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robin-evry · 1 month ago

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If possible, maybe you could do Yuu as demigod? Like, they are child of the God and human, (Maybe Hecate's child for example?)

Sure thing, sorry for the wait. ask and you shall receive

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐔𝐔 𝐈𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐈 𝐆𝐎𝐃 ( 𝐇𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄 ) 🔮

A demigod is a divine mythological figure, a god who is either part human, or a minor god. In ancient Greece, dead heroes were sometimes thought of as demigods. Greek and Roman mythology have their share of demigods, and so do many other ancient religions and traditions.

( English not my first language )

Dividers made by @enchanthings

Demi-God!yuu is calm and composed, with an air of mystery. They often find themselves drawn to moments of transition—like dusk or crossroads—and have a deep understanding of both the light and dark sides of magic. Unlike others who may see magic as a tool, they views it as part of their essence. They can be fiercely protective of their friends, especially Grim, acting as a wise guide who helps others find their path.

Demi-God Yuu has a nightly ritual where they sit under the moon, either meditating or practicing their magic. Their connection to the night is sacred, and they feel most at peace under the moon’s glow. The other students find this ritual calming, and occasionally, someone will join them—Grim likes to nap nearby while Yuu performs these rituals, as well malleus would join them in meditation.

Their magic is stronger at night, even tho they are still powerful during the day. But during the night,the moon will empower their magical abilities greatly.

They're calm and wise demeanor contrasts with Grim’s fiery impulsiveness. They often acts as a voice of reason, teaching Grim the finer points of magic. They treat Grim with patience, understanding his ambitions and sometimes mischief, while also nudging him toward better decisions.

Unlike most of the students at NRC, Yuu is completely unfazed by the school’s many ghosts. In fact, they can often be found having casual conversations with them, asking for advice or getting information about past events. This has earned them a reputation as somewhat eerie but also cool in the eyes of their peers.

They have an instinctual ability to sense when someone is at a "crossroad" in their life, whether emotionally, magically, or otherwise. When this happens, they’ll subtly offer advice or guide that person toward a decision. They never force their help, allowing the person to choose their own path, but many students have come to rely on Yuu's wisdom during tough moments.

They have created a magical collar for Grim that not only enhances his fire magic but also has protective charms embedded into it. Though Grim likes to complain about it, secretly he feels a sense of security knowing that they are always watching out for him.

On rare occasions, they will disappear from the school grounds during the dead of night to help lost spirits find peace. The students have noticed their absence during these times, but they never explains where they go, adding to their air of mystery.

They have a raven familiar that flies around the campus, often perching on their shoulder. The raven is an extension of their magic and can deliver messages or gather information. Students say that if Yuu’s raven lands near you, it means you're at a pivotal point in your life. The raven was created by their magic and can control them at will.

Thanks to their lineage, they have a innate gift for potion-making, particularly those tied to transformation, protection, or revealing hidden truths. They sometimes make small charms and potions for their friends, often gifting them at just the right moment when they need it most.

They wear several pieces of jewelry—rings, bracelets, and a necklace—that hold minor curses or wards. For example, one ring protects them from harm, while another can trap weak spirits trying to cause trouble. The other students often joke that their accessories are more powerful than any full spellbook.

Have a love of magic, they collect spells as well as learn ancient magic. No matter how useless the spell is they will collect it in their personal spell book. Their spell book is said to hold powerful ancient magic as well modern magic spells, it said that the book will never run out of pages due to demi-hecate!yuu magic. Many students have tried to steal it but every time they want to open the book it wouldn't budge due to a spell that Demi-God!yuu not allowing anyone who's not them to open the book without permission. Occasionally, the book will turn a page on its own, guiding Yuu toward the right spell or piece of information for their current predicament. But sometimes during crisis moments that don't give them enough time for the book to open themselves, they just gonna use the book as a weapon smacking people by it.

They have access to a library of forgotten, ancient spells passed down from Hecate herself. These spells are not in any modern magical texts, and they can be incredibly powerful, though also dangerous. They are careful with which spells they use, knowing that some have unpredictable effects. They only cast these ancient spells when absolutely necessary, often as a last resort.

They also tend to go out at night, to explore ancient ruins for magical objects or spells. Malleus and grim would also tend to come with them just out of curiosity or not just an excuse to hang out with them.

Being the child of Hecate, demi god!yuu would have connections to magic more than anyone, they are able to use dark and light magic as well as a master at ancient magic. but their most skilled is at enchantment, moonlight magic, necromancy and gateway magic.

Using moonlight magic they can manipulate moonlight, using it to illuminate hidden paths, conceal themselves in shadows, or create protective barriers.

As Hecate is a goddess of crossroads, Yuu can create temporary portals to other locations, allowing for quick escapes or strategic advantages in battle.

They excels in charm magic, creating wards, talismans, and spells to protect or enhance allies. They also have the ability to communicate with spirits, guiding lost souls or even summoning harmless ghostly allies to aid them.

They thrive in the quiet of the night, and because of this, their study sessions often take place during late hours. Some students, especially night owls like Azul or Idia, have stumbled upon them engrossed in tomes of ancient spells or researching forgotten magical rituals by candlelight. Their dorm room always has a faint glow, even when the lights are off, due to enchanted lanterns and runes on the walls.

As the daughter of Hecate, who was often associated with cats, they have a natural affinity with felines. Cats around NRC seem to adore them, often following them around or curling up near them during late-night study sessions. Grim pretends to be annoyed by this, but secretly enjoys having their attention split between him and the other cats. Everytime during Mr. Trein lessons Lucius would come to their lap and just take a nap there and Demi-God!yuu would pet them while reading, nothing will let that cat come off of them.

They have a habit of preparing small midnight feasts for themselves, Grim and other of their friends, especially during full moons. They use simple magic to whip up snacks and teas, often involving ingredients tied to the moon or night. Sometimes, when their friends are going through tough times, they’ll invite them to these quiet moonlit gatherings, providing comfort and support through food and conversation.

Deep in the forests surrounding NRC, they have a small, hidden altar dedicated to Hecate. They visit this altar during significant moments—crossroads in their own life or when they need guidance. The altar is a sacred space where Yuu leaves offerings of moonflowers, candles, and herbs, and it’s one of the few places where they feel truly connected to their divine parent.

Vil views them with a mixture of curiosity and respect. Their composed, mysterious nature aligns well with Vil’s sense of elegance and control. He appreciates how they never loses their composure, and their unique appearance under moonlight fascinates him. However, Vil occasionally disapproves of their more cryptic side, preferring directness and clarity in those he trusts.

I would feel like idia and Demi-God!yuu would get along. They usually hang out to play games and basically discuss what they are interested in. Idia talks about his games and idol while they talk about magic and some ancient tunes they come across, and the other party would listen and give opinions.

Because of their mysterious powers, calm demeanor, and connection to ancient magic, they’ve earned a reputation around NRC as being somewhat of an enigma. While they are friendly and approachable, they often speak in cryptic phrases, making it hard for others to understand their true intentions. Most students view them with a mix of awe and wariness, but those who are close to they know that they have a kind and protective heart beneath the mystery.

#not canon #twisted wonderland #twst headcanons #twst scenario #disney twst #twisted wonderland yuu au #twst mc #twst wonderland #twst x reader #twst yuu au #demi-god!yuu

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pneutube · 1 year ago

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emmcarstairs · 7 months ago

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From Gloves to Fingers: The Ghoul and Lucy MacLean

Despite their mostly practical usage nowadays, gloves used to be a powerful tool in society. There were rules about how and when a person should wear them, and what messages they relayed to others. Gloves were more than a fashion accessory; they had symbolic functions. Across various sources, such as visual media, art, and literature, gloves are associated with notions about power, protection, purity, as well as sexuality.

In the following analysis, I will examine the Ghoul’s gloves in Fallout (2024) as a visual key to understanding his character, motivations, and relationship with Lucy.

What if I told you that the first thing we see about the Ghoul, his introduction to us, is his gloved hand?

His character is shrouded in mystery, and his gloves facilitate this impression. When a character hides their hands, we assume they have secret or evil intentions. That’s why gloves have come to be associated with villains. And at first glance at this character, this assumption would not be far from the truth. But in the Ghoul’s case, it’s more complicated than that. Let’s roll back to the beginning!

As soon as we learn that the Ghoul used to be the famous Hollywood actor Cooper Howard, and the face of Vault-Tec, we start to make the connections. For instance, we know he refuses to do the thumbs-up for the photo during the birthday party. The thumbs-up, his thumbs-up in particular, is a symbol for Vault-Tec, a company he has grown to despise. So it isn’t surprising that he would try to conceal his relation to the company, figuratively and physically.

Two hundred years later, we learn about the nature of ghouls. Radiation has ravaged their skin and appearance. In this case, the gloves might serve the cosmetic purpose of hiding most of his scarred body.

However, it all comes down to the image he presents to the world around him. His gloves, and his hat, are accessories for the costume he’s chosen to wear. He doesn’t go around by the name of Cooper Howard anymore; he has built himself a new identity, using props just like an actor would. He is recognizable by these attributes and they are a makeshift armor for the real man underneath it. I’d even argue that his gloves act as a physical and psychological shield between him and the atrocities he’d committed to survive.

Now that we’ve discussed the symbolism of him wearing gloves, it’s time to ask the important question. Do we see the Ghoul’s ungloved hands? We do. Two times. And both of them are connected to Lucy: one in her presence, one in the presence of her finger.

The first time we see the Ghoul’s ungloved hands is after the significant scene of him mercy killing Roger and feeding on him in front of Lucy. The fact that Lucy witnessed him eat, not just any food but human flesh, is extremely important. In that scene, he reveals his animalistic nature. It’s an intimate scene because he begins her initiation into the Wasteland by offering her his knife to cut off some pieces herself. In a way, he shares his meal with her. Her repulsion is clear but she relents. It’s important to keep this scene in mind.

Cut to the scene with him with no gloves. At this point, he’s shown her a part of himself. In the past, the removal of gloves was a sign of closeness, and even inferiority. He has shed his skin, literally in the form of his gloves. He has allowed himself to be vulnerable in her presence. He’s naked in a way we haven’t seen before. It’s no wonder what happens next has so many sexual undertones.

To put it plainly, in this scene we see the Ghoul relishing the taste of irradiated water while Lucy is right next to him… thirsty. It’s an interesting juxtaposition to a previous scene when Lucy politely asked for water but he denied her (with his gloves on, retaining a metaphorical barrier, an air of superiority). She then saw the pool of water but resisted drinking from it while he taunted her. Now, it seems different. He watches her with a silent challenge in his eyes, tempting. She isn’t asking him anything this time. All she sees is the water, the means to quench her thirst, and… his ungloved hand.

Personally, I find the choice to include his hand here very interesting. What happens next, even more so; Lucy succumbs to her thirst. In contrast to her hesitation and revulsion with slicing pieces off Roger for food, she eagerly drinks the irradiated water the Ghoul drank moments ago. It’s a desperate physical need, and it’s out of her own volition. If you don’t see anything sexual about this frame, I don’t know what to tell you:

It’s worth mentioning the way the Ghoul stoops to her level here which enables the iconic “Oh, I’m you, sweetie.” She’s almost his equal here, as they stare after she’s drunk the water, their hands ungloved.

Lucy, being ever the opportunist, sees his weakness and tries to run away. Her attempt is short-lived because he catches her in his lasso. And all the build-up ends in one of the most memorable scenes in the show; and for a good reason!

In their struggle, Lucy takes advantage of his exposed hand, his weakness, and bites his finger off. It’s almost like she’s turned into him: an animal tearing flesh. The gloves would have protected him against harm but he’s taken them off, he has allowed himself to be vulnerable around her. Perhaps, he underestimated her.

In a violent imitation of a lover's touch, he cuts her finger off. This is the first time they touch hands. In the past, a woman had to be wary of a man’s ungloved hand because it signified danger and the loss of her chastity.

In Lucy's case, chastity refers to her naivety about navigating the world around her. The Ghoul opened her eyes about the surrounding world, but she dared to go one step further and stole something of his, a part of him. For two centuries, he's managed to keep his ten fingers intact, a sign of his competence, and it's none other than Lucy who overpowers him this way. So he feels obliged to take a part of her to replace his missing one. It's very much an exchange of rings/vows type of situation. But I digress.

After the finger exchange and the visual replacement of Lucy's finger, which for a second looked to me like adding a band/ring, we see the most significant scene for her character yet. She survives alone in the Super Duper Mart and despite it all, retains her principles, by saving his life. She emerges the victor, both in terms of survival and morals. But how does the exchange affect him?

In a rare scene of self-reflection, the Ghoul watches his old human self on film. The gloves are back on and he mimics pulling the trigger, nothing unusual.

But as we watch him rub the leather of his missing finger, we know that something has shifted. Beneath the seemingly intact glove, there is a missing piece. Try as he might to conceal it, and even if it's unnoticeable to others, he’s aware of its absence. Despite the external armor, the damage is internal.

Which brings us to the second scene with his ungloved hands: the scene of him sewing Lucy’s finger on his hand.

The Ghoul is held responsible for the thrashing of the Super Duper Mart. While they question him, he asks for the needle and thread (red thread of fate, anybody?) in his bag. As he unrolls the piece of cloth, we see Lucy’s finger.

Here I want to make an important note: In the past, gloves were considered an extension of the wearer’s body; another symbolic body part. In the classic novel Little Women, Meg loses one of her gloves and it turns out that the man who is interested in her romantically – Mr. Brooke – has hidden it in his pocket. Later, characters would consider this act a declaration of his intentions toward her. The Ghoul has neatly packed away Lucy’s finger in his bag. The subtext is definitely there.

In the first scene when he was ungloved, it was in Lucy’s active presence. In this scene, she’s not here but her presence is felt, and not only because it’s her finger he’s sewing. While he is attaching the finger, he takes the blame for what she did in the Super Duper Mart. He throws away the act for a moment, his hands are ungloved and unprotected, as he surrenders himself in her name. The intimacy of the mere image of him sewing a part of Lucy’s body on his own, literally tying the knot, deserves its own analysis.

You could say it fits him like a glove. ;)

This is the last scene we see him without gloves in S1. But every time we see his gloved hand afterward, we are reminded that he carries Lucy’s finger. It’s a symbol of what Lucy reminded him of: his lost dignity. It’s his trigger finger, a moral compass. It led to him shooting her dad when she herself wavered, but also letting him go alive. And it’s her replaced necrotic finger which pulls the trigger when she mercy kills her mother, a lesson she learned from him. Their fates have intertwined and their fingers are the perfect representation of that.

With the focus on hands and fingers we saw in S1, I expect this symbolic storytelling to continue and expand in S2.

#vaultghoul #ghoulcy #the ghoul #cooper howard #lucy maclean #fallout #fallout tv #fallout meta

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wing-ed-thing · 5 months ago

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Of Frogs and Crowns (Ichiji Vinsmoke x Reader) Part II

Synopsis: You couldn't say that being engaged to a man as emotionless and serious as Ichiji didn't bother you. But after a night of sneaking out, you think you've found a quirk to humanize him a bit, and Ichiji finds that he might be in over his head. Two-Shot.

Word Count: 3.8k

Part I Part II

Tags/Warnings: No Reader Pronouns, Language, Arranged Marriage, Royal!Reader, Minor Original Characters, Dancing

Notes: I am very glad this is finished. I accidentally messed this chapter format up and it wasn't showing up anywhere so hopefully everything is okay this time around!

For as quickly as Ichiji seemed to have walked to the garden, he slowed down significantly to follow you into town and did so silently. You took a path that stood out starkly among the grasses. The narrow footpath had been beaten into the ground and looked to have been done so by one person. Even the steeper parts of the terrain appeared smooth and trampled down compared to the surrounding earth.

Ichiji had no issue with the walk, trailing behind you at a short distance. He always kept close and never once offered to help you with your bag or across physical obstacles, but he kept himself uncomfortably present. Although, his trailing would completely stop once you entered the gates.

You were mobbed almost instantly by children.

Cheers and screams filled the air, far too shrill for Ichiji’s comfort. Ichiji was almost taken aback by how they scrambled out of the woodwork, physically recoiling slightly as tiny, sandaled feet scampered through the dirt streets.

He scowled at the small town's appearance, glancing flippantly at the wooden buildings and quaint fixtures. Everything was far too colorful for his liking, painted in yellows and other pastels. The brightly pigmented paint did nothing for the water stains and weathering of the buildings, especially with ugly things like worn clotheslines and chipped orange shudders daring to be within Ichiji’s eyesight. Draping shrubbery lined balconies, but even the greenery he assumed was meant to distract from the dingy houses and rusting farm tools appeared plain and poor.

The people reflected their home, sporting colorful overalls and patterned button-up shirts stained with dirt and clearly worn by time. The children wore oversized shirts, sporting rough edges where the large sleeves were torn off. Traditional garments were mixed into outfits, with each citizen wearing at least a small accessory reflective of the kingdom. And yet, for their sorry state, they greeted you warmly.

The children swarmed around you, and to Ichiji’s surprise and disgust, you even picked one up in your arms, making your way deeper into town as you chatted with the townsfolk. Ichiji trailed at a growing distance behind you, and even though he stood at least a head taller than almost everyone, all eyes were on you.

Each and every citizen called you by your royal title, including the old man mayor who hobbled up to you. You had since placed the child in your arms down, and the mayor took the opportunity to clasp both of your hands in his.

“You don’t have to be so formal,” you sighed, your light tone almost holding a reprimand.

“To us—” The old man’s brows rose to reveal shiny, sad eyes underneath. —“You’ll always be royalty in title, spirit, and more.” You sighed again, gazing fondly at him with a small smile.

“How can I argue with that?” you conceded with a playful dip of your head.

“Oh well, you can’t!” The mayor let out a boisterous laugh. He released your hands with a firm pat. “What are you doing here, my dear? Shouldn’t you be at the castle celebrating your engagement?” You couldn’t help but snicker at the way his thick, gray eyebrows knitted together in concern. You always considered how much he looked like an old sheepdog. His busy beard seemed to bounce as he spoke, and the way he glanced down at your left hand didn’t escape you. “Up to no good are you?”

You gave his hands a light squeeze, leaning forward with a tilt of your head.

“Aren’t I always up to no good?” Your laugh was light like a bell, and the sound shot right through Ichiji’s chest. The mayor’s eyes went wide as he howled with laughter, his mouth forming a round shape as he cackled. Ichiji couldn’t understand what was so funny.

He felt a tug on his slacks and had to physically restrain himself from swatting the tiny hand away.

“Hey, mister—” Ichiji scowled downward to find himself surrounded by about five small children. He shoved his fingers in his pockets with a roll of his eyes, glancing off to the side. But Ichiji’s ignorance of them didn’t make him invisible. —“Your hair’s kinda funny.” The child giggled before running off.

“Yeah,” another chimed. “It kinda looks like a duck butt!”

The mayor began to move, ushering you to a familiar building with a patio and two saloon-style doors. Upbeat music and drums resounded from the other side, and light from the modest bulbs cast a golden glow onto the street. He looked around your shoulder. His thick brows crinkled again before he returned his gaze to you with a smile and a friendly nod.

“Ah, yes, and your friend is welcome as well.”

You glanced behind you, having to physically turn due to your large backpack. Most of the children had already gone inside, but the few that remained had surrounded Ichiji, who looked to be growing more annoyed by the second. Despite his cold and tense demeanor, his lips were moving, and you were surprised he was still there in the first place.

You turned back to the mayor with a shrug.

“He’ll find his way inside.”

***

Ichiji did find his way inside the dance hall before long, trailing a small posse of children behind him. To Ichiji’s relief, they seemed to find other things to occupy their attention.

The hall was large, open, and made almost entirely out of wood. A few tables lined both sides of the room, leaving the center for people to dance. And they did dance; couples, children, and the elderly alike mingled together under the sizable chandelier above, moving in a traditional dance to the music that filled the air.

If people weren’t dancing, they were eating or spectating from the wooden balconies above. Ichiji had to climb a flight of wooden stairs before he found you.

You were set up at a round table on the right side of the U-shaped balcony. Your backpack was completely unfolded and laid flat, revealing a sizable pile of hand-wrapped meals. You handed food to adults and children alike, laughing and chatting amongst your people as they filtered back and forth. The balcony wasn’t very large, especially for the number of people coming to get food, although the space was about twice as ample as the section for tables down below. Despite the crowd of people that surrounded you, your face remained perfectly framed in Ichiji’s gaze.

“And Mary is doing better?” Ichiji somehow heard you over the noise. He began to make his way toward you, bumping into townspeople as he tried to maneuver around the bustling throng you had amassed. He never took his eyes off you, even as the current of people moving opposite him grew.

“Oh yes, she even stood for a bit yesterday.”

Ichiji bumped into another woman, barely muttering a curt apology under his breath.

“That’s wonderful!” Your voice was never drowned out, no matter how loud the music was.

A man bumped Ichiji’s shoulder, sending him a step back in the face of the growing current of people retreating with their meals. Someone stepped on Ichiji’s foot.

“All thanks to that new medicine.”

“Please take extra home to her and tell her I say—”

Ichiji was finally pushed back by the throng of people. Townsfolk came up to greet you, take their dinner, and find a table to sit at if they weren’t taking their food home to a bedridden loved one.

So many people vied for your attention. Ichiji wondered how you balanced it all. He couldn’t fathom how you remembered so many asinine details about others or how you weren’t possibly overwhelmed at the mere amount of voices speaking to you at once. And most of all, he was most astonished at the glow that radiated from your smile.

You hadn’t looked at him like that once.

Not that it mattered.

But after much effort, Ichiji resigned himself to a still spot at the corner where the balcony began to branch off. His forearms crossed over the railing, and Ichiji let his head hang for a moment. The current of people passed around him, and the positioning of the railing allowed him to have a bit of a reprieve, but Ichiji could still see you where you stood on the right-hand side of the balcony despite the bottlenecked footway.

He could see how the people danced on the floor below, creating a sea of different fabrics and bouncing heads of hair. Like the people he saw outside, many wore a mix of farming attire, but some sported complete outfits of brightly colored traditional garb. The band sat at the far end of the hall, and a chorus of foreign instruments blared. People ate their meals all around the hall— it looked to be some sort of vegetable and rice dish.

Ichiji’s gaze finally settled back on you.

“You’ve found yourself quite the gem, deeply loved by every soul here.” A voice sounded just barely over the noise. Ichiji hadn’t realized it was addressing him. He swiveled his head, and only when he looked down did he see the old mayor standing beside him. The mayor barely stood taller than the railing. “It's quite a commitment, aligning yourself with such heartfelt dedication, don't you think?”

Ichiji frowned, staring down at the old man’s bald spot. His gaze didn’t linger. Ichiji jerked his neck to move a few strands of hair out of his eyes. His attention settled somewhere random in the room.

“You don’t make much sense, old man,” he grumbled. The mayor laughed.

“Oh-ho-ho-ho! I never do!” he chuckled, holding his belly in a jolly manner. His other hand slapped onto Ichiji’s forearm, much to Ichiji’s dismay. And just when Ichiji thought he might punch him, the mayor retracted his touch. “You know—” The old man tilted his head to the side knowingly. Ichiji still didn’t look at him. “Serving the people requires more than just a noble birth—it takes a noble heart.” The hand that slapped onto Ichiji’s arm moved to his chest, poking him with emphasis.

“Your gem comes here, bringing extra meals from the castle a few times every week, you know.” The mayor placed his hands staunchly on his hips. Ichiji chose to ignore his wording. You were hardly his yet. “All this food when things are so scarce.”

“I didn’t know,” he said plainly. The old man nodded a few times in emphasis.

“Bless the king, of course! But between you and me—” The mayor lifted himself on his toes, and Ichiji found himself tilting down to lend his ear. —“The people will rejoice in the streets when the new reign begins. They know that it is the individual that cares for them.”

Ichiji rose to his full height, pondering silently to himself. He didn’t care much for sentiment, how much you were adored, and he most certainly didn’t care for having to stand in the middle of the noisy throng of peasants, for that matter. But Ichiji had to admit that perhaps he misjudged you.

In fact, he hadn’t judged you at all, at least not much more than your appearance and some technical data that had little to do with you personally. The number of times and the duration that he stared at your portrait was information that would have to be tortured out of him. And you would never know that it was Ichiji who had approached his father with the idea of an arrangement (and had even put in a great effort to convince him).

And despite your hard times, your kingdom did more than well for itself regarding trade. In fact, your nation basically dominated the grain trade, mined rare region-specific metals on the side, and had shot to the top of citizen happiness polls for the last handful of years despite your foreign conflicts. He had heard rumors of your competence but had assumed that your involvement was on the bureaucratic side, as the involvement of royal families tended to be.

He deemed your personality otherwise unimportant. You were beautiful; your father was well-connected; you opened up new avenues for Germa, and your country did well for itself. Ichiji couldn’t have cared less about settling a raid issue when he knew that, on top of everything else, he wanted you the moment he saw your photo.

(And although he may claim that he could do without the sharp tongue, Ichiji couldn’t deny that he was more than attracted to your fire. A bit of feistiness kept things interesting, after all.)

He hadn’t signed up for any of this.

“I wonder…” Ichiji hadn’t realized that the old man had been staring at him intently as he thought. The mayor tutted to himself, clicking his tongue as he faced forward, hands resting behind his back. “I wonder if your kingdom thinks similarly or if you might find yourself challenged in a new way, my boy.”

By the time Ichiji snapped back to reality, the music had changed, and you were already halfway down the stairs. He whipped around in surprise, not one to miss things passing him by in his surroundings. And without thinking, he followed you, leaving the mayor laughing where he stood by the balcony.

The mayor turned, watching the back of Ichiji’s head disappear down the wooden stairs.

“Oh-ho-ho-ho! Something tells me that boy has no idea how to dance!”

His statement wasn’t exactly true, but it wasn’t false. Ichiji had been taught how to waltz for formal international events for the sheer purpose of wooing other royals and political figures. If it wasn’t a waltz, then it was a similar, simple dance. The Vinsmokes never had many dance lessons and were taught little more than what looked reasonable for young royals of their stature. The princes had also been taught a traditional North Blue dance commonly performed by men for the sake of preserving culture, but those movements were nothing like what you were doing.

By the time Ichiji reached the bottom level, he had officially lost you again. He scanned the mass of heads congregated together on the ground floor before he finally spotted you. You were on the dancefloor this time with your arm locked around some other man’s as you danced around each other. Your opposite hands waved in the air like the elegant feathers of a bird. But Ichiji wasn’t in the mood to admire your traditional dance.

His scowl set in deeper than usual as he decided that it was time to leave.

For no particular reason.

Ichiji marched straight into the crowd of dancing people, unabashedly pushing his way to the center. Everyone jumped to the side in time with the beat, arms flowing in passionate yet fluid motions in sync with the music. The man stood behind you with his right hand behind his back and his left hand twirling in the air while you danced in front of him, your arm movements complementing those of your hips. Another crack of heels thumped with a hearty boom of the drums, followed by a combined shout.

Ichiji shoved his way past one last couple before he reached you, but the harsh demands to leave died on his tongue as you swiftly took him by the hands, pulling him forward as everyone seemed to switch dance partners.

You fell right into him. Your right palms met each other; then, you intertwined your left-hand fingers as you twirled to wrap Ichiji’s arms around you. Your hips moved while your back brushed his chest. Your heel slammed against the ground in unison with everyone else, followed by a resounding shout.

You avoided eye contact with Ichiji beyond coy glances. You were still angry with him after all, and you wanted to dance, which seemed to keep him shut up enough, whether it be by the shock or the sheer overload of your crowded environment. He insisted on coming along, so he’d stay for as long as you desired.

Neither of you said anything as you whisked him around the dancefloor, and you preferred it that way. Ichiji was hilariously stiff, almost fighting you as you looped your arm through his. But Ichiji ultimately allowed you to rotate him around before switching linked arms.

“Are you always this tense?” you teased, and a deep shade of red rushed to Ichiji’s cheeks, much to his dismay. You couldn’t really tell under the lighting but you were more than gleeful to add to his discomfort.

The music drummed on in the background, growing faster with the sounds of heels slamming against the ground and the snapping of fabric.

You resumed a position in front of him; your palm extended out to the left. Your right foot pivoted, moving your knee in and out in tandem with your arm. Energy coursed through your movements as you pushed your right palm to meet the back of your left hand with a rhythmic jerk of your hip. You couldn’t help the snicker that rattled your chest. You glanced at Ichiji from over your shoulder, taking a bit too much pleasure in how out of place he appeared.

Ichiji looked around at some other dancers in the room, and like the man from before, many men held a hand behind their backs while twirling the other in the air as their partners danced more intricately in front of them. And it didn’t escape Ichiji’s notice how all attention was on the two of you.

The collective gaze of the people wasn’t romantic but watchful. The children above held the bars of the balcony railing and stared through the gaps. Men with mustaches leaned against the posts, looking on at how Ichiji stood stiffly on the dance floor. Ichiji even found himself catching the eyes of those dancing around you. Everyone watched the two of you, waiting. Waiting for his next move.

Of course, they knew who he was and why he was there, but no one said a word.

Ichiji met your eye. He sighed deeply with a gesture of his brows. You rolled your eyes, giving him an encouraging nod. Ichiji wondered if you had lured him there on purpose if all of this was your test or theirs.

He glanced one more time around, locking stares with multiple pairs of eyes that didn’t deviate from his. Ichiji wondered if it was worth the hassle, stuck between the prospect of embarrassing himself further or admitting that he was in over his head. His pride wouldn’t allow either.

His gaze locked onto yours, holding little expression other than the slight dip of his lip and a small heave to his chest that resembled a sigh.

Ichiji’s hand raised in the air, swaying awkwardly as he tried to mimic the dancers around him. As soon as he did, the townsfolk let out a boisterous shout in time with the music, and the cheering continued as the music picked up. Ichiji jerked forward as a volley of hands slapped his back. Tight, joyful grips sat firmly on his broad shoulders, almost waving him back and forth. The townspeople didn’t crowd you, nor did they make too much of a show in the face of Ichiji’s reluctant gesture, but they grew louder, their gestures of support coming as they passed you before disappearing into the crowd.

Ichiji wasn’t convinced, nor could he be described as dedicated, but he was interested and willing to go along for the ride. You knew as much as did the town, and the more you danced together, the more you were convinced that perhaps your union had the slightest glimmer of hope.

Ichiji’s expression didn’t change much, but you didn’t think you needed to know him for long to see the apparent shock on his face in the form of his barely widened eyes. The dance floor moved in unison, and despite Ichiji’s inability to keep on rhythm, he didn’t resist you with too much force as you dragged him around once again. Your head dipped as you laughed, the noise coming out silently as your chest shook.

It was all so ridiculous. He was so ridiculous, yet you wrapped your arm around Ichiji’s neck and grasped his hand.

Now, this was a stance he was familiar with.

You could hardly cover your expression of surprise as Ichiji suddenly took the lead, and while his movements were stiff and off-rhythm at best, he moved you across the floor with fire. He dropped onto one knee, his back leg hitting the ground hard enough to shake the floor. Ichiji let out a masculine, almost startling shout with the movement, and before you knew it, his arm wrapped around your lower back as he flipped you backward in the air over his knee.

You landed on your feet to roaring applause. Your wide eyes found Ichiji’s, and he only gave you a slight shrug before rising to his feet to retake the lead. The upward twitch to his lips didn’t escape you.

His motions were harsh, aggressive, and strong compared to yours, which seemed to move like a breeze. You gave some resistance to his lead, wordlessly guiding him back to the beats of the music. However, the effort began to strain your muscles in the face of Ichiji’s newfound rigor. You hardly noticed the space starting to clear around you as you and Ichiji engaged in a dance that was half of your kingdom and half from the North Blue, both halves complimenting each other in a way you would never have thought they could.

Your eyes were only on him as you moved. His ice-blue irises didn’t leave you for a second, even as rhythmic clapping filled the hall. You stomped your feet together, his heel shaking the floor once again. The music swelled to a final crescendo, and in a moment without thought, you fell into a low dip with Ichiji’s strong arm supporting your back.

The music faded as joyful voices filled the air. And still, your gazes remained locked. Sweat beaded on your forehead, and you were sure it had pooled under your clothes. You were too hot to tell. Even Ichiji breathed a bit harder as an unknown expression eclipsed his face.

“I’ll have a better ring crafted,” he conceded, his tone ever flat. You laughed, but the corners of your mouth faltered. Your brows crinkled as you tried to catch your breath. All the commotion around you might as well have been silent.

“The ring wasn’t the problem.”

For the umpteenth time that night, Ichiji pierced you with his intent, steel-blue stare. His head bobbed with certainty.

“I will have a better ring crafted.”

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

The original inspo was from Swayzee - Whales Talk (don't ask me why I don't know). The new soundtrack is 100% Kingdom Dance from the Rapunzel soundtrack

Part I Part II

#ichiji x reader #ichiji vinsmoke x reader #vinsmoke ichiji x reader #ichiji vinsmoke #ichiji #vinsmoke #germa 66 #op x reader #one piece x reader #op fanfic #op reader insert #x you #x reader #reader insert #vinsmoke family

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the-mortuary-witch · 2 months ago

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EVERYDAY WITCHCRAFT

DAILY AFFIRMATIONS: start your day with positive affirmations or spells to set your intention.

MORNING RITUAL: incorporate meditation or a grounding exercise into your morning routine.

HERBAL TEA: brew herbal teas with magical correspondences for specific needs (e.g. chamomile for calm).

CRYSTAL CARRY: keep a small crystal in your pocket or bag for daily energy boosts.

INCENSE AND SMUDGING: light incense or smudge your space to cleanse and energize it.

MOON WATER: use moon water for washing, drinking, or watering plants.

SIGILS: draw or carry sigils for protection, luck, or other intentions.

ALTAR SPACE: create a small altar or sacred space in your home.

CANDLES: light candles with intention, choosing colours that correspond to your needs.

TAROT OR ORACLE CARDS: pull a daily card for guidance.

JOURNALING: keep a magical journal for spells, dreams, and reflections.

NATURE WALKS: spend time in nature, collecting items like stones, leaves, or feathers for your practice.

KITCHEN WITCHERY: infuse your cooking with intention and use magical herbs and spices.

CHARMED JEWELRY: wear jewelry that has been enchanted or charged with specific intentions.

LUNAR PHASES: plan activities and spells according to the lunar phases.

WEATHER MAGIC: use the energy of different weather conditions in your spells and rituals.

MINDFUL CLEANING: clean your space with intention, using magical cleaning solutions.

BATH RITUALS: take ritual baths with herbs, salts, and oils for cleansing and manifestation.

GRATITUDE PRACTICE: end your day with a gratitude practice or prayer.

SACRED MUSIC: listen to music that uplifts your spirit or has magical significance.

WRITING SPELLS: incorporate spell work into your daily writing, such as emails or notes.

DAILY OFFERINGS: make small offerings to your deities or spirit guides.

VISUALIZATION: use visualization techniques throughout the day to manifest your desires.

PLANT MAGIC: care for plants and infuse them with your magical intentions.

ENGERY SHIELDING: practice energy shielding techniques to protect your aura.

CREATIVE ART: use art and creativity as a form of magic and expression.

SPIRITUAL READING: read books, articles, or blogs on witchcraft to expand your knowledge.

COMMUNITY CONNECTION: connect with other witches online or in-person for support and inspiration.

CRAFTING: make your own magical tools, such as wands, sachets, or charms.

RITUAL DRESS: wear clothing or accessories that have been enchanted for specific purposes.

DAILY DEVOTIONS: spend time each day in devotion or meditation with your chosen deities.

INTENTIONAL BREATHING: use breathing exercises to centre and ground yourself.

ASTROLOGY: incorporate astrology into your daily planning and decision-making.

DIGITAL MAGIC: use apps or digital tools designed for witches to keep track of moon phases, spells, and more.

RUNE WORK: draw a daily rune for guidance and reflection.

HARMONIZE WITH ELEMENTS: incorporate the four elements (earth, air, fire, water) into your daily life.

AFFIRMATIVE SPEAKING: speak with intention and awareness, using positive and empowering language.

GARDENING: create a magical garden with plants that have specific correspondences.

MINDFUL EATING: bless and infuse your food with positive energy before eating.

DREAM WORK: keep a dream journal and work with your dreams for insight and guidance.

#fyp #fypシ #fypシ゚viral #fypage #fyppage #tumblr fyp #witchcraft #witches #witch #witch community #witchcore #witchy things #learning witchcraft #information #helpful

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margaretoakgrove · 2 years ago

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Taking care of Heisenberg

If once you decide to open an old huge dictionary and find the word ''workaholic'' within this book, i bet the name of this handsome man certainly will be its definition.

It is just incredible that each day Heisenberg finds so many hours to build his metal army of mechanical undead soldiers and, unfortunately, such a small amount of time for taking care of himself.

The lord tends to put his own self-care and state of health aside, but you, on the very contrary, put them on the first place along with yours.

Actually, it will be fair enough to say, that you enjoy taking care of your loved one, and the undeniable fact that you are able to make his life easier and better turns you into one of the happiest people in the world.

Heisenberg is definitely a man of a good appetite, but in spite of that he prefers a simple food over rare exquisite dishes. Therefore if you just cook a fried meat with boiled potatoes and a simple vegetable salad, be doubtlessly sure that your pretty hands will be covered with little kisses of his endless gratitude.

Oftentimes, the old worn clothes of the lord become dirty and damaged as he usually works with motor oil and different metal scraps with rather sharp edges, but you are always ready to remove any oil stain from his trousers and sew up every hole in his shirt.

One needs to mention that your loved one's work is not only physically hard, but it's also hazardous, and, at times, sharp tools, metal scraps or even his own creation that, all of a sudden, went totally crazy can injure him. After such unpleasant situations you carefully patch his bleeding wounds up, and Karl, seeing a concerned look on your face, every time gives you a reassuring smile and tells that you shouldn't be so worried because of just another scratch. (Well yeah, just another scratch which, in the afterwards, turns into another deep scar.)

As Heisenberg strictly forbids you to wander the lowest levels of the factory completely all alone, warning that it's super dangerous, you cannot go down there and check on him when he burns the midnight oil, creating one more addition to his army.

But when the lord sits in his workshop on the highest and safest floor of the building, designing and improving scatches or writing down important notes, you always bring him a healthy snack and a mug of aromatic strong coffee even in the middle of the night which is not a problem for you at all.

When your loved one, after working hard during all day almost in nonstop regime, tirely flops down on your shared cozy bed, you don't ever mind to provide him with a wonderfully relaxing massage. The caring hands of yours slowly and gently rub his weary neck and shoulders, and Karl doesn't even try to hold slight moans of an absolute pleasure, letting you understand like this how unbelievably good you make him feel.

By the havoc which practically daily happens in his life Heisenberg, rather often, feels very stressed out, and you perfectely know that at these gloomy days of his Karl needs the comfort of your company more than usual. You caringly offer him to drink a nice cup of hot relaxing herbal infusion and take a slow walk on the fresh air somewhere in the woods, trying to speak on positive themes in the process of your little trip, at the same time listening to the calming ambient sounds of the nature.

In winter you are especially worried about the health state of your dearest man, noticing that despite a cold weather he is quite lightly dressed, and his neck is perpetually open to the strong gusts of freezing northern and western winds. Does one need to say how surprised the lord was when you timidly gifted him a simply-looking yet so soft and warm scarf knitted with your own golden hands? No, the man wasn't just pleasantly surprised, he was baffled, even shocked by this gesture because literally nobody in his entire life has ever done such a nice thing for him.

Having the new accessory wrapped around his neck (which fits him well, by the way), Karl attends special occasions by the name of family meetings where he with a smug-ass smile on his face lively brags to the siblings (especially to Lady D) about what a kind, caring and attentive person his precious darling really is, unlike someone's annoyingly buzzing bloodthirsty bugs.

Heisenberg is sure as hell that he will never be grateful enough to you for everything you do for him every single day, understanding very well that without your divine presence in his life he would never ever feel so truly loved and cared for.

But the lord does not even imagine that the short sincere ''thank you, Buttercup'' of his makes you melt like a sweet sugar cube in a hot fragrant tea.

And each new day you are willing to keep tirelessly surrounding him with your priceless love and tender care because this so close to your heart man means the world for you and, surely, even more.

#resident evil 8 #resident evil 8 village #resident evil village #re8 #re8 village #re village #Lord Heisenberg #Karl Heisenberg #Heisenberg #Lord Heisenberg headcanons #Karl Heisenberg headcanons #Heisenberg headcanons #Lord Heisenberg x reader #Karl Heisenberg x reader #Heisenberg x reader #Lord Heisenberg x you #Karl Heisenberg x you #Heisenberg x you

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604to647 · 10 months ago

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Safest with You (Ch. 9 - The Dam Breaks)

6K / Modern AU Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: Din finally comes upstairs and <see above gif>.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please; for serious, this is the first chapter in the "main" series that is explicit.) Porn with feelings, but it’s still 93.2% porn: unprotected PiV sex (discussed), multiple orgasms, oral (m and f receiving), fingering, they sort of... "make love"? Sorry for the ick but let's call a spade a spade, kissing, dirty talk, a wee bit of daddy kink, dipping their toes into a light degradation kink, tons of petnames as usual (baby, pretty bird, sweet girl, sweetheart, etc.)

A/N: I'm sorry for this gif. I'm sorry for all of it.

Two other thoughts: First, I said somewhere else that I think writing smut takes practice, and I still consider myself to be in the practice stage - I hope it's enjoyable, but I feel like I have room for improvement. Second, totally understand if you've been reading this series for the fluff and maybe this isn't your bag (thus far, the smut has been contained to the separate one-shots and drabbles); that's okay, feel free to skip this one! I concede this is a lot of boinking, but that’s sort of what the story, and specifically this chapter, has been building to. In future chapters, there will probably be more of a mix (plot, fluff, angst, smut) 👍🏻

Series Masterlist

It’s the hottest elevator ride of your life. The second the doors start to close, shielding you from your lobby guard’s view, you and Din move towards each other. Din reaches you first and crashes his mouth to yours with a force that pushes you against the moving elevator’s walls, knocking the air out of your lungs. Barely allowing you the moment you need to breathe properly, Din continues his invasion of your mouth, tongue massaging yours in hard, long strokes; his hands moving with similar urgency, moving up and down your sides. When his thumbs flick over your nipples, you let out a catastrophic groan and your legs give out a little; lucky for you, Din has no problem holding you up. Mouth never leaving yours, Din crosses your wrists over your head, holding them with one hand while sliding his free hand down to your ass. Already arching into him from this new position, you buck into Din’s thigh when you feel him grab a fistful of one ass cheek and squeeze.

Chuckling, Din gives you a little lick on the neck beneath your ear, “Eager, aren’t we? Don’t worry, pretty bird, I’ll give you what you need.”

Before you can respond, the elevator doors open with a ding, and you’ve never been more relieved to see the empty hallway of your floor and not the scandalized face of some poor unsuspecting neighbour. Pausing only to pick up the dog leash that you dropped when Din had you pinned, you practically drag him by the hand to your door.

Once inside, you busy yourself with Al’s nighttime ritual (fresh bowl of water, dental chew), leaving Din free to take in your apartment. The front foyer opens immediately to an open concept space so he can see clear across a living room area that’s adorn with perfectly complimentary furniture, all the way to the floor to ceiling windows lining a balcony that runs across the length of the unit. To the right is a spacious kitchen, with a generous island littered with cooking tools and appliances. Dog accessories make an appearance in every free nook and cranny, leaving no doubt who rules the roost here. Just from this cursory look, Din can tell that you personally picked every piece of furniture, décor and small touch in your apartment; everything has a clean, calm aesthetic, and yet, is brimming with a welcoming energy. From the overflowing bookshelf, to the cozy blanket thrown over the arm chair, to the vases of fresh flowers, it’s all so you. It doesn’t surprise him that you have a keen eye for decoration and aesthetics; to him, everything you touch is made better. You watch Din’s eyes sweep over your home; you’re immensely proud of this space and the home you’ve made for yourself and Al, and it brings you joy to share your happy place, your safe space with those you care about. Looking at this hulk of a man standing in your front entrance, you feel a warmth in your heart at how much he already looks like he belongs here; and you’re suddenly very aware of how much space there is between the two of you. Din catches your eye and taking in your pensive look, gives you a little smirk with a tilt of his head, “Don’t go shy on me now, sweetheart.”

Crossing the room with embarrassing speed, you nearly leap into his waiting arms; Din catches you with ease and cups his hands under your ass, lifting you so you can cross your legs behind his back and resume kissing him eagerly. God he is so big, and so… strong, you internally swoon as he easily walks the both of you over to the couch. He sits himself down gently, and you unwrap your legs so you’re now straddling Din’s lap, staying on your knees so that you have a height advantage for once. Threading your fingers through his hair, you can feel the tension that has been building up since your first coffeeshop meeting ready to snap; peppering Din’s jaw with light kisses, you hum in his ear, “Want you to ruin me, Din.”

With a growl, Din helps you pull your sweatshirt over your head, “Let’s get you out of these clothes, pretty bird.” Leaning back to admire you in your lace bra, sitting so pretty on top of him, he murmurs, “Even better than my dreams.”

“You dream about me, Djarin?”

Din starts to kiss down the column of your neck, making his way to your chest, “Every night, pretty bird.”

You sigh as he reaches the top of your breasts, his hands cupping them from underneath to push the supple flesh up into his mouth. As Din devours everywhere you’re exposed with an open mouth, his hands greedily grope your tits, and you throw you head back in pleasure unable to hold back your moans, “Oh, oh, Din. Din. That feels so good. Right there, baby.”

Hands moving to roll your nipples between his fingers over the lace fabric, Din murmurs between mouthfuls, “Right here, sweetheart? You like it when I touch you through this pretty lace? Don’t think I didn’t recognize this bra, baby girl. This little triangle right here,” he bites down on the left cup of your bra where the lace fabric meets the strap and tugs with his teeth so that your strap slides down your shoulder and the lace cup falls away from your chest, “has been torturing me for the last month.” Just like the night he saw his first peek of this lingerie set, Din is finding its teasing effect on him to be irresistible as he moves his mouth to cover what the fallen lace reveals.

With Din’s face fully buried in your chest, you run your fingers through his hair and hold him close while arching your self into him, needing to get impossibly close to this man; his mouth is setting you on fire and his hands are roaming over your body, caressing and electrifying you with every touch. And yet, you need more. More of his tongue, his hands, his words, more, more, more.

Din momentarily pulls you out of your daze, “You wear this just for me, pretty bird?”

You look down at Din and see he already looks as desperate as you feel. You nod and add hesitantly, “Just for you… daddy,” deciding in the moment to try out the petname. It’s not something you’ve used a lot with past partners, but for some reason, maybe it’s his size, his protective nature, or just the way you want to give yourself over to Din to let him handle you, the moniker fits; even when you would touch yourself to the thought of him, you would always come to the thought of daddy.

Din grins as he takes your now wet nipple back into his mouth, “Is that what you did, baby? Wrap yourself up like a present for daddy?”

“Mmmhhh god yes,” you whimper; hearing him call himself daddy and pick up on the way you like dirty talk is causing a fresh wave of arousal to seep out of you, “Do you want to unwrap me, Din?”

Before Din even starts to nod, you climb off of his lap and stand right between his spread legs, shimmying down your pants to reveal the matching black panties.

Din thinks he might pass out. He has no idea what he’s done to deserve you serving yourself up to him like a perfectly wrapped gift; the coy and almost shy look you’re giving him right now as he takes in your pretty form is tapping into something wild and feral inside of him. Reaching for you, he hooks two fingers into the band of your underwear as soon as you’re close enough and yanks you into him. You laugh as you fall onto Din, his strong arms catching and pulling you on top of him so his lips can return to your chest again. Your laughter quickly turns into needy whimpers as Din mouths and paws at you and you hear his filthy words vibrating against your skin, “Gonna take you apart, pretty girl. Gonna have you screaming my name when you come on my mouth, my fingers, my cock. You’re not going to remember your own name, baby – you’ll only know mine.”

You whine as Din growls again, “Mine,” and presses you down to grind on his lap. You can feel his hardness straining against his pants as you chase after the delicious friction it provides, face warm with embarrassment at the mess your soaked panties must be making of his pants.

“Din, please…”

“What do you need, sweetheart?”

“…more. I need more, daddy,” you plead.

Din leaves a hand gripping your hip to help you build a grinding rhythm while his other hand moves between your bodies and trails down to your underwear. Rubbing his fingers over the fabric, he finds you drenched, “So fucking wet, pretty bird. You soak through these pretty panties just for me?”

By now, you’re panting into Din’s neck, so worked up you think you might scream if he doesn’t touch you soon, “Yes, oh yes, Din… all for you. Pussy is dripping for you. Need you to touch me, please, please.”

“So beautiful and sexy, and now polite, too. Such good manners, saying please so pretty like that. Don’t worry, baby doll, daddy will give you what you need,” pushing aside the lace to reveal your slick covered cunt, Din slides his fingers through your slit with purposeful strokes; repeatedly dipping his fingers in to explore your hole before spreading your wetness all over, leaving you flushed and squirming in his lap – somehow getting what you wanted has left you even needier than ever.

Gathering what small amount of self agency you have left, you force yourself to shift away from Din’s hand and straighten up to start unbuttoning Din’s shirt; with each undone button, you spread open the fabric and kiss the newly exposed part of his chest, taking in Din’s low moans as you explore his body with your hands and mouth. When the expanse of his hard chest is before you, you step off of his lap and lean over Din to admire his impressive physique. He’s unfathomably large, somehow even more so underneath his clothes, a solid wall of muscles no doubt well developed during his days as a boxer; running your hands over his build and trailing light kisses down his chest, you think that perhaps he’s a little softer now (especially around his tummy area), and you much prefer it that way. In your explorations of Din’s body, you discover several scars of varying size and shapes, no doubt from long by-gone fights. While you don’t linger, you run your tongue over the smooth, puckered skin, kissing each scar before moving on, as if to make better the injury that has long healed; Din looks down to watch you leave your loving touch on all the parts of his body where violence has marked him and feels his chest tighten at your tenderness. In this moment he thinks that maybe, maybe, you’re the grace that’s meant to right all his wrong doings; his very own goddamn angel.

By the time you reach the last shirt button, your mouth is watering and you’ve successfully worked yourself up to stratospheric levels, actually feeling your slick dripping down to your inner thighs. Along with the button, you also undo Din’s belt and pants then slowly sink down to your knees in front of his spread legs, before looking up at him with want.

Holy shit. Din thinks he could come just from the sight of you kneeling before him, lips swollen, lace bra half off with pretty tits on display for him, pupils blown wide with a mix of lust and playfulness. He lifts himself slightly so you can pull down his boxers and pants, and when his hard cock springs out with a bounce, he sees your eyes widen and you bite your bottom lip while sharply inhaling. With amusement, he lets you busy yourself with taking off his pants fully and watches as your brow furrows with a tinge of worry. He wants to soothe away your concern and tell you how bad he wants you in this moment, but the ability to form words seems to have escaped him.

When you come face to face with his impressive length again, you lock eyes with Din before breathing his name, breath fanning his dick and drawing a low groan from his throat; encouraged, you cup his balls with one hand, gently grasp his base with your other, and ready by pointing his tip towards your mouth.

Gingerly kissing the swollen head and kitten licking away the bead of precum seeping out of his slit, you coo, “Daddy it’s too big,” giving him a doe-eyed look of apprehension. As good as you look and feel, floating your soft breath over his leaking cock, Din’s impatience and hunger override all his other sense and he has to have you now. Leaning down to kiss you, open mouthed and hungry, he directs you off your knees with his strong arms, murmuring, “Don’t worry, pretty bird. You can take it; I have to taste you now to make it fit, okay?” You start to whine in protest, but as Din maneuvers you so that you’ve switched positions, you forget about the injustice of having being denied taking his cock in your mouth when you see Din’s eyes darken at the sticky mess between your legs. Kissing your inner thighs as he peels off your lace panties, Din chuckles, “Did the idea of sucking daddy’s cock get you all worked up, sweetheart? You’ll have plenty of chances to take me in that sweet mouth of yours. Not right now though, I need to get you ready for me. Need to fuck you.” You at moan at his words, then gasp his name when he dives into you without warning like a man starved.

The obscene noises that Din makes as he licks your pussy and slurps your wetness fill the room and accompany the melody of your cries above him. Grabbing his hair for purchase, your legs shake from pleasure so much that Din hooks an arm under your thigh to open you up even more and uses that hand to press you down so you can’t move. “Taste so good, so sweet,” Din mutters and the vibrations of his baritone voice course all the way to your chest and you let out a wail, “Daddy, daddy, daddy.. oh fuc-!” Releasing one of your hands from Din’s curls to cover your mouth, Din reaches up with breathtaking speed and pulls your hand down. With his mouth still pressed against your folds and nose nudging your clit, he purrs, “Want to hear you, baby. Wanna hear what I do to you.” Again, his words reverberate through you and electrify every pleasure point in your body so that you have no choice but to mindlessly grope your breasts and arch you back; if he wants to hear you, he’ll hear you:

“Fuck, daddy, that feels so good. Love your mouth on me.”

“Don’t stop, Din. Need you, been waiting for you to tear me apart for so long.”

“Din. Din. Din… please, fuck, you’re so good at this… so good to me.”

“Please, oh god, please. Daddy, I want to come all over your face, please daddy, daddy please let me come. Ahhhhhhh…”

Spurned on by your praise, Din bares down on you to lick one last hard stripe against your seam before taking your clit in his mouth and sucking. Not giving you anytime to recover from the change in pressure, he presses in a thick finger all the way into your cunt, before quickly adding a second. It’s too much, too much, you practically sob, as Din stretches you out and pushes you closer and closer to the brink. “Baby, you can take it, gotta stretch this pussy out so my cock can wreck it,” he growls as his fingers pump into you with a quickening pace. Your heartbeat starts to race as you feel your orgasm building in your lower belly; you’re writhing in Din’s hold, chanting non-stop incoherent ramblings of pleasure when he adds a third finger without warning – the added pressure brings a bite of pain that hurtles you over the edge, coming with a scream of Din’s name.

Din slows down his fingers, but keeps in all three, continuing to finger fuck you and lap at your sensitive clit until your whole body stops buzzing.

“Daddy…” you sigh, opening your eyes as Din rises, mouth and chin still shiny with your slick, and closes in for a kiss. Cupping his face to help wipe away the evidence of your arousal, you sigh into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue as a fresh wave of warmth washes over you. Still pliant and fuzzy from your orgasm, you let Din lay you down on the couch before he straightens himself up to remove his shirt and jacket; after folding them over neatly at the other end of the couch, Din turns back and braces his arm on the back of the couch to tower his naked form over you. Fuck. He belongs in a museum. Mouth agape at the breathtaking sight above you, your legs part of their own accord, beckoning him.

Planting himself between your open legs, Din pulls the cups of your lacy bra down with his fingers and your breasts fall into his hands; leaning in close, he whispers, “Wanna see these gorgeous tits bounce when I fuck you, pretty bird,” and as if on autopilot, you prop yourself up on your elbows, giving Din access to the clasp. After sliding your bra down your arms and tossing it away, Din marvels at your naked body before him; he needs to fuck you like he needs air. In a moment of miraculous clarity, he whispers, “Baby, do you have a condom?”

Suddenly shy, despite the ache of your cunt, you let Din know, “I’m clean… if you want, Din, you can fuck me bare?”

“Shit, pretty bird. I’m clean, too. You sure?”

“Wanna feel you, daddy.”

“I swear you’ll be the death of me, baby,” he reveres, leaning down to capture your mouth in a breathtaking kiss.

“Din,” you whimper, “please… need you… please, fuck me.”

“I’m here, I’m here… such a needy slut.”

You gasp, and for a second, Din wonders if maybe he’s taken the dirty talk too far; leaning away to check on you, he’s pulled back in when you throw an arm around his neck and crush your lips to his, kissing him with explosive want. “Your needy slut,” you murmur against his mouth, his filthy words having you clenching and feeling much too empty, “come claim your pussy. It’s all yours, daddy.”

“Fuck,” grits Din, “the mouth on you, baby,” as he pulls back to line himself up with your entrance; he notches your opening and pauses for a moment, “Ready, pretty bird?” You appreciate this moment of tenderness, because you’re sure it’s coming right before Din absolutely wrecks you; you positively beam, “Give it to me, daddy.”

Din smirks at your enthusiasm and watches as your confident expression changes to one of being shell-shocked as he pushes in slowly; inch by inch, Din presses into you as you spread your legs further, one leg dropping off the couch and back arching to accommodate him, “Fuck, Din. So… big,” you whine, hands gripping his shoulders, fingernails marking him to distract from the stretch.

“You’re taking me so well, baby girl,” Din coos, leaning in and wrapping his arms around you in encouragement, kissing your neck and nipping at your earlobes as he continues to sheath himself deep within you. Finally, finally he bottoms out; you’re so, so full and you think you may have to relearn how to breathe.

Din rests his forehead against yours, panting and holding himself back until you let him know you’re ready; he’d wager this is no less than a Herculean feat, with your tight warm cunt practically choking him, it’s a wonder to him he hasn’t come already. Peppering your throat with light kisses and he croaks out words of praise in a husky, strained voice right into your ear, “Look at my good girl, taking me so deep,” “Feel so good and tight on my dick. So, so perfect for me,” “Never want to leave this cunt. Could stay buried here forever.”

Your breathing, though shallow, finally steadies, “Din?”

“Yes, pretty bird,” he practically chokes.

“Please move,” you plead, “… and Din?”

He looks at your blissed out face as he pulls away from your neck, “Yes?”

“Don’t hold back, baby,” your smile playful.

Din returns your grin, “Any thing my pretty little slut wants,” and he pulls back nearly all the way, before pushing back in with restrained force. He fucks into you with a few long, gentle strokes, waiting to make sure your moans are ones of pleasure before he lets go and slams into you, burying into you to the hilt before pulling back and driving into you over and over. You feel the air punch out of your lungs with each of Din’s powerful thrusts; your combined cries and grunts of ecstasy mix with the sounds of skin slapping, filling the room and has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. You grab at Din’s arms and babble nonsensically, “Din, Din.. Imma… feels so good… baby, baby, please… fuck, fuck...”

The build up to this, to tonight really, has been too much and Din know he won’t last. Mesmerized by the vision of you writhing beneath him, your gorgeous tits bouncing as you cry out, he vows to make you come one more time before he explodes. The hand not gripping your hip reaches up to palm both of your breasts and pull at your peaks; Din stutters when you clench down and cry out a symphony of his name in repetition. As you’re quaking at the pleasurable sting still vibrating in your nipples, Din snakes a hand down to where you’re joined together and starts rubbing circles on your clit with his thumb. A fresh wave of slick coats his pistoning cock as you mewl beneath him at the added sensation; you’re fucked dumb and hardly able to think let along string together the words to let Din know how close you are.

“I’m close, baby. You feel… too good… can’t last. Need you to come one more time for me. Can you do that for me? Can you… be my good girl?” Din grunts hotly in your ear, each question punctuated by a hard thrust.

“Yes, daddy, daddy… fuck oh, yes… can… be… good… Oh, Din, Din, don’t stop, don’t stop, Din, DIN! Nghhhhhhhh!”

“That’s it. Give it to me, let go, baby. Give daddy one more,” Din is barely able to keep up a steady pace as he presses down on your swollen nub.

Crying out, you shudder and shake as Din pulls another orgasm from you; eyes unfocused and mouth open in a soundless scream, you tense around Din’s length so tightly that his own fall isn’t far behind. As your breathing starts to even, Din pulls out and strokes himself furiously with his fist before shooting rope after rope of cum over your stomach as you watch, awestruck. So much. Pulling you up and into his lap with a strong hand to your back, Din kisses you tenderly as you come down from what has probably been the best fuck of your life.

Settled contently in the afterglow, you run your fingers gently up and down Din’s warm back as he continues to kiss you softly; stroking your hair lovingly, he whispers, “Sorry, pretty bird. Didn’t have time to ask you where you wanted me to come.”

Gosh, you adore him. Giggling, you kiss that sweet mouth of his, “It’s okay, baby. I like that you marked me. I told you, I’m yours.”

“Mine,” Din murmurs between gentle pecks to your lips, cradling your head gently while holding you close with his other arm, “Was that okay, sweetheart?”

You tuck yourself into your favourite nook under his chin and nod into his neck, “Perfect, Din. Knew you would be.”

“You’re my dream girl, pretty bird.”

You close your eyes and sigh happily, fucked out and pulled apart.

“Want to get cleaned up a bit?” Din suggests after a while.

When you nod into his neck, Din stands, still holding you close; softening against you, he effortlessly carries you in the direction of the bathroom that you point him in. After setting you down softly on your feet, Din helps steady you as you reach for tissues and a hand towel and patiently waits for the water to warm before he gently cleans off his spend from your stomach and his own. Giving you a little privacy to finish up, Din exits the bathroom first; when you come out, you see he’s gathered both of your clothes from the various places in the living room they were discarded, and is holding them with both hands in a neat pile in front of his nakedness like a sitcom character caught in a compromising position. Cheekily letting out a low wolf whistle, tell Din how cute he is, then hold your hand out for his which he manages to take without dropping the clothes.

Leading him by the hand to your bedroom, you wordlessly take the clothes from him and put them on top of your hamper before throwing your arms around Din’s neck and kissing him with abandon. The depth of your passionate for this man, and your gratefulness for intimacy that now exists between the two of you is overflowing. You want him to know how good he made you feel, that he’s left you changed, filled with a need that you don’t think anyone other than him will ever be able to fill.

“Do you want to stay over, Din?” you whisper into his lips; as amazing as this night has been so far, it somehow feels like not enough and you don’t want it to end just yet.

Din’s response is to pick you up and throw you, shrieking with laughter, onto your bed and dive bomb after you; giving you just enough time to roll away at the last minute so he doesn’t smoosh you. Throwing his long arm over your middle, he rolls you back into him before pressing his mouth against yours, “I would love to stay over, pretty bird. You think Al would be good with me joining you on mornings walks too?”

Nodding, you smile and card your hands through Din’s curls, still slightly damp from your escapades in the living room, and pull him impossibly closer so there’s more of you touching than not. The two of you stay like this for who knows how long; naked bodies entangled, strong arms encircling, never-ending soft touches from lips, fingers, hands, lazily mapping each other’s bodies. Floating over the gentle grazes are whispered pleas for forgiveness once again, reminders that forgiveness was already granted, renewed vows of devotion, and declarations of adoration. Every caress a promise for the future and an expression of your quiet joy.

With one hand running long, lazy strokes over your back like steady current and the other gently cradling your head, Din’s tongue parts your lips, “Can I have you again, sweetheart?”

Pulling back and looking at Din directly in the eyes, you find a sweet longing that makes more than your heart ache, so you nod while exhaling a satisfied breath.

“Wanna take it slow this time, okay pretty bird?”

Giving a low chuckle, “You always want to take things slow,” you grin, before kissing him earnestly, “I’m yours, Din, however you want me.”

Despite having just told you his intention to go slowly, your words have Din hardening fast as he licks into your mouth and deepens his kisses.

But he’s committed to taking his time and does indeed go slow.

Slowly, he makes his way down your body, memorizing every curve of your neck and your breasts, every dip and valley of your hips and stomach with his mouth and hands. Taking a pause at every soft peak of your body to impart loving caresses and murmur sweet words of praise and praising words of filth about what you do to him and what he wants to do to you.

Slowly, you fall apart when his tongue laps at you with the intent to explore and claim, gradually building you up with each lick. With the patience of a saint, he repeatedly guides your thighs to stay open with firm, but gentle massages from his hands while he lazily sucks on your clit and you cry out long, drawn out whines above him. He reveres each and every line and crest of your folds with his mouth, as you chant his name and grab at his curls to press him deeper into you for more, more. Nothing can hurry him – not your soft cries of pleasure, not the strained hard on he ruts into your mattress, nor your dripping arousal running down your centre and soaking your sheets – he deliberately applies the sweet pressure you need to send you tumbling into oblivion when he’s good and ready, then draws out your pleasure even longer by continuing to devour you through your high.

He has to force himself to breathe slowly when you take him in your mouth, and following his cue, set a sweet and slow pace, licking and stroking his shaft lazily before swallowing him deep and working his length in an unhurried, steady rhythm. Your small, soft hands cup him from below, and your fingers ghost a tickling trail over his balls, humming appreciatively to the sounds of Din’s haggard breathing and the small gasps that escape his throat. He gently runs his fingers through your hair, brushing loose strands off your face as you suck his shaft and wrap your tongue around his swollen head; massaging your scalp soothingly as you take your time pulling all of him down your tight throat. It’s almost unfair to call this a blow job when it’s really more of an appreciation of his glorious cock conducted at your leisure, the pleasure you’re receiving equaling Din’s.

Not without regret, Din coaxes you off of him, promising you he’ll come in your mouth another time as he lovingly kisses your messy mouth. Even his vow of taking it slow has limits, and he openly admits he’s ready to concede, “Need to be inside of you, pretty bird.”

Din’s mouth never leaves yours as he lines himself up between your legs and almost agonizingly slowly, pushes in. You’re so wet and open that he meets little resistance, but with his unrushed pace, you feel every ridge as he fills you. There’s none of the urgency and impatience of your earlier dalliance; Din sets a relaxed pace, and braces his forearms on either side of your head, hands tenderly stroking your hair and face as he kisses you over and over. As he thrusts in and out of you with long, deliberate strokes, Din drinks in your whimpers and soft cries of heady bliss, coming up only for air to whisper sweet praise in your ear about how good you feel around him, how beautiful you are, how perfect you are, made for him. You don’t hold back any of your own ramblings, murmuring back how incredible he feels inside you, how well he fills you, how happy he makes you, how you want the weight of him on you at all times. You feel so full, so beautiful, so safe and free, and so loved. Din had promised to take you apart and put you back together when he finally took you to bed, and you had assumed he meant physically, but you’re sure now that he’s reshaped your heart as well. With the way he’s looking at you while he fucks you deep and slow, adoring you, you can’t help as your eyes water slightly and tears escape from the corner of your eyes. “I know, baby, I know,” whispers Din as he soothes away your tears. Eventually, both your breathing turns shallow, your kisses sloppier, and your moans indecent. With broken words, you gasp, “I’m so close. Oh, god, Din. Please. Inside. Please, Din, come inside me. It’s safe, I-” and before you can finish your sentence, he kisses you to convey his trust, and reaches down to draw figure eights on your clit as he suddenly picks up the pace, giving himself the permission to release what he’s been holding back. The sudden change in speed coupled with the delicious strokes from Din’s thumb has you coming for your personal record breaking fourth time tonight, clenching down so hard on Din that he fists the sheets next to your head tight enough to turn his knuckles white. Somehow mustering enough focus to slam into you even harder for three, four, five more strokes, Din comes mightily with a low, prolonged grunt, collapsing on top of you while panting into your neck.

A minute passes and Din rolls off of you and pulls you close; as he slips out of you, you whine a little from the loss and look at him almost shy, to which he kisses your forehead tenderly. No words needed, he gets up, walks around to your side of the bed to lift you bridal style, keeping your legs closed to minimize the mess on your bed sheets before carrying you to your bedroom ensuite. After cleaning up, you put on a fresh pair of underwear and a silky camisole for sleep while Din dons his boxers before the two of you slip comfortably under the covers, grinning like tired idiots the whole time.

Pressing you to his chest, Din nuzzles the back of your neck and peppers the nape with light kisses, “Remember when I told you I didn’t plan on getting much sleep around you, pretty bird?”

You hum in assent, remember his teasing from your second date.

“If you keep wearing things like this to bed,” his big hand moves to brush deliberately over your nipples and then trail down your side to lightly spank your ass, “then I’m going to have to start calling in to work.”

You giggle and buck back into him, teasingly, “It’s okay, you’re the boss.”

“Nah, you’re the boss, pretty bird. From this night on, I’m at your beck and call. Fall to my knees and worship you, servant to your every whim, ready to topple kingdoms should that be your wish,” you can feel his goofy, lopsided smile against your ear.

“A boxer and a poet? A lover and a fighter? Who knew you contained such multitudes, Djarin,” you quip, but secretly melting at his romantic words.

“Such a perfect night, baby. You’re so perfect.” He kisses your shoulder, then nips it lightly with his teeth for good measure, causing you to yelp in surprise.

Turning over, you snuggle in under his chin, “You were pretty good tonight too, old man.”

“Just want to be good for you, pretty bird. Want to always make you feel good.”

“You do, Din. You make me feel so cherished, and wanted, and sexy, and safe. Really,” and you pull back to look him deep in his eyes, “I meant everything I said tonight, baby. It’s okay to share your world with me; I won’t judge. Please don’t ever feel like there’s no place for me by your side; it’s where I want to be.”

“It’s where you belong,” he counters, sealing this declaration with a sweet kiss.

Turning back over, you hold on to Din’s forearms and nest back into his protective embrace; smiling to yourself as the sounds of Din’s gentle breathing lull you into a peaceful sleep.

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