#I'm a simple man I wanted a crow | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pedrito-friskito · 1 year

Note

hey kay bb!! hope you're doing well 💖

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

niiiiiiiiik my darling my dear hope you are also well 💗

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

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

sleepover saturday

uncharted territory

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

gif by @aceofwhump

Then you are a Mandalorian no more.

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

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

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

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

Where will he go?

You are a Mandalorian no more.

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

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

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

“Mando?”

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

“Sweets?”

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

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

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

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

Other times, he just wanted to see you.

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

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

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

He just shrugged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that gonna cause me any problems?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He heard you gasp.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wanted to taste you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I like it rough.”

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

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

Beneath the helmet, Din turned crimson.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He never meant to get so attached to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a shelf of sweets above the workbench.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he’d answered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He could taste you easily now.

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

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

Din just nods.

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

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

What does that mean?

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

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

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

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

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

“I did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry.”

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

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

All he can feel is you.

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

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

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

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

“You’re beautiful.”

“So are you.”

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

Din wakes to the sound of running water.

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

But more importantly: you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To your bed.

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

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

“I’m out of practice.”

Your lips twitch again. “How bad?”

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

“You were a child.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Freezes.

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

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

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

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

Realization slides through your features. “Oh.”

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I missed you.”

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

Din wakes alone in your bed again.

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

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

“You know Peli Motto?”

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

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

“You’re joking.”

“Swear on my hangar.”

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t—”

“Din.”

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

“Where is the Razor Crest?”

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

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

“It’s a long story.”

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

#sleepover saturday #my fics #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fic #din djarin fic #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin smut #din djarin fluff #din djarin headcanon #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian fluff #the mandalorian headcanon #the mandalorian fanfiction

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reve-writes · 1 year

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—bejeweled; kaz brekker.

ʚ kaz brekker x reader | grishaverse | 1,2k words. ʚ from this ask. | dating kaz brekker, and he gifts you jewelry as trinkets like the crow he is. ʚ established relationship; crow club drinking. ʚ a/n i love this idea so much! i'm sorry if it's rushed or slightly off. thank you for reading!

It started out small. Kaz had a ring he looped through a silver rolo chain necklace that he wore, tucked under his shirt, until one day it wasn't there anymore. The ring was a simple silver thin band with the letter R carved into the inside of it. It was a barely noticeable part of his get up, but Inej, the sharp-eyed wraith, noticed the lack of shining silver chain under his collar.

“Did you lose your necklace?” Inej asked, settling into the barstool next to him in the Crow Club. Kaz looked up from his glass, acknowledging her with a brief glance from under his hat.

“No,” he replied, not elaborating any further. Kaz Brekker couldn't help the way his eyes fall onto you as you sat at one of the tables with Jesper and Wylan. You laughed, throwing down your hand of five cards victoriously. His eyes caught the glimpse of silver around your left middle finger. A ring. His ring.

An involuntary smile crept onto his lips. It vanished within a second, as if it had never been there in the first place.

You turned your head, catching his stare before you sauntered over towards him. Kaz didn't say a word, turning to the back door of the club that led to a mostly deserted alley, hoping you would get the hint to trail after him.

The door clicked shut behind him, but not three seconds passed, it swung open again. You stood there, grinning smugly towards him.

“If I didn't know any better, I might start thinking that you missed me,” you said, brushing some lint off of his collar.

His gloved hand caught yours, holding it in place as you tilted your head to look at him. “I thought it was the other way around.”

He smoothed out your palm, pressing the back of your hand to his lips briefly. When he pulled away, he was twirling the ring around your finger. It was intimate—the ring was his and it was on you. You were his, as scary as the thought was to him, he liked it just as much.

Next, it was an ankle bracelet. A small little thing, usually tucked safely inside the neck of your boots. Then, eventually he started bringing whatever jewelry he found his hands on.

Your last job was for a painting—expensive, six digits in Kruge, and it went mostly smooth-sailing, other than a couple of close calls. Everyone was safe, celebrating at the Crow Club. Drinking, dancing and laughing like there was no tomorrow. The ever-brooding Dirtyhands seemed to be in a lighter mood as well.

You danced to the music, trotting towards the Bar for a refill. His eyes trailed after you, trying to catch your glance. When he locked eyes with you, his head tilted slightly to the back door. His gloved hand definitely pulled another card from his sleeves and he revealed his hand on the gambling table. Sly cheater.

Jesper groaned loudly. “Kaz wins? Again?!”

Nina laughed merrily, leaning on Matthias' shoulder as she shuffled the deck again.

Kaz stood up as you were already closing the door behind you.

“I need a drink,” said Kaz. The rest of the table did not question him as they were already starting another round, this time with Wylan as a challenger.

Kaz was out the door in seconds.

“Seems our rendezvous is compromised, Brekker,” you said when the door clicked shut behind him. You gestured to a drunken man, passed out by the door, snoring loudly.

His nose scrunched up in disgust, noticing the putrid smell of alcohol and puke. “I wanted to give you this.”

Like a magician, he pulled a string of chain necklace out of thin air. Kaz and his sleight of hand was something you found extremely endearing.

“You took it from the house.” Your eyes widened, noticing the intricately-shaped charm of the necklace. It was the silhouette of a crow. You mentioned it to him in passing as you looked around the room where you were taking the painting from.

“It's yours.”

You let him hook the necklace around your neck, noticing the way his fingers brushed against your nape longer than it should have.

“Thank you, Kaz,” you muttered, taking his hand with both of yours, pressing it to the side of your face. You leaned into the leather, closing your eyes.

The next time it was more noticable, a bright ruby ring, occupying your pointer finger. It was a small band, but the red stood out extremely against the silver. Your last job was at a pawn shop that belonged to a swindler that you were paid to intimidate into returning the money they had scammed out of your client. As part of it, you were to conduct a robbery of sorts. You were allowed to keep your loot on top of your payment. It was an easy deal to take.

You arrived at the shop just a bell past midnight. Jesper had already snatched a couple of vintage cufflinks for himself. Inej didn't mind swiping a knife or two from the extensive collection. Wylan was fixated on a small, bronze clock. Matthias was shifting through fur jackets being hanged by the door.

Nina gasped when she opened the box of jewelry. It was filled with various stones on different ring bands. There was a mix of earrings, necklaces and bracelets, too, but everyone was eyeing the ruby. It was practically shining.

“That is stunning,” said Jesper, already moving to grab it from Nina's grasp.

Before Jesper could take it, Kaz's gloved fingers closed over it. He tucked it into the pocket of his vest. “That is mine.”

Everyone let out a noise of disagreement, but relented anyway. However, it created quite the scandal when you headed down for breakfast and the ring was adorning your ring finger.

Wylan was the first to notice the bright red stone. His jaw dropped, trailing after the clueless you, who was almost on auto-pilot as you buttered a piece of bread and bit into it.

Wylan tugged on Jesper's hand, pointing at your finger. Jesper let out a conspiratory gasp, which alerted Nina and Matthias. Inej, who was blowing on her cup of tea, looked up as well. Kaz was nowhere to be seen yet.

“Morning, everyone,” you mumbled, rubbing the sleep off of your eyes. You were taken aback by everyone's bewildered reaction. “Are you okay? Is there something wrong with me?”

Self-consciously, you started smoothing out your hair and tugged on the collar of your shirt.

“Oh, you're fine,” Jesper said. “We just can't help but be curious of the ring.”

In your sleepy haze, you shrugged. “A gift from Kaz.”

As if on cue, Kaz walked down the stairs. Everyone's gaze turned on him simultaneously.

“He gifted it to you?” Asked Matthias, tilting his head inquisitively.

Kaz, with his usual scowl, asked back, “What are you all on about?”

“Everything made sense!” yelled Nina. “Matthias, I told you about the changes in Kaz's heartrate—”

“—or the way he sometimes disappears—” said Wylan.

Jesper chided in, “—and he's never cared for jewelry before, but lately he's been taking souvenirs back—”

“—and he's been giving them to ___,” concluded Inej.

“Well done,” said Kaz uninterestedly. “Astute observations.”

He brushed past you, taking a bite out of your buttered bread as he did. “Good morning.”

It was safe to say that the rest of the day was filled with inquiries by everyone else. Kaz wanted no part in it, leaving you to deal with the barrage of questions from how and when and all the sorts. You swore you'd have a couple of words for Kaz by the end of the day.

[ ]

#kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x you #—ki writes 🍯

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swirlymarimo · 2 months

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Zoro sits silently at the otherwise empty kitchen table, his head nestled against his palm as he watches their ships cook flit around, preparing breakfast for the crew. It's early. Too damn early if you ask him, the sun is barely just rising over the horizon. Its light is soft and golden, pouring in from the window on the adjacent wall.

He had been sitting alone in the crows nest, finishing up his nights watch when he had heard the familiar squeak of the galley door. After finishing the last of his push-ups he grabbed the towel from the bar on the wall and wiped the sweat from bis brow. "I should probably shower." He spoke into the deafening silence. Sanji would want nothing to do with him if he waltzed into the kitchen in his present state.

With the cook up and about, he decided it's fine to end his watch and move to the bathroom to freshen up. It won't take long, things would be okay with ten or so minutes of loose supervision.

Now here he sits, clean and refreshed watching the love of his life be the most obnoxious type of morning person there was. How someone can be this full of energy before the world was even awake will never makes sense to him. Right now he seems to be humming some old shanty while he tossses ingredients into a large mixing bowl.

He looks beautiful in the early morning light. The golden sunlight is casting a halo that makes him practically glow like treasure. Not to mention how cute and domestic he looks in his stupid pink apron.

"Need some help?"

He just can't shake the pull of soul wanting to be closer to the man at the counter. He was breathtaking. Zoro wants to burn this image into his mind.

Without even turning to spare him a glance, Sanji answers, "No, I'm alright. I don't have much to do."

"You were just saying yesterday I need to help out around the ship more." Zoro knows the comment was merely an excuse to bicker at the time when it was said, but now perhaps it can be his excuse to be closer. He really means to say "I just want to be domestic with you." But he's certain the cook can read between the lines and understand that he just wants to do something simple in each others company.

Sanji humors him this time, turning and placing one hand on his hip. "Do you even know how to do anything in a kitchen?" He asks.

In all honesty, no, he does not. So he makes his best offer, "I can do the dishes you're making. Dry them and put them away too. Or I can help you cut stuff. Kind of my thing isn't it?"

Zoro tried to joke, but Sanji doesn't find it comedic at all.

"Please its not the same kind of cutting at all. Cutting things in the kitchen is far different in technique than weilding a katana." Sanji now turns back to his station and adds the batter he's made to the waiting skillet on the stove. It sizzles for a moment as it hits the hot surface.

"I can't become the greatest swordsman if I can't even master a kitchen knife. Show me. Then I can help." Zoro mentally pats himself on the back for his clever in.

His smirk falls when Sanji laughs loudly. "Are you serious? You'll take my instruction on something?"

Zoro has to brush off the small amount of annoyance he feels at being teased. Remembering his ultimate goal is to participate in some form of bonding activity he keeps at it.

"Yeah. I master a new blade. You get breakfast done a little quicker. It's a win-win."

Sanji turns again to face his lover who seems very intent on helping today. "Is this really because I said you aren't very helpful around the ship? Because I wasn't being that serious, you do plenty." He feels a little bit of guilt creep into his chest.

"No. It's not that." Zoro gives Sanji a soft look, one he reserves only for the blonde. "Look pretty cook I just want to spend some time with you before everyone gets up. That's all." Zoro confesses.

Sanji gives Zoro a look of his own. Soft eyes and a small, genuine smile.

"Okay lover boy, first things first, go wash your hands. You're not touching anything until I know you're not contaminated."

Zoro smirks in victory, a smart remark already on the back of his tongue

"Yes chef."

And Sanji rolls his eyes so hard they may just roll right out of his head, but even so, a light laugh rings into the quiet galley.

#zosan #zoro x sanji #zoro and sanji #my post #established zosan #zoro wants to help #sanjis love language is quality time #zoros love language is acts of service #mini fic #ficlet #zosan ficlet

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mulberrimouse · 3 months

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This fic was supposed to be short and simple and stay like that but I got a little carried away...

Info and warnings!!: Friends to lovers, Andrew x Reader, no smut but HEAVY making out and teasing as well as cursing. Lots of praise and devotion, body worship. (Obviously. this is Andrew we're talking about), light degrading if you squint. Let me know if I missed anything!

Also, apologies for any spelling mistakes!

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Oh, Halloween. Your favorite holiday. No obligation to get people gifts, scary movies, dressing up, so many different parties (only if you want), and candy. Tons of candy. You've always had a big sweet tooth so it surprises nobody when you go all out on buying bulk bags to keep around your house.

Speaking of bags of sweets, you were digging around in a bag you'd just gotten when your closest friend Andrew shot you a message.

"Hey, sweetie. When should I be over?"

As his name popped up on your screen, you tried not to let the term "friend" get to you. You've knon Andrew for quite some time now and have been head over fucking heels for him for most of it. He was always attractive but god help you. He was funny in a uniquely Andrew way, he was beyond kind and intelligent. He always tried his best to make time for you, even on tour. He was the sweetest man you'd ever met. And "sweetie". Lord the things that nickname did to you. He started calling you that after the 6th or 7th time he found a stash of candy in your cabinets.

"Around 7! I don't wanna stay up too late."

He liked the message and, you assumed, got ready for the party. It was a lowkey costume party with some drinks. You weren't a fan of huge parties but you enjoyed seeing your friends a lot. You spend around the kitchen, cleaning and setting out different liquor and alcohol, as well as some food and non-alcoholic drinks. Once it was all set up, you went upstairs to go put ok some makeup and the Freddy Cruger costume you picked out. You were elated when you found it. It was simple but cute.

Eventually, 7:30 rolls around and many of your close friends, as well as some of their own, are scattered around your house, talking and drinking. Someone took control of the speakers and put on some funky Halloween music that people started dancing to. There was still no sign of Andrew though. As you tried to stop yourself from anxiously checking your phone every 2 minutes, a vaguely familiar face popped up in front of you.

"Hey Y/N! It's David, from Clarissa's birthday. How have you been?"

"I've been okay!! I'm pretty busy with school and work. I'm happy that there's finally a break, though!"

"Yeah, yeah I can imagine. Anyway, who are you here with?"

"Nobody, actually!"

"Ohhhh... So no boyfriend or anything?"

You mentally roll your eyes but try to keep a polite smile. He's not Andrew, but he isn't too bad you suppose. It's just uncomfortable because you don't know him all that well. He's just a coworker of Clarissa's. However, it could he good. Maybe it'll help you move on. You can't just spend your time following Andrew like a lost puppy, right?

Right as you're about to tell him that you're single at the moment, someone else walks over.

"Hey, sweetheart! Sorry I'm late. The face paint took a while to dry."

You turned to see Andrew standing next to you. You didn't even respond before you leaned into him and gave him a big hug.

"Andy! I was worried about you." You looked up at the face paint he had done and nearly stopped breathing. White paint covered his face while black outlined and extended his lips, as well as surrounding his eyes with sharp, long points at the bottom. He was Eric Draven from The Crow. His hair was in a low messy bun of curls and he had a wide smile on his face. Seeing him pushed the idea of moving on out of your head entirely.

"You really are sweet, huh? There was no need to be worried."

You blush slightly and look down before turning back to David. Andrew looked at the table next to your scanning over the drink options as David began to talk.

"So, no boyfriend then?"

As soon as it left his mouth, Andrew coughed and glanced at him. You started to talk, wanting to explain that you weren't looking for anything but before you could say anything, one of David's friends called him over. He told you that he'd come find you later before he walked away.

For the next few hours, you and Andrew were practically attached to each other. He always had his hand in yours or around your waist. He also made sure to tell you not to drink too much because he knew how much you despised being hung over. Luckily, as the night passes, you managed to stay at a comfortable, tipsy point, not full on drunk.

Not so luckily, though, you found yourself having to make sure you weren't staring at Andrew for too long. Whether it be his hands holding his glass, or his eyes crinkling when he smiled. The worst was when he had his hand secure on your waist. You so badly wished it meant more than it did.

Unbeknownst to you, Andrew was feeling the exact same way. He kept glancing at you, his breath getting caught in his chest when you leaned into him or looked up to speak. He was hyper aware of the warmth of your body against him. Everything he wanted to do to you kept flashing through his mind and he quickly got more antsy. As he gave almost all his focus to not getting hard right behind you, you were blissfully unaware, just happy that he could be there. You were having a really good time until you felt him shift away from you.

You looked up at him, confused.

"Are you okay, Andy?"

He nodded and smiled down at you, so you turned around, unintentionally brushing your ass against him. You felt him through his pants and immediately, you felt yourself get hot. You definitely didn't want to assume that it was because of you, but just the idea make your legs weak. You decided to press yourself against him lightly and you felt his hand on your waist tighten and he pulled you closer, slightly aggressively. He leaned down and whispered in your ear.

"We're going to go upstairs."

He led you up the stairway and partially into the hall. His original plan was to go all the way to your room but he was too impatient. Before you even got close to your door, he yanked you to the side and pressed you up against the wall. He stared down at you, his breathing heavy and his eyes wild. He leaned down to be at eye level with you, his lips ghosting over yours. You felt his breath as he spoke.

"Just what do you think you're doing?"

"I'm not sure what you mean, Andrew."

"Oh... Is that so?"

You giggled nervously and nodded with your bottom lip caught between your teeth.

"Are you sure, sweetheart?" He was making you a little light headed but you still understood the actual question. He wanted to make sure that you wanted this. You wanted him. You nodded again and gave him your best doe eyes when you wrapped your arms around his neck to try and pull him closer to you.

"No no darling. Use your words for me. I need to hear it."

"Please Andy... I want you."

He let out a low hum and his eyelids fluttered shut before he slammed his lips into yours. His left hand was gripping your hip and clawing at you, almost ferally, sure to leave marks while his other was cupping your face. Both your arms were wrapped around his neck but one snaked it's way up into his hair. You tugged at his roots and his hips bucked forward into you. Groans and whimpers were flowing steadily from the both of you. He slotted one of his legs between yours and you ground down.

You let out a moan, slightly muffled by his lips against yours. You pulled away to catch your breath. You kept moving your hips and a loud whine escaped you. He smiled down at you and used his left hand to push more pressure down.

"Good girl... Needy little thing. So pretty."

You whimpered and threw your head back against the wall.

"Fuck Andrew. Please- I need you..."

"Ohhh sweetie. Want me to fuck you with everyone down stairs?"

"Pleasepleasepleaseplease!"

"Shhhhhhh baby... Calm down."

He removed his leg and you nearly fell to the ground. He held you up and got down on his knees once he was sure you were steady. He lifted your sweater and started kissing across your stomach. Both of his hands now gripped your thighs and pulled you closed to him. He pushed your legs apart slightly and pressed his face into your clothed pussy.

"Fuck, need you so bad baby. So pretty. Just wanna fuck you and fuck you and fuck you. You want that? Hm?"

Your hands shot down and weaved through his hair so you could yank his hair back.

"Andrew. Please. Right now. I need you."

He grinned, his pupils dilated so much the color was nearly gone. After standing up, he kissed you again and grabbed your hand to lead you down the hallway...

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#andrew hozier byrne #hozier #the hoziest #smut #hozier smut #hozier x reader

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cardansriddle · 1 year

Text

You're so dark - (tom riddle x fem!reader) (modern au)

Summary: A mysterious stranger in a bookshop takes a sudden interest in you when he notices your peculiar taste in literature.

Warnings: not proofread bc i'm a bitch like that.

A/N: inspired by arctic monkeys' song "you're so dark" because I'm obsessed with it and I had to incorporate it into my writing somehow.

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The bell chimed distinctly in the dimly lit library, announcing the arrival of a yet new customer. You kept your head hung low, eyes fleeting over the words inked on the pages of the book with brows furrowed in concentration.

It was only when you heard the thump of shoes against the wooden floor did you raise your gaze from the page, only to be met with the sight of a man who looked like he walked straight out of a dark fantasy book. You assumed he would be the anti-hero, with his chiselled features, and dark hair. His face was unfairly handsome, and the self-assured yet stoic expression on his face only proved your theory further. Definitely a villain.

“How may I help you?” You asked after a brief moment of silence, marking the spot where you had left off and carefully setting your book aside to help out the customer.

His dark eyes flickered down to the book, fleeted over the cover before it locked with your own leather jacket clad form.

He was about to say what he had come after; you could tell he knew what he wanted, but then in a split second, he seemed to change his mind, and he cocked his head to the side, stare still on you.

“What would you recommend?” He asked, and the deep rumble of his voice sent a shiver straight down your spine. He gestured to the book you had just put down. “How about that one?”

You rose an inquisitive brow. “Not many people are fond of Lovecraft’s works. Too dark for their particular tastes.”

The stranger did not seem bothered by your answer, if anything, he was spurred on to continue. “What if I want to read dark literature?”

He watched as your eyes roved over him, lingering for a second too long on the perfect frown of his lips, before you tore your gaze away. “Perhaps you may want to try Edgar Allan Poe.” You suggested. “Dark and poetic.”

“And that is what you like? Dark and poetic?” The stranger asked again, and you felt his stare burn through your whole being as the implication of his question ran deeper than simple literature. He was watching you, in that intense manner of his, and it was enough to ignite fire in your entire being.

You bit your lower lip, before slowly looking up at him. “I think everything dark is naturally poetic.”

Something flashed in his eyes, and you could sense that he was strangely pleased with your reply. A raven cawed from somewhere outside, and a chill ran down your spine at the sudden tension that seemed to hang around the two of you.

“Then Allan Poe it is.” He decided with a subtle smirk tugging at his lips.

You nodded and began making your way between the shelves to find the book you presumed the stranger would enjoy from the author’s works. You felt him following your trail but did not notice how his eyes had become glued to the tattoo on full display thanks to your shirt that exposed some of your back. The black ink engraved on your skin in the form of a murder of crows sent a sense of thrill through his veins, and with every new thing he discovered about you, he was becoming more and more hooked.

Rising on your toes, you reached towards the upper shelf to grab the book you presumed the stranger would enjoy, and as the pads of your fingers barely grazed the spine of the object, you suddenly felt warm as a body pressed against your back to retrieve the book with ease.

Your lungs stuttered, struggling to find air to breathe while his chest brushed your back, and then you felt his hand grabbing a firm hold of your waist.

Tom usually withheld himself from such urges, but if there was one thing he knew, it was that he wanted you bad. It was as if all rational thoughts had been drowned by the need to have you. He wanted you down on all fours as he made you scream his name into the night, and he wanted his teeth to be marking your throat with bruises that would stay on you like a tattoo.

You turned around in his hold to face him and the sight of his form half shrouded in shadows and the other half illuminated by the winter sun seeping through the windows was enough to send your mind reeling. You caught his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips. As if on instinct, your own dropped to his mouth, and it did not go unnoticed by the stranger.

You did not know who moved first, you did not care, because one second you were staring at one another, and the next his lips were moulded against yours. His hand on your waist circled to your back to hold you tighter against his body, while the other grasped your hair. It was messy, desperate, and urgent— the way he kissed you as if he was a man starved. But you were just as eager, with your back pressed against the bookshelf and your hands running over any part of him you could find as you allowed yourself to get ensnared in his trap.

When you finally pulled away to catch much needed air, you were both panting. His dark eyes roved over you once more before he stepped closer, entirely blocking the sunlight from your view.

"I'm Tom Riddle." He said with his gravelly voice.

And when you gave him your name, it felt as if you willingly handed your soul to the devil instead.

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#tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle one shot #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle fic #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle fanfic #tom riddle x you #tom riddle au #tom riddle modern au #tom riddle fluff

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rainydaymiscellaneous · 1 year

Note

Can we get that pt2 to gorgeous?????

I gotchu

Pt:2 Pretty (Kaz x fem!reader)

Summary: Kaz comes back concussed and says some interesting things in your care.

Trigger warnings: talks about slavery, violence, implied SA, injuries, a concussion

Fire graced the papers on the sidewalk as the deafening taps of Kaz's cane moved down the cobblestone path. He stopped in front of a man who was badly injured.

Kaz had hunted every individual that helped with your capture. This was the second to last name on the list. Each bullet had a name carved on it, a ritual that you taught him. "When you put their name on a bullet, it makes it so the last thing they feel is the damage their name caused" you said to him.

"You know, it's crazy" he said, using his foot to roll the injured man onto his back. The man yelped. "That you thought you could hurt one of my men and get away with it." Kaz said, looking at the man like dirt that had gotten on his shoe. "We were just doin' what we were paid to do!" The man groaned out. Kaz let out a humorless chuckle. "Is that so? So repeatedly torturing my crow was a part of the plan, hm?" He asked. "We were just--" Kaz kneeled to look in the man's eyes. "No excuse will save your pathetic life." Kaz snarled. He cocked the pistol in his hand, the man whimpering in fear. "You will never hurt anyone else again."

A loud shot rang out through the streets, you leaning up from your bed. Lev lifted his head, looking at you. You couldn't help but think that that somehow had to do with Kaz. You decided it was better to check, getting out of bed and sliding on a coat and boots, arming yourself before walking out. You'd have to be a fool to walk the streets of the Barrel unarmed, especially at night.

You walked to Kaz's home, knocking on the door. Kaz opened it, you looking at him. "You answered quickly." You said. "I was in the study." He shrugged. "In your coat?" You asked, walking in. He sighed, closing the door. "That gunshot I just heard, was that you?" You asked. "Yes" he said. "Why did you shoot someone?" You asked. "Territory issues." He shrugged. "If it was a territory issue, Inej, Jesper or me wouldn've gone with you." You said with a sigh.

"It was a simple done deal. There's nothing to worry about, the man is dead, the message has been sent." Kaz said, sitting down. You sighed. "Did you come here to pester me?" He asked. "I came to make sure you were fine." You said, sitting across from him. Kaz sighed. "I'm alright Y/n. Even better after I put a bullet in a man's head." He said. You heard a siren and you sighed. "Was that all you did?" You asked. Kaz looked at the floor vacantly. "He shouldn't have been playing with fire."

You leaned back, Kaz looking at you. He noticed dark bags under your eyes. "Are you sleeping well?" He asked. "That obvious?" You asked. "You have darker bags than mine." He said making you chuckle. "Lev helps... It's just.. hard. Sleeping in that house." You muttered. Kaz looked at you concerned. "You know that you can stay here." He said. "I don't want to put you out." You said. "You wouldn't be." He assured. You seemed to be afraid of the idea.

"If you don't feel comfortable doing that then it's alright." Kaz assured. You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "It's not that it's... I've started screamed when I wake up." You said. Kaz rose a brow. "You have night terrors?" He asked. "I've always had them... It's the downfall of being indentured. They've just have gotten worse since... everything." You muttered.

Kaz had never heard you actually talk about your past as a slave. Kaz had pulled you out of that shitty life and because of that, you were grateful. You went to great lengths for him, basically becoming his right hand man. You trusted him. You'd follow him into hell if he asked.

"I don't mind dealing with that." He said softly. Your gaze softened, and you sighed. "Where are your blankets?" You asked. "Why?" He asked. "I need one to sleep." You said confused. "The bed has one." Kaz said. "I'm not sleeping in your bed Kaz, then I'd actually put you out." You huffed. "We can share it, genius. I don't mind unless you do." He said. "No I don't mind but--" "Perfect, come." He said walking. You sighed. For someone who was known to be a greedy bastard, he was shockingly generous.

You followed him, seeing the home he assembled. It was dark, lot of darker colors like crimson and brown wood paneling aligned the wall. You walked into his room, Kaz just casually removing his shirt as he walked in. Typical responses would've involved you looking away but he had done this plenty of times that you didn't bat an eye. He'd often call you in while he washed himself off, telling you plans as he did so.

You'd play the part of pretending that it was just normal procedure but your heart always did backflips as you saw him. You took off your jacket, putting it on a chair and setting your boots on the floor. Kaz looked over his shoulder as he changed. You noticed something on a table in the room, walking over to it, Kaz heard your footsteps but said nothing.

The paper was a list. Names had been crossed off, all them being people amongst the Dime Lions. It felt like you had the air leave your lungs from shock. "You killed them?" You asked. Kaz's movement ceased. He slowly looked at you holding the list. "I didn't want them going after you again." Kaz said.

You looked at him concerned. "You could've gotten killed Kaz!" You said, looking at him. "I wanted you to feel safe." He said calmly. "Kaz- you fucked with a rival gang-- What if they kill you!?" You asked panicked. "I am fine" He assured. "But what if-" "I am fine." He said, looking at you.

He was closer now, you could feel his breath. "They can't hurt anyone again. That is what matters." He said softly. "But what if you had gotten hurt?" You asked. "I didn't get hurt." He said. "Kaz-" He put a hand on your cheek, your hand holding the list dropping. You looked in Kaz's eyes.

He was so gentle with you, it didn't make any sense. Nothing made sense anymore. Not since you were bought out of slavery with Inej. You could remember when you walked out the pleasure house for the first time after your freedom.

Granted Ketterdam always had that cloudy smog hanging over the city, it felt like you had stepped out into the light for the first time. Kaz saw the relief on your face. It looked as if you had the weight of the world suddenly lifted from your shoulders.

There was a crack of thunder that made you both realize the closeness. You backed up, clearing your throat. "Thank you... For... This." you said holding up the list. "They deserved it." Kaz said, returning back to his typical demeanor. You nodded mindlessly.

You set the list back down and sat on the bed, looking around. You had probably stood in this room dozens of times but not once had you actually examined it. "You really like the dark, don't you?" you asked. "Hides the monsters you can see in the light." he said laying down. Such an odd statement but one that made sense to you.

Children often slept with lights on to keep the monsters in the dark at bay, yet as you got older you got used to your demons being there. You just didn't want to see them anymore. Kaz sat on the other side, climbing into bed. You seemed to hesitate but eventually laid down.

Hours passed with you staring at the ceiling. Kaz, unbeknownst to you had also been awake, staring at the wall. Sharing a bed was a bigger challenge to him. It was especially harder because he actually cared about you.

He had been listening to your breathing the entire time, not one moment had passed where he lost track of your breaths. You rolled over, looking at Kaz's back. You could tell he wasn't asleep then, noticing the shallow breaths of an awake man. "Can't sleep either?" you asked quietly. Kaz rolled over to face you.

"It appears insomnia has caught the best of me." He lied. You chuckled, looking at the ceiling. "It's hard to share a bed for me too," You admitted. "I uhm... I usually was forced to share. So..." your voice trailed off. "I can move-" "No! no I didn't mean it like that. I just.." You sighed. "I'm not used to being in a bed with someone I don't hate." you said.

Kaz put his hand over yours. "I hope you don't hate me." He said softly. You gave the sweetest smile that melted Kaz's heart. "I could never hate you." You said. "If only you knew" he thought to himself. "The blood on my hands, the horrible things I've done would make you hate me"

You held his hand, looking at him. You could see Kaz's mind wandering, something you had seen occasionally. Despite the many beliefs that people had over him, Kaz was human just like anyone else. He had fears, he had insecurities. Yes, he was a cocky asshole at times but he was like that to survive. You knew inside Kaz had to be scared. Because truth be told, you were too.

You fell asleep just like that. Your hand in his. When you woke up, you heard frantic knocking. Kaz, who clearly wasn't a morning person grumbled as he got dressed and went downstairs. You tiptoed down the stairs to hear the conversation.

"What Jesper?" He asked with a flat tone. "It's Y/n, she's missing!" He said frantically. You cracked a small grin. "She-" "I went to her house to check on her because we all heard the sirens last night and she wasn't there! Kaz do you think she's okay!?" Jesper asked. "She's-" "I fed Lev, Inej is out looking-" "Jesper, she is here." Kaz said.

Jesper blinked. "What do you mean she's here?" Jesper asked. "She slept over last night." Kaz sighed. Jesper peaked behind Kaz to see the couches and saw nothing. "It doesn't look like anyone slept here." Jesper said. "She's upstairs, she's fine." Kaz sighed.

Jesper let out a sigh. "Is this your way of saying you two are finally together?" Jesper asked. Kaz said nothing, just simply closed the door in his face. Rather than knock, Jesper did that annoying thing that always worked to get Kaz to open a door. He took his index finger and repeatedly tapped loudly.

"tap tap tap"

Kaz walked towards the stairs and you slowly rose.

"tap tap tap"

Kaz stopped, sighing loudly as he marched back to the door. He opened it and Jesper had what could only be described as a "shit eating grin" on his face.

"I will take your revolvers and shoot you with them." Kaz spat. "So you two are together then? Finally! It's about time one of you said something! Inej owes me five kruge." Jesper said proudly. "We are not together Jesper, and if you wish to remain alive, you will leave." Kaz said. Then it hit him. "Wait you two have a bet going over this!?" "You know it is incredibly early, I should go. Bye boss!" Jesper said running off.

"He knows how to leave people annoyed." You said, Kaz sighing. He ran a hand over his face before looking at you." Would you like breakfast?" He asked, closing the door. You rose a brow. "Sure. Where are we going?" you asked. "I have eggs I need to use." he said, walking into his kitchen.

He looked up to see you gaping. "What?" He asked. "You're going to cook?" You asked. "Why is this a shock?" He asked, grabbing a pan. "I don't know- I just assumed you couldn't cook- I mean I can't, which in hindsight is stupid but--" "Wait." Kaz held up his hand to stop you. "You can't cook?" He asked. "No. I have a tendency to burn... Everything." You admitted. "Well, I will teach you to not do that." He said, motioning for you to stand by him. You didn't move. "What?" He asked. "Are you sure you? You seem to like your home-"

He walked over, pushing you over to the kitchen table and stood next to you. You watched him carefully as he cracked an egg. He handed you one. "You try." he said.

You hesitated but tried, some of the shell falling in. "Damn." you sighed. "Here, let me show you." He said taking another egg. He used the edge of the table to crack the egg, using his thumbs to pry it open carefully. He handed you another egg. "We're going to waste a lot of eggs." you said. "It was this or throw them at Jesper while he's not looking. Kaz teased. You chuckled. "And here I thought you liked Jesper." You said.

"Oh I do. I consider him a friend. When, y'know he's not constantly pestering me about my love life." Kaz said. You cracked the egg just as Kaz did. "See, I knew you'd get it." He said. You smiled at him as he grabbed a small jug of milk. "Milk?" you asked confused. "Makes them fluffier." he said. You grinned. "You cook often, don't you?" You asked. "Sometimes." He shrugged.

You watched him add salt and pepper mixing the eggs in a bowl. He walked to his stove, motioning for you to stand in front of it. "Kaz, are you sure you want me near fire--" "I will be right here." He said. You sighed and walked over. "Now, we're making them scrambled." He said handing you a spatula. "I will burn your house down." you warned. "Y/n." "Fine! You've been warned. Goodbye kitchen, you were pretty to look at!" you said, taking the spatula dramatically.

Kaz smiled as you watched the eggs. "What am I supposed to be doing?" You asked. "You see how it's raised right there?" he asked, pointing at an egg with a fork. "Yeah?" You asked. "The goal is for all of them to look like that." he said. "Well, I get the goal but how to do I accomplish the goal?" you asked, not removing your eyes from the pan. He chuckled, watching you stare at the pan.

"You could ease up-" "If I do I start a fire." You said. He chuckled again but picked up your hand gently. Your heart started pounding as he guided you through the process. Not a word he was saying went to you, the only thing you could hear was his breath on your ear. What you didn't realize was the angle that he was holding your hand allowed him access to feel your pulse. He rose a brow, noticing the red on your ears that typically came from you being flustered.

He said nothing though, continuing to speak. You finally tuned back in as he flipped off the stove. "And you just made eggs." He said. "I did?" You asked. He grinned at your confusion, pointing to the pan. "Holy crap I did! And your house is intact!" You said relieved. "Who was the last person to taught you how to cook?" He asked with a small chuckle. "Jesper." "That explains so much."

The two of you ate, you looking out the window. It was clear something was on your mind. "Is something wrong?" Kaz asked. "Were you finishing that list last night?" You asked. He put down his fork, looking at you. Kaz had a talent for avoiding the truth. With you though, it was almost impossible. "Yes." He admitted. You looked at him with an unreadable expression. "Did you finish it?" You asked. "Almost." He nodded.

There was a silence that seemed excruciating to him. He knew you hated when he did dangerous things alone. You knew the odds were built against the Dregs. Each time you walked out your door, there was a chance you weren't coming home. For Kaz, those odds doubled. His name was infamous to most of Ketterdam. You worried about him everytime you weren't there. "Just... stay safe. Please." You said. He nodded. You sighed. "I should go, Lev needs his walk." You said. He nodded. "If you need me-" "I'll find you." You said, that soft smile gracing your lips again.

You went home, leaving Kaz alone. Kaz had one more name on that list and he planned on crossing it off tonight. He got dressed, grabbing his cane and left.

Your day was slow. No job meant nothing to do. Lev felt boredom, that much was clear as he moped on the stairs. You would have taken him for a walk but the rain didn't seem to let up. You also hated that wet dog smell. So you settled for a book, reading quietly for a while before that even lost its entertaining effect.

You threw on a coat, walking to the club. Drenched didn't begin to describe your appearance as you came in. "How's our little Y/n?" Jesper asked. "Call me that again and that drink goes on your head." You said, sitting at the bar. "You're in a lovely mood." Jesper said. "Well, I'm ready to do a job but it's like Kaz won't assign me anything since..." You sighed. "Have you talked to him about it?" He asked. "No." You muttered. "Then how will it get fixed?" Jesper asked.

Inej walked in, sitting next to you. "Seen Kaz?" She asked. "Haven't seen him since this morning. Why, is he not home?" You asked. "He's not." She said. You rose a brow. "Jesper do you know where he is?" You asked. "...no." Jesper said with a frown. This was never a good sign. When Kaz went somewhere, at least one of you knew where he was going. Then it hit you. You knew exactly where the foolish bastard went and it was on that damn list.

The door to the club opened, Kaz walking in with blood dripping down his forehead. You stood up so quickly that the stool nearly toppled over as you rushed over. "Oh Kaz- what did you do?" You asked, looking at his wound. "You should see the other guy." He said, Jesper walking over. "Why didn't you bring one of us?" Jesper asked. "It was a one man job." He said. His speech seemed slurred. "Kaz, are you concussed?" You asked. "Nooooo! Just a little more wobbly than usual!" He said. Inej and Jesper swapped a look. "Kaz, you need help." Inej said. "Oh my gooooddd I'm fine!" He said. "Kaz, come on." You said. "Where are we going?" He asked. "To get you medical attention." You said. "Why?" He asked. "You're concussed." You said. "No I'm not" he lied.

"Oh my god he's like a giant baby" Jesper said with a chuckle. "Kaz, please just come with me." You said softly. Kaz looked at you. "Fineee. Only because it was you-" he poked your cheek making Inej's jaw drop "that asked." He said. You let out a small snort. "Come on, you big goofball." You said, carefully walking him out.

To say walking a concussed man down a cobblestone street was a challenge would be a large understatement. Kaz for some reason unbeknownst to you had his arm around you, walking like a drunk. "Kaz, are you alright?" You asked. "I am now that you're here" he said. You rolled your eyes, walking into a small (and probably illegal) clinic. "My friend needs help." You said. "What's wrong with him?" A woman asked. "I got hit in me noggin!" He said. "He's- Kaz stay over here- he's concussed." You answered, herding him back over to you after he tried touching something on the wall.

"Nikolai! You've got a patient!" The woman yelled. A man walked out. She explained the situation to him, you trying to ignore Kaz playing with your hair as they talked. "It's so soft." He would say. You looked at the doctor. "What can I do?" You asked. "Come with me, both of you." He said. You walked with Kaz who was now clinging to your side like a child. "Don't let him take off my gloves." He said. "He won't Kaz, you're just hurt is all." You assured softly.

You followed the doctor into a room. "Let me see your head." He said. Kaz held your hand as the doctor examined the gash. He hovered his hand over the wound, the cut seeming to fix himself. Kaz looked at him confused. "Now his head is mending itself. It'll probably be fixed by the morning. In the mean time, he needs to take this-" he handed you a pill "to recover. He's going to out of it for about thirty minutes and then he should fall asleep. Take it when you get home." He said. "Thank you doc." You said softly. "My head feels weirrrrrdd." Kaz said.

You took him back to his place, unlocking the door. "Alright Kaz, come on just a little further." You said, closing and locking the door behind him. He followed you to his room. "You're so good to me, it's strange." He said following you. You sat him on the bed. "Why is that strange?" You asked. "Most people hate me... if you knew the things I've done you'd hate me too." He muttered. You looked at him. "I could never hate the man that freed me." You said softly. He looked at you as you cleared your throat, kneeling to his feet.

"You're so beautiful." He said. "You're concussed Kaz." You said, removing a shoe. "No I'm seri...seri... fuck how do you say that word?" "Serious?" You asked. "Right. That one. I'm sherious." He said. You removed his other shoe. "Do you want to keep the gloves on?" You asked. "You can take them off." He said. You pulled his hands forward, taking one. His other hand drifted to your cheek. "I don't think you know how much I love you." He said. You looked up. "What?"

"You mean the world to me. Nah, the world can bite my ass. You mean the stars to me." He said. You tried to ignore him as you removed a glove. "I want to tell you that all the time but I'm scared" he said. "Of what?" You found yourself asking. "Of you leaving me." He said. He had probably never been this vulnerable with anyone. You took off the other glove, looking at his eyes. They seemed so fixated on you. You cleared your throat, pulling out the medicine. "Here, take this." You said softly. He took it, probably because you were the one that asked him.

"Lay down with me?" He asked. "Okay." You said softly. You laid down on the other side. "Closer." He said. You moved slightly. "Closer." He said again. You moved again. "Closer-" "Kaz if I move again I'm going to be against you." You said. "What if I wanna hold you? Ever think of that?" He asked. You looked at him surprised. "Kaz-" "Pleeeasssee?" He asked. You slowly moved closer snd he pulled you into his arms. Your heart was pounding in your ears. "This is how I wanna be all the time!" He said happily. He looked down at you. "I can feel your heartbeat. Are you dying?" He asked. "No I'm okay Kaz." You said softly. He nodded. "Are you comfy?" He asked. Even concussed he cared about your boundaries.

"Yes Kaz, I'm comfortable." You said with a small smile. "I like it when you smile. It's so pretty." He said. Your smile grew. "Aw, see that. That's amazing right there." He said. You looked up at him. "I love you so much." He said, burying his face in your neck. You closed your eyes. "I love you too Kaz." You said softly. "I'm tired." He muttered. "Then go to sleep." You said softly. "Promise you won't leave?" He asked. "I promise."

When Kaz woke up, he was confused by what was so warm. He opened his eyes, them adjusting to the morning light before he saw you, sound asleep in his arms. He blinked a few times to make sure he was seeing it right, which he was. You shifted before opening your eyes.

Your eyes widened and you jolted back, taking Kaz with you as you fell off the bed. "Morning to you too?" Kaz said confused. "Oh my god- I am so sorry Kaz! Are you alright? Well I'm on top of you of course you're not- Oh my god I need to get up" you rambled before standing up. "What happened last night?" He asked.

"You" You helped him up. "Had a concussion." You said. He blinked, hazy memories setting in. "Oh." He said. "You and I quote 'were hit on me noggin'. So." You quoted. "Oh. I wasn't a pain to deal with, was I?" He asked. "Well you-" wait. He didn't remember. "No, you just complimented me a bit." You lied. Kaz could tell you were withholding something. "How's your head?" You asked. "Better." He nodded. "Good. So now I can tell you how absolutely STUPID IT WAS TO GO ALONE!" You said. Kaz jumped. "Even if you wanted to protect me, you should've taken Inej or Jesper or hell borrow my dog! Don't go alone again!" You said.

"Y/n I'm fine--" "Coming back concussed does not constitute as fine!" You huffed. "The job is done, what is the big deal!?" Kaz asked, getting up. "You could have died Kaz. We could've lost you- I could have lost you!" You said. "Y/n I'm fine, I'm alive, I'm okay!" He said. "I can't lose you Kaz!" You finally said.

Memories of the night flooded back. "...Oh." he realized. "I care about you too much-" "You love me." He realized. You looked at him shocked. "I-I" "and I told you that I loved you." He said. You looked at the wall, tears of frustration building in your eyes. "Y/n... I understand that I was reckless and I'm sorry. I know you love me too much to see me hurt." He said. You swallowed the lump in your throat. "But I love you too." He said, stepping towards you. You stepped back with your eyes wide. "I-I can't Kaz." You said. He looked broken down.

"If you knew the things that I've done-" "I love you regardless Y/n." He halted. You looked scared. "But what if I'm too much- what if-" he held your hands. "You could never be too much for me Y/n." He assured. Tears flooded your vision. "Why can't I say it?" You asked. He chuckled. "You don't need to." He said softly. "I-I want to" you said. "Kaz I-" you hesitated, though you didn't know why. "I-I" you could feel his breath as his lips hovered over "I love you" you said softly.

He kissed you, you melting in his arms as he did. He had never felt such intense happiness before. You pulled away looking at him. "Is something wrong?" He asked softly. "No, I just... I want to remember this." You said. He smiled kissing you again.

The next day, you sat next to Inej in the club, Jesper drinking beside her. "So was taking care of Kaz difficult?" Inej asked. "No, though he did stare at a painting for a bit." You said with a shrug. "He was out of it when he was here." Jesper said. "Oh it was even worse at the doctor's office. He told them he 'got hit in his noggin'." You said making Jesper laugh. "Oh I would've paid to have seen that.

Kaz sat next to you and you smiled. "Hi." You greeted. "Hello." He said with that same smile. Inej and Jesper both looked at you. "Alright, so you two definitely fucked." Jesper said. You choked on your drink. "By the saints Jesper!" You coughed. "Nah, something is going on here. You two have got that look." Jesper said. "Jesper, were you perhaps dropped on your head as a child?" Kaz asked. "No! At least not that I'm aware- forget that! I'm telling you, come clean now and it'll be easier later." He said. "We literally have no clue what you're talking about." Kaz said. "No, it's other wise you two did something or I'm drunk!" He said. "Jesper you've had six drinks. You're drunk." You said. "Nooo- well maybe... shit maybe I am drunk." He said making you laugh. "Mm. I have a job I need to discuss with you." Kaz said. "Kay." You said, following him.

Kaz closed the door to his office behind him. "So did you actually have a job or did you just want to see me?" You asked. "Hm. Which would you like better?" He asked, pulling you close. You smiled, kissing him. He smiled against your lips before stopping. "Hello Inej." He said, looking past you. "So Jesper was right" Inej said making you jump. Kaz kept his hand by your waist. "Mhm. Though we're not letting him know that, we'd never hear the end of it." Kaz said. "Oh I agree. Though I never thought you two would sort your shit out long enough to actually be together." Inej shrugged. "Rude." You said. "Well I'll leave you two to do... whatever it is you were doing. Just... try not to leave the office too wrecked or else Jesper will actually figure it out, regardless of alcohol consumption. "Inej said, walking out.

You let out a small laugh and Kaz wrapped his hands around your waist with a smile. "Do me a favor?" He asked. "Anything." You said softly. "Lock the door"

#kaz x you #kaz x y/n #kaz x reader #kaz brekker #kaz brekker x fem!reader #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x y/n #six of crows

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hauntedfictionland · 18 days

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Being their emotional support person —

☾︎✰❛❀ Shadow and bone characters x gn!reader

Includes/warnings: light mentions of PTSD, injuries, slightly stalkerish behaviours and implied romance.

🪐notes: i sort of recently got into Shadow and Bone and oh boy I'm absolutely in love, the plotlines, music, and characters are so beautifully done. I do truly hope that Netflix renews it back.

— I. KAZ BREAKER

(♥︎^⁠_^♥︎)

You and Kaz went back quite a long time as far back as the time his brother died with his innocence. You went through that together, from the sidelines you watched him change drastically, grow into a man whose name was rather feared than loved.

Kaz doesn't admit it, but he relies on you a lot. He knows the harshness he's put upon you everyday isn't new by now, but still unwelcomed. It stings him. You almost get treated the same as any other crow, if not for the times where you'd hold his upper arm in an act of comfort when needed.

And he'd let you. ♡

You're not the most significant part of the group, or the strongly important. But you can be useful enough in his words to ‘stay’, definitely not because Kaz wants you there by his side as he's always had most of his life.

Or so what he insists.

He looks upon you along with every plan of heists, a wordless query of help. It does not look like it, but your opinions and suggestions matter to him more than you'll ever know.

And when you need a favor, he's all yours. Jesper would sometimes find him doing questionable things for a man like Kaz's taste, when he'd ask it always goes a simple “Y/N asked for this”.

When Kaz is faced with his past, especially if without black gloves he has used as a shield—he won't come to you. The most would be handing his gloves back.

But after the worst is gone, he'll slowly reach out to you. Sitting beside you, head leaning on your shoulder. That is the moment he wants the most, support to get back to the daily life.

He needs you.

Needing anything is a weakness surely but he truly never considered you his, without you he'd actually fall apart with the absence of the power to get back again. You're his strength. His support, his person.

You're his, and he's yours.

— II. INEJ GHAFA

(♥︎^⁠_^♥︎)

Inej doesn't really feel comfortable relying on a lot of people, anyone for that matter. Yet when it comes to you it almost seems so effortless. Perhaps that's the effect you have on her.

Kaz brought you in a while ago when he was in desperate need of a healer.

When she saw you the first time, you seemed shy to the point of not even being able to hold eye contact. However as time slowly passed on you spend way more time with Inej than anyone else as she tended to get herself in all sorts of trouble.

Inej would find herself looking at you often, wondering how the alignment of your lips to the sharpness of jaw could ever be so perfect.

She started to let a few things of her past out here and there while you'd bandage her, careful enough to never reach the tip of the surface.

Bit by bit, it turned into a habit. Only now she would come to you herself and open up even when there was no scar or injury on her.

Something about the way you listened so tentatively with soft eyes that held no judgement, your words which grasped onto the feelings she couldn't seem to comprehend and your affection, all of it pulled her in.

And she could not let go.

Sometimes Inej feels a bit guilty, how you're always there yet she isn't. She wants to know about you, your interests, your fears, your life. And she wants to help. In that sense she feels worse.

She's the wraith, she's never been scared of anyone. Yet Inej feels herself becoming powerless the moment she looks at you.

And that'll be the death of her.

— III. ALECSANDER KIRIGAN

(♥︎^⁠_^♥︎)

Much like Kaz, Kirigan is not the most reliable at showing affection. But he does know very clearly the way you've helped him will not go unnoticed or unappreciated.

Rather unexpectedly, even as a grisha on his team you've somehow managed to slip into the cracks of his facade. The demeanor he held.

After Alina fled, he wasn't in the calmest mind. And sensing you just hold him without a single word, a hand soothing his shoulder with a wave of your magic spreading around him. He in the longest while felt peace alongside tranquillity in just a few minutes.

With him in your arms, you gave him a sense of assurance without ever putting them into words.

Kirigan keeps you absolutely spoiled. He tells the extravagant jewelries and fancy wines are gestures of reward for your exertion which he'd give to anyone who'll work just as hard. Except that in truth he feels he owes you a great deal whenever his emotional hard times are mended because of you.

And it's his way of showing the utmost appreciation, almost affection you've placed in his heart for you.

The fact that you don't judge or mock, even think of him as ‘weak’ for not being the powerful general everyone sought out to be has him in a chokehold.

He thinks about you, and every one of your encounters has him thinking for weeks. Each and single one. Soley, it does come off as any surprise when Alecsander sets at least one grisha protector to watch you. Your safety is his utmost priority and even perhaps to know a little details about you and the people you talk with.

Which you don't need to know about whatsoever.

The time he revealed his true self to you, he was very much afraid that was the way he'll lose you. You'd see the monster his mother claims him to be and run far away. But instead when you embraced his dark side with a glint in your eyes, he knew you had him whipped in a tight hold.

— IV. ALINA STARKOV

(♥︎^⁠_^♥︎)

You first saw Alina when Zoya sent her flying across the field. Rather before that, eyes stealing glances on you.

She knew who you were, the great earth summoner. And as per who she was, Alina felt inclined to meet you. Her newly found peers brought her upon you, and when you turned to face her, Alina was quite at a loss for words.

Wonderstruck.

You seemed far much greater than she imagined, and oh she had a lot to learn from you.

Alina found you on many occasions, tried to as best she could. Questions about your powers, her powers, and secrets of the little palace. You gave them all, heart smiling fondly at her genuine curiosity.

You'd discover yourself sitting beside her, on the floor with backs leaning against the wooden bookshelves. Walks around the little palace or the library, you were growing much closer with her as the days passed.

Sometimes a word or two would slip out of her missing a certain Mal, and the camp of the first army. She would close them, a bit scared of your thoughts that is before you assure her. That whatever is was held in her heart, she could absolutely come to you.

And came she did.

You and her would spend hours under the night sky, hearing her stories of the orphanage—worries she held about herself, and Mal. Either way Alina was sure you were her answer.

The way you'd given her a tiny beam of grin, hands grazing over hers. Talking conclusions she could barely listen when her focus was your lips. A connection she felt that was electrifying.

Alina believed it was because of your power as the Earth, and her's as the Sun summoner. However in that, a deeper part of her knew something was more than that.

A single time someone referred you as her Earth summoner, the mere prospect of that—even when she knew the other meant it in no harm, drove her crazy.

The time after you comforted her about the troubles she held about Mal, sincere yet bittersweet smile on your lips. You knew she had feelings for the boy, a thought that made your gut wrench for a reason you didn't acknowledge.

When you asked her that, Alina's eyes gazed at yours before she pulled her lips on yours in return so softly you could only hum.

You were hers alright.

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drconstellation · 5 months

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Goats, Crows and The Flood

Or why Crowley turns the goats into crows in the Job minisode

If you're reading that and thinking "eh, what's the Flood got to do with it?" then read on. It wasn't done just so Crowley got to change his name. It's never as simple as that. C'mon now, this is the GOmens AU, I'm not going to write a meta about something like this and not give you at least three if not four layers as to why, now, am I? Certainly not, and this one won't be any different.

Recently I picked up a book that has been sitting for far too long on a pile near my kitchen that needs sorting through called Parallel Myths* and in it is a section on Flood myths. (It's got lots of other good bits as well, but the Flood myths are what I want to talk about here.) The Flood is a wide-spread myth, with stories all around the world from India, to the Greek myths, to the Incas and Aztecs and in North America as well.

There are four stories that include crows as messengers who are sent to look out for land. The first is our familiar bible story. Oh, did you miss that bit? Yeah, I know, you keep getting told about the dove that represents the holy spirit that came back with the olive branch. Why would they want to tell you about a dirty old crow? And why is that crow dirty anyway? Ah, hold that thought...we'll come back to that shortly.

Another very famous story that include a crow being sent out to look for land after a great Flood is in the epic story of Gilgamesh. While on a journey Gilgamesh meets an old man named Utnaptishtim who tells the hero how he survived a great flood by building a boat after being warned by the gods to do so, and then floating for several days before coming to rest on a mountain top. At first he sent out a dove, but the dove returned. Then he sent out a swallow, but the swallow returned also, so he knew there was no land yet. But the third bird he sent out was a crow, and it didn't come back, so Utnaptishtim knew it was finally safe to leave.

There are also crows mentioned in two North American Flood myths, with the Cree and the Algonquin, and in both stories they are also sent to look out for land.

So why am I telling you this? Because of this:

Which is, as we know, is a bit of a play on words, but it establishes the association between the ungulate offspring and the human offspring when we run into the next occurrence of the innocent being killed on the Almighty's fickle whim in the Job minisode in S2. And we know our favourite demon is just not going to take that lying down that without some kind of protest.

So after delivering his open monologue to the goats, which gives an insight into himself, then being confronted by Aziraphale, and revealing he has a permit, from the Almighty Herself, no less, he turns Job's goats into crows.

(And if you've missed the bit about why the goats, and not the sheep, which the archangels kept going on about, its because sheep were seen as more "Christian" as the rams were considered faithful to their ewes, as good followers should be, but goats were observed to just do it with any-nanny, with no sense of commitment, if you get what I mean, so they were considered more "demonic" in nature.)

The bible seems to have a bit of a love-hate relationship with birds. On hand they can be used for food or sacrifices, on the other hand they are metaphorical demons! There is an association made between "birds of the air" and demons, waiting to pick off the weak (of thought) and young before they can be enfolded into the "safety" of the church.

Even the noble eagle is frowned upon in a way, as it eats carrion, or rotting meat. And that is something ravens and crows are known to do as well. This eating of dead animals, and humans on the field on the ancient battlefield, led crows to be associated with death and the afterlife, and by extension, transformation from one form to another.

(I can't help thinking at this point about the Sandman's assistant crow helper that travels between worlds, but also I've written a couple of metas about both Crowley and the Bentley being facilitators for the crossing of thresholds between different worlds.)

If you've ever had a close association with a crow or two- and I have, over several years, they can be wily opponents! - you come to respect their intelligence and adaptability, no matter how they might be frustrating you! **

The raven is also mentioned in the Book of Job 38:41

Who provideth for the raven his food? when his young ones cry unto God, they wander for lack of meat.

We didn't hear this line delivered to Job during the minisode, though we certainly heard some of the other lines from verses 38 and 39 that come before and after it. God is in the middle of telling Job about the universe, the earth and the creatures upon it, and how She looks after them. The line Jimbriel speaks about the morning stars all singing together is Job 38:7, for example. Just before mentioning this loathsome bird, She mentions that most noble of animals, the lion. But look, She also cares about ugly croaking raven fledglings that seem to get kicked out of the nest as soon as they can fly. How do they fend for themselves? It is seen as the mercy of God that she provides for each of the creatures of the Earth, both the lion and the raven. (Well, there's some interesting metaphorical links riiiight there...I hope I don't need to spell them out....)

So where are we? We've gone from a crow being a messenger for Noah, to kids/goats from the Flood scene in S1E3, to demon-associated goats being transformed into demon-associated crows in the Job minisode in S2E2, just before Job's human kids are saved from destruction by being transformed into geckos - which is also a significant symbolic creature for resurrection (which I explain in another meta.)

You know, I wouldn't be at all surprised if we loop back for a longer look at the Flood in S3. Kids, crows, a transformative experience...

Va-va-voom, here we come!

*Parallel Myths by J. F. Beirlein (1994) A Fascinating look at the common threads woven through the world's greatest myths - and the central role they have played through time. ISBN 0-345-38146-7

**I know there are corvids all around the world, and they can be shy, important birds in the ecosystem but here in Australia they can also be big bullies who know they are bigger than the other birds and throw their weight around accordingly and then do gross stuff like dirty up the backyard bird bath by finding discarded sandwiches and dog bones or even Lego blocks and drop them in to "soften" them for later consumption and just leave a filthy mess there for everybird else. yyyiikkk.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens meta #good omens analysis #good omens theory #crowley #good omens s3 #goats #crows #not the kids #the flood

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tendergraphite · 9 months

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The Secret History Isn't purposely Queer.

(Richard Is Still Gay though, Here's Why!)

First of—I know Donna Tartt has explicitly stated The Secret History is not a love story, and well that's quite obvious isn't it? We may scrounge like the rats we are all we want for crumbs, but Donna chose to make her protagonist male on purpose—She feared the story wouldn't be taken for what it was, instead being buried under the sexist stereotype The Hunger Games sadly got dished under of "....The world's ending, but which boy am I going to kiss?''

There was also the fact these characters wouldn't have been so brutal around Richard if he'd been a woman—And Donna wanted the truest faces of these characters to be shown.

But well, that's never stopped us has it? The Manic Maenads. Who cares that this book brinks on plain psychological horror—Most of us here have watched Hannibal, we know what's up; We're queer, we're here, and so now we must get this damned show on the road.

[ Follow the links if you are confused on any of my statements ]

Now, I'm going to disprove my entire above statement. It will and does still hold true, as somehow—As human nature itself seems to instigate—both ideas are simultaneously true in my skull.

Richard hasn't shown the thinnest bit of admiration for the female form; As a woman lover myself, I find that appalling. Outside of Camilla (Charles stand in) Every other woman Richard encounters he presents as frustratingly annoying: Bunny's girlfriend Marion, who did nothing wrong; His ex-girlfriend back in California, never so much as named; And even Judy Poovey, who we all adore till this day.

John Richard Papen, ISN'T A LADY LIKER! He latches onto the basic ideals of what feminine beauty is for other men—And like every closeted gay man; clings onto them for dear life. It isn't natural, and it goes beyond sexism, he straight isn't straight, he doesn't like women, he likes men.

Richard wants to fuck Francis, marry Charles, and is truly, madly, deeply, inlove with Henry Winter.

Richard wants to fuck Francis—With literally no other character does he act this way. He focuses on Francis's ankles like a Victorian man seeing a lady's nude form for the first time. And that obsession with the crow jacket, good lord Richard, Majestic? You called it MAJESTIC? Are we never going to discus how Richard would duck into other hallways due to an ''inexplicit anxiety''? Acting like some blushing school girl whenever Francis brushed past his shoulder in the College hallway?!

Like, let me get this straight—The two go out on a nice evening on the gentle river, and when he leans in for a kiss... Richard instead of reacting with a startle, or even disgust, becomes flustered—He blushes. I could throttle him!

And then there's the elephant in the room—The two almost fucking. Now sadly, I cannot say this is proof of Richards gay man status, as that scene most definitely was attempted assault. It was just an example of how Francis tries to justify himself in taking advantage of pretty men. So we are skipping past that scene entirely! What more so I found intriguing was Richards reaction of embarrassment instead of betrayal towards Francis after the incident when he was sober.

When the very same attempt happened to Bunny for instance, he reacted very realistically. He distanced himself, was not comfortable being around Francis alone afterwards—Set clear "What the fuck is wrong with you?'' Boundaries. But instead, Richard felt his straight man status threatened; His main concern hadn't been that his friend just attempted to assault him, but that he'd think he was gay because of it.

He wants to Marry Charles; we all already know that anything he said about Camilla had in fact been about Charles in reality—We as a fandom, have accepted this as just being the simple truth.

Despite the moodboards, and the artworks, Camilla is boyish. She isn't a pretty girl girl, she looks like her brother and wears his clothes—It's why Richard feels safe being attracted to her, he in full essence is the following meme: [I couldn't find the original, so here's my re-enactment.] ''I like girls that look like boys, dress like boys, sound like boys, and are boys.''

Richard cherished Charles as if he were a newborn puppy, and considering he had taken his side instead of Camilla's during the last half of the book should be telling. Richard had been under Henrys thumb, manipulated beyond belief and yet he couldn't bring himself to betray Charles until his hand had been forced in the matter.

And after it all, he had professed his love for Camilla—Begged her to marry him before she used her dead boyfriend as an out, because come on we all knew he didn't want Camilla, he wanted Charles. He'd been the focus right before the proposal, like the shadow left behind from a neculer explosion.

Baby faced Charles, sweet kind gentle Charles who was kind to everyone; Who felt grief for the farmer he hadn't even known and Bunny who he couldn't prevent the death of. If Richard could've, he would've coddled Charles until their death beds.

Richard is inlove with Henry—It's not Francis nor Charles he has longing dreams about, years later—now is it? He didn't find Henry to be attractive at first, he mentioned how he would be handsome but if only his features were not so set. But that's the thing about love, it truly is blind.

It's harder to notice with Henry, because Charles and Francis had been so blatantly obvious to just about anyone—But the progression between these two had been slower. The smell of Henry's smoke, the setting of his jaw whenever he was stressed; The way he had told Richard he hid his past abuse so well. He slowly became a comfort, and once he rescued Richard he became indebted to him.

When he began to withdraw from Richard, we as an audience felt that as much as he did—And I remember pondering if Richard felt jealous at the fact Henry had run off with Camilla.

At the end of it all, Richard became an empty man without Henry—The worst part of it all was Richard believed that was his destiny, as being a Californian at birth he felt it was his true nature. He associated Hampton—Henry—with beauty, and California—Himself—With ugliness. Without the love of his life, he was a shell.

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''Those are the two great things; Love and Death''

Of course when it comes to analysing any literature however, it's time period needs to be taken into account—Donna published the book in 1992, which was over 30 years ago. In interview, Donna stated although not now, she wished to write a love story in the future—That of course being The Goldfinch. The thing is, Donna didn't know how to write a love story because she didn't understand love as a whole quite yet, which is why she had not: And I believe that is why we find queer elements in The Secret History.

Beauty is Terror, whatever we call beautiful we quiver before.

At the end of the day, this story is about the relationships between the characters; Humans are fluid, so it only goes to say their relationships between one another would be too. Who cares if it's queer or not, at the end of the day their relationships hung heavy as Anubis scales between Richards shoulder blades.

The Goldfinch was the first book I read, so when I approached The Secret History I came at it with the lens the later published book had set for me; So personally, I can say with full confidence that I saw themes reappearing between the two—The first being unintentional and unrefined—And the later, refined and purposeful.

Like any writer she would've written from what she knew and understood at the time, so I feel a lot of queer elements unintentionally leaked threw whether she had meant it or not. Often writing takes on a whole life of it's own once it touches the public, and when it comes to the queer reading of the book I can see how that's happened.

By the way, this is Another analytical post inspired by something @bandaiddd said!

#the secret history #henry winter #richard papen #charles macaulay #dark academia #francis abernathy #Youtube #no one ever sees my posts because I keep creating them at the witching hour :/

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isa-ghost · 2 months

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shaking you by the shoulders. gnawing at the bars of the enclosure. begging screaming yelling sobbing crying for some happy qphil hcs . phil and his children. what do they do to destress. how do they recover from tragedy . p lease

Yknow what I need these so badly rn, I'm doing this ask first. Happy qPhil time.

qPhil headcanons masterlist

qPhil is a simple man. His kids are happy, he's happy. I've touched on this previously but they make him laugh so much. They're the fastest way to make him happy.

Seeing random pretty birds while on wandering adventures is another thing that makes him happy. They make him think of Rose.

I have to mention flying. I have to. I know it's angsty bc his wings are fucked. Shhh. Shut. Shut the up. It made him so happy. It still does, he has a glider and a grapple hook and a trident with riptide SHUT UP LET HIM FLY.

The times he and the kids share music together. The kids fucking love Battlecry and Dreamland and the three of them will start belting it out together.

Obligatory sparring mention. Listen some of the fandom makes pvp his whole thing and personality and that's not true but he's still good at it and likes it a lot. Esp when he gets to be unnecessarily homoerotic with Fit or Etoiles.

Building makes him happy ofc. Creating in general. He can't remember atm but he used to be an architect you could say, discovering the creations of the hardcore gods and tidying them up. Getting to make creations of his own for someone like him to discover one day feels fulfilling, even if he doesn't quite know why currently.

His friends' laughs make him happy. Fit's especially. You know the one. The one he does anytime he gets to be up to some fun destructive rebellious bullshit.

Messages aren't the only way the gods, especially Rose and Kristin, communicate with him. They give little signs that are subtle enough to go unquestioned by others but noticed by him. They're always with him and that makes his heart full.

I can't not mention his own stupid jokes he makes with the purpose of making Tallulah especially die inside a little. His lame jokes are for him and him alone sometimes.

The funny thing is when you ask what makes him happy without the involvement of other people, it might take him a second to answer, if he can answer at all. And that's not necessarily a bad thing. Yes, he's very "care for others and only the bare minimum for myself," but it's also a testament to how being loved and loving others makes him happy. Having people to make smile and laugh. Having people to show cool shit and teach cool things. Human connection makes him happy.

His crows and their dumbassery make him happy. For all the shit they affectionately subject him to and all the disapproval he puts on about the said shit, he'd be pretty lost without them. They've always been reliable to make him smile or at least feel heard when he has no one else.

He fucking loves all the cultural exchange he experiences with his friends. He could listen to Missa or Cellbit or Etoiles or literally fucking anyone talk for hours. God his friends are so cool and so are the things they tell him about.

Obligated to mention that the thought of Chayanne, a child, beat Ender King's ass for 3 days straight and bruised his ego so hard he gave up using Phil as a meat suit. It always cracks him up without fail.

Getting to reminisce to people about things. Especially memories of Techno or things he's done with Goddess of Death. He loves any excuse to talk about them and how awesome they are.

Crow brain means adventuring and finding cool loot makes him happy. Fuck EK he tainted it a little but Phil will reclaim the hobby if it kills him. He loves the rush of opening a new chest and seeing what cool shit awaits inside.

Okay listen this idiot is allergic to self care sometimes but god does he love the chill days where he and the kids just sit around or stay in one place and just hang out doing something fun and low energy. It's why he hates the reset. He wants the goddamn places they'd do that at back.

#qsmp #qsmp philza #philza #q!philza #qphil headcanons

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lemonmaid · 22 days

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Bake Sale

Due to Girl Scout season, (and me buying boxes) I just got an idea, so here yall go! (03. 16. 2023)

'So... hot'

(Name) could only think about how HOT Ramshackle was right now. Thanks to that useless crow of a man, Ramshackle was the only dorm without an AC unit or any type of fan. It's the middle of summer vacation and there is no airflow through the dorm.

"(Name) pleassseee do something about this heat, I think Grim is about to die".

"Wow, I bet you regret skipping Crewl's classes now" chuckled Deuce.

"We are both in summer school, shut up Deuce".

All the mirrors going into the dorms were locked up tight for the summer, leaving all the students who needed to catch up stay in Ramshackle, which was not alot of students.

"Listen guys, if I had the money I would totally buy a unit but I have no money or a job right now".

"UGH" Ace yelled, "why can we just go to the beach or sneak into Savanaclaw's pool!". Ace marched towards the windows and began opening all the ones in the living room.

"Because what teacher will gives us a pass to go relax when you three are supposed to being doing your homework and classwork you missed!". (Name) was getting overwhelmed, they knew they should've taken Leona's or Malleus's offer on staying with either of them during summer break.

"(Nammmmmmeeeeee)" Grim cried, "please do something about this heat", Grim fell to the floor.

"Fine, let me figure something out".

"Yay!!" The three cried.

(Name) walked out the campus kitchen, carrying two buckets of ice with them back to Ramshackle.

'Shit'

The ice was already melting.

'How the hell are we going to live in a magical world and not have any ice magic or spells?'.

As they made their way inside the Dorm they started opening windows, turning on the fans to on the highest settings, on cheap fan on its back with the bucket of ice holding its weight.

'Finally'. (Name) took in the cold breeze that filled the room. Grim came running down the hall putting his fatass in front of the semi broken fan. "Ahhhhhhh finally! Took you way to long henchman".

(Name) rolled their eyes, "Now that's done, I think I'm going to get a sweet treat." The word 'treat' summoned all three braincells.

"What are you gettin".

"Can I have soommme?".

"Can I help?".

'Jesus Christ' (Name) sighed, "I was feeling nostalgic and wanted to bake...."

Ace and Grimm groaned, throwing themselves back onto the "cold" ground.

Deuce looked confused, "I'm sorry perfect, why are you going to bake when it's-"

"Fucking thousands degrees out-" Ace interrupted.

Deuce glared.

"You guys don't have to help with anything, I was kinda of planning on doing this for myself...". (Name) walked away towards the kitchen.

"Nonono, I'll help you perfect!!" Deuce ran after (Name).

(Name) opened the cupboard, 'thin mints orrrrrrrrrr, hmm, wait samoas?'.

(Name) looked over at Deuce, "Deuce, one or two?".

"Um one?"

"Thin mints it is".

♡

Aced let out a moan.

"Damn buddy that's like your 10th one...".

Ace had tears in his eyes,"it's.. so... good".

(Name) gave the three a look; hunched over the counter, all groaning in happiness.

"Are these from your world perfect?".

(Name) nodded, "Yeah, there's actually-".

"Don't care make more!".

"Hench man please!"

(Name) looked at Ace and Grimm in shocked, "you know a simple please would do... also Grimm can you even have chocolate?".

Ace rolled his eyes, "the little shit ate rocks for the past year-". His comment made Duece hit him on the back of the head.

"Anyways, Perfect, do you think we can take some to lunch tomorrow?".

"Sure, I'll probably be baking all tomorrow... nothing else to do".

☆

"Oi oi crabby~ whatcha got there?".

Instinctively Ace put the brown lunch bag towards his chest, "none of your-"

"HEYYY!!". Grimm screeched

"Sh sh baby seal, let me just borrow your bag."

Grimm beated his paws on Floyd's stomach, "No! You can't have that! (Name) made those specially for me!!" He whined.

"Oh~ Shrimy made these?". Floyd popped a cookie in his mouth.

The world stopped for a minute, Floyd giving the three a lead stare. "Uh, you good bro?". Ace went to put his hand on Floyd's shoulder only to be bitten by said eel.

"FUCK HE BIT MY SHIT".

Floyd stole the bag of cookies and made a dash for the door.

"MY TREATS!!" Grimm wailed.

♤

(Name) hummed as they baked their third round of cookies, the last batch being Samoas now they were working on peanut butter. 'I guess always baking with Trey was worth the lessons-'

Que their front door being broken in with two distressed students.

"PERFECT HELP I NEED STERILIZATION STAT-"

"HENCHMAN! I NEED NEW COOKIES! THAT DISGUSTING EEL STOLE MY COOKIES!".

'There goes my peaceful afternoon'.

(Name) grabbed the first aid kit to help Ace, letting the two whine and nag about their day.

Grim plopped himself on (Name)'s lap, "So.... can you give us more cookies?".

"Sure, just don't let anyone take them this time."

♡

The next day at lunch was... eventful...

"ILL TAKE A BAG FOR $10!".

"NO! $50!".

"MAKE IT $90!".

It was like watching a pack of hyenas swarm a prey, three pairs of eyes watched from a distance.

"So... it's just cookies?". Azul observed the growing hysteria with a careful eye.

Jade snickered, "I think it's more than cookies sir~"

Azul grabbed a cookie from Floyd's bag, observing before taking a nibble.

Jade laughed, "so? What's the verdict-".

"Schedule a meeting with the perfect."

☆

"FLOYD PUT ME DOWN!!". (Name) was hunched over Floyd's shoulder.

Azul took a deep breath, "Floyd put the perfect down-".

CRASH

Azul felt a migraine forming, rubbing his temples. "So... perfect". Azul forced a smile.

"I'm not making a dea-".

"Listen! What about a business partnership? With your cookies-".

"No."

"There will be money, 50/50".

"I already-"

"And! I'll ask threaten the headmaster to give your.... Ramshackle upgrades".

♧

'It's so much hotter than the inside of Ramshackle'. (Name) was miserable, sitting at a stand in Port Town trying to sell cookies, THEIR cookies. Luckily, that ocean breeze was... somewhat frequent.

"Hggnnngg Henchman I'm bored.... let's dip".

(Name) rolled their eyes, "You got us into this mess...".

"Ha! How was I supposed to know Azul was also in summer school!". Grim threw himself under the table.

"How's business perfect?~".

"Shrimpy~!".

(Name) gave Jade a glare, "I'm miserable - it's too hot for this shit."

Floyd blew a raspberry, "Well! We have something to cheer you up-"

"A gun?"

Grim came up from the table, "AH! It's me!".

(Name) looked at the two confused, "a cardboard cut out of Grim?".

The cutout was... interesting, depicting Grim in a hat and... boots.

'Is there a puss and-'

Jade smiled softly, "Azul said it could help drive in business having a mascot~".

4/13/2024 I kinda gave up towards the end... this has been sitting in drafts for a year.... I cant figure out how to end this but Perfect gets a pool in Ramshackle in my head so :)

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst crack

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unrequitedloveletter · 1 year

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i'm here to send requestsss!

what about nikolai lantsov x sister!reader (or just sibling if you want to keep it gn) and how she had gone with nik every time he met up with the crows and she knows them all by now and she keeps in touch with kaz through letters and then one trip, she finally goes out to visit by herself and it's just hinted that y/n and kaz like each other

if you don't like it or feel it, feel free to ignore<3

Match Made by The Saints- K.B x fem! Reader

This was a blast to write, so thank you so much for sending it in! I am sorry it took me almost two weeks to write it out, I've just been stressing a lot over prom and upcoming grad stuff in combination with school related stress, as well as editing fics to get them ready for posting, but I hope you like this despite how much time it's taken

Fic type- this is fluff!

Warnings- mentions of alcohol, this is also mostly unedited and kaz is probably a bit ooc.

You'd naturally accompanied your brother every time he went to Ketterdam.

At first, it had been to act as the tether between royalty and the crows while Nikolai was acting as Sturmhond. Over time, it became an excuse to leave the palaces and see something outside of the village in Os Alta. From there, it became a matter of the fact that Ketterdam was a city that you quite liked and therefore, Nikolais trips provided you an excuse.

You knew the crows by name, and you loved each and every one of them.

There was Inej, her impeccable talent with her knives and her skills in the way of going unnoticed. She was excellent company, the wise type, unafraid to threaten your life in the same time she spoke one of her suli proverbs.

There was Nina and her abilities as a Grisha after her survival post jurda parem usage coupled with the fact that she was excellent company to keep, just as Inej was. There was the fact that she was skilled in combat, and the fact that, since making it out of the throes of parem withdrawal, she always seemed glad to throw a punch.

Her Fjerdan, Matthias, was the type to brood and stir in his silences, but most of those silences were comfortable. He was also good for a half decent cup of tea and, unlike other muscled types you'd known, did not have an affinity for the recital of eighty-page long sonnets.

There was Jesper, the sharpshooter, who was good for a glass of brandy and a bit of banter. He was the loyal type, the kind type, the type that you didn't expect to see much in a place like the Barrel. The love he held for Wylan, his boyfriend, was clear as water just in the way Jesper looked at him when he thought Wylan wasn't looking.

Wylan was the demo man, seemingly shy and a little aloof but very kind once you got to know him past it. He could create just about any bomb if he put his mind to it and he wasn't afraid to acknowledge his smarts in the area of destruction.

And then there was Kaz. The Bastard of the Barrel, Dirtyhands, a demon created in the alleyways and drowned in the harbor. He was the second person you'd met during your first visit to Ketterdam, but had been your favorite person to see in all of the visits since.

Over time, you and Kaz began sending letters to occupy the time between your visits. You'd get a letter every two weeks, write a response, and send it out the following day.

You talked about anything and everything with him, from things as simple as the weather to things as complex as heist plans and the week-old gossip in the city. Somewhere along that line, a bit of an unspoken romance developed.

It wasn't that you were romantically involved, no. You just liked each other, and as Jesper joined the two of you in the Slat, you drinking a bit of brandy and Kaz having opted for coffee and vodka, the fact that you liked each other was almost as obvious as the sky was blue.

"Enjoying the weather?" Jesper asked. "You could've come at a better time if you were hoping to miss out on the spring rain. In summer, it gets hot and humid."

"Ketterdam is different from Ravka, then," you said with a smile. "I find Ketterdams weather preferable, usually. Ravkan summers get hot and dry, and rain in springtime is rare until the last week of May. It's beautiful here, though."

"Beautiful, criminally underrated," Jesper hummed, daring a glance at Kaz. He was watching you intently, his expression unreadable everywhere but in his gaze. His expression wouldn't've been readable to anyone else, but Jesper had long learned to look for signs of emotion in Kaz where nobody else would've thought to, a skill Inej had taught him in her returns from her voyages.

Kaz Brekker was looking at you like you were the one thing throughout the entirety of the Slat that had actually mattered. Jesper was entirely sure that he could've grabbed the Van Eck DeKappel painting and returned it to his and Wylans home without Kaz noticing or caring all that much in the end.

"It's full of gorgeous and handsome criminals, if you go to the right gambling dens and gang headquarters. How long are you in?"

"Til the end of August," you hummed. "Needed to escape the palaces for a bit. All of it was beginning to feel too mundane."

Jesper suspected that you had missed a certain guy with a thousand different nicknames, all of which had nearly the same connotations, too. He didn't say as much, only looked to Kaz.

"She's in on our heist jobs for the next bit?"

"A few," Kaz nodded. "We'll be going back to Ravka alongside her at the end of August. The royals need our assistance with a jewelry heist."

Jesper observed your gaze. You were looking at Kaz like he was the most important person in the room, just as he was looking at you. He wouldn't've tried, but had he wanted to, he was sure he could steal the Lantsov emerald from your person without you giving a damn.

"Who else is in?"

"The rest of the crows," Kaz responded. "You'll have to tell Wylan, though. I'm not popping to yours for dinner, and I won't see him for three days."

"You have alternate dinner plans?" Jesper asked, glancing between you and Kaz for a few moments. "Yeah. That's fine. Have fun."

Jesper did not know what to think of the pairing you two could've made, he just knew that he did not miss it; the pining, the yearning, the 'we like each other but we're both oblivious.'

He was glad the two of you may have had each other, though. It seemed a match made by the saints--or a match that would be made when you both stopped being fools, anyway.

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #six of crows #shadow and bone #shadow and bone netflix

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theirishwolfhound · 21 days

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A Heart of Gold In a Sea of Green: The Synopsis

Heyo! I'm making this post just so I can get ready to start posting on Tumblr as well as Ao3. My main reason is that I can add GIFs/images, music, and color code the dialog on here. With that being said, I'm still working on the imagery for my masterlist post and this is just to act in as the informational "chapter".

"Crow "Wolfhound" O'Neil had been a sergeant in a different troop, known as the WatchDogs, before joining Task Force 141 as an additional sniper, but mostly for his innate understanding of many terrains and the survival skills needed for them. Yet he mostly kept to himself when he joined up as he was still reeling from a recent loss of a loved one; he remained the calm, patient soldier he had always trained to be… despite joining what he could only call as the most chaotic gaggle of men he's ever met. He followed orders, never spoke back or questioned his fellow officers- he was loyal, just as his nickname implied. Though when asked about it he spoke only a simple phrase: "Gentle when stroked, Fierce when provoked" and left it at that."

The fic takes place around six months after Wolfhound transferred into Task Force 141 from the Watchdogs and focuses on him finally putting in the effort to improve his mental state after he lost his fiancé: Malakai Harper. As well as focusing on improving his relationships with his fellow operators: Price, Gaz, Ghost, and Soap— who are already in a polyamorous relationship.

There is a lot of fraternization that goes on, it's not meant to be a serious down to code/law type of fic— I literally only wrote this because I love the characters and wanted to try writing a fanfiction for the first time. I will also put the other warnings in under this indent, as well as a put the proper warnings before the start of every chapter. Also fair warning: Most Chapters are Long Reads (potentially up to 15k+ type deal).

Below is the first thing on the Ao3 fic, just to give an understanding into Crow's background:

Crow Nevan O'Neil was born in Galway, Ireland and lived there for most of his life. He is currently twenty-seven and has been in the British military for seven years. Previously he was a Forest Ranger at the Wicklow Mountains National Park in Ireland and has visited other places to get the experience of working in different terrains.

He was born into a Catholic family and still holds those beliefs to this day, but does not talk about it with others- just as he keeps his gender identity and sexuality under close wraps. The only person that knows he is transgender would be Captain Price and he was given the accommodation of a private shower to make his time a bit easier on base. He only wears long sleeved shirts and pants to keep a more conservative look, though it was mostly to hide his tattoos so that no one asks him any questions about them- he may be social but not when it comes to speaking, he's a listener not the speaker.

Crow got his nickname "Wolfhound" mainly because he is Irish- but also because his old troop thought it was funny that a 165cm (5'5") man who barely weighs 81kg (180lbs) soaking wet can be called something in relation to a huge dog. He has hazel eyes, many many freckles, and curly reddish brown hair- the pinnacle of Irish stereotypes minus the anger and drinking, but by god does he have the accent of a man who sounds like he is fresh from Dublin. His actual callsign is Foxtrot Four.

He was engaged to a Lieutenant form his previous troop named Malakai Harper, but after his death Crow was looking for any chance to have a fresh start with a new team- and luckily he was given the chance to join Task Force 141 as their third sergeant. He knew very little about the other operators, but that meant they knew nothing of him.

Now time for lists and links:

Ao3

Playlist

Crow's Reference Sheet (Will Be Redone Eventually)

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arag0rn2931 · 9 months

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The Nice Guys (a love story) - part two

Julie Healy (replacement of Jackson Healy) beats people up for money. When her job leads her to P.I. Holland March, her relatively simple life turns into something more dangerous and messy. She ends up having to work with Holland in order to find a missing girl named Amelia. Together, they uncover a government conspiracy whilst slowly falling for each other along the way. This is basically the plot of the movie The Nice Guys but I've replaced Russell Crowe's character with a woman, changed the dialogue a little and made her a love interest to Ryan Gosling's character.

Warning!! Fluff, pining from Holland, lots of bickering with flirty undertones, enemies to lovers tropes, and more…

This story can also be found on wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/story/348465727?utm_source=ios&utm_medium=link&utm_content=story_info&wp_page=story_details&wp_uname=cat_n0ir15&wp_originator=Q3ak6Nr2TwScSd1AF%2B0jeVcPp4VnqeK%2FFpG8h883%2ByZYGgU2PIxfNxKTA3u%2BJh01ac%2BkLHewo5ojbj06hTeBHh%2Fja2ZQ5QiF8Wa9pnTlj39KKAEKnk2wfWhkb8ga8dTF

Holland March sat on the toilet of the bowling alley restroom reading a magazine and smoking a cigarette. Julie's mark on him still remained in the shape of a white cast with a drawing of a goose on it. Every time he looked at it it reminded him of her.

The door to the restroom slowly creaked open, causing Holland to look up, his face full paranoia. Ever since his attack his heart would run wild at the slightest sound. He watched the floor as two boots, suspiciously small for a man's, stopped outside of his stall. To his relief they walked away from his stall. Holland took a drag from his cigarette and tried to look under the stall door again, confusion etched on his face. A knock sounded on his door.

"March. Julie Healy. Don't get upset. I'm not here to hurt you again. I just wanna ask you a question."

Holland opened the door with his foot, a look of anger on his face as he pointed a gun directly at Julie.

"Hey, no," Julie reasoned, pointing a warning finger at him.

"How stupid do you think I am?" Holland said, a cigarette between his lips. "I got a license to carry, motherfucker. Ever since your little visit the other day, this little baby's gonna stay right here", he gestured to his pocket. He then struggled with the position of his magazine as he tried not to expose himself to her. "Fuck, fuck," he said to himself. Him and the door then had a vigorous battle for about 10 seconds as he tried to keep everything in place whilst still having Julie in his direct line of sight. Holland decided it would be best if he just got off the toilet. He tried to get up but the same battle with the door threatened to resume. "Look away", Holland pointed his gun at Julie.

"I've seen it all before, dude," Julie chuckled whilst turning away. However there was a mirror in front of her meaning that she could still see Holland. "You know there's a mirror here, right?"

"Close your eyes. I said close them you pervert," Holland threatened, pointing his gun at her again. Julie made a point of covering her eyes with her hand reluctantly, a small smirk playing on her lips. The struggle continued. "Fucking damn it. Forget it. You know what? Turn around." Julie turned around with her hand still covering her eyes. "Fuck. You can take your hand away now." Julie removed her hand but kept her eyes closed. "Open your eyes goddammit!" Julie opened her eyes and chuckled at Holland's desperate attempt to hide himself. "What do you want?" He said very seriously, his gun firmly aimed at her.

"I want you to find Amelia."

***

"So you think these guys are gonna hurt Amelia?" Holland asked. The pair had found their way to a booth in the dining area of the bowling alley.

"Sure, after they're done killing her," Julie said seriously. Holland raised on eyebrow. "You know, I asked around about you. There's a couple of people I trust that say you're pretty good at this."

"Well, that's surprising. I would have thought your job ended with breaking my fucking arm," Holland raised his arm, annoyance in his voice.

"Well, you know, technically it did," Julie chuckled. "I'm off the clock. This is a separate situation."

"I'm not buying this nice girl act, sweetheart. I've fallen for it before," Holland clicked his tongue and leant across the table towards Julie. He surveyed her for a second. "She owes you money, doesn't she? You're coming to collect? You want me to finger her so you can throw acid in her face? Well, no."

"No, she paid me up front, actually, you know. What it is, for me, is I like where I live and I don't wanna move. So, two days in advance. $400," Julie showed him the money then placed it on the table. They paused for a second. Julie sighed. "Plus whatever the old lady's giving you."

"Old lady? Fuck you, old lady. You broke my arm. I quit, remember?"

"So call her up, get back on the case. Get paid twice."

"Wow, that is very telling. I'm a detective and we have a code. We don't do that. But interesting. Good to know," Holland nodded sarcastically.

"Okay. You were looking for Amelia, right?"

"Yes and no."

"Excuse me?"

"My profession is very complicated, okay? It's nuanced," Holland said whilst putting a cigarette in his mouth. Julie practically drooled at the site of it. The cigarette. Not Holland with the cigarette. Definitely not.

"What does that mean?" Julie asked, confused, but also very distracted by the deliciously bitter smell of the smoke. "Hey, can I borrow one of those?" Julie reached her hand out, a fake smile on her face as she tried to hide her growing annoyance at this man.

"Oh yeah, of course, sure," Holland said overly nicely and took out another cigarette. "You want one? You want it?" He dangled it in front of her face for a few moments then chucked it across the room. "Go fetch it." Julie just stared at him blankly for a second then sighed overdramatically. They sat there in silence for a few moments.

In a rushed moment, she grabbed his lit cigarette, completely catching him off guard and took a long drag from it. She blew the smoke out right into his face. "Well, okay, great," Holland huffed. "Give that back." He reached across the table to try and take it from her but she pulled it away teasingly.

"You're not getting this until I hear more about this complicated career of yours", Julie took another drag. "Or you can go and fetch that one", she raised a challenging eyebrow and gestured with her cigarette in the direction of the one that he'd previously thrown. He scoffed.

"Fuck it", Holland sighed. "Last week this old broad comes to me and she asks me to find her niece, Misty Mountains."

"Misty Mountains? The porno actress? The one that died?"

"The young lady. The porno young lady," Holland paused to put another cigarette in his mouth and lit it. "But, yeah, she died in a crash and then two days later, her aunt goes to her house to clean out the place, and lo and behold, alive and well, Misty Mountains. She sees her through the window. She sees her get in her car. She sees her drive away. Bullshit? Bullshit's right. She's dead and then she's alive. That's what I'm talking about. It's very fucking complicated. But I persevere, you know. I run the tape through and I think, 'Okay, maybe there was a girl there.'"

"Amelia? The old lady saw Amelia?"

"Well, look who decided to show up for class. Yeah. There's a gate guard, he keeps track of all the cars that go in and out. So I checked with him. I ran the plate. I got the name".

"And?" Julie leant forward a bit. Holland held up 3 fingers, a cigarette balancing between his lips. "Three. Three what?"

"Three days in advance if you want the rest of the story."

"Isn't my company payment enough?" Julie smiled fakely. Winding him up was fun. Holland gave her a look that told her it clearly was not enough. "Fuck you. Come on, $600? That's fucking robbery. I've only got $400."

"Well, it's early. So, you can go rob a bank if you hurry," Holland maintained eye contact with Julie, a sassy look in his eyes. Suddenly, Holly came out of nowhere and scared the both of them by clapping her hands. "Jesus!" Holland exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"Giving you a rim job," Holly said sweetly as she sat down next to her father.

"What? Rim shot," Holland shouted so the staff could hear, "Rim shot", he repeated almost to himself. Julie gave him an amused smirk.

"Whatever. Hey, can we go one more game before..." Holly lost her train of thought as she laid eyes on Julie. Her face dropped in sour recognition. "You're the one who beat up my dad." Julie just smiled at her.

"Hey. No. Sucker-punched your dad. Big difference," Holland tried to defend himself. "But, don't worry. She just did it for money."

"You beat people up and charge money?" Holly chuckled.

"Yeah. Sad, isn't it?" Holland answered for Julie.

"That's really your job?" Julie nodded back. "No way... So, um, how much would you charge to beat up my friend Janet?"

"What?" Holland protested.

"How much you got?" Julie leaned in toward Holly, a smirk playing on her lips at the kid.

"30 bucks."

"Look, apple pie," Holland slid some apple pie in front of Holly in an attempt to distract her.

"Is she a big girl?" Julie asked.

"She's tall. Super annoying. She's always mean to me," Holly complained over her father's desperate attempts to distract her with pie.

"No problem," Julie winked at her. Holly smiled at her.

"This conversation is over," Holland cut the air with his hands.

"We're just talking," Julie replied childishly.

"And it's over," Holland said. Holly had finally given in and started eating the apple pie.

"400, that's all," Julie tapped the money.

"400. Two days. We find her earlier, I still get to keep it."

"Done," Julie shrugged.

"Deal. Great. Cause I already know where she is," Holland said. Julie reached out her hand for him to shake it but he didn't take it, Holly shook it instead. "No, honey, don't touch that you don't know where it's been." Julie responded to the insult by stealing the lit cigarette between his lips, again. "Hey!" He exclaimed but it was too late for him to get it back.

hope you enjoyed!! 🤭

#holland march x reader #holland march #the nice guys fanfic #the nice guys #ryan gosling #ryan gosling fanfic #ryan gosling x reader #imagine #fanfic

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parad-ice-lostandfound · 10 months

Text

For You, I'd Paint the World Red

Prompt: They hadn't meant to do it. They really hadn't meant to lose control of their magic. But they couldn't help it. And maybe, just maybe... they were glad they did it. Or the one where MC destroys an entire coven of witches and adopts a kid on the way.

Pairing: Mammon x GN!MC

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

TW: Arson, implied child abuse, please let me know if there is anything else I should add.

AN: Is it just me, or does anyone else get frighteningly vivid dreams that they turn into fanfics so they can share this weird cocktail of feelings and emotions with everyone who's interested? This is very self-indulgent, btw. I just want MC to be allowed to go crazy sometimes. Feral even. We believe in murderous MC supremacy in this house.

Elliot Crowe belongs to my absolute darling of a friend @doodlboy <3 thank you for letting me use your mc in this little thing. This will also be a series of sorts, so please look forward to that ^^

"This is the last one MC."

(e/c) eyes looked up at the sorcerer. Elliot smiled, earning a sigh of relief in return from Solomon's prized apprentice. A very tired, ready-to-fall-asleep-standing apprentice.

"I'm glad," they yawned, stretching their arms over their head as they followed him to the transportation array. "I swear, once I'm done, I'm heading to back home and sleeping for the next three weeks."

"You've certainly earned it," the man hummed, offering his hand, like the gentleman he was. The two stepped onto the array, Elliot activating it with a simple incantation.

A few seconds later, the pair found themselves in front of the last coven's mansion. The massive structure was creeping into the nearby forest, where the younger of the two could make out glowing spectres darting through the trees.

"Tastefully decorated," Elliot remarked, drawing their attention back to the imposing building in front of them. It looked like a normal mansion, from what they could see; nothing particularly stood out a first glance. But there was a slight feeling of difference, something only those sensitive to magic would notice. They had been getting this feeling at nearly every coven they visited.

MC was glad that these visits to the supernatural were once every twenty years. The aim of these 'inspections' was to make sure that the other supernatural members of the world upheld their end of the various treaties and contracts signed by them with the Sorcerer's Society.

MC had met Elliot a few times before through Solomon. Elliot Crowe was the apprentice of one of Solomon's old friends, and almost like a son to the white-haired man. This meant that the sorcerer often checked up on him, resulting in the two young humans bonding over the woes of apprenticeship and making fun of Solomon's age, much to his chagrin.

This friendship was what lead to the two pairing up when the audits were announced. Elliot and MC were chosen to inspect the covens of witches who practised magic under the Sorcerers Society's careful supervision, both major and minor.

All those they had visited up till now were incredibly interested in helping humans at best, and wanting absolutely nothing to do with anyone outside their coven at worst. Either way, it was a somewhat ideal first time doing this for them, even if it was a bit tedious.

They weren't kidding about sleeping for 3 weeks. Belphies pact mark was glowing faintly, almost as if recognizing their wish to indulge in his sin.

Elliot cleared his throat. His eyes locked onto theirs, an uncharacteristic seriousness in them that startled MC enough to chase away their fatigue momentarily. A shiver went up their spine as they felt him put up a magical charm to avoid any eavesdroppers from hearing his next words.

"The coven we're inspecting now," he began, his tone low and firm, "is the one the Society is most wary of, MC. The witches here are known to have made and to look for ways to make, pacts with a large number of demons."

"While most of their pacts are lesser demons, they have a contract with someone rather important in the Devildom. Someone you know quite well."

They didn't have to ask whom. In all the their years of staying at the Devildom, they knew only one notable demon who had a pact- wait, contract?

Elliot seemed to have sensed their confusion as he clarified, "Despite what many think, Mammon didn't actually make a pact with the witches. He signed a contract, presumably one that acts almost like a pact and has nearly the same pull. For what, nobody knows."

They did. They knew exactly why Mammon signed such a disadvantageous contract. But it wasn't their place to spill his secrets. Instead they asked, "Does the Society know what are the conditions of the contract?"

"No," Elliot frowned, his displeasure on not knowing more showing clearly on his face. "No, they don't. The covens are entitled to privacy and secrecy when it comes to things like contracts with demons as long as they're not wreaking havoc on humans. As long as no humans are hurt, the Society mostly lets them be." His voice drops down to a whisper, even though there is no chance of anyone overhearing them because of the charm he'd cast earlier. "But recently, there has been a large number of missing human cases in this area. And well, this particular coven has always been a little shady."

"That's rich, coming from you," MC snorted, elbowing Elliot lightly in an attempt to relieve some of the tension. Elliot graced them with an exasperated smile. "Very funny, but that's not the point. Now listen carefully. Once we go inside, I will need you to distract them-"

"... Don't tell me I have to dress in drag and do the hula.."

"As funny as it would be, no. Make small talk, use some of your 'little human' charm on them," Elliot hummed. "Whatever you need to do to make sure that you are the only one they pay attention to. Make it seem like you are novice to all of this, as unthreatening as possible. Make them underestimate you."

"Hm. Sounds like something I can do."

"Good. I'll try to slip away unnoticed at a point to actually investigate, so don't worry if you can't see me."

"What do you want out of this Elliot? Or more accurately, what does the Society want?"

"Some proof that their suspicions are right about the coven." A reason to exterminate them went unsaid.

"Alright. I'll do my best."

"You always do."

"And this, is our archives. Please come in, dearest sorcerers."

MC took a big breath and did as they were told, quickly stepping into the room. Their jaw was aching from the dopey smile they had plastered on ever since entering the premises. Just a little longer, they thought to themself, thinking back to how they had lost sight of Elliot halfway into their tour, the coven head not even realizing.

For a coven potentially doing shady things, they sure were lax with their security.

Melvara, the coven head, finally seemed to notice Solomon's absence. "Um, where is Sir Elliot, if I may ask?"

"Oh, he said he needed to use the restroom. He'll be here soon, but wow! This room is huge!" MC grinned, spinning lightly in place as if trying to take in everything. Truthfully speaking, it was not much. They lived in the Devildom with 7 very wealthy brothers, a demon prince who took pleasure in spoiling his friends, and a demon butler who was more attentive and observant than anyone they had ever known. Their mentor was arguably the best sorcerer alive, if a little eccentric, and they had endeared themself to even angels. Needless to say, they were spoiled rotten when it came to once in a lifetime experiences.

Thankfully, Melvara seemed to buy their act, giving them a proud smile. "I'm glad you think so. Now, how about we have some tea while we wait for Sir Elliot to come back? The archives are the last stop before the Forest of a Thousand Spectres, after all."

They hummed, sitting down at the seat offered to them, eyes still taking in everything down to the last detail. Elliot's words had assured them that this would be one report that would require them to go into heavy detail.

The door to the archives opened for the second time.

(E/c) eyes turned to the witch that entered the room, head respectfully bowed and voice reverent as she presented them with tea and snacks. They gave her a sweet smile, watching in carefully veiled amusement as she blushed and nearly spilled the hot beverage. It was cute how a simple smile was enough to put people at ease. After a few hurried apologies and not-so-subtle glances at them, the witch left the room. For a few minutes, there was blissful silence.

"Say, sorcerer MC?"

"Yes?"

"Pardon my forwardness, but I had heard that you have pacts with all seven of the avatars of sin?"

MC hummed, a pleasant smile on their face. "I do," they said, noting the interest in her eyes. Melvara leaned slightly forward, her eyes gleaming with something that made them pause for a second. Right, don't underestimate the other party, they thought to themself chidingly.

"An admirable feat. May I be so bold as to.. offer you some advice?"

Did they really look that gullible?

"Of course, I would love to learn from my elders."

They hadn't meant to do it.

They really hadn't meant to lose control of their magic.

But they couldn't have helped it.

Not when Elliot burst into the archive room, eyes filled with disdain and murderous intent; holding an unconscious girl in his arms. A very familiar child, one they had yet to meet face to face but had seen plenty of pictures of.

They watched with dark satisfaction as flames engulfed the accursed manor and the forest around it. Screams of the witches stuck inside echoed into the darkness, and MC instinctively covered the ear of the girl who now lay in their arms, still unconscious. The few who had no hand in any of the heinous crimes their brethren had committed cowered somewhere behind them.

The Forest of a Thousand Spectres never looked as hauntingly beautiful as it did now.

A hand on their shoulder had them instinctively cradle the girl closer to their chest. A side glance at Elliot, who had the same blank look on his face. "You can go home MC. I'll report this myself," he said, voice barely above a whisper but firm. Not a suggestion then.

MC nodded, the only indication that they had heard him. Elliot sighed. "What.. are you thinking of doing about her, MC?"

"I'm taking her home."

"She's is the only living witness to the atrocities this coven committed. The Society will wish to talk to her."

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

Another sigh. "Very well. I'll see you after I've reported the incident and" -he looked over to the terrified witches, the innocent ones, who shrank away the moment his gaze was placed on them- "taken care of them."

"Sure," they said, tearing their eyes away from the flames for a just moment to watch Elliot teleport himself and the witches away, presumably to the Society's headquarters.

They did the same moments later, appearing in their room. MC carefully lowered the girl onto their bed, gentle hands adjusting the blankets to offer comfort and warmth. Satisfied with their work, they pulled a chair close to the bed and sat on it. A breathless chuckle escaped from their lips as they felt the slight trembling in their hands. Their eyes scanned the teenager, sleeping soundly under Elliot's recovery spell.

The fact that a simple recovery spell made her fall unconscious spoke volumes about the pain she had suffered.

MC brushed a strand of hair away from her face, vaguely thinking about Mammon's reaction when he finds out exactly what the sweet little girl had been through. They stole another glance at her, then picked up their DDD.

S.S Audit Stuff (Lucifer, Solomon, Elliot and you)

You: Lucifer. Solomon.

You: We need to talk.

You: Meet me in my room.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #omswd #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me writing #obey me solomon #obey me mc #mammon × mc #gn!mc #obey me x gn!mc #om writing #omswd writing #for you i'd paint the world red #for you i'd paint the world red series

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