#and i am shaking so bad because of all that and i just want some calm so i open tumblr thinking i can just scroll thru fanart to calm down

[revelboo]

Revel- Revel, please, my bank account can’t, I’ve ordered too many little guys- Where am I even gonna put them all?! 🤣 Happy holidays, hun, and take care!!! If it wouldn’t be too much to ask, I’d love a little more Ironhide or IDW Bee if you’d be willing to spare some!!! Much love!!! ♥️

They don’t take up any space- and I just saw the new ones not released in the U.S. yet. They’re even smaller 😆 I may have bought a box…

Last Night Pt 7

IDW Bumblebee x Reader

• Glancing at where you’re wrapped in a blanket on a counter watching Ratchet work on him, he resists the urge to joke about you worrying over him. To tease, because you’re obviously not in the mood. That look on your face when you’d seen he was hurt had shook him. He’d known you were slowly starting to open up to him despite being unhappy about the circumstances, but he hadn’t thought you’d really cared. Hadn’t dared hope. “You’re going to have to take the whole arm off, huh? Can you please beat him with it when you do,” you say and as his head turn’s in surprise, your eyes are dead serious, but you’re smiling. Teasing him now that you’re sure the danger is over and his spark warms.

• “I ought to lock him in alt mode for a week,” Ratchet mutters. “For being careless.” Hear Bumblebee’s weak ‘hey, now’ of protest as his head turns sideways to stare at you. Making you uncomfortably aware of the way he’s smiling at you. Like he’s happy to be in Medbay getting poked and prodded. Because you’re there. Not sure how you feel about the warmth spreading through you at that stupid grin, you pointedly ignore him in favor of watching Ratchet work. So maybe he’s growing on you. So what? You’re still here against your will. Even if it’s not his fault.

• “You love me, admit it. You were worried,” he teases since you’d started it. Grinning when you scoff at him, looking everywhere but at him and he knows he’s right. That anger of yours at the situation no longer aimed right at him. Accepting that it wasn’t his fault, that he’d been trying to help. There’s still guilt about trapping you in the Ark, there probably always will be, but he likes it better when you’re not actively blaming him.

• Love? Yeah, right. “I was only worried they might stick me with someone worse if you die on me.” Because in all honesty, he’s not so bad. It’s not like anyone you’d dated in the past was ever half so attentive unless they wanted something. Since sex is so far off the table to be laughable between your species even if he had the necessary parts, it’s hard to keep your guard up. Having decided he’s just lonely and he likes having you about. Having someone to talk to. And you might like talking to him, his optimism wearing you down.

• “You care. You like having me around.” Grinning when your face flushes and you shake your head in denial, too flustered and embarrassed to come up with a retort. And teasing you? Watching you get aggravated with him, but not truly angry? It’s nice. Being on the smaller side means getting forgotten or left out sometimes among the Autobots. Knows that and fully intends to make sure that it doesn’t happen to you even if he gets on your nerves. Because he likes having you beside him and can’t help reaching after you even if he’s getting on your nerves.

Previous

[slimybeth69]

Touch: Part 3

Summary: You take a solo trip to the market while Din and The Child do... Din and The Child...things.

warnings: explicit 18+, oral (f & m receiving), fondling, reader gives Din a fashion show.

a/n: I know so very little about the Star Wars universe. I dunno shit about fuck when it comes to planets and ships and how things work. You'll see what I mean in later chapters, but I'm just warning you that I make a bunch of shit up, and am probably entirely incorrect about some of the things I may talk about in this chapter or upcoming chapters. I'M SORRY. I JUST LOVE THAT HELMETED MAN AND HIS GREEN CHILD, OK???

unbeta'd, poorly proofread because of my AHDH

“Why? Why do you have to go? You’ve gone and come back and gone and come back what feels like a million times.” You’re on the verge of tears. Not because he said he has to go again but because you woke up in the same field you’ve been in for the last week. “If you haven’t found wha-” He interrupts your outburst with a stern clearing of his throat. You roll your eyes and hold the baby close on your hip. 

“I have found what I’m looking for. I have thing’s I need to attend to here. You need to rel-” He stops himself when you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Were you going to tell me to relax? ” You sneer quietly. “That’s all I do! It’s all we do all the time. You don’t let us leave the perimeter you set up for us. You don’t ever let us come with you. You just leave. I don’t know if you noticed this, Mando , but this is a baby. Babies need stimulation. Not being cooped up in the same place all the- honestly– you know what? Me. I need stimulation. I need something to do besides look at this cute baby all day and night when you’re not here. Something.” You rattle it all off, sometimes looking down at the baby, sometimes pointing at him to make sure he knows you’re talking to him. 

You’re upset.

Din is staring at you. Not speaking. He’s fastening his cape. You stare back as menacing as you can, which you don’t think is a lot. You’re not very intimidating. But you’re trying . While still holding the child who is playing with the buttons on your shirt. 

“I’ll be back tonight and we will leave, I should have things sorted by then.” Din finally speaks. He doesn’t sound sincere.

“That still doesn’t ‘sort out’ the issue of the child and I being bored. I need something. Anything. Stuff to sew, something for him to play with isn’t dead bugs and pebbles. He needs more than this.” You hold your hand out to the very un-child safe hull of the ship around you. “Something!” 

Din takes a step forward in your direction and you think he might yell at you but he holds his arms out for the child. The child reaches for him. You hand him off and step back, crossing your arms over your chest in frustration. 

“You want things to sew ?” Din asks, sounding like he doesn’t know what you’re talking about. 

“ How do you think clothes get made? Hm?” You’re being sassy in your frustration.

“I know what sewing is.” He says dully. “I mean, you want to sew? You know how?” He holds the child in the crook of his elbow and gives him a couple fingers to play with. 

“Yes and yes and I’d love some fabric or something to sew for the child. He’s only got the robe and it stinks. Bad. I don’t know if you can tell under the helmet.” You huff at him and turn to walk back to the bed so you can sit. 

“There’s a market.” He says after a minute. “You want to go?” 

It’s like you’re seeing double– no triple because is he asking you if you want to leave the ship and the perimeter? Yes! Yes you do! You have credits saved up and could buy yourself things and not have to rely on Din for anything and that makes you feel so incredible. 

“Are you asking me if I want to come with you?” 

He shakes his head.

“I have business. I’ll take the child. I’ll drop you at the market and you can come back here when you’re done.” He explains. You furrow your brows. 

“What if I get lost?” You are curious and a little nervous now.

“Don’t get lost.” Said so simply. 

“What if I do?” You’re demanding an answer that isn’t sass.  

“I’d come find you. I wouldn’t just let you wander lost .” He’s not amused with you. 

“Okay. Yes, I do want to go.” You slap your hands on your knees.

“Here’s a blaster pistol.” He reaches behind his cape and pulls one off of the belt behind him. 

You go wide eyed because you’ve never held one of those before, let alone carried one on your hip with the intention of using it if you needed it.

“I don’t know how to use that!” You exclaim, backing away from it nervously. 

“Trigger.” He points to a part of the pistol near the handle. He aims the gun away from both of you and then looks at you. “Aim.” He nods. “Then you pull.” 

You close your eyes in fear and anticipation but he doesn’t actually pull the trigger, he was just giving you a quick rundown of how it worked but still. Scary. 

“Stop it. It’s not that bad.” He’s still not amused from behind the helmet.

“I’ve never even held one!” You exclaim, putting your hands on your hips.

“If you don’t take it, you don’t go.” He’s serious. You frown at him. 

“Where do I even put it?” You ask nervously. 

He comes to you quickly and shows you where the safety is– the switch that will keep it from shooting if you don’t want it to– also how to switch it back and forth. Din then moves behind you, untucks your shirt from your pants the best he can with the blaster in one hand the kid in the other arm and slides the cool metal of the blaster into the waistband. He keeps your shirt untucked. 

“No one will see it this way. But you know it’s there. Makes you feel safe. I feel safe knowing you have it.” His raspy modulated voice in your ear makes your head spin. 

“I don’t know how safe I feel with a blaster pistol in my pants .” You snark at him.

All you can  really think about was the other night when you got to see him. He was perfect, Maker oh was he perfect. His skin was slightly tan and he had a little body hair on his chest and stomach that really let you know he was a man. A real grown man. It’s all you’ve been able to doodle on your little scraps of notebook the child chewed up. 

Maker, his unmodulated voice is… there are no words. They’re warm and inviting but they give you shivers at the same time. Maker, let me hear it again.

The walk to the market is kind of long and now you’re kind of worried about getting back on your own. You can see why he gave you the blaster. It does feel good knowing it’s there in your waistband, even if it is digging into you a little uncomfortably. 

“Do you ever get tired of the helmet? Like is it annoying and you’re like ‘oh my Maker, I wish I could take this thing off?’ Or is it pretty comfortable?” You ask after a bunch of one worded answers with minutes in between them. 

“I don’t hate it.” Din says finally. 

You give up trying to talk to him. He’s not the same man you know from back at the ship. He’s a bounty hunter out here. You think. You don’t know. He hasn’t returned with the bounty yet.. So… who knows why he’s here. 

Once you reach the edge of the market, Din puts one hand on your shoulder and stops you. You look back at him with a raised brow. 

“Please be careful. I don’t want to have to come hunt you down. Be back to the Crest before it gets dark. I’ll be back tonight. Be careful.” Din’s very serious. It’s kind of scary the way the helmet looks down at you so menacingly. You feel like you’ve done something wrong. 

“I took care of myself fine before I met you, didn’t I?” You ask, pulling your shoulder out  of his grasp. “I’ll be careful but I’ll also be fine. You should be careful. You’ve got my favorite thing on your hip.” You untuck his cape and check on the child in his side bag. 

“I’ll see you soon.” You rub his little forehead with your index finger and then your heart breaks when he reaches for you and you have to tuck him back in. You hear him whining from under the cape. “I mean it. Be careful.” You point a finger at Din and he shakes his head at you softly. “I love him so much, please. This is the first time I haven’t been with him since you threw me on the Crest that day. I love him.” You express this seriously. No tones, no silly remarks. He is your baby too now, whether Din likes it or not. 

“Okay. I’ll be careful.” He turns to leave. “But you need to be careful too.” Then he turns and reaches into another pocket somewhere hidden behind his cape. He pulls out a handful of credits. 

You hold your hands out and he drops them into the bowl you’ve created with them. Two fall on the ground and you have to dump the handful into your bag so you can pick them up. 

“What do you need me to get you?” You’re still grabbing the dropped credits when his silence makes you look up at him. “I’ll grab it, just let me know what you want.” You’re explaining it up to him because he’s got his head tilted at you like he doesn’t understand. 

“I don’t need anything.” 

“Okay so what are the credits for? The kid? What do you wa-” He stops you, a hand on your chest gently.

“They’re yours.” Raspy modulator monotone voice says to you. You raise an eyebrow. He paid you your credits for the week before he left a couple days ago and he just gave you far more than seventy five credits. 

“Like an advance?” You’re confused. 

Din’s hand falls from your chest and it drops carefully by the child. You hear him coo and babble quietly from behind the fabric.

“No.”

Sometimes, you wish you didn’t have to extract information from this man like teeth get pulled out. Slow and painfully. 

“Then what are they for because I don-” He stops you again, this time he just points to the market. 

“To get things. That you like or want. I don’t care. They’re yours now. Do what you will with them. Go. Carefully.” He’s stern with you again. You’re very grateful and love that he’s just given you this plentiful gift, he really didn’t have to, you had brought almost all the credits you saved up since you’ve been here. 

“Thank you.” You say and turn on your heel. You don’t turn around to call out to him. “Be careful with that child. I’ll know if he’s got new cuts or bruises.” And you walk into the market.

The market might be the most interesting place you’ve ever been. You had never left Canto Bight. Not once. You worked as a tender and sometimes a waitress at the casino for as long as you can remember. You’ve never been to a place like this. Have never had credits like this to spend. The credits you made all went to the woman whose house you rented a room in. It was a nice room and she cooked for you and was okay, not the nicest. She wasn’t terrible. 

Din had called it the Outpost something. You don’t really remember. Outpost Market. Something. You had been worried the whole walk here that something was going to happen to either of them. It’s scary out here. It’s been a long time since people were brushing past you. Since the noise of voices and conversations and normal living noises filled the air. It was overwhelming. 

The first thing you had to do was get a bigger bag, something that could hold all the stuff you were planning on buying. It was so exciting to hand credits to someone in a stall and just pop it in your brand new bag. 

You buy so many things. There is a toy shop and you buy the kid a couple things that you don’t think will fit in his mouth. Then you go to a clothing store and buy new things. All. New. Things.

Everything you are wearing now is going into the fire when you get home tonight. It’s not even worth washing. It’s either itchy or has holes in it and you’re tired of patching and sewing them up. You end up getting all of the other things you need to make the child a new robe or two. He seems to like his little outfit so you don’t plan on changing it all… just making more because he stinks so bad. So bad. It’s almost unbearable. It’s starting to cut right through the cuteness.

No one really bothers you. Probably because you keep your head down and your bags clutched to your chest and side nervously like all of these people– who are just carrying on about their day, not paying you any attention– are going to try and take them from you. Your precious new things. 

You spend most of the day there. You buy yourself and Din and the child treats from a shop that had them in the window. You spent so long looking that the owner came out and asked if you wanted to sample. You had to wipe the drool from the corners of your mouth because yes you did and you also wanted four to go. 

One for tomorrow. 

It was a little tart. You had no idea what was in it but when the owner handed you a piece your mouth watered so bad you almost did drool onto the counter. But then you bit into it, your eyes rolled into the back of your head because flavors like this have never graced your taste buds before. Not even as a child. No. This was amazing and you had him add two more because you knew the child would love it just as much as you and would want more than one. 

They were tiny. He’d be fine.

He eats bugs. 

The walk home was the scariest part because you got distracted at the sweets shoppe and it ended up getting dark halfway through. You ended up just taking the blaster out of your waistband and carrying it in your hand with the safety off . Because it’s scary. There are noises coming out of the trees on either side of you and you can swear you can hear someone walking behind you but every time you turn around to look there isn’t anyone there and you stop hearing the footsteps. You tell yourself that you’re hearing the echoes of your own walking and carry on. 

You speed back to the Crest as it grows darker. The footsteps behind you sound eerily closer than before but you cannot stop to look back because you’re too scared. Your heart is pounding in your chest so fast you think it’s going to make you fly away. It’s too much. You should have paid more attention to the time. You should have listened to Din. 

You get to the Crest and half expect someone to grab you as your hands touch it because the footsteps sound so close but you spin around, hands ready to hit the person behind you but there isn’t anyone there. You tell yourself that you’re just scared in the dark. Usually, unless Din is there.

All the lights are off in the Crest. That’s weird. It’s still so early. The sun just went down, it just got dark. The child definitely wouldn’t be sleeping. Not this early. You didn't think Din would be either. You turn them on and the ship is empty. No one was here. The ship’s been locked up since this morning when you all left together. 

Din said he would be back tonight and it just started being tonight so you try and calm your already and still racing heart. Get a fire started. Those always make you feel better and you can throw these dirty clothes in there and burn them.

Maybe stand by the fire naked. It would feel good. No one was around. 

So you do just that.

You start the fire like you always do and once it’s a decent size you take off your thin, tattered shirt and toss it in the flames. The mix of cool air and heat from the flames on you is delightful. It makes your nipples stand with excitement and the chill. Next thing into the fire are your pants that have split in the seat twice. You’ve sewn them up twice. They burn easily as they are itchy and you think they were made with grass. So it makes sense.

You stand by the fire naked like that for a while. 

You then decide that you’re going to jump into the river. Wash all the yuck from those clothes off. It’s so cold, but so refreshing at the same time. It doesn’t take long and you rush back to warm inviting heat of the flames. 

You turn occasionally and feel the fire on your back and legs and all over. It’s incredible. But you do feel exposed and you don’t have night vision to see what or who is actually out in the dark so you go and get one of your blankets and wrap it around your shoulders. Opting to stay naked, but be concealed. 

The firewood in the pile next to the Crest is getting low now. Your hair is completely dry. You’ve been waiting for them to come back. You thought about going inside to wait but it’s almost as scary inside all by yourself. It’s getting scarier and scarier out here too but you’re watching the path, waiting for Din to materialize from the darkness.

Maker, please keep them safe. Please please keep them safe. 

You wait for the fire to die down and then head back inside. You grab your brand new, un-chewed notebook and charcoal you bought today. You keep all the lights on. You don’t care how bright they are. You doodle what his face might look like, since he told you that you were in fact wrong about that too. 

You know you’ll never find out and that makes you sad. You turn the page and start to draw the child’s ears. And then his big cute eyes. You end up doodling him eating the tart you bought him. That makes you sad too.

You don’t fall asleep because they don’t come back.

Finally, hours and hours later, finally the door to the Crest opens and you know the sound of his boots on the ramp by now. You jump out of bed, not even caring that you’re still naked and start speeding to meet him. You don’t have far to go. 

Din, with the child in the crook of his elbow, walks around the corner and as he sees you walking naked towards him, he covers the child's eyes. 

“Where have you been?!”You’re angry. So angry you still don’t care you don’t have any clothes on. 

“I-I was at-attending b-business like I said.” You’ve caught him off guard being naked and all. 

“You said you’d be home last night!” You’re starting to get annoyed. The child hears your voice, he can’t see you but he can hear you and he’s squirming in Din’s arms, reaching out for you. You go to reach for him but step back, looking around for something to wrap around you but there isn’t anything. Just metal. 

Din sees your predicament. It’s getting harder to restrain the child so he turns his back to you. He undoes his cape, now that the child is looking the opposite way. He’s still facing the other direction when he extends his arm backwards, with his cape in his hand. 

“Here. Please.” He shakes the fabric impatiently. “He’s squirming and I can barely hold on to him.”

You rush and wrap the cape around your chest, under your arms so you can hold the child. 

Din gives him to you happily. Eagerly almost. The child is nearly as excited as you are. You snuggle each other and you run your finger across his forehead.

“I missed you. Yes I did and I got you so many things.” You coo to him softly as you continue to rub his forehead. You glare at Din. “Has he slept?” Din nods and then shakes his head and then nods again. That's the only response you get from him.

“Where are your clothes?” He asks while tilting his head to the side gently. 

You blink at him. For a while.

“What kind of answer is–” You mock what he did to you with your head all over in many motions, but he interrupts you.

“ That’s shaking .”

You stop and blink at him again. Maker, he’s asking for it. He really is. 

“I’m taking him to bed. Because neither of us has slept yet. Or did. Maybe. No one seems to know.” You stare at him. “And I burned my clothes.” You turn and leave din standing in the entrance of the ship.

Din follows quickly behind you though. He has questions.

“You burned all your clothes. You’re just going to be like this all the time?” He sounds amazed and a little concerned. “What about the-” You turn and look at him.

“I bought new ones. You wish to the stars I’d be like this all the time.” You kind of lightheartedly sneer at him. You are still a little mad. This messes up the baby's schedule in way you don’t think he understands. 

Out all night gallivanting around all night with a child. A child?

“I do.” His raspy modulator voice makes you close your eyes for a moment and you think of it with no distortion. 

“Really?” You know he’s serious. You don’t think he’d lie to you.

“Yes. I do. You’re so beautiful.” He’s gazing at you up and down like he can see through his cape that’s draped around you.. “Did you buy yourself nice things?” He asks, his gaze falls onto your face. You think. 

You nod. 

“I’d like it if you showed me.”

You blink at him, still holding the child. 

“Now?” You’re tired and honestly still kind of mad at him. He shakes his head and touches your elbow gently. 

“No. When you want. I just want to see you in them and-” He looks you up and down again slowly. “Look as you change.” He’s whispering because the child has fallen asleep in your arms at the gentle touch of your fingertips on his forehead. 

“Okay.” Normally you are alarmed at his requests but the things he wants to do to you and want to watch you do are not strange to you anymore. You’re not surprised honestly. “I have to go to bed. Tired. Sleep.” You grumble, laying the child in his orb. You go to lay on your mat to go to sleep but you remember his cape. 

You unwrap it from around you and hand it to him. He stares at you. 

“Please take it.” You whine and his gloved fingers brush against yours as he takes it from your hand.

“Beautiful. I can’t take my eyes away.” He’s in awe again. You wave your hand at him. “Please, sleep in my bed. You need good rest. Please.” You appease him this time and get right into those beautiful sheets.

Din goes to shut the ship down. Lock it all up. Child proof it. The lights go off and you close your eyes. You're asleep almost immediately. It’s so nice to close your eyes and not have them snap open remembering that the baby isn’t asleep in the same room as you. You can hear the metal of the beskar clanking as he takes it off. Then silence. And you’re so thankful because you were about to yell at him to be quiet.

And then you feel him crawling over you in bed, so he can be behind you. You almost jump out but it’s like he’s anticipating it and catches you by the waist. 

“If you really want to go, I’ll let you. But I want to share the bed.” He whispers into your ear, no rasp or modulator voice. You go limp against him and let the heat of his body– which is still so incredibly hot– warm you from the back. It feels so incredible to have another person pressed against you. 

“I’ll stay. Tonight.” You lay your head back down on the pillow. 

Din starts to trail feather soft kisses up your arm, starting at your wrist. He doesn’t stop until he’s at your shoulder and then he licks you softly. 

“Are you asleep, little one?” He whispers gently. 

You almost were. 

“Yes.” You mumble softly. “Are you not tired?” You whisper, turning slightly so you're pressed against him harder. 

“Not anymore.” He whispers and you feel his warm breath on your lips. It’s so good. He’s so good. It makes your stomach flutter when he does that. You expect him to kiss you but he doesn’t. Got your hopes up. 

“I’m tired. So tired. Why can’t we do this in the morning?” You bargain. 

“It’s the morni-” 

You both suddenly realize that it’s not as dark in the ship as it had been two minutes ago.

You accidentally hit yourself in the nose trying to cover your eyes so you don’t accidentally see. He’s scrambling over you before your hands even get to your eyes. You groan loudly; the pain brings tears to your eyes as you blindly roll out of his bed. 

“Maker. Din. I’m sorry.” You’re scrambling on the floor to your mat, trying desperately to feel with your hands, your eyes shut tightly now. “I can’t find my mat!” You exclaim through a whisper. 

The child starts to cry. 

And so do you.

It’s getting lighter and lighter in the ship as you walk to your bag and grab a new shirt and the pants you bought. You put them on with tears in your eyes. 

“We have to leave anyway. Bring him in the bed again and sleep as much as you can. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.” He’s behind you. He’s got his helmet back on and pants but that’s it. You reach out and touch his chest. You startle him.

“I had to make sure that I’m actually awake and that this isn’t a nightmare.” 

He actually laughs at you. 

“I did it.” You cheer with no enthusiasm. “I made the mandalorian laugh.” You walk over to the child– he’s sitting in the middle of the orb with his arms outstretched. Crying. “I’m coming.” You try to calm him, but the sound of your voice makes him cry harder and move his little arms around. 

You pick him up and immediately get in bed. You two are snuggled into each other, he’s basically asleep in your armpit before you two are under the covers. 

Din watches, amused.

You are happy. You’re flying again and not on the ground and the child is happy with his new toys. Loved the tart, just like you thought. You know him so well now. Din even ate one in the privacy of a dark part of the ship. 

“Thank you.” He says turning  the corner. You’ve found a spot with light, away from the child to sew. You put the child down a while ago and Din’s been busy doing work on the Crest.

“For?” You’ve completely forgotten the tart. You’ve been working on a new robe for the child since you woke up and you’re trying to finish because the kid fucking reeks. How does he smell so bad? You wash him every single day and he just stinks. Why? How?

“The treat. It was nice.” He tilts his head as he watches you sink the needle into the fabric and pull the thread through. “You thought of me again.” You turn your head to look at him.

“I think about you all the time.” You’re laughing because you think it’s obvious. Now you regret saying it.

“Y-you do?” It is inquired with disbelief. You laugh again.

“Yes. You’re basically my only friend.” It's chuckled out, but you feel stupid and regretful. Because he is your only friend and you didn’t know if what you two were doing; the business aspect or the physical, were grounds for being considered friends. “I just wanted you to have something nice.” You shrug your shoulders and go back to sewing hoping he’s not feeling to chatty. 

Din doesn’t say anything, just like you wanted but the silence makes you feeling stupid for calling him your friend. Again.

“Do you have friends?” You flick your eyes to him, he’s still looking at you but still is quiet for a while. 

“You would call them that.” He says simply after another minute.

“What does that mean?” You drop the little robe into your lap and look at him fully this time. “What in the stars could that mean?” 

“You would consider them my friends. I don’t know if I would. I don’t know if I have friends. Associates I call them.” 

You nod in understanding.

“Associates.” You repeat the word like it’s fancy and new to you but you know what he means. “They help you with whatever you do out there?” You motion to the endless space you’re floating in. Din shrugs and nods. 

“Sometimes they cause me more trouble.” Din is still watching you. “Where did you learn that?” He motions now to your sewing. 

“My aunt taught me when I was little.” You explain mindlessly. You could finish the robe tonight before bed if you work fast enough. “Taught me how to cook, sew and clean.” 

“And only the sewing stuck after all these years?” Raspy modulator voice. Your head snaps up to look at him. 

“You’re so mean.” You laugh and shake your head. “I do better now. Okay? I got a good thing going with the baby, we have a routine now.” You point at him. “Which you messed up, by the way. It took so much longer to get him to sleep tonight and he didn’t nap today.” You roll your eyes. 

“He had fun.” Modulated raspiness. 

“Oh he did? Aw, I love that.” You completely forget that you’re upset with Din for keeping him out all night. You’re happy the child had fun. Din nods as you go back to your project.

“Will you show me now?” 

You raise an eyebrow at him in curiosity. 

“Your new clothes. Please.” Raspy modulator. You think for a moment. 

“Okay but I get to ask you to do something for me now.” You’re smirking at him and you’ve set your sewing on the floor next to you.

“Anything.” He’s leaning forward, waiting to hear what you have to say. 

“I want to watch too. I don’t want to be in the dark.” You’re both staring at each other and you almost feel like you're talking to yourself the way you can see your reflection in the face visor. 

“Watch?” He’s confused. Now he knows how you feel. You reach out and press your fingertips to his armor and nod.

“I want to see. I never get to see.” Your fingers are lazily dropping down each plate of metal and finally they stop right above his waist. “I really want to see you...” Your gaze has been following your hand, but you snap your eyes up to Din and he’s looking down at you. 

“Watch me…” He moves his hand to lay on top of yours gently and he pushes yours down slowly, your fingers brushing against the plate that covers his groin. You nod and bite your bottom lip.

“I’ll change for you and pose and whatever else you could want, but I want to watch what you’re doing while I do it. Please.” You try being polite like he is when he’s excited and speaking to you.

Din looks at you while your fingers trace along the beskar covering his groin. His head tips down to watch you tease him meaninglessly. You know he can’t feel it. 

You are dying to see him. All of him. All that he can show you, anyway. You got a feel of him the other night. You felt what he was hiding behind that beskar you were touching and you wanted more. Needed more.

Din must have fallen asleep behind his Maker forsaken helmet because he’s just watching your fingers and you feel dumb because you’re just finger fucking metal at this point. You pull your hand away but before it’s even an inch or two away he grabs your wrist. You gasp because you were sure he was asleep, and he holds your hand on the cool armor. 

“Okay.” His raspy modulation sounds reluctant. It doesn’t matter 

“And touch.” You point at him with your other hand. 

“Okay.” More rasp from the helmet. 

“Okay.” You say, attempting to pull your hand away again but he doesn’t budge, he actually presses your hand harder into the beskar.

“You want to touch here?” He questions you, almost surprised again like he cannot fathom why you would do that or why you would want to.

“If you want me to. I’m not trying to fo-” 

“No no. I do.” He cuts you off quickly getting his words out so you can’t change your mind before he can answer. 

“Okay. Let me go get my stuff.”

Returning with your bag of clothing from the market and you set it down beside you. Din is watching intently from the bench that’s attached to the wall. 

“Well?” You look at him, crossing your arms over your chest. He mirrors you.

“You first.” Rasp from the modulator. 

You roll your eyes at him.

“I always go first.” You snip at him. 

“So what’s the problem?” His response almost makes you laugh but you fight it back. 

“Just take the beskar off, what is your problem? Always making things difficult.” You start with the buttons on the top of your shirt. 

Din shakes his head at you and lets his arms fall to his side. He’s hesitating. Watching you fidget with your shirt. You look up and see him, not moving so you stop. 

“Are you going to participate or not? Because the on-” He starts to unclip his cape and you think to yourself that this is going to take so long. He’s going to draw it out. 

It’s not uninteresting to watch though. You’ve never seen him take it if off, you never knew how he did it but you watch now as he unclips the other side of his cape and hangs it on a hook behind him. 

You finish your buttons and slide the shirt down off your shoulders. The cool air in the ship draws goosebumps on your flesh, making your nipples stand with excitement. 

“You really are beautiful.” He says as he undoes the belt around his waist. He lets one side fall and holds the other, keeping it dangling in his hand as he sets it on the bench he’s standing beside now. 

You can do nothing but smile at him as he undoes a similar belt fastened across his chest. He does the same, setting it on the bench. Now it’s getting serious because you see him reach down to his side, working on the fasteners that keep his armor together. 

“Do you need help?” You ask, still in your pants. He nods you over to him. Happily, you walk over to him and press yourself against his chest softly and copy what he’s doing but on the other side. You can feel the chest plate come loose from him against your chest. 

“Stand back.” He rasps gently. Taking a step back, your hands falling to your own waistband to undo your own buttons and fasteners. You watch as he lifts the armor up over his head in one piece and he sets it on the ground with a soft metallic clink.

Now he’s just got a black long sleeved shirt on and it’s clung to him. It’s so tight. You can see the outline of every muscle in his arms and shoulders. 

Pushing your pants to the ground now, stepping out of them and leaving them in a pile as you take your place back in front of Din. 

“How do you get the bottom ones off?” You look for fasteners but see none. Din chuckles and shows you the fasteners down by his knee. You’re quick to kneel in front of him, eyes never leaving his helmet as you pull and twist the ties that keep his beskar together, stumbling because you can’t really see. You want him to look down at you.

You’re eye level with the same groin plate that you had your fingers on earlier. You lean in, eyes still looking up at Din and press your lips to it gently as the fasteners come free between your fingers. The shin guard falls against your upper thigh. You set it down gently beside you and move to Din’s other leg. You know what to do now, and you get it done quickly, you need to see him. Every inch of him from the neck down. You just have to. 

“Beautiful.” His modulated voice coos down to you. He’s tucked his thumbs into his waistband and he’s pushing the belt that keeps his groin plate melded with the rest of his lower armor. It clunks as it hit the floor. Now he’s just in black. The fabric between the beskar was baggy, everything underneath was tight. Very tight. He has an erection and you can see it through his pants. 

“Will you take those off?” You ask softly. You’re still on your knees in front of him, 

“You have to put something on… first.” He sits back down on the bench next to his belts. He pulls his gloves off and sets them down. “Go on.” He’s left you kneeling on the floor a foot away. 

It’s infuriating. Not really. Kind of. But you like it. And you’d do just about anything to see what the hell he’s got under that black outfit. You know the top half. You did a good job at memorizing it with your hands and the short minute you got to see him the other night with the lights on. But what is below is waist, Maker. 

You stand and snatch the bag of clothes off the floor. 

“What do you wanna see first? I got new pants–” 

“Pants. Do them first.” 

“You didn’t even let me finish.” You blink at him. 

“I don’t care. I want to see.” He tilts his head up to you instead of your middle, where he had been looking since you stood up. 

Rolling your eyes, you step into the pants quickly. You fasten them and you show him, held above your sides. 

“See. So nice.” You do a spin, stopping so he can admire the back. You put one hand on your hip and pop it forward slightly, posing. “So cute.” You go to unbutton them. 

“Do it slow. And bend when you take them off.” He’s giving you a demand. You raise an eyebrow. “And turn around.” He still has all his stuff on. 

“Fine. But then it’s your turn to take them off.” You nod at his pants. He nods up at you.

Turning around, you slowly untie the string that keeps one side together and watch as they come undone in your fingers. You don’t know what he’s doing back there, it makes you kind of nervous but he’s never let you down so far.

The button on the other side comes next. It opens easily. You part the two pieces of fabric and slide your hands in the waistband and instead of letting them fall to your ankles the way you normally would, you begin to push them down slowly, bending as they slide down the curve of your behind. As they slide down your hips; the bend in your middle becoming more dramatic you hear Din exhale from under the helmet. 

He’s watching, probably holding his breath. Liking the way you look bent over and opened up to him. You feel exposed, and naughty letting him see you in this position. You bend over a little further than you have to. You feel a warm finger on your already wet fold. Feather touch. Just a tease. You snap up and turn but he’s naked. 

Everything but the helmet is on the floor next to him and he’s got one hand fisted around himself and he’s stroking his length gently. 

“Can I have some?” He asks, nodding to your middle. You nod, taking another step towards him so he doesn’t have to reach. He slides the hand he has wrapped around himself between your legs and scoops your wetness into his fingers and palm and then brings it back to his erect cock. You both watch as he rubs it in and starts to stroke himself again. “Did you buy anything white?”

You look up at his helmet and nod, wondering how he knew you did. It’s just a simple dress, almost a nightgown but it was so beautiful you couldn’t say no. 

“Put it on for me. Please.”

The way he says it to you makes your knees weak. You are almost too enthralled watching him touch himself the way he is to understand what he’s saying. His cock is everything you dreamed and thought it would be. It’s big, bigger than his one fist and the head is thick, a deep ridge separates it from the shaft. It glistens now with your slickness. You want to just sit on it. Fuck it. Fuck the dress. You need it inside of you.

“Please.” He says again and you see him squeeze his cock gently in his fist near the base.

“Okay.” It’s barely a whisper but you turn to grab the dress. It goes on easily over your arms and it falls right above the knee.

“Come.” He beckons you with his free hand. Obliging you take the one step closer to him. Din’s admiring you from behind the helmet. “Closer.” One curl of his first two fingers pulls you closer to him and that same hand reaches for your breast.

His hand presses against it gently and then a little harder. Your eyes flick between his hand on you and the hand he’s got on himself. He’s stretching the fabric around your soft flesh. You see your nipple, hardened beneath the thin white sheet that separates you from his hand. 

“B-beautiful.” He keeps his hand like that, the fabric stretched taught over the diamond peak of your breast. He works his hand a little faster on himself while he looks. While he’s still holding on to your chest he asks. “Can you b-bend over for m-me again for me, please?” Your eyes snap up to his helmet. “And lift the dress so I can s-see?” 

“Okay.” You smirk. Din’s a freak apparently, with a voyeur streak in him. You step away and the hand on your chest falls to his side. 

Turning so your facing away from him, you bend at the waist, lifting the dress up above the curve of your ass and let it rest on your back. Din exhales loudly behind you.

“Can you g-get on your knees?” 

You oblige him, dropping to your knees. You spread your legs so he can get a good look from the back. You’re slightly annoyed because you wanted to watch but, you like that he wants to look at you. You like that it’s not pitch black either. 

“Touch.” He rasps from where he had been standing. 

You have to think for a moment and then you understand. You drop your chest to the floor of the ship and put one hand between your legs and let your fingers circle around your clit slowly. You’re lips are puffy and swollen and you’re dripping . Din moans loudly. “Y-yes.” It's drawn out. You start to move them quicker, a moan pulled from your chest quietly as you do so. 

“Do not look away from the wall, understand?” You almost turn around because he’s right behind you now, but what he says registers, and the fact that his raspiness of the modulator is gone lets you know he’s got his helmet off, now you get it. 

Without another warning, Din’s mouth is on you. You move your hand to give him as much access as he wants. One hand is brushing against your knees, urging you to push them apart. You open them wider and keep your eyes on the wall. His tongue parts your slit, and now that you’re spread, his hands grip your ass tightly in each palm and he opens you. 

The warm softness of his tongue sliding between your velvet is just how you remember. The flat wideness of his tongue licks you from your already tingling clit, up over your entrance and then, a whole new experience of that same soft warmness on your tight, puckered hole. You hear him sigh softly, and feel the warm air being expelled from his nose. Din swirls his tongue around your asshole and then the tightness and the pressure of him pushing it inside of you. 

You’re a puddle. It’s a new feeling, not a bad one. His hands are gripping your soft cheeks tightly as he pulls you apart, lapping at your hole. It feels so good, not like when he licks you anywhere else. It’s a whole different bracket of pleasure. You know that it won’t ever make you feel the way it does when you come, not like that but it does feel good. Especially because Din is doing it to you.

“I want to taste every inch of you.” He’s panting softly against your skin, kissing now along your cheeks and up to your back. “I want to lick and suck and kiss every fucking inch of you.” He’s kissing up your spine now, his hands still spreading you. 

“Please.” You gasp out as he presses the tip of himself in the middle of your spread cheeks.

“Would you let me?” His voice is deep, but still soft. It demands something from you and you’re willing to give it to him. “Put it in here?”

“I’d let you do anything you want.” It’s said in a dreamy tone because you wouldn’t think you’d even care if it hurt because you want him inside of you in any capacity. 

“So good. You’re so good.” He moans and rubs the head around your tight, puckered canal. “I want to. I want it so bad.” You anticipate fiery pain but he pulls away. “Stay there.” And then his hands are gone and the heat radiating off of him is gone from behind you and you audibly whine in disappointment because you were sure that you were going to feel him inside of you.

“Why?” The question is long and drawn out in another whine. “Please come back.” 

“You come here.” His modulated rasp beckons you. You look over your shoulder and he’s sitting back on the bench, his hard cock is in his fist and he’s pumping it up and down. You see the muscles in his arms and shoulders tense and relax as he does it. “Come. Please.” He calls you over with his other hand, two fingers curling towards him. 

You crawl to him and Din lets his head fall back against the wall behind him. You’re between his legs, mouth already open because you hope that he’s going to let you do it. He does, he takes the hand that called you over and runs his fingers through your hair.

“You want it?” His raspy modulation tone is back but you don’t care. You nod up at him, his grip in your hair tightens. “You’re going to let me feed it to you like last time?” You nod again, sticking your tongue out of your mouth, showing him where you want him to put it. “G-good, Maker. So p-perfect and beautiful.” 

Din rubs the tip of his cock along the flat of your tongue and groans loudly, pulling his hips back suddenly. 

“So soft.” He’s amazed by you once again. He rubs the tip against your tongue again while still thrusting his fist up and down on himself. He’s staring down at you through the helmet. You’d swear into the creed or whatever it would take just to get him to take it off. You slowly wrap your lips around the head of his cock, swirling your tongue along the ridge that separates it from the length of him. 

Din lets out a sound you’ve never heard from him before. It’s a choked back sob of pleasure. It motivates you to take more of him into your mouth, sucking and pulling the length of him into the back of your throat. You stop when you feel the head of his cock start to gag you.

“No don’t.” Din cries out as you begin to pull away, gently with his fingers still gripping your hair he pulls you back down, this time enough for the tip of your nose to touch his lower stomach. You gag softly, tears pickle at the outer corners of your eyes. “Y-you feel s-so good.” 

You lift your eyes from the base of him, to his helmet and he’s got his head leaned back against the wall of the hull. His other hand now find your hair and he begins to lift your head and push you down on his cock gently, fucking your face. It’s not aggressive, just enough to make you gag softly with every thrust forward of his hips and downward pull on your head. The raspy moans coming from his helmet are enough for you to try and relax your throat as much as you can, trying to take him deeper and make those moans more desperate. 

You feel the thick head of him slip past the tightness of your throat and he gasps, his grip tightens on your hair. You’re struggling a little bit, not letting his girth overwhelm you but you stay relaxed as he starts thrusting into your mouth with determination. Still not aggressive but you can tell he’s not going to last long, so you put your hands on his thighs and feel how strong he really is and you know he’s holding back. He doesn’t want to hurt you. 

“Oh Maker.” He moans and pulls back. He leaves your mouth and throat with an audible wet sucking noise and his fist is wraps around his length again. “Keep it open.” He moans softly and pulls you in closer by your hair. “Say you want it, please.” You know he’s going to come, he’s thrusting his fist up and down on himself so vigorously. Between your legs is aching. Keeping your mouth open, you stick your tongue back out and drop so you’re almost below him so he can aim.

“I want it so bad. Please give it to me.” You beg up to him.

And Din does. He shoots rope after rope of hot white onto your face. Most of it goes into your mouth but he missed the first two. Shooting out across your nose and cheek. Din’s hand is still in your hair, his muscular chest rises and falls with each breath and his helmet is turned down to gaze at you.

“So beautiful,” His hand leaves him, his fingers press against your cheek and he drags the spilled come to your mouth and pushes his fingers past your lips. “You like when I feed it to you?” He’s cooing raspily to you as you suck his fingers clean. You nod while your tongue slides down the space between his fingers. He does this again until there is nothing left on your face but your own saliva. “Good. I like doing it.” 

You stare up at him in adoration. You think you’re infatuated with him. Din’s been the only thing on your mind since that night you first shared together. 

“Do you want me to do that for you?” He asks. You nod. “It has to be dark.” 

“Okay.” 

Before he turns the lights off, he slips the dress over your head and lets his hands explore the front of you. His palms pressed flat against your breasts, squeezing them. 

“Sit,” He nods to the bench that his belts are still on and you look at him confused. “I’ll show you.” 

You sit on the bench and Din takes one of your feet and places it on the edge of the bench, just behind your thigh. He does the same thing with the other. You’re against the hull of the ship, the cool metal pressed tightly to your back. Then in a swift motion, Din slides his hands up your shins, grabs your knees and pushes them apart. You’re shocked at how far your legs go. “Stay just like that.” He leaves the room and suddenly you’re plunged into the darkness again. 

You don’t hear him come back, you only feel his warm breath on your inner thighs. 

“Din.” You whimper softly, your hands go to where you think his hair is but you miss by so far, so so far and there’s warm wetness on the tip of one of your fingers. Something hard and then your fingers being enveloped in warmth and wetness. Din sucks your finger into his mouth. It’s not what you had intended, you wanted your fingers in his hair, but him sucking on your finger the way you just had been was erotic and was making you wetter.

Now, with an idea of where his hair is, you reach more carefully, your fingers finding the thick, coarse hair that you had been searching for before and you grip it as his tongue swirls around your digit. You whimper when he bites the end of your finger gently as he pulls away from your hand. You were so wrapped up in how noteworthy this feeling was– you would be asking Din to do it again in the future– it felt that it didn’t cross your mind to pull it away. 

Now that you have both hands available, and you know where his hair is, you grip it gently. 

“Make m-me do it.” Din’s whispering against the spot just above your slit, his tongue dips out from between his lips and licks you there once, softly. “P-please, m-make-” You don’t let him finish before you tighten your grip and push his head just the half inch he wanted you to. Din had his tongue ready to lap at you the second he touched you. He went to work with the big slow circles that have no meaning, they’re just to make you know he’s there. 

His fingers are pushing into you rhythmically, but again with no real pressure or force. He just wants you to know that he’s there. You do. You feel so incredibly vulnerable in this position. Splayed wider than you thought you could be. Din presses the flat of his tongue against your clit, applying pressure and moves it up and down slowly. The feeling makes you moan and you don’t have to hold back as much tonight. So you don't. You let the moan– that starts deep in your chest– roll out of you and your head falls back against the hull of the ship with a low, metallic clank and it echoes softly. 

You and Din both laugh at the sound in the darkness. His warm breath is so comforting as he goes back to lapping at you, his fingers curling inside of you slowly now, edging that orgasm he was trying to coax out of you closer. 

“Din.” It’s another deep moan and your fingers clench his hair harder. He takes one of your feet and places it on his shoulder. You move the other one to his shoulder too and now you can scoot yourself further towards his mouth. Your hips start to roll against his hands and mouth. 

He moans, apparently loving your enthusiasm and pushes his fingers against that raised patch inside of you and starts to thrust them in and out. Your sounds of excitement and slickness fill the room and he moans again, his tongue finding those tight circles in the perfect rhythm. He wants to hear you come. Not just watch tonight. 

“P-please.” You whimper, the feeling of your climax is so close and you know he’s about to bring you there. “I wann-” Your whined plea is cut short as he quickened his pace with the drives forward of his hand. “Oh M-maker. Maker. Din. Din. Oh Din.” All the words strained as you feel him send you over that edge he was bringing you too. 

“Oh Din. Yes. Oh yes. Yes.” They’re almost just breath spoken as he milks and sucks the orgasm out of you, his lips wrapped around your clit now, sucking softly as he continues fucking you with his fingers. Now, along with the thrusts, he stops and curls his fingers against that patch and does it again. It makes you arch your back and you do have to bite your lip because you can’t scream. You want to but you can’t.

You shiver as the last sensations of bliss leave you and the overwhelming twitches and soft jerks of your body at his tongue on you again. But he knows, he can tell by the way you pull his hair. He carefully laps at your entrance, his tongue cleaning and tasting you at the same time. Din’s got his hands on your ankles now so you can’t move them. He’s going to do this for as long as he wants and that’s completely fine with you. 

Resting your head on the hull, you’re panting. Heart is pounding. Everything about it was incredible. You’re upset you didn’t come here sooner to do this because you were able to enjoy yourself without having to worry about waking up the child. 

“I want to do something with you, but you might not like it.” Din says from the dark.

You honestly would let him do whatever he wanted. You did not care. Especially in that moment. 

“Do whatever you want to me. As long as I do that at the end. I don’t give a shit.” You finally let go of his hair and let your hands push you up off the bench. As good as it was, it was not the most comfortable and now your knees and tailbone hurt. 

“You say that now.” He laughs softly. His modulator still hasn’t returned. 

what the HELL could this helmeted man have in store for you?????

HINT: this gif has a clue.

tag list: @glitterymanboy @thereaperisabitch @pedrospookie @furiousmushroom

willing to add or remove whoever asks for either one.

[weird-dere-writes]

Violently shitting myself on the first date is DIABOLICAL WORK MIMI jskdjdkdhkdndjdd

Okay situation setup first, mutual friends set me and Ichigo up on a blind date. We are both a little slow to warm up to one another and get comfortable, but once we do, everything is lovely <3.

This is actually my second time eating out today. The first time was with one of the friends that set us up for the date as a little debrief about the guy I’m meeting. Went to a new restaurant for the first time then, and hours later on the date it is clearly affecting me.

Ichigo has heard my stomach grumbling too throughout our date which has me a little bashful, but he’s been so nice about it fr. I told him it might have been something I ate, so he’s understanding. But at some point the urge to go just hits me and I rush a “I’llberightback” before making a b-line for the bathroom.

Unfortunately for me the terlet does not feel the wrath of my guts. I don’t make it in time and now I am trapped in this conundrum.

I spend the next few moments standing in shock, mortified. Thank GOD no one else has walked into the bathroom. I am freaking out. WHAT IN THE WORLD DO I DO IN THIS SITUATION???

My first thought was to call either of the friends that set us up. Unfortunately neither answer.

So I am forced to face THEE most embarrassing ordeal ever bc I cannot stay shitty pantsed lest I get a rash.

1. Do you tell your fave and do you go back to the table?

Yes, and yes AUGH. But I am telling the staff before I do either so I can 1) escape the moment for a little longer and 2) warn them so they can clean any remnants of my biohazard nskdjxkd. Shortly after I am making my walk of shame back to the table, not sitting down on the chair as I meet him again.

2. What do you say if you do tell them? How does that conversation go?

I’ll start with an awkward ‘hey’. He’ll greet me back, and then i tell him I’ve really been enjoying his company but I have to cut the date short. I hope we can meet again, but I understand if he doesn’t want to after this. (screaming internally because HOW COULD I FUMBLE THE BAG WITH A GUY SO HOT AND NICE 😭😭😭). And then I tell him “I just shit my pants. Like really bad… I need to go home and shower. I’m so sorry.”

He looks at me genuinely shocked and his eyes flick down to my pants before quickly going back up to my face, his own turning a little red. I don’t know if it’s out of disgust or if he’s trying to be respectful, but a girl can hope for the ladder 😔😔😔. Nothing comes out of him but a breathless “Oh…”

Seconds of us blinking at each other later, he shakes his head a little and stands up, before asking me if I’m okay. I tell him I’m fine, just majorly embarrassed. He quickly arranged to pay for all of our food, probably on account of feeling bad for me HELP. And we end up outside.

I feel my eyes watering, but I’m trying to hold the tears at bay.

3. Does your fave help you if you do tell them? If you ghost, do they ask why?

When we’re outside, he offers me his jacket to sit on so I don’t get shit in my car. And while that is so nice I am again SO MORTIFIED bc I can’t POSSIBLY accept that HELP. He won’t take no for an answer though. Insists the jacket is old anyway. Says he doesn’t want me suffering more than I have to. It’s kind he’s considering me so but I still feel horrible. I don’t even know whether to ask if he wants it back bc honestly I know my ass would just burn it if it were mine.

I ask any way though, and make sure he knows I will be cleaning the FUCK outta that thang but in nicer words of course. He takes a minute to think about it, seeming quite hesitant, but ultimately says yes. Again, I believe out of pity for me so I don’t feel more embarrassed. Gives me his number so we can arrange for that return sometime, walks me to my car bc it’s late and safety mmmm. then we go our separate ways.

4. Do you get a second date?

Some power or other must have smiled upon me for my honesty and bravery bc YES! 😭

Surprisingly I do! 🧎🏾‍♀️

I found out bc one of the mutual friends who found out about the fiasco gave me a sticker about 2 weeks later. It was a funny/cutesy drawing of a bunny sitting on a toilet with the words “IBS = I be shittin” on it.

Once it’s in my hand my soul leaves my body bc ik what she’s referring to and I want to DIE thinking about it. And she’s like, “I hear he’s been thinking about you.”

Of course for obvious reasons I assume she means he’s been thinking about that experience and probably not so positively of me.

But then she says he’s been wanting to arrange another date, but has been shy. She elbows me and tells me I need to return that jacket of his sometime~.

💀 <- *me after she said that with bell tolling sound*

As a matter of fact Mimi, “she” could honestly be u fr NDKDJDKDJDKC

cw gross but here’s the scenario:

you’re on a first date with your fave, it’s perfect, but suddenly your tummy starts to rumble. you barely make it to the bathroom. you shit yourself.

questions:

1. do you tell your fave and do you go back to the table?

2. what do you say if you do tell them? how does that conversation go?

3. does your fave help you if you do tell them? if you ghost, do they ask why?

4. do you get a second date?

[xxplastic-cubexx]

what is your favorite thing about charles and your favorite thing about erik? separately, as in what you like most about their characters :]

a devious question this one is, my friend!!! it's hard enough for me to explain my thoughts cohesively, but having to pick ONE thing i particularly love is difficult. with characters like charles and erik, theres been so much done with their characters over the decades and so they have so many components to them that make them so interesting and fun to observe. BUT I TRY FOR YOU TODAY. under the cut i kinda ramble and the size of this text box makin me anxious

i think if i were to be simple and broad, what i enjoy most about charles is his determination to help others, even if he isn't really thanked and/or if people don't even like him. ofc, this isn't to say he hasn't done wrong- to be honest, the fact he does wrong/questionable things at times is another aspect of him i really enjoy, maybe because- broadly speaking- he's meant to be altruistic (intent vs outcome and all that). i don't know if that's super exciting to most people, but it is for me

as for erik, my reason for liking him is easier to explain tbh. To Be Simple And Broad, his progression from villain to antihero over the decades has been fun to observe (as much as i have so far anyhow) and analyze. i think to be a bit more specific, him using his rage and pain as justifications for his villainous actions is definitely what compels me the most: hurt people hurt and the sort, an idea i've always found interesting (something something vicious cycles and the like). yet now, he recognizes this wasn't really. A Just Thing To Do and is beginning to change that, which i enjoy

[elegyofthemoon]

also to anyone who plays honkai, does anyone have other translations of the game? aside from the official?

i feel like i talked about this with a friend, but the translations just. don't line up with what's being said a lot of the time and it's slightly driving me insane x - x

[ectoplasmer]

y’all ever think about kissing your f/o. literally screaming into a pillow

[v-iv-rusty]

I feel like growing up with parents that are rabid conspiracy theorists about anything and everything affects you like. way way way deeper than most people do (or maybe want to?) acknowledge. and I just wish it was talked about more honestly

[featherymainffins]

People be wilding, I hate when I ask for some dirty tricks to swindle my brain because therapeutic methods are slow and I would kinda like to do things even before they work, and people just recommend me what is essentially CBT coupled with exposure therapy.

[foxcassius]

wait also my tags on that post were about people i knew in freshman and sophomore year of college specifically. i mean some of them i knew after that and most of them i knew from high school but damn some people really made everything about themselves when i was being emotionally manipulated in my freshman year

[starkidlabs]

Haha I should not have read my mums texts

[miupow]

hear me out...chan trying to fit it in but he's too big and he's whispering all kinds of stuff trying to get you to take it and you're frustrated and needy and you're just so !! done !! because it feels empty and he's so close yet he's not in and finally finally, his thick tip catches and he inches in agonizingly slow simply to hear you whine for it

꒰୨୧◞ ⤷ ❛❛ TOO BIG ! ❜❜ .ᐟ bang chan.

[ ⟡ ] ── minors do not interact ! ⭑ fem!reader , soft dom!chan , est. relationship , monster cock chris lol , size kink , dirty talk , praise kink , daddy kink , missionary/mating press , unprotected sex , bulge kink

a/n ⸝⸝ happy (late) comeback day !! i’m not very proud of this drabble but it’s here and i’m posting it anyway lol <3 save me big dick chris.. save me..

♡ ⸝⸝ ꒰ m.list ꒱ ‧ ꒰ reblogs and feedback appreciated! ꒱

“it’s too big, channie,” you whimper, peering down between your legs— the big fat tip of chan’s cock throbs an angry red as he slides it up between your pussy lips, taps it against your fluttering hole. your ankles dangle in the air over his shoulders, thighs pushed up to your chest by his body pinning you against the mattress, so close you could feel his hot breath, ache for a kiss from the plump, spit-slick lips he bit in arousal. he grips the base of his shaft in one hand, guiding it to push at your rim; you’re frightened by the sheer size of it, thick as a can, veins fat and pulsing… the pressure of it was already overwhelming yet you roll your hips down eagerly, desperate for it to slide in and fill you up.

“shh, stay still, babygirl,” chan coos so sweet, his veiny hand splayed out across your tummy. “and take this fucking cock. daddy knows you can.”

your pussy is making it difficult, so wet chan’s cock misses your hole, slides up your folds to bump against your clit. you shake in pleasure and frustration, reaching your hand down to take ahold of chan’s cock yourself— chan lets you with a warm smile, his thick arms shaking with every slick twist of your hand.

“you need me that bad, baby?” he chuckles, breathless. “thought you said it was too big.”

“i’m so empty,” you whine in response, angling his flared head to spear your core. “need your big cock, daddy—“ finally, finally his tip catches and slides in, sudden yet so achingly slow, your eyes rolling back in tandem with chan’s deep, guttural groan; the stretch burns deliciously, clouds over your senses as your mouth drops open in a moan for more.

“there you go, baby, just like that,” chan continues to bully his cock in past your tight rim, slow and gentle— but there’s nothing gentle about the way he fills you up, inch by fat, throbbing inch stretching your wet gummy walls to their limits. you can feel every ridge, every vein drag hot and heavy… you let go of his shaft in favor for scratching deep red marks into his flexing bicep, scrambling for something to hold on to and ground you. “daddy’s good girl, taking his cock so well— feels so good, doesn’t it?”

“b-big—!” you croak in a daze, an echo of your earlier sentiments; it was all you could manage to make yourself say, rendered brainless in an instant as chan’s blunt cockhead kisses your cervix. “so— so fucking big! ‘n deep, daddy, fuck—“

“yeah?” chan huffs, hips stuttering flush against yours. “am i too big for your little cunt, baby? feel me all the way up here?”

he presses down on the bulge his cock makes in your belly, causing the both of you to keen, your little dripping pussy fluttering around his cock as he twitches inside of you; you desperately want him to move, start pounding your pussy like you’ve been wanting so, so badly… you eagerly nod at chan’s teasing words, buck your hips the best you can folded in half. “yes, yes!” you wail, voice slurred, “give it to me daddy, please!”

“you’re so pretty when you’re begging for me, angel,” chan grins crookedly, pulling his hips back to slide himself out of your hole. you hold your breath in wicked anticipation. “beg some more and i’ll give you what you need.”

[lastoneout]

I keep thinking about all of the disabled activists and people before me who stranded themselves on the 4th floor of buildings for weeks and crawled up stairs and fought with airline staff and schools and doctors and refused to stop existing in the face of injustice and bigotry no matter how big and scary and hopeless it seemed. Every time I get angry and scared the protests that lead to the creation of the ADA pop up again and remind me that disabled people are so much fucking stronger than anyone has ever given us credit for, and I can't help but be proud of that. And I know not all disabled people feel like we should take pride in our disabilities and have flags or whatever, but I think not just living, but thriving, in spite of a world that wants us dead and gone, in the face of both illness and persecution, and how we've not only bought ourselves forward, but uplifted the disabled people around us, secured more equal futures for everyone who will come after, and truly changed the way so many abled people have seen us for the better is something to be damn fucking proud of.

We have always been here and we always will be, there will never be a world without disabled people because being disabled is not bad, it's a natural part of the human experience and yeah it sucks some times but even when it sucks we have fought to build beautiful, unique, happy lives with people, both like us and not, and that should be celebrated.

The first sign of human civilization is the healed femur. The body of the profoundly disabled person who would have needed help to even just eat being carefully laid to rest after decades of a full, happy life. The medicinal plants showing even before we were entirely human we were doing what we could to not just survive, but alleviate suffering while we're at it. Above everything, evolution selected not the baby who can walk and eat and be quiet, but the one that can ask for help.

Disabled people are not just angry cockroach motherfuckers who refuse to die, we are proof of humanity's HUMANITY. Proof that natural selection selected a species that takes care of each other. From healed femurs and medicinal plants to vaccines and IVs and insulin to now, we are driven to help one another, we are at our strongest when we don't leave our most vulnerable behind. And I am living proof of that. My mother is living proof of that. Every disabled and chronically and/or mentally ill person I know is living proof of that.

And I don't know about the rest of you, but will carry that shred of humanity's true nature inside me like it's my fucking soul. I am scared and angry and hurt, but I have a lifetime's experience being scared and angry, and I can shake off the kind of pain that would make Atlas crumble to dust like it's nothing but a stiff fucking breeze. Disabled people have always been here, turning fear and anger and pain into joy and beauty and connection, and I'm not going to let everyone who came before me down. I'm not going to give up. Not now, not ever.

It's okay if you're disabled and you've hit your limit, you're too scared and tired and hurt, I won't blame you. But I won't abandon you, either. I might not be able to right all of the wrongs in the world, but I'll be strong, I'll carry all of you with me, I will not give up.

As I've said before, society hates a cripple who won't die, so we must spite them and live anyway.

Please, live anyway. I know if anyone can, it's us.

[dazais-crab-addiction]

Shinigami-thighs is nothing more than a miserable sack of discarded body parts that her mother sadly failed to abort. She has her own anon off and that's why her friends are getting harassed but she doesn't care, as long as she is safe from harassment that's what only matters to her meanwhile her friends are dealing from her actions and she sits there on her couch and watches her friends face drama. Calling her ignorant would be an understatement - the amount of sheer stupidity oozing from her could fill the Grand Canyon. She is a walking cheap street skank that should have never been born but it won't change who she is: a loser who couldn't even save her own mother. Shinigami-thighs should have been flushed down the toilet the moment she was born.

Um??? Who the fuck are you talking about???? Are you like, fucking stupid or soemthing??? Like not only is everything you've said make you a huge asshole I also have zero idea who the fuck that is, so your messaging random unrelated people about it. What the fuck is wrong with you???

Normally I'd just block you, delete this, and move on with my life. But I just got done having a fucking breakdown that a friend had to help me out with and I opened tumblr to relax and calm down and this is the shit I have to see??? No. Just no. Go to fucking therapy you piece of shit.

[fastandcarlos]

100% Whipped : ̗̀➛ Lando Norris

summary: lando is happy to do just about anything for you, which the other drivers are more than happy to remind lando about too

Lando looked around in confusion as sniggers came from around the room, his fellow drivers all looked at him in disbelief, many shaking their heads as he spoke once again. 

“There are other things we can talk about,” Max told him, smirking across at Lando opposite him. “We don’t constantly just have to talk about your girlfriend you know.” 

Lando’s brows furrowed in confusion as several others nodded in agreement with Max. It was a habit of his, and one he didn’t realise he had either, but the rest of the boys were all too aware of just how much Lando loved to talk about you, to anyone who listened. 

They couldn’t help but smile at how fondly Lando spoke of you, the way his smile turned up and his eyes got brighter whenever the conversation was about you. As much as they loved knowing that Lando was happy, they didn’t need telling quite as much as they currently were. 

“I don’t just talk about her,” Lando argued, but as the others rolled their eyes, Lando wasn’t quite so confident that he didn’t talk about you as much as they all suggested. 

Although he would never admit just how much he adored you, Lando knew that he had been falling hard for you. He loved to gush about you and make sure that everyone else got to see what he saw in you, how kind, caring and funny you were. 

The rest of the paddock knew that anyway, but Lando liked to make extra sure that was the case with all of his stories about you. 

“Every time she’s not at a race you sit and complain that she’s not there and how much you need her,” Oscar spoke up, “she’s all we talk about on a race weekend.” 

“Or when she is there, you refuse to let her out of your sight because you want to make sure that she’s alright,” George added, smirking across at Lando, “you don’t let her lift a finger.” 

More and more stories came out as the boys all interjected with the moments that they’d experienced with Lando, seeing firsthand just how in love with you he was. 

“I’m just being a good boyfriend,” Lando tried to argue once they eventually fell silent, but even Lando was beginning to realise that he went above and beyond, constantly. 

“I think you know how she’s going to spend her day better than she does,” Daniel responded, unable to hold back his laughter. “You used to tell me every day exactly what she was up to, almost as if you knew where she was minute by minute.” 

“Really?” Lando asked in surprise, not realising quite how much attention to detail he paid when it came to what you were doing. 

“You don’t even realise that you’re doing it half the time.” 

Lando’s stature shrunk, sinking down in his seat. “I promise that I’m not as whipped as you guys all probably think I am, it’s not that bad.” 

“You are,” Carlos stated, sending Lando a knowing look, “but I guess most of the time it is quite sweet.” 

“Aside from the fact that you make the rest of us look like terrible boyfriends,” Charles added. 

Lando struggled to hold back his smile, although it wasn’t a competition, he knew that the two of you were a popular couple around the paddock. He felt like he was the standard, showing the others how to take care of your girlfriend properly and not care about what anyone else had to say about it. 

“I wonder if she realises how whipped you are for her or whether she’s just used to it all by now,” Oscar spoke up, looking pensively across at Lando. 

“I think Y/N is just as whipped for him as Lando is for her,” Daniel very quickly argued, “you should’ve heard some of the conversations we had about him when I was on the team.” 

A smile emerged on Lando’s face as some of the boys nodded in agreement again. They were used to listening to you talk about Lando just as much, talking through how amazing his races were time after time as if they hadn’t been there to experience it themselves. 

“Would you guys like me to stop talking about Y/N so much?” Lando asked them all. 

The group felt quite guilty as Lando stared seriously across at them all. They all knew that he meant it, glancing between themselves as their heads all shook back across at him. 

“We’re only messing with you buddy,” George assured him, tapping against his shoulders, “maybe we just don’t need to know every single last detail about her.” 

Lando nodded, smiling back across at George. “I’m sure I can tone it down a little bit, the last thing I need is you guys all thinking that I’m whipped.” 

“Mate, we all definitely know that you are though.” 

He could try to deny it all he wanted, but the boys all knew what he was like. It was something in him that they were never going to change, but as such a popular member of the team, it meant a lot to all of them to see how happy he was with you. 

“Don’t even try and deny it,” Max called out as Lando went to speak again, “wear it with pride, some people would kill to have the sort of relationship that the two of you have.” 

“Do you really think that?” 

“Of course,” Max smiled back across at him, “you know we’re always going to find something to tease you about, you’re still very much the baby of the grid to all of us.” 

It didn’t matter how old Lando was, the boys were all very protective of him, and as much as they took every chance to make fun of him, they’d never let anyone else say a bad word about him. 

“You just continue to do you,” Carlos smiled as he met Lando’s eyes, “some of these guys are never going to even get a girlfriend, so at least you’ve got that over them at least.” 

“None of you can ever mention this to her,” Lando told them all, “do you know how embarrassed she be knowing that you guys see us as whipped for one another.” 

Just like Lando, you were very aware of how whipped he was for you, but if anyone suggested that you were whipped for him, then you would categorically deny it. You knew how much he’d do for you though, savouring the feeling of Lando willingly doing absolutely anything to support you. 

“We’ll keep it between us,” Oscar promised him, “unless she keeps stealing the chocolate I keep in the garage for once the races are finished. If that carries on, I’m making no promises.” 

“I’ll buy you more,” Lando assured him, “just don’t tell her how whipped I am, or how whipped you guys seem to think that I might be.” 

“Just admit it,” Charles laughed, brushing a hand through his hair. “Admit that you’re whipped for her, it’s not like we don’t already know it already.” 

“Will you leave me alone if I say it?” Lando asked them all. 

“We promise to leave you alone for the rest of the night.” 

“Fine, I am 100% whipped for my girlfriend.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[tsuutarr]

Yandere!Hero (Chosen One) x Saint!Reader

Being the Hero – the Chosen One – means that the world’s fate is on Elias’ shoulders. He’s long since forgotten how to live for himself, his life belonging to everyone but him. He’s merely a puppet that’s being strung along by the world for the sole purpose of saving it.

At first, he was honored to be chosen as the Hero – it’s a privilege most don’t get. But everyone expects too much – everything – from him. His life is carefully shaped into what others want of him, people only looking at his role and not him as a person.

Now, he fights and saves people due to duty, not desire. There is no sparkle of pride when he helps villagers. Instead, all that is left is another thing checked off of his mental checklist. Now, he just wants to rest. He just wants things to be over.

So that’s why he despised the idea that some Saint from the Church would be his “helper.” Traveling with someone else is only going to slow him down. Not to mention the fact that he doubts the Saint has ever seen bloodshed and disease like he has.

But when he actually meets and travels with you, the Saint, he realizes that you’re actually not that bad. You’re actually kind of nice. He’d expected you to turn your nose at the commoner population, refusing to heal them, but you actively seek them out to help. You’re kind and gentle, but headstrong. Even when you’re visibly exhausted, you do your best to keep going. 

It’s… kind of impressive, actually. He had misjudged you, perhaps.

Even now, you’re helping the knights that were attacked by bandits (which Elias had vanquished), healing not only their bodies but their souls, too. He can’t help but look at you, a raw beacon of kindness that he hasn’t seen before in his travels. 

Once you’re done healing the knights, you look up at him, before a gasp escapes your lips. “Elias!”

He blinks at you, curiously.

“You’re bleeding!”

“Ah.” Elias looks down at his hand, blood dripping down his fingers. He had instinctively grabbed a knife by the blade earlier because he wouldn’t have been able to dodge it in time. “This is nothing.”

“Oh, shush!” you say, approaching him. You push him towards a tree stump, forcing him to sit, which he allows. Carefully, you take his hand in yours, frown deep set on your mouth. Your hand is so warm that it makes his heart burn.

“You’re tired,” he states, bluntly. He doesn’t tug his hand out of yours. “You’ve healed too many people.”

“I can–”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Rest for now, Saint. I am fine.” And he’s right – he’s the Hero, after all. His wounds heal much faster and better than a normal human being. He doesn’t necessarily need your healing.

“Still,” you murmur, looking up at him. “Can I at least clean and bandage it?”

It’s pointless, really, but Elias says, “Do what you want.”

So you do. You disinfect and clean his wound, before carefully wrapping his hand with bandages. For some reason, his heart squeezes painfully as he watches you tend to him so gently. He doesn’t remember if anyone’s ever treated him this kindly.

“There.” You look proud of yourself. It’s kind of cute.

“You didn’t have to,” he mutters without really thinking about it.

You give him a smile that makes his brain stop. “I wanted to. I want to support you.”

For some reason, your words almost make him want to cry. He’s not sure why – he’s seen so much death and destruction to the point that his emotions have become numb. Yet, you bring flickers of his feelings back to him – happiness, sadness, anger, love. 

You make him feel like he has an existence beyond just being the Hero. You make him feel human.

So, how can he let you go? He can’t – and he’ll do everything he can to make you his. Even if it means he has to destroy the world.

[always-just-red]

A multi-headcanon request please. How the boys react when they discover their s/o has been hiding a wound from them because she had it under control and didn't want to give them something else to worry about

Hi! Thanks so much for the request and all the support! Have written a little fic for each of the guys, starring... - Xavier, Deepspace Hunter extraordinaire ✨ - Linkon's worst best baking partner, Zayne 🍪 - Drama queen Rafayel 👑 - King of self-care, Sylus 💅

Putting On A Brave Face

L&DS Boys x Reader

Summary: Sometimes, a certain hunter likes to say things are fine when they definitely aren't...

Genre: A lil bit of angst, mostly fluff + comfort!

Warnings/Additional tags: female reader, established relationship, swearing, canon pet names, some injury details/blood mentioned, teeeeency bit of suggestion (I'm looking at YOU, Sylus...)

| Word count: 4k (1k each!) | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Xavier ⭐

This is bad. Not ‘end of everything as we know it’ bad, but definitely ‘an obscene amount of paperwork’ bad.

You clutch one of your pistols to your chest— deep breath— and you listen carefully, your head leant back against the rock you’re using as cover. Your mind latches on to every sound: each growl, each rumble of earth that marks the movements of the Wanderers that have trapped you here.

You’ve fought worse odds, but then again, you don’t usually have to do it with a broken leg.

Or maybe just sprained? You shift a little, trying to move, and the pain that sears through you settles the debate in an instant. Your teeth sink into the back of your hand to keep you from crying out.

You hope Xavier’s ok. You sent him your co-ordinates minutes ago, and the lack of response has worry gnawing away at the deepest parts of you. You check your hunter’s watch.

Still nothing.

Another deep breath, and you readjust your position as much as you can. Balancing on your good leg, you manage to peer over the top of the rock to get a visual of your surroundings.

There’s four, no— five Wanderers. Stupid no-hunt zone; you’re never not outnumbered.

You can see your second pistol, abandoned in the middle of the clearing where you’d dropped it. There’s flickers of movement, too: further in the woods. More Wanderers. Shit.

You duck behind the rock you’re starting to think might be your new home. Then your watch flickers, broadcasting a map of the area, and there’s the co-ordinates of another hunter, closing in fast.

Something flashes in the clearing, lighting the dark of the forest like a stutter of lightning. Then again. Then again. There’s a blood-curdling roar, and it ends— abrupt— with another flash.

Everything goes silent, save for a familiar voice calling your name.

“Xavier!” you call back.

You peek over the rock to see your partner jogging towards you, dead Wanderers littered behind him. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice soft as always, but his sword is still dripping blood.

“I’m ok.” You clamber up, using the rock as a seat when the small effort almost breaks you. “You?”

Xavier draws close— his gloved hands on your face, cupping your cheeks. His thumb grazes over a shallow scrape on your brow. “Yeah,” he answers.

“Did you find that weird Wanderer?”

He shakes his head: no. Steps back to check his watch. “It’s probably moved on to a different zone by now.”

“Then we should look for it,” you say, standing up. All of your weight is on one leg.

“Ah,” Xavier ponders, rubbing his neck, “really? I thought we should maybe head back.”

“No need.” And what’s the plan here, exactly? You can’t walk. You definitely can’t fight. Maybe you can wait here while he— no. He’s never going to leave you. “I told you I’m ok.”

“But you’re not.”

“I am,” you assert. You’re determined to convince him and your own, useless body. It’s just a sprain. It is just a sprain. You take a step forwards and stumble, your bad leg crumpling beneath you.

Xavier catches you, strong and solid, and he's holding you like you’re something delicate. He sets you down on the rock again. The pain is making your vision swim.

“You’re hurt,” he reasons gently, even though the truth of it is a knife that’s twisting in your heart. He seems to sense your reluctance: “There’s no shame in admitting that. It happens. Let’s go back.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m slowing you down, Xavier!” you gush. Your heart is split open and it has to bleed somewhere. “You have no idea what it’s like… being your partner.”

He’s looking at you with so much guilt and gods, you wish that somewhere was anywhere but his hands. “What do you mean?” he asks on a shaky breath.  

“I love working with you.” Soften the blow. “I love being with you, but you don’t need me. You’re this incredible hunter. This figure of legend, of everyone’s stories. You can do so much on your own and I just don’t know how to keep up. I mean, look at me— I can’t.”

You feel sick. Empty. “You shouldn’t have to hang back for me,” you finish limply. “You’re you, Xavier. You can fight like a hundred Wanderers and still come out unscathed.”

The blue of Xavier’s eyes has grown understandably more turbulent, though it settles a little. He seems to relax. “Yeah… about that,” he mumbles hesitantly.

He turns around and your mouth drops. A savage cut drapes like a crimson sash down his back, splitting the white of his uniform. It’s not deep enough to be fatal, but it’s not good, either.

“Wha— Xavier!” you exclaim, trying to surge forwards, but your pain keeps you rooted. “You said you were ok!”

“So did you,” he frowns, bewildered. “Can we get out of—”

“Yeah, yeah.” You let him take your arm and help you to your feet.

He leads you through the clearing and into the forest, supporting your weight as you hop along beside him. There’s a murmur about how he should carry you, but you’re quick to reassure him he’s doing enough. You’re both hurting; you both just need to survive the short walk out of the no-hunt zone, where a med team can take over.

“You don’t slow me down, you know,” Xavier says quietly, after a minute of silence. “You’re the reason I can keep going.”

You squeeze his arm affectionately, mustering a smile even though you’re nauseous with pain and the idea that he’s been dwelling on your speech this whole time. “Well,” you chuckle through gritted teeth, “you’re gonna have to learn how to get by without me.”

“Huh?” He gives you a curious look.

You glance down at your leg. “Zayne’s gonna kill me...”

Zayne ❄

“I’m a doctor.”

You stop what you’re doing to fix Zayne with a questioning stare. “Ok…?”

“I’ve published dozens of research papers. Pioneered new surgical techniques. My work on Evol-based regenerative properties still has lasting implications for my field, and I’ve the accolades to show for it. The Starcatcher Award. The Linde Award, too— I was the youngest ever recipient.”

None of this is news to you, and you can’t help chuckling at this change in your usually-humble physician. You humour him: “The youngest ever recipient, huh?” There’s a crack as you split an egg on the side of the bowl in front of you. “That’s very impressive.”

“Is it?”

Zayne stands from his seat at your kitchen table: you hear the chair draw back. You feel his presence arrive behind you as you continue to stir your soon-to-be cookie dough. “Yeah,” you lilt with a smile.

“Really?” he pushes again, and his arms wrap around you as he bends to speak into your ear. “Because someone seems to think I can’t even recognise a—” he nips at it— “sprained ankle.”

His breath is warm on your neck and you let out a giggle. “Keep speaking to me like that and these cookies are never making it into the oven. Or your stomach.”

The man relents. He releases you, not returning to his seat but opting to lean against the kitchen counter instead. You glance up at him; he stares back, waiting for an actual answer.

“My ankle is fine, Zayne.”

There’s a sigh as he crosses his arms.

“It is,” you insist, even though you did sprain your ankle at work today, it does hurt like hell, and you do just want to sit down. You reach for the flour you’d measured out previously, tipping it into the larger bowl. “If it wasn’t, would I really be here— making you cookies?”

“Yes,” he says plainly.

“You’re delusional.”

“Ok.”  

Well, that was a little too easy. Don’t overthink it, and definitely don’t read into the fact that he’s standing there oh-so-smugly, like he knows something you don’t. You finish stirring the flour into the mixture, then add the last of the ingredients. Just a pinch of salt, and then…

Where did you put the chocolate chips? You glance about yourself but they’re nowhere in sight. “Hey, Zayne? Have you seen the—”

“This cupboard,” he indicates with an upwards nod of his head. His eyes are relentless. “Top shelf.”

Ah. That’s ok. You’ve totally got this. You move beneath the cupboard, opening it and gazing up into the contents. You can see the pack of chocolate chips. You can get up there somehow, right?

“Would you like me to—” Zayne starts, but you cut him off:

“Nope.” You put your hands on your hips. “Please— if I can climb the back of an alive, awake, and very angry deluge wyrmlord to put a sword through its skull, I think I can make it onto the kitchen counter in one piece. Lemme just…”

Your knee lifts. You make it about a centimetre from the floor before Zayne’s hands are on your waist, grounding you. “Stop,” he instructs, and it's not a tone that allows for any rebuttal. Satisfied by your silence, he brings the chocolate chips down to you.

“Thanks,” you say quietly as they’re placed on the counter.

“You’re welcome."

Sheepishly, you spill a generous amount of chocolate chips into the cookie mixture. Your throat hurts in the way that keeps you from saying anything more. You already feel like an idiot, and your eyes are watering, threatening to make you look like even more of one.

Zayne’s hand appears in front of you, hovering over the bowl. You laugh in understanding: giving the half-empty bag another shake so chocolate chips fall into his palm.

“You… don’t have to explain yourself,” he says as he lifts them to his mouth. His next words are muffled: “But you can tell me anything, my love. I never want you to feel as though you can’t.”

You chuckle again; you can’t help yourself. Look at him: your oh-so-serious doctor shovelling chocolate into his mouth. He raises an eyebrow at you, his lips still on his palm.

“I know I can tell you anything,” you smile, the ache in your throat receding, however much the rest of you hurts. “I did sprain my ankle. It’s not that I wanted to hide it from you, it’s just—” you stop stirring the mixture— “it’s just that your whole life is taking care of people at the hospital. You should get a break from it. You should get to be Zayne, here… at home. Just Zayne, not Doctor Zayne.”

Zayne’s hazel eyes have taken on a hue of regret. He pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, buying himself a few seconds as he contemplates. “Are you a doctor?” he asks after a moment.

“No?”

“And yet, here you are, taking care of me.” He reaches for the abandoned packet of chocolate chips. “Tell me, does it feel like work to you?”

“Yeah,” you tease, drawing the packet away from his stretching fingers in explanation; you’re both grinning.

“Well, it never feels like work to me. Just Zayne likes taking care of you. And right now? He wants to bundle you up on the sofa and finish these cookies for you.”

You purse your lips: that’s some dubious wording. “Zayne, hell will freeze over before I leave you and this cookie dough unsupervised.”

He shushes you, pulling on the cord of your apron until the bow at your back comes loose. Before you can protest, he’s wearing the apron himself.

“Zayne, I’m not kidding. I know what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna get rid of me, and then you’ll—”

“Shh,” he coos again, whisking you carefully off your feet, because it’s time for a taste of your own medicine. “You’re delusional.”

Rafayel 🔥

“Mmhmm. Mmhmm.”

“Raf, who are you—”

He holds out a finger to shush you. “Mmhmm.”

You cross your arms impatiently. Who is he even talking to, anyway? His lilac eyes are locked on you as he continues humming away, apparently very invested in whatever the person on the phone is saying; you’ve never seen him go this long without talking.

He narrows his eyes at you. You narrow your eyes right back.

All around you, guests of the exhibition are milling about, all dressed to the nines and minding their business, however much they want the attention of the man in front of you. A few of them linger as they pass him, like they want to say something, like they’re going to say something…

But they don’t.

It’s a wonder that Rafayel stands out in the crowd as much as he does. You’d seamlessly located him, back from your third trip to the bathroom to check on the bandages you’ve managed to conceal beneath this dress. He’s still holding your purse for you, his phone in his other hand, except—

That’s your phone. That’s your phone! “Rafayel!”

He shushes you again. “I understand,” he says solemnly, notably not to you, “thanks for letting me know.” The call is ended. He takes a deep, collected breath, then looks at you. “I knew it!”

“Knew what? Who was that?”

“Zayne.”

“You called Zayne?”

“Like I had a choice!” Rafayel retaliates. It is true; he’s spent the entire evening trying to get you to admit something was wrong, and you had no intention of giving him that pleasure. “You’re supposed to be in the hospital! What kind of idiot breaks out of the hospital?”

The lack of irony in the question almost breaks you. “Umm… you?! Like every other week?!”

He shrugs. “That’s different.”

“Rafayel, I swear, I’m gonna— ah!” you gasp in pain. You’d stepped forwards too quickly— maybe to strangle him, but that’s neither here nor there— and the wound on your side is clearly on his side. It stings like hell: punishing you, and you know the pain is self-inflicted.

Rafayel frowns in concern, maybe even guilt, and that’s why you didn’t tell him. “C’mon, we should go,” he insists gravely.

“It’s fine, Raf. It doesn’t even—”

“Stop lying! You said you wouldn’t hide stuff like this from me. You promised, remember?”

You’re losing track of all the promises you’ve made to the Lemurian, but you do remember that one. Guilt has its teeth in you, too. “I know,” you grumble, “I’m sorry, ok? I just knew—”

“What?”

“That you’d act like this! You’ve been working on this exhibition for months, Raf. Tonight is supposed to be about you. Not me— you. And I want it to stay that way. Everyone’s here to celebrate you and your work, and that’s how it should be. That’s what I want. To support you. To be here for you.”

Your voice has gone timid. You finish meekly: “Can’t you let me do this for you? Please?”

Rafayel’s eyes are wide and still the prettiest things you’ve ever seen, even in a room full of masterpieces and jewels you could never afford. They shine with uncertainty, but soften as he smiles, full of fondness and affection. “That’s sweet. But also? Really dumb.”

“Raf—”

“The only— and I mean only— reason I’m here tonight is because you are. I don’t care about what anyone thinks about me or my paintings. Just you. And you can see this?” He gestures around the gallery. “Anytime. My life’s your private exhibition, cutie. Exclusive access, 24/7, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

He steps closer to you: close enough that he can see the tear that’s made it halfway down your cheek. He wipes it away with a chuckle. “Plus,” he adds, “I know you know I’m amazing. You don’t need these old sourpusses to tell you that, do you?”

You laugh tentatively. “No, I don’t.”

Your injury protests as you use the lapels on Rafayel’s blazer to pull him closer; you have to stand on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. He’s still grinning as he draws away, a light blush on his cheeks, but the sweetness of the moment vanishes as his gaze drifts lower.

“My eyes are up here, Rafayel.”

“Yeah…” he concedes mindlessly, but then he points: “you know you’re like, bleeding, right?”

You glance downwards to where the red of your dress is turning darker. There’s just a small splotch, but it’s growing. Shit. You must have reopened the wound.

“Thomas?” you hear Rafayel call, and then he’s stuffing a silk handkerchief into your hands— helping you apply pressure. “We have to get out of here,” he explains as a figure joins you.

His agent folds his arms; this is not dissimilar to stunts you and Rafayel have pulled before. “Fake blood, guys? Really?” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You can’t leave, Rafayel. I can just see the headlines tomorrow…”

“Dashing artist selflessly flees exhibition to save devoted bodyguard,” Rafayel concurs with a nod.

Thomas groans. “That’s not what they’re going to—”

“Help me out with this, cutie?”

“Yes, sir,” you mock salute.

A moment later, Rafayel has scooped you up into his arms. Your hero; he gives you a conspiratorial wink before glancing about frantically. “Quickly!” he cries out. “Everyone out of the way, please!”

“For the love of—” Thomas starts.

“Oh, gods!” you shout in agony. “It hurts. It hurts!”

Heads turn. Cameras flash.

Tomorrow morning, half of Linkon will be talking about one of their favourite celebrities and his long-envied bodyguard. A news article will pop-up on her doctor’s phone, and he’ll see the pictures and sigh.

Sylus 🩸

“It’s not too late to back down, sweetie,” Sylus sneers.

“Aw, but you got all dressed up for the occasion.”

Your eyes rake over the outline of the man’s abs, courtesy of the tank top he’s wearing, and it does take the sting out of the fact that he’ll be trying to hit you. He holds his wrapped hands before him, ready to defend, ready to attack. He’ll probably attack, right?

“Last chance,” he growls.

“Is it, though?” This is the third ‘last chance’ you’ve been given in the five minutes you’ve been teetering on combat. You beckon him with a curl of your fingers. “Come on, Sylus. This is getting old.”

He scoffs: “How do you think I feel?”

“Like you’re about to get your ass kicked?”

“Alright, enough.” His hands drop and it feels like you’re back at the academy, about to be scolded for not taking something seriously. Sylus turns his back on you. Moves to the edge of the boxing ring so he can retrieve a stool from outside of it and sit down in a huff. He starts peeling the wraps from his knuckles, and— wait, is he mad? Like, actually mad?

“What’s wrong, Sy?”

He laughs as though you’re missing something dreadfully obvious. Maybe irony.

“Sylus?”

“You really are heartless, sweetie. You know that?”

The words steal your breath away, if only for a moment. Yours is a relationship of pulled punches, but he won’t meet your gaze and that one was real, wasn’t it? He wanted it to sting. “Why—”

“I could have hurt you,” he snaps, his dishevelled, snowy hair falling to cover his eyes. His discarded wraps slide from his hands, pooling by his feet like blood. “You were going to let me hurt you.”

He looks at you, finally, but it’s not in the way you want. His gaze is cast low, trailing over your body and making you feel every bruise, every closed cut that wants to reopen and every ache, rooted almost to bone. You’d done your best to hide it, even going so far as to press make-up hastily over your purpled skin.

That Wanderer really did a number on you yesterday.  

“You should have told me,” Sylus says, since you’ve made it onto the same page. “Honestly, kitten. Why would you—”

“Because Luke and Kieran told me, ok?”

Oh, they’re going to kill you. It was supposed to be a secret, and here you are, spilling like a fresh wound because you can’t stand the thought of Sylus being upset with you. You step closer, scrambling to dissect what you’ve done right in front of his eyes— holding it out to him: this is why. This is why. “They said you had a rough week. Some deals of yours had fallen through or something. And I’ve been too busy. I haven’t called, I haven’t even texted, and…”

You need him to understand, but the truth is a mess in your hands and how do you even start to explain it to him?

“You wanted to do something for me,” he finishes for you, and you don’t have to explain a thing.

“Yeah…” you confirm, bittersweet and still sad. “You do so much for me, Sylus. I just wanted to do what you wanted, for a change.”

Maybe it’s a round of boxing. Maybe it’s a dozen illicit dealings where he needs you to play enforcer— it doesn’t matter. As long as he’s happy.

“Come here,” he orders gently.

You close the rest of the rift between you, letting him reach for you and pull you closer. His knees have spread so you can slot against him, and his arms circle around you— trapping you— as he nuzzles into the warmth of your stomach.

“I’m sorry I called you heartless,” he speaks into you, his voice muffled as he gives you a chaste kiss. He then cranes his head upwards, resting his chin against you so he can profess more clearly: “I do worry about you, kitten.”

“I know—” your hands move to his head— “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

“Mmm,” he hums in accordance, maybe even forgiveness, and his eyes close as your fingers card through the soft of his hair. “I lied too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he confesses on a contented sigh. “I didn’t want to spend today… boxing.”

“What do you want to do today, Sy?”

His eyes flicker open and his hands find your hips. “What I really want…” he contemplates, as his thumbs slip under the hem of your shirt to rub circles on your skin, “is to take care of you.”

There are lifetimes of need in his gaze.

“Won’t you let me take care of you, sweetie?”

…

“If he finds the terms so disagreeable, then he’s more than welcome to take his business elsewhere. Although—” Sylus’s voice is cold— “he might find his other options less… amenable than when he saw them last. Less communicative, too. You can tell him I said so.”

He ends the phone call. Smiles. “Sorry about that, sweetie.”

“Are the boys ok?”

The smile widens, even though you can’t see it. “They’re fine.”

Phone set aside, Sylus carries on with the important business Kieran’s call had distracted him from. You’re half asleep, your head in his lap as he brushes your hair: rose-scented and soft from the bath he’d drawn for you, hours ago. Every bandage is fresh and clean. Every ache has been dulled with a lazy massage and more chaste kisses, for good measure.

“Perfect day,” you mumble blissfully.

“Perfect day,” Sylus agrees.