#can they give the armourer an actual fucking name

[manofbeskar]

[glitchfiles]

heatstroke. [ljn]

pairing. mechanic! jeno x (afab) reader

wc. 3.8k+

cw. SMUT MINORS DNI!!, hard dom! jeno, profanity/cursing, outdoor/car sex, oral (m receiving), throat fucking, boot grinding, rough sex, degradation, name-calling (’slut’, ‘fucktoy’), etc…

an. i had this idea in june, but haven't had much time to write until recently. i had to rush a bit because i wanted to get it out before august/summer ends, I just made it lol. if there’s typos… oops… hope you enjoy :3

just before the muggy summer air lulls you to sleep, a series of sharp knocks at your windows jolts you fully conscious. as your eyes snap wide open, you turn to look to see a man standing outside of your car. he can tell by the bemused expression on your face you're struggling to figure out why he's here.

"roadside assistance, you called." realisation washes over your features, and the mystery man can't help but find it amusing how little control you have over your countenance.

you open the door slowly, allowing him time to move back, and groggily step out of the car. rays of sun prick your skin - the floral mini dress you had on left more of you exposed than covered.

"thanks for coming," you laugh nervously.

the sun is blinding, you can just make out the figure before you as you give your knight in shining armour a squinted once over.

his uniform consists of navy overalls and heavy boots; though he had taken the top half of his overalls off and tied the sleeves around his waist, you're sure he's sweltering. the white tank top he wore hugs his broad, muscular torso, which you can't help but ogle at.

"no problem. any idea what the issue is?" as he nears your car, you get a better look at his face. and just as you feared, he has a face to match the body.

his features are sharp, from his jaw to the upturned corners of his mouth to his nose. in contrast, the way his eyes soften up as he smiles at you fills your stomach with butterflies.

you catch yourself then clear your throat before responding. "no, it just broke down. i'm lucky i pulled over in time."

if you were trying to hide that you were checking him out, you were doing the worst job ever.

unabashed stares were far from foreign to him, he couldn’t say he minded them - especially when they were from someone cute.

he takes a quick walk around the vehicle, checking for any external damage. "tyres look fine," he mumbles to himself.

then he stops at the hood to pop it open. a frown settles upon his features as he begins to try to diagnose the issue at hand.

you don't even try to understand what he's doing, you're honestly far more concerned with analysing every square inch of the adonis before you.

"you okay standing out here? it's pretty hot," he turns to you. you had lost track of time, has it been a few minutes or a few hours? "you can sit in my truck, it has ac, or i can get you some water."

"just the water is fine!" you respond, even though cold air sounded like paradise right now actually, "i've always been somewhat interested in cars and stuff." you lied again.

"oh, really?" he raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.

"yeah, my dad used to fix old cars up - he'd make me hand him tools from time to time." you walked closer to him, leaving a few centimetres between your bodies.

"then, you wouldn't mind helping me out a bit? i think i know what the issue is here." you nodded vehemently, unable to stop yourself from forming an eager smile.

only when he walks away do you realise you have been holding your breath. you barely have time to catch it before he's back with two chilled water bottles in one hand and a hefty toolbox in the other. bulging muscles ripple across his arms, the sight puts a fluttery feeling in the pit of your stomach.

he sets the box down with a light grunt, then looks at you kindly and with an outstretched arm to hand you a cool bottle. the fact his hand, which you notice is comparatively larger and rougher, brushes against yours only exacerbates your condition.

you can barely look him in the eye as you take the bottle from him; you waste no time before cracking it open and gulping down a considerable amount. his eyes can’t help but follow the droplets of water that escape the corner of your mouth, trickling down your chin, your neck and then your chest before disappearing between your cleavage (which he had been trying to ignore from the moment you stepped out of your car).

“someone’s thirsty,” he mentally slaps himself and comments with a chuckle to ease the moment of tension.

he takes a swig of water before putting on gloves, picking a took out of the box and getting to work.

for a moment, only the sound of distant wildlife in the surrounding area can be heard. leaving you ample time to watch. the way his brows furrow as he concentrates on his job is more attractive than it should be.

“my name is jeno by the way,” he breaks the silence. you hadn’t even thought to ask, you quickly reply with your name. “where are you heading?”

“my friend’s place for a barbecue. this was supposed to be a shortcut, but it ended up leaving me stranded in the middle of nowhere.” he lets out a sympathetic hum before letting a comfortable silence fall between the two of you again.

he hands whatever tool he has in his hand to you and asks, “can you pass me the torque wrench?”

you stare at him blankly then you stare down at the array of tools laid out. the temperature of your body increases even further as he smiles at you knowingly.

“hard to think with the heat, huh?” he chuckles walking past you to pick up the tool you would have never guessed was what he was asking for. “don’t worry about it, you can just stand and watch,” he said as though that wasn’t what you had been doing up until now anyway.

he’s sure you’re not actually interested in cars in the slightest but rattles on about the topic. most of it all flies over your head but you nod and giggle as your gaze trails over the veins on his arms are he tightens bolts.

after a short while, he stands up straight. wiping his forearm over his sweaty forehead he declares he thinks he’s done.

“key?” he plucks off his gloves as you fish it out of your purse and hand it over to him. “glad you know that one.” he teases.

you watch with bated breath as he gets into your car to start it; sure enough, the engine purrs when he turns the key.

he jumps out of the car and flashes you a proud smile that makes you melt more than the heat.

"so...” he starts tucking his gloves into his pocket then he rubs his hands together before placing them on his hips. "how would you like to pay?"

"oh yeah, let me just get my purse. how much was it?." you open your bag to rummage around for your wallet as he tells you the price.

your phone…

sunglasses… 

a pack of gum…

lip gloss…

no wallet.

you smile up at him nervously, excusing yourself to go look in your glove compartment.

jeno follows you around to see you bent over and rummaging around. he loses track of time, too preoccupied with the way your dress rides up to barely cover your ass. he didn't notice how translucent the fabric was until now, he could just make out the outline of the thong you were wearing.

while he blissfully enjoys the show, dread fills you at the realisation you may not be able to pay. you desperately look for stray bits of cash, but you can’t seem to find even a penny in your car all of a sudden.

your frantic search yields absolutely nothing. you take a second to steel yourself before stepping back onto the ground and turning towards him with a doe-eyed guilty expression that makes something stir in his abdomen.

"i swear i had it but-" you mutter, finally moving to sit facing him in the passenger’s seat. he suddenly feels a lot bigger now you're staring up at him and he's looking down at you. "but it's not- i don't have any money so-"

"well, there are other ways to pay." only when the words leave his mouth does jeno realise there is room for misinterpretation but, for some reason, he doesn't feel like correcting himself.

maybe it was the warmth or the stress of your predicament, but your mind began to entertain itself with thoughts that had nothing to do with getting this man that you had only met today his money.

you blinked dumbly, absolutely none of the cogs turning in your brain as you started eyeing him again. starting at the neckline of his tank and then fixating on his deep collarbones momentarily before drifting down.

sweat had turned the white cotton covering his torso almost transparent. the material clung to the ridges of his toned chest and abs, leaving almost nothing to the imagination.

your mouth went dry; you were eyeing him like a dehydrated desert wanderer who had just spotted an oasis.

“like… how?” you blink up at him as though you don’t catch his drift. the innocence you feign starts to chip away at his self-control.

though he comes off as rather relaxed on the outside, jeno is rather rigid with himself. he had to be to run a business with any success. but at the end of the day, he was his own boss; no one had to know about this.

he glanced around. you were on a road in the middle of nowhere surrounded by woodland and he couldn't remember the last time he had seen another car drive past.

he could bend his rules this once for you.

“you’re not just a pretty face, you’re a smart girl, right?” finally, he gives into the desire that had been building inside of him since the moment he laid eyes on you. his charming eye-smile turns into a dark glare; his voice drops a couple octaves. “use your head.”

without another word, you stand up and sink down to squat, reluctant to get your knees dirty. you stare up awaiting further instruction.

“you know transfers are a thing, right?” he laughs sliding a hand over your cheek, feeling a switch inside of him flip. here you were debasing yourself for a man you had just met. “i think i like this much better though, clever girl.” 

he can’t believe you’re doing this.

he can’t believe he’s doing this.

you untie his overalls letting them drop down to his knees and tug down his boxers. internally you let out a sigh of relief at the sight of a well-groomed semi-hard cock. feeling it twitch up to attention as you wrap a hand around it. he groans out an obscenity as you begin to tentatively stoke him.

“you’re gonna need to do a lot more than that if you plan on giving me my money’s worth.” he tuts down at you, sliding his hand to rest on the back of your head. 

“whatever you want.” the seductive lilt of your voice makes him reel.

“whatever?” his chest rises as he takes a deep breath and forms a light grip on your locks. 

“anything.” you nod.

“then open your fucking mouth, slut.”  his voice suddenly becomes gravelly and commanding as he cranes your head back. you obediently open up for him, wrapping your lips around his tip to lap at the salty fluid that had started to spill out of it.

“hands behind your back,” the look in his eyes is wild as he watches you promptly obey him without reluctance. you want to please him, repay him for his kindness.  

you take the initiative to take him even deeper, creeping down inch by inch deeper with each bob; the more you take, the more drool escapes the corners of your mouth, dripping down in thick strings. you let out garbled moans, sending vibrations through him; his hand instinctively grips your locks, pushing his cock harshly into the back of your throat. you swallow a gag and tears prick your eyes but keep going.

“you’re so good,” he huffs, abdomen tightening, “you do this often? bet you’d let any man shove their cock down your throat, cheap fucking slut.”

you whine around him in protest, he lets you up to speak. you vehemently shake your head and choke out, “only you.“

“just for me.” his thumb softly endearingly caresses the back of your head. “god, what did i do to get this lucky.” he half mutters to himself before shoving himself back into your accepting mouth.

he continues to fuck into your face like you’re nothing but a hole and you take it. his head tips back as he lets out unbridled moans, comforted by the fact there was no one for miles to witness your debauchery, but infinitely turned on by the fact you were so out in the open.

jeno's breathing gets more ragged with each thrust, he hunches forward at the feeling of his orgasm hurtling towards him. if your mouth wasn't currently stuffed, you would smile as you brought a hand up to toy with his saliva-coated balls.

"oh my fucking- i'm cumming." it was the last push he needed before shooting his load down your throat. keeping you locked in place, nose smushed up against his pubic bone. all strength leaves your legs and you fall to your knees, the hard ground digs into your skin but the pain means nothing when he’s groaning about how well you’re taking his cum. you can barely breathe and your head is spinning but you wish you could make him cum again already. 

after a while, he settles down from his high and slowly removes himself. his hand grips firmly at your hair, keeping you in place. 

“what a fucking mess.” he sneers while admiring his work, how filthy you look kneeling before him. spit and cum cover your chin down to your chest; the low neckline of your dress is soaked. not to mention your makeup, black inky streaks ran down your cheeks. “liked taking my cock so much you forgot you had something to look pretty for.”

the look in your eyes was close to piety, unfazed that there was no way you could go to your friend’s house in this state. maybe he’d fucked your face a little too hard and knocked some sense out of you. it was the only explanation for you so gleefully offering yourself to every whim of a stranger; jeno was not a good enough man to refuse such an offer. 

“want more? you know, most of my customers tip.” he says in an expectant tone. “no pressure though.”

“wanna fuck me?” you run a finger up his thigh, skipping being coy - you needed him.

“i don’t know, can i?” he wants to toy with you, however.

“i said you can do anything, didn’t i?” you shuffle closer to him on your knees, batting your eyelashes up at him. 

“anything…” he repeats, dark thoughts run through his mind. a deep, shaky breath leaves jeno’s nostrils as he tries to contain the arousal stirring back up inside of him. he moves his leg forward, situating one of his heavy work boots between your legs; with the grasp he still has on you, he forces your core to come down against it. 

he doesn’t have to utter another word before your hips start moving. you bite your lip to contain the sounds threatening to escape you, shame finally kicking in somewhat. but he was having none of that; a sharp tug at your hair was all it took, he tipped your head back, and all the moans came spilling out. 

“good.” his praise encourages you to circle your hips faster. the panties you have on do nothing to hide how slick you are. 

you angle your hips for more stimulation, your swollen clit growing more sensitive by the second. you haven’t been at this for that long, but he can tell by the way your moans pick in pitch you’re nearly there. 

“close already?” he lifts the toe of his boot, pressing into you harder. “go ahead, cum on my boot. dirty, pathetic slut.” you whimper out pitifully as your orgasm finally wreaks you. 

he leaves you no time to recuperate before tugging your locks to make you stand and smashing his lips against yours. only now does it hit you that you’ve skipped quite a few bases, it’s the first time you’ve felt his lips against your own. 

you melt into his domineering kiss, trying your best to keep up with his lascivious pace. hands grope at your body, smoothing up your thighs and under your dress. 

a whine leaves your lips when his hands roughly squeeze your ass. he wastes no time attaching his lips to your neck, nipping at the skin as he moves to start pulling your panties off, you help him get them off the rest of the way and throw them somewhere into your car. 

deft fingers wander between your folds, collecting your wetness on his fingertips. the slightest brush against your raw clit makes you shudder in his grasp.

“gonna use this wet little pussy, just like i did your throat.” he whispered hotly against the skin of your neck, teasing your miserably sopping slit. “and you’re gonna take it like the good fucktoy you are.” 

now’s the point he’d finger a girl open a bit, maybe make her cum again. he’s usually kinder, more careful, less selfish; all that runs through his mind are animalistic thoughts of ruining you. 

you see the moment his resolve snaps completely, pupils dilating as a vein pops up on his temple. with no finesse at all, you’re turned around; a hand plants itself on your back, firmly pushing your torso down, you barely cushion your fall onto the car seat. 

he almost goes right in before the last fragment of sense left inside of him reminds him he’s forgotten something crucial. 

“shit, i don’t have a condom.” he slaps a hand over his face, vexed over the possibility of things ending here.

“i think i might,” you hurriedly reach into the glove compartment. not taking long to produce a foil packet and hand it to him; you turn to see he has an amused expression on his face.

“you remembered condoms but not money?” he snickers. “priorities.” 

you lower your head in embarrassment, begging him to get on with it. he obliges, quickly ripping open the packet and wrapping his cock up. with a deep hum, he slides his cock up between your ass cheeks. your back arches to push your backside further against him temptingly.

your mouths hang open in unison as he slides into you. he releases a long groan as he bottoms out, your tight unprepared hole swallowing him up deliciously. jeno’s body moves on its own, allowing neither of you time to adjust before reeling his hips back and slamming back in. his hands find purchase on your hips as he begins to pound you, digging into your curves for leverage; each thrust punching a choked moan out of you. 

“taking me so well,” he eyes the shameless mess beneath him, skin glistening with perspiration. he’s sure he’s equally as sweaty with the heat, probably more so with how much he is exerting himself; sweaty bangs stuck to his forehead, he can feel droplets racing down the sharp contours of his face to drip off his chin. yet he feels no fatigue, adrenaline keeps him going - keeps him fucking into you at a bestial pace. something about being surrounded by wilderness draws out a side of him so despicably feral, a side of him he had never been able to admit to having. 

when he said he would use you, he meant it well and truly. his cock bullied its way deeper into you.

“god! so fucking deep.” you manage to stutter out as he mercilessly crams every last inch of his cock inside. you’re sure he doesn’t mean or care to, but he hits all the spots that make your walls clench around him tighter, sucking him in deeper. 

“i can feel how close you are,” your legs shake, everything becoming more and more overwhelming by the second. his fingers dig into your flesh, holding your squirming body, “like being my fucktoy, yeah? gonna cream all over my cock?”

your legs shake and your nails scrape at the hard cushion beneath you as you bawl out incoherent words about how you’re cumming. your eyes roll into the back of you as the feeling seizes your body wholly. leaving your ears ringing and broken moans tumbling out of you as he drills you through your high.

once you fall, your legs give out and you fall limp on the seat. jeno doesn’t let up at all though. strong hands lay into your shoulders, your body is pressed further into the chair with his body weight. you barely have the space to breathe but he couldn’t care less, not when he was so close to the peak. 

he plants a foot on the car’s sill to anchor himself through a barrage of unrestrained, choppy thrusts. your poor car jolts and whines under their power.

between getting your throat fucked raw and brain-melting overstimulation, you could not form words; nothing that came out of jeno was coherent either, guttural noises of pleasure erupted from him. 

you only find out he’s cumming when you feel his cock twitch inside your sensitive walls. the fact he’s moaning your name between grunts is something you barely pick up; your body and mind have gone numb. motor function is off the table now, the only movement you can manage are involuntary muscle twitches.

jeno stills, basking in the fading pleasure, catching his breath. you’re too out of it to let out a small whine as he pulls out of you, leaving you devastatingly empty. 

“you good?” he pipes up, as you sluggishly pick yourself up. 

“fine, i think.” the heat and exhaustion have evidently defeated you; the look in your eyes is vacant as you wipe the sweat off of your forehead. you fix the straps of your soiled dress and plant your feet on the ground, your legs give out momentarily, but you catch yourself before you fall to the ground. he can't help but burst out laughing.

“look at you,” he takes your hand to steady you. the smirk on his face tells you he’s thoroughly enjoying the fact he’s fucked you to the point you can’t walk straight. “let’s get you cleaned up and home.” 

“thanks,” your cheeks grow hot as you limp toward his truck.

 “next time, bring money. not everyone’s as nice as me.” 

★ thank you for reading! my inbox is open for feedback and requests!

© glitchfiles

[gay-jesus-probably]

I like the general fandom trend to just take the plot of Hyrule Warriors as a loose guideline at best and just use the whole concept as a good excuse to get blorbos to interact across timelines, BUT I'm very disappointed that everyone is missing the comedic potential of a very specific squad of characters:

Young Link (aka Mask), who walks out of the nightmare of Majora's Mask and immediately gets portal kidnapped into a temporal war, takes one look at the whole mess and decides that you could not fucking pay him to admit to being the resident expert on Time Shenanigans. He introduces himself with the title of Hero of Termina, and definitely doesn't have any other ones, that would be crazy. Hero of Time? Never heard of him.

Tetra, who is a kickass pirate captain with zero patience for people trying to shove her into the Designated Princess role, and realizes immediately that Oh Fuck, this Hyrule has a lot of Ideas about how the Hero and the Princess are supposed to properly play their parts, the second they realize she's technically a Zelda they're gonna shove her in a goddamn dress and damsel her again, that's not happening. So she's definitely just a really cool pirate captain, nothing else going on here at all, definitely not the heir of the Hylian royal family in her time, that'd be crazy.

Ravio, who is literally just a palette swapped Link, meaning that the second his hood comes off, things are gonna get Awkward. There's no way in hell he's dealing with all that Hero baggage, that's Link work, so that giant bunny hood/mask is practically superglued to his head, and he's not taking it off for love or money.

Spirit Tracks Zelda, who is just in the Phantom Armour the whole time, and passing herself off as just a friendly ghost posessing a suit of armour to help the Hero of Spirits. Of course she isn't Princess Zelda, that's ridiculous, if she were a Zelda then people would start getting really weird about her technically being dead, and boy does that ever sound like a whole Thing she doesn't want to deal with, so she can't possibly be Zelda, she's just a nice ghost knight. Also, her teenage grandma is here, and that's kinda weird, so it's easier to just not admit to being royalty and avoid that awkward conversation.

Finally there's Sheik, who is not the Princess Zelda of the era straight up abandoning her war torn country for months at a time so she can risk her life in extreme cosplay for no clear reason, but is instead the actual Sheik from Ocarina of Time, who just beat Ganondorf like a month ago and is still trying to process what the fuck to do now. Also, he's been pretending to be a boy since he was ten, and is realizing there's a pretty good chance that he isn't pretending anymore, so that's a whole other can of worms. But for the last seven years of his life, being Princess Zelda meant certain death, so he's not really inclined to introduce himself like when in a new and stressful situation (not to mention he might actually just not be a girl named Zelda anymore), so he automatically introduces himself as just Sheik the spooky ninja man, and fuck he's in too deep to back out now, looks like he's committing to the bit. If you think you sense the Triforce of Wisdom on him, no you don't.

Cue shenanigans as the five of them attempt to hide that they're all actually kind of A Big Deal. The group motto is "Nobody says shit", which is usually delivered as a frantic hiss whenever someone slips up. Just the reunion between Sheik and Mask alone would be absolutely buckwild given how they parted, and how they're both frantically pretending to Not be involved with each other. For added hilarity and/or drama, Sheik gives his semi-bullshit cover story of having just been a friend of the Hero of Time, then runs into said Hero of Time and they both have to desperately pretend not to know each other, because if anyone picks up on the mountain of baggage between them then Mask is busted, and he won't hesitate to drag Sheik down with him out of sheer spite. Not to mention the weird balance of Sheik being used to this Link being a teenager that's actually a small child, and now has to adjust to Link who is a small child that's actually a teenager.

Also, i really feel like we're all missing out on the comedy potential of Ganondorf recognizing Young Link on sight and the two of them immediately launching into a grudge match with some extremely personal and specific insults on both sides. Meanwhile literally everybody else is just standing there watching, trying to process the fact that out of every single person that's been pulled out of time, Ganondorf only has personal beef with a literal nine year old.

I just feel like we're all really sleeping on the potential for Shenanigans here. The whole thing is an absurd mess, why not have some fun with it?

[boneblushed]

Untouchable

part 1 | part 2

synopsis it is crucial that the head boy and girl of Kildare Academy work together. Too bad the head girl is you and the head boy is Rafe Cameron.

wc 2K

Rafe Cameron likes to do this thing where he pretends that he's hopelessly in love with you.

Every morning, when you walk past him in the Academy carpark, he says, “Good morning, sweetheart.” Easy on the morning, rolling the sweet over his tongue so heart sounds thick as brown molasses. He always has his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the emblem on his breast-pocket hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. Sometimes you humour him. Often you avoid acknowledging him altogether.

He has a tendency to call you every pretty noun under the sun except your actual name. Though he has a certain predilection for sweetheart, he’ll always follow up your carpark rendezvous—if you could even call it that—with a, “Wait up, beautiful!” Gorgeous if you’re particularly unlucky. You’re pretty sure he does this because it’s more convenient than remembering your name; that, or he’s covering his ass in case he mixes you up with the other girls on his roster.

“C’mon,” he adds, catching you up with ease, “think you can give me a smile today, birdie?”

That’s a new one. You frown hard, conveying your disapproval at being branded by yet another nickname against your will.

“Think you can show me you deserve it, Cameron?”

Rafe slaps his hand against his chest, faux-affronted. “Oof, I’m wounded.” He grins fondly. “You know that it’s bad luck to ice out the Head Boy on the first day, right?”

“Don’t remind me,” you mutter grimly, quickening your pace in an attempt to create some distance from him. It’s a futile attempt at hostility; he’s heading to the same handsome office that you are, home to the Academy’s once imposing headmaster.

He’s gotten soft over the years. It’s the only explanation, really, for why he’s chosen such a diametrically opposed duo to be the Head Boy and Girl respectively. Where you’re serious, unsmiling, easy on the eyes and hard on the ego, Rafe Cameron is this cocky, deceptively charming wall of solid muscle. He’s attractive in that way that’s made him every girl’s default love interest, and even worse, he enjoys the attention as much as you absolutely hate it.

“Remind you?” Rafe echoes, feigning bemusement. “Of what? That we’re partners now, partner?”

You force a breath of air out through your nose, halting in your tracks and turning to face him. He doesn’t think you look nearly as formidable as you want to, especially with that sweet, little furrow between your eyebrows. He tries to look earnest, as if proving his maturity is going to make you hate him any less than you do.

He’s to blame for the animosity, of course — callow, sophomore year him who called you “seriously fucking hot” in the boy’s locker room, and then in the gym, within earshot, added, “shame she’s such a frigid bitch, huh?” He didn’t mean it, and he was very clearly wounded; if you could’ve seen his face as he’d said it, maybe the cracks in his armour of indifference would’ve been more obvious. Maybe you would’ve realised he was deflecting from the fact that your rejection had really hurt him.

But then again, maybe you wouldn’t have. Because in what world was yelling “Go out with me?”—crudely, callously, you might add—from across the classroom meant to be taken for real? You’d assumed that sophomore year him was making fun of you. When you said no, he assumed that sophomore year you just wasn’t interested.

Fast forward two years, to now, it’s clear that neither of those assumptions were wholly true. You walk past the front reception and toward the headmaster’s office in tandem, halting just short of his closed door, a polished knocker hanging directly above eye-level.

As you reach up and press it against the smooth mahogany, you send him a wayward glance. “Just because we have to work together this year,” you say evenly, “doesn’t mean we have to be friends. Alright?”

“Yes ma’am.” He nods, sending you a mock salute.

This just makes you frown harder than before, as if that’s fucking possible. He’s going to get a smile out of you if it fucking kills him. “I mean it, Cameron.” You let go of the knocker to punch your forefinger into his chest, eyes narrowed sternly. “No more sweetheart, beautiful, gorgeous, honey, whatever. If there’s one thing I deserve, as your,” you raise your fingers in air-quotes, “‘partner’, it’s a bit of respect. That clear?”

He’s never once called you honey. He raises his eyebrows. “Darling?”

You let out this sigh that’s more disappointment than frustration, like you didn’t want to deal with this, like you almost expected more from him. It makes his mouth go dry. “You know what?” you say, shaking your head defeatedly. “Never mind. I thought... I don't know, I thought that if Cromwell’d chosen you to be the Head Boy, maybe you’d done some growing up since sophomore year. But clearly he's getting old, because —”

“Who’s getting old?” A pleasant voice interrupts, the mahogany door in front of you jolting open abruptly. “Miss Y/L/N,” Headmaster Cromwell adds, mock-austere. “I sure hope you aren’t talking about me.”

“Headmaster Cromwell,” you answer, eyes widening sheepishly. “I didn’t mean —”

“She was talking about me, Crom-dog,” Rafe pipes up, throwing him arm around your shoulder genially. When he pulls you into his side, the smell of his vetiver and musk cologne grows ever present. “Us. How we’re no longer the scrawny little freshmen we were when we first met you.”

He pauses, raising his eyebrows meaningfully. “Women, am I right? Always so sentimental.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, shaking him off in a hurry. “Anyway.”

“Anyway,” Rafe agrees with a grin, shoving his hands into his pockets. For the price you pay for a uniform blouse, he privately thinks it should be made of thicker fabric. He can still feel your soft skin pressing into all his finger calluses. “You wanted to see us, sir?”

He nods significantly, beckoning the two of you into his office. “Yes, yes, come in,” he says, taking a seat in his brown leather chair, the headrest cracking with age. “First day of senior year, eh? How are the two of you feeling?”

“Apprehensive,” you say, sending Rafe a glare.

He meets your gaze with something akin to amusement, his blue eyes full of mirth. “Sentimental.”

“Ah.” Cromwell raises his eyebrows, regarding the pair of you with interest. “And you’ll be conveying these emotions at your address this Friday, I imagine?”

Your head whips back to his desk, bottom lip pulling between your teeth. “Oh. Um —”

“Because of course,” he adds, clasping his hands together on his desk, “the start of year speech isn’t just tradition, it’s a collaborative effort. As head students, leading the fortnightly school assemblies is going to be one of your biggest responsibilities.”

“Right,” you agree, nodding vigorously. “I assure you, Headmaster Cromwell, it’s all under control.”

Rafe turns to face you, surprised. “It is?”

“Of course it is, Cameron,” you answer tiredly, not bothering to meet his gaze.

Cromwell frowns. “A collaborative effort, Miss Y/L/N.”

You swallow a sigh, plastering on a smile before turning in tandem and nodding. Fake though it may be, being on the receiving end of one of your smiles makes Rafe unusually pleased. He grins back handsomely, his head cocked toward you in a way that accents his stubbled jawline.

“All I’m saying is,” you say carefully, the smile becoming more gritted teeth than anything remotely amicable, “I’ve… made a start on it. I know that you’ve got football trials to organise, so I thought —”

“Successfully delegated,” Rafe interjects. “Got Ollie organising them this year.” He pauses, leaning toward you and clearing his throat. “You know… to free up time for this partnership.”

“Excellent!” Cromwell exclaims before you’re able to protest, clapping his hands together approvingly. “Already taking initiative. Excellent, excellent…”

He reaches for the hefty stack of papers to his left, plucking off the two forms at the top of the pile. “Here,” he says, handing one to each of you. “A suggested programme for your first meeting with this year’s prefects.”

You accept it with a nod, scanning over the template before folding it once, twice, careful. Beside you, Rafe throws his into his bag callously, threatening a migraine.

“As you know, alongside the school assemblies, you’ll be in charge of timetabling prefect duties and maintaining order. Of course, we’ll meet every fortnight or so so I can check in — ensure everything’s running as smoothly as possible.” He pauses here, looking between you through assessing grey eyes. “Being the face of this institution is a massive undertaking, you two. You’re responsible for more than just the student body… you’re responsible for Kildare Academy’s legacy.” Another pause. “It can be quite the burden. It’s important that you trust each other… know that you can rely on one another.”

You clear your throat gauchely. Rafe feels this strange jolt in his chest as Cromwell’s words wash over him.

You’re saved the awkwardness of having to respectfully disagree with him by the peal of the bell, signalling the start of first period. Cromwell springs up and nods in dismissal, the lapels of his suit jacket quivering like jowls. “Alright then!” He exclaims, smiling jovially. “I look forward to hearing your address this Friday!”

You return his smile, albeit reluctantly, avoiding eye contact with Rafe as you turn around and exit. Though you’re determined to make it to class without having to engage in any more conversation, it appears Rafe Cameron’s more determined to do the opposite.

Scratch unnecessary though. He’s pretty sure every precious second that he’s trying for more receiving-end smile is another that shows him time is of the essence.

“What did you reckon?” He asks, messing with his dirty-blonde locks absentmindedly.

The side of his elbow brushes your blouse, and you begin to walk faster, incensed by his closeness. Despite this, he refuses to back down, “Think it’s true? Him retiring this year? Cause shit, it’d explain all that crap about responsibility and legacy.”

You frown at your feet and continue to soldier forward. Rafe tries again, “Remember when Jake was head boy? Kelce’s older brother? Swear to God he didn’t get speeches like that from Crommy… I mean, shit, he was doing all this and organising football practice, not to mention all the parties he—”

“Look,” you interrupt abruptly, letting out a tired sigh. “Yeah, whatever, I won’t tell Cromwell, alright? As long as you just… just do everything you’re scheduled to do.”

Rafe turns toward you, frowning bemusedly. “Huh?”

“That’s what you’re getting at, right?” You ask impatiently, because you’re late and the second bell is about to ring and you really don’t have time for this, not with Rafe Cameron. “Doing the bare minimum just like Jake Smith did? Because yeah, whatever, that’s fine — in fact, I’d almost prefer it to trying to work together.”

Rafe draws back slightly, regarding you for a moment. “Huh.” A pause. “You think I don’t deserve it.”

You balk at his expression, something dejected behind blue irises. “Well, I,” you hesitate, “no. I just… I don’t want to work with someone who doesn’t consider this a priority.”

“You’re a priority to me,” he says, referring to the guy sophomore year you had once rejected.

“Not me,” you mutter irritatedly, cheeks warming. “Head student stuff. You know — all those things Jake Smith got away with not doing?”

“As I seem to recall,” Rafe replies matter-of-factly, unperturbed, “I’ve already delegated football trials to Ollie to free up time.”

“For the speech,” you say slowly, unsure.

For you. “For the speech,” Rafe affirms, looking down at you in this sincere way that makes your head hurt.

You swallow. “Alright then. We’ll do it Wednesday after school.”

Rafe grins triumphantly, nudging your chin with the hook of his forefinger. “Your place or mine, sweetheart?”

“Cameron,” you warn, ducking out of his reach with a frown.

“Sorry.” He nods faux-apologetically. “You prefer honey, yeah?”

“If you call me anything other than my name, I’ll murder you in your sleep.”

“In my sleep?” He asks, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “So you’ll be on my bed, huh? Knew it. Knew you had a secret thing for me.”

“School library, Cameron,” you say grimly, beginning to walk away. “4pm on Wednesday. Don’t be late.”

Rafe nods again, sending you a mock salute. “Oh don’t worry,” he calls after you. “I never keep a lady waiting.”

[strangelittlestories]

It was in the 6th year of the Wars of the Real that the anti-magicians and their Realis project (that all should act in accordance with certain physical laws) were truly challenged. This was due in no small part due to a singular invention from a family of forest witches.

Their discovery was as ingenious as it was stupid. And it radically changed what a disparate collective was able to accomplish in the face of both overwhelming force and abstract certainty.

It also caused a truly historic amount of epic shitfuckery.

From “I Fought the Spore and the Spore Won: a history of Realis and Resistance”

- - -

“So, you’re the new recruit, huh?” The woman who spoke wore strange armour that looked like it had been grown out of wood. The helmet alone glinted with metal spikes.

“I … uh, I guess? Sorry, I’m kinda new to this whole ‘magical kingdom’ deal you’ve got going on here…” The recruit in question was wearing dull red overalls and a ‘what-the-fuck’ expression.

“No worries, kid. We put out a multiversal call for aid - so anybody with a latent magical destiny or a strong subconscious hero fantasy got pulled in. Very much a ‘To Whom It May Concern’ type of spell.” 

She patted him on the shoulder. Up close he could see that the spikes on her helmet were actually the shards of a broken crown.

“So, uh, do I get any kind of training?”

“You already did, buddy. The spell should’ve planted a ‘potential seed’ inside you. When you’re exposed to trauma, then just in the nick of time it’ll suddenly sprout into the skills you need to survive. Very dramatic.” She paused for a second. “Or you’ll die. Also very dramatic.”

“So … either I’ll be awesome or I’ll die?”

“Well, you would die … unless you have one of these.” She threw him a small vial. He fumbled the catch, but grabbed it on the second try. Inside the vial swirled a glowing grey-green mist. “You catch a mortal wound, drink it. Or smash it on the injury. The fungus inside will patch you up.”

“Fungus?” The man was a pretty even split of horrified and fascinated. He simultaneously wanted to throw the vial away like poison, or guzzle it like forbidden candy.

“Yeah, you ever hear of ‘ophiocordyceps unilateralis’?”

“The weird zombie ant mushroom? Yeah, I saw it on a documentary!”

“Well, a family of witch-mycologists - real wyrd scientist types - they brewed up this variant in their forest. They turned it from a parasite to a symbiote. If it knows who you are, it’ll heal your wounds, get your heart pumping, even move your limbs for you.”

“How do I get it to know who I am?”

“You feed it.” She grinned ghoulishly. “Chuck in some hair, some blood, whatever bits of you are going spare. Anything to sync it up to your DNA. Think of it as your very own cannibal sourdough starter.”

“And people actually use this?”

“Oh yeah. Folks swear by the stuff. They even had an argument over what nickname it should have. The winner was the truly cursed phrase ‘resurrection juice’.”

“...really?”

“Oh yeah. The juice brigade are pretty smug it caught on. Some smart alec tried to give it a mushroom name, but they got one-upped by the juice thing.”

“I’m not sure I’m a fan of sharing my body with a fungus.” He tried to find the right words to articulate the niggling philosophical nuances of the idea and failed. “It feels like, I dunno, a bad idea?”

“Oh, it’s a terrible idea. A real crock of stupid. Pure idiot-fuel. But sometimes, when the world’s against you, the truly bad idea is the only one you have.”

“But, I mean, once the fungus takes over … would I still even be me?” The urge to gobble up the taboo canape had begun to be edged out by the existential dread.

“Look at it this way: you’d be mushroom food anyways, right? Why not let it be mushrooms who think they’re you? I think it’s kinda comforting that when the time comes, I can just relax and let fungus take the wheel.”

The man paused for a second, pondering the nature of life, decay, and resurrection.

“Anyways, they’ll be summoning the portal to pipe us out on our first mission soon. So best get ready.” The princess (for that’s what she was) thought for a second, then asked: “By the way … what did you do before you got sucked up into this particular asscrack, anyhow?”

The man gulped.

“I was a plumber.” He said.

[calirph]

𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒, 𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒, 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄.

All sentences are taken from different sources and area blend of questions, angst, affirmations and reassurance, heartbreak, the past, the future and self assurance. Change names, pronouns, locations and more as you see fit.

If I keep loving you, maybe you'll eventually crack and love me too.

I'm pretty sure you're already half in love with me.

I don't think you're evil.

See? Things are already looking promising.

Are these things really better than the things I already have?

Was it all in my head?

You’re even more painful to look at than she is.

I'm hoping he can save me, even though I realize he can't.

You were the on­ly one I saw when I closed my eyes.

Then why wasn't I enough when they were open?

I wonder how you say goodbye to someone forever?

Are you seriously in this much self-denial, Sydney? Like do you actually believe yourself when you say you don’t feel anything?

Physical attraction isn’t the same as love. You of all people should know that.

Is that what bothers you? My past?

You destroy me and then you kiss me. You give me a reason to hate you and then you give me a reason to love you.

Two lifetimes, they belong to you. No regrets.

You're not nothing to me. That's precisely the problem.

Are you so stupid you don't know what I'm going to do to you?

Are you so stupid you haven't figured out yet that it doesn't matter?

When it comes to love, Princess, rules blur, and traditions fade.

I just wanted…

Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me I'm blind. Tell me you love me.

Yes. I remember.

They got him. The Hallows got him.

You’re kidding? No one expects decorum from me.

...But how is there glory in taking a life? We die so easily.

You'll really start to hate me.

Tell me who did this, and I will take care of it. Anyone who thought they could lay a hand on you should fear for their life.

I can't tell whose the bigger monster. Him. Or Me.

You do have a tender heart. It almost makes me want to spare you, just so I don’t have to watch it break.

In the parallel lines to the roads of life, I'm glad ours intersected twice.

Sometimes I feel like you've given up. It's like you just accept this as your fate.

This, us, it can’t happen. It can't happen, Avery. I've seen the way Jameson looks at you.

At least I do not deny my own heart.

You’re not living to live—you’re living for death.

I will have you without armour, Kaz Brekker. Or I will not have you at all.

I want him to hurt. To bleed. I want him to snap, just like he snapped me.

If you really don't want me- no other excuses, just me- just tell me right now, and I'll leave and we'll be done. 

Otherwise, start getting used to the fucking fact that you can't protect me from everything. And I'm not made of glass.

This house bleeds memories.

I don’t need your permission.

Your hands will touch me and no one else, Meadow. That is final.

My grief wasn’t deep or poetic. It was sinister in its simplicity.

He is in love with you.

Why won't anyone take me...when someone decides to go I will always be left behind.

 You don't believe me or my words, do you?

I never said you didn't have a heart. But it would be nice if it beat every now and then.

You loved me.

I think you know in your heart that you’re meant for something extraordinary.

What does your heart tell you you’re meant for?

Somebody's got to win this war, right?

 I am faithless. I have done unforgivable things. And I am broken.

You are a soldier. A fighter. And now you must fight. Not for the emperor, not for France . . . but for yourself.

You are my first choice. You're my only choice.

 I always say the wrong things.

Why I acted the way I did…Why I was so pissed off. It will never make any sense to you because I don’t know how to explain.

You can't live your life based on 'what-ifs,' Liv.

You weren't listening to me.

That's an interesting way to get my attention.

I’m not the enemy. I’m not the kind of guy who would try to hurt you more when I know you’re already hurting, but I’m someone willing to hear you and understand you.

We cannot win if we fight among ourselves. 

I’ve always wanted to be liked. It grieved me that I was treated with indifference.

A united front announcing a split.

[kiwisbell]

The Light of the Stars: Chapter 1 [din djarin]

Your celebration for Din’s name day goes horribly wrong. And a group of pirates sees the worst of your Mandalorian.

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3

read part one here (not necessary, but encouraged!): told before and told again

series masterlist | my masterlist!

status: complete

pairing: din djarin x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags and warnings: established relationship, unprotected piv (no following the leader), the helmet stays on, but the gloves come off, in more ways than one, hand kink???, animal handler!reader, grogu being a good kid, extremely protective din, kidnapping, BAMF din, din gets mad, dirty talk, fingering, blood and violence, creampie, rough sex, multiple orgasms, top din, soft din, din fucking the babysitter, extreme amounts of fluff, din is in love, mando'a pet names, porn with feelings, porn with plot (there actually is a plot this time), din is touch-starved, it's din's birthday!! (sort of), din being so in love that it's disgusting

word count: ~ 4.3k

this is installment two of my din djarin series entitled told before and told again, and is divided into three chapters. this series in particular is inspired by joanna newsom's divers album. it's a fantastic listen.

obligatory mando’a to english translation: “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.” — “I love you” (literally “I will know you forever.”)

chapter 1: you will not take my heart alive

Looking at you is peering into the far, sunny horizon as a storm rages overhead. 

Together in your little cot—far too small for two people, and yet you manage: mostly by draping half your body over his, not that he’s ever minded—you and Din doze. Well, you doze. He doesn’t sleep much on the best of days, but he likes the intimate quiet of this stifling space. Wasting time does not exist when it comes to you.

Your legs are tangled together, one of his wedged between both of yours as your thigh remains hitched up on his hip. You like to sleep as close to him as possible, but his armour makes it uncomfortable, especially in moments like these when he does not have the precious time to take it off. So you curl up your shared blanket and use it as a pillow, tucking your head under his arm. Now, your cheek rests on his breastplate, your breath pushing past your parted lips in soft snores that fog up the steel. Your lashes rest on your cheeks and your hand on his chest. 

You are a human lullabye. He does not know how he slept before you. Now, he wants to close his eyes and dream by your side, warmed by your body. 

His gloved hand finds your serene face and brushes a stray lock of hair from your eyes. 

There are always storms to weather, but you are the telltale rising of the sun. He will look to you when the lighting crackles across the sky.

He isn’t sure how long he’s been staring at you by the time your lips begin to move in the shape of words, your eyes still peacefully closed. 

“Do you know what day it is?” you ask him.

He does. He would prefer to forget. 

“It's night,” he replies. “Go back to sleep.”

“Evading the question will not avail you, Mandalorian.” He wants to laugh at the frankly impressive way you can twist words even in your state of half-sleep, but does not give you the satisfaction. “What day is it?”

When he does not answer, your eyes peel open and you sit up, his hand falling from your waist. Even through his gloves, he feels the loss of your warm skin as if the sudden cold has seared a hole through the impenetrable leather. Your gaze is sleepy, your irises impossibly thin around cavernous pupils. 

“Come back here,” he says plainly.

Your eyes narrow, your mind incisive as ever. He should know better by now than to try and outsmart you with the promise of physical contact—no matter how much he needs that contact right now. You square your hips as you shuffle so your body, all of it, is facing him. You’re wearing so few clothes that he can make out (even in this dusky darkness) the tight press of your nipples through your shirt. The shape of your waist and hips under the loose cotton pants you sleep in. His fingers flex. They crave the softness of your skin to plunge into. 

“It’s your name day, Din.”

It is not. But you have always been persistent. 

“You mean you’ve never celebrated? Not once?”

He didn’t understand why it shocked you so, but for some reason, seeing you so affronted made him question why, in fact, he’d never celebrated his own birth. “It’s… trivial,” he managed, unsettled by such distress in your face. 

You lay on your back in a patch of grass next to his toolkit. Normally, he would scold you for freeloading, but the sun was out, and you saw it so rarely. So, he let you lounge with your eyes squinting harshly against the indelicate shine, casting your skin in bronze. Your collarbones pushed out gently with each exhale you took, and on every inhale, he would watch with rapt attention as your throat hollowed. There was a faint smattering of perspiration in that hollow, but you acted as if the relentless sun was revitalising you, not burning you. 

“That’s silly,” you told him, your head turning lazily to face him. He was sitting on the ramp at the mouth of the hull, tucked inside the shadow of the Crest, working on repairing the access panel—again. He was beginning to think it was damned. He did not need another incident where you were trapped inside because the ramp refused to lower, or where neither of you could find the kid until you both realised he was outside, playing with dandelions while his guardians panicked. Din supposed his repair job doubled as child-proofing. 

“Why?” he asked. “I don’t remember being born.”

“You’re missing the point.” 

“Am I?”

You hummed. “I would think a warrior like you would want to celebrate living another cycle. Not all of you get that luxury.”

He wanted to point out that living was never a luxury until you. He did not.

“I’m perfectly happy to celebrate yours,” he told you. “That’s good enough for me.”

He caught a slight movement of your head out of the corner of his eye and knew, somehow, that you were rolling your eyes. Fondly. “Then I’ll choose a date for you.”

“No,” he said immediately. 

But you were already getting up and planting yourself on the ramp next to him. “Today,” you said firmly. “It’s a beautiful, sunny day. Today is your name day, Din Djarin.”

Your fingers played upon the harsh edges of his helmet in some sort of dance, tracing each cool line and dip the way he had so often traced the warm flesh of your body. It knocked his world slightly askew to know there was someone who saw his armour as a body in itself—who didn’t crave to see what lay beneath, because to you, they were inseparable. One. 

“Nothing about your life,” you said that day, in a near-whisper, “is trivial.”

Now, he decides being stubborn is the best way to get your body against him once again. “I don't have a name day,” he says. 

You try to suppress a smile. “Well, you'll remember I gave you one. Don’t you remember?” Your fingers tap lightly around his thigh guards, down to his calves and back up toward his hip. You do this often: feeling out the shape of him as if you're attempting to imprint it into your hindbrain. He indulges you, but his patience is thinning. “When you were inside me? Deep and rough and—”

“Come. Back. Here.” He practically growls it, his cock stiffening inside his pants, his teeth grinding for a taste of you he can never have. He opts for a tight grip on your upper thigh, kneading the muscle and soft flesh there as he tries to pull you toward him. 

You let him drag you on top of him, his strong hands keeping you firm atop his hips. There's a firm pressure at your spine, between your shoulder blades, pushing you down toward him so your bodies are flush. You nudge your nose against the cheek of his helmet and grin. 

“Let’s go somewhere,” you say softly. “Somewhere nice. Somewhere we can celebrate.”

A gloved palm catches the line of your jaw, the thumb tracing its path. “My age isn't something to celebrate.”

“You're still spry. I have the limp to prove it.” He huffs, and even the small hint that he's amused spurs you on. “Come on. We don’t have to do anything near a crowd. It can just be the two of us. Even a desert, for stars’ sake.” 

“You want to celebrate with the Tuskens?” He tilts his head in the way you're so familiar with: he's looking at you like you're simultaneously the most captivating and foolish person he's ever met. At the same time, his thumbs caress your body like it's precious. It is. 

You bite your lip. “I want to celebrate with you.” 

You have a funny way of looking at him. It typically accompanies your most outrageous ideas. Your smile casts a brighter light than the rays of sun through a clear windowpane. He dreams of that smile the way he used to dream about terrors. You’ve encompassed them with that look: the smile and the gentle brush of your mouth against his helmet. “Fine,” he says at last. “We’ll land on Nevarro.” When you open your mouth to gloat, he slides his hand around to the nape of your neck. “In the morning. Now, come back here.”

You can only tease your warrior for so long. Your lips make a path from his forehead to the spot just above his visor. He cups your face in his hands, not guiding nor pushing, just holding you here. Here, in the moment, when all he sees is you. 

“When we go…” He tucks a piece of hair behind your ear and lowers his voice to the soft, gentle rasp that sticks to the edges of your skull. “You stay by my side.”

“I’m always by your side.” You smile, squeezing his hands. “You can’t get rid of me now, Din Djarin, no matter how hard you try.”

No, he can't. But he's not in the habit of trying to get rid of the things that are best for him. Not anymore. 

He wishes now more than ever he could press his face into the sweet-smelling curve of your throat and kiss all the way down your body. He wants to bury his whole being deep in your soul, unmasked, unburdened. 

For now, he will settle for the proximity: the intoxicating closeness he once only dreamed of and now gets to live. Every night, every morning, he gets to know what it feels like to exist alongside another soul. That will do. 

“Cyar’ika.”

Your hands cover his. “Din.”

Even if his sensor could not detect the elevated rate of your heart thumping against your chest, he would be able to sense the slightest shift in your very blood from systems away. His own heart matches the rhythm, threatening to burst from his chest and bury itself inside yours. 

“I want you,” he says. 

He likes the way he makes you feel. Your heart kicks up even faster as your lips part. “You told me to go back to sleep,” comes your whispered reply. 

His hands leave your face and skate down your sides, making you shiver when he reaches the hem of your shirt. “Is that a no?”

“I will never”—your eyes meet his, or they try to, serious and unwavering—“say no to you.”

And he doesn't deserve that. He does not deserve your faith or your support. But he will take down the straps of your flimsy shirt and he will shift so he can hover above you, and there will not be a fraction of him that is tempted to let you go despite all he doesn’t deserve. 

He slips his fingers into the loops lining the waistband of your utility pants and pulls them down. Behind them follows your shirt, not soon after, his hands grabbing eagerly at the hem. “Arms up.” 

You obey, and he tosses the shirt on top of your pants, which are surely somewhere close. He’ll find them later. Now, he looks down at your body. There are no articles of clothing for you to remove, which never makes you pout or whine in spite of any teasing remarks you may make. No—you trace the shape of the pieces reverently, treating them like skin. Like freckles. 

“You’re beautiful,” you tell him, your chest heaving as he splays his hand just beneath your left breast, protecting your ribcage. 

It is the dead of the night, and you are both exhausted, but Din lets a low laugh slip out. “That’s my line.”

“Well, I won’t be offended if you still want to say it.” Your grin is a blinding thing. 

That. That is why he needs to keep your life in a little cage. That smile and the laugh that goes with it. He can no longer picture a ‘verse that exists without it. How can a galaxy turn without the bright force of a smile like that to inspire it?

“You,” he rasps, “are beautiful.”

Your hands find the buttons of his pants, the thick, hard length behind them twitching under your attention. He does not stop as you seek out his cock and wrap your fingers around the shaft. He does not stop the groan that rumbles up from deep in his chest when you look up at him with your tired, black eyes and stroke him slowly. 

A drop of precum spills onto your navel, and when you dip your hand between them to swipe it onto the pad of your thumb, cleaning it off between your lips, he goes blind. 

His hand is on your hip, grounding himself in flesh. His cock is pushing past the seal of your cunt, wet and warm and eager to accept him. He grunts. Your name. A curse. You take him the way you always do: with a pinched brow and a gasp he aches to swallow. 

He watches himself disappear inside you, the way you greedily suck him in, his own restraint buckling along with his spine. He feels himself compressing, compacting, into this small square of time, sinking onto his side next to you. He can be closer this way, face-to-face, slipping his arm around your waist and pressing on your lower back. You hold onto his shoulders as his hips meet yours, your eyes unfocused in the haze of lust. He moves in a slow, experimental thrust, hissing at the way your cunt grips him so tightly on the withdrawal. “Relax,” he groans. 

“Are you trying to fuck me,” you gasp, “or teach me how to shoot a blaster?”

He huffs, hitching your leg up over his hip and driving deeper. You cry out his name and he feels sadistically pleased, his hand pressing more insistently on your spine. You bow deliciously under his touch, slotting willingly alongside his shape, your naked body safe and warm against the cold bulk of his armour. He tucks you so close that your breasts are smushed against his chest and you have to bury your face into the crook of his neck. The warm cowl provides you the comfort of a blanket as he begins to fuck you. Properly. 

Your gasps are wet and stilted. Din grunts with each thrust, your soft, hot walls stroking his cock. He will never get used to this: your closeness, your strength, the way you will happily clamber on top of him whenever he's frustrated. You aren't afraid of his moods. You always let him grasp your hips, as rough as he needs, and you draw the poison from the wound. You’re a tonic to his weary soul. 

“That’s it.” His voice is a ragged grinding of gears in your ear. The punch of his cock inside you becomes easier with every stroke, your body becoming malleable and relaxed for him. “That’s it,” he coaxes. 

You're so wet that the sound of your joined bodies echoes in the puny compartment. He will bruise your thigh from how hard he holds onto you, and your hips will be sore from his relentless pounding, but you do not care. “Din. Oh, fuck!” you moan, grasping at his cowl, your fingers bunching in the fabric. A low-pitched growl leaves his mouth, travels through the modulator, and makes your cunt gush around his cock. You are the only one who can get this close, the only one who can grip the cowl like you plan to tear it right off, because he knows you won't. 

“You started this,” he says through gritted teeth, the pinching of the steel plates on his thighs sparking delectable pain between your legs. “Could’ve gone back to sleep.”

You laugh through a moan, rocking your hips down against his. The head of his cock reaches so deep that you can feel him in your stomach, and you know that's how he likes it best. “You weren't sleeping, Din.”

“No,” he rasps, “I was watching you.”

“Ever the charmer.” Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you feel the coil in your belly wind up tight. You're so fucking full. He's thick and heavy, so warm inside you, and all you can think is how desperately you want his hot cum to drown your cunt. 

His hand slips between your bodies and presses against your belly. You gasp with the white-hot pleasure, your head jerking back to meet his gaze through his visor. He tips his head forward to drop against your forehead. “Feel me?” He thrusts harder, but not faster, your poor, abused cunt taking him so easily in your pliable state. You mewl for him, your vision blurring, the coil tightening. “Feel how deep I am?”

“Din…”

“I asked you a question, cyar’ika.” The pressure deepens, somehow. Heightens. You feel as if you're floating above your bodies, separate altogether, watching yourself crash hopelessly into his body. “Do. You. Feel. Me?”

Every word is punctuated by the drag and thrust of his cock inside you, the movement of his hips growing sloppy. His cock twitches with the need to pump you full, to give you all of him and keep you wrapped up, safe, until morning. “Yes,” you whimper, your voice crackling. “Yes, Din.”

Good, he thinks. He wants to imprint himself on you forever. He already feels a sick sense of satisfaction seeing the divots he makes in your flesh with his fingers, the bruises already forming. The rest of the world would hurt you to make it hurt. He likes knowing he can hurt you and it only feels good. 

“Ah, ah —fuck, Din,” you gasp, your lips perpetually parted once his hand migrates to your clit. Two gloves fingers apply pressure, rough leather circling the bundle of nerves. Your body caves in on itself, your entire brain bursting into flame, your vision white-blind as you come apart. 

Your thigh quivering, still wrapped around his hip, you roll your hips into his hand, your brow furrowing in pleasure. He does not relent. He wants to watch you crumble, and he's getting it. “I… I can’t…”

“Yes, you can.” Your nose and lips slide haplessly across the ridge on the right cheek of his helmet, all of you trembling in his assured grasp. You are vaguely aware of the hard, throbbing cock between your legs twitching, pulsing inside you. “Fuck. Fuck, that’s it.”

Din comes hard, his visor tucked under your chin so he can tilt your head upward. He can smell you, the heady scent of sweat and sex and fresh air. You fill his lungs as he fills you, his cock pulsating with each hot spurt of cum. It stuffs you until you're brimming with him, and he still grinds deeper, deeper, so close to you that peeling your bodies apart will make you both colder. Lonelier. 

When you both collapse, your spent bodies ending up in the same position as the beginning of the night, Din looks at his vambrace. It will be morning soon. 

Your ragged breath is fogging up his armour as much as your sweat, and he will take this. The only mark you can leave on his body. He will take anything you give him, even if it is poisonous. He knows it will taste sweet, anyway. 

“Happy name day, Din,” you whisper, your eyes smiling even as you continue to pant, your fingers fondly tapping his cheek. 

Beneath you, both of you can feel the wetness of the cot as his cum drips steadily out of you in globs. He knows he has to clean you up. He just doesn't want to detangle himself from you. Not when you look so happy. 

“Keep it,” you tell him. Always reading his mind, past all the steel that separates you. “I want to feel you today.” 

When you tuck your face back into the curve of his throat and close your eyes, it takes no time at all for your breathing to grow steady. Din stays awake for a little while, idly stroking your hair away from your face. 

When he finally feels sleep claw at him, Din does not dream. The colours dancing languidly on his closed eyelids resemble the hues of your irises. 

~

For all his attempts to train you to shoot a blaster, you cannot fight for bantha shit. 

“Don’t tuck your thumb,” he says, circling you on the grass. 

“You say that like it means something. How ‘bout you come over here and show me how it’s done?” He watches you wiggle your brows and decides he would much rather watch you suffer. 

“It means, don’t tuck your thumb.” He mirrors your closed fist but manages to make it look much more assured. “You’ll break it if you try to hit someone like that.”

“I don't want to hit anyone, Din.”

He cocks his head in that annoying way he does. 

“But someone may want to hit you.” His body is stiff when he turns to square his shoulders, a little closer to you than you remember him being. The Crest should land on Nevarro within the hour, so you decided to occupy your shared free time with a spontaneous sparring session. Not that he ever actually strikes you. It’s more of a… one-sided talking session. With the occasional scolding. 

“Not if you’re with me,” you remind him.

“That’s right.” Still, he circles you, always facing you, assessing your posture. “Kick your legs farther apart.”

You do, planting one foot slightly behind the other. You’ve seen him do it. Clearly, your mirroring attempt is wrong. “Not that far apart.”

“I think you’re doing this on purpose.”

“You need to learn.”

“I know that,” you huff, dropping your hands by your side. “It would help a lot if you actually fought me.”

“There wouldn’t be a fight.”

Cocky bastard. “I’m not asking you to punch me or shoot me. Just… fake it.”

His sigh is audible. “And what if I strike by accident?”

You cannot help but smile fondly. Your warrior, always trying to keep you safe in a galaxy that does not care in the least for your safety. “You’re a fool, Din Djarin, but you know your strength better than that.” You close the distance between your bodies. “If you don’t want me to fight, why am I still here?” 

“You’re still here…” He brushes a finger over your cheek. “… because I don’t trust the world not to hurt you like it already has.”

Your voice lacks its typical conviction. “I’m not a child. I can take care of myself.”

“Well, the kid is. And he loves you. He trusts you.” He shakes his head as if trying to make an intricate blueprint of his next words. “ I trust you. I trust you to take care of him, and I trust you to be my partner.” 

“It’s a shame I can’t trust you not to get yourself half-dead every time we visit a new planet. Wouldn’t have to worry about my heart giving out if I just up and left this hunk of junk.”

You’re taunting him, that delicious mouth of yours a beacon of wickedness. “Can’t rely on the ‘verse to keep you safe the way I can,” he says.

“That”—you tap him gently on the cheek of his helmet, clicking your tongue—“is dangerously cocky, Mandalorian.”

“Yeah?” He catches your wrist and squeezes. “People hurt you. They take what they want from you and toss you back. Or not. It’s not gonna happen.” He places your hand over his heart. “Not with me.”

You recall the long, lonely days before you met him. You recall the sleepless nights when an animal would be sick or injured, and you were the only handler willing to stay awake all night to monitor its condition. Sitting in a hard, rickety chair next to a bassinet or bacta tank, your fingers drumming nonsensical rhythms on your thighs. Dread curling in your stomach when your charge’s condition worsened. Sickening joy when they pulled through. You remember how cold the nighttime would get and how, when you made your home onboard the Crest, you would awake to find your curled-up body covered in more blankets than you fell asleep with. You confronted him about it one day. 

I’m paying you to stay alive, was his cool reply. He never used to bother looking your way as he fiddled with the controls in the cockpit. 

I’m used to the cold, you told him.

For a moment, you were certain he wanted to leave the conversation at that—not that it was much of a conversation. Then, as you turned to descend back down the ladder, he said, So am I.

“My life started when I met you,” you tell him now, and he isn’t fond of the little frown that comes over your face. “It could end right now and I’d be okay.”

“Don’t.” His voice comes out coarse as sand. “It’s not going to end.”

You lean forward and press your forehead against the cool metal of his. “You want me to live forever, Mandalorian?”

His hand finds the back of your neck, fingers digging into your scalp, as he keeps you there, firm. Steady. “Longer than that,” he says. 

Your smile makes your cheeks ache. “I’ll do my best for you.”

His other hand grasps your hip. “That's my girl.”

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.”

It leaves your mouth stumbling, grasping for the right vowel noises and falling clumsily nonetheless. But he chuckles, a soft gasping laugh that makes you shiver. 

“Knew you were listening.”

“Learned it myself,” you whisper. “Your teaching style is ineffectual.”

Above you, in the cockpit, the navigation system begins to beep wildly. Din pulls away from you and wordlessly heads back, but you smile at the way his fingers take the longest to detangle from yours. 

[phantomphangphucker]

Phic Phight - How Not To Resurrect A Half Demon Lord

@lexiepiper @Ghostfox_fuyu

Being both an adventurer AND technically a monster wasn’t exactly the best mix to avoid fights, so it’s a good thing Danny actually LIKED fighting even if he couldn’t exactly ‘go hard’ against humans to avoid, you know, KILLING THEM. Other adventurers though? Yeah they didn’t exactly enjoy fighting what they thought was a weirdly powerful dungeon spawn.

Danny runs, skidding across the ground on his claws, the scrapping sound is loud but nowhere near the volume of the explosion happening right behind him. His tail nearly gets nicked! He’s not happy, not one bit. “WOULD YOU STOP THAT!”.

The mage with a frankly obscenely large hat damn near growls at him, which hey, growling was Danny’s thing. “Silence! Foul demon!”.

For fucks sake! Like yes, he gets that he looks like a demon. He gets that. But could people please just stop assuming that he belonged to whatever dungeon he and they happened to be in? This place was a goddamn lava dungeon, he was an ice demon with a black and white theme! Use your brain! Why would a fucking ice demon be in a lava dungeon!

Which, to be fair, him going into a lava dungeon wasn’t exactly smart or using his own brain; but Sam and Tuck thought this one would get them some sick ass gear so off they went. Of course they wound up getting separated, and of course Danny wound up running into other adventurers with the same idea as his party, and of course they mistook him for a dungeon beast. That’s his classic luck right there, everybody!

Ramming one set of claws into the wall and climbing up the hot rock as fast as he can, channeling some ice to his palms to avoid burning himself, it also was making some super cool-looking mist sizzle off of the rock so that was a neat bonus.

The adventurers trying to annihilate him seem to agree, the dude in black armour muttering to another mage with super orange hair, “hey if I equip ice gauntlets you think I could do that, it looks cool as Hell”. The mage whacks him over the head, ha!

Danny snorts to himself, jumping on to a ceiling stalactite of solid hot magma, ow ow ow ow ow, stupid ice core, stupid Tuck and Sam dragging him into a lava dungeon, stupid him for jumping onto solid magma, stupid stupid stupid. Ugh. But Danny does what Danny typically does when presented with pain, quips, shouting down, “why don’t you give up if you keep misting me!”. Ha! Good one, self. Ow.

The armoured guy chuckles, “I love it when monsters have a sense of humour, makes it so much more fun”, and hurls a goddamn spear at him. Nice, Danny can do spears and show off a little.

Danny launches himself down, grabbing the spear in between his teeth, fangs making it easy to keep the spear in there, and uses the spear head stabbing into the ground below to allow him to basically land going face down before gripping the shaft with his hands and spinning himself into an upright position. Him yanking it out of the ground and spinning it dramatically, grinning meanly, “oh I love free gifts, how’d you know it was my birthday?”, it’s totally not, he’s just being an asshole.

Big hat mage scowling at armoured guy quickly, “nice going, Salient”, then glaring back at Danny. Okay so armoured guy is named Salient, weird but okay. She shoots a fire last at Danny, Danny bats it away with the spear head snickering all the while. Then the other mage hits him with a holy-blast, because of course she does, and sends him into a wall.

He absolutely dropped the spear. Damn. He wanted to add that to his collection, which sure was definitely something he wasn’t doing before the whole resurrection gone wrong crap happened and he some how wound up getting his human souls wires crossed with Hell itself. A fuck up of hellish proportions.

Him shaking off the burn and sizzle from the holy power, at least still being kinda human and alive would stop that shit from outright smiting him, just burned and hurt like a motherfucker. The biggest annoyance his holy sensitivity usually caused him was not being able to use holy based healing potions… which were the cheapest kind aka the kind his party usually used to buy. Demonic based healing potions were the shit for him though, especially since he never had to worry about them debuffing or cursing him.

Orange hair mage huffs, “damn it, that didn’t do it”, scowling, “this place has some seriously strong demons, we might have use a hearth stone if it keeps up like this”.

Danny sticks his hands out to the side, tail twitching, “or maybe! Think a little and realise I’m not from this freaking dungeon!”.

“As if we’d believe a snake tongued demon!”.

Okay that’s just rude! It took him a very long time to learn how to talk with a forked tongue and he had to put up with a lot of mocking from Tuck! He sticks his tongue out at the group before having to climb up a wall again to avoid some thunder bolts from big hat mage and an arch of fire from Salient’s sword. At least he’d learned not to throw solid objects that Danny could grab, progress; progress for them and not him specifically. A very unfortunate specific.

Danny sending out a bit of icy flames that glowed black with his demonic energy to destroy another flame arch from Salient while moving sideways across the wall, he hates this dungeon it’s too fucking hot, goddamn. Zipping up to the ceiling and smacking his claws and palms on it, sending out a powerful wave of pure cold to force the ceiling to start snowing, which of course turns into very hot burning rain by the time it gets down to ground level. The party starts screaming and ducking for cover, that was surprisingly more effective than he expected and he absolutely had not intended to basically rain down boiling demonic water on them. Oops. He figured the snow would melt but not to the point of becoming boiling hot! How much energy was his core expending just to keep him fucking cool in this goddamn hellscape?!?

Danny skittering his way across the ceiling and in-between a gap between a stalactite and the dungeon ceiling, shouting a quick, “not trying to boil ya! Sorry!”. As he goes. Maybe they’ll be too busy hiding to realise where he’s tucked himself away. That would be nice, real nice.

“What kind of demon says sorry!”.

Don’t quip back, don’t quip back, don’t quip back. He’s trying to hide and quiping will fuck that up… “MY SORRY DEMONIC ASS!”, ah goddamn it, why does he do this to himself? Unsurprisingly the stalactite his hiding above gets fucking shot at by a holy bullet. That’s… that’s not great. Those sucked to get hit by and he’d one hundred percent need to be resurrected again if that shit hits his core enough times. But hey! Maybe that would un-demon him! Stupid plan, but hey! At least it is a plan! Plus that did not work when he accidentally fell into a pit of pure holy water. That had been the worst.

The stalactite gets shot at again, this time piercing through it and skimming his shoulder; him making his lip bleed by biting down to avoid yelping. Still hissing out a, “bloody hell”, though, because he could never just shut the fuck up could he? Also, he is officially panting, because it is too fucking hot here and his breath is making a bunch of mist aka giving away his spot more than his stupid quip did. Fuck him entirely.

He’s got three options:

One: start killing adventures like a proper full demon.

Two: overheat and pass out, possibly falling into hard ground or a pool of lava only to be descended upon by adventurers who would definitely hit unconscious him with a holy attack.

Three: leave his hiding spot and start looking for cooler areas while avoiding getting hit or doing any major hitting.

Four: use a hearth stone to teleport out of the dungeon, seems like the obvious choice right? Except when Danny’s half demon ass did that he wound up in Hell every time and Sam and Tuck would have to go through the hassle of getting him back out of there. That crap always resulted in them having to track down yet another ice dungeon and use forbidden demon summoning magic. Meanwhile he’d go throwing hands with demons for however long it took his friends to get him. Not ideal.

Then it turns out that there’s actually a fifth option, a wall blowing up and sending his bullet hole riddled stalactite crashing down towards the ground and exploding in hot semi solid magma. OW! Danny sputtering and shaking himself off aggressively, “oh fuck! Bloody hell! Me damn fuck it! Stupid fucking lava dungeon! Stupid fucking adventurers! Where’s my teammates when I me damn need them!”.

“Shit since when do goddamn demons team up! We need to hurry this up!”.

Then there’s a very loud thump, Danny squinting his fucking burning eyes up at the noise, fuck yeah! It’s Tuck! Nice! The guy’s landed directly on top of the orange haired mage, pointing his fricken lightning cross bow right in her face. The Salient guy getting hurled into a wall by vines seconds later, and a few more seconds and said vines are on fire and brunt to a crisp.

The big hat mage jumping back from the newbies assaulting her group, “great, how many different kinds of demonic vermin does this dungeon have!”, her creating an explosion with electricity to make something of a smoke screen for her to grab Salient out of the hole in the wall the guy made.

But! BUT! That puts their backs to Danny, and Danny might object to killing people but he did not object to bruising them up some. Meaning he launches himself at them, grabbing the back of both of their necks, and slams them into the ground; using his tail to tie their ankles all together. He also grabs the hat mages hat with his teeth and eats the fucking thing as a probably insane looking show of superiority.

Tuck, not looking at Danny and still staring violently down at orange hair mage, “you good, Danny-man?”.

Danny growling, “I’m annoyed, burnt, and vaguely considered making y'all haul me outta hell again for dragging me to this shit ass place”.

Sam walking calmly through the destroyed wall and into where they all are, “honestly I hate this place too. My plant magic is completely useless and I wrecked my helm”.

Danny snorting, “ha! Serves you right!”, he gets elbowed in the chin by Salient for being distracted. But well, an elbow, even armoured, isn’t gonna do much to Danny, so he just growls down at the man while said elbow is being pressed up into his chin.

Tuck snorts at the scene, “I’d stop that, Danny’s an obsidian rank combat warrior”. The mage beneath him scowling, “that is a demon spawn or are you fucking blind?”.

Danny takes offence to that, demon wise he was on par with a demon lord! Not a freaking basic hell spawn! “Excuse you!”. But Tuck laughs at Danny’s expense, “that’s what you get for never fighting back, moron”. Danny sticks his tongue out at the guy.

Sam shaking her head as she walks over to Danny, “seriously, if they attacked you first who cares if you hurt them”, grabbing the unconscious ex-hat mage out from Danny’s grasp, shit he hadn’t actually realized he’d knocked her out. Whoops. Sam pointing a finger at Salient, whose elbow is still pressed into Danny’s chin, “you wouldn���t be holding your own for shit if Danny took you seriously”.

“Pfft, I could take him”.

The orange hair mage snapping, “are you serious right now?! You are literally being pinned down you idiot!”.

Danny nodding, “glad we’re on the same page on that”; rolling his shoulders as he can feel some of the burning healing itself, he’d be healing a hell of a lot faster if he wasn’t in this damn hot lava dungeon though.

Tuck rolling his eyes before staring down at the orange hair mage, “look. Danny’s an adventure, he literally has a license on him right now. The only reason he’s in this dungeon is ‘cause we heard there was some bomb ass equipment in here, same as you guys probably”.

Sam laughing a bit meanly as she gives the ex-gay mage a healing potion since Danny probably gave her a concussion, “Danny’s not a ‘hell spawn’ he’s a fucked up resurrection spell gone wrong”.

Salient snorting, “prove it! And how the Hell did that happen?”. Danny snickers, “hell happened”; Tuck moving his crossbow out of orange hair mages face specifically to shoot Danny with it.

“Ow! You jerk!”.

Unfortunately orange hair takes that opportunity to blast Tuck nearly point blank in the stomach with a holy blast, sending him smashing up into the ceiling. Oh Hell fucking no, attacking Danny was one thing, he was a demon-looking mother fucker and could take hits like a champ; attacking his friends was a whole ass nother matter. At least Sam catches Tuck with some vines as he starts falling down from the ceiling and Tuck wasn’t knocked out by the attack.

Still though. Danny is none too impressed. And he refuses to tolerate a repeat of that, so just as the orange haired friend hurting asshat gets herself up off of the ground Danny lets himself loose more than a little bit. Limbs extending, spines pulling up out of his upper back and shoulders, second set of kudu horns extending out, ribs cracking and expanding through and over his torso skin to settle into a bigger form, that stupid gharial crocodile skull boiling and forming out of and off of his head; him all but shoving orange hair back into the ground and pinning her there with a single hand. Slamming the other hand down near her face, using a foot to keep the Salient guy pinned. Danny snarling, snout opening right over the mages face, “shoot at me all you want but you don’t get to hurt what’s mine”.

Tuck’s shaking off all that holy power, grumbling about stupid trigger happy adventurers as if he wasn’t one himself and stomps over to fucking shoot orange hair in the face with some sand; her unable to do anything about it because of Danny.

Salient muttering, “holy fucking shit, goddamn”. While Sam stops over to him, Sam smacking Danny’s ankle, “give over your license, you demonic horror”. Danny huffing out an icy breath in orange hairs face, moving his tail to use the many little quill hair spines on it to grab out his license from his torso inside his ribs, slipping it into her hands, “thank you”, she shoves the license in the probable warriors face, “see? Adventurer. You really think Clementine would approve him without goddamn checking him and his bullshit out?”.

He grunts from under Danny’s foot, “fair ‘nough. You tryin’ to crush me here?”.

Danny huffing another icy breath, “maybe”. Sam smacks his ankle again so Danny, with a shrug, lifts up his foot and lets the guy up. Danny thinks some mild crushing is totally deserved in this case, even if that was maybe influenced by these guys hurting his friends and making him feel all possessive and shit. Demon crap could be so annoying; being in this hot ass place only making it more annoying.

Salient rolls over and sits up, rolling his shoulders, “ow yeah, definitely not a spawn, damn”, eyeing himself over, “aw man, you cracked my shoulder pad. License doesn’t look fake though so”, looking up at Danny, “bad ass ability though”.

Danny tilts his skull head at the guy before looking back down to orange hair, “you gonna keep trying to annihilate me?”.

“You’re a demon”.

“And?”, lifting the hand that isn’t pinning her and waving it around dismissively, “it’s only a by half thing anyway”.

Tuck chuckling down at her, “need I point out that Danny could absolutely just crush you right now? Yeah, okay, so he’s sorta a demon, and sorta dead and not dead, but he’s not confined to a dungeon or Hell and he’s an adventurer. adventurers run into weird shit all the time, it’s not his fault he is the weird shit”. The girl glares but sighs, clearly giving up, so Danny basically forces himself to compact, puffing icy steam everywhere. Tuck grinning, “so dramatic”.

Danny pointing a normal standard human length clawed finger in the guys face, “hey, if there’s one thing I do well, besides confusing people and myself, it is dramatics”; if he was gonna be stuck as some weird dead but not dead, from the afterlife Hell but not from Hell, then he can be an overdramatic asshole about it.

Orange hair gets up immediately and moves over to the still unconscious ex-hat mage, muttering, “good, they didn’t poison her or anything. Damn demon worshipers”. Oh for fucks sake, was it really that hard to understand that he was a good guy and just a weird but typical adventurer? Ugh. Plus! He’s definitely a higher rank than her, so rude.

Salient standing up and shaking himself off, shouting at his teammate, “Lily good?”; nice, Danny’s got another name.

Orange hair sighs, “yeah. They didn’t do anything to her besides knock her out”. Oh everyone’s a critic.

Danny rolling his eyes and huffing, “you say that like you guys weren’t trying to fucking destroy me. Again, you gonna keep doing that shit? ‘Cause I’m positive all three of us outrank you guys, we just don’t exactly want to start having to fucking kill people just because people keep thinking I’m a me damned dungeon monster”.

Sam shaking her head and moving to be over by Tuck and Danny, “at least they didn’t think you were the dungeon boss this time”.

“Oh Hell that had been such a pain”.

Salient chuckles and looks at him, “you make a lot of ‘Hell’ comments and shit”.

Danny shrugging with a smirk, “hey if I’ve gotta be slightly, vaguely, hell bound then I might as well take the piss outta it”.

Orange hair glaring at Salient, “seriously? You’re making friendly with it now?”.

Danny pouts, “hey, rude much”. While Sam and Tuck laugh at him meanly.

Salient shoves her, “chill, aren’t adventurers supposed to at least try to get along. At least he’s not another psycho paladin who's just using his god as an excuse to commit way too much murder”.

Danny’s entire little party nodding, “yeah fuck paladins”. Earning them a scowl from orange hair, “we all know why you demon-lovers wouldn’t like paladins”.

Then Lily groans a little, sitting up and holding her head, “well at least I’m alive”.

Danny snorting, “yeah I have a thing against committing murder”.

“That is the strangest thing I’ve ever heard a demon say”.

Danny pouts at her. He gets that demons have a terrible rap, an earned terrible rap, but cut a guy some slack will ya? It would be so nice if he could shapeshift to look fully human, he bets that in some other universe he definitely could and he is jealous of that version of him. Stupid fucker probably got all the super sneaky useful abilities. Like being able to turn invisible or something, that would have been so useful today. Ugh.

Lily looking to her party members, “so care to explain what’s going on here?”.

“Demon dude is a legit adventurer, licensed and everything”.

Orange hair just grumbles incomprehensibly.

Sam crossing her arms at the three, “I’m Sam, platinum rank herbalist and green mage. The one with the crossbow is Tucker, silver rank earth mage and gear smith. And the half demon, that you are to stop attacking, is Danny, obsidian rank combat warrior as already mentioned; he’s also a weapons smith and death magic apprentice. Yes he’s a resurrection spell gone wrong, he did it to himself somehow, but people screw up spells all the time so whatever”.

Danny shrugging, “I mean, typically they don’t screw up so impressively they fuck up half their genetic species but yeah”; Sam swats him one, expertly avoiding the horns.

Salient snorts, “you’re a death magic apprentice and you made your self half dead? WOW you suck”.

“Hey!”, Danny puts a hand to his chest, “technically it’s useful, this way I can actually go to one of the death planes now without slowly dying”.

Lily shakes her head disbelievingly, “ridiculous and inane”, gesturing at herself, “Lily, steel rank lightning high mage”, gesturing at Salient, “Salient, silver rank knight”, gesturing at orange hair, “Gemine, iron rank white mage and apprentice priestess”. Tilting her head, “why is an obsidian with a platinum and a silver? He’s three and four ranks above you two respectively?”.

Danny waves her off immediately, “eh, I was gold before the demon shit fucked my shit up. And I am the leader so it’s not that odd”. Sam nodding, “if anything it’s weirder that an iron is travelling with a silver”.

Gemine scowling, muttering to herself, “of course the demon is the leader, disgusting”. Lily cuffs her over the head, making the girl pout. Lily nodding, “demons are more powerful than the living so I suppose that is logical, and a lower rank priestess will best any higher rank warrior”, glancing around, “where’s my hat?”.

Sam and Tuck stare at Danny judgingly, him rubbing his neck, “I ate it?”; it was a heat of the moment thing okay! He makes really dumb decision when he’s put on the spot!

Salient nodding with a smirk, “yeah, it was pretty weird”.

Danny pouting, “I’m not paying you back for it”, twitching, “and can we get the fuck out of this hot ass place already?”, looking at Sam and Tuck, “if you found nothing good I’m gonna be so annoyed”. Sam rolling her eyes and digging in her bag, pulling out a little unassigned demon core. Yum! Him brightening up immediately, “oh nice! This was so worth getting shot by holy bullets!”.

“Danny!”.

“Dude what!”.

Danny grabbing the core and biting into it, much to the disgust of his unwitting onlookers, “eh it was just a shoulder nick and I am literally covered in lava and holy light burns so that’s kinda not what I’m focused on”. Basically dumping the demonic energy down his gullet with a happy purr.

Salient pulling a face, “wow that is disgusting, awesome”. Lily sighs tiredly before gesturing at Danny’s party, “so are we good to just go our separate ways?”. Danny’s down for that, his burns were healing much better now even if he was still hot as hell.

Sam crossing her arms, “depends on if you’re going to keep harassing Danny”; Danny’s just content to lick his chops in demonic satisfaction. Gemine pouting, “I won’t be able to vanquish him so fine, I won’t”.

Danny giving her a thumbs up, “that’s the spirit, now let’s get the hell outta this furnace before my core decides I deserve to over heat”. Sam and Tuck roll their eyes at him and laugh, Tuck patting his shoulder as they all turn to wander off to the exit. The other party of adventurers awkwardly heading deeper into the dungeon.

Danny stretching a little, going all demon always made him feel like his bones were all fucked up and needed a stretching, “so find anything else?”.

“Lightning bolt in a bottle”.

“Bone dagger. Lots of bone daggers”.

“Oh and a whole ass dragon hide, it’s in the dimensional pocket”.

“We did put all the random gem stones in there too right”.

“Uh…”.

“Damn it, Tucker”.

Danny laughs to himself, shaking his head. This day was some bullshit but at least they didn’t leave empty handed, and wasn’t finding treasure and getting to throw fist-a-cuffs the whole point of being an adventurer? Even if he’d rather be beating up dungeon monsters than constantly having to duke it out with other adventurers.

---

Of course they don’t even make it a full day before running into the very same party. At least this time they’re at the adventurers guild so there’s no way he’s gonna get attacked again.

Gemine blinking at Danny, “so you actually can leave the dungeon”.

Danny rolling his eyes, “yeah it’s almost like I was telling the truth or something”. Hell, he seldom lied about shit, people just thought it was all too ridiculous to be true.

Lily looks to the desk lady, quirking an eyebrow then gesturing at the demon in the room. Juhe blinking and smiling, understanding quickly, “yes the demon is welcome here, yes he’s an adventurer, no you’re not allowed to vanquish him, and no he’s not mind controlling anyone”.

Salient chuckles, putting a hand on his hip, “wow it sounds like this happens a lot”. Tuck shaking his head, “you have no idea”; before Sam goes up to make their report to the guild master. Technically Danny’s supposed to do that, being the leader and all, but head office had a barrier around it and they refused to take it down just for Danny’s sorry ass, meaning compromises were made.

Danny nodding at the guy, “anytime we go into a dungeon and run into a party that hasn’t met me before, it turns into a fight”, rubbing his neck, “which has earned me the title of adventurers bane since I keep basically having to beat down adventurers until they give up”.

Juhe nodding, “and he helps out the enforcers sometimes, since he can be quite the intimidating presence”.

“Boo, having a demonic aura isn’t my fault, and if just a simple demonic aura is enough to scare someone they probably shouldn’t be an adventurer”.

“You forget most adventurers do gathering quests and less dangerous dungeons”.

“Pah!”.

“You also forget that your demonic aura is that of a demon lord not a simple spawn or lesser demon”.

Danny’s only response to that is a pout.

Lily had been about to go up and make her own report, one foot stopping in midair, “that one is… a demon lord?”, and looks very concerned at Danny. While Salient grins to himself, “sweet, I got to fight a demon lord. Man that’s cool”.

Danny blinks, shrugging, “I was a wee bit miffed about suddenly being very literally in hell one time, not the time I fucked my resurrection up, and went demon killing happy. Two might have been demon lords and one was definitely a death god”.

All three look at him in shock, horror, or looking just plan impressed in Salient’s case. Lily shaking her head, “alright, you very well could have annihilated us”.

Johe glancing at some paperwork, “you three are silver, steel, and iron? Yes, you would not have stood a chance if taken seriously by him. He’s officially listed as obsidian, but he’s closer to iridium, which still stands as our highest class”.

Danny blushing, “aw shucks”.

“Don’t you ‘aw shucks’ me, if you’re that flattered then stop leaving your tail quills in the lobby wall”.

“Hey! It has a mind of its own”.

“It’s still attached to you, ain’t it?”.

Danny pouts at her, tail twitching near the ground, he’s half tempted to stab the wall with it just to be petty. He did petty very very well after all.

Lily shakes herself before finally going up to give her report; Danny absolutely hearing Sam whisper a threat at her, “Danny’s a lot nicer than the rest of us, don’t pull that shit with him again or else I won’t hesitate using a mind vine to make you break your party members”, as they pass in the stairway. He makes a point to roll his eyes disappointedly at her when she makes it down fully.

His friends were great but so over protective and possessive of him, it was nice but also a pain. She rolls her eyes right back at him as the three of them head out, waving bye to Salient and Gamine as more of a form of pleasantries than genuine fond fair-wells or whatever. They ain’t friends and weren’t gonna suddenly become them, something Danny was frankly fully uninterested in. He had his Sam and Tuck and was definitely not interested in sharing them.

End.

Prompts: Fantasy/rpg setting. Danny died, but the resurrection spell went wrong, and now he’s trapped as something not quite dead but not fully alive either. Not that he’d ever let that stop him from becoming an adventurer, even if he does get mistaken as a resident dungeon monster by other adventuring parties every now and then… Demon!au

[gingerlurk]

Lovers' Crest | Chapter 10: The Confessional

Din Djarin x f!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: Din takes care of you. And you both expose more of yourselves than you intend.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, slow burn, non-canon (the Razor Crest never gets destroyed, it also gets upgraded with a cabin), canon-typical violence, eventual smut/filth, post season 3, more blood and injuries, but we’re healing. Reader is upset about being blinded. Anxiety attack described. Involuntary(ish) voyeurism. Deeply earnest.

A/N: As promised, some tender stuff. Thank you for spending your time with these two characters that I have fallen hard for.

--

A low groan signals you’re coming to. Thank the Worlds, Din thinks, and leans up to give reassurance.

‘Hey, y—’

You give a panicked shriek, confusion and terror lacing your voice as you thrash your head from side to side. Two fists pummel at Din’s chest as he tries to hold your convulsing figure. You arch your back before trying to lurch upwards.

‘Sssh, sshh, it’s okay, it’s okay,’ he urges. ‘You’re okay.’

‘Get off me!’ you snarl. ‘I’ll fucking kill you.’ Hands seek out pressure points, jabbing into Din’s armour and making you yelp in pain. Your sudden movement causes the seal on your middle to tear open, blood bubbles from the wound.

‘Listen, gods listen! You have to stop.’ He says your name. ‘You’re with me.’

You’re weakened from the freeze, so he catches hold of your fingers easily, stopping your attempts at needling him. He holds your hands away from him as gently as he can. You just start whispering no, no, no in a voice so forlorn Din trembles.

‘Cyar’ika…’ he speaks over your pleas. ‘Cyar’ika, please. It’s me. It’s Din.’

He murmurs reassurances as you slowly come to stillness, just your chest rising and falling a little too fast and your eyes darting back and forth.

‘Wha—Din?’ you ask.

‘Mando, I mean,’ he swallows, tightens his hands on yours just a little. ‘Din is… Din is my actual name. Din Djarin. And you’re on the Crest. You’re safe.’

‘Oh. Din Djarin,’ you whisper. He’ll save thinking about how that makes him feel for later.

You pause.

‘Why’s it dark?’

‘That is--’ he sighs. ‘Do you remember being put into the carbon freeze?’

Din let’s go of your hands as you raise them to your eyes, moving them in front of your vision. ‘I’m blind.’ He hears the tears pressing on your words.

‘It will not last.’

‘I’ve heard—’

‘On old ships with off-market tech and tainted carbonite – this was a Class H job. And your eyes were closed when you went in, shielding them from the worst of it. Your sight will return, I swear.’

You start to lower your hands and then give a pained groan.

‘Oh fuck, everything hurts.’

‘We will deal with it, cyar’ika. Just be brave for a little longer.’

--

‘I will count from three, okay?’ 

‘Yup, okay.’ 

‘Three, two, now…’ A hiss and a sizzling sound fills the air. You swear you’re being sawed in half.

‘Fuuuck!’ Your hand flies up and lands a vice grip on the first thing in reach, a warm firm mass that jolts under your palm.

The Mandalorian grunts and shifts forward slightly, draws the smoking device across your shredded muscle. It knits and seals across itself as the laser moves.

‘Easy, I have you. Almost there.’

You hiss an affirmative and screw your sightless eyes shut against tears, huffing deep breaths and sinking your nails into whatever you’re holding onto.

‘There,’ he murmurs, lifting his hands away and capping the nozzle, fumbling it a little.

The pain in your side eases fast. You blow the air from your lungs and sigh out a small, frazzled laugh. You flex your hand a bit against the strain of gripping so tightly and freeze. Your hand. Your hand clenching against the hard muscle of Din’s thigh.

You hold in surprise for another moment, stretching your fingers to feel the thickness of his leg. It flexes slightly. You come back to yourself in a rush.

‘Sorry!’ You pull your hand away and hold it across your forehead, wiping sweaty strands of hair back and forth before bringing it to cover your mouth, burning with embarrassment. 

He says nothing. You feel movement and hear rustling for a moment. Then a rip and whoosh sound that must be a cleanser sponge filling with disinfectant. A cool, soft sensation moves over your stomach. Din is gently working the blood and gore off of your torso, dabbing at the area around the now cauterised wound with care.

You lay in silence for a while, long enough that you start to pay attention to the touch of his fingers on your stomach. He’s using one hand to wipe at the dried blood and fluids, while the other rests lightly just below your ribs, holding you steady. They are so incredibly soft and large. When the cleanser sticks on a stubborn spot, his hand keeps going for a moment and fingers ghost across your hip. The sensation sparks a welling of emotion not just made of a sudden arousal but every ounce of fear and longing and panic that led to this moment.

A strained sob bursts out of you.

He freezes. ‘Sorry. I hurt you.’

‘No, no it’s alright,’ you let your tears go, what’s the point of holding it in. ‘Just, just feeling like such a damsel, yet again.’

Din gets a new cleanser and continues his ministrations on your body.

‘What do you mean?’ he asks, rubbing at the stubborn spot carefully.

‘Like, ugh, that prison camp, and then the Estate, and now all of this,’ you motion with an arm up and down yourself. ‘You just, needing to rescue me over and over.’

Oh, and there it is. ‘Shit. Why would you even keep putting up with me?’

The motions on your torso stop. But the hands don’t leave your body. For a man of few if almost no words most of the time, in this moment you feel like he is gathering himself to say many. After a beat, he continues to work on cleaning you up. Then he speaks.

‘At the prison, you will remember I had been tasked with your safe retrieval, by any means necessary. Jobs like that are tricky: you need to do a lot of violence to many while keeping one specific person unharmed. So, with jobs like that, I prepare. I was scoping your prison escort for some time with a cambot. Watching them, and watching you. Getting a read so that when I went in, I could act efficiently. 

‘It was when they took a detour that I decided to act early.’

You hiss in a breath as you remember those four guards, deciding to try to play with you just because they thought that they could.

‘I was still watching the cambot as I moved to ambush, and then I saw you. A deadly look on your face, and—’ He picks up both your hands and you suck in air. Cooling fingers move your right hand so it’s rigid and flat, fingers together, then your left so it is held in a fist, heel tightly set against the opposite palm. Mindful of your shoulder, he holds your hands so your elbows are in a V in front of you before releasing them.

It’s a familiar posture to you.

‘I saw you do this. It meant nothing to me at the time, but now I know it as your readying stance. You were preparing to fight them yourself. All four, and you believed you were alone.’

He chuckles softly. It’s like music. ‘And later, when we encountered those six other guards—’

‘There were five guards,’ you interrupt, falling into his trap.

‘There were six. And I never did figure out what you did with the sixth one.’

Your turn to laugh, though it’s still strained. You rub at drying tears. 

‘I stuffed ‘em in a garbage unit in the wall.’

A genuine laugh from behind the visor makes your body break out in a wave of goosebumps, from the tip of your head to every one of your toes.

‘Anyway,’ he continues, ‘You will not convince me that you would not have found a way out of that cursed place yourself. I am just satisfied to have helped expedite the procedure.’

You can’t help the smile spreading across your face. 

He seems to be done with your midriff. A moment of rustling and tearing again and then the cool softness is on your face. Right, that’s covered in blood too. Not yours. The smile drops and you shiver.

‘Okay?’ He says, like it’s his touch doing it.

‘Yeah, okay. Just, remembering.’

‘Do you want to talk about it?’

‘Not yet.’

You think you hear him nod. Even though that makes no sense.

‘Then the Estate,’ he carries on. ‘Well, I was already about to go find you when the perimeter sirens screamed to life. I was sitting at that overpriced bar and—’ He stops himself for a second. ‘And thought a proper goodbye was in order at least, at least for Grogu.’

The coolness swipes across your bottom lip and your mouth falls open a little. It’s involuntary, of course. It just feels so nice. But Din pauses. You think you hear a modulated raspy exhale, but it’s too quiet for you to be sure. The soft pressure leaves your mouth and returns near your temple. You let your lips press together and lean a little toward his efforts.

‘Then they declared invasion,’ Din carries on, but you would swear on your life his voice has dropped not a small amount. ‘And well, what state did I find you in there?’

You smirk at the definitely unintentional phrasing. He is not referring to finding you half naked and sweaty. Ass almost on display. Chest heaving while throwing yourself into his arms. 

‘Flipping a reaper across your back with barely any effort and strangling him with the scraps of your gown.’ Din’s voice is full of amusement. ‘Again, I just expedited what you already had handled.’

He strokes your cheek. ‘You have always had it handled.’

You don’t bother informing him that you were scared out of your mind that night. That you felt so fucking vulnerable with nothing but chiffon and dainty bracelets as your armour. You had felt anger, and betrayal, and a desperate loneliness borne of knowing you couldn’t trust your own family. And when you had seen him, gods, when you’d seen him it was like salvation itself. You felt then that you would never choose to leave him again.

‘And this time,’ he says. He seems to be done with his treatment of you. You hear another packet torn open and something layered across your abdomen, covering the site of the injury. It tightens into a firm seal. He pulls back. You feel suddenly too cold with the absence of his touch. ‘This time you—’ He makes a choking sound, releases a shaky breath, and stills. 

Is he… crying? Nah, unlikely.

All in a rush, he says, ‘You were only in that hellhole because of me. Because of what I wanted. Up until the very last second you did everything to get that beskar off that ship. And I did not do a single thing right.’

He stands and you hear him take several steps back. 

‘I have dealt with your injuries. You should rest now and, when you are ready, make use of the fresher.’ He moves to the door, collects something from the end of the bed.

‘I will stay close if you need anything.’

And then he’s gone and you lay there, raising one hand to your middle and the other to your face. 

It’s obvious Mando – no, Din, Din Djarin – did a good job getting the worst of the gore off you. But you feel sticky and itchy from head to toe anyway. Rest would be easier once you’d been able to scrub yourself all over.

Having faith in the plaster seal over your stab wound and only gingerly feeling a twinge in your shoulder, you decide to head for the fresher. Getting there blind isn’t that hard, round the foot of the bed and straight on. You shuffle your feet through the mess of discarded medical paraphernalia littering the floor on your way. Pawing at the door jam, you reach out and find the switch for the overhead jet, nudging it to your usual warmth dial. Then you feel about yourself, easing the shredded tunic over your head and letting the remnants of your under-singlet fall to the floor. Topless, you unbuckle and push your bottoms down.

Stepping into the warm jet stream is the most heavenly thing you’ve felt since Mando’s – Din’s – hands were on your body.

--

He fiddles uselessly with the power input. Why is he even doing this when you could fix it yourself in the blink of an eye. He’s just biding time, dithering while he collects himself.

He said way too much in there. She’s going to put it all together, he thinks. She claimed she couldn’t read him but that was never true. And now she’ll know everything. Every single thought, rotating in neon light across his chrome skull.

How could she feel comfortable on his ship then? Why would she stay?

And, after all that, he hadn’t even apologised.

The sun is setting low and he starts to feel an eagerness to check on Grogu. His son is still in a deep slumber, and he would hate to disturb him, but seeing the child’s face would bring Din great comfort right now. Just pop open the hatch and take a look, you should check on him, he performed a miracle.  

He strides up the ramp into the hold and turns toward the sleeping quarters, feet locking to the floor and body set alight such as to melt his beskar to his bones.

You.

You, standing under a spray of water, uninjured arm raised to your hair and the other holding your middle. Head tilted back into the stream, and everything, everything laid out before him. Breasts holding him in trance, those legs he’s traced over every inch with his gaze rising in a luscious curve to an apex of coy curls. You twist your face into the spray and bare your ass to him. He almost dies a little death.

Some part of his brain stays lucid enough to smack a hand to the control panel by the entry, tapping the door seals so that the cabin’s slides closed with a soft hiss. The Mandalorian spins and strides into the forested terrain, looking for a secluded spot.

--

The hushed seal of the cabin door hits your ears over the white noise of the jet. Through the very pleasant haze in which you’d let yourself indulge, you process the meaning of that sound.

Oh fuck, was the door left open? You think back, a little frantic. Din left, you lay in darkness for a while – darkness borne of your carbonite damaged eyes. Decided to get clean. Felt your way in here. Was relaxing into a not entirely licit vision. Did he close the door when he left, or leave it open? 

He left it open so he would be nearby. To look out for you.

You cringe.

This is just what you bloody needed. After being so pathetic and vulnerable, and hearing him speak so highly of you, you go and strip naked with the door wide open and make a fool of yourself. You’ve probably traumatised the poor man.

No longer taking your time, you scrub yourself from head to toe. Just get it over with. A deep fatigue has started to prick at the sides of your mind anyway – you figure letting yourself pass out as soon as possible will help quench the searing embarrassment some.

As you dress in fresh clothes and collapse back onto the bed, you do notice slight shades of light and shadow dance across your vision. Taking reassurance in that, you close your eyes and let yourself sink.

After what feels like days of sleep, it is hunger and stiff joints that urge you out of the cabin. You squint through blurry eyesight, feeling comforted by the fuzzy shapes of crates and webbing that make up the hold. Early morning light casts white fronds across the familiar space.

Empty.

Palming around until laying hands on a meal kit, you sit in the opening of the ship and let the cool air of wherever you are wash over you. 

As you eat, sleep fading and mind becoming alert, something starts to scratch at the base of your skull. You flex your neck some, but the scratch claws up into your mind’s eye. Dim, murky memories edge in. As if underwater, you hear shouts and stomping boots, laughter and sneering rage. A hot rush in your mouth. A bolt of impossible pain at your side. Then, black.

Your injury burns; it throbs in time with your thumping heart. Rising panic constricts your breathing. You’re going to die, a dull thing inside you roars.

But you’ve been here before, so you plant your hands on the cool ship floor and breathe. Once locked in on the hard unyielding sensation, you turn your face toward the sun, visualising the rays casting out the shadowy recollections. 

They’re just memories. Here you are, safe now. It is a chant to your mind and body.

While focused so deeply on quelling your anxiety, something entirely unrelated to your experience onboard the treasury presses in on your consciousness. It is gentle and undemanding, but somehow frightening. You’ve felt it before. You felt it in a dank tunnel while struggling for your life. You felt it on the treasury when sweet, desperate Grogu’s face had flared inside you and you saw for a single moment a bright vision of him and Din, aboard the Razor Crest and some few parsecs away.

You let the presence soak your fears and repel the hungry inner beast roaring at you that you’re dying. It dissolves steadily as you breathe. Once done, whatever the thing is seems content to slide back, retreat to where you can’t sense it. 

After a moment, you open your eyes again and continue to eat.

Fussing with the kit disposal for more time than necessary, you scold yourself for dallying and shuffle through the hold, touching random objects and sections of wall for balance. Stepping into the cockpit feels more like breaching a threshold than usual.

Grogu spots you and hops into your arms, cooing and purring. You murmur at him that you’re alright, you’re glad to see him, how is he feeling today…

Din is in his chair, scrolling up nav data steadily. He doesn’t turn.

‘Hey,’ you give up weakly, leaning just inside the hatch. Still doesn’t turn.

‘Morning,’ he says, voice croaky with disuse.

‘How long did I sleep?’ It’s as good a thing to say as any.

‘A little over a day.’

‘Oh.’

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Better. Eyesight is improving.’

‘That is good.’

‘Uh huh.’

Grogu looks between you as you set him down again, making tiny questioning sounds. You shrug your good shoulder, knock your feet and click your tongue, glance about the space. The awkwardness may do what your anxiety attack could not and kill you anyway. 

But, thank gods, Din stands and moves around his chair. He pauses by the passenger seat you don’t usually occupy and you finally notice it. 

The satchel. 

You straighten up. Din lays a tender hand on the cache of beskar.

‘I have not adequately thanked you for bringing this into my possession,’ he whispers. You move closer to hear him. ‘In fact, adequate thanks are impossible.’

‘You don’t have t—’

‘But I assure you, I will never forget this. And I will find some way to make recompense.’

‘You don’t have t—'

He barrels over you.

‘I need to bring this back to my people. It must be returned to the clans.’

Despite everything, you can’t stop your brain from envisioning him dumping you somewhere so he can get back to his actual life, without you.

‘We will take a few days for your wounds to improve, restock supplies, let the kid stretch his legs some more.’ He hasn’t clocked into your rising panic. ‘Then, we will go to Mandalore.’

Your heart pounds and you tell it to calm the fuck down.

‘We?’ you say. He turns to you.

‘Of course.’ 

You pause, questioning whether you should even try to clarify.

‘Um, D- Din?’ He gives you his ‘I’m listening’ tilt.

‘While we were at the Estate, I uh- I took the chance to look up some about, about your people… and,’ you stutter, 'and, along with learning about beskar, it was my understanding the whole deal with your… your like, home world and your- your Coverts was just that. It was that.’

Spit it out, dummy.

‘Covert. Secret. Like, super intensely secret. No outsiders,’ you swoop a hand. Din doesn’t even pause.

‘You are the reason this sacred resource will be in the hands of the Mandalorians again. I will ensure you are welcomed. I will make them see you. This is the Way.’ His words melt into you like so much starlight. 

He makes a ‘that settles that’ motion and turns back to his post. 

You hesitate for a moment before dropping into your seat behind him, legs gone. You’re going to Mandalore. To his people. Your heart is now tumbling around your chest, not all in excitement.

--

Prev | Next

Sorry about the shower trope – it’s a problematic fave of mine.

[spectrum-spectre]

Sorry if this is completely out of nowhere but: Steddie Soulmate AU where your soulmark appears when you realize you're in love with your soulmate. Eddie gets his when he sees Steve kill the demobat and doesn't mention it bc he figures it's unrequited and Steve's soulmark is for Nancy. Steve gets his soulmark when he realizes Eddie put himself in mortal danger to protect Dustin and panics trying to save Eddie so they can have a chance to be together.

I'm honored that you sent this to me <333

this is my first writing ask so I hope i don't disappoint (slight angst incoming but dw!!!)

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Eddie doesn't believe in soul mates; at least, not at first. He thinks the whole "soul mark" thing is some weird fluke, a genetic anomaly that scientists just haven't put a name to yet. The thought that your love for another person could never be enough compared to the mere idea of their "perfect partner?" That you could be happily married with a child you care about, but one day your spouse is suddenly in love with someone else? It's what tore his family apart.

He was 13 years old, see, when his good-for-nothing father met a lady he claimed was his soul mate. He left Eddie and his Mama in the dust, never to be seen or heard from again. His Mama didn't take it well, drank herself to sleep every night and let him fend for himself. Until one day she just... didn't wake up.

It was then and there he decided this whole soul mate thing was bullshit. He moved in with his uncle, his only family left on his Mama's side. He never met his father's side, which was probably for the best. Eddie wore his anger like armour, never letting anyone close enough to possibly break his heart like his Mama's did.

Enter stage right: Steve fucking Harrington.

He's so perfect it's infuriating. Who gave him the right to actually be a decent guy?? He already has the looks and the charm of a living Greek God, he shouldn't be allowed to be nice!

Eddie knew he was screwed the moment Steve threw his sweater at him on the boat. He could already feel the beginnings of a heartache: his pulse speeding up, his breath catching in his throat, the painfully strong urge for a cig to take the edge off. He figured, "hey, why the hell not? I'm probably gonna die anyway, might as well give in to the moment while I can," and wrapped up his flashlight. No need to be embarrassed over a crush if you're dead. It only got worse.

Seeing Steve get pulled under was like getting a tooth ripped out-fucking torturous. Suddenly you're left with a big empty wound that aches to have that missing piece returned to its rightful place, exposed nerves crying out for comfort and protection against the elements.

He could not have been less prepared for the sight he was about to see. Steve aka "The King" aka "The Hair" Harrington, beating a demon-bat thing to a pulp, taking a bite out of it, and spitting out the blood. He is so, so fucked.

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I'll do a part two soon!! It just turned midnight and this is all I could do for right now but I hope you like it!!! Next part will be about Steve >:D

lemme know if you'd like to be tagged!

❤️ 💙 💜 💖 💗 💘

edit: part two is out NOW!!!

[acupofsolacemoved]

Okay so some stuff that stood out to me on my 100th rewatch of the new trailer (because the other 99 times i was just freaking out about getting a narrator and grover being actually perfect)

HES LOOKING AT A STATUE OF PERSEUS!!!! THE GUY HE'S NAMED AFTER!!!!!!!!! HOLDING MEDUSA'S HEAD!!!

assuming this is mrs dodds i'm actually really sad they didn't give her her leather jacket :( i would have LOVED her aesthetic as it's described in the books

She looks absolutely amazing here though no notes

LOOK AT OLYMPUS!!!! don't care about zeus(i'm sure he'll do a great job portraying zeus he has the vibes already) THIS IS THE BEGINNING OLYMPUS CAN YOU IMAGINE IT WHEN ANNABETH IS DONE WITH IT????

obviously the armour isn't Quite accurate (like the shields should be bigger) but it LOOKS REALLY GOOD!!!! LOOK AT THOSE BABIES!!!!

the quality is SHIT but LOOK AT THISS!!! actually tearing up the cute little arrows pointing you to the different cabins!! the cabins themselves!!!!! the black one with the red banners is Ares and I really like the vibes tbh, i do wonder what the other cabins look like if zeus, poseidon and ares are all tall temple like and the apollo cabin is significantly different in style

GETTEM PERCY!!!!!

SO MUCH JUDGEMENT IN TEN FRAMES. ANNABETH MY BABY I LOVE YOU SO MUCH

omg i cannot wait for this scene if that's poseidon that's so fucking funny wtf

THIS IS A LOT SCARIER THAN I IMAGINED IT I CAN GET BEHIND THIS HELL YEA

THEM JUST STANDING THERE JUST LOOKING AS ARES DRIVES OFF LMAOOO

i'm so intrigued what changes have they made to the tunnel of love cause there are OBVIOUSLY some changes. that's neither a chariot nor a love tunnel ride i need ANSWERS

are we not getting a chimera? kinda hope we are but can't imagine them not showing it in the trailer?

Just the whole minataur scene is insane actually i'm so excited for it i have no words i'm speechless with excitement

[unlucky-corvid]

A very warm welcome home. cayde-6 x guardian reader

so here it is. the utter utter filth that came from my brain. there is a plot....if you squint, and turn your head sideways. who am I kidding this is just straight porn. i have no idea if this is decent, enjoy. reader is AFAB with female pronouns.

also a thank you to @melissadiamond for helping keep me sane while I wrote this

this is basically unedited, i will go back at some point and make corrections.

Enjoy xoxox

warning: NSFW below the cut, nothing of a violent or gory nature but, as expected, lots of sex, unprotected sex, its just sex. and some swearing. 18+. any interactions without an 18+ age in their bio WILL be blocked.

NSFW BELOW THE CUT. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, YOU WILL BE BLOCKED

It had been long. So long. The mission had gone south leaving Cayde abandoned in the ass crack of nowhere in the freezing cold with nothing but his sparrow, his ghost, and the most awful rations. When help finally arrived, he slumped back in the seat of the ship that he had been, quite unceremoniously, hoisted into by the guardians that had come to get him after receiving his SOS signal. His optics flicker off as he tilts his head back, still vaguely aware of the goings on around him but relaxing as the heat seeps back into his body. He could think of only one thing, the same thing that had been on his mind since he left for that shit show of a mission.

You.

Your smile, your eyes, how soft your hands were when you let them wander him without restraint, your lips on his neck, how hot and tight and wet you were around him as you fucked yourself silly on his-

“Cayde!” A voice snaps him out of his daydreams, he jumps slightly, optics flickering back to life, and he sits bolt upright. Glancing down he was glad his cloak had settled across his lap; he didn’t need to see it to know just how hard he was.

“You good?” the guardian that had woken him, Marcus, he thinks their name was, looks at him with concern.

“Uh, y-yeah. Yeah, I'm okay just uh… systems still heating up from being in the cold so long. Gets me a little sluggish you know” he bluffs, semi convincingly as he subtly readjusts himself in his armour before standing. Nice save, Cayde he thinks giving himself a mental smack on the head.

The ship had come to a stop in the hangar, the bay doors opening letting in a rush of chilling air. The hangar was as busy as usual, ships coming and going, guardians bustling around and throwing themselves off the edge only to be revived seconds later by ghosts with seemingly unending patience... So, the usual. None of that interests him though. The only thing he wanted-no NEEDED was you. And like a hound with a scent, he found you.

“Cayde!” you call out, voice filled with relief and happiness to see him safe again. Your voice was like a balm to his weary soul.

“Hey sugar” he smiles, wrapping his arms around you.

“Shit, cayde! You’re freezing” you hiss but don’t let go, holding him closer as if urging your heat into his body. “Hey, let's get you to that little ramen place you love. We can get your stomach filled with some actual food and warm you- “

“No!” cayde interrupts you with surprising desperation, his face buried in your hair. “No. Home I want to go home please”

It takes you a second, then as you shift in his arms it hits you…or rather it presses against your stomach. Oh…ooooooh. You can’t help the chuckle that escapes you. “Okay, cowboy let's get you…warmed up” you purr, gently pulling him towards the hanger doors. He follows, of course, like a desperate, obedient puppy having a treat dangled in front of it.

It doesn’t take long to arrive at Caydes apartment, it takes even less time for cayde to have you pressed up against the door, hips grinding against yours as he presses his face into the crook of your neck, already panting, puffs of hot air sending goosebumps across your body.

“Been so lonely, doll. So cold on that god-forsaken planet. All I could think about was you. Please. Please don’t deny me tonight” he mutters, voice laden with a desperation you had never heard from the exo before.

“I've got you, sweetheart, let's move to the- “

“no” he interrupts you once again. “Now. need you now, please. Waited 2 fuckin’ weeks I ain't waiting any longer” he pants, gloved hands snaking underneath your shirt. You don’t even remember him taking your stir off until his mouth is kissing and licking down your chest. He bites down on the soft skin above your collarbone.

“Cayde!” you gasp, scolding him in sheer surprise, not able to see the blossoming red and purple mark on your skin. He normally isn’t so bitey so soon.

“The one I left’s nearly gone” he mumbles, licking over the almost totally faded hickey he had marked you with before leaving on his mission. You can't help but think back to that night, how he had you bent over every surface in the apartment that would take your combined weight until your legs couldn’t hold you up, and even then, he had you in his arms bent in half against the wall until he couldn’t give any more.

He begins to move lower, leaving a trail of kisses and bites in his wake before reaching your breasts. “fuck” he mutters under his breath, one hand moving up from your waist to cup your right breast, his other holding you to him tightly. “Missed these” he sighs before licking a long stripe across your left nipple. He can't hold back the whiney groan that escapes his throat before he latches on. One hand toying with your right breast as he kisses and licks at the other, all while moaning. You had never seen him like this before, so desperate, needy so…. loud. “Taste so good. Better than any food. Need to consume your doll, please. Please, can I?” he's on his knees now, looking up at you with a face of desperation you'll be seeing in your wet dreams for weeks.

His hands move to your pants. You'll be there forever if you let him try to remove your clothes but the pathetic whine that he emits when you gently bat his hands away causes you to freeze, heart rate picking up. He’s so impatient, face already buried between your thighs, your pants still firmly around your hips as he nuzzles up to your clothed crotch.

“Did you miss me like I missed you?” he mumbles, muffled by the material of your pants. “Smell so good. Are you wet for me, doll? Yeah,” you can't help but gasp when you feel his thick tongue lick a strip up your clothed cunt. That was the last straw for your self-control, so much for feeding him a hot meal and getting him rested in bed.

With swift determination you unbuckle your pants, pushing his head away you resist looking at his face knowing he's giving you that kicked puppy expression as you yank them down along with your soaked panties. Your whole body jolts as his hands push your hips, pinning you to the door as his face dives in between your legs.

No teasing touches, no playful taunting, not even the few seconds he usually takes to spread your petals and admire the wet mess he’s made you before diving in. just sheer and unadulterated desperation.

“Fuck yes” he whines, slight static lacing his voice, though you barely notice over the sound of the sudden moan he rips from your lungs. His tongue went straight to your clit, lapping up the wetness that had accumulated in the short span between there and meeting him at the hanger. “Fuuuuuuck, dreamed of this, dreamed of your sweet cunt every fucking day I was away. Starved without you” he moans, not stopping his dedicated worship between your legs with his tongue.

“wider” he mumbles, pushing your legs further apart, giving him access to your tight entrance. His tongue is there immediately, the long blue appendage promptly diving inside. His hand, still clad in leather gloves, moves his thumb in clumsy desperation to toy with your clit. You clenched around the long blue appendage that was lapping up everything you had to give, ripping a long moan from the panting exo that was knelt below you. His tongue pushes in and out as far as he can get it, which surprises you every time he does, it never looked that long. You're just as loud, gasping and panting, hands on his shoulders as you struggle to keep your legs from giving out.

You look down, the view almost makes you cum alone. Caydes eyes are almost completely closed, looking up at you. The tent in his pants makes your mouth water, the large bulge begging to be released, a faint orange glow matching his oral cavity lights shining through the fabric. As fucking divine as having him worship between your legs was, you knew what he needed. And you were going to give it to him.

Your hand gently wraps around the horn on his forehead, and you can feel him fight against you as you try to pull his head away from your crotch. He finally relents and sits back on his heels looking up at you. He was a mess, cloak hood pushed back, mouth agape and panting with your juices all over his chin. He doesn’t bother wiping his mouth as he stares up at you, pleadingly “Why? Why did you stop me? Please, i-I need…I need- “

This time you interrupt him “I know what you need, come on. Bed now”. With a quick and obedient nod, he's back on his feet, and pulling you to the bedroom, you just about make it without falling over.

When did he remove his armour? You don’t care and don’t have the time to care as he's picking you up and putting you on the bed. Before he can resume his assault on your sopping heat you get a cruel idea. You stop him, pushing him back into a kneeling position. He gives you that kicked-puppy look again and you almost let him continue.

Almost.

You lay back on the pillows and appreciate the view in front of you. Cayde knelt before you and was completely bare. Is chest heaved with each ragged breath, you swore you could see steam exit his mouth with each heave. You let your eyes travel lower, to the source of his desperation. You missed that sight. At its widest circumference, it's about the girth of your wrist, the shaft swells in the centre and tapers towards the tip and hilt before swelling widely again at the base. The shaft was 2 colours, a deep blue panel of silicone beneath the tip, then the rest of the shaft is comprised of black silicone. Running up the sides was a see-through panel allowing the warm orange optics to shine through. The tip was a soft pastel blue, swollen and leaking more pre than you’d ever seen before. It made your mouth water.

“Doll, I-I can't take you starin’ at me like that. Do somethin’ I'm begging you” he his pants softly, snapping you out of your gazing.

That’s when a devious idea enters your brain. You lie back and spread your legs, making sure cayde gets a view of everything. His eyes are fixed on your slick entrance as you trail a hand between your legs and gently rub light circles on your clit, a soft gasp slipping through your lips as your back arches slightly. He squirms in place; he had cottoned onto your plan.

“Baby don’t do this please” he begs. Begs. That was a first, and you intended to get many more out of him that night.

“What?” you ask with faux innocence as you slowly slip a finger inside yourself “So wet” you moan softly, knowing it was only adding to the poor exos torture. “Is this what you want?”

“Yes!” Cayde doesn’t care how desperate he sounds anymore; he was so hard it hurt. He didn’t know how much pre he had leaked but the small puddle forming between his legs on the bed sheets spoke loudly of how much he needed you. “Been 2 long weeks, too long. I need- I need you, need anything. I’ll do anything, I’ll do all my paperwork, I’ll do all the housework I’ll do anything sweetie just-fuck-just let me fuck you”

His words head straight to your pussy, and you can feel yourself tighten around your finger. You're no way stretched enough to take the monster cayde calls a dick inside you, but for him, you would. You pat the bed beside you “Lie down, let me take care of you”

He eagerly lays down on his back, eyes watching you eagerly. You wrap your hand around his length, and he hisses, head rolling back as you slowly stroke the shaft, drenched in his own pre cum. His hips buck up needly into your hand “M-more, m-more need more. Please baby, i-I can't wait- i-I won't last want to be inside you” he babbles desperately.

You shift forward, your legs on either side of his hips as you grind your hips down onto his painfully hard erection. He shoots forward sitting up, gripping your hips, pressing his face into your shoulder. He wasn’t even inside you yet and he was on the verge of whimpering. You slowly shift your hips back and forth, your wetness mixing with his seemingly unending amount of pre, pulling moan after moan from his throat. They were unrestrained, filled with static.

“Fuck! Please, please stop teasing me, love” he hasps, his fingers digging into your hips. They were definitely going to leave bruises, but you know your ghost could heal them…not that you would want it to.

“Beg” you smirk. He freezes momentarily.

“What?”

“You heard me, sweetie, beg” you purr, slowing down the movement of your hips to a tortuous pace.

“Please, doll. Been thinking of you since I left 2 weeks ago, has been hard since I left. Couldn’t do jack shit about it, left without you for so fucking long. Thought about how fuckin hot and wet and tight you are, please baby, doll, sweetheart, just stop damn teasing me” he whines, flopping back onto the bed, looking up at you, eyes wide.

You finally take mercy on him, lifting your hips and lining him up with your entrance. You can see him struggling with his self-control, trying not to force himself up into you. You sink down onto the head, the bulbous tip was a painful stretch in the most delectable way, made even better by the debouched groan that manages to find its way through the static of Caydes voice synthesiser. “So fucking tight” he growls “just like I imagined-no-better”

You take your time, slowly sinking onto his shaft, wincing slightly when you reach the wider point at the centre. You feel so full, so delightfully stuffed and you're only halfway down. You try and pace yourself but it's hard when the exo whose dick is half sheathed in your cunt is a squirming mess of broken whines and barely distinguishable begs. You reach the final hurdle, the swollen base of his cock, almost knot like and you drop your hips, arching your back as your ass finally settles on his hips.  “So fucking big” you groan, leaning back onto your hands which were rested on his thighs. You can feel the faux muscles, taught like a coiled spring.

His eyes are fixed on where his cock disappears up inside you, and his fingers reach out, trembling to trace the dull orange glow that reaches just below your belly button. His fingers lower to play with your clit causing you to get impossibly tighter. His optics stutter on and off as his head lolls back “t-traveller above, you're so damn t-tight!”

After a second to adjust, you drag your hips up before dropping them back down, his grip on your hips tightens, and you can see the tension in his jaw, every slow rise and slam down onto his cock causes a ripple effect, static increase g in his voice, optics flickering on and off in rapid blinks. Despite how loud his broken words and moans are, the wet slapping of your cunt on his cock can be heard.

You continue your tortuously slow movements, relishing in the way he’s, stuffing you full in a way that feels like he was moulded to fit you. “f̴̻̪̺̮͍̰̹̰͓̈́̃̅̿̄̽̋̕͝͝-̸̡̜̭̰̅̚͠f̶̻̣̜̋͛̀͋̉a̷̡̤̖̱̥̱̅̆́̂̄͘s̷͎̤͗̎̄́͒̓̋̈́͋̕t̵̗̖̥̰̤͎͈̊̆̄́̍́͝e̵̢̞̦̝̜̻͋͌͆ͅr̷̨͉͉̹͌͊̈́̽̈͛̓͑͝,̵̡̥̗̖̈́͂̿͠ ̵̡̯̫̜̰̾̉͑̐̏͑̚͝ͅ sweet girl please ,̵̻̫͕̘́ ̸̗̞͒͝p̵̭̗̪̤͙̪̯̺͓̳̈́͒̃l̶̳̮͖̰̪͈̈̂͜͝ͅẽ̸̛͙̗̈́̋̋́̇a̷̖͚̠͍͌͜ş̷̧̫̠̭̼͖͈̥̾̒̽̂̍͋͐̓͘ḙ̵̢̝͓͚̥͍̄̑̐̇͂̕ ̸̧̞̖̤̮̻̠͐̄ faster̶̙̖̙̎̊̎̍̚” he begs, his voice becoming more and more filled with static. His hands grip your hips with urgency as he tries to buck up into you, each time he does, you still your movements earning yourself groans of frustration.

“Aww what's wrong, Hunter Vanguard? You a little pent u-AHH!” your teasing him is the straw that broke the camel's back. His feet plant onto the bed and he flips the pair of you with a growl. The next thing you know you're on your back beneath him, he's still sheathed in you to the hilt.

“that's it. If you won’t give me what I need, I'll take it,” he growls before pulling out till just the tip remains inside you before slamming back into the hilt, starting a brutal pace. His hips slam into your own with bruising vigour, his face buried into your neck. Between his static-filled moans in your ear and the sound of his body slamming into your own, you can barely hear your own cries of pleasure. Overwhelmed by the sheer pleasure that blurred with pain you grip onto his shoulder, legs spreading wider to accommodate his hips and allow him deeper.

“Thought you could get away with t-t- t̶͈͖̺̿̅̒̾͂̎͑ě̵̛͇͉̲̊̉́̚͜a̵̢̝͈̙͉̫͚̐̃̓̾́͐͜ŝ̶̯̥͍̳̠̻̖͙́̍̌͒̕ḭ̷̹̮̟͙̣̲̘̲̭͌̒͗̑́͂̒͐͘̚n̶̰̓̈̆͗̇͌̉̕g̴̡̛̛͛-teasing me? After I've been away from you for so long?” he growls, each word punctuated with a thrust. “Think I could resist this sweet cunt?” his smirk falters, smug voice devolving into a desperate moan. He shifts his hips slightly, his tip finding the spot inside you that makes your toes curl. Your core tenses, a familiar feeling building up like an elastic band being pulled tighter and tighter. “You're close, aren’t you? cum for me, sweetie. Cum all over this cock, show me how much you missed me” he pants, pace not faltering once.

You feel the tension snap, your vision going white as your back arches, and you clench around him as you reach your climax. He fucks you through your orgasm, he grabs one of your legs, pulling it onto his shoulder allowing him to hit a whole new angle. You can’t find words, it's like you can feel him in your chest, each thrust pushing the air out of your lungs.  

Every touch, every caress sets your skin on fire, looking up at cayde his optics flicker on and off, his face is tensed, jaw clenched with determined desperation. Everything was becoming too much, too good. You were so overstimulated, but he was not slowing down. “s-sorr-sorr-sorry” he moans “can’t s- s̵̢̠͔̘̤͓̲͕̍͆͌̏̂͝͝ţ̷̳̮̳̙͖̋̋́̈́̾̈̚̕͠ò̸̡̖̣̜͖͙͍̪̥͆͂̄͘p̶͓̟͔̣̬̞̘̆̎͂̀͋̂̉-stop”. His movements become more frantic, pace becoming less fluid and more unrestrained.

He drops your leg, bending over as he continues pounding into you, he holds you close, littering your neck and chest in hickies, kissing, and licking each one as moans turn into frantic whimpers. “Please, please so close so close. So perfect so tight so hot. Mine p̶̡̳̪̬̯͔̗̆͌̈͋̉̂̿͜͝͝l̶̨͔͇͍̫̏ĕ̸̳̰̭̖͕͌͂͌̅͌̈̋̊̂â̸̢̲̯͕͓̬̻̄͠ş̴͖̐͆̈̇͛̐́͝͠e̴̛͓̎͌̽́͑̊̆͆͝-please” he grips you hips as his rhythm stutters.

“inside-p-please ins-s-s-s-inside” his whole system was beginning to glitch, optics blinking, the lights in his throats, also glitching out as his voice was barely audible over the static. You nod eagerly, body covered in a sheen of sweat, as you pant and moan beneath him, trying to move your hips back onto his time with his rushed thrusts.

The nod is all the conformation he needs, thrusts becoming harder and more eager. “f-f- f̶͈͙̳̻̙͓̤͈̿͋̀̈́̏́͜u̶̯̖̔̓̏̌̅́̉̚c̷̝̉̇̈́̀͛̊̇̚k̵̨̞̩͉͙̻̲̐͊̓̔̒̉̃̀͌͝-fuck i-i-I lo-love you! G-go-gonna fffffill you” he whimpers “make y-y-you so f-full. B-be leakin’ o-out for d- ḑ̸̧̛̩͕̤̬͔̫͈̟̅̋̑̀̓͛͠ă̸̬̠̥̱̪̼͑̈́́y̶̧̙̰͚̝̪̳̍s̴̲͉͖̦͙͎̀̋̃͜͝-days”. You wrap your legs round his hips and tats all it took to push him over the edge. A desperate whimper rips from his throat, it becomes a staticky whine as he thrusts one final time. His whole body trembles, his cock twitching as he spills into you, painting your inside with his cum, leaking out of you around his cock due to the sheer volume as he completely stuffs you.

His body suddenly slumps onto you, you can hear his internal systems whirring loudly, his optics off and body still. You muster as much energy as you can to gently place a hand on his head which was face first in your neck.

“c-cayde? ” you mumble. A groan comes from him as his optics slowly flicker to life. “you okay?” you ask him softly.

He says nothing but nods. The pair of you hiss as he pulls out of you, his body flops beside you as he pulls you into him, arms around your middle.

“Miss you” he manages to mumble out, static finally starting to leave his voice. “don’t wanna be that far away from you again, doll”. You nod in agreement, aching body seeking his, it had been too long. Between your legs aches in the best way, you can feel the remnants of his seed leaking out of you but at this point, you're too tired to care, you can clean up later.  

You're not sure which of the two of you fell asleep first, but it's cayde who wakes you, carrying you to the bathroom where the bath slowly fills with soapy water.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, sweet pea” he chuckles, “let's get you cleaned up, I ordered us dinner, least I can do for that welcome home.”

[willsimpforanyone]

Hii, can o request Nico do Angelo X gn child of Aphrodite?

i can absolutely do that

obviously nonbinary/people outside the gender binary do not owe anyone androgyny but i am projecting because i want to be androgynous lmao

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

nico likes to think of himself as resistant to the conventional prettiness of the aphrodite cabin

listen, everyone has a little bias against the aphrodite kids because there's still this bullshit about them only caring about their looks

and you do care about how you look, sure

in the 'how carefully can i balance the line between masculine and feminine' kind of way

he literally stumbles over his own feet when he first sees you

i mean he's seen you around camp before but he's never actually *seen* you before

he panic and vanished into shadows before you can see him

he can only think of going to annabeth

(listen i love the idea that annabeth becomes an older sister for nico the boy deserves to have someone protect him for once)

she sits him down, stops him hyperventilating, and asks him what the problem is

he can only wave his hands around and say 'pretty??!?!??!?'

when she finally gets the truth out of him

she laughs for a full minute

'oh neeks you are such a disaster gay'

he folds in on himself and mutters something about 'no i'm not they're just real pretty it's probably some aphrodite magic or some bullshit like that'

annabeth is quick to reassure him that she's not laughing at him like that

but does gently explain that maybe he should try talking to you

nico almost dismisses that idea outright but promises annabeth to at least try

it takes 3 days for him to hype himself up to go talk to you

he puts on his biggest blackest jacket as armour and stalks across the camp to where you're reading under a tree

he almost stops when you look up at him with eyes decorated with intricate eyeliner he's sure must've taken ages to do

fuck you're so pretty okay

there's an awkward 10 seconds

'...you wanna sit down?'

nico sits on the grass immediately

'uh, hey.'

you tilt your head, aware that you'll probably have to lead this conversation

you introduce yourself with your name and ask for his

the poor kid stumbles over 'nico'

'hey nico, my pronouns are they/them, what's yours?'

he blinks, but gives a tiny smile

'...he/him, thanks for asking'

you grin and he feels a flame smouldering in his chest

'no problem, you wanna read with me?'

he finds himself nodding

from a spot hidden in the forest, annabeth grins as she watches the two of you

'good going, neeks'

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

nico is just cute okay i love him

thank you for requesting!!

[kvetchinglyneurotic]

ok i just finished season 1 of daredevil and i will have articulate things to say about it at some point but for now here's the stream of consciousness notes i took while i was watching:

-I like Jack Murdock as a portrayal of a loving but flawed parent — like he clearly cares for Matt so much and he’s doing his best but there’s some parts of a “normal” childhood he just doesn’t really have the resources to provide. That being said being stupidly self-sacrificial clearly runs in the family. Just take the dive and collect your money my guy 

-“you shouldn’t be sneaking around at night you could get hurt”/ “we need to do this within the legal system” Matthew you fucking hypocrite (affectionate)

-weirdly fascinated by the way Fisk & co. translate for their sketchy group meeting that always seem to take place in abandoned parking garages, especially with how Wesley gives the general idea of what they’re saying instead of a direct translation — ok update i suspected this was because Fisk actually understood what everyone was saying and I was right!

-I like Foggy but I disagree with him about the purpose of a defense attorney — he wants to represent people who aren’t guilty/were justified in what they did but everyone deserves representation even if they 100% did the thing and were 100% wrong in doing so 

-Honestly probably worked out better for Matt that Stick was only around for a couple of years at the most. Also symbolic that he left before teaching Matt to use knives — Matt never fully goes down the road of lethal force (I mean some of the things he does definitely would kill people in real life but in real life he’d also be dead so it evens out) or fully cuts off the people he cares about. Also are they implying that the reason Matt doesn’t permanently have broken ribs and/or major blood loss that he meditates? I mean suspension of disbelief obviously but that is. very funny 

-Fisk is, on the one hand, very detail-oriented, but he’s also impulsive and emotionally reactive, so he has to come up with plans to cover for it. Also I feel like his and Wesley’s relationship is going to implode at some point. Or one of them (probably Wesley since Fisk is like. the main villain) is going to die

-are they sponsored by Dell 

-obviously I know why they do this for cinematic reasons but it’s very funny that in-universe Fisk gives his entire speech in 1x08 without actually saying his name until he dramatically announces at the end. Although maybe that’s just for dramatic effect and in-universe he's just repeating it? Also don’t throw your computer Matt you have no money 

-Matt’s smug little smile when Karen says the man in the mask looks badass flipping around :3 

-“the whole wounded, handsome duck thing” 

-i love how much they dwell on the actual implications of finding out your friend is secretly a vigilante/has had superpowers the entire time you’ve known each other, and that knowing they go out at night to beat people up, even if it’s for the “right” reasons, would still be alarming 

-actually not bad on the nighttime colour-grading front! I can see what’s happening which is better than most shows 

-I appreciate that there’s an actual plot about/explanation of how Matt gets his body armour 

-Wow who could have guessed leaving the gun in the middle of the table was a bad idea. I kind of liked Wesley but honestly what a dumbass way to die. Do admire the bluff though “you don’t really believe I’d put a loaded gun where you could reach it?” 

-love the approach to superhero realism here — not necessarily in the abilities or the way the plot is constructed (although that’s good, too) but in the characters’ reactions (Foggy finding out about Matt; Karen when she kills Wesley, Fisk when he finds out Wesley is dead) 

-“I thought your days of being relevant were past” ouch 

-reasons Wilson Fisk is evil: murder, drug dealing, doesn’t like cat videos 

-I do like that Fisk kind of gets the power of friendship thing though? But like it makes him worse 

-I’m very much not the most qualified to make this judgement and I’d want to check what people who actually *are* in a position to judge have to say about it, but I feel like this show has a bit of an… orientalism problem, I guess? But orientalism that also includes Russians, and also I know this is partly an extension of her being a very minor character but Doris (Ben Urich’s wife) is the only character who seems like she’s *only* there to like. encourage others through her wise words and doesn’t have much of an internal life of her own (besides the priest I guess but I feel like with priests that’s kind of their job) 

-Did Foggy not go to Ben’s funeral? 

-Fisk is also going to kill Leland. Maybe stop killing all your allies Fisk 

-I think it’s cute that Matt still holds onto Foggy’s arm when they’re walking even when it’s just the two of them and Foggy already knows that he doesn’t need to do it 

-Why does Marvel keep naming wise mentor figures who die Ben? Matt and Peter Parker should make a club (is Ben Urich in the comics? I haven't read the comics)

-“while actively being arrested” has got to win some sort of award for worst marriage proposal but I guess I admire that he just went for it? 

-Ominously large number of minutes left in this episode after the seeming resolution 

-Matt’s dumbass little horns <3

-Fisk: “You think one man in a silly little costume will make a difference?” bro *you* thought one man in a silly little costume would make a difference when you were the one man. Also I hope the silly little costume protects Matt from blunt force trauma 

-I’m honestly still not entirely sure how/if Nelson & Murdock actually made any money

-I feel like that bit near the beginning where Karen and Matt both have secrets and Foggy’s like “I wish I had a secret” describes their dynamic basically

[lastlymatt]

Hii hope you're having a great day!! I was writing a fic and then realized that I would need to know things about what happened on Malta, actually, and I have never read past Snakehead and i have no recollection of that particular book anyways. Fun!!

Uh. So what I was trying to say was what book do we find out abt all the Malta stuff in? Thank you!! :3

(I hope this isn't a bother ahaha I just figured you'd. know)

Hi! I am and I hope you're having a great day too!

So all of the Malta stuff happens in Snakehead, and we only get Ash's perspective on it. But Mrs Jones also gives us the gist of it

“You’d have to ask Alan Blunt,” she said. “That was his operation. You know it was all a setup. John Rider—your father—was pretending to work for Scorpia, and we had to get him back. We set up a fake ambush in a place called Mdina, but it all went wrong. Ash was nearly killed, and shortly after that he left the service. That’s all I can tell you.”

According to Ash, John had enough of Scorpia and MI6 and wanted a normal life with his wife and child. The setup in Malta was meant to extract him without arousing Julia's or the rest of the Scorpia board's suspicion.

John and Yassen were supposed to kill a man named Caxero in a square opposite a cathedral. Ash was in charge of the operation and led nine men. The plan was to let Yassen escape so he'd report back to Scorpia.

They carried real ammunition and wore concealed body armour because Yassen might notice the difference between real bullets and blanks, and while John wouldn't be shooting at them, Yassen would.

Ash, however, immediately fucks up and looks at the wrong cathedral clock, which was five minutes behind, and his men weren't in place yet.

Yassen saw him come out from his cover, fired, and hit him in the chest. Ash immediately stood up, alerting Yassen that he was wearing body armour.

John immediately got cornered and "surrendered" while three others chased Yassen. Yassen, however, didn't run very far and instead gunned down four of Ash's men.

Ash chased after him after removing his armour. Yassen waited for him and caught Ash. After interrogating him, he learned he was MI6. Ash only noticed he'd been stabbed after Yassen left.

This is a summary of what happened. Ash tells everything from his perspective in chapter 12.

As far as I know, the events of Malta and Mdina are only mentioned in Snakehead, and Yassen doesn't mention them in Russian Roulette.

I hope this helps 😅

Good luck with your fic! I'd love to hear when it's finished

[livealittleoc-cb]

"If you thought the Peloponnesian War was bad just wait till you see what comes after."

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.: Ares [Aiden King]

⋆｡°✩ Greek God of War && the Spirit of Battle

⋆｡°✩ He is a model && is apart of a band

⋆｡°✩ He has 5 bunnies && 1 hamster:

Harlequin Rabbit Lop named Jade

Havana Rabbit named Shadow

Netherland Dwarf Rabbit named Angel

English Spot named Bean

Holland Lop Bunny named Brownie

Roborovski Hamster named Cheese

⋆｡°✩ In "human" form he's from Sydney, Australia, in Astria he's from Notriabia [Thrace, Greece]

⋆｡°✩ He/They | Bisexual, Monogamous | 23 [Human Years], is as old as War itself | 1/19 [Aquarius] | 6'0"

⋆｡°✩He is:

cold, mean, uninterested when first met

really soft, cuddlely && friendly when you get to know him

a hot head

easily irritated && angered

will punch a bitch if you mess with the people he cares about/his animals

God Information / Form Stuff

⋆｡°✩ he feeds off of war, battles, && fights to keep his strength

⋆｡°✩ regualr fights does so much && he has to feed off of actual big wars

⋆｡°✩ battle grounds are his homeland

⋆｡°✩ he tends to keep his energy up by going to the gym, his tired of years of war && has been weakened from lack of war within the realms

⋆｡°✩ when he feeds his eyes turn ruby red

⋆｡°✩ as a god he can smell && sense emotions well but the smell/sensation of anger is the strongest he can depict

⋆｡°✩ he has more strength then a normal human && stronger then other gods

⋆｡°✩ he can change his "human" apperance [height, eye color, hair color, etc.]

⋆｡°✩ each god has a human name they go by, his is Aiden

⋆｡°✩ in his god form he is a lot taller...even though he's already really tall-

⋆｡°✩ he can get up to around 7'0"

⋆｡°✩ in his god form he has fully red && black eyes, he carries a sword, his hair is straight && his nails are permanently painted red && black, he has one tattoo on the back of his thigh of poppies [his favorite flowers]

⋆｡°✩ in god form he wears war armour, his helmet && sandals, sometimes he'll be shirtless

⋆｡°✩ has deep noticeable scars on his shoulders, chest, back, legs && arms

⋆｡°✩ as a warrior he has high respect && humility towards royalty

⋆｡°✩ when not in astria or the human realm he resides in the olymipian realm [olympus]

⋆｡°✩ in his half && half form he is his normal 6'0", has his tattoos && piercings, his eyes are either their normal one red && one black or all red, straighter split dyed hair

Extras

⋆｡°✩ natural eye color: one blood red && one coal black

⋆｡°✩ both eyes might glow or turn redder when angered

⋆｡°✩ has a tattoo on his side [of a sword] && one of his hip [of poppies w/ the words 'peace after war']

⋆｡°✩ has an two eyebrow piercing on his left eyebrow, a lip ring, earrings, a septum piercing && hip piercings

⋆｡°✩ likes: bunnies, hamsters, rodents, piercings, tattoos, singing, playing the guitar, smoking [cigarettes, vape, weed, literally everything-]

⋆｡°✩ dislikes: people who mess with his loved ones, unneeded violence, animal hate/abuse, abuse of power

⋆｡°✩ languages: english

⋆｡°✩ he has a thick australian accent && gets thicker when he gets angry or upset

NSFW

⋆｡°✩ hard dom, might be mad submissive if put in the proper headspace; some of his kinks are oral [receiving], pet play [be his bunny~], marking [giving && receiving], breeding [giving], size kink, squirting [giving], public, impact play [giving], praise [giving && receiving], degradation/humiliation [giving], hair pulling [giving && receiving], orgasam control [giving], auralism, shibari/ropeplay [giving], rimming [giving], primal, punishment [giving], nicknames [being called daddy or sir] [giving && receiving], hosiery ; open to having an fuck buddy [buddies] if his partners are okay with it

⋆｡°✩ hard nos: feet, watersports, wasteplay

⋆｡°✩ he tends to be more of a brat tamer

⋆｡°✩ if his partner wants him to sub he might be open to it if he is in the right headspace

⋆｡°✩ he's open to most kinks

⋆｡°✩ both his eyes turn a coal black when he is arroused

⋆｡°✩ safe word: dagger

⋆｡°✩ uses 🗡️ on dash

Relationship Statuses

⋆｡°✩ at home with his love preparing for a trip && extremely happy

⋆｡°✩ taken and happily dating @monsterhigh-cb Hyunjin [beautiful prince💍👑] [might take an extra partner if his partner is okay with it]

⋆｡°✩ friends:

⋆｡°✩ children:

Tags

⋆｡°✩ relationship tag(s): #💛❤️‍🔥hyunres [mummy prince ship tag], #🩹👑your majesty [mummy prince ship tag], #🍬🍭suagr lips [mummy prince ship tag]

⋆｡°✩ friend tag(s):

⋆｡°✩ music tag(s):

⋆｡°✩ inspo tag(s):

⋆｡°✩ other tag(s):

faceclaim: @/yungblud on instagram && tiktok