#ive been thinking about drawing this for 2 weeks and ive finally caved

[transcarcinization]

i think he would kill it on space tiktok

[uniquezombiedestiny]

🖊?

oh hey. dusts this off. i have a new oc to write about :)

ive started playing fallen london recently so: say hi to maethyl fallow! a "devious and watchful individual of mysterious and indistinct gender." she also forgor (most of her lore is based around forgetting - her backstory is that she got lost in a cave of irrigo, an eldritch color that makes you forget when you look at it for too long.)

their story begins in fucking prison <3. all she knows is that her imprisonment is unjust - and, more importantly, inconvenient. so! they and an unlucky devil make their way out and become friends. she discovers that she's here in london for the wonder of the place - she has a lot to relearn, after all. on their escape, the devil leaves, but they're still friends :)

she decides to go to spite, one of four cities of fallen london. this is a place all about stealth, full of crime - mostly pickpocketing. they spend their first week or two here homeless and lost, doing both a lot of courier jobs and a lot of theft. i eventually learn how to travel (attributed to her memory loss of the world around her), and also get a home. yay!

after some mysterious communication with a benefactor, plus accessing the shops, she finally has better clothing than a prisoner's outfit. a maid outfit (and some shiny shoes!). this decreases their shadowy (stealth) stat but it was hilarious so i did it anyway

after some more stealing, a few courier jobs, and meeting a rat in her rented attic room, she makes her way to the carnival. she does just a little more theft, got her fortune read, and went to the mirror area. big mistake.

editing note: hey, this was right! she went on a journey to nightmare hell, and found plenty of mushrooms in her bath. the newspaper and poetry ones are kinda unknown, but the journalist storyline may fufill those.

for context: mae's discovered the joy of promenading - in the crowds of spite, a new location, you can go on trips and try stealing from various people. here, mae steals from a prison guard, gaining nightmares 1. she's also stabbed by jack for trying to steal from him (it was a like 20% chance), gaining wounds 2. hooray!

she looks into a mirror of nightmares, and upon looking closer due to the lack of a reflection, falls straight in. she is now in a world of madness, where all is red and gold and her nightmares increase to 8, described as "raving" (and right below "THEY'RE COMING THEY'RE COMING THEY'RE COMING," at 7).

bitch, you are trapped in the nightmare dimension.

anyway, it's like a hotel. they have rooms to stay, food and drink to serve, and other places for guests, reception, etc.. while mae has become paranoid, haunted by her nightmares in the form of encroaching mist in the corner of her eye, the guests are just as insane as she is. somehow, she cant help but find them welcoming, and has a few good interactions with some of them.

notably, without anything else to do (see: i was impatient), mae basically waterboarded herself for a day or two. you're able to drink from the fountain in the lobby if you like, which can decrease your nightmares stat. failing this will knock down your persuasion stat, though.

guess who reached 0 persuasion (but hey, nightmares 6!)?

after becoming a donkey a few times, she eventually stops waterboarding herself to find that she has forgotten how to speak and think properly, let alone eloquently. she does still converse with the guests a few times, but she's pretty much talking like a kid now.

during all of this, i also draw cards for some other interactions, among them being: met a white cat a few times, a lizard appeared in her room twice, fungal infestations in the bath, and the view outside her room being various things. she's been wanting to speak to the manager since day 1, damn it. and speaking of drawing, i also drew some art of maethyl gone mad!

although the guests (and water) are awfully convincing about how this place is better than fallen london - i mean, the red and gold is quite pretty, and the service is great, too - she eventually looks out of her window one last time before finding herself awake in her room. she's probably spent ~2 weeks in there. they are themselves again! as their nightmares stat dropped and mae became less paranoid, a melancholy took it's place, though (she just has melancholy 1).

well, on she goes. more promenading ensues, a few cards are drawn, and she regains some stats from the rat she talked to. she also befriends an urchin kid.

eventually, on intercepting courier routes, she snatches a brown letter containing blackmail on a journalist. he sells it for something more practical - the heartless route, where they gain 2 heartless (a quirk, similar to melancholy).

(steadfast is gained later - subtle is from drinking some healing stuff from a bottle and following the instructions exactly. this is what brought her wounds down to 1.)

later, she meets that same journalist, and does a few jobs for him with her stealthiness. she then tracks him down, growing suspicious, as his newspaper's never shown up anywhere, and what use does he have for the info she's getting? he's found doing some boring stuff, but she does overhear him at a bar, talking about his clients and other things, that basically proved mae right. she's then contacted by a different journalist for a different newspaper - she gets some findings, but what use do they have for this, either? in the end, she tracks both of them down to a fighting ring, where they laugh about their dimwitted employers... among other things (i forgor). she learns their secrets and plans to use the knowledge somehow, rather than blackmail them for money.

in the meantime, she's had a drink with someone, having a toast to the cheery man, ruthless but a man of his word. here is where she gains 2 steadfast!

she's currently area-diving, planning an escapade through the lower stairs for valuables. it's not done yet, though.

and that's all for her so far! personality-wise, they're quite eccentric, with a few friends both animal and human. they're outgoing and friendly (or at least polite), but their voice has an eerie quality to it that may turn some people away. they struggle with their words sometimes, too.

beyond that, though, she's quite stealthy, adjusting well to spite. she's even become a bit heartless, disconnected from those around her. honestly, that nightmare realm trip may have affected her more than it seems.

behind all of it, though, is... an odd melancholy. like the fog of her dreams that not even she can see through. perhaps it's something she's forgotten.

we all got that home with an indescribable sadness /ref

[kyoomiii]

♡ Kiss and makeup [hcs]

-  ➣. . . ❝ Hey bby ~ ive got a request if its alright! A scenario for making up after a fight with Oikawa please! Tysm! 🤍🤍 ❞

― 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢: @ anonie ​ ―

- ✎ 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 ❝ oikawa, atsumu, and sakusa ❞

- [ 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐(𝚜): heavy mentions of fighting/arguing ]

- ⚘ 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎 ❝ fluff, angst ❞

❝ hi everyone, i’m not dead- c: ❞

-yoomi ♡

Reconciling with Oikawa takes time

He has a lot of pride and often refuses to admit he’s wrong

Hates apologizing first, but will begrudgingly do it if he has to

It may take time but when he does come to you, he comes to you completely raw and vulnerable

He’s someone emotional and speaks with his heart when it really matters to him

Overall, he’s stubborn and prideful, but at the end of the day he recognizes that none of it is worth losing you.

After making up he’s very clingy and wants to spend as much time with you as he can.

Expect lots of love and tears because he will cry if you cry, and even if you don’t he will still cry

.·:·.☽✧☾.·:·.

The little tap that comes from the window pane is the only thing that draws your attention at this time of night. Turning your head to look at the clear glass, you’re thoroughly surprised to see Oikawa’s face, his cheeks slightly puffed out as he struggles to hold himself up against the window sill. 

You’re quick to hop up from your bed, rushing to open your window as you hurriedly wipe away the trail of tears that have stained your face for the past 2 weeks. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss him or that you weren’t happy to see him. However, while that may be so you were still mad at him.

“What are you doing here Tooru.” You huff, arms crossed over your chest as you try to uphold your stern exterior.

“I came to apologize-” He freezes, eyes squinting as he scans your appearance with nothing but the small glimmer of the moon, “Have you been crying?”

Eyes wide and mouth almost agap you frantically shake your head, “No.”

Oikawa feels his chest tighten, guilt consuming his entire being as he takes in your exhausted appearance. It’s pure instinct, but he feels himself reach out to brush your cheeks, the slight tenderness left after so many spilled tears only breaks him further.

“I’m sorry y/n… You’re sad because of me and I promised myself I’d be the reason why you smile.” He scoffs, disappointment in himself evident in the way his eyes stare into your own. Crystal like tears welling up in pools of chocolate.

Sighing you offer him the best smile you can muster, “I will always be worried about you Tooru. You push and push until you can’t take anymore and it scares me. I know volleyball is something you love, and I support you in your goals. But you have to know your limits.” 

His tears finally spill, painting his cheeks in clear streaks, “I’m sorry…”He chokes out, the longing and desperation seeping into every word.

“It’s okay.” You hum pressing a kiss to his forehead, “I forgive you.”

...

“-Now that you guys are finished can you please get off my shoulders Shittyawa.”

Through grateful tears and a snotty nose Oikawa glances down at his best friend who is currently supporting said setter on his shoulders.

“Way to ruin the mood Iwa-chan you brute.”

“Shut up.”

Atsumu is childish to say the least. He has pride, and much like Oikawa he doesn’t like admitting he’s wrong

Arguments are one thing, but when Atsumu fights he fights with his whole being saying what he thinks only to feel guilty later

Him and Osamu argue and fight a lot, and when they apologize it’s always indirect or silent

He’s use to quickly sweeping things under the rug because of that

At first he kind of expects it to be the same with you, until he realizes that simply isn’t the case

Nevertheless it’s still pretty easy to make up with him because he’s not one to hold grudges. Plus he’s clingy and would probably die without constant affection

.·:·.☽✧☾.·:·.

Atsumu can’t help but wonder exactly how he had gotten into this position. Perhaps it’s his knack for being an asshole, or maybe it’s the jealousy he feels towards other guys despite the fact that he has fangirls trailing after him like lost puppies. Nevertheless, he finds himself missing your presence, craving your touch and attention.

“What do ya mean?”

“I said no Atsumu.”

He’s confused to say the least, why won’t you hold him? Are you still mad? It’s been awhile hasn’t it?

“y/n… Are ya really still mad?”

“Yes I’m still mad Atsumu, what you said really hurt me.” You can feel it bubble within you. The frustration and the hurt that has lingered, harbored in your mind for days on end, “I don’t care much for your jealousy. But it's the fact that you think our issues can just be pushed aside. You always ignore the problem, and I’m tired Tsumu… I’m tired.”

Your words set his body ablaze. Atsumu feels breathless as he hears the slight choke of your voice. He reaches out to you, uncertain in his touch as the pads of his fingers meet your uniform. His fingers grasp the fabric, desperate in the way that they curl so tightly around your shirt.

You miss him, you really do. His touch, his smile, his antics. Miya Atsumu’s presence is addicting and you find yourself craving him everyday, even more so now that you’ve spent so much time pushing him away.

“I’m real sorry y/n- I really am. I pulled a shitty ass move and I shouldn’t have treated you that way. I just-” He inhales tilting his head back to hide away the tears that build in his eyes, “I’m an ass and I know that so If you’re done with me, I’ll respect your choices...” 

Fighting with Atsumu isn’t an entirely rare occurrence but you always find a way to reconcile. However, this time feels different. A blooming fear settles itself in his chest. The thought of you leaving terrifies him, but for once he lets go of his ego, his pride. If it’s what you want he’ll live with it. Just as long as you’re happy.

Sighing, you turn to look at him, “I’ve missed you Tsumu.” You hum softly as you gently place your hand on his cheek.

Atsumu leans into your touch, basking in your warmth, as he feels a rush of relief flood through his body, “I’ve missed ya too baby…”He feels like he can breathe again, his body slumping against your own in his moment of shock.

“You’re such a jerk you know?” 

“Only yer jerk- I really do love ya y/n.”

“I love you too Atsumu.”

Much like Oikawa and Atsumu, apologies take time with Sakusa

Not because he refuses to admit he’s wrong, but simply because sometimes he doesn’t know nor does he realize that he’s being a bit much 

It takes time for him to register that he’s being an ass, because while he can be a bit dense he’s not completely oblivious

Reconciling is a quiet, long, and slow process, neither one of you knowing how to approach the other

But nevertheless, both of you are still there quietly mending things as you go

Though it’s a frustrating process. You don’t know where either of you are standing. It’s one big mystery that lingers in the form of tension as you sleep with your backs to one another

Touches filled with longing and days of silence grow tiring. One of you has to crack before things return to how they were

.·:·.☽✧☾.·:·.

Sakusa knows he’s not the easiest person to be around, and that only makes him that much more grateful that you love him so willingly, so easily. It makes him feel full, filled to the brim with the warmth that you give him. 

So at first, he doesn’t understand why you turn your back to him, why you won’t look at him, why you don’t speak to him properly. You’re there but you're not, and he admits he’s the same. It’s straining. Both of you are physically there, but it feels so empty and lonely, like falling into a void of nothing.

He misses you, more than he knows how to say. Especially now as he watches you get ready for another night of silence. 

And he’s right, the room falls into a daunting quiet. The tension in the air is so thick it’s almost suffocating. His body aches to hold you close against him- the only person he feels comfortable embracing so dearly.

“Do you plan on staying so far away?” The sudden break of silence is almost startling. It leaves your body tense, even Sakusa himself is shocked.

“I don’t know Kiyoomi…” And you really don’t. Granted even if you are upset with him you can’t bring yourself to resent him, you know you would be lying to yourself if you said you did. However, at the same time you don’t know if you could let yourself cave so easily.

Sakusa acts faster than he can think, shifting to face your back. Hesitantly, he reaches for you. Fingers delicately brushing against the fabric of your shirt, “I’m sorry.”

It’s overwhelming, all the emotions that flood through your very being. Your body begins to shake as you’re racked with tears, quickly turning to bury yourself in his much needed embrace, “I’m sorry too Omi.” You sob, soaking his shirt much to his distaste- though he can’t bring himself to comment.

And you stay like that for the rest of the night. Basking in the warmth of one another. Holding on so tightly as if to make up for lost time.

He wonders how he was lucky enough to find someone like you.

[jangofctts]

Sink Your Teeth In (Part 2 of Are You In Or Out?)

Rated: Explicit (Paz is in the next chapter DONT WORRY)

Word count: 7.5k

Warnings: mentions of violence, blood, the cold?, reader is in PERIL YET AGAIN, vaginal fingering, oral female receiving, unprotected vaginal sex (wrap them schlongs yall), brief hand jobs, swearing, angst, very VERY light choking, din is a sub sorta?? bottom energy 

Summary: Well. At least you aren't dead. After a solo hunt gone wrong, you’re dumped in a cave on Csilla. Hopefully someone finds you before you freeze to death.  

a/n: hey…so uh. HOW ABOUT THAT EPISODE HUH?!? aheM anyway--yall I just wanna thank everyone first off for all the love and support!!! I see all of your comments and tags and AH IM SO LUCKY TO HAVE ALL OF YOU GUYS. ALSO SPECIAL SHOUTOUT TO @djxrxn​ THIS WOULDNT HAVE BEEN DONE WITHOUT YOU BB GORL

Well—

Here you are. 

Taken by surprise by another bounty, further proving how irrevocably incompetent you are at this line of work. You blame the binders. An older, clunkier model—easy to pick if you’re clever enough and yes. Maybe you should’ve asked to borrow a carbonite chamber, but hey—where’s the fun in that? 

Not much, as it so happens. 

Your feet had been kicked up on the dashboard, dozing and unaware of the freed bounty creeping up behind the pilot’s seat. Something delightfully blunt smashed against your temple, jolting you into a brief conscious state where the only thing you could think before passing out again, was a resounding— 

Oh, fuck me sideways with a fucking lightsaber—

The rest is hazy. A blur of colors and the fuzzy shapes of your bounty’s face sneering in amusement when she bound your wrists and ankles and left you in the cargo hold. Vaguely you recall your ship being commandeered, swung into an unidentified atmosphere and landing on said unknown planet Or planets. Planet hopping to cover up a trail. 

The bitter cold, sharper than a needle through skin is what shook off the last dregs of unconsciousness. The bounty’s hand was hooked into the collar of your clothes, dragging your limp body through drifts of snow and ice. You would’ve fought back—should’ve even though each extremity felt like a numb block of lead. Not very useful in a fight…

Soon, the snow turned to mud and the mud to stone as a mouth of a cave slid over the impossibly blue sky. Dumped in a cave, and left to die—perfect way to bite the dust. Your bounty turned captor lands a sharp kick to your ribs, mouthing some curse in a language you don’t understand, and left without a second thought. 

Seems about right. You have a knack for lying helpless and half dead in places you ought not to be in. 

Two days and counting, you’ve been holed up in this blasted cave with no food, no supplies and no comlink. It’s going be a fucking chore to find you—nearly impossible. You’re lucky in that aspect you guess—you know enough bounty hunters to sniff out a a needle in a whole stack of needles, so all it is is a race of time against the elements and how long it takes for one of them to notice.            

Aeris is no help. He left a day before you had—hired as personal protection for some syndicate leader halfway across the galaxy. Ives is in a similar boat, off-world and unavailable to drag your ass out of the hole you’ve dug. Which leaves…

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose between your forefinger and thumb. Anytime you even think of those two a migraine cumulates behind your eyes. It’s…it’s not like anything bad happened in the aftermath—there’s been no fallout or arguments with barbed words as weapons. It’s been quiet. Like stepping onto a sheet of cracked transparisteel in a library full of tight-lipped academics. 

The questions lurk under the surface of every conversation and longing look cast your way. You’ll need to clarify and sort things out eventually, but fuck—it’s such a mess of frazzled heartstrings and fine strands of impossible thoughts that lead into an endless void of doubt. You’re shoving that emotional time bomb to the very back of your mind—everything is still so raw…  

So you ran. 

Picked up any and all jobs that the Guild provided just to escape the looming decision of confronting a certain pair of Mandalorians. That and with them having their own tasks to complete, it was rare to see them, let alone together in the past few weeks. A simple run in here and there in the halls of the Covert, but you were too busy to stop and chat—forced a chaotic schedule upon yourself as an excuse to avoid staying in once place at a time.    

Coward.

The word knots in your stomach like gnarled tree roots escaping their prison of dark soil on untrodden land.  

Maker—how did everything become so tangled? 

You draw your knees up to your chest and release a long, drawn out exhale that echoes through the cave. You sniff and force the swell of tears that prick at your eyes away. You’re pretty sure they’ll freeze and you’re not hoping to find out. 

The only good thing about being dropped on this Maker-forsaken, wasteland devoid of anything but snow, is the free ice for the nasty gash on your forehead. A nice little parting gift. 

It’s shallow…you think—it stopped bleeding the night before and is now just a scabbed over, tender wound that throbs whenever you move your head too fast. Concussion maybe—a mild one.  

Maker willing when someone finds your sorry ass they’ll have bacta. Or a blanket. Either would be peachy.     

Sitting up with a wince, you shuffle to the mouth of the cave for the thousandth time and scour the skyline for a familiar ship. Or, any ship really. The only thing you do see is a lonesome wisp of cloud against the grayish blue sky much to your chagrin. You scowl and stalk back into your little hovel and slump back onto the ground. 

The hours drag on, the watery light of the dying sun barely doing anything to warm you. Sulking is hardly what you should be doing—not great for the burdened mind and all that, but ah, it’s so fun to wallow in misery. You curl your knees up to your chest and you must slip into a doze because when you’re snapped back into the present, footsteps punch through the frozen tundra outside your cave.  

Adrenaline crackles down your spine—the bounty changed her mind. Ultimately decided she’d be safer in the long run with you dead. Fine.

If this is where your grave is going to be, might as well get in one or two punches. What’s another black eye anyway?

A shadow flickers at the mouth of the cave, curling around the wall as she draws closer. A brown boot kicks through the snow and— 

“Changed your mind? I—“

Your words die on your tongue as relief floods your veins. Din Djarin stands before you, a sight for sore eyes in these trying times. 

Frost glitters on the burgundy chest plate, glinting in the dim sunlight that touches the mouth of the cave. A delicate feathering of the dainty crystals that no high end lace maker could ever hope to mimic curls up the front of Din’s visor and eats away at the edges of his cloak. His heavy step forward reverberates off the walls, some of that ease replaced by the prickle of dread. His silence is unnerving. 

“Din,” you say again, just so he’ll say something. “I can—“

You move to stand, but he interrupts with a halting;

“Sit.”       

Your mouth snaps shut and you drop back on the floor. This…is not good. His footsteps are heavy as he approaches you and every muscle in your frame tightens like a fist wrapping around your ribcage and squeezing. The precise edges of his helmet are not a forgiving sight and even when he kneels onto one knee you have to resist the natural urge to flinch. Like this, despite hunching over, Din is broad. All hard muscle and sinew amplified by the bulky layer of beskar.   

Your tongue runs over the insides of your teeth as you track his hand that he thrusts foreword. You hiss and jerk away at the sudden needly pain when his gloved thumb finds the edges of your head wound. A low sound of disapproval filters out through the helmet in a low metallic buzz. 

“You won’t need stitches,” he says. Din reaches into one of his various supply pouches and pulls out a tiny vile of bacta. He casually pulls off his right glove, unscrews the vile and smears the bacta over his thumb. This time you don’t make a sound, even though your nerves scream at the razor like sensation of his thumb working the bacta into the damaged flesh. He doesn’t ask how the injury happened and you don’t care to tell him. There’s a time and place for stories about battle scars and near misses—it’s much too fresh to be spoken of right now. 

The brief torture finally ends after once last glance over for other presenting injuries. He finds none, replaces his glove and stands with a muted grunt. You know what’s next. You’d rather avoid it—you aren’t keen on the berating lectures—as deserved as they are.      

“I found your ship on Sato 3,” Din begins with a growl. “Imagine my surprise when I found your bounty selling it for parts.”  

Ah, there it is. You wince and study your fingernails. “Pile of junk anyway…”

“I thought you’d be smarter about these things,” he snarls, his sharp tone deadly enough to slice through bone. “Was the hole blown into your lung not enough for you?”

You swallow and bite your tongue.  

The bristling Mandalorian, continues and jabs an orange tipped finger at you. “You are reckless.”

Your chest constricts as you look away, shame blooming in the pit of your stomach.This is a new facet of Din you’ve never encountered. You aren’t naïve—even the most docile of people can harbor a temper, you know that. And you know Din is by no means passive—he’s an elite warrior equipped with a small arsenal at his disposal. You don’t expect him to coddle you or treat you different than any other companion; but…but it’s hard not to take his ire to heart. Not when it’s the kind of anger that boils deep in your chest and erupts with molten streams that leaves scathing wounds and blistered feelings.  

You chew your lip hard enough to taste blood and avoid his piercing gaze. You think if you do you might catch fire and burn to a crisp. “I’m sorry.”   

The meek apology settles in the air like a heavy fog. Din’s anger still brews, looming and dark but he reigns in his temper and switches out the searing cadence of his words with chilly informality. You’re not sure which is worse.   

“No more bounties.” 

“What?” Your brows knit together. The fuck does he mean.  

“No more hunts alone—“  

You interrupt with a scoff. “You’re grounding me?”

He strides across the small space and plants himself on the opposing wall. “Until you’re competent enough, you have no business being out in the field. You might as well be bait at this point.” 

“Competent.” You echo through clenched teeth.  

His helmet dips, leveling a steady glare of indifference. “The Crest is a half cycle’s walk from here. In the morning I’m taking you back to Nevarro.”   

“I’m not a child. You can’t just,” you throw your hands up in dismay, “ban me from bounty hunting.”    

Din’s armor clinks together as he moves to sit. He rests one elbow on his propped up knee, extends his other and rolls his helmet to meet your eyes. “Your actions reflect the Covert now. We can’t risk discovery because of one stupid mistake or a careless loose end.”    

That hadn’t even crossed your mind. Stars, you want to smack yourself. Your ship, as shitty as it was, hosted a good chunk of sensitive information, all encrypted and translated into binary. A mediocre slicer could hack through it in hours. Not exactly foolproof but hey, at least you had something. Good thing your bounty wasn’t in the market of selling stolen ships to the Empire. 

“Din?”

The Mandalorian makes no noise of affirmation that he heard you. You sigh and take his silence as a go ahead and clear your throat. “How long was I gone for?”

Here, in the cave it’s been nearly three days, but the rest of it you’re not exactly sure. Hunting the bounty down took up at least a week or two and even longer to capture her and there’s no accounting for the time lost after your ship was commandeered. Your teeth roll over your bottom lip as you wait for him to respond. 

“Almost two months.” He replies evenly. “Your transmissions were cut three weeks ago and I didn’t think anything of it. Comms are always patchy in Wild Space."

Leather creaks as his fist balls at his side. “You didn’t answer for days. Paz and I tracked the ship to Sato 3, but you weren’t there. Do you know how difficult it was to pick through all the planets recorded on your log?”

You blink and return to picking at your fingernails. 

“You weren’t easy to find, I—“ He severs the rest of his sentence with a crackling sigh and tilts his head back. “You’re lucky.”    

The hesitance lacing his words makes you bite your tongue, the snarky retort crumbling to ash in your mouth. Din doesn’t bother to filter his words—he’s blunt. Efficient and to the point when he does decide to speak. That…well that was different.   

He was worried—

You rub at your cheek—numb with the cold and curl into yourself. Din was worried. Easily the most feared bounty hunter in the parsec, worried that he couldn’t find you.   

A different cold—one that settles deep into the marrow of your bones and hugs your soul with a sheet of frost, makes a home in your heart. The severity of what could’ve happened replaces that sheen of hilarity and fuck. You were closer to freezing to death than Din finding you here—alone in some stupid kriffing cave.  

Somehow the idea of that is worse than the brief brush of eternal slumber you had on Nar Shaddaa. Up to that point you expected to die young—no harm and no foul in it either. You had no attachments, no debt to pay—a drifter in an endless galaxy.    

Now you’re here, buckling under the weight of mismanaged friendships and your uncanny skill at weaseling into any and all trouble. 

Neither you or Din jump to fill the silence. The ashes of disaster settle in nicely with the frozen echo of an endless winter.      

It’d been a couple hours shy from sunset when Din arrived, the sun providing weak light that hardly touched the mouth of the cave. Now as the shadows grow longer and with the temperature dropping, the two of you are swallowed up by the unyielding darkness of night. 

Din shuffles and fishes out the solar light from his supply bag. It clicks on and warm, orange light illuminates the cave. It bounces off his beskar, fracturing the light like a million tiny suns in the tempered metal and in the impossibly dark visor. He looks up, and tosses the light over. 

You catch it easily and despite the warmness of the light it emits, it offers no heat for your chilled fingers. You set it to the side and tuck your hands into your armpits. 

By no means is the cave warm—the natural thermal vents kept the ground dry and free of the ice and snow that rages outside, but it doesn’t protect you from the occasion chilly draft that cuts through each layer you wear. Then again, you weren’t planning on taking an unexpected vacation on Csilla. No time to plan really.  

You sigh and pull your knees up to your chest and cast a glance at your ever radiant ray of sunshine across from you.  

He looks nice and cozy—leaned back against the cave wall, one leg crossed over the other while his hands sit intertwined just below his navel. The beskar must provide insulation—maybe a fancy heater in that bucket of his, or maybe he’s just too stubborn to show anything other than indifference.   

Another bout of shivers tear through your frame and you’re certain Din can hear the enamel of your teeth clack together. You shove your hands deeper into your armpits and tuck your chin into your chest to preserve heat and pray that sleep isn’t far off—can’t be cold if you’re unconscious.    

Metal scrapes over stone as Din readjusts himself and you can feel him looking at you. It’s not a terrible weight to bear; intense and analytic, sure and in the past it would’ve unnerved you. Now, instead of it feeling like he were peeling back each fibre of your soul each time he stares, it’s familiar. A pattern of sorts—

It happens each time Din wrestles with an uncertain question. He deals in absolutes, and it’s no surprise he rarely knows what to say to you. 

“You’re shivering,” he states. You roll your eyes. “Are you cold?”

“Boiling, actually,” you snip. “Why else would I forget a jacket?”

A sharp hiss of air crackles through the vocoder. “Don’t get mouthy with me. It was a simple question.”

“Well—there’s not much to do about it,” you sneer, watching your breath condensate in the air. “I’m freezing, exhausted, and hungry.”       

You know you’re being snide—but your nerves feel like they’ve been severed at the root with a dull vibroblade. You have neither the time nor energy to spare for simple questions. Din should understand that—seeing as he’s a man familiar with short temperament.

The space between you is ripe with crackling tension, and maybe—if you weren’t so fucking cold—you’d play the mediator. Thread stitches into the gash you both sliced into your friendship, as small it may be. You’ve lost friends over less—this could end up no different.

You sigh and turn your head. This is a problem for tomorrow. 

Irritated and upset, you squeeze your eyes shut and chase after sleep. You slip in a doze faster than expected, any and all discomfort fading away a you toe the line between a deeper sleep and waking dreams. You think you imagined Din saying your name—Maker you can’t even escape him in your own fucking head—  

It doesn’t end—like a nagging buzz that swells until it’s right near your ear. Spite spurs you to ignore It and exhaustion convinces you to drift further away. That is, until a hand, gentle and warm curls around your shoulder. You once again hear your name rumble low through Din’s helmet, but it’s much too difficult to open your eyes. Why can’t he leave you be? You barely feel the cold now…

“Stay awake.” Din sounds distant, in some other plane of existence despite the steady hold he has on your arm. “Maker—you’re colder than kriffing ice.” 

“Go away,” you grumble through numb lips. Such a pest.  

He’s talking—but the words don’t make sense. Muddled—split between that hazy line of dreaming and consciousness where you can’t decipher what’s real. His hands however—you can feel those plain as day. A bare palm cups your cheek—shreds through the layer of frost you’re positive has crystalized over your skin and rouses you to a more coherent level of presentness.       

“Don’t quit on me yet—“

“Nah,” you mumble. “I’m hard to…to kill. L-like a scrap rat…”  

Din grunts in response. “Rat is a compliment. You’re more of a spider-roach.”

The ends of your mouth quirk. It’s the best you can do—a full smile just might push you to the brink of death.        

“C’mon—I won’t let either of us freeze,” Din sighs. His fingers find the magnetized latches on his cuirass and it slips off with practiced ease, the armored thigh plating following a moment later. He neatly sets it to the side and grabs his cloak to fasten it around you. With another sigh, Din shuffles in behind you and wraps an arm around your middle, nestling his legs and body snuggly around yours.   

Maker—you don’t have time to bother about the intimacy of this because all you’re drawn to is the furnace like heat. Fuck, he’s so warm. You have only a second to enjoy it before your body begins to thaw—bringing forth waves of achey pain.   

His chest molds to your back, both arms curling over your own arms that are scrunched up tight around your chest. You shake in his hold, vicious waves of cold clashing against his body heat—it hurts—like sticking your bare foot into hot coals.     

You squirm, little gasps of discomfort slipping out that echo around the cave. Din shifts, tucking you further under his body until he’s nearly crushing you. It’s a bit tricky to breathe like this but hey—you’re not complaining. Not when your nose is buried in his soft undershirt that smells purely of Din.   

Your fingers and toes still throb as they thaw, but it’s working. Cuddling Din Djarin to stave off hypothermia—sounds kriffing ridiculous. 

“You’re still shivering,” he says. “I might…”

Your breath catches in your throat as he trails off. “Might what?”

Another shiver wracks through your body as his frosty helmet catches on bare skin when he dips his head in embarrassment. You don’t quite catch what he says and he doesn’t bother to clarify. “Forget it.”  

You turn your head as much as you can, straining your eyes to meet the strip of visor. “Tell me.”

He mumbles under his breath again and cuddles closer, slotting his hips against your ass. “Might know…know another way to keep us warm…”

Oh. 

A spark breathes to life in the pit of your tummy. You wiggle onto your back, your nose brushing the vizor. “Does it involve me taking off my pants?” 

Din huffs, his hands, previously latched onto your hips, starting to crawl up your waist. “It could…”    

You smirk and rock your hips back, eliciting a low growl that rumbles through his chest. With your whine of approval, Din’s hand slips between your legs and gives the meat of your inner thigh a squeeze. You let your knees fall open as far as they can in this position and it’s all Din needs to cup your cunt through the thin material of your trousers. 

Crackling pleasure flood your veins as the heel of his palm grinds into your clit, and while the pressure is nice, it does nothing to satisfy. Only feeds the growing flames of desire with brittle kindling. 

You pull at his undershirt and whimper, thrilled once his deft fingers, calloused and thick unlace your pants and yank far enough down to fit his hand. His fingers trace your outer lips, a ghost of a touch as arousal swells in your stomach. He parts your folds once your wetness begins to dribble out and coats his fingertips with your arousal. 

Stars—you need him. You arch into him and whine. “Touch me. Din, please—“ 

You jerk as Din’s thumb swirls a slow circle over your clit, a rush of endorphins surging out like unrefined fire whiskey. Din’s head tilts to watch you writhe over his fingers and the sudden chill of his helmet touching the inside of your flushed neck steals away your next inhale. Goosebumps race down your entire being, adding to the influx of your excitement that pools in your lower belly.       

Your hands tangle into his undershirt, pulling him closer until you can’t find where he begins and you end. His heart pounds in his chest, thrumming to the dance of your own heart that yearns to break free from your ribcage. Your breath catches when two of his thick fingers tease at your entrance. Your walls flutter around him as the slip in easily.   

His fingers roll forward and stroke against something devastating inside of you, and he when his palm rolls back, it bumps against your clit with that divine firmness you need. Your cunt tightens around the two digits as they curl.  

“Fuck. Can you hear yourself?” He pants, groping your breast to elicit a high pitched wail. “You always make—make such pretty noises.” 

Butterflies erupt in your stomach at his words and fuck. You’re already dipping head first into release. A moment later you’re arching into his chest as every muscle stiffens in a crescendo of bliss, your stuttered breathing harsh even to your own ears.  

Your quick pants fog up his visor as Din rests the crown of his helmet on your forehead, the metal a cool relief to your flushed skin. He slips his fingers out of your dripping cunt, your chest still heaving with exertion as the last strands of your high fizzle and ebb away. Din shifts and and snakes his fingers, still shiny and wet with your arousal, beneath the lip of his helmet and sucks them clean with an appreciative groan.  

“Fuck—“ You breathe, pushing your face into his hand as he cups your cheek. Din’s thumb brushes over your cheekbone and swings his leg over your hips to hoist himself over you. 

“Do you remember...” He starts, his voice buzzing through the vocoder. His fingers tickle down your cheek and trace the parted outline of your lips. “When you let me taste you?”

You nod, and it’s all you’re able to do. You’re not even sure you can formulate words, let alone voice them right now. 

Din’s thumb pulls at your plush bottom lip, and you can’t help but slide your tongue along the digit. He grunts and slips his thumb into the wet heat of your mouth. “I think about you every night…how you came on my tongue—”

Your stomach flips as a rush of arousal sweeps through your tummy. You groan and you’re half sure you’re gonna dissipate into the floor from how hot your cheeks burn. “Din—"  

He continues without missing a beat. 

“You were so fucking wet for me—dripped all over my hand,” he murmurs, nuzzling his helmet, still chilly and frosted over, into the crook of you neck.  “I want to do it again—can I?”

You’re nodding before he even finishes his sentence. He wasn’t the only one longing for his head between your thighs on those long nights apart. Remembering those plush lips and addictive touches could only get you so far and well—he’s here now. You said it once and you’ll say it again—there’s no chance in hell you’d be passing up this opportunity. 

Din lifts his head and as you watch the light glitter in the reflection of the beskar, a sudden stray thought ricochets into the forefront of your mind. “Din, the light—your helmet.”

He pauses, his body tensing as he mulls over his options. “It’s—I—it’s ok…It’ll be ok.”

Din inhales a stuttered breath and casts a brief glance over his shoulder. It’s a dim light, kicked into the corner and laying on its side. From this angle, his face would be partially obscured in shadow…but still. There are easier ways to go about this. Ways that don’t risk jeopardizing the very foundation of who he is—what he stands for and what he so devoutly follows.    

To say you know anything about his religion is laughable. Everything you know can fit on the back of a thumbtack and even still, you’re sure that half of that is still based upon rumor and speculation. But this—what Din is hinting at, you know is not something to be taken lightly. 

He’s stripping his soul bare for you—allowing you to glimpse at that bleeding heart of his he guards so securely within layers of flesh and bone and impenetrable beskar. Din is gifting you his trust and there’s no where else to put it except for the space beneath your breast bone.   

Yet, even still—this could mean nothing at all. You have no way to know the exact magnitude of what this means to him. If he’s alright with this, who are you to question?

He mumbles one last thing about the light and sits up. Goosebumps rush up your bare skin at the loss of the heavy warmth of his body. You whine and curl up closer to his legs, greedy for any spare iota of heat like you’ve been denied it your entire life.   

Maker you hate this fucking planet—   

Your attention snaps back to Din when he makes a noise of uncertainty. His hands are cupped around his helmet—hesitant, nervous and you suspect if Din’s hands weren’t plastered so tight around the metal, he’d be shaking. You chew on your lip and prop yourself up. 

Cautiously, so as not to startle, you reach up and curl your fingers around his wrist. You can feel his pulse thrumming through his veins—alive, flesh and bone like you. Not some heap of sentient metal built for the horrors of war. You don’t know why you do it—just seems right to pull the fragile and vulnerable skin of his inner wrist to you mouth. You plant a gentle kiss there and smile when he cups your cheek.           

“You don’t owe me anything, Din,” you say, staring into the darkened depths of his visor. “Least of all this.”    

Some of that tension held in Din’s shoulders melts. He utters something in that clipped language of his people, and the only thing you can make out is your name. He lurches foreword and fuck—you’re terrified for a split second he’s gonna cave your skull in but instead he lightly bumps the crown of his helmet over your forehead.      

“I want to. For you—only you.”

Din doesn’t leave any time to unpack all of that. He sits up again, wraps his hands around the beskar— 

The metallic thunk of the helmet reverberates through the cave like a crack of thunder.    

You were right. 

You can barely see his face—if you really look, you can see the murky outline of his nose, dark hair and a sliver of his tan skin that the light touches. Attractive—but you knew that already. You touch his cheek and smile, your thumb catching over wiry facial hair and soft skin. Din makes a sound low in his throat and pushes his cheek into your hand. 

“I still want to taste you,” Din says, his voice richer when stripped of that tinny vocoder. You like listening to him speak without it, you think, and it’s a damn shame you never get to hear it. “Please.”     

Before he can escape and fulfill that fantasy, you yank him into a blinding kiss. He kisses the same—all wild edges and with desperation lining each motion—but there’s a new found tenderness here. Like he’s savoring each gasp and every brush of skin you grace him with like it’s your last night left in the galaxy.   

He breaks away from your mouth and peppers kisses and nips down your jaw, then lower as you arch and expose the bare skin of your throat. There’ll be a plethora of bruises tomorrow, and with no hope to cover them either but fuck it—Din can leave as many hickeys and teeth marks as he wants. 

If not for the cold still latching onto your very soul, you’d ditch the shirt; give Din better access instead of him needing to shove a hand up under and grope at your breasts. He gives the fabric an annoyed tug, but it’s fruitless. There’s no use when there’s better things to be sought. 

He shoves your shirt as far up as it goes, shivering as he mouths down your stomach, licks around your bellybutton and sucks a bruise onto your hipbone. Your pants are already pulled halfway down—one sharp yank and they’re around your ankles and off in the next breath. 

Cupping your knees with both hands he gingerly spreads your legs and drapes them over his muscular shoulders. Din rubs his patchy haired cheek along your thigh and hooks his hands under your ass, his ivory white teeth catching the light as he smiles.  

“Fucking perfect—“ He groans, planting his lips over your inner thigh. His tongue swipes a wet line up, stopping just before your aching cunt to dig his teeth into the sensitive flesh. You jump at the burst of pain and shoot a hand down, tangling your fingers into the soft curls atop his head.  

Din grunts and jumps to your other thigh, leaving no inch of skin neglected and without evidence of his teeth and lips. By the time his thumbs touch the outer lips of your cunt, the aching need for him is burning you from the outside in. He has to still your twitching hips with a calloused palm, and only after you settle does he surge forward. 

His tongue meets your swollen clit, ripping a tangled cry from you vocal cords. He’s just as eager as the first time he tasted you, if not more—every action backed by needy abandon. He sucks at the bundle of nerves then sweeps his tongue lower. Din’s thumbs part your lower lips as he runs his tongue though your soaked folds, the tip of his nose bumping against your clit that send delicious sparks throughout your whole body. Little noises and breathy gasps fill the cave, encouraging Din to push his tongue deep into your aching entrance. 

Your hand fists into his hair as your hips stutter and rock into the searing heat of his mouth. The noises you make are obscene, and Din is no better. Each pass of his tongue over your pussy is matched with his own deep moans that vibrated against your clit. Fucking hell he’s devouring you alive.          

Your orgasm sneaks up on you, robs you blind and crashes over you in deep waves that drag you out to sea and never to be found again as you spill onto his greedy tongue. Your fingers are threaded tight in his hair as you squeak and press harder into his mouth, riding out your pleasure until it shifts and becomes raw and sore.  

Din doesn’t pause for even a second—all too happy to stay put between your thighs for eternity. Your legs are trembling when you force his head away, a nice, tingly warmth settling into your limbs 

A dark thrill rushes down your spine when he looks up, wild hair and mouth covered in your slick. If not for the low lighting you imagine his eyes would be glazed over and Maker you want him again. Din swoops down and presses his mouth to yours, the taste of yourself heavy on his tongue that slips past the seem of your lips. 

You whine after he breaks away and sits up—an opportunity for your eyes to roam down his body. He’s still got his trousers on, a considerable bulge tenting the front. With a smirk you reach up and grab a handful, delighting in Din’s startled grunt. “Easy.”

You flash him a wry smile and give his clothed cock a playful squeeze. “Take them off.” 

Din huffs and pulls at the drawstrings. “Needy.”

He says it with no bite and no coquettish retort on your end springs to mind—especially when his thumbs hook into the waistband and pull. A slow reveal of sun-kissed skin and a sparse happy trail that your eyes eagerly drink up. 

Din’s cock bobs as his trousers fall around his knees, tip shiny and wet and curling towards his navel. You bite the inside of your cheek and reach out, a rush of arousal pulsing through your core at Din’s low moan. He’s heavy in your hand, deliciously thick and throbbing—and all of it for you. 

Din gasps out your name as you lightly squeeze and stroke down, your pace dreadfully slow and teasing. Who knows when you’ll get another chance like this—a Mandalorian willingly on their knees for you.           

Your other hand slips up his chest as you stroke him, intent on grabbing a handful of his thick hair that curls softly against the column of his neck. Your fingernail lightly scrapes across his nipple and he sways, pitching forward before he catches himself and straightens. Din’s eyes are squeezed tight, chest heaving with shallow pants as a smirk tugs at your lips. 

“It’s ok, Din,” you whisper. “I won’t break.” 

Your fingers twist into the hair at the base of his skull and guide him back. He slumps forward with a sweet moan, laying his weight onto your body that you’re all too happy too bare. His nose is nestled into the slope of your neck as his hands lock around the dip of your lower back while the other cradles the back of your head, drawing you into a loose semblance of a hug. 

Something snaps and crumbles deep in your soul that bleeds the heartstring blues, humming with broken chords in the presence of Din’s soft fragility. Your hand moves from between his legs to instead wrap around the wide expanse of his back, squeezing him tight to your chest. You hold each other like there isn’t tomorrow to look forward to and you wonder if this is how it feels to fall apart. Two spinning halves of a supernova torn apart and destined to collide and shatter into a million fragments of dazzling light.  

Yes, you’re scared he might blind you or burn you with his brilliance, but you can’t look away.      

Your fingers crawl up his muscled thigh and settle on his hip. “Lie down for me?”

There’s no hint of hesitation or complaint as he maneuvers himself onto his back, patiently allowing you to clamber over his legs and straddle his hips. His cock rests on your inner thigh, pulsing and leaving a dribble of wetness every time it twitches.    

“Good boy.” It’s subtle but it ripples out like a heavy stone thrown into a still lake. Din shudders and says your name in a cracked whisper. He rolls his hips, both of you groaning at the sensation of his cock running along your dripping center.     

Another time for that game maybe. 

Your desperation is running hot and wild to have him inside you and you know he’s in a similar boat. You grab the thick shaft of his cock and grind the tip of him through your lips, breath hitching when it extracts such a perfect moan from the man below you. 

“Ride me,” he pleads, clamping his large hands over your hips. “Fuck—I need you.” 

How can you deny such a request?

You line the wide head up with your aching center and slowly work him in. Shivers wrack through you, and Maker—he’s splitting you apart, molding your insides to the shape of him. Beads of sweat dot your hairline by the time you’re seated fully on his member, the both of you pushed even closer towards madness.  

Din squeezes your ass and props his knees up, rolling his hips up into you. You whimper and tip forward, propping your palms over his chest as he sets the pace. You may be on top but there’s no changing the bold colors of power and lust that cloud his mind, fueling the brutal movements of fucking up into you. Your thighs burn already and Maker—why the fuck are you already tired? You’re not doing any of the work.  

Quicker than lightning, Din curls forward and manhandles you onto your back. You squeak as he grips your thigh and yanks it around his narrow hips, thrusting in deeper. His right hand crawls up the front of your shirt and wraps his fingers around your throat in a loose hold. His thumb hovers over the dip at the base of your neck but he makes no move to press down—just allows the weight of his palm to do the work. And fuck—it works. 

Choked garbles of his name pass through your lips as you buck and squirm in his hold, feeling your arousal begin to drip down the back of your thighs. You’re skirting the edge of sizzling release that alights your nerves with liquid wildfire. Your nails harpoon into the meat of his shoulders as your eyes squeeze shut. Din won’t allow it.      

“Look at me,” Din snarls, yanking your head back by your hair. “I want to—to watch you cum for me.” 

A blush scalds your cheeks but you listen. Your eyes flutter open for him, sliding to the dark shadows of his eyes that sweep you into their own gravity well with no hope to escape. You don’t mind. 

“You’re so g-good for me—always so perfect.”

White hot light bursts behind your eyelids, and that’s all it takes. Your body seizes, your cunt squeezing impossibly tight around his cock as you cum. This one is different—steals your breath away and leaves you a broken husk of a person lost in most delectable forms of agony and pleasure. The cry of his name pierces the air only spurring the Mandalorian into a jarring pace to seek his own peak of ecstasy.  

Din’s nose nuzzles into your neck, his pants hot and sharp against your flushed skin. “You f-feel so—fuck. Say—say my name.”

You leap to his request and with a playful nip to his earlobe, you whisper it to him with the sweetness of starcherrries and the promise of better things. 

He tips over the edge, his hips faltering into no discernible pace as he cums. Din buries his teeth into the skin below your jaw, a mess of whines and begging gasps of nonsense as he fills your cunt to the brim. 

Your harsh breathing mingles as you both lazily slip down from your high. He rests his head over your sternum, listening to your beating heart that drums in a wild staccato as your fingers carefully comb through his hair. If not for the ache in your hips you’d keep him here forever. Din pulls out and you both groan at the loss. 

He doesn’t completely move away and you’re glad for it. He brushes his knuckles down the expanse of your cheek and dots a tender kiss to your hairline. Your name rumbles low in his throat as he shifts lower and gives your ear lobe a playful nip. His stubble scrapes along your neck, and you can’t help but giggle and squirm—but the weight of his body keeps you pinned. Your name slips from his lips a second time, breathy and drawn out in a sweet sigh, like he’s savoring the sound of each syllable and roll of the tongue. 

Din lifts his head, only slightly—near enough that his nose bumps into yours and his lips scrape along yours that are still parted and wet. “I—can I tell you something?” 

You cup his cheek and steal a kiss. It’s supposed to be quick—but instead he leans into it, guiding your mouth into a slow dance of sticky sweet movements that are caught in a slow draw, like crystalized honey abandoned in a glass jar. You’re enraptured by his touch—his skin mottled with scars yet somehow still unfairly soft. He smells of snow—like metal and soap and something gentler, that’s uniquely Din.            

Fuck—you can feel your mind slipping away, wrapped up so snugly in his presence you almost forget to answer. “Yeah—anything.”

Crackling static suddenly rips through the cave, startling you both. A distorted voice chatters on the comlink that lies forgotten beside your pants. It blinks and the transmission ends just as abruptly. With a sigh Din brushes it off and tilts his head to tempt you into another kiss but—

Whoever’s trying to patch through is persistent. 

His lip curls in a scowl and snatches the comm. “Jorhaa’ir.”

You only catch your name being mentioned twice as rapid Mando’a is exchanged. Aeris maybe judging by the tone, but no that’s not right.   

“Wait—is that Paz?”

The muscles in Din’s shoulders tense, confirming your suspicion.

“Is everything ok?” Din doesn’t resist you when you pry the comlink out of his fingers and patch in. “Paz?”

Your heart skips a beat. 

“There you are,” the comlink crackles and you smile. “You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?” 

Stars—you didn’t think you’d miss hearing Paz’s voice. Your chest aches. 

The conversation is short, he asks you how you are and when you’re coming home and in the time it takes to answer, Din is peeling himself from your body. While you're distracted, he pulls on his pants and sits at the edges of your vision.

You both pretend when you say goodnight to Paz, return the comlink and crawl into his arms that nothing has festered with savage detachment. You don't remember to ask him what he was going to say and he lets you forget. The golden heart that bleeds molten ichor slips from your sight and becomes shut behind walls of beskar and bushes of thick thorns and overgrown ivy.         

He still holds you, but it’s the coldest you’ve ever been. 

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His Aphrodisiac...Part 2 Vampire Ivar! x Reader

Disclaimer: Smut 😏(an attempt), spelling and grammar mistakes😬 and my cliched imagination🤣Thank you for all the love and support💕☺️

Taglist: @yanii-the-hippie @peaceisadirtyword @laketaj24 @oceans-daughter-3  @camatsuru @youbloodymadgenius @calum-hoodwinked-me @wuxiesalt @supernaturalvikingwhore @readsalot73 @affection-rabbit @blonddnamedhandz @paintballkid711 @ivarthethiccness @limbo-limbo-limbo @funmadnessandbadassvikings 

Weeks had gone by after our steamy session in Ivar’s office. I still couldn’t process the fact that he was a vampire. That ancient tale of a monster who sought nothing but blood was true. However, he had proved otherwise. Ivar didn't seem like the type of person to go around sucking people’s blood just because he felt like it. No, he was the type that when I had a problem he would make it disappear. Like Johnathan, my ex-fiancee who wouldn't stop harassing me. As soon as Ivar had found out about him, he never showed up again. It was as if he had disappeared into thin air. Of course I was relieved at the time, but now I cant help but think about if Ivar had anything to do with it...

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it was the night of the annual Lothbrok Corp dinner. Only a select few people from the office were to attend as many of our sister branches would also send their representatives. Not to mind the fact that the founders of Lothbrok corp would all be there as well, with their friends and family. This year the dinner had been set to occur at Ivar’s mansion upstate. This included a secluded area where the next house wouldnt be in sight for miles. Ivar was a man of privacy and now I could understand why. The dinner was to start in an hour and I had yet to finish my makeup. I wasn't really one to amazing at it, but I knew what would compliment my (y/s/t) complexion. As I finish applying my mascara, I take one last look in the mirror before heading out to the kitchen to find my phone and call an Uber. Taking my coat in one hand and juggling my keys, phone and purse in the other. I manage to somehow lock the door, but not before I’m met with a pair of electric blue eyes. “I..Ivar. W...What are you doing here?” I manage to say through my shock. 

“You haven't returned any of my calls or messages since that night (y/n). I wouldn't admit this to anyone else, but I was genuinely worried about you.” He trails off as he says the last part whilst avoiding my gaze. “Ive just had a lot on my mind, Ivar. Im sorry.” I say looking anywhere except his eyes, knowing full well the effect they had on me. In a flash Ivar stepped away from the limousine, took my coat and placed it on his arm and grabbed my hand dragging me towards it. “Ivar what are you doing my Uber’s here.” “I gave him 100 bucks and sent it away. You're coming with me.” He whispers the last part close to my ear before shoving me inside the limo. His tone of voice wasn't all the way warm, it had hints of his icy personality in them and made it hard to breathe for me.

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The car ride was awkward and filled with lots of tension. Ivar tried multiple times to start a conversation with me, but I paid him no mind. I sat as far away as possible from him, I could swear that there were times where I thought that I would fall out the door. His hands would “accidentally” (as he said) wander all over my legs, tracing patterns and ever so often trailing even higher. It took everything in me to  ignore his advances, and he knew very well the effects his touch had on me. His mere touch created a pool of wetness down there and the bastard knew it. Before his hand could go any further, the view of a great mansion surrounded by nothing but trees caught my eye. “Woah, that's huge.” I said as I looked out the window. “And its all yours (y/n), if you’d just have me.” Ivar says as he turns my head and stares into my (e/c) eyes. Getting lost in his electric blue orbs I lose all sense of why I was upset at him. It’s as if it’s only us two and the whole world disappeared when I look at him. Before either one of us could act upon our feelings once again, we’re interrupted by the driver as he pulls up in front of the house. “Oh for fucks sake! Someone is always interrupting us!” Ivar screams out, startling me a little as his eyes began to glow. His sudden outburst made me want to run away, but also made me feel as if I should have calmed him down.  Ivar turns to me and he just stares, no sudden movements or words just a blank stare. In seconds Ivar is out of the car and opening the door for me. If I hadnt known that he was a vampire I could've sworn that it had all been a fix of my imagination and that he truly wasnt there.

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

As Ivar led from the limo inside the mansion, I couldnt help but admire the artwork and intricate design of his house. It was something truly unexpected from him. Once inside the ballroom Ivar had disappeared, I guess to greet everyone and say hello to his family. Whom I know he hasn't seen for the longest time. I however, am very overwhelmed and I think it may have to do with the fact that everybody’s eyes are on me. I don't do very well in public scenarios like this one and all the attention is making me a little sick. There was security all over the place and although intimidating I knew that I had to find a washroom as quickly as possible, so I could lock myself in there all night. The bodyguard didn't even speak, he just pointed towards the stairs and went back to acting as if I wasnt there. Shrugging it off I make my way up the stairs only to find a corridor with an exceptional amount of doors. Internally cursing myself I make my way down and knock on every door, but they're all locked. I almost gave up until I saw the double doors on the right. Obviously this couldn't be bathroom, but at this point I didn't care, I just had to find a place to stay till it was time to go. 

As I opened the double doors Im greeted by an awfully dark lit room, with intricate black designs. The cravings on the bed posts and the paintings around are those of ancient nordic runes, something that led me to believe that this might have been Ivar’s room. I knew of his great admiration foe his background, he loved anything that had to do with nordic beliefs and ancient gods. Making may way inside Im transfixed by all the artwork and details around me that I fail to acknowledge the presence that lies in the corner of the room. “So, I seem you've made yourself acquainted with my room already, (y/n)” Ivar says as he walks out of the shadows with his crutches? “Oh my God, Ivar are you okay? I literally left you for less than an hour and you've already gone an injured yourself! Wait, I dont mean to sound like a bitch/ignorant or anything, but why do you have crutches? Aren't like vampires supposed to be like physically invincible?” I said all in one breath, as Ivar just cocked his head to the side and stared at me. “You honestly believe everything that the media tells you, dont you?” Point taken, all I knew about vampires were form shows, movies and books that were then turned into movies or shows. “Anyway, before I became a vampire, I was actually a viking. Hence all the nordic runes everywhere and the massive tattoo on my chest and back. My family was very rich and my father Ragnar was king. However, unlike my siblings I was born without function in my legs. Which is why I use those metal braces in the corner over there while I'm in public, and these only around people I trust.” He says moving closer to me. “Now, tell me as to what drew you to come in to my room without me, (Y/n).” Ivar says as he draws my name longer than he has to, in a very sensual tone that makes my knees tremble.

“(y/n), give in. Dont fight it, we were meant to be. You're the reason I can finally feel alive. If it weren't for you, I probably would've kept roaming this world with no sense of purpose. I know you feel this connection. So once again , will you let me take care of you?” And in that moment all senses had been thrown out the window.

Ivar closed the gap with his hot mouth against yours. You gasped as you felt the heat spiral through you, as you ran your fingers through his soft locks. Throwing the crutches to the side Ivar manages to pick you up the hips and deepens the kiss. The sensual dance between your tongue and his is soon over as you cave in to his dominance and let his explore your mouth, slowly with deliberate movements. “Ahhhh...” A moan escapes your lips as his lips move down to your neck. “Since I saw you in that dress earlier tonight, it took everything in me to not act on impulse.” Making his way to the bed, Ivar lays you gently on the back satin sheets and holds himself up as his roam over your body in admiration. Ivar then looks at you for permission as his fingers begin unlacing and unzipping your dress. As Ivar kisses along to every spot that is unveiled to him, goosebumps begin to raise along your skin. You had longed for this moment for awhile, but had denied yourself of the pleasure due to your fear. Oh how stupid could I have been you thought to yourself as you relish in the pleasure that this man brought you every time he kissed and caressed you. “You're so beautiful...” Ivar says as he touches you with reverent fingers, as he begins caressing that part of your body that is not very often explored.

His fingers begin tracing the inside of my hips as his head dips down to my flower. Ivar takes my clit into his mouth and gently bites it, bringing a pleasure that I cannot describe. My hips buck up to him on their own accord asking for more. But he holds me down and brings his face up to mine. His intense gaze had distracted me for a second as his ministrations towards my clit were over. But before I could beg him and ask him for more, it was as fi Ivar had already beat me to it. In a flash he had dipped and curled 2 of his massive fingers into my hole. Pumping them in at an alarmingly fast rate. “I..Ivar, that feels so good!” I manage to say through my moans that are increasingly louder as I throw my head back from all this pleasure. Ivar’s pace becomes steady and his lips are now focused on my right breast, kissing and caressing it as if it were his favourite thing in the world. My hands uncurl form the sheets and move towards his head caressing it and then bringing it up so that I could kiss him. This time I wanted to show him that I too cared for him. And all that fear had been washed away, this man had been everything to me the minute I started working for him and Would be damned if I let him get away. Vampire or not! 

Bringing him in for a kiss Ivar tries to take control and dominate again, but this time I would be in control. I manage to shock Ivar with the lack of submission that he’s used to seeing from me. I use this to my advantage and flip us over. Trying to not hurt him in the process. I break apart our kiss and stare deeply into his eyes as our heave breaths begin to entangle with each other and become one. I slowly remove his fingers from my hole, much to his dismay. And before he could protest I place my finger to his lips. “You've shown me how much you care for me. Time and time again Ivar. Let me show you that I care too.” At this his eyes hold admiration, surprise, and hints uncertainty. Making my way down his body, I leave trail of kisses form his chest all the way down to his legs. Taking my time kissing every part of them and staring into his eyes with love and tenderness, which he mirrors in his gaze towards me. I then make my way up to his long and already hard cock. Oozing with loads of precum.  Licking the excess I take as much as I can into my mouth as I wrap my hangs around the base his very thick and long shaft. Pumping and bobbing my head I can feel and hear Ivar’s pleasure. His hands wrap around my (h/l)(h/c) hair and his hips thrust forward. I can see that he is reaching his high and before I could make him cum, he pulls out of my mouth. “I’d like to cum inside you, if you'd let me (y/n)” He says as his hands pull my face into a heated kiss.

Climbing on top of him I go to position myself on his member. However, Ivar flips us around so that he is the one on top. I could only look at him in shock for a second before my eyes roll back as I feel him thrust into me with one swift movement. My hands wrap around his torso, and claw at his back from the overwhelming sense of pleasure. Our moans become a melody to my ears, but soon I can feel myself reaching that high. “Ivar.....Im gonna” “I know baby, me too.” And just like that with a few more of his powerful thrusts Ivar and I reach our edge. Ivar and I stare into each others eyes with admiration and love. My hands without thought brush the strands from his hair away from his sweaty face. “Dont leave me ever again (y/n), I mean it. Those weeks that went by were probably the hardest of my life.” He breathes out as he caresses my face and body so gently, as if he were thinking that I would just vanish right there. “I would never think of leaving you again, ever. Im your aphrodisiac after all. What would you do without me?” And without a care in the world we lied in each others arms whilst the party roared downstairs, and the host nowhere to be found.

[twelvesignsrp]

congratulations tabi, cancer is now samuel wade with the faceclaim neels visser

APPLICATION

   Character Sign: Cancer

   Character name: Samuel Wade

   Birthday: 7/7/1997

   Sexuality: bisexual                                                                                        

   Gender: male

   Moon Sign: Pisces Moon – he’s someone who needs fantasy, compassion, escape, and creative outlets more than anything else in the world. he can go a little stir-crazy at times, which is why it’s important for him to have security as well, but he can be extremely hard to pin down and read when he gets into one of his darker moods. sometimes he feels he is best left on his own, even though he wishes he could connect better, but he knows he needs to figure out how to navigate his own soul before he can really reach out to others around him. he is and will always be drawn to artistic, sensual and spiritual pursuits.

   Faceclaim: Neels Visser

   Power: future illustration – it’s not so much any sort of clear image that splashes itself across his mind and forces him to recreate it on any surface available, it’s more like some sort of gut feeling, almost unnoticeable sometimes until he’s practically finished with it. the urge to draw or paint something is as familiar and ingrained in him as the need to breath or his body’s need for blood from his heart—it’s something stuck just beneath the layers of his skin, and he doesn’t even think about it until he looks down and realizes he’s drawn something that ends up coming true a little while later. he does it without thinking most of the time, but then there are a few dark midnights, sleepless nights when the kaleidoscope mess tries to seep out through his fingertips, the drive to create something much stronger than his need to sleep. the talent for art has always been there inside of him, the magic just decided to adhere itself to that.

   What do they study? Art Appreciation

   Biography:

rule 1: schizophrenia is hereditary.

you wouldn’t think that to look at Marie Mason though, as she smiles and walks slowly down the aisle to marry the man who has stolen her heart and all her inhibitions and reservations about love. they’ve thrown themselves into this wedding, adored each other endlessly, despite the family secret she keeps from him, hoping on every star in the sky and any god in heaven that somehow, maybe the curse will pass her by unaffected. maybe their love is stronger than her genetics, maybe his kiss will break the evil spell, the ticking time-bomb on her mind. and after all, doesn’t everyone deserve a happy, fairytale ending? the Beatles sang “all you need is love” and they both agree wholeheartedly, because this feels absolute between the two of them. there is nothing that can get in the way of their union.

rule 2: love is not stronger than madness.

no one bears the brunt of her mental decay as much as her first-born son Samuel, especially in the first seven years of his life. he learns to run quickly, hide perfectly, play games that make no sense and have no rules. he has to think on his feet, tell stories without endings, anything he can do to please her, to help her, to make her love him—or at least remind her that she once did love him. it comes and goes sometimes, and he suffers in school for it, despite how much money his father pours into his education.

what father doesn’t seem to understand is that, yes, she does have many good, long stretches of sanity, weeks when she is fine, she is stable, she is operational, and Samuel enjoys these times because that’s when their family love dynamic actually feels real. but those times never really last long enough, they are just the minute gasps for breaths the universe takes before exploding again. his mother and his little brother, younger by three years, and him can all go to the park and have picnics, and he doesn’t have to think about how Jacob is already a better reader than he is. Jacob is better at a lot of things, but Samuel’s sheer amount of personality ensures his place as older brother. he can also draw better than anyone else in his class, but no one is as much a fan of his work as Jacob is, and Samuel is sure that nothing in the world can break the two of them apart.

that’s why when the doctors finally come and take their mother away while she is screaming and thrashing around, like a demon straight out of hell, Samuel holds onto Jacob’s hand tight enough that neither of them have to notice that their father can’t even look at them. Samuel is terrified that one day he’ll grow up to be as cold and distant as that man, but he’s even more scared about his mother’s genetic lotto win taking root in him.

rule 3: nothing in this world is in your control.

caution: contents are hot. he lets himself ride the waves of adolescence, boiling over with too much freezer-burn chemicals. like a sunflower, he is all brightness on the outer rim, the edges of him oozing glamour and laughter and just enough coyness to keep others interested, but in the center is dark, dark inflorescence, drying and dying out in the sun. he can feel himself changing as puberty takes over, shifting him into the kind of boy who stares at other people too long and lets himself fall into chaos too quickly. he falls in love too hard and lets it drive him to the edge of his mental cliff time and time again, because maybe if he gets used to it out here, it won’t be so bad when he finally tumbles down off it. he lives his life in fear of madness, which gives him a bit of wild freedom, but mostly just makes him want to cave in on himself.

his turmoil breathes life into the only part of him left that’s still beating; drawing and painting. he spends hours on it, creates everything from abstract memories of dreams to landscapes and fruits. it’s an incredibly forgiving art, but nothing about that sentiment lets him sleep a full night through, unburdened by nightmares.

his father comes to him one day after he’s turned eighteen and tells him he expects good grading scores from his high school so that he can enroll in a well-accredited university next fall—a university that has already been picked out for him. Samuel hadn’t intended to go to college, actually, because he wanted to start selling his art as soon as possible, but he doesn’t have the means or support system around him to venture off on his own, the way he wishes he did. he’s too easily persuaded to attend, but he manages to hold his own when it comes to which classes to choose. his father wants him to become a doctor, and follow in his footsteps of becoming a surgeon. for that entire summer, he starts bringing his oldest son to his hospital with him, making him watch the surgeries sometimes, hoping that the drive to cut people open and fix them will somehow seep into Samuel via osmosis. it’s total hell to the eighteen-year-old, and it doesn’t convince him to change his college schedule at all.

rule 4: with great power comes great responsibility.

not very far into his experience at durham, things begin to change. at first, he thinks “this is it, i’m finally losing it,” when he sees the exact same car-wreck scene on the news as what he had drawn earlier that morning. he thinks maybe it’s a coincidence, maybe a fluke, maybe some kind of déjà vu. he sets the picture on fire and smokes a cigarette as he watches it burn, his heart pounding in his chest, the fear like freezing fingers wrapping around his lungs, suffocating him. it’s not long though before it happens again, and again, and again—the things he draws becoming real somehow, and he begins to worry whether he’s drawing the future or creating it through his drawings.

it takes about a month or two, after he really starts taking action based on the paintings and drawings, that he realizes he is shaping only one version of the future, and that by simply knowing about it and doing something with that knowledge, it can be changed; which is a huge relief. so he starts acting on his abilities, working to fix whatever seems wrong, warn whoever he needs to, avoid the pitfalls he can see coming. he very rarely anymore draws the things he wants to, but it’s okay because this is more important anyway, and his skills at detail and coloring are getting better, sharper, clearer.

but with each new picture he puts his whole soul into, he feels it leave him just a little bit more. it’s a well-known fact that talent and survival cannot exist harmoniously inside one body; eventually something has to give. nothing is stronger than madness, he controls nothing in this world.

and schizophrenia is hereditary.

   Five interesting facts about your character:

I. he has grown up with a mild form of dyslexia, making him very uncomfortable reading things. he struggled through it all throughout high school, oftentimes bullshitting his way through tests and literature classes. whenever he was called upon to read something from the books, he would always play it off as something silly, like making up the words and story as he went, often getting in minor bits of trouble for it. whenever it was really important that he learn the material, he just looked up youtube videos for it. he still needs to do that sometimes. II. he calls his little brother Jacob every week, just to check up on him. he hates being so far away from his brother, really the only member of his family that he ever connected with. his brother looks up to him a lot, even though Sam has no idea why anyone would. III. he lives off of a steady diet of ramen and code-red mountain dew. he knows he should eat better, but he’s too young to care about health food and he’s been blessed with a fantastic metabolism. plus, he doesn’t know how to cook and he can’t be bothered to learn. IV. he does work out though, whenever he can, and even though his choice of exorcise is boxing mostly, he wishes he could get more into martial arts, like taekwondo or jujitsu. V. secretly loves super nerdy stuff, like anime and comic books, but he tries his best to keep all that under wraps, stuffed into the bottom of one of his pants drawers, because he is scared of what people will think of him if they knew. he wants to be chill, not looked at like he’s crazy.

   Character Quote:

“lie with me under

the sweeping sky that

forgets us

there is no other kind of death

destroy me if you must.”

–inkskinned.tumblr.com

   If your character had a patronus what would it be? and why? his patronus is a dapple-grey stallion. it means his passion for the things he loves is hard to beat, he becomes very involved in his friends, family, hobbies and studies. he can be very sensitive and emotional, getting hurt easily and often feeling melancholy for very little reason. however, this emotional enlightenment allows him to understand others and empathize extremely well, while also being very creative and intelligent.

WRITING SAMPLE

Samuel stared at the lines on the wooden door in front of him, his eyes wide but unmoving– stagnant just like the rest of his entire body. he was supposed to be moving, supposed to be a man of action by now, like he had told himself countless times to be. he’d spent the better part of the morning looking into a mirror, practicing the lines he was about to say, going over what sounds best, the exact type of words to formulate, anything that didn’t sound creepy or desperate. he wanted to be one of those guys who were able to just go after whatever they want, no hesitation, no overthinking.

but he wasn’t. he wasn’t a man of action, he wasn’t a man of anything– he was just standing here in front of his classmate’s door like an idiot, completely immobile because his nervousness had rooted him to her welcome mat. he was supposed to knock on the door ten minutes ago. he should have already gotten this done and over with by now but instead he couldn’t stop staring at the lines in the door and thinking about how heartbroken he was going to be as soon as she rejected him.

she had no idea how hard he’d been working up the courage to do this. how long he’d spent practicing his tone of voice or his smile. he wanted everything to be perfect and if he messed this up…. he might never have forgiven himself. he had already messed up so many other relationships and lost so many opportunities with her already this semester. he wanted to move forward. he wanted to show her how much he liked her.

he slowly inhaled a breath, lifting his fist up to knock on the door, but he couldn’t make contact. maybe he could do this next week. there would still be a next week, right? there was always next week– next month– next year. except what if she moved away or dropped out of school? what if she got a boyfriend? and then he’d have to see them together in the hallways, think about how she liked to be kissed, think about whether she was being treated well enough. he was not keen on this idea.

but knocking on this door was about as easy as fitting his whole arm into his mouth. how did other people seem to do this so damn easily? he always saw it in movies and things, guys being assertive and girls being spunky but accepting. things always worked out in movies though, whereas real life was often messier, especially in those first few steps of a relationship.

relationship? maybe he shouldn’t have been thinking about that word just yet—it was still pretty early. he hadn’t even managed to ask her out yet. hadn’t even knocked on the goddamn door. he huffed again, the nervous fluttering and pounding in his chest only getting worse.

he lifted his fist up again, an inch or two away, when the door suddenly opened and there she was, a bag of trash in her hand, and there he was, his arm raised like an idiot. “i…! oh..! hi..” his palms immediately started sweating as panic set in and his fight-or-flight instinct started telling him to turn and run. his feet however, were still painfully glued to this spot. “i, uh… i was just about to knock… on your door….” he slowly lowered his hand, feeling like a deer in the headlights. “obviously.”