#like yes he was a bastard but yes he was also terrified and scarred by his experiences

[ashenlavellan]

A Kudos Post to my favorite ME LIs

this will be a condensed post of my appreciation for ALL of my favorite Mass Effect (including Andromeda) Romances - please keep in mind that this is my opinion/favorites and I may not have one of your romances listed. Please be respectful of that ^.^

Kaidan Alenko - The Sentinel Biotic

I've said it before and I'll say it again - he's by-far one of the most sympathetic, but he's also willing to stand his ground against stuff that contradicts his morals. I thoroughly appreciate that he's supportive, but he's not always a yes-man - whether or not he's romanced.

Also, I've mentioned it before, but chronic migraines are no fucking joke - the cause of them being his implants/biotics too? This man deserves an award.

Liara T'Soni - The Asari Scientist / Shadow Broker

By far, one of my all-time favorite Bioware romances. Her personality and her thoughtfulness always melts my heart and even if she's not romanced, I genuinely believe that she's also a platonic soulmate. Some people may not like her for the hero/savior-complex she has in ME1, but she mellows out in the later games and it feels like she's on equal-footing later on.

Her VA is also one of my all-time favorite actresses - Ali Hillis, who also plays as Lightning (Claire) Farron from FFXIII and recently, Lace Harding from DA: Inquisition / Veilguard.

Garrus Vakarian - The Archangel of Omega

My first ever romance and what initially led me to playing the trilogy. The initial awkwardness of an interspecies liaison, which led to a flirty yet playful interaction - then we find ourselves head-over-heels for this scarred turian.

If not romanced, I genuinely believe that Garrus could also be a platonic soulmate - whether it's FemShep/BroShep. The relationship and understanding feels so... real.

Thane Krios - The Drell Assassin

This romance broke my heart and soul; his troubled life with the loss of his deceased ex-wife and the discord between himself and his son felt like so much for him to bear. Especially for an entire decade. Now, when I initially romanced him, I was merely intrigued by his personality and how he dealt with everything - knowing he had limited time.

Progressing through the story led me to the realization that he was merely getting by, but the second he finds love once more? He's devastated at the prospect that he's found his other half, but with so little time and knowing that she'll be left alone...

I was devastated and pathetically sobbed when he died; especially when watching the clips that were left behind during the Citadel DLC.

Reyes Vidal - The Charlatan of Kadara

By far, one of the most intriguing romances of ME: Andromeda and it felt like there’s a lot of chemistry between him and [preferred] Ryder - regardless if he’s romanced or not. He’s got a flair for the dramatics yet he’s terrified of losing what has become cherished to him, at the cost of his lies.

His personality and voice certainly drew me in during my first play-through - I genuinely thought there would be a game where I found none of the romances appealing, but then this shady bastard appeared and winked.

[formulapookie]

marc going “haha i have no idea how i adapted to riding my bike with no wing mid sprint” as if he didn’t hop his (very nice) ass on a year old ducati of all things after spending a million years solely riding honda like 3 months ago and has already clawed his way to motherfucking PEE TWO in the championship standings already is insane to me!!!! like babe now is Not The Time to be modest (unless you’re wooing gigi with this in which case go ahead)

in the HYPOTHETICAL (i am touching wood i will NOT jinx this) that he wins this year, getting him to 9x WC, on a year old ducati, in a satellite team, having only just switched to them, over vales kids who are in (loosely) equivalent or better machinery, do we kiss the potential of ever getting a rosquez reunion goodbye? because i cannot imagine vale ever looking at marc again if that happened

like on it’s own it’s an insane (potential) feat, the kind the media are not going to shut up about, and we know valentino gets marc questions on the regular anyway. but to me that would feel like the last nail in the coffin? at that point he would know there’s basically no way marc would Not surpass his record, as he’d basically be a guaranteed for the factory seat. it would be incredible revenge for the way marcs been treated, whether it was intended that way or not (vale would see it as intentional) at that point would he regret treating him that way? because so much of his legacy is tied to marc now, and marc’s legacy would have grown far beyond that tie to vale, so it would be almost less notable in his legacy than vale’s (due to recency bias)

idk i’m yapping, i am both terrified and excited about marc’s insane uhhhhhhh insaneness regarding adapting to the bike

On one hand YES i think we would kiss a reconciliation goodbye, especi because Marc would (🤘🏻🤘🏻🤘🏻) win on a Ducati, which Vale failed to do (yes in those years it was impossible to ride the Ducatis, but in Vales mind he should’ve been able to do it anyway) and he would feel oh so betrayed and most importa he’d feel beaten

He feels like in his boy’s eyes he’s now LESS because of this, he feels like the whole fucking world thinks less of him, and mostly he sees how Pecco respects him and how Marco shifted from hating him (even more than Vale) to looking for his attention

he’s scared Marc will steal his boys too after his (still sour about it) 10th

ON THE OTHER THO

Vale would maybe fucking relearn to realize how great of a rider Marc is, how adaptable he is and how despite everything he doesn’t give up

and he also sees how his boys progressively came to look up at him (subtly) and gets that no matter what, they’re tied somehow.

So, at the end of the year gala, where they give out the prizes, once Marc got his and cheered with his team he compliments him, telling him he did great, and FINALLY saying sorry for demonising him like that, even if he still calls him a bastard

they don’t immediately reconcile in that other way because Marc is still a bit scarred and hurt by how they stopped their encounter long ago, while Vale would very much like to get back to business immediately

And for the first time in their relationship Marc has the lead (at least for sometime) and Vale waits for him

that was fun to do thanks anon!🩷

[poke-maniac]

I kinda liked Disney's take on hook in their most recent remake. Yes, he wasn't the same eccentric, funny and hammy bastard we loved to hate, but he was such a good character that serves the message so well. They didn't turn him into a good guy like Cruella or Maleficent and didn't turn him into "serious" but completely dull antagonist like the remake versions of Scar or Jafar. He was still a villain but also fully fledged character with a touching backstory, which not only explains his grudge against Peter Pan and makes his rivalry with him much deeper and personal but also makes him a tragic and complex character. We get to see more of his emotions which makes him feel like a real person, not just some comedic antagonist mostly here to entertain. It also ironically helps to develop Peter's character by giving him an interesting conflict and makes Peter a much more interesting character. The "original" Hook was great for what he is but this version is much more developed and feels human and also genuinely terrifying.

[smiletimeisrunningout]

CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE !!

Tagged by: took it from the man Emma is apparently courting @johngravessimcoe

Tagging: anyone who wants to do it

✧･ﾟ 𝐃𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄.

doing the historical version

Name: Emma (of the White Kingdom)

Alias(es): Swan (derogatory), Princess Charming (affectionate)

Gender: female (she/her).

Orientation: Tragically straight.

Age: 28+

Date of birth: November 23th

Place of birth: White Kingdom, Mysthaven, Europe.

Spoken language(s): English, Italian, Greek, Spanish, French, bit of German (she has a thing for languages so I don't exclude her learning more at random)

Occupation(s): princess, potentially bounty-hunter/knight if she loses her throne. Wife. Heartbreaker.

★ ⸻ APPEARANCE

Eye colour: green. There is some golden in them apparently?

Hair colour: blonde.

Height: 5''44

Other: whatever she's wearing she's going to make it just a bit inappropriate to show off. LOTS of scars. The one along her spine forces her to cover her back at all times (maybe that's why she's so okay showing the front?), very appreciative of her own hair, it's always down and curled up. Freckles! Which she hides under her makeup because boys made her self-conscious about them.

★ ⸻ FAVORITE

Colour: red, golden (white for clothes only).

Song: she's a Disney princess, she'll love and sing anything like she's about to get the golden buzzer.

Food: food being her one true love, it's hard to peak, but steak with potatoes and chocolate go hand in hand.

Drink: at this point I think gin.

★ ⸻ HAVE THEY...

Passed university: let's say she's more of a jock type. Tutors may have cried. Either she can memorize insanely hard stuff because it's important to her or she will spend five days trying to read a chapter of King Liar and fall asleep every time.

Had sex: way too much.

Had sex in public: yes if by in public you mean where she could get caught because people were nearby.

Gotten pregnant/someone else pregnant: not in the historical verse, but some day she'd like a bunch of kids. She'll probably have one max two at this point.

Kissed a boy: hell yes.

Kissed a girl: nope.

Gotten tattoos: not yet.

Gotten piercings: no.

Been in love: yep once with a man who absolutely destroyed her in every possible way and now lives like 30 minutes away.

Stayed up 24+ hours: yes. she doesn't like it.

★ ⸻ ARE THEY...

A virgin: not only she's not but she initiated and controlled her first time with the same bastard who broke her and who wasn't actually ever going to try to go that far with her.

A cuddler: desperately so.

A kisser: could spend hours just doing that.

Scared easily: no and sometimes she SHOULD.

Jealous easily: not exactly. she's jealous of her role (she'd be terribly offended if someone who knows her asked another lady to punch someone), and she expects her relationships to be respected by others (meaning somebody is getting punched if they don't) but otherwise she's like 'yeah I know he's awesome, he's also mine :D '

Submissive: she was submissive ONCE in her life with the ex and it broke her, so never again. Terrified to going back to that, though.

Dominant: In the bedroom, yes. In her job, yes. In a relationship? She wants to agree on things.

In love: in teror of falling in love.

Relationship status: spinster

★ ⸻ RANDOM QUESTIONS

Have they harmed themselves: not purposefully, besides the time when she punches or kicks things that she shouldn't.

Thought of suicide/ideated: yes.

Attempted suicide: considered it from a place where she could and then didn't.

Wanted to kill someone: several people. Then in some cases did.

Have/had a job: same answer of above.

Fears: being in a romantic relationship. Being in love and getting heartbroken. Falling into depression again. Losing her kingdom because of depression. Being submissive and humiliating herself again. People staying with her out of pity again. Losing her loved ones.

Sibling(s): None.

Parent(s): King David (Charming) and Queen Mary Margaret, alive and disgustingly in love.

Children: none

Children in history: yes if by history we mean canon. Henry and Hope.

Significant other(s): considering arranging a marriage.

Pet(s): her evil murderous horse Apple. Whatever animals she finds and brings home. She only doesn't have a dog because she knows she'd stay by the dog's side from birth to death.

[foreverdolly]

I said this to another blog on here, but I think you'd enjoy hearing it too: I'm convinced Elvis would've been incredibly proud (and very smug) if he managed to get you pregnant with twins or triplets.

the funny thing is- elvis was terrified of pregnancy. i think his mother must have scarred him in his teenage years, because it was like… a genuine fear of his. he did not want babies with a woman that he wasn’t married to.

but yes. that man could be a smug little bastard, and i love him all the more for it. he was also a lil attention hog when it came to his friends (i have a funny ass story) i think elvis would definitely brag over have twins or triplets. he’d turn it into some dry, sexual joke and you’d just sit there red faced and flushed.

[2niwaka]

things that'll make it into the about/other headcanon posts etc I just need them here for safekeeping

I portray Hyoga as being from a fairly large family; he has quite a few siblings, and is actually the second-youngest of the bunch (in order there's Yuuki [deceased], Maki, Mitsukiyo [deceased], Keisuke, Emma [deceased], Hyoga himself, and Sayu)....he isn't the baby that can do no wrong but he is the youngest son and has youngest son privileges.

this man has ibs and cfs & chronic pain issues and does his best today as well

main job is the whole assistant kanryu instructor deal but secondary is volunteer firefighter (part of why he sounds like absolute ass when he talks is from smoke inhalation)

grew up fairly low income and food insecure & this is why his main priority is like, feeding people during canon & why he's easily confused by people "wasting" food on him; tldr he's Going to feed you and that's a Threat. It's also the only form of social interaction he's any good at, aside from teaching people Literal Fucking Combat.

He's not actually touch averse, as seen by the fact that he likes to lean against people, but he is unsure how to go about touching others. He kind of doesn't trust them to let him do that either. For the most part "affection" is him existing in your space.

yes he's a bastard and a hardass but to everyone's surprise he wasn't always (and is kind of seen in a circumstantial vacuum); if it seems like he's "vastly different" in pre-canon timelines and verses based around such, it's for good reason -- he hasn't had the exacerbating circumstances that make the wires fray. He's still not very like, nice. When he talks. But he is different based on when you catch him.

There's 2 NPCs who will be mentioned on here fairly often; Izumi Nakano & Miyu Tennouji. Miyu is his cousin and Izumi is one of the last students who stayed when everyone else left. Izumi is 19 when everything freezes, while Miyu is 20.

Very important here -- Hyoga has selective mutism that didn't really get any "better" in adulthood. He still gets overwhelmed and depletes his social and verbal battery. It takes him time to form sentences and if the manga speech panels are anything to go by, he's extremely quiet and hesitant in his words. When he runs out of his designated word quota, he won't verbally communicate again until he feels like he safely can, usually just relying on sign language, body language, and sort of noncommittal noises. People who knew him before the petrification like Izumi and Miyu are used to this.

Has top surgery scars (specifically double incision scars; is also the guy who went "no thanks" irt the concept of like, having nipples again after) and that's the entire reason he won't put on a shirt. This is one of the sillier pieces of info to go in this list but gotta respect the man's gender euphoria.

Mentioned before but he needs glasses, always has, has always forgotten to wear them. He's farsighted and has astigmatism in his right eye. If he looks mad he's either trying to figure something in the distance out, make out your expression since you're presumably close to him, or...he is just mad. Tends to put things close to his face knowing it won't help.

His mother's family is Japanese-Brazilian; the household is bilingual. Doesn't really bring it up unless asked. Will probably make you feijoada or moqueca de camarao if he trusts you enough, because any dish from home like that is a Level 20 Friendship Moment.

Was really, really upset thinking about what happened to the Nagoya aquarium, but only really told a couple of people about it because he doesn't want to seem weak or like a crybaby. Doesn't realize the fact that he felt extreme emotional distress for fish is actually endearing due to proving he is, in fact, capable of empathy... he's just not good at having it for other people.

Is actually terrified of death on a conceptual level which is sort of why he just flatly refuses to process it. Even when he's inflicting it. This also applies to abject terror of his own death, despite struggling with suicidal ideation at times. (And this is why he can't be told he did, in fact, die once.)

[glitchstoxicwaste]

Could I ask for slashers with an s/o that has a thing for their hands maybeeeee

Yes you can! These are gonna be short though, and it will have different parts to it cause I have a limited amount of pictures I can add to a post.😌

Slashers

PT. 1 | PT. 2 (coming soon)

Slashers hands~!

TW: Hands~, pictures of hands from Pinterest, suggestive content.

↓Continue under the cut!↓

Michael Myers!

He’s interested in your fascination with his hands.

Will be sure to tease you by flexing his hands and make the veins pop a little.

Grabs your hands, interlocks your fingers with his, and flips them so you can see the back of his hand.

Eyes scan your face constantly to pick up on any signs of fluster.

Grabs your throat at random times to tease and taunt you.

Grabs your wrists jokingly when you go to play with his hands.

Let’s you mess with his fingers.

You can paint his nails but he won’t put on rings or bracelets.

Jason Voorhees!

Curious as to why you find his hands to be so mesmerizing.

Let’s you trace the veins in the back of his hand and on his arms.

Flushed a dark red if you kiss his palm and the tips of his fingers to signify affection.

Laces your fingers together and flexes his hands to show you the strength while being gentle with your hand in his.

Gently grabs your wrist if you ask him too.

Terrified to put his hands around your throat.

Will put on bracelets you make him but not ones you buy, and no rings, those are for weddings.

Norman Bates!

Like Jason, is curious and cautious.

Let’s you watch his hands while he works.

Will read a book across from you do you can see them flex.

Smiles while you watch his hands work on his taxidermy.

Also won’t wear rings unless it’s a wedding band but will wear bracelets you get him and watches.

Chuckles when you watch him unbutton his shirt and button them up.

Traces your bottom lip with his thumb to tease you.

An absolute GOD with his fingers -wink wink-

Brahms Heelsire!

Cocky bastard

Loves that you admire his hands so much you lose your guard and he can take advantage of it.

Grabs your throat with one hand and pins you to walls.

Gets fistfuls of your hair if you have any and moves you wherever he wants.

Squished your cheeks tauntingly.

Shoved his fingers in your mouth and other area.

Grabs and squeezes your thighs.

Flexes every time you enter the room.

It’s endless.

Billy Lenz!

Interested by it, but then turns into Brahms but worse.

Slaps your cheek if you’re into it.

Hands all over your body constantly.

Has you lick off anything that’s on his hands -that is edible-

Pets the cat with flexed hands to tease you.

Whispers about how dirty and naughty you are while he’s groping you from behind.

Thomas Hewitt!

Flustered slightly.

You like his hands so much you want to be in the basement with him while he prepares the meat?

Grabs your hands in his a lot.

Caresses your body slowly during fun time.

Gently caresses your cheek with his thumb.

Let’s you watch him toy around with his chainsaw.

Plays with your hair if you have any.

Shows you how to fix up and sew masks.

Has his hand gently placed on your knee.

Bo Sinclair!

Oh man he will be so fucking cocky about it.

He was rough before, but now that he knows about your fascination with his hands, that has been amplified by a SHIT TON.

Yanks you around by your hair if you have any.

Grabs your face roughly.

Grips your arms hard enough to leave marks.

Grips your thighs hard and flexes his hands.

But he can be soft, like when he lets you trace his veins, he flexes just so you have more to gently trace.

Kiss his scars while holding his hands and he will legit tear up.

Kiss his palm and hold it on your cheek, he will pull you into a gentle kiss.

Kiss his fingertips, he will kiss your forehead.

While he’s working and gets his hands dirty he will let you wipe them off before he eats.

Let’s you watch him work on his truck.

(I’m sorry I’m a bit of a simp for the Sinclair’s)

Vincent Sinclair!

Looks at his hands in curiosity of why you admire them.

Is gentle with you.

Plays with your hair if you have any.

Braids it if it’s long enough.

Let’s you watch him fix up his wax sculptures.

Let’s you in his workshop to watch him paint and sketch.

Chuckles every time you get distracted by his hands while he’s signing to you.

When eating his favorite meal -wink wink- he will run his hands along your sides.

Will wear rings you give him.

Happy to become your hand model.

Gently wraps his hand around your neck or wrists.

Caresses your thighs.

Lester Sinclair!

Flattered that you like his dirty, beat up hands.

Holds your hands a lot.

Grips the trucks steering wheel with spread fingers showing the veins.

Sometimes has a hand on your thigh or on Jonesy while driving.

Asks for you to bandage his hands when he gets hurt dealing with the truck or bones.

If you like dirty hands he will flex his hands while they’re dirty and let you clean them if you want.

You can paint his nails whenever you want.

Will sport rings and bracelets happily but will probably lose them.

Gentle with you.

Let’s you watch him make things with his bones.

Pokes your nose and says “Boop” a lot.

Asa Emory!

Interested in you more.

Takes his gloves off a lot more around you.

Rubs his pants on his thighs with you around -y’know what I mean right?-

Does the “come hither” motion with his pointer and middle fingers.

Squeezes your thighs tight.

Let’s you suck on his thumb if you want.

Wraps one hand around your neck and slowly squeezes.

Painting his nails is a hard no, but will wear rings and a watch for you.

Has you take his gloves off his hands.

Holds onto your bottom jaw with his pointer knuckle under your chin and thumb planted on your tongue.

Is slow with his uh… hand movements in bed -iykyk-

Teased you 24/7!

[bougiebutchbitch]

Okay that lovely picture of Obito squishing Kakashi makes me think about evil Obito, that acts cruel and maybe is still the leader of his little group of misfits. But when he is with Kakashi he is soft as butter. He will still yell and insult him of course, but then he will do what Kakashi ask anyway. He just want his bf to be happy, but also be a little mean to him and pretend he hasn't gone completely soft.

Like an evil super villain who is soft for his oblivious depressed boyfriend/crush.

T^T T^T T^T YESSSSSSSS

(under cut both for NSFT (mild 18+ content) and because I'm talking about a pretty unhealthy, toxic dynamic)

I just love how versatile their relationship is. I like Obito being an absolute sadistic unapologetic bastard. I like him being an uwu misunderstood baby. I like him being both of those things at once, while absolutely wrecking Kakashi.

I like their relationship when it has adorable, fluffy, childhood-frenemies-to-serious-adult-enemies-to-awkward-redeemed-lovers vibes. I like it as an incredibly fucked up, twisted, toxic mess that's slowly killing them both, but Obito just can't stop hurting Kakashi because it feels so damn good (and Kakashi can't stop using Obito to self-destruct and pushing Obito further and further down a monstrous path, ever-so-slightly on purpose).

And just - YES. I love-love-love Obito hating the whole world, except Kakashi. No matter how hard he tries. He kinda wants to kill him, sure, but if anyone else tried to harm him, they'd be dead before they could land a blow.

He's touch-starved and jealous and insecure - but above all else, he's furious at himself for being any of those things. He wants to bully stupid Bakashi. Wants to fuck him rough and make him cry. But at the same time he kinda wants to cry himself, just one more time.

(It's been so very, very long, since he last squeezed a tear from his eyes. He might've forgotten how. He doesn't know if he's glad about that, or if it terrifies him.)

He can choke Kakashi out and cover him in bruises, but if Kakashi cups his scarred cheek and tells him he loves him anyway, Obito might just have a full-fledged breakdown and start sobbing...

Just -

Ah -

SDFLKGHSDFHGKLSDHFG

I love them

[crystalcow]

𝑆𝑎𝑝𝑛𝑎𝑝𝑠 𝐶ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑑//𝑆𝑎𝑝𝑛𝑎𝑝 𝑝𝑡 3

Masterlist // part one // part two

Sapnap x reader !p !child reader

Pronouns used: none specified!

Warnings: swearing, death, betrayal

•⊱✿•✿⊰•⊱✿•✿⊰•⊱✿•✿⊰•⊱✿•✿⊰•⊱✿•✿⊰

╔.▪️.═════════╗

Being sapnaps child will include..

╚═════════.▪️.╝

𝐏𝗼𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐥

Apparently the castle got attacked

George was killed by the one and only technoblade

You haven’t personally met the man but you respected him

After all he is a legend

But he killed George

So you were dragged with sapnap when he got pinged on his coms

Dream and George were arguing on the prime path

The sight somewhat terrified you

They were supposed to be best friends?

Dream is the strongest person on the server

George was supposed to be the most unproblematic and protected person

For some reason Quackity was also there

Hiding in the corner of Tommy’s house

“You don’t give a shit about us”

Those words brought some hurt to you as they left sapnaps mouth

“Of course I care about you! I just want to keep him safe.”

The three most important men in your life

The dream team, and ultimate trio the friendship that could never crack! The ones who raised you to be who you are

They were falling apart

“George is no longer king!”

Quackity was just eating all of the drama

Damn duck

“I’ve done so much for you, I hope you don’t forget.”

“Like what?” “I helped you raise a child Sap, a damn child.”

That pissed the both of you off

As if you didn’t just recently spend a whole day with him

None the less your whole life

Being drawn into wars, multiple actually

Practically being drawn to death

“Don’t you bring them into this Dream.”

“Eret is now king again, he can actually rule this place.”

“I was the best king this server ever had!”

So there it happened

The crown was snatched off of George’s head and you were dragged along with it

“Don’t worry, we can start our own place!”

“El rapids it is”

𝐄𝐥 𝐑𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐬

You were 100% skeptical about all of this

You didn’t trust that this would be good

I mean how could you

Everything that someone starts on the server

Dies, explodes, nukes, or straight up fails

So instead you went down to Lmanburg for the day!

You went to Nikkis bakery to get something to eat

She was glad to give you a couple snacks for the road

So while you were walking around the new area you spotted dream

“Where you heading off to?”

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

You both eyed each other weirdly

“Aren’t you supposed to hate me?”

You just laughed

Ofcourse you were upset

But you were also bored

“And?” “Come on let’s go see tommy”

So you agreed and carelessly followed the green man

You missed Tommy, after not having seen him for a bit

Fucking hell you needed friends

But when you got there

“Why the fuck is everything gone!”

You ran around the now blown up area

The tents were destroyed and signs were thrown around

Then you noticed the large pillar

You instantly ran to dream, begging him to give you a pearl

He was upset himself he lost his leech

So you threw the pearl up thankfully landing on the pillar

Looking around to see if there was any way he could’ve survived

But you accidentally tripped

And lost your first life

𝐘/𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝗼𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝗼𝗼 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 ♡︎♥︎♥︎

𝐏𝐫𝗼𝐩𝗼𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐬

You woke up screaming in your bed

The three lines on your wrist now faded into two

Sapnap came rushing in holding you lose to him

You tried not to but you cried a little

This was your first time loosing a life..

And you didn’t even mean too!

“Your never fucking leaving me again.”

Karl came in with Quackity following after

Karl just like snatched you away from sapnap and just held you

That man was ready to go back in time and reverse that from ever happening

Trust me he will if you ever loose another life

So after that everyone kept a close eye on you

That was until one day you were with your dad

You both were at your old house just chilling around

Before he handed you two velvet boxes

You were in awe of the two rings that sat in them

Who the fuck paid for these??

“I’m going to purpose.”

You almost dropped the boxes

“What?”

Sapnap just kept smiling

“You really like em huh” “Yeah flame, I love them.”

So you just hugged him

Internally freaking the fuck out

What would this mean???

Three dads? What if they wanted another child! Oh hell no

So you all stood in el rapids

Candles were spread around the top of the grassy hill

There were flowers blooming from every direction and lanterns set afloat

It looked mystical

You watched as sapnap got down on one knee

Karl was in shock, tears streaming down his eyes

Quackity looked love struck, looking into sapnaps eyes with total adoration

So when they said yes your dad called you and the other two just hugged you

“I’m guessing they said yes” you laughed

“Yeah they did!”

You couldn’t help but be happy

Your dad finally found some happiness

Even tho life was going to shit

If you won’t be there

He’ll have them

𝐋𝗺𝐚𝐧𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐠𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐞𝗺

Oh wait shit did someone spot tommy?

There was supposed to be a festival today

So you went to go check it out

Maybe throw a ball at the furry

“Go fetch!” You shouted at fundy

Yeah he was not happy and just threw you the finger

“Hey N/n is Dream coming?”

You were excited that Tubbo was actually talking to you again

“Huh? Oh yeah I think” “Great thanks”

And back to the disappointment

So you walked over to get a pretzel or some shit

And then heard everyone making a commotion

There he was, Dream walking in (angry) with full netherite armor

Damn dude respect some tradition

“Tommy blew up the fucking community house”

Did someone say tommy?

Oh you were ready to kill that bastard

Hell if Dream didn’t you most definitely will

So you followed everyone to the community house

Yeah you were ready to fucking cry

One of your homes, the place you’d always confide in since you were little

Where dream and George both helped raise you

Now blown to shreds

“What the fuck”

They were talking about Tubbo giving up the discs

Oh we are not going through that shit all over again

And this time the odds are most definitely not in your favor

Then tommy appeared half invisible

“YOU FUCKING DICKHEAD I THOUGHT YOU DIED YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT”

You litterly stabbed him, having to be held back by Quackity

“Alright hot shot, lets let them have their argument”

Tommy sent you an apologetic look already on the verge of tears

“Tubbo your not seriously considering this”

Then it hit everyone

“The discs were worth more then you ever were!”

Oh yeah we’re you already pissed off at tommy?

Yeah

And he just made it worse

“WHAT THE HELL DID YOU SAY TO TUBBO YOU SHIT HEAD”

Yeah you didn’t take pretending to be dead very lightly

Oh shit why was techno there

never mind, Lmanburg will be gone by tomorrow

No point killing tommy yet

Whos side were you on?

Neither. You litterly went into that battle feild and killed some shit

That was until multiple pieces of tnt landed ontop of your head

And that’s where you lost your second life

Shit

𝐘/𝐧 𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐰 𝐮𝐩 ♡︎♡︎♥︎ ⚠︎︎ᴏɴᴇ ʟɪғᴇ ʀᴇᴍᴀɪɴɪɴɢ

𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐬𝗼𝐧

This time when you won’t up it didn’t feel as bad

But you still screamed

A rush of a heartburn and scars employed on your body

The second line now faded into one

Shit

You were only 16-17 and on one life??

Die young the better

You waited out in your bed until the end of the fight

Death alerts and messages drowning out your communicator

But you had no energy what so ever

Until it all went quiet

You tried your damn best to get out of bed and walked to the damaged Lmanburg

There were people crying

Others were severely hurt

Then there were those who were perfectly fine

The whole place was a crater

Lmanburg.. the place of agony and depths of your pain

Now it’s finally gone

What the hell are you gonna do now?

Quackity spotted you calling out for Sapnap

You felt like you were gonna be crushed under their hold

“I’m gonna fucking kill dream.” You heard Quackity mutter

Sapnap felt like a bad father

Who lets their kids die twice?

(Cough cough Wilbur and dream)

Then suddenly things switched around

You were walking around with a bloodied nose and black eyed Tommy

Yeah you did a number on him

But it’s okay since he was your best friend

And there was a sign inside his house

“Wednesday you and Tubbo. Bring no one or anything, lets settle this once and for all”

The final disc war

“Tommy you can’t go” “I’m going N/n, he has my discs.”

So you like cried a little bit lined up on the prime path

Giving the two probably the last hugs they’ll ever get

Prime you really didn’t want to loose them

So you ran straight to church prime

Litterly begging Master Oolong that they won’t die

“Please please please spare them. Pogchamp.”

(Please this is all jokes and old references don’t cancel me)

You got a blast message from punz on your comms with cords

“Come here. bring your best armor”

So you did so running to the nearest ender chest

If walking means saving tommy and Tubbo, it’s somewhat worth it

Sapnap made sure you didn’t leave his side as you traveled around the nether

even tho you could literally swim in the lava

So just to piss him off

You jumped in

The sigh of relief this man

Yeah he’s gotten a little more paranoid for you

But it’s okay since it’s in love

You looked around the weird black stone room

There were two giant photos of the discs

And everything was made out of the same material

No design what so ever

Tommy and Tubbo ran to you like you were gonna protect them

“Dream why” you asked as he was incased in the blocks

Down on his last life

Just like you

‘I’m sorry’ he mouthed to you

Why was he apologizing to you?

Hasn’t he hurt everyone here

You looked around the different items

Tracing the outline of the item frames

Gasping in shock as you a cage with your name on it next to badboyhalo

“Tell em what you told me! How you blew up the community house!”

Your neck spun around faster then an owl doing that 360 thing

You picked up your ace seriously read to slash his head off

“Wait wait! Lets put him in the prison.”

So they took him off

And it pained you to see it

You trusted that man for a very long time

Nothing stays the same on the Dream Smp

•⊱✿•✿⊰•⊱✿•✿⊰•⊱✿•✿⊰•⊱✿•✿⊰•⊱✿•✿⊰

TUMBLR WOULDNT LET ME WRITE MORE KMS. So yes I’m sorry but there will have to be a part FOUR. I just wanted to finish this-

As always! Ask or request anything and ask if you want to be on a tag list :))

[ladynestaarcheron]

Eat or Bed - Part Five

ao3 master post

ask and ye shall receive! ye being an anon a week or so ago, and also someone i forgot who suggested i try my hand at writing from cassian's perspective.

reader be warned: this is smut. there's a little bit of plot, but that plot is really just a plot device to get to the smut.

thank so much to dadrie (@skychild29) for helping me with this!

some things here might remind of you of a/cosf, some will not. all is what i believe is accurate to their characters. i will elaborate further at the end of this fic. enjoy!

---

Even though he had had his fair share of suffering for fifty years, Cassian thought winning the war and being left with everything wasn't fair when Nesta had nothing.

She had been horrifically violated, lost her father, home, and self, even after doing everything right. Why should the Mother do that? Take someone so young and put her through these trials over and over, after she'd already proved she would always do the right thing despite her fear?

He still feels guilty. The centuries he'd waited, wondering if there was any point, if the gods would grant a bastard a proper mate, and then meeting her and wanting. More than should. Watching her snarl at him and stand up to those queens and cry for her people, that flame in her soul burning straight into him and never going out and thinking I want her forever, please please please can I have her forever.

If he had known his prayers would be answered, would he still pray now? Knowing the pain it has caused her?

So he does what he needs to do. He makes her happy.

Or at least, he tries. Nesta doesn't make it easy.

Some of it is not her fault. She is battered. Scarred. Terrified of feeling love and losing it, not knowing how to reciprocate it. That's fine. He's patient enough. He can show her, they can learn together. He doesn't mind their pace in sex or romance or friendship. They have time.

Then there is the matter of being Fae. Or whatever Nesta is. She hates it. He understands. Doesn't like it, but he understands. It seems, at any rate, a just punishment. He gets his perfect, vicious, intelligent, brave, beautiful mate, and she will never admit to the bond.

That'll always chafe. But no matter. It's just a title. He doesn't need it. They don't need it.

Then there is the third obstacle: Nesta's own personality. That's entirely her fault.

Cassian normally grins when he reaches their door because it's their door. It's their home together. A home with his mate in Velaris--well, just outside Velaris, but who cares? Not he. As long as they're there together. Even if she doesn't want to admit to being mates. Even if she doesn't want them to tell their families that he's officially moved in and just pretend like he stays over--that's fine. Truly.

Well, it's not. But normally, life with Nesta is sweet enough that he can ignore it.

Yesterday, however, she had picked another one of her stupid, meaningless fights, and now he scowls when he arrives home. They'll have to hash out the rest of it. It won't be fun or easy. It's not riling her up till she's so frustrated she pulls him atop her--that is fun and easy. This is going to be an argument. Nesta's feelings will be hurt because she's decided she wants to feel hurt. It all falls into the categories of punishing herself or testing him, and either way, she loses, which never fails to break his heart in two.

He grimaces as he pushes open the door before schooling his features into something Nesta will find more irritating. Best to get this over with.

She's waiting for him in the kitchen. Chopping vegetables. It never fails to hit him, how beautiful she is. Like some princess from a book, with her hair tied in a crown on her head, curves perfectly for his hands to fill the spaces between them. But Nesta wouldn't be a good princess in any of the stories he used to act out with his brothers; she's the damsel and the dragon all rolled into one.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, voice icy.

Cassian can't resist. "I live here, sweetheart."

Her eyes flare. That's three strikes: what he said, devil-may-care tone, and sweetheart. Secretly, Nesta finds these irresistibly charming, but he's not allowed to use them when she's actually mad.

And he respects that. It's just, she has no reason to actually be mad, so he's ignoring it.

Besides, the sooner she yells at him or storms out, the sooner he can go back to her and they can put this stupid fight behind them and everything can be okay.

"What are you making?" he continues. "I thought we'd go out to dinner, but if you want to cook, that's fine." He winks at her. "I like watching you cook."

Nesta sets down her knife. Good. Better than throwing it at him. Flirting is not allowed when Nesta is angry. She'll crack soon, and then this can be over. Plus, it's too hard not to when her hands curl like that, and he knows she's imagining strangling him.

Only one thing left to say. He grimaces inwardly, but pushes on.

"Any household task, really. Makes me feel like I've got a good wife." He adds a smirk to the end of the sentence, to ensure it meets its mark.

The secret marriage is something Cassian is never allowed to mention, ever, under any circumstances. Not when she's angry, playful, reading, or anything else. He's not allowed to mention the day she blurted her proposition out, or her rambling explanation. He's not allowed to talk about the ceremony, or the private vows they had recited to each other afterwards.

He does bring up the consummation that night. Frequently. But Nesta likes that, so it's fine.

Breaking all of her rules immediately after coming into the house while she is still angry should do it. She's going to yell at him, now, until he yells back, then she's going to go to their room and by the time he goes after her, she'll be pacing the floor, or bouncing on her feet, or clutching her head, staring at the wall, and then she'll raise her head and sees him, and look at him with a face so broken and scared he'll move before he knows it, to hold her and tell her everything will be all right, they're all right, he loves her, he loves her, he loves her, and she'll say it back when she thinks she can manage it without crying.

But Nesta does not open her mouth. She snaps it shut, swallowing tightly.

That...is not what's supposed to happen.

She turns her head--not a pose he knows.

She looks back at him before turning around quickly, to hide her face, so he doesn't see her eyes filling up with tears.

Doesn't work.

"Nesta."

"Forget it," she says, busying herself with the pantry, opening and shutting doors. "Just--I'm--it doesn't matter--"

"Of course it matters--come here, sweetheart, I'm sorry--I didn't mean...I wasn't trying--"

"It's fine--"

"It's not." He holds her arms, brings her close to him. "Please, Nesta, look at me. I'm sorry. I-I didn't mean to hurt you."

"You didn't," she says, thickly.

"You're crying." It's horrible to see it, worse to say it. It makes it more real. He made Nesta cry.

"I'm not," she says, wiping at her eyes. "It's--you didn't do anything wrong. I'm sorry. I just don't like...being reminded...but it's not your fault. I'm sorry."

Being reminded...Cassian feels that like a punch to the gut.

"Being reminded that we're married?" he says, voice hollow.

It had been one of the best nights of his life, six months ago, second only to the one that had come after it. She was nervous, darting glances and wringing hands. Wildly unlike herself. He had prodded and teased until pulling it out of her--"Would you marry me?"

She had never been redder. Not even when he had taken her to one of the Night Court's beaches for the day and stupidly forgot to bring her any protective cream. He had grinned so wide it hurt; at her words and her blush.

"I mean," she had said, panicking, "that I--you're always here. And we're always together. And w-we love each other so it's not senseless. And there's, there's, there are things--I feel it would be easier for me if I--if we--because I grew up a certain way, and I'd feel better--not a wedding, just a marriage--just--to see if it works--because I think--it could help me--I mean, I don't think it will hurt you--that's not what I meant--I don't like the thought of living with a man like this--that's not what I meant, I mean I would feel more comfortable--sometimes, for me, I can be such a coward, and it would be better if we just did it--we won't tell anyone, it'll be just for us--"

"Yes," he interrupted her, before she hurt herself. "Yes, I will marry you."

She let out a sigh of relief, and he had swept her in her arms, kissing her deeply. "What are your weird conditions?" he asked when they broke apart.

She looked at him irritably. "Just...a private ceremony."

"Secret. Hot."

"And we keep it...secret...until we feel comfortable enough to share." We meant I, Cassian knew, but he didn't care. This was so much better than anything he felt he could realistically bargain for with Nesta.

"Can I make a few requests?" he asked, still holding her.

"You may."

"When we're ready to go public...can we have a ceremony?"

Nesta shifted. "We can."

Yes. They'd have a big one. Absurdly extravagant. He'd invite everyone in the world. A real mating ceremony, when Nesta was ready. A bit unorthodox, for it to be several months or even years after a private elopement, but who cared?

"And can I, secretly, take your name?" He held his breath.

But Nesta only blushed and said, "Yes."

He made the arrangements. They were married the next day. And that night, when she pulled him into bed, he knew why she wanted to be married.

Maybe she only felt safe doing this with a husband, or maybe she felt it was wrong to do it otherwise, but whatever her reasoning, Cassian didn't care. Not as she determinedly undressed him and touched him with such confidence as never before. It had been a shame to strip the pretty white dress off her, but she was even more beautiful with it off. It wasn't the first time he had seen her naked, not the first time they used their mouths and hands on each other, but her inhibitions were gone. Signing the marriage document had been the push she felt she needed, and he thanked the Mother she had, because now, Nesta's hands were on his face, making him look at her as she said, softly but surely, "I want you inside me."

He went slowly. He wasn't scared of hurting her; he knew he wouldn't. It was what felt right. He had never felt more bare in his entire life as he did then, sliding into Nesta for the first time. She must have seen his soul as her beautiful grey eyes bore into his, and she grabbed on with that gaze and tugged out his oaths to her: "I'll love you forever, Nesta."

"I love you," she whispered back.

He was mindless, then, as they moved together. A stream of I love you and You're perfect and Oh gods Nesta. He came after she did, feeling her tighten and clench upon him, hearing her beautiful moan, her nails digging into his back.

There was another round, after that, and then more promises, when he regained power of speech. He told her how he would always keep her safe and never let anything hurt her again. She told him the same.

And now he's broken that promise, not a year into their marriage. In the worst way possible. He's the one who has hurt her.

"No, not that we're m-married," Nesta says, pulling him back to the present as she stammers on the word. "That you--that you don't feel--that you don't like...it."

He waits for her to elaborate, but she doesn't. "Don't like what?"

She swallows. "Being married."

He gives her another moment, but the punchline doesn't come. His eyes flutter closed. "Nesta," he says, weary. "Please don't tell me you think I don't love you."

"I know that you love me," she says. Good. "I just know that things have changed. For you."

"What are you talking about?" He doesn't want to sound impatient, but he has to know. He's doing everything for her.

She blinks a few times--trying to stop herself from crying, and he hates this, hates himself, hates everything in the world that has ever upset Nesta. "I know it wasn't what you imagined. This. Us. Me. I'm not feeling sorry for myself; I know you're happy. We're both happy. But it's just--it's selfish, I know. But you used to want...more...with me. And now you don't. I said I know it's selfish--" she rushes to add her last sentence, but he stops her.

"What are you talking about?" he demands.

She bites her lip. "I just don't like being reminded. That you don't care about being...mates...any longer."

At times like these, there's really nothing more a male can do than close his eyes, take a deep breath, and count ten. He only makes it to four.

"Nesta. Look at me. Hey. I'm angry at you. Look at me."

She blinks, affronted. It's adorable. He doesn't care. Well, maybe a little bit. "Why are you angry at me?"

"Because you're breaking our deal and you're acting like a lunatic."

She scowls. Glares. He doesn't love it right now. "I am not. What deal?"

"The deal where you tell me what you're feeling so I can make you feel better." He struggles, trying to find the right words, but gives up. "Nesta, I've been trying to give you a break. You don't like being Fae. You don't want to be mates. You hate when it's implied. So I didn't mention it. And you don't want to talk about being married. So I don't. I do want all of this, Nes. Aggressively. I'm being patient for you. But if that's going to make you crazy, then I'll say it: I love you obsessively."

"Cassian--" she starts, but he cuts her off.

"I want to be your husband and your mate and have everyone in the world know it."

"All right, Cassian--"

"And if you desperately want to keep things private that's fine, but we're not pretending between ourselves anymore, Nesta. I'm putting my foot down." He bites his tongue before he can say Is that all right?

But Nesta only nods slowly. "All right."

"All right?" he repeats, faltering.

"Yes. I-I don't want...it's not that I don't want that, it's that I...want it slower. Or I did."

He hardly dares to believe it. "You did? You want it...faster, now?"

She shrugs in his arms. "Maybe a little," she says, with a small smile. Then frowns a little. "You...you push me."

He flinches. "I know. I'm sorry."

"No, don't apologize. I mean you push me. That's our dynamic. If you didn't push me, I wouldn't...I need to be pushed sometimes. I don't want you to stop because..." she trails off. Swallows. But he waits for her to finish. "You feel too distant when you stop. It feels like you're...gone." She moves her arms around his shoulders and rests her head upon his chest.

He understands what she means. She's wrong, though. He doesn't push her. He...nudges her. Nesta pushes herself. She just needs to know Cassian will be there to catch her if she falls.

Which is fine, because he never plans on leaving.

They stay there for a few minutes, basking in each other's closeness. Until Nesta leans up to kiss him softly, then break apart as she turns to the dinner she was preparing.

Nesta is still Nesta, of course. There are still rules. So they cook together, then eat, then he ogles her as she prepares for bed and she pretends not to do the same to him. She sits up against the headboard, reading. Not a romance, this time. She's on a mystery kick.

Cassian lies down next to her. "Good night, sweetheart," he says, rolling over, facing away from her.

Cassian hears her shut her book. He grins into the pillow.

"You're going to sleep?"

"Mm-hm. Long day."

"You're going to sleep."

"That's what I said. Enjoy your book."

He can almost hear Nesta scowl. The rule is when Nesta is lying in bed reading a book, Cassian is not allowed to rush at her like some kind of animal. Nesta wrote that rule to be broken. They both know it, they both know they know it. The real rule--the only real rule--is that they both need to play the game.

Nesta pretends to hate it. But she wouldn't keep doing it if she hated it, would she? No one can make Nesta Archeron do anything she doesn't want to.

"What kind of husband doesn't even attempt to entertain his wife before bed?"

That is unexpected. But maybe she missed him, maybe she wants to prove to him they won't stay static.

He rolls over, giving her a lazy grin. "The kind that fucks her in the morning."

Nesta's eyes widen in outrage. She puts her book down on the nightstand.

Nesta and Cassian are a mixed couple. He's depraved, as she has told him, and she is civilized. It presents its challenges--like absolutely no sex during daylight hours--but they make it work--by him finding loopholes, like sex in the morning before they get out of bed.

But he's broken another rule. Vulgarity. Nesta loves pretending to hate vulgarity. Not as much as she loves when he talks dirty in her ear--obscenities, she calls it. Even with sex, she's so prim with her vocabulary. Obscenities. Who says obscenities?

"Shut up," she tells him.

Cassian laughs. Her favorite thing to say to him. "Shut me up yourself."

This elicits a glare. She feels like he's making her do all the work. She won't feel that way soon.

She kicks the blanket away from her so she can move her legs. Not dropping her glare, she climbs over him, settles on his waist, and yanks his head up to kiss him.

Cassian laughs against her lips. "You're so violent tonight."

"Shut up."

"You're not being a very good girl."

Nesta shudders. "Shut up."

Sometimes shut up means don't shut up. Sometimes he likes to make her say what she means, sometimes he lets it slide. This time he lets it slide--there needs to be a balance of things, after all.

Cassian reaches a hand up to tangle it in her hair, caressing his thumb against her cheek. "I missed you," he whispers. "I regretted ever learning how to read in the first place."

Nesta breaks apart. "What?"

"Well," he says innocently, "if I didn't know how to read, I wouldn't have touched your book, and you--"

"Shut up," she snarls at him, and pulls him back towards her. She swallows his laugh. Referencing Nesta's stupid fights is never ever allowed, and she's not pretending to hate it. But he needs to keep her humble sometimes.

"I did miss you, though," he says, kissing down her neck. "Did you miss me?"

Nesta makes a little sound as he pushes the top of her nightgown aside, kissing her clavicle.

"Did you miss me, Nesta?"

"Yes," she says, squirming atop him. As though to prove it, she moves her hand from his face, heading to his wing.

He catches her wrist. "Not yet," he says. She shivers, taking it as a promise.

Rolling them over, he helps Nesta slip her nightgown over her head before laying her down. Some nights he likes to tease her with it on for a while, but not tonight. He wasn't lying about missing her.

It was Nesta's inner fire that first attracted him to her, but her physical perfection certainly doesn't deter him. He sits with his legs on either side of her gloriously thick thighs, squeezes his hands on her tiny waist, and bows his head, like in supplication before his goddess, to put his mouth on her right tit.

"I could believe my breasts are half the reason you're with me," Nesta says around little sighs as he sucks.

He raises his head. "Only a quarter," he assures her with a wink, before switching to the left.

He starts rocking as he lavishes attention on her breasts, not so much grinding into her, more teasing. She lets out a half-growl, thrusting upwards.

"Be patient."

"I thought you said you missed me."

"This isn't your world, you know. There are consequences to your actions."

Nesta knees his shin. He laughs. "Play nice. This isn't so bad, is it?" He moves his hands to her ribcage, keeping her down as he uses the flat of his tongue to make a path from the underside of her breast up to her nipple, closing his mouth and nipping it as he does.

Nesta lets out a sharp breath. She moves her arms from where they are, splayed around her head, to the spot in between their bodies, cupping his cock from around his shorts.

"Stop that," he hisses.

"You want this," she says, frustrated.

"Take your hands away."

Huffing, she does. He levels her glare with one of his own as he lowers himself to her breasts again.

She takes it only for a few seconds before squirming and saying, "Just let me touch you."

"No."

Nesta huffs again, but it changes from irritated to pleasured in the middle. Cassian smiles. That's what he's after. Nesta's breasts might be stupid fun to play with, but it's not as though it's just because of their size. She likes it too.

He brings up a hand to rub at the underside of each. His mouth, he has learned, with licks and light nips, are better for her nipples this early on. She's too sensitive for him to use his fingers before she's come.

Nesta shifts under him, and her arousal, a sweet scent, wafts through the air. She might've been embarrassed about it the first time she'd invited him into her tent on the battlefield, but since then it's been her signal: move faster.

Cassian stretches his legs out, moving downwards on her body. "Don't move," he whispers, kissing her stomach as he goes.

"Cassian," she says, voice hitching, and brings her hands to his hair.

She's asking. He smiles in answer--yes, you can grab my hair for something to hold onto while I lick you till you climax. Of course she can. Sweet of her to ask, though.

Cassian brings his hand to her thighs, squeezing the ample flesh there and kissing along the inside of her legs. It's easy to look at Nesta and know she's beautiful and has great tits, but sometimes he thinks it's disturbing, how many people in the world will never know about her legs, because of her long dresses. Like keeping a masterpiece locked in a dark room. Poor bastards, Cassian thinks smugly, sucking on her thigh.

Nesta tugs on his hair, making an impatient sound. Right. He’s not here for himself, he’s for her. He lifts his head, before he remembers that actually, she’s not in charge tonight, and he says, “You’re not the boss of me,” before biting her lightly.

“Since when do you have any sort of fixation with my thighs?” she asks, slightly breathless.

“My fixations are not limited to any one part of you. Quiet."

"Quiet me yourself," she snaps.

Cassian laughs. "I haven't yet figured out how to do that." He lifts his head to watch her blush--that's another rule. Mentioning how easily Nesta sounds aloud.

The thing about breaking these rules...he can do it as much as he wants; he just has to make it worth her while. He tries to remember how many times he's teased her today...too many to count. At least, too many to count when Nesta's lying naked in their bed, waiting impatiently for him to fuck her. So he figures it's time to appease her a bit.

He moves his head upward on her legs, not taking his mouth off her skin. Slowly enough to enjoy it himself, but fast enough that Nesta knows she won't have to wait much longer for him to give her what she wants.

He spreads her legs wider with his palms, inching closer. The tugs on his hair tells him she's ready, but he picks up his head to see her face and make certain. And, well, see her face.

Her cheeks are flushed, pupils blown wide. Gorgeous. She's biting her lip and glaring at him. Definitely ready.

He holds her gaze for a few seconds. Her glare dims, and her eyes widen. She's debating whether or not he'll make her beg, and by the way she's sucking in her lower lip, she's debating whether or not she'll do it. This early in the night, he means--for she'll do it. They both know.

But no, she doesn't need to do anything yet. Cassian meant it when he decided it was her turn to enjoy herself. His lips rise in a half smirk before he lowers his head to her sex and, savoring the moment when he knows what he'll do and Nesta can only wait, licks clean up her.

She's still biting her lip, which somewhat muffles her moan, but she cannot stop herself from arching upwards. Cassian holds onto her thighs. "That's it, sweetheart."

"Cassian," she blurts out. He laughs with his mouth open atop her, and she moans again at the vibration. "Cassian."

This is it, then. Nesta tries her hardest to keep herself quiet, but Cassian always gets her unwound eventually. It seems as though her breaking point is earlier tonight.

I guess she really did miss me, he muses to himself, teasing her around her clit with just the tip of his tongue. Nesta bucks her hips, trying to thrust into his face, but he holds firm at her thighs.

"Consequences, remember?"

He continues teasing her in that way, giving her just shy of what she wants. Nesta's panting grows more frantic, her pulls at his hair more punishing, but he doesn't relent. He moves his head downwards enough to press his tongue into her, and lets out a moan at the sound of hers.

"Please," she gasps.

"You asked so nicely...but no."

"Yes."

"No, no. Not yet."

She groans something incoherent, and he relishes in knowing she can't stop herself. She needs him, loves him, wants him. All of it.

"I could do this all night," he tells her.

Nesta lets out something that sounds like a sob. "I'm c-close, Cassian."

"I know, sweetheart." But she'll stay close for a while longer.

"Please," she says, when he slides his tongue inside her again.

"Please," she gasps, when he moves his tongue in between her folds.

"Please," she begs, when he gives her a closed-mouth kiss on her clit.

He's shameless. Doesn't bother to hide the smile in his voice when he gives her her out. "You taste so good, Nes."

He chuckles to himself, lifting his head to watch her glare at the ceiling. "I'll--I'll taste better when I come," she bites out.

He laughs aloud. "Yes, you will." And he moves his fingers up into her--she cries out when he does--bows his head to her, fucking her clit with his tongue and then its twin spot inside her with his fingers, teasing, once, twice--then together, together, together--

"Cassian," Nesta sobs, her normally wordless moan of climax forming his name and making him groan as he tastes her wetness.

He generally likes to keep his mouth at her sex and make her finish a second time, but now he pulls himself upwards and lies down next to her.

"Hello," he says, hands going to pinch her breasts.

"Hello," she says, smoothing her hair down. She breathes deeply, shifting her legs as she tries to regain composure.

"Entertained, then, are you?"

She quirks an eyebrow at him. "Am I supposed to believe we're done?"

Cassian drops a kiss in the valley of her breasts. "No. Just checking."

She huffs a laugh. "I'm entertained." She cups her right tit and pushes it into his mouth. His hands go automatically to the left. "Shall I...entertain you now?" she asks softly, fingers playing their way down his shoulder.

He pushes forward, knocking her hand away. "Not yet."

Trying a different tactic, Nesta brings her hand down to his cock again, massaging it over his shorts. He allows himself a moment to enjoy it, moaning around her breast, allows her a moment to think this is where their night will go--then swats her hand away.

"Not yet," he says again.

Nesta has the audacity to roll her eyes. Roll her eyes, after he's fucked her the way she likes with his tongue, while he's sucking both her tits in turn.

"You know," he says, picking his head up and propping himself on his elbows. "That's not very polite."

"And you're going to be the one to tell me what polite is, are you?"

He lowers himself, till their bodies are flush and his face is right on top of hers. "I think I will be."

Not one to be outdone, Nesta moves beneath him, rubbing against his cock. He catches his hiss between his teeth.

"Will you?" she asks, voice low.

His eyes flash at the dare in her grey gaze, turning from smoke to forbidden fire right in front of him. He drags his hands up her body slowly, until he is holding her face. They look at each other fiercely, wholly, deeply, until Cassian breaks their silence.

"How am I going to fuck you?"

She glowers at him. Anyone else would run, but Cassian only grows more aroused. He can practically see the gears turning in Nesta's head--does she pretend to want to follow her rule, or does she give in to what they both want?

Give in, give in, give in, Cassian chants in his head. What they both want is simple.

"How am I going to fuck you, Nesta?"

Cassian is as brutish as everyone has ever called him. Nesta has lacked love and affection her whole life.

He draws a sharp breath as Nesta opens her mouth to answer him. "Like an Illyrian."

But it's perfectly all right, Cassian knows, because they've found each other.

"And how are you going to take it?"

It's a matter of pride for her, breaking these rules. But it's only perfect pleasure that awaits them both when she finally does...because Nesta happens to like brutes, and Cassian has half a millennium's worth of love to give her.

"Like a good girl," she breathes.

Cassian's known what he likes for centuries now, but they had stumbled upon that particular pleasure of Nesta's by accident only months ago. She had been reading some smutty thing, curled up on the couch. He had maneuvered his way around her, and read aloud from the book, to annoy her more than anything else. "'You're going to be a good girl for me, aren't you?'"

She hadn't snapped at him. She had frozen. Cassian had made good use of that knowledge right then, and the next day marched into a bookshop to buy everything else that author had written.

The not yets of before disappear now. He crashes their lips together with such force he might be worried he hurt her, were it not for her cry of pleasure as she thrusts herself into him and kisses him back.

He could stay like this for hours. That's one of the good things about her no-sex-during-daylight-hours rule; it's more time to kiss her. Her lips soft against his, every one of her sounds swallowed up, her fingers inevitably finding their way to his hair.

But this isn't daylight. And Nesta's hands aren't in his hair, they're at his waist, slipping down his shorts.

He nips her lips. "Be a good girl."

She groans. "I am."

"Do what you're told."

"It's called initiative. It's important in a soldier."

"I should be the only thing in you."

"Shut up."

"Ah, that's not very nice." He catches both her wrists in his hand.

She groans. "What do you want?"

He kisses her lightly, raising her hands above her head. He keeps them there, kissing her again, deeper this time, until they are both breathless, and then says, "Turn around."

She shudders. "Yes."

He lets go of her hands, holding onto her waist as she rolls over beneath him. He moves her hair aside as he kisses her neck, her shoulder, pressing himself into her ass. Hands clutching her thighs, he rocks against her.

She lifts herself on her elbows, turning her head to look at him. She's almost trembling in anticipation, and her voice shakes as she says his name.

"Here, sweetheart," he whispers, kissing her. She stretches around to better meet him, but he holds her down.

"Now, Cassian," she says, trying to pull him down.

He makes quick work of his shorts, finally finally finally touching his cock to Nesta's skin. They both groan at the contact. He moves his hand to her front, teasing her folds.

"Ready?" he asks in her ear.

"Yes."

His nerves scream at him to go fast, to sheathe himself deep inside her and give them both what they want, but he ignores them. He pulls at her waist, and she moves her legs apart, and he slides into her slowly--slowly--slowly--

"Fuck, Nesta," he gasps, keeping his pace torturously slow. She's still wet from her climax and, presumably, his own mouth upon her--and she's perfect for him, so perfectly sized--"You're perfect, sweetheart--"

She whimpers. He could die.

But he won't go any faster than this, not till she's ready--and she'll let him know when she is--she's lifting herself, she'll touch her hand to his wing, find that spot that she knows drives him crazy, and she'll give him permission, and he can finally finally finally--

"Cassian," she says, turning her head.

He shudders at the sound of his name on her lips, the look of intent in her eyes as she catches his gaze.

"Make me yours."

Cassian sucks in a breath. He's already inside her; he could come just from that partnered with her words--she doesn't make it easier when she leans forward, using her right arm on the headboard to support herself, and, almost casually, lifts her other hand up to her mouth, sucking on it, and then behind her, as though to touch her shoulder...and goes to his...and then his wing.

Permission.

They both cry out as finally finally finally they move at the pace they both want--Cassian pushing in and out and Nesta, meeting him perfectly, never once faltering with her fingers at his wing, not even when he brushes along her clit with his thumb. He keeps his other arm firmly around Nesta's waist, holding hard enough that his fingers may bruise her like he knows she likes.

Nesta loves to be marked by Cassian. She doesn't even pretend to be mad about it, she's too far gone to do so when he makes them, and afterwards, when she spots the nips and spots on her skin, she gives him a small smile, blushing.

Cassian thinks of her blush now as he fucks her, of each gasping moan, of her request--make me yours, Cassian--and the little doubt of what it means.

He leans forward on top of her, and she feels even tighter--and then she clenches and it must feel as good for her as it does for him, because they call each other's name at the same time.

"You're perfect," he says, the words half a snarl but never more true than in this moment. Meeting each of his thrusts with one of her own, her obscenely beautiful moans chorusing with the sound of their skin hit each other. He angles himself better to hit the sweetest spot inside her--"I'm going to make you come now, Nesta."

Her answer is wordless, and grows louder when he presses down on her clit with the side of his thumb and she shatters. Her fingers slip from his wing, her arm goes slack at the headboard.

"Beautiful," he says, not stopping, letting her ride out her orgasm and beyond. "I've got you, sweetheart."

She moans again. Her legs shake beneath him. She feels tighter now, and he almost doesn't hear her when she says, "Make me yours."

He licks her neck. "Sweetheart," he says, against her skin, "be a good girl for me."

Whimpering, she brings her hand up to his mouth--yes--to let him suck before she brings them to his wing. "Good girl," he says hoarsely--and gods, they don't stop, she doesn't stop the whole while--but before she touches the right spot, she lets her hand rest there.

"Cassian, make me yours."

It's not a request. He kisses her neck, then bites it lightly. "I will, sweetheart," he promises.

She accepts this, and begins the small, circular motions at the place along his left wing. The same pattern, he realizes with a groan, that he uses at her clit.

It is this, perhaps, paired with Nesta's demand, that tells him he won't last much longer.

He keeps his pace steady, knowing any faster than this and Nesta will only feel pain. He allows himself a few moments to feel everything--Nesta squeezing herself on his cock at each thrust inward, her ass pushing into him at each movement--before he tries to distance himself and make her come a final time.

"I'm going to make you mine, now, sweetheart," he says to her, leaning over her. "Are you close?"

"I am--I am--yes, Cassian--"

Cassian bites down at the spot he had been licking at her neck, but the cry Nesta emits is one of pleasure as she climaxes again. He doesn't stop fucking her, keeping as even a pattern as he can inside her, but brings his hand up from her sex and to her breasts, squeezing tighter than he would were he not inside her, but remembering to be more gentle at her nipples, only running his fingers over them--but she rubs at his wing more urgently, as he mirrors her movement at her tit, and he can feel it at all--Nesta, beneath him, around him, in front of him, her sex, her hand, her body--she's his, he loves her, she wants to be his, she wants him to make her his--"Oh, fuck, Nesta--Nesta--fuck--"

Cassian knows he doesn't have more than another three thrusts in him as Nesta doubles her pace with her fingers--he can hear her laugh--she moves on his cock as she does--she finishes him. It's her name he calls, growls, as he comes, inside her, and she keeps moving, letting him feel the whole of his orgasm the way he did her.

She drops her arm from the headboard and he falls on top of her. He pulls his cock out of her, groaning at the loss of contact and rolling over to his side of the bed. In the same movement, he reaches his arm over to the night stand and pulls a warm washcloth out of the drawer.

Nesta doesn't pick herself up right away. She lies there for a few seconds, face down in her pillow, hair strewn all over the place. He always makes a mess of her hair, doesn't he?

Eventually, she picks herself up with her arms, reaching out to take the washcloth with a smile. Cassian would clean her up himself, but she says she doesn't like him doing it. He looks away as she takes it, lowering it to her legs. He doesn't see the point in her hiding this from him after he's already fucked her, but this is Nesta. Rules are rules.

She moves closer to him when she's ready, and he looks back down at her, wrapping his arms around her.

"Hello," he says, kissing the spot he had bit.

"Hello," she answers. "I thought you would bite me when you came."

Cassian starts. "I...figured you wouldn't feel the pain if I did it when you did."

She frowns, making an adorable crease between her eyebrows. "I told you to make me yours."

He exhales sharply. It's somehow more erotic to hear her say it like this, calmly, then when he is inside her. "I..."

"Next time." She smirks when she sees she's surprised him. It only makes him grin.

"Hey," he says, squeezing her waist. "Don't you want to make me yours, too?"

"You already are mine," she says, lifting a finger to tap him on his nose. "Cassian Archeron, remember?"

Cassian freezes. She doesn't notice or doesn't care, slipping out of his arms to pick up her discarded nightgown and redress herself. Why she insists on putting one on to bed even though she knows he's going to take it off--but there are entirely more pressing matters at hand.

"And I don't need any bond or scrap of paper to know you're mine, anyway," she continues, straightening the covers before she gets under them. Again, why, he'll never understand.

She puts her hands around his neck as she kisses him. "Nice to have," she says. "But I know it anyway."

Cassian lets out a shaky breath as she wraps his arms around her. "Goodnight, my beloved," she says, the only term of affection she uses with him, and only in their most private moments.

"Good night, sweetheart," he rasps automatically.

Nesta falls asleep quickly, but he lies awake for some time.

If she knew how long he spent completely thoughtless, only looking down at her sleeping form, she would scoff or roll her eyes. But it's just...it's insane, the way they are perfect for each other. The sting of cold from when he was a boy, searching for a dry spot to pitch his tent, never leaves him no matter how many happy fires he has lit with his family since then. There remains a cold, lonely part of his past that he did not believe anyone could thaw.

He figured it was a fixture of himself, something he could and would live with till he died, despite there being something else he truly wanted. Someone who needed his patience to feel loved, his courage to lean on when she lost faith in herself, his strength when the rest of the world pushed her down and made her believe she was weak. And that would be enough. To be wanted would be enough.

But the person was Nesta. And she was exactly what he wanted.

Whip-smart, to push him to be better. More daring than anyone he had ever met, presenting never-ending challenges. And a fiercely strong, pure, battered heart, to give him exactly what a soldier needed: something to safeguard to the death.

He kisses her neck again. Nesta may not need the bond as proof, but that doesn't mean Cassian should appear ungrateful for it.

"Thank you," he whispers to the Mother. For this beautiful, perfect gift.

"Thank you," he whispers to Nesta, for accepting it. "Goodnight, sweetheart."

He falls asleep holding her, eager to wake and live another day by her side.

---

copying what i wrote on ao3 here and not the notes so as to not spoil anyone:

OKAY. So. I believe Nesta has a praise kink and a breeding kink. There it is. And I was disappointed that SJM did not portray that. I feel like that was really irresponsible of her. She does write Cassian as being dominating, but in a weird way that I didn't like. Not that the things in this fic aren't weird, they just are weird in a way I do like for his character. I believe Nesta and Cassian's banter is a fundamental part of their relationship, and their dirty talk does need to reflect that. "Your pretty little cunt is the only thing I think about" was just...not it for me.

Anyway. Really hope you see where I'm coming from and hope you enjoyed! Please let me know!

[azenkii]

A Long List of Trash Fire Lord Zuko Headcanons

...that i couldn't get out of my head:

(warning: SUPER LONG POST i havent figured out how to trim posts yet)

he's the one who unchains azula despite iroh's protests. she doesn't even try to fight him, just cries into his shoulder and keeps mumbling about how father's going to be so disappointed in her. he takes her to her rooms and has her drink a sleeping draught, then stations the best guards he has left outside her chambers.

his first council meeting takes place literally a day after sozin's comet. he hobbles into the council chamber shirtless with his entire torso covered in bandages and every council member just looks at him like '...what'

he does NOT sleep for like,,a week after sozin's comet and then another two weeks after his coronation. katara, aang and suki try to persuade him to sleep and he doesn't listen. eventually sokka, toph and mai team up to literally drag his ass to bed and tell him he's not allowed to get up until he sleeps (does mai pin him to the bed with her knives? yes. is it kinky or sexual in any way? definitely not.)

he drinks So. Much. Tea. at this point it's practically tasteless to him but he drinks it anyway because he just needs something to do and tea is something familiar. he keeps iroh on his toes because he's constantly asking for new tea blends, uncle, i think i actually tasted the last one,

he flat-out refuses to grow his hair for at least a year after ozai's defeat. the second it starts getting close to his chin he shears it off himself, with his knife, and his stylist has a heart attack every single time

when he's tired he'll occasionally jump up when one of his guards moves. it stops after a bit, but for the first month and a half or so he's really twitchy. when sokka asks, the only explanation he can come up with is that he's not used to having people stand behind him silently and not want to kill him, much less want to protect him (sokka immediately takes him out for a shopping trip and makes a point of walking behind him the entire time, but only on zuko's right side, where he can clearly see it if sokka moves towards him)

when the healer declares azula mentally unstable and in need of an institution, he shuts himself in his office for the rest of the night. no one's allowed in, not even iroh. he finally emerges in the morning, eyes red from crying and sleep deprivation, and tells the librarian that he'd like a list of the best mental institutions in the country, please, the best in the world if you can get them

he loves theatre (is this even a headcanon?). unfortunately it practically died out in the fire nation along with the rest of the creative arts, leaving nothing but small troupes like the ember island players. one of zuko's personal goals (meaning things he wants to accomplish that aren't as important as restoring his country) is to bring back theatre; he finally manages to do it after about eight months or so of being fire lord, along with other arts like dancing, music and sculpture

he establishes a national day of mourning, on the first day of autumn every year, to commemorate the genocide of the air nomads. from 100AG onwards, every calendar printed in the fire nation has it marked. at first it was called the day of repentance, but aang persuaded him to have it changed (by arguing that he didn't want guilt to be a literal staple of fire nation culture)

he introduces literally So Many educational reforms, plus a mandatory class that teaches students about the cultures of the other nations (air nomads included) and how some of their traditions overlap

he turns down the offer of having a statue put up of him in the capital. toph ignores him and does it anyway.

he visits azula regularly, makes sure she's (relatively) comfortable and well-fed, and sometimes just sits down outside her door and tells her about everything that's going on right now ('some of the far colonies have developed their own standardised writing, azula, you wouldn't believe it, and i've asked the fire sages to come visit more often—but you never liked them, did you? oh, well; i'll make sure none of them go into your chambers by mistake')

(he doesn't know it, but when he does this azula sits by the door and listens. she wonders what kind of writing the colonists have developed, and whether or not the fire sages have taken on some new recruits.)

he hates being above anyone else. never sits in the throne if he can help it, nor does he sit on the dais in the council room. when he talks to people shorter than him, he finds himself stooping a little bit to talk to them on their level (the exception to this rule is sokka, who he mocks for being shorter all the way up until sokka grows taller than him, the bastard)

the first time he visits the earth kingdom, the earth king's ministers call a toast. he ends up being the only one who has to sit out, because he's too young to drink by earth kingdom law

once his servants figure out he won't kill them for talking to him, they start becoming a lot more bold, telling him off when he doesn't take care of himself. at one point, they force him to let them take care of him so much that he literally just bolts into the gardens and hides there until the staff rope in mai and ty lee

when he needs to escape, he does one of two things: (a) he dresses up as the blue spirit and does some parkour until he calms down, or (b) he goes to work at the jasmine dragon. (b) happens less often bc the jasmine dragon's in ba sing se, but there's been a few memorable incidents when an earth kingdom diplomat walks in and yells, 'LEE?!' when they see the fire lord

the first court artist who draws him also happens to be the one who drew azulon and ozai. he draws zuko without his scar. zuko takes one look at it and tells him, very calmly, that he'd like him to leave, please.

zuko burns the portrait. he doesn't fire the court artist, but he never calls on him again unless he has to. a second court artist is called, and can't help but be a bit confused when the fire lord tells him to be sure to include the scar

he forgets the crown. a lot. sometimes he walks into council meetings in his sleepwear with his hair tied up in a messy ponytail and a bunch of scrolls tucked under his arm. none of his councilmen have the guts (or the heart) to tell him that this is not, in fact, formal council wear

he goes to feed the turtleducks when he's stressed. he thinks he's being subtle. he's not. the entire palace knows, and they consciously give him space when they see him in the turtleduck garden

most of his staff are older than him, so they look at him and see this teeny tiny fire lord who is So Small and who Must Be Protected. the day after zuko's coronation, the head chef holds a meeting where they commence Operation Do-Not-Let-That-Boy-Turn-Out-Like-His-Father (subsection He's-The-Only-Good-Thing-We-Have)

one night he wakes up to find suki sitting in his room, decked out in full kyoshi warrior garb and makeup, and just about screams blue murder. suki tells him there are suspicions of an assassin in the palace, and would you please stop yelling it's very distracting, we won't be able to hear anyone coming over that racket

zuko gets very, very paranoid of random spirits after that. yeah, suki looks like a possibly malevolent spirit when she's wearing her makeup, what about it? (when he tells sokka he's highkey terrified of spirit shenanigans, sokka just looks at him and says, 'man, the stories i could tell...', and THAT'S when zuko remembers sokka spent like six months more than he did travelling with the avatar)

on his first visit to the southern water tribe, he removes his boots and leg guards, rolls up his pants and kneels barefoot in the snow. even though chief hakoda immediately starts trying to pull him up, he's stubborn as hell and stays kneeling for the entirety of his very long, very sincere apology-on-behalf-of-the-fire-nation speech. he nearly loses his toes to frostbite after that, and both sokka and katara never stop giving him shit for it

the first time he grows a 'beard' is completely accidental. he's stressed over some trade miscommunications with chief hakoda, hasn't slept in a few days...and then when sokka arrives as water tribe ambassador to help smooth things over, he takes one look at zuko and says 'man, facial hair does not suit you'

zuko: facial what now

he checks a mirror to find that he's got stubble covering his chin, dark enough that it almost looks intentional, and holy gods how the fuck did he not notice this before

'UNCLE WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME' 'i assumed you were doing it on purpose' 'WHEN HAVE I EVER DONE ANYTHING ON PURPOSE'

he shaves it all off immediately, of course, which prompts a lot of teasing and rib-poking from sokka until zuko finally snaps that he's scared it'll make him look like his father. sokka stops after that.

(the day after sokka leaves, zuko finds that a mysterious someone has scribbled all over ozai's royal portrait, giving him a frankly ridiculous beard and moustache that literally CANNOT be grown in real life. oddly enough, he can't bring himself to care about the defamation of royal property. he's too busy laughing.)

his paths cross with toph and sokka more than any of the others, because sokka is ambassador and toph is technically still a beifong. most of the time, at formal functions, he ends up sequestered in the corner with toph and a hoard of snacks, and they talk and swear much more than they usually do (zuko's ministers once heard him when he was drunk with toph, and the servants swear the older ministers' ears started bleeding)

he restores fire nation cultural festivals, and in doing so subjects himself to learning a lot of complicated dances

during one memorable week, he wrote so many letters and drafted so much legislation that he ran out of paper. he had to go visit the nearest school and ask for some

he keeps up with his firebending and sword training even though it's hard to fit into his schedule. his ministers refrain from reminding him that he has guards to protect him now; it's still hard for zuko to trust his safety with anyone but himself (team avatar is the exception).

he started sleepwalking about two months into his reign. no one knew why. one time, he nearly sleepwalked right off the edge of a balcony, and one of his guards had to grab him by the back of his robes.

the sleepwalking stopped after around a month and never happened again. at this point it's practically palace legend.

after freeing the war prisoners, he went around collecting every single earthbender-proof wooden cell he could find in the capital and surrounding areas. when he'd gotten most of them, he gathered them into a huge pile in the city square and set fire to them with his own hands.

unfortunately he couldn't do that with the waterbender metal cells but he did get toph to come in and bend them all into pretty shapes (well, toph thought they were pretty shapes. everyone else thinks they're meaningless squiggles)

he learned how to write with both hands at the same time out of sheer necessity (he refused scribes until it became clear that he'd be putting some people out of a job; that was when he started letting scribes write very, very minor things, but all important documents/drafts/letters are still written by him)

he once put the wet end of an ink brush in his mouth instead of the wooden end by mistake. didn't even realise until he bit down to keep it in place and ink went oozing everywhere

when his guards rushed in to find him coughing and spluttering black liquid all over his desk they thought he'd been poisoned but no he's just stupid

on his 17th birthday, his first one after being crowned, he got tackled by team avatar in the middle of the ballroom and ended up at the bottom of a cuddlepile for like ten minutes

this cuddlepile happened at an event that was very much public and very much formal. it was a scandal for weeks

just. fire lord zuko, guys. so much potential

[jangofctts]

Bloodsport (din djarin x fem!reader) (part one) 

rated: 18+

word count: 5.4k

warnings: smut, knife kink (no blood is drawn and consent is clearly given), blowjobs, vaginal fingering, din is sorta a virg duDE, alcohol, mentions of violence (reader punches someone in the face kwejrkejh), some gambling (sabaac) also please let me know if I missed anything!

a/n: oOf this is the first fic in sO LONG IM SO SORRY YALL KEHJRKEJH BUT ANYWAYS I HOPE YOU ENJOY

It’s been a couple months since Din’s stepped foot on the sandy nightmare of a planet. Went through hell and back and kriff—it feels like a lifetime ago. But the landscape before him hasn’t changed an inch, Mos Eisley same as always—busy with all sorts of scum and villainy he turns a blind eye to. 

Din hopes it’s not the only thing that’s stayed the same—selfish as it is. Someone as volatile as you is bound to catalyze and shift, so is the nature of life. A lot can happen in a month or two and it’s ridiculous to think that you would ever push your life to the side and wait for him to return.    

Turns out, you are here, still working as the resident mechanic. Though in the same elated breath of hearing that tidbit of news, it’s equally dissatisfying when he somehow misses you completely. You’re off planet, looking for power converters and electrical wiring—back in few days Peli promises. Maybe by the time his wild goose chase is over, back from the butt fuck middle of nowhere, he’ll get to see you— 

Nothing goes as planned—naturally. All Din finds is a man playing dress up, an oversized lizard, planetary drama he’s forced to resolve and—to top it all off—an attempted stickup. Maker—he’s not even worried about anything save for the kid and your speeder. The very same one now scattered over the sand in miserable heaps.           

At least some of it is salvageable…

By the time Din reaches the outskirts of Mos Eisley, the binary suns are smearing across the horizon like molten puddles of magma. Deep aches amass in his shoulders and back from the weight of the speeder parts, his gear, and the second pair of armor. Maker—it feels like his arms are going to be ripped off.

The baby babbles something incomprehensible. 

“Almost there, kid,” Din responds, sparing a quick glance down the baby. “How does soup sound?”

Instead of trudging back to the hangar, Din wanders to the cantina. Call it a hunch or just you and your aunt’s tendency to lurk around the premises, he’s certain he’s going to find one of you here. 

Din is right.

The moment he steps inside, he spots your mess of hair, the low solar lights illuminating the rich colors with a soft orange. The baby coos and blinks up at Din, his tiny clawed finger gesturing in your direction. 

Din hums. “Good job—you found her.” 

The child’s little teeth peek out, pleased with his discovery. Din steps into the doorway, down the carven stairs and over to your table. A older man—a ship rigger by the looks of his uniform—sits across from you, a game of Sabaac spread across the table between you. You’re winning. 

“Hello, Shiny.” You greet, dipping your chin in his direction. “Your armor is looking a tad ripe.” 

It’s true. The layer of slime coating his armor had baked and crusted under the suns—probably doesn’t smell too good either… 

“I killed a Krayt dragon.” Din states it with a twinge of smug satisfaction despite knowing how little something like that would mean to you. He could conquer three dozen planets and shower you in all the precious metals in the world and you’d still turn your nose up at everything.  

“And I curb stomped a centipede today—you aren’t special.” Your eyes never leave the set of worn cards you hold between your fingers, acutely ignoring him like you would an overly enthusiastic puppy. You inhale and scrape your right thumbnail along the edge of the hexagonal cardstock—it’s a subtle tell, one Din would more than likely miss if he were the unlucky bastard brave enough to sit at the other end of the table.  

“You playin’ or what?” Your opponent gripes. He scratches his unkempt salt and pepper stubble and quirks a furry brow. 

You lift your chin in scorned defiance and lay your hand down—full Sabaac. The man hisses through his crooked, clenched teeth and utters a curse as he shoves his winnings towards your end of the table.  

“Peli promised me information.” Din pushes, hearing the kid coo in curiosity as you begin shuffling the cards with practiced flare. “About others like me.”

“Do I look like my aunt to you?” You grumble. It’s the first time your eyes leave the perimeter of the game to look at him. They settle on the kid first with a guarded version of compassion, then leap to the faded green armor clipped to the heavy luggage, and then his visor. Your lip twitches at the green slime still coating the beskar. “I’m assuming my speeder didn’t make it.”

“A technical difficulty.”

You roll your eyes and snort, dealing out the cards then setting the stack in the middle. “Right…”

The background ambiance of the bar and the quiet rasp of cards fill the brief lull in conversation. Any other rational person would take the blaring hint to leave, but Din is just as stubborn as you are. 

“I don’t remember where the hangar is,” Din lies, cocking his head to the side in mock innocence, “could you show me?” 

The tip of your tongue peaks out of the corner of your mouth. The unconscious tic is not one of irritation—not yet. Though before you’re able to respond, your opponent beats you to it. 

“Yeah—I know where it is. It’s between fuck off and take a hike.”  

Din turns his head, the cool, even tone of his words sharper than shrapnel as he address the man. “I was speaking to her.”        

This is funny to you Din realizes—one of the tiny mysteries of your entirety clicking into the place of the puzzle map he’s conjured for you. 

“Well, I don’t have the time of day for cowards who wear shiny buckets over their head.” The man gripes into his drink, dark eyes flicking over to Din as he sizes him up. “What’s a Mandalorian doing out here anyway? Thought your planet exploded or something.”

The man’s ignorance irks him—sure. How could it not? But with years of harsh words and jabs at the foundation of Din’s very being, he’s learned to adapt. It’ll always sting no matter how many layers of beskar he wears but you on the other hand…

Your eyes spark, molten and bright like the last solar flare on the surface of a decaying star. Each encounter Din’s had with you, he’s bared witness to the deep well of your anger that fuels your being like the auto-mechanical heart of a droid. He’s felt the bite of your rage firsthand, but this anger—this is the tragedy of the delicate mayfly wings trapped between the black teeth of misfortune—the story of the boy who rammed a spear into the flank of an ancient beast that bites before it barks and gnashes its yellowed teeth in warning.

Din’s hand inches towards his blaster. He’s not willing to weigh the safety of the kid against your rash decisions, despite it being on his behalf.   

Though, just as quick as it appears, it recedes like the cool drawback of a tumultuous ocean. Din’s arm relaxes at his side as you release a puff of air. 

Your scuffed up fingers, stained with years of engine grease, scars and dirt, curl around your half finished drink. You stand, lay your cards face down onto the table and flash the stranger a feral grin.

Without a word, you toss your drink directly into the man’s unsuspecting eyes. In another breath, the pointed edges of your knuckles fly forward and hook beneath the point of his chin with a meaty thunk. The man’s head whips backwards and connects with the gravely wall—

Out like a light.  

Jaw clenched tight, you shake out your bleeding knuckles and gather up the strewn credits over the table. You shove them into the pockets of your jacket and side eye Din. “Restitutions for damages,” you mutter. 

The other patrons keep their eyes to themselves as the three of you hurry out the door. Only an apathetic glance from the bar tender serves as proof that something did, in fact, occur. No one wants to dirty their nose sniffing about where they shouldn’t be when they have their own business to safeguard.

The crisp night air rustles the stray strands of hair that escape from your ponytail. Ghostly moonlight carves the shape of your cheeks into an almost ethereal sight—one of those deep space creatures with pointy teeth and hellfire for eyes. Stuff of legends you’d never think to look in a dingy bar for.     

But he knows—Din knows that cool mask is just a front from what you hide. It is a hungry ghost that hounds your thin stretched shadow—what ifs and the glories of war you never really escaped. You forget that you are flesh and blood and ghosts are only air and echoes, nothing more. 

Din is sharp edged steel. A stray fragment of a shattered mirror, the lacerated reflection of a nameless purpose and a faceless existence. He’s torn edges and cracked glass but his heart beats within his chest with the blood of a thousand suns. Two souls under the umbrella of the word damaged but entirely different in nature.     

“No one—“ you growl, your voice a steady and lethal timbre that terrifies a part of Din’s unconsciousness, “—speaks that way to my friends.” 

Touching. 

“Don’t look at me like that, Creature,” you huff, staring down at the child who gurgles in return. “He deserved it—“

The reunion certainly wasn’t the one Din imagined, though it’s a relief to find that there’s no roughened edge like sandpaper over skin wedged between you. Picked up right where you left off—no questions asked and no inglorious retelling of how Din nearly died on the floor of a shitty cantina. There’s not a doubt in his mind that you'd laugh at him for it—it is sorta funny…   

The rest of the evening is spent walking back to the hangar, arguing over the fact that yes Din should take the couch instead of that miserable little hovel he calls a bed, and spend the night. He’d have to find some other mechanic to work through the night if he wanted to leave in the morning, because you certainly did not want to volunteer for that. And so—Din reluctantly takes the couch and agrees to let you tackle the monstrosity of fixing up his ship for tomorrow. 

He has to admit…the couch is a bit smaller than the length of his body, but it’s comfortable…maybe he’d buy a better blanket while he was here. As a treat.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- 

You purse your lips and whistle. “I swear each time I see it, it gets worse. Y’know, I know a couple guys selling—“ 

“Can you fix it?”

You fold your arms over your chest and roll your eyes.“Yeah I can fix it, jeez—no need to get your undies in a twist.” 

You try not to take offense, because hey—you’re offering him the info on the good deals on new ships (and at this point anything would be better than this old rust bucket). But if Din doesn’t want anything to do with that, then whatever. His loss.   

When you wander onto the ship, toolbox in hand, the Mandalorian tags along. Unsure if he doesn’t trust you with his things or just wants to hang out, it blankets the space with an air of uncertainty. Turns out it was neither of those guesses. All he does is throw open his stash of weapons, collect his pile of vibroknives, and set them on a table to polish and sharpen. 

Makes sense, you suppose. Everything has to be as shiny as his armor. 

You drop to your knees near the closest wiring panel you find. You wrench open the paneling and frown at the disarray of sparking wires and tangled cords. You organized these perfectly last time he was here. “Who the fuck junked up my rigging?”

Mando sits at the little table tucked away in the corner, brooding over his cache of weapons. He shrugs. “Could’ve come loose when I landed.” 

You roll your eyes at his half assed excuse and mutter a foul string of curses under your breath that’d make even Peli wince. It’s fine. It’s cool—no biggie. You can sort through this in a couple hours, maybe three. 

But of course rarely anything goes as planned. As time ticks away, arms deep in wires older than the kriffing Clone Wars, the distractions begin. The scrape of metal on durasteel makes the hair rise into little pricks all up your arms—you shoot a glare over your shoulder. Din tilts his head, your kneeling self reflecting within the ever dark visor, features scrunched into an obvious tell of annoyance. Huffing, you bury your head back into your task at hand. 

The second distraction arrives in the form of a quiet hum of curiosity originating from the Mandalorian. Out of the corner of your eye you see him bring a vibroblade up to his visor, inspecting the notch in the blade that disrupts the electrical current that flows through the weapon. Din then rubs his thumb over the handle of the vibroblade in a slow, sensual circle. You lick your lips and tear your eyes away. That shouldn’t be hot.

You furrow your brows and tear apart another wire, but the metallic tap, tap, tap of Din bouncing the tip of a different blade over the table is bothersome. You swing your head to your left, mouth parting to snap at him, but his hand—sans glove—brings you to a halting stop. 

It’s alluring, the way his long, weathered fingers twirl the knife with practiced ease—like silk through water and followed by the low hum of electricity meant to slice through flesh. Din tosses it in the air, watching it spin three rotations then catches it by the handle. Your lips purse when his visor meets your eyes. He spins it between his fingers.  

“Am I bothering you?”

Fucker.   

You scowl. “It’s fine.” 

The soft rasp of his thumb sliding along the flat of the blade entices the eye and damnit—he’s doing this on purpose. 

“Doesn’t seem fine,” he hums. 

“Well, it is.” You retort hotly. You snatch up your pliers and imagine you’re pulling his teeth out in place of the crooked paneling. “I’m currently thriving in my element.”  

Din hums, the sound buzzing with grainy distortion. “Do you want a closer look?”

You chew your bottom lip. He’s playing with an open flame and you with volatile jet fuel. 

“I don’t know, seems kinda lame from here.” You scoff, busying yourself by pinching and twisting another set of frayed wires between your fingertips. “A toothpick if anything.”

Din snorts behind you. The deadly whisper of beskar against the durasteel tabletop makes the hair on the back of your neck prick into points. You tense as heavy boots shuffle along the floor, the near silent rustle of armor tinkling behind you as Din steps closer. You’re slow to stand, even though the presence of the Mandalorian is no less than overbearing. You wipe your grimy hands onto a spare rag, continuing to face the paneling. You then turn, a coy smile threatening to break across your face. 

Stars Din is broad—and close enough you swear you’re able to see the perspiration of your breath fog the beskar plating. Your eyes follow the seams of the cuirass, across the leather bandolier and up to his helmet that’s fixed in an impassive glare of tempered steel. Your back bumps into the wall as Din takes another step forward, boxing you in. To escape you’d need to duck under his arm and yet…you refuse to move.   

Your breath catches as he languidly lifts his hand and taps the flat side of the vibroblade over your collarbone. The sharpened point tickles up the column of your throat, a crackle of nerves and your pounding pulse following in its wake. Din turns the blade to flat edge and pushes into the space right below your jaw—you squirm when he chuckles, the sound low and deep. 

“You like this…”

Din grunts as your hand reaches between his legs, squeezing the growing hardness there. “So do you.” 

Din circles his hand around your wrist with his free palm. Moons above his hands are warm. He murmurs your name—you shiver. “Tell me you want this—want me.”

A blush, hotter than the surface of Tatooine in the midday sun, rushes up your neck and pools into the apples of your cheeks. Maker you want him. With a shuddering sigh you nod—braving the scathing shrapnel of vulnerability. “I need you, Din—please.”

A low chuckle rumbles through Din’s chest. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard you say please before.”

Din drops his hold on your wrist as you roll your eyes. “Shut up, Bucket Head.”

The Mandalorian snorts and dips his head—gesturing towards the blade still lightly pressed against the base of your throat. “This ok too, Skitter?”

You flash him a wolfish grin. “Gonna fuck me with it?”

Din swears under his breath, crowding his body closer to yours. You hear his strained sigh as he dips his head closer, the beskar a chilly whisper against your cheek. “You’re depraved…take off your pants.”

You smirk, tear off your belt and shimmy out of your pants and underwear, bottom half now bare. His visor dips, entranced.  

Your heart leaps into your throat, your pulse roaring in your ears as he settles one of his bare hands over the swell of your hip while the other trails the blunt edge of the handle from your clothes collarbone, and down your belly. From your mid thigh he skates the handle up your bare thigh and then rests it over the crack of your thigh. Heat flushes through your entire body, a stark contrast to the cool metal of the handle. A shiver races down each vertebrae when he drags it over the swell of your cunt and then carefully pressing it against your clit. You gasp and arch into the light touch, your thighs involuntarily jerking as he increases the pressure. It’s cold, rigid and filthy. Who knows where that knife has been—how many lives it’s taken or severed through muscle and skin. 

You don’t find it in you to care all that much.    

He trades his hold on your hip to slide his hand into your shirt, palming and kneading your breast through your bra as you roll and whine against his fingers. The tight circles he's drawing over your clit burns through your abdomen, drags you closer to the precipice that you’re all ready so close to. Fuck—it’s been so long since you’ve indulged in this sort of pleasure.You whine his name as wicked heat licking up your body and spreading to each limb. You arch into him, the handle of his knife slipping through your folds as arousal drips from your cunt.   

Your groan as you tilt your hips into the handle, craving any lick of pleasure he’ll give. Your breath hitches as Din pushes the hilt closer to your throwing entrance, murmuring praise as he sinks the first couple inches inside of you. It’s cold—the knobby feel of the handle not too much thicker than one or two of your fingers combines. You huff and grab at his cowl, the warmth of his hand grazing your pussy each time he rocks his wrist forward. 

“You’re so quiet,” Din goads, pulling the handle free from your aching center. “You usually have plenty to say.” 

You shoot Din a glare, tongue weighed down by arousal to come up with a god retort. You lean your head back against the wall of the Crest and with a chuckle, Din’s hand leaves your shirt to pull you against his chest, the vocoder rumbling against your ear. The blade clatters to the floor and instead brings his calloused fingertips to your cunt. He softly rolls your swollen clit between his forefinger and thumb, delighting in the way you shake. “Be a good little thing and cum for me.”

Shit, you didn’t think it’d be that easy. Your body seizes as white hot heat ripples through your core. Stars, brighter than a dying sun burst behind your eyes, a high pitched cry filtering past your lips as shake and fall apart in his arms, your cunt clenching tight around the thick fingers he slips inside of you. 

You whine as he pulls out, little aftershocks of pleasure wracking through your body in wake of your euphoric high. You groan as he lifts your head and pushes his digits, coated in your juices into your mouth. You lick them clean, tasting the tang of your own arousal and the salt on his skin. “Fuck—that was good.”

You can only imagine that Din rolls his eyes. He takes a step back but before he can escape—

You drop to your knees, a wicked smile curling over your lips. The muscles in his thighs jump as your palms smooth over the outsides of them, then up to his narrow hips, your thumbs lightly massaging the ligaments that protects the fragile joints. Din sucks in a sharp breath when your fingertips hook around his trousers. 

“What are you doing?” Din asks, brushing a thumb over your jaw. 

You pause and glance up at him. You quirk a brow. “Was gonna suck you off, but if you have something else in mind…“ He hisses and tips his head back, flashing the underside of his chin as your hand leaves his hip to cup the heavy bulge tenting in his trousers. 

“Maker—“ He looks off to the side, inhales a choppy breath and then snaps his head back. “You’d…you’d do that?”   

You nod and flash him an encouraging half grin. “Wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to.”

Din mumbles an incoherent string of words under his breath and shifts his weight onto his right leg. His fingers touch your cheek again then tuck a loose hair behind your ear. “But—“

Moons above this man is straight out of some kind of fucking fairytale—arguing about getting his dick sucked—or not. 

Whatever.       

“Din…” His breath hitches at the sound of his name. “I’m asking you kindly to fuck my mouth—it’s cool if you don’t wanna, but my knees already kriffing hurt and—“

He cuts you off with a hasty nod. “Yes—stars, please.”

Fuck yeah.

You smile and slide your eyes past Din’s legs to the cargo crate shoved up against the wall. “You should sit—easier that way.”

He nods and shuffles over, lightly perching himself on the edge and ready to flee at the barest hint of well—anything.

Din’s knee jumps when you place your palm over it. You assume his nerves are from the nature of his occupation—trouble always strikes when you least expect it—and what better time would that be when his pants are around his ankles. “Relax—I’m not gonna bite—maybe.”

He makes a wary sound low in his throat as your fingertips hook into the waistband of his trousers and pull. Din lifts up as you tug the fabric further down his legs, tan skin and solid muscle following in its wake. Fuck…

You swallow, mouth feeling quite dry when your eyes drift between his legs. Din is thick, a rosy brown color, flushed at the tip and curling towards his bellybutton. Beads of liquid shine at the tip, dribbling down the underside and pooling into the dark patch of curls at the base. Din’s fingers hook over the side of the crate, squirming under the weight of your stare. 

Yeah—that’s gonna leave your jaw aching.    

You hear his breath hitch, magnified by the crackle of the vocoder as your lips descend over a silvery scar on the inside of his right knee. You pepper a trail of wet kisses and light nips up his thighs, and by the time you reach the crease of his leg, his hips mindlessly rock with need. 

The second the wet warmth of your tongue brushes over the tip of his cock, his hips jolt off the crate, a load groan echoing through the empty ship. It’s like striking a match to an open line of kerosene—devouring and explosive that’ll leave your delicate skin singed. You’re not nervous playing with fire if this barest scrap of wild heat is anything like burning to a crisp. 

Emboldened by his initial reaction, you wrap your hand around the base, pulsing and achingly hard beneath the velvety flesh. You flatten your tongue over the tip, lapping up the sticky liquid the slip the head of him into your mouth. His hands fly to your hair, tightening into fists as he throws his head back. The beskar scrapes over the durasteel with a sharp squeal, but you don’t find it in you to care about the abrasive sound—eardrums be damned.  

“Fuck—kriffing hell—“ Din snarls, arching his hips to seek more of your warmth. “K-keep going.”  

Your own rekindled arousal blazes hot in your core hearing his stuttered pleas. You pull away to catch your breath, feeling almost guilty for doing so at Din’s low whine of protest. He picks his head up, watching as you languidly jerk him off—entranced with the way your hand rolls over the leaking tip, back down to the base, then up again. You could keep him like this—tease until he cracks under the pressure and begs you for whatever iota of pleasure you want to give but—

You’re not that mean.    

Wetting your lips with your tongue, you part your mouth and slide nearly half of his length into your mouth. Din mutters something garbled, his hips jolting as you hollow your cheeks and bob your head.

Din shifts, arching his back and stuttering out broken whispers of encouragement. Placing your hand over his thigh, you can feel his pulse thrumming beneath your fingertips, wild and alive—something real beneath all that heavy armor and unforgiving helmet. 

“You—you look…” He grunts as you hum around around his cock, swallowing him down further. “Shit—you look so p-perfect like this.”

You groan and squeeze your thighs together, attempting to ignore the gnawing hunger snapping at your insides. 

Rolling your tongue along the underside of his shaft, your fingers slide over what your mouth cant reach—squeezing and gently coaxing him towards his high. He seizes up tight—yet, just when you think you’ve got him skidding off that precarious edge—

His hand fists your hair at the base your neck and yanks you off his cock. He huffs, breathy little pants as he folds into himself like he’s been punched in the gut, his head rolling forward onto his shoulder. Din shivers as he scrambles for control, beginning to loose that slippery foothold he’s so intent on maintaining. His cock, flushed an angry red and still slick with your saliva, twitches and throbs for the release so cruelly wrenched away. 

You let him catch his breath. The fingers tangled in your hair go lax and drop away to rest at his sides. You swallow, his previous skittishness suddenly clicking into place. “Din, are you…?” A virgin. Your question tapers off, unsure if it’ll embarrass and scare him off. 

“No,” he answers—not in a sharp way like you’d hear with a bruised ego—just stating a fact. “Just not—not this. Never had someone—stars—“

Your teeth roll your bottom lip between them, forcing your face to remain neutral despite the stroke of pride blooming singing in your chest. You’re his first—lucky enough to make this the best goddamned oral he’ll ever have. Something he’ll remember for years.  

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask, praying to the Maker he’ll say no. 

He shakes his head, sucking in another calming breath and unfurling himself. His fingers clench into fists then relax, crackling with pent up energy and unsure nerves as to where he should put them. You solve it by threading your fingers through his and placing them around you head. 

Your lips quirk. “You’re allowed to cum in mouth—don’t worry about it.”

His cock twitches as a quiet moan fizzles through the modulator. “You su-sure?”

“Oh, yeah.”

With a smile you bring your mouth back to his cock, tongue swiping up the entire length of him. Din groans as the soft warmth of your mouth slips over the flushed tip of cock, his thick length twitching as you hollow out your cheeks and suck. You bob your head as you slowly work him in further because even like this, hardly halfway into your mouth, you feel your lips stretching a bit too much around him. You groan and part your mouth wider, letting him sink into the soft warmth of your throat.  Din inhales, the sound shaky and unsure as his hips twitch with a few tentative thrusts. 

You take it slow—lifting your mouth nearly all the up to the tip then back down to the base. Din rolls his hips, helping you ease into the gentle pace. Saliva drips down his cock and over your knuckles making an absolute mess you have zero intentions of cleaning up. It’s his ship after all. Din swears as his hips stutter, your hand squeeing around him, trying to push him off that edge he so deserves. Din gasps your name, the pitch of his words knocking up to a lighter, more airy tone, warmer than melted butter. 

“Ca-can’t believe, it—ah—it fits.” He groans with astonished reverence. You preen under his praise. 

You swallow around him and grunt at the abrupt jolt of his hips. There’s no distinctive rhythm you can follow as you let him rock his hips into your mouth—seeking out his pleasure without a coherent thought in sight. Just a cacophony of gasping breaths and rough moans. 

You can feel is cock twitching over you tongue—he’s close—and when your eyes roll up to meet the darkened visor, he’s gone. He shouts your name and knots his fists around your hair as he spirals of that edge. You nearly gag from the force of his release hitting the back of your throat—cock throbbing and jerking in your mouth like he’s been denying himself release for months. His moans, fragile and gasping, filling the quiet space as his hips grind his cock deeper down your throat, his hands threaded into your hair acting as an anchor—the sole tether he has to the waking world. 

Din’s grip relents as the last few catastrophic waves tear through his body. He doesn’t move his hands, just lets them rest over your skull  as his chest heaves for precious air, a harsh crackle through the vocoder. You pull his still twitching cock halfway out, dragging the tip of your tongue below the frenulum while one of your hands circles the base of his length. Maker—he’s still going—

Last little dribbles of his cum spurt onto your tongue and drip over your knuckles still securely wrapped around him. His legs and lower abdomen flex when your hand falls lower to carefully knead at his balls, milking out his pleasure for all its worth. You let his softening cock slip from your mouth when he swears and mumbles your name.      

When you rest your back against the wall, he slips himself back into his trousers and joins you. You take a risk and rest your head over the chilly beskar pauldron. You’d never call this love—the word is much too harsh for this delicate string of seconds. Love means giving pieces of yourself to others like martyrs give their hearts to the sky—or risk fragile skin against the rays of an unforgiving sun. Broken ribs and clenched fists, immensity beyond comprehension—

“You should come with us,” he says with a hesitant mumble. Love is formidable—but you know that somehow, here, pressed against Din’s side, that this is right. In a golden way, a honeyed way, a path that tastes of blood, freedom and blaster smoke that will leave your lungs stained with blackened soot. Cowardice has long made a home inside of your soul, and he’s offering you a chance to shake off the layer of frost clinging to your bones and step into the gentle merciful dawn.  

“Yeah—alright, Din. I will.”

tags (only tagging some moots for now bc i have no clue what’s going on in this fandom anymore dbdndn): @goldafterglow @jango-fettish @djxrxn @blsmjoon @spookoofins @krissology @steeeeeeeviebb @teaofpeach @comphersjost @gummiishark @delusionsxfgrandeur @pettyprocrastination @huliabitch

[mamamittens]

It's the boys!

Fun little facts about each of them, cause they're all quite different despite sharing the same name!

Ignore how lowkey jank their faces look, it's really hard to draw a sharp nose from the front and I don't usually draw exaggerated expressions. Also their muscles are probably wrong, but I don't exactly live with jacked body builders, so I worked with what I had (Google, I promise I'm not secretly jacked).

Clubs:

One who took the most lessons from Garp, including fashion

His dream is still to see Luffy be the Pirate King but personally he wants to be a good man unlike what he (assumes) his father was like

Considered the weirdest pirate because of this, acting more like a marine in personality despite breaking the law (as it should be)

Is a bit stiff but is ultimately quite the softy

How he meets Whitebeard is through asking Marco what Roger was like

He absolutely didn't expect Whitebeard to take a shine to him and is very quietly thrown off about it

Doesn't really fight Whitebeard and gives everyone weird looks when they try and bond with him

No one realizes he has a devil fruit power cause he hides it for fear of losing control

Losing Sabo and the big fire really scarred him for fire usage

Therefore he has the least control, and anytime he does use it, it's in incredibly powerful explosions

He's terrifying when angry, just an unstoppable wall of anger coming right at you

The most accepting of his execution and the most shocked that Whitebeard came and rescued him

The best at throwing off any accusations of his heritage because he doesn't even look like a pirate on a good day

Best at conversation while lying because he just looks so earnest all the time "Sir, that's not how pregnancy works. I was actually born early"

Garp absolutely dies laughing about it later

Diamond

He's actually just the Ace I wrote for "Exquisite Control" tbh

The most insufferably confident one of the group after getting over his father

Smokes cause it makes him look cool

Yes, his boots are platform boots, because he's tired of tall bastards looming over him all the time

Very creative uses for his devil fruit in little ways

Will absolutely fuck with people, including little flickers of fire over the ocean to freak look outs on marine ships

He can't smile politely, he just looks like a psychopath

The least chill when pissed off

He doesn't really react to being Roger's son after he lets go of his baggage, it just doesn't matter to him at that point

He will strong arm his way into a conversation if he sees someone creeping on a lady/man, playing up his roguish charms if need be

He's always looking for a fight, but he's the only one that can get one just by smirking at any point in time

He does not handle disrespect well at all, not to himself or people he's fond of

If you think he's above bitch slapping people with a fire palm, you're wrong, though he might cheekily smack someone's ass (Marco) the same way if he's feeling feisty

Heart

The most Luffy-like, a constant joy and pain in the ass to be around

Very expressive and energetic, including with his devil fruit, often punctuating declarations with firecracker pops

The one that scares people by accident the most because he's either very loud or worryingly quiet, there is no in between

He looks the dumbest, but make no mistake, he's a terror with his observational skills

Card/pool/game shark and people fall for it every time, he learned from Sabo

Smiles the most like his late father but with enough sunshine child rays no one connects the dots except Whitebeard

Took the news of his heritage the best and seeks to enjoy life while waiting for Luffy to take the crown, thinks it's really ironic that his adopted brother would do it instead of the 'heir'

Is not afraid to take the piss out of people

Is really platonically/casually handsy with people and pretends like he didn't know how warm his hands are or when he 'accidentally' digs his nails into tickle spots

The more the person hates him the more he finds joy in making them laugh anyway

Any insult is remembered and you will never realize it when he gets his revenge, so from an outside perspective, he looks incredibly happy go lucky and forgiving

Do not be fooled, he has so much fucking spite

Challenged Whitebeard because he was genuinely curious about how he's stack up against him

Whitebeard obviously thought the feral sunshine child was adorable and wanted to recruit him immediately

Spade

If you're getting Bruno vibes, you're not wrong

His super power isn't his devil fruit, it's anxiety

He took the news of his heritage and the lose of Sabo the hardest

Now he compulsively makes so many plans and backup plans that no one realizes when his plan didn't go well because the transition between them was so smooth

He needs a hug the most, though Clover would probably also cry if you kept holding him for a little longer

He uses his fire in very spooky ways, little willow-wisps and crazy butterfly effect plans

Has a tendency to fondle his necklace and other jewelry as a nervous tick or when he's thinking

His baggy clothes hides a lot of secret mouse-ka-tools, like, so many tools you would not believe it

He never really started fighting Whitebeard because he was getting too stressed trying to plan around all of Whitebeard's allies

How did they cross paths? Well, he was executing one of his plans and ran afoul of Jinbe by accident

Naturally, it did not take Spade five days to beat him, and Whitebeard was quite impressed

The one thing Spade never planned on was honest interest and affection

He was spontaneously hugged a lot by the more fraternal Whitebeard Pirates and his expression was like a sad puppy without fail

His genuine smile has pulled out literal 'aww' sound from even hardcore pirates

The one that prevents Thatch's murder the fastest because he trusts but verifies things, and Teach did not pass the vibe check

He gets the tattoo on his wrist under the cuff bracelet so he can look at it and run his fingers over the ink anytime he gets too deep in his thoughts

Can you tell who my favorite is, lmao?

As a side note, it's a shame Ace doesn't take more fashion cues from the people he grew up around, like sure he wears a necklace like Dadan, but imagine if he wore a closed vest or a button up? Maybe grew his hair out and pulled it back? idk, all I know is that anytime I imagine a gender bend Ace, she dresses more like Dadan instead of wearing booty shorts and a bikini top.

@secretsnailor

@marco--the--phoenix

Hope this was as fun for you as it was for me!

Don't forget about that February (2022) raffle!

[juusworld5728]

Lets talk about Azriel’s shadows...

I think that a lot of people seem to forget what Azriel’s shadows actually represent and what different reaction from them actually mean.

Lets start at the very beginning to his childhood... For the first 11 years of his life, Azriel lived in a cell with no windows or light. He was allowed to come out only for an hour a day, and to see his mother for one hour every week. There are many different ways that one can argue how Azriel came to acquire his shadowsinging abilities or whether it was something genetic (either way, its very rare). Rhysand did mention that he might’ve learned to speak to his shadows in the cell that he was kept in. Either way, his shadows are not something of his past that he necessarily wants to remember. Whether he’s appreciative of those shadows now does not reflect the fact that they were born out of fear and loneliness.

In terms of personality, it’s very important to note how he reacts to things and different people. The way that I see it, he uses his shadows as a defense mechanism. Whenever he’s in an uncomfortable situation, he tends to hide in a corner and his shadows surround him to block from sight. However, when he’s in a good situation or surrounded by certain people, they seem to go away. A lot of people see that as a bad thing, but his shadows are not only supposed to represent his powers, but also his very traumatic past. Soooo you might ask, what exactly do the shadowsinger’s shadows represent?

Well, here is my take. Those shadows in terms that are not power-based, represent that very same cell that he was locked in for the first 11 years of his life. I’m not talking about Nuala and Cerridwen here. I’m talking about his defense mechanism shadows. This wonderful male was trapped without social contact, friends, or anyone to rely on. So yeah, he will be introvert. He has a family, but that doesn't stop him from the fact that his social skills will not be the best in comparison. His shadows represent his loneliness that he feels he deserves and craves when he feels cornered. For the first 11 years of his life, that was ALL HE KNEW. When his shadows “brighten” or are nowhere to be seen, I can imagine that as being the hour he had out of his cell every day. That feeling of relief and freedom. Yes, he needs to learn to accept himself more and who he has become. However, that can be done in the sense that his shadows do not have to be around him ALL THE TIME.

Now, in terms of relationships: 

Mor: His first love. At the young age of around 19. Only 8 years after he’s been let out into society and learned his way through. Does he even know how to handle love?? Probably not. He was born a bastard and probably saw his mother being treated like shit by his father and stepmother. So I doubt love is something he believes in at this point. However, he does fall in love with her. His reaction to that? What he knows best. Avoidance. That dark cell still very present in his mind. That feeling of being very aware of how broken you are but don’t know how to fix it. He does not want to put that burden on Mor. Everything that happens between Cassian and Mor probably makes him feel even worse. Throughout the years though, he can’t help but feel happy just to be around her and in her presence (hence why his shadows disappear). It can be argued that he's known that she hasn't been interested for a while. Maybe what he truly craved wasn't the actual love that he wanted from Mor, but the feeling of love that came from her that made his shadows go away. He craved it and wanted to be around her for that feeling.

Elain: The first time that Azriel meets Elain is in the human lands. She asks him if he can truly fly. He blushes and gets flustered, and why? Do you think that maybe a lot of people haven't bothered to see him in a certain light to ask those type of questions? I mean sure he has his family, but this human girl that is supposedly terrified of him because he’s fae, asks him such a simple and light-hearted question... Slowly but surely, in ACOWAR he beings to get more comfortable with her. She’s broken but at the same time, holding on. He takes notice of a certain light that she radiates as well as her seer powers a little bit later. The first time they’re brought over to the House of Wind, she calls his scars beautiful. The importance of this scene is very overlooked. She called the thing that makes him the most insecure, induces the most amount of fear, and creates his hatred... beautiful. This woman that barely knows him has already accepted every part of him. He further loves to glance out at the garden (a place of happiness that reminds him of Elain) and loves to look at that hidden light in her eyes that makes his shadows either brighten or disappear. It’s very similar to the feeling with Morrigan, but more direct and has incentive. Now, lets talk about truth-teller (the knife that always strikes true). That is one part of himself that he has never shared with ANYONE. Why did he give her truth-teller? Because Elain has already accepted every part of him. Truth-teller is an extension to himself in a sense. Something that belongs wholly to him and makes him feel safe. He trusts Elain enough to give her a part of himself. A very vulnerable moment never seen before by Azriel. In ACOFAS, When Azriel asks about Lucien, he truly does not want to spy on him. It could be for privacy reasons because of Elain but also because he’s afraid of what he’ll see from him in terms of Elain. His siphons gutter and he stutters over his words. Now, winter solstice was a very light-hearted moment but very important as well. As we can tell, Elain is the perfect gift-giver. She gives Azriel a potion for his headaches which is perfect and very hilarious since he laughs (he’s never laughed before in Feyre’s presence). It’s very telling to Elain’s personality as being a very attentive person which amounts to her really caring about Azriel and what’s going on with him. He tends to be pretty hidden and keeps a poker face most of the time, so for her to notice the little things like that is very important. I rest my case..... for now.

Gwyn: I honestly cannot say much about this ship. What I can say are from pages I have been sent and trends I have been seeing through Azriel’s personality. It seems to me like Azriel is the least tense around people he considers his friends and brothers. Even though he's usually pretty serious anyways, the bat boys seem really comfortable with each other. When Mor was around (especially in ACOMAF), he would get worried. However, when she wasn't paying to him, his shadows would disappear (similar things happened with Elain). It seems to me like Gwyn has an outwardly fun personality and Azriel has no problem with that because he is not worried about anything happening. The most I’ve seen from the books between them is simple banter that included the rest of the friend group. When either of them talk, what I’ve seen from Azriel is amusement. That amusement results in Azriel’s shadows dancing around HIMSELF. Not anyone else. No, the shadows did not dance around Gwyn or any other person. I currently see this as a friendship and would need more build-up for me to even ship it. It seems like Azriel seems fine acting like this with people he is not worried about catching feelings with.

Thank you for coming to my ted talk.

[camthesolemnone]

*crashes through door*

HI I HAVE ANOTHER ONE!!

Ok. Soulmate AU!! it's the one with the red string connecting you to your soul mate by your pinkie. Make up some rules for it if you need to!! I like to do the thing where the string gets tighter/looser as they move closer and farther from their s/o.

Ok, goodnight, I love you, bye!

*mwah*

*passes out just outside door*

Whoops accidentally made Zhanna older than Heavy in this one. Well I mean, maybe she is, but I've always written Mikhail as the oldest child in his family. Anyway, enjoy!

Wide eyes full of tears and flushed cheeks was what Mama came across upon turning to face who was tugging at her shawl. Little Zhanna, no more than five, was highly concerned about her baby brother.

"Mama! Misha’s finger is blue!"

Fearing that her son had developed gangrene from the cold brought on by the heavy storm outside, the distressed mother turned away from her soup pot and made haste towards the living room.

"Zhanna! Go get your father!" She instructed, entering the space, and the small girl nodded rapidly as she dashed off to where Papa was doing laundry.

Mama approached her child. The infant was situated in the center of the carpet, tiny hands shaking and eyes also leaking. Mikhail couldn't form words yet. He could only helplessly wail as he became light-headed; he had lost all feeling in his pinkie finger.

Mama kneeled down near him, and Zhanna and Papa appeared a second later.

"What is going on! Is moy syn alright?" The older man cried.

Mama took the boy’s hands in her own and examined them closely. As Zhanna had announced, his left pinkie was a light shade a blue. At the base of Mikhail’s finger was a small red string, fastened so tightly that it constricted the blood flow. The Russian mother breathed a sigh of relief.

“There is nothing to fear, he has simply acquired his soulstring,” Mama explained, standing up and giving her family a reassuring nod.

Papa let out his own held breath at the fortunate news, but Zhanna simply stared at her parents in confusion.

“Mama, what is a soulstring?”

Her father reached out to grasp her mother’s hand, and the two of them smiled down at their daughter.

“Young Zhanna, a soulstring is leetle red string around your pinkie that connects you to your soulmate: the person you are destined to fall in love with. Some people’s thread appears immediately after birth, but for others, it can take several years before their special partner is chosen,” Mama revealed.

Papa added on, motioning to Mikhail in the process.

“The tighter the string is, the farther you are away from your soulmate. Seeing as your brother’s is strong enough to cut off circulation, there is good chance his soulmate does not live in this country.”

Zhanna glanced over at the thread on Mikhail’s finger and then back to her parents, crossing her arms.

“What happens to the string when you find your ‘soulmate?’“ Zhanna inquired.

Papa crouched down to ruffle his daughter’s hair while Mama picked up Mikhail and left the room to resume dinner.

“Once you meet fated love, the string falls off for good,” he explained.

The small girl beamed and ran a hand through her black hair.

“Chudesno! I can’t wait to get my soulstring!”

.

Mikhail had given up on his chances of ever finding his love or feeling his finger again.

Forty seven years had passed since the red string initially appeared on his pinkie, and not once had he ever felt it loosen up. He felt hopeless and silently wondered most days if the higher beings had made a mistake. Maybe he truly wasn’t attached to anyone and they had tied the thread just to spite him. Instead, the Russian decided to spend his time taking care of his family.

His father had long since passed and Yana and Bronislava had run off with their soulmates, but at least Mikhail could still provide for his mother and Zhanna.

An ad in the newspaper intrigued him one morning: a mercenary job in America offering thousands. The giant immediately took to calling the company, known as Mann Co., and asked for a position. Not only would he be able to make enough money to provide a comfortable life for Mama and his sister, he was delighted at the opportunity to wield guns against evil men with no consequence. Moving away from the Russian blizzards would also prove to be a positive change.

Within two months of his interview, the new Heavy Weapons Specialist was landing down in New Mexico. A few days were spent getting used to his new surroundings and signing paperwork, but eventually, the bus came by his hotel to take him to the Reliable Excavation Demolition base. 

While lounging in the tough leather seat, Heavy glanced at the surrounding seats and took notice of two other men sitting in the back. They both wore red and yellow bands on their arms, indicating they were some of Mikhail’s new teammates. Preferring not to spend a year with a group of people who disliked him, the Russian moved to the back of the bus to make a good first impression.

“Privet, I am Heavy Weapons Guy,” he began.

The two men looked up from their respective pieces of literature. The younger of the two lazily held and flipped a baseball magazine with one hand. The other man, taller and masked, was gripping a thick, plain-covered novel.

“Yo! I heard that our Heavy was supposed to be, well, you know, heavy, but damn you’re fa--OWW!” The Bostonian shouted, being met with a swift slap from the man sitting beside him.

“Please ignore Scout here. This rotten bunny doesn’t seem to have any manners.”

“Go to hell, you French bastard!” Scout shot back.

The insults continued and Heavy found himself silently slinking back into his seat. He had the strength to snap both of them like toothpicks if he so desired, but it was better not to end his career before it started.

Along the ride, the bus stopped several times to pick up the rest of the RED team. First came their pyromaniac and engineer, then the sniper and soldier. The demolition’s expert came by himself and the final stop was saved for a relatively young woman in a purple dress.

“Er, hello, everyone. I am Miss Pauling, your boss’s secretary. I’m scheduled to give you guys a tour around the base and to break down your jobs. Raise your hand if you have any questions and please, try to cooperate with one another,” the woman sighed.

Dell, the shortest man on the team with a yellow hardhat, raised his hand.

“Yes, Engineer?” Miss Pauling prompted.

“Isn’t there supposed to be one more fella here with us?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

Miss Pauling glanced toward the ceiling briefly as if she were really pondering the answer before turning to Engineer.

“Medic’s flight got delayed due to a massive snowstorm in Berlin. He should be here tomorrow at the earliest.”

It was impossible to notice the difference just by looking at it, but Mikhail nearly jerked forward when he felt it. Was he really going insane in his desperation? Had the string really just loosened? It most certainly had, he had felt the pressure ease up ever so slightly, but something in the back of his mind that told him it was just his imagination. The giant shook his head and groaned, barely able to pay attention to anything else Miss Pauling said.

His mind became a battlefield of longing versus absurdity. The thread had suffocated him during his prime. There was no possible explanation as to why his soulmate would be appearing now of all times. By forty seven, Mikhail was overweight, balding, had several scars from his time in Siberia, and was rated ugly by every woman he had attempted to romance. He couldn’t think of a single reason as to why his love would find him attractive now, and it deepened the eternal hole in his heart.

But Heavy held onto the faintest thread of hope. Maybe, just maybe, his suffering was about to come to an end. He would meet with the woman or man fate had binded him to, and he could finally be happy.

That night, Mikhail stared at his bedroom ceiling wide awake. Once their team’s doctor arrived in New Mexico, he would know for certain what destiny had in store for him.

.

Ludwig’s attempt at getting some shut eye on the flight failed. He couldn’t fall asleep even if he wanted to, for his pinkie was regaining its color. Somehow, this job as a battlefield medic that he had selected out of the blue was leading his soul to its missing half.

“It’s only a matter of time,” he murmured to himself, eyes more hopeful than the day he earned his doctorate’s degree.

.

Heavy awoke to the sound of loud yelling and banging on his door.

“Attention! You will be dressed and be stationed in the recreational room for role call in five minutes! That is an order!” Soldier commanded.

The softer, more compassionate voice of Miss Pauling sighed and spoke through the door.

“I’m sorry Heavy. I couldn’t say anything to convince him not to come with me to wake you guys up. Just settle down in the rec room in a few minutes, okay?”

Mikhail groaned, both from a lack of sleep and the sudden wake-up call. He complied, however, adorning his red, short sleeved shirt, his bulletproof vest, the bandolier for his minigun, pants, a belt, and a pair of sturdy combat boots.

When the heavy weapon’s specialist arrived in the rec room, it was absolute chaos. Spy had moved on from insulting Scout to bickering with Sniper, Demoman was already sloshing around a bottle of alcohol, Scout had stolen Engineer’s hardhat and was taunting him with it, and Soldier was shouting at a terrified looking Pyro.

“RED Team! Enough! It’s only the first day and you’re already at each other’s throats!” Miss Pauling stomped, placing her hands on her hips.

Some the the mercenaries, including Heavy, faced towards their higher-up while the others continued to do their own thing.

“Now look, your first battle will begin as soon as Medic arrives. I’m heading over to the airport to pick him up, so I advise you all check over your equipment,” her words more of a command than a suggestion.

Heavy’s eyes widened. He felt it again. 

He decided in that moment that polishing Sascha could wait.

Before Miss Pauling could leave the room, the large man scurried over to her and placed a massive hand on her shoulder to grab her attention.

“Yes, Heavy? Do you need something?” She asked plainly.

Mikhail nodded, his cheeks slightly flushed.

“Da, I want to come to airport with you, if you do not mind. I promise not to cause any problems.”

Pauling raised an eyebrow.

“Pozhaluysta, Miss,” the Russian begged, rubbing his forever blue pinkie with his other hand.

Miss Pauling opened her mouth to speak, but her words died on her lips when she noticed the tiny gesture. Instead, she gave him a short nod of understanding and proceeded out of the building.

.

In the car, Heavy’s leg bounced. His breathing was deep, and his whole body seemed to sweat with fear and anticipation. With every inch the vehicle moved, he could feel the burden on his finger lighten up. This wasn’t just some illusion or dream, it was really happening. After forty seven years of waiting, he was about to meet the love of his life.

Miss Pauling took note of his anxiousness, but didn’t say anything during the trip, giving Mikhail plenty of time to ask himself a million questions. What would his lover look like? Would they be a man or a woman? Would they have a heart of gold, or a rotten core that sought to make the Russian miserable at every turn?

Finally, the airport was in sight. Mikhail could hardly withstand the separation between himself and his soulmate. He wanted, needed to find his other half. He needed to shower them with all of the affection he had been waiting so long to administer. He needed to hear their voice and inhale their scent and feel their body against his own.

Miss Pauling nearly tripped over her high heels trying to catch up with the eager Russian. She had seem some truly heartwarming instances of soulmates meeting over the years, but never before in her life had she seen someone so desperate to unite with their fated love.

.

He had to hold onto a railing as he stepped out of the plane to avoid passing out. 

Ludwig had always experienced air-sickness while flying, but more than that, his hand was trembling. The string that had plagued his right hand for decades was loose, looser than it had ever been before. The doctor was overwhelmed; he wanted to throw up and cry tears of happiness at the same time. This was his moment, his soulmate was waiting for him.

As he stood near the loading gate, the thread loosened further, and it signaled that his soon-to-be lover was getting closer, closer.

Unable to withhold his excitement, Medic dashed across the airport. He got caught up in several crowds and passed right by the luggage pickup, but none of that mattered. He was following his heart’s call now; he let the slackening of his bindings guide his every step.

.

“Heavy! Please slow down!” Miss Pauling yelled, but the giant had blocked her out a long time ago.

There was only one voice he was willing to let in now. He pushed past a group of adults with the tiniest apology as he charged up the stairs. If he were anywhere else, he would have most likely been stared at and thrown out by security. In the chaos of the airport, everyone assumed he was simply running to reunite with a loved one.

An opening in the crowds.

Everything went silent.

The world slowed down.

Mikhail spotted him, his soulmate across the grand building. He was more handsome than he could have ever imagined, and although he didn’t know it yet, Ludwig also firmly believed that he had just encountered an angel.

The soulstring unraveled and landed on the ground.

All remaining distance between them was covered in a second. The force of the impact sent them to the ground, but neither of them cared. Arms wrapped around strong bodies, tears spilled out of adoring eyes, and lips whispered the pledges of love they had so desperately longed to hear.

At last, Mikhail and Ludwig were home.

[vagrantblvrd]

Fairytale AU where Din is a knight off to slay dragons and whatnot and is normally not terrible at it?

Like, okay, there was that one time where he got swallowed by one, but he killed it in the end and saved the day and such, And really, you’d think Cobb would be grateful enough for that he wouldn’t spread the thing where Din got eaten around, but can’t have everything or whatever.

But then he stumbles over an egg and doesn’t know what it is? So he keeps it with him and when it hatches it’s this tiny green gremlin kid-thing, right?

Adorable as hell and his heart grows three sizes in one day or something and anyway.

He may or may not realize dragons come in all sizes and shapes and just thinks whatever he found is just.

Weird.

Which, it is, just.

You know.

More weird.

So he journey’s about with his tiny green gremlin kid-thing getting in all kinds of trouble. (The thing where this guy names Cobb asked him for help with a dragon problem his village had and then Din gettting eaten alive, and anyway.)

Gideon is a noble somewhere who wants Din’s little green gremlin kid and succeeds in kidnapping him?

Din rallying his allies to go rescue his kid, and then just when all seems lost, a dragon comes in and saves the day.

Big black-scaled bastard with blue, blue eyes and green flames - like, what even the hell is that??? - and anyway.

Din finally realizing/admitting that oh, hey, his kid’s a baby dragon and this big black-scaled bastard came to rescue it, and for some reason hasn’t killed Din or his allies?

And the dragon is like. Humans, you know? Kind of slow.

Anyway.

The dragon takes Din’s kid away to teach him how to dragon properly and Din is all :(((((((((( even though he knows it’s for the best.

He wanders for a while after that, at loose ends and the whatnot. Takes jobs here and there when he needs money and is very sad panda until one day this guy sits next to him in a tavern somewhere.

Lean build, blonde hair and blue, blue eyes and this little smile/smirk on his face.

Laughing about something, and he buys Din a drink seeing as how Din’s is almost gone and then just. Kind of talks at Din about nothing in particular for a while.

Din ignoring him for the most part, which is whatever, but then the guy starts in on dragons.

Mentions this old cantankerous one that went feral or whatever, got chased to this desert somewhere and no one knew it as there for the longest time.

Some story about a knight - knight, mercenary, whatever - that took a job to kill it, and just.

Must have been an idiot, because that dragon went feral, something wrong with it even other dragons couldn’t fix. Usually have to put it down themselves to keep it from hurting anyone, but they couldn’t find it, him, and anyway.

The knight/mercenary took care of it for them. And there was a consensus among them that he ought to be rewarded for it, thanked at the very least, but then no one could find him either.

You’d think it’d be easier, humans loving their stories and all, this knight/mercenary that got eaten and then killed the dragon from the inside and anyway, you’d think he’d be easier to find.

Din is like, wait, that story sounds weirdly familiar???

And when he looks at the guy, the guy’s looking back at him. Has this weirdly fond smile on his face, and also this kid that just wandered in?

Tiny. Adorable. Troublemaker written all over him the way the kid’s looking around, and then he goes so, so still when he spots Din.

Comes running over fumbling with something in his pocket and Din gives the guy a look because what??? But the kid finally gets whatever he was looking for out of his pocket, shoves it in Din’s face and Din is like ?????

The kid makes this noise, frustration, and Din looks at what he’s trying to show him and then it’s Din’s turn to go so, so still.

Because it’s the little metal ball Din’s weird little kid loved to play with, Refused to let out of his sight and Din looks at the guy - getting angry, worried, afriad - adn the guy is like.

“You’re a hard man to find, you know,” with this smile on his face.

And anyway.

Dragon magic and shapeshifting and Luke is kind of laughing at Din who cannot get over the fact that that’s his kid right there. The one he never thought he’d see again, huge smile on his little face and babbling at him - about what, Din’s not sure but probably involves frogs and the eating of, and anyway.

Yes.

But like, Din going with these dragons to their little dragon lair wherever that turns out to be an entire mountain because of course it is, and this whole Thing where Din realizes there’s a whole dragon society and such. They mostly stick to their own kind these days what with people looking to specialize in dragon slaying and anyway, anyway.

Possible romancing, idk, mainly the dragons stealing this one particular knight/mercenary for their hoard and happily ever afters?

Plus, like.

Din going back to the Armorer with all these dragon scales and fangs and claws to use to make armor and weapons and such.

Din’s dragons shed scales all the time, and Grogu goes through several sets of teeth like you wouldn’t believe. Luke does too, but it’s at a slower rate.

Luke loses a claw or two when particularly persistent knights come looking for a this big black-scaled bastard of a dragon they heard about. Grogu has little accidents because curious baby dragon and Luke assures him it doesn’t hurt too much, but it happens and their claws grow back faster than Din would think, and anyway.

If Din’s dragons don’t give him the scales and whatnot to take away it would just clutter the place up, and humans seem to value the stuff, don’t they?

That’s more Luke being a little shit to Din because he knows damn well people used to/still do in some cases hunt dragons for the same, and anyway.

Yes.

Also, though.

Din with a meet the family type event?

Meets Luke’s twin, and his father who is an even bigger black-scaled bastard with all these scars and whatnot. (Some are like the ones Luke has.)

Din finding out there was a whole Thing some years back where a dragon elder wanted to go to war with humans and such and Luke and his father along with a few others got caught up in the whole mess - hence the matching scars - and anyway.

They’re kind of a big deal in dragon society.

Also he meets Luke’s mom who is beautiful and far more terrifying than her husband and son together and also human???

(Dragon magic, Luke tells him with a shrug when Din looks at Luke and his father and Leia because how???? And anyway. Din decides he’s not going to think about it ever again.)

...like, idk, man, just ALL the dragons and Din being ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  about it when his friends and allies find out because he still doesn’t know how it happened and he kind of married one of them???

¯\_(ツ)_/¯