#i finally got around to making a set with some of my favourite armour sets

[pedrito-friskito]

hey kay bb!! hope you're doing well 💖

mando has been on the brain lately so i'm requesting fluffy smut with him pls 🥺😫 (the yearning is *extra* today)

niiiiiiiiik my darling my dear hope you are also well 💗

ok…this got away from me. I blinked and suddenly a plot! exposition! SMUT! (multiple scenes at that) all the things. I’m a slut for Din Djarin and it really jumped out on this one.

(smut below the cut, a full plot, the helmet comes off, a bit of inexperienced!din, reader is kind of a bad ass, descriptions of bodies, unprotected p-in-v sex - wrap ur shit even if ur in space ok)

sleepover saturday

uncharted territory

(word count 9.1k - it REALLY got away from me okay)

gif by @aceofwhump

Then you are a Mandalorian no more.

Din Djarin aches in a way he has never felt before, much more powerful than any injury he could ever sustain. His Creed, demolished. His son, gone. His life, upended. As he staggers out of the Covert, trying to think of where to go next, he cannot shake the feeling of lost that settles around his shoulders like a cloak.

Maybe coming to Glavis was a mistake; maybe he should have stayed back on Nevarro, kept taking jobs from Karga until he finally had enough credits to take the old man’s advice, get himself a camtono full of spice and disappear into the Twi’lek healing baths until he forgot the whole thing.

The truth of it? He knew he could never forget. There wasn’t enough spice in the galaxy to help him forget it all. It wasn’t possible. And the larger part was that Din didn’t want to forget.

His leg aches as he walks. The bacta Paz had sprayed him down with had helped some, but the ache runs deep, and the drills the Armourer had forced him to run with the Darksaber had only made matters worse. He should find a place to lie down, to hide for the night before he decides what he plans to do next, where he plans to go.

Where will he go?

You are a Mandalorian no more.

The echo of the words make his head split, and for a moment, he has half a mind to wrench the helmet off, to launch it off the ring, let space swallow the beskar whole. But he stops himself; it feels as though his armour is all he has left.

His armour, and the Darksaber. The right to the throne of Mandalore.

Maker, he can’t think straight. The ache only worsens, his limp more prominent, and it gets to the point where he can take no more. He falls onto the nearest crate, his injured leg stuck straight out in front of him. His body feels twice as heavy, his head even more so, and he tips it back against the wall to lighten the load. He’ll rest just a moment, he’ll just shut his eyes for one—

“Mando?”

Din pulls his blaster from his holster as his eyes shoot open. There’s the sound of shuffled steps, something metallic hitting the floor, a murmured dank farrik! He hits a button on his vambrace, turns off the thermal setting on his visor.

“Sweets?”

You look exactly the same as he remembers. It’s been ages, but he could never forget your face. He knows what’s underneath your clothes, too, and the memory speeds to the surface of his mind faster than a pod-racer.

+

Before he had an in with Peli on Tatooine, the Razor Crest routinely parked and tuned up in Hangar 3-5, he had you. You were well-known within the Guild, had more than a few contracts with different gangs and hunters in the galaxy. If something on a ship broke, you were the one to fix it, and you had enough heavily-armed thugs on your side to make anyone think twice about trying to mess with you.

Some called you the Mechanic, simple and descriptive. Others, those you let a little closer, knew you as Sweets, a moniker earned by your penchant for candies and treats. You’d let your favoured clients off easy if they were short a few credits, but had something sweet from the far reaches of the galaxy to offer in lieu of the missing cash.

Din knew he was one of your favoured clients, perhaps your favourite. Or, had been. You’d crowed endlessly about the Crest, desperate to get your hands on it any time he hauled it in for service, whether it actually needed it or not. Sometimes he genuinely needed something fixed, some times he’d found some candy or sweet in a far off corner of the galaxy that he’d brought back just for you.

Other times, he just wanted to see you.

You were sweet in other ways, too. He knew first-hand. And he knew he was the only client you let into your bed. He’d been drawn to you the first time you’d been introduced — a common contact between you and Din sent him your way when the Crest was in serious need of a tune-up, and you were the closest mechanic he could get to without doing more damage to the ship.

Your knowledge astounded him, to start. You were barely into a diagnostic and you knew exactly what needed to be fixed, what parts you had and didn’t, how many credits it was going to cost him. And you hadn’t even set foot on the ship yet. Your competency drove him wild, only spurred on when he brought you aboard the Crest to give the interior a once-over, eager to see if he’d kept everything original, or if you had any modifications to offer that he might be interested in. Din followed you around the ship silently, answering whatever questions you had, mostly just watching you work. It was intriguing beyond belief.

“That’s not much of a bed,” you’d commented, cocking your head to the side when you hit the button that opened the bunk. “When’s the last time you had a new mattress?”

He just shrugged.

“One thing you should know,” you said over your shoulder, descending the Crest’s ramp, heading back towards the entrance to your shop. “I don’t use droids.”

Din nearly fell over. “That’s not a problem.”

“Good,” you replied, tapping at your data pad, your brow scrunching. “It’ll take longer than your usual hangar; I do everything myself.”

“I’m happy to wait,” he said, dipping his helmet, thankful it was hiding the way he was raking his eyes over you. I don’t use droids. Had someone made you in a lab somewhere, on some backwater planet, just for him? “I know she’s in good hands.”

The grin you’d offered him was sweeter than anything he’d ever seen, and you shooed him out a moment later, muttering something about getting back to work.

When he returned three days later to retrieve his ship, he almost didn’t recognize it. You’d repainted most of the outside panels, replaced all the ones that were missing, and the engines were so shiny Din could see his helmet reflected in them. Inside the Crest was another story; you’d outfitted him with a carbonite cell system, top of the line and primed for use. That meant no more mouthy bounties, no more wasting durasteel cuffs and gags when he could just hit a button and have a quiet ride back to the Guild.

And in the bunk, a new mattress, complete with a pillow, and bolted on the wall, a mount for his helmet.

“You don’t sleep with that thing on, do you?”

“The carbonite system,” he nearly sputtered, rubbing a gloved hand over the back of his neck. “I don’t have the credits, I didn’t—”

You poked the toe of his boot with your own. “Call it a gift, Mando. Let’s just say I shouldn’t have had the thing hanging around to begin with.”

“Is that gonna cause me any problems?”

“Nope,” you replied, popping the p. “Wiped all the identification numbers from the system. No one will know where it came from. Except you.”

He stared at you a long moment. “Except me.”

He was sure to pay you in full, plus the candied flowers he’d found at one of the vendors in the markets. You’d smiled again at that, and while Din committed the sight to memory, he also promised himself that he wouldn’t let it be long before he saw your smile again.

And he kept that promise. The next time he landed the Crest in your hangar, it wasn’t because he needed a tune-up or new parts. He’d struck gold at a black market on Coruscant; his bounty had lead him into the belly of a sweet shop, and after the Gungan had been dealt with, Din did some hunting of his own. He took as many boxes as he could carry, trying to take one of each flavour, a few extra of the ones he’d seen on the shelf in your shop.

“What in Maker’s name are you doing here?” you’d called as soon as he landed, stepping out of the shop and into the hangar, your hands on your hips, cocked to one side. “You ruin my handiwork that fast?”

“Not exactly,” he’d replied, walking down the ramp, his arms laden with goodies. Your eyes had gone huge. “I come bearing gifts.”

“For me?” you cried, gasping as you took the boxes from him, tongue poking between your teeth. “Mandalorian, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were flirting with me.”

He’d never been so grateful for his helmet at that exact moment. He might have crumbled to dust if you’d seen how red his cheeks were. “I-I owed you,” he stuttered out, “for the carbonite.”

“You didn’t owe me anything,” you quipped, swaying from side to side on your feet, staring down at your treats. “I told you, it was a gift.” You gave him one of those smiles again, and Din felt his stomach twist at the glitter in your eyes. “Why don’t you stay a while? I’ll feed you and everything.”

You disappeared into the shop, and Din paused a moment before following.

He saw you disappear behind a dark curtain that had definitely seen better days, and Din followed your further to discover there was an apartment of sorts attached to the shop. Apartment was perhaps too kind a word; it was one large room, a kitchen to one side, a large futon spread in the middle. Trunks and boxes and crates stacked along the far wall, a few grease-stained jumpsuits littering the floor. You stumbled over your feet trying to pick them up, tossing the offending fabric into a nearby crate, before you turned back to him. “What are you hungry for?”

You served him first. Noodles with dark sauce and some kind of shredded meat you thought was bantha but weren’t quite sure. But, as you stated with a shrug, “it’s good, and it hasn’t killed me yet.” After you slid the bowl across the table to him, you turned back to the stove and stayed that way. After a moment, Din wasn’t sure what to do, but then your head turned slightly, your eyes trained directly to the left, not wandering towards him over your shoulder. “I won’t look. Swear.”

He lifted the helmet just enough to shovel the food into his mouth. You were right, the mystery meat was good, and the sauce you’d made to go with it was even better. He nearly inhaled the food, not wanting to keep you too long, and when the helmet slid back down, the mechanism hissing back into place, your head turned again, still not looking at him.

“You’re safe,” he said, sliding his empty bowl back across the table.

You turned fully, serving yourself, and he expected you to sit across from him, keeping a bit of distance between you, but instead, you rounded the table and plunked yourself down on the stool right beside him. You ate much slower than he had, and Din let his eyes graze over you. The streak of engine grease on your cheek, the scar that split your lower lip, the intricately messy way you wore your hair. A silver chain sat around your throat, strung with a tiny silver ring. It disappeared down the front of your shirt most of the time, but right then it sat awkwardly, the chain caught on your collar, the ring sitting in the hollow of your throat. He resisted the urge to reach out and fix it.

The jumpsuit you wore was nearly identical to the ones you’d hurriedly swiped off the floor. Torn on one knee, zipper unfurling beneath your chest, a symbol he didn’t recognize patched onto your thigh. You’d tied the sleeves around your waist like a belt, a dirty rag tucked in at your hip. The Mechanic, herself. Sweets.

He thought you were beautiful. He had a feeling you’d look beautiful in anything.

Or nothing.

Din was distracted by your thumb at your lips, swiping a drop of sauce from your chin and sucking your finger into your mouth. His flight-suit was tight beneath his beskar to begin with, and you weren’t helping matters. “So,” you said simply, reaching for your food again. “Tell me a story, Mando. A good one. Best bounty you ever caught.”

The conversation filtered between you two easily. You were a good listener, easy to talk to, and Din felt like he couldn’t stop talking to you, telling you about his first kill, his first bounty. His first ship, before the Crest. He couldn’t bring himself to tell you about the before, before the Guild, before he was just the Mandalorian, when he was just Din Djarin. A foundling. Part of him wondered what you think, what your reaction might be to his past, but a larger part forced his mouth shut.

At some point, he turned himself towards you on his stool, one arm braced on the table, the other resting on his thigh. After you finished your food, you leaned heavily on the table, your head pushed into your palm, legs crossed at your ankles, swinging slowly, the toe of your boot tapping his shin every once in a while.

He could see you were tired, the way you started covering your yawns and rubbing at your eyes. “I should go,” he said, starting to get to his feet. “You’re tired, and I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

Your hand flashed out quick — not quick enough to startle him, though — and wrapped around his wrist. You’d managed to wedge your fingers right into the space where his glove met his vambrace, and he felt you against his pulse, against his bare skin. “You don’t have to leave, Mando.”

Din. He wanted to tell you. My name is Din.

Slowly, his own hand reached out, hovering in the air, shaking more than a vibroblade. He saw your eyes trace its path, watching until it lowered, dropped until the flat of his palm met the curve of your thigh. His gloved fingers wrapped around the meat of your leg, his thumb pressing towards the inside. 

He heard you gasp. 

He moved forward an inch, and his hand moved higher, thumb riding the seam of your jumpsuit. You hummed, fingered squeezing around his wrist, and Din moved closer, until he had one leg between yours. He let his hand wander higher, listening carefully to the changes in your breathing, the hitch in your throat. The heat between your legs was almost stifling, and something feral in the back of his brain screamed for more.

Whatever snapped in him, it seemed to break in you at exactly the same time. You both shot to your feet together, and Din’s hands moved to your waist, to where your sleeves were knotted at your waist. Yours roamed his chest plate, fingers tapping along beskar until you hooked them in his cloak. He halted his own hands, ready to help you remove the fabric, but you handled it just fine on your own, finding the hidden snaps with ease.

His blood turned to flame when he felt your fingers along his throat, seeking his pulse in another spot. “You should stay,” you breathed out, your voice barely above a murmur. “Please, Mando, I want you to stay.”

He forced himself to nod, his mind now preoccupied with ripping his gloves from his hands. He needed to feel you, no barriers in between.

He needed to see you, something in him screamed, no barriers in between.

He silenced that voice before it could spur him further. Busied himself with diving his hand beneath the waist of the jumpsuit, the broken zipper catching on his wrist. You were even hotter beneath, and he sucked down a breath when he found you wet, slick coating his fingers.

Your body leaned into him, chasing his touches, and he hooked his other hand around your thigh, lifting you up and backwards onto the table. He could feel you watching, your eyes moving from his helmet down his front, to where his hand was jammed beneath the jumpsuit. He crooked one finger, testing, pressing it into you, and grinned beneath his helmet when you moaned.

Din hooked his arm under your waist, lifting you just enough that he could maneuver the jumpsuit over your hips, down your legs. His cock jolted between his legs at the sight of you bare, leaned back on the table, your chest heaving. Even though the visor, he could see how slick you were, the evidence shining on the insides of your thighs.

He wanted to taste you.

He pushed the thought away again. Another time, when he wasn’t smearing the inside of his flight-suit with precum, when you weren’t keening into his touch as he dragged his fingers against the sensitive skin between your legs, when he could turn the lights off and shed his armour, bare himself to you the same way.

You moaned again when his fingers found your clit, drawing a sloppy circle that had your muscles tensing against his hand, knees closing against his hips. “F-fuck, Mando,” you ground out, tipping your head back on your shoulders. “You’re good with those hands.” Another stuttered breath as he twisted his wrist, curling two fingers just inside your entrance, thumb stretching up to swipe over your clit. “Really good.”

He was grinning beneath the helmet again, eyes glued to your face as he pressed further, fingers threading deeper into you. He could feel everything, the twitch of your thighs, the clench of your cunt. You reached out with one hand, using the other to balance yourself, and closed it around his elbow, your fingers digging into the thick fabric so hard he was shocked your nails didn’t bite right through.

“How do you like it, Sweets?” he asked, leaning forward until he was nearly hovering over you. Your hand moved from his elbow to chest, fingers hooked in his armour. “Tell me what you need.”

Your hand moved again, this time moving straight down his front, past his waist, right between his legs. His cock throbbed as you palmed him, a cat-like grin on your lips as you tilted your head level with the visor. You leaned up slightly, pressed your lips to the beskar edge that mirrored his jaw. Another squeeze, and the slow pace of his fingers faltered, his head nearly smacking into yours. “I need this.”

Din couldn’t hold back anymore. Something in the way you stared up at him, eyes tracing over the helmet, told him you didn’t want him to.

“I like it rough.”

It all happened in one fluid motion. He pulled you closer, right off the edge of the table, and you spun in his grip, leaning forward over the table, planting your hands flat. The jumpsuit slid further towards your ankles and you arched your back, your ass grinding against his hardness, and Din groaned audibly, tilting his head towards the ceiling. Your legs spread as much as the jumpsuit would allow, and Din worked his own zipper down, freeing himself from the flight-suit. You made the most delicious noise as the tip of his cock smacked against your ass, the tip dripping with precum.

Your head turned as he took himself in hand, tapping your ass with his cock again. “Maker,” you breathed out, your eyes widening. “I knew you’d be big.”

Beneath the helmet, Din turned crimson.

He planted his other hand between your shoulders, tipping you forward. You went willingly, eyes rolling back as he pushed his hips against your ass. He could see how wet you were as you bent, slick still dripping down your thighs.

There was nothing stopping him from dropping to his knees right then and there, lifting the helmet just enough to drag his tongue through your cunt. The thought alone made his cock pulse.

But then your hand reached back, twisting in the fabric covering his hip, and he couldn’t wait any longer. He bent his knees slightly, notching himself at your entrance, and pushed inside.

The noise you let out was nearly enough to make him cum right then and there. He knew he wasn’t gonna last, and judging by the sounds you continued to make and the way you were bearing down on him, hands clenched into fists on the tabletop, he didn’t think you were either. He set a fast pace, the space filling with the slick sound of him driving in and out of you, your moans echoing each move. Din’s gaze dropped, trained on the sight of his cock disappearing to you. Your hand flapped at his hip, scrabbling for purchase, and he wrapped his fingers around your forearm, groaning when you did the same.

He was right; you didn’t last long, and neither did he. Your entire body clenched as you came, one hand slamming against the table, nails digging deep into his wrist. It spurred his own orgasm, that coil at the base of his spine snapping, and he pulled out, cumming hard across the curve of your ass.

Silence settled over the both of you as you caught your breath. Din couldn’t help himself, rubbing his bare fingers over the expanse of your back, tracing over your spine. You arched a bit into his touch, making a satisfied noise before you lifted yourself off the table. You turned to him, leaned up to press a hot kiss to his bare throat. It made him shiver.

“Think we could do that again?” you murmured, lifting a finger and dragging it along the edge of his helmet. “Maybe you take all the metal off.”

Din cleared his throat, trying to ignore the way his cock twitched, already wanting a second round. “Helmet stays on.”

You stared at him a long moment, smile on your lips. “Helmet stays on.”

+

He kept close to you after that night. He rarely took bounties that took him to further reaches of the galaxy, loathe to admit that he was always within a few parsecs of your hangar. He brought you a long-distance commlink so he could tell you when he was coming back, so you could contact him if you ever needed him. He didn’t worry about you, per se; you were more than capable of taking care of yourself, and he knew for a fact you knew how to shoot the blaster you kept holstered on your thigh when he wasn’t around.

But then the comm went quiet. He called, you didn’t answer. A lead weight formed in his stomach, and he pushed the Crest’s engines are fast as they’d go. Carefully, though — he wouldn’t dare ruin any of your handiwork.

When he landed in the hangar, the lights were all off. It didn’t help his worry, and it only grew worse as he sprinted off the Crest, heading straight for the shop door.

It was locked, but the lock was no match for his vibroblade and a bit of brute force. Inside, the space was empty. no trace of you left inside. There was no sign of a struggle, no blood smeared on the floor or the wall, but it didn’t ease his mind any. What if someone had come for you, spirited you away in the dead of night to some backwater planet? Dank farrik, what if someone had put out a bounty on you? His mind reeled, raced, chewed him up and spit him out.

He never meant to get so attached to you.

Din switched the settings on his visor, finally determining that all the footprints he could make out on the floor were your own. Then he saw it, sitting on the edge of one of the shelves in the kitchen. The commlink, perched precariously, just enough out of sight that no one else would think twice, but not Din.

He thumbed through the screen, saw the icon flashing with a recorded message. Your face lit up the screen instantly, and he stifled the way his stomach clenched. You looked…scared. Not hurt, not injured, but scared.

“Someone sold me out,” you said, your voice distorted and warped. “I can’t give you details. I can’t really tell you anything. Just know I’m going somewhere safe, and I’ll miss you, Mandalorian. Take care of yourself.”

Your eye were shiny as you reached out to cut the recording, and Din’s heart sank into his toes.

He put the commlink in his pocket, and returned to his ship.

He’d watched the message so many times the words were engraved into his brain. The change in your voice, the way you’d blinked harder the more you spoke. The way you paused in the middle, glanced over your shoulder with a shock of fear in your eyes.

And now here you are, standing in front of him, a pile of metal spilling out of a crate tucked beneath your arm, that same streak of fear in those big eyes. Eyes that have haunted him all these years. You nearly drop the crate as you crouch, your gaze zeroing in on the wound on his leg. “Maker, Mando, what the hell did you do?”

“Long story,” he groans out, wincing as you adjust his leg slightly, leaning to the side so you can get a better look. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” you reply, getting back to your feet, retrieving your crate of parts. “C’mon, let me clean you up. You look like hell.”

Din goes willingly, not sure what else to do, his mind racing from the combination of the Covert and you appearing out of nowhere. He lets you pull him slowly to his feet, tuck yourself under his arm. “Sweets,” he starts to protest, but you drag his arm around your shoulders.

“Shush,” you whisper, glancing around as you start to lead him in the opposite direction he’d been going. “Lean your weight on me.” He does as you say, nearly crumbling with relief. “There you go.”

The ache only worsens as you go, Din resisting the urge to lean his head against yours. When you finally turn him towards the door, he thinks he may topple over completely, but you’re quicker, producing a remote from your pocket. The door slides open, revealing the inside of a hangar, and you all but carry him through, discarding the crate of parts the moment you’re through, hitting the button again once you’re inside. The door slides shut, and Din lifts his head enough to look around. It looks nearly identical to your old hangar.

Then he hears a curious little beep, and looks down to see a tiny droid scurrying towards you. A BD-1 unit; he recognizes it from Peli’s, though yours is a little more rusty around the edges, the cleaner bits of metal painted grey and yellow. “Not now, Shrimp,” you grit, waving at the droid. It beeps loudly back at you, like an arguing child, and Din stifles his laugh.

“I thought you didn’t use droids,” he mumbles.

“He came with the hangar,” you reply, moving him across the hangar. Shrimp follows a few more steps before darting off, disappearing into a pile of crates. “Couldn’t bring myself to scrap him. Besides, not like he’s much help; tiny thing can’t even lift a socket wrench.”

He laughs out loud this time, and when you pull him into the shop, he laughs again, despite himself.

There’s a shelf of sweets above the workbench.

There’s no curtain between the shop and the apartment, instead another sliding door, another remote. Din lets out a low hum when he sees the apartment beyond. More than one room, furnished with actual furniture. It’s…nice. It’s really nice.

You deposit him on the couch, propping his leg up on the table in front of it. “Wait here,” you mumble, pointing a finger at him before disappearing into another room. 

He doesn’t move, but hooks his fingers into the edge of his helmet and yanks it off, depositing it on the couch beside him. He sucks down a breath of unfiltered air.

You gasp as you walk back into the room, nearly dropping the silver case in your hand. “Mando, you—”

“Din,” he says instantly, reaching down, tugging his gloves off, tossing them onto the helmet. “My name is Din Djarin.”

“Din,” you repeat, slowly, like you’re tasting his name on your tongue. The corner of your mouth quirks. “Din…Djarin.”

He just nods. You approach him carefully, like you’re walking towards an injured animal instead of a man, the silver case clutched against your chest.

“Your helmet,” you start, gesturing vaguely. A memory sparks. He told you before — not in so many words — about his Creed, his upbringing. You’d asked, and he’d answered. It wasn’t information he gave willingly. The second time he had you, when you were sprawled out completely naked on that old futon, writhing and moaning beneath him, when he’d shed almost all his beskar, felt the warmth of your body pressed up against all of him. Afterward, when you’d both been sated for the time being, you’d peered up at him from your place on his chest. “Do you ever take it off?” you asked, your voice laced with sleep.

And he’d answered.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says now, eyes darting towards the curve of silver. “I’m not a Mandalorian anymore.”

“What?” you ask, your brow furrowing. He wants to reach out, let his thumb ride the space between your eyebrows, feel it smooth over as he kisses the spot. “What does that mean?”

“It means…” He trails off. Loaded question. What does it mean? Truly? “My name is Din Djarin.”

There’s still confusion etched into your features, but you don’t question him further. Your brow doesn’t loosen, and you perch on the table.

“What’s in the case?” he asks, jutting his chin towards the silver case still in your hands.

You look at him for a long moment, eyes sweeping over his face, over his features. Like you’re committing him to memory. He’s doing the same, almost scrutinizing your face, trying to remember what it looks like without the filter of his visor, what you truly look like, with no barriers in between.

He could taste you easily now.

The thought catches him off guard, the throb between his legs a welcome change to the pulsing of the wound on his thigh. The bacta the Covert had given him has worn off almost completely, and the pain is climbing. 

“B-bacta shot,” you stutter out, shaking your head slightly as you flipped open the case. Your eyes moved to the wound on his leg, peering at the plates of beskar, the flight-suit, the discarded helmet on the couch. “That needs to be cleaned.”

Din just nods.

“Think you can walk to the bedroom?” you ask, shoving the silver case into the chest pocket of your jumpsuit. He recognizes it — the tear in the knee, the patch on your thigh. You fixed the zipper. “It’ll be easier.”

It’s slow-going, getting him back to his feet, shuffling carefully to the bedroom. You ask him if he wants to bring the helmet; he just shakes his head.

What does that mean?

Your bed is unmade, but Din barely notices. The scent of you is amplified in here, and he’s sucking down breaths like he’s been deprived of oxygen. You help him lower to the edge of the bed, and he starts on the armour. You sink to your knees in front of him, setting the bacta shot on the mattress beside him. He removes a pauldron with shaking fingers, and you’re right there to take it from him, your movements sure, setting the metal carefully onto the floor, waiting for the next piece.

“You disappeared,” he says, after more pieces of beskar have been removed, when you’ve moved onto his boots, setting them both carefully at your side.

Your brow had just smoothed out, and it pinches again. “I had to. I left you a message.”

Din pulls the zipper on his flight-suit, reaches into the pocket sewn into the lining, and produces the commlink. “I know.”

Your lips part as you look at the piece of metal, dwarfed by his hand. “You found it.”

“I did.”

Bottom lip caught between your teeth, you look back up at him through your lashes. “It wasn’t safe.”

“You’re safe now,” he says, and you reach for the bacta shot. “Tell me.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” you reply, your voice bordering on stern. “Somebody sold me out.”

“I knew that much,” Din mumbles, and you shoot him a glare.

You sigh. “Let’s just say, there were some parts in the hangar that shouldn’t have been there, someone wasn’t happy with some work I did, and then next thing I knew, there were Imps on my tail. So I disappeared.”

“You could have told me where you were going.”

You shake your head. “They were listening. Tracking every message I sent out. I couldn’t let you get roped into it too.”

“You could have gone to the Guild,” he says. He’s too distracted to notice you pull the syringe out of the case. He doesn’t see the needle until you’re pushing it into his muscle above the wound. He grits his teeth audibly, hands curling hard around the edge of the mattress. “Dank farrik.”

“Sorry.”

“I would have come for you,” he says, breath hitching in his throat as you push the plunger down. It feels like his body has been flooded with ice water, his teeth chattering for a moment before the cold turns to a woozy sort of warmth that spreads through his chest like Corellian fire whiskey. He blinks hard, slow, one eye than the other.

“Can you stand?” He nods. Or thinks he does. “The bacta will help, but I need to put a bandage on that wound, at least.” More nodding. He’s vaguely aware of you draping his arms around your neck, your arms sliding around his waist to haul him up. He plants his feet beneath him, forces his weight over his ankles. His movements are slow, languid, like he’s moving through water. You manoeuvre one arm out of his flight-suit, pushing the fabric down his shoulders, until it settles around his hips. The metallic sound of the zipper seems to echo through his brain, and he knows you’re touching his waist, moving the fabric slowly over his injured thigh. But it doesn’t hurt.

All he can feel is you.

You sit him down again, work on pulling the suit off completely. Your hands are warm, soft, gentle against his bare legs, and he nearly buries his nose in the crown of your head when you bend down. Once the flight-suit has been removed, leaving him in his boxers and undershirt, you disappear again, and Din’s not sure if it’s thirty seconds or thirty minutes.

Something cold presses against his thigh, and he flinches. “Does it hurt?” you ask instantly, and your voice is clear, then muffled, then clear again. “It shouldn’t.”

“Nuh-uh,” he slurs out. He hears you laugh, and the sound is like tinkling bells. He wants to hear it again. “Sweets.”

“Yes, Din?” Clear, muffled. His name is a song on your lips.

“You’re beautiful.”

“So are you.”

“Mesh’la,” he mumbles, and then his eyes fall shut, his body slumps back, and he thinks you laugh again. He’s not quite sure; sleep is too busy yanking him under.

+

Din wakes to the sound of running water.

He’s disoriented, confused, not sure where he is until he pushes up on his elbows, looks around, drinks in the sight of your bedroom. The memory floods back; the Covert, then the hangar, taking the helmet off, the bacta shot that knocked him out.

But more importantly: you.

He rubs the sleep from his eyes. How long was he out? He can’t be sure; there’s a window on the far side of the room, but time on Glavis is different, artificial nighttime and starlight instead of sun. His armour has been moved from the floor, neatly piled on a dresser against the wall, his boots on the floor underneath. His flight-suit is spread out on a worktable in the middle of the room, and he can see from his spot that you’ve tried to mend it, patching the spot the Darksaber had cut open with a square of fabric. It’s looks to be the same kind of material, but the colour is darker. Beneath the sheets, his leg is wrapped in cotton bandages, and there’s no sign of blood seeping to the surface.

His head turns in the direction of the noise of the water, and he pauses, waits for some kind of pain to prick through his body, but it never comes. He feels…good. Well-rested. His eyes follow the sound, and then he sees it.

The door to your bathroom is wide open, and from his spot on your bed, he can see directly into the shower. You’re inside, steam pouring over the top of the glass wall, and Din’s whole body jerks. He never forgot what you looked like naked, and it’s been a long time, but somehow it still feels like the first time. He can feel the blood rushing south, and his hands clench in the bedsheets.

He just stares, watching the water move over you, cascading down your spine, rolling in rivulets over your curves, following the lines of your body. He wants to follow them too, wants to read you like a map only he knows the key to.

Dank farrik, he’s missed you. He hadn’t realized how much.

The water shuts off, and he sees you reach for a towel, wiping your face first. He sinks back down on the bed, wondering if he should feign sleep, feeling like a kid caught doing something he’s not supposed to. But before he can— “You’re awake,” he hears you call, and looks back just as you wrap the towel around your middle. “I thought you’d be out for the night.”

Din coughs, shifting the blankets, trying to hide the tent that’s formed in his boxers. “You don’t close the door?” He doesn’t know what else to say.

You laugh. “I live alone,” you say, stepping out of the bathroom, walking towards the dresser his armour sits upon. “Force of habit.”

He clears his throat. Loudly. Pauses. “…it’s a nice view.”

Your tongue peeks between your lips as you walk over to him, still in just the towel. Your hair is still dripping, water droplets dotting your shoulders. You sink slowly onto the edge of the bed. “How do you feel?”

“G-good,” he spits out, adjusting himself, making more room for you. “Really good.”

The corner of your mouth quirks. “I’m glad. You scared me, Man—” You catch yourself. “Din.”

A drop of water splashes down from your hair, starts a path down your upper arm, and Din reaches out, catching it on his finger. You watch his hand, lips softly parted, and he continues the path, drawing his hand up and down your skin, the backs of his knuckles against your bicep.

“I wondered where you were, all these years,” you whisper. There’s longing in your voice, he notices; the same feeling sits like a weight on his chest. “I never stopped wondering.”

“I’ll tell you sometime,” he whispers back. There’s something forming in the air between you, thick like the steam that still foams from the open bathroom. Din can almost taste it, and the thought he’d had in your living room resurfaces, making him twitch beneath the sheets. He could taste you so easily now. “It’s a long story.”

The corner of your mouth quirks. “I got nothing but time.”

So does he, he realizes. He’s without a ship, without his son, without anything anchoring him to one planet or another, to any sort of path. He’d been wandering already, trying to find the Covert, and now he is unmoored once more, yet somehow managed to find his way back to your hangar.

To your bed.

His hand stops chasing water droplets, and he sees your teeth sink into your lower lip. He lowers his palm until it rests on your bare thigh, and he can feel how your skin is still hot from the shower. “I never kissed you,” he rasps. “Before.”

Your head shakes slowly, and you turn towards him more fully. The towel is loose around your chest, your hand holding it in place, and he reaches for it, slowly uncurling your fingers from the fabric, until your grip falls slack, and the towel goes with it. “You should fix that,” you murmur.

“I’m out of practice.”

Your lips twitch again. “How bad?”

“Few decades,” he says softly. “Since before I swore the Creed.”

“You were a child.”

“It was a childish kiss.” He pauses, moves his hand again, brushes dripping locks of hair from your face. “I don’t want to kiss you like that.”

“Just…” Din leans in slightly, tilts his head to the side. “Do what feels natural.” You mirror his movement, and his eyes are glued to your mouth, to the way your lips stay parted even when you’re done speaking, the way your collar lifts with shuddered breaths. He sees your hands move the towel out of the corner of his eye, pulling the fabric away from your body completely until you’re bared to him, head to toe.

You’re just as beautiful as he remembers. If not more.

The tip of his nose drags along the slope of yours, and his hand slides from your thigh to your hip. “I need you closer, Sweets,” he murmurs, and you nod against him, your foreheads tapping together. There’s a bit of shuffling, the blankets moved back, his tented boxers exposed but barely acknowledged as you climb into his lap. He revels in the way you look above him, your knees pressed either side of his hips. You’re hesitant to lower your weight onto his leg, and he guides you slow, giving you a quiet it’s okay as you settle onto him.

He doesn’t feel any pain; he just feels you.

Once you’re comfortable, your hands clutching at his shoulders, he adjusts his grip on you, palms skimming up your spine, mapping out your ribs and the curve of your ass. You make a quiet noise when he squeezes one cheek, the movement propelling you forward, making your hips roll into his, your core pushed against his hard cock. It makes him hiss with pleasure, and he slides one hand up to your hair, knotting his fingers in it and dragging your mouth down to his.

It’s not artful; he’s sure it doesn’t look pretty from the outside. There’s a lot of teeth and tongue, the fumble of hands as he tries to get you even closer. He’s sure you’ve been kissed better than this, and it makes his cheeks heat, makes him pull away, tucking his chin towards his chest. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Hey,” you say softly, your hands moving to cup his cheeks, tilting his face back up towards you. “It’s okay. Just…follow my lead?” You say it like a question, your thumbs swiping over his face, through the smatter of facial hair along his jaw. “I got you.”

Din nods, lets his lips part as you cock your head to the side, leaning in slow. You kiss his top lip and then his bottom one, giving him just enough teeth that he wants more, wants it harder. He grips your hips as you move, but your kiss stays tender, slow, your tongue a wet heat against his own. He’d dreamed of this, of kissing you, and this one — albeit the second attempt — is everything he ever imagined.

Finally, your mouth grows more insistent. He’s hard as steel between his legs, and he can feel how hot you are, your wetness spreading across his boxers with every roll of your hips. Your mouth is sweet, almost sugary, and he finds himself chuckling against your lips, still trying to get you closer. Your stomach presses to his as you wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him harder, your tongue licking into his mouth.

“Sweets,” he grinds out when you start pulling at his undershirt, insistent to get it over his head. He lets you, and when you lower your head again, your mouth moves to his throat instead, and it makes him moan. “Mesh’la, wait, please, I need—”

You pull back instantly, your eyes bright with worry. “What is it? Are you okay?”

“I want…” His eyes drop, tracing a path down your body, his throat growing dry when they land on the apex of your thighs, the glistening wetness he knows he’s caused. He lets one hand follow the path his eyes made, rubs his thumb over your clit. Your whole body shivers. “I want to taste you.”

Your eyes go big, pupils blown with lust, and Din uses your momentary shock to his advantage. He’s stronger than you, perks of the bounty hunting lifestyle, and he flips you easily with one arm around your waist, his other hand hitching your thigh over his hip. You squeak as your head hits the pillows, clinging to him until you’re laid out beneath him.

It’s his turn to kiss his way down your throat, and he does, laving his tongue against your pulse as he makes his way down your body. He pauses at your chest, moves to the side to close his lips around your nipple. It makes your back arch, a high-pitched noise falling from your mouth, and he grins against you, giving you just the edge of his teeth before he’s wandering across your chest to give the other the same attention.

You’re a writhing mess by the time he’s settled between your thighs. He can’t keep his eyes still, raking over every inch of you, trying to remember every part. He can see the muscles in your legs jump as he traces his fingers over them, the more sensitive parts of your skin making you keen.

With your legs spread, he can see everything, and his mouth waters at the sight of your wet cunt, walls fluttering around nothing as he teases you with his fingers, collecting your wetness on the tips before drawing them to his mouth.

He moans at the taste. Of course, you’re sweet. Deliciously so.

“Din,” you groan out, propping yourself up on your elbows. He can feel you watching, and his gaze flicks up to yours as he drops his jaw, lowers his mouth to you. Your eyes roll back for a moment, one hand moving to knot in his hair, and Din moans into you. His tongue explodes with the taste of you, sending shocks down his spine, making his hips rolls into the mattress, seeking relief.

Just do what feels natural, your words echo in his head. So he does. He licks into you, wide stripes with the flat of his tongue, smaller kitten licks to your clit. He can’t get enough of your taste, hooking his hands around your thighs, pulling himself deeper into you. And you guide him some, your hand in his hair an anchor of sorts, tugging slightly to get him right where you need him, a gasped oh fuck, right there! reaching his ears.

It’s not before long that you’re smacking at his shoulder, muffled moans on your lips with your teeth sunk into your lower one. He detaches from you, gets one more good look and lick in before he’s following your grip, kissing every inch of you he can reach as he makes his way back up your body.

“I need you inside me,” you slur, your hands reaching down, pushing at his boxers. His cock springs up against his stomach and he groans, the sound growing louder when you wrap your fingers around him. “Please, Din, I want to cum on your cock.”

It’s a miracle he doesn’t cum right then and there, hearing your words turn filthy. And filthier still as he hauls himself over you, plants one elbow beside your head, looks between you, reaches down to line himself up and—

Freezes.

He can feel your eyes on his face, features pinched with anticipation. Your hands have found homes along his ribs, fingers tapping out rhythmless patterns. Hips lifting, you must see something in his expression, because you move a hand to his chin, lifting his eyes to yours again. “Din,” you say, and a shiver shoots down his spine again at the way his name sounds on your lips. “It’s okay. We can stop, if you need to.”

“No!” he nearly shouts, and feels himself flush, lowering himself slightly, careful not to drop all his weight on you. “No, that’s not what I…I don’t…”

“Don’t what?” you murmur. Your voice is quiet, understanding. You give a soft laugh. “I know you’re not a virgin, but if you don’t want to, it’s okay, I won’t say any—”

“It’s not that,” he cuts you off, petting his hand over your still-damp hair. “I want to. I want you. It’s just that…” He chews at his lip. “No one’s ever seen my face, while we…when I…”

Realization slides through your features. “Oh.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t have to look,” you say quickly, skimming your knuckles along his cheek. “I can turn over, if you like, if that’s easier than—”

“No,” he says, not a shout this time, but firmer. “I want you to see, Sweets.” He drops his chin, emboldened by your softness, your understanding. He kisses you soundly. “I want to kiss you while you cum.” His words pull a silky noise from your throat.

He breaks the kiss as he takes himself in hand, pushes into your dripping cunt. You’re hot, clenching down on him instantly, arms draped around his neck as he lowers himself further, latches his lips to yours. He hitches one of your legs high on his hip, drives into you deep. He had you close on his tongue already, and he rolls his hips hard, catching something deep inside that makes your entire body seize.

“Yes, Din, please, oh gods, please, please, please,” you’re babbling against his lips, one hand pressed flat between his shoulders, the other knotted in the back of his hair. “Yes!”

Just as he said, he kisses you while you cum. He feels it pulse through your body, your limbs taut and then lax, still holding him close. Your hips chase his, cunt clenching tight as a vice, and Din’s not far behind you, pleasure lighting a fuse down his spine.

You pull your lips from his just as he starts to spill in you. Your hand moves to grip his chin, and you force his gaze to yours. He gasps and your mouth mirrors his, lips parted in a soft o, turning to a grin as he grinds into you, painting your insides as deep as he can go. It feels like an implosion, his bones rattled in his body, but then set on the softest bed of silk as he collapses into your chest. You hold him close, petting one hand through his hair, breathing deep and slow until his own evens out, matches yours, until your heartbeat syncs with his.

“Mesh’la?” he calls after a moment, cheek still pressed to your sternum.

“Yes, Din?” you reply, your voice scratchy as your nails start to drag along his scalp. His eyes are heavy.

“I missed you.”

He can hear the smile in your voice. “I missed you too.”

+

Din wakes alone in your bed again.

He thinks it’s the next morning — the rest of what he assume to be evening was spent in your bed, both of you naked and wrapped in each other. Again and again and again, he pulled pleasure from your body, let you pull it from his, found your bliss together. By the time you were both too tired to move, sprawled on the mattress, your head on his shoulder, you’d whispered, “You’re a good kisser, Din Djarin.” And then you were asleep, Din not too far behind.

He dresses quickly, boxers pulled back on, undershirt in his hand as he pads out of the room. He finds you standing in the kitchen, a steaming cup of caf in your hands. The droid — Shrimp, he dimly recalls — is perched on the table, beeping out a message to you. You’re nodding along, blowing the steam off the top of your caf, and your eyes flick to him as he steps into the kitchen.

“You know Peli Motto?”

Din’s brow crinkles with confusion. “You know Peli?”

You scoff. “That woman taught me everything I know.”

“You’re joking.”

“Swear on my hangar.”

Din just laughs, walking around the table. He slides an arm around your waist once he’s close enough, leans into kiss the side of your head. You lean into him. “Why are we talking about Peli?”

“She sent me a message,” you say, offering him your caf. He takes a sip, only feeling more confused. “Asking if I had any spare ships laying around my hangar. A replacement for her Mandalorian friend.”

Din balks. He hasn’t told you about the Crest. “Sweets…”

You step away from him, pressing a hand to his chest as your eyes go wide with realization. “Din Djarin, what did you do to that ship?”

“I didn’t—”

“Din.”

“It was Imps,” he says, trying to reach for your hip. “It wasn’t—”

“Where is the Razor Crest?”

He sighs heavily, and reaches out to take the cup of caf from you again. “Now it’s nothing but a scorch mark on the planet Tython. It was the Imps. They took my son.” The words are out before he can stop them.

Your eyes go so wide he’s worried they might pop out of your skull. “Your son?”

“It’s a long story.”

You pluck the caf out of his hands, walk around the table, pull out a chair and sink into it. “I got nothing but time.”

[goldustwomun]

bruises (m.m.)

pairing: matt murdock x gf! reader

summary: matt comes home, battered and bruised. you take care of him, like you always do, but he asks for something more, just this once.

warnings: mentions of injury; some angst because... of course; fluff as well because matty boy is whipped with r; loving, soothing, we want matt murdock to be happy!!; some self-deprecating thoughts by matt, but those are remedied!; this is short but sweet <3 (also unedited, lol sorry i’m sleeping x)

wc: 2.1k+

note: my first matt fix and agh, i loved writing it, i love matt!!!! thank you to this sweetheart of an anon that requested this :)) always down to hear anyone and everyone’s thoughts (or thots lmao) about my favourite devil 

He should’ve been back already. The clock was nearing four in the morning, and you could already hear the incessant beeping of the garbage truck making its daily round down your street. 

But this was what he did, what he had to do – at least that’s what you reminded yourself, over and over, whenever your heart dropped too low for your liking.

Matt Murdock had a knack for making you worry, and though you always got that sudden urge to scream, shout, push him into a room and lock the door forever – anything to keep him safe from the outside world that was always out for him, one way or another; you knew you couldn’t keep him from himself. It was his guilty conscience and wounded soul that forced him into the suit every night, fighting whatever monster the streets threw his way, and you could do nothing but kiss him before he left and wait for him to return. 

There was a crash in the living room. You cursed your past self for placing the new picture frame you’d bought – your favourite photo of you and Matt encased inside its ornate borders – right by the window sill. Matt was an expert at orienting his way around a room, especially one as familiar as your apartment, but sometimes (more than you’d like to admit) he came back with a few too many chips in his armour.

You were waiting for the day, silently praying it never came but you prepared yourself anyway, when those endless cracks finally met, causing the entirety of him – of Matt – to collapse into himself. It scared you shitless, how could it not? Watching the man you loved get pulled apart by otherworldly horrors; come home battered, bruised, for a city that never truly appreciated all he sacrificed – it was a kind of physical, visceral ache you could never truly describe. 

“Fucking– fuck!”

You scrambled to shove your feet into your slippers, shivering against the cool air that invaded the apartment from the window you’d left open for him. Matt stood, hands clenched into fists, clad in a stark but somehow faded crimson. You always moaned about how the colour made it hard to easily identify any blood and injuries on him, and Matt had insisted it was for the best because “--you already worry too much, sweetheart.”

“Matty?” you called out gently, driving your feet into the wooden floors loud enough for him to pinpoint your location. 

“Why are you up?” he asked, though you could hear the scolding tone in his voice from miles away. It was when you got closer, until you were right in front of him with only the broken shards of glass separating the two of you, that you noticed the bleeding gash down the right side of his face. 

“Your face– Jesus Christ, Matt.” You used the toe of your slippers to push the dispersed glass to the side, setting a mental reminder to clean the mess up properly once you’d had a chance to look at your injured idiot of a boyfriend. He stayed quiet, knowing he could say nothing to stop you from worrying. 

And he could hear, could feel how your heart was racing, like you’d run a marathon or watched those scary movies that always kept you up at night – but, he thinks, those would be easier than this. Than him. 

So he stayed quiet, knowing better than to argue with you when you got like this – highly alert to every one of his responses, no matter how imperceptible or minute. Sometimes, he wondered if you’d also survived some freak accident and come in contact with hazardous materials, because your ability to sense everything about him often rivalled his own exceptional abilities.

But it wasn’t an accident or extraordinary powers that you had, he’d have to remind himself. It was love. 

You loved him so fully, deeply, generously – the kind of all-consuming love he’d never even considered could be his. Until you.

“Did you eat?” he asked quietly as you led him into the bathroom, pushing the cover down on the toilet and sitting him on it. The impressionistic painting he usually viewed the world through was messier than normal, a few more smudges and dark spots – like someone had dropped a bottle of ink across a canvas – so he could only vaguely listen to your practised movements.

You didn’t respond, so he cleared his throat, whispered your name pleadingly into the suffocating silence. 

“Not now Matt.” He sighed, eyes flickering shut as he slumped back, head resting against the tiles. “I’m going to clean up your wound, then you’re going to get into the shower while I make you something to eat– then we can talk, okay?” Your words were strained but steady, like you were fighting back the anger you so desperately wanted to hurtle his way.

He nodded, unsure if you were even watching him, but grateful for you and your comforting presence and anchoring voice. 

Matt felt your delicate fingers tilt his face to the side, exposing the wound dangerously close to his ear. He felt hopeless, like an ant trying to escape an imminent watery grave. Despite having only injured his right ear, he could feel the tight grasp he had on reality slipping too fast through his fingers. 

He was grappling in the dark for something solid, something to hold onto instead while his senses rested, healed, caught up with the world around him– and before he could truly spiral out of control, you kissed him, delicate and warm, on his forehead. 

“You’ll be fine, Matty, just let me take care of you,” you reassured him, squeezing his shoulder extra hard as you wiped the alcohol-soaked cotton bud across his cheekbones. 

“Okay,” was all he could manage, choking on emotions he couldn’t decipher, not when he was still drenched in blood and floating, or drowning, he wasn’t sure.

It didn’t take long for you to disinfect his wound, clean the blood staining the skin of his cheeks, jaw, down his straining neck. 

You helped him into the shower, knowing that after particularly difficult nights (which you were starting to think this night was), he needed some time to himself, to analyse his feelings, and unscramble the puzzle pieces until the picture was complete. While Matt showered, you returned to the living room, broom in hand as you sweeped the glass into the trash, bending down to pick up the photo that had been in the frame. 

It was from your first few months together, on a seemingly ordinary day when you’d gone to Josie’s to meet Karen and Foggy. Of course, Foggy had something unintentionally hilarious and you laughed so hard, your face had flushed a dull red and you’d knocked over your drink into Matt’s lap.

He hadn’t even noticed, too busy enraptured by the sound of your laughter. He would tell you, later on, when things were getting muddy and you were on the precipice of giving in, letting Matt go even though it was the last thing you’d ever want to do. To your surprise, to everyone’s surprise, really, as Matt was ever the self-sacrificing, tortured saint – but he fought for you, begged you to stay in an entirely feverish, manic manner. 

Matt explained how, that night at Josie’s, he’d promised himself that every night, he would go out into Hell’s Kitchen, and every win, every lose, every brutal beating, every far and few night he’d return unscathed – they were all so he could hear you laugh like that again. 

He wasn’t always the most vocal about his feelings. Early on in your relationship, you never knew when he was hurting, worried, angry, sure, but even the moments of joy, excitement, love– you were never sure how he felt. But he’d learnt to share them, would lie in bed with you and whisper three good things that happened to him that day, and two not so good (always more good than not).

You heard him now, calling your name from the bathroom. Like shining a light on his emotions, Matt was also learning to ask for help. He didn’t have a choice in that matter, at least. When it came to nursing him back to relative health, you’d burrow your way past whatever bravado he was exuding and force him to accept your willing, insisting, hand. 

“All done?” you asked over the pour of water, reaching past him to turn the shower off. He nodded silently, gripping the wet tiles and waiting, patiently, for you to wrap a towel around his waist. You held onto his arm, guiding him to the bedroom. 

“Your clothes are right here,” you handed them to him – black briefs for him to sleep in, “and I’m just going to go make up a plate for you.” 

He smirked at you, and you couldn’t tell if he was masquerading his true feelings or was genuinely back to his cheeky-self. “Clothes? You only handed me briefs?” he pointed out. 

Even with his senses scattered, he knew, simply from past experience, that you were glaring at him. “Ha– Ha– Ever the jokester,” you noted sarcastically, pulling the gauze from your bedside table to wrap up the exposed wound so it wouldn’t get infected. Matt flinched, not expecting for your touch to be so gentle after he’d teased you.

But he wasn’t exactly in a state where that teasing could lead elsewhere, and while you were ordering him to get into bed, it wasn’t for whatever context those words were usually heard in. 

“I’ve got to have my fun as well,” you tacked on at the end as you left the room. Matt smiled at himself, letting the towel drop so he could shimmy his briefs up his thighs. He did as you asked, sliding under the silk covers.

It was when he laid down, melted into the sheets and surrounded by the smell of you – jasmine from your soap, sunshine, parchment – that the pain returned, tenfold. That familiar pricking in his chest, like someone was stabbing a needle into his already struggling heart, over and over again. He’d tried to explain it once, and you couldn’t figure out a logical, medical solution to the peculiar pains of his. 

Matt had to explain that while the pain wasn’t physical, it wasn’t something modern medicine could fix. It was far deeper, darker, dirtier – he was caked in thick layers of inexplicable aches and agonies, and while some might have turned to something harder, easier to hide beneath (and he definitely partook in those indulgences when you were nowhere to be found), he quickly realised that the softness of your arms were enough. 

They were the only medicine he’d ever need – you’d slapped his chest when he’d used that line to avoid going to the emergency room after a particularly jarring bullet wound too close to his lungs. 

He called out your name, fingers ghosting over the empty side of your bed. He could feel the residual heat of your body there, from when you’d been sleeping before he’d crashed back into your shared home. 

You came rushing in, a plate of lightly seasoned, roasted potatoes wobbling in your hands. (strong flavours left him reeling for hours so he avoided them when he could). “What’s wrong? Are you in pain? Should I call the doc–”

“No– no, sweetheart. I just want you to come to bed,” he confessed hesitantly, unsure of himself suddenly as he played with the corner of the sheets. 

You sighed in relief immediately, abandoning the plate of food on top of the dresser – he never ate it anyway, somehow forcing whatever delicacy you’d conjured up into your mouth, instead. “Yeah, Matty, I can do that.” 

Tugging back the blanket, you slipped in next to him, Matt wasting no time in curling into your side, relishing in the heat and security that emanated from you, the kind he could get lost in if he wasn’t careful. It took everything in him to coerce his body to loosen in your hold, ease away the tension that threatened to keep him up. 

“Can I get you anything?” you whispered into his hair, tracing lazy patterns into the skin of his upper arm with one hand, while the other brushed back and forth, at the spot right under his ear that would have him liquefy completely. 

His head was tucked against your chest, intact ear listening close to the muted thump of your heartbeat. He counted every inhale, exhale, breath you took – he couldn’t rest until he knew you were alright, knew he hadn’t pushed you close to that precipice once again. 

“Hold me, please,” was all he said. He felt your heart skip a beat, but on the outside, you only kissed his forehead, touch soothing him into a somewhat undisturbed sleep, the first he’d had all week. 

reminder that the reblog + comment button is right next to the like, so please use it! <3

[autisticlancemcclain]

Keith blinks.

It was — it had been right there.

Right?

He squeezes his eyes shut, thinking back. No, it had been. He’s sure of it. It had been on the hangar right next to his fancy schmancy Altean suit, which was the worst thing in the world and something he avoided at any and all costs. (One frequent cost, for example, being his dignity. Take last week. The team was tasked to attend some stuffy gala, and the formalwear was non negotiable. No chance of wearing his armour instead. Well, there was no chance of Keith wearing that stupid fucking suit, so he’d had the wonderful idea to fake a case of intense diarrhea so he could skip the gala entirely. He was real proud of that excuse, too, until the self-appointed Garrison Trio started giggling to themselves, and he’d realized — too late — that he’d taken a pretty large L.)

Forcing his brain back to the problem at hand — truly a herculean effort — he glares at the closet and all its contents harder. Maybe he’d somehow misremembered? He flicks through each of the garments in his closet, one by one, but he still doesn’t see it. Confused and a little frustrated, he starts throwing shit out of his closet on into his bed, wondering if it’s somehow hidden by the other clothes.

Nothing.

Fully annoyed, now, he starts digging through his dresser drawers, wondering if he had somehow completely misplaced it, but nothing turns up. He throws his hands up in indignation, finally giving up on the apparently fruitless search.

His favourite flannel! Missing!

Scowling, Keith shrugs on a random black shirt. He glances around the piles of clothing strewn about his room, and decides it’s not a problem for Current Keith, and Future Keith can handle it.

He makes his surly way down to the common room, as was his original intention, just…colder. (Does he have other flannel shirts he could wear? Yeah. But he wants his blue flannel today. His fancy flannel. His favourite flannel. So he will suffer until damn well finds it, because no other flannel is going to cut it now that he has his mind set on the one he wants.)

Hmph.

As he walks, he toys with the idea that perhaps someone else knows where his flannel is. Maybe he left it around, somewhere, and someone picked it up? He tends to be forgetful, so it’s very possible. Maybe he left it in the kitchen when he was helping Hunk bake last week? (‘Helping’ being the operative word. He was sitting on the counter and bitching about various things that had pissed him off that week, because Hunk has forbidden him from touching anything kitchen related — you blow up one damn spaghetti pot and you get a lifetime ban, so unfair — but Hunk is also insatiable for any form of drama.) Or maybe he left it in Pidge’s workroom, when he was handing her tools a couple days ago. Or maybe he left it in the training room when he was sparring with Allura and Shiro yesterday?

Man, but he was so fucking sure he saw it in his closet!

He walks into the common room with a scowl that could turn air to stone, admittedly stomping a little.

“Hey, Keith,” Hunk greets absentmindedly, fully engrossed in what looks to be an intense staring contest with Pidge.

Keith decides he doesn’t want to know.

“Has anyone seen my flannel?”

“Isn’t your closet, like, 80% flannel, you useless gay person?” Pidge asks, which earns her a flick on the ear (and subsequently makes her lose her staring contest with Hunk, which has two direct consequences: Keith is now in Hunk’s good book — which means more treats and preferential kitchen chore treatment, hell yeah — and in Pidge’s bad book — which means Keith has to Watch His Back for the foreseeable future, yikes).

“I have a normal amount of flannel,” Keith says, lying and unashamed about it. “Anyway. I was talking about my good flannel. The blue one. The formal one.”

“There’s no such thing as formal flannel,” Allura says, looking at him with disdain. “You fashion disaster.”

Keith sniffs. “It is so fancy. It’s got a nice collar and buttons on the cuffs. That’s formal, right there.”

“What’s that term Lance used? What was — oh, yeah.” Allura gives him a deadpan look. “Okay, you country fucking bumpkin.”

Keith lets that sit there for a moment.

“You should go back to being annoyed every time Lance walks into the room,” Shiro says sagely. “I miss when you didn’t know what fuck meant.”

Allura shrugs. “I’ve made my peace with it. Unfortunately for me, he’s funny, so.”

“Guys,” Keith says again, with more urgency, but he is still largely ignored because his family is full of mean people. “Important problem at hand. My flannel. It’s missing.”

Pidge and Hunk have now moved from intense staring contest to a furious round of rock-paper-scissors, so they offer no input.

“You know, I bet Lance has it.”

It’s the first helpful piece of information Keith’s heard all day. Shiro is officially re-instated as his favourite brother. (He was knocked down yesterday because he stole all Keith’s fucking almost-peanut butter ice cream, and Keith barely held back from killing him for real, because how fucking dare he. He’s lucky he’s stronger than Keith and that Keith loves him, or else he would be dead.)

“Lance? Why would he have my flannel?”

“Because he never wears his own fucking clothes,” Hunk says, scowling as Pidge beats him — scissors to his paper. “I swear to god. He didn’t even come to space in his own clothes. He was wearing Marco’s jacket and Veronica’s jeans. He steals my hoodies on a regular basis.”

“He steals my socks on a regular basis because he is the worst,” Pidge complains. “He fucking stretches them every time. Why are older brothers so obsessed with doing that?”

Shiro, looking pointedly away because he’s an asshole who is also guilty of doing that (Pidge is right — seriously, why??) and pipes up next. “He keeps stealing my pants. I don’t even know why. They’re too big for him.”

“None of you get to complain,” Allura says venomously. “He has raided my closet at least three times a week since he fucking got here, I swear on the sky. I keep having to steal all my favourite skirts back! It’s not fair!”

Keith feels something like jealousy writhe around in his stomach, which is stupid. He’s not jealous that Lance doesn’t steal his clothes.

He’s happy. Lance’s stupid stinky butt shouldn’t be in his clothes, anyway. This is a good thing.

“Lance never steals my clothes,” Keith says, unable to tamp down a scowl. “So that can’t be it.”

No sooner are the words out of his mouth that Lance comes waltzing into the room, pleases as punch, visibly smirking.

He fucking is wearing Keith’s good blue flannel.

The bitch.

“You stole my fucking shirt!”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Lance says breezily, draping himself on top of Pidge, who immediately sends him tumbling to the floor via hard shove. Lance is not phased in the slightest, and simply gets up and drapes himself over Hunk, who has had over ten years to get used to Lance as a person and so he does not react. “I bought this shirt for myself at the space mall.”

Keith is incensed. Fuming. Rage-filled.

(And a little pleased to see that Lance is wearing his clothes.)

(A little.)

(Like, the most minuscule, tiny amount. It doesn’t even count, really.)

“Take it off, you asshole! It’s mine!”

Lance hums, insufferably smug. He doesn��t even have the decency to look at Keith, pretending instead to investigate his nails. “No.”

That’s — it’s the self-satisfied smirk, Keith thinks. That’s what makes him snap. He wants to wipe it off so fucking badly. That fucking smirk haunts his dreams.

(Nightmares! Nightmares! He fucking meant nightmares!)

He lunges at Lance, snarling, who shrieks at the top of his lungs and begs Hunk for protection.

Hunk does not provide it. (Hell yeah. Keith knew being on his good side would be awesome.)

Lance, who is woefully unprepared, has nowhere to go when Keith tackles him to the ground, sitting on top of him. He immediately tries to unbutton the flannel and rip it off, and Lance, who is screeching so loud that they can likely hear him from Earth, is desperately trying to button it back on. Keith pins Lance’s wrists above his head to stop him.

“Stay still, you brat,” Keith growls.

Lance keens. His face lights up bright red, pupils dilating so wide they almost swallow up the brown of his irises. He stops struggling.

Keith freezes, captivated by the heat pouring off Lance’s face in waves.

Holy shit.

“You’re blushing.”

“Fuck off! Fuck right off! No I’m not!”

“You are.” Keith’s voice is almost awed. Unbidden, his free hand comes up Lance’s face, backs of his fingers pressing to his cheek.

“Oh my God,” comes a gleeful mutter behind him, along with a camera shutter. It shocks Keith right out of his stupor, and he throws himself off Lance’s lap — holy fuck, he was on Lance’s lap — with a strangled shout.

“G-give me my flannel!” Keith yells, ignoring how red his own face is getting.

“Fine,” Lance says, voice stretched and reedy. His fingers shake as he unbuttons the shirt.

Keith’s mouth goes dry, watching those long brown fingers fiddle with the buttons.

Oh, no.

Oh no.

“I love my life,” Shiro says, rubbing his hands together like a goddamn cartoon villain.

Lance shoves the flannel in Keith’s face, and then scrambles to sit next to Allura (who, he says, is the only person who hasn’t betrayed him).

The flannel is warm. Keith is already sweating.

Lance is still redder than Keith’s lion. Keith wants to bite him.

Oh, God.

What is he doing to do?

[nick--knack]

A while ago I said I was going to make a post about my favourite tank and, well, here it is. A post about none other than the Burstyn-Motorgeschütz.

Having been invented in Austria-Hungary during 1911, the Motorgeschütz was ahead of it's time. it's draft design was more advanced than some tanks seen during world war 1, and one could argue that it was the very first tank to ever exist...

Backstory

The idea for the Motorgeschütz first came around when a man named Gunther Burstyn was invited by his cousin to go on a torpedo boat trip during his service in 1903. Burstyn was impressed by the boats speed, power, and armour, and this led him to the idea of creating a 'land torpedo boat' powered by a gasoline engine. He figured that such a vehicle would need to be able to travel off-road and over trenches if it were to be used in battle.

Later on he attended an engineering school where he visited an Automotive Exhibition in Vienna in 1906. There he saw the Austro-Daimler Panzerautomobil which was essentially just an armoured car. Burstyn saw the potential in the vehicle, but he saw the wheels as a big limitation because wheels made it easier for one to get stuck in mud and harder to drive over ditches and trenches.

Once he finished his engineering school and got promoted, he stayed in Trento between 1906 to 1908 where he discovered 'plate chains' used on heavy guns to reduce ground pressure. This gave him the idea 'hmm, what if we wrapped this stuff around several wheels at a time to even out the weight of the vehicle?'

Finally, with all these things in mind Burstyn set out to draw up the first blueprints of the motorgeschütz in 1911 and eagerly send them off to the Austro-Hungarian war ministry with high hopes that his invention will catch their interest.

The Design

Now when it comes to the design of the Motorgeschütz, it's quite hard to describe because of how vague it's blueprints were. Hell, you could even say that it's unknown which side was the front of it since it was never explicitly stated where the driver sat.

The only parts of the blueprints that weren't too vague were the arms of the Motorgeschütz. The arms at the back were operated by the crew member at the rear, and the arms at the front were operated by the crew member in the turret.

While arms would've indeed make it easier to get over obstacles and drive over trenches as shown, it also came with some complications of its own. Arms lifting the vehicle would cause it to shift it's weight risking the possibility of losing traction and getting suck in muddy terrain.

Results and Conclusion

The Austro-Hungarian war ministry turned Burstyn's idea down 3 months after he had submitted it, stating that they didn't see enough potential in it to be worth the investment. Not only that, but they also pointed out that the blueprints for the vehicle were far too vague. They stated that if Burstyn wanted his motorgeschütz to be made, he would be the one to pay for it which obviously he couldn't.

Burstyn wouldn't give up that easily, though, because right after this he approached the German war ministry to file a patent... only to be turned down again. A couple last-resort attempts that involved going to the press to have news articles written about his invention were made but alas, it failed to draw in support.

Austria-Hungary ended up going to war without a single armoured vehicle in 1914, and without a single tank overall for the rest of the war. Had the motorgeschütz been built, it certainly would've given the country more of an advantage in WW1 but it's hard to say if it would have enough of an impact to change the outcome entirely.

Now why is this tank my favourite tank? Because I think it looks funny :))) that's all.

If you made it this far, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed my ramble.

[aftermathfanfic]

D&Ducks

So, I was originally going to make this post for when I hit 300 followers, but I don’t think that’s going to happen anytime soon, and I’ve been thinking about this for way too long, so fuck it. I’m just gonna post this now and see what happens.

In case it wasn’t obvious from the hints I’ve scattered through Aftermath, I am a huge D&D nerd. I love playing the game, I love running the game, I love the monsters, everything. And what I particularly love doing is building characters and monsters for the game. I use a lot of custom monsters for the games that I run, even though I don’t end up using all of them, and what I’ve done in the past is that I created character sheets and stat blocks for some of our favourite anthropomorphic ducks. In fact, on my main blog, I documented a solo adventure that I ran by myself, for myself, in story format as I put these duck characters through a premade advennture! (I eventually stopped, because playing a D&D game by yourself is as dull as it sounds)

So today, I’m going to revisit those roots and lay out how I would build the Ducktales characters as tabletop RPG player characters! This is something I’ve given way too much thought to, so be warned – this is going to be quite long-winded, with little to nothing to do with Aftermath itself, and of interest to only a small subset of people.

Let’s begin!

The Basics

I want to preface this whole thing by mentioning that while I’m going to try and describe these characters in a way that can be transposed onto any RPG system, I’m going to be using the Pathfinder RPG (1st edition) as a basis for these characters, just because it’s what I’m most familiar with at the moment. The basics are the same – roll a 20-sided dice, add a number and hope to get a big enough total – but there are more nitty-gritty rules and it's way easier to kill off your characters.

Another thing to keep in mind is that I’ll be inserting these characters into a D&D setting of my own creation, rather than any pre-existing settings. I don’t have a name for it, but essentially this setting is an undisciplined mix-and-match of characters from different IPs that interest me. The McDucks, in this setting, live as a powerful noble family in a kingdom of united beast-folk families.

Final thing is that even though these guys are anthropomorphic ducks, they’re going to have the racial traits of humans to make things simpler on me. I’ll also be giving them a swim speed of 15 feet in addition to those traits.

Dewey

This spry duck stands with the cockiness of an ambitious hero, a sword in each hand. A bright blue tabard, tattered from numerous skirmishes, flows down his chest to cover steel armour of haphazard construction.

Age: 16 Alignment: Chaotic Good Class/Level: Fighter 3/Bard 1 Ability Scores: STR 16, DEX 16, CON 14, INT 10, WIS 8, CHA 14

In this world, the triplets were raised by their uncle Donald in a quiet fishing village on the outskirts of the city of Duckland, in the providence of Calisota. They never got so much as a hint of their caretaker’s history as an adventurer, not until they found their uncle’s old adventuring gear, stowed away in the attic of their house. Among this gear was two finely made swords, both of which Dewey snatched up and started swinging around – resulting in the destruction of several family items and the near decapitation of Huey. Donald was forced to tell the triplets of his past as an adventurer, and the revelation shook them to the core. To make up for it, he decided to teach them how to adventure properly, in the hopes that if they wouldn’t be persuaded out of their trouble-making instincts, he could at least teach them to be safe while doing it.

Dewey remains the chief chaos-monger of the triplets. Ambitious and eager to live up to his family name, Dewey often throws himself into danger without hesitation, giving no thought to possible traps, uneven terrain, or indeed, the strength of whoever he’s fighting against compared to his own. He makes up for his recklessness by being virtually untouchable in a fight, deflecting swords, claws and spells with his twin swords. The longer blade, named Helios, was once wielded by his Uncle Donald. The shorter blade, Asteria, was his mother’s.

Against intelligent foes, Dewey never fights to kill – a trait unique to the McDuck adventurers – but rather, he tries to disarm and trip his foes, intimidating them into surrender. He’s remarkably acrobatic, and his fights are often performative in nature – hence his level in Bard. The sheer bravado he displays in combat inspires his family to fight even more fiercely and distracts his foes long enough for him to knock the wind out of them.

Huey

This anxious duck wears a heavy breastplate and a red cap, a collapsible spear slung around his back. He holds a large, heavy book bound in red leather with the letters ‘WJW’ imprinted upon it.

Age: 16 Alignment: Neutral Good Class/Level: Cleric 2/Wizard 2 Ability Scores: STR 14, DEX 10, CON 12, INT 16, WIS 15, CHA 13

Though regarded as a do-gooder by his brothers, Huey Duck is just as brave, ambitious and adventurous as the other McDucks. He took the role of the older brother quickly, seeing himself as a caretaker of his brothers and, prior to moving into Manor McDuck, the fixer-upper of torn clothes, broken furniture, and the like. With a resourcefulness and intellect beyond his years, Huey takes the role as both the primary healer of the party and – when the occasion calls for it – the firepower.

Huey originally had his heart set on joining the Woodchuck rangers, a group of survivalists and wilderness protectors on the outskirts of the world. While there, he met clerics and priests of Artemis, goddess of the hunt, with whom he made a rapport with. He even began to learn the ways of these wilder clerics, learning magic that could heal, magic that could wound, and magic that let him shape the natural world around him. In the end, however, he was rejected by the rangers, for while his survival skills were impeccable, his fighting prowess left much to be desired. Disheartened, but determined to make use of what he’d learned, he continued his studies of the ways of Artemis, delving deeply into his survival skills and the art of restorative magic.

At some point during his escapades with his uncle, Lord Scrooge McDuck, Huey became enamoured with the other side of magic – that of the arcane. He poured over arcane tomes, taking on wizardly studies in addition to his clerical practices. He has recently begun leaning more heavily towards wizardry, for while he’s grateful to Artemis for his abilities, he considers the goddess to be more of a tutor than an idol to be worshipped. He’ll never be the strongest of Artemis’s faithful, and he’s made peace with that – wizards get more exciting spells, anyway.

Louie

This youthful duck leans against the alley wall, his head concealed by a dark green hood. He smirks at you, absent-mindedly flipping a coin up and down in the air.

Age: 16 Alignment: Chaotic Neutral Class/Level: Rogue 3/Sorcerer 1 Ability Scores: STR 9, DEX 15, CON 12, INT 12, WIS 13, CHA 18

Thief. Charlatan. Snake. Louie Duck has been called many things, and he’s never let any of it stick. He’s out for himself and his family first, and what he’s out for is treasure. Coins, gems, jewellery – he doesn’t care. He loves it all. He’ll do the right thing for his family (though not without a fair share of grumbling), but he always makes sure he gets something out of it, and he isn’t above guilting or threatening the other party into upping his eventual reward.

Louie is a rogue. Obviously. He specializes in deceit, coercion, lock- and trap-picking, and even forging documents, if the opportunity is ripe. He tries to avoid combat if he can help it, but when he’s eventually forced into it, he relies on being able to feint against his opponents to catch them off-guard. When this doesn’t work, his alternative strategy is to bamboozle his foe, trying to convince them that he’s on their side, or that there’s a bugbear behind him, or that they don’t really want to hurt him. And when that fails, he panics, runs away, and then takes potshots from afar with his crossbow.

During one of the family’s adventures, Louie came really close to death. A screeching owlbear had ambushed the party and cornered Louie alone. Disarmed, wounded, and terrified, Louie tapped into something dormant deep inside him and – with a pop – vanished. He re-appeared a mere five seconds later, but that five seconds was all his family needed to redirect the beast’s attention and save his life. Since then, Louie has continued to delve into his hereto unknown sorcerous powers, learning more and more about them each time he calls upon them.

Webby

This wild-looking duck girl wears a loose-fitting pink blouse and a purple skirt, with a matching pink tie in her headfeathers. She gets into a battle stance, grinning eagerly.

Age: 15 Alignment: Chaotic Good Class/Level: Ninja 4 Ability Scores: STR 14, DEX 17, CON 14, INT 13, WIS 12, CHA 12

Webby is as wild, excitable and knowledgeable as she is in canon, raised in the manor of Lord McDuck and trained by her grandmother to be a silent and deadly assassin of House McDuck. To Lady Beakley’s disappointment, while Webby has proven to have mastered the arts of stealth and disguise, she's really squeamish about killing people for some reason.

Webby takes after her granny as a highly skilled ninja – a class somewhere between the monk and the rogue. A master of stealth, disguise, martial arts and more, Webby may not seem like it, but she’s one of the most accomplished spies Lady Beakley has ever had the privilege of training. Moreover, her training allows her to access a limited well of mystical energy that allows her to perform impossible acts. Her preferred method of attack is to overwhelm her foes with quick, rapid strikes before retreating into the shadows and hiding before they realise what happened.

Aside from being an incredible warrioress, Webby also fancies herself as an amateur historian and lorekeeper – particularly when it comes to the McDuck family history. The arcane and the occult may be guesswork to her, but ask her to name an ancestor of Clan McDuck, and she’ll give you the entire genealogical tree. She knows about every single historical event that happened in Duckland, and she can name all the native monsters in the area, right down to their weaknesses, habitats, diets, and the best method to befriend them (just in case).

Scrooge McDuck

This elderly duck stands with the pride and confidence of an experienced adventurer. His cane, cloak, top hat and bright red plate armour all combine to make an imposing figure out of this old duck.

Age: ??? Alignment: Neutral Good Class/Level: Fighter 6/Rogue 4/Duellist 10 Ability Scores: STR 11, DEX 10, CON 8, INT 15, WIS 15, CHA 16

Ruling from McDuck Manor, Scrooge is the Lord of Duckland, and one of the most powerful and influential figures in Calisota. With a manor full of artifacts, treasures and magical items, he is known throughout the land as the Richest Duck in the World, and you’d be hard-pressed to deny it. This Scrooge is mostly unchanged from the one we all know and love from canon, except this Scrooge has an army of trained soldiers, a cabal of ingenious wizards, and a small cabinet of assassins who have one loyalty and one alone – House McDuck.

You may not have heard of the Duellist class if you’ve only come in from D&D 5th edition. Honestly, you might not have heard of it even if you haven’t. The Duellist is a prestige class, one you can only take levels in if you meet the specific prerequisites, whose abilities allow Scrooge to fight with a flourish. He fights like the heroic swordsmen of old, parrying aside the blades of his foes and deftly moving around them before they can even pinpoint where he is. He fights not with a traditional blade, but with a sword concealed within his cane – a gift, from the late Ludwig Von Drake.

Other D&D aficionados may also notice that Scrooge’s physical abilities are a bit low – that, unfortunately, is due to his venerable age. In Pathfinder, your physical abilities reduce with age, while your mental abilities improve. In his prime, Scrooge’s ability scores were STR 17, DEX 16, CON 14, INT 12, WIS 12 and CHA 13, but the days of his prime are long behind him. For this reason, before going into battle, he typically equips himself with a Belt of Physical Perfection, restoring his physical prowess to what it was as a young lad. I know canon Scrooge doesn’t like to use magic (and he still doesn’t here), but that’s… really not an option in a fantasy RPG like this.

Donald Duck

With an incoherent squawking sound, this sailor rushes into the fray, swinging his fists wildly and leaping onto his foes.

Age: 42 Alignment: Neutral Good Class/Level: Barbarian 12 Ability Scores: STR 15, DEX 11, CON 13, INT 10, WIS 15, CHA 13

This good-natured, short-tempered, and risk-averse fisherman may not seem like much at first glance, but he was, in fact, once an adventurer. And as far as the rest of his family are concerned, he still is. Once a sailor for the House McDuck navy, Donald retired from his adventuring life after his twin sister, Della, was lost to the Astral Plane in an impromptu expedition gone wrong. Though he was pulled back into the adventuring life by his triplet nephews, he has never lost his cautious edge, and he remains as the most responsible member of the McDuck family.

Donald fights as he does in canon – by flying into a rage and launching himself at his opponent. He punches, kicks, bites, trips, and attacks every part he can get a hold of. In the old days, he used to use an enchanted sword, though it has been so long since he picked up the blade that much of its magic has disappeared. Nowadays, he relies on a pair of enchanted cestuses, which are essentially medieval boxing gloves with metal plates and rivets.

Mrs. Beakley

This enormous, bulky woman looms over you, her cold gaze peering into your soul. Despite her housekeeper attire, she stands tall and rigid like a soldier, and the sheathed sword on her belt does not escape your attention.

Age: Late 70s/early 80s Alignment: Lawful Neutral Class/Level: Ninja 16 Ability Scores: STR 14, DEX 8, CON 8, INT 15, WIS 17, CHA 11

Mrs. Bentina Beakley, unmarried, is the silent right hand of Lord McDuck. On the surface, she is merely the housekeeper of the manor. Beneath that, however, Beakley becomes a terrifyingly effective spymaster who has her eyes everywhere throughout the realm. Though her days as an assassin are over, she remains a cold, clever, yet surprisingly empathetic figure – so much so that she was willing to give up her career to raise a young Webby Vanderquack.

Like Scrooge, Bentina has suffered from reductions to her physical abilities from her old age, in exchange for bonuses to her mental ability scores. Her abilities in her prime were STR 20, DEX 14, CON 14, INT 12, WIS 14, CHA 8. Unlike Scrooge, she does not have any magic that can improve her abilities, but she also doesn’t see the need to. She fancies herself more of a ‘behind-the-scenes’ person these days, managing an intricate network of spies and blades for hire, gathering blackmail and intelligence for use against the enemies of House McDuck.

Launchpad

The friendly airship pilot waves at you from the cockpit, oblivious to the fact that he’s flying you directly into a mountain.

Age: 31 Alignment: Lawful Good Class/Level: Commoner 5 Ability Scores: STR 12, DEX 11, CON 17, INT 8, WIS 11, CHA 13

Launchpad remains the happy-go-lucky guy he is in canon, save that he now pilots an airship instead of an airplane. And rest assured, he is just as unqualified to fly it as ever.

[the-pen-pot]

Fandom Creator's Self-Rec Game!

Choose five favourites from your own creations (and tell me why, if you like!), then pass on to at least five other people. I'd love to hear what you're proudest of.

Tagged by the wonderful @zaharya (whose post I have now bookmarked for later reading!)

Five of my own favourites, hmmmm. All right. Four of these are super long (all 200k+) , but the first one is relatively short for me, at somewhere around 15,000 words, for people looking for lighter reads! 😁 All are complete except Hiraeth.

Deliquesce (Merlin - Merthur - 15k)

The creatures stepped forward, long, narrow muzzles agape. The sun did not deter them, merely setting their subtle scales agleam. Thick saliva dripped from their jaws, smattering on the ground, yet they did not lunge forward to strike. Instead, they waited, their gaze unblinking as they stared. At first, Arthur thought they watched the knights, but when he shifted his stance, their eyes did not follow him, Instead, it was someone behind him who held them captivated. Merlin. ----- A chance encounter with a monster in the woods makes Arthur realise just how powerful Merlin's magic is, and the lengths he would go to in order to keep him safe.

This was meant to be a ficlet and got away from me. I particularly loved the ideas in this one, also BAMF Merlin ftw every single time! Written from Arthur's POV with some Merthury goodness towards the end.

Sorcerer's Bane (Merlin - Merthur - 264k)

Arthur gave Merlin his cloak thinking only of the warmth it would offer in a snowstorm. He never thought his manservant may be mistaken for him and snatched by bandits. Nor did he expect his dashing rescue of Merlin to turn his world so utterly on his head. Because the bandits hadn't kidnapped a prince. They'd snatched a sorcerer, and now captivity is the least of anyone's problems. A golden age awaits, but can they claim it together, or are they doomed to fail?

My first big Merthur fic, and the one where I healed from all the psychic damage done by the finale. This was my plotty, happily ever after fic, and I love it with all my heart!

Hiraeth (Merlin - Merthur - Work In Progress - 214k so far)

A hand grasped his arm, sending a brief thrill down Merlin's nerves as he was forced around to face the person behind him. Armour gleamed in the firelight: supple chainmail glinted, and the solid iron of a pauldron curved lovingly over one broad shoulder. The length of a sword blade separated them. The point hovered, steady and sure, over Merlin's heart, braced to run him through, but he did not care about any of that. He was too busy drinking in the sight of the man before him. He could never forget him, no matter how many centuries had passed. 'Arthur?' When Merlin ultimately fails in his destiny, the fading remnants of magic that linger in the modern world fling him not just back in time, but sideways as well. He ends up in a Camelot where all his friends are alive, well and aware of his magic. He ends up in a Camelot where his alternate self died almost a year ago. Can he, Arthur and their friends still forge the golden age he was once promised, or will grief and suspicion tear them apart?

Couldn't not mention my angsty, plotty wip. This fic is five billions miles outside my comfort zone. I'm currently in the "I have bitten off more than I can chew freak-out" stage of writing it and I'm still having so much fun. This fic owns my soul. Maybe one day it will release me, but I doubt it.

The Gilded Cage (Sherlock - Johnlock - 326K )

In a world where Omegas are the property of the elite Alphas, locked away and treasured by those wealthy enough to buy them, John never questioned his flatmate's secondary gender. Sherlock Holmes was an Alpha through-and through. Wasn't he? A chance discovery turns the world on its head, and John is left grappling to come to terms with Sherlock's past as events conspire to threaten their future.

The Johnlock omegaverse that nearly killed me, and the longest thing I have written (so far). I had such fun exploring potential gender dynamics and imagining how this world could be, while doing my best to keep the characters strong and true to themselves. An oldie, but according to most readers, a goody. Mixed POV

Riven Crown (The Hobbit - Bagginshield - 254k )

‘We may have won the battle, but I fear the war with winter is just beginning.’ The aftermath of war is no laughing matter. Those who died must be honoured, those who are wounded must be healed, and those who remain need food and clothing, peace and sanctuary. With Thorin's life hanging in the balance, it is up to Bilbo and the rest of the Company to rule the rag-tag remnants of Erebor in his place. Then there is the matter of the gold... Can Bilbo save both king and kingdom, or is Erebor destined to fall deeper into ruin?

My battle of the Five Armies fix it, political intrigue, everybody lives/nobody dies effort to make the the Peter Jackson movies hurt less. I think I succeeded. A much loved favourite, because my style feels like it's particularly suited to fantasy 😁

Tagging (with no pressure and apologies if any of you are not writers!) @the-reading-lemon @writingfanficsfan @cbk1000 @ajpendragon and @mojoflower (as well as anyone else who sees this and fancies it!

[rallamajoop]

Resident Evil Village: The Mercenaries (Part 2)

So, we've covered the basics (and the immense frustration that is the Factory). Now I get to talk about the DLC characters ‒ and the madhouse experience that is the hard levels.

New playable characters: Chris, Heisenberg and Dimitrescu

Chris comes unlocked with the Winters Expansion by default. For Heisenberg, you’ll need an A on every easy-level stage, including the new ones (most of which you’ll need just to unlock them all). For Dimitrescu, you’ll need an S on that final stage (the others can still be on A rank, if you’re in a hurry). So let’s talk how the new characters play.

Chris actually isn’t a direct copy of how he plays in the main campaign. He keeps the same arsenal, but can no longer block or use healing items (not actually a huge problem, as you can still pick up healing abilities). But he does have two different punch attacks now (very on-brand!) and a rage mode that charges with kills. You can also use his 'target locator' to call in a fucking airstrike, or whatever the hell that is ‒ but it'll cost you 15,000 lei per use, which largely kills it for utility. His signature unlockable ability will reload his gun any time he kills an enemy with a punch, which grants you both potentially unlimited ammo and an excuse to keep punching things: Chris works best with some seriously aggressive play.

He’s… fine, honestly, but when my favourite thing about him is being able to stomp moroaice that are playing dead for an easy kill, it's safe to say he's not the most novel thing available.

Heisenberg, as you’d expect, flings metal around and hits things with his hammer – but he can also charge his hammer for a bigger slam, send spinning sawblades ricocheting around (easily my favourite Heisenberg-unlockable-ability), summon a Soldat (or Sturm!), and his block reduces damage to zero. He can also raise a magnetic field which comes with a serious damage multiplier and lets you drag enemies towards you, but it slows you down to a crawl, and I really couldn’t see the point until I got into the playing the hard stages, where it becomes crazy useful (but more on that later). Without the mag field slowing him down, he may be even faster than Ethan, and is just generally a lot of fun to play.

Lady Dimitrescu is, in brief, a tank. She’s frustratingly slow, very limited at long range (by far my favourite of her abilities is simply the one that makes her faster), and so tall it’s hard to even see enemies standing close to you – but she has some crazy damaging attacks, including summoning her daughters or even throwing furniture at enemies, and I love her gleefully manic laughter on activating her own rage mode a little too much. She’s honestly like no other character I’ve ever gotten to play in a video game before, and though she’s not my favourite here, she’s a damn fun time.

It's seriously impressive how much work's gone into Heisenberg and Dimitrescu especially, both of whom have complex move-sets completely unlike Ethan's, or each other's. While Ethan is basically all-guns all-the-time with some decent choice about which to buy and upgrade, our new faces are all limited to upgrading the weapons they start with, or buying consumables. They make up for it by all having solid melee attacks (a welcome change for anyone who’s ever run out of ammo), and some crazy powerful summons or rage-modes. I mean, assuming you can figure them all out.

So, here’s my other big problem with Mercenaries that makes me wonder a lot about rushed QA: there’s so much it just does not tell you. Sturm is a big one: there are instructions for each new character, but a feature this exciting just isn’t mentioned? This should be the kind of thing they’re using to sell us the damn expansion, not a hidden feature!

There’s also the fact Heisenberg’s hammer-charge has two levels – something it took me ages to notice, and even longer to figure out properly. And his magnetic field can strip the armour clean off a Soldat Panzer – not that you’d know until you tried it, because you're not told that either. And it’s not just the new characters who suffer. Look at the ability select screen again –

See that little button in the right top corner? If you don’t want anything on offer, it’ll let you reload your options up to twice per level. I don’t think it was even in the game before the DLC, and I am embarrassed by how long it took me to find out what it did. And it’s so useful! Why isn’t this stuff mentioned? There are a ton of hidden details like this in this mode. It’s very weird, and new stuff that comes with the DLC is by far the worst served by it.

And believe me, you’re going to want to know all these secrets when you’re tackling the hard stages, which...

Well, okay. Time to talk about the hard levels.

The Hard Levels

Having now beaten RE8 3 times on different difficulties, I’m qualified to tell you that the Normal Mercenaries levels function at something like Casual (minimum) difficulty. Enemies don’t move very fast, and they go down easily, and therein lies the fun.

Ethan gets to choose from a selection of pistols, shotguns and sniper rifles in the store – which suits me fine, because shotgun + sniper rifle is pretty much how I like to play anyway (my strategy in most levels to buy the strongest shotgun in the first stage, then the rifle later). Putting all your money into just the best pistol (which basically becomes a machine gun when upgraded) is a solid bet too, though running out of handgun ammo for it is very possible – basically you’ve got options here, and multiple options that will work.

The Hard stages are identical to the Normal ones, but for two big differences: enemies have now been upgraded from ‘Casual’ to somewhere between ‘Hardcore’ and ‘Village of Shadows’, or somewhere between 'Very Hard' and 'Fuck YOU In Particular'. They will eat your face off at a moment’s notice.

But the bigger difference is that Ethan no longer gets shotguns or sniper rifles. You get your starting pistol (the Lemi), and the option to buy a magnum or a rocket launcher, which now has a 6-grenade magazine. These sound good, but the magnum comes with only 6-12 bullets, depending on level, and cannot be reloaded or upgraded. Those 6-12 bullets can one-shot most heavier enemy classes, but once they’re gone, they’re gone. And the rocket launcher costs 50,000 lei, plus 1000 lei per explosive round, and actually does less damage per shell than an upgraded shotgun. In many levels, it just doesn’t make sense to buy it at all.

So you'll spend the majority of Hard mode relying on nothing but your basic pistol. Which – even with upgrades – is going to take north of 5 bullets per basic lycan or moroi. Running out of bullets regularly becomes is a real risk. Good luck taking on Moreau with a pistol!

Oh, and you now die in about two hits. Hard mode does not fuck around.

The ‘solution’ applied to balance these levels is that you can now get higher ranks with a much lower score. You can unlock the next hard stage with only a B rank, but it's possible to get all the way to S without even finishing most levels. Which is good, because (again) even if you do survive the first couple of stages, you can easily run out of ammo and be left helpless.

This problem gets so bad that, in the stage which culminates with a boss battle with Miranda, you can get an S-rank without defeating Miranda. You can get an S-range without even seeing Miranda. This is, to put it mildly, a little unsatisfying. I’m honestly not sure that giving the player a passing grade this way was the right call.

Look, I have spent a lot of time now mastering the tricks you need to succeed in the hard levels. I have a SSS rank on every one with at least one character. And I’m still not sure I can honestly say the hard levels work. They’re so fundamentally different from everything that makes the Normal levels fun that they feel like a completely different game.

I assume the RE team were going for something more survival-horror with these mechanics, but I’m not entirely convinced that works either. For everything that’s different, the scoring hasn’t changed: the need to keep your combo going against the clock is still a driving force. The result may be less survival horror and more Dark Souls – and I’m not even sure it’s a good example of that.

Now, I’d be happy to take Hard mode as just an extra optional mode on top of an extra optional mode – except there are a number of unlockables that require an S rank on every stage – normal and hard. An S rank on every stage with any character unlocks a golden statue of that character which records and displays a lot of stats you won’t get to see otherwise.

And a double S rank on every level with any character unlock the LZ Answerer, aka did you know RE8 has a lightsaber you can unlock? And use in the main campaign!It has two blades! It comes in multiple colours! How can you not want this thing?!

Remember what I said about the Factory being the hardest level? Not true on hard mode. You may be able to get an S rank on The Mad Village II without seeing Miranda, but good freaking luck getting one on The Bloody River II (the final extra DLC level) without at least defeating Moreau – and those measly 12 magnum bullets are so insufficient the accepted strategy involves a lot of carefully lining up multiple armoured Soldats in a row so you can take them down with one bullet.

But the good news for all those craving that lightsabre is that there's an ‘easy’ way to beat those hard levels, at least as of the DLC.

That way? Lady Dimitrescu.

Not only is Lady D a veritable tank, the ace up her tailored sleeves is her choke-slam move – a trick that will reliably one-shot anything below a Soldat Jet. Better yet, she can rush forward a considerable distance to grab an enemy for that choke slam, which fixes her usually-glacial movement speed. It does make the levels a little repetitive, and you’ll still need other solutions for minibosses and bosses, but hey – that’s what throwing furniture around is for!

When I say Lady D is broken on hard mode, this is what my scoreboard looked like (on both normal and hard), after many attempts with other characters. I wasn’t even trying for SSS rank, but I often got it anyway. Heck, SSS rank is often easier with Lady D on hard mode than easy, because the scores required are that much lower.

Other characters get nerfed harder than Lady D on hard (Heisenberg now has to buy his Soldat summon, and it’s not cheap), but none nearly so much as Ethan. Everyone else has a big advantage over poor Mr. Winters, simply because no-one else can run out of ammo. Even Chris can resort to simply punching things if need be.

Which only brings me right back to the fundamental question: what were Capcom even trying to do with hard mode? I may never know. They may never know.

But the truth is, the scoreboard above is now criminally out of date. I wanted those Ethan-and-Heisenberg statues. And apparently, I’m now enough of a glutton for punishment to go out of my way to get them, even though I only finally managed to S-rank that bloody Bloody River II as Ethan by learning about this ludicrous exploit where the 5x knife damage ability can also 5x all your mines and pipe bombs, as long as you’re holding a knife when they explode (not that even that makes that level easy – mines and pipe bombs are rare and expensive to stock up on).

And after that, Heisenberg… still took some days to score S-ranks on every level, but I’d mostly got it down. And the rest, as they say, is history.

Still, as much fun as I’ve legitimately had playing as Heisenberg and Lady D (and honestly, I could probably even come around to Chris if I gave him a chance), Ethan remains the character I find myself missing when I haven’t played as him for a while. The bonus characters are a ton of fun, but they were never what this game was built for, and the way these levels were designed for a guy packing a shotgun and a sniper rifle can only be ignored for so long. There comes a point where you start to judge the game for even letting you hit triple-S-rank without a perfect-combo on every easy level, because goddamn it, what am I going to aim for now?

So that’s RE8’s Mercenaries mode. I’m still tempted to make some proper companion posts about going into Heisenberg and Dimitrescu in more detail, because there’s so much more to talk about. However you slice it, there are a lot of flaws in this mode, and some very odd decisions. But it’s hooked me anyway (and that little inner masochist in my ear still kind of wants to see if we can get a multiple-S rank on the Bloody River as Ethan, even now).

[now-we-say-c0ral]

November 12, 2023

This day has been so lazy for me. I'm crying, literally, the weekend went by so fast now I'm back to working. Fuck this shit. The difficult thing really is waking up and getting to the station. Work is work and sure there're bad days but the most difficult thing is getting myself up in the morning.

Romney and Nico got everyone up for some lunch. They made beef stew and some fish dish both of which were delicious. I was about to go to the gym today but decided that it would be best not to because I need a proper rest day. I just played Diablo 4 the whole day. I was so unproductive. I was supposed to cook dinner but Ed cooked instead because he wanted to eat some beef stirfry for work tomorrow. He was out and climbed but he still made dinner and lunch for tomorrow. He's such a kind man. I don't know what I did to deserve him. I should be more lenient and not react when I'm mad and tired and have to think things through before I do or say anything. He's so gentle with me.

November 11, 2023

Woke up around 9am today. Finally! My day off! Just stayed in bed until like 11am and played a bit of Diablo 4. We went to Canning Town around 12pm after finishing breakfast. I kind of forced Ed to go to the gym with me. I was planning to do chest and legs today but only ended up doing chest because Ed didn't like working his legs out. It was a good workout!

We went to Morrisons and got some groceries for the week. We went back home and I just played Diablo 4 the whole day. Tier 4 is a bit challenging for me considering that I don't have the best armour and I'm trying to farm for them the best I can.

We had some mixed grains and fish yesterday after saying that we weren't hungry and only wanted some protein shake. Ed's cooking is my favourite.

We watched Take Care of Maya on Netflix and it was really a sad story about families and their children being wrongfully medically adopted by the system. Today was a good day!

November 10, 2023

LAST DAY OF WORKING THIS WEEK! FINALLY! I got up super late from bed despite waking up a bit early. I got an Uber thinking that it would get me to work earlier but I didn't anticipate London traffic to be really bad.

I was with Rosie, JP, and Ate Socel in the morning doing Orthopaedics in Th14. It was a good list. We didn't do much but to remove metalworks. In the afternoon we were taking care of sets and they thought me how to fast track and make loan sets for orthopaedics.It's something that I don't really intend learning because it adds responsibility and accountability when shit goes wrong but here we are. Went out to Tortilla with Lene after work and had a few margaritas. We intended to go out and have a night out January next year. I'm excited about that! I want a nightout with friends.

Went home and slept immediately because I was really drunk. Woke up around 1am to Ed cuddling me.

November 9, 2023

It's a Thursday and I'm not in that horrible person's list! Thank the heavens. I'm not even exaggerating. I'm so thankful. I'm assigned in Th6 doing ENT with Cathy and Xavier.

We did some cochlear implants and some MLBs and it was such a good day. Sure it was busy but I wasn't tired at the end of the day! There's really something different about working other specialities from doing orthopaedics. I just know that it isn't for me and that I don't see myself doing it. Finished the shift around 5:30pm and went to the gym and did some back, arms, cardio, and abs.

Went home around 8:30pm and ate dinner with Eddie. It was a good day. We made up as I bought some Lola's.

[galedekarios]

elden ring + favourite armour sets

[1/?]

[helenazbmrskai]

This Summer

Guess who’s back with another yoongi fic featuring my favourite trope so here’s another brother’s best friend au, I wanted to try a different setting for this one since I like summer camp aus a lot (and there’s not enough of it on this site I tell you) and I never did something similar to this also I’m sorry that there will be mistakes in here because I wrote this in three days but I’ll proofread it once I have the energy.

🏕️Title: ‹This Summer›

🏕️Pairing: ‹brother’s best friend and camp counsellor! yoongi x new camp counsellor! reader ft. brother and camp counsellor! hoseok›

🏕️Genre: ‹brother’s best friend, summer camp, camp counsellor, romance, fluff, angst, smut, idiots to lovers›

🏕️Summary: ‹This summer you’re going to stop liking min yoongi for good. The plan is flawless until it’s not (but you’re not the only one with plans.)›

🏕️Warnings: ‹smut, making out, oral (both parties) receiving, penetrative sex, condom sex, dirty talk, yoongi is jealous of jungkook having your boobs against his chest, y/n avoids yoongi like it’s her life mission for like 5k straight, a lot of angst but there will be fluff too so don’t worry, awkward tension, sexual tension, clueless hobi, everyone is stupid in this, jungkook likes meddling with y/n’s life a little bit too much, poor tae facing yoongi’s wrath without any reason lol›

🏕️Word count: ‹12.3k›

🏕️Masterlist l read radio sweethearts if you want another brother's best friend yoongi l enjoy!

Your brother is a ticking time bomb, no one knows when he’s going to take something into his head, he’s that annoying sibling that’s always full of energy and twists everyone around his pinky finger on family dinners. You love him with your whole heart, considering you ripped that mean girl’s hair out in elementary school when she called your baby brother (who is older than you but shh) ugly and made him cry.

Hoseok and you are polar opposites he’s cheery and positive always have a big smile on his face, ready to help all the old ladies with heavy shopping bags cross the street while you’re on the quiet side and often misunderstood.

It’s easy to see on holiday dinners and get-togethers that your relatives favour him over you because you’re less talkative and friendly, he has better achievements in life whilst you struggle with school but those you’re close with know the real you and awkward conversations about your nonexistent boyfriend because you’re so deeply in love with your brother’s best friend is not the best ice breaker your distant grandmas try to pull on you. Even so, when Yoongi decides to tag along to those said dinners accompanied by his parents and little sister, might just hell break loose.

The second man who basically acts like he lives in your house is your best friend slash knight in shining armour and partner in crime; simply named Jeon Jungkook for good measure who is your next-door neighbour. You have tons of unforgettable memories with him as he was the one you went to prom with, annoyed all the teachers on field trips with your loud rap battles and cried on each other's shoulders as you graduated high school together.

Your friendship with him came as a surprise to all your family members as they originally thought your brother and him will become close but instead, he spent most of his time with you while yoongi and hoseok with their other friends hang out separately. On rare occasions, your group would mix and go to see a popular movie or play games at the arcade on someone’s birthday.

Summer usually is the time when things are a little slow. No assignments to do or classes to attend, your brother leaves in early July for this summer camp that’s half a day far away from your home with his friends and the last two summers even Jungkook applied to be a camp counsellor as he likes to be surrounded by kids and nature just like your brother does so literally, everyone left for some time leaving you alone in your hometown with nothing to do but it was better this way because away from Hoseok meant that Yoongi will be far away too.

Your brother tries to persuade you every year to go with them but you always have to decline, sometimes your no is firmer than other times because Hoseok is excellent at using his puppy eyes on you.

However, this summer you had other plans. There’s no bell to ring once the last class is dismissed for the semester, tired from your finals you’re going to dedicate at least a week to catch up on your sleep and fix your eating habits but you have a big smile on your face as you climb into Jungkook’s run-down Ford slamming the car door behind your body since they don’t function properly sometimes. This car is his prized possession, got it for his 18th birthday after he successfully passed his test (at the forth try) and bragged about his driving license to you for over two weeks although you only dared to sit next to him after two months. Jungkook named his car Adonis and forbid you of disrespecting his little baby if you want to ever get a lift so you let him be.

Back to your important inner turmoil, you decided you will no longer simp over Min Yoongi your brother’s best friend and this summer you’ll get over him as a grown-up woman. Being in your second year at the local University that all the boys attend it’s surprisingly easy to avoid your brother and his friends and how everyone’s schedule seems to be so packed all the time during the semester, you don’t see them as much as you used to in high school.

”This was your last final, right?” Jungkook turns the ignition key ready to leave this hellhole of a place, holding your headrest with one hand as he turns to see the back of the car so he can back out of the parking lot without any accidents. You grab the smoothie from the cup holder before humming in agreement and take a sip whilst taking in your best friend’s features you haven’t seen for the past week.

”As soon as I get home I’m going to sleep till the next century.” Your dramatic response earns a chuckle and a jab to your left boob as he didn’t take his eyes off the road while delivering his hit. Jungkook wears his signature white tee with a pair of dark blue jeans no traces are left of the stress both of you went under, he was luckier than you as his finals ended a week ago.

”School sucks, we couldn’t even have fun together and I’m leaving next week. I’m going to miss you, you know. You really won’t come with us?” He tried to make you rethink your decision just like your brother but not even his bambi eyes can waver your summer plans, this time you fully intend to have one more Min Yoongiless summer, this silly crush you have on your brother’s best friend can’t continue.

”There’s always one place left for you at the camp Y/N. Hoseok would love to see you there too and we could spend so much time together.” The idea of spending a few weeks with Jungkook sounds nice but a voice in your head reminds you that Yoongi will be there too. He could be yelling at children and wear his trademark grumpy expression but you would still find something attractive about him. The worst part is that he’s never like that with you.

Yoongi is not as talkative as Jungkook or Hoseok, making him be more like you, at first you thought that your crush developed because he seemed to understand you in a different way your brother couldn’t. He cares for his friends, always making sure to show them by doing thoughtful gestures.

Hoseok tells his friends all the time that you and him are a package deal it’s either both of you or none of you, sometimes people have a problem with that but these five boys he hangs out with for years now are the good exception. You like them even though you don’t like all of Hoseok’s friends.

”I’m sorry Koo but I can’t, we talked about this before.” It’s not like you hate children because you don’t you’re not the best with them but they are ok, the heatwave is what you despise in summer camps. You love being in an air-conditioned place without bug bites all-around your ankles and not even the campfire with yummy marshmallows could persuade you to like outdoor activities.

Summer camps are just not your thing.

”What do you mean you signed me up?” The black t-shirt slips through your fingertips, it has a band logo at the front you remember Hoseok liked back in high school, his suitcase is halfway filled with clothes when he decided to tell you he faked your signature to sign you up as the new summer camp counsellor.

You admit that you have a weird talent for making nice origamis that kids would probably love to learn and a good addition to the routine activities, he would have swayed you with compliments if it weren’t for the fact that he faked your signature and signed you up for something you definitely said no to but still decided to do it without your permission. You heard nice things about the camp itself since it got renovated two years ago and Hoseok’s friends are nice people, he said their co-workers are nice people and your best friend would be there too, don’t get the wrong impression there, you even heard that the camp leader Seokjin is nice and a fun person not strict at all unless it concerns the kid's safety because he will not allow that.

”Don’t be mad, please. Jungkook and I just thought that this could be a fun experience for you, things will get busy next year so it’s going to be the last summer together like this. Pretty please?”

You sighed defeatedly as you can’t possibly say no to that when he phrases it like that. Hoseok looks at you with his round big eyes full of hope. Your summer plan was flawless until…it’s not.

Jungkook came almost knocking down your front door when you called him to come over after you were finally done helping Hoseok finish packing for the trip, you scolded your best friend for not stopping your brother as soon as he learned his scheme about ruining your summer plans you felt furious but he picked up on his way over to your house your favourite coffee flavoured candies and it made you forgive him too easily as you were soon munching on the treat.

It’s a huge disadvantage on your part that he knows your preferences so well. Now you can understand why he always seems so frustrated with you when you make him his favourite dish to get him to forgive you, this is just too much power to have over someone and when he crushes you with his tight hug listing out the things the two of you can do at the camp all of your remaining anger vanishes.

You will think about Min Yoongi later.

That later, however, comes sooner than you anticipated. Sitting on the kitchen stool drinking your coffee while all Hoseok’s noisy friends get a fill of breakfast and a cup of coffee, you have the unfortunate fate of housing all the boys to dine before getting on the road and after a lost rock, paper, scissors thanks to your brother’s ridiculous bad luck you become the host.

The kitchen got filled with animated chit-chats as they place a toast or two on their plates over the noises you almost don’t hear Jungkook next to you asking for the jam but you pass him the jar silently. Yoongi and Jimin are the only ones missing from the group because Yoongi has to drive Jimin to his parent’s place to pick up his car that he got repaired recently so they were running a bit late.

Namjoon is a new addition to the group after Hoseok met him in Uni so you don’t know him that well but he’s nice as far as you’re concerned, you talked to him a few times and his interesting topics never fail to entertain you. Jin steals a toast from Namjoon’s plate so he doesn’t need to get up and fetch one for himself but Namjoon looks too tired to care as he munches on his remaining one toast that his friend can’t steal because it’s halfway in his mouth.

Seokjin’s parents run the bakery on the main road so everyone knows him, he got introduced to the friend group when you were still in high school and you and Jungkook were regulars at the shop. Jin always sneaked a pair of baguettes for the two of you exclusively after you were finished with school.

It’s nice to see all these familiar faces after the stressful semester you had, momentarily forgetting about your problems you feel thankful that Hoseok went out of his way to ruin your plans and sign you up for this train wreck of an adventure, it’s been a while since everyone was together like this.

The doorbell rang interrupting Jungkook and Seokjin’s argument about who’s going to get the last toast piece but Hoseok perked up at the sound yelling excitedly that Yoongi and Jimin are here. Your brother quickens his pace after rising from his seat to open the door for them and grins when they step through the threshold.

Greetings are exchanged between friends and the place becomes livelier as the last pieces decide to join the puzzle, Jimin sees you first and knocks into Jungkook’s shoulder while he tries to get to you to give you a warm hug.

It’s been a while since you last saw Yoongi face to face, you’re added to the boy's group chat so in some depth you knew how he’s doing. He has been over at your house a few times hanging out with Hoseok but you always stayed late inside the library on the days he visited using the weak excuse that you need to catch up on school work so you had no chance of crossing paths with him coincidently while you were searching for a glass of water in the kitchen it’s humiliating enough that he saw you exit your bathroom wearing only a towel when you were a teenager.

Your curves became more defined and your body matured a lot over the years and knowing that he saw you like that when you had no ass or boobs. It’s embarrassing. Hoseok liked you that way because it meant no man would thirst over you as he liked to call it. The memory of him telling the boys that you’re off-limits and made them swear at the ’bro code’ to stay away from you is crystal clear in your mind even if now you are in your twenties.

The memory only makes your situation difficult as Yoongi probably doesn’t feel the same way.

As soon as Jimin steps back and releases you from the hug he has Jungkook in a headlock the next second, wrestling with the younger playfully, Jungkook is probably the closest to Jimin after you.

”Hey, it’s nice to see you.”

Yoongi has a half-smile on his face as he approaches you hesitantly pulling you into a hug like Jimin did but his approach is more gentle and careful as he pats your back with featherlight touches. His scent envelops your senses tuning out everything else that’s not him, it feels like forever that you hugged him, normally the two of you greet each other but rarely hug like this.

”Yeah, you too.” You murmur the words into his shoulder but he must have heard you because the side of his lips turned slightly upwards after you separate.

There are two cars available for the eight of you and Seokjin yells that it’s a matter of a game of rock, paper, scissors and everyone agrees as this is the common way your group chose who is riding with who.

”Easy, the losers ride with Jimin and the winners with Yoongs.” Jungkook is the first one to initiate the rules and everyone agrees except Jimin who whines about why he takes the losers but no one pays attention as the bloody battle starts. The first contestants are Namjoon and Hoseok and your brother ends up loosing while yelling like a banshee and making up excuses that he wanted to show rock and not paper as Namjoon choose scissors as his weapon.

You come up next with Jungkook as your opponent and you let a wicked smile appear on your face because no one knows him better than you, you know his move before he even thinks it through and you show paper getting your well-deserved victory.

Just later you realise that winners ride with Yoongi that you reconsider your decision, you were so caught up in your rivalry that’s your friendship’s base foundation with Jungkook at this point that it slipped your mind entirely.

Taehyung and Jin are the last ones to compete and the battle ends with Taehyung winning the last space in Yoongi’s car leaving Seokjin to dramatically kneel like a wounded soldier making fake sobbing noises. Taehyung ends up changing seats with Jungkook last moment and finally, everything is set to get going.

Jungkook and Namjoon take over the backseat as they loaded their luggage at lightning speed so they can claim their spot first leaving you with the only option to have the passenger seat at the front.

Yoongi obviously got behind the steering wheel entrusted with the task of operating the car throughout this long drive to the summer camp sight. Taehyung, Jin and Hoseok got into Jimin’s car like it was decided by the game.

The camp is bigger than you expected and the renovations got the place a little modern touch to it while still maintaining a close feel to nature with all the wooden houses and trees around but your favourite part is the lake at the far end of the campsite.

You share a room with a girl counsellor that spends her second year here, still, relatively new like yourself so it’s easy to befriend her. The campers will arrive the next day early in the morning Areum informs you as you two walk to the dining area to have the first meeting before everything starts.

By the end of the day, everyone knows you’re Hoseok’s little sister and new people approach you every now and then to confirm the facts and know a little bit more about you since everyone seems to like your noisy brother here (not that it surprises you), it looks like the counsellors are excited to start a new summer here and the atmosphere easily pulls you in, you watch Jimin and Jungkook have a water fight just to catch in the corner of your eye the figure of your brother pushing an unsuspecting Seokjin into the lake when he stands too close to the edge.

The day goes by like a flash as you hang out with Areum, she shows you her favourite places that consists of the greenhouse and the other side of the lake where there are built benches and tables for outdoor picnics.

Jungkook pouts during dinner fake crying that you replaced him and you have to forcefully spoon feed him to stop him from embarrassing you in front of all these unfamiliar people that gathered to have some quiet dinner. So everything goes smoothly, you have such a great time that it scares you.

It’s getting pretty late when all counsellors gather around the campfire to roast marshmallows and catch up with each other’s lives, you’re still new so you use this time to get to know Areum a little bit more since you and her are going to be responsible for entertaining the kids inside the art room alongside with Taehyung who teaches the kids how to paint.

You tell her about your silly hobby that landed you this job and she gets really excited to see your origami creations, you show the same enthusiasm when she reveals her major is classical statuary.

Even though Yoongi was always nearby it got easy to ignore his existence when so many new things surrounded you. It didn’t mean he fully left your thoughts throughout the day but made you feel that sense of false security that you could get over him. That all those years of pinning for your brother’s best friend could just vanish if you told your heart to stop skipping beats when he calls your name. Boose soon gets introduced to the mix and by the time midnight rolls around everyone is pleasantly buzzed and when Jungkook enters the state that he hangs off of you like a koala nuzzling his cheek into the crook of your neck you decided to call it a night.

You wake up with your head thumping inside your skull slightly feeling hangover; your roommate is in a similar state as you two approach the dining room getting small slices of bread to make a light sandwich.

You’re mid-bite into your food when you see Yoongi enter, walking alongside with your brother he catches your gaze sooner than you were able to look away and after they get their fills on their trays your loud brother flops down next to you with the loudest greeting that he could possibly muster up alerting everyone in the ten-metre radius.

Yoongi and you groan at the same time telling him to shut up like it’s a scripted response and your eyes meet for the barest of seconds before you focus on your half-eaten sandwich.

It’s hard not to look at him. Despite his gruff exterior, he’s very good at dealing with children, your activity where kids can learn how to fold origami is always after his cookie baking lesson and he smells like rough cookie dough and chocolate ship when he leads the kids into the art room where you would have all the coloured papers ready at each desk and folded a sample beforehand so they can use it as a reference if the instructions don’t look clear enough in the printed page.

The idea for this lesson formed last night, you were up all night as you researched on the internet how to fold hearts. It kept you up till the sun rose as you were trying out every folding technique that would look pretty but easier to do for the kids, you even accidentally cut your finger with the scissor while you were working using only the faint light from the lamp on the bedside table.

Yoongi greets you like he usually would wearing a little smile at the corners as he lets the kids inside first holding the door open for them, he always leaves silently after he delivered the campers to the art room but this time the door slides closed behind his form as he got dragged into the room by a kid named Minsung holding onto Yoongi’s hand he stood awkwardly while everyone else had a decided seat to take.

”Can Yoongi join us today Y/N?” Minsung asks holding Yoongi’s hand as he leads him further into the art room and every kid looks expectantly at you waiting for you to agree and seeing their faces you nod with a smile pulling out the chair next to you beckoning the embarrassed man to sit beside you.

He didn’t think you would say yes if he’s being honest. After you finished high school and he and Hoseok went to University and got busy with life he started to see you less and less, at first he didn’t think much of it but after some time it looked like that you’re actively avoiding him.

He has no idea why (that’s what eats him from the inside out on sleepless nights) he doesn’t remember saying or doing something that would make you upset and even now when you keep bumping into each other you seem skittish around him and he doesn’t like that, hence he even talked to Hoseok about this and your own brother couldn’t give him an answer why you started avoiding him.

”Do you know how to fold origami?” You ask him slipping papers in front of him as soon as he seats himself beside you, your heart beats inside your chest violently when you get enveloped in his scent yet again reminding you of the hug you shared that you’re afraid he’s going to hear it.

”I barely know how to fold my clothes.” The nervous joke lightens the mood as the kids laugh loudly the poor attempt at making you be more comfortable with him earns a little snort that makes a blush creep up your face rapidly in embarrassment but Yoongi thinks you sound adorable. You think you sounded like a troll.

”It’s fine I’ll help you.” Your little smile is still there even though your eyes are no longer on Yoongi as you focus on the kids, you tell them first what they will make and then go into detail how they can fold it while using the instructions and clearing some of the confusing images for them to understand it better. Lastly, you encourage them to not be afraid to ask if they have questions and you’ll gladly help them. It falls silent after as everyone gets absorbed in their work and you start making extra origamis for the children as usual until someone needs help.

Yoongi looks intent on finding out using the illustrations how to proceed and even though your instructions were pretty clear and well detailed he couldn’t figure out how to do it, he wastes two papers before he even got to the third step.

You see him struggling and he clearly gets worked up over it considering the number of creases appearing on his forehead once you get back to your desk after helping a kid figure out the instructions you move your chair closer getting his attention with the movement, your knees touch in the process but neither of you makes any moves to instal more distance between your bodies.

”Can I show you?” You reach for the scrambled paper but stop midway to look up and ask for permission.

Yoongi nods his head sliding the mess closer to you, observing as you unfold the paper and restart making more accurate lines and you immediately see what’s wrong with his shape. His measurements are off, even when he folded the paper in half that seemed uneven because he tried to fold it in one go and the paper sometimes moves around if you’re not careful enough.

After you fixed it and slid the paper to be in front of him you tell him your advice in a soft-spoken way. Heart still hammering inside your chest due to the closeness you share. ”Don’t rush through the steps, take your time while you fold it.” Your fingers touch briefly when you pass him the paper and you resume your working so it would take away from the embarrassment of how loud your heart beats because of him.

He looks so good today wearing a black oversized t-shirt with small prints in the front and even when his hair is damp with sweat his smile is able to melt your resolves any time you gaze up at those dark eyes.

Kids can be very attentive and they easily see how Y/N looks so smitten with Yoongi if those stolen sideway glances are anything to go by, every time he shows up you became a nervous ball of a mess it’s not rocket science to know you have a huge crush on the boy, the only mystery that campers can’t figure out is why you tiptoe around each other when Yoongi doesn’t seem indifferent either.

They often catch him looking at you as they run around the campsite during leisure activities led by Hoseok.

Minsung and Soohyung share a knowing smile as they watch them fold origami and it’s not overlooked by either of them when you focus back to do your work and Yoongi takes glances in your direction mesmerized by you, the task seems easy when he watches you do it.

A knock is followed by the appearance of your camp leader Seokjin leaning onto the doorframe interrupting your little bubble, looking at the kids with a fond expression before he addresses Yoongi and they leave together to discuss something, the activity is almost over as you learn glancing at the clock and Jungkook soon appears where Jin was a little while ago to get the kids.

Jungkook and your brother are the ones responsible for the outdoor activities and at the end of the day not only the kids are tired but their counsellors too by constantly running around to ensure everyone's safety.

Yoongi wanted to talk to you and help you clean up, have a real conversation in private, but things never turn out as he wants them to there seems to be always an obstacle standing between you two so he follows Jin to discuss a camp-related issue while he wishes he could spend a little more time with you.

If only you would tell him what he did wrong so he can fix it, this awkward state you two got stuck in makes him sad for some reason.

There was a time when you were greeting him with a big smile on your face and ask him about his day, he vividly remembers your chubbier cheeks and crooked teeth when you were younger but he doesn’t mind your feminine growth over the years, Yoongi always thought you will grow up to be a beautiful woman.

He remembers your prom dress, it was in a navy blue colour that complimented your fuller curves he only started to notice in your last year in high school, Jungkook posed beside you like you were Mr and Mrs Smith as your parents took pictures of you two and he found himself smiling fondly at you.

It was Hoseok’s birthday when the air shifted from platonic to something else in the short span of ten seconds, both of you were a little tipsy and you were sitting at a corner table together because neither of you wanted to hit the dance floor, the bar was packed and guys tried to hit on you numerous times just to be chased away by your brother’s antics.

You didn’t seem to mind that he prevented every guy from making a move on you and as you were all alone in a small booth chest to chest to hear each other over the loud music while you tried to tell him a story about Jungkook choking on fries at Mcdonalds when the waitress suddenly slipped her number scribbled onto a napkin trying not to ugly laugh yourself. His nose accidentally bumped into yours as he suppressed a laugh and if the others didn’t choose that exact moment to take a breather and have more drinks he thinks he would have probably kissed you right then and there.

The other time he felt something different while he was around you was when you and his friends took a trip to Busan to see the sea and you wore that one piece bikini, the bottom and top half were connected by a line of fabric but let your sides and hips be visible under the little clothing you had on.

Guys turned their heads when you passed them and he couldn’t even blame them like Hoseok because he looked at you a few times as well trying to seem as subtle as he possibly can since Hoseok otherwise would have killed him knowing that his best friend was ogling at his little sister.

”Don’t you dare!” Your yelling draws the attention of the kids and counsellors equally that’s how loud you are as your best friend approaches your form sitting under the umbrella trying to cool yourself down since today’s temperate is insanely (and unreasonably) hot. ”When we get home I’ll draw all your action figures a moustache using permanent markers. I’m not joking stop right there!”

Your horrific expression is validated since Jungkook has this shit-eating grin on his face when he’s about to do something you’ll most definitely not like, knowing him from your early stage of childhood when he was just a lanky anime fanatic and you were flat like a wooden board with huge pimples you’re an expert at distinguishing his different expressions and actions.

”You’re cute to think that will stop me.” Jungkook chuckles grabbing you by the waist as he drapes you over his shoulder effortlessly walking with you to the edge of the lake despite your efforts to break free from his grip, your friend jumps into the water with you still firmly clinging onto his body. The kids around you laugh at your friendly banter as you rise from the water like a lake monster and you duck Jungkook’s head underwater to make him pay for your ruined clothes and makeup.

Coming to help you, Jimin manoeuvres his boat next to you and stretches his hand out followed by a big grin to drag you out of the lake but it appears to be more difficult as you two almost flip over but you manage to unceremonially flop down next to him dragging your fingers through your hair to get the hairs out of your face.

”You really want war, Jeon. Just you wait but don’t blame me if I shave your hair off while you’re sleeping.” Coughing between your threatening words Jimin starts patting your back, rubbing your spine to help you feel better.

Jimin oars closer to the dock and you land your feet on the ground again without any more incidents occurring while Jungkook swims all the way, making comments about your appearance making the campers giggle alongside with him as your face gets warmer, once both of you are secure on land Jungkook hugs you close despite your distaste, your clothes cling to your body uncomfortably and droplets from his hair land on your cheek as he moulds your bodies together.

”Let me go, I’m not talking to you.” You try to push him away but instead of letting you go he scoops you up from the ground and spins you around, begging for your forgiveness but you don’t give in so easily.

Yoongi observes the scenes before him with a sour expression, he doesn’t even realise how he glares at Jungkook holding you that close to him while both of you are dripping of lake water, your boobs are entirely pushed against his chest as your best friend giggles midst of you struggling to break free.

Next to him Hoseok sits relaxed in his chair sipping his cold drink, shaking his head in faux amusement happy to see you have a good time here, your brother is normally very protective of you when it comes to guys but with Jungkook he knows that you guys are just best friends it’s hard to see you two otherwise when he witnessed your first period crying onto Jungkook’s shoulder that you’re going to bleed out and your poor friend almost dragged you to the hospital because he thought you were being real but soon learned that you overdramatise things when it’s that time of the month.

He often finds you in a weird position while you watch tv with Jungkook’s head on your tummy because the pressure and warmth of his head make the pain more bearable cuddling under blankets because you get needy when you’re on your period, your brother knows all of this because when your best friend is unavailable he has to fill the space and lay his head on your stomach until the feeling goes away.

He had his doubts in the early stage of your budding friendship when you first started to hang out with each other because things can get weird easily between friends if they are not the same gender but Jungkook proved to Hoseok multiple times that he supports you and would walk through fire for you. Nothing happened between you two in romantic aspects, there was no shift, even though someone who doesn’t see you daily interacting with him would assume something is going on.

”I’m going to change.” You announce to no one in particular, the way your shirt clings to your curves as you’re surrounded by male counsellors you don’t know adds extra pressure and their eyes on you make you uncomfortably fidget in place, your make up is probably smudged on your face giving you a panda effect.

”Wear this your bra is showing.” Jungkook gives you his wet shirt but the black material conceals your body to look decent enough and you thank him he could easily sense your distress and he feels a little bad that he pulled that trick on you. He had to coax you into wearing that bikini at the beach last year buttering you up with compliments so the two of you could finally get going, he knows better than anyone that you’re shy and insecure about your body if someone you don’t know sees you, you don’t hate your body but it makes you feel anxious if some stranger looks at you like you’re his meal for the evening and he totally gets it.

He glares at every single one of them who looks at you inappropriately alongside your brother who shares the same sentiment as him. You deserve to be treated right, that’s why he was super angry once you told him about your first time, that guy just stuck it in without making you cum.

Hoseok doesn’t know, however, you only told Jungkook about your unpleasant experience when you were tipsy, you had to tell him at a house party while playing truth or dare, you had to share something he didn’t know and considering he’s your best friend not much was there to confess. You hoped that he was drunk enough to forget about it the next day but he surprised you with ice cream and you talked it out with him, he can be immature sometimes though when the situation needs him to be serious he’s there for you. He never once made fun of you for something you felt insecure or not confident about.

Areum takes in your dishevelled look as soon as you step through the entrance of your current accommodation, opting for a quick shower to wash the dirty lake water off your skin you tell her what happened vaguely before disappearing behind the bathroom door and she snickers silently seeing your grumpy face.

Jungkook marches to the seat next to Hoseok the playful glint is still there as he rakes his fingers through his hair shaking the droplets out of his locks like a dog and the way female colleagues eye him didn’t go unnoticed by either Yoongi or Hoseok for that matter. Your best friend is not as dense as you think he is because for a while now he connected the dots why you seem to avoid Yoongi at all cost.

It shocked him at first but now observing your interactions closely he calls himself a fool that he didn’t realise it sooner. Your best friend knows about the ’you can’t woo my baby sister’ rule because it’s applied to him as well, Hoseok cornered him one day after you left to bring up snacks for a movie night and told him awfully descriptive outcomes what will happen to him if he tries anything on you all the while he pushed him against your lavender walls, that day he learned that smiley Hoseok can be scary sometimes.

It’s been years and his overprotectiveness lessened because you dated guys here and there and Hoseok was always supportive of you and your soon-to-be boyfriends, but you didn’t go to second dates with any of them.

He found it strange at first but after he found out about your little crush on your brother’s best friend some things clicked and your behaviour wasn’t soo odd anymore, Jungkook didn’t read too much into it at first because he thought it’s going to be a fleeting flame but it’s been years that you harbour feelings for the older man.

Yoongi was a harder nut to crack because he’s better at masking his feelings than you but he can see how his eyes linger on you when he thinks no one’s looking, his slip-ups are subtle ones and it would go over his head if he wouldn’t be so tuned in searching for his reactions.

His gut feeling tells him Yoongi feels the same way you do (his face might not be as expressive but his eyes are sparkling every time he finds you in the crowd) although he can’t be one hundred percent sure, the benefit of the doubt that makes him keep question every move and look he throws your way his confusing actions indicates that even Yoongi doesn’t know how he truly feels about you so Jungkook didn’t bring up the subject because he’s not sure how to approach this without making this more complicated.

He doesn’t want to give you hope when he can’t guarantee his intuition is right so he choose to silently observe and let things unfold naturally but it gets harder with time to ignore how you two are dancing around each other like idiots. Well, at least before now you straight out refuse to be in the same room as him.

At this point, he’s convinced that neither of you is going to make a move to let the other know about your romantic feelings, he wanted to respect the fact that you didn’t want him to know about your feelings towards your brother’s best friend but enough is enough and he’s tired of seeing you avoid the matter for another year like this.

His plan so far doesn’t seem to work, he convinced Hoseok to sign you up for the camp against your will but things don’t go forward as you keep avoiding the problem so he needs to give both of you a little push from the sidelines to end this.

He doesn’t like the idea of you hurting if he’s being wrong about this but the rejection would be better than living in denial, not knowing if he reciprocates your feelings, he hates seeing you cry but he’ll be there to kick ass and support you. Jungkook makes up his mind and calls Hoseok’s name to grab his attention.

”What do you think about one of your friends dating Y/N?”

Hoseok’s brow raises in question and Yoongi’s body stiffens at the mention trying to seem unaffected but Jungkook detects the slight change in his demeanour. ”Why do you ask? You’re not in love with my sister, are you Jeon?” He can’t stop laughing as he hears Hoseok accusing him immediately, he gets comfortable in his seat before answering. Waiting a little before responding to get a dramatic effect, he spends too much time with you as he realises he picked up some of your theatrical approaches.

”God, no. She’s my best friend I know too much about her to think like that.” His laughing subdues into small chuckles, he saw you at your worst and best moments, seen you naked by accident. You’re beautiful and funny but he doesn’t see you as a woman. Yoongi’s eyebrow twitches at the mention of ’knowing too much’ but Jungkook’s next words are the final blow for him to grip the armrest.

”I heard Taehyung is gonna ask her out and I wanted to know what you think about it.” Hoseok schools his features quickly after that, he didn’t know Taehyung liked you like that but he has no right to control your life or tell you who you can consider as a potential love interest. You can like whoever you want, he tried to show you his support when you introduced some of your dates to him and he’s going to keep his promise even when it comes to his friends.

You were always close but after he began to tell you who you can or can’t see your relationship became distant until he realised his mistakes, you forgave him easily because you love your brother a lot and he loves you just as much so after a heartfelt conversation between the two of you he promised not to do that to you ever again.

You’re aware he did this to protect you because you’re his precious little sister and big brothers could get unreasonably overprotective so after you almost drifted apart and even though you two talked it out. The fact that because of a boy you argued with Hoseok you decided you’ll never act on your feelings for Yoongi for the sake of your relationship. Jungkook doesn’t know that’s the main reason you keep avoiding Yoongi but he couldn’t have known because you two never touched upon the subject.

”It’s her decision.” Hoseok shrugs finally and Jungkook nods with a smile eyeing Yoongi who seem to absorb the answer he didn’t think he would get.

You’re aware of your feelings so it’s time for Yoongi to reflect on his thoughts and figure out what he wants.

Jungkook thinks that his plan might just work if he keeps up the good work. You can thank him later.

Taehyung is an unsuspecting victim caught up in Jungkook’s spider web to get you guys together. He likes every kind of art-related stuff and Jungkook showed him some of the origamis you folded for him as he has a few of the smaller ones stuffed inside his wallet under your graduation photo and of course when Taehyung asked you to teach him you agreed with the biggest smile on your face.

You took it as a great opportunity to get to know him better because you’re the least close to him in the group, not because you don’t think he’s a nice guy but before this there were not many occasions to bond with him.

He has the talent for it you realise this soon and you two spend hours inside the art room together folding new pieces after you’re free, he even suggests as a beginner what’s easier to make so the kids can be encouraged rather than making them do hard ones and be disappointed by the end result.

He visits you often and brings you tea to chat about art at first but gradually you get to know more about each other’s personal lives all the while you make origamis together. You skip lunch sometimes when you get too caught up experimenting with new shapes and Jungkook notices the displeased expression on Yoongi’s face every time someone asks about you and Taehyung’s whereabouts just to hear you two are yet again holed up inside the art room laughing and chatting.

He got even grumpier than normal and lashes out without any reason, the others dismiss his behaviour as he probably had a bad day but his best friend knows something is up with him, it’s not like he lashes out on the children because he smiles at them like he used to but his quick mood changes are getting on everyone’s nerves lately. Hoseok knows that something bothers him but every time he asks about it he says it’s nothing.

Jungkook sits beside Hoseok as he goes on and on about he has no idea what’s gotten into Yoongi lately and he’s close to rolling his eyes at him, no wonder you two are siblings he thinks. Both of you are idiots.

Yoongi didn’t show up for breakfast and you’re nowhere to find as well, he knows you’re not with Taehyung because he sits at the table behind him with Jimin and Seokjin telling each other funny stories about the kids. He shows some of the origami pieces he folded and Jimin compliments him while Seokjin tries to stuck one inside his pocket so a friendly banter breaks out at their table.

”.. and he doesn’t even tell me what’s the problem. Hey, Jungkook are you listening to me at all?” Hoseok waves his hand in front of Jungkook’s face who munches on the garnish almost finished with eating while your brother’s plate is full of food because as soon as Jungkook joined him at the table, since he couldn’t find you in the crowd, started complaining about how difficult Yoongi is being as of late and it’s too early to deal with this bullshit.

”Yoongi is upset because Y/N hangs out with Taehyung too much. If you look at the signs you would have seen that he obviously likes your sister but because of that stupid rule you made neither of them is acting upon their feelings for each other.” The outburst momentarily shuts up Hoseok, his mouth hangs open like a fish out of water blinking rapidly and it’s noticeable how the wheels are turning inside his head as he processes the information.

”Yoongi likes my sister?!” The three surrounding tables turn after hearing Hoseok’s signature banshee yell and Jungkook audibly sighs at the shocked expression he’s sporting like he suddenly grew four heads and three legs. He just might because the food is weird sometimes.

You tell Areum you have to pick something up from the art room and you’ll join her a bit later to eat breakfast hiding your hands in your hoodie’s pocket as mornings tend to be on the colder side, she gives you a thumbs up as she walks towards the dining room and you wait until she gets out of sight to turn on your heel.

You visit the art room first but what you’re searching for is not there and you head back to your cabin to see if you brought it back by accident without you realising it.

You made that origami star Taehyung whined to you about. He wanted to make one but it just can’t seem to look like it should be as he showed you his attempts. It took you a few tries to succeed as well since folding the edges were quite tricky to figure out.

On your way to the dining room, you bump into someone and the star you made end up on the ground slipping out of your grip. Raising your head instantly to apologise to the person, you were not ready to face Min Yoongi out of all people, he picks up the origami and hands it back dusting it off before giving it to you.

”Thanks.”

”Uh, everything’s alright? You seem to be in a bad mood.” You’re hesitant to address the elephant in the room, you didn’t really witness his mood swings as others because you spent most of your time in the art room but seeing him now with dark circles under his eyes a grim expression on his handsome face, it speaks volumes of how true it is, and you would hate to get on his bad side because you ask a question everyone probably asked before you.

”I’m fine.” Yoongi tilts his head towards the sky and sighs, you wait for him to say something else but that’s all he does before he walks past you.

You grimace at the lack of response, sure, things were awkward nowadays but he never straight out ignored you like that, he didn’t even look at you while he answered and left just like that.

When you join Jungkook and your brother for breakfast they have a weird aura around them and you’re itching to interrupt their silent talk as they eye each other like you’re not sitting right next to both of them.

What is wrong with anyone today, huh?

”Okay we need to do something, things can’t continue like this.” Jungkook places his hands on each side of his hips as he captures everyone's attention when he climbs on top of one of the tables like he’s about to give a grand speech about something world-rocking kind of important matters.

”I agree. I can’t even say something to Yoongi that doesn’t end with him taking my head off.” Jimin and Taehyung agree immediately since they had to deal with his temper for the most part.

”And what do you suggest we do?” Hoseok puts his weight onto the broom as he speaks, after Jungkook told him that his best friend is in love with his sister everything made sense in a way.

Why he asked about you a lot like how’s school or how’ life going for you, made sure to get something for your birthday every year, he thought that he’s nice to you because you’re his little sister, after all, he told him to treat you right. He couldn’t be more wrong about it, however. They are supposed to be best friends and Hoseok didn’t even know he liked you like that.

”I think you should talk to her Hobi. She doesn’t act on her feelings because she thinks you wouldn’t like them together, maybe if you tell her it’s ok to date each other they will end our suffering. I don’t think I can manage this moody Yoongi for another day he looked like he’s about to murder me in my sleep.” Because of Jungkook’s scheme, Yoongi went extra hard on Taehyung and the poor soul didn’t have a clue why he’s suddenly replaced as Yoongi’s personal punching bag.

Hoseok makes sure to visit your cabin after they are done cleaning and it would be an understatement to say he feels a little nervous. It’s weird that he’s here to tell you to go after his best friend as it is.  

He already had a talk with Yoong in their cabin before he came here and his friend seemed terrified when Hoseok told him he knows that he’s in love with his sister.

All the colour drained from his face and he actually took pity on him that it feels him with so much dread that his best friend knows he likes a girl, even if it’s his sister he’s happy that he found someone he likes.

Hoseok tells him that nothing is going on between you and Taehyung so he should stop torturing him, Jungkook just tried to make him jealous by saying that, it felt nice for both of them to talk openly about everything.

Yoongi told him about the party when he almost kissed her or when they would stay up all night talking to each other about everything and nothing, he shares his genuine feelings and admits that for a while he didn’t know what he felt for her but he wants to be with her.

You had similar reactions like his friend, at first you tried to deny the fact but later when Hoseok reveals everything and speak about Jungkook’s plan, you gave up to lie and instead tell him you liked him for three years and you tried to move on but you couldn’t that’s why none of your previous relationships seemed to work out.

Your brother feels stupid for not seeing the signs, maybe Jungkook was right and he’s really an idiot.

It’s awkward knowing that he feels the same way about you you’re not gonna lie, it feels like a dream but at the same time, you’re afraid one day you’ll wake up and realise all of this was just a fragment of your imagination.

Hoseok’s support was a pleasant surprise and even though you want to strangle your best friend with your bare hands for meddling with your business and literally shouting out to the world you love Min Yoongi to the moon and back moments ago to have everyone witness your face flame up you decide against all expectations and you give him a bone-crushing hug because without him all of this wouldn’t have happened. All that matters is that he likes you back.

”How did you know?” You curiously ask and Jungkook feigns he’s thinking about the answer whilst pinching your cheek, that smirk he wears when he’s about to say something stupid makes you reconsider. You shouldn’t have asked.

”I mean I discovered it recently so you were quite good at hiding it because normally I always sniff out your secrets right off the bat but as soon as I focused on your reactions it was easy to tell.” He points at Yoongi standing a few feet away next to Hoseok and he suddenly burst out laughing.

”I saw you running into a fucking tree when you saw Yoongi wet because Hoseok threw him into the lake.” You clasp your hand over his runny mouth before he can embarrass you further, you were not ready to see Yoongi blush so cutely at the comment while Hoseok doubled over because he laughed so hard seeing your face after Jungkook said that.

You denied it in a high pitched squeal. ”That fucking tree wasn’t there that’s why!” Everyone seemed to find your excuse hilarious as they laughed continuously at your attempts of saving your last piece of dignity but even Yoongi chuckled couldn’t contain his biggest smile to take over his features as he thinks you look so cute when you’re embarrassed, and you like him back.

”Can we see a kiss at least if we had to put up with grumpy Yoongi for an entire week, I really started to fear for my life, you know?” Jimin chimed in, it was endearing to see Yoongi turn bashful in front of you.

”Now that it was brought up Jeon Jungkook I can’t believe you used me like that! I had no idea why you suggested that I try to learn making origamis from Y/N. Our friendship is over!” Taehyung points at your best friend accusingly and he only scratches the back of his neck.

”I did it for a good cause…wait Tae where are you going? Look I’m sorry…” Jungkook chases after the former boy trying to hug him from behind but Taehyung doesn’t reciprocate it and your friend starts whining at that telling him that he’s so sorry while Jimin and the others unoccupied at the moment resumes their staring at the both of you to move and kiss finally.

Even Namjoon and Seokjin who were silent until now joins in and chants alongside the others to ”kiss kiss kiss kissss”

You let out a shy chuckle taking the first steps in his direction and his eyes go wide in surprise when your shoe touch. Kissing his cheek instead you tiptoe to reach his height so you can easily circle your hands around his neck and pull him down to hug you, it reminds you of the hug you shared with him before the whole trip to the summer camp started but this time it felt different.

His embrace was warm and inviting as he held you by your waist his chest vibrated against you as he laughed when your friends demanded a real kiss.

Yoongi found himself sitting beside you inside the art room as you explained how the kids can make bunny-shaped origami out of the grey coloured papers in front of them and his hand immediately found yours under the table to intertwine your fingers together once you sat down next to him.

You try to suppress a smile as you watch over the kids ensuring that they don’t cut themselves with the scissors but your body betrays you as you subconsciously lean into his frame he smells like vanilla extract and chocolate. He showed the kids how to make muffins in today’s lesson, it turned out good because Yoongi measured the ingredients while the kids only mixed and did simple tasks such as portioning out the dough or decorating the top of the treats.

Someone had two or three muffins left on their table as they worked, focused on their folding technique occasionally they stole bites making you and Yoongi giggling under your noses when you would catch chipmunk cheeks.

Yoongi helped you clean up after the lesson throwing out leftover papers and sweeping the floor before you joined the others for lunch.

Things changed in the group’s dynamics after you started dating Yoongi but overall they were happy to see both of you happy.

Even though Jungkook likes to make jokes about how you two are basically joined at the hip for days and soon after starts to complain about how you spend less time with him now that you have a boyfriend, he’s clearly happy for you. It’s a new situation for everyone and Hoseok has a hard time picturing you with his best friend but seeing you so happy with him he supports your relationship wholeheartedly.

After you’re done with the activities for the day you and Yoongi retreat into his cabin as everyone else stays at the campfire. They see the two of you slip away hand in hand, howbeit no one dares to comment on it but you see Jungkook having an inner battle to stop himself from yelling out ’use protection’ luckily Taehyung stuffs his mouth with a handful of chio chips before that could happen.

Your boyfriend pulls you closer by tugging on your intertwined hands caging you between his arms and the door, kissing the corner of your mouth he moves downwards to kiss over your jawline and neck, smiles into the juncture of your neck when you chase after his lips as he pecks your cupid’s bow next, impatient to feel his lips against yours you pull at a fistful of his hair guiding his mouth to capture his lip between your teeth. Yoongi grunts into the kiss tasting your sweet mouth never cease his hunger for you, only leaves him wanting more and more.

”I can’t believe you’re mine.” He seals his words over your feverish skin with in between kisses, marking up your neck, nibbling and kissing every inch until your breath becomes laboured under his sweet attacks.

You weave your fingers into his hair whilst a soft mewl leaves your parted lips as his knee parts your legs to brush against your centre.

He presses his thighs further into your throbbing pussy swallowing the noises you make getting lost in your body heat. He wants to take his time with you licking every corner and dip until you shake and pant his name.

”Wait. What about my brother?” You jump a little when you feel his hand on your ribs travelling up until he cups your breast over the shirt you’re wearing. Kneading your flesh over the fabric your body relaxes into his touch it’s enough to leave you breathless seeing his expression so earnest to please you, pupils dilated as he looks at you under his hooded lids it’s hard to control his urges when you look good enough to eat.

”He stays over at Namjoon’s don’t worry about him.” Yoongi catches your earlobe with his mouth biting down on your shell playfully, the sensation makes you heave a gasp, the words barely registering in your brain.

”Off. I want this off.” Feeling especially bold today you sneak your hands under his shirt caressing his sides with your fingertips, pecking his collarbone that peaks through the collar of his clothing. A whine resonates within your throat when your boyfriend steps back to pull his shirt over his head revealing his stomach and shoulders for your hungry eyes to feast upon disliking the cold air that fills the space once his body is not there to keep you warm, you pull him close diving in to connect your lips in a heated kiss tongue licking into his mouth.

His hands wander under your clothes this time mapping out your smooth skin following the lines of your sides to find the opening on your bra, once he gets the clasp open he traces your spine with his index finger grabbing your ass with both hands as his wandering hands reach south. Your moan gets lost inside his busy mouth that explores your hot cavern at the same time his hands cup you over the fabric of your leggings. It doesn’t give your throbbing pussy justice when he decides to rub your clit and drag his fingers over the dampening material.

”Let’s move things to the bedroom shall we?” The innocent peck he places onto your cheek makes your heart flutter, excitement and love mix inside your veins sweetening your blood as your pulse quickens under his adoring gaze. You nod kissing him again before you let him guide you to his door, not separating from your sensually moving lips as he blindly closes it behind your entangled forms.

He removes your pants and shirt in one go, letting the garments form a pile on the floor promising your sweet release with each removed clothing until the only remaining barrier that keeps your naked glory from his piercing gaze is slipped down your shaved legs, he feels how soaked the material of your cotton underwear had become after so little foreplay and he finds himself insanely turned on by the discovery.

Yoongi eagerly encloses his mouth over your erect bud eliciting airy moans when he alternates between sucks and licks on your sensitive mound paying equal attention to both sides as he massages the neglected one with firm hands whilst he blows air to the saliva coated nipples and watch your expression morph into torturous pleasure but he’s not satisfied with your shy suppressed noises.

Your slick oozes out of your empty opening running down your thighs and stain the bedsheet your clit aches to be touched and your hole clenches around nothing as your lover keeps his head between your boobs kissing and licking your skin there until your nipples get too sensitive to his touch, red and swollen when he rolls it between his fingers. His leg parts your thighs keeping them wide open so you can’t get any stimulation until he decides to move lower.

Seeing how you shake under his body parted lips keep asking him to give you more, he doesn’t have the heart to deny you any longer as he starts to rub your thighs keeping your legs open for him to bury his face between your beautiful cunt swollen and needy for his touch he lets his tongue dip between your folds tasting you first before gently sucking on your clit.

He hears you call his name perfectly in tune with his tongue’s strokes as he intends to eat you up. Your essence covers his chin as he licks your hole clean lapping up everything your precious body can produce for him dipping inside the tip of his tongue your muscles tense up ready to get filled with something bigger and Yoongi’s cock twitches inside the confine of his underwear.

He doesn’t need to remove his undergarments to know his tip is red and slick with his precum desperate to fill your empty hole up but before that, he coats two of his fingers in your wetness and pushes them inside parting your walls gently to ease you into the feeling preparing you to take his cock.

Your hips buck into his hand as he curls his long fingers inside your velvety walls feeling your muscles constrict around his digits he moans with his head thrown back as he imagines his dick getting the same treatment later, your musky scent and visual laying beneath him taking what he gives you drives him crazy with need.

Perking up at the sound you open your eyes blinking to get the blurriness fade dreamy half-lidded eyes watch as his fingers fill you up and you almost close them again because of the pure ecstasy his expert hands give to your overwhelmed body.

You see the painful tent that formed inside his briefs before the numbing pleasure could consume you yet again and there’s a wet spot in the middle that lets you know he gets off on seeing you enjoy yourself. His hips unknowingly to him ruts against the sheets to get some kind of friction realising that he focused solely on your pleasure and put it aside to chase his, he’s so different from the partners you previously slept with and the sudden urge to please him overtakes your selfish side to just receive and receive.

You palm him over the wet spot following the outline of his hard dick to give him some well-deserved relief and he immediately grinds into your palm letting out breathy groans and low moans, you don’t mind at all when he gets lost in your touch instead and momentarily forgets about his goal to get you prepped nicely for his cock. The fingers he has inside you stills and your head clear out a little, you’re able to focus on his face learning what he likes as you study his reactions to your movements, you know his moans will probably become your favourite sounds.

You take advantage of his current state to switch positions, letting his fingers slip out of you as you get rid of his underwear grabbing his thighs to lower yourself while he sits down at the edge of the bed.

Taking his tip into your mouth to taste his precum you feel Yoongi’s nails digging into your scalp as you swallow around him trying to get him into your mouth as much as your poor jaw can handle. Holding the base of his cock to guide him back into your wet cavern you set a slow pace, stroking what you can’t fit.

”You look so good sucking my dick baby.” You learned that he tends to be on the quiet side even in the bedroom, his reactions however are good indicators of how you’re able to affect him with every swirl of your tongue. Letting him use the hand tangled in your hair to set the rhythm of your movements your vision blurs as tears swell in your eyes due to the quickened pace and force he starts to fuck your mouth but he pulls out before he could get too close to cumming.

”I need to have you know. Lie down on the bed with your legs spread wide for me.” You follow his instructions showing him your drenched swollen pussy as he climbs on the bed after you, admiring the way he ruined your cunt before he reaches for a condom retrieving the item from inside his drawer.

He touches himself in front of you watching you squirm under his gaze as you wait for him to roll the condom down his length, your body aches to finally be filled with something bigger.

”Yoongi. Fill me up.” You part your pussy lips for him revealing your hole clenching around nothing, beckoning him to fill you up Yoongi looks at the sinful image in front of him saving this memory of you for later when he’s alone with his hands but today he plans to have your cunt wrapped around his cock rather than his fingers.

Your drenched walls suck him in as he enters you, hips lowering in slow motion to bury his entire length inside, nice and steady, gripping his shoulders for support you moan into the sloppy kiss feeling so full.

You hear his guttural moan loud and clear just as his breath hits the shell of your ear and your walls squeeze around him, wet squelching sounds ring beside your mixed love language thriving off the sounds he grunts directly into your ear encouraging you to meet his movements in the middle.

It feels like you stand in front of the gates of heaven when Yoongi increases his pace thrusting in and out, not being able to stop as he feels his balls tighten with the need to cum he parts your legs even more as he watches his dick emerge from the pussy he owns now coated in your juices taking his hard length and moan out every time his tip curves to touch your sweet spot with each delivered stroke.

You cum first around his dick, he helps you ride out your pleasure only pulling out when you whine from oversensitivity and he rolls the condom off to finish as well, watching your spent pussy glistening with your cum he uses the sight in front of him to get off, he collects your slick to lubricate his shaft as he starts to jerk himself off faster.

Once your breathing evens out and you see the concentration on Yoongi’s face while he lucidly moves his hands up and down his throbbing cock with the desperate need to cum you touch his hips drawing soothing circles onto his sweaty skin taking him back into your mouth to help him reach his high.

He comes in your mouth with a soft cry throwing his head back as you keep sucking him licking his sensitive tip until he pulls your head off with a shaky hand stroking your cheeks with his thumb.

”So friends and family, let me introduce you to my boyfriend Yoongi. You might have already met him before.” You joke in front of your relatives of all ages and you see in the corner of your eyes how Hoseok rolls his eyes.

© helenazbmrskai lll Please do not copy, reblog and like instead!

[melissa-kenobi]

1: congrats on 300!!

2: may I request anything fluffy with Wolffe. Maybe some cuddling or taking a nap together?

Hiii Alyssa 💕

Hehe thank you so much sweetie!!! & yesss of course you can!! I live for soft, fluffy Wolffe, I absolutely adore this man (he is by far my favourite clone, I shouldn't have favs - I know, I'm sorry!!) Also I don't even know if this is fluff... 😑

"Wolffe?"

"Hmm..." The man in doubt let out a low hum of acknowledgement, eyes downcast on his holopad, reading through the thousands of reports that had happened in the past 2 weeks. The past two weeks, maker knows what the 104th had been upto for him to have gathered such a plethora of reports. Stuck in his own little world of reports, he had accidentally ignored what you were saying only to look up and see you stood infront of him, your arms crossed with a slight frown on your face.

Raising an eyebrow in disbelief, you snatched the holopad from Wolffe before locking it away.

"Y/N! What are you doing? I've got th-"

"I don't care. You've been at it the entire day, and I mean the entire day! Have you even had a look at the time?" You grumbled in annoyance, your boyfriend was tiring himself out, his armour was scruffly thrown on the chair, his usual styled hair was curling out in all sorts of places. But worst of all were the bags under his eyes. His cybernetic eye watched you carefully, while his normal golden brown eye watched you tiredly. You could see the exhaustion creeping up on him as he let out a deep sigh, rubbing his eyes harsly.

"Wolffe..."

"I know cyar'ika, I j-just need to finish these!" Wolffe protested as he got up from his seat, ready to get his holopad back before you stood infront of him and blocked his way with a hand on his chest.

"No."

Wolffe blinked back at you a few times. "What do you mean 'no'?"

"I mean no. You are not going back to that holopad for the next 8 hours at least." You guided him to the bed that was located on the left side, roughly pushing him to sit down. "Don't make me force you Wolffe."

"Y/N, cyare, you don't understand. I need to finish them. The General needs them for tomorrow." Wolffe sat up in bed, getting ready to stand once more.

"Maker help me, I swear to you Wolffe if you do not go to sleep right now, I will use the force to make sure you do." Before Wolffe could get another word in you cut him off. "And besides, I can talk to Master Plo about this."

Wolffe let out a little growl. "No. Do not talk to the General about this."

"I will if I have to." You retorted, standing your ground. Eyes glaring at his as you crossed your arms, a frown etched onto your face, ready to keep Wolffe in that bed at all costs.

"Cyare..." Wolffe spoke softly, his eyes tired as he watched you. You shook your head in reponse.

"Please Wolffe. Just for an hour or so, I can't- you look exhausted, hell you look worse than you did when you had your cybernetic eye done." You pleaded, cupping his tired face in your hands.

Wolffe gave you literal puppy dog eyes, and if you weren't such a stubborn woman, you would fallen for them. "Please cyare? For me?"

Wolffe let out a deep sigh, the minute you had touched his face he was a gonner, and then you had to go and use his words agsint himself. "Only if you stay with me..." He murmured in a small voice, looking down at your robes as he fiddled with them.

Your heart clenched in adoration for this beautiful man, he was still so shy with you after being together for a year or so. His fingers twiddling with your robes as you placed a soft kiss on his forehead. "Of course cyar'ika. Just let me get out of these robes and I'll join you."

Wolffe let out a little grin as your lips left his skin, and watched you quickly change out of your clothing before tucking yourself into his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around your waist pulling you even closer to him as he snuggles into the crook of your neck.

"Y/N?"

"Mmhh..."

"Did you set the alarm?"

"Of course I did. We'll be up and ready before you know Wolffe." You whispered, leaning up to kiss his lips.

Little did Wolffe know you planned to let the man sleep til dusk.

***

Hours later, well 7 hours later to be exact, Wolffe had woken up. His eyes fluttered as he rubbed them, not feeling you beside he abruptly sat up, scanning the room for any sign of you. He saw your Jedi robes were still here, lightsaber too, but your brown cloak was gone, as were your boots.

Where on earth could she have gone?

Wolffe muttered to himself, he would have called out for you, commed you even but he didn't know where you were. Slowly but surely he pulled himself out of bed, tracing a hand over where your body laid with him, the mattress was still warm, so you couldn't have left that long ago.

Pulling on a shirt he slipped out from under the covers in search of his girlfriend only to open the door and bump straight into her.

"Y/N!" He yelped as he held onto your waist for stability, eyes frantic as he finally focused on who else was stood there. "General!"

"Commander. You look well rested, I'm glad you've been taking care of yourself." General Po commented as he took in Wolffe's dishevelled state.

"I-i er. I was jus-"

"Do not worry Wolffe, there is no need to explain yourself. I'm glad the reports have been done and on that note I will leave you to be."

"Padawan?"

"Yes Master?"

"Do not forget what I said." You nodded in response, a small smile curling onto your lips as Plo walked away. Wolffe guided you back into the room, sleepy eyes watching your every move as you took off your boots and joined him back in bed.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" You asked, squeezing his cheeks before placing a soft kiss directly on his lips.

"What was the General doing outside? What did he mean by the reports are all done? Why did he question you?" Wolffe let out in one entire breath, softly grabbing your arms too look at him. "What have you done?"

You blinked rapidly before letting out a little giggle. "I've never heard you talk that fast before! Can you do it again?"

"Y/N."

"Don't worry about it Wolffe. It's sorted, and no I didn't tell him about the work piling up but I did mention that we have other people having their jobs for a reason." You smiled before lying down in bed and pulling the covers up to your chin, then covering your face.

"I- I don't- Why would you do that for me?" Wolffe asked as he climbed over you, settling his legs on either side of your body while he pulled the covers down from your face.

"Because I love you silly. And I don't like seeing you stressed." You smiled as he leaned forwards, placing his forehead against yours, his tanned hands cuping your face. "Plus you have this cute little wrinkle that appears in the middle of your eyebrows and it makes you look old."

Wolffe let out a small huff before rolling his eyes kissing you deeply. His lips against yours as he sweetly conveyed his love for you into his kiss. "I love you too cyare. So much. You have no idea how grateful I am for you."

"I know sweetheart. That's why Master Plo gave us the day off." You giggled. "We can finally spend some time together."

You swore you'd never seen Wolffe grin so hard before he flopped right onto your body, wrapping his arms around your waist as he lay on your chest.

"Thank you Y/N."

***

[pennibun]

V!! And Avery: Royalty AU

Mmmm gay

I wrote a thing! I wrote a thing everybody! Knight Avery meets Queen V for the first time and there are palace shenanigans and such

All characters are owned by @cloudwatchingtoday . She wrote V & Avery and she came up with the idea for a royalty AU--I only wrote this story (with her permission).

I think this is the lightest thing I’ve ever written. It was really fun to make! I really hope you all enjoy!

——————————————————————

Word count: 3.9k, or about 14 minutes (purple prose? Purple is my favourite colour! 💜)

Avery was drenched.

The heavy steel armour conducting the heat of the blazing sun, the weight of the equipment she was wielding and the absurd amount of exercise she needed to perform created a cocktail of sweat pouring out of her. She was exhausted to the point of delirium, and yet she kept practicing, kept swinging that hefty sword around as she counted down the minutes until training was over.

“You’re getting sloppy. Focus on your form, don’t be lazy.” The tiny voice came from far below, behind the fenced-off area where the instructors watched their students. Charlie gazed up at Avery with half-shut eyes and a bored expression on their face. Avery dropped her sword as she panted, speaking back to her instructor between gasps of breath. “You’re gonna call me lazy when all you’ve been doing is sitting there criticizing me?”

Charlie shrugged and smiled. “Perks of the promotion. Maybe one day you’ll be as skilled with the blade as I am, and then you can come and be lazy with me.”

“Skilled? Wanna bet? I’d beat you in a duel any day.”

Charlie laughed at Avery’s response. “Getting a little big for our britches, are we? Maybe I’d take you up on that if you weren’t twenty times my height.”

Avery moaned her discontent, dropping to her knees before laying spread out on her back. “Can I at least have some water before we continue?”

Charlie pondered for a minute before finally responding. “Alright, fine.”

Avery sighed in relief and started to get up, but was cut off by Charlie’s devious smile. “That is, after you finish your sets.”

The giant groaned, trying and failing to find the motivation to get up and finish her training regimen, but she was interrupted. “Avery Smith, your presence has been requested elsewhere. You may come as you are.” Sitting up in shock, Avery met the gaze of a very uncomfortable-looking nobleman. He was dressed for indoor work in the palace, and looked very out of place surrounded by grunting, sweaty soldiers in training. Avery might’ve guessed that this was the man’s first time stepping outside.

“Saved by the bell.” Charlie met Avery’s gaze once more. “When you’re done, you’ve still got two more sets to finish.”

Avery gave Charlie a glare of anger as she stood to follow the man. To keep up with him, she had to shuffle her feet and inch forwards at the same rate his tiny legs could take him. The two didn’t make it far before Avery got impatient.

“Where exactly was my, uh, presence requested again?”

The man started before looking up to meet her eyes, clearly uncomfortable with her looming over him. “Um, the east-wing library in the palace, ma’am. But-”

Unfortunately, Avery was already gone. She pretended not to hear the man’s shouts of disapproval.

The palace? What did they want with her over there? Wasn’t that where the wealthiest in the kingdom sat and twiddled their thumbs, pretending to be important? What on earth could they possibly need a giant knight for?

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~Earlier~

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“You must be joking.”

V glared daggers at the former king’s right hand man as he sighed in frustration. “I am most certainly not. Hunter’s reputation in his own kingdom is unmatched, and alliances with neighbouring lands is a part of bureaucracy that you simply must grow accustomed to.”

“His name. Is Hunter. Hunter. Liam, I would be hard-pressed to even bring myself to associate with a man named who possesses such a name. And to… to marry one? Marry a Hunter? Please, do not make such tasteless jokes at my expense any longer. We both no that there is no version of this world in which I would marry a-“

“MIGHT I remind you, your majesty,” Liam interrupted, “that your claim to the throne is at stake? You are not fit to inherit your royal title if you aren’t wed within the month—you simply must find a suitable husband lest you send this kingdom into anarchy. I’ve tried being reasonable, V, but there are more important things to be done at this time than indulge in your fastidiousness. Choose a suitor or lose your crown.”

V’s gaze could bring an empire to its knees. She directed every ounce of aggression into her glare. “Might I remind you, Liam, that you serve the royal family.” Her venomous glare was now complimented by a devious grin. “Do not make the mistake of speaking to your future queen in this way again.”

Liam fought hard to keep his anger suppressed. He could no longer tolerate V’s petulant behaviour, but she was right—she had complete authority over him. “As you wish. But this does nothing to address the problem of your groom-to-be.”

V giggled as she shot Liam a mischievous smile. “That’s where you’re wrong, Liam. I’ve always been able to rely on my ability to find a way out of doing something I don’t want to do. I’m certain I can find a loophole in the legal system.” Her voice had an air of finality. “Mark my words—I will be wed to no man.” She waved a hand in his direction as she walked away. “Now, make yourself useful and find me a literate companion to aid me in my legal quest. I’ll be in the east-wing library.”

V walked away with an infuriating amount of confidence. Liam would have no more of this. She was insufferable. She needed to be taught how to act like a proper lady, and Liam wouldn’t rest until she was wed to a future king who could put her in her place. She needed to be stalled—the one-month deadline would snap her out of this. As for her “literary companion”… Liam knew just the person to “help” her with her so-called quest.

V would get nothing done with that lumbering oaf in her proximity.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

V looked up at the towering shelves upon shelves of books. The library was a palace unto itself, with multiple floors and extravagant staircases, elegant chandeliers and lush carpets lining the polished granite floor, a ceiling that stretched almost a hundred feet tall—it was such a waste, really. At least V thought so. Such a lavish area, truly fit for a queen such as her, and yet filled with nothing but… books. The only wall not absolutely crammed with the things was the drawbridge on the easternmost wall that allowed for the entrance of the palace’s… larger individuals.

V was intimidated by the enormity of the task she had just undertaken. This would take hours to do alone. It was a good thing, then, that V wasn’t going to be alone. It would all be a matter of kicking back and relaxing, waiting for whatever scholar or noble Liam fetched for her to find her a way out of this damned marriage.

V was startled by the sound of the drawbridge being opened.

Really? Of all the days?

The library usually sat empty, with only lifeless, friendless scholars to peruse the dusty literature. What would a giant even be doing in the library? They’d need magnifying glasses to even read each book’s title. V sighed dramatically as she made her way to an adjacent wall, hoping that this unwelcome guest would simply pass through and leave her be.

The giant woman who finally entered was filthy. She must have just come from a mud bath. A giant pile of scrap metal that must have been the woman’s armour was laying in a pile near the entrance, temporarily abandoned while she went about her business. She made eye contact with V.

“Uh, I was told I was… expected here?”

Oh.

Liam, you absolute bastard.

V didn’t hesitate to express her displeasure. You have got to be kidding me.”

“I- um, excuse me?”

“Look at you! You look like Liam just dragged you in off of the street! Oh, you poor thing, you’re barely even dressed!”

Avery was too shocked to be able to process all that had been said to her. “Wh- Liam? Wait, this is my training uniform! What exactl-“

“You can’t call that sweaty old tunic ‘clothing’. You simply can’t. Gosh, I’d bet you’re barely literate! How are you meant to help me out of this predicament?”

“For your information, I am quite capable of reading!” Avery had had enough of.. whatever was happening here. She still wasn’t quite sure what this was, but she knew she was fed up with it. “And I’ll have you know I’m in very high standing in the knight training program.”

“A knight! Oh, woe is me! Liam must have sent you to sabotage me into getting married! That slimy rat!”

“Married? What does that have to do with- what’s going on? Why was I sent here?”

V sighed in frustration, as though annoyed by the fact that she had to explain herself. “If I am to inherit the crown, I need to be wed to some prince from a neighbouring kingdom. I do not want to be wed. Do you see the problem here?”

Avery opened her mouth to speak, but she was cut off yet again. “I am here in the library to look into the ancient laws and find my way out of this horrid wedding, and Liam sent you to help me do so in an attempt to impede upon my work. To slow me down.”

Things were moving too fast for Avery to process. She had so many questions but no opportunities to ask them as the smaller woman continued with her rant. “Wait, stop, please! I need to… okay, so, to summarize: you need to research this kingdom’s laws to find your way out of being married to a… a handsome prince?”

V crossed her arms and glared up at Avery with too much confidence for someone her size. “His name was Hunter.”

“Oh… okay, fair enough. No one deserves such a fate. So your advisor sent me to help you because… what, you all think I’m some lumbering oaf? I am perfectly literate, thank you very much!”

V’s expression very quickly changed to excitement. “Oh, joy! Then you can get me out of this predicament. You may start in that section over there—it’s where our records are kept. Come fetch me when you’ve found something!”

“Wh- hang on a minute! You can’t expect me to do all of this on my own! How am I meant to turn the pages?”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll figure it out! Good hunting to you!”

As V turned to walk away Avery stretched out a hand and blocked her path. “Wait! I want to help you, I really do, but…” but why? This woman had been nothing but rude and demeaning since she’d met her, and yet… There was something intriguing about her. Her excessive amount of unearned confidence was somehow endearing, and Avery was fascinated. She wanted to know more. “I, um, I need you to fetch the books and turn the pages. None of the books here are fit to be handled by me.”

V groaned dramatically and shuffled her feet as she slowly turned around to face Avery again. “Fine. If you insist, I will help you fetch the books. I hope you feel grateful that I am granting you this favour.”

“I’m the one doing you the favo-

“Come this way, I’ll take you to the legal section.”

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

“Next page.”

V sat cupping her chin in her hand, barely able to stay awake throughout this incredibly boring endeavour. The giant’s eyes were sharp enough to be able to read the words on the page, so V simply sat next to the open book, waiting for Avery’s instructions.

“Okay, this is no good. Jump to page 432, I want to double-check that bit on qualifications for potential suitors.”

Avery gave no indication as to whether or not she heard V’s dramatic sigh as the princess leafed through the dusty old book. She had hoped to get some beauty sleep during this time, but Avery’s dependence on V’s small hands forced her to stay awake throughout the entire process, and-

V’s neck shivered as she felt Avery’s breath run down her shoulder. As good as the giant’s eyes were, she still needed to position her head in close proximity to the pages in order to read the tiny words, and V could feel the heat in her cheeks radiating along the right side of her body. She moved to scold Avery for her lack of respect for personal space, but… it was oddly comforting. The library was largely composed of cold marble floors, and Avery’s natural warmth calmed the chill that had entered V’s bones. If only she could get a bit closer-

Avery’s voice was loud in V’s ear. “Oh, s-sorry, am I too close?” V started and backed away from the giant’s face. “N-no! Everything is fine. You may continue.”

Avery paused for a moment before speaking. “Actually, I’m just about done with this one anyways. Can you put it back while I look for another book?”

With that, the giant rose from her crouched position behind V and walked deeper into the labyrinth of bookshelves. V couldn’t help but notice that her head nearly scraped that ceiling so high above her, completely unreachable to V and yet…

“Um, V? Can you come here for a sec?”

V stood, confused at Avery’s request. She rounded a corner to the sight of Avery gazing up at the top shelf. “I, um… so, my fingers don’t fit between the shelves, and I can’t get at this book. Also, I don’t see a ladder anywhere nearby…”

It didn’t take long for V to understand what was being asked of her. “Surely you’re jesting.”

“It’ll just be for a few seconds! I’ll be careful, just get the book and I’ll set you down safe and sound.”

V’s groan must have lasted a full thirty seconds. Avery stood rather impatiently, waiting for her to finish. “Okay, lay down your hand.”

Avery rolled her eyes before crouching down and setting her palm down on the floor in front of V. She took a cautious step onto her hand, poking at the flesh with her shoe. She finally found the courage to place her full weight onto it, finding a comfortable place to sit down in the middle of her palm. “You may proceed.”

As Avery slowly lifted her hand, V’s hands rested upon the giant’s skin. The flesh was warm and inviting, and yet rock-hard with calluses from years of dedicated training. V’s mind wandered, conjuring thoughts of Avery practicing in the training field. She pictured the knight in full armour, a bead of sweat running down her cheek as she swung a sword infinitely taller than V’s humble stature. She must be so strong, and not just as a result of her size. Intense practice like that would build muscles tough as rebar, chords of steel running down her arms onto-

“Um, V? It’s that fifth book from the right of that wall. You got it?”

V emptied her brain of all thoughts, shooting her arm out to reach for the requested book. “Got it! You may set me down now.”

V was quick to jump off as soon as Avery’s hand rested on the ground. “Okay, back to it, then.” The two made their way back to the table, and V sat down in her usual position, prepared to turn the pages at Avery’s request. “Just start with the table of contents, I’ll tell you what page to jump to.”

The routine continued as usual, but not for much longer. It was only about twenty minutes before Avery started. “Oh! Oh! V! Look at that!”

V shot up and skimmed through the passage Avery was referring to. “I don’t get it. This is just some garbage about the rules of instigating a trade agreement between neighbouring kingdoms.”

Avery’s giant finger shot past V’s head and pointed at the book. It was too big for V to be able to tell what sentence Avery was referencing. “Yes, but look at this language. ‘As with any diplomatic endeavour, the current ruling power—irregardless of marital status or physical well-being—may enact the’ blah blah blah, the point being, you have the power to do whatever you want with no spouse! To inherit the crown, you need to be wed, but according to this, you are considered the ruling power no matter what because you’re next in line. The only thing you don’t inherit is the title of ‘queen’; you do, however, inherit all power and responsibilities of the queen, and since you’re next in line for the throne, no one else can take your place as the ruling power.”

V was shocked and thrilled. “So that one-month deadline Liam was talking about…”

“Completely arbitrary. It’s a one-month deadline to get the title of ‘queen’ instead of ‘ruling power’.”

“Well, as disappointed as I am that I won’t be technically named queen, at least I don’t have to marry Hunter. Will you come with me to show this to Liam?”

“Of course! I wanna see the look on his face when he sees it.”

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

The room had an air of tension as Liam slowly read through the passage, eyes occasionally darting up at Avery towering over him with a smug grin. “Well? You still think I’m a stupid oaf?”

V walked up to Liam with a similarly smug expression. “I’m upset that I will never get to hear you call me ‘queen’, but that look on your face more than makes up for it. I will be the ruler of this kingdom. And when I am, I will certainly be making some… personnel changes around here.”

V’s confidence retreated very quickly as Liam chuckled. “Clearly you didn’t read the entire book. The ‘current ruling power’ status can’t be achieved without a spouse. The statement on ‘irregardless of marriage’ is in reference to potential widows, as is clearly stated as early as page 42.”

Liam met V’s eyes with a smug grin of his own. “This was all for nothing. You still only have a month. Tick tock, princess.”

Avery had finally had enough of this little weasel. “What is your problem?”

Liam started as he looked up, far, far up towards the ceiling to meet Avery’s intimidating gaze. She bent down, resting her hands on her knees until she was looming over him completely. There was no direction that Liam could look in where he wouldn’t be able to see Avery. “You know what I think? You’re being a dick to V because you can’t stand the fact that you’re below her. V may be arrogant on occasion, but you take it a step further into egoism. You think you know how to run a kingdom? You think you could do a better job than her? Because I can all but guarantee that if you ever took the throne, the country would be in ruins within the year.”

She bent down further, resting her face mere feet from Liam’s trembling form. She gazed with passionate rage. “You are a sniveling little weasel, and you better hope that V never becomes queen, because I can guarantee that she will make your life hell. And you will deserve every second of it.”

V was stunned. She couldn’t take her eyes off of Avery’s display. She had yet to see this bold, intimidating side of the giant, and seeing her so aggressive towards Liam sent chills to her bones.

But not necessarily in a bad way.

V suddenly had an idea, and, in true V-like fashion, she acted upon it with no further consideration.

“I know who I’m going to marry.”

Liam and Avery both looked over at V in shock. Neither had any words to address the sudden outburst. But V did. “Avery, give me your hand.”

The giant slowly, hesitantly lay out her hand in front of V. The would-be queen picked up the giant’s middle finger, rubbing her hands along those callouses. “I now pronounce us married. We may kiss.”

Liam and Avery spoke in tandem as V placed a gentle kiss on Avery’s finger. “What??”

V looked at the shocked royal advisor. “Liam, you’re fired. You may pack your things and leave the palace. You may never step in here again.”

Liam choked on his words before finally speaking. “You can’t- she’s a woman! You’re to be wed to the next king! And not to mention- this kingdom can’t be ruled by a giant!”

V waved a dismissive hand. “You are welcome to try and find where that is explicitly stated in our legal documents, but I’ll tell you now, I’m certain that you aren’t as knowledgeable in that area as we are. Not after our entire afternoon of pouring through books.”

Evidently, Liam still had one more card to play. “W-wait! In order to be wed, both parties must agree to the marriage.” He looked up to Avery with a plea in his eyes. “Surely you have no desire to spend your life with this incessantly arrogant and childish woman!”

Avery hadn’t really been listening. She was staring at an adjacent wall, face fully flushed, not quite sure what to do with her hands. She looked down at V. “You… you really want to marry me? You aren’t just doing this to inherit your throne?”

V gazed up at Avery with a smile on her face. “Of course! You think so little of me that you assume I’m doing this for my title? If that were my only intention, I would’ve married… ugh, Hunter. I like you, Avery. It’s been nice getting to know you, and I’ve had fun spending time together. I promise you that I’m saying ‘yes’ out of a desire to marry you, not because of politics.”

Avery stammered. “This… this is a lot of pressure, V. It’s a lot to throw onto me all at once.”

V pursed her lips and looked down at her shoes. “I understand. I suppose I can’t ask you to completely upend your life for someone you met mere hours ago. I still have a month–I promise to wait for you, should you change your mind. Otherwise, I’m sure I’ll find some other alternative.”

Avery opened her mouth to accept V’s offer. It wasn't like Avery hadn’t caught feelings for V as well, but it had just happened all so fast, and she wasn’t sure she was ready for such a commitment. But then… then she saw Liam’s face. So smug, so arrogant, so slimy–Avery couldn’t handle the thought of someone like that having their way.

What the hell, right? At least now she wouldn’t have to finish her training session.

“Okay! Let’s get… let’s get married!”

V’s face was bright as the sun, and Avery knew at that moment that this wasn’t a mistake. “Oh, joy! Avery, I will be more than proud to call you my wife.” She didn’t take her eyes off of Avery as she waved a dismissive hand in Liam’s direction. “You can go now.”

Liam moved to interject, but a glare from Avery was enough to send him running out of the room. The giant looked back down as V ran her hand over her finger. “There’s still one more thing that all weddings need…”

Avery’s face grew hot as she smiled and rested her head down at eye level with the queen. “Um, well then, go ahead!”

The world faded away as they kissed, and they both knew in that moment that their future together would be bright.

——————————————————————

Hmm was that too cheesy at the end? It felt kinda like a tween rom com and I think I like the vibe of it but I’m honestly not certain.

Thanks for reading!! 💜

[jaskierswolf]

My dearest darling Wolfie, I saw your idea for game gerlion friends to lovers in @thewitcherbog horny chat and I am here to ask you to write the fic. Pls 💜😘

Tada!! I can't remember if this was exactly what I had planned... but it's what we're getting. Lovingly beta'd by @comfyswitcherblanketfort.

CW: probably rated M? Briefly mentioned masturbation more horny than smutty.

____

A retirement at Corvo Bianco had never been what Geralt expected of his life. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told a young Dandelion that witcher’s never retire, but in recent years between looting caves and haggling for contracts, he’d managed to save quite a bit of coin. He was, objectively, rich. He had the best armour on the Continent, the most deadly swords and crossbow bolts, and thanks to B.B., his house was beautifully decorated, with the exception of the rather garish portrait of his most loyal friend. Yet, he was still gaining more money than he knew what to do with. He’d started investing in merchants and refusing payment but the vineyard brought in a steady income and Geralt had to admit that his life was pretty luxurious these days.

So it wasn’t exactly a surprise when Dandelion had turned up, in fine, brightly coloured silks and the elegantly decorated elven lute from so many years ago. Geralt sometimes wondered whether Toruviel had enchanted her lute. There was barely a scratch and Geralt couldn’t even recall Dandelion ever having to change the lute strings in all the years he’d known the bard. Geralt was no expert but he was pretty sure that you were supposed to change the lute strings.

The sun was shining over the fields of Corvo Bianco, and Geralt felt at peace. Perhaps that was why he was feeling so nostalgic, pondering over the events that had led him to this moment. His life had always been so busy, but with Ciri off touring the multiverse, and Yennefer doing whatever Yennefer did these days now the Djinn wish had been broken, he was… well… bored? He had every Gwent card currently made, and no one would play him. It was just him and the bard, living the bachelor’s life in Touissant.

So was it any wonder that Geralt had started to develop feelings for his friend? Perhaps they’d always been there, clouded by the wish that tied him to Yennefer, or perhaps their newfound domesticity had awoken something in Geralt that he had never expected. Dandelion spent a lot of time in the makeshift study, working on his latest book, but they always ate together and sometimes the bard would even accompany Geralt on his contracts in the fields, for old times sake. After long nights of drinking too much wine or vodka, it wasn’t unusual for the pair of them to fall asleep together, curled up in one bed just like they used to in their youth. Those were Geralt’s favourite nights, because despite his protests of being better alone, he enjoyed the familiar warmth of another body pressed against his, and Dandelion had always been a cuddler.

And as if on cue, the bard burst through the doors onto the patio where Geralt was watching the world go by.

“Ah, Geralt, old friend, there you are. I’ve been looking all over for you!” Dandelion announced with a flick of his wrist. “I was just in town.”

“Dandelion,” Geralt groaned. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“Dear Henrietta will forgive me in time, my friend,” Dandelion winked, his tongue flicking out between his lips, “and until then I have plenty of friends who will offer me shelter if the guards are around.”

“You look like a man sized peacock,” Geralt scoffed. “How the hell does no one see you?”

“Ah, dear witcher, you forget that I used to be a spy,” Dandelion laughed, putting one hand on his hips. “Now, stop interrupting, Geralt, or do you not care about the gift I picked out for you in town today?”

Geralt hummed, knowing that it didn’t really matter whether he cared or not. Nothing would stop Dandelion once he was in the middle of a story. Some things just never changed. “Go on.”

Dandelion beamed, and from behind his back he produced a wooden box. The poet cocked his head as he opened the lid, revealing a set of tiny vials neatly lined up. Geralt almost choked, his breath catching in his throat.

“Oil?” he spluttered. A man such as Dandelion had to know of the more promiscuous uses of oil. Whilst Dandelion had never explicitly said as such, the way he talked of his lovers had always led Geralt to believe that he was rather flexible in his tastes, much like Geralt himself.

The poet blushed as he pulled a single vial from the box, his long lutist fingers wrapping around the glass. “Bath oils, Geralt.”

“Oh, of course,” Geralt cursed internally. Dandelion had bought all sorts of expensive oils and lotions when they had been on the path together, neither of them were shy with their bathing habits and the poet was a highly skilled masseur.

Which was not helping Geralt’s sudden rush of arousal as he remembered the feel of the poet’s hands on his skin. They’d laughed off awkward erections in the past, it was just a thing that happened… but Geralt was starting to wonder what would happen if, for once, they let it happen.

“This one will probably be a bit much for your witcher senses, my friend, but I rather like it,” Dandelion continued, oblivious to Geralt's inner turmoil. “This one,” another vial was plucked from the box, “however, I think you will like, and I managed to buy this,” Dandelion pulled a scroll from his pocket, “from a local mage. It’s supposed to move the water around the tub, like a massage!”

“And you’re telling me this, why?” Geralt sighed, rolling his eyes. As much as he adored his old friend, the man could take his sweet time getting to the point. It was even worse when the poet and Regis got together, Geralt honestly thought he might never know peace again.

“Because, Geralt, I am treating my dearest friend to an extravagant bath time experience!” Dandelion exclaimed with wide arms, almost knocking off his own hat in his enthusiasm. “Friendship and love, art and wine, Geralt. What more could you want in life?”

Love.

No, friendship. Geralt needed to focus on that. How many times had Dandelion called him his friend? Too many to count.

“Assuming you have wine, what’s the art?” Geralt smirked, enjoying the offended noises Dandelion made.

“Geralt, I’ll have you know that-”

“Relax, Dandelion. I’m teasing. So how about this bath then?”

The two men made their way upstairs, peeling off their outer clothes as they strolled past Geralt’s bedroom, and picking up a robe each. Dandelion had filled the room with candles, and there was a soft floral scent hanging in the air, roses, the oil vial that Dandelion had initially held up.

“I thought this one was too much for my ‘witcher senses’?” Geralt scoffed, peering at the magically bubbling water.

“Well, yes, but I did also say I liked this one, and I’ll admit that I got a little carried away. You don’t mind, do you Geralt?”

Geralt shook his head as he stripped off his final layer of clothing and settled into the tub. Dandelion sat in a chair, still wrapped in his robe, and picked up his lute. He plucked idly at the strings until he was seemingly happy that they were in tune, and then he began to sing. Geralt sighed as he sank deeper into the hot water, the enchantment really did feel like a sort of massage as jets of water pulsed against his skin, but he couldn’t help but wonder. The oils, the candles, the romantic ballad…

Was his friend trying to tell him something?

It was time for Geralt to test the waters as it was. He trod the water with his hand, gently splashing to the beat of Dandelion’s song. Normally, he would close his eyes and let the poet’s music fill the room, but instead he was mesmerised by the way Dandelion’s finger caressed the lute strings. Geralt could feel his cock harden as he pondered what other uses his friend’s delicate hands could have, the way they found their mark with such precision. The poet could make any instrument sing to the gods in his hands, Geralt was sure that he was no exception.

“Practicing your fingering?” he asked Dandelion with a tilt of his head.

The strings twanged unpleasantly, making Geralt grimace as the sound reverberated in his head. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Geralt smirked. “On your lute.”

“Right, yes, of course,” Dandelion muttered. “I’m just trying to figure out the next verse. I could use a hand, or an ear if you’d be willing to help.”

“I have a hand you could use, or two,” Geralt muttered not really intending for Dandelion to hear him but the poet had sharp ears and he spluttered incoherently as he set down his lute.

Geralt hummed and let his hand drop beneath the water, stroking his cock lazily. He wasn’t really chasing any real pleasure, but it was a good feeling, sending warmth across his skin. The bath, the candles, the song, they had to mean something even in Dandelion’s subconsciousness. The man was an insatiable flirt, and yet never seemed to notice when others’ affections were cast upon him, not unless it was blunt in its honesty.

So Geralt would be blunt.

He closed his eyes as he continued to stroke the length of his cock, the motion causing the water to ripple slightly, but not yet enough to draw Dandelion’s attention. The poet was too busy wittering on about his rhymes, only noticing when Geralt’s breath hitched as he cupped his balls.

“Geralt?”

“Dandelion,” Geralt grunted softly, his pleasure beginning to build from a warm ember to a roaring blaze that burned through him. The poet’s cornflower blue eyes were on him, dark and hungry. His cheeks were flushed rosy, and it seemed his dear friend was finally catching onto what was happening.

“I- I can leave, my friend, if you would prefer…”

“Stay,” Geralt insisted. “This not what you had in mind?”

“Well,” Dandelion laughed. “I had hoped, but I never thought it would actually happen, and well, really I thought it might take a little more convincing. Who knew all I needed all along were a few cheap candles?”

“Just get in the bath, Dandelion,” Geralt growled.

“Okay, okay,” Dandelion said with a roll of his eyes but shrugged out of his robe, allowing Geralt to admire his slender form. The poet’s cock remained soft as he stepped into the water. “So… how long?”

“Hmm?”

“How long have I been more than just a friend to you, Geralt?” Dandelion asked, settling into the water with a soft moan. His hands resting on Geralt’s thighs, fingers drawing patterns on Geralt’s skin under the water.

It wasn’t an easy question to answer. Could he even pin it down? Geralt wasn’t sure.

“Hard to tell, our friendship has never exactly been normal, Dandelion,” Geralt admitted.

Dandelion laughed, leaning forward in the tub, his hands stroking up Geralt’s thigh, the movement forcing the air from Geralt’s lungs. “You know, you’re right, and I think we should celebrate.”

“Celebrate?”

“Mhmm, and how about we start with a kiss?” Dandelion winked, before falling into Geralt embrace with a splash.

[what-the--curtains]

There Are No Wolves in the Desert

Part 2 - The Tell Tale Knife

(Oberyn Martell x f!reader)

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Summary: After the death of his paramour Oberyn seeks out a local mercenary known as the Shadow Hunter, but who he finds is more valuable than he could have imagined.

Authors notes: Thank you for all the comments, likes and reblogs! I’ve loved Robb and Oberyn since I read the books like 10 years ago now (yes my parent gave me that book when I was like 13 😂) I’m so happy to finally write down whats been in my head for years! Thank you for letting me share it with you💕💕 as per usual let me know if youd like a tag (or untag)!

Tw: Alcohol, violence, threats of sexual assault, swearing, nudity (implied), mentions of sex.

Word count: 4.5 k

Tagged: @evyiione @ayamenimthiriel @xsadderdazeforeverx @agingerindenial (if i missed anyone please let me know im the worst for tagging!!)

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3 years later

The days passed slowly while you remained tucked away, out of sight from those seeking to do you harm. A generous payment kept you safe in the attic of a local blacksmith, the promise of more ensuring you wouldn't be sold out. Once the imminent threat of assasination was over you focused on staying alive, finding the dragon queen becoming a distant memory, one that would have to wait until a more opportune moment presented itself. You used the last of your funds to purchase a horse and sought out work where you could. For a while you served as a healer to those returning from the fighting pits and other skirmishes occurring between nearby cities, until a Lannister soldier showed up searching for you. After that you moved further out of town finding work at a tavern miles from the city walls catering to a variety of characters travelling from near and far.

The owners were good folk, a retired sculptor, her wife and two young children. You’d stopped in for a drink with plans on heading further south, but an incident changed your course. A man came in threatening the owners demanding a payout when you’d stepped in, the man thought it would be easy, and it was at least for you. You helped them bury the body and they’d asked you to stay and so you did; tending to bar, training the horses and offering protection when needed. In return they offered you a bed, hot meals and a small salary despite your insistence that room and board was more than enough. It was a quiet life, a simple life, but one you enjoyed greatly. The noise of war and murder a ditant cry. Only in your sleep were you reminded of the cruelty of the world. The restful days quickly turned to weeks and it wasn't long until a year had passed, as had the memories of who you were.

The rumour of your murder had spread slowly from king landing, uttered from between the poisonous lips of Cersei Lannister, a lie you prayed one day would come back to haunt her. The day the news reached the ears of your employers you knew it was time to leave, and you rode back through the golden gates of the city. You’d resold the horse to a palace guard whose wife worked with the royal stables, training them, breeding them, caring for them, a good place for a faithful friend to live out its days. Noticing the weapons on your back the guard offered you a fee to find and kill a man who had snuck into the palace and murdered three of his wife's favourite horses after their daughter had refused his hand in marriage. He was dead within the hour, and from there the word of your skill in both tracking and murder got around amougst the nobility, and you fell haphhazourdly into mercenary work. If there was one skill you could rely on, it was your ability to unabashedly kill and you quickly became one of Dornes finest assassins. You fell into the work, the ease at which you became accustomed to it frightened you at first, but you had been hardened by loss, and it wasn't as if you hadn’t killed before.

Any semblance of emotional morality long forgotten, unable, or not wanting to have it all come seeping back, fearful of what may surface as a result. Most of your money went to keeping you fed, well rested and off any enemy radars. After the first month, money became more lucrative and you had splashed out on new armoury and weapons, nothing flashy like some of the more ornate dornish assassins who made a show of their profession. They were harmless, though admittedly annoying and from what you heard, not nearly as impressive as they boasted. Your armour was simple, lightweight leather over loose, breathable cloth, and a dark cloak, Its hood heavy and kept drawn well up over your eyes obscuring your face from prying eyes at all times. A shadow on the wall. Your weapons were similar to your clothes, your short swords and longbow were well crafted and durable, no decoration but for a few carved vines wrapped around their ends. Your only remaining identifiers were your eyes, and the dagger belonging to your late husband which stayed with you at all times, always within reach. Any remaining money was hidden away about the city, a retirement fund if you will, assuming you lived that long.

There were bonuses beside finances in your line of work, your ability to disappear into a crowd kept you in touch with the rumour mill. Words and secrets would fall from drunken mouths carelessly. Most of it stank worse than the horse's field after rain, but there were some that rang true, and a few that even brought a rare smile to your face. A young woman had spoken loudly about Tywin Lannister's death and how he’d supposedly died on the privy, causing you to snort into your soup, a fitting end for a coward of a man.

A month later you heard that the prince of Dorne had gone to King's Landing to fight for Tyrion, where he supposedly defeated a man standing well over 12 feet tall. A tall tale of a tall man you think, knowing how royal always sought to increase the truth of their abilities. You had also heard the unfortunate news of Ellaria Sands poisoning , the venom not reaching her veins until the ship had sailed out, no remedy to be found on the vaste seascape. It was a shame, she and the Sand Snakes were skilled adversaries here and they had since scattered in search of answers and allies around the seven kingdoms, to help avenge their mother. The prince apparently had to be restrained to stop him from turning the ship around, that was a story you found more believable. From what you’d heard the prince may have many lovers but he would go to war for any of them. You’d never seen his face, except for on the back of coins or from a distance. If you had you may have noticed him enter into the tavern where you sat awaiting your payment from your most recent client.

Your eyes stay on the table, your hood pulled up well over your forehead giving you a frightening silhouette beneath the candlelight that was beginning to glow more prominently as the sun set. The young man who commissioned you entered, he stank of wine and privilege, but he was rich and the payment promised was well worth putting up with his unsavoury personality. His true odor protrudes through the thin veil of perfume attempting to mask his stench, alerting you to his presence well before he’d sat down. Your time alone had heightened your tracking skills, a side effect of living under the constant threat of being hunted. The wiry man sits down next to you, his thin fingers snapping under your eyes in an attempt to get your attention, you inhale deeply, drawing yourself back to your displeasing reality and forced social interactions.

“Where's the money?” you ask, knife whittling a notch out of the table's leg with Robbs dagger.

“Where the head?” he retorts, and you pull out a small sack, shoving it into his hand watching as he pulls at the drawstring, opening the velvet bag. He raises his eyebrows and pulls out the index finger you'd removed from the corpse.

“Head was…. indisposed. I hope this satisfies,” you murmur, this job had been messier than you intended. You typically weren't so reckless especially with a noble.

“ Very much so, ” he says taking it and turning it in his hands

“The money then,” you restate, tone flat.

“Well there's one more... proposition I had.” He states, hand resting down on your thigh.

“I'll take the money for this job then you can hand me the next target,” you respond, sighing heavily, used to people getting handsy with you.

“You can make extra on this job if you play your cards right,” he whispers, hand running up your thigh. The other reaches up to pull back on your hood within seconds your dagger had impaled his hand, pining it to the table. His wail of anguish causes the heads in the tavern to turn briefly towards the scene before returning to their lively chatter.

“You stupid bitch,” he spits making a grab for the knife but you reach forward pushing it further into the table leaning in towards him.

“The money, or I cut off your head and mount it on the wall of this tavern,” you say, louder than intended.

Oberyn watches from the bar in amusement , the last time he’d seen fire like that had come from Ellaria. He needed someone to help get his revenge, someone willing to murder a man in front of witnesses, his birds had been right, this mercenary was the one for the job.

You rip the knife from the man's hand as he throws you the coinpurse you were owed you reach for it as he stands.

“Bitch,” he spits, liquid hitting the side of your face as he pulls down your hood “you better watch you back mercenary, I'll be taking you from behind in no time.” He snarls, as you hurry to pull your cover back up.

“Clever,” you retort, wiping your face, shaking out the purse and counting your pay out. Empty threats. Or threats you didn’t care about, you could kill scum like that in your sleep, and you had. You mutter another curse under your breath at being exposed, the latest delay in dye shipments had allowed the roots of your white hair to protrude through, lucky everyone inside was too drunk to notice. The money from the job was enough to keep a roof over your head for the foreseeable future, maybe even enough for a bath, it was getting to be that time. You go to stand, you had an ‘appointment’ in town, one with a handsome payout. Before you can stand you see a pair of hands adorned in jewellery slip into your view a scent of sweet fruit and honey indicating a cleanliness and a high status, a very high status, your appointment could wait.

Obery was observant, his eyes had been glued to you even while conversing with the beautiful patrons of the bar, not wanting to lose you in the crowd. “The shadow tracker”. That’s what you had been dubbed by those residing in the city according to his sources, clients of yours pleased with your services, services he was in need of. It seems you may bear more than one secret identity, it may have been for the briefest second, but the colour of your hair stood out against the dark fabric you wore. It intrigued him, white hair was uncommon in those of your age, very rare. In fact he only knew of one person still alive with such a trait. The other, one whom he’d sent a wedding gift to years prior, was long dead, or so the Lannister would have him believe, and when has he ever trusted the word of child murderers. He may have come here in seek of a mercenary, but what he found may prove to be even more valuable to his cause.

“Payments 50 for a nobody, rate goes up with each class, royals are above my paygrade, and nobles will cost you at least 6 of those fancy rings on your fingers,” you list, taking note of the martell sigil embellished on one of the larger rings.

“How much would it be to convince a wolf to take down a Lion,” he queries, hunching his head down to try and catch a glimpse of the eyes under the hood. Your heart drops.

“Above the pay grade, couple down at the docks have a death wish, you might try your luck there,” you explain, deepening your voice slightly in an attempt to disguise yourself.

“And what would be your wish, if you could have it?” he queries, leaning back kicking his feet up onto the stool beside you. As he does the yellow of his robes come into your peripheral the suns intricately stitched on, shining against the murk of the tavern's tile floor.

“To be left alone,” you chide, this was someone well acquainted with the royals here, you didn't deal with royalty, more trouble than they're worth.

“What's that old saying? The lone wolf dies, or am I mistaken? ” he returns, chuckling slightly.

“I don’t know who you think I am but I assure you…” you say, eyes finally raising, only then realizing the prince of Dorne sat before you, at least based on his impression on one of the coins in your hand.

“Lady Stark, I was hoping we’d meet face to face,” he remarks, the long forgotten address catching you off guard causing your eyes to shoot back down.

“Lady Stark died, the Lannisters ground up her body and fed it to the king's direwolf before killing it, haven’t you heard?” you say sarcastically, pulling your knife out of the table, unsure if he’d recognized it.

“Propaganda, set to diminish the power of the north,” he says, watching the blade intently as it's pulled from the table.

“I do not know if Lady Stark is alive, but for a price I could find out, granted you tell me what you need her for,” you mutter.

“I did not come here in search of Lady Stark. I came seeking a mercenary, the so-called “shadow tracker” however, this is a most welcome surprise, as for why I need you, or her, the answer is revenge plain and simple.”

“Is that what they call me?” you remark “ So you seek out a mercenary only to find something better, something you can trade?” you pose shaking your head.

“No, I needed an assassin, but found something better. Something more lethal.” He pauses.

“Which is?” you prompt, hoping to end this conversation sooner rather than later.

“One they think is dead. Besides I figured Lady Stark would want the opportunity to take down the Lannisters.”

“I assume she would, though she may think the offer stands too good to be true,” you state, gathering up your payment and making your exit he follows suit, stopping briefly to gently nudge his hand under the chin of an attractive man standing near the door, no doubt planning on returning later.

“The desert is no place for a wolf,” he calls after you, a significant distance between the two of you now.

“I shall let you know if I see such a sight, my prince,” you shout, dramatically curtsying before turning on your heel and walking off. He smiles before re-entering the tavern.

A week later

You stroll through the dark alleys of the city, a few years ago you wouldn’t have dared ventured out so late. The woods were known to you, their dangers and sights predictable, but the city was uncharted territory. While a bear could be trusted to do as bears do, the movements of man were less predictable. Your work kept you attune to the veins of the city and the people that coursed through them. You knew where to go and where to avoid depending on the day. You knew the sounds, able to pick out when something was amiss and tonight something was. The usual scurry of the rats below or the call of the parrots from above were absent, someone had been through here and not long ago. Your hand dips into the folds of your cape and you throw your dagger catching a man in the neck. You lean over and remove it from his jugular, the blood flowing out from the wound. Before you can turn him over, something hits you knocking you forward onto your stomach. You’re lifted from the ground by the nape of your neck. Your hoods pulled down and your head pulled up to see the foul smelling client and two other assassins standing before you.

“Dirron, Brant, always a pleasure” you snarl

“No hard feelings Shadow, you’re taking out all the business” Brant responds.

“How much is he paying you? Not enough I bet he didn't pay me enough. I'll double it if you let me walk.” you plead, but they shake their heads.

“I paid you more than your worth,” he spits, gesturing to the man behind you and he lifts you up slamming you into a nearby wall pressing your face against the rough brick. You can taste the blood beginning to gather in your mouth. He releases you, handing you over to the unpleasant smelling man who brings the dagger you’d dropped into your view, pressing the steel against your cheek as he begins to speak.

“This dagger belonged to Robb Stark.”

“Did it? I stole it from a client months ago,” you say, elbowing him in the stomach causing him to drop the blade. You catch it, and drive it deep into his knee. He falls, and you unsheathe his sword and throw it catching Dirron in the chest. The large brute gets to you before your next move knocking you in the stomach and pinning you back up against the wall.

“Told you I'd have you from behind,” the client says, limping over to you and spitting on the side of your face. As the moisture hits your flesh a spear pierces through his chest , pinning him to a nearby crate as the remaining two men scatter. You push yourself up spinning to see the prince standing in the alley picking up your dagger.

“Of all the souvenirs to keep, this…” he starts, examining the blade before continuing “ is the most telling. Even with your distinct traits, the Young Wolf's knife is well known, especially by those who saw it made. Dornish steel,” he explains tossing it in the air catching it by the blade and handing it back to you by its handle.

“As I just finished explaining to your dear friend there, I stole that,” you lie, taking it from him.

“No you didn’t,” he says, eyes bright even in the dark, a familiar smirk on his lips, clearly bemused by your attempts at lying.

“Yes I did,” you retort, refusing to let up on your façade.

“Shall we debate it over a drink?” he asks, retrieving his spear from the client's body which falls to the ground with an unpleasant thunk.

“A prince slumming it with the poor?” you ask watching as he uses the dead man's silks to wipe his weapon before turning back to you.

“My enjoyment of life precludes class,” he says offering you his arm

“As you speak from your riches,” you point out, watching him run his tongue along his upper lip.

“We are not as antiquated in our ideologies here, class here is less pronounced” he assures you.

“Is it?” you argue, pushing down on his extended arm and he shrugs his shoulder in defeat, pride faltering only for a fragment of a second at the notion of being rejected. The streets are busy tonight, the warm weather bringing the people out en masse to enjoy the city's nightlife. He brings his hand up to usher you into a nearby tavern by the small of your back, but thinks twice and drops it, not wanting to lose it. As you enter he raises his hand and winks at the barkeep before following you towards the back near the window sill.

“What will it cost you?” you inquire as he sits down, watching over his shoulder as the person behind the bar pours out a decanter of wine.

“What?” he asks, the downturn of his mouth and creased forehead painting a picture of confusion.

“To let me leave here, to keep this a secret, the two men who escaped know who I am now. My time here is up.” you confess as the decanter is placed on the table the bartenders hands trailing across his shoulders causing him to smile fondly up at them.

“I do not wish you to be found. It would ruin the plans I have,” he says, slowly turning his attention back to you, offering you wine. You stare at the decanter, then to him before shaking your head causing him to chuckle

“What? Have I said something amusing? “ you question, almost annoyed.

“Untrusting,” he remarks, taking a sip of the liquid before offering it to you once again. You reach over the table grabbing the cup from his hand.

“I am untrusting because in my experience people cannot be trusted,” you explain taking a sip.

“You husband certainly lied about marrying the Frey girl,” he remarks, leaning back into his seat, arms spreading out across the chairs back.

“I’ve never been married,” you state, wanting nothing more than to punch the smug look off his face.”

“You're good,” he says, eyes giving you the once over.

“At what?”

“Lying, well perhaps not good per say but committed, i'll give you that, you fight in a similar manner.” he presses, hoping to get a rise out of you.

“So, you think I can’t fight,” you say, shaking your head with a laugh

“Your words,” he states.

“I did not come here to be insulted by the likes of you, prince or not,” you scold, sitting up.

“I didn't mean to offend,” he remarks, eyes watching your movements, evidently he’d touched a nerve.

“Didn’t you?” you query, tilting your head.

“No, truly it was not my intention, I merely believe upon improvement,” he explains.

“Hard to improve without practice, hard to practice on your own,” you state, moving to leave, the prince drawing too much attention than you wanted on you. You down the rest of your wine and utter a ‘thank you for the drink’ before bidding him a farewell and exiting the bar. You don't make it far, seemingly unable to shake him.

“Why are you here?” he asks.

“That’s privileged information,” you say, turning to face him walking backwards along the cobbled streets. His eyes fall to you before looking up to the heavens, the stars were bright tonight illuminating his features. The rumours of him held true in one area undoubtedly, he was handsome.

“Come back to the palace with me.” He says, eyes still gazing up at the sky.

“I have no intention of divulging in your pleasure my prince, my heart belongs to another, I swore I wouldn’t stray from him even in death,” you reply, turning back to walk forward spitting blood out onto the street, sure one of your teeth must have been knocked out in the earlier fight.

“While I disagree with more than one of those statements I did not mean to imply, though I would be remiss to say it wouldn’t be of great honour. I heard the Young Wolf betrayed an entire kingdom for you.” he says eyes once again on you, trying to catch a glimpse of your features obscured by the hood.

“Are you suggesting I got my husband killed?” you muse, hearing him tut in disagreement

“You’re dirty, you’re tired, you’re injured and at risk of murder, the palace offers you a safe place to recuperate.”

“And what do you expect in return?” you ask.

“I simply wish to offer you a proposition once you are rested, if you decline, you are free to leave. I will ensure you are transported to a safe location where no one knows you.”

Perhaps it was the itching of your skin, or the way the dye was clinging your out of control hair or maybe it was being allowed to be who you once were, but you agree.

“This is Shana she will help you, unless you prefer a male companion, though I would gladly offer my services” he says, gesturing to an older woman of great beauty.

“I can bath myself, thank you though,” you say, turning and nodding to the woman who bows her head and exits the bathhouse.

“Whatever you wish, I'll have her bring you clothes while we clean yours... if we can clean yours” he muses, the remark cracking a smile in your icy demeanour. He leaves and you undress placing your clothes outside the door as requested. Your bare feet feel refreshed against the cool orange tiles of the bath house, the area evidently meant for the use of many people. Multicoloured tulip petals float atop the water filling your nostril with an aroma unlike one you’d ever known. The steam from the water rises in the cool air of the night and you dip your toe in water proceeding to the steps.

You stride into the water allowing your lower half to adjust to the heat before fully sinking in to cover your shoulder. Immediately the dye in your hair begins to leak into the water blending together with the built up mud and blood that has been stuck to you since your last clean. You scrub your skin until the scars scattered across your body are once again visible in the moonlight. Your hand pauses over the wound above your shoulder, memories of Robb flooding back in, as you assume your true identity for the first time in years.

You dunk your head under the water, scrubbing to remove grime from your face and to work out the last of the dye until it's all gone, your hair returned to its original state. You stay in the water for a while enjoying the heat, but sitting in your own filth is no longer a luxury and you stand up and dry yourself off. Pulling on a robe hung up for you as if they knew you’d be there that night. The cool air hits you as you exit, a welcome relief compared to the heavy heat carried around while wearing your armour. One of the palace guards leads you to your bed chamber, the bed is large and the room even larger. Tiles from floor to ceiling apart from the windows which opened up to the balcony allowing the breeze in at night. You step out onto it, hand trailing through the flowers growing along the bannisters. You thank the guard and he closes the large wooden doors leaving you to change into an orange gown true to the style in Dorne. The thin material leaves little to the imagination, but it would prove good for sleeping though not much else. You turn your head to the room's table where clothes better suited for your line of work sit. Your weapons had been cleaned and lined up across the corner of the room, your dagger shined and stabbed into the wood, holding a note in place.

“Dramatic,” you chuckle, pulling out the knife retrieving the note and opening it ‘winter is coming’ you recognize the handwriting immediately, it had been years but you'd never forgotten the letter you'd received the day at the docks. Perhaps the prince could be trusted after all. You hesitate before folding the note up and placing it back down on the table, walking over to the large bed and falling asleep with the knife tucked securely under your pillow, just in case.

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

The Sound of Your Voice

doing this thing | day 30 - mutual masturbation

I had to change the prompt for today because it turns out I had marking on the list twice. Also, it’s late (sorry) because my brain was empty until late last night and then I got v carried away with this one. 

Jaskier throws himself onto the bed, sighing happily as he shuts his eyes and Geralt forces back a smile as he sets his things down at the end of his own bed. For once, they haven't been travelling long between inns, but it's been a long day and Geralt at least is happy for a comfortable bed and a decent meal - and some time to himself while Jaskier inevitably finds some other bed to warm. It may not have been a long time on the road, but Geralt's patience has been tested with every moment of it.

The weather is beginning to turn and Jaskier, constantly walking and no temperature regulation to speak of, has taken to removing his doublet most days and pushing his sleeves up to his elbows. On occasion, he's threatened to remove his shirt altogether and, although it had been a throwaway comment, Geralt had nearly toppled right off Roach and into the stream they'd been following.

It's not as though this is a new habit, he's been doing it for years but this spring is... worse. This spring Geralt is dealing with a rather frustrating realization that he does, in fact, quite like having Jaskier around - to the point where he was miserable for most of the winter without him, wondering what he was doing and who he was with back in Oxenfurt. Eskel had just given him a knowing look, but Lambert had wandered around the keep telling anyone who would listen (Geralt) about it every five seconds.

Geralt doesn't think often about things like love. The closest he ever got was with Yen and that was... a train wreck, in the end. But he's been thinking about it a lot lately and as he looks across the room to where Jaskier is basking in a ray of sunlight, he thinks if he did love anyone, it might be him.

"Well," Jaskier chirps, sitting up with his feet on the floor, "I think I'm gonna head downstairs. Will you be joining me?"

"Not tonight, I don't think."

"Alright then, darling, enjoy your rest. Should I come collect you for supper?"

"No. Thank you. I'll be fine."

Jaskier flashes him a warm smile and crosses the room, slipping through the door with a final little wave to Geralt. Geralt hums to himself as he strips away his armour, piling it neatly on the floor. The work is mindless after so much practice and as he goes, Geralt thinks about Jaskier. He's probably starting his set about now, grinning out at the crowd and working them up with his charm. All the better Geralt is up here and not down there with him.

When Jaskier performs, he puts on a show, flirting with everyone in the room without a single word. He dances and slips through the crowd, pressing up close when he can and winking at those who stumble into his orbit. Although, Geralt has learned it's rarely an accident that people end up in Jaskier's presence.

They don't realize it's all a show, they don't know what Jaskier is like under it all and, Geralt suspects, they don't care to. They want their moment in the sun, they want their night in his bed or with him in theirs, but nothing more than that. It's part of the reason Geralt doesn't mind the constant flirting. He can't ask Jaskier to love him back, but he knows that no matter whose bed Jaskier winds up in, he always returns to him.

Beneath his feet, the music starts and Geralt's lips twitch up into a soft smile. Tugging off his boots, he climbs up onto his bed and lays down on his back, shutting his eyes. He'd much rather listen to Jaskier's performance up here where he can enjoy it without having to worry about anything else. Jaskier has a terrible effect on him most of the time, but when he's performing, when he's and sweaty and he's got his doublet undone and his shirt unlaced- Geralt groans at the thought of it.

And when he gets hot, his shirt clings to his chest, clearly defining the musculature he so often has to avert his eyes from. And oh the way he smiles when he catches Geralt watching him, like nothing in the world could make him happier than catching Geralt's attention. It's intoxicating and Geralt is weak against it. Even now just thinking about it, his body heats and his cock stirs.

He settles in, resting a hand on his hip as he gets comfortable. From his bed, he can perfectly hear Jaskier below him, can picture each of Jaskier's movements by the inflection in his voice. He hadn't realized how well he knew Jaskier's performance, but somehow it doesn't surprise him.

His fingers twitch and he focuses on the sound of Jaskier's voice, aware of the way his cock twitches at the sound of him. He's alone for a while, Jaskier has only just started his set; he has time now and he could just listen to him, there's no harm in listening. As his fingers drift, slipping closer to the growing bulge in his trousers, Geralt assures himself that he's not the only one who's ever gotten off thinking about him. He can smell the arousal in the air every time as men and women alike are drawn in by Jaskier's display.

Geralt presses the hell of his hand against his crotch as below him, Jaskier finishes one song and begins another. This one is faster, too raunchy for respectable crowds, but the guests seem to enjoy it and, although he'd never admit it, it's one of Geralt's favourites. It also gets him worked up quicker than anything. He has no intention of telling Jaskier that either.

He spreads his fingers down over the swell of his cock, cupping the base of it and dragging his fingers up the length of it. Pleasure zips through him and his eyelids flutter. It's been too long since he's had any sort of relief and it's starting to show; three times today, he tripped over something because he was too focused on the way Jaskier's shirt was plastered to his back or the way his muscles shifted beneath it.

But now he has time. When they're on the road, camping wherever they can find shelter, he doesn't get a chance to take things slow and really enjoy it, at best he gets a quick wank in the woods while pretending to gather firewood. So far, Jaskier hasn't caught on, but it's only a matter of time before he starts to wonder what's taking him so long. Not that it does take him that long, not with Jaskier's scent still close and tinged with sweat and the sweetness of arousal that clings to him near constantly.

His cock jumps under his fingers and Geralt groans. If he's not careful, he won't last long tonight either. He's fully hard now, his cock pressing up against the front of his trousers and he wraps his fingers around himself , stroking firmly through the thick fabric. He bites down on his lip, an instinctive response brought on by years of travelling with a companion and his hips shift, pushing up against his palm.

Stupidly, he lets his mind wander, imagining Jaskier's fingers wrapped around him without the barrier of fabric between. Jaskier is always so focused and considerate with his lovers, so fully attuned to them and worried more about their pleasure than his own. Geralt knows if they ever made it to bed together, Jaskier would be the same with him, regardless of how much Geralt might try to turn the tables on him.

And he could easily overpower him, press Jaskier down into the bed and prove his affection, kissing it into every inch of his skin until Jaskier shakes beneath him. Fuck. The thought along makes his cock throb and he wants to shove a hand down his trousers and jerk himself hard, but he knows Jaskier will return to their room, if only for a moment to put his things away, and he can't let him find him like this.

Abruptly, the music from below stops and Geralt's hand freezes where it's drifted to the buttons on his trousers. He hadn't realized how long he'd been daydreaming and Jaskier's finished his set and he'll be upstairs soon. But then, he hears Jaskier's laugh ring through over the crowd and a softer, lilting voice respond. Jaskier has found someone for the night. Geralt doesn't listen to their conversation, but he catches of course, darling, right away. So Jaskier won't be coming back to their room, which means he's free to do whatever he pleases.

Gods, but he knows Jaskier is heading back to someone's room right now and he wishes it was theirs, wishes that he was the one Jaskier was hoping to jump into bed with. He unbuttons his trousers and slips a hand inside, wrapping around himself as he imagines Jaskier climbing into his bed in the middle of the night. He has nightmares sometimes, the thought isn't even that far-fetched, only this time, Jaskier doesn't curl up against him and sleep. This time, he presses his nose into Geralt's neck, slides a hand down his chest and there's no way he could help himself in that position, he'd be hard before Jaskier ever reached his cock.

And oh how Jaskier would make him sing. He's good with his hands, and Geralt would know after all the hours spent watching them. Jaskier would bring him right up to the edge in no time, but he'd make him wait because he'd want it to last. And Geralt would whimper and whine and ache for him, but he wants it to last just as much.

Geralt's cock throbs against his palm and he arches off the bed with a groan. Without Jaskier's voice to ground him, he feels wild and he bucks up into his hand, careful not to think about where Jaskier is or what he's doing.

There's a creak outside the room, but he doesn't think anything of it. Jaskier's performance is over, people will be heading up to their rooms for the evening now. Some will stay behind, but what's the point when the beautiful bard is gone? Geralt doesn't blame them; he's just as bad. He slips his thumb over the head of his cock and has to bite his lip again to muffle a moan, all thoughts of the outside world banished by the rush of pleasure.

There's a soft gasp from somewhere far too close and Geralt's eyes flash open, searching the room. Jaskier is standing at the foot of his bed, flushed a rather pretty shade of pink, and shifting uncomfortably. Geralt is about to apologize when he catches the scent of him, thick and sickly-sweet and when his eyes drop, the bulge in Jaskier's trousers only confirms his arousal.

Geralt releases his cock, shifting further up the bed and beckoning Jaskier closer with a single finger. To his shock and delight, Jaskier's eyes go wide and he stumbles over himself in his rush to get onto the bed. Jaskier settles on his knees between Geralt's ankles doing his best to keep from staring at his cock but his focus keeps slipping and each time it does, Geralt throbs under the attention. He doesn't quite know what to do with this. He supposes he should say something.

"I thought you'd found someone to spend the night with," he mutters, his voice thick with arousal and disuse.

"You were listening?" Jaskier asks. He doesn't sound upset, just intrigued, and Geralt takes that as a good sign.

"To your music," Geralt clarifies and Jaskier's eyes go wide again. His pupils are blown wide, so dark Geralt could lose himself in them, but then Jaskier opens his mouth again.

"Were you listening to me while- Geralt, were you getting off listening to me?" There's nowhere to hide, here. Jaskier just walked in on him with his cock in his hand and he all but admitted to it already.

"Yeah," he breathes and a quiet whine escapes Jaskier's lips.

"Fuck, that's- do you do this often?" Jaskier's hand slips between his thighs and Geralt barely holds back a groan.

"No. I usually come down to watch." Jaskier's mouth drops open, but it's too late to change what he said, now.

"Geralt?" Jaskier asks, shifting closer so his knees bump the insides of Geralt's thighs. "Does it... turn you on to listen to me perform?" He could easily say no, lie about it and say something else got him hard, but Jaskier is sitting between his legs doing absolutely nothing to hide his own erection, so why would he bother? Jaskier likes this and Geralt isn't going to do anything as stupid as let him think he doesn't.

"Yeah," he reaches out, brushing his fingers down Jaskier's arm - the one not currently rubbing himself through his trousers. "I think about you sometimes, too." That much is a lie, but only just. He thinks about him almost every time because he rarely finds himself so desperate unless he's already thinking about Jaskier.

"Fuck." Jaskier squeezes himself through his trousers and Geralt's eyes drop to follow the motion. He wants to tell him that it's okay, that he wants to see him touch himself, but the words won't come. He seems to get it.

Geralt watches, transfixed, as Jaskier fumbles with the clasps on his trousers. He watches as his hand disappears inside, wrapping around himself and pulling his cock free and his skin tingles watching him. He's so focused on Jaskier's cock, on the way it slips between his fingers and the soft little sounds he makes when it does. He doesn't even realize he's rubbing himself again until Jaskier lets out a little groan and Geralt's eyes snap up to find him watching.

"You're gorgeous," Jaskier breathes. Geralt isn't sure he's supposed to hear it, exactly, but he lets his fingers slip down Jaskier's arm, trailing down the inside of his thigh. "Just look at you." He strokes himself a little quicker, rolling his hips onto the touch and Geralt has to wonder for a moment if he's not dreaming.

He watches the way Jaskier's hand moves over his cock, slowing down to squeeze around the head with every stroke and he commits it to memory. If he's ever in a place to touch him, he wants to be able to do it right, to give Jaskier exactly what he likes. But what he likes, apparently, is not so complicated as that.

Geralt's finger slip under the head of his cock and a moan escapes his lips before he can bit it back, but the way Jaskier's hips stutter makes it hard to regret it.

"You like that?" he asks and Jaskier lets out a breathless chuckle, sitting back on his heels.

"I like everything about you," he breathes, catching Geralt's gaze as he shrugs out of his doublet and gets a hand on himself again.

Like this, Geralt's view of his cock is perfect and Jaskier looks incredible like this. He's still sweaty from performing, and there's a dark flush in his chest that creeps all the way down. Geralt's hips jerk as he thinks about tugging Jaskier's shirt over his head. He wouldn't need it anyway and Geralt would give anything to get his hands on him, to run his fingers through the thick thatch of hair.

Geralt groans and shifts up the bed, readjusting himself to lean against the wall. Jaskier follows. He climbs up over him, straddling Geralt's thighs and settling himself in his lap. From here, Geralt can feel the heat radiating from him and he aches to reach out and touch him, to wrap his fingers around the curve of his pick and bring him off himself. His own cock twitches at the thought and he squeezes hard, sliding up to the head.

Without thinking, he reaches out, curling a hand around the back of Jaskier's head and bringing him closer. Jaskier whimpers as their lips brush, but as soon as Geralt's lips part, he presses into it, arching against him so their cocks slip against each other. The moan that slips from Geralt's lips is lost, but Jaskier presses forward, intentionally rocking his hips against him as he kisses him deeply.

He can't help himself, not with Jaskier pressed against him, teeth dragging along his lip. He tugs at Jaskier's shirt, easily freeing it from his trousers, and brings it up over his head, breaking the kiss for only a moment to rid him of the offending material completely. Jaskier only hums and reaches up to cup Geralt's face with one hand as he deepens the kiss again, slipping his tongue between Geralt's lips.

Their cocks slip against each other disjointedly, but Geralt is too preoccupied with the expanse of skin as his fingertips to care too much about finesse. He runs his hands over Jaskier's chest, letting his thumbs press just a little firmer over his nipples. The responding gasp against his mouth is intoxicating and he does it again, this time slipping one hand lower to wrap around his cock.

He finds where they meet and takes them both in hand, moaning as Jaskier's cock jumps at the touch. He's already been close for so long now, he's afraid he won't last, but then Jaskier breaks away, pressing his face into Geralt's chest with a groan.

"Oh," he breathes, "careful, love, you'll make me come like that." The words hit Geralt like a wave, knocking into him and setting him off balance, but he can't resist teasing just a little.

"I thought you were a renowned lover," he whispers, pressing his lips to Jaskier's jaw and working his way down. He flicks his eyes up to Jaskier's as he reaches his chin. "Are you gonna come so soon?" Jaskier's eyes fall shut and his breathing is uneven.

"If you don't stop talking I'm gonna come even sooner than that. Do you have any idea what you do to me? What the fact that you get off to my voice does to me? Fuck Geralt, with a confession like that you're lucky I didn't come in my trousers." That image settles itself in Geralt's subconscious and he groans as he hauls Jaskier's mouth against his own again.

He wants to make him come, wants to see the look in his eyes as he tips over the edge and know he's the one who did that. Jaskier meets him thrust for thrust, pressing so close that Geralt has to pull his hand away. He wraps his arms around Jaskier's waist instead, panting against his mouth as they rock in tandem. Their movements are uneven and jerky but fuck if it doesn't feel good and it's barely two minutes before Geralt can feel his orgasm approaching. He pulls from Jaskier's mouth, resting his forehead on his shoulder.

"I'm gonna come," he pants and Jaskier's hand slips from his neck up into his hair.

"Please, love," he whispers, "come for me."

That's all it takes before he's spiralling, spilling hot and wet between them as Jaskier continues rutting against him. His head is foggy with lust, but he manages to find Jaskier's mouth, kissing him hard as he rides the high of it.

When his heart finally returns to a steady beat and he can hear past the blood rushing in his ears, he opens his eyes and finds Jaskier looking back at him, the same dopey expression on his face.

"You've been holding out on me," he teases, kissing a line down Geralt's neck. Geralt's still coming back to himself, but he shuts his eyes and leans into it.

"Did you come?" he asks and Jaskier hums against his skin.

"So hard I thought I'd pass out. You have no idea what you do to a man, do you?"

"In my defence," Geralt mumbles, "you never told me."

"Well, I'm telling you now." Jaskier's thighs shake as he lifts himself from Geralt's lap and as he flops down next to him, Geralt curls an arm around his waist, pulling him close. Jaskier smiles as he looks up at him. "You make me crazy, Geralt." He runs a hand through Geralt's hair and tips up to kiss him slow and soft

He's still wearing his boots so Geralt bends, tugging each of them off in turn and tossing them on the floor. Jaskier gives a little grunt of indignance but Geralt wraps both arms around him and deepens the kiss and that seems to satisfy him. But when he pulls him closer, Jaskier squirms.

"Sleep," Geralt mumbles, his mind already slipping. Jaskier huffs a laugh and tugs at his shirt.

"At least get out of this." Reluctantly, Geralt detangles himself from Jaskier's arms, pulling the shirt up over his head. It falls to the floor with Jaskier's boots and he turns back, pressing back into Jaskier's embrace.

"Happy?"

"Very," Jaskier hums, "I do just have one question about all of this."

"Hmm?"

"Is this just a sex thing, or-"

Geralt's mind immediately jumps back to watching Jaskier lying in this sun earlier this afternoon. HE smiles and presses his nose against Jaskier's.

"No, it's not." Jaskier sighs happily and tucks his chin under Geralt's, pressing kisses against his throat.

"I never thought I'd be so happy to hear you tell me no."

[noodle-puppy]

Critical Role Campaign 3 Race and Class Hopes and Predictions

So here I am, going to throw my hat in the ring guessing what I think the cast of Critical Role are playing, giving that Campaign 3 is just around the corner. I’ll probably be wrong but I think I’ll have fun with this! Guesses are under the cut, as this post might get long...

TRAVIS: Centaur Order of the Lycan Blood Hunter

Travis seems to prefer melee combatants who just hit things and get the job done; supposedly he’s said somewhere about not wanting to play a full-caster, yet I’ve seen a lot of predictions for Wizard (though I can see why). Blood Hunter seems like an obvious choice, but perhaps too obvious - but I can’t deny that I would love to see Travis go full werewolf! Besides, with what happened to Mollymauk and all, this class needs more time to shine: so Order of the Lycan Blood Hunter it is! Honourable mentions to Bard, Monk and Rogue; as they’re also classes I’d like to see Travis play.

For the species pick, I’d kill to see Travis play a Centaur. The idea of a centaur werwolf is hilarious to me, and has evocative imagery! I know that as fey creatures centaurs can’t normally get lycanthropy, but I can see Matt making an exception for the reasons I just said. Realistically though, I think he’ll pick a Human, so if he does you can’t say I was wrong! >:)

LAURA: Tabaxi Echo Knight Fighter

My first thought was Bard, but after Jester I don’t think Laura will want to be a support class any time soon. I think she’ll be a melee combatant, probably one without magic since both Vex and Jester had magic at their disposal. Barbarian is a popular pick for her, and while I can see the appeal, I’m going with Fighter. Perhaps she’ll go Echo Knight as a fun callback to Jester’s Invoke Duplicity? It’d be a pretty cool subclass to see in action!

As for species, I think we all want to see a Tabaxi. I'm getting early 2000′s 3D platformer vibes from this character, akin to Ratchet and Clank and Sly Cooper.

LIAM: Drow College of Tragedy Bard

Liam has gone on record to say that he’s playing through the four traditional RPG classes: Fighter (Orym), Thief (Vax), Mage (Caleb) and Healer. Cleric seems to be the obvious pick here (and hey, it’s probably right), but honestly? I’d love to see Liam as a Bard. I think he’d have a lot of fun taking a class associated with cheerfulness and revelry and injecting it with his trademark angst and sorrow. Could be a fun subversion! Apparently Matt has a Shakespearian homebrew College of Tragedy subclass in the works, and I think I’d be perfect to debut here!

Species-wise my first thought was Warforged, since they exist in Exandria now and the idea of a robot with instruments integrated into its body is very cool (write that down!), I’d love to see an Elf in the main cast, and I can see Liam paying tribute to Essek by making a Dark Elf his choice.

SAM: Kenku Circle of Dreams Druid

I know that Liam picks Sam’s combo, but from what I’ve seen Sam is the opposite of Travis: he loves magic-based characters, cleverly manipulating the games with his usual chaotic glee. A Wild Magic Sorcerer is probably going to be the winner (I like the theory of him and Laura making Wild Magic siblings!), but if a man can dream I’d like to see him as a Druid. I’d like to see a high Wisdom character from him, but yet the idea of messing around with Wild Shape is too good to pass up. I have no preference on subclass, so I’ll just pick Circle of Dreams because it sounds cool.

As you can tell I’d like to see more monstrous characters this time around, and you know what would be perfect for Sam? A Kenku. I’d trust no one else to pull it off. Also a kenku usually has black wings, so they’re totally going to be the love interest of Marisha’s character. Nailed the most important question!

MARISHA: Fairy Oath of the Crown Paladin

Speaking of, Marisha has summoned the wrath of nature as Keyleth and the might of martial arts as Beau; so this time it’d be interesting to see her step back and make a support character instead. We’ve already got Liam as our healer, but I think it’s time we had someone start out as a Paladin! Marisha looks like she has the gusto to pull off any of the subclasses, but of the lot the Oath of the Crown is catching my eye.

Something I’d like to see from this campaign is some of the new races, and one of my new favourites was released just recently - the Fairy! Only problem is they can’t fly in medium or heavy armour, so maybe we’ll see an unconventional Paladin build here?

ASHLEY: Dhampir Way of the Long Death Monk/Phantom Rogue

I’m going to be predictable here and say Ashley’s playing a Monk, a class that she expressed interest in during the Vox Machine vs Mighty Nein oneshot. I’m picking Way of the Long Death as the subclass to pair well with my species choice. On a similar note, the Phantom subclass of the Rogue will also work, and after her miserable dice luck I’d want Ashley to play a character with a consistent set of skills: she’ll finally get a good Slealth check!

Ashley’s seems to like playing characters at extreme ends of the spectrum -  Pike and Fearne look innocent, yet hold terrifying power; Yasha looks gothic and intimidating, but is gentle and introverted outside of battle. I’d like to see a character from her who looks like they could kill you and will, and the Dhampir is a fairly new playable species which not only fits the bill, but could lend itself to some great roleplay.

TALESIN: Fire Genasi Alchemist Artificer/Genie Warlock

Talesin seems almost inscrutable to guess for, so it was a hard pick for me here. I’ve got to be honest and say that 99% of what you see here is wish fulfilment, so if I’m just pulling everything out of thin air I think Talesin has what it takes to be a great Artificer, considering he knows a lot about the game. And the Alchemist subclass means that he could have a lot of fun with a mad scientist character. But this party is skewing towards support, and I would like to see a proper caster here beside the Druid. It ultimately came between Sorcerer and Warlock, but I think Warlock wins in the end. The Genie subclass is maybe cliche considering the race I went with but again, I can do what I want :P

Genasi is one of my favourite playable species, and while I know we just had Fy’ra Rai, a Fire Genasi is going to be my pick here. A hotheaded scientist with his efreeti parent watching on is what I’m going for with these choices.

So that’s all I’ve got in me (my arm is so sore from typing this guys); I might reblog this with further thoughts once we figure out who the characters are once and for all!