#(i can't say more without going into spoiler territory BUT THE LIST GOES ON)

[justanotherpersonsuniverse]

Hey cap :3

miscellaneous meta lore question for OM this time!!

also I need you to know that I can't spell miscellaneous. every single time I have and will type it have been autocorrected it's like my worst enemy

Anyways- prelude time.

Other Magic is like so much fun because of the sheer variety of mythos and magic you incorporate into it. I mean; Alya is a twist on Selkies which have always been one of my favourite scottish folklore stories, there’s this one story about a boy who was a selkie that I read when I was way younger but I cannae remember enough details to find it again. Then you’ve got someone like Kagami who is a Nekomata from Japanese folklore which was super interesting to see and then subsequently do more research on, cause I didn't know they existed before that which was a failure on my part. And then you’ve got the more miscellaneous monsters of vaguely european origins which also fit the specific character themes wonderfully, like Juleka being a Vampire, Nino being a Gargoyle (which btw rocks (pun intended) for the whole protection thing he has going on) and Sabrina being a changeling the list goes on.

I honestly can’t tell if you’re just really good at finding the perfect fit or just such an excellent writer that what you chose feels like the perfect fit for your version of the characters. Probably a bit of both. 

Obviously you know all this, you’re the one who wrote it. What I’m getting at is; how the fuck did you decide how the magic system works?

Is it, like, not a concrete thing? Do you make it up as you go along?

Or do you have a proper magic system in place that fits behind all the crazy variety of sources you’ve pulled the monsters from?

If you make it up as you go along, what are some of the things you have decided are like hard rules of magic? (which do not go into spoiler territory! Perish the thought that I am vying for spoilers. Your response about how time worked in the PN universe without veering into spoiler territory was fantastic. and I'm insane about your drawings of Alix.) 

And if you don’t… how the fuck have you got a system in place for all this? Is it a hard magic system or a soft magic system? Please I beg of thee tell me how it works. 

Deciding on magic systems for things is the bane of my existence. Pokemon types and moves even count as one, so don’t get me started on how crazy insane I’ve gone for the origins of magic and how it works for the planning of my own miraculous fic is. like I need to stop. 

Anyway. The point is. Every single time you introduce a characters monstrous side you inevitably have to explain how that works in relation to the other magic (pun intended) and the fact that you’ve managed that without contradicting yourself or making things seem far fetched or shoe horned in has me clawing at the walls in my cage. Are you a magician. seriously, how did you do it.  

That and I’m curious if you’ll get more into how Miraculous magic affects regular magic (that feels like an oxymoron, as if magic could be normal). Cause obviously we got Little Red and Wicked Witch being akumatised together cause they were both holding the glove, but their closeness even while evilised felt like it was because of the familiar bond. 

This is a super broad question sorry if that’ll be difficult to answer!! however observations and notes on things plus hyper specific questions are coming soon! I simply must organise myself. (and have my 18th birthday tomorrow… so soon may be later than expected, i keep forgetting that’s happening this has changed my plans significantly. fuck)

Magic systems are pretty tough!! I originally made it up as a I went along, but what I did then that I feel like was important was- instead of just doing things and saying they were related, I tried to branch out the system by asking lots of "why" and "how" questions with myself.

So, for example with Alix, my base was; "Wouldnt it be cool if she wrote down spells like Luz and the Kane Chronicals" which is kinda lame. But still, I worked to try and clean it up. "Spells and Runes are like Code commands to magic." became the cleaner base. Then I asked; "Why not just use a wand?" So I asked myself "What makes wands different?" and so on.

I then asked myself if the answers I made could connect and become answers for other things. Which creates an interconnecting system.

Making it up as you go along is natural and inevitable, the only difference between planning and making it up is how long you think about it without touching your keyboard. I asked myself my big magic questions because of points in the story where I had no idea how something worked and instead of trying to fit it with what I originally knew, I tried to figure out how things would accomodate the new thing.

ALSO HAPPY EARLY BIRTHDAY!!!!

[layzeal]

a lot of people that talk about wwx are actually talking about gu mang, and they don't even know it

[cherry-lipbalm]

double trouble. spencer reid.

4.8k words.

masterlist

where y/n pulls the short straw and has to double up with spencer.

There is a chart within the BAU: a solid, concise graph that portrays, arguably the most, vital information within the FBI. Intricately designed, Garcia and Y/N had managed to construct a comprehensible guide to who in the team was the most pleasant to share a room with. At first it was a joke, originated from a slow day of nothing but paperwork Y/N had spent in Garcia's lair. Conversations arose, and soon after so did the chart.

It's built up on categories such as conversation, tidiness, sleeping conditions and even hygiene. There are ten available points per category, and Emily loses said ten points for sleeping conditions because her snores can be heard from China. The points are the basis of the game, essential in order to rank the team individually and compile them into a list of favourability. Spencer is at the bottom of that list.

"I don't get it, I'm a delight," Spencer argued, strolling alongside Morgan up the small flight of stairs to the BAU room. Another case had forced them to prepare for the jet in 30 minutes, but Hotch and the rest of the team had very different perspectives on preparation. Especially after what he said when they entered the room.

"Okay, before we start you should know I called ahead to book a hotel and they had limited rooms. We all have one but you're going to have to double up."

Y/N had never seen an American Western movie before, but she imagined that the cliché standoff looked a lot like what happened in the BAU room subsequent to that announcement. Those that had been sitting launched to their feet, uncaring to the chairs rolling free behind them. If someone was holding something it dropped onto the table, or even the floor. Communication faltered, and all anyone dared to do was stare at each other.

When Hotch looked up from his file, he had to do a double take because of the drastic change in atmosphere. His team were all standing metres apart; Y/N had a hand over her gun.

"I think we all know what this calls for," she said.

"Get it," Morgan gestured to the back of the room. Y/N's movement caused a surge of motion as everyone sat at the table attentively. Hotch tried to turn the attention back to the screen with the crime scene photos, but even JJ was more focused on the whiteboard rolling into the room.

Y/N stood by it's side, and on her way forced Hotch into a seat. She grabbed the top corner and flipped it over to reveal the coloured array of pie charts, bullet-points and bar charts.

"I still don't see why this is necessary," Spencer whined from the back of the room.

"I don't see why you've obviously spent more time and effort on this than any of your cases," Hotch added.

"Okay, you two are just jealous because you're at the bottom of the list," Y/N snarked, then addressed the team. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today, in holy matrimony, to judge your fellow coworkers and deem who is the least likeable. Spoiler alert: it's Spencer."

At this, the aforementioned agent threw his pen directly at Y/N's head. She shrieked, then turned to him with a glare as she tried to untangle it from her hair. He laughed wholeheartedly, and the team snickered not only at Spencer's attack but the way they were so obviously and obliviously in love with each other.

"This chart makes no sense! I mean, how do I only have five points for hygiene? We all know I'm the cleanest out of everyone here."

"I agree with you Spencer," Y/N said, "your hygiene is at a ten point standard but unfortunately people don’t want to compete with said ten point standard, so that loses you five points, gorgeous.”

Spencer didn't reply (only sulked into his seat), half because he's shocked by the injustice of the chart and the other half because he's shocked Y/N just called him gorgeous.

"Alright! The hat, please," She exclaimed, enticing Spencer from his trance. Garcia presented the fedora over the table, and Y/N began talking immediately when she saw Hotch's mouth open in objection because were they really using the fedora from the unsub they caught last week?

Only four people took turns in picking names out of the hat; ever since in incident in '04 where lack of coordination made for everyone picking a name of someone who had already picked someone else. It resulted in a few brawls when Morgan wouldn't budge from his choice of Garcia even though his name had been pulled by Reid.

It never took them long to pick names out of desperation, considering the name-picking determined how the next 24 + hours were going to go. So when Y/N picked out Spencer's name, no one blamed her when she practically collapsed to the floor.

"That's karma," Spencer said upon her unraveling.

"I thought you didn't believe in karma," she sneered, stomping back onto her feet.

"In situations like these it seems to be the only viable explanation."

Y/N just rolled her eyes at him on her way out of the room, muttering under her breath that she'll be briefed when she's aboard, because she needed a moment alone for a pep-talk on how murdering your colleague apparently isn't socially acceptable.

On her way out, faintly in the background, Morgan caught sight of Emily and JJ fist-bumping victoriously, and realised that Y/N's demise more than certainly involved some foul play. Oh well, he thought, it'll make for good entertainment.

———

"Science shows us that we feel more personally connected with people who have similar postures, vocal rhythms, facial expressions and even eye blinking. If you consciously sync these factors your brain activity could follow, resulting in what many people call 'clicking' wi-"

"I cannot believe you asked me why you lost seven points for conversation and then followed with that."

"What? What's wrong with science?"

"Oh, Spence, you're so gorgeous but so oblivious," Y/N sighed, exhausted from a mixture of jet lag and Spencer's enthusiastic take on the science of conversation. They had only just stepped foot in the room, and she was already drained from the mere thought of having to bunk with him for the next however many hours.

Y/N is quick to throw her things down as soon as they enter the room. She dumps her suitcase by the door and launches a few more things on the cabinets around her, then tries to ignore Spencer's sounds of distaste as she does this. She's frankly too tired to care, and jumps onto the bed without thinking; she's so enervated she doesn't even realise there's only the one bed.

"Why do you keep calling me that?" Spencer suddenly asks despite the silence that passed and the obvious fact that Y/N is trying to get some shut eye.

All he receives is an incomprehensible mumble from under the pillows, but he takes it as a response anyway.

"Why do you keep, uh, keep calling me 'gorgeous' I mean, I'm not, uh..." he stammers, fidgeting with the room key in his hands while he stands in front of the wardrobe to make it seem like he's doing something and doesn't care as much as he does.

"I'd say it's pretty self explanatory."

He senses the fatigue in her voice, so just leaves it with a shrug of his shoulders and a content smile, then goes to organising his array of sweater vests onto the hangers. When he's done with this, he turns around to make himself a coffee; taking a different approach to the jet lag than Y/N.

At the thought of her, he looks up to see her sprawled out across the bed. She's clutching onto a pillow and seems so relaxed that Spencer has to look away for a moment because he's more than certain he shouldn't be seeing a coworker like this. Nevertheless, he smiles upon her peaceful ambience, and hopes the boiling kettle doesn't disturb her too much.

When it's done brewing, Spencer sips the coffee cautiously and strides over to a small chair in the corner of the room. Here, Y/N's slumped figure is directly in his view, so he can't help but see her so casually on the bed. Wait, the bed... oh shit.

He knows that the chances of him getting the bed are slim. For one, Y/N's pretty much already claimed that territory, and, even if she hadn't, Spencer knew she'd put up one hell of a fight for it. He only hoped there were some extra blankets and pillows that could aid in making the floor at least somewhat comfortable.

"So, uh, Rock Paper Scissors for the bed?" He asks, then slurps his coffee. His voice rouses Y/N for a moment, and he's sure she's dozed back off again until his words sink in and she turns around to him with bleary eyes.

"What do you mean?"

"One bed. Two people," he says nervously and gestures to the space between them.

And it takes Y/N a moment. She looks from Spencer to the bed, then stares at the pillows for a long while, then she looks at Spencer again, then the bed. Then, she lets out a blood-curdling cry so loud that Reid has to cover his ears.

"Why!" She screams, slamming her hands down on the mattress. Spencer can't help but laugh, snickering behind his hand which only infuriates Y/N more.

"Okay, okay!" He moves to calm her down when he can practically see the steam coming out of her ears, "rock paper scissors, come on."

"Oh, I don't want to do that, Spence," she whines.

"Why? 'Cause you know you'll lose?" With his patronisation he raises an eyebrow at her when he approaches the end of the bed, his fist already raised. His condescension makes Y/N irrefutably stubborn, and she knows he's doing it on purpose -because he always does- but she doesn't care when it means she has a chance to beat Spencer at something.

"Fine," she grumbles. She sweeps the hair from her face and sits up straight, shuffling to the end of the bed and letting her legs dangle down; they brush against Spencer's own and he clears his throat amid the contact.

The slap of her fist against her palm indicates the beginning of the game. Y/N knows that she's unlikely to win, because Spencer is bound to have calculated some sure-fire plan to succeed in every round of Rock Paper Scissors.

This is why, when Spencer pulls paper and she pulls scissors, she screams in delight.

"No," Spencer says bluntly, then demands, "best out of three."

"Oh no," she chuckles, "it's never been that way before, it isn't now, gorgeous."

Spencer throws his head back in a groan, kneeling on the floor in defeat. He stays there because he figures he ought to become acquainted with it.

———

When nighttime rolls around, Y/N is pretty excited. She's already texted the BAU group chat a record seventeen times about the matter, yet somehow the team hasn't gotten sick of it thus far, and may even be more exhilarated than she is. It's the one good thing to come out of sharing a room with Spencer: that she gets to watch him wiggle in discomfort on his makeshift bed of blankets and pillows on the floor.

Except, when it comes down to it, it isn't that fun at all.

He's wriggling, yes, but it's doesn't exactly fulfil her with any satisfaction; if anything, it's just sad. He struggles to reach any form, never mind pinnacle, of relaxation, and Y/N actually feels pretty guilty at the subordination. So when the clock hits midnight and she's still hearing Spencer grunting when he hits a certain incessant bump in the carpet, she gives in and sits up.

Upon the sudden sound of bedsheets rustling, Spencer freezes because he thinks he's going to get shouted at, but it's the opposite that scares him even more.

"Do you want to get in bed?" Her voice sounds, the hush penetrating through the air.

Immediately Spencer rises; he wants nothing more than to take her up on her offer, but he is, unfortunately, chivalrous.

"No, no, it's okay," he whispers back, already delving back under his covers.

"Spencer. Just take the bed, I can't sleep with you tossing and turning," she says, hoping the complaint will cover up her caring behaviour.

"Be careful, Y/L/N, it almost sounds like you care."

"Shut up, do you want the bed or not?"

"I do but, unlike you, I'm actually a good person and wouldn't want to see you lying on the floor-"

"Uh, I'm offering you the bed, aren't I? That's gotta earn me some brownie points," she remarked, now having turned on a lamp. "Besides, if you're that bothered about it, we'll just share."

This makes Spencer stop: his torso is turned abnormally in his angle to see Y/N behind him, the blankets feebly draping across him show the Doctor Who shirt he's wearing, and his hair is a tousled mess that Y/N just knows will take him hours to fix in the morning. Well, that was tomorrow's problem, she contemplated, right now the issue lied in who, if either of them, was going to sleep on the floor.

"Uh, share? You.. uh, you really wanna do that?"

"As long as you don't snore, or kick; whats the harm?"

Spencer avoids dumping information about the harm of them sleeping together: how this kind of physical contact releases oxytocin, a chemical compound in the brain that exhibits feelings of empathy, trust, relaxation and even reduces anxiety. He saves her this because it's just past midnight and he doubts she wants to hear about the scientific risk of them growing to like each other.

"Oh, okay," he agrees instead. He clambers up from his pile of blankets and clutches a pillow to his chest while he stumbles over. Y/N shuffles to one side and pulls the duvet back, and he's more than happy to get under warm, comfy sheets.

"Let me just make something clear," Y/N says while Spencer adjusts into the pillows. He doesn't do this for long because one is snatched from under his head. When he moves to object, he sees it being planted next to his arm, creating a definite border between them.

"Your side, my side," Y/N says sternly, "that clear?"

"Crystal."

———

It's around three am when Y/N stirs awake. At first she can't grasp what's roused her, but then she hears a noise, and assumes there's got to be some construction going on outside because what she hears is alike to the humming of machinery. When she gains a reasonable amount of consciousness, she realises the sound is a bit too close to home.

Her hand reaches out across the bed, and when she accidentally whacks Spencer on the chest, she worries she's awoken him, until the noise starts again and it's here she discovers it's coming from him.

Oh shit, she thinks, please don't tell me my co-worker is having a sex dream while I'm lying right next to him.

He isn't, but Y/N isn't sure the reality is any better.

The moaning sound he first emitted has progressed into some sort of panicked grunt, accompanied by occasional whines. Soon, his body is flinching away from an invisible force.

Y/N knows it's probably best to leave it, that if she wakes him up he might be too confused and scared, he'll be disoriented, but when he starts screaming, she doesn't have anything else to resort to.

"Spence, Spencer! Wake up, hey," she shakes him, and he's awake in seconds. Sitting up straight, Y/N sees him hitting things that aren't there; it's only when she turns the light on that he eventually calms down.

"I'm sorry," he croaks immediately. Then his head is in his hands as he leans on his knees, and Y/N is overcome with a feeling completely foreign to her in regard to Spencer: empathy.

"Don't be, it-... it's okay," her voice takes a calm turn, and she even puts a hand on his back because anything that happens after three am is as good as forgotten anyway.

"You were right, I'm sorry," Spencer mutters. "This'll lose me ten points for sleeping conditions, huh?"

His attempt at cracking a joke does make Y/N smile, but even he can tell it's one of pity.

"Don't be silly. Do you want to, uh, talk about it?"

"I just wanna sleep," he sighs, and falls back into the pillows. Y/N creases her brows in sympathy, then lies down next to him; she stares at the ceiling for a while, and the steadying of Spencer's breathing makes her think he fell asleep a while ago, so she leans to turn off the lamp before his voice breaks the silence.

"Can you keep the light on?"

His sudden ask makes Y/N jump, but she steadies under the softness of Spencer's voice. When she turns to him his eyes are barely open, but he can see the benevolent smile she's giving him; something he rarely sees from Y/N.

"Of course," she says, then lies back down into the indent she's made in the bed.

"Thanks," he replies, and Y/N notices this is the least she's ever heard Spencer talk.

"You know," she starts, "it's not silly to be afraid of the dark; it's basic human instinct. I mean, it's evolution: humans have a... a tendency to be afraid of the dark, our visual sense vanishes and we can't detect anything around us. It's primal instinct, or... something, I guess."

At the end of her ramble, she's afraid she's sent Spencer to sleep, because he's gone uncharacteristically placid, but -yet again- he surprises her.

"Now who's losing points for conversation?"

Y/N's laugh after this is so hearty and genuine that Spencer can't help but smile, grin even. His chest rumbles with a chuckle, and Y/N feels the mattress shake under their collaboration of laughter, when it dies down they're both still beaming.

"Maybe I've been hanging around you too much," she declares. It's a jab, but her cheek rests against the pillow when she turns her head to him because her smile is so wide, and Spencer reciprocates; the act is unfamiliar to the pair, but warming nonetheless.

When it goes silent, Y/N doesn't expect to sleep at all. The Pavlov affect of the light being on tricks her brain into thinking she should be wide awake (something she learnt from Spencer), so she lies there patiently; hands intertwined resting on her chest. She twiddles her thumbs, almost as if she's waiting for something to happen.

"I'm sorry you have nightmares," she mutters.

Spencer's eyes flutter open, and she goes to make another apology, this time for waking him, but he clears his throat so she lets him take the lead.

"S'Not your fault, I just, I don't know. I get these dreams, these weird dreams - ever since I was a kid. I guess they just... developed into nightmares since I joined the BAU," he mumbles. "We see some pretty bad stuff."

Y/N hums, "we do, don't we?"

Her speech doesn't warrant a response, so Spencer just smiles again and they both silently call it a night. Reid is asleep in seconds, which Y/N finds admirable, while she stays still for a while. The way the orange light is bouncing off Spencer's physique makes him look like he's centre stage of an oil painting. The detail she's gaining of his pores and his eyelashes from being so close to him is both daunting and beautiful at the same time. His resting body reminds her of the pieces on display in an art exhibit Spencer dragged her along to one day last autumn. She wonders if he took anyone else to that exhibit, and hopes he didn't.

She soundlessly admires the rise of his chest: the melody of his breathing amid the chagrin of an occasional nose whistle. His hair, once a foreseeable inconvenience, is now an abundance of, what Y/N can only describe as, natural radiance; it's all curls and frizz and length that she's begged him to never lay a hand on. She can't help but run a hand through it. When she does, it's a lot softer than she expected and makes her think, wow I've really got to find out what conditioner he is using while she's untangling any knots she comes across. It only results in more frizz but he'll gel it back with product in the morning (much to Y/N's disappointment).

The noise he exudes when Y/N scratches his scalp makes her heart melt immediately. It is the sound of innocence wrapped up in a ball of revere, the way it comes from his chest and catches in the back of his throat in a small, naive whine. Then he subconsciously curls into her hold and is practically purring when she continues to scrape her fingernails gently across his head.

The ambivalence of it all is what makes Y/N stop. Spencer Reid isn't the kind of guy she ever anticipated to have a crush on. He didn't fit into the pattern of her list of exes, not even one feature of him came close to anything of her usual type. Where she'd normally be taken to movies and dinners, Spencer ventured with her to museums, public symposiums, art exhibits. Y/N can't resist fondly reminiscing on a library trip they took last week that resulted in them checking out each of their favourite books for one another. And while, on paper, this was romantic and harmonious, they were strictly platonic. Barely that; they took the piss out of each other at every opportunity, not even always as a joke. Y/N had collapsed in sorrow when she pulled his name out of the hat.

But the smile on Spencer's face... his serene expression and soft hair makes Y/N's knees weak for a totally different reason. And she figures this feeling trumps whatever feigned resentment she has been portraying over the years.

Fine, she thought, stubborn as always when it came to Spencer, I'll tell him when he wakes up. She began to bask in the peace that came before whatever storm could potentially riot tomorrow when she told Spencer how she felt. She guessed she had at least a few hours to relish in their friendship and the love they had built.

She guessed wrong.

Spencer's eyes were fluttering open before Y/N had even began conjuring up what she was going to say. Unfortunately, when she made a plan she stuck to it; she was beginning to see why her stubbornness could be such an unattractive quality.

Spencer squinted harshly with the light, and the first thing he managed to see clearly was the discreet panic in Y/N's eyes. He took a quick survey of the room to eliminate what visible factors that could reason her alarm; when he ruled out any unsub with a gun to her head, he relaxed.

Rubbing his eyes, he looked to the window, and it didn't seem to be daylight yet.

"Haven't you been to sleep?" He asked, more than prepared to educate her in the necessities of getting a good night's rest.

"Not yet. You've only been out a few minutes," she said softly, retracting her hand from his locks. Here, Spencer realised he didn't like the feeling of Y/N's absence.

"Oh," he hummed, "I was dreaming. I think Darth Vader was there..."

Y/N chuckled lightheartedly, "of course he was."

Spencer seemed willing to remain awake, but time was limited and Y/N wasn't sure when he'd be dozing off again. So, she made her move.

"Listen, I wasn't going to say anything until morning but, you're awake so I may as well tell you now..."

He's visibly intrigued; with a quirked eyebrow and digging the knuckle-joint of his finger in a rubbing motion in the corner of his eye to try and gain some sense of vivacity. Still, all he can respond with is a drone.

"And I don't want this to, I don't know, freak you out? Or to make anything awkward, so if it does, we can just... pretend this never happened, okay? I mean it."

This manages to obtain Y/N the attention she needs, because, without delay, Spencer has both eyes open and his eyebrows are knitted together in mostly concern. Now, with his eager expression, Y/N wishes he had stayed nonchalant.

"What's wrong?"

"I just... I guess. I mean, I like you? I think? I know, really. I just - you're not like any other guy, and I like that, that's a good thing! I mean, what other guy knows how to build a rocket and make a coin appear behind your ear?"

Spencer chuckles, and his eyes are wide and bright like he's been suddenly granted passage to a whole new world. Mouth agape with wonder, he's like a child being told he can finally play on the big-kid swings: buzzing with excitement and anticipation, just like said rockets he launches and gets in trouble with Hotch for.

"You mean like this?" He asks and leans forward to brandish a dime from behind Y/N's earlobe.

"Okay, like, who does that!" She screeches way too loudly for three am. When she clasps a hand over her mouth Spencer chortles and slowly removes her grasp. He's timid, so initially only presses a chaste kiss to her knuckles, then feels the ambience in the room shift; suddenly everything has devolved from blushing antics and stumbles of words to serenity in a matter of seconds.  

Spencer's pecks adhere to Y/N's hands, lingering on the skin of her knuckles and occasionally peppering to her palms. It isn't until a few kisses later that he brings himself to move closer, and even here his courage only brings him to her cheek.

When the corner of his lips press lustfully upon her face, Y/N doesn't hesitate in turning her head ever so slightly. His lips part, and he breaks away to glance at her and make sure this isn't all one big misunderstanding. But her gaze is matched to his mouth, and soon her lips. In a fumble to close the (already compact) space between them, the kiss they share is warm and breathy, it's passionate and lewd, especially with the arrangement in which Spencer places his hands: cupping one side of her face and the placing the other at her neck so he can rest his fingertips in the hold atop Y/N's spine.

Wherever his fingers touch leaves a trail of goosebumps which Y/N hopes never diminish; she wants every piece of evidence she can muster of Spencer's caresses, however this changes when Spencer's lips begin on the formidable task of her neck.

"Stop," she pants, and the hands that had inevitably reached his hair again are now pushing slightly on his shoulders. Her request makes Spencer drop his hands immediately.

"I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?"

"No, you didn't. It was nice. I just, I don't want everyone to see," she gestured to the red patch that had already formed above her clavicle where Spencer had only been nibbling a moment prior.

"Right, yeah," he breathed. A giddy smile forced its way onto his face when he looked at the way Y/N's lips had reddened and become swollen, especially her bottom (now essentially permanent) pout originated from the persistence of Spencer's tendency to drag his teeth along her lip and enclose it in a bite.

"You know, I predicted this would happen. Scientifically, people are a lot more likely to be attracted to one another after sleeping together. Subconsciously, we feel more capable in our ability to trust that person because we've been so vulnerable and open in a compromising position. The oxytocin we get from sharing physical contact like that is the same we produce in an orgasm."

"Oh," Y/N squeaked, while Spencer lay there with a proud smile on his face, not really registering the effect he'd had on her by using the word 'orgasm'.

"Oxytocin is heavily released during kissing too, so... I guess we're pretty bonded."

Y/N chuckled, smiling at his blushed cheeks. "I guess we are."

"It's, uh, it's actually also called the 'cuddle hormone' because it's primarily recognised as being released during hugging.”

"And that's your way of asking me if I want to cuddle?"

Spencer's smile was unmissable: shifting nervously between tight-lipped and beaming wide, his eyes were the only part of his countenance that stilled; locked on Y/N.

"Yes, I, uh, I believe it is."

She tried to suppress her grin, but it was no use.

"Big spoon or little spoon?" She asked.

"Oh, little spoon... obviously."

fin.

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

Now and forevermore.

DIN DJARIN. ┃ THE MANDALORIAN.

❝ words: about 2.6k

❝ warnings: nsfw, oral sex, unprotected sex, mention of bodily fluids, (spoilers of season 2 finale), softie din and fuck the canon, we love the Razor Crest.

❝ a / n: this work wasn’t supposed to be this long, but well… As always, feedback is appreciated!

Gif credits to the author.

MASTERLIST. ⎢ MULTIFANDOM TAG LIST.

When you found the Razor Crest at the spaceport this morning, you felt some tickles within your belly inevitably. You met Mando about a year ago in your first shift working for Peli in Tatooine and you could consider him as a friend since then. You have hadn't many talks, but he has spent more time watching you fix some parts of his ship than you can count; even, sometimes, he has brought you some presents from other planets from the Galaxy. Always followed by that little green creature, who usually ends up stealing your cookies. So you have been waiting for them the whole day until the night has fallen over the city.

After getting rid of all the excuses to stay a little more at the workshop, you have to leave to not arouse suspicion, much to your regret. And yet, you make a detour instead of taking the short way back to your home as every day. Walking slowly, eyes traveling all around. But nothing. The tightness in your chest grows as you reach your place, letting out a sigh whilst opening the gate to come in.

The lights switch-on as you walk through the small stoned hallway to the living room, stopping half-way when you notice a strange smoky smell. It doesn't disgust you, but it's not a scent you have smelled before in your house. On a defense posture, you grab the knife from the holster around your right thigh raising it to your eye level. Quietly, you stick your head out through the arched door to the kitchen. Hearing soft snoring coming from the living room, you try to keep calm, securing your fingers around the knife handle somewhat better. Following the noise, step by step, you can glimpse a man lying on the sofa in the middle of the gloom.

A forearm covers his eyes, but you're sure he is sleeping. It's unbelievable that someone breaks into your house to steal and he decides to take a nap. Narrowing your eyes to try to sharpen your vision looking for some weapons, you're almost on him. There's anything that could be a threat to your life, acting quickly to press the edged blade against his neck. The man snaps his eyes open. Two brown orbs that don't show surprise, nor fear. But relief in a fleeting sparkle that wrings your heart.

“If you move, I'll slit your throat”. You hiss nailing a knee on the edge of the sofa. “Who are you?”

He doesn't articulate a word. His face talks for him. As you study his thin lips, traveling your gaze slowly to the convex bridge of his nose, the pressure against his neck by your knife loosens. You are starting to feel as if you had seen this man before, but you don't remember his face, nor his clothes. Licking your teeth as your eyes fall on his, your left-hand lands on his chest.

“Man— Mando?” You ask disconcerted.

His fingers tour your forearm in slow motion to reach the handle of your knife, still close to his throat. He removes it from your hand to throw it somewhere on the floor causing a metallic noise, while his digits continue to your shoulder up to the back of your neck. You are not going to ask why he isn't wearing his helmet or his beskar. You are not going to ask about the little creature. You have heard stories, rumors about a Jedi and the Force.

He makes your lips crash before you can even assimilate his presence in your house, closing your fingers in a fist grabbing the fabric of his shirt among them. You're not disgusted, discovering so many emotions in the way his mouth devours yours. Fury and rage, loneliness and anguish. But hope and love. You can't help but gasp breathlessly when you need to break the kiss for an instant, not being able to open your eyes. You pepper his nose with sweet light touches, finally pressing your lips on his forehead. Just what he needed.

“I am sorry…”

“So am I”. He murmurs sinking his face into your neck, wrapping his arms around your middle-back.

“How can I help you? What can I do for you?” As your voice becomes lower, your tone turns more soothing.

“Could you…?” Feeling the hesitation through his throat, you cup his warm cheeks into your palms to force him to look at you under the gloom. “Could you love me like I do?”

You'd be lying if you say that that question has taken you by surprise. You know a lot about Mandalorians and, definitely, they don't act normally like acts with you. Without taking into account that he'd go anywhere, but he is there, urging you to sit on top of him a second before capturing his lips with yours. His hands start a slow dance down by your backbone, separating themselves to roll your shirt up over your head and toss it somewhere. Your mouths get clung to each other, as soon as he does the same with his, starting to feel anxious for feeling him skin against skin.

Securing your arms around his neck, Mando stands up from the sofa urging you to keep your legs wrapping his waist. Your lungs learn to breathe in sync before you reach your bed, not questioning how he knows where it is. You're too busy tasting his tongue playing with yours, tangling your fingers on his scalp —until you're interrupted when he stumbles, falling over the mattress. You giggle. So does he. And you can swear you haven't heard anything more wonderful in your short life. You could spend your time just hearing him laugh, not worried about if the whole space wants to fall apart.

With him settling himself better between your legs, the heat increases the temperature of your body, biting your bottom lip when Mando trails a path of wet kisses down your clavicle, leaving a soft bite in one of your breasts to steal you a needed moan. You don't know about how relationships work for the Mandalorians, but he knows exactly what to do to put you to beg for his touches. His opened-mouth kisses get concentrated all over your belly, while his hands make their way to unbutton your pants after looking at you to ask you for permission in silence. And you don't have to answer. You want him as much as he wants you. Heel against heel, you remove your boots to make it easy for him to pull down the rough piece of clothing.

Thereupon, Mando gets up from your bed to strip himself from the clothes still covering him. You haven't been with many men, but you can assure that he's the most perfect man ever. As he kneels over the mattress, he leans down to get rid of the thin fabric that covers his most desired treasure. Exposed to him, feeling the same sensation of trusting and loyalty mixed dancing all around your dorm, he lies down between your legs to place them over his shoulders. Spreading sweet short kisses on your inner thighs, weaving from one to the other, until reaching your warm core. As his left-hand stays on your pelvis to pin you to the bed, his two longer digits make their way to your lips. And you welcome them to suck both wet. His brown eyes are enraptured on how you lick and taste them, using them to please you when he knows you're ready.

Curving his digits and sliding them slowly into your soaked cunt, his mouth goes straight to your most sensitive spot. Mando plays with your clit using the tip of his tongue, swirling it masterfully, as his fingers drive you insane with a back and forth dance constantly. Soon, your moans fill the stance, feeling sparkles within your stomach when the pace speeds up. His fingers pound you faster, as he becomes more and more addicted to the pleasing vocals that escape your throat uncontrollably, whilst his lips suck and put some more pressure on your swollen pearl. For him, you taste better than water after a week wandering in the desert. Better than any food he has ever tried.

You can't help but tangle your hands on his smooth curls, trying to push him away the moment you feel you could fall to the edge. You desire him more than anything in this universe and you don't want to be the only one experimenting with such a pleasure. Mando raises his head. His lips shining impregnated in your delicious juices, as he licks them more than delighted, watching you breathless barely moving.

“Tell me what you want”. He hums with a husky tone of voice that could be your perdition, bringing back his mouth to your skin, trailing a path of kisses up through your abdomen.

“I want you”. You beg in an erratic whisper, placing your legs around his waist as he comes closer to lie on top of you. “I want you, Mando, now and forevermore”.

He flashes a smile at you, putting away his huge and anxious hands from your thighs. His left travel among your bodies, whilst the right lands on your throat to hold it tightly. You can feel his hardness dangerously coming to your center, as he urges you to tilt your head to a side so he can peck your jaw with sloppy kisses till reaching your ear.

“I want you to call me Din”. He murmurs causing you to gasp and nod with your chin.

And he doesn't give you time to respond, when —with a sharp blow— he buries deep inside you all his length. You howl his real name from the most recondite place of your guts, feeling fully filled. He's big. More than you could expect. And Din is extremely impatient for marking his territory in your body, for making you his, for showing you all the love and the adoration he has been dealing with since the very first moment he laid his charming brown eyes on you.

“Gar cuyir mesh'la”. Mando repeats once and again into your ear, as he waits for you to adjust to him. The last thing he wants is to hurt you, to feel uncomfortable.

You don't talk Mando'a, but you have heard some words here and there, so you understand what he is uttering with a sweet raspy voice as your nails continue scratching his back; studying every scar that covers his skin, wanting to memorize them, wanting to comfort him somehow. Placing your right on the back of his neck, you look for his lips feeling thirsty for his saliva again and making him know you're more than ready for him.

His free arm surrounds your waist, as his digits continue tangled to your throat, before starting to swing his hips. Din pulls his hard cock almost out of your wetness, just to thrust your body again. He has the imperious urgency for hearing you moaning his name, and you do. You do without the necessity of being asked for, while he digs himself among your legs once and once. At first, both wanted to take your time, enjoy every touch, every kiss (...), but the two of you know it isn't going to be possible as you feel the electrified pleasure running through your bodies like never before. No one —not in this planet, not in the whole Galaxy, nowhere— could make you feel this good.

“Din… Din… Oh, Din!” You cry out digging your fingertips in his skin.

He shoves his full hard length to your soul not showing any mercy to your body, sinking his nose in your skin to bite it, pull it back and suck it strongly. Mando has been craving you for months now, not being able to control his impulses, grunting in the almost forgotten language against your neck. The sparkles within your belly are turning into fireworks, as both can barely breathe submerged in a bubble of heat and satisfaction you can't explain.

Somehow, Din maneuvers your bodies to put you on top of him without breaking the connection. You place your hands on his warm chest, as his hands go to your hips to urge to bounce on him. He's trying to breathe through his parted lips, keeping eye contact, while uttering your name between wrecked roars. And you can't help but swing your body over his, arching your back to find more pleasure every time his twitching dick is dug into your wetness. Not knowing how much you can take without succumbing to the fire growing inside you, your dance skyrocketed.

“That's it, cyar'ika…” Din growls, nailing his fingers in your hips a little tightly, closing his eyelids strongly, focusing on every move you do. “For all the stars… you're going to kill me… You take me so good…”

You can't even form a sentence with sense, leaning down to catch his lips with yours. He devours your mouth eager and hungry of you, tangling a hand on your hair to push you closer as he rocks his body in perfect harmony. Pearls of sweat start to appear on your foreheads, around your necks; the heat continues increasing by leaps and bounds, feeling your cunt clenching around his most sensitive skin almost suffocating him.

“I'm… I'm gon— Oh, Din… please”. You whimper while he nibbles your bottom lip, feeling the same shivers down his chest to concentrate on his lower abdomen.

“I got you, cyar'ika… I got you”. He simply murmurs brushing your lips with his.

With his arms wrapping your body, turning you back down, his thrusts become violent. Mando hits your anatomy ruthless and impatient for making you reach the longed-for orgasm, overstimulating your g-spot as much as he can. In a second, he suddenly steals the air of your lungs. He causes your legs to tremble, as you cry out his name surrendering your soul and body to the purest ecstasy you have ever experienced. Saying that he is satisfied with watching you stirring over the sheets would be insufficient.

Din lies on top of you, not stopping his rough lungs to your cunt, reaching your ear too easily. “I'm going to… make you feel even better”.

That isn't a promise. Is a fact.

He doesn't need much more to demonstrate it to you, spilling his seed inside your guts. Din presses his dick to your limits as strongly as he can, pinning you to the mattress with a wreck howl stuck on his throat feeling your fire burning him down. Reaching perfection. Feeling alive for the first time in too many years. Although he collapses over you, he doesn't lose the hold applied inside you. He needs to be right there for a little more. Connected to you.

While you try to come back to reality, he spreads gentle and exhausted kisses all over your collarbone and over every hickey drawn on your neck.

“Din…” You call him out of energy.

“Uh-huh?”

“How do you say I love you?”

He remains in silence for a second, trying to figure out why you want to know it, even if it is pretty obvious.

Tilting his head enough to lay his eyes on yours, he caresses the tip of your nose with his. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum”.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum”. You reply then, doing your best to imitate the strange accent, causing him to chuckle.

“You need to practice”.

“Will you teach me?”

Hearing that question, knowing what you really want to mean, Din pulls his semi-hard cock from you making you moan somewhat low. As he lies on the side, he doesn't lose time cuddling you between his arms in holy silence. He doesn't need to reply, you know the answer.

From now and forevermore he is yours and you are his.