#best mens hiking boots

[hiking-shoes30]

Step Up Your Adventure: A Guide to Finding the Perfect Hiking Shoes

Ah, hiking! The feeling of fresh air on your face, the crunch of leaves underfoot, and the stunning scenery that unfolds with every step. But before you embark on your next outdoor adventure, there's one crucial piece of equipment you need: the right pair of hiking shoes.

Try this product Hiking Shoes

Think of your hiking shoes as trusty companions. They'll carry you over rugged terrain, support your ankles on uneven paths, and keep your feet comfortable for miles to come. But with so many options on the market, choosing the perfect pair can feel overwhelming. Fear not, fellow adventurer! This guide will equip you with the knowledge to find the ideal hiking shoes for your unique needs and terrain.

Know Your Terrain:

Imagine yourself scaling a rocky mountain peak, traversing a muddy forest trail, or leisurely strolling through a national park. Each environment demands different features in a hiking shoe. Here's a breakdown for common hiking terrains:

Day Hiking & Light Trails: For well-maintained paths and gentle inclines, prioritize comfort and breathability. Lightweight hiking shoes with good traction are ideal.

Moderate Hiking & Uneven Terrain: Hitting the trails with steeper slopes and loose rocks? Look for sturdier hiking boots with ankle support and aggressive treads for better grip.

Backpacking & Rugged Terrain: Carrying a heavy backpack calls for maximum support and stability. Choose high-ankle hiking boots with waterproof materials and exceptional traction for challenging terrain.

Comfort is King (and Queen):

Hiking is supposed to be enjoyable, not a test of your endurance. Here's how to ensure your shoes feel great from the first step:

Fit: This is paramount! Your shoes shouldn't be too tight or too loose. Allow enough room for your toes to wiggle and for slight swelling on longer hikes.

Break-in Period: Don't underestimate the power of a good break-in period. Wear your new shoes for short walks around town before hitting the trails.

Cushioning: Your feet will thank you for ample cushioning. Look for shoes with good shock absorption, especially for longer hikes with significant elevation gain.

Features for Every Foot:

Hiking shoes come with a variety of features that cater to specific needs:

Waterproof Membranes: For wet or muddy conditions, a waterproof membrane like Gore-Tex® keeps your feet dry and comfortable.

Breathable Materials: These allow moisture to escape, keeping your feet cool and preventing blisters. Mesh panels are often found in hiking shoes for breathability.

Shank Support: A shank is a stabilizing plate inserted between the midsole and outsole. It provides additional support and helps prevent fatigue on long hikes.

Ankle Support: High-ankle boots offer more stability and protect your ankles on uneven terrain. Opt for mid-ankle boots for a good balance of support and flexibility on moderate trails.

Traction: This is crucial for preventing slips and falls. Look for aggressive treads with deep lugs for better grip on different surfaces.

Beyond the Basics:

Now that you've grasped the essentials, let's delve into some additional considerations:

Weather Conditions: Will you be hiking in hot, cold, or rainy weather? Choose shoes with appropriate insulation or breathability based on the expected climate.

Weight: For long-distance hikes or backpacking, lighter shoes make a big difference.

Personal Style: While function is key, don't discount aesthetics! Many hiking shoes come in stylish colors and designs that complement your outdoor spirit.

Remember:

Invest in Quality: Hiking shoes are an investment in your comfort and safety. Opt for a well-respected brand that offers durable and reliable footwear.

Seek Expert Advice: Don't hesitate to visit a reputable outdoor store and talk to a knowledgeable salesperson. They can assess your needs and recommend the perfect shoes for your next adventure.

Bonus Tip: Take care of your hiking shoes! After each use, clean them thoroughly with a damp cloth and allow them to dry completely. This will extend their lifespan and keep them performing their best.

With the right pair of hiking shoes by your side, you're ready to conquer any trail and explore the breathtaking beauty of the outdoors. So, lace up, step out, and create unforgettable memories on your next hiking adventure!

[darkwood-sleddog]

tbh i do feel like a lot of sport dog or general dog people's confusion regarding why certain gear not made for specific sports does not work for that said sport comes from a general lack of people who do not have a lot of personal experience wearing sport equipment or doing sports themselves.

Obviously people not having that experience is not a bad thing, we all learn and grow and it's great imo that people want to do active things with their dogs (any little bit you do is positive in my eyes). But it's just a fact to me that when you, personally, have experience with how YOU feel in different type of sports equipment, that knowledge certainly transfers to animal sports as well.

[thnxbroshoe]

TB050 Men’s Walking Shoes

Walking, as a physical activity, is gaining prominence. It is a low-impact cardio exercise that anyone can do, irrespective of gender and age, provided they have the best walking shoes. However, if you think walking is easy, it is worth remembering that not walking properly will not lead to better health and fitness. Here are some walking tips that you can follow. At THNXBRO, we have an amazing collection of walking shoes, among which we would like to introduce one of the best walking shoes for men - the TB050. So, why is this a recommended product and what makes it unique? The TB050 has gained its reputation as one of the best men’s casual shoes since we introduced it to the market. It was because the TB050 men’s sports shoes boasted all the features many would look for in casual footwear.

[waves-against-a-cliff]

After the end - Post-apocalyptic Omegaverse AU

Summary - You missed the end of the world. Fine by you. You thrived in your new surroundings, content to be on your own. Until something happens during your third winter.

Tags - Omegaverse (duh), alpha/beta/omega dynamics, non traditional dynamics, all of the 141 are alphas, you're an omega. Eventual smut, dub-con, knotting, mating press, polyamory, alphas love alphas. Uh... This came to me in a fever dream. Consider this a prologue. 141 x reader

You think you're pretty lucky all things considered. You had always been self sufficient and your childhood gave you skills you were able to call on after the entire world shat itself. To be honest, you hadn't even noticed the world had completely gone to ruin until you tried to call your pharmacy to refill your heat and scent suppressants.

The line was dead. So you called the grocery store. Dead. The movie theater, the diner, the post office. Dead dead dead. Panic seized you by the throat and you dropped your home phone onto the ground. You splashed cold water onto your face and looked into the mirror with puffy eyes and shaking hands.

What were you going to do? The world couldn't have ended. Right? You should have noticed sooner. "Fuck," you said, pulling on your shoes and grabbed your car keys, you got into your car, "fuck!"

As it turns out, you did in fact miss the ending of the world. You yelled obscenities and banged on your steering wheel. The entire small town you lived near was deserted. Windows were boarded up and cars were parked by the road with tires missing or windows smashed in.

You missed the entire end of the world.

As it turns out, the end of the world wasn't that bad. Nothing really changed. Well besides the rarity of getting your hands on heat suppressants and scent blockers. The first week after you finally got caught up on the whole "the world has ended" thing you raided.

You avoided using your car after you got a mild scare that someone else had been attracted to the noise. Hiding in the very smelly gas station bathroom while you listened to the sound of boots crunching on glass was enough to teach you that lesson.

You tore apart the pharmacy the first week, finding what had to be at least four months worth of scent blockers and nine months of heat suppressants. You took everything you deemed useful and stuffed it into your backpack before hiking back home.

You set up a routine, patrol the forest edge twice a day, care for your garden and check any trap for animals to eat. Self sufficiency had never been such a blessing.

It was the middle of winter three years later when you first saw them.

Men. No, not just men. Alphas. Their scent almost made your knees buckle when you smelt it down wind. For a moment your mind went hazy as their smells flooded your mind until that part of your brain that had been responsible for your survival kicked back in.

Alphas. In your territory. Your territory. It felt like a crime and you felt your inner omegas turmoil. As you watched the four men walk down the road that led into town through your binoculars you debated on what you should do. Run, flee while you are down wind. With shaky hands, whether from the cold or fear you didn't know, you climbed down from the perch you were on and sprinted back home while doing your best to cover your own tracks.

You went in circles, outside in the cold long past when your hands and feet had gone cold. But you were sure they couldn't follow. You were sure they didn't even know you were there.

Three years. You had been off of heat suppressants and scent blockers for years. After a while your heats had stopped coming, whether it was from lack of sleep or stress or some evolutionary thing that happened when no one to mate was around, the bottom line was that you were unprepared.

You boarded up your door and threw water on your fire. You grabbed every blanket in the house and ran into your bedroom. At first you did it for warmth. If you were going to hide you couldn't have fire to give out smoke and you needed to be warm.

Then you continued to mess with the blankets and pillows. You huffed, growing increasingly frustrated at your inability to get it right. You grabbed your laundry and threw it in too, arranged and rearranged until it felt right. It wasn't until you took a step back that you realized what you had done. Something you haven't in years. Before you was a nest. Large enough to fit many in it. Maybe even five. You swallowed hard as your fingers dug into your stomach. It was going to be a long winter.

[musubi-sama]

Rainy Day Dropoff

How some of our favorite JJK men would handle a little downpour and getting your toddler off to daycare.

A/N: The bike in question is in the header image, a standard mamachari. The kid seat sits over the front forks, they're really easy to ride and control, especially if you have a battery-powered one. I love mine. I also deeply abhor morning drop-off when it's raining. Pickup is fun because puddles and playtime!

WC: 844

The morning drop-off, a routine you and your toddler have down to a science, a well-oiled machine. You leave the house at the same time every day, say “bye bye, papa!” and the two of you toddle over to your mamachari. It’s a nice ride through the neighborhood over to daycare. Peaceful, quiet, a lovely time to teach your child about what they see and listen to their adorable attempts to repeat your words.

But this morning, it’s pouring rain with no signs of stopping. You steel yourself for the wet trip there and back, knowing that despite a rain poncho, a hat, and hood, you always come back giving your best drenched cat impression.

Ah, but your dear husband has heard your grumbling and decided to handle the drop off today.

Nanami Kento - Kento wakes up first and sees the weather. Immediately, he adjusted his morning routine to get both him and your toddler out the door and into both daycare and work successfully and on time. He doesn’t often do drop-offs, but he knows how much you hate going out in the rain. Pulling out his waterproof hiking and rain boots, he sits by the door, and you watch little hands grab the tops of his boots as he tugs them on with exaggerated effort. You help both put their raincoats and helmets on (most adults eschew a helmet, but not your husband!) and see them out the door.

Kento quickly gets everyone situated on the bike under the parking space cover and sets off cautiously. Once at daycare, he sits your toddler on the spacious porch and runs back to zip up the rain cover on the bike seat, ensuring it stays dry for pickup in the afternoon. Luckily, your usually energetic toddler stays put under the overhang instead of bolting off. Dropoff is quick, everyone stays dry, and no accidental wet feet after taking off their boots and storing for the afternoon return trip.

Suguru Geto - Suguru checked the weather in advance and set his alarm slightly early to make sure he could get the bike moved over to a dry spot closer to the front door of the apartment building. Once everyone is out the door, he grabs an extra umbrella to provide extra coverage. Not a drop on either him nor your toddler as he gets them situated in their seat and the rain cover zipped down. He makes sure to draw a little flower in the fog forming on the plastic window. Hitting every puddle just to pull laughs from your toddler along the short journey.

Pulling out the extra umbrella at daycare, again a quick and dry transfer into the daycare. He repeats the routine at pickup and even brings a set of rain pants to let the little one splash around and remain dry before returning home.

Satoru Gojo - Satoru sees the rain and calls Ijichi to drive you and your toddler into daycare. On a normal, dry day he doesn’t mind you biking the kids in. Even though everyone else arrives by car, you insisted that you use your mamachari. It’s a gentle exercise, the view is stunning (especially in the spring while riding along the sakura-lined river), and the two of you strike up adorable conversations about what you each see. But in this weather, you easily relent and hop in the car.

Hiromi Higuruma - Your dear Hiromi has the best of intentions, both in boots, but oops the jacket is forgotten because it’s warm outside. The bike is parked under cover, sure, but there’s a hole in the roof drainage right next to the bike, exactly in the spot he needs to stand in to put your toddler in their seat. While the ride is quick, his poncho hood flies off his head immediately, the wind buffeting you both. And despite his best efforts, he hit a few puddles along the way. At least someone finds them fun.

Once he arrives, he quickly grabs the bag of clothes and daily supplies and reaches into the seat, picking up the almost-2-year-old. As soon as he places them standing on the ground he hears-

“Papa, shoe! Papa, shoe!”

“Shit, ah fuck, I mean, sorry!” failing to control his language knowing that that little toddler brain will absolutely pick up on those words and use it later. He looks down to see a little one-footed hop and a missing boot. Ah ha, it was in the bike seat. Quickly, but not fast enough, he manages to stuff the little, wet, foot back into the boot.

He picks up the bag and toddler and jogs over to the front patio at daycare. Shedding his poncho and punching in the door code, he sits your toddler down to take off boots and socks. And then he notices how wet the front of your toddler’s clothes is. Right, wet poncho. After handing them off to the staff, he just gives a lopsided smile as they look over the wet patches on the toddler, running to see their friends.

[atinylittlepain]

Hi, love your writing!!! Anyways, I was thinking, a Joel x Reader! One-shot, where the reader possibly messes up a deal or trade with a different group and Joel is PIIIIIISSSSSEEEDDDD (grumpy angry Joel bc yes obvi 🧎🏻‍♀️) so anyways they go back to Jackson and he slowly gets over it y'know, BUT then when the next occasion for a trade arises, Joel brings reader along and it seems like Joel is betraying the reader, trading her for supplies (possibly handing her over to enemies or some real sick people) but then he reveals its a ploy to get the upper hand on the group and the two take out (k1ll) the bandits and Joel is basically like " I would never trade you for anything even if you mess up sometimes" Yada Yada fluff 💕💕💕

-yc :3

baaaabe, apologies for my delayed reply, but i love some good angst and wanted to do it right <3

gif by @riley-keoughs

Cold as Ice

Joel Miller x f!reader

joel miller masterlist

when she messes up on a job, Joel's anger freezes her out harder than the biting Wyoming winter.

warnings | 18+ angst, canon-typical violence, feelingsssss

..................

She was freezing. It was the middle of winter in Wyoming, and she was shaking so hard she could barely steady her hands on her rifle. It didn’t help that she was laid out in the snow on her stomach right now, peering out from an overlook at Joel and the men he was dealing with. She knew it shouldn’t be much longer though, so she did her best to steady her focus back on the scene in front of her. 

Joel had asked her to hang back while he traded with them, men that he had encountered a few weeks back on a solo patrol shift. Always careful to keep the existence of Jackson a secret, Joel had told the men that he was a lone survivor, making camp in the valley of the mountains for the winter. While the men had accepted this lie, they had also asked to meet soon to trade, something that Joel couldn’t deny without stirring suspicion. So, he made a plan to return to the plains the next week, bringing her along for hidden back-up if need be. 

She had said yes to joining him without hesitation.​ They’ve been partners for a while, having traipsed across the states with Ellie in tow and witnessed their fair share of horrors. Somewhere along the way, they had started seeking a little more creature comfort in each other, but she had chalked it up to just that, comfort, no need for feelings messing things up. 

Where Joel goes, she goes, and vice versa. But as she shivered in places she didn’t know could shiver, she wanted more than anything to be back in town where the unfathomable luxury of space heaters exists. 

Her nose was running, snot freezing right to her face as she tried to keep her eyes on the men down in the valley, but the deep itch of cold kept forcing her to rub her face in the crook of her arm.

It happened so quickly she didn’t have time to even think of stopping it, a hard sneeze racking her body. She was lucky her finger wasn’t on the trigger, but the men still seemed to have noticed it, heads whipping around to look up the hill that she was tucked behind. She could hear a swell of heated murmuring between Joel and the men. She pressed herself as flat into the ground as she could, praying that they would chalk it up to the whipping wind or an animal. The men’s questioning chatter died down into silence and she held her breath as the only sound that remained was that of boots trudging closer through the snow. 

She craned her neck up just enough to look out over the hill, relief flooding through her at the sight of only Joel hiking toward her, the four other men receding in the opposite direction. Her relief was short-lived, however, with the way he hauled her onto her feet with a harsh hand hooked under her arm, pushing her to keep walking along with him.

“What the hell was that?” Suddenly, the cold was the least of her worries, with the way Joel was seething beside her. She stumbled over her reply.

“I-I fucked up. I’m– I’m sorry.” 

“We don’t get to fuck up. Not out here. You know that.” Her heart dropped at the harsh tone of his words.

“Wh–what happened with those guys? Where are they going?” Joel huffed, keeping his eyes forward as they continued to trek back home.

“They got spooked. Gonna have to come back in a few days to finish this fucking deal. You’re lucky they weren’t smart enough to think anything more of that sound.” It was the last thing either of them said the whole hike back to Jackson, Joel’s anger cracking and fissuring between them until the distance felt insurmountable. 

For the first time since they settled in the house Tommy gave them, she slept in her own bed that night, startling awake to the sound of Joel slamming the door to his room.

…

It had been a quiet few days back in Jackson. She had been avoiding Joel as best she could, and he did nothing to stop her, each of them taking odd shifts to stay out of the house as much as possible. Ellie had sensed there was something wrong right away and had asked her “what the fuck happened” but all she could do was sigh and shake her head at the thick heat rising in her throat. 

More than anything, she was upset at herself, that she had made such a stupid mistake. But a close second to that feeling was the wary fear she felt being the subject of Joel’s obvious ire. If they happened to cross each other’s paths, he wouldn’t so much as look at her, keeping his head down and his brow furrowed as he quickly shuffled off. She hadn’t been sleeping at all either, having gotten so used to tangling up with him each night. There was no warmth, no steady heartbeat to lull her to sleep alone in her own bed. 

She was starting to resign herself to this new reality in which Joel Miller seemed to want nothing to do with her. She told herself that she’d stick around for Ellie, but otherwise, she’d keep away from the man she had so clearly let down. This didn’t last long, however, not when Joel sought her out at the stables, sidling up next to her where she was grooming one of the mares. It was hard to look at him, and she resolved herself to keeping her attention on the horse as he spoke in a hushed tone.

“I, uh, need your help tomorrow.” She couldn’t help the scoff she let out at that.

“Why would you want my help? I’ll probably just fuck it up anyways.” She knew it was a childish thing to say the moment it left her mouth, a heavy silence falling between them after. Joel finally cleared his throat to press on. 

“Gotta go back out tomorrow to finish that deal. Nobody else can know what’s going on, Maria’d probably have my head if she found out.” Her heart sank at the realization that the only reason he was asking her for her help was because she was the only person he could ask. She let out a harsh cough to mask the thick sadness creeping up her throat, nodding at his words, but still not looking at him.

“Alright, fine. We’ll head out in the morning.” Another stilted silence fell on them. She knew Joel well enough to tell that he had something else to say, by the way he was toeing his boot into the ground and lingering next to her. But he seemed to think better of it, letting out a sigh and grumbling that he’d meet her at the gate in the morning as he was already trudging out of the stables. 

…

The silence was maddening. They had been walking for a few hours, getting closer to the meeting point, but it had felt like an eternity with the way neither of them was speaking. They had never been particularly talkative on the road, but by the time they had settled in Jackson they had warmed to each other enough to usually keep a quiet conversation going. No longer able to stand it, she finally cleared her throat, words puffing out into the cold air.

“Joel? I am sorry– about last time. I–�� Before she could finish speaking, Joel came to a halting stop, pressing her back behind him, and it was then that she saw the four men coming toward them, guns cocked. Shit.

“Drop your weapons! And whoever you got tucked behind you better step out to the side.” Joel glanced at her over his shoulder, a hesitant nod as she shuffled out alongside him, both of them shouldering off their guns, palms up as the group of men closed in. 

One of the men let out a low whistle, looking her up and down like a piece of meat.

“Was that noise we heard last time you, pretty?” She pressed her lips into a thin line, trying hard not to give anything away in her expression. The men all laughed, but Joel was quick to cut through it with a firm few words.

“This doesn’t have to be a problem. We can still trade.” The men instantly steeled back into silence, the mouths of their guns all aiming at Joel. The man who seemed to be the leader sneered.

“Was I talking to you, man? No.” He turned his attention back to her.

“Why don’t you walk over to us, pretty? Then turn around nice and slow so you’re facing your man.” With four guns aimed at them, she knew the man wasn’t asking, he was telling, so she did as he said, quietly trudging through the snow closer to the group before turning around to face Joel.

“Can’t blame you for hiding this one from us, buddy.” The man sauntered closer to her and she had to will herself to keep from flinching as he pressed up behind her, frostbit fingers skittering along her cheek. 

“What’s your name, honey?” She muttered her name to the man, trying to keep as still as possible as he skated the barrel of his gun along the side of her neck. She couldn’t help the quiet yelp that escaped her lips when he brought his other hand to the swell of her thigh, squeezing hard. She didn’t dare look at Joel, shame rising like hot bile in her throat.

“S’a pretty name for a pretty girl. Don't you think your boyfriend here was a little rude for not introducing us?” The men laughed again, a sound that sat heavy in her stomach. The man behind her hummed a little, pressing his cheek against hers as he looked over her shoulder at Joel.

“Isn’t he a little old for you, honey?” The men snickered, and her eyes finally darted to Joel’s face, his eyes squinted, mouth screwed up. A shiver of fear ran up her spine because for the first time in a while she couldn’t read him, couldn’t parse out what he was thinking or feeling in that moment. She had never felt so alone.

A gasp escaped her mouth when the man wrapped his forearm around her chest, cocking the barrel of his gun right under her chin as he kept his eyes set on Joel. She thought she could see his fingers flex where his hands were still held up.

“Tell you what, pal. I’ve got a new deal for you. You let us take this sweet thing off your hands, and in return, we won’t shoot you where you stand.” Blood rushed in her ears, an icy panic settling in at the way Joel wasn’t seeming to refuse, to offer up some alternative. She couldn’t help thinking that maybe this really was it, that Joel Miller was cutting her loose and feeding her to the wolves. Her thoughts were jolted by the sound of the man cocking his gun again, pressing the barrel a little harder into her jaw.

“I’d rather not ask twice, man. Do we have a deal or not?” She could see the bob of Joel’s throat, but he refused to look at her, his gaze staying on the man holding her up. 

“She has my knife. Just let me get it back and she’s all yours.” His words felt like a quick kick to the stomach and she choked on her breath, but her mind followed fast with the realization that what Joel said was a lie. His face was still unreadable, but it was becoming clear that he had a plan. The man behind her let out a breathy chuckle before harshly shoving her forward toward Joel, he catching her forearms to steady her.

“Go ahead, then. But make it fast.” Joel finally looked at her, reaching around her to unzip her pack, she guessed to look like he really was digging around for his knife. He ducked his head down, his words a low murmur just barely heard above the whistling wind.

“Know you keep a side piece in here. You still got your knife?” She offered him a faint nod.

“I’ll cover you. On my word.” She could feel his hand in her pack closing around the pistol she had stowed in there. She met his gaze again, one more jerk of a nod followed by Joel’s muttered “now.” 

They did what they do best. She whipped around in a flash, Joel already shooting one man down as she ran up on the others. The three men left standing were so disoriented, unsure where to aim their guns, and she made quick work of a second man, striking her blade across his throat and sending him down to his knees, warm blood spurting across her face. Joel was quick to put a bullet in another one, leaving the leader for her. She was more than happy to jam her blade up into the softness beneath his ribs, watching blood gurgle out of his mouth before he slumped to the ground. 

Her hands were shaking as her eyes swept over the aftermath, but Joel quickly came up behind her, spinning her around to face him and cupping her jaw in his palms, eyes searching her expression.

“You alright? Not hurt anywhere?” She shook her head in his hold, finally letting out a stuttering laugh, making Joel furrow his brow at her.

“What? What is it?” 

“I just– really thought you were gonna let them take me for a second there. Thought you were finally done with me.” His face slackened at her words before he snapped back with a gruff scoff.

“You fucking serious right now?” She shrugged, eyes not quite meeting his.

“After last time, figured you didn’t want to work with a fuck-up anymore.” Joel made a harsh sound in the back of his throat, dipping his head down to try to catch her gaze.

“That’s bullshit. You’re my partner. I’m not gonna fucking dump you just ‘cause you made a mistake. That’s not how this works, how we work.” She finally met his gaze, a little fire kicking up in her anger.

“Oh, it’s not? Then why have you been avoiding me like the fucking plague ever since?” She didn’t get an answer, Joel breaking away and quietly muttering that they needed to get home.

Another agonizingly quiet walk back to Jackson.

…

When they got back, she was quick to stomp off toward their house, but could feel Joel watching her the whole way as he trailed behind. She was sick of getting jerked around by him, and now it seemed the tables were turned and it was she who wanted him out of her sight.

She took the stairs two at a time, quickly shuffling into the upstairs bathroom and shutting the door behind her. She wasn’t expecting there to be so much blood spattered across her face when she looked in the mirror, and the sight made her pause, her breath catching in her throat. It wasn’t the first and it wouldn’t be the last time she had to harshly scrub away the remnants of violence. 

The soft click of the bathroom door opening didn’t stop her from continuing to drag a damp washcloth across her face, skin going red and splotchy under her ministrations. 

“Hey, hey. Just stop– will you look at me, please?” Calloused hands grabbed her wrists to stop her movements, turning her toward him. Joel let out a long sigh when she still wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“Look, I’m sorry for the way I acted. I was never mad at you– was mad at the fucking situation. A-and I was trying to create some distance before I said something I didn’t mean. Never wanna hurt you– you’re– I–” he stopped himself with another sigh, leaning back against the sink. She tentatively stepped between his legs, her wrists still held firm in his hands between them.

“I’m sorry too, Joel. It was an accident– but it was a stupid one. Fucking hate that I let you down.” He let go of her wrists to bring one hand to cup her jaw, tilting her head to finally get her to meet his gaze.

“Didn’t let me down. Even if you did– more than made up for it today with the way you took out those fucking fools.” That coaxed a half-hearted smile from her as she leaned into his touch.

“We did that together.” He nodded lightly, thumb stroking the arc of her cheek and making her breath hitch.

“We did. Make a good team. Right, partner?” Her smile stretched into a grin at his words.

“Right– partner.” When he kissed her, it felt different. This wasn’t their usual lust-driven tangles. It was careful, and dizzyingly sweet, something she hadn’t known Joel was capable of. He pulled away just slightly to rest his forehead against hers as they silently followed the push and pull of each other’s breath. 

“You know I wouldn’t do that, right? Would never leave you.” She sighed, nodding her head slightly against his.

“I know you wouldn’t. But it wouldn’t hurt to be reminded every now and again.” That made him chuckle as he brought his other hand to her hip, squeezing lightly.

“Consider this your first reminder then.” 

The kiss he gave her that time was just as sweet as the first. It was all the reminding she needed.

[stupidfuckingwindow]

Bark like you want it // Ken

Content/warnings: Somnophilia, dub-con (consent not explicitly given but implied), dry humping. Three is my lucky number when it comes to writing men cum. I meant to incorporate knotting but had no idea how to. Afab reader, handjob given by said reader.

Notes: He's more dogboy than werewolf here but that's okay it's still horny. This one took me a WHILE. Thank you again goosecord for giving me the inspo for this.

Word count: 2.3k

You'd found him during a quiet hike, a little ways into the forest and close to a nearby lake. He had seemed normal enough to you, and you'd simply assumed he was just someone's dog who'd escaped their owner's fence. His fur was an off, dirtied white, all matted and leaves sticking to him. Blue eyes that you could've sworn glinted yellow in the light of your fireplace. His foot had been caught in an old bear trap, and the horrible whines of pain that he'd made had brought you to him.

He'd cried in the bath, clung desperately to your arm while you attempted to wash off all the dirt from him. The sound of the faucet had startled him terribly, and he'd buried his face into your neck while you rinsed him over with soap, whimpering at every little new thing or inconvenience. You'd had to hold him through it. He wouldn't quiet until you did, seemingly comforted greatly. And, once you had toweled him off, all he'd do was follow you around, walking closely behind your feet and tail constantly wagging.

It'd become so absurd that he had begun demanding (in the best way a dog could, anyway,) to sleep in your bed. He'd whine and drag you around by the sleeve until you let him stay, or lick your face until you had no choice. In a way, he'd made a damn convincing pet.

All the more surprising when, one night, he'd gone from man's best friend to man himself, with even less of the boundaries to boot. Ken loved having hands, to hold you by the hips with and press you to him. And, while he'd liked being babied, it wasn't this. Demanding constant affection and getting it isn't the same as getting to hold someone back, as getting demands for affection and giving it. But why won't you kiss him, anymore? That's an offense, not kissing his nose and face anymore. If he's lucky, you'll press your lips to his forehead goodnight.

And, on top of that, you don't even let him sleep in the same bed anymore! Ken could excuse kisses, but this is just too far. How dare you lock him out of your room at night to sleep on your cold leather couch. The couch can't hold him like you and it doesn't smell as nice as you, and it's just not fair. Every night, he whines at your door like a puppy in an attempt to be let in, and every night it doesn't work.

Frankly, Ken has had enough of this. He'll get his kisses and comfortable bed with you if it's the last thing he does. He doesn't go straight to your door to beg to be let in, this time. Ken waits a little while, intently listening for any noises. There's a distinct lack of that soft clicking sound close to the doorknob. Did you already lock it? Did you forget to lock the door? Ken doesn't know, but he'll find out. He waits it out, hearing you slide into bed via the rustling of the covers. He forces himself to wait until all he can hear is your breathing. He constantly checks the clock on the counter, impatience running through his veins just under his skin.

Ken's nerves are frayed and all over the place as his fingers slowly wrap around the cold metal of the doorknob. The fan is on blast in your room, sending a chill up his arms, and goosebumps form. His hair rises against the back of his neck, and his fingers slightly shake. But not from the cold. It's been put into his brain that he's supposed to ask, but he already has! Ken swears he's still a good boy. He has to be, right? It's your fault you wouldn't cuddle with him anymore.

A faint whine leaves his throat at the sight of you, all curled up in a comfy bed. He can't stop the quick movements of his tail, excited and nervous all at once. His ears flatten against his head, in worry he'll be kicked out of your room at a moment's notice. But Ken's not going to chicken out after all this time. It may not ever happen again. What if he loses his chance? He's not gonna find out, not tonight.

He draws closer, climbing into bed behind you. The bed sinks beneath his weight, and he holds his breath just for you to not even stir. With slow, steady movements, he scoots closer, wrapping his arms around your torso and burying his face against your shoulder. You're so warm, in the way that Ken remembered and thinks about often. He pulls you flush against his body, craving the delicious heat of your skin. His shirt barrs him from feeling you closer, so he rushes to tug it off and hold you to him. Deeply, Ken inhales. You smell good, vaguely like the rain from earlier, after you'd gotten caught in it. A little like dirt, after he'd surprise tackled you.

His tail thumps against the bed, moving the sheets beneath him with soft thudding sounds. Already feeling you this close has him whimpering at the back of his throat, shorts feeling a little tighter and need rushing through him. His fingers squeeze around you slightly, and Ken feels you shift around. His heart pounds at the back of his throat as you roll around and wrap your arms around his neck, burying your nose in his hair. The second he accidentally grinds his growing erection against your ass is the same second he's a goner, letting out a sharp gasp that jolts you awake.

A low moan leaves Ken, directly in your ear and he curls his body further around you. His hips roll into yours, and Ken's hands grip your waist, digits digging into your sides. His lips meet the back of your neck, sucking at the tender skin there to muffle his whimpers (although, to no avail).

You panic, for a minute, hands feeling around mindlessly until they find his face. You tangle your fingers in his hair, lightly tugging at it. You know it's Ken, by the noise that leaves his throat. That voice that's so familiar and hard to forget. He sobs into your shoulder at the feeling of your hand lost in his curls, massaging his scalp as he ruts his clothed cock against your lower back. "Hurts," he whispers, to you, under his breath.

You comfort him through it, feeling the way Ken's hands paw at your clothes in an attempt to tug them off, but he's too impatient and misses the mark. All he manages to do is ball up the material tightly, lightly pulling. All the while his hips buck into you, desperate sounds leaving him. You have to help Ken, tossing your shirt somewhere with little hazard or care put into it. His hands cup your chest, squeezing and massaging at the soft flesh of your tit. He rubs circles into your nipple with his thumb, and his tongue slides a long stripe up your neck, seemingly desperate to taste you. You feel his teeth brush your shoulder, but he doesn't sink them into you.

A gasp, loud and as if needing air, is heard, and his hips stutter. More whines leave him, and his entire body shivers as he cums, hard. You let him ride out his orgasm, feeling the way his breathing quickens and the tightening of his grasp around you. A broken sob leaves Ken, and he nestles his face between your shoulder blades as he cries from overstimulation.

He's out like a light not too long after.

When you've awoken again, his hands are just as tight around your waist, softly snoring and drool at the corner of his lip. You roll over to face him, brushing the hair out of his face. The quiet beating of a wolf's (or, dog's, really. Ken acts enough like one,) tail is heard thudding against the bed- A subconscious reaction, probably. Your fingertips trace his jaw and brush over his lips, pulling a smile out of Ken. The sound of that gentle thudding against your mattress becomes louder, faster, and overall more excited.

His eyes open a couple moments later, still clearly drooping tiredly. They flutter shut, and you hear his slow, quiet breaths. A severe contrast to the frantic panting from him last night. But, thinking over the things you're about to do to Ken, you figure that's not something you'll be missing very long.

You pry yourself out of his grasp, feeling the chill of the air on your skin from the fan you'd left on overnight. You reach out, turning it off. The cold doesn't completely leave you, and the sound of confusion that leaves Ken is one to be noted.

As you slowly begin to undress both yourself and Ken, you notice it. Sparkling, glittery pink cum that's stained the material of his boxers. It's got an almost tack-y feel. Runny and thin, sticking to your fingertips as you spread your fingers and inspect the fluid. Temporarily distracted, you gather some more of it and spread it over your lips, like lip gloss. It's then you pull Ken into a proper kiss- One that's already got him needily whining and his cock standing to attention. You pull what little the two of you are wearing off, maintaining that kiss that Ken is all too willing to never let up.

You curl a hand around the base of his dick, feeling Ken whimper against your mouth and his hips jump. You pull away, once your lungs start burning for air, and the two of you pant. A faint line of your spit, mixed with his, still connects the two of you.

His face is all flushed. Perfect, flawless skin taking a more pinkish tone in his cheeks. Platinum blond hair falling around his head and framing it like a pretty halo against the bed. Pupils blown out and eyelids still a little puffy- slightly red from last night. Ken wets his lips, nervously. His swallows harshly, under your intensive focus on him and the way you study him. Ken slightly shutters in a shaking exhale, shivering a little at both the colder morning air and under your attention.

But Ken loves it. Loves the way you slowly crawl on top of him. The way your thighs trap either side of his body to the bed and your warmth. The weight of your body that he finds perfect comfort in. He likes your hand wrapped around his cock, gently stroking but oh, so good. He can't help the way his body moves to meet your hand, or the way everything in him jolts when you give him a little squeeze. Nor can Ken help the whines that leave him, or the desperate quickening of his hips bucking upwards while he fucks your hand. The tears that leave him after this orgasm, too, are something that just comes naturally. It's not something Ken knows how to stop, and he's not sure he wants to, considering all the attention you give him afterwards.

His hands shoot out to cup your face, pulling you closer in another messy kiss. Ken's thumbs stroke gently at each of your cheeks, as if it's you the one who's crying and not him. There's some more glitter now covering your hand and stomach, his cum still just as unnaturally pink colored. Ken needily moans against your lips when his tongue meets yours, and he's wildly out of experience and practice. His teeth clack softly against yours, and his sharp canines knick your bottom lip, which makes it sting and burn, a little from the pain. And when you start tasting something metallic, Ken laps the blood from the corner of your mouth.

Any excuse to taste you is one Ken is going to start making. He can't get enough. He's not going to have to, if he has any say in it. He'll always have his hands on you or your hands will be on him whenever it's possible. He'll ask you to tangle your hands in his hair whenever you kiss. Already, his cock is starting to harden in your loose grip at just the thought of all of that.

He whines when you pull away to breathe, head already following yours to feel your warmth against him again. You press a hand to his chest and push him back down against the mattress, and any sounds of complaint from him stop. Still, he's incredibly impatient. Ken's favorite new thing just got taken away and he feels as though he's going to throw a fit if he doesn't get it back. But his worries are halted when your full attention is back on him. When your body lifts a little and you guide his cock close to your entrance, slipping the head just past your folds.

He yelps, at the new feeling. He gasps when his hips subconsciously jolt upwards, and Ken's hands grab at your thighs, clumsily feeling around until he properly gets a hold on your body. The moan you make spurs him on further, and a choked noise leaves Ken when he thrusts into you again. He digs his nails and fingertips into your hips, movements already sloppy. And, once he does finally bottom out, he's already cumming again, whining even more while his body just. Won't. Stop. Moving. His back arches against the bed, broken gasps following every breath and frantic jump of his hips. His head falls back, eyes squeezing shut and sweat forming on his brow.

"Please," He hoarsely mutters, throat sounding scratchy and rough. Like something were caught in his throat. A low whine leaves his throat. "Please-" He tries again, hips rolling to meet yours. Ken reaches a shaky hand up, brushing his thumb over your lips. His breathing slows, and Ken slowly swallows. He wets his lips before he whispers, "You're so pretty."

[gremlinmodetweeker]

König's Self Esteem

cw self esteem issues and mentions of ptsd

So, König wasn't always very proud of himself. In fact, very much the opposite.

Growing up, König was bullied relentlessly for every single aspect of his very being. Nothing was enough for his classmates. He was considered a freakish nerd. He was called fat and later skinny. Girls would pretend to ask him out and laugh in his face when he eagerly accepted. Boys would make fun of König for how he spent more time reading than playing sports. Nothing was enough.

When König was a teen, things changed. Suddenly, König was tall and strong. His soft jaw sharpened, his pitiful round eyes hardened. The wiry teen became a muscular young adult thanks to his plentiful hikes in the woods, as referenced in this post.

So with such a change in König, surely, his relationship with his self esteem must be mixed, no?

More under the cut.

König has two layers of his self esteem. He has the self esteem that his team knows him for, and then he has the softer side that you know of.

On the battlefield, he is brave and, quite frankly, arrogant. He believes in himself like no other. Whatever he sets his mind to, he can do. Nobody can get in his way. His enemies are like ants beneath his boots.

When he saves hostages, he has mixed feelings. On one hand, the hostages are usually terrified of him. He's a 6'10 Austrian man built like a mac truck. Covered in blood and heaving with heavy breaths, children usually start crying when they see him.

But then he saves them. Then, the hostages that teared up at the sight of him throw themselves at his feet. They thank him profusely and adore him for saving them. He's had children named after him simply because he saved a few pregnant women. He keeps in touch with the families, too, to make sure they're still safe.

Teammates adore him, too. Nobody can do what he can. He barrels through a door and tramples his enemies under boot and bullet alike. He's like a bull with how he bores down his enemies. When enemies hear that König is coming, some of them defect immediately rather than face the wrath of the King.

Horangi in particular adores König. He's by and far one of the best hostage extractors they have. He's strong, brutish, but efficient. He's also incredibly reliable on the field. König has carried injured soldiers for miles before to get them back to safety. Legends of König carrying three men over six miles still fly around the base.

So, with all this success, König gets a bit of a big head. He is confident in his abilities and his success. He is incredibly proud of how hard he's worked for what he's gotten. He earned his place here. He was hand picked by KorTac. He is desired. He's important. He is powerful, honourable, brave and true. He's a killing machine, he's a guardian angel. He's the King.

But when he's off the field, when he's away and home with you, he can't be that König. He can't be king of the battlefield when he's at home. He can't order you around like a new recruit, and he can't expect you to treat him like an angel of death for saving you from certain doom. Instead, you see König as what he hates about himself; König is just a mortal man.

He never had to grow beyond being a teenager when he worked. He never had to face what lay under his mask. Now, with you, he has to see what you see, regardless of if he wants to or not.

He was so used to cruelty and brutality, but you bring forth softness and gentle touches. He is scared by the vulnerability you bring out of him. He's not used to being treated with love and kindness like what you provide.

Sometimes, when he thinks he's home alone, you might find him staring himself down in a mirror, a haunted look reflected back. He seems lost when he looks at himself. Soon, he rips himself away, but he can't wipe away his tears before you see them.

He'll sometimes grab at his stomach and pull, looking down miserably. You might ask what's wrong, but he'll shake it off and pretend it's nothing.

The worst are the nightmares he wakes from. He has so many memories he wishes to forget. He's made so many mistakes, and it's cost so many lives. How dare he live when others better than him have been lost? He doesn't know what to do with himself.

He hurts, dear reader. He can put on a face of being brave, but he will always remember the cruelty of his peers. When he goes into public, he feels like everyone can see the evil things he's done on the battlefield.

Sometimes, he'll break, and he'll admit all these things to you. Then he needs your kindness, your soft words, your warm touch. He might not ever be whole again, but when you kiss him and hold him close, he feels like a piece of pottery being glued together with gold. One day, he promises this to you whenever he can, he'll be better. You might not believe him, but you love him regardless.

No giant can walk through hell unscathed.

[roosterforme]

Two to Tango Part 4 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley is ready to up the ante on your wager, and he finds he doesn't mind the idea of you winning.

Warnings: Adult banter, swearing, smut, fluff

Length: 1900 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Check my masterlist for more Top Gun fun.

Part 3

Bradley was unsurprised when you took the lead in points by a small margin at the end of Thursday. He had tried his best to rattle your nerves by whispering to you that you looked like a pretty princess during the lecture, but it backfired on him terribly.

You had started laughing, trying your best to hold it together, but Killer turned around and glared daggers at Bradley from his spot right in front of you. 

When the lecture ended, and everyone made their way out onto the tarmac, Killer came up behind you and asked, "He's giving you a hard time, Tango?"

Bradley watched as the enormous man glared at him again, and then he watched you rub your chin like you weren't quite sure how to answer. 

"Do you want me to get my ass kicked?" Bradley whispered, pleading with you.

You laughed again. "Nah, he's alright, Killer."

The only response was the sound of Killer snorting like a bull before he strolled over to Phoenix. His expression changed from pissed off alligator to lovesick puppy in an instant when Nat looked up at him.

Bradley would have to interrogate his friend about her taste in men later, because right now he had something to ask you before he climbed up into his aircraft. 

"Tango," he called to you as you were walking away. "How about we up the ante on our wager?"

Your smile was instantaneous. "What did you have in mind, Rooster?"

"Loser takes the winner out for drinks. Back in California." He knew he was making a bold assumption that you would be interested in going out with him after this week, but he couldn't help himself. 

"Let me get this straight, sweetheart.... when I win, I get two hundred bucks, you have to say something nice about me, and I get free drinks? Sounds great."

You stuck your hand out for him to shake, and then Bradley pulled you a little bit closer to him. "You're beautiful."

You smiled and looked at your boots, and Bradley loved how flustered this made you. "Just make sure you come to my room later and not Killer's, okay?"

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

Bradley couldn't believe himself. He honestly didn't care if he won the bet or lost. It didn't matter to him if you were better than he was. And when he arrived at your room on Thursday night, and you started listing off your favorite cocktails, he just laughed. 

"I want you to know what I like. For when you take me out for drinks," you informed him as you wrapped your arms around his waist. 

Bradley really thought you and he would just get down to business and start undressing right away, so he was a little surprised to find you snuggling up to him. He folded you up in his arms and kissed the top of your head. 

"I'll buy you as many drinks as you want. Maybe we can even go out more than once," he whispered as you started slowly working on the buttons of his shirt.

You looked up at him, and Bradley braced himself for rejection, but instead you told him, "For some reason beyond my comprehension, I really like you. And your mustache."

"I really like you. And your smart mouth."

You smiled at him as he scooped you up into his arms. 

"Tomorrow's our last day here. Are you gonna miss me?" you asked as Bradley dropped you down on your bed and climbed on top. 

"Why do you think I tricked you into agreeing to meet up with me for a date?"

You laughed as he kissed your neck and hiked his hands up under your shirt. "I guess I fell for it."

"I'm so charming, you didn't stand a chance," Bradley told you, digging his fingertips gently into your sides. 

"Yeah, yeah, age and experience and all that shit. Come on, old man, I want you to earn your walk of shame."

Bradley took his time and made you cum on his tongue, your thighs squeezing his face as you whined. He stretched out on the narrow bed and pulled you on top of him. His dick was rock hard as you started to ride him, your movements languid, a hazy look in your eyes. You already looked a little fucked out, and now you were enjoying his body slowly, rubbing your tits against his chest and rolling your hips. 

"Nice and slow, Tango. Make it last," he whispered, and you stilled your motions with him fully seated inside you. 

"So slow," you murmured, moving just ever so slightly. "God, you feel good."

Bradley basked in your words as you praised him. "Tango," he moaned as you moved your body up and down his length a little faster. Bradley gripped your hips and enjoyed the way you were looking at him, the way you were working him closer to the edge. 

He watched you cum for him, all of your little gasps growing louder as you ran your hands along your breasts, teasing yourself as your eyes drifted closed. 

"Fuck," you moaned, and when you squeezed around him, Bradley thrust up into you until you got loud. Then he came too, and held you as you smiled at him.

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

When your alarm went off on Friday morning, Bradley reached for your phone and silenced it.

"Tango," he whispered, playing with your hair. "Let's get up, baby." You barely stirred, so he added, "So I can kick your ass and win this thing."

You rolled out of your bed, alert and ready to go. "Like hell, sweetheart. Come on."

Bradley laughed as you started to get your flight suit on, still determined to win. You narrowed your eyes at him as you tied your boots.

"Maybe I'll just stay here and skip the competition," he said with a yawn, pulling the blanket up higher. "Let you have it." 

You shook your head and stomped back across the small room. "Get up, Rooster! I'm winning this thing fair and square! I can't wait to hear the nice things you have to say about me. And I can't wait to hear you say them in front of everyone."

But all of the nighttime activities had started to catch up with Bradley, and the day was not working out in his favor. You destroyed him and everyone else in the ten mile run. You took the lead early, and you were unrelenting. But this time when Bradley and Jake came huffing across the finish line together, you handed him some water and let your fingers linger on his hand. 

"Thanks," Bradley mumbled before downing all of it in one go. "Damn, you're fast, Tango."

Then Bradley thought he was going to faint during the obstacle course; the temperature was nearing ninety five, and he barely managed to beat you. 

He was exhausted, laying on the ground, looking up at you as you blocked the sun for him. "Comes down to the five mile run," you told him, placing your hands on your hips. 

You were sweaty and muddy, and Bradley wanted to take you into the locker room with him. He could feel his body humming as he looked up at you and thought about his hands all over your body. 

He thought about asking you to come spend a weekend with him in San Diego; he had an enormous walk-in shower at his place. But he thought better of it. He would give it more time.

"Five mile run. Fuck. Just take your two hundred bucks now. You win, Tango," Bradley groaned, still on the ground when the rest of his team crossed the finish line. You reached out and helped him to his feet. He staggered around rubbing the stitch in his side, and you grinned at him. 

"I'll see you at the finish," you told him, leaning in to kiss his sweaty cheek, right in front of everyone. Bradley watched you walk away as Killer glared at him, but Bradley couldn't stop smiling. Maybe you wouldn't say no to a weekend with him after this.

He smiled as you immediately passed him and stayed well ahead of him during the five mile run. And he was still smiling when he finished in second place for total points on the week. 

"Congratulations," he told you, sticking his hand out and shaking yours. 

"You are so slow, old man. I can't believe your only claim to fame is landing on a freaking boat. How embarrassing." You kissed his lips softly before you added, "Now, I want my compliment as soon as everyone else finishes."

"Nah, I'm going to start now. You're beautiful. You're funny. You're smart and charming and competitive. You make me want to get to know you better."

You were trying to hide your face behind your hands as the final stragglers finished the five mile race, and Bradley loudly announced, "Tango is more talented than I am. All I have is experience from being so old."

You started cracking up, and you wrapped your arms around him. "I tried to tell you that on Sunday."

"Yeah, well, you were right and I was wrong."

You kissed his sweaty cheek and told him, "I'll see you in Cali, sweetheart."

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

Bradley picked the spot, a cute restaurant halfway between Edwards Air Force Base and Top Gun on North Island. He'd dressed up a little bit, anxious to see you again. It had been a week since you beat him at his own game, and Bradley had talked to you every day since. 

You had refused his two hundred dollars, but Bradley would insist on paying for everything tonight. And he was hoping to score a second dinner with you in the process. 

"Old man."

Bradley spun around from his spot at the bar to face you. You were wearing a dress and some makeup, and he was at a loss for words. 

"You okay, sweetheart?" you asked softly, eyeing him up and down. "You look nice."

Bradley leaned down and kissed you, pulling you against him. When you took his face in your hands, Bradley used his lips to separate yours, and he briefly tasted your tongue.

"I missed you," he whispered against your mouth. 

"I missed you too, Rooster. I hope you remembered the list of drinks I like."

Bradley chuckled. "I remember everything, Tango. Now let's eat and drink so we can spend more time catching up and making plans."

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

Thanks for reading this one! I hope you enjoyed this final part!

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[thepascalofus]

Growing on Me - Chapter One

AO3

Din Djarin x botanist!Reader

Word Count: 6.1K

Summary: The Plant Species Inventory Project is a one hundred day expedition in the forests of Nevarro. You’re Nevarro’s best (and only) botanist, which is something Karga doesn’t want to risk losing. Making sure you’re safe on this years expedition, Karga hired a Mandalorian to protect you—Mando.

Series Content Warnings: 18+ only, MDNI, swearing, completely made up species and/or irl species instead of canon ones, inaccurate descriptions of Nevarro (it has forests instead of lava plains), lots of biology and environmental stuff (I promise I won’t go too deep with it [i have a bio degree]), 70% strangers/30% enemies to lovers, semi-slow burn, lots of tropes (because what are tropes if we don’t use them am I right?), canon violence, eventual SMUT, eventual FLUFF, reader is described as gender neutral as possible but has female sex organs and is occasionally referred to as a girl, no Y/N, hurt/comfort, happy ending guaranteed!

A/N: I have had this idea brewing in my mind for a while now. I’m so happy to share this with all of you. I truly love the topic I went to school for (biology), so this is mostly for me, oops. There will be lots of biology related stuff in this series, but I promise it will be “comprehensible”, not textbook jargon. Every single like, reblog, comment, smoke signal (that’d be a fun one), and ask truly means the world to me. Sharing my writing is a new thing for me and I’m enjoying it so far. Alsssoooo, I’m planning for this fic to be a long(er) series. 

Leaves crunched underneath your hiking boots with every step you took into the forest. Further and further in, green soaked into your vision and found its home. The forest was moderately dense. Trees of various shapes and sizes were scattered throughout the land. Distances between tree trunks varied, but gaps still allowed for traversion.

The understory was spectacular. Biodiversity could be defined in a dictionary, and a picture of this landscape would take up two and a half pages. Tall, leafy plants with elongated petioles and broad leaves gave the small shade plants cover. Tiny collections of different mosses littered the surfaces of landlocked rocks. Vines found their way up tree trunks and retreated back down, hanging from branches as thick, green ropes.

Light peeked in from the gaps in the forest canopy. Small lizards basked on rocks where the light shined especially bright. Happy, buzzing pollinators made their way from flower to flower in search of sweet nectar.

The light also reflected off of Mando’s silver beskar, and right into your eyes.

You squinted at the white splotches that harassed your vision. In response, you turned your head and ignored the man that stood in the corner of your eye. Your feet continued to weave between plants, careful not to break too many with your steps. With each step, the brown rucksack on your back bounced against your torso and your blaster patted against your thigh.

Karga lent you the rucksack to hold the maps and forms needed for the expedition. It was one hundred days out here. You’ve done longer land surveys and experienced plenty of joy from doing them. But you were with your university mentor then.

Now you’re with Mando.

Karga insisted that the Mandalorian come with you. You sauntered into his office this morning to retrieve the rucksack and its contents, and were met with two men instead of just the High Magistrate himself. Karga pulled you aside and told you to, “think of him as more of an assistant,” but you knew he truly hired the man donning beskar to protect you.

You rolled your eyes in response, but thanked Karga nevertheless. The Plant Species Inventory Project was in its third year, and you were on your third year of running it. Every year you hiked through the surrounding forests of Nevarro for one hundred days to document the species of the forest.

But last year you had to stop early due to receiving a venomous bite from a lizard. Karga called in an airlift and had you rushed to the hospital. The doctors said that if you had arrived five minutes later, you would’ve been dead.

This year, Karga decided that your knife and blaster weren’t good enough against lizards. Instead of getting you better self defense tools, he bought a Mandalorian to protect you. From the lizards.

Right before you passed another rock with a lizard sunbathing on its peak, Mando made his way over to you and put his body between you and the rock. You huffed in response. The lizard had brown, pointy skin with splotches of blue along its back.

“That one is harmless, Mando,” you deadpanned to the man.

“Yeah? How do you know?” He quipped in response.

Taken aback by his sudden eagerness to talk to you—he hasn’t said a word to you since you both left Karga’s office—you quickly explained, “The harmless ones, Glendia ropensis, have blue spots on their back. The venomous ones, Glendia frediama, have green spots.”

Mando turned his helmet to look at you. You stared back at him, directly in his black visor. Other people have told you bits and pieces of folklore about the Mandalorians. The galaxy’s best warriors. They trained to develop their fighting skills as soon as they were old enough.

Yet, the beskar man didn’t phase you. Karga wouldn’t send you into a remote forest with a man he didn’t trust…right? You trusted Karga and his judgment, therefore you trusted Mando to not kill you.

“I thought you were a botanist?” The shiny man stated in confusion.

“I am,” you replied, “just because I know plants doesn’t mean I can’t know animals.”

His helmet tilted in a “fair enough” motion and you two continued to trek through the forest. Mando cleared his throat, “Karga said you were Nevarro’s best botanist.”

“I am,” you repeated, then continued with tight lips, “I’m also Nevarro’s only botanist.”

The man hummed, the sound crackling through the helmet. Facing forward, your gaze drifted downwards to the array of plants on the forest floor. Different leaf shapes popped out at you. Some plants had bright flowers while others lacked them.

BEEP BEEP BEEP.

Your watch went off, signaling for the first sampling. Bringing your rucksack around your shoulder and in front of you, you plopped it down on the ground and opened the sack. A holopad and two cubes were held in your hands as you brought them from out of the brown bag. 

Flipping the switch on one of the cubes, you tossed it to Mando. He stood there, examining the device, while you pulled up the proper programs on the holopad. One program mapped your hike while the other helped you record the species you sampled. You tucked the holopad under your arm after setting up your sampling preferences.

You looked up to see Mando fiddling with the cube you gave him. Your hand whose arm wasn’t holding the holopad flicked the switch on the corresponding cube.

A hologram square projected out of the cubes, the devices corresponded to two diagonal corners of the square. You walked closer to the Mandalorian and the square shrunk. You walked further and the square grew.

Selecting a small rock protruding from the ground, you set the device on top of it. Mando picked up on your motions and found a log to prop the corresponding device onto.

“Don’t all of the sampling plots need to be the same size?” The silver man questioned.

You retrieved the holopad from under your arm and tapped the screen to initiate the calculations on the size of the plot. Looking up from the holopad you pointed to the screen, and replied to Mando with a hint of sass, “The programs standardize everything, so the sampling plots don’t need to be exact.”

His gaze bored into yours while the program calculated the dimensions of the plot and ran other diagnostics of the area. You raised an eyebrow at him, shifting your weight to one foot, “Do you not trust Nevarro’s best botanist?” You asked jokingly, yet with a tone of seriousness.

At first Mando didn’t respond in words, but his shoulders rose, as if he let out a silent laugh at you. He shook his head, helmet rotating from side to side, “It’s only been a couple hours, we’ll see,” Mando drawled. Light glinted off the beskar donning his head as he turned to observe the surrounding woods. 

Bending down, you began to assess the leaves of the first plant to identify. The veins were parallel, running side by side to each other. Leaf arrangement was alternate, no two leaves shared the same growth point on the stem. No vein on the plant touched. They all went and came from the same direction, never meeting.

The second plant had net-like veining on its leaves. Veins crossed and morphed into each other. Leaf arrangement was opposite. Pairs of leaves pinched the stem with their petioles and crossed it perpendicularly. Every feature on the small herb met and weaved together. Each vein could only be minutely distinguished among the web of veins working together to keep the plant alive. 

Stenica aparinese and Wortanum tortanumus.

The pair of you haven’t met before. You knew nothing about the beskar man, besides that he didn’t talk much. But it had only been a few hours, as Mando said before, and you still don’t feel like your paths have crossed. Even though you two have been walking side by side. 

—

You completed ten samplings before you decided to call it a day. Squatting over plants and counting petals wasn’t mentally difficult, but it was physically. Knees aching and thighs burning, you two made your way through the maze of trees. The holopad glowed in the fading sunlight and aided you in finding the nearest safehouse. 

Footsteps created a chorus of crunches that echoed off the tree trunks. Your gait was focused on avoiding the small, rare plants on the forest floor. Occasionally, you’d stop to get a closer look at some—having never seen them before. 

Mando would pause behind you. His large hands settled on his belt, palm resting near his blaster. The helmet swiveled from side to side as he dragged his gaze over the forest. He would wait patiently near you as you took notes about the species, attempting to identify it. 

“Are we good to go?” He’d grit out after a couple minutes. 

You stood up from a squat and clicked the holopad off, throwing him a quick nod. The crunching chorus resumed, feet finding pockets of common grasses and clovers. Mando’s heavy boots tried to fall within the same pockets of green that yours did, but his success was debatable. 

Sunlight shining down from the canopy became scarce, but not obsolete. The blaster hanging in a holster on your hip tapped against your thigh. The crunches caused by footsteps were accompanied by a cadence of muted pats.

Mando cleared his throat, a sound that choked out of the helmet’s modulator, “Do you know how to use that thing?” The beskar man asked.

You turned to face him, stopping in your tracks. You’ve never had to shoot it, the blaster hung from a holster just in case you needed it. But it can’t be that hard, right? Just point and shoot.

“I mean, yeah,” you shrugged, “you just point and shoot.” Thinking that was an acceptable answer for Mando, you turned to continue towards the safehouse.

“Just point and shoot?” Dry exasperation churned out like gravel from his helmet. 

Lips became a line on your face, and your torso faced him again. Before you could start speaking, he cut you off. “You haven’t used it, have you?” Mando sighed.

You crossed your arms over your chest, exhaustion took over your expression, “Why does it matter? Does a Mandalorian need back up?”

Head turning, your footsteps resumed towards the safehouse. The holopad indicated it was less than fifty meters away. A warm shower and a comfy mattress sounded better than a shooting tutorial—from a man destined to be far better at it than you—would be.

Mando sighed and continued behind you. “What’s the point of carrying a blaster if you don’t know how to use it? If you’ve never shot it?” His helmet gave his tone a sharp edge.

“So I can look like I know how to use it. I don’t want to use it.” 

It was true. You didn’t know what you would do if you actually had to use it. Your biology courses always talked about the fight or flight response, but they rarely talked about freeze.

That’s probably what you would do. You’d freeze. 

“Firing bad shots at someone who does know how to use it, makes you look like you don’t know how to use it,” Mando said matter-of-factly. 

Shoulders dropping, you sighed and trekked forwards. “Look, I know that the bolt comes out of the barrel and to point it at what I want to shoot. And pulling the trigger fires the blaster. I feel like that’s good enough for now,” you rebuked. 

Thankfully, Mando dropped the subject, since the gray exterior of the safehouse came into view. The small building formed a basic cube of cement walls. Only a few windows interrupted the slabs of stone, and they were dark, bleak. Near the tree-brown door was the only sign that the safehouse wasn’t a long-lost monument—a glowing, yellow keypad. If you were the only humans in the forest, the safehouse shouldn’t have been used since last year. 

Approaching the brown door, you dug into your memory for the code that allows entry. Karga asked you what code you wanted when he had them built throughout the forest. 

That’s right! The code is your birth date.

You pressed the corresponding keys, the yellow glow bathed your fingertips in a warm light. The brown door slid open once the last key was pressed. Before you could even find the kriffing lightswitch, a crackle came from behind your head.

“What’s the code?” Mando asked with intention.

Mando must have assumed that you knew where the lightswitch was, because he continued his path over the threshold and directly into your back. The momentum from his body ramming into yours made you stumble, falling towards the wooden floors. You brought your arms up to brace yourself for the harsh impact.

And they hit nothing.

Instead, a large, gloved hand settled on your stomach and pulled you upwards. The muscles of his arm pressed against your side and burned their warmth into your skin. Suddenly, you were back on your feet and the lights were turned on.

You turned around, eyes wide in shock at the speed of events. Mando’s gloved finger dropped from its position under the switch. “Sorry about that,” he sighed.

Acting like he didn’t just seamlessly haul you back to your feet with one arm.

A feeling that was foreign—but not too foreign—seeped from your chest down to your stomach. The ticklish warmth emanated throughout your body in all directions. The same feeling you opted to tune out at while you were at university. Shit.

One guy put a hand on you and now you have butterflies? C’monnn. 

Just like every other time, you blockade the warmth from spreading too far out. Mentally, barricades went up before the feeling could leave your torso. It’s better to stay focused on the task at hand.

Shhkt.

The Mandalorian pressed a button that triggered the door to slide closed.

“Um…”

Were you supposed to thank him? Scold him? Leave it at that? Your mouth tightened and you gave the Mandalorian a curt nod and a, “Thanks.” 

Before receiving his reaction, you turned your back to him to assess the layout of the safehouse. A small, cozy living room with a fireplace filled up most of the space to your left. Knit blankets were draped over the thick cushions that sat upon the wooden furniture frames. 

The space continued into the equally small kitchen. Basic silver appliances filled up most of the kitchen space. Simple, gray pantry doors blended with the small, semi-shiny machines. On the right of you were two doors, one you assumed contained the fresher, and the other containing beds.

Turning to your left, you removed your bag and plopped onto the thick cushions of the couch. The burning in your legs made you unconcerned about making food for dinner or discussing sleeping arrangements.

The burning—or maybe lack thereof—in Mando’s thighs didn’t dissuade him from being persistent.

Mando sauntered over to the couch you were laying on. The thunks of his heavy footsteps became louder as he grew nearer. “Are you going to tell me the code?” Mando’s helmet came into your line of sight as he towered over your slumped figure.

You groaned, “Are you going to stop walking into me?”

The horizontal line of his visor tilted in your view, signifying a, “really?” emotion. His shoulders dropped, “I just want to be able to get in and out of the houses.”

Begrudgingly you told him the code, “It’s my birthday,” you explained.

“Oh, uh, happy birthday.” He gave you a curt nod and turned to walk into the kitchen.

A small smile spread across your face, and you sighed once more, “Today isn’t my birthday, metal man, the code is my birthday.” You propped one of your elbows on the couch to look over the back of the couch at him. He stood against the small metal sink, arms crossed. His large hands grasped his biceps on each side of him. The Mandalorian made the sink look like he stole it from a child’s playset. 

Once your gaze landed on him, his shoulders slumped. The T-shaped visor looked away from you and towards a map displayed on the wall. Silence ensued over the space. You too glanced at the map—yet there was nothing particularly noteworthy about it.

Mando’s visor pivoted on his shoulders and returned your gaze. After a few seconds his helmet crackled to life, “You’re getting a shooting lesson tomorrow morning.”

Your brows furrowed together and slanted downwards. “Ugggghh. I thought I told you I was good for now,” you gritted out. You let your elbow give out from underneath you and you flopped back down onto the couch cushions. 

A rumbling noise came from over the back of the couch. Footsteps followed. The heavy boots Mando wore sent muted dunks your way—then they ceased. A black T framed by silver entered your view yet again.

“I’m not good with it. Tomorrow morning after you eat,” Mando finalized.

You maintained “eye contact” with him after you rolled your eyes. Instead of staying awake—sore—and putting up with his banthashit, you willed your body to get up and to one of the wooden doors on the right side of the safehouse. Bending down, you scooped your bag onto your shoulder. Hopefully the room was the fresher.

A few paces. The turn of a doorknob. Creaking door opened. A sink, similar to the one in the kitchen, welcomed you with—metal arms? Either way, you were glad to be able to get to clean yourself after a long day. The heavy backpack slid from your shoulder and onto the floor in front of the silver sink.

Turning to close the door, you look up and Mando’s stare is directed at you. An eyebrow of yours raised, directed at him. He began to saunter over to the door next to the freshers’. His bag hung from a large, closed fist at his side.

His frame passed the threshold, making the rectangular entrance appear much smaller. A heavy object hit something soft. Hopefully Mando was finally laying down so you could be left alone. You paused for a couple seconds to see if the heavy footsteps would resume—but nothing.

Relief flooded your body, giving you the idea to close the door and get ready for the night. Water washed away the remnants of soil, tiny pieces of bark, and fragments of shed leaves from your skin. Liquid that once ran dark down the fresher drain steadily turned clear. Your body was a sponge, sucking the warmth from the water into your bones.

You finished your pre-sleep routine and ventured over to the room that contained the beds. Calling it a bedroom was too homey for this space. It was more of a room bunk beds would be kept in at camping lodges. Except there were only two adult-sized beds. And Mando’s confusedly still-silver frame covered most of the bed he chose. He laid on the mattress like someone was giving a eulogy—for him.

Peeling your gaze away from the Mandalorian’s mummy-like body, you peeled back the blankets and shuffled onto the mediocre mattress. You faced away from Mando, getting a nice view of a generic forest picture framed on the wall. It was the only decoration in the room.

“Night, metal man,” you murmured. He was already asleep, why not tease him again?

The helmet crackled to life.

“Metal man earned you one lesson. Say it again and you’ll earn another,” the words gritted out from the beskar helmet.

You laid in your bed, wide-eyed. Not knowing what to say, and honestly too tired to have this conversation, you opted to say nothing. After a couple moments, you heard shuffling from over your shoulder. The helmet crackled once more.

“Night.”

Your eyes drooped once your brain knew that social interaction was no longer required for the night. The pillow beneath your head lulled your slumber closer and closer.

“Ruus,” came from behind you.

Too tired. So sleepy. You’ll ask in the morning.

—

You woke up to birds chirping. Their calls and songs came in through your cracked bedroom window. Naturally, your brain deciphered the individual calls.

Cheep. Cheep. Cheep.

Shrrrrrk. Shrrrrrk.

Ki-ki-ki-ki-ki-ki.

A common house sparrow, a buzzard, and a finch.

You shuffled around in your bed seeking a couple more minutes of comfort before your alarm inevitably went off. Mattress providing a soft cushion of support for your body, pillow delightfully cold against your face, and your eyelids heavy, your body absorbed your surroundings and let them influence you. Everything influenced you to stay the fuck in bed. Shifting in and out of consciousness, your blurry dreams pulled you further into a deeper slumber. 

Dawn quickly approached, signaling for the birds to scream at each other that they’re awake. Bird calls blared through the air like tiny sirens. The rays of sunlight shone through the slits in the window blinds.

The extra-loud bird sounds snapped you out of your dreamlike state. Your gaze was trained on the warm glow of sunlight seeping into the room. Everything was natural. Ethereal. In sync and calm.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

Dank farrik. Whipping the duvet off your body and swinging your legs to let your feet touch the ground, you hurriedly zipped open your bag to find the holopad. Once your hands found it between clothes and your notebooks, you clicked it on. The bright screen made your eyes squint at the device. Clicking the screen once more, the alarm was silenced. Now that the blaring ceased, your mind began to catch up to your surroundings. 

Oh kriff, the alarm probably woke up Mando. Your voice was a whisper, “I’m sorry if that woke yo–.” You turned towards his bed and the silver frame of his body was no longer there. Once you noticed his absence, you quieted yourself and listened for any noise. Nothing.

But then you smelled caf. 

Your brain put two and two together. Your thoughts slowed down. After a second, you rummaged in your bag for a change of clothes and your toiletries. Once your outfit was changed, you strode over to the door and aimed to enter the fresher.

The wooden door opened to reveal Mando sitting on the couch, reading something on his holopad. Hopefully the helmet muffled any sounds you could make. You took one sock-clad step over the threshold. Then another. And another. Only a couple more until you reached the other door.

“Morning,” Mando’s speech crackled.

You turned towards him, holding up a hand, offering a quick, “Morning,” back. He didn’t say anything afterwards. Slunking into the fresher, you closed the door behind you and began your morning ritual. 

Mid-teeth-brushing, you remembered last night.

“You’re getting a shooting lesson tomorrow morning.”

Fuck.

Well, wouldn’t Mando remind you the moment he saw you in the morning. You didn’t even set one foot inside the safehouse before he demanded the code for the door. Maybe he forgot. You can only hope.

The wooden rectangle swung on the hinges, opening the fresher. You stepped out and made your way to the kitchen. Before you entered the pantry covered space, you glanced over Mando’s shoulder to see what he was reading. His gloved finger clicked the holopad off before you could get a good look. Silver beskar filled your vision as he leaned forward to place the holopad on the empty table in front of the couch. 

You continued to the kitchen, too hungry to care. Reaching into a cabinet, you retrieved a mug, then poured a generous amount of caf into it. In the adjacent cabinet were ration packs and miscellaneous hiking-friendly snacks. Trail mix. Jerky. Protein bars. Cans lined one section of a shelf—in case anyone wanted to craft their own meal, instead of tearing open a ration pack.

Being Nevarro’s best botanist had its perks, and one was that you helped Karga set up these safehouses. So your favorite ration packs were always in stock.

You reached for one and opened the pack, eager to satiate your stomach. Your fingers found the lip of a drawer and pulled, revealing small piles of cutlery in a wooden organizer. The same fingers danced over the utensils, determining which one you preferred. Opting for a spoon, you took the utensil and fed yourself generous spoonfuls. Hiking did a number on your hunger, plus you needed the energy.

After a few sips of your caf, finishing half the mug, and a ration pack, you leaned against the counter and observed the back of Mando. His large frame nearly spanned across an entire couch cushion. Silver donned his shoulders and traveled its way down his arms, towards his hands. He spread his wingspan across the couch, exaggerating his size—not that he needed to. The Mandalorian’s leather-clad fists also donned beskar on top of them. One of his fists flexed and relaxed in a slow rhythm. 

Bubbling began at the center of your stomach, threatening to boil over into the rest of you. Heat bloomed near your face at the sight of him.

Nope. Not happening.

You peeled your gaze away from his figure and went to wash the mug. Thoughts wandered and yours landed on how Mando still hasn’t mentioned the lessons. Maybe you got off this time, you got lucky. Warm water poured over your grasp. Suds coated the shiny surface of the ceramic drinkware. The faucet let out a steady stream of water, and it dribbled against the metal lining of the sink. Soundwaves from the water traveled to your ears, which blocked the sounds of Mando’s footsteps approaching the kitchen.

You shut the faucet off and turned to place the mug back into the cabinet. The Mandalorian’s towering beskar figure standing in the space between the living room and the kitchen made you gasp in a lungful of air. 

The modulator in his helmet crushed the tone of the sentence he spoke, “Let’s go, time for your lesson.”

Shit.

—

“You’re holding it wrong,” Mando stated sternly.

You sighed and rolled your eyes at him, “I’ve been holding it for, like, ten seconds. Not even.” Instead of focusing on the black T stamped on his silver helmet, you shifted your attention to the stump of a fallen tree. It was covered in moss and mushrooms, decaying. The fallen trunk with dense branches sprawled out on the forest floor behind the stump. Light could barely make it through the thick foliage.

Metal man insisted that the lesson should take place at a location far from the safehouse, “to keep it hidden, in case anything hears the blaster shots,” he reasoned. You supposed that it wasn’t a bad explanation, but the hike before your lesson was challenging. Mando guided you through the forest for so long, you thought he forgot about the lesson. But he didn’t. And this lesson sucked.

You were having more fun looking at the ground around you. A couple different leaf shapes popped out at you from below. Flowers were scattered throughout the area, and you matched them to their respective leaves, giving you quick identifications. 

Mando used one of his gloved fingers to tap you on the shoulder. The gesture returned you to the present moment from your resentful thoughts. His leather-gloved hands gripped his own blaster. It was much larger than yours, yet his grasp consumed the handle of the weapon. Another broad, gloved hand covered the one gripping the handle. 

Your hands attempted to match him on your own blaster. It was clear that you were struggling. Eyes in slits and brows furrowed, your gaze repeatedly shifted from his grip to your grip. Fingers stumbled to find their rightful places. Instead of giving up, you settled on something that sort of resembled the position his hands were in. 

His helmet tilted downwards at you and cocked to the side, another expression of, “really?” This gesture seemed common with him. Metal clicked onto metal when Mando re-holstered his blaster. Then, his hands were on your blaster, giving the weapon a slight tug to release it from your grip.

You thought he was going to demonstrate on your considerably smaller blaster. Instead, he grabbed the barrel of the blaster and pointed the handle at you. His other hand reached for your wrist. Worn, warm leather slid against your skin. A wide palm rested against the back of your hand. Thick fingers formed a loose—but stern—grip around the base of your palm. 

His hand was so warm. And strong. Every movement was done with purpose and confidence. The grip he had on your hand guided yours to the handle. Once you grasped the metal you expected him to let go, but his hold remained. Small flecks of light glinted off the barrel of the weapon when Mando turned your wrist.

Light shined off the helmet as well. He leaned down to check if your fingers were in the right places. Spotting an incorrect placement, he used his other hand to nudge a finger downwards and onto the handle. He nodded, “Good.”

The short praise sent heat flying towards your face, and you willed for it to sink back down. His thumb shifted on your wrist, giving you slight goosebumps. How could his fingers be that thick? And his hands so strong? What would they feel li—.

You backtracked in your head. Nope. You didn’t want to go there. You had one hundred days in this forest with this guy, and you had a job to do.

Mando took your other hand with his other hand, and placed it on top of the one gripping the handle. The hold he had over the new hand tightened. In exchange, your own grip tightened over the handle.

“This hand,” he tightened his grasp once more, “squeezes down on this hand,” he rasped as he shook the wrist holding onto the warming metal. Each squeeze threatened the bubbling in your stomach to evaporate into the rest of your body, but you repressed it. Managing to control your pointless butterflies, you did as he explained, and the hold you maintained felt better than it did previously. 

As you raised the blaster up towards your eye level, Mando stepped away. Shutting one eye, you looked down the barrel and at the old tree stump. Your arms were both steady and relaxed. Remembering only the second half of Mando’s lecture from earlier, you spaced your feet shoulder width apart, and squeezed your grip around the trigger.

A bolt shot out of the end of the silver barrel and into the top of the tree stump—much higher than where you aimed. Crackling came from your right, “The piece of metal at the end of the barrel needs to line up with the notches above the trigger.”

You let out a heavy exhale, that information was in the second half of his lecture, “That’s what I did,” you told him. He let out an exhale in response, but his was in amusement, “Well, you didn’t hit the center,” his head jerked towards the stump to make his point.

He stood with his hands on his belt, shoulders back, with one knee out. Chrome plated armor gleamed from the sun coming in through the forest's canopy. His dark leather and clothing contrasted the bright metal. Without seeing his face, you knew he had a smirk on it. 

You huffed as you turned towards him, “If it’s so easy, why don’t you do it?”

He gave you his signature head tilt towards the side, “You know that I would hit it,” he stated.

Honestly, you knew he could. The man is fully decked out in beskar armor and carries several weapons with him at all times. But you were fed up with the slight smugness he exuded. “Do it,” you challenged him.

Before you could even register he was doing so, he pulled his blaster from its holster. With a firm grip and confident aim, his blaster bolt hit dead center into the tree stump. Just as quickly as he pulled it out, he re-holstered his blaster and looked at you. 

His incoming responses went through your mind, “It’s because I don’t suck,” “Don’t even bother,” “Why’d you buy a blaster in the first place?”

“Just try again,” his helmet gritted and the black T shook from side to side, “I’ve just been doing this longer than you have. It takes practice.”

Without thinking, you responded, “And what is ‘this’?” The Mandalorian gave you a stare—not like it wasn’t always a stare—but his helmet didn’t move a bit, unlike the usual tilts and shakes you had been getting. 

“If by ‘this’ you mean shooting, then I’ve been shooting since I could hold a blaster. If you mean my profession, my occupation has required shooting since I’ve been an adult,” his voice stated, sounding like churning gravel.

Both of your eyebrows lifted and your eyes widened. You tried to hide it, but you probably failed. Only a few professions in the galaxy required shooting all of the time.

“So you’re a bounty hunter?” You asked with confusion, your mouth semi-dry.

Mando nodded, “Yes, now try again,” he pointed towards the stump.

‘Okay cool, we’re just going to gloss over that one?’, you thought. Instead of voicing your inner monologue, you raised the blaster once more. The metal lined up with the notch and you squeezed the trigger. Your shot landed half a meter above Mando’s. It was far from his shot, but much closer than your previous one.

“Better. But you flinched,” Mando critiqued. His gloved hands rested on his hips and his visor bored into you. 

Trying again, the notch lined up with the metal as you peered down the barrel. Instead of holding your aim and then getting ready to fire, you fired as soon as your barrel lined up with the center of the stump. Energy left the end of the blaster and shot into the decaying wood. It landed about fifteen centimeters above Mando’s.

You heard crunching on the ground as the Mandalorian walked towards you. Lowering your blaster, you pointed the barrel at the ground. Maker, if he showed you how to hold the blaster again, you were going to lose it. Once he reached you, he stood in front of you, hands clasped in front of his belt buckle.

The helmet crackled to life, “Good job. Those were better than my first shots,” he stated plainly, then turned, “Let’s get going.” Before waiting for your response, he continued on into the dense forest.

—

The section of the forest you just entered was darker than any other area the pair of you had been in previously. Light barely made its way down from the forest canopy. Shade-loving plants bathed in the lack of light. Small rodents scampered from shrub to shrub, picking the fruits off of their stems. Scuttles were heard in all directions, creating a chorus of sounds influenced by food-web interactions. 

Mando decided to lead the way. His helmet remained on a swivel as he constantly scanned the area. You had been this way before and knew there was nothing harmful, it was just dark and ‘scary’.

Then the scuttles stopped. And in response, Mando stopped. Which made you run right into the back of him. “Ufff!” You let out as your chest collided with his back. Rough, black fabric scratched against your face. It smelled like wood and musk, but in a good way. Did he usually smell like that or was it just the forest?

You pushed yourself off of him and stayed behind. Mando held a hand out to his side in a, ‘stay behind me’, signal. Everything froze, and left you freezing with it.

Then you felt it.

The ground shook softly. A steady rhythm of shakes became increasingly more intense. Trees sensed the waves too, as their leaves rattled above. You looked downwards and noticed that Mando retrieved his blaster from its holster. His stare was locked forwards. Almost as if he was looking beyond the dense foliage into the distance.

Dun. Dun. DUN.

Each shake caused your feet to vibrate in your boots. And then they stopped. In front of you, the large silhouette of a creature made its way through the foliage and towards you both. You squinted into the darkness in an attempt to identify the creature.

And Mando fired his blaster.

[archangeldyke-all]

Oh my fucking god that sugar mommy AU👀is there more where that came from?

yesss!!!!! have some spare hc's i have for this sevika.

men and minors dni

sevika's favorite thing to buy you is anything that funds your hobby. whether it's crocheting or painting or yoga or weightlifting, she'll do so much research about The Best products and investments to make, and buys you new accessories on the regular.

even if you think your hobby doesn't need accessories. do you hike? she buys you new boots and binoculars and little guide books on local flora and fauna. do you watch a sport? she buys you tickets to games whenever she can, buys you merch on the regular, if you're someone who plays she even learns the basic rules so she can scrimmage with you.

she just loves seeing you in your element, doing what you love, that happy smile on your face.

she also loves seeing you get to explore your personal style on her dime.

regardless of your aesthetic-- i think clothes are things everyone loves experimenting with if they have the money to.

she won't let you buy cheap stuff-- fast fashion or cheap materials are a no. she makes you get high quality stuff-- stuff that'll last for years, and she sends it all off to a tailors so it'll fit you like a glove.

she just likes watching you enjoy yourself. she likes watching the person you are become bigger and brighter as she helps you do and be what you love.

taglist

@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay

[balladofthewhitehorse]

Beowulf

One of the earliest mentions of Sweden in old English literature comes in the form of the epic poem of Beowulf

It was an old story, but England remembered every word (brimming with valour and courage, the mead-hall just as alive in his memory as it had been hundreds of years ago). ‘’You know, I used to think you were really cool.’’ He murmured softly, as they walked through the woods - the walk had been insisted upon, Sweden resolute as he shouldered his coat and strode through the doors; It was an early morning, with the birds still rousing - and ordinarily, England would have just have scoffed at the notion of an early hike before skulking back to his bedroom. Yet, when Sweden’s eyes caught his across the floor of the lobby, England found himself inexplicably drawn towards - and then out the door with Sweden, despite the sleepiness in his limbs. 

(Sweden had told him not to smoke, and although pride implored that he didn’t need anyone to mother him, England felt a little warmer for the other’s blunt kindness; And he stamped his cigarette out beneath his boot with a half-hearted grumble about how the other worried too often). Half-listening, Sweden arched an eyebrow ponderously. ‘’You used to find me cool?’’ He replied with a soft grunt as he strode over a mossy log; He turned on his heel to stare England down, a rare smile (as fleeting as the flash of scales, beneath the briny sea). ‘’I don’t think that’s how you make friends, England.’’ He retorted softly, as they ambled beneath the dawn-painted trees. ‘’...Is there something that you wanted to talk about?’’ Something thorny bristled inside him, itching beneath his skin as Sweden’s jaw tensed (He hadn’t noticed anything wrong between himself and England - and yet, he knew England could be frustratingly evasive at the best of times).

‘’You know Beowulf?’’ Sweden frowned, brows knitting together in bemusement. ‘’It’s an old story, what about it?’’ (England clung to the fuzzy gorse of the hill, trembling like a hunted rabbit; They had come at dawn when the skies were still vermillion. The village burned on the horizon, an ugly plume of smoke marking the spot; A scar on the Earth, a wound upon England’s pride as he pursed his lips in a seething anger. Two figures walked steadily along the dirt track at the hill’s foot, and he watched them in a stony silence. Only the night before, England had been in one of the houses as one of the older men recounted the tale of a Geatish hero who had defeated three monsters.

Sweden slowly walked up the hill, breath heavy as he strode through swaying throngs of plantain and grass. Sweat clung to his brow - and Sweden longed to kneel, to catch his breath while Denmark and Norway were still occupied; As he crested the hill, Sweden caught sight of a shape lying prone in the grass, hands clasped tightly together. It was a boy, praying in the grass with a face scrunched in fitful concentration - and no doubt one of the villagers, judging by his clothes. 

He was wondering what to do, hand drifting to his axe - when the boy’s eyes snapped open. 

‘’Beowulf.’’ Breathed England - quickly staggering to his feet. ‘’Y-you’re Beowulf. The brooches.’’

Perplexed, Sweden could only nod. ‘’Uh-...Geatish.’’ He mumbled. ‘’They’re from the Geats.’’ The confirmation of the Geats was enough for England, who rose to his feet (knees stained with grass and buttercup; Sweden almost wanted to brush his hose clean). Blood pounded in his ears as he stared up at the taller man, awe leaving him transfixed; Leaving England harrowed, a tremor in his limbs as he grasped Sweden’s sleeve. ‘’Beowulf-’’ He pointed towards the figures at the base of the hill, heart heavy - tongue heavier - as he stared in anguish. ‘’-Rip his arm off, like you did with Grendel.’’ The command was easy to give, England’s voice trembling with hope. ‘’D-denmark?’’ Sweden echoed, raising an eyebrow. ‘’You want me to-’’ He shook his head, frowning solemnly as England turned his face towards him; This was no boy, Sweden could tell. ‘’-Kill him.’’

A lump rose in Sweden’s throat, as England’s eyes began to well-up; At the base of the hill, Denmark had frozen and turned to peer towards the crest, and Sweden knew what he would do. He might have done the same, had England not spotted him. ‘’Run. Lay low, let…let Beowulf deal with this.’’ Sweden cleared his throat solemnly, guiding the boy towards a small deer-track that ran down the other face of the hill. ‘’I’ll take care of…of Grendel for you.’’ Sweden knew that he would do no such thing - At most, he could buy England a few days of freedom; He could offer him one more chance, it didn’t feel right to strike the boy down when he looked at him like that.) 

‘’You were Beowulf to me, once.’’ England scoffed, cheeks flushed. ‘’It was-’’ He trailed off, shoving his hand in his pocket as sheepishness lapped at the pit of his belly; Childhood fantasies, made to cope with the realisation that his existence was going to be a long and painful one. Denmark’s bossing around tempered by the notion that somewhere, out-there was a hero who would save him in the end; Once he’d realised those were just tales, England had sought out to become stronger. Less dependent, although he never quite shook that sentimentality. Sweden smiled gently, snorting with amusement as he nodded in understanding. ‘’It was silly.’’ It was just a story; All of it was just a story, the kind that Sweden would read to his own children at bedtime.  ‘’So-’’ He cleared his throat, frowning quizzically. ‘’-What’s made you bring it up now?’’ In the grand-scheme of things, the tale of Beowulf was a small thing - a manuscript with no name, no author; England had many more tales like Beowulf, as did Sweden. But then, he knew England could be vastly more sentimental about these things than he was - and he wondered what his friend saw in the tale, that would bring him to remind Sweden about the tale of the hero. ‘’I dunno.’’ Ah, of course. 

Sweden shoved down his irritation at the vague response, sighing. There had to be a reason that England might bring it up; Some attempt at digging beneath his skin, an irritation that had come to a head and this was his way of hinting that Sweden had fallen short in some way? Discomfort lodged itself in his throat, Sweden rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as they ambled beneath the trees. The pause felt suffocating. He was a man at sea - and he felt horribly inept about the situation, frowning as he cast his gaze skyward (ducking away from catching England’s eyes, Sweden clung to the sanctuary of the branches; Admiring the way the sun slowly filtered through the leaves). ‘’Is that it?’’ He scoffed, unable to help rolling his eyes. ‘’Sure?’’ ‘’Ah-’’ England huffed quietly, recognition flickering in his eyes. ‘’-Don’t take it personally, Sweden. I used to think you were Beowulf.’’ It was an old story, and sheepishness lapped in the pit of his belly (he’d whispered it to himself as he’d watched Sweden walk away - and ran off, certain that his new friend would fix all of his problems for him). ‘’And well, I eventually learned you weren’t.’’ ‘’When was that?’’ England sighed, watching the thoughts racing behind Sweden’s eyes (a storm - rolling over the mountain peaks - quiet, yet thunderous all the same; A less familiar man might have walked away, but he had seen this sort of ruminating air about Sweden all the time). ‘’Hey-’’ He smiled, a cheerful burr in every syllable. ‘’-I like Sweden.’’ Sure, his friend was no dragon-slayer of yore; Yet England still felt compelled to walk by his side as a friend (just as Wiglaf, perhaps, had padded after Beowulf into that final lair; His most faithful ally, a comparison - England felt, with a pang of guilt deep in his bones - that might be far too grand for the likes of him). ‘’Who could resist you?’’ 

‘’You just like me because I bring pastries.’’ Quipped Sweden, with a smile like sunlight breaking through the grey clouds. Slowly, the pair were beginning to loop back around to the hotel. ‘’Hm?’’ England scoffed with amusement. ‘’Not true-’’ He rolled his eyes. ‘’-You’re thoughtful.’’ ‘’Thoughtful?’’ ‘’Did you know that nobody knows who wrote Beowulf?’’ England murmured. ‘’Or when?’’ Sweden crossed his arms, and frowned ponderously;

‘’Tell me more about Beowulf.’’ England smiled, and obliged gladly. 

(Sweden inspired by + belongs to @nordickies, thanks for letting me borrow him :D)

[thnxbroshoe]

All you need to buy the athletic sneakers that you need

Athletic sneakers have become the footwear of choice among today’s generation. There are a whole lot of reasons that make this category much popular. Some reasons include their ease of wear, comfort level, adaptability for diverse situations and ability to sustain everyday use. It is to cater to this growing need that brands like THNXBRO bring you the best men’s sneakers. Quality footwear is always the THNXBRO promise. Our long line of running shoes, hiking boots, trainers, walking shoes and others are born out of the best footwear engineering and design DNA. This is why we have risen to the top of the list of manufacturers of the best men’s casual shoes in a matter of years. Today, we would like to divert your attention to one of the top-selling athletic sneakers at THNXBRO. The product in focus is the Mens Stylish Athletic Sneakers (TBA10).

[tradgays]

How Gay Men Can Embrace Traditional Masculinity

Part of a tradgay lifestyle, at least for the Alpha male, is to embrace traditional masculinity.

Unfortunately society has often boxed gay men into a certain stereotype. You should be empowered to break through these constraints and realize the manly power you truly have.

Here are some tips for fully realizing your masculinity:

Be Authentic

As you choose to embrace a more masculine way of being it should be done in a way that is authentic for you.

Don’t be that guy who is always trying to prove something to everyone- you’ll only look like a fool.

Each man is unique, so find the masculine qualities that work best for you. Make a list of your most feminine and most masculine attributes.

Accept your “feminine side” and don’t try to change it, then focus on how you can further develop your most masculine traits.

Masculine Aesthetic

Adopt a masculine way of dress and grooming. Grow some facial hair, hit the gym and tone your body a bit.

Don’t wear any obnoxious clothing with bright colors or androgynous presentation. Think neutral tones for t-shirts, hoodies, sweaters, and jeans. Invest in some nice boots or a leather jacket to complete the look.

Masculine Interests, Hobbies, & Skills

Many gay men were deprived of traditionally masculine activities growing up. Adulthood can be a time to explore your manhood freely.

Tune in to some sporting events and see if any appeal to you. Find a local gay recreational sports team (plenty of cities have gay rugby, bowling, or baseball teams).

If you like the outdoors consider camping, hiking, fishing, or hunting. Farming, yard work, and gardening can be an integral part of a tradgay life, too.

And don’t forget to learn some traditionally masculine skills: carpentry, home repairs, and car maintenance.

Wear the Pants in the Relationship

In dating relationships, remember it’s imperative to take charge and lead. You’re the Alpha, your partner is the beta.

Be chivalrous: open doors, pay the tab, talk sweetly to your boy. And be the one who makes decisions, plans dates, and subtlety lets him know who’s boss.

[footwearfootranger]

Best hiking shoes | Trekking Shoes for Men | Footranger

Sport high-quality trekking shoes for your adventurous trip and enjoy the trail moving in confidence with safety and sturdiness offered by the range of best hiking shoes and boots by Footranger. An adaptive fit and cushioned inside offer great comfort on strenuous hikes and trails to your feet.