#”my child becomes physically violent when touched.”

[reverend-meat]

”oh no, I forgot my over the ear noise cancelling headphones for the grocery store!”

*pulls out a second, secret backup pair of noise cancelling grocery store headphones I keep in the car for just such an occasion.*

[heytheredelulu]

Unbreakable - The After Years

Follow up to Unbreakable, my Bucky Barnes x Reader fic.

ALL OF MY WORK IS 18+

C/W: Language, sexual references

You don’t get pregnant after that first time. You hadn’t been in your fertile window but were still disappointed with your negative test despite knowing it wouldn’t have been positive when you took it.

When your period came, Bucky brought you your favorite snacks, bought you a new fluffy blanket and a pack of ovulation tests that he gave to you with a tender kiss on the forehead.

The first time you got the smiley face on your ovulation test you nearly tackled him when he came through the door that evening, brandishing the test stick at him and peppering kisses on every bare inch of skin you could find.

He made love to you constantly, regardless of where you were in your cycle, just craving the intimacy of being raw inside you, of the feeling of his warm, thick cum spilling within you. He’d rut himself deep into you, kissing your cervix with the tip of his cock, desperate to be as far in you as he could physically be.

You knew you were pregnant before you even took the test. You’d been cooking dinner and Alpine had hopped onto the counter, craving a good ole head scratch and the idea of cat fur where you were plating your food sent you into a violent gagging fit.

You called Sarah, Sam’s sister and your best friend and she squealed so loud you nearly dropped your phone. She stayed on FaceTime with you while you anxiously took the test, not even needing to wait the full three minutes for the results because you had a blazing positive the moment your urine passed through the window. You made her promise not to speak a word of it to Sam before you had the chance to tell Bucky.

He could sense something was up the moment he got home. His enhanced senses followed your strange new scent into the living room and when his eyes met yours, he knew- he knew you were carrying his child. Tears brimmed his lower lids the second you stood up and he pulled you into a tight embrace, kissing you fiercely as he cried tears of joy.

Bucky was attentive and overly protective of you l you anyways and once you were pregnant he became over the top to say the least. He doted on you constantly, always asking, “Are you feeling okay, Angel?” “Have you eaten today?” “What can I get you?” Sam and Sarah always teased him, saying he would treat you as if you were made of glass.

He accompanied you to every appointment, his foot tapping anxiously before every ultrasound, his eyes wet with tears every time he had the opportunity to see the small little movements on the screen, every time he heard the fast paced thump thump thump of his baby’s heartbeat inside your womb.

The first time he felt her kick- his daughter- his flesh hand was resting affectionately against the swell of your abdomen, where it lay almost any chance he had. You’d been watching a movie, lounged on the couch together with Alpine curled in his lap. The tiny flutter against his palm drew a sharp gasp from his chest, his eyes wide as he whispered in a voice of disbelief, “Angel, I felt her. She’s kicking. She’s kicking, isn’t she?”

Bucky was the first to buy things for his baby girl. He constantly came home with outfits, bows and blankets, excitedly showing you what he’d picked out. Anytime a package arrive in the mail you knew it was something else he’d bought for your daughter, spending entirely too much time online shopping once he’d figured out how to navigate Amazon.

You’d painted the nursery together, laughing and teasing him once you’d finished and he began attempting to put together the crib. The instructions ended up crumpled in a ball as he wiped sweat off his forehead, motherfucking the pieces laid out on the floor in front of him. Once he’d finally conquered ‘the damn thing’ you kissed him deeply as you admired the nursery, the kiss quickly becoming gentle touches and heavy breathing until you made love on the soft carpeted floor. He took his time exploring every inch of your body, his thrusts careful, slow and sensual as if you were the most precious thing he’d ever touched.

Your water broke late in the evening, while he was drawing you a bath to soak your sore back and swollen ankles. Bucky raced around the house in a panic, passing the hospital bag several times while looking for it as you watched with an amused smirk. “Baby, take a breath.” You told him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It’s gonna be fine.”

Your labor was long and hours blurred together amidst the pain and anxiety but Bucky never left your side. He held your hand, pushed your hair off your forehead and whispered words of praise and encouragement against your ear as he kissed your temple. At one point he climbed into the bed with you, settling his powerful frame behind you as he drew you to his broad chest, holding you against him as you labored until it was time to push. Fortunately you didn’t have to push for long before the tiny cry echoed through the room, choked sobs of joy and relief bubbling up from your chest as you slumped back against your weeping husband.

Once you were comfortable, your small, perfect daughter resting against your chest, Bucky headed out into the waiting room with wet cheeks and a proud grin. “Winnifred. Winnifred Natasha Barnes.” He told Sam and Sarah as they stood up excitedly to hug him after having waited for hours for her arrival.

Winnie was a daddy’s girl and she had Bucky wrapped around her finger from the first moment he held her. She looked like you, with his blue eyes and his dark hair and you frequently argued playfully over whose nose she had. Named affectionately after his mother and your fallen friend and teammate, as she grew into her toddler years she definitely gave you both a run for your money as she perfectly emulated Natasha’s fiery personality.

Bucky couldn’t have been more wrong in his fear of being a father. He was the most attentive and loving dad you’d ever seen and you often found yourself lingering in the doorway at night, your heart swelling with love at the sight of the two of them curled up in the rocking chair after having fallen asleep mid bedtime story.

Bucky loved being a father so much that shortly after Winnie’s third birthday you were pregnant a second time. A boy, much to Bucky’s excitement. He would daydream about playing catch with him, teaching him how to fix up the motorcycle- all while he braided Winnie’s hair and chased her around the yard.

It wasn’t more than a year after Steven Samuel Barnes was born that you became pregnant for a third and final time. Your second son, Anthony ‘Tony’ James Barnes being the final and beautiful piece to complete the family you’d only ever dreamed of.

Winnie was the first to find out about who her dad used to be. She was 14 and had come home from school in tears over the cruel things a particular little shit of a classmate had told her. Before you sat her down to tell her everything, you had pulled Bucky into your bedroom, cupping his face with your hands. “Unbreakable.” You reminded him softly, until he nodded, eyes closed with a shaky breath.

It was easier to show Winnie who her dad really was. You took her to the Smithsonian, walking alongside her through the Captain America exhibit, until she stopped wide-eyed in front of the large picture of her father. The panel detailed his service in the 107th, his capture in Azzano and the heroic actions that took place during his time alongside Steve Rogers and the Howling Commandos before the tragic fall in 1945 from the train in the Alps. Once she’d had the chance to absorb her dad’s incredible feats, he took her for a long walk along the shore where he told her his story, in his own words- beginning with his time under HYDRA. He told her fond memories of his years in Wakanda, mentioning how incredibly badass the Dora Milaje are and that she would love Ayo, Okye and Shuri and perhaps one day she could meet them. He explained the blip, how he’d fought alongside so many heroes in order to save the Earth from the Mad Titan Thanos and fondly recalled Steve and Tony- her smile widening into a grin as she made the connection to her younger brothers’ names. He ended his story with you- how you met, how he fell in love with you and how you saved him. He told her how you made him a better man, helped him overcome his darkness and how she, his beautiful, resilient, first born child reminds him everyday that everything he had been through was worth it when he saw her smile.

Winnie got detention the next day for foul language. The principal called home to report that when she’d been arguing with a classmate she’d said- and I quote- “My dad saved the fucking planet, Jessica. Your dad’s screwing his secretary.”

Taglist (Taglist is open):

@badbunnybabygirl01 @suz7days @truthfulliarr @lilacka @writtingrose @samsgoddess @loveisallyouneed1125 @vicmc624 @millercontracting @wildernessflora @mydorkyboys @blackhawkfanatic @honestlywork @ladyvenera @cavity-exe @ihavetwoholesforareason @km-ffluv @shortnloud @mrs-katelyn-barnes @somnorvos @22rhianna2006 @fanfictionreaderfan @misshale21 @angelbaby99 @deans-spinster-witch @kezibear @acornacreacure @wintrsoldrluvr @terry2227

[woozten-x]

#. 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐖𝐚𝐫 | 𝐉𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐚

[ ; m.list including other darl+ings! ]

─ Synopsis: Running away from your problems of being the child of a king, you end up stargazing with the God of War.

Underneath the stars, you found beauty within the deity however.

─ Pairing: Deity (God of War)!Joshua Hong x Royal!Gender-Neutral Reader

─ Genre: Fluff/Wholesome, Angst w. Comfort

─ Concepts: joshua is THE god of war!!, joshua lowk condescending and just kinda a smartass (i promise he's nice), reader is lowk whipped, stargazing concept!, conveyance of joshua's violent past, joshua is the angsty one not reader lol, reader comforting joshua<3

─ Count of Words: 1.9k

─ Inspiration of the work: Toilet-Bound Hanako-Kun (Manga) + Running Through The Night by Seori + meme of "You're Staring" "You're Beautiful"

❒  a/n: ok so like i had this au in my drafts for SO long...But, the main story including this au with Joshua is taking forever and ive been incredibly lazy to write it LOL. so, ill be introducing this au of Joshua with a drabble / one-shot ! this gives some introduction of how he is like and what to expect of him during this au

other members will be having a fantasy au / based on mythical creatures? type of au. so, there will be other members of svt being a deity or some mythical creature! they will have their own story also.

Fingers tap lightly against the wet surface, the grass cold against his fingertips and soil moist just underneath his nails. Thoughts raced through his head, his head tilted upwards to face the cloudy sky of the night; the moon and stars shrouded by the dark clouds, as both celestial spared no light from where he sat. The breeze carries through, the wind gently caressing his pale skin and stray strands of black hair is ruffled by the night’s wind.

His eyes fluttered close, a sigh leaving past his lips; a calm rise of his chest then a slow release of his breath, feeling relaxed. It was a quiet night, one where he could sleep easily for the night; or so he thought. Unfortunately for the God of War, he hears approaching footsteps from the distance and his eyes flutter open.

“Joshua, you are here!”

Annoyance expresses from his features, a visible frown appearing on his pink lips upon hearing your voice. Just when he was getting comfortable, you simply had to ruin it for the deity. You approach him, steps heavy along the steep path - “Ah...I didn’t think this would be so steep.” You complain, a huff leaving past your lips as you work your way towards him.

He watches from his spot, only watching how you slowly climb up the hill with a slight struggle. “Maybe you should work out more.” Joshua remarks, his words holding a dryness to them, but spiked with a drip of sarcasm. You loudly scoff, “I'd rather be stuck with one of my father’s lectures about royalty and expectations of being the next leader of the kingdom than physically work my ass off!”

Joshua tilts his head, leaning back on his hands and his legs extended out crossed over one another - “Ah, right. You humans with royal blood tend to be lazy…”

Once you reached him, you let out a sigh of relief before plopping down next to him. Joshua recoils slightly, seeming to adjust his position from where he sat and establish distance between your bodies; you noticed this, but you did not say anything. As you’ve learned, the deity was not fond of physical touch; whether it be accidental or intentional.

You glance at him, observing the way he sits a bit more upright; his body not poised, as before. “I assure you, royals are not lazy. Everyone is just always doing it for us, that’s why.” You say with a shrug, trying to save some bits of pride for being part of a royal family; although, you never wanted to become a royal, you still have a pride to protect!

“Cowards.” Joshua plainly states, a small smirk playing at his lips; oh, a given that he is trying to press one of your buttons. You roll your eyes, “For a God, you really are so mean!” You huff, deciding to act childish in hopes of changing the topic. Despite your childish complaint, Joshua hums in reply, glancing up at the sky once more. The night sky remains dark, empty of stars and only a void of complete darkness.

A silence overtakes the two of you, one that is heavy and you are sometimes unsure on how to speak to him. After all, he is a God, an infamous one at that; though his own reputation never scared you away, it only drew you closer to him like a reckless fool attracted to any signs of danger.

“Why are you here?” Joshua asks suddenly, showing hints of curiosity breaking through the aloof nature he had. You shrugged, “I have no idea.” You said, a lie leaving your lips; you do know why you are here. You have snuck away from the kingdom itself for a reason, and it was apparent to Joshua. His purple gaze had a slight glow, possibly from amusement, at your lie.

Joshua lets out a low hum, “You know how dangerous it is at night.”

Although his words seemed caring, it had no intention of sounding gentle or showing concern for your well-being; it was completely lacking any regards to your personal safety. You sigh, a heavy one that made your shoulders rise then fall - “I just couldn’t sleep that’s all.” You say, a half truth this time. Joshua looks towards you, “Being out here in the cold will help you sleep instead?” He questions, eyeing at you with skepticism.

Maybe as a God of War, he holds a strong sense of nosiness.

Rolling your eyes, you fall back on the soft grass, your back resting against the cold yet soft greenery. You place an arm over your eyes whilst Joshua watches your reaction carefully. With a momentary pause, you finally answered - “I wanted to get away from the kingdom.”

Joshua looks at you, his eyes softening and he slowly turns his head away - “I understand. I think.” He says, a tenderness replacing the tone he held before when you first arrived. “Was today not a good day?” He asks once more, glancing at the sky. Oddly enough, the clouds are beginning to drift apart, revealing the moon that hid behind it.

“It was not good nor was it bad. But, maybe I just felt overwhelmed.” You admit, removing your arm from your eyes. Beyond you, the stars hidden away were revealed and you sit up to point at the star littered sky - “The night is bright, after all!” You exclaim with a grin, a finger pointing towards the stars displayed. Joshua rolls his eyes, already staring at the stars.

“They are just stars.” Joshua said, detached from the sight he has been accustomed to for centuries. Nothing changes within the sky, but his gaze did not fall away; he was captivated and maybe those clouds had drifted him along, away from reality itself. You chuckle at his reply, looking at him to see his expression; as you’ve learned, Joshua is someone who expresses when he thinks no one is looking.

For a moment, the mask melts away and a longing expresses from his round eyes. His amethyst-like gaze only became dull, as those the jewelry embedded had lost its richness; the firm press of his lips, showing how deep in thought he was. Rarely you ever see this side of him, but when you do - an ache resonates in your heart, as he holds a burden of loneliness upon his shoulders.

After knowing Joshua, you learned that it was lonely being a God.

Joshua notices your staring, looking towards you with furrowed brows of confusion. The vulnerability is long gone, as he scowls - “What is it?”

You watched how his eyes hardened, his violet eyes holding a coldness that is always used to push you away. You smile at him, however.

“You are beautiful.”

Confusion expresses from his beautiful face again, but slowly dissipates into embarrassment. Joshua lets out a small laugh of disbelief, his head turning away to avoid looking at you directly; a hint of pink dusting his cheeks. “What are you talking about?” Joshua asks, his voice low…No, small like a mouse. It was endearing to see him so flustered, but you meant it.

“Way more beautiful than the stars above,” You add with a chuckle. You look away, giving him time to compose himself; you glance up at the stars again, sitting back on your hands with a stupid smile on your face. Joshua tenses slightly at your words, your words seeming to clear the haze in his mind; the usual haze he found comfort in, suddenly diminishing and bringing a realization that made his stomach churn.

He is unsure whether to feel disgusted by your words…Or accept it.

But, how could someone like him hold a beauty for anyone to admire?

“You always speak of nonsense.” Joshua says barely above a whisper, glancing down at his hands on his lap. The same hands that hold evidence of the violence he possesses deep within, he is not created to be admired or loved.

You shake your head, looking at him and ready to give your reply; but, you stopped. Anger…No, resentment flares within his eyes, creating an intense glow of violet. You’ve always seen the deity holding a look of arrogance or sometimes joy, but you have never seen this expression. Not even once.

To you, he looked like he was burning; flames of hatred burning him alive at that very moment, and he looked much brighter than the stars above. But, you realized those flames weren’t directed to your words - it was the flames that Joshua always held as the God of War, a showcase of a war that never ended for him.

Joshua, the God of War, hates himself.

Slowly, you reach out towards him, placing a hand on one of his hands. Underneath your touch, he shook and he looked towards you; looking frightened, as though he feared that with one touch you would burn away. But, you did not withdraw, instead you sat still with your hand over his. Your fingers curl around his, grasping onto him with a gentle squeeze surrounding them.

A gentleness that surprised him, one that made his own body tremble slightly; a swirl of emotions whirring inside, his own heart twisting painfully - seeming to punish him for the way things had turned out. Joshua wasn’t supposed to reveal this side to you, he is a God, he needs no pity from a human like you.

“Why?” He sputters out amongst his emotional turmoil, sounding hurt and…Heartbroken. The very question only made you squeeze his hand tighter, realizing the shatter of his own heart; the feared God with a reputation of being the source of chaos - was revealed to be a lonesome God, who was ruined by what he was.

Unexpectedly, tears stream down Joshua’s face, the warmth contrasting his cold skin and falling onto your hand as droplets of his own sorrow. Instantly, you raise your hand to place upon his cheek, your thumb wiping away his tears. Surprised, Joshua moves away from your touch and wipes them away with the back of his hand; he hasn’t cried for centuries, why now? He needed to get away.

Although, his mind tells him to, his own heart desperately craved the tenderness you gave him. The way you looked at him with concern, a look that seems to convey how much you cared for him; he didn’t understand.

Quietly, you watch how he takes shaky breaths, the tears continuing to fall from his delicate eyes - no matter how many times he wipes them away. Leaning forward, you wrap your arms around him, the warmth of your embrace only making him freeze. You held onto him tightly, fingers grasping onto the coat he wore, your head buried in the crook of his neck to hopefully take away his sadness.

His pain.

His hatred.

Gradually, his body relaxes into your touch, a hesitant hand rising to place on the back of your neck. The same hands that handled many things roughly, held a gentleness that contrasts the reputation he held as a God; his fingers warm against your skin, fingertips caressing the back of your neck.

Underneath the stars, Joshua holds onto you, welcoming you into his own embrace.

“Thank you.” Joshua whispers, his arms wrapping around you to alleviate the emotions embedded inside him. After so many centuries, he finally recalled the familiarity of acceptance from you.

For once, this type of warmth felt right.

[septembersums]

𝑲𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒕𝒐𝒃𝒆𝒓 𝑫𝒂𝒚 10 | 𝑷𝒓𝒆𝒈𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒚

| MINORS DNI | taglist | masterlist | art credit |

pairing: true form!sukuna x reader

summary: sukuna never thought he was capable of being gentle, of holding precious, fragile things in his monstrous hands without breaking them. you, pregnant with his baby, are the only exception.

content: | pregnant sex | fluff | smut | loving sukuna | overprotective sukuna | historical au | monster fucking (gently) | sukuna loves u a lot | masturbation | sukuna thinks you are so sexy pregnant | double penetration | desperate sukuna |

part 2 of my last sukuna post... ;)

| discord | twitter | ao3 | main tumblr | kofi |

The seasons change and pass leisurely as they always do. Summer turns to Autumn, the leaves wilt and fall to the ground, your stomach grows rounder and rounder with each passing day, or maybe it just feels that way.

It's been about six months since you started feeling sicker in the early morning hours, five since one of Sukuna's servants confirmed through some magical technique beyond your grasp that you are carrying his child.

Sukuna was quiet when he first heard the news. He was there with you when the kind woman confirmed it, sitting in the distance with his monstrous size and watching you with rapt attention. Though he didn't say much on the issue, you noticed the change in him instantly.

He stares at you far more often now, though he's more prone to keeping his distance, physically. His gaze is longing and affectionate, often lustful, but he turns his head when you return it, almost as though he‘s embarrassed that you’ve caught him watching you.

With your fluctuating emotions, you’ve found it difficult to accept his newfound distance. He still speaks to you, he still sleeps with his many arms wrapped around you at night, but he very rarely… touches you now.

Before, he’d ravage you like a wild beast every night, all throughout the night, so roughly and so loudly that the servants in the shrine would be awoken. He’d take as much pleasure as he gives, but now he only gives.

He’ll lick you and kiss you until you’re so overly satisfied that you struggle to remain conscious, but he won’t properly fuck you anymore.

You can picture him clearly, as he is most nights, hard and clearly needy, grinding his clothed length against your thigh, barely resisting the urge to penetrate your warmth.

“Sukuna,” you murmur his name in pleading, looking down at his hardened cocks which strain against his robes.

“No,” he grunts, “not tonight.”

And then he’ll pleasure you again, and again, and again, until you have to cry his name to assuage his desire. Once you’re so sated that you cannot think, he’ll pull you into his arms, pressing soft kisses to your neck until you inevitably fall asleep.

His sexual frustration is evident, though mostly to those who oppose him. You've heard rumors that since you've become pregnant, he's been far more violent towards his enemies. There are no hostages, there are no survivors, not now.

You'd almost worry that he's taking other lovers, if you didn't know him so well. Sukuna is a sadist, and he is a monster, but when you are someone that he cares for, he cherishes you deeply, so deeply that it can be suffocating.

There is no one else for him, no one else that piques his interest, no one else who sparks desire, none other than you. His love is deep and all-consuming, even if he's never voiced it outright to you.

And then there's the nagging thought that he might not be attracted to you in this state, with this body, that he might miss the way that your stomach looked before it was round and full of his seed, but no.

No, you can read Sukuna better than anyone else, like a novel you've read a thousand times over, and you know that he looks at you now with more hunger in his eye than he ever did before. Your tits are fuller and rounder, he can't stop himself from staring, not even when you're fully clothed.

You've been frustrated with his self-restraint, as well. Since you've been pregnant, you've desired him even more so than ever. Your emotions change dizzyingly quickly, but you find yourself aroused so often that you can't fucking stand it.

He could cure the cursed itch inside of you, but he doesn't. Perhaps he's torturing you on purpose. That does sound like him.

Tonight is such a night that you're swept into desire and longing for him. You lie in the bath with rose petals scattered along the surface of the water. If the bath itself weren't so deep, you're halfway convinced that your stomach would breach the surface.

He'll be home to satisfy you later in the night, but you can't help yourself now, either. You can't wait for him any longer.

One of your hands slips across your belly, feeling the hardness of it before traveling lower between your legs. The other moves to pinch and roll your nipple between your fingers, just as Sukuna does.

Try as you might, you still can't replicate his movements. His hands, for one, are far larger than yours are, his fingers far thicker. And then there's the most notable difference, the absence of a long tongue that protrudes from your palm. There's no possible way to replicate that.

But still, you try, because the fire inside of you will eat you alive if you don't sate it at least momentarily. You whine softly into the steamy air, massaging your clit in slow, sensuous movements, pinching your nipples intermittently.

You lose yourself in thoughts of Sukuna, in thoughts of both of his cocks thrusting in and out of your cunt, thoughts of his tongue pressing against yours while the one on his abdomen licks at your clit. The bathwater around your splashes a bit as you speed up your movements, panting and groaning and trying to reach that spot inside of you that he does.

"Oh-- Sukuna," you moan helplessly, head thrown back against the stone lip of the tub.

"Oh, Y/n," a teasing voice answers, startling you out of your chase for the orgasm that you needed.

You gasp weakly, fingers still in all of the places that they shouldn't be, as you lock eyes with your husband. He's standing in the doorway, a small, cheeky grin on his face, with all of his eyes locked on you.

"That isn't funny," you murmur with embarrassment, sinking lower into the tub until only your eyes are peeking out at him, pouting.

"Did I ask you to stop?" He says, suddenly serious in tone, as he holds authoritative eye contact with you.

"With you watching?" You answer defiantly, taken aback by his request, "I couldn't."

"You were."

"Not intentionally."

"I've fucked every hole that you possess," he answers with a smug grin, "and yet you're still shy with me?"

"You've not fucked me in ages," you argue, "so I might've forgotten."

His expression sours, as he takes a step closer, and then another, towering over your naked form and blocked the candlelight surrounding you.

You know that you take certain liberties of which no one else is afforded; like the right to refuse his requests and talk back to him. He sinks down to his knees next to the tub, before leaning over to press his lips to yours.

You keep your eyes open for a moment, barely kissing him back out of protest, before he slips his tongue into your mouth, caressing your cheek with one of his large hands.

"Continue what you were doing," he demands after a moment, "and I'll consider reminding you."

One of his hands slips into the water, spreading your legs apart again after you'd closed them tightly in protest. After he's satisfied with how you're spread open, he runs his hand along your slippery body, feeling your thighs, the roundness of his baby inside of you, the heavy weight of your breast.

The arousal is back and it's consuming beyond belief, especially when his rough fingertip grazes over your sensitive nipple.

You have to look away from him in shame as you slip your hand back between your thighs, biting your lip and closing your eyes as you continue your ministrations.

"That's it, my love," he purrs affectionately, far more so than usual, "beautiful."

You whimper at his praise, massaging your clit faster. He can't help but to stare at your breasts rising out of the water, your head falling back as you pleasure yourself in front of him. He leans down to capture your lips in a sloppy kiss, groaning along with you.

"Sukuna--" you moan his name in warning, dragging your other hand into his hair to kiss him more eagerly.

It's impossible for him to watch, impossible for him to look away, as you reach your climax with a breathy sigh against his lips. He's rubbing both of his cocks through his robes as he watches, trying to soothe the ache he feels.

Even then, one of his claws rips through the fabric, and it grounds him yet again. Yes, he needs these subtle reminders that he is a being capable only of destruction, not of softness like you.

He stands up after you come down from the aftershocks, clenching his jaw hard enough to break his teeth, as he takes one last look at your wet, naked body floating in the bath.

"Come to bed after you're finished bathing," he remarks coldly, "it's late, you need rest."

Sukuna leaves you alone after that, giving you more empty promises with no follow-through, as though he's only teasing you on purpose. The anger you feel at his cold departure is petulant.

When you're out of the bath, dried everywhere other than your hair, you irritably make your way into the bedroom, where Sukuna is lying there staring through the open window.

His robes are mostly untied, like he's been clawing at them. Silvery moonlight illuminates his bare chest, the sharpness of his jawline, all of the tattoos that accentuate his features.

He looks unbearably attractive. It only makes you angrier.

"Explain it to me," you call out to him, padding over to the end of the bed where he lies.

Sukuna cocks his eyebrow up at your tone, not a man who's accustomed to being berated, most certainly.

"I need to explain nothing to you," he replies, sounding frustrated in his own right, "you were an offering to me, a possession. I owe you no explanation for anything that I do."

You, feeling caught up in a whirlwind of emotions, decide to do something unwise and unheard of. Rather than obeying him and letting it go, you move closer, climbing on top of him.

"Don't," he growls in warning, but you know better than to think that Sukuna would hurt you.

If he was going to hurt you, he would have done so the night you arrived.

When you straddle him in the center of the bed, core pressed against his cocks through his layers of clothing, he can no longer bare to look at you.

You're wearing a silk slip that exposes your legs, your arms, and shoulders. Your nipples peek through it, especially now that your tits are heavier and bigger. He knows what you look like, that's why he can't bare to see it tonight.

"Sukuna," you mutter softly, nuzzling your smaller face into the crook of his neck, "please. I miss you, and I want you-- all of you."

He grits his teeth at the shifting movement of your body on top of his cocks. If only you knew how unbearable this is for him, how badly he wants to sink both of them into your cunt and ravage you like a fucking animal tonight, and every other night afterwards.

"I'll hurt you," he warns, losing his self-control further by the second.

You're rocking your hips back and forth on top of him, trying a different approach now, one that works far better.

"You won't," you argue, nipping at his earlobe, "I know that you won't."

"You cannot possibly know that," he hisses, wrapping his large hands around your hips and rubbing you against himself harder, "I want to, I'd like it. I'll hurt you, I'll hurt her, and I won't be able to stop myself--"

"Her?" You ask, sitting up suddenly with interest in your eyes.

Sukuna looks away suddenly, his cheeks flush a shade darker, "It's a girl. The baby."

Your hand rubs your stomach reflexively, as you beam at him, "You can tell?"

"Yes," he replies indignantly, "I can tell."

You beam at him, he tries to retain his attitude but fails when you lean forward and kiss him, slotting your lips with his smoothly. If he'd forgotten the ache in his groin, he remembers it now.

Your smaller hand wraps around his larger one, bringing it to your rounded stomach, "Sukuna, you won't hurt either of us. You've held yourself back for so long," you assure him.

A slow, leisurely movement, you drag his wrist further upwards, until his large hand is massaging your breast. He’s blushing now, grinding his hips upwards against your core. He wants it, he needs it so badly.

"If you were truly such a monster," you purr against his lips, kissing him between words, "you wouldn't have held yourself back, you would've fucked and ravished me the first night..."

"Do not tease me," he threatens, tightening his grip on your tit, as his hips flex involuntarily, "you'll regret-- ngh-- it."

His words are stifled with a moan as you've finally finished unwinding his robes from his cocks, and now your cunt is pressed flat against the length of the top one, rubbing yourself up and down it.

The veins feel exquisite against your clit, you're dripping onto him with every grind of your hips. Sukuna forcibly guides you to move faster, like he's trying to get off from this and this alone.

You won't stand for that. You brace yourself on his hard, muscular shoulders, leaning up so that you can position one of them against your entrance.

"Fuck," he hisses, finally giving into his own desire and rutting up into you in shallow strokes.

It's been months since he's allowed himself relief, months of reaching the edge but never allowing himself to fall over it, months of watching you fall apart on his tongue without doing the same on yours.

He cannot wait for you once you've seated yourself on his cock, he can't wait another moment longer. He holds you tightly against his chest, he flips you over onto your back, and he uses a pair of his arms to wrap your legs around his hips, as he drills into you.

His other arms are secured tightly around your body, holding you as close to him as physically possible without crushing you. He whines into the crook of your neck, he kisses and bites and leaves bruises on the expansive column of your throat. He ruts into you like he'll never be allowed to do so again.

He can't manage words, he's so lost in the nearly forgotten feeling of your tight, silky walls enveloping his length like a noose.

"Sukuna-- Sukuna-- God, give me the other," you beg, as he feels himself already nearing the edge, "fuck me with both of your cocks-- I can handle it. I can take it--"

The sound that leaves his throat is a rumbling growl. One of his hands thrusts to where your sexes meet, he can't deny himself the pleasure of putting his other cock inside of you, too. He knew that he wouldn't be able to hold back after tasting your sweetness, and he was right.

As soon as he's bottomed out inside of you with both cocks situated at your cervix, he nearly climaxes then and there. He grits his teeth to stop himself, panting and staring down at your flushed expression like a lion eyeballing its prey.

Your pregnant body has been a source of agony for Sukuna; your tits are rounder, your nipples far more sensitive. He loves the round look of pregnancy on you, he loves every inch of it so fucking much that it eats at his sanity.

He sucks your incredibly sensitive nipples and crushes your lower half against his own as much as possible without hurting you, thrusting in and out of you like he's fully gone mad inside of your slick pussy.

"God fucking dammit, I love you-- I fucking need you. Can't you see how badly I fucking need you? You make such a mess of me, you fucking ruin me."

His words sound angry and filled with vitriol, but you know that they're true, that they're words he could never say without having deprived himself of you for so long now that he can't think rationally.

You gush onto his abdominal tongue, you clench around the width of his two cocks, and he's lost to the world. His mind is in heaven with his body when he's inside of you, when he's holding you so close that he can hear your rapid heartbeats and your breaths.

You feel him stuttering and panting, forehead pressed to your neck, you hear these keening whines escaping his lips-- so unlike his speaking voice, and you lock your legs around his hips tighter, as though you want him to impregnate you all over again.

Curses fall from his lips in spades, his claws rip the sheets beneath you and dig into the mattress, as he strains his muscles and thrusts his seed deep into your cunt. His cum is lava inside of you, your sweat slicked bodies stay melded together as he comes down from his long-needed high.

You run your fingers through his hair, as all of his arms wrap around your waist, and he cradles your body against his own, kissing you languorously.

"I love you, too," you murmur sweetly.

"Are you alright?" He asks, unable and unwilling to indulge in pure, sappy romanticism.

"I'm better than ever," you reply, giving him a soft grin.

"Good," he murmurs, his kisses turn rougher, he pulls halfway out and thrusts back in. You whine softly, hoping that he doesn't make you wait much longer to feel this delicious fullness again.

As it turns out, he doesn't make you wait any longer at all. Instead, he breathily mutters, "Again."

taglist: @septembersummer | @violetsaffron5 | @lilithlunas | @blackdxggr | @mimizsworld | @km7474 | @lemonlover1110 | @levixbby | @nobody289x | @dont-ask-me-pls |

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

Dracule Mihawk's older sister headcanons (part 1)

This idea was born from a conversation with @giurochedadomani, as well her amazing blog. This is part one of two, part two is here.

Dracule Mihawk x sister!reader

*****

🗡️ Mihawk’s sister is twelve years older than him. They are born in an impoverished noble family; she receives a good education and pretty clothes, but has no dowry nor prospects. She is born with a lame leg, which makes it difficult for her to walk unless assisted by a cane. 

🗡️ Her father is a distant man, not physically violent but too occupied with his books and hunting and social visits to pay any attention to a female child; her mother is a kind, melancholic woman, unhappy in her forced marriage but who has found some happiness in the rearing of her daughter, and charity, and painting - one of the few appropriate hobbies for a noblewoman. Her mother paints a little portrait of her and her daughter together; it is not particularly good, since the artist lacks any real talent, but Mihawk’s sister will keep the painting with her for the rest of her life.

🗡️ Her mother dies in the birthing bed; she cries all her tears as she cradles her newborn baby-brother in her arms, deaf to the midwives asking to take him to wash the blood and the amniotic fluid away. She has no idea what will become of her, and him, now that their mother has passed, but as she holds him against her chest, the fussy baby immediately calming at her comforting presence as he looks at her (yes, he looks, and she knows newborns are almost blind, but she can’t shake the impression he is actually staring up at her, tranquil and almost solemn) with those lovely yellow eyes he can’t have inherited from anyone in their family, she promises she’ll take care of him, she’ll protect him and make sure he grows as the honourable, good man their mother had hoped he’d be.

🗡️ Mihawk is the male heir their father had hoped for, but by the time the child is six or seven lord Dracule has already started distancing himself from his son, and realising he doesn’t particularly like that stubborn, quiet child, who like his sister looks much more like their mother than him. Mihawk is clever and polite but wilful, not exactly disrespectful but clearly not deferential to a father he doesn’t respect; the child never cries nor begs for forgiveness, not even when his father uses a belt to discipline him or has his meals taken away. 

🗡️ Mihawk’s sister is a quiet, withdrawn young woman, not unpretty but pensive, who spends much of her time reading and embroidering; she loves roses, and finds happiness in growing them in the house’s garden. Having been prohibited from making friends with the lowborn people of the nearby town, and with both of them being reserved, introverted people, the two siblings spend much of their time together despite their large age gap. Since the family cannot afford a governess, she is the one who teaches him to read and write, and gives him as good an education as she can.

🗡️ She also teaches him to sew, a feminine art that, nevertheless, she thinks he could have to make use of in the future. One day, when Mihawk is seven, their father accidentally finds the two siblings in the parlour, with his sister helping Mihawk sew a button on a pair of trousers; lord Dracule orders him to stop and, already inebriated and in a bad mood after an evening spent playing card with disastrous results, he slaps his daughter, ordering her to stop raising my son like a sissy. Mihawk reacts to defend her, pushes his father away from her so forcefully the man stumbles, and then instinctively grabs a letter-opener from the desk to point it against the man. “Touch her again and I’ll kill you.” he threatens; the blade is tiny, and unsharpened, and the child weighs perhaps a fourth of his father, but lord Dracule is suddenly terrified, and as he looks in those eyes he has always disliked for some reason, and that now stare at him, merciless and furious, he knows his child would be more than ready to actually kill him, if he ever hurt his sister again. 

🗡️ He never does, but the awareness that he is scared of his seven-year-old son is a shame lord Dracule knows he will never forget. He starts despising, even hating him, while he simply ignores a daughter he considers too dull and unintelligent to be of some use for the good of the family. 

🗡️ One day the two siblings are allowed the rare treat of a visit to the town; they visit a tea house, and Mihawk, already a little gentleman, opens the door for his sister, insists on carrying her parcels and walks slowly to make sure she doesn’t fall behind because of her bad leg. As they return to their carriage, they walk past the town’s recently inaugurated swordsmanship school; Mihawk stops, hit by an impulse he couldn’t explain, and “May we go in for a moment?” he asks, which his sister of course concedes. She has no idea, but she has changed his beloved little brother’s life forever, and hers as well. 

🗡️ An hour spent observing the swordsmen practising in the school, exchanging parries and thrusts, and Mihawk has decided this is what he is meant to do, the art he will devote the rest of his life to. While happy for his usually apathetic little brother’s enthusiasm, his sister highly doubts their father will let him join the school, for a variety of reasons; perhaps, she muses, she can sell what little jewels she owns, and it will be enough to pay the tuition for a year or even two. Their father already spends as little time with his son as he can, he may not notice Mihawk disappears for two hours three times a week…

🗡️ They have no time to put their plan in action, since two days later, after Mihawk has convinced an old tenant of his father, a carpenter, to carve a wooden sword for him (he’d rather have a real one and is already sure he could wield it easily, but the family owns no weapons and the few guards they have left are incredibly jealous of theirs) his father announces he’s going to marry again. The bride is from a rich but non-aristocratic family, a classic nobility-marries-wealth deal. She plans on having children (which is unlikely, Mihawk’s sister thinks, since the future groom is getting on in years, but she has the good sense of keeping that reflection for herself) and has no interest in dealing with any step-child; their father, all too happy to get rid of his turbulent, rebellious son and insipid, gloomy daughter, has decided to send them away, without even granting them a pension and literally throwing them in the streets.

🗡️ Mihawk feels no sadness in leaving his father, even though he regrets his hopes to attend the swordsmanship school are dashed, at least for now; his sister, on the other hand, is hurt by their father’s callousness, sad at having to leave the house she has grown up in, and scared about their future. She wants to take care of her little brother, she dreams of sending him to a good school and letting him pursue his interest for the sword, but how? Having no formal education herself means she cannot apply for a job as a governess, and her bad leg makes it hard for her to perform most jobs. As she lies in their bed (a couple of distant relatives have accepted to host them for a few days, but she knows she has to find a way to support them both quickly, before they are booted out for the second time) worry making it impossible for her to sleep, she feels her brother’s small body cuddling against hers under the blanket, his arm circling her waist. “We’ll find a way to survive.” he promises in a whisper, the determination in his voice making him look much older than his age “I promise. You won’t have to do it all by yourself; I’ll help you, and I’ll protect you.” 

🗡️ She finds more consolation in that innocent, confident promise than she would have imagined; she holds him in her arms, promising herself, and her mother, there is nothing she won’t do to protect him and offer him a chance at life, even if it means having to sell her own body or resort to crime. 

🗡️ Almost miraculously, a way out is offered to them a week later, when an old, richer friend of their mother offers Mihawk’s sister a job as a companion; she is paid very little, and the young woman is to all intents and purposes more a maid than a lady-in-waiting, but she is happy with her new situation, since her employer has accepted to house Mihawk as well as her, and even to have him study with her children’s tutor, which will grant him a good education. She works hard; she falls in love with a guest of the house, she is loved back, but receives no marriage offer since the man is also penniless and has to marry rich to support his family. She cries for days, heartbroken, but goes on, already resigned to remain a spinster but happy to see his brother grow into the attractive, clever and capable man she had always known he could be.

🗡️ Mihawk doesn’t particularly like his new housing situation, but makes do for the sake of his sister; he is asked to perform odd jobs around the house, which he does obediently, but when the lady’s children try pushing him around, he uses his wooden sword to whack them and make it clear how already dangerous it is to mess with him. The children leave him alone; they resent him, and whatever hope a friendship would be born between them is dashed, but Mihawk couldn’t care less, because the company of his sister is the only one he has ever wanted, and in any case he has no use for friends, since all his time and energies are focused on something else…

🗡️ As luck would have it, the lady’s older brother is a capable swordsman, a former soldier who has won renown on the battlefield with the Marines and then, having discharged himself after the death of his father, a professional jouster. He treats the new lady’s companion and her brother with distant courtesy, but his interest is piqued when he sees the child practising (actually, waving it around as he imagines slaying an army of enemies and saving his sister from a ferocious dragon) with his wooden sword in the garden; he sees the raw talent, the naturalness of the relatively heavy weapon in the child’s hand, and most of all the stubborn determination of one who believes in himself and in what he can achieve, a particular state of mind in balance between confidence and arrogance that makes Mihawk spend all his time with that simple piece of wood, all day, every day, come rain or shine. As if holding a sword were as natural, as essential, as breathing; as if the lack of a blade by his side made him feel as if his arm had been amputated. 

🗡️ The lord looks discreetly at the child for a few days, without approaching or speaking to him; then, he takes his second best sword, joins Mihawk in the garden while the child does his best to mimic the complex attacks he learnt from a fencing manual his sister has found in the house’s library (and fails miserably; just… not as spectacularly as most other children would) and unceremoniously hits him across the back with the flat of his sword. “Keep your guard up, boy.” he orders “And widen your stance, otherwise you’ll lose your balance. You’re so thin a gust of wind could make you fly away. Doesn’t my sister feed you enough?”

🗡️ That’s how it starts. Mihawk knew already this is what he is meant to do, and at the mature age of eight, he realises the sword can be his way out of obscurity, his chance to prove the world what he is worth - not an unwanted son, not a child servant, not a charity case, but a great, dangerous, famous swordsman - the greatest swordsman in the world, perhaps, one day. Someone other people would respect, and not cross if they valued their life; someone who would not rely on the charity of others to survive, but who would amass riches of his own and whose name would be famous all over the world. A man, chiefly, who could offer his sister a comfortable life, worthy of the noblewoman she is, not having to earn her keep working but with servants of her own, free to pursue her interests and eat good food and wear nice clothes. 

🗡️ This is what pushes him forward; ambition, and love. A diabolical combination, that soon proves fruitful nonetheless. 

🗡️ The lord never proposes Mihawk, or his sister in her role as tutor, to take him as an apprentice; he simply does, and starts training the child. He talks to the lady to have Mihawk exempted from his chores around the house, and reluctantly acquiesces when the child’s sister refuses to allow him to stop attending his classes to make him focus on the sword - an unexpectedly determined stance from an usually quiet and demure woman. Apart from that, master and apprentice spend virtually all their time together; the training is hard, especially for such a young child. His small hands are soon covered with calluses and blisters; the lord uses a blunt blade, but that hurts nonetheless and Mihawk soon starts carrying bandages and antiseptic with him in order to clean his wounds before returning home and not have his sister see him bleed. His master is inflexible, no matter how gifted and dedicated his young apprentice is, and even cruel, as if he enjoyed torturing a child who barely reaches his elbow; he doesn’t, but he knows taking it easy wouldn’t do, not with him, not if he is to unlock the enormous potential inside the hawk-eyed child, which is what they both want. He is stingy with his praise, and generous with his criticism; his apprentice must be the least lazy child in the world, driven by an almost fanatical drive to succeed, but he pushes him even further, beyond the limits of his still tender body and his already steel-like mind, until Mihawk and his sword are one, until he can use it like an extension of his arm.  

🗡️ And as the lord expected, but faster than his most optimistic expectations, Mihawk doesn’t simply progress; he blooms.

🗡️ He is not even ten when he wins his first competition, a regional and relatively important tournament; he is the youngest competitor, and most of the opponents who look down at him (literally; he hasn’t gotten a growth spurt yet, and he is still as slim as a girl) soon have to change their minds as they witness the inflexible ferocity he fights with, knocking over boys twice as large as he is, determined as if his own life were at stake. He wins, most of his opponents unable to land a single hit; the lord approves, complimenting him with a brief, rough pat on the back and his first sip of beer, drunk secretly on the carriage on their way back home, and his sister is prouder of the cheap medal he brings her than if her little brother had found the One Piece, but there is no monetary reward and his name is only mentioned in passing in a short article on the local paper. Mihawk, while secretly happy for his victory, is frustrated: he wants more, and because of this he asks his master to enter him in more important competitions, with prize money he can bring back to his sister.

🗡️ The lord approves of his apprentice’s ambition, but he knows Mihawk is not yet ready to face the world; he could try to reason with him, but deeming that the best lessons are the ones one learns on their skin, he instead calls a couple of his acquaintances, kids barely older than Mihawk but who at this point are still immensely superior to him, and tells them to go as not easy on him as they can. Mihawk fights back valiantly, but in the end the lord is forced to carry him back home, his face bleeding and his dominant arm broken.

🗡️ That night, Mihawk and his sister fight for the first time in their life: she begs and then even orders him to stop, or at least to find a less inflexible master, because she doesn’t want his brother’s obsession (because this is what it is, and she cannot deny it anymore) for swordsmanship to lead him to his death; he stubbornly refuses, defying her for the first time in his life. He has heard recently his father has already replaced them with a new child, a boy, and he sees how tired his sister is at the end of her work day, how her bad leg hurts after being on her feet, walking and going up and down the stairs, for so long, how dismissively her mistress treats her (not outwardly cruel, but making a point to remind her she is a servant - specifically, one hired out of charity) and how empty the little tin box she puts away her savings in is. He knows he is still a child, and that the last thing his sister would want is for him to feel responsible for her; and that is exactly why he wants to persevere on the way he has chosen for himself. 

🗡️ “I won’t. If that… displeases you, if that pains you, I’m sorry; I don’t want you to worry, or to make you cry. But the sword is my destiny, and our opportunity for a better life; without it, I am nothing. It is not that I love it more than I love you, or that I don’t care about your feelings; but this is what I am going to devote my life to, and please, if you want me to be happy, don’t hold me back.”

🗡️ She doesn’t; she cries in bed, aware Mihawk is different from most children and would probably be as maniacal in his pursuing of swordsmanship even if he were a crown prince, and still ashamed she can’t offer him a better life, one in which a ten year old doesn’t need to take responsibility for their survival. Still, she decides to leave him be, confident (or simply hopeful?) the lord will remember his apprentice is still young and most of all aware she simply can’t stop him, no more than she can forbid rain from falling or teach a wolf to eat plants. She doesn’t need much; she’d rather have a less tiring job, to earn a little more and not to be reminded on a weekly basis by the lady they would have ended up in the streets without her, but she is content with what she has. Mihawk is different. Mihawk has chosen the way of the blade, and is destined to greatness, even she can tell; keeping him home or begging him not to take the risks that way of life entails, even with the best intentions, would be useless and even deleterious, not unlike denying a flower the water it needs to grow. In the end, no matter how much her brother loves her and wants to make her happy, the choice is not hers; for people like Mihawk, destiny is already drawn.

🗡️ Mihawk grows. The lord’s training destroys him, sometimes physically, pushing him beyond limits he didn’t know he had, and re-builds him as a sword-wielding machine. He gets stronger, and as he grows, his body does as well; soon his abilities exceed those of his peers, and of swordsmen older and older than him. The lord, wanting Mihawk to also learn other styles and techniques, introduces him to fellow fighters, both of his age and much older, to fight and to learn from; he also enters him in more and more important tournaments. Mihawk soon starts making a reputation for himself; some of the kids he meets during his training or the various competitions offer him their friendship, but he snubs them, more out of lack of interest than of haughtiness. He doesn’t care for company, and his sister’s love is deep, encompassing, uncompromising; what else would he need?

🗡️ During an important tournament, he crosses paths, and swords, with a boy barely older than him, born in the East Blue; the fight is brutal and in the end Mihawk defeats him, but in his heart he must admit Roronoa Arashi is one of the strongest opponents he has ever fought. 

🗡️ When he is seventeen, the lord admits there is not much else that Mihawk can learn from him, or in their little corner of the world; his name is well known by now, maybe the most capable swordsman in the country even though he’s still a boy, but this is sort of fame Mihawk is not interested in, nor does he plan to live off his cash rewards or open a school to teach the next generations of fighters. He needs to go in the world, he tells his sister one evening as they sit on a bench in the house’s garden after a brief stroll (Mihawk doesn’t miss how exhausted she looks, at the end of a week spent taking care of the lady’s brattiest child, who is sick and demands to be attended night and day, her delicate hands made red and swollen by her duties a washerwoman. She’s all right, she promises him, after all she’s still young and the lady has promised her three free days once her child gets healthy, but the sight makes Mihawk seethe with helpless anger), to test himself against the best swordmasters in the world and learn from them, which will make him stronger - the strongest, one day; quite a result to aspire to, especially for a person barely out of boyhood, but this is what he is destined to do, the only occupation he would be content with. “I… I am going to depart come spring, as soon as the tide turns.”

🗡️ His sister doesn’t protest, not even when her brother tells her he plans to become a pirate, not out of a particular interest for that way of life but simply because so many great swordsmen live on the sea, and facing them would have the double advantage of testing his abilities and claim their bounties to support them; they both know that choice will undoubtedly have the consequence of bringing him to the attention of the Marines, who would then put a bounty on his head. Only the Gods know how dearly she’d want to keep him from going, to keep him with her, safe and close so that she won’t miss him like a part of herself, but she loves him too much to try and stop him, or even just to hold everything I have done for you against him. She doesn’t, and instead she makes sure he has everything he needs when he finally departs, on a clear but cold morning.

🗡️ Mihawk gifts his sister a beautiful dagger, with a rose engraved on the hilt; it is small enough to be hidden among the folds of her skirt, but the blade is sharp enough to seriously wound an enemy. “My master told me centuries past men used to hide a blade in their walking sticks; I’ll have one of them made for you, for your cane.” he says “But in the meantime please, promise me you’ll always carry this with you. I’d make me sleep better, knowing you have the means to defend yourself.” She considers it an excess of caution, because what danger could she ever find herself in?, and in any case she doubts she would be able to use it effectively, but she doesn’t want Mihawk to worry about her while he’s away and accepts the dagger, almost invisible in the small sheath hanging from her belt.

🗡️ “Please, be careful; take care of yourself, of your health, and promise you’ll write to me.” she begs him. She knows those words make her sound like a nagging mother and won’t matter in any case, because her brother is just a little too confident in his own abilities and the sort of man who would fight any opponent he’s interested in, no matter how low his own chance of survival is, but she can’t help it. It seems yesterday that he was still the quiet, too-serious child who clung to her skirts and glared at any man who approached her, and while she’s sure he is destined for greatness and smart enough to take care of himself, part of her regrets he had to grow up.

🗡️ So he leaves; she feels alone, but fortunately Mihawk does write often, and it’s not long before he starts making a name for himself, as a pirate and a swordsman both. “Hawk-eye Mihawk” they call him; she keeps aside every newspaper article she finds about him, her heart full of pride and anguish at the same time, and wonders if their father has heard about him, what he thinks about it. A matter of a few weeks, and he already has a bounty on his head; he’s in Loguetown to witness Gold Roger’s death. He’s fast, he’s strong, he’s solitary, without a crew following him or allies to ease his job; he doesn’t want them and even less needs them. He faces many strong foes, and dispatches most of them. He’s wounded more than once, sometimes badly, but he survives every time; he knows victory, but defeat as well, a bitter taste on his tongue he swears he will soon forget. Stubborn and just a little overconfident, he nonetheless learns from every adversary he meets, as he travels around the world to test himself and become what he is meant to be. Like his sister, he dresses himself with elegant practicality; he is still able to mend his clothes, and he starts embroidering roses on his coats and jackets, a hidden message he knows his sister will catch when she sees his picture. I think about you every day. I know you pray for me, and I am grateful for that and for everything you have done for me. I love you more than anything else in the world; and one day, I will give you the life you deserve. 

🗡️ The first large bounty he claims, he sends all of it to his sister, asking her to leave her job and rent a comfortable abode somewhere; he’ll send more money soon, and she’ll never have to work again. She doesn’t, deeming it is still too early for them to rely on her brother’s earnings to survive in case he decides piracy is not for him or, Gods forbid, he gets hurt, but in a year three more bounties arrive, each higher than the last, and then a guest of the lady gets drunk and puts his hands on her, and she uses the dagger Mihawk has gifted her to make him back off, and wounds him. She is not sacked, because the lady recognizes she had to defend herself and even does her best to comfort her, but she is tired of that house and tired of that state of things, and hands in her notice.

🗡️ She writes to Mihawk to inform him, and asks if he’d let her use the money he sent to buy their childhood home, closed for years after their father moved with his new family to a more fashionable and comfortable residence. “If that makes you happy; you don’t have to ask for my permission, use the money as you want.” he writes back; he doesn’t plan to return to live on land permanently anyway and, while he regrets not having been there to protect his sister from her assailant, he is full of pride for how she was able to defend herself “Hire servants, furnish it as you want. I want you to feel at home.”

🗡️ She uses a middleman to buy the house, not wanting to have her father know she is the client, but a few days after taking possession (she has moved into her mother’s old rooms, using her own as a study) she is told the previous owner has arrived, and asks to be allowed to take a few personal belongings he had forgotten there. She says yes; when her father arrives, she presents herself wearing the most regal of her mother’s old dresses; she expects him to be surprised, even flabbergasted, but the man’s face turns white, as if he were seeing a ghost. “(name)?! What in the world are you doing here?!” “I live here. My brother has bought it for us, and now I am the mistress of the house.” she answers, straight-faced; she was prepared to feel sadness, or resentment, or even hate, upon seeing the man who has destroyed her and Mihawk’s life, but she doesn’t; the only feeling in her heart is a distant contempt, as if her father didn’t even deserve the effort for some stronger emotion “Shall I send the maid to help you find your belongings, sir? I am quite busy and I am sure you won’t want to stay longer than you have to.” She remains courteous, as appropriate for a woman of her standing, but doesn’t offer the guest any refreshment, calls him sir instead of father, and at last she asks to see the things her father is taking to make sure they actually belong to him, pretending to accuse him of theft. Her father doesn’t protest, even though he has gone red in the face with anger; a moment before leaving he looks at her, and he’s about to talk (to say what she doesn’t know, but she could wage her life it is not something kind) but then she looks back at him, and she has normal brown eyes, not her brother’s intimidating hawk gaze, and she is still shorter and half his weight, but it’s enough, and the man scuttles away, his head bent low, towards the garden where she has already planted a number of beautiful rose bushes.

🗡️ There is a portrait of her father she has found in a storage room, debating whether to let him have it or let it be; once the man has left, Mihawk’s sister drinks a full glass of red wine, then places the portrait on the floor and steps and then even jumps on it, smashing it to smithereens, unleashing all the rage and pain and helplessness she has felt for years on that innocuous wood-framed piece of fabric. Then, panting, brings everything to the house’s backyard and lights a match to it; she looks at it burning, the flames’ warmth dancing on her skin, and she feels the shackles she has carried all her life open and fall, leaving her free to breathe for the first time in her life.

[yandere-writer-momo]

Marisa backstory right this instant 🔫

People want to know about my original character? The giant scarred lesbian? She’s so scary 😭

I can’t reveal too much until the next part of Pinky Promises is finally complete (I’m juggling 8 fics right now). But she’s a protective and possessive yandere who takes awhile to realize she’s very, very gay.

It also depends on which AU I have her in. But she’s almost always a very protective and quite aggressive woman with ugly facial scars on the left side of her face. She only has a soft spot for her beloved childhood friend and she’s not shy about showing off her feelings at all. She’d lay her life down for her love if she had to. You’ll never find a lover more devoted than her.

She’s not conventionally attractive at all with a prominent dorsal humo on her large nose, cinnamon eyes, and short, crimson hair. She’s more masculine looking than most men.

But Marisa was once an orphan who was abandoned by her parents because of her blood red hair. People with red hair are believed to have monster blood in them due to their enhanced physical strength. And her parents were scared she’d grow up violent due to her temper she had as a child (she just wanted attention from them). So they left her on the street where she learned how to survive for a few years before the orphanage picked her up.

But she was not a child anyone wanted. She had a horrible temper and was very hostile due to her trust issues. No one wants a broken child… at least until she met (your name).

Marisa was weary at first and constantly tried to shove the other girl away from her but failed. It takes awhile for them to get close but Marisa latches on once she realizes she’s (your name)’s protector. Something about protecting gets her going.

She ruins potential new friends ships and even adoption processes to keep (your name) by her side. She doesn’t give a shit if no one likes her, she just needs her best friend. They’re a package deal.

So when they’re adopted together, she’s so happy. She doesn’t ever want to leave their side. Marisa doesn’t realize it’s love she feels but she constantly crawls in their bed with them to sleep.

The older they get, the more Marisa wants to impress her sweet (your name). She starts to steal again. She’ll steal nice desserts, meals, and once she decides to steal jewelry which makes her run into a particularly nasty guard. The guard shows no mercy as he takes it upon himself to ‘punish’ her.

The left side of her face is permanently disfigured in ugly scars. It’s hard to look at her face for most people now but not her best friend. Marisa adores the affection her friend shows her. It’s when she begins to realize she’s in love with her, that it all makes sense to Marisa.

(Your name) is never getting rid of her. Marisa’s touches become more bold and she’ll start to press kisses all over her shoulders and neck. It becomes an all consuming hunger and she has every intention to satiate it.

She starts to become the ferocious monster everyone believed her to be to everyone else but to her lover. She’d do anything to protect her princess after all.

[djarinterstellar]

Kiss It Better

Summary: After narrowly escaping a dicey mission-gone-wrong, Din quickly realizes the byproduct of his consequences have followed him onboard the Crest, in the worst, most personal way.

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

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Tags/Warnings: now from the top (make it drop), we got some Possessed!Din + canon typical violence, bloodshed, physical injury and some (sloppy) Force usage in the beginning. Reader is Force-Sensitive💫 (not a Jedi). there was an attempt™️ at touching on Witchcraft. Possessed!Din will get violent with Reader against his will ☹️ but we’ll get extra-soft!Din to make up for it. Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, eventual SMUT. Oral Sex, Fingering (fem receiving), Unprotected PinV, the Helmet Comes Off Tonight. No use of Y/N, this is 3rd person POV so Reader will be “she/her”. Established relationship from a universe i’m working on lmao. Takes place sometime mid-season 2.

Rating: M, 18+ only!

Word Count: About 9.3k lmao

A/N: While studying for my notary exam, I was tortured by this mini emo scenario that I had to write down and what started as a prompt escalated into a week of me pouring myself into this. 😭 That being said, I apologize for nothing—

Also a super quick shout out and thank you to @generoustimemachineconnoisseur for beta-reading and giving me the motivation I needed to post this! 💓💓

• cyar = love

✪ ✪ ✪

This was a mistake.

Grogu was peeking out from her tote bag and was clutched to her chest as she dashed through the endless myriad of tunnels, eyes frantic and pupils blown wide open as she searched into the darkness.

“Din! Din!” she hissed desperately.

She should’ve gone instead. He should’ve stayed with the kid. This was her idea to begin with after all.

Din didn’t ask to land knee-keep in the darkened swamp forests of Mimban. She was the one who was following up on the rumors of this particular forest. Whispers of a powerful Force wielder that hid out in the underground caves. She wasn’t a Jedi, nor a Sith— but rather, a witch. A (no pun intended) force of her own to be reckoned with. Sure, it was an unconventional route for her to follow, unorthodox even. And Din had even said it to her in the cockpit. But she was allegedly one of the very few true witches left in the galaxies, and it was her own idea to track her down in hopes of not only possibly being pointed in the direction of a Jedi, but also understanding how to use and access the Force from alternative methods, ones that didn’t require training to become a good wizard or a bad wizard.

As luck would have it, Uma was a witch. There was just one small problem. She just so happened to dabble with forces of the.. darker nature; the same shit that the Sith used to harness their own powers. Which meant Uma was basically cut from the same cloth as the (ex) Emperor and the forces that ruled the Empire.

Then, when Uma saw the baby, her very being shifted almost entirely. The witch had picked up on Grogu’s power almost instantly, the type of raw and untapped energy that could only come from a child so young and pure. Uma had decided then and there that she had to harness his power; the Jedi be damned, the potential a source this good had was limitless. And Uma needed it.

Which is how she’d found herself here just over an hour later, scrambling through the tunnels, searching for a way back to above ground while also calling for Din. In his rage upon realizing her true motive, he shoved Grogu into her arms and ordered her back to the ship before running after Uma; he was determined to give them time to escape while he killed her himself. But this was no ordinary bail jumper, or petty thief. Witches were notoriously deceptive and powerful wielders of the Force in their own right, one of the only few concepts she understood more than Din could. Him being left alone with an ancient bog witch was a huge risk, even for him.

Fuck, where is he??

“Red!” she hissed, her voice bouncing down depths of the walls in front of her. Her old nickname for him still stuck for her, and even though Din no longer wore that old scrappy suit of his, he was as stubborn and hardheaded as he’d ever been with or without it.

A moment later, they heard it: multiple blaster shots coming from a tunnel to their left. Din.

Grogu squirmed uncomfortably in her sling bag and cooed worriedly. Despite her panic and the frantic thrum of her heart pounding in her ears, she could sense the baby’s anxiety swelling in little bursts. She shushed him softly, gently petting the top of his head. She forced herself to sigh to calm her nerves. Even if she was terrified, she had to keep it together if only for the kid’s sake.

“It’s okay honey, we’ll find him,” she whispered to him, quickly following the sound. Sure enough, there were strong vibes coming from this direction. Had he found Uma in there?

When she rounded the last corner, her heart swelled. There, across the dim and damp cave this tunnel led to, with his back turned to her, was Din. He was alone and unmoving, but his hands were to his side, no clenched fists or weapons on the ready.

“There you are!” she sighed out in relief, already picking up her pace to reach him. “Gods, I was starting to get worri-!“

Wait-

The shots.. Where is his blas—

Then Din turned around, and she froze. The Force was talking, screaming to her right now in a way that made her stomach turn. He was standing with his shoulders stiffened and his legs spread apart, but his back was almost coiled, his helmet tilted so very slightly, as he looked right at her. Normally she could gauge when he was looking at her, but this stare was different. In fact, everything about his body language felt.. off. She didn’t know how to explain it, but when Grogu’s ears sunk flat against his little head, that was when she knew she was right: something was wrong.

“..Din?” she called to him, her voice so much softer this time. Her heartbeat picked up, and her blood began pumping into her eardrums again. He didn’t move for a moment, but his head tilted further off to the side and this time, she could feel his eyes drilling a hole into her skull.

“Theere you are,” he suddenly cooed, in a voice so low and so candidly sinister, that it sent goosebumps down all 4 of her limbs. He fully turned his body towards her in a move so fluid, he almost looked like a droid. It was then she felt, or rather sensed, a shadowy aura around him; it consumed him, enveloped around him like a viper, and it was angry, ancient and malevolent.

“Wh- ” her voice cracks and she quickly clears her throat, sweat building in the back of her neck. “-where is she?”

“It’s all right now.” Din all but purred at her. He held a hand out towards her, coaxing her to cross the room to him. “Grogu?”

Grogu stiffened in her arms.

His helmet tilted down, his voice dropping to an almost ominous drawl. “It’s time to go home.”

Get out. It’s the only message the Force is giving her right now. Get out get out get out get out.

She began backing up inch by inch, her grip tightening around the baby.

Din could already see her and called her name out, her real name, “don’t.” he warned darkly.

“Din,” she tried again, her voice starting to shake against her will. “where is she?”

Din took a step towards her, and her nerves began to scramble. Her body is telling her to run but her eyes are still racing across the room. And it’s when she cranes her head up to look for a ceiling that she sees her: Uma is standing at least 2 stories above them, a pair of glowing red eyes that weren’t there before looking directly at her. Her long arms are spread out by her sides and if it wasn’t for the patch of rock ledge sticking out below her feet, she would’ve looked like she was floating.

The witch suddenly cocked her head to the side in a distorted stretch, a move Din followed in perfect sync with her.

Her face dropped in horror and she felt the blood drain from her face. No, no, no, no..

Uma’s eyes darted for a split second to the baby in her arms before she once again made direct eye contact with her. She’s quiet for a beat too long before she speaks in a distorted, inhumane hiss:

“Kill her.”

She only had time to spot Din reach for his holster, and in a single swift move, she stuffed Grogu completely inside her bag and took off behind her. She’d just barely missed the single blaster shot that grazed the rocks where she stood and she didn’t bother sticking around to talk any more sense into Din.

Whatever the witch had done, whatever he was, it wasn’t her Mandalorian. And she didn’t even have time to find out how to break this spell. Din had told her this time and time again before; when push came to shove, if the situation were to ever go south, the Child was always to be her first priority. Reuniting Grogu with his people was the most important of all missions, and if it came down to it, yes, even more important than Din’s own well-being. Time was not on her side right now, she had a limited number of priorities she could manage and in this moment, getting Grogu to the ship was at the top of that list.

She ducked around as many corners as she could see, in hopes of confusing him long enough to find an escape. She could still somewhat remember the way they came in, but none of these tunnels looked familiar to her right now.

Then, as she passed another triad of tunnels, she felt it: the familiar scent of rainwater and wet earth, a cool breeze that could only come from above ground tickling her ankles, and all coming from one specific direction. She was getting closer. She sprinted into the middle tunnel, the Force whispering to her in words she could never make out. Whatever they were saying, they were taking her the right way and that was all she needed.

She was rounding the corner when she heard another set of shots from behind her, and this time they were uncomfortably close to her head. “S-Shit!” she squealed, ducking low. She spotted a little opening behind a layer of rocks against the wall. It was just big enough for her hide in so she wasted no time, slipping behind them and pressing her back as far into the walls as she could go. She pulled her bag into her chest and pressed her lips together, forcing herself to breathe through her nose, air coming out in rapid and shaky little huffs.

For a moment it was quiet, and she almost thought he’d gone the other way. Then, Din called her name, practically singing it as he rounded the corner from the last tunnel she ran into, followed immediately by a sweetly-ominous, “Groguu.” It made her hold her breath, her heart ramming against her rib cage.

He walked slower this time. He’d heard her footsteps stop, which told him she was nearby. She took in one last breath and forced herself to close her eyes.

Breathe, breathe, breathe. Focus, focus..

“Sweetheaart,” Din cooed, slowly unsheathing his vibro blade. His voice is mostly there, but even with the modulator, she can hear the disembodied growls filtering through and overwhelming him.

Focus.

Remember. She can’t command her access to the Force. The Force has to come to her.

Din let his blade swipe loudly against a wall of rock in a piercing screech.

She almost flinched. Then, one of her hands pressed onto the floor, fingers digging into the softer ground. She focused on her surroundings, trying to map out the cluster of channels around her.

“You can’t hide forever, pretty girl.” (mostly) Din drawled. His heavy footsteps loomed closer, taking his time as he was undoubtedly trying to find her heat signature.

She squeezed her eyes tighter, digging her fingertips deeper into the earth. She searched the tunnels, scanning the walls, feeling every crack, every crevice, reading the pattern of fractures in the bedrock, until..

Bingo!

Just as she felt Din’s body hover over her, they both heard it; the collapse of loose rocks to Din’s right. His helmet snapped towards it instantly before he quickened his pace and turned the corner, following the sound.

She opened her eyes and shakily exhaled. Holy shit, it worked!

She didn’t stick around to celebrate though. The second he was out of sight, she slipped out of her hiding spot and took off in the opposite direction. Her little mental map had also confirmed her instinct; this was the right direction to head back to land. And the tunnels proved it— sunlight was starting to peek through the little cracks in the ceilings the further she went.

Then, she felt a prickle along the back of her neck. Behind you—

She whirled around and her hand shot back up with a gasp, Force-freezing Din right on time before he could bring his blade down. She held him there for a moment, trying to read him.

“Din, snap out of it!” she strained. He snarled at her in response, trying to push back against her with his full weight.

She released him, throwing him back as far as she could go with a breathless pant. She watched his body skid to a stop before she stretched her hand out again. She felt the Force around his body and her fingers clenched. She lifted him off the ground and threw him again, this time around a corner and into the next hallway down, this time not caring where he landed, nor waiting to find out.

She ran ahead, her grip tightening around the baby. Her lungs were on fire, but her legs were numb, they could hardly feel just how much work she was putting into them. But she was getting closer. She could hear the water drippings get louder, which told her they were getting close to the waterfalls up above. Then, there it was; a cave opening just ahead, where she could see trees, fog and the greying skies on the other side. Thank gods, she was almost there!

Her heart swelled with revived hope. Then, she heard a familiar whizz fly by her ear. She looked up and saw it— a grenade rolling to a stop nearby, ticking down its final second by second.

Shit-!

She dipped left to get as fast and as far away as she could before it detonated, sending her flying forward. She crash-landed just before the opening, Grogu slipping out and rolling just a few feet away with a squeak. She grunted and hissed in pain, straining to get up before freezing. Din was coming, but he wasn’t close enough to spot them yet.

They were bathed in smoke and ash from the explosion and she had an opening of just a few precious seconds left, so she gently Force-pushed Grogu against the walls before looking into his eyes. “Honey I need you to hide, okay?” she whispered, tears threatening to blur her vision as she motioned with her hands and covered her eyes. A physical cue that she’d taught Grogu when they had playtime. Hide!

His ears perked up in understanding and he sunk further into the shadows of the walls, his tan robe blending into the bedrock. She sighed in relief. As long as he stayed there, he’d be safe. For now.

Then, a gloved hand gripped tightly around her ankle. Before she could gasp, she was dragged into the smoke and yanked right into Din’s grasp. She yelped out as she grabbed his wrist this time, his vibro-blade just inches from her face.

“D-Din!” she cried out to him again, her eyes blown wide open to search his visor. “Din, wake up!”

His growl was almost animalistic and it sent a wave of panic through her system.

With another grunt, she bent his wrist and kneed him in the groin, causing him to drop his blade. She kicked herself away from him and scrambled to her feet, snatching his blade with one hand and pulling out her blaster with the other. She panted, sweat brimming across her forehead as she aimed her blaster at him. “Don’t make me do this, Red!” she warned him shakily.

He rose to his feet as soon as he landed, his armor rising and falling with his slow breathing. He cocked his head towards her, taking in her smaller form before he lunged at her once more.

She shot several blasts towards his knees. His armor was impenetrable, but she knew every inch of his beskar like the surface of his bed and she knew exactly where to reach skin when she needed it. The plasma bolts singed his knee pads enough to make him stumble forward and she used his weight against him to knock him to the floor. She pocketed his knife and Force-pinned him down with her free hand, causing him to squirm and wrestle under her grip. She had just enough time to force his blaster out of his grasp, when she suddenly heard an ear-splitting shriek from inside her brain.

Uma.

It was enough to distract her and break her hold on Din, her hands shooting up instead to try and muffle the awful sound. A second later, her legs were swept out from under her. She landed face up on the ground with a groan before a slab of beskar pressed onto her chest. Din sat over her to pin her down before both hands wrapped around her neck. Then, he began to squeeze.

And that’s when she began to panic. His grip was instant, and intentional. With her air supply cut off, she immediately began struggling underneath him, choking out whimpers and unintelligible pleas up at him. Her hands pulled and yanked and scratched at his wrists but his grip held like stone. The tighter he squeezed, the stronger she felt Uma’s control over him, and the longer her lungs screamed to breathe, the more her hope began to wilt that she’d be able to bring him back.

But the worst part was watching him, how cold and unresponsive he otherwise was as he watched her struggle below him. He might as well have been a stranger, the ruthless asshole bounty hunter she’d met on their first day. Like he was crushing helpless prey instead of his own partner.

“D-“ her chokes melted into strangled sobs, hot tears rolling down her temples. She couldn’t even say his name anymore. He said nothing back to her, the only sounds coming out of his modulator was his grunts as he dug his gloves deeper into her neck.

Din..! He couldn’t hear her through the Force, but it didn’t stop her from trying anyway. With every awful passing second, her brain grew foggier and her body became heavier. She was starting to see black spots in her vision and just before she thought she would pass out, he stopped squeezing.

His body stiffened and he was suddenly thrown back and off of her. Her chest rose as she sucked in as much oxygen as she could take before she started coughing, her vision spinning as she refilled her lungs. She craned her neck and there, through the fading black spots behind her eyes, stood little Grogu. His tiny arm was outstretched, pinning his father down with far more ease than she ever could, his big brown eyes squinted in concentration.

Din was dragged across the floor and his limbs were splayed out and pinned down. He began to struggle and growl, a disembodied snarl coming from behind his own voice. He almost looked and sounded like an animal caught in a trap and the longer he struggled, the angrier he became. But Grogu wasn’t done yet. He started walking forward, keeping him in place and as she sat up, she realized the Child was doing a little Force-reading of his own.

Then, her skin began to prickle again. The witch. She was on her feet and looked up just in time to see Uma practically flying towards Grogu with a piercing shriek. Without a second thought, she threw her body in between them, tackling her sideways before she could cross the room. She rolled over and onto her feet, bringing both hands up to hold Uma in place and fling her body away from the baby. The witch landed on her toes and redirected her focus on her instead.

“You have been a nuisance for far too long!” Uma snarled, her red eyes brimming with rage, before her dominant hand shot up.

She was thrown backwards with a far more powerful shove and smashed into the wall behind her so hard, she almost blacked out again. Uma stalked towards her, lifting her off the ground and pinning her body to the walls as she drew closer. “And for that,” she continued. “I’m going to kill your little boyfriend first and make you watch before I cut you open.”

She cried out, straining against Uma’s hold. She was strong, much stronger with the Force than she’d hoped for. She sucked in a breath as the witch closed the distance between them, her clawed hand lightly dragging her nails across the skin of her cheek.

Suddenly, Uma folded over and shrieked, almost in pain. And from over her shoulder, she saw why. Grogu’s eyes were now closed, his tiny little hand pressed to the forehead of Din’s helmet as he sat on his chest. Din was still pinned down but yelling out in strangled pain as a thin, misty fog started puffing out from the pores of his armor. He was trying to break Uma’s hold on Din.

Both of them let out a particularly haunted joint-wail, and she felt Uma’s hold on her loosen. This was the inch she needed. Sliding down the wall, she reached for her leg holster, unsheathed Din’s blade and in one swift upper-cut, pierced it straight into Uma’s heart. She glared into the witch’s eyes as they faded from neon red back to a hollow black.

“Cut this open, bitch.” she snarled at her, before pulling out the blade and slitting her throat open without a moment of hesitation. Her body crumpled to the floor, where she disintegrated into a pile of ash. Instantly, the purple smog around Din broke free, sending him gasping for air. Grogu let him go, and his tiny body plopped down onto his chest plate from the amount of energy he’d just spent.

Her own body collapsed to the floor as she fully broke free as well, breathless, shaking and drenched in sweat as she gathered herself.

Din groaned weakly, his chest rising and falling heavily, and this time, she recognized his voice. She was still trembling too hard to walk, so she crawled over to him, gasping as her head hovered just above his helmet.

“Din..?” she whimpered, and his helmet shot towards her. His gasps were sharp as he reached for her and whispered her name back to her, making her heart swell with relief.

“Din!” she sighed and pressed her forehead to his helmet and held onto it as close as she could. She shivered as she felt one of his hands slide into her hair, gently pressing back against her forehead. She pulled back and looked at Grogu, who was now tittering on the edge of passing out. His energy was all but spent, but it didn’t stop her from picking him up and pulling him into her arms in a tight hug.

“You did so good, little one!” she praised him tearfully, planting sweet little kisses along the top of his head, and she leaned into Din as he sat up to wrap his arms around them both. She looked back up at Din, tears brimming her eyes as she gently cradled his helmet with a free hand. “Are you okay?” she asked him quietly.

He huffed softly and pressed his helmet against her forehead, his hand sliding into the small of her back. “I should be asking you that.” he half-joked, and it made her laugh despite herself. She cradled Grogu in her arms and buried herself into the crook of Din’s cowl, refusing to pull away from him as he stroked her hair and rubbed her back. “Thank you.” he suddenly whispered, his voice cracking right towards the end, and all she could do was nod into his collarbone.

They sat like this for several moments until Din had gathered himself enough to pull them both to their feet. “We have to go,” he instructed her softly and she simply nodded in agreement. “Can you walk?” he asked her with a gentle hand on her arm and she nodded again, cradling the baby closer to her. They couldn’t get out of here fast enough.

They hurried out of the caves and back onto land, crossing the fields to where the Crest was waiting. Din was first in the cockpit, bringing the ship back to life while she got Grogu settled. He was fast asleep by the time they got back so she placed him in his hover pod, gently tucking him in and stroking his ears as she watched him breathe. As small as he was, her skills in the Force paled in comparison to his; his potential really was endless, but more than just the miracles he could perform, or the way he could lift things a hundred times his size with a flick of his little claw; it was his heart and his unconditional love for Din that brought her to her knees. He was already halfway through breaking through Uma’s curse by the time she was able to strike, if anything he probably could’ve ended it all himself. He was as rare as beskar itself, and just as pure. And she would give her life a thousand times over to protect him if she could.

She didn’t allow herself to breathe until she felt the ship lift off the ground and carry them back into space. And it wasn’t until she felt them lurch into hyperspace that she finally let her body relax and close the lid on Grogu’s pod to let him nap peacefully.

She started for the ladder to the cockpit and almost jumped out of her skin when she turned around to find Din mid-jump as he landed on the deck from upstairs. He stopped and seemed almost as surprised to see her. “How is he?” he asked softly.

“He’s fine,” she nodded reassuringly, crossing her arms in front of her. “he’s gonna be asleep for a while until he regains his strength.”

He nodded back in response. “Good. He could use th..” he suddenly trailed off, his body frozen as he stared at her.

She blinked back at him in alarm when he said nothing else. “..What?” she asks. “What is it?”

Din didn’t move immediately, and for a moment she was almost terrified that somehow Uma was still in there, but then he crossed the room and closed the distance between them, his hands coming up to gently cradle her face. He craned her head further up and what she saw from the reflection of his helmet gave her an answer. Basked in the full light of the Crest, red and purple bruises were starting to set around her neck, in the perfect shape of his hands. A broken exhale came out of his modulator and she realized his hands were trembling.

“Cya’rika, I..” he breathed out, and the raw ache in his voice drove a stake straight into her heart.

“Din..” she tried to start, but he only further craned her neck up, his gloved fingers ghosting over her skin as he took in the full sight of her injuries. His breathing began to come out in broken pants, and his fingers only shook harder.

“I hurt you..” his voice was barely above a whisper, but she heard the crack under it.

She felt a pang of guilt in her stomach and she quickly began to shake her head in disagreement. “Shh, no no-“ she tried to ease him, her own hands coming up to press over his gloves. “-you didn’t..”

“I almost killed you,” he croaked, his own guilt quickly overwhelming him. “and all I could do was watch.” He paused, gently stroking her face before his helmet tilted to the floor. “I could feel.. I could see everything that witch was making me do. I watched myself strangle you, I looked into your eyes and no matter how hard I tried to scream or fight, I couldn’t stop myself.”

She shook her head again as she pulled him closer. “No, no..” she whimpered, bringing her fingers up to her neck. She wanted to reassure him, to try to let him know that she didn’t blame him. She couldn’t blame him. She refused to let that kind of guilt hover over him, not when she knew how long he was capable of carrying that weight on his shoulders. “She did this to me.”

“With my hands.” he growled, before sighing heavily and shaking his own head. “I’m s..” his voice cracked again and he swallowed the lump rising in his throat. “I’m so sorry, mesh’la. I wasn’t strong enough. I wasn’t strong enough and it almost cost me you.”

“S-Shhh..” she soothed him, wrapping her arms around his neck. She didn’t even realize she was crying until she felt the tears rolling down her cheeks. “I don’t blame you.” She had to stand on her tiptoes to gently grab and kiss his helmet. “Not for a single moment do I blame you.”

A broken exhale huffed out of the modulator and his hands found her waist and the small of her back. He pressed her as close as his armor allowed her to be and she fully leaned into him, nuzzling her nose against the very center of the T-shape. Then, she pulled back and peered up into the black of his visor— she’d never looked into his eyes before, yet somehow, Din felt like she could still see him. Her fingertips gently cupped the hollowed out “cheeks” of his helmet, before her lashes fluttered down to where his lips would be.

“Din..” All she needed was his name. Whispered in a voice so soft and vulnerable, yet laced with an ache of her own so cutting and subtle, only he could make it out clear as day. All she needed was his name to shift the air completely.

His breath caught in the modulator, gloved hands cradling her face, his thumbs gently wiping her tear stains dry. “Are you sure?”

He had to ask. His answer was always the same, but he always asked first, whether it was out of respect, politeness, Creed or if he just wanted to make sure. She had to smile before leaning back in, this time planting a full kiss on the very front of his helmet while he watched from the other side. Her hands slid down his chest plates until they found his padded waist, squeezing the thick fabric down there anyway to pin their hips closer together. “Please..” she whimpered against his beskar, and the sweet little whine in her voice was more than enough for him to surrender to her.

He swallowed and nodded once at her. On cue, her eyes fluttered closed and she sighed, wetting her lips slightly.

First came the click and hiss, and before she could jump from the loud clang of his helmet hitting the floor, his lips were on hers. She gasped against him, her hands immediately flying to cradle his bare face. It’d been only a few weeks since they started kissing. But it had shifted everything; from the sex, to his body language towards her, their daily small talks, even how they both interacted around the kid, they were drawn to each other now in a way they hadn’t experienced yet. He was reasonably awkward and clumsy at first, but he was a fast learner and she loved being his target practice. And even though it’d already become somewhat of a nightly ritual, it always felt like the first time every single time.

He was quick to crowd her, pressing her against the wall behind her. He ripped his gloves off to tangle his fingers into her hair, his tongue already sliding in between her lips to taste her. She audibly moaned into his lips, her eyebrows kneading together in longing. His hands grew impatient, sliding them down her sides, trailing her curves and when she felt them cup the back of her thighs, she knew to jump into his touch and wrap her legs around his waist. He parted their lips to lift her with ease, groaning as she takes advantage of her new height to eagerly pull him back in. Her back finds the coolness of the steel wall again and she shudders, her fingers tangling into the mess of soft hair she adores now.

And it isn’t until he runs of breath that he shifts direction, his parted lips leaving soft kisses on her cheeks and her temples. He slows down to kiss her forehead, nuzzles their noses, and leans in for one more closed-mouth kiss before he slowly brings them down and across her jaw. She sighs and cranes her head up to give him access and it’s then she realizes her bruises are still a little sore, not enough to hurt, but just enough to remind her they were still there. Yet his touch is light as air. His lips are soft and slow, his hand is warm to the touch and he cradles and kisses her skin so tenderly, she starts forgetting they came from the same pair of hands.

The first unfiltered sound she hears is when he starts whispering sweet little nothings in Mando’a into her skin, repenting to her, and eventually he allows a little Basic to slip through. “..my pretty, precious girl.. don’ even deserve you..” He kisses a soft spot on the nape of her neck and she whines, a little shudder running down her spine and settling into her core.

She instinctively rocks against his hip and he groans again, burying his perfectly curved nose into her shoulder. “Tell me what you want, angel,” He slips his hand from her neck and lightly trails it to the small of her back. “Say the word and I’ll give you anything you want.”

This was her Din. Behind the layers of armor and weapons, the walls around his rules, his loyalty, his Creed, under his grief, his stubbornness and his rage, was a selfless, doting and softhearted soul. He was all mush with sweet gestures, a voice like melted sugar and small, soft touches. He rarely vocalized his devotion to her in public; those were usually left for the pitch black safety of his living quarters. This was her Din, and it was exactly what she wanted.

She’s gasping as she blindly traces his face, letting her fingers trail lower until she finds one of his shoulder pauldrons. “O-Off,” she pleads, her lips finding his temple and kissing his soft skin. “I want all of you.”

Din doesn’t hesitate. She’s off the wall in an instant and she hugs his neck to nuzzle his nose. Din’s eyes never leave her face, watching with a mix of awe and genuine tenderness as she kept her eyes firmly closed for him. She made fun of virtually everything else about him, but she never once questioned the Way. He was used to the jokes and the stereotypes by now, and she wasn’t any different at first either. But she was never cruel, or purposely harmful. She’d accepted the barriers in their intimacy from the very beginning and she was never once doubtful about it. It was something he hadn’t experienced with anyone else before, even from those in the covert. Everything about this was new to him, and it made his heart pound like nothing else had before.

He rounds the corner into his bed chamber, she cuts the lights with a quick smack on the wall as he clicks the door shut, darkness swallowing them whole. He kisses her again and sits her onto his bed. He’s quick with his armor, tossing each piece in one spot next to him on the floor for him to deal with later. Once she has hands on his flight suit, she makes quick work of zipping him out.

They’re both gasping at this point, her hands slipping down to make work of his belt as he rips his undershirt off. Once he’s able to step out of his pants, he grabs her waist and pulls her close, claiming her lips once more. Her clothes are easier to handle, and he’s effortless with how quickly he can get her out of her chest band. He gently lays her out on his cot, his knees fencing her in underneath him. His large hands start on the outside of her thighs. They’re strong and warm to the touch, tracing the curves of her hips and waist. They trail over the soft skin of her stomach and she sucks in a gasp, goosebumps trailing behind his fingers like prints in the snow.

“So soft..” she hears him whisper above her, fingers mapping out her ribcage before he gently cups her breasts, his thumbs brushing over the buds of her nipples and she whimpers under his feathery touch.

“Diin,” she calls for him and arches her back. He responds by taking one of the hardened buds in his mouth, which finally pulls a moan out of her. His sigh is a strangled groan and he makes quick work of her breasts, teasing, squeezing and pinching exactly where she likes it with one hand while he suckles and tastes the other. He knows just where she’s sensitive the most and he uses it to his full advantage until she’s physically mewling and whimpering under him, her back arched up desperately into him.

He tastes her other nipple when his hand slips down in between them. Her jaw drops as his fingers find the thin cloth of her underwear, rubbing a teasing circle around the exact area of her swollen clit. His name becomes a whimpered little chant as she begs for more friction, hips driving into his hand.

“Oh gods, please—!” she’s getting shameless now, shudders running down her spine as he gets braver. His mouth travels further south, hands pressing her into the cot while he tastes the salt of her skin. He parts her legs and kisses down the inside of her thighs, the scruff of his beard ghosting over her nerves. She whines again when he slows down on purpose to gently suck on a spot on her hip.

Then she feels his head dip and hears him inhale slowly and a blush of realization creeps across her cheeks. “Already, pretty girl?” he teases lightly, his fingers sliding across the soaked fabric of her underwear and she chokes, her hips already bucking into him. He chuckles softly and smooches the flesh on her thigh. “Easyy cyar,” his voice has dipped an octave lower and his words are dripping out like softened honey. His touch on her hip melts into her skin. “lift up.”

She obeys and he slips it down and off with calculated ease as he slots himself in between her legs. She can feel his breath ghosting over her skin, his big warm hands digging into the flesh of her hips, and then his tongue laps up her folds and she blurts out a throaty moan. He starts slow, tasting every inch of her, mapping her out and she allows it, fisting his hair as the air is sucked out of her.

Her moan spikes up as he inches around her clit, and he pauses over her to chuckle before he starts smooching around the bundle of nerves once, twice. “Di- “ she’s cut off when he palms her, two fingers sliding in between her folds to massage her nerves there. He hums low in his chest, collecting and spreading her arousal and allows her to buck against his touch. He looks up as he teases and massages her folds, palming her clit as his middle finger circles her entrance. She’s squirming under him, whimpering incoherently. She’s flushed and desperate, her back arching when she feels his tongue flick across her nipple.

“Is this what you want?” he purrs, sliding his middle finger inside, making her exhale sharply. He growls as he finally dips into her pussy; she’s warm and wet and tight, and the sensation sends a shocking pulse into his cock. He starts pumping his finger in and out, feeling her out as she’s pulled apart inch by inch. Her moans climb into a sweet octave and he swears she sounds like a songbird.

“Already so wet for me, ” Din marvels and she whimpers back at him. How can she bring herself to tell him he’s the only person who’s ever made her this vulnerable when she can’t even get his name out without moaning? Her breath hitches as a second digit slips inside, and Din moans softly from her grip. She cries out as he starts fucking her faster, his mouth returning to the bundle of nerves now swollen and pulsing in arousal.

“Din!” Her jaw is slack, fingers dug and tangled in his hair. She’s bucking shamelessly into his face and Din groans against her clit, pumping his fingers in and out of her with relative ease.

“That’s my girl.” he murmurs between wet kisses, ducking his head to suckle the center of her core, drawing more mewls out of her. “Fuck.. you taste so fucking good..” he whispers, before flicking his tongue mercilessly around her clit. She’s then rendered breathless when he fucks her deep and starts flicking his fingertips back and forth against the little bundle of nerves on the roof of her core, and with his larger digits, it’s a spot he can reach so much easier than she could on her own. “Right there?” he has the nerve to growl against her pussy, making her physically throb around him.

“Y-Yes!” she’s practically sobbing by now, riding his face as he moans into her skin. She’s embarrassingly close but he refuses to let up, if anything, it only drives him to speed up. His thumb presses over her slick clit, rubbing it in quick circles around that spot, fingers flicking up faster inside of her.

“Cum for me then,” he moans out her name to encourage her. His cock is stiff, tight and still fully pressed fully into his boxers, but he refuses to give attention to anything else until she’s peaked. “Let me hear you, princess.”

“Din.. Din.. fuckbabyfuckfuck- !” she’s an incoherent mess now, one hand tangled into his hair, the other had found his hand supporting her waist, and now had their fingers fully intertwined. She’s close, her thighs twitching and tensing harder around him as her moans escalate. It only takes a few more flicks and she falls apart, her back arched to the ceiling as she releases a guttural scream. He uses their intertwined hands to hold her down as her hips buck wildly against him and he moans against her skin, refusing the stop his ministrations until she’s fully ridden the length of her high. It takes a few long moments but the euphoria blinds her and she wholly surrenders to it.

When she does finally descend, she’s trembling and breathless, her pants coming out in high-pitched whimpers. Din has already pulled out and is kissing up her stomach, crawling back over her, whispering sweet words of praise in what she thinks is Mando’a except she can barely hear.

When she feels his lips start on her neck, she’s regained control of her limbs again and she grips his jaw, luring his face back to eye level. She kisses him first and he consumes her, parting her lips until she can taste herself on his tongue. Her body wraps itself around every inch of him, both of her hands slipping in between them to finally free his cock. He’s one step ahead, slipping his boxers off to finally free his restraints. Her fingers squeeze his shaft and she pulls a sharp gasp out of him.

“Come here—” she hisses against his lips. She was still swirling in a haze of astro-projective bliss, but her body was incensed and her inhibitions in flames with it. Her hands slowly start moving, dragging lazy little strokes up and down his shaft. His body reacts instantly, his gasps coming out in broken pants as he fully leans into her touch. He suddenly moans as one of her thumbs swirls around the tip, spreading his pre-cum around the head of his cock. Her mouth goes dry at the sound of his broken groans and how he starts rocking into her hand. She’s tempted to sink in between his legs in return, but then he ruts his hips into her, rubbing the underside of his cock against her skin and she arches up whimpering from the sensory overload.

“Fuck,” Din manages to growl between his pants as he fully engulfs her under him. He leans in to press their foreheads together as he lifts the back of her thighs, lining himself up between her. This time he drags the bulb of his cock fully in between her folds, dragging another whine out of her. “You’re gonna be the death of me, cyarika.”

Before she can respond, his cock slides in, and the initial stretch makes them both moan out. Din’s hips roll in, burying himself fully inside of her. They’re both gasping with his face buried in her shoulder. She whines his name into the pitch blackness and he starts pulling back out, groaning as her pussy, still tight from her last orgasm, practically sucks him in.

“So fucking perfect.” he hisses out between gritted teeth, stretching her out further. His hands still have a tight grip on her hips, the only thing he can fully grab to will himself not to cum.

“Din..” Her legs wrap around his waist as she somehow finds her voice. When he hums in response and pulls away slightly, it makes her shiver and motivates her to make her next request with a hushed whisper. “I.. I want you to fuck me like you wanna cum first.”

This stuns him into silence. But her words don’t fly over his head either; he’d always made her finish first, all the way back from their very first encounter. It was actually a very noble tradition he was really good about keeping. But hearing her begging for the opposite under him while he had her spread open sent an almost entirely new wave of arousal coursing through his veins. He growls something in Mando’a and the sound borders on animalistic, it rumbles deep enough into her bones to make her walls flutter and clench. A palm slips under the small of her back to lift her hips and she’s pulled into him.

Din slams right back into her and the new angle makes her jaw drop. She can barely recover when he starts rutting almost mercilessly into her, over and over again. His cock drives wave after wave of pleasure over her and it’s a particularly deep thrust that finally pulls the moans out of her. Her back arches against him, her hips rolling back against his until they land on a mutual pace that makes them both gasp out.

“So pretty..” he whispers with a rasp. One of Din’s hands find the edge of his cot above their heads and he pulls himself up to bury even further up inside her with a strained groan. “You’re so fucking pretty like this.” She whimpers and Din’s name pours out of her lips like a prayer, the slapping of wet skin progressively getting faster and more desperate as he fucks her into the cot.

“Y’hear that?” he whispers into her ear, slowing his hips momentarily to drag out the soft squelching of their arousal. She shudders and nods, hugging his back, desperate for him to slam back into her.

“P-Pleaase..”

“I know sweetheart,” he purrs, kissing her lips. “I just love hearing how I fuck you.”

She moans, kissing him back. His cock shoots back in and it makes her head fall back, eyes fluttering in pure pleasure. “Fuck, Din..!” she’s breathless, his rhythm snapping back in place. He grunts above her and it makes her core clench around him. This new angle sends her reeling, hypersensitive nerves sending shock waves of bliss up her spine. “So good..” she manages to whimper out, again and again the higher she climbs. “So fucking good, Din!”

He moans into her shoulder, his strokes growing increasingly fervent. “Who’s pussy is this?” he whispers with a wet kiss, his tongue trailing up her neck.

“Yours!” she doesn’t hesitate, her brows knitted together in pleasure as she fucks back up against him. “..y-yours.. alw..” she swallows, nuzzling her nose into his hair. “it’s always been yours.”

This makes him growl, hips picking up to an almost desperate pace and she almost chokes. “Mine..” one hand lands on her waist, gripping tightly to control his thrusts, the other tangling into her soft hair. He whispers her name again and again, the coil in his stomach growing tighter and tighter. “Mine, mine.. my girl..” his chants grow more desperate, finally edging on the brink of his orgasm. “..my sweet, pretty, precious girl.. fuck- ”

Then his cock ruts into her G-spot and she arches, choking back on a pleasured sob. “T-There!” she whimpers, her nails digging into his neck and back. “Yes..! Yes! Oh gods, right there Din!”

He groans as he ruts into her warmth over and over again, and he leans back down to kiss her, lips and tongues eagerly clashing together before he gasps into her lips to blurt out his final confession. “.. fuck, I love you.” Her heart suddenly seizes in her chest, but then he pulls her legs up in between them and he’s fucking right into her G-spot, rendering her speechless. “I-I love you.. I love you,” he says her name as he quickly unravels. “I always have.. fuck I-.. I can’t lose you baby- ”

Her pussy pulses around him and he crumbles, choking out a pleasured moan as he stiffens around her. He buries himself deep inside of her to spill his release and it’s the sensation of his cock rubbing against her ridges that quickly sends her over the edge right after him. Her whine cracks into a scream as she clings to him, hips thrashing desperately as her second orgasm overwhelms her.

They cling to each other for a moment, gasping breathlessly, before Din finally unclenches. He releases her hips and slowly collapses on top of her, moving his head to lay on her chest, his nose nuzzling into her collarbone.

“Fuck..” She pants and her body droops back to the mattress, both arms softly looping around his neck. She has to wait another minute for both of them to catch their breaths before her thoughts can finally gather.

I love you.

It had never been said out loud before. Had it hung over them in unspoken gestures and unbroken stares before this moment? Had it been suggested to each other once before, twisted amongst playful compliments, flirty insults or heated arguments? Or was it always meant to be whispered in the heat of passion, only to be heard within the walls of their hidden sanctuary?

I love you.

She didn’t think it would happen here to be honest. She didn’t think it would happen at all. In fact, she thought her feelings had been one-sided the entire time until this moment. Her heart is still buzzing, but a new warmth is soaking into her veins and now it’s fluttering for an entirely new reason. She almost wants to cry, except she’s still too mind numbingly high off her second orgasm so all she can do is smile from ear to ear, eyes drifting to the ceiling as her breathing slowly softens.

I love you.

Din is the first to move, slowly rotating his head until his forehead is pressed against her collarbone. He’s still breathless, but his movements are lazier and more fluid. He sighs once and presses a long kiss into her skin, his lips gentle and lingering. A second one pecked just above the first one, before a third, this time lovingly placed on her shoulder.

I love you.

Now, she feels it in every kiss. In every inch of her skin that his fingers brush against. She feels it in how his body curls against her and how his lips slow down over her neck and brush so tenderly against her raw skin there.

“I’m sorry.” he whispers once more to her, and she feels it in his earnesty, in his desperate wish for her not to see him as anything more than who he was: the man she was wholly, unconditionally and almost painfully head-over-heels in love with.

“I know,” she sighs sweetly and kisses the top of his head, nuzzling her nose into his hair. She smiles brightly and her words slip out so easily, it almost felt natural, as if she’d been born to say it. “and I love you.”

It’s soft, almost cracked, but it’s enough to lift Din’s head back up. She knows he can’t see her but she cranes her neck to match his stare anyway. “I’ve always loved you, Din Djarin.” she smiles softly, one of her hands finding his jawline to stroke his cheek. He sucks in a soft breath in the dark and for a beat it’s quiet, but then he moves up to kiss her again, and she returns it tenderly, smiling widely in between their lips.

He pulls away to kiss her forehead, cradling her cheeks between his warm hands, and she closes her eyes to cherish the softness of his lips. He sighs heavily and presses their foreheads together before he whispers softly, “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.”

She grins again and nuzzles their noses together. “I’m gonna assume that was in Mando’a?”

He smiles and pecks her lips. “It’s the closest to what we have in Mando’a.” He pauses until he feels her head curiously tilt to the side. “The literal translation is, ‘I will know you forever’.. ”

There’s a pause as her eyes widen in awe. She feels her heart flutter as she beams again. “I like that,” she cooes, and she means it, curling up around him as she kisses his nose. “it's romantic.”

He chuckles and smooches her cheek, before moving to her lips. He leaves fluttering little kisses on her lips, hands moving to her hair and waist respectively. She purrs against his lips and is just as eager to kiss him back, inhaling as his tongue slips between her teeth. He sighs into her mouth and she gives a little high pitched hum before pulling away with a giggle.

“Diiin,” she tries to scold but she’s smiling too wide and only giggles harder when he starts kissing her jaw.

“Let me make it up to you my love.” he sighs lovingly, smiling as he presses her closer to him.

She fully laughs at this and frees her arms to loop them around his neck. “I already forgave you, silly!”

He chuckles again and leans in just above her. “Oh I'm not done begging for your forgiveness yet, cyar'ika.”

He shifts above her and she then realizes he’s still buried inside of her. He smiles as she gasps, and he kisses along the edge of her jawline. “There’s no rush, princess. We have all night.”

And keep to that promise, he did.

♡♡♡♡

A/N: I should’ve mentioned that this is actually the first time i’ve posted ff in like a decade lmao. And that i DO have a multi-chapter series i’m working on rn that ties into this universe so lmk if y’all are interested in that 👉🏼👈🏼 ok that’s it thx for ur time 💫

[the-ellia-west]

Merry Christmas Everyone - Character Trauma

Sorry, Y'all. I'm a day late.

I wish I could have posted yesterday but this wasn't on my mind at all lol. I was very sick yesterday, but at least I'm alive!

Here's my Christmas gift to y'all!

Harsh characters vs Kinder Characters - These are general vibes --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kind/Cute Characters -

Constantly Apologizing

Trying to help people 24/7

Always worried about Disappointing people

Constantly avoiding answering questions

Lying about being okay

Blaming themselves

Always Guilty

Jumpy

Always inches away from crying

Always doing favors for others

Doesn't take care of themselves

If they do, it's only to keep other people from getting worried

Running away from problems

Constantly overreacting to minor inconveniences

Harsh/Reserved characters -

Violent outbursts

TRUST ISSUES

No emotions

What am I?

Breakdowns

Silence makes them irritable

Too much noise also makes them irritable

Hyper-activated Emotions

Emotionally or Physically abusing self on a bad day because it already sucked

Violent intrusive thoughts or words become normal

Pessimism

Constantly overly alert

NO RELAXATION

Trouble relating to anyone in any sort of way

Extra: Dreams

PTSD dreams are usually never anywhere close to the actual events

Flashbacks usually happen when awake

Often dreams are based on the type of trauma

Soldiers are more likely to see blood in dreams

Sexual abuse survivors are more likely to have people attacking or violating them in dreams

Physical abuse survivors are more likely to have loud sounds and other events related to their abuse in their dreams

Of course none of these are specific to each type, and you SHOULD mix and match, but these are generally more likely

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Different people have different trauma reactions, and so should characters. This sounds pretty obvious, but it's rather hard to do in my experience. It also goes to show that different types of trauma or traumatic events will make a different type of character

For example, I have a few of my characters and their trauma responses because Idk how else to explain it.

Character 1 - Marril - Experienced Physical and Emotional abuse, as well as witnessing several deaths and killing several people.

As a Child he used to be very exposed and unable to hide with short hair and a home that was generally very safe and quiet until it wasn't.

He has a tendency to break or destroy things out of resentment or just as a way to make himself feel better. He also generally obsesses over keeping things clean, because it usually meant better treatment at home. He also generally stays away from children because they remind him of the first person he killed. He also sometimes hallucinates blood on his hands, and isolates himself for fear of hurting them. He hides his emotions until he can't anymore and generally has very extreme negative emotions.

He is often mistaken to be much older than he actually is, and is generally very quiet. He also grows out his hair to distance himself from his past and to give himself an easy hiding place when he needs it. He hates people grabbing him, moving quickly, or touching his hair, and sometimes he will hurt or yell at people when even slightly provoked. Silence often triggers overthinking which brings guilt and bad memories, while sudden loud noises cause screaming, fight or flight, or even flashbacks.

Characters 2 & 3 - The Twins, Xhaazi and Kasi - Experienced emotional and Sexual abuse

The two of them have varied Emotional responses. Kasi tends to hide her emotions and act overly aggressive or overly friendly. She tends to be very tense and in many occasions, fight first ask questions later. She cannot tolerate being alone oftentimes and is sometimes clingy. She hates being restrained in any way and is prone to panic attacks and separation anxiety

She's generally a little reserved but becomes a little clingy when she finds people she likes. She is also over-apologetic and tends to cry around people she trusts for no reason. She always has nightmares and tends to enjoy loud noises because they distract her from her overthinking and anxiety.

While on the other hand, her Brother Xhaazi

He was the one who got it worse. He often injures himself when he's alone, hides his emotions extremely well, and tends to enjoy being alone or in silence. His tactics also amount to fight first ask questions later, but he is always in fight or flight mode and never trusts anyone unless given a good reason.

He tends to get very clingy to those he trusts and hates loud noises. He also tends to have a lot more nightmares than his sister and tends to cover up every single emotion he's feeling unless he thinks people will like it. He has depression and a lack of self-preservation along with extreme separation anxiety for his family and no one else when he can't easily get back to them.

So uh... Yeah? Have fun torturing your babies! Just make sure to differ their trauma from one another even if they experienced roughly the same things.

[ovaruling]

animal rights activist in my group was punched last night peacefully protesting foie gras at a high end restaurant. by a man, ofc. the guy literally went “should i fucking punch you in the face bro?” and then does, and then goes, “don’t fucking touch me bro!” AFTER PUNCHING AN ACTIVIST who never touched him.

aggressive carnist males are the backbone of all suffering—animal suffering, human suffering. they always have been. they always will be. they uphold it, they live by it. they become enraged when there is visible opposition to the status quo that comfortably rests on the oppression of what they either subconsciously or consciously consider “lesser beings.” they can’t stand the thought that the way things are is cruel and unusual—not bc they care about that distinction, but bc they sense a particle of criticism and see red. the notion that bystanders and fence-sitters might come to see their actions as cruel, too, is unbearable.

bc they would be exposed—they’d lose the crowd complacency they need to support the Human Supremacist lifestyle of convenience and guiltlessness. they suddenly think they have to immediately suppress the public attempt to spread knowledge, lest others around them start asking questions of themselves. ignorance in general is how aggressive carnist males stay firmly seated in contented power. it is how we as a species are able to sanctify abuse against ALL species, human included—when no one asks questions. (there is a quotation that summarizes this, about letting a child think chickenmeat is made in a factory, so that she will never question it.)

they want it all to stay the same, bc they REALLY like not doing a damn thing, ever. it’s their favorite thing, in fact. to do nothing. to never be questioned.

and this guy was just a customer at the restaurant. not an official in any capacity. just swam up out of the crowd.

didn’t even look like he knew what foie gras is. just saw people peacefully protesting something that probably was perpendicular to his activities and decided to become physically violent.

but yeah, vegans are the worst, right?

[ms-hells-bells]

idk why the dog discourse is back again, but as someone that both lives in a country with high levels of pitbull/staffie ownership and interacts daily with dog owners and dog issues in my volunteer work, they aren't just randomly violent for no reason with good guardians who are shocked that it happened. the way people treat pitties here is fucking horrible, because they have the rep/stereotype of guard dogs or attack dogs, people who are lower class, close to or in gangs, use drugs, or are just hypermasculine get those male dogs, DON'T DESEX THEM (so, more aggression), don't properly train them, but scream at and beat them, because they think that's what will 'toughen' a pittie up and make them attack dogs. 99% of the time it does not, they just become miserable recluses, super withdrawn and fearful (most dog attacks are NOT out of anger or territory based aggression, they're fear aggression, when the dog feels extremely scared, and doesn't see a way out, and the human (often a child) ignores the warnings, like growling, showing teeth, certain poses, etc. another one is food/possession aggression, where their trauma and lack of proper training means that they cannot cope with people in their space and taking their things. you'll see bites at children who grab food from their dog bowls).

but they still love their owners, i have lost count of the amount of times, literally more than the fingers on my hands, i have seen men scream at, kick, punch, etc. their intact male pitbulls (not legal in nz unless a licenced breeder btw, but still a widespread issue), and the dogs still get excited and wag their tails, and want to play whenever the man comes back from work or whatever, they still seek touch and affection. it's just horrible, i have aided in someone else....disappearing a dog to a better life not exactly legally, that was treated like this because the spca wouldn't do shit, unless there's a dead or gravely injured animal, and people physically saw the owner/s do it, they don't care. those dogs have so often been abused from 10 weeks old, and they still seek love. very rarely some are so mentally damaged that they DO attack someone, and unfortunately they get put down, which i have complicated feelings about, but that's a different topic, i won't get into it in this post.

but yeah, you abuse a dog, don't train a dog, and destroy a dog's sense of safety, of course they are gonna be at a higher risk of aggression, because they have ptsd, they are traumatised and in constant fear of harm. and i do believe that there is a biological element due to the bite force of pitties and similar dogs, as well as breeding for specific personality traits. but we also see so many bites (far more than pitties and other large dogs) from small dogs, they just can't cause deaths or usually severe injuries because they are small, but they are attacking for the exact same reasons; fear and lack of training. so many people just have zero respect for other living beings. it's why i'm against breeding and domestication as a whole, because we just completely fuck with their lives for our own benefit. pitbulls as a species should not exist, just like near every other dog on earth apart from wild ones (that do include domestic species, but very quickly become just 'mixed' dogs). which is a similar opinion to many ANTI-pitbull people, but i come at it from an angle of empathy (as well as applying it to all dogs, we should not be breeding 'the perfect pet'). they didn't ask to be here and be treated so cruelly.

i'm not gonna reply to any responses to this trying to argue. i have posted about this before and had all those arguments. i know the statistics, i know the biology, psychology, and i have real world first hand experience. you are not fighting with me on my opinion on this.

[imagine-silk]

Could I have Darling wispering to the Yandere Fallout 4 Girls (+Hayleen) that Darling wants a Baby and wants for them to carry it?

》This can be read as any gender because sperm donors so it's possible.

【Cait】 "Alright."

To her it's not up for discussing, she will do this. She would give you anything you asked for no matter how dirty or violent it was, so to carry your baby is not only a task to take, it's a high honor. Of course, she knows how difficult it is to have a child. She has seen many women give birth in her life and they don't always survive. And even after the don't always survive.

Her parents weren't good to her and it does cross her mind but you're different, she's different. She silently swears to be there for the child as much as she's there for you.

The pregnancy is a bit difficult for one reason and one reason alone; she tries to bare it on by herself. Whenever she has morning sickness she'll brush it off. When her boobs ache she shift them in her bra and nothing else. She doesn't really understand this is not something you can just take on the chin.

When she does start taking help it makes things easier but it's starting to take a toll on her. She has the urge to punch everything. When she's too weak to leave the house it make her even more pissed. But looking at you makes her feel it's all worth it.

【Curie】 "What a splendid idea, my love."

She is very serious about this. Honestly, she's going to have this entire thing planned. Having a baby is a very serious process both physically and emotionally. Some other doctors are going to be trained in child birth if they don't know so already, she's handled most of the labors in Sanctuary but she can't handle this one.

Is the easiest to handle because she understands what goes into it. When she has a craving she finds what's a healthy version of it and chooses that instead. Stretching is a must everyday. Asking for help is not only done but expected.

The entire time she's fawning over you and her stomach. She does get very testy about people touching her. Unless it's you she will not be keen on others touching her at all. If they ignore her warnings she'll lock her hands and throw her elbow at them. While their cradling their head she tells them again to not touch her.

【Piper】 "Oh my god, you're so right."

To be completely honest she's a little upset she didn't bring this up first. It's only natural for a married couple to have a child. She tells Nat about the idea. You think she's mad about it because she starts leaving the house a lot, but when she comes back she goes straight to Piper and gives her food and water. It clicks then she wants this.

The newspaper's doing a lot less but no one says anything. She's having a baby, show some respect. The further into the pregnancy the further violent she become so you better hope you're never snippy with her.

She's more than happy to stay home with Nat drinking nuka-cola making puff pieces. When you come house she's holding you close always. Loving on you is on extra during this time. You will not have a moment alone.

【Haylen】 "Well we better get started then."

You are going to have a lot of sex even after she gets pregnant. There is a practical purpose to it but it is an excuse to just continuously have sex to her. She's sweet about it too. Constantly praising and rewarding you for following her.

It was only a matter of time before this happened. She spend a lot of attention on binding you to her so two plus two equals baby.

She is a independent but asks for help, especially from Curie. Her treatment of everyone around her doesn't change but make no mistake she is still very dangerous. In this time, bonding with you is essential to her. If you have a positive association about this it will get her what she wants so no violence.

Danse will help her when you can't. She'll even make him carry her and open jars. And Preston checks up on her because he is a ball of sunshine who not only wants her to be okay but is excited to see a baby running around. To boost morale of course. The socializing helps ease the discomfort she doesn't show. The socializing helps ease the discomfort she doesn't show.

[nysus-temple]

We need to talk about the downgrade of Apollo in Lore Olympus because Rachel did him so dirty, like his character has been mistreated do much 😭

Don't take this personal, anon, you've done nothing wrong ! i'll just use this ask as a way to, somehow, dumps my violent thoughts about this... Thingy.

Rant below.

What Lore Olympus did to Apollo isn't even a downgrade, it's plain disrespectful, an insult to an important figure and symbol. Not only him, but also the rest of the gods that appear in that nonsense that dares to call itself a """comic""", which is also an insult to writers and artists. Lore Olympus did a culture wrong, did a comic wrong in general, but it did to Apollo has no words to describe it. If every time someone talks about Apollo, they need to EXPLAIN why he's not the LO one, we have a problem. When we are talking about Apollo, we're talking about APOLLO and that's it. Why the fuck do we need to specify? Because of this piece of shit that had the audacity to even come out in physical format. As someone who has been writing since she was a child, who also studies literature and took courses regarding how to write a fucking decent story, i don't even know where to begin with this horrible piece of... """Media""" that Webtoon keeps promoting as if it wasn't something that wasn't of a big deal. My ass.

Gotta love seeing a bunch of teens who educated themselves with Tiktok reading that AND not only throwing bullshit at Apollo, a figure who i love with my entire being and who has brought me comfort in numerous ways, but also thinking that rape victims just "get over it" after meeting a handsome man or whatever. As if Hades wasn't fucking awful in that comic. That's not how it works. Don't write about dangerous topics if you know shit about them.

Gotta love how i always associated Persephone with dark-pink, due to the pomegranate seeds being of that color, BUT NOW i can't see her with anything with that color anymore because of the ugly ass """character""" LO made. What even is WRONG with the teens reading it that they go and change wiki articles to make the myths accurate to this bullshit that has the balls to call itself a comic ????

I won't even go "sure, you like it, fine" NO. NO I CANNOT. WHAT DO YOU EVEN SEE THAT IS APPEALING? I've seen people who knew nothing about Greek Folklore say it was boring as hell. Some kind of Twilight 2.0 but even worse. For fuck's sake, i'm the first person who likes characters that in real life wouldn't be nice to be with, because NONE OF THEM ARE HUMAN, all of those are monsters or invented creatures. What do those teens even SEE in LO when the designs are all fucking awful.

And after what they did to ALL of the gods, SPECIALLY to Apollo, if they have the fucking audacity to touch Dionysus too, i truly apologize for the person i will become.

If they fucking dare to mistreat Dionysus just like the damn Hades Game did and make him a pice of scum just like that one, i do apologize for the things i'm capable of doing.

[lakesbian]

To be honest, as someone who have actual siblings, the Cosay siblings headcanon it's kinda odd to me.

There's other potential sibling relationships like Lake and Tulip (that's why there's so much Twins Aus) and Jesse and Nate, but that one is more obvious... even if the blushes are because both of them are embarrassed, I don't think all of them are for that reason, the blushes can be by making a lot of strength (Book 1 Lake for example when they tried to escape to the door, also Tulip blushes too because of Lake's weight), a sign of attraction, joy, excitement, ect.

also, they hold hands soooo yeah :T

this is so funny. your analysis is bad, sorry. the only thing it has going for it is that it's the meat pumpkin in my tiger enclosure, by which i mean i will have fun tearing it apart.

"there's other potential sibling relationships, like lake and the girl she spends an entire season violently insisting her life doesn't revolve around!" like in what world LMAOOO she literally goes "i spent my whole life reflecting you, i'm going my own way now" to tulip to explain that because her life has been based entirely around tulip she doesn't want to have any connection to her, and you think there's good grounds for a sibling headcanon? deranged. i love that you started off with this because it really established the tone for how (in)coherent the rest of your thoughts were going to be perfectly.

as for the blush commentary, i. can't figure out what you're trying to say here? like, sure, sometimes characters in the show blush because they're being physically exerted, but that's irrelevant to bring up as an argument because it doesn't contradict my statement that the blushes in s2 aren't romantic. what does lake being exhausted from her failed attempt to escape the chrome car have to do with that?

the blushes in s2 do have varying emotional nuances behind them but they can generally all be tied back to embarrassment, shyness, or other similar feelings. lake blushing in the lucky cat car because she's flustered that jesse is expressing care for her is certainly happier than jesse blushing in the map car because he's admitting his state-qualified swim stroke lake is teasing him about isn't his favorite, but the core emotion motivating both is still feelings of vulnerability, and subsequently, self-consciousness. it's kind of a nothing-statement to say that 'not all of them are because of embarrassment' because yeah no shit, i never claimed the reasons for them were solely one-dimensional. this is The Train Nuance Blog, it's a given that there's nuance.

the "it's a sign of attraction" regarding s2 blushes is just like. Comically stupid. go read my post with the multiple screenshots of one of the show's writers explicitly confirming that the blushes aren't because of a crush & they're Platonic Friends, dippie. https://lakesbian.tumblr.com/post/714630299618770944/okay-umm-listen-i-have-a-silly-a-very-silly

and "they hold hands" ...,,,,..,,,rip to you i guess but some people have physical affection with their non-romantic loved ones? we got a fucking time traveler from the goddamn victorian era out here in my inbox talking about the Intrinsic Romance of [checks notes] "touching your friends." WAIT until you find out that i'd kiss mine on the cheeks LMAO. i'm gonna have to get ms lindsay katai on the phone to inform her that despite the crew's best attempts they did unfortunately accidentally write a romance by depicting a lonely traumatized child sharing occasional physical affection with her first-ever friend to comfort her during the most upsetting moments of her life :/

cosay siblings is rlly not that odd of a projected life outcome for them--they're best friends, lake living with jesse is a fairly common assumption people make, and a best friend you live with who's slowly becoming integrated into your family as a whole is...kind of just going to become an adopted sibling! there are many people who describe their best friend as being "like a brother/like a sister," there's no reason jesse and lake couldn't start feeling similar in the future & then turn it into "just literally actually brother/sister because he IS her family so it's not Like a sister, it's Is a sister"

[tetsunabouquet]

We definitely need some Ichiru/Maria head cannon's if you don't mind (me personally I always know that if they were to start a family they'd be the best parents because the last thing they want is for their kids to feel lesser if they were born with any disabilities or illness)

A/N: Of course I don't mind! I'd love to write my headcanons about them!

-If Ichiru hadn't died and had reunited with Maria, I feel like Maria would be the one to help him sort out his emotions. Maria has perfect patience as she helps Ichiru recover from losing Shizuka and she honestly becomes his rock. Being Shizuka's dear relative and accomplice, she is the only one who understood the depths of their bond and tries to covince Ichiru that they should be leading the lives Shizuka would want them to live. -Ichiru will slowly return her feelings as he sees what an amazing woman Maria is growing up to be. Maria's efforts trying to protect humans from violent vampires and human terrorists posing as vampires is something he deepl admires but he's growing ever so scared of losing her. -One time when she came back still healing from her injury, Ichiru snapped and finally confessed how much he had grown to love her. -Maria and Ichiru wasted no time getting married, these were dangerous times and Ichiru knew there was no other girl who had his back like Maria did so why not? -They are a rather cheerful couple, Maria's boldness and Ichiru's playful streak generally creating some kind of vibrant energy that could be felt whenever they're together. They're that couple who's always exchanging witty jokes and roasting people at the party and how things could be livened up a bit in the corner at soirees. -Surprisingly, that's how they actually became casual friends with Senri and Rima, they love joining in on the roasts. -Ichiru begged Yuki to turn him into a vampire so he had enough strength to protect Maria and their unborn child. -They named their daughter after Shizuka, no doubt about it. -Whilst Zero hadn't been too fond of Shizuka's name, his niece had quickly wrapped her uncle around her little finger. Zero was happy Ichiru had found his happiness, and gladly came over at any of their gatherings. -Zero was also the person Ichiru always called if he needed a babysitter for Shizuka. -Before becoming parents, they had a good talk about their genetics, considering Maria's illness has some risk of inheritance and Ichiru is unsure how his own weird genetics will pass on. They discussed how they would raise their child if it were frail, estimated how the danger of being linked to the Kuran monarchy and the Hunters Association president could impact their child and composed various back-up plans including a safe house similar to how Ruka and Akatsuki raised their child away from the danger. Because they want their child to be happy and safe, blissful of the cruelty in a way Ichiru never had been. -But what touched Maria the most, was Ichiru going over the risks that might happen to her once she got pregnant. Because childbirth is risky, especially if you're chronically sick. Maria started tearing up at Ichiru's concern on how the pregnancy would impact her health and promised him she would take it easy. -Shizuka II was thankfully already an adult by the time Maria had to form the Resistance. Ichiru was so proud of his wife, and he knew Shizuka would have been so proud of Maria and touched they named their daughter after her. -Because Ichiru never died, thankfully that weird and wasted clone plotline never happened. -Ichiru instead got injured during the final fight at the Emperor and the scientist's lair. -During Ichiru's recovery at their safe house, he actually knocked up Maria again. -Shizuka II immediately rushed back home so she could help her parents and take as much of her parents tasks around the house because they both physically deserved the rest. -Ichiru couldn't help but muse that Shizuka was just as caring of an older sibling as Zero had been towards him.

[acquariusgb]

Talking it Over- HRC column

Hillary’s weekly column- 27th January 1996 Hillary’s view on divorce.  While I was traveling recently to promote my new book about children, a lot of people asked me about the Whitewater controversy, which I wrote about last week. But many more men and women were interested in discussing the issues of real life. They wanted to talk about family concerns from affordable health care to job lay-offs to how we can raise standards in our schools. In particular, my position on one subject - divorce - seems to have taken people by surprise. As I say in my book, I think getting a divorce should be much harder when children are involved. [...] Children living with one parent or in stepfamilies, for example, are more likely to have emotional and behavioral problems. Kids who grow up in single-parent families are also more likely to drop out of high school, become pregnant as teen-agers, abuse drugs, behave violently and become entangled with the law. Even if a parent marries again, it doesn't necessarily improve a child's odds. [...] Most married couples know that living happily ever after is not always an easy, or painless, proposition. My own marriage has become stronger, I believe, because Bill and I have worked hard at it, even when times were rough. As I told Barbara Walters in a recent interview, we have learned to compromise and bite our tongues when we need to. And like many other couples, we've learned to confront problems before they reach irreparable proportions. I'm not saying that divorce should never happen. I know of cases, as I'm sure you do, where divorce was the best option for all family members involved. No one should have to endure the physical and emotional abuse that my own late mother-inlaw, Virginia Kelley, recounted in her witty and touching autobiography, "Leading With the Heart." Virginia was married to an alcoholic who sometimes became abusive during drinking binges. She finally divorced him but re-married him three months later ~ against Bill's advice ~ because she felt sorry for him and believed he would change his ways. In later years, she told me she regretted not having stuck to her decision for the sake of her children. Full text  (if the document doesn’t upload, just save the pdf)

[denimbex1986]

'In 2010, Sherlock Holmes encountered a new adversary in the evil genius of Professor Moriarty. In the Sherlock series, Conan Doyle's paranoid military figure was transformed into a seductive, perverse young man, played by then-36-year-old actor Andrew Scott, a regular on London theater stages and in supporting film roles.

Director Andrew Haigh remembered the moment: "I remember thinking this is a very, very interesting actor. There's a way that he talks and a way that the thoughts seem to emerge on his face." That face, with its fine features, that can become as vulnerable as it can be menacing, has grown familiar. We saw Scott as a hot priest in the second season of Fleabag, as an honest officer in Sam Mendes' 1917 and will soon see him again as Tom Ripley in a series based on the misdeeds of Patricia Highsmith's character, already played by Alain Delon, Dennis Hopper, Matt Damon and John Malkovich.

At the beginning of December 2023, the two Andrews, Scott and Haigh, were in London to discuss All Of Us Strangers, a film about ghosts, a celebration of desire, and a meditation on the permanence of memory and love in which Scott plays a solitary writer, Adam, in his first major leading role. "There are certain characters where you feel you want to be unadorned," he said of Adam. "I did a play by Simon Stevens called Sea Wall and I remember having a strong feeling that I wanted to sound exactly like my accent [Scott was born and raised in Dublin]. And I wanted to wear my own clothes."

'Falling back into childhood'

Haigh's script requires the lead actor to balance a magical quest into the past to find his parents (Claire Foy and Jamie Bell) as they were when he was 12, and a violent, physical love affair with a Dionysian young man Harry (Paul Mescal).

"I wanted childishness without being a child," said the actor. "And actually, I think a lot of that is physical. It doesn't feel like it's a very physical performance necessarily, but it's something I thought an awful lot about, both sides of this, the physicality of the love story and his physicality with his parents. Because I think the way we behave with our parents as a child is very sensual, very tactile. And that's the through line for me, for the character, he feels like he hasn't had a lot of people touching him or him touching anyone else. And so it's the idea of remembering what it's like to be in your parents' bed between them and making yourself smaller. And because we shot in Andrew [Haigh]'s childhood home, it brought an authenticity that felt incredibly real."...'