omgreally

[omgreally]

Defeat

Defeat - E 18+ - Din Djarin/F!Reader - 900 words Warnings: fluff with a side of smut. The post-Season 3 drabble nobody asked for.

Din Djarin's brooding again.

You are fairly certain he does it unconsciously, like breathing, protecting Grogu, or beating the living shit out of people. Usually, there's a correlation between those. But then there are the quiet moments, the softer moments in between the more visceral ones.

It's like he doesn't know what to do with himself now except exude an aura of I-really-wish-I-was-killing-someone-right-now.

He's sitting on the porch, feet up, watching Grogu levitate some frogs.

"Retirement doesn't suit you, Djarin," you tell him, not for the first time.

The helmet turns, and Mando--Djarin--lowers his feet as if he's ashamed, as if he's been caught doing something he shouldn't, like relaxing. To a Mandalorian, that's tantamount to heresy.

He still keeps his helmet on when he's outside.

You approach slowly, as if he's a wild animal, stopping short of extending your hand for him to sniff. The impassive helmet just stares. So you insinuate yourself onto his lap, and the vocoder digitizes a soft noise as you settle with your back against his chest.

"What are you ruminating about this time?" You watch Grogu juggle a family of amphibians, giggling.

"Nothing," Din Djarin says, a fuzzy rumble against your back. He moves your hair away from your neck, and you shiver at the brush of his gloved fingers. His thumb finds a knot in your trapezius and presses in firmly.

"Liar," you reply, but without any real venom. He's working the knot out with slow circles, and it feels quite nice, actually.

"I think I know the problem," you say, trying not to groan. He makes a noise which means go on, lifting the hairs on the back of your neck. "You're bored. There's not enough adrenaline in your system when nobody's been trying to kill you for a while."

Djarin is silent, which means you're right, but I don't like it.

"Think Grogu can keep himself occupied for a while?" you add, with the dark heat of the forge in your voice and your fingers drifting back along the outside of his thigh.

He stands, and you slip off his lap. "Perimeter's active," he says. "He won't wander too far."

There was a time when he wouldn't let Grogu out of his sight. A robust security system--the one you installed--helped. You're impossibly glad you did as you let Din Djarin grab your hand and lead you back inside the house.

He turns off the lights. Clothes hit the floor like bodies amid the thunk of weaponry and armour. Calloused skin meets yours, and you fight to kiss him, but he dodges away and applies his mouth, impossibly warm, to your neck and lower.

You don't make it easy for him. He handles you delicately--for him--but each touch weakens his defense. The sweep of your fingers over his chest, his stomach, disarms him. He wrestles to pin you to the wall, but he knows he's defeated. The battle was lost the moment he took your hand.

The bed is soft, and Din Djarin is hard above you, inside you. The stretch and burn of him is enough to unmake you. But he is trembling, his mouth open against the hollow of your collarbone, panting as if he's been running for his life. You wrap your legs around his waist and draw him in closer. His scalp is damp beneath your fingertips.

But Mando has always been pinpoint-accurate with both his aim and his timing. He rears back enough to reach between your bodies, and his trigger finger settles on your clitoris. He knows when to strike a last-minute killing blow, and this is it. You curse and cry his name, and you can just about see, in the dim half-light from under the door, the curve of a triumphant grin on his face, and that's what it does you in.

The blinding rise of your orgasm crests, burning through your nerves from his fingers and his cock. You clench around him and try to cover your own mouth with your hand, but he drags it away, pins it to the bed and leans forward to growl in your ear, "I want to hear you."

You writhe and sob, but the Mandalorian is relentless, driving into you with the force of a man possessed, to whom surviving the next thirty seconds is the only option he has left. It's not until you're limp and spent beneath him that he stops moving, that he withdraws his hand and lets you go so you can breathe again.

He keeps his weight off you, his arms bracketing your head, hips pressed to yours, savouring the twitch and shudder of you around him.

"You win," you croak as soon as your ability to speak returns.

"Just because you've surrendered doesn't mean I'm done with you yet," he says, and shifts a little atop you. Oversensitive, you gasp at the hard, wet slide of him; nearly frictionless, he's so deep inside you that you ache.

"I can't," you gasp.

But you can. And you do. And so does he.

Afterwards, he tells you it's a draw.

When you head back outside, limping a little--and there's a definite swagger to Djarin when he notices that--Grogu is more or less where you left him, sitting by the pond. His bat-wing ears twitch, and he babbles happily as the Mandalorian picks him up.

"Hey," you say, frowning as you notice something. "All the frogs are gone."

Grogu burps.

Din Djarin sighs. "Guess he won, too."

♥

#comment reblog #mandalorian smut #I got bored

[omgreally]

Like Mando, every now and then I get a little horny nostalgic for violence

💖

Defeat

Defeat - E 18+ - Din Djarin/F!Reader - 900 words Warnings: fluff with a side of smut. The post-Season 3 drabble nobody asked for.

Din Djarin's brooding again.

You are fairly certain he does it unconsciously, like breathing, protecting Grogu, or beating the living shit out of people. (Usually, there's a correlation between these.) But then there are the quiet moments, the softer moments in between, the more visceral ones. It's like he doesn't know what to do with himself except exude an aura of I-really-wish-I-was-killing-someone-right-now.

He's sitting on the porch, feet up, watching Grogu levitate some frogs.

"Retirement doesn't suit you, Djarin," you tell him, not for the first time.

The helmet turns, and Mando--Djarin--lowers his feet as if he's ashamed, as if he's been caught doing something he shouldn't, like relaxing. To a Mandalorian, that's tantamount to heresy.

He still keeps his helmet on when he's outside.

You approach slowly, as if he's a wild animal, stopping short of extending your hand for him to sniff. The impassive helmet just stares. So you insinuate yourself onto his lap, and the vocoder digitizes a soft noise as you settle with your back against his chest.

"What are you ruminating about this time?" You watch Grogu juggle a family of amphibians, giggling.

"Nothing," he says, a digitized rumble against your back. He moves your hair away from your neck, and you shiver at the brush of his gloved fingers. His thumb finds a knot in your trapezius and presses in firmly.

"Liar," you say, but without any real venom. He's working the knot out with slow circles, and it feels quite nice, actually.

"I think I know the problem," you say, trying not to groan. He makes a noise that means, go on, lifting the hairs on the back of your neck. "You're bored. There's not enough adrenaline in your system when nobody's been trying to kill you for a while."

Djarin is silent, which means you're right, but I don't like it.

"Think Grogu can keep himself occupied for a while?" you add, with the dark heat of the forge in your voice and your fingers drifting back along the outside of his thigh.

He stands, and you slip off his lap. "Perimeter's active," he says. "He won't wander too far."

There was a time when he wouldn't let Grogu out of his sight. A robust security system--the one you installed--helped. You're impossibly glad you did as you let Din Djarin grab your hand and lead you back inside the house.

He turns off the lights. Clothes hit the floor like bodies amid the thunk of weaponry and armour. Calloused skin meets yours, and you fight to kiss him, but he dodges away and applies his mouth, hot and wet, to your neck and lower.

You don't make it easy for him. He handles you delicately--for him--but each touch weakens his defence. The sweep of your fingers over his chest, his stomach, disarms him. He wrestles to pin you to the wall, but he knows he's defeated. The battle was lost the moment he took your hand.

The bed is soft, and Din Djarin is hard above you, inside you. The stretch and burn of him is enough to unmake you. But he is trembling, his mouth open against the hollow of your collarbone, panting as if he's been running for his life. You wrap your legs around his waist and draw him in closer. His scalp is damp beneath your fingertips.

But Mando has always been pinpoint-accurate with both aim and timing. He rears back enough to reach between your bodies, and his trigger finger settles on your clitoris. He knows when to strike a last-minute killing blow, and this is it. You curse and cry his name, and you can just about see, in the dim half-light from under the door, the curve of a triumphant grin on his face, and that's what it does you in.

The blinding rise of your orgasm crests, burning through your nerves from his fingers and his cock. You clench around him and try to cover your own mouth with your hand, but he drags it away, pins it to the bed and leans forward to growl in your ear, "I want to hear you."

You writhe and sob, but the Mandalorian is relentless, driving into you with the force of a man possessed, to whom surviving the next thirty seconds is the only option he has left. It's not until you're limp and spent beneath him that he stops moving, that he withdraws his hand and lets you go so you can breathe again.

He keeps his weight off you, his arms bracketing your head, hips pressed to yours, savouring the twitch and shudder of you around him.

"You win," you croak as soon as your ability to speak returns.

"Just because you've surrendered doesn't mean I'm done with you yet," he says and shifts a little atop you. Oversensitive, you gasp at the hard, wet slide of him; nearly frictionless, he's so deep inside you that you ache.

"I can't," you gasp.

But you can. And you do. And so does he.

Afterwards, he tells you it's a draw.

When you head back outside, limping a little--and there's a definite swagger to Djarin when he notices that--Grogu is more or less where you left him, sitting by the pond. His bat-wing ears twitch, and he babbles happily as the Mandalorian picks him up.

"Hey," you say, frowning as you notice something. "All the frogs are gone."

Grogu burps.

Din Djarin sighs. "Guess he won, too."

♥

#comment reblog #the-scandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #post-season 3 #din djarin smut #din djarin/f!reader #mando/f!reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you

[omgreally]

Defeat

Defeat - E 18+ - Din Djarin/F!Reader - 900 words Warnings: fluff with a side of smut. The post-Season 3 drabble nobody asked for.

Din Djarin's brooding again.

You are fairly certain he does it unconsciously, like breathing, protecting Grogu, or beating the living shit out of people. Usually, there's a correlation between those. But then there are the quiet moments, the softer moments in between the more visceral ones.

It's like he doesn't know what to do with himself now except exude an aura of I-really-wish-I-was-killing-someone-right-now.

He's sitting on the porch, feet up, watching Grogu levitate some frogs.

"Retirement doesn't suit you, Djarin," you tell him, not for the first time.

The helmet turns, and Mando--Djarin--lowers his feet as if he's ashamed, as if he's been caught doing something he shouldn't, like relaxing. To a Mandalorian, that's tantamount to heresy.

He still keeps his helmet on when he's outside.

You approach slowly, as if he's a wild animal, stopping short of extending your hand for him to sniff. The impassive helmet just stares. So you insinuate yourself onto his lap, and the vocoder digitizes a soft noise as you settle with your back against his chest.

"What are you ruminating about this time?" You watch Grogu juggle a family of amphibians, giggling.

"Nothing," Din Djarin says, a fuzzy rumble against your back. He moves your hair away from your neck, and you shiver at the brush of his gloved fingers. His thumb finds a knot in your trapezius and presses in firmly.

"Liar," you reply, but without any real venom. He's working the knot out with slow circles, and it feels quite nice, actually.

"I think I know the problem," you say, trying not to groan. He makes a noise which means go on, lifting the hairs on the back of your neck. "You're bored. There's not enough adrenaline in your system when nobody's been trying to kill you for a while."

Djarin is silent, which means you're right, but I don't like it.

"Think Grogu can keep himself occupied for a while?" you add, with the dark heat of the forge in your voice and your fingers drifting back along the outside of his thigh.

He stands, and you slip off his lap. "Perimeter's active," he says. "He won't wander too far."

There was a time when he wouldn't let Grogu out of his sight. A robust security system--the one you installed--helped. You're impossibly glad you did as you let Din Djarin grab your hand and lead you back inside the house.

He turns off the lights. Clothes hit the floor like bodies amid the thunk of weaponry and armour. Calloused skin meets yours, and you fight to kiss him, but he dodges away and applies his mouth, impossibly warm, to your neck and lower.

You don't make it easy for him. He handles you delicately--for him--but each touch weakens his defense. The sweep of your fingers over his chest, his stomach, disarms him. He wrestles to pin you to the wall, but he knows he's defeated. The battle was lost the moment he took your hand.

The bed is soft, and Din Djarin is hard above you, inside you. The stretch and burn of him is enough to unmake you. But he is trembling, his mouth open against the hollow of your collarbone, panting as if he's been running for his life. You wrap your legs around his waist and draw him in closer. His scalp is damp beneath your fingertips.

But Mando has always been pinpoint-accurate with both his aim and his timing. He rears back enough to reach between your bodies, and his trigger finger settles on your clitoris. He knows when to strike a last-minute killing blow, and this is it. You curse and cry his name, and you can just about see, in the dim half-light from under the door, the curve of a triumphant grin on his face, and that's what it does you in.

The blinding rise of your orgasm crests, burning through your nerves from his fingers and his cock. You clench around him and try to cover your own mouth with your hand, but he drags it away, pins it to the bed and leans forward to growl in your ear, "I want to hear you."

You writhe and sob, but the Mandalorian is relentless, driving into you with the force of a man possessed, to whom surviving the next thirty seconds is the only option he has left. It's not until you're limp and spent beneath him that he stops moving, that he withdraws his hand and lets you go so you can breathe again.

He keeps his weight off you, his arms bracketing your head, hips pressed to yours, savouring the twitch and shudder of you around him.

"You win," you croak as soon as your ability to speak returns.

"Just because you've surrendered doesn't mean I'm done with you yet," he says, and shifts a little atop you. Oversensitive, you gasp at the hard, wet slide of him; nearly frictionless, he's so deep inside you that you ache.

"I can't," you gasp.

But you can. And you do. And so does he.

Afterwards, he tells you it's a draw.

When you head back outside, limping a little--and there's a definite swagger to Djarin when he notices that--Grogu is more or less where you left him, sitting by the pond. His bat-wing ears twitch, and he babbles happily as the Mandalorian picks him up.

"Hey," you say, frowning as you notice something. "All the frogs are gone."

Grogu burps.

Din Djarin sighs. "Guess he won, too."

♥

#the mandalorian fanfiction #post-season 3 #din djarin smut #din djarin/f!reader #mando/f!reader #din djarin x reader #mando x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin/you #din djarin/reader #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin fic

[omgreally]

This is not a goodbye.

I’m so, so sorry I haven’t written for a number of months. I love this community. There is so much talent on here that in the beginning, I thought I would be lucky to get one or two comments here or there, and the appreciation I feel towards people who’ve taken the time to read my stuff is beyond words. And to those who offered me feedback, encouragement, and by extension motivation and the will to keep writing - I cannot possibly thank you enough.

I owe it to all of you to stop making promises I may not be able to keep. This isn’t to say I won’t randomly post a drabble here or there, but I think my fanfiction writing has well and truly hit a pause point.

I started university this year and passed my first creative writing class. To say I was surprised is an understatement. I didn’t graduate high school and I’ve never completed any form of higher education. But I've always loved writing, and I seem to be okay at it. Okay enough to study, and practice, and get better at it. And I’m writing a book. Maybe THE book. Who knows?

I will keep writing. Because if the state of the world right now has taught me anything, it's that life is too short to worry so much about failing that you never even try.

My masterlist is still here, so is my back catalogue and my AO3, which tells me I've written a novel or two worth of words. Hopefully I've got more in me. But we'll see. After all, nothing is ever set in stone.

♥

#hiatus

[omgreally]

Just the semi regular “crap I forgot I existed again” post

[omgreally]

Figuring out all your kinks are actually because of trauma is a wild ride (literally)

I think I’m going to write some nice and soft things.

[omgreally]

OMG YOU’RE BACK HELLOOOOO I LOVE YOUUUU

“Back” is a pretty up in the air thing but at the moment I am here! I LOVE YOU TOO 💓

#inbox

[omgreally]

I have like four questions, firstly: why?

Secondly: who are you people;

Thirdly: what should I write next?

Yes I know that’s three questions, I’m saving the last one for my phone a friend.

#love you all #requests? #.bored.

[omgreally]

I will die on this hill

#for the meme

[omgreally]

Monthly “I don’t know if I still exist” post

[omgreally]

Here is my fan art of final fantasy 16 Clive x Jill. They are the cutest couple and I can’t wait to play the game through again!

Check out the review / Timelapse video!!

#final fantasy xvi #clive rosfield/jill warrick #clive/jill #signal boost #ffxvi fanart

[omgreally]

Is anyone writing Star Trek SNW smut or am I the only degenerate with a Spock/Chapel fetish

#star trek strange new worlds #strange new worlds indeed

[omgreally]

I'm so tired of age gap fics please if i can suspend my disbelief about mushroom zombies I can suspend my disbelief about the reader's age not being equivalent to my own, please just give me two 50(+) year old bastards falling in love no more of this 15+ year age gap I swear to god someone is gonna make me start writing last of us fanfiction at this rate.

Anyways, I would like to request some aid from the last of us fandom in terms of fic recs if anyone knows any good reader insert or x reader fics wherein they and joel are around the same age? Pre or post outbreak, au, I don't care I'm starving please if anyone has any let me know.

EDIT: I did not think this was going to get any traction which in hindsight was kinda stupid of me but I really want to clarify something since I originally left it in the tags which I probably shouldn't have. THIS ISNT A HIT PEICE. I've been a fanfic writer for years now even if this blog isn't exactly a great example of my supposed stellar writing consistency. I mean no hate towards the people who like age gap or write it it just isn't my think personally and I would like to read fics that explore other topics besides that when it comes to this fandom. Yes I understand the easy solution is to write my own and i would be a liar to say I wasn't but I'm new to this fandom and still consuming the actual content and I know my drafts aren't exactly great right now in part because of that. What I wanted to accomplish here wasn't just to complain a little but to reach out and ask if anyone could point me in the direction of non age gap fics in the mean time and they did so thank you very much!! I genuinely appreciate it. Write what you like but understand that I also reserve the right to read what I like and to ask for help in finding it because let's be honest tumblrs search and filter system is non existent and asking for help was my next best bet so uh yeah I'm gonna stop rambling now and refine this maybe when I'm more awake and can word things better probably.

#PREACH

[omgreally]

Progress of a drawing commissioned by the sweetest @oonajaeadira for her breathtaking TLOU story Leave Off Your Wandering

Thank you for trusting me with him, dear friend ♡

[omgreally]

I never had people draw fanart for one of my fics or write something based on it, but I just know that that is such a high honor and show of love. I once had someone ask me if they could translate my fic in Chinese and I was like, wow, they love it enough to want to put time and effort into it to show it to more people.

[omgreally]

How’s university going?

(me, 2023)

Unfortunately I could not find a gif of “drowning while also being on fire at the same time”.

The essay I’m currently working on argues that fanfiction is a legitimate literary practice and should be incorporated into educational curricula. If they ever find out what kind of fanfiction I actually write, I may have to move to La Rinconada and change my name.

#inbox #just rl things

[omgreally]

I finally watched season 3. Yes, I’m late. No, I loved it and I would like to live in a little house by a pond with Mr. Djarin and Grogu Din and have frog legs for dinner every night and spend the days hunting down unsavoury characters for the New Republic.

This fulfils all necessary criteria for my dream of becoming a swamp witch.

#the mandalorian #i have spoken