#{{ though; he mostly sleeps without it in private spaces really. }} | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

andy-wm · 7 months ago

Text

"Who's been sleeping in MY bed?" the little one asked

I had a comment on my previous post asking if Jimin & JK stayed at the same hotel in NY and I realised I had assumed Jimin stayed in JK's room. But I don't think he did and I have thoughts on this whole situation.

[[ETA a few ppl have mentioned they had to read this twice. I apologise that this post jumps around and meanders and side-tracks all over. Believe it or not i did try to organise it... unfortunately it's an accurate representation of my brain]]

It's taken a few (probably way more than necessary) hours of looking at every bloody room in the Loews-Regency NY, and going back and forth between Are You Sure, I am Still, and the AYS behind clips to work it it but I can confidently say I know exactly* what unfolded on the night Jimin arrived in NY...

*clearly a lie, since we never REALLY know anything... However by collecting all the clues** left in these 3 series I do have a lot of circumstantial evidence. Combining that with a bit of deductive reasoning and a healthy dose of speculation, I have a decent enough theory.

** This cannot be accidental. The same people would be responsible (to an extent) for all three series. They have managed not to re-use any content, except once or twice we get the same scene from different angles. And that means we have a lot of information. BH knows army well enough to know we are absolutely going to gather up the (red) threads of these series and stitch together a story.

This is what i know:

Jungkook was in a Two Bedroom Suite - he had the master bedroom.

A Grand Executive Suite was used as a dressing room (but not much else).

Jimin had a Grand Executive Suite to himself (almost).

This is what I have reasonable evidence of:

Jungkook's master bedroom in the two bedroom suite was clearly used. Clothes on a chair, two open suitcases, personal items on the nightstand etc are evidence of the space being occupied. However when we saw him packing to leave for AYS, the bed looked largely unused. A dent in one pillow (the other pillows thrown across the bed) shows someone lay down on the bed, but the comforter was undisturbed and even the blanket at the bottom of the bed was still in place.

At first i was amazed that JK's suite is shown almost without restriction. It is not treated as a private space. But then i realised we see a number of staff moving in and out of the space too. It dawned on me that even though JK has an area for his own use (the master bedroom) this is considered a work environment, much like the hotels in BV and ITS.

So it's unsuprising that when filming, the staff casually follow JK around as he does his thing, even making a point of showing spaces we wouldn't otherwise see - like the master bathroom with its great big tub. Jungkook himself invites us into the living area when he checks on reactions to the Seven MV. and in AYS we get a glimpse into the kitchen.

We don't get to see the second bedroom or bathroom so I assume a staff member - maybe JK's manager - used those.

Compare this to the way Jimin's space is treated:

Jimin's suite is treated - mostly - as a private space. It's not just careful editing. By the actions of the staff members filming him we can see they are very aware of this.

We see it at the start of AYS when the staff member wakes Jimin up. They stay in the doorway of Jimin's suite, literally not even stepping inside. We see only a glimpse of the (second) bathroom, and the footage is cut when the camera pans away. Jimin seems quite cheerful about being on camera despite his sleep swollen face and his bed hair, but nevertheless the staff member doesn't enter his room.

On both occasions when we see Jimin's suite, the staff member recording him is cautious about being his space.

That's not something we often see when BTS are on camera - especially not as overtly we saw it here. The privacy of Jimin's suite is very obviously being respected.

Packing for AYS: Jungkook vs Jimin (and the MOOD)

In the Behind clip for AYS we see both of them packing for their getaway.

Jungkook seems quite unbothered about having his packing process documented as he moves around the big suite. It crosses no boundaries for him. He hums and haws about what to take, he chats to the staff member, and he talks to the camera as he moves from room to room. He knows he's working and this is part of his job.

Jimin, on the other hand is rattled. He stuffs his clothes into the cumbersome bag with visible annoyance, not even taking the time to open the bag properly.

Now remember, Jimin is a performer. He goes out of his way to be charming and entertaining. He knows how to turn that on for the camera and in this moment he's choosing not to.

He doesn't engage with the audience.

He doesn't talk to the staff member.

He doesn't turn towards the camera.

He gives nothing.

He huffs in exasperation as he struggles with the bag, and his movements are tense and abrupt.

Prickly is the word that comes to mind, but honestly that doesn't even cover it.

When he's done packing, he snatches that bag up and marches out of the room without a second glance.

His hair covers his eyes like a shield as he walks toward the camera but the tightness in his neck and jaw betrays strong emotion.

Yeah he's not happy

He slips through the half open door and strides down the hallway.

I get the feeling that if the staff member didn't move fast enough, Jimin would run them over.

When something like this happens, my response is usually to look closer, so let's do that.

Firstly Jimin is a consummate professional. He can usually put a good face on any situation. But in this case he doesn't even seem to try. I guess whatever is bothering him is not something he can or will just brush off in that moment.

So what's actually happening here?

What is it that's pissed Jimin off to such an extent?

Let's look at it again...

They are filming him pack his bag. The staff member stands closely beside Jimin and focuses only him, his bag, and the sofa.

Let's be honest, there is absolutely nothing interesting about this scene (except the implications we are currently unpacking).

They could have made this count for a little more, maybe by panning around the room or changing the position of the camera in relation to Jimin. But they don't. Even when, by chance, there's a glimpse of what looks like takeout containers on the coffee table and some random debris on the chair behind Jimin, the staff member moves so that we only see Jimin, the bag and the sofa. That is all we're getting.

That's a clear decision and there has to be a reason for that decision.

When they leave the room, we have an abrupt cut before the camera backs out the door and down the hallway. That's another clear decision. The staff member could easily have moved behind Jimin and followed him out of the suite but this keeps them - and us - out of Jimin's personal (private) space and he remains the literal gatekeeper to that room.

Once they are out of the room Jimin lifts his head briefly, shakes his hair out of his eyes, and strides purposefully - defiantly even - on. He still doesn't interact or make eye contact. He still isn't giving them (or us) a damn thing, and even the funky upbeat muzak they've used can't alleviate the tension in this scene.

So why is Jimin in a mood?

We know Jimin was there for one night before they began filming for AYS. So all this takes place before filming for AYS began.

And that, in my mind, is the key.

Jungkook was promoting his album and he expected to be on camera. He knew the space he occupied was a filming location. Jungkook was already at work when he was packing for AYS. but Jimin was not.

Okay, but this a BIG MOOD... what else is happening?

It's not the end of the world to be asked to start your schedule a little earlier, is it? We know Jimin was already awake...

But they came into his room.

I don't believe he expected to have anyone in his private suite - anyone besides Jungkook. And I don't believe he agreed happily, based on his behaviour.

I'm 99% sure Jungkook spent the night in Jimin's suite for two reasons.

Logically it makes sense that they would choose the place they have the most privacy, and even though Jungkook had the master bedroom and a private bathroom in the bigger suite, that is a WORK LOCATION. It's not his private space.

Add to that Jungkook saying he was packed and ready to go, and only needed to brush his teeth which he would do when Jimin arrived. He even told us where he would be putting his toothbrush (future tense).

It's not hard to guess where his toothbrush was. And why.

So we have two healthy young adults who (we are told repeatedly by Jungkook) have barely seen each other. The flirting started at the restaurant, and we've already seen the evidence of a night spent in energetic passion.

And we have a closed-up room. I don't know how much air would be circulating in that room with the blinds down and the doors closed. I don't know how much air would need to circulate to remove the ...how can I put this delicately? the ripe and musky scent of celebration. I expect there was A LOT of celebration...

And we have Jimin. Jimin is MESSY. Jimin breaks mosquito nets and marks people's necks and pushes boundaries even in public. He throws his things about with not a care in the world... clothes, yes, and other things. How many of Jimin's tissues has JK picked up? You get the picture. It's a Biohazard.

Lastly, we have (or had) an expectation of privacy, of no staff, of restricted access.

Now there's a person in his private space unexpectedly. And they have a camera.

So Jimin is pissed off.

I'd be pissed off too.

He seems to be over it by the time they're filming the preamble to AYS, but he obviously felt compromised and deeply uncomfortable. I am glad he made it clear he was unhappy.

This highlights for me the importance of them having agency over their content and their personal time and space. On this occasion he must have reluctantly (and with conditions) agreed but I hope that in future his boundaries are respected.

I hope even more that ARMY (and Jikookers especially. I hold us to a higher standard) remember that their personal time and space is precious to them, and they deserve to enjoy their lives away from the public eye. Like the rest of us they should have the freedom and confidence to do what they want (no matter how messy) without the fear that someone with a camera will invade their space and record them.

Please don't go to Jungkook's house, even while he's not there. It's not a tourist attraction.

#park jimin #jeon jungguk #jikook #kookmin #국민 #true love #jikook are you sure #Jikook in New York

194 notes · View notes

nkn0va · 1 year ago

Note

Ok, so do think that you can do relationship hcs for Cynthia, Lusamine, Diantha from Pokemon?

The fact that a Pokemon request of all things took so damn long is baffling but whatever. Minimalistic post since I don't have banners for Pokemon and I don't feel like going through Tumblr gifs to find a decent one for everyone.

God this took way too long. Writer's block struck at the worst possible time.

Cynthia

-Cynthia's occupation as champion keeps her quite busy. Neither of you particularly enjoy this but that's just how the cookie crumbles as they say.

-Despite that, she's surprisingly good at separating work from her personal life. When the League's finding itself in a slow season and new trainers aren't running amok around Sinnoh she'll always manage to find time for you.

-She's extremely supportive of whatever you do and will be there all the way. Wanna be a trainer too? Congratulations, you have a world class mentor. Wanna be an archeologist, she will nerd out about ancient mythology with you all you want and join you on your excavations. Anything you wanna do, Pokemon-related or not, has her full support.

-Between her mythological studies on the side with her work and training as champion, there are moments she overworks herself. You'll need to play the role of caretaker and bring her back down to Earth.

-Of course despite this, it doesn't stop her from doing the same for you when necessary. Gently pushing you to go to sleep, preparing a fresh cup of your favorite warm drink, or knocking you out with a bat hugging you from behind to relax you.

-Her Pokemon quickly form an attachment to you, they see her family as theirs, too. Seeing her terrifying, nightmare inducing Garchomp acting like a big puppy will never get old.

-If you have a team of their own, they get quite protective, especially the unevolved, inexperienced ones. At least until you end up catching up to them, which they eventually will under their tutelage.

Lusamine

-Realistically, you really only get close enough to be in a relationship if you start as an employee at the Aether Foundation. Your hard-working attitude and sincere kindness towards the Pokemon they take care of quickly grabs her attention. Something about you just stood out even among the similar employees working under her.

-The relationship instantly is declared to be a secret, she still needs to keep a professional appearance at work. In private though is a different story.

-Once you do manage to win Lusamine's heart, she's extremely attached and clingy. Considering how her last relationship ended, she will not let you go. And you can bet that you're not touching anything involving Ultra Wormholes with a 40 foot pole.

-Very physically clingy all around despite what your first impressions of her might have been. It's a pleasant surprise when she finally drops the professional facade around you and craves gentle intimacy.

-It's only natural that Lillie and Gladion quickly become a big part of your life considering how big of a part they are in Lusamine's. Being there for them is a requirement in your relationship.

-It takes a while for them to warm up to you, but they do eventually. Lillie's much more open about it, happy to have a second parent in her life again. Gladion does try to keep up the edgy persona, but he does become fond of you, albeit shown very subtly.

-It's a very surprisingly domestic relationship after the whole Ultra Space incident. A very happy family picture with Lillie and Gladion around.

Diantha.

-Much like the last two ladies, very busy. Being a champion and a movie star means she's not exactly swimming in free time. Whenever you two do get to go out together, disguises are needed thanks to her fame.

-Dating Diantha means your fashion sense sees a noticeable improvement. Mostly to have effective disguises so you can go out in public without being hounded by paparazzi. It's actually quite pleasant when it works.

-You learn to spot her out in public regardless of what she's wearing as she beckons you over to a nice cafe or restaurant she wants to try with you. Kalos is known for it's exquisite fine dining, whatever gets her approval is bound to be the good stuff.

-The public is inevitably soon going to find out you're dating THE Diantha. You're gonna become a bit of a celebrity yourself whether you like it or not. If you're pursuing anything to do for a living, you're at the very least gonna get eyes on it, fortunately. You two immediately become Kalos' power couple.

-If you have a Pokemon capable of Mega Evolution, Diantha will be your number one fan and mentor in helping you achieve that power. She's about the best you could ask for in this regard, her ace is a Psychic type that she Mega Evolves, after all.

-Despite all the glamor and lights, she does crave something of a domestic life. She very much appreciates a more traditional partner there for the long run who wants the same thing. To her, buying a house and settling down is her ultimate goal, and showing you want the same makes you two pretty much set for life.

#pokemon #pokemon x reader #pokemon cynthia #lusamine #pokemon diantha #headcanon #relationship headcanons #cynthia x reader #lusamine x reader #diantha x reader #x reader

186 notes · View notes

moodymisty · 1 year ago

Note

Getting it in at the last minute hopefully, but one thing that's on the brain is Chapter Serfs, the mortals who do a collection of jobs on fortress monasteries and are devoted to certain chapters. They're treated a whole range of ways depending on the chapter from "worse than slaves" to "members of the family". I've read somewhere that the Raven Guard treat their Serfs surprisingly well given they're all Spooky Scary, but I wanna know what you think!

Also on the brain is a serf worrying about her Raven Guard battle brother constantly, and being extremely gentle and doting on him because like... Look at him, being a space marine seems like an extremely painful existence.

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's note: This is a cute idea, and I want to write more Raven Guard. I hope you enjoy this little snippet!

Relationships: Unnamed Raven Guard/Gn!Reader (could be read platonic or very slightly romantic if you really squinted)

Warnings: Mentions of wounds like burns, Your astartes being apathetic about the whole thing

You almost have everything you think you'll need, looking over the spread of materials along the small table. If you've forgotten anything you hope he'll be as forgiving as the last times; As he always is.

The Raven's Valour has moored at Deliverance and you know his arrival is imminent; You'll finally be able to see him again. It's been months and while you serve the other Raven Guard with nothing but respect, there's something about your Raven Guard that is special. That has his arrival stirring your stomach.

It's become harder to even sleep without him nearby. You sleep in his private quarters with him- many of the serfs tending to higher rank Raven Guard do. The reasoning seems to be so you're always available to serve them, but too many of them seem to just like their serf's company to make it an excuse that doesn’t get doubted for a moment.

You hear the door open and quickly turn, spotting his wide shoulders and dark hair. Moments later however, you see that on areas not covered by his robes is what looks to be burns of some kind; Mostly chemical. It has that distinctive look, compared to a burn from a flame. He has other jagged cuts as well, but the burns are the most dramatic and eye catching.

"What happened?"

You say surprised, watching him sit down on the small bed and push his robes off his back. You can see his back is almost burned, and even though he has no reaction there isn't any way the cloth of his robes against his skin hadn't hurt.

You can also see the sores and dents where his armor weighed on him; in the weeks of nonstop use.

"We encountered heretics worshiping Nurgle. There were far more than expected, and they’ve learned new tricks."

He says little more than that, which doesn't surprise you. He isn't very talkative, particularly about these sorts of things. You presume his mission didn't go well if what little he gave was any indicator.

"I, I'm going to go get some things to help you, I'll be right back."

You quickly rush to grab any of the things you think will help, though much of it is more so for the humans around Deliverance than the astartes. The general consensus is they simply deal with the pain until it stops- that using healing solutions is a waste unless needed to preserve their life. you don't want him stay like this. He deserves more for protecting humanity; For protecting you.

"Here. This should help all of this heal."

You expected him to resist you, but you're surprised when he doesn't. You crawl onto the small bed and get behind him, holding your materials in your lap. He lets you come closer and apply medicine to all of his wounds, careful around the interface ports lining his back and shoulders. They run all along his back, digging directly into his spinal cord. They’re surrounded by old scars, and you fear it’ll hurt if you aren’t gentle.

You brush some burn cream over the massive one spanning his shoulder blade and he shifts, causing you to pull away for a moment.

"I'm sorry if this hurts, my lord."

He grunts at you, and you don't quite know if he's just responding, or scolding you for the use of title. Either way you eventually continue, but far more cautious.

You continue tending to his wounds, cleaning them and applying medicine to speed up his already incredibly fast healing. You know he doesn’t need it; But you know it will at least help. He's silent almost the entire time, until he turns to look at you over his shoulder.

"I can hear you thinking." You look up from his wounded shoulderblade.

You're thinking that he deserves better than this; To not be in pain, and treated like a weapon to be thrust at the enemy, and then be left in pain he's been trained to ignore. Or at least refuse to show.

"Sorry," Is all you can mutter, however. He looks at you for a moment longer, and you notice his dark eyes flicker around your face before he turns back around.

Once his wounds are as well as you can make them you rake your fingers through his black hair, until it's untangled enough to pull it back. Once you're finished, he looks towards towards the top of his bed. His hand tugs the thin fabric draping over it.

"You slept in it," He says bluntly and out of the blue, catching you red handed. You're still kneeling on the bed behind him, wringing your hands.

"I couldn't sleep one night. I was worried since the Raven's Valour was gone longer than you'd said it would be." He turns, and you notice a very small smile on his face.

"Do not worry about me so much." You look away, and you don't know why your eyes suddenly feel so watery.

"If I don't, then who else will?"

His small smile stays, but you notice something change in his look that you can't quite place.

And before you have a chance to even try he reaches a hand up, and rustles the top of your head. Afterwards, he cups your jaw with the same hand and keeps you facing him.

Don't worry little raven, I'll be fine."

#raven guard x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting

122 notes · View notes

99tech99 · 17 days ago

Text

random krennic office(s) head canons!

i think krennic’s “main” office would be on coruscant, likely in an isb building. i really dont think think he would even use very much since is is off planet so much for stardust. even though the rest of the isb buildings are sterile and white, krennic would OBVIOUSLY have to redo his office. i think he would be perfectly capable of designing a stunning interior, but he would also be more than able to pay for someone to design it for him. i think he probably did the first overhaul himself, since he is a perfectionist and control freak, then as he gained more wealth and became busier and spent less time in the core, he probably paid someone periodically to update, though never completely redoing his original design.

in terms of decor and layout, i actually always pictured something pretty close to palpatine’s office. very large, multiple rooms, definitely a fully (over)stocked wet bar, excellent views of of the skyline, mostly dark neutrals with a bold accent color.

coming from a mid rim planet and having to compete with families of ancient wealth and influence like the tarkins, i’ve always felt it was essential for krennic to become extremely well educated in arts and culture (so freaking excited this was semi-confirmed in andor 😅). i feel like he would have started teaching himself these areas since he was accepted into the futures program, so by now he would likely have a fairly large art collection. not sure about a huge portrait of himself tho 🤣🤣

his office would have small foyer off the entrance from the main isb hallway with a cape, sorry coat, closet. sitting area with the wet bar. his actual desk would be in another room entirely. like most important people i know, his desk would be facing AWAY from the huge windows in his office, so that anyone meeting with him is going to be reminded how powerful he is, gazing out over the tops of the highest levels of coruscant.

now that im fantasizing about being his secretary, i mean now that im wondering about krennic’s secretary’s role, i cant decide if her office should be in krennic’s, or just outside. while krennic could just enter directly into his office through a private door with his code cylinders, she would probably have an adjoining office where she could access his without entering the hallway. but someone to see krennic would first have to go through the secretary’s office. and no one is getting through the door connecting her office to his without going through her. (and shes tougher than she looks, so bullying and threats arent going to work, tarkin. the director is busy, so you can just take a number. asshole.)

even though i gave krennic a coruscanti apartment, he almost never goes there, even when he is on planet. his office would have a private bathroom and sleeping quarters connected to his inner office. he is efficient and extremely busy. he wouldnt want to have to commute across the planet if he didn’t have to.

now his office on the death star would be very sleek, minimalist, industrial. shades of dark greys and blacks only. (except his desk would be under lit with green the same color of the death star lasers) the classic oblong white lights in the walls. still huge panoramic views of space. same amenities as his coruscant office, but we are on his death star. HIS achievement, not yours. his weapon. we aren’t here to impress underlings or the simpering core elite. this is a military battle station. we are here for power and destruction. everything feels imposing and cold. i do think that beyond his desk office, there would be another sitting area, the bathroom, the bar, and an actual bedroom. these areas would likely be slightly softer in design since he lives on the death star for months at a time, and no one (almost no one 😏) besides krennic would ever need to use these areas.

finally, i had reader give krennic a super star destroyer for his birthday (here if anyone is interested)—i think his office on The Director would be very similar to his office on the death star, but reader would have decorated it for him, so i feel she likely added a few more feminine touches. maybe some white and gold. marble and dark wood surfaces instead of all metal.

@sparklebunny57

#star wars #head cannon #krennic head cannon #star wars fan fic #krennic #director krennic #orson krennic #wow this got away from me a bit #save for later #99tech99 writes

21 notes · View notes

nogenderbee · 1 year ago

Text

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ 𝕊𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕖 𝕚𝕟 𝕤𝕝𝕖𝕖𝕡 ₊˚ˑ༄

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ anon request: Could I request the demon brothers with a lover who says strange things in their sleep? Like, they're just napping and all of a sudden, they say "potato fairy".

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Yeah! Absolutely!

I'm sorry some are really short but hopefully it's at least not forced so I still hope you'll like it!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ fluff, TW: slight mentions of guts in Asmo's part (just skip the dialogue)

✧ Lucifer is probably one of the rare demons who doesn't make big deal out of your habit

✧ it's just like snoring but... talking. And it just happens to be a bit stupid. He's seen worse things

✧ he'll move you to some private space when you fall asleep in public so you can rest there, without worrying layer about anyone hearing your mumbles

✧ he's usually not even paying attention to what you're saying in your sleep and just gets lost in his work

✧ even if he hears what you're saying, he's not gonna tease you about it, unless you really want to hear about things you've said

"It wasn't really anything out of the ordinary. Again, talking and flying fruits. I didn't listen to your descriptions. Sorry dear, but I had work to finish."

✧ overally, it's like he doesn't even notice that trait of yours

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

✧ you scared the living out of Mammon the first time you did that

✧ he didn't knew you talk in your sleep in the first place so imagine fear on his face when you didn't answered simple questions

"MC, what do you mean...?"

"flying piggies..."

"WHERE-?!"

✧ literally believes you every time for some reason...

✧ don't you dare spooking him with ghosts or so because he'll end up clinging onto your pretending to just be "warming you up because you were shaking" ignoring the fact it's him who's shaking

✧ you'd think it'd get better with time, and yes it does a bit?

✧ when he's in front of someone and you start talking stupid things, he'll just explain how it's your habit, but he'll still have quick and sly look around his surroundings just in case...

✧ you're making this man lovkey paranoid a bit, especially if he's after horror movie... then it's even worse!

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

✧ Levi sometimes doesn't even realize you've felt asleep to be honest

✧ he's sometimes so lost in his game or anime, he responds automatically without thinking about it

✧ it's just a habit when he's too focused on his things to just get rid of somebody

✧ it's honestly even funnier when he realizes what you two are talking about and stops everything he's doing to have a lag

"We can conquer the marshmallow kingdom later."

"But teddy bears..."

"Teddybears can wai- hold on... What...?"

✧ he's not letting anyone else hear you to save you the emberassment, so any time you fall asleep in public, he'll try to take you to his or your room, or anywhere private so you can rest

✧ he mostly doesn't even remember stories you've told him unless they really broke his mind so it's rare when you get to hear about things you've said in your sleep

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

✧ Satan simply finds it funny

✧ people who talk in their sleep, sometimes tend to respond and he'll use it to have laugh of the year

"bugs with crowns..."

"Oh really? Why do they have crowns, MC?"

"They beated up Lucifer, then Diavolo..."

✧ the stories you've come up with in your sleep are truly worth writing down and you bet he does just that and reads them to you once you're awake

✧ he's not trying to be mean, he simply can't resist making you a bit pouty and blushy with your habit

✧ though he'll skip this part when others are around and won't mess with you, that's for his ears and eyes only~

✧ weirdly, you fell asleep around him more often after he've discovered your habit

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

@miya-akane - come get your cat lover!

✧ Asmo, similar to Satan, likes to have a chuckle thanks to your little habit

✧ though he's not as mean about it and has more casual conversation, eventually chuckling more from cuteness of your words rather than the fact he finds it funny

✧ sometimes tho, he may get dramatic with it

✧ try to say something stupid about self-care and he'll have an argument with your sleepy self

"I put jellyfish jam on my face and now I'm dazzling..~"

"You- YOU PUT JELLYFISH GUTS ON YOUR FACE?! Oh no, no! Listen closely, MC, you can't..."

✧ when you wake up, he doesn't let you go untill you two have your skin-care night/morning

✧ he won't be afraid to let you nap in public, after all your mumbling is cute!

✧ speaking of which, he doesn't mind telling others he's close to about what you said last night but he'll stop if you feel uncomfortable with that

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

@vodka-glrl - come get your pretty princess~

✧ Beel is another rare demon who doesn't make big deal out of it!

✧ he talks in his sleep too, and so does Belphie. He began ignoring sleep talking for quite a while now

✧ don't ask him what you've said because poor boy doesn't even remember

✧ he won't really touch or move you when you're asleep but he might sit down next to you and be like your little body guard

✧ if you ask him to tho, he'll move you to more private place when he catches you asleep somewhere public, he wants to make sure you're comfortable after all!

✧ but if you don't mind, he'll just let you rest like you are

"and then... bathtub elve came out..."

"Do they-"

"Oh yeah, they talk in their sleep. Anyway, are we going to that restaurant or not?"

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

✧ Belphie also talks in his sleep and believe me, it's sometimes even stupider than things you're saying

✧ like, if you two actually talk with each other in your sleep, stupidest and most creative stories happen

✧ ask someone Beel to record it for you and you'll have a good laugh

"bee's need our help..."

"they can burn on candy sun..."

"but lolipops will melt too..."

"just spill it on Lucifer... heh..~"

✧ even if Lucifer overhears any of your stories, he can't do anything because you're just talking in your sleep and not insulting him consciously or are you

✧ when he sees you sleeping in public, he just joins you

✧ even if you tell him to move you somewhere private, it "slips his mind as he's too tired" and you end up waking up in the same place but with Belphie next to you

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

@miya-akane - come get your sleepyhead!

288 notes · View notes

quibble-auk · 4 months ago

Text

@thebrokenmechanicalpencil

Im giving up and splitting this in two parts and then going to bed. I have to watch kids tomorrow. I don’t know what I’m thinking. I do need sleep.

Based off of this

Anyway, this is part one and this is also not proofread so let’s gooooooooo

Dropmix and Cometeater’s confrontation.

Warnings!!! There’s a bit of blood

—

“Jeopardy, you moved the red mech and Cometeater to a separate room?” Dropmix asked casually, going over the list of remaining patients. There weren’t many left. There had been even more casualties than usual—Dropmix looked around the medibay, they would definitely need to do some cleaning and restocking. He swiftly added it to his list of things to do. It was painfully long. The young medical mech in question was in the middle of administering some painkillers,

“Yeah, they should be in one of the private rooms now,” He looked up from his work at Dropmix, “You sure we shouldn’t use the space for someone else?”

Dropmix shook his head and placed down his datapad with a sigh, “No, they need the separate space. The gladiator almost took a hand off one of the nurses and it's better if the green one isn’t crowding us. We’ve still got a lot of patients out here.”

He wasn’t lying, not really. He just wasn’t telling the entire truth. Dropmix didn’t want Jeopardy anywhere near Cometeater. It was too risky. He knew that the creature was mostly docile, at least it had always seemed that way when it was with the twins, but it was still more dangerous than half the mechs in the room.

The red and black mech may have been able to fight it off, but not without endangering the other patients. He was older now too. His armor weighed him down and he was starting to experience the consequences of fighting in the pits for so long. He probably should have listened to Theremin more.

Jeopardy’s fingers twitched slightly and he looked at Dropmix with the familiar expression that told him that the young mech knew he wasn’t telling the truth. The red and white bot never said anything about it, that didn’t change today. After a brief pause he returned to his work.

Dropmix looked down at the list. All of the patients he had were stable, some would need surgery and more extreme repairs though. Unfortunately that made another issue arise, they didn’t have enough space to maintain all of these mechs until the proper supplies came in. delivery was slow, especially to an outpost like this, Dropmix hadn’t had time to restock from the last battle and they were going to suffer for it. He pulled up their inventory on his computer and started looking through and rationing it all.

“This is a new song,” Jeopardy commented, measuring liquids at a bedside tray.

The larger mech hummed, Dropmix had nearly forgotten about the subtle lulling in the background. He had turned down the volume when the wounded first started coming in. While he had been busy treating everyone he had turned on his own inner comms to play the music a little louder for himself. He internally adjusted the volume of the speakers in the Medibay, turning it up a bit more. “Yeah, I bought it off a Decepticon I ran into the other day.”

“When did you have time to go out?” Jeopardy asked, unphased by the content.

Dropmix shrugged as he clicked through more receipts and materials, “It was a while ago, when I had travelled to the medical station?”

He found what he was looking for in the inventory, supplies for healing organics.

“I was running across a border and ran into an injured Decepticon,” Dropmix carefully left out the part where he didn’t actually heal him, rather killing him and downloading the data off of his corpse. But those were the nitty gritty details that no one needed to worry about. Jeopardy didn’t need to know that and he didn’t give Dropmix that look. Good.

“Fun, I like the song. Could you add it to my playlist?” Jeopardy asked, effectively making himself busy with the patients.

“Yeah,” a few moments later and the song had been successfully added to the ‘Jeopardy’s favorites’ playlist Dropmix had made for him. He pushed himself out of his chair, ignoring the dull ache in his knees—a few too many harsh landings—and glanced at the inventory report a final time for the location of the supplies he needed. “I’ll be back.”

Jeopardy nodded and didn’t press any further. He was a good kid. Sometimes Dropmix worried about how unbothered he was with everything. He appreciated the fact that he never seemed to press or pry but sometimes his lack of asking questions was more unsettling. Future things to work on with him, now wasn’t the time.

The large red and black mech walked into a storage closet and started rummaging through supplies, slowly collecting anything he may have needed in a box to the side. He really didn’t know how organic Cometeater was, Dropmix had no idea what he actually was in the first place. But he knew what it looked like to ignore pain, Comet would not be the first mech to try that on him, and he most definitely wouldn't be the last.

Dropmix walked further in the closet, racing for a pack on the top shelf, accidentally pulling down a small box of other prescription drugs with it. He suppressed a sigh as he looked down at the mess. He kicked the scattered supplies to the side, he’d get to that later, he needed to stay focused. The sooner he healed Cometeater and got Sideswipe up and running the sooner they would be out of his medical bay and he wouldn’t have to deal with… unwanted attention.

A few more minutes or sorting through supplies and he finally had everything he needed collected, a little bit of everything. Dropmix stared at the box, he'd rather not bother addressing the two gladiators at all. If they didn’t recognize him then this would be an unnecessary risk. But Cometeater had, the others may have been too preoccupied to pay it any mind but Comet had said his name. He recognized Dropmix.

He needed to make sure Comet understood that he wasn’t allowed to tell anyone about what Dropmix was. Hopefully if he offered to heal him then it would be easy to convince him. I scratch your back, you scratch mine. If that didn’t work—Comet could always argue that Dromix’s entire job was to heal after all—Dropmix would mention the fact that he knew what Comet was as well. If the red and black mech had learned anything from his time in the Pits watching the strange create, it would do anything to blend it.

Plan set Dropmix readied himself and walked out of the supply closet and to the small hallway with the private rooms. He looked through the patient names until he found the right room. He balanced the box on his hip and knocked on the door. He waited a few seconds then entered the room, closing the door with his foot behind him.

The main lights were off in the room, leaving the lights that constantly dimly glowed. Dropmix missed his other eye. He used his scanners to help locate where the other occupants were and hopefully where the lightswitch was. Cometeater was practically on top of Sideswipe, which explained why Dropmix was having such a difficult time figuring out what he was looking at. The medic set his box down on a chair.

“Dropmix,” a voice growled out dangerously. Cometeater had fluffed up his plating and had protectly placed himself between Sideswipe and Dropmix. His teeth were bared in an angry snarl as he dared Dropmix to get closer.

The music playing on the internal comm system crescendoed slightly.

The medic paid Comet’s body language and obvious challenge no mind, looking through the box with some difficulty due to the low lighting. “Cometeater.”

“What do you want? The medics are done with Sideswipe. Why are you here?” The creature hissed, not moving from his position on top of the twin. A low growl reverberated from his chest.

The song was in G minor.

Dropmix looked over at the other, “Are you trying to pick a fight?” he asked with a carefully crafted neutral expression. If it had been someone else he may have added a smile. With how defensive Comet was currently a smile would come off more menacing than he wanted.

“Get out,” Cometeater was basically seething. His claws flexed against the berth, slow and deliberate. A warning.

He probably felt cornered and the need to protect Sideswipe from Dropmix was strong. The medic didn’t blame him for it, the creature had seen him when he was a gladiator. They knew what he was capable of. He understood completely, it was the same reason he had gotten Comet away from Jeopardy.

The string instruments stole the melody from the brass.

Cometeater wasn't going to back down and stop trying to provoke Dropmix, that much was clear. Dropmix would just put him in his place, let him know who was in control. He needed to remind Cometeater that they weren’t in the Pits anymore, “This is my Medical bay, I can be whatever I want.”

It was a simple, “You're on my turf, back off.”

“What do you want?” The other demanded.

Dropmix looked over at Cometeater and motioned to the lights above, “Can I turn on the lights? I can’t see slag in here.”

You have some control, I’m not asking you to submit.

“No. What do you want, Dropmix?” Comet growled. He hadn’t moved from his position over Sideswipe, he was still challenging Dropmix.

There was a heavy bass line in the song, deep and prominent.

“I want a lot of things, not all of which I can have,” Dropmix tried humor, Comet bristled. Humor wasn’t the solution then, he needed to recover, “I just want to talk with you. I know you require a… Different kind of medical treatment than normal mechs. I’ve got some–”

Dropmix never got to finish, Comet had launched himself off of the bed and had set a target for the medic’s neck. Touchy subject. Dropmix felt his systems jump at the promise of a battle, programs rearing and starting up within moments.

The rest between songs was poorly planned.

The black and red mech moved to the side, twisting out of the way at the last minute. His supplies were sent askew on the floor as Comet collided with the box. The slagger was going to make a mess of his medical bay like he owned it.

Dropmix felt a growl escape his throat and his hand shot out before he could think much about it. Cometeater had twisted around and bit down hard on the gladiator’s wrist. Dropmix had prepared for that, pinned the smaller creature with his other hand. He pressed down harshly onto their chest, feeling them squirm under his grasp. Dropmix shifted under the heavy weight of his armor, it almost felt suffocating. He ripped his wrist from the creature's mouth with little care for the teeth still lodged in his wrist.

Energon dripped onto the floor.

Dropmix’s grip shifted to the creature's neck, forcing them against the wall. They scratched and kicked at him, his armor was thick enough that the erratic and uncoordinated movements didn’t do anything. He lifted up his free hand, suddenly aware of his lack of claws—he was supposed to have those for these kinds of things. An annoyed growl escaped his throat as he shifted his hand to a fist.

He swung.

The hand had been inches away from meeting Cometeater’s abused chest when the music finally resumed and Dropmix froze.

—

Ooooo a cliffhanger.

#transformers #transformer oc #one of isn’t mine!!!#oc writing #writing #part one #it’s too late #i hope this makes sense #I’m too tired to explain anything in the tags #but hey #I got like 1900 words written in two hours #look at me go #I’m built different #now I must sleep #see you in the morning

7 notes · View notes

choco-froggie · 1 year ago

Text

In his late twenties - Sebastian Sallow

Headcanons below

I want to start a series of my headcanons about what kind of person the HL characters would have become in their late twenties. Also I know next to nothing about the 19th century and don’t have the dedication to learn about it so in these, they’re just set up in our time. 😅 Bear with me

Work Life

I love the headcanon that Sebastian becomes a Curse Breaker. It fits his personal story AND personality well.

But he wouldn’t be happy working for a big corporation or the government. He is too much of a free spirit who needs to be allowed autonomy. So he would work in a small structure, a bit like a private investigator agency.

He loves his job and pours himself in it, resulting in a lot of overtime work. His boss has to throw him out of the office some days.

His home

He doesn’t need a big place so a small flat with two rooms is more than enough for him.

But he is prone to clutter and his place is full of books and things he thinks might be useful someday.

His flat is located in a big city, probably London. He needs to live in a place buzzing with life because he is easily bored. He needs a place where he will never have seen everything, with lots of things to do like exhibits, museums, libraries, pubs and restaurants,…

He doesn’t care for decoration but chooses his pieces of furniture with care. Decoration is usually taken care of by his partner.

He doesn’t own a pet, he is not at home enough to care for one and doesn’t feel the emotional need to have one.

He has a picture of his family in every room, even if it’s a small picture, but he wants them close everywhere in his place.

Social Life

He kept in contact with a lot of his former friends back in Hogwarts. He doesn’t meet them every day but is happy to have a drink with them when the opportunity rises.

He is outgoing and comfortable in social settings. He is able to come to a party where he knows no one and blend in with ease.

Despite being quite extroverted, he doesn’t form a strong bond with just anyone. Even though he is friendly with everyone, it’s mostly superficial and his true friends can be counted on one hand.

He doesn’t enjoy being alone so is often meeting friends after work, several times a week, and shares activities with them on the weekend like playing quidditch, go on small trips, game nights, watching quidditch games,…

Love Life

He has dated but has never had a « wild phase ».

He needs an independent partner. He is very busy with his work and all the things he has in mind, so he really appreciates someone who is likeminded. He can’t deal well with needy people. Being in the same room or space is already great to him for most evenings.

Actually self sufficient and people who are their own person attracts him.

He also needs someone with patience. When stressed or tired he can become a bit grumpy or moody, so he needs a partner who won’t escaladate. But he knows he is wrong and will come back and apologize once he is calmed down.

As said, he is a bit busy, but his partner is the person he wants to spend all his relaxing time with. Whether it is by cuddling after a long day in bed, or by exploring the city together, trying new activities, strolling in museums, or trying new food.

He is independant and self sufficient, as a partner he doesn’t slack off around the house and shares the mental load. He is reliable, he is used to live alone and gets things done without being babied.

Quirks

He hates doing laundry and doesn’t tidy his place as much as he should be but it’s always clean.

He can’t handle silence, even when he sleeps. He is always listening to something, most of the time it’s documentaries or podcasts about things he wants to learn about.

What would yours be about adult Seb ?

#cosy sebby #sebastian sallow #i am old so I make them old #i will admit I first started to draw a cosy room I would love to own and then decided to add Sebastian #and now I plan on making a series with the HL characters #hogwarts #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy headcanons #Sebastian sallow headcanons #aged up Sebastian sallow #hl headcanons #hl fanart #sebastian hogwarts legacy

27 notes · View notes

mandala-lore · 2 months ago

Text

Got myself into a truly stupid situation wherein:

1. I create a kink blog on a fetish website, to keep my filth and deeply personal thoughts more private than tumblr.

2. Meet and form relationships with people on that fetish site, so sometimes I want to write about them and don't want them to see it.

3. I left my physical journal in the car last night and need to get these thoughts out now. No time to run and get it because I have to get ready for work.

4. Here I am posting highly personal shit on my very public and easily found tumblr yet again.

🤷🏼‍♀

I had a dream last night that for some reason I had to escort a group of people on a long trip. My ex-husband agreed to let us stay the night. The details are fuzzy but it felt very much like a mutual favor: we had a place to stay, and he got something out of it - maybe we paid him?

They (my ex and his new partner) had Christmas decorations up, even though it wasn't the season. The tree was dropping needles everywhere. The dogs were scattered in different rooms, sleeping mostly.

We had arrived late, so my ex left us a key and instructions. We settled in. I woke up early (or maybe really late at night) and started wandering around. I had expected to feel like an intruder but instead I felt weirdly comfortable, like I had every right to be there. I bumped into my ex and we had a warm but very platonic greeting. I think we hugged.

We chatted about everything: logistics of people staying, his house projects, how his girlfriend felt about it, what I had been up to, etc. Without meaning to, we tripped ourselves into a laugh-filled problem-solving conversation. I started rearranging and cleaning some stuff they hadn't gotten to, and he thanked me. Then his girlfriend came in.

She was quiet, reserved. Looked kind of sad and shy that I was there. I made sure to be extra friendly and compliment her and the space and I made sure to defer to her with all decisions. That seemed to help. She opened up a bit.

I woke up sad. Lonely. Cold. Missing warm, familiar arms around me. My apartment is getting messy this week because I am, once again, working too hard and stretched too thin. I was so proud of myself the last couple weeks for staying on top of things, but this week I've let myself fall apart a little - and now I'm frustrated that my home isn't clean and chores aren't done. I've barely kept up with dishes.

I'm trying but I miss having a partner. I miss partnership. I miss that solidarity and friendly face every night. I feel like an intruder in every close relationship I have right now.

My best friends are a couple. The man I love and talk to every day like we're besties is married. The man I'm fucking is "poly" but the cishet white dude version where he just fucks whoever he wants and avoids commitment.

He like.... teased me with the idea of commitment, then recently yoinked it back. Which... is fine. I had told him I wasn't ready and wanted to see what the next couple months would bring... But the hot-and-cold energy, coupled with his selfishness in bed, makes me feel, once again, used. Used and discarded.

I liked the idea of slowly, carefully experimenting together with sex and monogamy and commitment on our own time and in measured ways. I liked the idea that we were both in similar places and wanted to be mindful and intentional and yadda yadda.

He just wants his dick sucked.

I'm really done with men telling me one thing, then proving themselves wrong. Just say you want your dick sucked! That's literally what I signed up for!

You don't have to dangle anything in front of me. You don't have to lie and break promises. Just say, "I'm using you."

But that's not enough for them because they want the illusion of devotion and love, until after they climax.

There's a real wound here that I can't heal alone. I don't think. Like, it's a wound about trust and commitment and equal partnership. I don't think I can heal from those hurts with enough nature walks and THC and orgasms. I need love.

#personal #anyway...... here's wonderwall

2 notes · View notes

purplebass · 2 years ago

Text

More Analysis on Kell and Lila's development in Threads

Threads of Power SPOILERS in this post.

I might be boring but... more analysis of Kell and Lila's relationship development in ToP because I like talking about this topic. lol. This post is loooong and I don't know if I have said all I wanted to say about the topic because it still seems I forget to address something every time. You can tell Kell and Lila messed up with my brain a lot 😳🤭 but I love them for giving me topics to analyze and discuss.

Kell and Lila are the embodiment of how two people with the same magical threads (Antari) lived different lives and had a different upbringing, thus the way they use their power and how they face life in both the practical and emotional aspect is different.

Lila as the ship: Kell's fear of the unpredictable, unsteady, uncontrollable

For example, we see how Lila is at ease at sea while Kell feels like precious cargo on the Barron, but then he adapts and feels more adjusted as the years go by. And this is also thanks to Lila, who tries to help him in the ways she can: by teaching him to fight or simply by giving him space when he's in a mood, because that's what she thinks he needs. That's her love language. She also makes sure to come back to him all the times so he'll know she's safe, because Kell knows he can't control her but it's in his nature to be overprotective and she wants to make sure he knows she is there. Lila is unpredictable, just like a ship in the open sea that is potentially open to wreckage or attacks. It never stays put like a palace, and this makes Kell a little uneasy, but he holds on because Lila is there with him. Lila tries to make the ship a safe space for Kell.

Kell as the palace: Lila's fear of routine, stillness, control

Similarly, Lila doesn't really like staying at the palace, in fact she stays mostly out of it. The palace represents for her a still life that goes on every day in the same manner, with no excitement, no thrill, no adventure. Boring. Royals are also expected to behave in a certain way and Lila doesn't like being told what to do nor how to behave. The first night back in Red London, she goes back to the room at the tavern to sleep, but Kell isn't there. She tries to sleep alone but the bed is just too empty without Kell, so she goes back to the palace because he is there. Lila stays at the palace for Kell and we see how fast she falls asleep next to him. Kell is her safe harbor, to use a sea metaphor (lol). Being a safe harbor means "being safe for a ship" and we can say that Kell is the only reason she is willing to stay at the palace (Alucard might be her friend but he wouldn't be reason enough for her to stay there, I think). Kell is the only reason "worth staying put", to use something Alucard tells her.

My lady, my prince

At the palace, she also hates being called mas arna/my lady because she feels like that term diminishes her status as Antari and captain, the statuses she mostly identifies with. See how her crew on the ship calls her captain because they respect her status. Alucard also often calls her by surname and treats her like an equal captain like him. Kell also dislikes being called mas vares/my prince but we see how, after his power is broken, it seems like he clings to the status of prince more because that's what is left of his identity at that moment (even though it hurts all the same and he feels like the red coat doesn't fit him). He also took on the role of Kay the privateer on the ship, a role that he seems to like sometimes, mostly in intimate situations, because it probably helps his carefree/passionate side to come out, just like Lila enjoys wearing the black mask to pretend to be someone else (it's not surprising Kay also wears a mask - Kay is like the privateer version of Kamerov, Kell's royal magician alter ego).

Independent, but connected

Kell and Lila are independent, and they are comfortable being close and alone, and at the end of the day they always come back to and for each other. At the end of the day, it's each other's face they want to see before they fall asleep. Lila doesn't like being called "the prince's promised lady" and is annoyed at the queen for even touching the subject of children and family, topics that are triggering for her and that I'm not sure she even touched with Kell himself. Their attachment style wavers from disorganized to secure (more the former than the latter, but they're headed the secure way). Lila doesn't want to lose her identity in the relationship, doesn't want to be just an accessory or a vessel to have Kell's babies to test a theory. She already considers Kell family, that's progress. For all we know, she may even consider expanding their family, but I have no clue if this will ever be discussed or not.

Lean on me

Lila finds it hard to rely on Kell not because he doesn't deliver or she doesn't trust him; on the other hand, Kell is such a caring partner, over caring even. And gentle. Unlike Kell, who lived as a prince and had everything he wanted except for freedom, which is the only thing Lila had, Lila's needs weren't met as a child thus she only accepts to lean on Kell when her bluff and "I can handle myself" façade don't match what she does. Like for example after he saves her from the Emery estate and she's too hurt to even speak or walk. Lila herself always tries to check on Kell and be there behind him whenever he is hurt. The moment Kell lends her his power with the golden ring and he is broken and unwell, Lila's first reaction is to cry (this scene is a parallel with Lila being hurt in Rosenal in ACOL). When Lila asks Tes to fix Kell, even she can tell that Lila's aggressive act is fake from the way she caresses Ren Maresh's hair gentler than usual or she doesn't bat an eyelash when Tes tells her she needs a thread of her magic to fix Kell. This is a woman who would die to keep the man she loves alive. Even the thing she whispers into Kell's ear: "There is nowhere you go that I cannot follow," speaks volumes. She's basically telling Kell that she's going to follow him anywhere he went to take him back. Or maybe she's hinting at the fact that now part of her magic will be in him - she also lent him her magic, her magic will "follow" him wherever he goes.

The threads that bind: ship ring/gold ring The ship ring and the gold power-stealing ring are an interesting way to see the way Kell and Lila developed personally and romantically throughout the book. Kell never saw the ship ring as a bonding ring the way Lila saw it. To him, the ring was a token to stay connected and to help each other in times of danger. To her, the ring meant commitment, engagement. In the end, Lila truly needs help and Kell comes to her rescue. The reaction Lila has is the same she has in ADSOM when Holland uses her as bait to lure Kell to him: she's surprised and relieved he came for her. She probably thought he would think the ring had a glitch, but Kell used his magic even it hurt him to go to her. Even so, the outcome is positive because the rings were made for a good reason. Later on, when they need to close the door to nowhere, Kell suggests they use the gold ring that steals a person's power so he can lend his to her. Again, Lila doesn't want to risk it, in fact it's Kell who literally shoves the ring on her finger and the other band on his wrist, and his power breaks down even more. This is also a bond, and it doesn't surprise me that the bands are gold like the ones that are used during the vows in a Red London royal wedding. Except in this case, even though Lila knows how to handle Kell's power, the outcome is negative.

It doesn't surprise me Kell's power is fixed thanks to one of Lila's magical threads and that in the end, Lila is wearing the ship ring proudly as if that was truly an engagement ring. This is a new step into their relationship and personal experience and it's character development, and I can't wait what's in store now that Kell is back to being his magical self.

#threads of power #kell maresh #lila bard #kellila #kell x lila #adsom #shades of magic #a darker shade of magic #a gathering of shadows #a conjuring of light #the fragile threads of power #my posts 3

43 notes · View notes

vizzy740 · 2 years ago

Text

He was beautiful like that.

Todoroki wasn’t always fine, when they first met, Katsuki had hated him.

Katsuki’d hated his power, even at half his potential, Todoroki was able to easily wipe out the competition, easily surpass Katsuki without giving one fuck about it. Emotionless in the face of his superiority.

Then they failed the provisional license exam, and things changed.

Katsuki dumped his feelings, he opened up, and Todoroki… Todoroki started acting all buddy-buddy. He called Katsuki his friend, not caring what Katsuki had to say on the matter.

It was annoying, but eventually it grew less grating, like Shitty Hair and the idiots.

But unlike them, they didn’t end up in this position.

“Thanks for dinner.” Todoroki, or Shouto, as he should really call him, says as he sits next to him on the couch. He leans against his side, even though it isn’t an armchair, and there’s enough space for him to sit comfortably with a good foot between them.

Katsuki hums in response, “You’re staying over, right?”

Shoto shrugs, “I guess so, I haven’t stayed overnight in a while. Yaoyorozu asked how things were going. I think she thought our fake relationship was going downhill. Though this couch is uncomfortable.”

He turns to look in Katsuki’s eyes. Katsuki returns the gesture, and it goes quiet for a second.

Soon after he’d finally debuted as a pro-hero, after he’d finally hired PR people, an annoying prerequisite to being a high-level public hero, he’d been told his image was too sharp, aggressive and angry, he didn’t appeal to most, he lacked most likeable aspects of his ‘archetype’, he was the bad boy that didn’t go to bars, the playboy that never brought anyone home. It didn’t fit.

‘All your rough exterior and rude personality seems to hide, is that you really really care about your work. You’re like a remake of Endeavor, but more… villain I suppose.” Was something that was said to him once, and restated in different words many other times.

To repair this ‘issue’ they decided to go for the most hair-brained scheme imaginable.

“Is there anyone you’d be comfortable getting into a fake relationship with?” His PR lady had asked him once. “You could just handle it like a normal relationship, not say anything to the public, just bring someone along to certain events, you don’t even have to say you’re dating them, just be… a bit nicer to them than you would be to other people, hang out with them in private, between only you two. At least that, which isn’t a lot.”

Katsuki agreed to it because it meant his advertisement deals would be better, because it turned out most money that heroes make isn’t their actual salaries, but cuts for appearing in commercials.

Fucking stupid.

Around the same time, Shoto complained about getting too many romantic fan letters, a problem for every young, heartthrob hero and basically no one else. Katsuki answered by complaining about his own PR team and their insistence that he get in a relationship, and Shoto replied that he’d do it.

And now they’re here, a few months later, in Katsuki’s apartment together.

“Could I sleep with you?” Shoto asks.

“Do you know what the fuck you just said?” Katsuki replies back, because even now, two years after UA, Shoto still doesn’t understand some elements of informal language, mostly in more… faux pas contexts but still.

It takes Shoto a second to realize, “Oh, no, I wasn’t saying we should have sex. I was asking if we could share your bed, you said it was a double, right?”

“Yeah.” Katsuki replies. “Sure, you can sleep on it with me.”

“Good.”

They both stand up and walk to Katsuki’s bedroom. Neither of them say anything, and it’s comfortable. Ever since their second year in UA it’s always been comfortable, when it’s just the two of them.

Todoroki comes with him to hero galas and every other press event, to keep up the charade, but it isn’t grating, he stands by his side, he’s someone Katsuki wants to be around, and stays with him as he’s tossed between reporters that go between political to vapid in a second.

“Do you have anything I can wear?” Shoto asks.

“Yeah,” Katsuki replied easily, then told him where he stowed his clothes.

He walks out, probably out to take a shower before sleeping.

Katsuki looks back to the bed. He’s got enough pillows to make a wall between them, but it’s too much effort. He doesn’t care if they get tangled up together in the night. Todoroki won’t say anything about it.

Shoto returned, his wet hair had fallen limply over his face, his left side taking on a darker shade of red, more crimson than usual, contrasting even more with his white hair.

He chose to wear one of Katsuki skull t-shirts and black sweatpants. The clothes didn’t fit as well on him, the former a bit too wide and the latter a bit too short.

They laid down, and fell asleep.

Katsuki opened his eyes to Shoto with his arms around him. He was still asleep, like he usually woke up later in the mornings than Katsuki.

Katsuki tried to move away, but Todoroki tightened his hold. Katsuki sighed. He had the day off today, he could stay in bed and wait for Todoroki to wake up, but if it took too long, he would definitely get him up.

As he laid in his arms, Katsuki felt Todoroki’s breath rise and fall. He looked mostly the same as when he was awake, his face still mostly emotionless. His hair was a bit more tousled, the red and the white mixing together. His limbs were a bit more limp, but not by much.

As he waited for Shoto to finally get up, Katsuki carefully moved a few strands of his hair around, back with their respective color, then he ruffled it up again, it looked better messy.

He was beautiful like that.

-Catcity

49 notes · View notes

themarginalthinker · 2 years ago

Text

Blue Week

(a short drabble about the pack dealing with Paul's depressive episodes. mostly fluffy, but not overly so)

It's been a quiet few weeks. Christmas had passed with as much fanfare as the pack cared to give it any particular year - and this one had been pretty crazy. A feast hunt, spending time with the Sarahs (Little Sera was two now, wanting to be part of conversations and running now that she'd found her feet.) There had been loud music, louder…ahem…celebrating, and of course, lots, and lots, of drinking.

The height of the holiday season had passed into the new year, of course, as all things do - endings are beginnings, and beginnings necessitate endings. Now it was a week into January. The snow was thick on the ground, and still piling up. David said they'd be getting more. Just how it was in the mountains.

The pack didn't mind. It just meant nights of watching movies, reading, doodling around with their various personal hobbies. Mending clothing or turning it into something new. Sometimes they went out for a night of running around the woods terrorizing the local fauna for shits and giggles, or meandering into town to terrorize the local citizens. (Within human reason, mind.)

Over all, the fun had dropped, and it was the slowest, sleepiest part of the year.

Maybe, Michael thinks, that's why they hadn't realized something was up with Paul until he'd stopped getting out of bed.

Michael had been told before, in a low, private conversation with David, that Paul went through these...cycles. Ups and downs. Having known Paul for so long, David could usually anticipate them, and have the pack be ready to help. And it wasn't an instantaneous thing either, like flipping a light switch like in some people. Paul could go a long time being pretty high, months, even a year or more, but...the low always came. Thinking back, Michael could line up things pretty well. Just after Christmas, in going back to Haven, Paul had been kind of quiet. Humming softly to himself, fading out of conversations, withdrawing to himself rather than being more social. To be fair, they all were to an extent. Being social was fun, but when it's not pack, it drained the internal battery. And it was nice to just hang out and bask in the vicinity rather than force an interaction.

Then Paul had started sleeping later. Luxuriating in the nest, taking baths rather than his usual showers so he could enjoy the warm water for longer. (Michael could definitely understand that.) Paul would retire to bed earlier than any of them, and without anyone else joining him until later, when he'd somehow already be asleep. The hours he was awake, he'd be listless, drifting from place to place in the den, hobby to hobby, person to person, not really settling or participating in any one thing.

Paul smoked a lot, but he went through a pack in about an hour, and then practically bit Dwayne's head off when the older vampire tried jokingly prodding him about having to leave the house now, to get more.

That had tipped David and Dwayne off, definitely, a thread of concern worming its way into their bond, but they hadn't said anything...yet. Sometimes, Paul got into moods. It happened.

When Paul hadn't gotten up at all though - not to bathe, not to join the pack, not even to just go on a walk for some fresh air - that's when the concern turned into real worry.

It wasn't just a mood anymore. It was a real downswing.

And from what David had told Michael, they could last for...a while. For as much time as Paul spent up.

Maybe it would only be a couple weeks, and Paul would come back up, back to the mania they all knew. But, maybe he wouldn't. Maybe it would be months. It was almost easier to deal with, when Paul was full of that frantic, boundless, destructive energy. He was acting, so they could act with him. This was a total lack of anything, though. He lay curled in the nest, sleeping in fits, staring off into space when he wasn't. His bond in their mental connection just as limp as his body.

Still. Paul was pack. And pack needed help.

Gentle, but firm words coaxed him up, when he was more willing. He would sit on the floor of the shower (no baths) while they washed his hair, and brushed tangles out of the long, blond strands. Sometimes, in the bond, his mood would lift. Just a little. It was nice to be clean.

He'd let them lead him to the kitchen, and press something small and furry they'd caught in a live trap into his hands, and make sure he drank. (He didn't always. Sometime he refused, angry, sad, wanting something else but feeling crushing guilt over his inability to just go get it.) It wasn't human blood, but it would fill a belly in a pinch.

Sometimes, Paul would talk. About nothing - a movie, a song. Sometimes he'd want to lay on the couch with Marko or Michael, watching with tired eyes the goings-on of the pack around him. His bond might be sullen, restless. A want to do more, talk more, but feeling weighed down by his own body and mind. Hollow, but somehow so leaden. The frustration some nights was palpable, and Paul would wordlessly snap teeth at anyone who got too close. After, there would always be tears, but always an assurance that they loved him. they wouldn't leave him.

Pack was pack. And Paul, no matter his ups and downs, would never be anything else.

#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #paul tlb #pack #fluff #drabble #writing #manic depressive

16 notes · View notes

princeblack · 2 years ago

Text

he considers her question, wondering if he should be honest. “the second one, but it’s not exactly a secret,” he admits, gaze looking over her again. he’ll never get tired of how gorgeous she is.

“i think i’d like having you as a teacher.” he can already picture it, listening to her sweet voice as she instructs him. “you can put me to work.” he would do whatever she asked and he’s sure it would be interesting too.

she clarifies what she meant and he tries to stop thinking about kissing her soft pink lips. “i wish we were there… i hate everyone at this party but you and two other people.” he liked blaise and astoria, but he’s honestly not even sure why they’re here, since most of their friends weren’t. theo is a nightmare, on top of that. regulus can’t help the anger he feels for him, hating the other male for making bee afraid.

she says it would be tempting to do whatever they want right here and he flushes, trying not to let his mind go places. “you can have anything you want from me.. any place or time.” he would do anything to taste her, just the thought alone making him a little dizzy, when she’s this close.

she seems unsure about his offer, bringing up her pets and plants. he’s surprised that she doesn’t already know that would be one of his favorite parts. “that’s not imposing, that’s just a bonus. i really want to meet them… and learn all of your plants’ names.” he’s sure bee probably names them. he wants it more than anything, to have her in his space and spend more time together. he wonders if she’ll be okay with taking his bed. he would sleep on the couch for her, if she wanted.

he can’t help but smile a little when she comments about him seeing her without make up, as if he’s not about to kind of do that right now. “you’re beautiful,” he says firmly, green eyes meeting hers. “i want to see how cute you look when you’re ready for bed, and in the mornings.” he can only imagine how precious she looks in her pajamas and with messy hair. “i’ll talk to my brother tonight and let him know you’re coming. whenever you’re ready, you can bring your things over. i can help, too, if you need it.”

she’s sitting on the bathroom counter for him now, so he walks over to the cabinet, pulling out a washcloth. “that’s by design, actually. if you weren’t obsessed with me i’d be throwing a tantrum right now.” he smirks, moving back to the sink. “kidding. i’m not fragile like theo. i’d probably pout though, in private.” he turns the faucet on, wetting the washcloth and putting some face wash on it. luckily theo has the scentless kind that dermatologists always recommend.

he positions himself in front of her, leaning in to start washing her face. one hand takes her chin while the other moves the washcloth over her little face, scrubbing gently and making sure to wash the tear stains away. “you’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, gently caressing her cheek with the cloth. “you’re probably tired of hearing it, but i was kind of in awe when i first saw you.”

she touches his arm where his jacket is pushed up, tracing part of the dandelion stem tattooed on his arm. he’s surprised when she says peonies are her favorite, but also not because it makes sense that the girl who reminds him of a lovely flower would love the prettiest of flowers. “that makes sense,” he says gently. “they remind me of you.” he allows his thumb to brush against her cheek, his green eyes warm. “i’ve always loved them.”

he pauses, looking away as he wrings out the washcloth, leaving it on the counter and moving to retrieve a dry one from the cabinet. “i started getting tattoos because i wanted my body and my life to feel like my own, i guess. my family brought me up in this fundamentalist christian cult and they didn’t believe in stuff like this. my job pays pretty well some nights and my brother has been helping me, so i decided to start getting tattoos of my favorite things. mostly just nature related.” he gently pats her face dry with the cloth, smiling faintly at how cute she looks as he gets her cheeks.

shes never eaten meat, at least not since she was six and first found out about how it gets made. it broke her heart and she remembers being traumatized as a kid wanting to save all the cows from having to feel pain. who could hurt something with such big eyes and kissable noses. theo made fun of her for it, saying it's already a pain in the ass having to do the extra shit especially if they went out to eat somewhere but that's not going to change how she feels, plus her food eas delicious too.

she's a bit surprised by how naturally he takes it, not that it's unnatural to be a vegetarian but in the way he acts as though he's already known. she doesn't remember if she's told him before but it makes her smile either way, because he knew her and he thought it was adorable? even the details behind it. "am I that obvious or are you secretly in love with me?" she teases softly before shaking her head. "you're sweet." she hums.

he explains how he's never cooked vegetarian...or really at all and in an odd way she finds it endearing. something she can teach him makes her a bit excited because she feels as though she's always learning from him, he's so smart and cool....sexy but he can't cook. "it's kind of impossible to go wrong with vegetarian meals but don't worry, I'm ready to teach you everything I know." she smiles softly

she giggles but it's kind of nervous as well as he tells her they're alone now and can do whatever they want. it's inviting, biting down on her lower lip as eyes flicker to his own for all too long. "I meant...more so when there isn't other people close. just you and me and a blanket fort." she hums. "but it does sound tempting, doing whatever we wanted right here." she flirts, smiling shyly as she bites down on her lip. "maybe before the night ends I can show you what I mean..." she wants to kiss him so bad that it almost hurts, even with the fact that maybe she also wants to do a little more than that. but she doesn't think the kitchen is the right place, people can walk in and out and she doesn't want to be interrupted when she's finally got her one chance with the sweet boy of her dreams.

it's then regulus offers her a place to stay if she's really scared of theo. it makes her sick thinking what could happen if theo finds out she's planning to leave him but she also doesn't want to intrude too much, with alfie and merlin and her plants. "are you sure? I have pets and plants and....I don't wanna like, impose." she would like to live with him though, at least for awhile until shes sure she's safe. theo had never straight up threatened her or anything but many things were implied and he had anger issues. plus, being with regulus means getting to know him more and seeing what he looks like in the mornings when no one else sees. "I don't think I feel safe alone though...and if you really want me to stay and don't mind seeing me without make up for the first time then yeah, I'd like that."

now they're on the bathroom together, the only clean place in the apartment because bee refuses to pee somewhere that she'd be scared of catching weird diseases which she's glad because looking at regulus next to her in a clean mirror makes her smile, he's so handsome and you csn tell how he towers over her when looking at it from a third person perspective. he's so tall and sexy in his party outfit, her heart leaps inside her chest.

it's gets worse when he's gently grabbing her wrist and stopping her and offering to fix it himself. she finds it sweet and almost sexy that he claims to know how, not a trait most guys would have. "you're making it really hard not to be obsessed with you. she jokes softly but then she nods, pushing her bag towards him before using her arms to lift herself on the counter, blue eyes looking back at him as she gently swings her feet back and forth. she notices his tattoos peaking out, she'd seen them before, over the time they'd known each other she had counted every tattoo he had on his skin. he had peonies which were strangely one of her favorites as well, she smiles a bit. "peonies are actually my favorite flower." she smiles, she has everything peony scented at home right down to the actual flowers she keeps watered in the apartment garden. "what made you decide you wanted your tattoos?" she says softly, letting her fingers trace against his arm a bit. she only had a few smaller ones herself like the one on her wrist of alfie with pixie wings and his name at the bottom, and then some other random tiny ones, they were nothing compared to his art.

#Ⅰ. ⸻ / 𝑹.𝑨.𝑩. ( prose ) .#Ⅰ. ⸻ / 𝑹.𝑨.𝑩. ( 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒕. bexley ) .

13 notes · View notes

the-scandalorian · 3 years ago

Text

Title: Stepwise Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader Rating: E, 18+ Word Count: 5.1k Warnings: explicit smut (fingering, blowjob, unprotected p-in-v, cum eating, cum play, mention of ass play), touch-starved Din, possessive Din, somewhat inexperienced Din, soft feelings, references to canon-typical violence Summary: Requests for both soft and smutty touch-starved head canons spiraled out of control and became this.

Din Djarin knows some touch.

He’s versed in violent touch, in touch made heavy by duty. He's comfortable with the tangled chaos of hand-to-hand combat, the brutal embrace of wrestling a quarry to the ground, the dead weight of a body slung over his shoulder, the strange intimacy of towing someone by their bound wrists from the moment of capture all the way to the carbonite chamber.

From those things, Din comes away bloodied and bruised. Exhausted. They're second nature—reflexive, at this point—but whether he likes it or not, each one takes something from him.

Soft touch—touch that restores and comforts and gives—has been scarce for so long that it’s mostly foreign to him. He knew it best as a child, before his commitment to untouchable beskar and an unbreakable code. He has memories of his mother sweeping his untidy hair off his forehead and of his father taking his small hands in his much larger ones to show Din how to plant a seedling without crushing the delicate green leaves. He remembers falling asleep snuggled under a thick red blanket, crickets chirping a muted chorus outside his window, the grounding weight of a hand rubbing up and down his back.

These distant memories start to feel much closer—and more tactile—when Grogu comes into his life. Staring down at a wailing, wriggling kid with no idea what to do, Din finds himself thinking back to his childhood, to his parents, out of necessity. And as those memories sharpen, little by little, affection slips into his interactions with the kid. Din shrugs off a pauldron to rock him to sleep or soothes his hiccuping cries with reassuring pats from an ungloved hand. These soft gestures make sense: they keep the kid calm, help him stay asleep longer…which means Din gets to sleep longer. They’re purely practical. So they become habit.

And, gradually, they become comfort. For Din. He feels better—quieter—when Grogu is settled in the crook of his elbow with three tiny fingers wrapped around his thumb.

You come into Din’s life at just the right time, at the exact moment of this subtle opening.

He takes you on as a hunting partner—he finds that he needs one after ten years of working alone. Apparently, raising a toddler is a full-time job. Your relationship as work associates lasts maybe two months, though. Care and attraction are almost impossible to keep private in a space as small as the Razor Crest. He’s taken by your smile and your strength, by the way you soften the sterile lines of his ship into something akin to home. You’re enamored with his duality: a tender heart cased in steel.

When Grogu leaves with the Jedi, it’s implicit that you’ll stay.

The rest should be simple.

But Din—the man you really want, not Mando or The Mandalorian—is armored in so many layers, both physical and emotional. You have to work towards intimacy in stages, in a stepwise function you feel your way through together.

One

In the beginning, Din flinches away from your friendly physical advances: twisting his shoulder out of your grasp, recoiling when you try to help him clean a smudge off his visor, retracting his hand when you reach for it. It’s not that he doesn’t want you to touch him—he wants that more than he thinks he’s supposed to—but he has to overcome decades of conditioning, of constant reinforcement that every touch is a threat. Defensive reflexes—survival and solitude—are woven into the branched network of his nervous system. It takes time to work them loose.

He’s trying though. As soon as he twitches his gloved hand away from yours, he lets out a tired sigh, rolls his shoulders, and reaches back over to rest his large palm over yours, intertwining your fingers and muttering a quiet sorry through the modulator.

One day at a time, his icy exterior thaws. He gets accustomed to having you in his orbit, and soon, he can’t remember what it’s like without you there. He’s so used to keeping everyone out of his radius, but he starts to feel off if you’re not in it. You weave yourself into the fabric of his life, and it feels so damn good for Din to be fully at ease around someone else—not always tensed and poised to react. It’s a novelty in his adult life: feeling more secure with company than alone, like he’d be off-kilter in your absence.

He stops flinching. He starts craving, gravitating.

Din’s body language shifts as he relaxes around you: his fists unclench, the tap of his restless fingers abates, his shoulders loosen, his spine loses that fighting-corps rigidity. He dozes without shutting himself in the privacy of his bunk. And—first subconsciously, then consciously—he starts to make a point of keeping you close at all times, within arm’s reach if either of you happen to reach out. Soon enough, that progresses to comfortable contact: sitting so near that his knee bumps yours, leaving a hand on your lower back as you walk side by side, enclosing your bare hand in his gloved one, sitting back-to-back while you eat, resting his helmet against your temple.

He blinks, and you’re the sun around which he revolves.

Din’s throat gets tight when you stand behind the pilot’s seat and wordlessly remove his pauldrons to massage the tension out of his shoulders. After a few blissful minutes of your thumbs working at his tight delts, his eyes can't focus on the flashing controls in front of him anymore, no matter how many times he tries to clear his vision. Everything goes hazy and warm, and he has just enough sense left to reach out and flick a few toggles to set the ship to autopilot. Then, he stops resisting. He lets his helmet thunk dully against the back of the seat and hums low and content when you work out a particularly stubborn knot—one he’s never quite able to reach himself. Sitting there, unwound and mellow under your attention, even the cold black void of space laid out before him feels golden.

After that, he stops wearing his armor around the Crest, and there’s one less layer between you.

Two

Din’s flight suit and his gloves are his second skin, a vital sensory organ. He’s worn some version of both since he was eleven years old. Shedding them—especially in front of another person—feels wrong. It’s not that he’s self conscious; it’s that he knows the world through them. So peeling them off feels like baring raw nerves.

He needs to go slow, and you understand.

He wants to go fast. You can tell by his heavy breathing, by his frustrated growls, by the things he tells you in that husky voice—rasped in a gruff murmur, his cold helmet tucked against your neck. He wants to strip bare and press his chest against yours—to undress you, lay you down, spread your knees, and sink inside your tight heat—but you both know that would be too much, too fast.

Like exposing someone with severe hypothermia to direct heat too quickly.

Dangerous.

So instead, you start with two fingertips, slipped between his glove and vambrace, while your foreheads meet in a Keldabe kiss. You stroke the sensitive skin there, and he shudders and caves, his shoulders rounding as he breathes through the initial sting of it—the shock—as if you’d slipped an ice cube up his sleeve.

When the feeling wanes into something sweet, he pulls his gloves off, letting them fall, forgotten, to the ground.

Gloves precede vambraces. His cape crumples to the floor by his feet. He shoves his sleeves up his forearms, exposing as much of himself as he can without actually undressing. Learning the feel of you without the barrier of leather and duraweave is more intense than he expected. He already knows the shape of you—the curves and valleys and ridges—but now he gets the textures and the temperatures: the softness of your skin, the tickle of your body hair, the warmth of your breath when you bring his knuckles up to your mouth to plant kisses on each one. He loves it all.

Whenever he can, he holds you with bare hands, like a lifeline. He burrows, his cold helmet buried between your shoulder and your ear. He breathes you in like spice. He adheres—sticks to you like beskar on a Mandalorian.

Din Djarin goes clingy.

He tries to make up for decades of asceticism in the span of weeks, days, minutes. The milliseconds between breaths. Maybe, he can paint over a lifetime of austerity and deprivation if he holds you close enough, often enough.

You help him out, pulling him into you every chance you get. There are sweet moments of whispered words and quiet comfort, and there are desperate moments of fumbling hands and shared body heat. Din gets painfully hard when you grab his suspenders and reel him in, your panted words leaving a smudge of fog on his visor, right over his mouth. He crowds you against the wall of the hull in return, dragging his bare hands up your clothed hips. He moans, long and low, when you reach up to ruck down his cowl and drag the flat of your tongue up the side of his neck. He's not proud of the sounds he makes, but he's too lost in the sensation to really care that he's panting audibly, his labored breath a staticky drag through the modulator.

Your mouth will be the end of him.

Three

It’s been weeks, and he’s ready. Skin on skin doesn’t burn anymore. No, now he lusts for it, aches for more.

Din sits down in the pilot’s seat and pulls you down into his lap. He starts to unwrap you—shucking your shirt off and running his warm, rough hands up the sides of your ribcage. He whines quietly—you think it’s a whine but it’s hard to tell through the subtle distortion of the modulator—when he palms the curves of your breasts, weighing them like he's memorizing exactly how they feel. What you know for sure is that he’s making sounds you’ve never heard him make outside of hunting: desperate little exhalations, as if he’s overexerted himself physically, as if he’s fighting for his life. He kneads your soft flesh, the black t of his visor glued to where his fingers sink generously into the give, where his calloused thumbs graze over your pert nipples.

He thinks he could cum like that, with you on his lap, your perfect tits in his hands.

He’s pretty close to being right.

Din completely loses it when you start grinding on his thigh, your breasts bouncing subtly as you ride your hips over his taut quad. He guides you back and forth with a bruising grip, encouraging your movements, urging you faster. He’s mesmerized, drunk… his hips jerk forward involuntarily when you reach down to palm his aching cock over his pants. You don’t do anything spectacular to it—too caught up in chasing your imminent orgasm—just keep your hand over him, tight and hot.

Somehow, though, between the rhythmic movement of your body and the unrelenting pressure of your grip and the desperation of your whines, it’s enough. Before he even realizes it’s happening, he’s pressing the heel of his hand over yours, flexing his hips, and cumming in his pants like a fucking teenager. He’s too drowned in your lust-blown eyes and the way you moan oh fuck that’s so hot to be embarrassed. You keep your grip on the damp spot over his oversensitive, spent cock—clinging possessively—throw your head back, and fall apart too. The image of your face, jaw dropped open and eyes squeezed shut, will be seared into his memory forever.

Some time later, when you’ve both recovered and remember to start taking his clothes off, you discover something sweet. You ease his suspenders off his muscular shoulders then grasp the hem of his duraweave thermal to guide the thick fabric up, your fingertips ghosting over his skin, and Din makes a choked sound and leaps away from you. He's ticklish—of course someone so unused to touch would be hypersensitive.

At first, he doesn't like the sensation. It's itchy and weird, and the urge to wriggle and fidget makes him feel stupid and out of control—like a child. Slowly, though, he comes around to it: he sees the cute way you laugh and squirm away from him when he accidentally (…and then purposefully) tickles you. He considers the open way you welcome his touch, how good it feels that you trust him enough not to quell your natural reactions. He decides getting tickled isn't so bad and maybe white-knuckled composure isn't always a virtue.

He tells you his real name then, shedding another layer for you, letting the tight thread of his control go a little more slack.

“Din,” he says, “call me Din.”

Four

“Din,” you ask, “will you stay with me?”

So far, his bunk has been his sanctum, the one place you don’t follow. You haven’t questioned that boundary yet, haven’t asked for exception. But after all this time, he still pulls away from you when it’s time to sleep, and you’re starting to get tired of that, of sleeping alone just feet away from him.

He tilts his helmet—the proxy for a soft smile you know well by now. Apparently, he’s been waiting for you to ask.

Instead of staying with you, though, he takes your hand and leads you to the only place in the Crest you’ve never been. He’s dressed in only his thermal layer and his helmet, you in pajamas. You slide into the tight space, and he follows, shutting the door with a click once he’s shuffled all the way inside. For a long moment, you breathe together.

Then, there’s the sound of subtle movement and hiss, clink. Your heart jumps into your throat. You weren’t expecting this.

With some difficulty, you find your way together, shifting closer without actually touching, waiting like two nervous teenagers for the other to initiate something. There’s been so much anticipation, so much build up for so long that it almost feels like your first kiss, too. It has all the significance of a first for both of you.

You start forward at the same time, sensing and mirroring each other’s movement, and it’s an awkward fumble to meet mouths. You readjust, scooting closer, but keep your own hands knotted safely in your lap—you’re waiting for his cue to touch his face.

He kisses you, and everything else in the galaxy evaporates. It’s a little clumsy. Eager and unpracticed. You like the sloppiness of it, though, how willing he is to submit to being out of his depth, something that doesn’t come easily to him. He searches blindly to find your hands and brings them up to his face. He asks you to know him. He lets you guide him.

The Mandalorian—the man of strength and competence and action—follows your lead.

You grip his stubbly jaw and slot your mouths deeper. His sharp nose nudges yours, your shallow breaths mingling together. The kiss intensifies, and his tongue tastes like desperation when it slides against yours. You rearrange, sinking onto your back and pulling him down on top of you, his long body settling over yours, his hips cradled between your thighs. You can feel the hard line of cock against your clothed core as you wrap your legs around him, and his hand slinks down your side, a slow drag over your stomach, to slip between your thighs, where your underwear is already damp.

“Show me,” he says, mouthing down your neck.

You guide his hand, showing him what you like—demonstrating just the right pressure and rhythm and touch. The trigger-calloused pad of his forefinger plays against your clit; the fingers of his left hand—the one that reloads the charges in his Amban rifle—grip the outside of your thigh, spreading you open wider, until your knee rests against the durasteel wall. Then, you gasp a plea, and two of those fingers sink inside you.

You’re close before you know it, so you reach down to fumble in the dark until you’ve worked his pants open and shoved his boxers down far enough to take his hard, leaking cock in your spit-slick hand. A series of frantic strokes, and you’re cumming at the same time—you clamping around his thrusting fingers, him spilling warm over your knuckles and dripping down onto your thigh.

Later, when you fall asleep together, he coils around you like a hungry snake, your limbs intertwined like climbing vines, his face tucked between your shoulder and your ear. Lying in the tight space, enveloped by him, his humid breath against your neck, you don’t need a blanket at all. You toss it somewhere down by your feet and soak up the heat he radiates like sunshine.

Weeks slip by in a haze of half torn-off clothes and desperate groping. Everywhere. In the shower. In the cockpit. In a grassy field. In his bunk. In the hull. In the middle of a forest. In a cantina bathroom.

You fog his head like a drug, and he gets a little reckless with his affection.

It’s only a matter of days before Din is able to make you cum with one hand and no feedback—aside from an arched back, dripping cunt, and needy sounds—from you. He gets addicted to sinking his fingers inside you. The warm, wet clench of your cunt. The eager heat of your mouth. Eventually, the tightness of your ass.

You learn him in return.

He knows it will be over fast when you sink to your knees in front of him and reach up for his belt, undoing the buckle and lowering the weapon-heavy leather to the ground carefully. He stands with uncertain hands fidgeting at his sides while you work open his pants to free his stiff cock. When you take him into the welcoming heat of your mouth, Din’s jaw immediately drops open in a pant, the chin of his helmet clinking against his chestplate as his head falls forward to watch you.

He only lasts a few minutes with your wide, eager eyes looking up at him through fanned lashes, your mouth and hand working him up and down. His fists are clenched tight, and it takes all his self control not to thrust greedily down your throat. He watches spit drip down your wrist as you work the length of him that doesn’t fit into your mouth with tight strokes, your other hand cupping and rolling his balls. Then, with a choked warning, his helmet rocks back, and he's spurting hot and generous down your throat. A pained sound—a sound like raw relief—claws its way out of his chest as he flexes his hips forward in sloppy, stunted thrusts, his vision whiting out as he cums harder than he ever has in his life.

When Din pulls back, zipping his spent cock back into his pants, and looks down, he sees that he spilled past your lips and is dripping down your chin. The sight of it makes him groan. You catch a pearly drop on your thumb and push it back into your mouth, your eyes locked on his visor, and he reaches down to hold open the hinge of your jaw so he can see the rest of his spend glinting so pretty on your tongue. You know he likes it, that he’s watching intently—so you tilt your head back and stick it out further for him to admire. When you close your mouth and swallow all of it, suddenly, he’s half hard again, straining against his fly.

Five

On an otherwise unremarkable day, Din decides to take himself apart for you—fully, completely, in the light.

Actually, he asks you to do it. There’s something about your hands taking the place of his that feels right. A sign of trust. A surrender of control. In a way that feels equal parts good and disorienting. But that’s the beauty of you, isn’t it? How easily you reorient him.

It’s the first time he’s put his sense of self and safety into someone else’s hands so completely and willingly.

Months ago, it might have seemed odd to do it here, in the middle of the hull. But now, the sterile silver walls of the Razor Crest are home. Slowly, at his direction, you dismantle him: beskar, weapons, leather, duraweave, cotton…until all that’s left is his helmet. He’s breathing hard, and when you splay your hand over his left pec, you can feel the hummingbird trapped in his chest.

“It’s okay.”

“I know,” he says, his big hand covering yours.

He undresses you much more quickly, a flurry of warm hands until your clothes lie in a discarded pile on the floor. He doesn’t mention or reach for his helmet yet, and you know that means he needs time. So you count his scars in the meantime, tracing them with reverent fingertips. You already know you’re going to study their unique shapes and arrangements until you learn them by heart.

Here, on his soft, thick middle, a golden brown constellation, an echo of spattered shrapnel. On his quad, a decades-old archipelago painted in dull mauve—from a bad fall down a scree slope, before the beskar, he says. There, along his spine, a faded slash as long as your forearm. On his shoulder blade, a pearly white crescent moon with rose-petal pink puckered edges—a recent gift from a bounty. Still healing.

He offers what details he can remember of each, patient while you circle him.

It helps, you think, for him to have something to do.

As you run your hands over him and he acclimates to feeling so bare, the frantic beating of his heart gradually returns to normal. It picks up again when he reaches for your hands and brings them up to his helmet.

“Are you sure?” you ask.

Din thinks about how often he’s had to wrestle someone off him to prevent them from forcibly removing his helmet. All the times an enemy has spit some version of the same venomous threat—let’s see your eyes, Mando—at him. When he’s had to snap a wrist or shatter a jaw to stop someone from revealing his face. How, over and over again, he has had to fight to keep a stranger from making this decision for him. And how this is the exact opposite, finally on his terms.

He nods.

You watch the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows thickly, and you think you know why he’s not speaking. He presses the release and leans down momentarily as you ease the beskar up and off his head, letting it hang heavily by your side as you take him in.

Sharp jaw with patchy salt-and-pepper stubble. Lips—a pink, kissable bow—sweeter looking than you were expecting. A sharp nose you know by feel. Brown eyes, warm and soft—right now, they’re shifting uncomfortably, like he doesn’t know where to settle his gaze, like you’re a too-bright light he can’t look at directly.

You reach out for his hand with your free one, and he meets your eyes steadily for the first time, letting out a long exhale. You’re so distracted that the slick metal of his helmet slips from between the fingers of your other hand, and it clangs loudly against the floor, reverberating in the echoing space.

“Shit—sorry!” you squeak, bending to snatch it back up and examine it closely for damage. “I think it’s okay.”

You look up at his face, and he’s smiling, an endearing dimple appearing on one cheek.

Adorable. Kissable.

“It’s beskar,” he says with a low chuckle. “If anything, it dented the floor.”

He takes his helmet from you and sets it on a crate behind him then grabs hold of both of your hands and pulls you with him toward the bunk. He climbs in first, and you clamber in after, crawling up the length of his body until you’re perched on your knees, straddling his thighs.

Other than an encouraging nod, he stays still, his breathing slow and steady, when you reach up to touch his face. The pads of your fingers scale the slopes of his cheekbones, trace the furrowed ridge of his brow, and descend the strong curve of his nose. You sweep your fingers through the tickle of his mustache and back up to smooth the concerned lines that deepen in his forehead.

Din only has one memory to parallel this sensation: he can’t help but think of his mother and her long, gentle fingers brushing his hair back, how she’d let her palm follow a crescent moon downward to cup his cheek. She’d smile at him for a moment—a moment that always felt so long when he was wriggling with energy—before she’d release him to go outside to play or do his chores.

You watch Din’s expression shift, and you can tell he’s slipped off to somewhere else entirely.

When you pull your hands back, he meets your eyes, blinks, and looks away again, the feeling of exposure suddenly unbearable. You notice the water collecting at the corners of his eyes, so you shuffle down into a prone position and rest your head on his chest. One of his palms cradles the back of your neck, the other finding a home on the small of your back, holding you in place. As if you’d move.

Another time, soon, he’ll tell you about his mother. And his father. Everything.

When you peek up at him a few minutes later to make sure he’s okay, he looks calm. One stray tear has escaped his eyelashes and is making a slow path down his temple. You lean up to catch it with a quick kiss before settling back down on his chest. He squeezes you tight.

You stay like that for a long time, until Din steps out of his memories and returns to you fully.

When he's ready, he pulls you up and kisses you in a desperate, consuming way that makes tears collect at the corners of your eyes. There’s barely any build up: seconds pass, your mouths locked together, and what starts sweet goes hungry.

His hand slips down your body to work concentrated circles over your clit, and your thighs automatically part for him. His hardening cock is aching and smearing precum against your thigh. When his hand moves lower and he eases two fingers inside your already wet pussy, you reach down and stop him.

“Need to feel you inside me,” you pant into his neck. “Please, Din.”

You can see from the naked relief on his face that he’s as desperate as you are. He doesn’t say anything, just grunts as he adjusts. He positions himself over you and works the fat head of his cock inside you slowly, your pussy slick and welcoming, like it was made for him. His forehead rests heavy and warm against yours—a familiar gesture that feels completely different without the cold bite of beskar between you. You whine at the stretch of him, tilting your hips to chase the pleasure laced with a thread of pain. When his hips meet yours, he bites back a curse.

Neither of you is going to last. From the start, Din’s thrusts are stuttering and uncontrolled, his eyes squeezed shut. He opens them to find one of your hands and move it down to where you’re joined.

“Touch-touch yourself for me, mesh’la. Make yourself cum while I’m inside you.”

He forces himself to keep his eyes open to watch you fall apart, his hips a constant slap against yours. It takes everything in him not to cum when you clench around him and moan his name. He holds tight to his last remaining vestige of control and stills inside to let you ride it out.

You open your eyes during the aftershocks, and when Din meets your eyes, a word sears through his chest, itches at the back of his throat, struggles against the cage of his bared teeth: mine. He wants to say it. He likes the claim of it, the implied permanence. Din has never had much to call his own, and that hasn’t ever bothered him. Until now. Until you.

Instead of running the risk of scaring you off with something so possessive, he drops himself over you again to resume thrusting, your foreheads bumping together, the bridge of his nose sliding against yours, and offers you something.

“I’m yours.”

You pull in a sharp breath. Both of your hands find the nape of his neck, and you guide his mouth to yours. He likes the hungry press of your tongue, returns it in full.

“And I’m yours,” you whisper back, your words hot against his lips.

It comes out as a growl when he does say it, torn from his throat as he cums, his head thrown back and lip pulled up in a snarl: “Mine.”

You gasp through his last desperate thrusts, strung out on the feeling of his warmth spreading inside you. He pulls out too quickly for your liking, shuffling backward on his knees, and you whimper. But the naked intensity on his face silences your protest, and he grips your thighs and pushes them apart roughly.

“Wanna see—” he rasps.

He dips his head to watch his spend drip out of your abused cunt, and his eyes darken and brim with lust, like storm clouds crowding a night sky. He collects it carefully and pushes it back inside you with two fingers.

Once turns into twice—you sink down onto him while he’s still leaking out of you, riding him until he’s filling you again. Then you collapse onto his chest, exhausted and sweaty and sated.

He shivers when you reach up to comb your fingers through his hair and lightly scratch his scalp—a pleasant tingle running down his spine. Eventually your tired hands still, you nestle your face further into the crook of his neck, and moments later, your breathing evens out. You fall asleep like that, your body warm and relaxed on top of his, his spent cock still inside you.

Din is so used to the weight of his beskar—of his Creed and his obligations—that without it, he sometimes feels like he might float away or fade into nothing. Dissolve into a froth of atoms, dissipate into the void. Leave only the negative space of his memories. All at once, nothing.

But, with you?

With you spread out on top of him, your reassuring weight an anchor, he thinks he might be okay.

#din djarin x you #mando x you #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x female reader #mando x female reader #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin fanfic #mando fanfiction #the mandalorian #scheduled

2K notes · View notes