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lovelybrooke · 1 year

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We'll Always Protect You (Yandere Strawhats x reader)

So, I just finished the Skypiea arc, and I wanted to write some blurbs on how each of the strawhats would protect you. Remember to like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed this. Thank you so much.

At the end of the day, Luffy is a child, or at least he acts like one. He thinks he deserves everything, including your time and attention.

"Come oooonnnn (Y/N)!" Luffy droned, grabbing your arm in an attempt to pull you away from the fruit you were inspecting. "I'm bored."

"You didn't have to come, Luffy." You say as you pay for a melon and gently place it in your basket. "Either way, it was my turn to shop." Luffy ignores your words with a frown, continuing to pull you away.

With a huff you face him, "Look Luffy, there's like, two more things were need." You show him the shopping list, pointing to a few more spices you needed. "Why don't you go get the last few spices and I'll get the rest. We can meet back up at the ship when we're done."

Luffy thinks about it for a minute before smiling, snatching a few barries from your bag. "Alright, as long as it means we'll be done sooner." Quickly, he's bolts off, running towards the other stores and stalls.

You let out a breath, happy to get a few seconds alone. You look back at the list, just a few more things left, you should finish shopping before afternoon if you find everything you need quickly.

"Hey, watch we're you're going!" You let out an oof on impact, bumping into some random man. He looks, and smells drunk, and his face looks anything but pleased as he stares down at you in anger.

"I'm sorry, I didn't..." Your words are caught in your throat as you feel the hand around your wrist tighten painfully, he must've grabbed on to you when you ran into him.

"Don't you know how rude it is, you could've hurt me." You were doubtful that was true, you were much smaller than him, you're surprised he even felt you. Shaking your head, you stare at the man in fear.

"I really didn't mean to." You said meekly as you try to stop the shaking in your body. The drunk man eyes your bag, which was filled with food, and of course, berries. The man smirks and grips you tighter as he slowly reaches towards your bag.

You heard the punch before you actually saw it, the man falling to the ground with a hard thud, the people around you gasp in fear as they stare at you. You had which was now free was shaking as you back away slowly from the now unconscious man.

"(Y/N)!" You hear Luffy yell, watching as his arm retract back to a normal length. He runs up to you, eyes wide as he looks all over you for any injuries. Luffy was panting, panic all over his face and unaware of the fearful people around him. When his eyes meet your wrist, a scowl decorates his face, holding onto you gently.

"He hurt you...I'm sorry." He whispers, chest heaving as the man groans, blood dripping down his nose. Luffy give him a blank stare before taking your hand.

"Come on, let's go."

---

"Zoro, where are you!"

Not too long ago, you helped said child find his mom after he got lost in the forest while playing. You found him while exploring the island, all scared and helpless. What were you supposed to do, not help him?

Well, apparently not, since helping the kid meant abandoning your traveling partner, Zoro. You left him so you could safely get the kid out of the forest, which meant leaving Zoro to get lost.

Now you're forced to look for him afterwards. You knew when you found him, he would be pissed, but you were too tired to think about that in the current moment. You yawn as you yell for Zoro again, looking around for any signs of him.

"Zoro, come on!" You yell, groaning, "I'm tired, I want to go home."

Crack

You turn you head, heart beating out of your chest. You slowly move closer to the sound, carefully peering into the bushes in front of you. Taking a deep breath, you prepare yourself for what might come, annoyance crawling up you as you come face to face with Zoro.

Marching up to him, you cross your arms and snarl, "Jeez Zoro, where have you been, it's dark out." Zoro looks unfazed at your clear irritation, simply staring at you with a raised brow.

"You left me." He said, slightly smirking as you huff.

"Yeah, to help a kid." You waved your arms around for emphasis, "I didn't expect you to get lost for the rest of the day."

Zoro takes his place beside you, looking at you with a sharp stare, "Don't leave again."

Your role your eyes, "It was for a kid."

"Don't care."

---

Sanji loves cooking for you, always trying new recipes and learning new things just to impress his favorite person. He loved cooking for anyone, but it was different with you.

However, he absolutely hated when you ate something anything else made. He always thought the worst would happen, what happened if it was poisoned, or you were allergic, or rotten?

So, when you were offered a chicken skewer from a food stall, it took everything in him to not slap it out of your hand in disgust. It looked good enough, nothing compared to his cooking, but it looked edible. But nothing could calm the beating of his heart as he watched the food get closer and closer to your mouth.

"(Y/N)! Wait!" He quickly took the skewer from you, watching as you became confused at his action. Sanji laughed nervously, adverting his gaze from your questioning look.

"It's just...you shouldn't take food from random people." He quickly regained his composure, moving to throw the skewer away. "I wouldn't want you to get sick or anything."

You nodded, though it was hard to ignore the loud grumbling of your stomach, "Come on, why don't we go back, and I'll make something for you."

---

"Checkmate."

"Darn 'it, you beat me again." Robin laughs as you let out a breath of frustration. You've been wasting away time on the ship by playing chess with Robin. While you weren't as good as her, it was fun to play.

"Would you like to play again?" She offers, already reseating the chess bord. You nod, seeing that she's gotten everything ready to play. As Robin readies the next round, you hear someone run up towards your table, seeing both Usopp and Chopper smiling at you.

"(Y/N), we're playing hide and seek with Luffy. You wanna play?" Chopper giggles, jumping up and down in excitement. Before you could get a word out, Robin is speaking for you.

"Sorry, they're already playing with me." Robin says, watching as Chopper's face falls. You give him a sorry look as Robin makes her first move.

"Your turn." You wave bye to the two, turning your head to make your move.

Many minutes past but of course, Robin wins. As you end, Robin asks if you would like to play one more round, but this time you refuse. Her face falls for a second, before quickly becoming a small smile, which was obviously fake shown by her tense demeanor.

"Alright." She says as she slowly picks up the pieces, "Luffy's been pretty bored lately, you should go check up on him." She mentions off handedly. At the mention of Luffy's name, you tense up, looking around nervously.

"Um...actually, why don't we play just one more round." She smiles, raising her eyebrows in mock surprise.

"Oh, change of heart?" She starts putting the pieces back in place, preparing for the next game.

---

"(Y/N)?! Oh, (Y/N), you're awake, great." You're awoken to Chopper's worried voice, which is surprisingly soothing. He's hovering over you, looking at you with intense eyes.

"What happened." You had little memory of the previous night.

"You came to me complaining about a cold and then later that night, you fainted." He looked down, ashamed, and you could tell tear were forming in his eyes. "I'm sorry, I should've helped you sooner."

You sit up slowly, removing the cold towel from your forehead. "Don't worry about it, Chopper, at least I'm better now."

Chopper looks up at you, large tears streaming down his face, "You're not mad at me." He whispers desperately. Your nod causes him to jump up onto your bed, hugging you as best as he could.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you so much." He snuggles into you as pet his head. Suddenly, he shoots up, jumping down from the bed and rushing towards his cabinet filled to the brim with medicine.

"Oh, I almost forgot, you need to take this." He hands you a small vile filled with some green liquid. It looks thick, and definitely not like something you want to consume. "It doesn't taste good, but it'll help."

You take a deep breath before gulping down the strange concoction. It goes slowly down your throat, causing you to nearly choke. It takes a while before it goes down, the taste remaining stuck in your mouth.

Chopper takes the vile back from you, smile at you like you accomplished something great. "Good, good." He nods to himself before sitting down at a chair near your table.

Your eyes become droopy, and a yawn overwhelms your senses. You just woke up; you shouldn't feel this tired. Chopper urges you to lay back down, moving your blanket up and smoothing it out nicely. Before you know it, you're out like a light.

"Don't worry (Y/N), I'll keep you safe until you better."

---

Usopp couldn’t say no to you. None of the Strawhats could. But it was much harder for Usopp.

While Usopp would consider himself a master liar, any lie he attempts to weave gets forgotten when it comes to you.

However, desperate times cause for desperate measure.

“The world without us is dangerous.” Usopp words are quick, a mixture of nervousness and urgency in his voice. Whenever you even mention the idea leaving Usopp is quick to get the thought out of your mind.

“It’s filled with monsters and villains beyond your wildest dreams.” He raises his voice for dramatic effect, ashamed of the please feeling he gets at your obvious fear.

What Usopp is saying isn’t entirely a lie. The world is dangerous, and you most likely wouldn’t survive a day without them. However, the world is also filled with great people who wouldn’t waste a second helping you if needed.

You sigh, looking down at the water below you, “I know Usopp, it’s just I don’t want to weigh you guys down.”

Usopp gasps, eyes widened in shock. He shakes his head, giving you a comforting pat on the back. “Don’t worry (Y/N), you’ll never weight us down.” He gives you a happy smile, “We’ll always protect you, no matter what.”

Usopp knew that wasn’t a lie.

---

Nami is who you usually spent your night with, reading and relaxing before bed was something you loved.

However, some nights you’d talk, and talk, and talk. The conversations ranged from boring and monotonous topics to something’s more deep.

“I hope we can have many adventures together Nami.” You say quietly, not really talking to her but to the world around you. You look longingly at the sky, the stars shining beautifully up above. “I want to travel the entire sea with you guys.”

There shouldn’t be a pit forming in Nami’s stomach, she should be happy you want to spend time with them, especially compared to how you used to act. But she didn’t like your distant look and your hollow smile. There was no passion behind your words, only a fading and distant hope.

A hope for something long gone, true unhindered freedom. The freedom to go where you want, meet you you want, be who you want. The Strawhats were keeping you from that, and Nami knew it.

She wanted to feel bad, but she couldn’t, and a dark part of it said it was because of love. She and her crew mates love you and want to see you happy and healthy. You can’t be that without them, without their protection.

A similar hollow smile graces Nani’s face as she looks up at the sky. Her eyes close as she silently wishes for you to one day understand why they do what they do, and for you to not hate them.

“I do too, (Y/N).”

---

A/n: Some of these are more possessive than protective but welp.

#yandere x reader #soft yandere #platonic yandere #yandere one piece #one piece x reader #yandere one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece strawhats #yandere strawhats #fanfiction #fanfic

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coqxettee · 11 months

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Coquette Summer

Bucket List: ☀️🧺🌸

Some ideas for your summer 2023 bucket list. Coquette activities, trips, days out and things you can do with friends or alone. Write these ideas in your journal and make your own bucket list if you like! <3

Go on a picnic ~ You can do this with friends or on your own! Take an aesthetic picnic blanket and basket, pack fruit, sandwiches, salad, cookies, cupcakes (whatever you like!) and have a Coquette picnic. Dress cute for the occasion and make sure to take lots of pictures <3

Host a Tea Party ~ Invite friends over and decorate your dining table with a pretty tablecloth. Grab fancy cups and saucers (you can find these in antique stores, or better yet a whole tea set complete with a tea pot!) and have a tea party. Drink rose or jasmine tea, have scones, bread & jam, miniature sandwiches, cookies/biscuits, cake. You could even do it Marie Antoinette, high-tea inspired. Dress all regency and cute and make it the fanciest, coquette, tea party ever! <3

Beach day ~ Grab your heart shaped sunnies and have a beach day! Bring a pink towel with you, a large pretty sun-hat, and make sure you pack all the pretty-girl beach essentials. Tanning lotion, a romance novel, fresh fruit, a blanket to sit on (if you don’t have a deck chair) sun cream (spf) lipgloss, a hair brush, and your camera to snap some cute beach shots! Walk down the boardwalk, listen to Lana and grab an ice cream, wear pink flip flops and a cute pink and white gingham bikini <3

Berry picking ~ Wear the most dreamy, float cottage-core, princess dress, a large sun hat and take a wicker basket with you to go berry picking. You can book a slot online and go into a local field. Take pictures and pick ripe berries to take home with you, ready to use for baking later on in the week <3

Baking day ~ Wear a cute little apron, put Lana on your record player in the kitchen and have a baking day! Bake cherry pie, heart-shaped cookies, jam cookies, chocolate-chip cookies, scones, cupcakes, an actual cake… anything and everything! Take cute photos when you bake, it can be great to make memories with friends. Once you’ve baked all your sweet treats, package them up and choose some to give to friends and family, some for later occasions (picnics & tea-parties) and most importantly… some for you! <3

Go to a market ~ If you live in the country there are loads of cute farmers markets on in summer. Keep some money back with you, wear a long, flowing style skirt and a bow in your hair and take a cute tote-bag to keep everything you buy in. Look for small Coquette trinkets on some of the handmade stalls, buy fresh fruit and lemonade for lunch and have a slow, relaxing day at the market <3

Antique shopping ~ Go antique shipping. For your room or house. You can find so many beautiful, Coquette homeware items, clothes, trinkets, jewelry and much more in antique shops. Google the best ones in your area, set aside a day, and go <3

Try out new café’s in your area - Google fancy café’s or even café’s that do afternoon tea. You could go with friends or have a solo cafe trip. Bring a book with you if you go on your own, to read. Or a sketchbook to sketch the world around you. Try something new on the menu! <3

Coquette movie day ~ Plump out your bedroom or living room with pink pillows, fairy lights, candles and lavender room spray. Put on the comfiest pair of pajamas you have Grab snacks, popcorn, anything you baked earlier in the week, fresh fruit (anything you like!) And have a whole day of watching JUST coquette movies. Disney princess films, any period drama’s, any mystical and magical movies, romance movies. Movies that are super light-hearted and make you feel like the princess you are inside. This is really fun to do with friends too! <3

Jewelry making ~ Learn how to make prettt, coquette jewelry. I always see such cute jewelry online and want to know if I can make it myself. The kits might be a bit pricy to buy, but once you’ve built up a jewelry making collection your all set! Make some summer earrings, necklaces, and bracelets <3

Learn to Crochet ~ Something I have wanted to learn for ages! There are tons of tutorials on YouTube and you can pick up pretty colored yarn from the market. If you are really good you can crochet things for the summer like tank tops, bikini sets and headbands! <3

Start a summer journal ~ Or just start journaling in general. I’m making a summer journal full of scrapbook pages I can add all of my coquette summer pictures too when summer is over. Decorate it with coquette stickers and really make it your own. Get creative <3

Have a self care day ~ It’s not sunny everyday in Summer (usually) so set aside one of the cloudier or cooler days for a movie day, or self care day! Wake up early and have an everything shower, and take care of YOU! Do a face mask, manicure, pedicure, do every step to your skincare routine, wash and remake your bed, tidy your room. By the end of the day you will feel like a new person and trust me it’S WORTH IT! <3

Have a sleepover ~ You kinda need friends for this one. I’m sure everyone knows how to have one but do really coquette activities! Paint each others nails, style each others hair, Watch coquette movies, talk about boys. All the classic things you see in the girly movies that you feel never actually get done at sleepovers… do them! Order pizza, do face masks, bake things, and stay up as late as possible for a… midnight feast! <3

-HERE ARE SOME MORE IDEAS! <3 -

Re-decorate your room for summer <3

Go on vacation <3

Go bowling <3

Cute cinema trip (watch a romantic movie) <3

Go to a fancy restaurant <3

Make a summer scrapbook <3

Plan cute summer outfits for the weeks ahead <3

Try out new summer hairstyles <3

Go to a milkshake-bar/diner <3

Go roller-skating <3

Go to the arcade

Find some pretty summer walks in your area, take pictures of wildlife you spot etc <3

Go to a farm (farmers daughter vibes iykyk) <3

Go to the theatre and watch the ballet <3

Have a signature, coquette summer scent <3

Write in your daily summer diary every night and seal it with a lipstick kiss <3

I hope you found these ideas helpful, aesthetic and fun! Have the best summer ever darling’s ~

🌸☀️🧺🍦🎀

#baby pink #coquette #coquette aesthetic #lana del rey #girly pink #girly #girly aesthetic #girly girl #girly kei #girly stuff #summer #summer bucket list

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lovelybucky1 · 7 months

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Insignificant

kinktober day 14- bondage

warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT- non con, AFAB!Reader, handcuffs, vaginal reader, finger sucking, rough treatment, 18+ minors DNI

main masterlist

kinktober masterlist

Anakin Skywalker was no longer the man you knew. He was a great warrior, a general, an upstanding person, a kind soul, a Jedi, and most importantly, a friend. He was never meant to be a mechanical killing machine for Darth Sidious to lead around on a leash.

You managed to escape the violence of Order 66, though not without sustaining injuries of your own. For months after the massacre you saw visions of Anakin with orange glowing eyes in your dreams. The screams of children could be heard in the background. You were haunted.

You know some of the other Jedi escaped, though you don't know who or where they went. Being a Jedi is a death sentence these days, so it's better to lay low and not know anything more than absolutely necessary.

Unfortunately, laying low on an outer rim planet where you live off the grid on your own little farm isn't low enough for the Empire. You returned from the forest with a basket of berries and mushrooms to add to your stockpile when you found your house burning, your animals slaughtered, and Darth Vader himself standing among the flames.

After seeing the brutal events of Order 66, you took not being killed on sight as a blessing. The stormtroopers surrounded you, grabbing your arms and forcing you to your knees before Vader. The dark mask was expressionless, but the tilt of his head to the side made you feel like a wounded animal he was about to put down.

"Take them to the ship," he said in a modulated voice. He sounded nothing like the man you knew.

You were hauled aboard the massive ship that they carelessly landed in a field of wild flowers. It was almost poetic how this hunk of machine destroyed something natural and beautiful.

Once the hatch of the ship closed, you accepted that your fate was sealed. You were brought to a cell in the bowels of the ship and abandoned, left with your own thoughts and restricted by force-blocking cuffs.

You were alone for hours until someone came by. You heard the sound of heavy boots banging against the metal grate floor, but it wasn't until you heard the heavy breathing that you turned your attention towards the intruder.

"Jedi," he says as a form of greeting.

You glare at him through the bars of your cell. "Vader."

He says nothing more. He only stands there, emotionless and unmoving. Anakin must have learned patience through his transformation, because the man you knew hated silence.

"Why am I still alive?" you ask. You'd rather be dead than be taken prisoner and be forced to work for the Empire. "You killed all the others. Why not me?"

"He wants you," Vader says crypticly.

"Who does?" you ask.

"Your friend," he says.

Anakin. He's in there somewhere, obviously, and he wants to save you. Maybe this is his way of making up for his atrocities, by making right with you. It could never be enough, but it comforts you to know the monster before you isn't entirely evil.

The door to your cell slides open and Vader steps in, looking like a giant as he towers over your slumped form on the floor. You look up at him but you can't get a read on him. The cuffs block any force sensitivity so you can't even feel him. The door shuts behind him, trapping you in a small box with the face of evil.

"He cares for you," Vader says. "He wants to protect you." It warms your heart in a weird way to hear him say that. "But you are insignificant to me."

Vader reaches down and grabs you by the roots of your hair. He tugs harshly until your scrambling to find your footing and stand so he doesn't rip out your hair.

He dwarfs you. You never noticed how large he was until you were face to face, mere inches apart.

Vader pushes you back roughly, sending you slamming into the wall. Your body crushes your arms that are bound behind your back and you whimper in pain.

"He will watch me destroy you," Vader says as he advances, crowding you against the wall.

He brings his hand down to the waistband of your pants and tugs, effortlessly ripping them off. Your underwear receive the same treatment, though the pull on your skin is painful.

He kicks your legs apart with his boots. The heavy, hard material on your exposed ankles hurts like a bitch, but there's nothing you can do about it other than scream.

Vader shoves his gloved hand between your thighs and carelessly invades your cunt with his thick fingers. You cry out in pain, beg him to stop and for someone to help, but you know it's useless. Everyone here does Vader's bidding, and disobeying their lord is an instant death sentence.

He grows tired of your crying, so he shuts you up by restricting your throat with the force. You have enough air to breathe, but not enough to speak.

You look into the blank helmet with teary eyes, hoping that somehow you can connect with Anakin. You know he's in there, you just have to bring him out.

Vader's fingers split you open painfully. You don't know what he has underneath the suit, but you fear that it will be even worse than the treatment being done to you now. When he pulls his hand away, your creamy juices coat the black glove.

He grabs your jaw and squeezes hard, forcing you to open your mouth. He shoves the wet fingers inside for you to clean, tasting yourself off of them. It's disgusting and degrading, but you're helpless to resist.

When he pulls his fingers out, his glove glistens with your spit. A string of it connects your lip to his glove and when it breaks, it falls against your chin.

Vader drops his hand and you're left staring up at him. The panel of his chest presses against yours uncomfortably, digging into you. You're legs are shaking, not from pleasure but from a mix of fear and the ache in your pussy.

Vader then grabs you by the shoulder and pushes you down, sending you sprawling onto the metal floor. He turns his back to you and the door opens again. Wordlessly, he leaves you alone once again, his heavy boots echoing down the corridor.

#star wars #anakin skywalker fanfic #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin fanfiction #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader #darth vader #darth vader fanfic #darth vader fanfiction #darth vader x reader #kinktober #kinktober 2023

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tieflingsfingers · 2 months

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Foraging for Ripened Fruits

What and who: Soft Dom Astarion smut, Character Study, Half-Drow Bard OC. Summary: Thomasin goes off to forage for a meal for camp, but Astarion pops in to remind her of a bet she lost. Realizing he's rehashing an old promise, she reluctantly agrees in hopes of enjoying his company. Warning/Content: 18+, Reimagining of first sexual encounter. Post bite-scene, part of series. A lot about two elves that are bad at feelings. Partial mentions of past traumas that inform their current actions. Word Count: 4,174 Ao3 Link

Thomasin wandered off the beaten path. Unknown thickets and brambles were an easy trek though. From a young age, the half-elf had been taught a labyrinth of knowledge about living off the land. A library of resources left to collect dust with each decade for she’d become dependent on ship crews and city streets with passing years. Now to only blow off those dusty tomes to reread with fondness.

Although, camp was just thankful she could identify a meal.

There was escapism in placing a floral handkerchief and guidebook in her wicker basket. Buckling her skirt at the waist to watch the length sway at her feet. Perhaps she’d find the same little blue flowers dancing along its hem. Handfuls of berries. Bitter leafy greens. Hidden roots revealing hearty starches to soak in broth. Dirt, crisp and cool, compressed beneath her boots. Patches of grass where plants raised their heads to the sky, bathing in sunlight and twisting at its joints.

Pinched between her thumb and forefinger was a leaf whose colors were difficult to distinguish.

She narrowed her vision and wracked the encyclopedia embedded in her memories.

Poisonous markers found themselves hazier and hazier as the years went on. Rhymes recited to know danger by its features. Whether speckles and lines were meant to be fine. Whether pinks and blues sent you praying at the pews. Or was it yellows at the tips? Spikes and spines? The longer this troubleshooting ran through her filters, the more she felt the urge to laugh. What a thing to have a lapse of judgment on. Poisoning the camp on the off chance their stew was more savory than usual.

Just as absurd stakes set in, the leaf was flicked away from her fingertips. The ball of her foot spun in the dirt, twirling in whimsy to head another direction. Skirt in tow. Light dramatics to match the melody humming from her lips.

That was, until the sight of another in her presence. Astarion had created a habit of startling her for his own entertainment. Knowing the windows of calm and isolation meant her propensity to be skittish. Thomasin scowled, immediate embarrassment melting into frustration.

“In the gods’ names, Astarion! Make your presence known or I’ll start sharpening every shard of wood in our vicinity.” She took a deep breath to calm herself from offering more creative threats.

Astarion couldn’t help but clutch his stomach in self-satisfied laughter. When they approached conflict, Thomasin was no stranger to deescalating those with sharp tongues or unflinching convictions. Her own proclivities for chaos even pulled the group into a few hi-jinks. She always wiggled her way out of things unscathed for the most part, from his short experience.

And so, how could he not take advantage of such a glaring pitfall? A gap exposed in her armor? Only for his own amusement, of course. Each of his steps became looser, bouncing with their weight, partaking in one of his favorite activities. Peacocking.

“Is it not hilarious that you’re more frightened of me than those giant bandits we encountered? Although…” He placed a hand upon his chest. “Maybe it’s a bit of a compliment. Thank you for that. I have felt quite the masculine energy in me with all this newfound freedom.”

Thomasin snickered. “Glowing. Don’t look a day over three hundred years old.”

“Excuse me, it’s not my fault you hop around here like a scared little fawn.”

“Okay, fine. What are you doing out here anyways?”

“It is a curse to simply be, I don’t know. Bored? The woods aren’t as magical as druids like to make a big fuss about. ”

Finding his answer lackluster at best, Thomasin continued to search her surroundings. Like a puppy gnawing at her ankles, he followed her trail, preparing quips to throw over her shoulder. Watching her pluck foreign fruits from mysterious branches. He’d offer an agreeable “hm” and “ah” in half-hearted acknowledgment as she conjured up ways to poison Cazador.

Nothing worth pocketing for later though. Scary flowers? To defeat the reign of vampiric terror? Child’s play. Absolute yawn.

Thomasin turned to be greeted by his eyes wandering about the flora with little thought brewing within. She found his predictability charming.

“You’re not even listening,” she said.

“Bah, nothing but accusatory language. I am immensely interested in what the leaves are up to. Which herbs are the biggest gossips or whatever,” he followed up. Almost too immediately. “I did have something to bring to your attention though.”

“Hm? Another confession? Lycan blood also in your veins?”

“Oh, I’d be unstoppable with Lycan blood in me. Imagine? A dinner of champions– Although I wouldn’t want to spoil my snack.” He inched toward her, keeping just enough distance to offset potential rejections.

Thomasin arched her brow, leaning back and compensating for the closing quarters between them. “Are you going to kill me now?”

”This is a peaceful coup, on my heart, I swear it.” One hand raised, chest puffed and proud. “Consider this a midday snack. Don’t be a sore loser now. A deal is a deal.”

Thomasin slipped into momentary bemusement, attempting to recollect what bet they made. The prize seemed obvious at least. His glances failed at subtlety and she’d catch his eyes dart to the clavicle peeking from her neckline. Not the most bizarre way she’d been objectified, but it still took some getting used to.

It was all uncharted territory. Even if she felt flustered, she had to press it down. Blushing admitted defeat. Docile defeat wasn’t in her vocabulary nor her nature.

He twirled his hand about, gesturing to matters as casual as the weather. “You cannot tell me my winning hand at cards is suddenly incorrect, Thomasin. I love delusion as much as the next man, don’t get me wrong. I mean, Karlach and Wyll could read you the contract as if straight from Avernus itself. Just a light nibble of thy neck.”

Thomasin wanted to retort. Yet, she had been around the campfire those long nights. She was aware of exchanges lightening the load of their gold pouches. The glory of riches on the line. Opportunity to watch Karlach drunkenly arm-wrestle Wyll or Astarion throw daggers at glass bottles with precision. Irresponsible banter around the fire was prime for it. Even if the night was hazy at this point, vague stipulations of a retired magistrate couldn’t be disputed. He was right. She didn’t think her hand was that bad, from what she could recollect, but he was right.

If anything, the length he waited was more of an oddity. The bet went unredeemed for a long while. Weeks even. They had been busy though. Shooing the feistier of goblins and gnolls into early graves, resolving power struggle after power struggle. Hunching over hastily cooked meals and soothing aching muscles in lakes. Perhaps flirtation here and there, but the sweet nothings had been there for comic relief. Cheeky remarks to remind them of normalcy.

“Fine, fine. C’mon,” she said, amused by his persistence.

The half-elf tugged at her skirt, sweeping it into the direction of a cushioned patch of wildflowers and clovers tucked beneath a tree. Her basket slipped from her hands, cradled by clovers.

Astarion grinned at Thomasin, following in suit, pinching at the bow helping fasten her skirt to her waist. He studied her shape like many times before. Quietly, but nevertheless. The drapery of her blouse and how it tucked in along the small of her back. Her sleeves pushed up to her forearm, billowing fabric tapered, cuffed, and buttoned.

She flicked her view up from her under her lashes. The stitches of her linens had folded into themselves to reveal her shoulder, her fingertips pressing into her clavicle as if she’d gather more answers from touch alone. She was a peach, carefully cut into slivers for his enjoyment. To drip and glisten down his palms. To sticky the already unspoken laws of the platonic.

“I caught you staring earlier. I-Would that hurt more? My shoulder?” Thomasin glanced down at the grass for a split second to consider her options, meeting him again with a quick answer. “Actually, that’s a lot more hidden than the neck.”

It’d been ages since one of Astarion’s conquests felt like less of a chore.

He was quick to slip into his role. Rehearsed as often as a shopkeeper stocked their wares, he turned on the “pursuer”. Sexual conquests and their success were a promise of relief. As much as he would never admit, he had dug into his filing cabinet of archetypes he’d approach. Whether she was a romantic, a bookish sort, or looking for sexual wanderlust. The complexities mixed with their constant travels made for rocky waters though. Talking alone wasn’t going to work.

This made him toss and turn at night. Feeling like the ground could crack under his cot every reverie and swallow him up. A man not suited for more than being hung up like a rug, heavy with dust, to be beaten and displayed as usual. He didn’t want to think about that.

“Perfect,” he finally spoke up.

Astarion gingerly pulled her wrist in to close distance once again. The chimes of nervous giggling made his ears twitch. As if it ignited something ingrained deep in the recesses of his mind. Was it an internal monstrous instinct? Was it a matter of preying on vulnerability? The promise of a quick and easy night in most circumstances. He hoped that maybe, just maybe, it was a positive emotion he couldn’t distinguish yet. No matter how benign.

He scouted out the landscape of her skin, although it wasn’t long before he noticed how quick her breathing was picking up. Despite her best efforts, his sense of hearing betrayed her act. The cold touch of his hand slid up under her jaw to guide her attention to him. “Your heart is beating out of your chest.” He asked, his words quiet but tentative for her response. “Does this frighten you? Shall we not keep going?”

Thomasin couldn’t answer with honesty. The anticipation of stinging pain brought forth memories of their last exchange. As much as mild affection was as sought after as a hot meal, she couldn’t deny the way his last bite felt. The half-elf bounced between its warm embrace and its cold isolated depths.

“Oh? Maybe a little…I don’t know. Go slow. Remember how Karlach said she’d throw you to the goblins if you accidentally kill me,” she said, downplaying her racing thoughts.

She knew to keep her wits about her. A woman grandfathered into the art of being a commodity. Her hands had been adroit at distraction en masse or individual consort. Easier dealt with when jaws slackened. Those equally alert, still capable of negotiating. Those were the ones to take with caution.

Astarion debated his next course of action. The consequences of a plan diverged gnawed at him, but luck had been on his side. Divine intervention that he might be able to leech off one more day. He forced himself to commit to the move, nestled in the crook of her neck planting his lips upon her skin. A kiss. Tender and hesitant. He could feel her process the change, an inkling of a whimper escaping her.

Another, applying slight pressure this time. A pause to gauge her reaction and then another. The affection felt like a physical weight lifting from his shoulders, clicking something in his brain. Until his sleeve was strained by her grip, sudden and uncertain. He glanced up at her, suppressing the urge to express his fear. That be may have muddied the waters of what ethics were left in him. That he may have read her body language wrong and he was still swimming rigid circles in an overwhelming ocean.

”Thomasin. Use your words,” he said, rising to meet her gaze again.

She let the silence linger, not knowing exactly what would be the best answer. What would be the most appropriate. And so, in times of high stress, Thomasin did what she knew best. Impulsivity was at least one answer.

Thomasin reached out for the nape of his neck. Sometimes giving into the soma, rich in delights and vices, was the only means of relief. The corporeal body hungered for finger foods and bite-sized delicacies. To imprint oneself into another’s skin. To find solace in desire.

Before she realized, they met in a kiss.

The half-elf’s cheeks felt the buzz of his laughter against her lips. One of the few displays of pure joy she had ever witnessed, not born from slaughter or rightful revenge. She could feel him relax for only that brief instant. Rare was a chance to enjoy sins without the looming threat of vampiric lords, and so Astarion had latched on. Twisting and shifting, subtle yet effective at slipping into the lead. His hands veered off course, groping at every curve, tender flesh hidden away under thin linens. Grumbles and mumbles. He exchanged his thanks for her body heat and traced along her thighs in their clumsy shuffle. Finding the hem of her skirt was only half the battle. The urge to toss her into the grass felt like a warm haze throughout his skull. Never let yourself sink too deep though. Always have one foot in the door of composure.

Thomasin tilted her hips forward out of instinct. Fidgeting against greedy hands and the covetous cursed pressed up against her undergarments. He had crept his way to the delicate floral embroidery lining her underwear. Whose stitching was preyed upon by his touch. Pulling the cloth aside to slip digits right against her clit, he felt her grasp around his arms for support.

Their foreheads were mere inches apart, exchanging inaudible but palpable tension. One couldn’t avert their focus from the other. But why would they? He was reveling in his victories, the way he locked her into a vulnerable position, finding himself enraptured by the noises that left her lungs. A surrender in her panting.

“You should have told me it would be this easy to break you down,” Astarion teased.

The satisfaction from any inkling of power was powerful in itself. His mind, clear and direct, whilst hers wavered. Thomasin welcomed alleviation though. She would strike down his ego with the fearsome sword blow of one thousand men another day. A safety net was being created in ribbon. The same tied precisely at the ends of her braids, flowing wherever their rhythm took them. What a strange feeling that welled up in his chest. Over a woman he could compare to thousands of others he slept with before. Surely, if he tried. She was half-elven of no noble blood.

Perhaps it was the promise of a bloodletting. A high he continued to chase after their last exchange weeks prior. Regardless, his eyelids grew heavy. That was, until he felt a tug at his waistband. Between the two, she had begun to untie his trousers, earning some pause.

”Now, now, hey.” Astarion’s words would've sounded casual if there weren’t for the tinge of concern in its abruptness.

His fingers slipped from her thighs, index and middle sneaking their way to her mouth. An act of indecency graced upon her tongue. Although Thomasin had not a single hesitation. Her own jaw had slackened. Her own mind clouded by the undivided attention. Sampling the fruits of his labor, attentive to his next move.

“You get distracted far too easily, darling,” he managed, despite his own voice at the edge of devolving, betraying him with his own lust. “All you need to do is tell me when you’ve had your fill. Until then, I’ll have mine.”

His eyes dialed in like daggers to the plum-stained lips wrapping around his fingers. The thought of succumbing now screamed at every aspect of his being and enveloped his loins. He blinked the interference away, a string of her saliva ever so delicate in the way it clung and snapped upon his exit.

He followed Thomasin's quiet desperation. One that spoke up in a whimper as his knuckles found themselves tucked under her jaw once more. The pressure was light, but firm, wrapping around her neck and bracing her against the tree. Just enough give to allow her shallow breaths.

”Would you like to lift your skirt for me?”

Light glinted off her cheekbones as she smiled, struggling to remember the last time she felt such an intensity coloring her cheeks. Her posture wobbled and waned, but the weight of the realms were no longer her responsibility. Fistfuls of linens were balled up in her palms as asked of her. Simple instructions. She clutched them against her chest, bare and adorned in the same blush.

Her compliance meant he was onto the next act. With a great thud, Astarion planted his boot upon one of the many hearty roots growing from the oak. Thick and sturdy, weaving throughout the soil. Using his now elevated knee, he positioned her for leverage. Her freckled thigh to be placed atop his and help widen her hips.

“How could you have traveled all these years? Met so many people, played so many silly little games, and yet you’re so bad at cards.” Astarion’s snuck back into her waistband once more, interrupting the scoff Thomasin let out by her heavy breath. “All those folks out there? Falling for your feminine wiles, no? Letting you win?”

Without warning, Thomasin felt the undeniable pressure of his fingers inside of her. He had positioned his feet in a firm stable stance and balanced her body with the weight of his own, pumping into her at a steady pace. She was locked in place, but couldn’t fathom a complaint.

Time lingered. Her legs began to tremble. Her eyelashes fluttered.

“Or are you losing bets on purpose?” he said. “It sounds like you should take your own advice. What was it you told me? ‘Watch out for men with sharp tongues and charming dispositions.’ But, alas, you’re not a woman of your word.”

He leaned in, quickening his pace. Such feverish passion that even Thomasin had to continuously acclimate to whatever he decided was her next venture. One of the bundles of her skirt fell and draped the two, her free hand opting to grab onto the back of his head instead. Her rings intertwined with his curls in aimless desperation. A gesture that made him let go of the powerplay upon her neck and join in the embrace.

“A sound that could lure a million sailors to their deaths. I could listen to you whine for centuries,” he purred, keeping the half-elf at bay whilst refusing any mercy. His name stretched its syllables from her lips, thick like honey. Urgent and stifled, yet strung out like another composition. It made Elvish infiltrate his vocabulary. Internal needs even he had never been allowed to unpack. “Hinual sreea, tell me. Your body belongs to me.”

Thomasin cracked a smile through her fatigued disposition, throwing her head back and fighting the urge to shout every Drow profanity she knew. “It’s yours— by sweet Eilistraeens. My body is yours. In the name raggath, please.” Thoughts consumed by the curl his knuckles and each stroke punctuating the last.

Little was left to upkeep in his performance. He had dissolved Thomasin’s intuition and judgment, free to shed his own anxieties. That was, until he realized what he was having trouble steering his own motives. Astarion simply watched her in a sort of awe. The way her body writhed. Scarred, freckled, silver tinted skin glistening from exhaustion. There was beauty in the crass and resilient. Something breathtaking. Like unattainable dusky silk, admired through storefront windows, awaiting to be torn into.

Needle-point teeth dug their way into her shoulder. Scraping under epidermis and into her veins, Astarion indulged, zeal twisting itself around her like ropes of sprawling ivy. Nothing more than waves of confusing ecstasy and questionable faith for the two. No god or goddesses in existence, only the light headed leap of faith toward her orgasm. Eilistraeens would want this, surely.

Before Thomasin could figure out his next move, she was riding every wave that crashed. It made her gasp. An audible panic as the puncture startled her. But the emotions were quick to mellow, pain much more manageable this time around. The intensity of blood purging seemed to be dampened by its coinciding pleasure. As if each corresponding sense knocked into one another, overlapping and tripping over themselves.

From the corner of his eye, he watched streams of blood spill down her shoulder, pooling where their bodies met and settling on her chest. “Decadent little thing,” he whispered in Elvish, as if the comment were more of an internal monologue leaking out. If fate would allow it, if the stars aligned, he would’ve kept going for eons. Dinner and a show. Her body lent an intoxication that made colors brighter. Sounds enticing, words processed as if eternally wading through molasses. Her yelping in pain and its subsequent laughter of thanks. The way her thighs tried to cling upon one another as his fingers buried deeper inside.

The conflicting sensations pummeled her nerves, shocking through her limbs in a way she hadn’t felt in years. Every movement became involuntary and overstimulated.

“Astarion, please. Enough, enough, enough!” She couldn’t help but choke out each word.

Astarion swallowed the last of his meal, licking his plate clean in such a primitive manner. Being fed after fasting for ages unlocked a rudimentary part of his brain. The elf swallowed hard, lips stained with the taste of copper, a thin red veil coating his mouth. Per her request, he gave her mercy from his selfish play. The bombardment simmered into a kiss to exchange their spoils within a sloppy rhythm. The direction of his mind seemed to have pivoted. Now his body couldn’t get close enough to hers, as much as he tried.

The inside of her eyelids shone a red velvet curtain. A shade not unlike the almost blackened hue of blood trailing down her chest. Catching shimmers of its highlights and plush, as if lit by bulbs of light in her mind’s eye. Enveloping everything until she was enraptured by pure endorphins. Cushioning the blow of her feelings until there was nothing more but pleasant horizons and hands to hold. Coziness in the desire of being wanted and the ephemeral homestead created for a bit. Until Astarion tore back the curtains.

Her eyes shot open. Reality rapid in its arrival and sunshine forcing her pupils to re-adjust. Thomasin fell victim to gravity’s disposal. Her body was propped up languid against tree bark. Its surface skid along her flesh until she could lower just enough to ease herself atop a bulbous protruding root.

The conclusion wasn't her untimely demise. Astarion wasn’t dragging her off to the guillotine, but that meant there was a different ending to this. He hadn’t thought that part through. The elf had thrown himself backward shortly after her pleas, taking enough steps away to collect his thoughts, chest heaving with the pulse of vitality coursing through him. Enough to power him into an entire night of mania if he wasn’t careful. With his back to her for these few brief seconds, he could think. His hand ran through his hair, dislodging tangles in the midst of his now disheveled facade.

“Are you okay?” Thomasin eventually said.

Her voice made his ears perk up. The question grounded him, the material realm known for being all too punctual. He palmed his mouth to wipe away any lingering blood and tucked his shirt back into his trousers posthaste. What little grooming he could conjure up before turning around. He grinned back at her, toothy and elated. Polar opposite to the disorientation on his expression not a second before.

“You think something is wrong after that performance?” He promptly gave two claps. “Would be offensive to not applaud.”

Despite his avoidance and fidgety demeanor, Thomasin decided to not pry. Her own knees were buckled. Emotion scrambled. What words she had uttered would be her own to contend with later, she proposed and shoved aside.

“I’m never going to hear the end of this,” she said, humoring him as she buttoned her blouse back up.

Astarion scoffed. “Gods, no. As if your gambling woes are going to become my problem. Encouraging your bad decisions is far more fun.”

Thomasin laughed, weakened by all their efforts, and proceeded to unhinge her jaw to speak. By the time she made a noise, she noticed he was already starting to walk back up the trail.

“Wait, you don’t want–”

“Nothing you’re going to dig up here is of my tastes, love! Still, grand efforts!” he cheered, volume rising as he went further and further along. “Dig up an old bottle of vintage and maybe I’ll bite my tongue! Good luck!”

And like that, she let him leave uninterrupted, rolling her head back and letting out a deep sigh.

23 notes · View notes

the-scandalorian · 2 years

Text

like a moth to the flame

Pairing: Monster!Din Djarin x Female Reader Rating: M, 18+ Word Count: 6.9k Content warnings: monster!Din, dark!Din, haunted!Din sort of?, stalking, obsessive/possessive/predatory behavior, creepy vibes, mentions of sex, angst, pining, canon-typical violence, nightmares, sort of a dark Beauty and the Beast AU, eventual monsterfucking probs, complete neglect of Star Wars flora and fauna for the sake of vibes Notes: Heed the warnings, please!

Thank you to @dincrypt and @ezrasbirdie for the help, to @stealyourblorbos for the idea, and to @tuskens-mando for sharing her monster!din! xx

YOU

He arrives in the summertime.

He arrives when the sun feels especially harsh overhead, even in the dewy shine of the early morning, even under the partial cover of the cherry trees. The air is stung with heat and sweetness, laced with the scent of berries and ripe with pollen—it floats lazily through the beams of light that filter down though the branches. The bees seem drunk as they zip and bob between the leaves.

You don’t hear the news right away. You’re out in the orchards, a bead of sweat breaking free from your hairline and sliding down your temple, and you absently swipe it away with the back of your hand, setting down your full basket before snatching up an empty one to move on to the next tree. The cherry yield is extra high this year—peaches and strawberries too. Overall, a very successful season.

In a few months, you will have earned enough for the final payment on your ship. It’s taken years of saving and dreaming, but it’s finally within reach.

You head into town with this week’s harvest feeling hopeful.

You sense the subtle shift—the low hum of electricity that permeates every corner of town—as soon as you arrive. No fewer than four people stop to tell you the story as you make your way toward the main thoroughfare: a Mandalorian checked into the inn late last night. It’s so rare to have a novelty to discuss in this sleepy place that everyone is eager to be the first to share.

A couple hours later, when the outdoor market has opened, the story has yet to lose momentum. The entire street is abuzz. You can actually see the word spreading before your eyes: friends rushing over to friends, one and then the next, hands cupped around ears, jaws dropped open in surprise, fingers pointed toward the inn. They gossip and chatter as if there’s actually something of substance to discuss.

You’re sure he’s just another transient visitor, like so many others who come through. There’s nothing for a Mandalorian here: no riches or war, no one interesting enough to have a substantial bounty on their head. Yours is a small town on a backwater planet where nothing happens—hence your eagerness to leave.

The Mandalorian is probably stopping for fuel and supplies, two things that aren’t always easy to come by out here in the Outer Rim, especially not safely.

He’ll be gone in days.

You envy him a little. Even before you actually see him, despite the fact that you don’t know anything about him, you’re a little jealous. Because he’s traveled the galaxy. He’s seen things. Done things. He has power and agency and purpose.

You finally do get a glimpse of him late that Saturday afternoon. You have a clear view of the inn from your kiosk. You’re in the middle of a transaction with a customer when the bright glint of silver draws your attention.

He steps out the door into the afternoon sun and sets off at a brisk pace. All you manage to catch is his impressive profile as he turns down a side street, and then he’s gone.

He looks strange in this setting—completely out of place in this rural village, like a piece of silvery moonlight excised from the night sky and fallen planetside. A warrior steeped in myth, a legend extracted from the pages of an old book and dropped into the mundane reality of your daily life.

At least you got one look at him. So you know he’s real.

*** The next week at the market, the new word about the Mandalorian surprises you—even more so than the fact that he’s still in town. He’s taken up residence in an abandoned house. He’s going to stay, for a while at least. He asked the innkeeper about places outside town, anything remote and livable and available.

The house he chose is set back in the dark part of the forest, miles away, where old-growth trees stretch so high that their thick canopies blot out the sun. No one has lived there for decades. You’ve only been that far into the forest once before: when you were a little kid, you were dared to go there, dared to go where the beasts lived—the hungry creatures with jaws that snap, the ones your parents warned you about. And at eight years old, you were too stubborn to resist once that gauntlet had been thrown. So you’d taken a flashlight and a kitchen knife and made the long, long walk out there. You saw nothing but huge, clawed footprints in the dirt and slashes gouged into the tree trunks that day, but you’d never been tempted to go back. The eerie silence was enough.

If you thought the gossip about the Mandalorian was bad last week, now that he’s staying, it’s rampant.

Violent. Brutal. Ruthless.

Hunted by The Empire.

On the run from the New Republic.

Exiled by Mandalorians.

Too bloodthirsty for The Guild.

Murderer. Mercenary. Contract killer.

Monster.

Where any of this came from, you have no idea—most likely, someone’s wild imagination. The innkeeper is the only person who actually spoke to him before he moved out into the forest.

And after he moves out there, he only comes back into town on Saturdays for the market. Otherwise, no one sees him. You know because you casually inquire about him whenever you head to town for dinner, or a drink, or to visit a friend.

You can’t help it. You’re curious.

Now, over a month after his arrival, you’d think the regularity of his weekly appearances would prevent sightings from stirring up so much excitement, but that’s not the case.

Today, he stalks through the tittering crowd, and an awed silence falls in his wake as it always does. Heads turn to follow his slow, purposeful advance, but his gaze is trained forward. He acknowledges no one.

You expect him to visit the largest kiosk, the one situated at the end of the lane, like every week prior. Instead, your hands still in the middle of tying up radishes and your eyes go wide when he turns abruptly and makes a beeline for you. He’s never come to you before. But here he is, standing before you, scaring away a couple lingering customers, who shoot you half-wary, half-jealous looks as they scatter.

You gather yourself quickly, square your shoulders, and offer him your warmest smile. The Mandalorian nods once in greeting, then tilts his helmet down to scan the goods laid out in front of him.

Fuck, he’s broad.

He looks even bigger up close, his armor and weapons even more intimidating. You note a blaster at his hip, charges on his other side, and something clipped to his belt that looks like the handle of a blade…without the blade. Peculiar. And you’re sure he’s packing more than just what you can see or make sense of.

“Looking for anything in particular?”

He spares you another quick glance but offers no response aside from a noncommittal grunt. His gloved hands work deliberately, collecting a selection of produce. Sensible, standard ingredients. Filling things that keep well in a pantry.

Your task of bunching radishes remains abandoned. You can’t help but admire him when he’s right here. The lines of his visor are harsh, the glass so dark you can’t even see a hint of his eyes. His pure silver Beskar shines like liquid mercury in the bright sunlight. You wonder vaguely if he too is dangerous to handle with bare hands. Toxic. Even more deadly to breathe in.

What would he smell like if you tucked your face into his neck, pressed your nose into the rough fabric of his cowl? Woodsmoke, you think. The masculine tang of sweat after standing in the sun in so many layers. Leather, definitely. Metal, of course. Something sharp and predatory.

When he has a sizable collection of produce arranged on the counter between you, his helmet continues to scan like he’s searching for something else.

“Can I help you find something?” you ask.

He looks up at you, and his visor stays trained on your face for a few beats too long. He cocks his head to the side slowly, like he’s trying to make sense of your question, like you just asked him something fascinating. Or maybe he’s studying your face. Whatever he’s doing, it makes heat crawl up the back of your neck.

“What’s your name?”

You’ve never heard his voice before, and you didn’t expect it to be like that—like velvet dragged down your spine, a low, sultry purr made sibilant by his modulator. It makes every nerve ending in your body light up in a way that no other sound ever has, not even the voice of anyone who has shared your bed.

You tell him your name.

He repeats it back to you, and you’re sure it’s the only correct way to say your name, that every other person has been saying it wrong your entire life, and you’ve only realized it now that you’ve heard it spoken like that. When he rasps your name, it smolders like dark magic, throbs like the first crack and roll of a distant thunderstorm, melts—

“What do you like best?”

You stare blankly at him for a moment, caught off guard that he’s not just shopping at your stall but also talking to you. He’s making an effort to connect with you…or at least being polite. Most strangers on a stopover spare little more than a grunt, and you expected the armored Mandalorian to be even less generous with words and courtesy.

He gestures across your displayed goods with a gloved hand, prompting you for an answer.

“Um, what do I like? Oh, well, the peaches are extra good this year,” you say, motioning to their basket. “Really sweet. Just the right amount of ripe at the moment. And the strawberries.”

“I’ll take both.”

And me?

The ridiculous question tickles at the back of your throat, but you swallow it back.

You gather his fruit, do some quick mental math, and tell him the total. He stows everything in a bag slung over his shoulder and digs into a pouch on his belt.

The pads of your fingers graze his leather glove when you accept his credits in your palm. You swear his hand lingers over yours for a few seconds longer than is necessary, that his fingertips brush your skin a few times even after the credits are in your possession, but before you can decide if that’s real or imagined, he leaves.

“Thank you,” he says.

He’s vanished before you can even manage a goodbye, a flash of mirror-bright beskar and duraweave cape.

And you’re left there, standing in the sun, wondering why you feel a little drunk.

*** You don’t know him—don’t know his name or what he looks like or his purpose here or if he’s a good person. And yet, after one single interaction, he becomes an almost constant fixture in your mind. He lingers on the edges of your thoughts, the possibility of seeing him again next Saturday pulsing like a beacon.

You can’t help it.

You want to know him, this stoic warrior with a surprising hint of sweetness. You want to ask him every one of the questions bouncing around in your head, to tug his gloves off his hands and strip each piece of armor from his body until you reveal the man underneath.

You only touched his glove—not even his actual skin—but the feeling burned through you nonetheless, leaving a residual tingle for the rest of the day. That night, those two fingers are the ones you slip under your clothes and snake between your thighs.

You heard just enough of his voice to piece together a very realistic growl of take it, take it just like that in your head.

What you wouldn’t give for the real thing.

DIN

The dappled gold-green light gradually gives way to shadow as Din makes his way deeper into the forest.

Overall, things are going as he planned. When he limped back to the public transport ship after his duel with Paz—burned and gutted and confused—he knew he needed to find a place to stand still.

Somewhere with enough space for his rage and grief and pain to expand and contract freely. Where he can take each of the things weighing on his mind, lay them out, and let them breathe.

Somewhere he has time to figure out exactly what he has become. What it means. How to get a handle on his new reality. What to do next.

And what happened after he closed himself in his private room on that humming public transport ship made his plan less necessary and more imperative. Just the memory of that pain makes him shudder.

This planet, just as he expected, is completely untouched by the Republic and the Empire alike. Remote. Exactly what he needs. It took him a couple weeks, skipping from one public or private transport to the next just to get all the way out here. His anonymity is all but absolute. He has space and privacy and time.

After another twenty minutes of walking, the little house comes into view, almost completely lost amidst the cobalt twilight of the trees. The tight, throbbing coil of anxiety in his chest loosens, just a little. This will be the perfect place for him. He can do what he needs to do, completely undisturbed. And he won’t be able to hurt anyone, even if he loses control.

The town is miles away, and when its inhabitants venture into the forest, it’s never this far. He was told they stay on the edges, where game is plentiful and there is food to forage.

It only takes Din a few days to make the house livable. The process is easier than he expected. The woman at the inn made it sound like it was crumbling and dilapidated, but she also stated out-right that it was haunted, so he took everything she said with a grain of salt. Din had brushed off the warning with a shrug of his shoulders and asked her for directions. She’d shared them with a resigned smile and a final protestation that no one in their right mind would ever want to live there. Din stopped himself from asking her about people in their wrong mind.

Would it be a good place for someone like that?

In reality, the house is completely intact—totally structurally sound, well built—just long-neglected and hard to find. The most difficult job is hacking away the thick emerald vines that are trying to swallow the facade. Once that’s done, the rest is simple. He forces the old, creaky front door open and clears out the cobwebs and debris. He sweeps away the dust and scrubs away the grime until he unearths a gleaming hardwood floor, faded sky blue walls, and copper fixtures.

It’s a beautiful house. Someone, years ago, put a lot of time and money and heart into it. And now Din is reaping the benefit of someone else’s hard work.

One more thing he doesn’t really deserve has fallen into his hands.

After a few days, he understands the origin of its reputation. The darkness and the unnatural stillness are constant here. It’s always night, and Din likes the quiet, the solitude. The old-growth trees are undisturbed even by animals. There are no birds tittering in the branches above him, no rabbits scurrying into their burrows when he passes. Nothing grows between the towering conifers because no light reaches the ground: the forest here doesn’t sustain. Nothing can survive for long—aside from Din and other occasional far-ranging predators.

He’s only seen the hungry reflection of yellow eyes a couple times, and the crackle and spark of the dark saber being ignited are enough to make them melt away between the trees.

They don’t bother him.

On his first supply run, Din identifies the only problem on this planet.

He takes in the haze of the small town distantly, retaining none of the blurred details as he stalks through the dusty streets…until you. He sees you standing there at the market, behind one of the many stalls, and the heart he was sure existed in his chest seems to have disappeared altogether.

Beautiful.

It requires immense physical effort not to stop, even more not to stare. He keeps his helmet trained forward and just looks out of the corners of his eyes.

He’s alarmed by the intensity of the feelings that slam through him: he wants to rip off his helmet and breathe you in like fresh air.

He can’t put his finger on exactly what draws him in. You’re gorgeous, sure, but it’s more than that. It’s biological or chemical or molecular. Magnetic. Something primal, a force he doesn’t understand—like the one that infected him when he took the saber from Moff Gideon. Overwhelming and completely out of his control.

He just barely manages to stride past like he doesn’t notice you at all.

After a month of pretending to ignore you, though, he caves. You’ve been stuck in his consciousness like a burr since the first time he saw you, begging for attention.

He has to buy supplies every week. What does it matter where he buys them?

Maybe if he talks to you, he can figure you out—figure out this pull—and that will help him disentangle you from his thoughts.

As soon as he’s standing before you, though, he knows this is a bad idea. He picks out some produce—completely ignoring his very specific mental list in favor of gathering whatever his hands happen to fall upon.

Because he’s distracted.

By you.

You turn your head a little, and he thinks about biting the sweet juncture where your shoulder meets your neck, sinking his teeth in just hard enough to hear you whine, not hard enough to break your skin.

Would you like that? Would you squirm against his chest and beg for more? Would you let him touch you with rough hands and fingers that leave behind stormcloud bruises? Would you mind the hard ice of his armor and the hilt of the dark saber digging into your stomach if he crowded you up against the wall behind you?

Would you cower if you saw the true color of his eyes?

Din tries to busy himself by staring at everything laid out before him, but he can’t stop thinking about the plush of your lips.

When you ask him if he’s looking for anything in particular, he finally has a reason to settle his gaze on your face again.

He looks at your lips for too long—he knows that. He’s reassured by the fact that you can’t tell his eyes are fixed on your mouth. You must just think he’s odd. He tries to recover by asking for your name and what food you like most. Of course you pick the sweetest things, collecting the fruit with a discerning eye, choosing only the best of the bunch to wrap up for him.

You hand him his purchases, and he’s never been more tempted to slip off his gloves in public. He wants to brush his fingertips along the smooth, sensitive skin of your inner wrist. He needs to know what that feels like—what you look like when you shiver.

He lets his touch linger for a fraction of a second and is rewarded with the subtle dilation of your pupils.

He turns to leave before he can do anything he’ll regret.

And yet, you stay with him.

He stalks down the street, back toward the edge of town, onto the wide dirt road that parts the forest. With each step, he gets further away from you. With each step, he expects you to release him, to fade away, so his mind can quiet, and he can focus.

You don’t.

He doesn’t know what to do about that. Din has grown accustomed to living with blinders on; they have always been necessary for staying on track, for shutting out everything but one bounty and then the next. They’re familiar, comforting. A life of discipline and duty gifted him an iron will and laser focus, and he’s always relied on those.

And yet here he is, distracted.

He’s never experienced this type of all-consuming attraction before.

He tells himself that if he just knew more about you, if he could solve the mystery of this feeling, he’d be satisfied. That would be enough to slake his curiosity, and he could move on.

*** Two days later, Din gets a chance.

He’s on a rare mid-week trip into town for real food, lost in thought about Grogu as he strides down the street, wondering what kind of caretaker Skywalker is. Is he patient? Thoughtful? Does he pay attention to the little things that make Grogu feel safe, like gentle back pats and low, murmured reassurances?

Surely, whatever complicated Jedi-magic bond that exists between them guarantees that he’ll know exactly what the kid needs. He’ll probably know better than Din ever did.

Jealousy radiates through him for a moment. But it fades quickly into grief, and that almost immediately spills over into a simmering anger.

Every feeling eventually gets twisted into anger these days.

Din isn’t paying attention as he turns a corner and smack. Luckily, you react fast enough to catch his chestplate with raised hands instead of your face, but the force of the impact still sends you reeling backward a few steps.

His first instinct is to reach out and steady you, to catch your elbows and pull you back toward him, but he resists it.

You manage not to lose your footing, but you do wring your hands like they’re hurting.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you laugh, rubbing your palms, “I’m fine.”

He stands there for a moment, silent. He wants to talk to you, but he has no idea what to say. So, irritated with himself, he makes to leave instead, offering you a nod and your name in some combination of greeting and farewell as he tries to walk around you.

“Wait,” you say, reaching out to grasp his elbow, your fingers curling into the space between his armor. “What’s your name? You never told me.”

He stills, looks down at you, relieved. His hands twitch with the need to touch you back. This close, your smell is overwhelming—floral and warm and tempting.

“Mando is fine.”

Your lips pull to the side in an understanding but slightly disappointed smile, your hand dropping back to your side. “Not your name, but that’s okay.”

He wants to give you more than Mando, but he can’t.

Now that he’s finally letting himself really take you in, he notices a black smudge under your eye. “Were you just at the landing bay?”

You shoot him a suspicious look. “Yes, how did you—?”

His hand moves before he can stop himself. You watch it, a flicker of surprise in your eyes, but you don’t move away, don’t flinch.

“Engine grease,” he tells you. He holds your cheek softly, swiping his thumb across your skin. You look a little flustered—caught off guard but not uncomfortable. His helmet tells him your pulse has kicked up significantly.

He likes that.

His own pulse starts a steady gallop in answer.

“I have a ship,” you offer, staring up at him with wide eyes.

He actually chuckles at that, a warm, rich sound rumbling in his chest. It makes him realize how long it’s been since he’s heard his own laugh. “I figured.”

His hand is still on your face. If he slid it down just a little, he could touch your lips, see if they give as much under a light touch as he thinks they would.

“Well, I don’t have it yet,” you amend. “It’s almost done, though.”

There’s still a shadow of a mark on your cheek when he finally does drop his hand. He imagines pulling off his glove, sliding his helmet up just enough to suck his thumb into his mouth, and erasing the rest of it with the wet pad of his finger.

What is it about you that makes him insane?

“Where are you going?” he asks.

You light up, your smile radiant. “Anywhere. Everywhere. I have a list. What’s your favorite place you’ve been to?”

Din legitimately has no answer. No one’s ever asked him that. He considers for a moment.

Maybe Sorgan, where he and the kid were able to lay low, where he got to watch the kid be a kid, if only for a few weeks. Even there, though, they weren’t safe.

Aq Vetina occurs to him next. It was also safe for a time.

No place is safe forever.

He’s about to tell you he has no answer when an older woman crosses the street and calls your name, waving an excited hand. You turn to look, and Din takes that chance to step around you to avoid having to speak to anyone else. He murmurs your name again and brushes your arm with the tips of his fingers as he leaves, unable to help himself.

But he pretends not to hear when you turn back toward him and start to say, “Mando—wait—”

*** Maybe if he eats enough ripe peaches, he’ll be able to imagine the taste of your mouth. Spring, he thinks as he walks away, his hands fidgeting restlessly at his sides, two fingers tapping absently on his metal thigh guard. You must taste like spring: honey and tight pink flowerbuds and dewdrops. And if he pulled off his gloves, you’d feel warm under his hands, like sun-baked river rocks, and soft—fuck, yeah, definitely soft—like the brushed suede of new sage leaves.

As delicate under his rough hands as freshly unfurled butterfly wings.

Din scowls, and his hands curl into fists.

All of these are breakable things. Good things. Corruptible things. Things he’d ruin. He’d strip the scales from your wings until you couldn’t fly. Even if he didn’t mean to, even if he tried to be gentle. He’s too brutal and hard for you—all beskar and blaster fire. He always has been.

Even before he became… this.

His low growl—one that he expected to be too quiet to be picked up by the modulator—comes out a little louder than he intended. A cluster of locals startles like spooked rabbits, frozen and silent, as he stalks by.

Fucking hell.

He can’t even be mad at himself without scaring other people. He nods reassuringly at them, raising a hand in friendly greeting, and they give him a wary look before turning back to their conversation.

In that moment, Din decides he won’t ever speak to you again. Being close to you sets his thoughts to spiral, puts his teeth on edge. It’s too intoxicating, and if he’s truly honest with himself, he already knows the more he gets of you, the more he’ll want. There won’t be a point when his need is sated, and he can let go.

He’d want to possess you—for you to possess him (as if that process hasn’t already started).

An unnameable feeling, something both rapturous and raptorial, sears through his chest at just the thought of being able to look at you and call you his. He can’t imagine the real thing.

Mine.

There’s a lot he doesn’t understand about this new version of himself, and he hates that. But he does know his core, his true essence that can’t be uprooted by whatever is happening to him now—even if it can be distorted.

Din knows his attachments run deep. He loves hard or not at all. He loves with teeth. The open wound Grogu left behind will take years to heal. He won’t let himself become vulnerable to that magnitude of loss for some time…maybe ever again. This, coupled with the new hunger and rage that simmer under his skin like a crackling electrical current, just waiting to spark and burn, means that he can’t be trusted around anyone.

It’s painful for him to admit he doesn’t trust himself anymore—that he’s so off-kilter, so mercurial he can’t even predict his own behavior—but the first step toward mastering this is accepting that he’s changed. It’s why he’s in this self-imposed exile in the first place.

So, he’ll keep his distance from you, for as long as you remain here. He doesn’t know if it’s a matter of days, weeks, or months, but soon enough, you’ll be gone, lost to the vastness of the galaxy. And there will be no more distractions.

This planet can still work. He can do what he needs to do. One small, temporary snag is nothing. He’s dealt with so much worse.

What’s one more thing abandoned when he’s already lost so much?

*** Over the next week, Din keeps his word to himself in all the ways that count. He doesn’t speak to you again, doesn’t approach you. Sometimes, he watches.

For your sake.

At least, that’s what he tells himself.

The first time it happens, he’s skirting the edge of town at night, restless and sleepless, when he sees you walking alone on the main road. It’s dark out, the sky spattered with dim stars, and he’s been walking through the forest long enough to know that slinking, orange shapes regularly prowl through his thermal readout. They’re lying in wait for something just like you.

It’s not safe out here.

He reminds himself that you’ve probably walked this road hundreds of times. You know this planet better than he does, know how to take care of yourself.

He tries to resist it, but a flood of something hot and vicious douses all reason, his protective instincts overriding everything else.

It’s easy enough to follow you home like a silent shadow. His senses are heightened, even keener than what the helmet affords him, and he finds that he can stalk you as easily and stealthily as any of those creatures that leave massive, clawed footprints on the forest floor.

With him around, none of them can hurt you.

You live in a small cottage on the outskirts of town, surrounded by fields and orchards, ringed by the dense forest. Alone. He wonders why a pretty thing like you is alone—must be your preference. You’d have no trouble finding someone if you wanted to.

He wonders who keeps you safe from the things that lurk beyond the trees when he isn’t here. If your bed ever feels cold.

Once he knows where you live, he visits whenever his willpower isn’t enough to keep him away. He watches from the cover of the trees and tells himself he’s only there to check on you.

He should feel bad about it. Creepy and invasive. Predatory.

He doesn’t, though. Not really.

He’s not here to hurt; he’s here to protect.

He learns about you as he watches. How hardworking and resourceful you are, how sweet you are with your animals, that there is always a vibroblade tucked into your ankle-high boot. He finds that out one day when he follows you into the forest, where you go to forage for wild raspberries.

You pick your way carefully through the brambles, slowly filling the basket looped around your forearm, humming quietly to yourself. Din watches leaf-filtered sunshine play over your features: your soft lips, the hollow of your throat, the swells of your breasts.

Beautiful, he thinks again.

He has seen a lot of this galaxy—more than most. He’s seen it from its forgotten, frayed edges to the center of its vital, beating heart. He knows one thing for sure: there’s a lot of raw pain in every place, suffering and struggle. Ugliness and mundanity and horror.

He can’t remember the last time he stopped and looked at something simply because it’s beautiful.

It’s probably just your novelty.

No, he doesn’t think this fresh sense of awe would go away even if he saw you every day, up close. Even if he had you. If he woke up to your warm body curled against his side morning after morning, your head tucked into the crook of his neck, he thinks it would feel like a miracle each time. Maybe—

Din is yanked out of his reverie by the sound of rustling. Something is moving very close by—too close. He should have heard its approach, but he wasn’t paying attention to anything but you.

He moves quietly, taking a few silent steps forward and falling into his defensive stance, feet planted wide, hands poised on his weapons.

You haven’t noticed anything yet, and his thoughts are racing as he tries to decide what to do.

Should he reveal himself before the threat does? Would he scare you more than whatever is making that sound, the one that’s getting ever louder?

He doesn’t think it’s a predator making its approach; a predator would stalk and slink, not blunder like this, and would likely be larger than the small-ish orange blur that is visible on his thermal readout. But there’s no way for him to be sure. He doesn’t know this planet well enough to have names for all of its hazards.

Why haven’t you noticed it yet?

Din is one breath away from bursting through the trees and putting his body squarely between you and this oncoming threat. He’ll reveal himself if it’s the difference between your life and death. And only then.

Finally, when the thing sounds like it’s just a few paces away, you go very still, listening carefully. Din waits.

Run, he thinks.

But you don’t have time to react. It makes its final approach in a rush, crashing through the undergrowth and into the small clearing where you’re standing.

Din sprints forward at the same time, his blaster aimed, his forefinger heavy on the trigger when he realizes what it is. He barely manages to stop himself.

It’s a fawn, its legs tangled in what looks like an old, unraveling fishing net. Its eyes are round with fear, and it freezes when it sees you.

Din skids to a halt just on the other side of the ring of trees circling the clearing, and he takes a few silent steps backward. The crashing of the fawn covered the sound of his heavy footfalls, so he hasn’t yet blown his own cover, and he’d like to keep it that way.

He watches as you assess the creature and takes deep breaths to slow his thunderous heartbeat.

Already dead, he thinks as he looks at the fragile little thing.

It’s harsh but true. Its loud, frantic movements are sure to draw predators eventually, and no mother is in sight. It’s alone and injured, likely from flailing around the forest half-bound. It’s standing on three legs, one of its back ankles clearly broken. A quick death would be a mercy—might as well spare it the drawn-out misery.

Din watches as you lower yourself to one knee, a placating hand held out toward the trembling little creature, and ruck up your skirt, revealing the well-worn handle of a blade. Slowly, whispering quiet reassurances, you unsheath it.

Aside from an occasional nervous quiver, the fawn remains a statue. Your empty hand reaches out to stroke reassuringly along its flank, the other slowly raising the knife. For one shocking second, Din thinks you actually are about to slit its throat—and realizes how much he doesn’t want you to kill it—then your prodding fingers reveal a loop of rope wrapped tightly around its neck. You slice easily though the cord there and a few other places, careful to keep the sharp edge of the blade facing away from the fawn, and the tangled mess of the net falls to the ground.

Even though it’s free, the little thing stands there like it doesn’t know what to do.

“Where’s your mama, hm?”

It stares with wide, blank eyes. You look around the silent forest.

“You’re all alone out here, aren’t you?”

Din scans the trees and knows you’re right. There are no large heat signatures anywhere nearby. The fawn takes a tiny step toward you.

“You want to come home with me?”

You reach out again and rest a gentle palm on its chest, testing its comfort. It doesn’t flinch.

“Alright,” you say, “we’ll fix up that ankle, okay?”

You carefully, slowly move forward and gather the little thing in your arms. It cooperates as if it understands your invitation.

Din watches you care for this broken, lost thing, and he wonders who takes care of you. He wonders if you have a soft spot for broken things.

What about permanently broken ones? What about things with no chance of being made right again?

*** Din falls into a routine.

He knows it’s wrong. That he is wrong.

After a couple weeks, he’s forced to admit to himself that his constant presence isn’t really for your sake. He’s there to protect you from the things that howl, but he is one of those predators now.

Why fight it?

He’s there because he wants to be.

He denies himself so much else, and what you don’t know can’t hurt you.

He can’t stop, anyways. Or won’t? There’s no difference between the two anymore.

Either way, you’ll leave this planet soon, and that will solve his problem.

At night, Din satisfies himself with a glimpse of you moving around your kitchen through the big picture window that frames your oak table. Sometimes, the only reassurance he gets is the flicker of a candle casting dancing shadows on your curtains.

During the day, when you’re working outside, Din settles against a trunk on the edge of the forest as you work your way down a row of apple trees until you’re nothing but a paint stroke in the distance. And when you make your way down the next row back toward him, for a little while, he can trick himself into thinking that you’re coming to him.

Willingly.

It’s enough.

It’s enough because he gets you in his dreams too. He can’t help it; you’re on his mind when he’s falling asleep, so you’re in his dreams. Sometimes, when he lingers on the edges of sleep, he can almost taste your skin on his tongue. He can picture your smile and your soft hands, and he feels like he’s under the shade of your peach trees with you, your body pinned between his and the trunk, as he dips his head to kiss your neck.

When he finally does succumb to sleep, though, his mind snatches his fantasy and twists it into a nightmare.

The tongue he dips into the hollow of your throat and drags up your neck is changed: it’s long and dextrous, like that of a hungry carnivore. You like it, though. He laps over your pulse point until a bead of spit slides down the column of your neck, and you moan, your hands scrabbling against his shoulders, pulling him in, like you’re desperate to be closer even though there’s barely enough space between your bodies to breathe.

When he sets his teeth against your skin, they’re no longer human and blunt—they’re the saw-tooth edge of half-shattered glass, and they pierce your skin too easily, like the point of a sharp knife to fine silk.

You whine and writhe in this arms—in pain, in ecstasy.

And the worst part? The part that haunts him during the day? You taste good. Your skin is tart and fresh, like the first apples of the season... and when he punctures it, the hot rush of your blood in his mouth is startlingly saccharine, as if he left one of your peaches in the sun too long.

He wakes up salivating, panting open-mouthed inside his humid helmet.

What is wrong with him?

No, that’s not the question that matters. He knows what’s wrong with him. He doesn’t know how to fix it.

Din groans, his body stiff and sore from sleeping in his full armor, and hauls himself out of bed. He’s not going back to sleep now; he’s sure of that. So instead, he rips off his helmet and eats strawberries over the sink. The juice drips between his fingers and down the back of his hand.

He didn’t buy these from you, since he’s been avoiding your stall at the market, and they’re less flavorful than the ones you’d grown. These are an anemic light red in color, instead of a dark ruby.

When they’re gone, he licks up the sticky pink trails, his tongue laving between his knuckles, and his thoughts wander back to your taste—how could they not? He thinks about your scent, about the way you taste in his dreams, about the salty sweetness between your legs.

Has anyone known you that way? Has anyone had the privilege of that intimacy, of taking you apart with their tongue?

The thought makes his cock twitch.

He’ll watch you again tomorrow. He’ll get a little bit closer, just a little. Not close enough for you to notice. And who knows? Maybe he’ll get lucky, and you’ll be hanging your laundry outside again and the light, floral smell of it—of you—will catch on the breeze. He’ll get what he needs, and you’ll never know. He will be sated by the occasional sight of you, by knowing you from afar.

He’s going to repeat these things to himself until they’re true.

He’s going to repeat these things to himself until you leave.

This is a compromise he can live with—he gets to indulge, and you stay safe.

It’s enough.

It has to be enough.

#monster!din #monster!din x female reader #dark!din #like a moth to the flame #din djarin x you #din djarin x female reader #mando x you #mando x female reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x female reader

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catapparently · 2 months

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The High King of Flowers

AO3 LINK

MASTERLIST

Fandom: The Folk of the Air

Ship: Jurdan

Word count: 1.1k

~~~~~

They were sitting in the throne room, Cardan looking as bored as ever as two little faeries droned on and on, complaining endlessly about their measly little problems. He absolutely loathed this part of being High King; always having to pretend to care about even the smallest of quarrels in Elfhame and judge them accordingly, lest his subjects would turn away from him for not acting as a “proper and prosperous High King” would and should. Cardan hated it. He like the gifts, the praises, and the long revels with wine and dancing that went on and on until the early mystical hours of the day. Though, in some twisted way, he enjoyed all the attention and importance he was finally being rightfully given as faeries come to him with all of their troubles and worries.

“Well, perhaps it was his fault, this time. As such, Diaspor, you shall give Torren your first berry harvest every month for the next fifteen years, and in return, Torren, you shall teach him how to weave his dried bark strips into the finest of enchanted baskets,” Cardan mused, glancing over at Jude, waiting for her usual approving nod at his conclusions. Jude stared absentmindedly into space, her fingers vacuously stroking the colorful petals of the flowers and the many plants decorating and encasing their thrones. He quickly noticed her dazed state, her gaze fixed on an unfocused spot in the room.

His eyes snapped to the faeries and guards in the throne room as he dismissed them. “Leave us be.”

At his immediate words, they all filed out of the large ornate room, though not without sparing a few curious and inquisitive glances behind them. Cardan reached out his hand, each finger carefully and glamorously embellished with daintier, shiny rings. He lightly grazed his knuckles over the soft round curve of her ear, meticulously admiring the glittering golden ornaments decorating it, the same color as the shimmery swipe of glitter that he always wore on his well-defined cheekbones.

“Jude, my lovely, what are you thinking about this time?” he probe, not exactly used to his High Queen being so utterly… absent. At the sound of his silken voice, her face tilted upwards, her calculating eyes rising to meet Cardan’s adoring ones.

“I was thinking about Vivi, she murmured, “she snagged a date with Heather for tonight. I hope everything goes okay with them this time.” Jude wasn’t the type to worry, yet her voice sounded uncharacteristically strained. She truly cared about her sister, and hoped that Vivi could rekindle her relationship with Heather. Heather, whom both Vivi and Oak dearly missed.

His fingers moved downward, tracing and weaving through the silky brown locks resting on her nape. “And no date for us tonight as well, hmm?” he teased, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his perfect plush lips.

“You know, these flowers really are beautiful,” she remarked, her attention once again turning to the lovely decorations around their thrones.” Cardan raised an eyebrow. “You think?” It was unlike Jude to pay such attention top details as small and insignificant as decorations.

“Sometimes it’s hard to believe that someone like you could conjure up such delicate and colorful flowers,” she shot back.

Cardan gasped dramatically, his hands immediately leaving Jude’s smooth cheeks to clutch theatrically at his chest as though she’d shot a glamoured arrow right through it.

“How dare you! I am very much delicate; my skin is as soft as the finest of moth’s dew-bathed silk, and my palms are free of the scars and scratches of a forceful warrior,” he retorted, quick to defend his honor. It was all true, and it was difficult to imagine a faerie more delicate than Cardan. Cardan, who wore eyeliner and kohl to enhance his mischievous eyes. Cardan, who carefully brushed shimmering stardust on his cheekbones. Cardan, who wears the most lavish and unnecessarily intricate doublets and royal clothing. And finally, Cardan, who had recently developed a new liking to lightly staining his lips with the ripest and best of autumn faerie gooseberries. It left a faint sour taste on Jude’s tongue every time she kissed him.

To prove his point even further, he sprang up from his seat, carefully clutching Jude’s wrist and dragging her behind him. Cardan led her straight out of the throne room and into the royal gardens, making sure that all of the faeries who worked to maintain it where gone. Unlike his brother, Balekin, Cardan had never, ever, glamoured defenseless humans into working for him at the palace. Hell, he’d even brought forth a law that forbade it. Yet he still wasn’t willing to admit that on that night, many moon cycles ago, he’d truly cared about that human and saved her from Balekin.

And so, the High King of Elfhame sat his queen down amidst the prosperous rows of blooming flowers, standing proudly before her. Cardan kneeled besides Jude, under the large willow that hid both of them, tucking them into their own little world.

“Jude,” Cardan breathed. His eyes were locked on her, drunkenly inhaling on the image of she who haunted his mind all the time, be it in his thoughts during even the most important of meetings or at night, dancing with his heart cradled in her hands in his dreams. She was his anti-medusa, the ferocious beast of a warrior who had shattered his heart of stone, filling it with the pulsating life of her ambition. The mortal girl who so obstinately wore her hair up in little horns. It was such pure, primitive sense of life that no faerie could have or understand, no matter their eternal lifespan. It was iron that faeries, who could live forever with their magic and enchantments, never truly lived, not in the way that humans do. Not like Jude.

Cardan removed Jude’s crown off of her head and set it safely on her lap, yet it was immediately devoured by the many sparkling layers of red fabric. Red, just like the color of the roses he was weaving into each other by the stems like a flower crown, making sure no thorns remained. He intertwined the flower circlet through her royal crown, then placed it atop her head once more, admiring the way it matched her dress and the faint blush on her cheeks she believed so soundly that she was able to hide. “Wear these. Just like my love for you, the flowers shall never wither or fade.”

“My darling High Queen,” he murmured, utterly drunk on her very presence eternally by his side, his lips brushing against hers, “my Jude.”

#jude duarte #the wicked king #cardan greenbriar #jude x cardan #the cruel prince #the queen of nothing #flower crowns #soft cardan #willow taylor swift #fluff #romance #fanfic

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hotdideasneverending · 1 year

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Lost Memories AU

This has been in my brain for a good week or so, and I need to get it out.

Lost Memory AU, either Genderbend or ABO AU as well.

So, Aemond follows Luke into the Storm and chases him as per usual only instead of attacking Luke a loud clap of thunder disorients him and Vhagar, the dragon swerving to the side only to be hit in the side by lightning, sending the old dragon down to the ground. In that same moment Luke was also stunned by the thunder and Arrax swerved into Vhagar, slamming into her other side not hit by the lightning and sending him to the ground as well.

Both dragons land on an abandoned Island that had long since been left behind by people, their riders falling off and down a hill as they laid to rest their wounds that had been caused by the storm.

Aemond and Luke awake at the bottom of a massive hill, on the beach by a cave with no memory of who they are or how they got there. Aemond is confrontational, Luke trying to calm him down and explain that they must have been on a ship and it fell to the storm, them floating to the beach amidst the waves and Aemond agrees after some time. They get their bearings, realizing they had lost their memories asd they try to remember who they are or where they are from, they settle on the names Luke and Osferth (I am doing it for y’all!), moving to head deeper into the Island as they look for shelter and people. On the way there they see the massive forms of Arrax and Vhagar, Aemond instructing Luke to stay back, ironically, to not go near them as it would be dangerous.

They explore the island, making jokes and dry quips at one another as they come to the conclusion that they are on an Abandoned island with nothing but themselves and the monstrous, but hurt, dragons.

Luke makes use of his marine intelligence, he is Corlys’ heir and favorite grandson after all, and helps get fresh water, shelter and food for them both with fishing as well as forging through brushes and forests. Aemond uses his strength to rebuild a home that was in semi-good condition as well as hunting pigs and sheep that had somehow survived the island, skinning them to make clothes and all other needed items. They work in tandem to heal and survive, grating on one another nerves as they try to coexist with the slowly healing dragons who roar each night as if they are calling for someone.

Throughout that time Luke is getting *feelings* for ‘Osferth’, who is strong, confident and very, very handsome. At the same time ‘Osferth’ finds Luke a bit annoying, overbearing and a whiny baby; but Luke’s intelligence, dedication and warmth has him too falling for him and soon during a rough storm akin to the one they fell in, they fall into bed. Over and over again. They soon get into a relationship, doing everything as before but with a few little side missions in bed that they like to do until the rooster crows in the morning.

Of course with the bed tango and no moon tea, pregnancy is going to happen and Luke falls pregnant within about…3-4 months of them being there and ‘Osferth’ works harder than ever to learn his beloved's trick of sea life to provide as much as well as stock up on as much as possible. Until one day he needs to head further up to the den of the dragons to gather some berries he knows his lover will crave as they approach their 5th month of pregnancy, them having been missing/presumed dead for little under a year by this point. He manages to grab a basketful before Vhagar spots him and lets out a roar, this shaking ‘Osferth’ who gasps as memories flood back, his life before he was ‘Osferth’ and he remembered his was Aemond Targaryen, the second son of Viserys the Peaceful and the one who was wronged by the bastard he knocked up.

He returned in a daze, Luke comforting him as he tried to figure out what was wrong. Aemond wanted to be disgusted and he wanted to take out the sinful baby and kill his bastard nephew only to remember the last year or so.

Luke, despite not knowing who he was or who Aemond was, was nothing more than sweet, kind and caring. More so than his mother who always seemed to go to HIM for kindness and sweetness, Luke had instead given it to Aemond freely. The one thing he had always craved in life that he had to work for from his own MOTHER and FATHER, Luke was giving to him. So he lies, saying that the Dragons startled him and he got too close, Luke responded by kissing him, urging him to be careful and to not leave him behind, Aemond melting as this is what he always wanted.

Warmth and Love.

Without expectations weighed upon him.

He suddenly understood Aegon a bit better now.

So he continues on as usual, tending to his pregnant lover, receiving love and warmth that only Helaena was ever capable of giving him without added baggage or weight on it. He did all he could from ensuring Luke was comfortable to the pregnant ladies desire for naughty time, he did it all and revealed in the peace he finally had.

Until he woke up one day, on the 7th moon of pregnancy, to Luke panting, looking at him in fear with a shaking body.

He remembered.

Aemond would try and calm Luke down, the other hysterical demanding to know how long Aemond had remembered, demanding to know if this was his plan to ruin Luke and his future; that if he enjoyed tricking him.

Or if he was waiting till the babe was born to finally kill him.

Aemond would be hurt, saying he had been aware of everything for two months and had not abandoned him, loving him and their child because he truly did love them. He wanted this life and not the life of the palace anymore as his brother squandered the throne, drink himself into a stupor and he was meant to be his nanny. Luke calms down, they talk it out and agree to contact Luke’s mother, seeing as she had a claim to the throne and would most likely be merciful to his siblings should things be explained…

And her grandchild in her hands.

So Aemond does, mounting Vhagar to head to Storms End, where he appeared before Borros who had a heart attack at the sight of the supposed dead prince, Aemond demanding for a Raven to be sent out and messaging Rhaenyra about meeting him and Luke on the island.

Within it he placed the embroidered Arrax that Rhaenyra had on her son's clothes, along with a lock of hair from both him and Lucerys. Then he would send a message to his sister to get her and her children to Dragonstone, urging her to seek sanctuary away from the Greens as he finally sees his Grandfather’s poison for what it is.

A death sentence.

On the side of the war…

Blood and Cheese do not happen as Daemon feels like the gods have punished Aemond for the sin of killing Lucerys, but he was not content. He urged his wife to go to war, and she held out for a time until hearing the wind of the feast Aegon threw in honor of her son dying. Corlys and Rhaenys mourn Lucerys who was nothing more than a messenger, they smear the Greens, saying how it was dishonorable to even chase a messenger as Borros had stated Lucerys would not take up arms no matter how much Aemond goaded.

Jacaerys and Joffrey felt as if the world was pulled out from under them, Lucerys was gone and they wanted vengeance, but stayed their hands as they awaited their mothers order.

The war had officially begun, with battles here and there but nothing serious until a raven came from Aemond Targaryen, the one who had supposedly by Daemon’s words, struck down by the anger of the gods. The note was simple, saying that he and Lucerys lived, to meet on an Island that was no longer inhabited, to bring Maesters and Dragon keepers to heal Vhagar and Arrax.

Rhaenyra wept at the hair which was put in the note, smelling it to try and get a scent of her child as Daemon commanded all Dragonriders to get saddled up and to have the best Dragonkeppers and Maesters ready for flight.

They arrive, Aemond having flown up to lead them to the field in which Arrax was still healing, the Dragon keepers moving to calm the skittish being who recognised it kin and allowed for healing.

If this was ABO then Daemon would realize that Aemond knocked up his kid and proceed to beat the snot out of him, saying that he had no right and that Lucerys deserved better, to which Aemond agrees but he would never take back what happened.

In Female Lucerys, he would lead them to the shed where Lucerys is laboring and Daemon would then proceed to beat the ever living snot out of Aemond like as stated above. Even in ABO, Aemond would lead them to a laboring Luke and Daemon would beat him up again because he knew Aemond had mated with his son, he didn’t realize he already fucking knocked him up.

As the men dealt with Aemond outside, the girls helped Lucerys deliver a boy with Aemond’s hair and Luke’s eyes.

Daemon entered to see his grandchild, Aemond a bit battered up as he came in to see his son, to which Lucerys proudly states-

“Meet Damian!”

Daemon would laugh happily, Aemond’s face falling as he realized his son was named basically after Daemon; who promised he had more beatings coming, before they speak of the war and how to end it.

Don’t know how to continue the rest of it with the war, but after Lucerys takes over Driftmark with Aemond as a sworn shield, and they continue to fuck like rabbits and have as many kids as Jaehaerys and Alysanne.

#lucerys x aemond #aemond x lucerys #lucemond #au #house of the dragon

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lostidiot24 · 4 months

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⚓️Nancy Mulligan🏴‍☠️

Red-haired Shanks x Gender Neutral!Reader

Song: Nancy Mulligan by The Wellerman, MALINDA, & Cullen Vance - OG by Ed Sheeran

A/N: My first post here! It took me awhile to decide who this would’ve been about but I think I made the right choice.

TW: Alcohol and drunk men but nothing gross like harassment so don’t worry!

/————/————/————/————/————/

Weathered metal screeched as rusted hinges opened the wooden door to a warm cottage. A breeze flew through the open space, carrying sounds of waves and birds into inviting ears. With a woven basket in one hand and a bag on berrys in the other, you step forward and out of the way on the quickly closing door. Leather shoes made little sound against the cobblestone as you walked across the path towards the town nearby.

This had been the main part of your days this past month. Going to the town to sell fruits and berries wasn’t something you dreamed of when you were little but it gave life meaning on this island. We didn’t have many fruit vendors so you made sure to always have enough to go around.

“[Name]! Wait up!” Your feet quickly stopped against the stones as soon as they entered the entrance to the town. A friend, Jace, ran up to you with exhaustion before you quickly helped him stay standing up by grabbing their hand.

“Jace! What happened and….. why are you so sweaty?” You took your hand away from theirs as soon as they stood up and wiped it on your clothing.

“I need your help with my shift tonight. May can’t come in today because she’s sick but she was supposed to cover for Lincoln! Now I gotta cover for two people and I can’t do it alone.”

“Jace, you know that I never deal with guests. I don’t want to freeze up when one yells at me like last time…”

“Don’t worry! I promise to make sure that you get all of the easy regulars tonight and if anyone gives you a problem, just talk to me. Please?”

Tense arms slumped as you looked at your friend who was on the verge of tears. An agreement was made after slight hesitation and some bribing of free dinner. You would definitely help out if it helped take the stress of finding another meal off your back. Jaces face light up as he quickly ran into the tavern that you both worked at.

Wait… He never gave me a time to come in! I’ll just go after I sell these fruits.

/————/————/————/————/————/

Slightly shaky hands ran down your legs as you flattened out the creases in your uniform. It was pretty basic with a small apron around the waist. You were lucky to have a tavern that was more open to clothing changes so if anything made you uncomfortable, you could just ask them for a different uniform. Nervous eyes traveled to the window that framed the view of the sea in the back of the tavern as soon as you walked out of the closet that was used as a changing room.

A ship was docking near the small harbor of your island. The citizens that lived here never really leaved so the docks weren’t very big but they could still hold a ship. You realized that you were staring when another coworker, Joanna, came to the back. She was just stocking up on some sake but it took you out of your daze as you finally walked through the doors and into the busy tavern. Jace speed walked over to you, slightly pushed you towards the front of the bar as a way to show encouragement.

Lets hope my voice doesn’t give out on me this time.

/————/————/————/————/————/

Steady hands grabbed the beer jug before it could fall off the table when a drunk man swung his arms in the air. A sigh of relief left you before the man got up and sluggishly walked out of the tavern while bumping into your shoulder. The half full glass of beer quickly tumbled out of your grip and you readied myself for the sound of glass shattering. In a blur of motion, a hand reached out and caught the glass right before it hit the decaying wooden floors. Your line of sight moved upward as your body turned around to face the person who saved your ears and your pride. Based off his clothing, you could guess he was a foreigner and therefore a pirate that was on the ship you saw earlier.

“Are you okay?” His voice was velvety but had a rasp to it that created a sense of authority. “Some people don’t know how to hold their alcohol.” His lips curled into a smile with a slight chuckle as he looked away to place the beer glass on the table. You nodded and he took his hat off. Your eyes could finally see bright red, shaggy hair as his straw hat was held to his chest.

“uh- Thank you for that! I don’t think I could’ve dealt with the embarrassment of having to clean that up in front of everyone.” The fists that you put by your side tightened as sweat built up on your palms. His aura was so commanding yet comforting that people couldn’t help but zero in on him. The tavern was lost in your sight as his mouth opened to say something.

“[Name]! Come here real quick!” Jace called from the back of the tavern before the red haired man could speak.

“Sorry, I have to get to work….” The gaze of your curious eyes was still on him as you picked up the beer jugs and put them in the sink. Shoes lightly tapped across the floors as you finally turned your focus onto Jace.

“Hey, you can go now! The night shift people are here so you are good to go!” As soon as he gave a thumbs up, you ran to get changed in closet. To be honest, the closet wasn’t that bad. Almost everyone used it to change and the only things that were in it were some mops and buckets. You just hoped that you wouldn’t drop your shirt in one like on your first day.

/————/————/————/————/————/

A/N: I think I might make this longer or make more parts but I hope that anyone who reads this will like it so far!

#shanks x reader #red haired shanks x reader #one piece x reader #gender neutral reader #lostidiot🪻#fanfic #first post

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the-s1lly-corner · 6 months

Note

I'm back on my silly goofy haha bullshit once more. [This time with itward]

Itward with a reader who likes to make bread and tend to plants, maybe they make flower crowns and gifts for itward like bread and plant related things! [A basket made out of dead grass or handmade paper/books! Paper can be made from a bunch of weeds and just plants in general mixed with baking soda and boiled!]

Make sure to take time to rest, get water and eat something, such as a snack! :D

Itward x reader who bakes and does plant stuff !

LETS GO ITWARD FANS WE EATING TONIGHT!!!!!

God I'm so so sad that fran bow and little misfortune is.. not that popular <\3 or at least doesnt have a huge active fanbase

Which sucks because it deserves the attention! The game is amazing and did a lot for me growing up (comfort media am I right?) And you can tell the creators put so so so much passion into the games

Also itward pretty

Honestly until we are confirmed otherwise, I like to think that everyone returned to ithersta after the end of the game... and until more content comes out (iirc they are working on a DLC bonus chapter! Dont quote me on that !!) And disproves that, I am going to believe that itward raises fran in ithrsta

Anyways

Whether the reader is human or from a different reality, they're here in ithersta, too! Plus I think that's the most fitting place given the prompt :0

You and itward love baking together, often exchanging recipes and sharing tips on how to get the best product!

Imagine you two start a garden in order to be more self sufficient! Berries and veggies (get creative with the bread flavors!!!!) and the like are grown in your garden as well as some herbs and such! As well as other general plants that may be needed for whatever; potions, ointments, ect!

Plus itward just seems to be the type to be as self sufficient as possible, doesn't tend to buy things unless it's something he truly cant produce on his own..

Very friendly but asides from Fran, mr midnight, palontras, ziar, and the great wizard, and even cogwing, I dont think itward speaks to many people, given his introverted nature... at least according to the character sheet KMGs posted a few months ago!

Keeps every single piece of paper you've made for him. Compiling them all into multiple books! Keeps all his books in a little shelf he built in his ship... they're all kept neat, tidy, and dusted!

Ooouuugh he looooves when you make him flower crowns, loves slipping them around his hat and letting them rest on the brim of it

Dries out the crowns so he can preserve them for as long as possible... adds them to the main area of his flying ship, where the little shadow theatre thing is!

No thoughts only you two in the garden and he tucks a flower behind your ear.. looks at you with so so much love

You think his eyes can get all huge? Like cat eyes? Because I think so... his eyes get all round when he looks at you

Full of love

Okay back to the baking portion of this because I'm kind of neglecting it a bit, I feel

Theres nothing sweeter than baking something with your loved one, and enjoying your team work and company

I think you guys would have music softly playing in the background while you both work together

Maybe I want to rewatch fried green tomatoes, but you guys end up having a lighthearted food fight

Completely out of character for itward, but I think you can spark this silliness in him

Plus despite what the suit may imply, I think itward doesnt mind getting dirty... I mean he literally is an engineer! Bro probably gets greasy sometimes! Please help him clean the crevices between his bones

... that's another idea I absolutely adore and have talked about ^^^

Hold his hand and help him clean between his bones, please please he'd be so still and patient

#itward x you #itward x reader #fran bow itward #itward #itward headcannons #itward imagine #x reader

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berryshipbasket · 21 days

Text

A Bug's love

ART FOR @candyheartedchy OF HER ADORABLE SHIP WITH FL.IK!!!

I love drawing silly bugs kissing it's my favourite past time fr fr

Proship / Exclusionists DNI

#Berry's Ship Basket #candyheartedchy #self ship blog #art for friend #other's self inserts #other's self ships #art trade

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dindjarinandlysakane · 1 year

Text

The Sweetest Taste | Chapter 4 - Something Sweet & Sticky

Din Djarin is happy on Nevarro. He has a home, a family, what more could he want? But when a woman turns up selling bread and cakes at his doorstep, how can he not fall in love? And how can he also stop her from getting hurt at the hands of her partner behind closed doors? Will the hero save the girl and get the girl? Warm and sweet fluff/romance/hurt/comfort fic.

Masterlist

Chapter 4

----

The next morning, Din had already been up for several hours by the time he heard the familiar noise of a landspeeder travelling down the dusty path towards his cabin.

He was busy fixing a loose panel on the side of his N-1 Starfighter, when the sound caught his attention.

It caught Grogu’s too.

The small child was sat on the porch step, using his powers to lift one of Din’s heavier tools up into the air and then back down again.

Din and Grogu had already had a bountiful breakfast, consisting of the fruit and sweet bread that Lysa had left for them the previous day.

It was indeed rare for them to have anything more than bone broth in the conservator. So having a bounty of fresh foods, all handpicked or home cooked, felt like a luxury.

Din took a step back from his ship and turned, to see the battered old landspeeder hovering down the makeshift road towards them.

He cleared his throat, causing Grogu to stare up at him for a moment, before the child’s attention was drawn back by the speeder coming to a juddering stop.

Immediately Grogu gave a chirp and began to waddle over to the pilot on tiny legs.

“Grogu,” scolded Din quickly.

But Lysa Kane, who had just stepped out of the landspeeder, gave a laugh.

Din gazed at her, today in a short navy tunic and matching navy breeches. She was just a little shorter than Din, but her outfit made her look tall and regal.

“Someone already hungry for more?” she said in a sing-song voice, as she pulled off her helmet, revealing her usual wavy length of honey-coloured hair.

Grogu almost instantly jumped up onto the back of the speeder, expecting her to present him with food like the last time she was here.

But Din hurriedly strode up to the pair of them, reaching under his son’s arms and pulling him swiftly from the vehicle, as Grogu screeched in protest.

“Grogu, you ate like a half hour ago,” Din said in a firm voice, as the green child made grabby hands for Lysa.

The Mandalorian’s gaze met with hers through his beskar helmet. “Sorry,” he uttered, internally wishing his son was more well-behaved. Especially in front of company like her.

But Lysa merely smiled up at the pair of them delightedly, before reaching into the basket, attached to the rear of her speeder, and pulling out a small handful of pink berries. Which she promptly handed over to Grogu.

Within half a second, Grogu’s face was already covered in pink juice as he chowed down on the fruit.

“I don't think I’ve seen wasaka berries anywhere in the Outer Rim before,” Din commented.

At his words Lysa smiled.

“Well in exchange for a constant supply of homemade cakes, some of the stallholders down at the Bazaar save me some of the rarer fruits that come in,” she explained. “They're happy, I’m happy, and my customers are happy.”

Din stared at her. All golden hair and a smile that could brighten even the darkest of skies. But there was something behind that. Something smart, and self-sufficient. And it still surprised him that a woman like her would keep a man like Crix around.

Din had pondered that on his long journey home just the previous evening. Of all the men out there, why would she choose someone like him?

Crix had been cold and brutish. A contrast to Lysa Kane, who to Din, exuded warmth and grace.

To him it was as if Lysa was a flame and Crix was an open window, ready to snuff out her fire at any moment.

The Mandalorian had met many men like this in his travels and almost every single one of them had been bad news.

But was it Din’s place to care? He wasn’t so certain, but that didn’t stop Lysa from sitting in the forefront of his mind since he had first crossed paths with her.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, the Mandalorian fumbled in his belt, pulling out the credits he owed for their delivery and handing them over.

Lysa took them from his grasp and before eyeing them in her hand.

“I told you already, this is too much,” she said with a gentle shake of her head as she held out two credit chips.

But Din raised his hand.

“You've had to come here twice,” he said matter-of-factly. “And besides. You're undercharging.”

At his words, Lysa shifted her weight onto one foot, raising both eyebrows at him in bemusement.

“Oh really?” she retorted playfully, tilting her head to the side and giving a nod. “I never knew Mandalorians were such experts in cost and pricing for baked goods?”

Beneath his mask, Din couldn't help the smile that played upon his lips.

“We’re not. But I travel a lot and I know that you're undercharging,” he said with a shrug. “They’d charge quadruple that on Naboo.”

For a short second, something flickered over Lysa’s face. Almost like a recognition of sorts, as though she was remembering something long passed.

“You know, my parents actually owned a bakery on Naboo. It’s where I’m from….where I was born,” the blonde woman commented lightly. “But there's no way they charged four times my prices.”

Lysa smirked and shook her head.

“I think whoever you’ve been buying flatcakes from in Naboo, has hustled you out of a lot of credits, Din Djarin.”

At her words Din gave a chuckle, which caused Grogu to gaze up at him, obviously not used to hearing this sound from his father often.

“Aha, so Mandalorians do laugh!” Lysa said, smiling brightly and pointing at him.

Behind his helmet, Din continued to smirk.

“I’m not taking the credits back,” he said firmly, with a gentle shake of his head.

At this, Lysa blinked up at him, before giving an easy shrug.

“Well in that case,” she said, taking a step into the Mandalorian. “Here you go, Din Grogu. Buy yourself something sweet and sticky from the market - preferably something that your Daddy has to spend weeks cleaning off the interior of his fancy ship.”

And with that, she handed the small green child the remaining two credit chips, which Grogu took in each hand, bashing them together like an instrument.

Lysa instantly shot Din a look as he returned one, her lips twitching up into a smirk, before she turned away from him. Moving back over to her speeder.

“I’ll come deliver again at the end of the week if you’re happy with that?” she said in a smooth tone. “Any requests this time?”

“Requests?” asked Din.

Lysa shrugged once more, picking up her visor.

“Well a few of the Mandalorians over the way, ask for Sweetmallow cakes when I can get the ingredients. But those I will have to change you double for.”

She leaned in to Grogu. “Very sweet and sticky,” she said in a carrying whisper, giving a wrinkle of her nose as she did so.

Din’s eyes roved over Lysa’s face for a moment or two, as he let out a snort behind his helmet.

“No requests,” he gently uttered with a brief shake of his head.

The blonde woman offered him one last smile before pulling her battered old visor over her head, tucking in her hair, and hopping into the landspeeder.

Just like last time, Din took a wide step back as dust flew up into the air, at the sound of the speeder’s engine stuttering to life.

Grogu in his arms, bashed the two credits in his hands together noisily. As Lysa reversed in the speeder a little way before giving the pair a wave; circling around and zooming off.

Din stood there for a while, watching as she disappeared out of sight, before giving a small sigh.

At the sound, Grogu stared up at his father expectantly, letting out a loud chirp.

Din glanced down at his small green son.

“I know, but it’s not gonna happen, buddy. She’s with someone.”

And with that, Din couldn’t help but let out another long sigh, before staring back up at the horizon.

……

Was that ok? Should I carry on?

Please let me know if you'd like to be tagged?

[Gifs are not mine - click for links to creators]

#din djarin #mando #the mandolarian #din x oc #din djarin fluff #mando fluff #mando grogu #din grogu #din djarin oc #din djarin fic #din/oc #din djarin imagine #mando imagine #mando fic #star wars #grogu #star wars universe

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rising-volteccers · 10 months

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I have a prompt for Friede. He gets sick but he's the last one to notice. Like everyone is taking care of him in their own way.

Thank you very much for sending this prompt! I'm currently sick myself and wrote this all in one go while medicated and sporting a 102F fever. I suppose I just wanted to make him suffer alongside me hhh...

Anyways! Hope it's still an enjoyable read! I think this is the longest piece I've written thus far so I'm pretty proud of it still haha!

Series: Pokemon Horizons

Characters: Friede, Cap, Murdock, Mollie, Orla, Liko, Roy, Ludlow

Waking up that morning, Friede found himself struggling to sit up. His body felt heavier than usual, though he supposed that was expected when he took night shift for the past couple of days. Manouvering the ship through a storm, battling strong winds and dipping temperatures took a lot out of someone. At the very least his crew didn’t lose too much sleep over it, especially the children.

Cracking a huge yawn that he barely covered, Friede went through his usual routine at a more sluggish pace. He briefly forgot where he kept his goggles and he almost exited the room without tying up his hair. Cap gave him odd looks throughout it all but aside from a questioning noise, he scampered up his shoulder as he headed to the dining area.

By the time he entered, everyone was in the midst of digging into the wonderful breakfast spread Murdock put out. He barely stifled another yawn when Orla greeted him with, “Morning sleepyhead. Thought you were gonna skip breakfast there.”

“Mm? Nah, I would’t miss it without someone getting on my case about it,” he replied with a cheeky little grin at Mollie, who merely raised an eyebrow at him. Friede ignored her sudden interest as he took a seat at the end of the table.

Friede wasted no time in pouring himself a mug of coffee. With how tired he felt, he needed a bit more caffeine in his system. The first sip made him pause, and he pulled the mug away to scrutinize the dark liquid.

“Hey Murdock, did you use a different coffee blend?”

Murdock looked up from his own plate. “Hm? Nah, it’s always been the same. Why, it tastes weird to you or something?”

Huh, if nothing changed, he supposed it was his taste buds being weird for some reason. Oh well, nothing that he couldn’t drink. Friede gave an airy wave that made Murdock stare at him for awhile longer before he passed the bread basket to Roy.

With a half mug of coffee in him, Friede found himself lacking a bit of appetite which he chalked up to his tired state. His stomach felt a little weird after a piece of toast and a few berries so he decided to stop before any accident could occur.

“That’s all you’re eating?” Orla commented as he drained the rest of his mug.

“Yeah. Guess I’m not as hungry as I thought,” he replied, once again stifling a jaw cracking yawn. As he rubbed his eye with a finger, he missed the way his crew exchanged glances with one another.

“You feeling alright?” Murdock asked, sounding oddly cautious.

“Yeah, probably just all those late nights catching up. Nothing that going to sleep earlier tonight couldn’t fix.”

Suddenly feeling a little stifled from the attention he garnered, Friede stood up from his chair–placing a hand on the back of it to steady himself through a brief wave of lightheadness.

“Hey–”

“I’ll catch you guys later then,” he spoke quickly, flashing them all his usual smile before turning on his heel to exit the dining area. Cap quickly finished his own food, cheeks stuffed and then dashed after him.

That was a little weird, admittedly. His crew stared at him like he had two heads at the end. Couldn’t figure out why but oh well, maybe that was a one time thing. Friede paused to allow Cap a chance to settle on his shoulders again. It was his turn to do some chores today so he might as well get to it now if he wanted to nap later.

–

After he cleared the table and washed the dishes with Roy’s help, Murdock went to the cabinet to pull out a tea caddy. He opened the lid to check what blends he still had left. Only he, Liko and Mollie really enjoyed tea while the rest were coffee drinkers (or in Roy’s case, a Tapu Cocoa fiend). He rarely made tea for those outside their little group but he figured it was necessary today.

Murdock knew that Friede wasn’t feeling well. If his sluggish nature wasn’t a tell, then his lack of appetite spoke of an uneasy stomach. While Friede couldn’t match Roy’s huge appetite (typical for a growing boy and one where Murdock encouraged), the good captain usually ate his fill before going about his day.

The chef took out the honey jar as well as a half cut lemon from the fridge. While he waited for the water to boil, he took out a red thermos from a different cabinet. Rarely used seeing that he was more than happy to make the crew something from scratch but one that should fit his purpose right now.

Within twenty minutes, he exited the kitchen with the thermos in hand, filled with a blend specifically made for uneasy stomachs. Murdock found Friede and Cap quickly enough; it was his turn to mop the deck, which he found him to do with slow, sluggish swipes.

Swallowing down the flare of concern, Murdock called out, “Hey Friede!”

Friede nearly dropped the mop in surprise but he straightened up with a tighter grip, then turned around to regard him with a semblance of a pout.

“What’s with the attempted heart attack so early in the morning?” he grumbled. Another check towards his unwell state was him being a little testier than usual.

“Sorry. I just wanted to give you something. Here you go.” Murdock handed Friede the red thermos. At the questioning look, he gave a disarming smile, keeping his voice light. “It’s honey lemon tea. I’m slowly using up what we have left before we restock in a few days.”

“Okay? Thanks I guess.” Murdock knew him well enough to not take the somewhat dismissive response to heart. Likely confused when his brain wasn’t running on all cylinders, not to mention the choice of beverage given. Coffee or Tapu Cocoa were the go-to more than a whole thermos of tea.

“No problem. I’d appreciate if you could give it a try later and give me some feedback on it. Wanted to see if the ratio I put works or not,” he added. By framing it this way, Friede would find himself obligated to do so, which Murdock hoped involved him taking a break whilst drinking it.

“Yeah sure.”

“Right, I’ll leave you to it. I’ll see you around lunch then.” Murdock didn’t stick around after that. Had he tried to push more, Friede might get defensive, stubbornly loveable fool that he was. The chef decided to make a hearty soup for lunch to see if his captain could stomach it later.

–

“What’s on your mind Liko?” Roy’s question startled the girl out of her thoughts. She jumped a little in her seat, spooking Sprigatito who fell off her lap in turn. She spent a few minutes apologizing to her starter before answering Roy, who looked a bit guilty after that.

“I’m sorry for startling you. I didn’t think you were so out of it,” he apologized, hugging Fuecoco tighter to his chest.

“N-No it’s fine! I was�� mm, I was thinking about earlier.” Liko replied, shifting to the side so Roy could take a seat seeing that she piqued his interest.

“What about earlier?”

“You know… how tired Friede looks.” Having been a part of the Rising Volt Tacklers for awhile now, Liko had time to observe the crew’s habits and behavior, storing everything into her little mental file cabinet. She knew that Friede’s sluggishness was unusual for the seemingly upbeat guy. At least, he’d try to hide if he felt off on account to avoid worrying others.

“I guess you’re right. I don’t think I’ve seen him yawn so much during breakfast! That’s usually my thing!”

Liko giggled at his words, though her expression drooped into a more thoughtful one. “Yes, which is why I think he’s not feeling 100% right now. And he’s either not admitting it or he doesn’t think much on why he’s feeling so tired. A-At least that’s what I think.”

Roy tilted his head, so much so that Liko could practically see the gears turning. “I think you’re right. I remember Orla mentioning once that he’s a stubborn, lovable oaf of a man that thinks he needs to shoulder everything himself!”

She blinked in surprise at that. She hummed, fiddling with a lock of her hair. “I-I see. I think you should avoid mentioning that to either of them…”

“Hm? Yeah, alright.” Roy hugged his Fuecoco once more. “So… do you think we should help him?”

Liko nodded, swinging her legs. “Yeah! I think we should! Maybe he’d feel better if he gets some more rest. It’s his turn to do most of the chores today I believe.”

“We can help him out with that so he can go take a nap or something.” Roy had a huge grin on his lips, hopping up from his seat. “What are we waiting for?”

Liko quickly got up to join him, leaving Sprigatito to curl up and nap on the couch for the time being. The two kids hunted down their mentor until they spotted him carrying a basket of laundry, heading towards the back of the ship where they hung them out to air dry.

“Hey Friede!” Roy called out. Liko saw the way Friede startled, almost dropping the basket before his grip tightened at the last second. She quickly joined Roy to stand at his side.

“Liko, Roy,” he began slowly, eyes narrowing slightly. “Did you need something?”

The kids exchanged a quick glance before Liko stepped up to answer. “W-We were hoping if we could… um, swap chores today!”

“Yeah!” Roy was quick to follow up, steamrolling through whatever response Friede might have said. “We have plans to do some training tomorrow so we were hoping if we could do our chores today to have some free time tomorrow!”

“Training?” Friede sported a questioning look but Liko took note of the fact that it wasn’t an immediate dismissal.

“Y-Yeah! We… wanted to get more practice on battling so we can help defend our home if stuff happens.”

Liko resisted the urge to squirm from Friede’s assessing gaze. Roy wasn’t as nearly affected but she had a feeling the boy too waited with bated breath for a verdict. At last something in Friede’s eyes softened, and he sighed.

“Well, I guess I can take over your chores tomorrow. Make sure to inform Mollie about the change, alright? Don’t need her coming after my neck for foisting off work onto you two…”

Liko had a feeling that they weren’t supposed to hear that last bit. She chose not to say anything aside from carefully grabbing the laundry basket from him. Friede sighed once more, regarding the pair with a half smile.

“If you want to practice with Cap too, let me know. I’m sure he’d be up for it.”

“Y-Yes, thank you!” she responded, injecting as much enthusiasm into her voice. Liko supposed training was on tomorrow’s agenda. Hopefully Sprigatito would be up for it.

“Yes! Me and Fuecoco are ready for the challenge!”

“Alright, alright.” Friede covered his mouth from an abrupt yawn that sneaked out. He ran his fingers through his hair, then stood up straighter. “If you two need me, I’ll be at the captain’s deck.”

“Okay!” She clamped down the urge to add I hope you’ll feel better soon!

The two kids watched Friede walk away and up the small steps until he disappeared into the room.

“You think he’s going to nap?” Roy asked.

“Mm… I hope so.” Liko eyed the laundry in hand. “Come on, we better go hang this up while the sun’s up.”

“Okay!”

Liko hoped that Friede would feel a little better with some rest, knowing that Roy too shared her sentiment.

–

Ludlow slowly pushed the door to the captain’s deck open. Peeking his head inside, he found Cap staring inquisitively at him before recognition flashed in his eyes once his gaze landed onto the folded blanket in his arms. The Pikachu raised a paw at him, forming a little thumbs up.

“Don’t mind me,” he uttered softly. Ludlow shuffled his way inside, steps light in comparison to the soft snores escaping the young captain’s lips. Once he reached the large chair, he took a moment to observe Friede.

Being a fisherman by trade and at heart, he knew to be patient whilst keeping his senses open for even the slightest of changes. Be as still as a calm lake, hand ready to reel in the moment his lure caught something. Ludlow of course applied this in his everyday life, too.

Thus without it being explicitly stated, he knew that the rest of the youngsters were looking after their ill captain. He knew why they’ve yet to outright state it to his face; Friede could be infuriatingly stubborn, insisting that he was fine despite feeling otherwise. Ludlow supposed it matched his ambition at least. One couldn’t have thought of converting his fishing boat into an airship without being strong-willed and just a little eccentric.

Still, he personally believed that there was a time and place for everything. Friede truly was lucky to have such caring people in his life. Ludlow didn’t exactly place himself in that circle, preferring to continue his observation of these youngsters from his spot day in and day out.

Carefully, he unfolded the blanket before draping it over the slumbering captain’s form. Ludlow could do nothing about the rather uncomfortable position he slept in without the risk of waking him up but he did his best to tuck the blanket in. Cap too assisted him, using his paws to tug the blanket higher up.

Friede remained fast asleep throughout it all. Ludlow eventually took a step back, shared a knowing nod with Cap before shuffling his way out of the room.

–

Orla toiled the morning away within the engine room but her mind drifted every so often towards a certain someone on this ship. She didn’t let any of those thoughts affected her work as she didn’t want to worry the Pokemon that assisted her. By the time she emerged from the hot room around lunch time, she was free to ruminate about that stubborn, loveable oaf they had for a captain.

She knew that Mollie and Murdock shared similar thoughts during Friede’s time at breakfast earlier. All of them knew him well enough to know that he either refused to acknowledge his ill state or he didn’t connect the dots.

Friede was a brilliant man, that Orla won’t deny. His plan to fashion an old fishing boat into an airship was successful mostly due to her work but the layout he presented helped with the foundation. Orla built around his vision until they had a home in the sky, soaring high and free.

As intelligent as he was, the guy could be fairly dense in keeping track of changes to his body. Sometimes he actively hid that fact, believing that he could handle it by himself until one of them had to drag him by the ear to Mollie. Other times, it just didn’t click that maybe, just maybe his body wasn’t feeling all that well.

Orla had a feeling that it leaned more towards the latter this time. He wasn’t as defensive, though his exhaustion may have tempered it down. Regardless, his infuriating stubbornness likely remained, as it won’t even if his brain actively cooked itself. Thus Orla would give him a bit more time to come clean before dragging him to the infirmary.

In the meantime, she went to freshen herself up for lunch. Worrying about that knucklehead made her hungry, so she wasted little time in carving herself a spot at the dining table. Murdock informed them that soup and sandwiches were today’s menu. Orla lacked any doubt that it was in consideration for Friede.

Who, as lunch progressed remained absent. Liko and Roy exchanged glances, while Murdock looked like he wanted nothing more than to get up from his seat. Ludlow and Mollie ate on as usual but she took notice on the way Mollie tapped a finger on the surface, signalling her rising ire and worry.

Orla bit back a sigh. She quickly finished up her meal, then declared to the table that, “I’ll go check up on Friede.”

It felt like the table collective exhaled a relieved breath. Murdock flashed her a grateful smile while the kids exchanged soft smiles with one another. Mollie looked up, quiet but her eyes sent a clearly defined message.

Let me know what happens.

The engineer dipped her head once, then stood up from her chair.

“He was napping in the captain’s deck last time I checked,” Ludlow spoke up, surprising them that he knew in the first place.

“Oh, so he did get some more rest…” She barely picked up on Liko’s muttered words prior to her exit from the dining room. Her steps were collected as she made her way up the steps to the deck.

Orla opted to enter without knocking. Her entrance drew Cap’s attention, who looked a little relieved. Her heart rate sped up slightly as she closed the distance between the door and the captain’s chair.

Taking one look at Friede, she knew why Cap reacted that way. Putting aside the uncomfortable position he fell asleep in, she spotted the dusting of red high on his cheekbones. Sweat dotted his forehead, easily revealing a fever once she pressed the back of her hand against it.

She hated being right in this situation. Orla pulled out her Rotom Phone and sent a quick text to Mollie to prepare the infirmary since she was bringing a fever stricken idiot there within the next ten minutes. After that, she gently placed a hand on Friede’s shoulder and gave it a little shake.

Friede groaned, looking like he was trying to free his arms from the blanket in order to swat her hand away. Orla gave a harder shake, this time punctuating it with, “Hey Friede, come on wake up.”

Eventually hazy yellow eyes opened, and he blinked in confusion for a few seconds before they settled onto her face.

“Orla…?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Come on, I’m taking you to the infirmary. You’re sick,” she stated promptly. Before his ill timed stubbornness kicked in, she needed to make decisions so that he only had time to react and not think.

It took a bit of effort for Orla to pull Friede to his feet. She had to shoulder the sudden weight pressed against her, his deep heavy breaths spoke of a sudden wave of lightheadness that he tried to get in control of. She gave him time to stand a little steadier on his feet, then with an arm around his waist for support, she started to guide her sick captain towards the infirmary.

–

Mollie had things prepared by the time Orla and Friede came stumbling in. She wasted little time in helping Orla get him on the bed, where he struggled somewhat from the hands that wanted to take his flight jacket off.

“I don’t want you in too many layers,” Mollie spoke, gently gripping Friede’s shoulder as to ground him. She waited until he settled down before starting her check-up.

After Orla left the infirmary, her hands swiftly went from one test to another; checking his temperature, pulse, the inside of his throat when he mumbled about a scratchy throat during her questioning session. Eventually, she came to the conclusion that Friede was in for a few days minimum of bed rest until the worst of the symptoms eased up.

Mollie raised an eyebrow at the mullish tilt to his eyebrows once she gave him the verdict. “I don’t want you to pass out nor increase the chance of spreading this to everyone. I’ll be having my hands full looking after one stubborn idiot.”

“Harsh,” he mumbled, cowering when her eyes hardened. Mollie could be a little cold when someone had the misfortune of igniting her ire. She preferred a cool sense of professionalism rather than allow fear to settle in. Friede genuinely worried her but as the nurse on this ship, she had to keep rational if she wanted him to recover as quickly as possible.

“Am I wrong?” she challenged.

Perhaps something finally clicked into that feverish brain of his as Friede hunched in slightly, eyes darting to the side.

“No,” he admitted. “Sorry for worrying you.”

As much as she wanted to keep a hold of the slight thrum of anger beneath her skin, Mollie simply heaved out a deep sigh, briefly pinching the bridge of her nose.

“I wish that you’d stop hiding when you’re not feeling well, Friede.” Her eyes settled onto his contrite expression. “Do you realize that you’ve got everyone worried today?”

“I, uh, I actually didn’t.” His voice sounded like a child being reprimanded, which she supposed wasn’t far from the truth. “Honest, I just thought I was feeling more tired than usual. But I guess that’s why Murdock gave me that tea, and the kids offering to switch chores with me…”

It took a lot of willpower to not roll her eyes. Honestly, this brilliant man could be so dense at times.

“I don’t know whether it’s better that you’re ignorant or stubborn. Regardless, you’re on bedrest for coming days. I’ll give you some medication to take after you have something in your stomach. Murdock made soup so that should be easy on it.”

“He did?”

“Yes Friede. Everyone noticed you weren’t feeling well–except for you, unsurprisingly.” Her blunt tone didn’t quite match the way she slowly draped a blanket over his form. “Now you’re going to briefly rest here while I have Murdock bring some soup for you to eat. I expect you to eat as much as you’re able to, then take the medicine. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal,” he mumbled, sighing blissfully once Mollie placed a folded damp rag over his forehead.

Mollie smoothened the blanket once more, her own expression softening somewhat. “Try and get some sleep, alright?”

“Mm…” She supposed that after the fight drained from his body, he couldn’t resist succumbing to some much needed rest. Mollie observed him for awhile longer, then checked her cabinet for the appropriate medicine to give Friede later.

With everyone pitching in to take care of their stubborn, loveable captain, it was her hope that he’d return back to full health before the week was up. Until then, she was in for a whole lot of whining in her immediate future…

Not that she fully minded, she supposed.

#Pokemon Horizons #Pokeani #Professor Friede #Liko (Pokemon)#Roy (Pokemon)#Murdock (Pokemon)#Orla (Pokemon)#Mollie (Pokemon)#Ludlow (Pokemon)#Captain Pikachu #Hana writes stuff #A fun challenge to write multiple POVs aside from Friede's!#I hope I got their voices more or less alright

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