And with that came silence, assuming they were using the element of surprise to keep you on your toes you continued taking in what was around you and kept an eye on the heat signals from above.

A few seconds later there was a sharp hiss to your right, you trudged forwards and slashed at the serpent's throat. It put up a fight by lunging at you in a weak attempt to get a hold of your arm but you swiftly blocked it. Enclosing your hand around its neck you snapped the windpipe before letting it fall to the floor.

You continued in a similar fashion beating down each Lythe serpent that dared to strike in your direction. Soon enough you had completed the task at hand. Choosing not to relax just yet you scanned the surrounding location once more checking for any remaining serpent heat signals.

"You have completed the task dear ooman, please step back on the stage and we'll bring you up."

Your mate's voice rang through the system instilling a sense of comfort in you. Your muscles were beginning to ache and eyes droop, no matter how many times you wore this goddamn armour you never got used to the way it seemed to drag you down once you'd completed a fight.

You stood there on the stage waiting and wanting for nothing more than to curl up into the soft pelts of your bed and succumb to the hands of your mate as he gives you a massage. He'd done it for you previously and the way his strong hands effortlessly soothed and unravelled the tight muscles of your back and shoulders was nothing short of heavenly.

Without delay the stage cracked to life and started ascending up to the large waiting room. Stepping off and moving towards the bench you began stripping off your armour and stretching.

Hearing the distinct sound of your mate's loud steps which could be likened to that of small bombs you turned to the door as it opened. Stepping forward you smiled up at your mate before wrapping both of your arms around his sturdy torso, sighing Into the fabric of his sheer clothing.

"How did I do? Is there anything I should improve on?" You speak tiredly tracing patterns on his skin.

"Well we're going to have to do more training for your first hunt. I've decided that you'll be coming with me and hunting alongside some of the youngbloods I've been training."

At his words you instantly perk up all the previous tiredness your eyes held before gone.

"My first hunt? I'm going to be accompanying you?"

"Yes little one" your mate says with a look of adoration in his eyes.

Pulling you back into him he wraps his arms around your much smaller frame before bending down to give his version of a "kiss" which includes softly moving his mandibles against your skin.

"Let's get you back to our room, little one, clean you up and relax those muscles of yours." And with a few loving clicks he's already leading you there with large clawed fingers intertwined with your own.

Upon arrival your mate drew you a bath adding in a few soaps here and there and arranging the various shampoos and oils you've collected before calling you in.

Stripping you of your clothing, your mate tied your hair up and out of your face before placing a few light kisses to your cheek and shoulders. Running a clawed hand down your back and snaking their arms around your waist.

"I'm very proud of you little ooman. You've brought honour to me, yourself and our relationship by your actions today. Showing your strengths has gained you respect amongst my kind." They spoke fondly.

Unwrapping their arms they picked you up bridal style before placing you in the large tub. Cupping their hands they began to drench your hair before applying your shampoo, taking special care when lathering the soapy substance and massaging it in.

Letting their claws graze your scalp they wash it out with the shower head then add some conditioner. Pinning the slick hair up to let it set your mate turns their attention to your body, taking a natural rose soap bar and lathering it between their hands before gently gliding the bubbles across your skin, cleaning away any sweat or blood from serpents and leaving your skin hydrated and soft.

Returning their attention back to your hair after washing the suds off your body they begin to repeat their previous actions, raking their hands through the now silky hair your mate continued to wash off and massage the delicate strands. Finally finished they told you to wait before walking out of the room.

"I'll be back in a second little one, you just relax."

Re-entering the large bathroom you see that your lovely mate is holding a board full of what looks to be juicy fruit and a small glass of C'ntlip with clips on the edges to attach to the bath. Setting down the board your mate speaks.

"You must be at least a little hungry ooman. Eat some, we'll make a full feast later."

"Oh what did I do to deserve you." You said picking up a soft and squishy orange fruit and taking a bite.

"Being yourself" your mate spoke softly, admiring your small bites and facial expressions with a silent admiration.

Taking a sip of the C'ntlip the fruit your lover gave you was long gone. It was the most deliciously refreshing thing you'd ever tasted. Your mate had introduced you to a lot of things over the years you two had spent together but this and himself were by far your favourites.

"Ready to get out? You'll turn into- what do humans call it. Prunes?" Your mate said, sounding strange mixing yautja with the foreign word.

Giving him a giggle you said yes before placing your C'ntlip down and getting out of the tub beginning to dry and moisturise your body.

Deciding against clothes you slowly walked into the room, lying down on the soft pelts and letting out an exhale. By the gods, your mate really does spoil you. Turning onto your back you buried your face further into the pelts.

Hearing your mate walk back In from the kitchen you stuck your hand out reaching for their own before attempting to pull them onto the bed with you.

"I'm so tired" you yawned through your words.

Softly taking your hand off of their own, your mate positioned themselves above you sitting on your legs to ground themselves. Not enough to crush you, just a comfortable weight.

"Let me massage some of your muscles, you're still tense. I can feel it."

Not waiting for a reply, your mate got to work. Smoothing their hands over your moisturised skin. Applying a pleasant amount of pressure onto each muscle and moving in a soothing motion. This feeling mixed with the C'ntlip was enough for you to let out a few mewls here and there.

"Enjoying yourself little ooman?" Your mate let out a few fast and high pitched clicks lovingly laughing at your little sighs.

You only let out a groan in response, your mates hands seemingly rendering you speechless.

Finishing up the unravelling of your muscles your mate pushed himself off of your legs and lay himself down besides you, taking your plush body into his arms once again and nuzzling your hair clicking in contentment.

"I love you" you spoke softly, his body warmth lulling you to sleep.

"I love you too dear ooman"

The sound of your mate's deep voice was the last thing you heard before falling into a deep slumber.

-------------------------------------------------------

This was so fun to write and the fluff in it is absoloutley teethrotting. I LOVE IT! thank you sm to the individual who requested this!!!

(And as always, my requests are open!)

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aha-chuu · 3 months ago

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Natlan Act II Spoilers

So we get to see the fight between Capitano and Mavuika, thankfully (I remember Hoyo robbing us of Dainsleif vs Abyss Twin before). I just wanted to share my thoughts on it a little because it's kinda wacky?

So obviously the fight itself is sick as fuck, and Capitano and Mavuika match each other blow for blow. Then Mavuika lands a hit and Capitano retreats (with aide). Pretty solidly this is a win for Mavuika, but Kinich expresses afterwards that they were quite evenly matched. This is something Hoyo emphasises, presumably for two reasons: 1) maintain the stakes, and 2) keep up Capitano hype.

Because here's the thing. Harbinger losses - especially outright losses - aren't that common. Just look at all the gnoses they've gotten. What's a lot more common is this thread of harbingers "losing the battle but winning the war".

Discounting Mondstadt for being sort of short and tutorial esque, every other region plays with this.

In Liyue, we defeat Childe, he summons Osial, we defeat Osial, but Signora planned all that anyway.

In Inazuma, Scara defeats us, we defeat Signora, but that Scara defeat left him with the gnosis.

In Sumeru, Dottore fakes a retreat to lead us into a false sense of security! We may defeat Scara-mech, but Dottore is around the corner with sleeping gas and his own deal to get two gnoses.

In Fontaine... In Fontaine we're kind of working with the Fatui the whole time, so this really only applies to Childe losing to the oratrice and then the narwhal but that still helping Arlecchino anyway.

The point of all that was to demonstrate this trend. But, there's a secondary link between all of those events - the way the Fatui come out on top each time is through a scheme. We have about 50/50 (ha) odds across all these actual fights, but the Fatui have their 100% win streak via trickery and bargaining.

The Natlan archon quest establishes that Capitano won't use these methods. It is a divergence from most other harbinger characterisations.

Capitano flat out refuses to attack Mavuika while she is weakened, preferring a fair fight. This is not a strategic choice, for one, but he is also still injured - waiting for Mavuika to regain her power would place Capitano at the disadvantage.

This combination of factors does do a good job of setting up Capitano as a character, but it leaves some weaknesses in establishing him as an antagonist. We're used to harbingers essentially having plot armour when it comes to gnosis hunting, via the trusty method of "oh well all that was their plan all along" and a hand off off screen. In this quest, Hoyo pretty much cuts that option off: Capitano's attempt on the gnosis is too brazen, his ideology too steadfast. But since he loses against Mavuika in a fair fight, Hoyo risks lowering the stakes. If Capitano couldn't beat Mavuika already, there's no way he will beat her when injured and refusing to attack while she's vulnerable. So why should we be worried about whatever "threat" he poses?

Hoyo brush this aside a little by having Kinich claim they're pretty evenly matched, implying Mavuika won more by chance than totally overpowering Capitano. It's also not unlikely that another harbinger will show up later and take over gnosis duty. But Capitano is No1... Is he really just here to show off how strong Mavuika is? And exactly how is Mavuika so strong?

According to Nahida, the top three harbingers are archon level powerful. She claimed to have no chance in a fight against Dottore, who is no2. Ofc, her combat strength is pretty low, whereas Mavuika's is obviously much higher.

Raiden was strong enough to incinerate Signora in one slash. With that context, Capitano putting up any fight against Mavuika seems impressive.

Narratively, there is no way to do a satisfying rematch with the current set up. Which makes me think that Hoyo aren't planning on a rematch at all - but a team up.

The event that took place in Act I can be broken down into three stages:

Group contest (Kachina & Mualani vs everyone else)

Solo fights (Kachina vs Mualani)

Actual war (group vs Abyss)

I think that this sequence will end up being representative of the Natlan plot, and more specifically reflect the dynamic between Capitano and Mavuika.

What if, 500 years ago, Capitano was part of Mavuika's group. Not necessarily in the big war against the abyss, even, perhaps before that. It would explain his ties to the Natlan of the past, at the very least.

Then the present: Capitano fighting Mavuika for the right to change Natlan's "rules", just a few days after the pilgrimage competitors used the same arena to battle each other for the right to protect Natlan against the abyss. Those "rules" he spoke about we know to be the methods and rituals that slow down the abyssal assault. That makes Capitano and Mavuika's duel also to decide who can protect Natlan from the abyss.

The future: team up. Maybe aligning with Mualani and Kachina, Capitano could appear to rescue Mavuika later on, despite losing to her in the arena. This doesn't mean they'd be besties like the girls are, rather that these same general actions could take place, regardless of individual motivation.

I just can't see another satisfying route with what we currently have

#genshin impact #natlan #archon quest #capitano #mavuika #fatui harbingers #genshin spoilers #theory #long post

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lokisgoodgirl · 2 years ago

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Hail, Commander [Asgard!Loki x Fem.Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Loki returns from war, and certain traditions must be upheld. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Language. Salirophilia (dirty Loki) Exhibitionism. Descriptions of violence/blood. (w/c 1.6k)

The clang of armoured spears vibrated the stone beneath your feet. Once. Twice. Three times.

You drew your gaze away from the twinkling lights of Asgard stretched below the balustrade, turning in a hurried curtsey as the returning commander approached. Nerves twisted in your stomach, though you had no idea why.

It was always thus when Loki returned from war.

He strode majestically through the towering columns, removing his horned helmet as he went. The clanking sound of the guards standing to attention in sequence as he moved past them broke the evening stillness, metal on metal clanging. It made your thighs squeeze together beneath the long skirts covering them.

His leather cape billowed theatrically behind his towering form, the fine silk lining catching the transient flicker of a hundred torches lighting his path. He shook his hair, heavy with the weight of battle fought. And won. It had been weeks since the younger prince had stalked the halls, and tonight he was on the hunt.

Reverently, you lowered your gaze, each purposeful stride of his muscled legs moving in your direction with predatory singularity. His usual flawless fairness was marred with ash and dark stains, visible on the gold of his armour even in the moonlight.

He hasn’t even bathed, you thought, a thrill racing in waves through your blood. The slap of his boots against the ground echoed in the silent night, becoming louder before stopping abruptly. You could smell the heat emanating from him; lustful intentions oozing from beneath war-ravaged leathers. The lingering smell of stale copper and sweat crawled up your nostrils.

Loki's cape swirled around his ankles in your line of vision, settling in shredded folds.

“Look at me.” he growled, lifting your chin with one curled finger. His thumb danced across your bottom lip, dragging the plump down.

For the first time in weeks, you saw his face; menacingly beautiful under starlight. His eyes were bright, the whites contrasting ethereally against layers of blood and soot smeared across his brow, his cheekbones, his throat.

“My Prince.” you greeted huskily. Loki gave a small nod in response. “You have been victorious, then?” you coyed, feeling your heart beat faster as a smile curled at his dry lips. “Could you ever doubt me, precious one?” he murmured, cupping your cheekbone. “I will always arrive victorious to you. Victorious for you.”

He flipped the edges of the cape backwards, before pressing you against the stone balustrade in a crushing kiss. His lips tasted like smoke and metal; the sharp tang of old copper springing to life on your searching tongue.

Loki groaned as your fingers caught on the lengths of his hair, dragging through the residue of crusted blood and sweat. His head fell back as you pressed closer to his chest, a mischievous palm rubbing over his stirring manhood.

"My filthy soldier..." you muttered darkly, observing the telling bob of his Adam’s apple cast in murky shadow.

The veins in his neck pulsed, thick ropes of muscle standing proud against the cake of grime which coated them. "Filthy Prince, if you please..." he goaded through shallow breaths. “You may be my betrothed, but I am still your superior.”

You stifled a giggle, feeling his cock inflate rapidly beneath layers of heavy leather as you grasped shamelessly at his hips, tugging at buckles and straps that hung sluttishly from every angle. Gods, how you had missed him. You gyrated firmly against his centre. Just once.

Loki's shoulders flexed beneath the heavy armour, head tilting with a hard glint to his features. With a stomach dropping pulse, you realised that look would have been the last thing his enemies ever saw.

"Tread carefully love..." he whispered menacingly, a tingle of anticipation rolling up your spine as a knowing smirk cracked the dried dirt by his dimples. His eyebrow cocked, a hand you knew would leave a soiled trail down the fine silk of your dress sliding to rest on your lower back. "I am not in a merciful mood."

You bit your lip, watching Loki break into a mischievous smile. His teeth were blindingly bright against the stains streaked on his skin, layered effects of deadly strikes and blows and carnage mapped in each square inch of his face. “Do you see them?” he purred, tilting his head. You shivered, casting a glance to the dozens of Asgardian palace guards lined up along the promenade to the great hall; their stares fixed ahead. “They have orders to stay at their post all night.” he murmured.

“Your father has organised a feast for your glorious return…” you hummed, as Loki hoisted you to sit atop the balustrade with a soft thump. Loki pursed his lips knowingly, a playful twang in his voice. “And I have still yet to bathe...as you may have noticed.”

He placed a lingering kiss in the curve of your neck, the resulting groan of desperation from your parted lips making him chuckle against the skin.

“Do you wish me to stop?” he murmured, kissing messily up your heated neck as he spread your legs. You squirmed on the wide stone balcony, tightening your knees against his hips. His mud-roughed cheek grazed yours, warm breath making you shiver against the evening chill. “Do you have the strength to wait, love?”

“No…” you whispered shakily, letting your fingers unclasp the buckle slung over his chest. It loosened the front panel of his leather armour, falling open. Your hands dove inside, kissing him like he had returned from the dead. Perhaps he had.

“Good.” he growled, whipping the sides of his leather battle garb around your widened thighs. Concealed fingers skimmed ribbons of silk up your legs, the fabric falling beneath his touch like enemies beneath his sword. Pushing it around your hips, he inhaled the musk of hot, feminine arousal rising between your bodies; sweet against the copper tang of his filth.

“You know not what I have done for this moment, love.” he muttered, combing a dirt laden hand through your hair. “The chaos I have wrought.”

Your back arched, feeling his wetted cock press against your slit; desperate and fierce. The stone of the balustrade grated against your ass as you shifted towards him, urging him to fill you with the closeness you missed. To complete you again.

“Loki…” you mewled pleadingly as a smirk tugged his cracked lips. It was tradition, that he would tell you his tales. Loki’s return wouldn’t be the same without them.

“I slaughtered legions, each demon falling to my feet with a final wail of hopeless anguish…” he whispered, nudging the leaking tip against your entrance. Your hips bucked upwards, urging him on.

“Their blood ran in rivers, darling. You should have seen it, the pathetic fear in their eyes before they felt the quick of my blade slice across their throat. F-fuck...” he groaned, breaching you with a low, guttural sigh.

Loki’s fingers grasped around your thighs, tugging you down his cock. The scrape of the balustrade stone stung the curves of your flesh, any discomfort obliterated by the exquisite sensation of his manhood setting every nerve of pleasure alight. His metal wrist-guards pressed against the flat of your thighs as he rocked your hips, lost in the theatrics of his arousal.

“We tore t-through their defences…” he gasped, delivering small thrusts with aching precision. “It was brutal. Messy. We...g-gods...o-obliter-rated...their...uhhh...h-hope-”

“-More, Loki…” you keened in his ear, fingernails scraping down his shoulders beneath the overcoat as your head fell back. The god chuckled as he enveloped you, the cape like wings covering your modesty as he fucked you like a common whore, perched upon the balustrade.

The angle of his hips was perfect, each roll of them edging you closer to inevitable orgasm as a steady beat of drums began to pepper the air. The Procession, you realised; each beat of percussion seeming to tremble the very breath from your body.

“Their army p-parted like leaves...scattered, sand in the wind before our mighty f-force.” he panted, edging deeper into your wet heat. Every drag of his heavy cock was tortuously slow, melting you from the inside out as he tried to maintain some element of subtlety. Your knees rose against his ribs, letting him lean you back over the balustrade.

“So much destruction, love.” he murmured, as firelight from the wall torches flickered tepid warmth behind his head. “So much power your god held in his hands. All for you.” The streets were full tonight, candles held by citizens setting the winding path to the palace alight in grateful homage. A booming, solitary voice heralded from below, soaring to the heavens. "Hail, the victorious dead." The familiar mantra vibrated around Asgard's high towers, washing over the muted hiss of the slow moving crowd walking the cobbled streets. Hail, the ghostly refrain of a thousand souls echoed in response. "Hail, our glorious commander." the voice sang solemnly; the ceremonial vindication making Loki delve further into your cunt with a shuddering sigh. Hail, Commander. Hail. Your voice joined the reverent murmurs of gratitude crashing against the walls of the palace like a wave, hundreds of feet below. Each syllable from your lips was a lullaby, whispered wetly against your commander's skin.

You clenched, hearing him hiss beneath the veil of tangled, filthy hair. He muttered ancient curses, pelvis grinding against your clit as he rocked you towards the precipice.

“How many, Loki…?” you groaned, feeling his balls tighten against your slick sex. He let out a growl, scraping his teeth down your cheek with a feral moan. “Thousands, my love." he purred darkly. "Dead at my feet.”

With a strangled gasp, you came around him; leaning into his war-soaked leathers to stifle the scream clawing in your throat. You had no idea how clandestine your fucking truly was, but whatever the guards thought they were seeing out the corner of their eye - you did not intend to confirm it.

“They cried for m-mercy at the end.” Loki gasped, tacky curls falling against his brow as he watched himself sink inside your leaking pussy, still quivering with aftershock. “Their cries...uhh..that’s it, f-fuck, d-darling...their cries went unanswered.”

Loki’s breath hitched at his own words, a wavering moan snaking past his lips as a low hiss. The god's carved jaw pointed to the stars, clenching as he approached climax with a dirty growl rolling in his chest.

“No mercy.” you whispered against his cheek, concealing another moan in his shoulder as he fucked you to the slow beat of drums in the distance.

“No mercy.” he echoed quietly, before fastening his mouth to yours.

Continued in The Feast

A/N: @mischief2sarawr I hope this somewhat satisfied your mighty balustrade related need. Tags @gigglingtigger @meowmeow-motherfucker @muddyorbsblr @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @loopsisloops @loveroflokiforpoeticjustice @123forgottherest @joyful-enchantress @sititran @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @michelleleewise @vbecker10 @imalovernotahater @thomase1 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @xorpsbane @filthyhiddles @peacefulpianist @maple-seed @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @five-miles-over @goblingirlsarah @ozymdias @peaches1958 @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @smolvenger @liminalpebble @psychospore @littlespaceyelf @lokischambermaid @praq123 @lokisgoodboy

#loki x female reader #loki x you #loki smut #loki x reader smut #loki laufeyson #loki fanfiction #loki x female reader smut #loki marvel #loki oneshot #loki x you smut #loki x reader #loki odinson #loki au

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warm-concrete · 1 year ago

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I have this headcannon about my (slightly feral) druid tav getting into an argument with Gale, where Tav has loudly yelled at him in front of the whole party and then stooped even lower with a comment about Mystra. (they aren’t dating he just gets on her nerves sometimes)

After a beat of silence, she tells the group to set up camp for the night; that she needs to let off steam. Then just wild shapes into a panther whilst striding into the forest. Hours later the panther returns, dragging a large buck by the neck and dropping it in front of Gale’s tent. Forgetting she had shed her armour before shifting, she shifts back in front of Gale in her underwear- her mouth covered in the Buck’s blood. “I went too far bringing up Mystra.” “You can use this for the stew you’ve been banging on about.”

And all Gale can think is like ‘awww she’s just like Tara bringing me little dead birds as gifts.’

✨

And the rest of the camp is silently like ??? She could’ve been hunting for us this entire time??? Why are we scavenging cheese off of corpses!? (Obviously they don’t say anything - not wanting to be berated like Gale just had been)

#is this a scene from a long tav x astarion fic running through my head at all hours? maaayybe #baulders gate 3 #bg3 #my tav #druid tav #gale x tav #gale and tara #tav headcanons #i am mentally unwell #gale bg3

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mournersandfunerals · 2 years ago

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The thing is, I can forgive a lot of it. The scene where Kaz tries to help Inej with her wounds? I guess it was a nice nod to the CK scene, if slightly too soon. The "I will have you without Armour?" Fine. We all wanted to see that anyway. Rushing Wesper into a relationship rather than keeping as the slow-burn from the books? Okay. I really loved them on screen despite that. Kaz beating up the dregs? Definitely could have done without it for obvious reasons, but whatever. I can brush it off.

But the two things that are really grating on me are Kaz's face-off with Pekka Rollins and Inej leaving to hunt slavers. Because the POINT of these things happening towards the end of the second book is that there's a build up.

These characters go through so much. We learn everything about them, we see their struggles and we root for them. We spend SO much time learning about Kaz's thirst for revenge. We see moments where he starts to lose it when it comes to Pekka, and slowly start to learn why. And at the climax of Crooked Kingdom, there's so much on the line. We finally see him snap. There's a build up there of something that he's spent his entire life and two whole books working towards.

The first season of Shadow and Bone consisted of 8 episodes. So we can estimate that the crows had probably less than 4 hours of screen time. And we learned nothing about them, really. They were the mysterious trio that were hired to steal something. And then suddenly S2E1's "Brick by brick" turns into the peak of Kaz's character arc. It takes away the impact and the reasoning behind it.

And the same for Inej. Where is the journey? Where's the trauma that was inflicted by a woman who was truly evil? When we see Inej running into Tante Heleen for the first time in the duology, she freezes. She can't do anything. Are you telling me that the same girl who is so terrified of this woman can face her without a problem?

Again, there's so much of a development here as well. Inej has this realisation and this epiphany about what she wants to do. She wants to hunt down these slavers. She wants to make sure that nobody goes through the same stuff that she did. And when she sees Heleen after that, it's when she slowly starts to lose power over Inej. I mean, she steals the necklace straight from her neck, for crying out loud. Erasing Inej's trauma from S1 was a problem but they dug themselves in a deeper hole by killing off Heleen. She can't go through the journey that she's supposed to. Her entire character arc was just completely erased.

And the thing is, in the duology, Inej still goes through even more hell before she can get free from her indenture. The Ice Court Heist, Van Eck's torture, Dunyasha, etc. And yet... she's free before the start of the heist?

The heist is an important job for each crow. They all have a reason for being there, and they all have something on the line. None of them really think they're going to survive it, but they're trying anyway because, at this point, what do they really have to lose? And for Inej, this is her chance to get the money to leave the barrel. So... are you telling me that she's going to willingly come back to help on a life-threatening job for freedom that she no longer needs? What's going to happen with Kaz now that he's already had that stand-off?

Would love to know because right now I'm as lost as the rest of the book fans.

#im pretty sure none of this makes sense #i just needed a little rant #it makes sense in my head but sorry if the words didnt word right #shadow and bone spoilers #shadow and bone #shadow and bone netflix #sab netflix #s&b netflix #sab spoilers #six of crows #crooked kingdom #soc #ck #grishaverse #kaz brekker #inej ghafa

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hrefna-the-raven · 6 months ago

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The hunt

Fallout masterlist - main masterlist

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x reader

Chapter 1 - The plan

Summary: Dom Pedro's caravan is in sight but you and Coop know exactly how to play this in your favour 😉

(this happens before Cooper ended up in that grave)

Words: 1404

Warnings: swearing, violence

Notes: this is still quite gender-neutral 😊 the next chapter will be less neutral for *cough* naughty *cough* reason 😇

Chapter 2 - The bounty

You snatched a sniper rifle from your backpack and made your way towards the upper level of a towering building, concealing yourself behind a weathered wall as you surveyed the approaching gang. Cooper gazed at you for a moment, lost in thoughts. You continued to be full of surprises and unusually well prepared for someone this young but then again, compared to an over two centuries old ghoul everyone seemed young. He came to the conclusion that, despite having only known you for a few hours, he enjoyed your company way too much. From the moment you looked up, a mischievous smile playing on your lips, he felt an ache, an old familiar pain from days long past, intertwined with a connection he rarely ever formed with others, even before the Great War. And yet, there was something about your way of being, a sweet tune that resonated perfectly with his own woeful ballad.

"Seeing something you like?", you teased, grinning at him.

"Certainly not what's headin' towards us.", he huffed, pointing at the group heading towards your position.

Cooper scolded himself internally, he'd never been this distracted, not on a job, not with anyone else. He grumbled, pulling his attention back to the task at hand. Dom Pedro's so-called caravan turned out to be a pack of seven well armed raiders, one of them wearing a modified power armour.

"Guess someone tried to fuck us both, but not in the fun way", you joked.

Cooper chuckled as he took hold of your rifle and peered through the scope at the armoured raider.

"Feelin' all mighty hiding behind his twelve-piece cast-iron skillet set but he's gonna have a hell of a surprise. Aim just below the chestplate.", he whispered in your ear, a pleased smirk forming on his lips as he loaded his revolver.

"And what are you gonna do?"

"Distract them with my irresistible charms."

Cooper stood up, shrugged his shoulders, and winked at you before making his way towards the raiders.

You aimed at the power armour's chestplate, waiting patiently until you heard the ghoul's whistle, drawing the raiders' attention to him. A faint smile tugged on the corners of your mouth. The way he carried himself, full of confidence and that smug grin plastered across his face, made your heart beat faster. Throughout your travels and hunts, you had met many different personalities but not a single one was quite like him. It wasn't merely your crush on the pre-war Cooper Howard whose movies you devoured whenever you had a spare moment, this connection deepened the instant you finally encountered him, winding its way under your skin, striking its roots into your beating heart. You weren't oblivious to the subtle glances he stole in your direction, leaving you to wonder if he had been caught in the same dilemma.

"Well, I tell you what, boys, whenever somebody walks around as fancy and loud as you, they gotta have something worth takin'", he slowly pointed at the wooden crate tightly clasped by the taller raider, "you know it'd be a real shame of those fine bottles would go to waste on a bunch of dickheads like you."

The armoured one stepped up, pointing his minigun at Cooper, his voice hollering from behind the mounted rusty cage.

"Oh yeah? What about you, ghoul? Did the radiation melt away your brain or why do stand here, unarmed, trying to threaten us?!"

Cooper laughed, raising both hands in a fingergun gesture, aimed at the raider.

"Careful buddy, ghoul's got magic powers."

He imitated shooting which you took as your cue and fired a shot right underneath chestplate. The raider stood still, like frozen in time for a second, leaving you wondering if you had missed but then he collapsed on the ground without a sound. Your eyes widened at the sight, marveling at how easy you just took out someone in a power armour. You usually avoided those while hunting alone but this was a game changer. With a swift reload of your rifle, you took aim at the next raider, a chuckle escaping your lips as you observed their startled reaction to their companion's sudden death.

"So what will it be? Shall I reload my", his eyes wandered to his fingers, a wicked smile spreading across his lips, "guns or will you be good little raiders and hand me that crate?"

One of them pushed his way through the group, pointing his gun at Cooper. Before he could even reach him to shout his threats, one of your bullets found its mark and took him out, his lifeless body slumping to the ground in front of the ghoul who was still grinning.

"We still outnumber him, you morons! Get him!", another one screamed.

What happened next was the precise reason why you'd decided to forgo Dom Pedro's proposition and opted to work with this remarkable gunslinger. Cooper snatched his revolver out of the holster, his body leaning slightly backward as a flurry of shots rang out and before your mind could even comprehend what exactly happened, all of the raiders, with the exception of the one clutching the crate, were lying on the ground, crimson pools forming around their corpses. You stowed away your rifle, slung your bag over your shoulder, grasped the shotgun and made your way down to join Cooper.

"You got two choices, buddy. You either join your friends in their eternal nap or you hand over those fine bottles and be on your merry, very much alive, way."

Hiding behind the corner of a crumbling wall, you watched the scene unfold. The raider trembled so much that you could hear the bottles clinking together as he sat the crate down. Faint sobs escaped his lips, his feet moving a few steps backwards before turning around, fleeing in terror. Just as he passed by you, a deafening shot echoed through the ruins, his head exploding into countless tiny pieces before his corpse hit the ground, the blood drops, brain matter and skull fragments raining down on the sand. Cooper cocked his brow, intrigued by the unfolding murder scene that lay before him. You emerged from around the corner, your shotgun resting casually on your shoulder as you strolled over to him.

"No witnesses", you chuckled, kneeling down beside the crate and carefully packing the bottles into your backpack, "besides you shouldn't be the one to kill him."

"And why's that?", he asked, a nagging feeling in the back of his mind warning him not to, yet equally aware and afraid of the answer you'd give.

"Feo fuerte y formal", you replied, trying your best to mimic his thick accent, "although I much preferred your character when he didn't kill the villains. I know, I know, you're not truly that movie character, you're just...you."

The smile that graced your lips was genuine and innocent. He froze, hearing those words again after more than two centuries knocked the air straight out of his lungs.

"I know a place we can lay low until we take on Dom aaand", you wiggled one of the bottles, "we gonna have some fun, partner. We definitely deserve it."

You hummed a song he didn't recognise and your fingers found his hand, your broad smile hidden while you walked in front, tagging him along. No one had ever bothered to look beyond his ghastly appearance and acknowledged him for who was truly hiding behind that scarred noseless face. He was one to shoot anyone who admitted to have been ordered to kill him and definitely anyone who would have dared to take his hand, dragging him behind them like a puppy. To be honest, he definitely had shot a few for far less. And yet here you were, wrapped in the golden glow of the desert sun, a beautiful smile dancing across your lips, doing exactly those two things without any bullet holeson your admittedly attractive body. And to add insult to injury, deep down, locked away in his shrivelled heart, a glimmer of joy and affection shimmered in the darkness. He'd never admit it to you but, in the ways and words of the world before the bombs, he was falling for you and he feared that if you'd truly tempt him, he'd be too weak to resist and he couldn't bear the thought of letting another one into his wounded heart. The wounds of betrayal of the last person he held in there were, after all this time, still as painful as then.

Chapter 3 - The spoils (18+)

Feel free to reblog if you liked the story 😊

Tags: @dreamtofus

#fallout #fallout tv series #cooper howard #the ghoul #fallout ghoul #fallout x reader #fallout x you #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you #bounty hunter #two hunters one target #ghoul x reader #ghoul x you #raiders #gun fight

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pedros-husband · 9 months ago

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pLEASE i’m dying for an enemies to lovers with do djarin and male reader. maybe the reader is also a bounty hunter and they’re going after the same bounty (possibly the Child) but have to reluctantly work together. maybe they have previous reasons to hate each other, but there’s a LOT of tension and fluff! no smut, please, and thank you <3

I have no clue when this was asked so I’m so sorry if you’ve been waiting for centuries, but I’m back from my long hiatus and ready to fuck this shit UP!!

You have been heard and I will try my best to do well! I’m a tad rusty but I hope you like it 💗

I hate your guts (not)

Summary: you and din had been tasked to work together to protect the child, after years of being rivals. (Set in season 1 pre- knowledge that grogu is well called grogu)

————————————————————————————

You fucking hated din Djarins guts.

Well, maybe that was an exaggeration,but you sure as hell hated him. Ever since you had begun to bounty hunt he had been trying to beat you in almost every aspect. It was a sort of unspoken challenge to see who would get the first part of beskar armour- which he had won, then who would be higher ranked, which he had also won, then it was who would get a better shop, he had won yet again. This repeated over and over until your paths inevitably crossed. Some higher ups had believed you two LIKED eachother - which to you two seemed utterly insane.

Cut to you two standing in front of Din’s ship, awkward silence handling heavy in the air, with only the occasional clunk of armour or heavy breathing. You were the first to speak, muttering a quiet “this is fucking stupid, you’re fucking stupid.” Din wasn’t supposed to hear you say it, but he did.

You could only assume he rolled his eyes before he sharply turned to you to whisper-yell “I’m about as happy as you are about this whole… arrangement” he made sharp gestures with his hands and his words where punctuated sharply “so cut the shit and let’s just get this over and done with.okay?”

You simply scoffed and entered the ship.

————————————————————————————

Neither of you had planned for this ‘short mission’ to drag on for nearly a year yet it did, and now here you were, tension even thicker than when you started- if possible- with a small green alien in the ship.

Over the year you had thought lingb and hard about the real reason you began hating din, and too be honest you couldn’t quite remeber the reason why you had started to be angry at him to begin with.

Occasionally you would pear around the bunk room to see him cleaning his armour, hunched over on the small bunk, under armour tight against his sculpted body, with the occasional peak of tan skin from under his gloves. You would find yourself standing there for hours, only being torn away when the child would tug on your leg, indicating he wanted to be fussed over.

Or how you would sit slightly behind sun when he would be piloting, eyes concentrated on his hands, watching the skilled way he would flick between controls and expertly fly the large ship gracefully through the universe. No stars nor glaxy could capture your attention like he could. You would brush it off as resentment or ‘judging his work’ often giving him snide remarks to throw him off, but your voice was often laced with an undertone of- compassion.

Or just in every day life when your gaze would linger on him for just longer than it should, before you would return to your task.

You where resting after a tough mission, tending to your wounds whilst playing with the child, who was sat on the table looking at you with his big eyes full of concern, when din entered.

His stance was different today, and you had become good at reading how he held himself, seeing as you had no context clues from his face, his body language spoke volumes. However , today, he seemed- well you couldn’t quite tell. That concerned you- din was a simple man to you, he never held himself in any other way than tense or angry around you. Or at least your perspective of it.

You had obviously been silently staring at him too long trying to figure out what his body language was, when he coughed loudly.

“What do you want space boy” you groaned out, space boy had been your nickname for him, much to his annoyance. However today your tone didn’t hold malice nor anger, it wavered slightly and sounded more cautious. Din sensed this and slowly sat, not next to you by the table, but by the bunk room a few metres from you. He sat slumped against the wall, hands hanging by his sides. He sighed loudly before speaking ina. Hushed and croaky tone- one associated with crying usually.

“Look, m/n, what’s the problem between us… tell me, because I don’t think I can go one more day on this damned ship with you, the tension between us is fuxkjngn killinn me” his tone slightly turned more frustrated and he let his head fall back to rest against the wall.

You took a long pause before whispering “I don’t know.” You tried to finish your thought, to explain why you hated him so, but your words caught in your thought and brain fuzzed over, so he started talking again.

“I notice you, I feel you look at me, m/n” his tone adopted a more subtle calm one, and he inches closer on the bench, being slightly closer to you.

You raise your gaze from the floor to look into his dark visor, squinting your eyes in a desperate attempt to see his eyes- to gauge what he means by this.

He continues again, mindlessly rambling at this point. “M/n, I-…” he trailed off, but stood up and turned the lights off. Your breath hitched and body tensed.you hear The sound of his helmet hissing as it was removed from his armour, and then set down on the table. He tapped the side of your helmet to motion for you to do the same, and you complied.

In the few seconds that followed something seemed to click in your brain, you figured maybe the same things had clicked for him earlier.

You stood from your chair, and it clattered behind you and scraped against the floor. You took one step towards din and he pulled you closer by a hand on your lower back. He didn’t kiss you at first, instead taking his time to trace every feature of your face with his fingers, trying to memorise it. He didn’t say a word and neither did you.

After a while you lifted your own hands to cup his face, a soft gasp falling from your lips as you felt the warm scruff of his beard, then the soft skin of his cheeks, and his beautiful hooked nose. You took your time to imagine his soft brown eyes and paint your own image of his face in your Brain, carving it there so you could never forget it. After a while you felt his hot breath against your cheeks, and he whispered “I want to kiss you,may I?” You slowly nodded your head and he pressed his lips to yours.

As your lips connected you felt the years of tension slip away, instead replaced with a warm glow inside you. You kissed back, lips pressing against his. You knew it wouldn’t go any further today, and so did he. You just stood in the dark room of his ship, holding eachother quietly. There was no conversation of the hatred held by one another over the years, nor one of what was to come after this.

All that you knew right now was you had him and he had you.

——————————-——-//end//————————————

A/n: I’m sorry if this is super shit, I know it’s been like 6 months since I’ve posted but I was taking a mental health break, and I’ve recently been diagnosed with spondylolisis so I’ve been navigating that.

Hopefully I’ll start posting more!! I have 2 more fics I’m hoping to get done by the end of the week so that’s another thing.

Lots of love

Finn

#male reader #pedro pascal #gay #male x male #din djarin x male reader #din dijarin fanfiction #din djarin #the mandalorian #mando #mando x reader #pedro pascal x male reader

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evolutionsbedingt · 3 months ago

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Belated WIP Wednesday

Have another snippet of the TGCF fic! We've arrived at the case of Mount Yujun and this time it's He Xuan who accompanies Xie Lian.

★★★

Then a woman's voice cut through the ruckus of the men boasting about their supposed courage. He Xuan looked up to find the young woman who they'd saved earlier today squaring up against the leader, even with her shoulders nearly up to her ears in fear.

When He Xuan cast out his mind, as expected, he heard her prayer for strength and sent a little spiritual power into that beizi she was still wearing to make it feel more like an armour.

“What do you mean don't go there? Are you nuts? Don't you know how much money Wang-daren is offering?” the leader of those ruffians asked, crossing his arms and looking down at the woman who didn't falter.

Her voice wasn't very loud, but her conviction was clear. “Posing as a bridal party or trying to comb the mountain for that Ghost Groom, it's going to cost you your lives eventually.”

“Well, if Xiao-niang had agreed to be our fake bride, maybe we wouldn't have to risk our lives over and over again,” the leader growled and He Xuan scrutinised the men behind him.

Indeed, those were the very same men they'd met attacking this Xiao-niangzi just earlier. That she'd still stand up to them now was really commendable.

He Xuan rose from his seat, making Xie Lian follow him hurriedly.

“Who would be your fake bride and risk their life?” Xiao-niangzi asked, a little plaintively. “But you didn't have to rip up my skirt about it!”

“You-!”

Right as the leader of those thugs stepped forward, pointing threateningly at Xiao-niangzi, He Xuan stepped between them and smiled when the man paled, whipping his head around and stumbling back when he saw Xie Lian. “Gongzi, you said you need a fake bride and we came here to hunt this Ghost Groom as well. If my shixiong can lure him out and beat him, let's split the gains. If you beat him on your own, the bounty is yours.”

“En?” Xie Lian sounded shocked at first, but quickly caught up and nodded. “Shidi is right, we can't go around risking innocent women and the Ghost Groom clearly isn't fooled by a puppet.”

The leader looked like he was considering it and then finally nodded. “Fine, let's get this honoured daoshi a wedding dress!”

The crowd gasped, at once scandalised and excited, and He Xuan felt someone tugging at the back of his robes.

“Honoured daoshi, please allow this lowly one to help you with the dress and the makeup,” Xiao-niangzi said quietly. “Those ruffians will have no idea how to find one that fits your honoured shixiong.”

“Thank you, Xiao-niangzi,” Xie Lian said, turning around with a gentle smile. “You're very kind.”

“You saved me twice, it's only right,” she demurred and Xie Lian didn't argue.

“Is there a temple of Ming Guan nearby where we could take shelter and prepare?” Xie Lian asked instead and he looked as surprised as He Xuan felt when the woman shook her head.

“There's a temple of Nan Yang though, I go to pray there often,” she offered but He Xuan saw Xie Lian’s momentary hesitation.

Surely getting dressed as a bride in the temple of his former subordinate and in Nan Yang’s temple in particular, was too much for even his face to bear.

“I saw a He-dafang shrine on our way into town,” He Xuan said, pointing in the direction of the small shrine. “Surely he won't mind us borrowing it if it's in pursuit of justice for these women.”

Xiao-niangzi nodded hesitantly. “If Daoshi says so.”

He Xuan turned back to their temporary allies and relayed the plan, telling them to be at the temple no later than sundown. This left them just barely enough time to find a set of bridal robes that would fit Xie Lian, adjust it and then do his hair and makeup.

Xiao Ying, as it turned out she was called, was a great help with this and a deft hand at both sewing and applying makeup. She said she'd learned the latter to try and make herself look less plain but found that she felt no differently about her face and would rather use the money to help those who have even less than her.

Her kindness moved He Xuan and he found himself speaking a blessing for her, using a touch of his spiritual power and hoping that it would be enough.

#my adventures in writing #*mine #tgcf #he xuan #xie lian #He Xuan ascended after all fic #hualianxuan

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queerofthedagger · 5 months ago

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drop your knives (I want to drop mine)

[Fingon/Maedhros | T+ | 1,5k | Ao3]

Written for @russingon-week day 5: Sparring & Battle, Horror in the Past

It is a miserable day, in a miserable week, in a miserable month.

Across from Fingon, Maedhros’ expression is a study of barely contained frustration.

The clearing they are in is muddy, the trees bare and grim in the sluggish grey of the evening. Rain is beating down on them, having long since made its way beneath armour and clothes.

It is better than the deceptive peace, the silent confinement of the camp, and so Fingon re-balances his blade and steps towards Maedhros for the umpteenth time today. “Again.”

They have been at this for hours, and before this, they have been at this for days. The long, heavy sword is still clumsy in Maedhros’ left hand, none of the graceful ease that he possessed before Fingon cut him off of Thangorodrim to be found.

It is not only missing from his swordwork. Maedhros is a caricature of the beloved Elf Fingon had cursed through years on the Ice, and some days, Fingon hates him for the fact that he cannot hate someone who has already been brought so low.

It is not fair. It is not even entirely true; if Fingon had ever hated Maedhros, if he had managed it at least on the worst nights with Turgon’s choked-off sobs and Aredhel’s shaking filling the tent around him, he would have never gone after him.

Still, the lie of it is easier to tell himself than it is to watch Maedhros struggling to claw his way back to life, day after day after miserable day.

Maedhros falls into a defensive position, his eyes sharp and almost fey in the dim light as he follows Fingon’s movements.

Fingon had thought that the first few weeks would be the worst part, the ruin of Maedhros’ body healing slowly, reluctantly, beneath their healers’ hands.

He strikes; Maedhros blocks.

It had not been true. It was a helpless ordeal, but it was better, in some ways, than watching Maedhros fail at simple tasks. Taking care of his hair. Dressing himself. Holding a quill.

The blow Maedhros deals him in return is easy to catch, too little strength behind it, too easy to see coming.

They danced this dance before, long ago, in Tirion; learning to wield weapons had been a fun pastime at first, just another craft for them to measure and test their skills in. They had both taken to it readily, some of it familiar from hunting parties.

This, now, is a far cry from those days. Maedhros is desperate and impatient, not that Fingon can blame him. He would not want to listen to the healers’ insistence to take it slow for yet another turn of the moon either, and at this point, he sometimes thinks it does more harm than good.

He disarms Maedhros with a simple twist of his sword, and in the end, this is no better—to see Maedhros work himself to his bones through miserable days and short, terror-shaken nights, unable to stop him from pushing himself beyond endurance.

How do you reassure someone who has seen the worst already? How do you promise that things will be all right, that there is time? Fingon no longer believes it either, after all, even as the Ice’s legacy upon his body is less obvious.

Maedhros stares at him, panting and arms trembling. Fingon wants to take the blade from him, pull him close; wants to hold him, lay them down in dry sheets so they can rest.

“Again,” Maedhros says, picking his sword back up, and Fingon complies.

He always does. Where Maedhros’ brothers have long since stopped keeping step, Fingon is still here, even as his own muscles shake, as his limbs cramp with the cold, as his body protests the days spent fighting, the nights haunted by his own nightmares. The nights spent in Maedhros’ tent, sitting in silence until dawn comes, no longer sure what to say to each other but unable to be apart, still.

This, them, is a caricature as well. Fingon unleashes another row of blows upon Maedhros and does not think about the way it feels like penance and revenge both. Does not think about how this is the only way he still knows to touch Maedhros without fear.

Their blades cross between them, Maedhros catching Fingon’s advance at the last moment. It is a shaky stalemate, Maedhros’ face pallid and drawn with exertion, and Fingon does not want to press his advantage of strength, does not want to add fuel to Maedhros’ burning pit of self-contempt.

Unfortunately, despite everything, Maedhros still knows him better than anyone.

Throwing his weight behind it, Fingon pushes, and twists his wrist at the same time; Maedhros stumbles back, his grip on the sword slipping, the blade falling.

He is left standing in front of Fingon with empty hands, his expression of steely determination cracking open, eyes closing.

For a moment, they hover there, the rain droning out the noise of the forest.

Then Maedhros blinks his eyes back open and stares at Fingon, his voice hollow when he says, “You should have shot me on that godforsaken mountain when you had the chance.”

The words slam into Fingon like the blow of a mace. With the next breath, fury burns through him and he bares his teeth, helpless against it all. “You know full well that self-pity does not become you.”

Maedhros scoffs. “It is no self-pity, and you know it, too. Look at me, Fingon—what good am I like this? I cannot fight. I cannot even take care of myself anymore.”

I will fight for you, Fingon wants to say. I will take care of you, if only you would let me.

He does not. He grits his teeth instead, and jerks his chin at the discarded weapon. “So pick your sword back up and keep going until you can.”

Maedhros’ nostrils flare, eyes flashing. He has never done well with being told what to do, and for a moment, Fingon almost believes that he will finally fight, will finally push back against Fingon and the sharp-edged, bitter way they treat each other.

More than anything, Fingon wants him to finally fight—properly, hotly, no longer side-stepping each and every one’s of Fingon’s provocations.

Maedhros lands the first blow this time, still not strong but precise. Fingon disengages, dodges the next one, and does not take the opening to unbalance Maedhros’ stance.

It draws him in close again and their blades cross once more. Up close, he can hear the breath rattling through Maedhros’ lungs, the way he is panting. Up close he can smell him, sweat and oils, something still agonisingly familiar even after all this time.

Up close, Fingon can see the despondency in the black of Maedhros’ eyes, and it makes him reckless, makes him terrifyingly honest.

“The next time you say something like this,” he presses out, his own voice wrecked, “I will march right back into Angband and bring the entire mountain down, if that is what it takes. If you need something to break yourself against, I am right here, am I not?”

Beneath Fingon’s blade, Maedhros stills. He swallows, eyes roaming across Fingon’s face, everything still shaking, shaking, shaking apart.

“Fingon—“

“Oh, for—“ Fingon curses, and drops his sword. Curling his freezing hands in the front of Maedhros’ tunic he pulls him close, presses their mouths together, all of it graceless and rash and so, so stupid.

Maedhros makes a noise, something punched-out and animal. He does not reach for Fingon but he does sway closer. Doesn’t use the sword he still holds, pressed against the soft parts of Fingon’s belly, to run him through right then and there.

The world filters back in in increments, Fingon’s actions, as so often, catching up with him belatedly.

It is barely a kiss, this open-mouthed, desperate thing; still, it is closer than they have been in ages and he is reluctant to pull away, to stop sharing the same air, stop holding Maedhros close if only like this.

When he finally does, Maedhros stares at him, a hint of colour in his cheeks.

“Fingon—“ he tries again and finally, carefully, sets his sword down.

“I am sorry,” he says, clearing his throat. Awkwardness threatens to settle over them, but he cannot bring himself to regret it. Not quite, not with Maedhros still looking at him with something other than grim resignation.

“Please, don’t be,” Maedhros says, a crease etching itself between his brows. “I’m—I am not.”

He sways closer once more, but it is with purpose this time, a question still evident in every line of his body. There is hope now too, golden and incandescent flaring in his eyes.

Fingon reaches out and touches him, a hand to the ruined face. Maedhros leans into it, presses his mouth to Fingon’s palm.

For the first time since he wielded the knife upon Maedhros’ body, it does not leave the taste of blood in his mouth.

#*mine #mona's writing #russingon #the silmarillion #silm fic #tolkien #silm #this got honestly angstier than i meant it to be but then idk what i expected lmao <3

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