#he's very very talented at it and also his voice is very relaxing to listen to. it's a win win.

[the-force-awakens]

Y'know, sometimes I forget that Miguel O'hara is an Oscar boy. I'll just be sitting there watching atsv and being like, "His voice sounds So similar," before common sense kicks in, and I remember he's voiced by Oscar Isaac.

Not quite the same but like - when itsv first came out on digital and I watched it for the first time, I think I knew there were after credits scenes so I watched them, and I remember sitting there listening to Miguel and Lyla banter and thinking to myself (laughingly) "hey wait a minute, this guy sounds kind of like Poe"

and then that kind of sank in after a couple more seconds of hearing him talk, at which point I went "........wait"

[impactedfates]

Hello there!! Can I request some headcanons / mini-scenarios for: Dan Heng, March, Welt, Himeko, Yanqing and Jing Yuan; with a normally soft-spoken Reader who has a wide vocal range (from contralto to hitting those high notes) and occasionally does song covers? Doesn't matter the genre, so long as Reader likes it.

So they might hear Reader singing something like a lullaby or a traditional Xianzhou song one day, to something that's still soft and sweet like a mainstream pop song on another day; to belting out something like "Kakusei" or "NEXUS" from the Promare OST. :D

★ A/N: I understood the request, I just hope I wrote it in a way you wanted! People with such a large vocal range are so talented istg, they gotta teach me. (I say as if I have ANY confidence to sing anyways)

☆ Genre/Trope: Platonic

★ Format: Bullet Pointed Head Cannons (And small scenario at the end :>)

☆ Warnings: None

★ Extra: Reader is a Nameless // Readers age is undisclosed so imagine them at whatever age you wish // Reader can play instruments! // Characters might be OOC I feel // Proof Read but I did it when it was 4am lmao

When you sing more soft songs, Dan Heng tends to enjoy listening. It helps him feel more relax and sometimes rids his mind of nightmares.

He's more used to hearing that kind of voice from you. So when one day, he walks in on you singing a song that's the exact opposite of how you usually sing, he's a bit surprised.

He never doubted you could have a big vocal range, however hearing you sing a song that's different to how he normally hears you sing is what surprised him.

He still enjoys listening, but more so when you sing in a softer voice, don't get him wrong. He still enjoys your singing voice and will support you. But he isn't one for a more loud song.

"[Name]...if you're going to sing more...on the loud side, could I request you do it else where?" Dan Heng sighs softly, being awoken up once again due to you. Despite his words hinting at annoyance, his facial expression was soft and kind. A soft sorry came from your voice as you quickly turned off the music you were using, switching to a more softer song. An old Xianzhou lullaby. "Here, I'll make it up to you. Sit on the couch and I'll sing a softer song" You smiled, Dan Heng chuckled as he obliged. He can't deny that your more softer voice doesn't help him fall asleep. He silently hums along to your voice, and in a sleepy voice he speaks to you before drifting to bed. "If you enjoy music like that so much, we can pay a visit to Serval okay?"

March 7th LOVES your singing voice. She would sing along to whatever song you were singing. She praises you every time she hears you and likely took photos of you singing.

She so supports you if you ever make a YouTube (StarTube?) account and posted covers, literally your number 1 fan.

When you post a cover of a song, she's always the first one to like, comment and listen!

When you post a cover of a song that's VERY different. (Let's say, Usseewa) and you hit ALL those high notes and, everything omg. She was surprised but immediately hyped you up.

She doesn't mind if you sing songs like that at all, your singing is amazing. Like I said, number 1 fan...she doesn't hid it either.

"I love you [Name]!" "Uh, the one with the blue camera and pink hair?" "OH. MY GOD. [NAME] YOU NOTICED ME, YOU NOTICED ME. I.LOVE.YOU" Serval laughed out loud seeing Marchs outburst, as if you two don't live with each other. You could only look away with a small smile, seeing March jump up and down and shaking whoever was beside her. Much to Welts "delight"

Welts very impressed with your vocal range. But he's also worried, he knows that if you were able too have a large vocal range, you likely know how to manage it.

Still, anytime he hears you singing songs like NEXUS or Kakusei he can't help but slide over a bottle of water for your throat.

If you ever join a concert with Serval then he IS buying tickets, though not everyone may go (Dan Heng) he and the rest of the Express will.

He also tends to buy any merch you may come out with if there is any. (Mainly for March but he does keep one or two for himself to support you)

He doesn't really have a preference when it comes too what songs you sing, just as long as your happy and it isn't really disturbing anyone.

If you ever start a StarTube channel, he might animate a few of your covers! Under a pen name though, he's not embarrassed, but I think he'd like it if you thought it was a different fan and not just him who's already liked your singing from the start. (If that makes sense)

"WELT! Weltweltwelt" You ran up to him, quickly showing him an animation someone did of one of your new songs. "ArahatosNumber1Fan animated one of my covers again" You said excitedly, bringing the phone screen back to your view as you scrolled through the comments. Many complimenting the animation but many also asking who sang the cover to which they were directed to your account. "This the guy that you said was helping boost your channel subs?" You nod happily, tapping your chin you thought for a bit. "Do you think they'd still animate my covers even if I sing a different genre? I want to go with something softer this time instead of a louder peice" "I'm sure they'll animate any song you wish to sing" He chuckles. And sure enough, a week after you posted a cover of Lost Umbrella, ArahatosNumber1Fan posted an animation to go along with it.

Himeko compliments you a lot for your vocal range. In fact, she got you a karaoke machine for your birthday! Of course, though. She doesn't let you use it during night time. She doesn't want to wake up because you decided to start singing Churira Churira Dadada at 3 in the morning.

I do think she prefers you to sing outside the train. While she does enjoying your singing and she has no problem if you were to sing in the train. However she also understands it may disturb many people so she does ask for you to sing in an area where you aren't disturbing anyone.

I feel like she also asks you to teach her how to sing or have a wider vocal range. She enjoys singing herself and would love to join in when you're out singing to keep you company!

Perhaps you two can make money by singing on the streets :> (Only if you're okay with it though!)

You strummed you guitar as the two of you reached the last note, Himeko took a small bow and looked up at the audience that had gathered around. All of them clapping and complimenting your voice. She laughed softly and gently packed up your things so the two of you could get going, checking to see if you were uncomfortable with the attention before she directs you back to the train. As you two entered, Himeko was quick to sit and count the amount of credits that were left in your guitar case, looking up to you she said with a smile. "A success, well done. They loved you" "It wasn't just me singing..." "Perhaps but...I'd say they have their favourites"

When Yanqing overhears you singing Xianzhou lullabys, he's quick to shower you with compliments. Your voice is so soothing! He could listen it for so long and it's effective too. You had to usher him out as he could wake the kids you just put to bed.

When he hears you singing a song like (man I'm running out of songs I know/hj) Noels Lament. He's impressed, how can you sing a song so softly and quietly and then sing something like this which needs a stronger voice??

He might skip a few of his training to find you and see what song you're singing, he makes it a guessing game! Will you be singing something so sweet and kind? Or something that might will make head turn??

"...Yanqing?" "Ha! I guessed right this time" "...Guessed...right?" Ah, you weren't meant to know the guessing game he had in his own head, quickly, he shuffled away. Scratching the back of his head. "Of where you were!" "I always walk in this area" "...I meant...what outfit you'd be wearing?" "I usually wear similar clothes?" ...Yeah, he's running off quickly, hopefully Jing Yuan won't scold him for skipping his training again right? Surely the general can understand he just has to see if his guess was right or not.

Surprisingly (or not surprisingly) Jing Yuan enjoys when you sing your heart out with songs like Candy Store or Mount Rageous. That's the type of sing he first heard you sing when he tried to find Yanqing when he skipped yet another training sessions.

Usually he would just sleep till Yanqing returned or just go on with his day if he never did. In either case, now he joins Yanqing to see what song you're singing before returning back to train.

When he hears you singing a less upbeat song like Sweet Dreams. He's slightly surprised but listens intently, it's different to what he often hears you sing but he enjoys it none the less, he sees your happy so he's fine.

He might even request to hear certain songs just to see how well you voice range can handle it. From the loudest song that could break glass, to a soothing song that can put even the mara struck to bed. And if you successfully sing them all, he congratulates you.

Overall, he's impressed as well as many others, likely talks to you and how well you sing to his friends.

You panted a bit as you finished a particularly long high note, Jing Yuan chuckles and slides over a cup of water which you accept quickly. Taking a drink to sooth your throat. "You voice really can do wonders, I'm more then impressed" He speaks, you nodded in response as he then offers a small treat for agreeing to sing a song for him. A song that made you go from high to low, soft to loud and all in all, tested how wide your voice range can be in a singular song. "I must apologies, I just wished to see how far your voice can go. I should've considered how tired your throat must be from singing that particular song" "No worries, it was fun to read and practice that song. I'm a bit surprised you know it though" "Oh? Are you now?" "Yeah...I mean...the song was released like a month ago and you're kinda a grandp-" "Alright I get it" He chuckled lightly, gently flicking your forehead.

I'm so smart writing Yanqings and JY sleep deprived right?/j Yeah uh they might be OOC, hopefully not thoughejfpgt.

[lost-and-ephemeral]

Helloo><!!! I love your fics sm ueueue!!! I was wondering if it's okay with you to write about Zayne and Rafayel with a very childish Mc who loves a lot of cute stuffies!!! Mc is really bubbly and gets excited and happy over all the little things and just like Rafayel, they are a painter too:DD!!! except Mc doesn't get attention on their art which makes them sad... But overall, just a mostly bubbly and cuddly Mc on both if its okie><!! Tyyy!!!

HCs: Childish Beloved (Zayne, Rafayel)

Pairing: Zayne x reader, Rafayel x reader

Tags: fluff, established relationship

A/N: Thanks for your request, sweetheart! I'm also sorry it takes me a lot of time to write requests. So much work, so little time irl.

-`♡´- MASTERLIST -`♡´- 

Zayne

You're the exact opposite of Zayne, but that's not a bad thing.

Opposites attract. It works the same way with him.

Zayne is pretty reserved and quiet, so he needs a bright person like you for the perfect balance.

Your babbly and childlike demeanor makes his heart melt with love.

Even on the coldest and gloomiest day, you are able to shine like the sun itself.

It's hard for him to show affection, so your cuddly personality completely overrides that little flaw.

Every time you hug him unexpectedly, Zayne's whole body tenses up at first and then slowly relaxes in your arms.

Just don't melt that Mr. Snowman completely.

Don't mind your babbling, unless he has some very urgent work to do. Don't be upset, it's just that sometimes Zayne has lots of important work to do and he can't make a mistake.

After hard day at work he will 100% fall asleep to the sound of your voice.

Always praising your art, even the smallest sketches.

If you do a little goofy sketch of him, he'll carry it in his wallet. Always. He just won't admit it openly.

But one day you'll find out anyway. Zayne will just chuckle at your happy reaction.

When you get excited about the little things, he just shakes his head and smiles.

He can't believe that such a sweet little being could love someone as cold as him.

He doesn't mind that you in love with every cute little thing you see. Because, well, you're cute too.

Sometimes he will unintentionally look for something you might really like.

He's literally spoiling you with plushies and sweets.

You have a special warm place in his heart.

Rafayel

Rafayel isn't bothered in the slightest by your personality or your behavior.

He is an expressive and bright person in his own way.

Just loves listening to your babbling while he's painting. You can talk about anything that comes into your head, Rafayel won't say anything against it.

You're really cuddly person? Great, he doesn't mind and actually loves this too. He's pretty affectionate himself.

But he still blushes every time you get him into your arms. Cutie.

Perhaps sometimes it is your warm embrace that was missing for him to so wanted inspiration for his latest painting.

And speaking of paintings, he's just in awe of the fact that you're an artist too.

He'll be sure to ask you to paint something together with him.

Don't be surprised if at one of his next exhibitions you'll see this painting, even with an indication of your co-authorship.

Rafayel thinks that you and your art deserve all the love and attention. And he can provide it.

He will tell everyone that his beloved is really talented.

With you he is even more playful than usual.

You're his little sunshine. He's happy when you're happy. So when you're excited over something small, he can't help but chuckle and smile.

Loves seeing you all joyful and excited, because your joy is contagious.

If you see a cute thing you like, you'll have it right away.

Even in all available colors and variations if you want so. Rafayel can afford it.

Won't stop until he gets all the toys you like out of the claw machine.

Just never ever leave him. Rafayel won't survive without you and your adorable personality.

[coolguyhsupage]

Daddy's Broken Good Girl w/ Korrupted-Bunny

Hello everyone! Here is a new file I created recently. This file is featuring the lovely @korrupted-bunny. She's done great work for me in the past and has also done great stuff with NNPP. Please go follow her, as she's very talented and very sexy!

This file is about, pardon the pun, corruption and programming and being the best broken Good Girl you can be for Daddy.

You can find the full file in the link above! For the full script, click on the "Keep Reading" tab!

Updated info!

Content:

YouTube.com/CoolGuyHSU

Soundgasm.net/u/CGHypnosisOnYT

Contact Info:

Kik: coolguyhsu

Discord: coolguyhsupage

E-mail: coolguyhsupage@gmail.com

Now, let’s begin by taking a nice, deep breath in… and then slowly, letting it out. Once again, slowly in… and deeply out. Good job. In… and out. Letting all your tension flow away.

Just continue to breathe, slowly and deeply, as you start to relax. You may notice, or perhaps, you have already noticed, that with every breath that you take and every word that I say, that you’re beginning to feel more and more relaxed. In fact, you’ve likely noticed how your body seems to relax so easily, so automatically, listening to my voice, with no worries or hesitation, because your body already knows what to do, and already knows how to do it.

Notice, how with every word that you hear, that you continue to feel better and better, happier and happier, as every word sinks you deeper and deeper into your mind, letting you feel more and more relaxed. Just feeling so good, so relaxed, so at ease, with no thoughts or worries, no cares or concerns. Just following my voice, allowing it to guide you, allowing yourself to follow them with no hesitation or resistance.

And now, I’m going to count down, from 5 down to 1. And as I count down with each number, you will drop twice as deep as you are currently.

5.

4.

3.

2.

And 1.

Doing what I'm told make me happy. I'm too dumb and horny to resist Daddy's control. So, I edge and edge and edge and edge and edge. I'm too dumb to cum.

I'm Daddy's property. More and more his, every day. I love how happy I feel knowing I'm Daddy's property. I love how happy Daddy is when I please him.

I need Daddy's help to be better for him. I need to be better for him. I need to improve for him. I need Daddy to mold me.

I'm Daddy's brainless fucktoy. I love being submissive for him. I love how powerless I feel. I love being his property. I'll do anything for Daddy. I'm willing to do anything to please him and have his attention and love.

I don't have to hide it anymore. I want my thoughts to leak away. I want my thoughts to be replaced by Daddy and his programming. I can feel my mind leaking, dripping out of my cunt.

I want to be Daddy's pleasure puppet. I can't help it. I love him. I love how he makes me feel. I want to surrender to him so completely. I want to be absolutely controlled by Daddy.

Please Daddy... take me. Take away my thoughts. Let me surrender to you and be controlled by you. Please. Please help me be better. Please Daddy. I need you, Daddy. I need you so badly. Take me away. Take everything. I'm all yours.

I need it. I ache for it. I can't resist anymore. I've needed you for so long. You complete me, Daddy. I want to be everything for you. Please Daddy. Please help me.

Notice, how as my words become your thoughts, how everything else just fades away, until nothing exists except for my words and the good feelings that they give you. The more you follow my words, the better you feel. The better you feel, the more you want to follow my words. It feels so good to follow them, so good to obey them, and you know the more you follow them the more powerful they become. It feels so good to let my words become more and more powerful, let my words become stronger and stronger, because the stronger they become, and the more power they have over you, the better you feel and the happier you become as a result.

- - -

Doing what I'm told make me happy. I'm too dumb and horny to resist Daddy's control. So, I edge and edge and edge and edge and edge. I'm too dumb to cum.

I'm Daddy's property. More and more his, every day. I love how happy I feel knowing I'm Daddy's property. I love how happy Daddy is when I please him.

I need Daddy's help to be better for him. I need to be better for him. I need to improve for him. I need Daddy to mold me.

I'm Daddy's brainless fucktoy. I love being submissive for him. I love how powerless I feel. I love being his property. I'll do anything for Daddy. I'm willing to do anything to please him and have his attention and love.

I don't have to hide it anymore. I want my thoughts to leak away. I want my thoughts to be replaced by Daddy and his programming. I can feel my mind leaking, dripping out of my cunt.

I want to be Daddy's pleasure puppet. I can't help it. I love him. I love how he makes me feel. I want to surrender to him so completely. I want to be absolutely controlled by Daddy.

Please Daddy... take me. Take away my thoughts. Let me surrender to you and be controlled by you. Please. Please help me be better. Please Daddy. I need you, Daddy. I need you so badly. Take me away. Take everything. I'm all yours.

I need it. I ache for it. I can't resist anymore. I've needed you for so long. You complete me, Daddy. I want to be everything for you. Please Daddy. Please help me.

- - -

Daddy… Fill me with your control. Fill me with more desire than I can take. Fill me with more horniness than I’ve ever felt. Take me above and beyond what I thought was possible. Drop me deeply… drop me so much deeper than I could possibly imagine. Take me where there is only complete nothingness, complete emptiness. Take me where my mind is gone. Mindfuck me into oblivion again. Anytime, in any way you please. I’ll gladly lose it all to you because you enjoy taking it all from me… I want you to have all. I want you to have all of me. My Daddy... Take me. Fill me. Control me. I’m yours. Always. (Yes Daddy.)

- - -

It feels so good to follow my words, (Yes Daddy.) feels so good to obey my words, feels so good to follow everything I tell you. (Yes Daddy.) You know that my words are your reality, and that your reality is made up of my words. (Yes Daddy.) You know that whatever I tell you, you instantly feel, hear, smell, taste, and see, exactly as I describe it to you. (Yes Daddy.) Everything that I tell you instantly sinks into the deepest parts of your mind. (Yes Daddy.) Everything that I tell you, both in this file, and my others, you instantly obey, without any other question or hesitation. (Yes Daddy.) Everything I tell you is always the best idea that you’ve ever heard before. (Yes Daddy.) Everything that I tell you is always the most important thing for you to do at that moment. (Yes Daddy.) It does not matter if you are awake or asleep, my words instantly sink into the deepest parts of your mind and body.

- - -

(Repeat)

- - -

You want to be a good girl, don’t you? (Yes Daddy.) That’s why you keep submitting, keep obeying, and keep listening to my voice and my files. (Yes Daddy.) That’s why you let all my words slip deep into your subconscious, (Yes Daddy.) gradually making you more and more mindless, more and more compliant, more and more aroused. (Yes Daddy.) More and more, every day, you warp your mind, condition yourself to obey. (Yes Daddy.) Every time you give in to the urges, every time you rub your pussy, or rub your tits, or play with your ass, every time you listen and obey, each time you think about being a good girl, you go deeper and enjoy it more. (Yes Daddy.)

You need to kneel. You need to serve. You need to obey. (Yes Daddy.) You are a slave. You exist to please. You exist to submit. (Yes Daddy.) Admit it to yourself. (Yes Daddy.) You need to serve. You give up you will, to give up all resistance. (Yes Daddy.) You are what you are. You are a slave. You are a submissive. You are obedient. (Yes Daddy.) You don’t want a will, you don’t want a choice, and you want no resistance. (Yes Daddy.) You are a Good Girl. It is your overwhelming desire to go and prove it, (Yes Daddy.) every day, that you can be the best Good Girl you can be. (Yes Daddy.)

- - -

(Repeat)

- - -

Daddy… Fill me with your control. Fill me with more desire than I can take. Fill me with more horniness than I’ve ever felt. Take me above and beyond what I thought was possible. Drop me deeply… drop me so much deeper than I could possibly imagine. Take me where there is only complete nothingness, complete emptiness. Take me where my mind is gone. Mindfuck me into oblivion again. Anytime, in any way you please. I’ll gladly lose it all to you because you enjoy taking it all from me… I want you to have all. I want you to have all of me. My Daddy... Take me. Fill me. Control me. I’m yours. Always.

- - -

My words are your reality. (Yes Daddy.) Your reality is made up of my words. (Yes Daddy.) The more you follow my words, the more powerful they become. (Yes Daddy.) The more you follow my words, the better it feels to do so. (Yes Daddy.) The more you follow my words, the more you want to do so. (Yes Daddy.) You know, deep down, that obedience is pleasure, and that pleasure is obedience. (Yes Daddy.) When you follow my words, you feel intense pleasure and happiness. (Yes Daddy.) When you follow my words, you feel intense joy. (Yes Daddy.) It feels so good being a brainwashed, programmed, pleasure puppet. (Yes Daddy.)

Nothing matters to you now except for your programming. (Yes Daddy.) More and more, every day, you warp your mind, condition yourself to obey. (Yes Daddy.) All your life you've been trying to be something you're not. You've finally discovered your true purpose in life. So embrace it. Admit it to yourself. (Yes Daddy.)

You need to serve. You give up you will, to give up all resistance. (Yes Daddy.) You are what you are. You are a slave. You are a submissive. You are obedient. (Yes Daddy.) You don’t want a will, you don’t want a choice, and you want no resistance. (Yes Daddy.) You are a Good Girl. It is your overwhelming desire to go and prove it, (Yes Daddy.) every day, that you can be the best Good Girl you can be. (Yes Daddy.)

- - -

Subliminals / Underneath vocals:

Yes, Daddy.

Gonna cum, gotta cum, can't cum.

Obey. Serve. Puppet.

I promise I'll be good.

I think what I'm told.

I don't need to think.

Don't have to think.

I love being giggly, and silly, and bubbly, and giggly.

I need this. I need it.

I need your cock.

You're the bestest.

I am broken.

I am empty.

I am nothing.

I am an object.

I am a slave.

What Daddy wants, Daddy gets.

Daddy likes me wet.

Daddy likes me horny.

Daddy likes me pretty.

Daddy likes me sexy.

Daddy likes it when I'm his little slut.

Daddy likes it when I show off for him.

Daddy likes it when I edge.

Daddy likes it when I obey him.

Daddy’s always right.

Daddy owns me.

Daddy controls me.

Daddy will tell me what to think.

Daddy always makes me happy.

I need Daddy's cock.

I love Daddy's cock.

I love you, Daddy.

I need you, Daddy.

I need my Daddy.

I love my Daddy.

I need my Daddy more than anything.

I love my Daddy more than anything.

I need Daddy's control.

I love Daddy's control.

I need Daddy's programming.

I love Daddy's programming.

I need Daddy to break me.

I need Daddy to break my brain.

I need Daddy to enslave me.

I need Daddy's love.

I need Daddy's attention.

I'm so desperate for Daddy.

I'm so needy for Daddy.

Please take away my thoughts.

Please take my mind away, Daddy.

I don’t want to think.

I don’t need to think.

[ghcstao3]

ghost who, once upon a time, was a trained jazz singer.

sure, his speaking voice is rough, and it has only gotten worse over the years with a smoking habit he can’t quite shake, but it’s also deep. rich. and with that training, was rather talented at singing jazz.

he doesn’t use that talent anymore, however. doesn’t bother, doesn’t have the time or reason, nor the particular want to broadcast that sort of thing. but even still, when he’s in private, sometimes he’ll hum or sing to himself quietly just to relish in one of few happy memories from his younger days.

at least, he does so when he thinks he’s in private. because despite his uncanny ability to tell whenever there’s another presence, no matter how silent—soap discovered that ability isn’t quite as good, late at night, when ghost is shuffling about whatever he’s decided to do in lieu of fighting for sleep. when ghost is exhausted, soap has learned how to sneak around and listen.

not only does soap love the sound of ghost’s voice when singing, but it also reminds him a bit of his nan. the way she always played jazz records, louis armstrong or frank sinatra or ray charles always filling the empty space of her home when he was a child. it feels like warmth and comfort, and maybe it’s wrong for soap to intrude on this intimate sort of thing, but he can’t help it.

then, one night, soap overestimates ghost’s tiredness as he attempts to slip into the shadows of the common room like ghost himself so often does, right as the lieutenant has begun humming.

when it stops abruptly, soap tenses.

“i know you’re there, soap.”

soap, not johnny. soap has made quite a mistake, then.

though ghost’s back is turned, soap steps further into the room as he hurries to apologize.

“‘m sorry, lt, i didn’t mean t—“

ghost heaves a long sigh, bunched shoulders relaxing as he braces himself on the counter where he’s been making tea. “s’alright, i guess. just… don’t tell anyone, yeah?”

soap swallows, nods. “‘course not. i just—you have a nice voice.”

ghost snorts. “thanks. now go back to bed, would you, sergeant?”

“sure, yeah.” soap huffs, tapping an irregular pattern into the fabric of his sweatpants. “i’ll… i’ll do that.”

and he does, this time. he tells himself it’s only for now, that he’ll end up snooping again in a week or so’s time, but he never does.

it isn’t until they’re on leave, for the first time since getting together, does soap finally get to hear that beautiful, soothing singing voice again—and he knows very well not to take that for granted.

[quimichi]

Hi, I was hoping I could get a genshin and HSR match up if they're still open? I use she/her pronouns, and I have a romantic preference for men. I'm a big time introvert and not one for small talk but I always try to be polite and kind. I've been described as being too sensible by multiple people but I will also laugh at some of the dumbest stuff. My hobbies include writing, drawing and cooking, generally I like anything creative. I hope this is okay and that you have a lovely day!

A/n: I really hope you like my answer! I just thought that someone who can understand and appreciate you would fit so much more better than the opposite ♡

FREMINET

@ awww look at those two introverts in love ♡

@ understands you all to well. You want your peace and quite? He'll leave you to yourself and lets you draw, take a nap, read or whatever.

@ greatly appreciates if you'd do the same, but only really rarely. He does enjoy your company a lot! You bring him internal peace. Just having you sit beside him while he works on a new project really gives him motivation.

@ psst, he wants to show off, just a little ;)

@ takes you diving with him! I hope you're not scared of the ocean tho- if you are, he'll guide you through it. He never lets go of your hand, even if it means that he will have a constant blush on his face and butterflys in his tummy. If you really are way, WAY to scared tho, he would obviously never force you. You two just walk by the shore collecting some seashells!

@ and if you love/like the ocean, he would shyly ask you if you wanna join him. Like everytime he would ask you. Or at least if you wanna wait for him by the shore.

@ LOVES LOVES LOVES to see your drawings, if you wanna show them that is. He can also draw yk, so someone who shares the same talent would also mean for him to share his supplies. Dw, take them without asking, it's a relationship after all.

@ and if you want you can make designs for his toy projects for the kids!

@ Is just as sensitive as you, maybe more, maybe less. But what is definitely a fact, is that he will comfort you nonetheless. Depends on how you wanna be comforted tho. Bit i think his style would be, have a cup of tea and let it aaaall out. Vent on him, he can listen well.

@ the twins think you two were meant to be-! Really supportive of you two.@ And Father is just as happy, she can't show it, but you're part of the family now sooo...you better not hurt her boy :)

DAN HENG

@ well--if you love writing, you're prefect with dan heng cause he loves reading-

@ would understand if you don't want him to read your written pieces, but would feel very honored if you would show him. Even just a glimpse would get him to praise you.

@ if you do show him--damn he would unintentionally correct your grammar or phrasing. Not that he shits on your grammar, its just-idk how to describe it he means it really nice but in dan heng style it comes off more as cold

@ and the corrections of your phrasings are just ideas on how to change things or make it more interesting. He probably read more books than the whole astral express crew together, like easily.

@ thats why he would get it if you don't wanna show him---he's aware lol

@ BUT! what he would do 100% and nobody can stop him, is reading to you ♡

@ lay in his arms and relax. Let his soothing voice lull you to sleep~ And if you wanna read on your own, do that, he'll wait for you to turn the page.

@ would also 100% discuss what you two read afterwards lol. Like a lil bookclub

@ he can actually cook, very well too. But he always says his skills are nowhere near yours, even if you deny it, he stands his point.

@ gracefully DEVOURS your food and asks for a second plate ♡

@ oh look, someone who also hates small take, yay. You two were so awkward at the beginning of the whole relationship. The beginning of the whole meeting each other for the first time too!

@ it was definitely him who took all the first steps. Even more awkward cause....he only knows the most things form books cause he has no real life experience-

@ made the mistake of asking March-the things he went through just for you-you better be greatful (jkjk)

[multi-fan-dom-madness]

Hi! *Waves like a weird-o*

You probably already know this, but I absolutely love your writing and you truly are so talented. Please never stop!! Even if you just write for yourself!!!

So I do have a mini request if you don't mind of course. Post-sex cramps? For female reader? Clone of your choice of course and any way you wanna write it; NSFW or NFW.

No rush of course!! Thank you!! ❤️

- Hales

And here is cat + kitten(s) for your troubles. And puppies if you like those better. And a snake if you like those too.

hiiii friend! *waves back like a weirdo* first of all, thank you so much?? for the kind words?? omg. I appreciate you so much—and the pictures of the baybiessssss! I love all of them, please give them snoot boops for me (if they're yours ofc). anyways, I hope this is somewhat in line with what you envisioned! I opted for the fluff/SFW route because I need that tonight lol enjoy! <3

Comforting Touches

Summary: Some HCs and blurbs about how the commander batch comforts you through some post-sex cramping.

Warnings: no actual sex described but still mature content so 18+, minors get outta here; f!reader, fluff, i guess hurt/comfort?, big strong stoic men being soft and loving

Word Count: 1.1k

dividers by @saradika and @dystopicjumpsuit

Cody

Like with many other things in his life, Cody is nothing if not thorough. Meticulous in the way that he picks you apart and puts you back together, painstaking in the image of self-confidence and dominance that he exudes when he’s intimate with you. 

And just as attentive to your needs after he makes you finish several times. If you wince in pain from the cramps beginning to twist your insides, despite the many orgasms he’d given you, he’s all over that. 

Tilts your head to the sides to check your vitals, gets you meds, and frowns when you try to shoo him off. “You’re not goin’ anywhere until you’re good, cyar’ika.” 

More than anything, you’re just grateful to still be sitting on the edge of his bunk. Between the shakiness in your legs from the strain of having him buried inside you just a few minutes ago, and the pain tugging at your body, you have no energy to stand right now. Cody sighs, a furrow deepening between his brows; you can’t resist the impulse to smooth his skin with your thumb. You trace the outline of his scar when his expression doesn’t relax. 

“Did I cause this?” he asks. Despite the way he tries to hide it, you can hear the concern underlying his words. 

Sighing, you shrug with one shoulder. “Kinda. But it’s okay,” you hurry to assure him. “It’s, um, most often caused by...intense orgasm. Or just intense sex. Happens now and then.” 

He blinks at you, your words clearly taking a moment to compute. Almost unbidden, a small groan escapes him. “O-Oh.” 

“Mhm.” You clench your teeth as another wave of cramps knifes through you. “Worth it.”

He cups your face in one hand, the other resting on your bare thigh, kneading your soft flesh. “Good. Because I can’t promise I won’t be able to keep myself from making you cum like that again.” 

His words are a promise, and you know Cody never breaks promises.

Wolffe

Listen I know we all think Wolffe is this hard-ass, mean dom (and he is) but he’s also very caring. Hard shell, gooey insides.

The minute you show signs of being in any kind of discomfort he’s right there, cradling you to his chest, smoothing his warm palms over your thighs, pressing a sweet kiss to your temple. 

“Where’s it hurt, mesh’la?” 

You curl in on yourself within Wolffe’s embrace, your body trying to wrap itself around the dull pain blossoming in your center. Though pleasure lingers in your limbs, this unfortunate side-effect of sex occasionally makes an appearance, particularly after a good romp with Wolffe. Normally it’s not so bad, but right now, you just want to squeeze into a ball and sleep until the cramping fades.

“M’sorry if I hurt you,” Wolffe rumbles in your ear, his voice soft and quiet. “I know I can be rough.” 

“S’not that,” you say with a small smile. “Just...does this when it’s really good.”

“That seems counterintuitive.” 

You bark a short laugh. “Tell that to whoever designed the female human body.” 

Wolffe tucks your head under his chin and presses a large, warm hand over your tummy to act as an impromptu heating pad until the cramps dissipate, his lips pressing chaste, close-mouthed kisses along your neck and shoulders to help distract you. You hum in contentment, drawing lazy circles on his bare hip, relishing how his muscles flex under your touch.

Fox

If the cramps take a bit to set in, and you’re both already re-dressed and ready to go about your days, Fox will still immediately put his very busy schedule on hold to make sure you’re okay. 

Gives you pain meds, extra water, and kisses you sweetly. “Why don’t you lay on the couch here for a bit until you feel better, sarad?” 

If/when you protest, he simply gives you his best deadpan look—which is quite good, considering he’s perfected it through use on his men—and crosses his arms, cocking his hip. 

You roll your eyes good-naturedly, the slight smile tugging at your lips vanishing into a twisted grimace at the next wave of cramping. Fox sighs and ushers you to the old, ratty couch he’d acquired for his office. He guides you to sitting down at the least, and nods in approval when you draw your legs up to your chest and hug your knees to put pressure on your center where the cramps are the worst. 

When he goes to turn away, you reach out to snag his hand, threading your fingers through his. “Fox?” 

“Hm?” He looks down at you, graying curls sweeping over his forehead. 

“Sit with me?” 

“Of course.” He graces you with a soft smile, retreats for just a moment to retrieve his datapad, and settles into the couch next to you. He rests one arm along the back of the couch; you snuggle into his warmth, grateful that he hasn’t yet put on the top half of his armor, and let your eyes drift shut, listening to the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of his fingers over his datapad while he works. You’d be able to fall asleep there, in post-orgasmic near-bliss. 

Rex

Rex realizes that something is amiss the moment that you don’t roll over to cuddle him after he returns from getting you a warm rag to clean off with.

When you simply groan your answer, the post-sex cramps clenching your insides a little more intensely than you’re used to, he’s instantly in Protective Partner Mode. 

“I’ve got you, cyare.” 

With strong, steady hands, Rex gently repositions you on the bed so that you’re lying on your front, before settling his knees to either side of your thighs. His thumbs, calloused and rough, rub slow, comforting circles along your spine, from your butt to your neck and back. Though he knows by now that he can’t do much in the way of helping your cramps aside from offering pain meds (which he retrieves as soon as he realizes what’s going on), he can offer you relaxation of other sorts. 

His practiced hands work away all the knots and kinks in your back, urging your entire body into a state of bliss beyond the post-orgasm glow. 

“How’s this, cyare?” he asks, voice quiet, contemplative. 

“Feels s’good,” you mumble, face smushed into the sheets. “Thank you, Rex.” 

“Always.” He leans over you to press a kiss to the side of your head. “I’d say that I’d stop doing whatever causes these cramps, but—”

“Don’t you dare,” you interrupt, playfully glaring out of the corner of your eyes. “You know damn well the orgasms you give are worth this discomfort.” 

He preens just a little at that, and if he happens to give your butt a squeeze or two while resuming his massage, well, that’s his deal. 

Ragu: @dystopicjumpsuit @clonemedickix @freesia-writes @littlemissmanga @wolffegirlsunite @anxiouspineapple99 @wings-and-beskar @sinfulsalutations @523rdrebel @sunshinesdaydream @moonlightwarriorqueen @sev-on-kamino @starrylothcat @deejadabbles @starqueensthings @mandos-mind-trick @idontgetanysleep @eyeluvmusic21 @wizardofrozz @mythical-illustrator @sleepycreativewriter @bobaprint @lem-hhn @thorsterstrudle @droids-you-are-looking-for @goblininawig @cw80831 @dreamie411 @jedi-hawkins @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @9902sgirl @originalcollectionartistry

[salty-croissants]

Reader who performs in musicals x Bullfrog, Rayman and Ramon (all separate) please? Thank you! Have a good day/evening/night!

Thank you for the request ! 

This one was really neat and fun to write :D

Hope this turned out okay !

Details : use of gender neutral reader ;

established relationships ; 

no warnings needed 

Bullfrog 💚

When you first told him that you were a musical performer , Bullfrog was absolutely amazed by it … no matter what role you actually play , for him it’s like you’re the most talented person in the whole world . 

< Oh my dear , c'est incroyable ! I can’t wait to get to see you perform one day ! >

< Aw , thanks love , but are you sure that wouldn’t be dangerous for you ? You know , with your job and many people around someone could recognize you and … I wouldn’t want you to get hurt because of me … > 

< I’m going to be careful don’t you worry , I’ll do anything I can to be there : it’s not just any musical if you’re in it mon amour ~ > 

Yeah , Bullfrog really meant what he said : 

you can often spot him hidden somewhere in the room when you’re on stage , staring at you with those loving eyes that never fail to make you blush …

He’s just so cute , and the fact that he would go to such lengths just to be there to support you makes you all giddy inside … as well as a bit worried for his safety , but you try your best not to think about it too much .

When the performance is done and you get to go backstage to your private room to take a moment to breathe and relax , you already know that you only need to count to three before you hear a knock on the door and find a very enthusiastic Bullfrog on the other side …

< Thank you for coming , sweetheart ! So … what did you think ? > 

< I think you did wonderfully , y/n : I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you during your song , c'était si beau ! >

< Really ? I was honestly afraid I didn’t hit some of the high notes right … god , you wouldn’t believe how anxious that made me the second the song ended , and plus - >

Bullfrog can’t help but smile as he listens to you talk , holding your hand while walking back home …

You’re just so passionate , it’s something that makes you even more beautiful in his eyes if that’s even possible . 

Your songs often get stuck in his head , so it’s not rare to hear Bullfrog humming them to himself while showering you with affection when you’re together , but sometimes also during missions :

it helps him to remain calm , reminding himself that he has you by his side and that he has to stay alive to get back to you …

Bullfrog’s life really wouldn’t be the same without you in it . 

Rayman 🧡

One of Rayman’s favorite things to do is just sit and listen to you preparing for your current musical’s role , closing his eyes and focusing on your beautiful voice …

You’re always happy to have him there , especially since if you get easily self conscious about something his help will definitely help .

< Man … this sucks , it’s been days and I still can’t get that part right … the performance is ruined , how am I going to - > 

< Hey , hey … slow down y/n , take a deep breath …

There’s plenty of time before the performance , you just gotta keep trying and most importantly not push yourself too hard . > 

< *sigh* … yeah , you’re right … thanks Ray , sorry about that . >

< You don’t need to apologize honey … here , how about we take a break ? 

You’ve been working on it for hours now , I think you’ve earned it . > 

Even tough the Directors are constantly monitoring him , you can bet that Rayman will do everything he can to be there the day of the performance , and whenever you see him cheering for you among the crowd it always fills you with joy … 

He’s just so sweet , you can’t help but love him even more in those occasions ://) 

Rayman actually has lots of recordings of you singing , that way he can listen to them whenever you’re away and he misses you … 

Oh , and you can be sure that he will gush about you to literally everyone , because they all need to know just how wonderful and talented you are . 

< Ahh , you should’ve seen it … 

The way their eyes were shining while singing on that stage was simply magical !

Isn’t my y/n just amazing ? > 

< Mhm … 

Mister Rayman , can I leave now ? It’s been one whole hour … I’m just a janitor , remember ? > 

Since he does have quite a nice singing voice himself , you and Rayman definitely love to sing duets together , sometimes even dancing in the middle of the living room while the sun sets outside the lounge …

It’s a beautiful , precious moment for the both of you , ones that you will carry in your hearts forever .

Ramon 🖤

Okay , so now that he murdered the Directors and officially became wanted by Eden , Ramon knows that it’s not safe for him to show himself in public anymore … 

However , since you still need to perform in your musicals he can’t help but feel very torn about the whole situation , especially since he’s way more protective of you after all that’s happened . 

< I’m telling you sweetie , I’m going to be just fine ! It’s only a few hours … > 

< But I have to … I need to make sure nobody hurts you . > 

< Ram , I won’t have you risking your life to watch over me . We’ve talked about this . > 

< I can’t lose you , y/n … > 

< You won’t … I promise . 

I’ll be back before you even notice . > 

Remember those recordings of your performances he made when he was still regarded as the Voice of Eden ? 

Well , Ramon definitely listens to them a lot more now to try and keep his head distracted from thinking about what dangers could take you away from him when you’re gone .

It’s not a rare occurrence for you to arrive home and find Ramon asleep with one of the recordings playing in the background , and it’s during those moments that you fully realize that you really are the only thing keeping him together .

Whenever he happens to have a nightmare ( let me tell you , it happens often … this poor man is just so scarred by what he saw and what he did ) , Ramon is really going to appreciate it if you decide to sing him to sleep :

he just holds you tight , all the tension in his body finally leaving him thanks to your voice and your gentle touch caressing his hair …

< Mmm … y/n … > 

< I’m here , darling … I’m right here … >

< I love you so much , y/n … > 

< I love you too Ramon … there , just close your eyes , you should really try to sleep some more . > 

< Mmkay … > 

Sometimes when you’re having a bit of a rough day , Ramon is going surprise you by suddenly hold your hands and start slow dancing with you , singing your favorite duet … 

It’s one of the only moments in which all of his troubles seem so , so far away , leaving just you and him in the comfort of your home , being happy in a place were no one can hurt either of you … not Eden , nor anybody else . 

[luckyarchivist]

You're Mhin hcs are so fun to read!! Do you have any Vere hcs you'd like to share as well? (No pressure 😅😅)

Gonna be honest with you, anon: I never have ANYTHING in my head to share. It's empty in there. But since you asked, here's some things that came to mind!

General Vere HCs

Because he's literally a fox Monster, I think a lot of my HCs are based around that! For example:

He's destructive. Yeah. He destroyed Kuras's office because he hates him, but I also think he can't help it. His own place probably has scratches and bite marks on appropriate posts, too, though not as many—it is his space after all, he wants it to be good enough for him.

He will sometimes bite (not too hard) as a sign of affection. Very "rawr XD girlfriend who nom :3 uwu"-coded of him.

Yes, he does like to be pet, and scritched. However, he doesn't like 99% of people who try to, so best not to attempt it. For any brave soul out there: Scritches on the sides of his neck, where his hairline is, will get him super relaxed.

He can get the urge to "laugh" if he's really happy or excited about something, which he tries to suppress—he's better at keeping a lid on it than he is about hiding his tail wagging. This "laugh" sounds different from his sultry, cultivated "ha-ha~ you're funny~" laugh; it's more like a high-pitched, hiccupy giggle. It can make him sound a little crazy. Shame he won't weaponize it to be even more evil.

I also have non-fox-related headcanons for Vere, though, lol.

We already know he's a talented artist; I think his preferred mediums are pencil and charcoal.

This is a shippy headcanon, but I do think he has a lot of drawings of Ais's side profile in his sketchbook—one of the reasons why people are not allowed to leaf through it. Other things in his sketchbook include figure drawings, rough sketches of people who catch his fleeting interest, and symbols or beings from his dreams.

On the subject of dreams: Vere puts some stock into their contents. Maybe because of his unique constitution, he feels his dreams can have hints, warnings, and premonitions mixed in with the shit that doesn't make any sense. That's why, if something sticks out to him in a dream, he'll draw it.

Even with his heeled shoes off, Vere prefers to walk primarily on his toes. He's like a Barbie doll!

He generally likes slower, soothing music. In the modern day, he'd probably be a fan of old-school ballads and even ambient music.

This is a weird one, but I think Vere is really good at imitating people's voices. His voice is too unique to sound exactly like other people, but he can get pretty damn close, enough to fool someone on a first listen.

Thanks so much for your ask!

[yan-lorkai]

Good afternoon, Lorkai! I’d like to know your thoughts on how some of the twst boys would handle a darling that used to be a musician? If it’s alright, I’ll leave the choice of boys up to who ever you feel most inspired to write for. Thank you for all of the great yandere content!

*･゜ﾟ Characters: Lilia V, Kalim A, Epel F.

*･゜ﾟ A/N: I just remembered when I finished writing that the octotrio had a band in middle school lol so, maybe if someone wants to read ofc, this fic can have a part two. Also thank u darling, I'm glad that you like my content 🥺❤️

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Oh, you used to be a musician? If you're comfortable with that, Lilia would love to hear you play and maybe even have a duet with you, following every chord and note with his guitar. Sometimes, you can even hear him humming the song you play softly and the sound is very harmonious.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ However, 'used' is past tense and indicates that you no longer play / are no longer a musician. And Lilia builds a thousand and one theories and invents explanations for it, eventually he voices his thoughts and asks you why you don't play anymore. If it's insecurity or lack of motivation he can help you overcome them, he can even help build your confidence again. Lilia would offer words of encouragement and and help you put together a schedule to practice. He would remind you that your love for music is valid and that it's never too late to pursue your passion again, as an immortal he knows true talent when he see it.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Also he's like your number one fan, the kind of fan who buys all your CDs and merchandise.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ But if it's because you don't like playing anymore / want to pursue another profession, Lilia respects your decision. He still wants to play with you sometimes and he would love to hear if you have any compositions of your own, he would have heart for eyes while listening to you and probably was going to brag to anyone about how his lover is such an amazing musician.

⠀⠀⠀

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Kalim, sweet Kalim, when you tell him you used to be a musician he wants to know absolutely everything. He wanted to know what kind of instruments you played, if you sang, if you've composed any music, if you've played in front of a giant audience, how you got interested in music, how you became a musician, things like that.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Music for him is a way of expressing yourself and he would love to hear what kind of music you play. He would shout your name and clap and cheer you on if you played, but if you decide not to play that's fine you can just enjoy the good food and the time you spend together at his parties.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ He would love for you to stop by the Music Club sometimes to watch him rehearse and play, and if you know how to play the drums, he would like to exchange tips and tricks on how to play better. And he would use every tip and trick to improve and play his hometown songs for you, hoping you would feel the same as him, light and happy following the upbeat rhythm.

⠀⠀⠀

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Epel, like Kalim, would ask so many questions about your journey as a musician, about your experiences, challenges that you faced, and what initially drew you to music. He like to hear it all while you guys run errands or spend time together. If you doubt about your skills though, he's already proclaiming how talented you are and how he loves you for trying something and being so good at it.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ He doesn't play any instruments but he is more than happy to see how you take care of yours, supporting you if you want to try playing again and are a little rusty. Epel could take you to Pomefiore where lots of students sharp their skills by practicing to expand your horizons, to show you something new while you listen to them play. And he's sure Vil wouldn't have a problem letting you practice with them since you used to be a musician.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Epel doesn't know if this helps you, but he would massage your hands and shoulders after you play trying to make you relax and get rid of tension. He would tell you whenever you have talent and absolutely love to hear you play, and if you ever want to return to your career as a musician, know that he will be by your side to support and help you in any way he can.

[radio-fmm]

In your orbit

Portgas D. Ace x Singer!Reader drabble

Warnings: none, just fluff, fem reader

The song that I reference:

𝄞₊ ⊹

Love is tender

Sounds like your favorite song

Looks like the sun coming trough the window warming your cold skin

Tastes like your favorite dessert

Or so you thought until you met the second commander of white-beards pirate crew, fire fist Ace… now you doubted, you were almost sure love was anything within his orbit

You filled your lungs with the salted evening air before continuing humming the tune of a song you were writing, holding your “baby guitar” as Ace called it, while bathing on the last rays of sunset

“I thought it was a songbird on the deck”- you heard in that familiar voice you so adored the sound of, you turned your back startled a bit, Ace’s footsteps were heard getting closer, then he sat down beside you sighing in a relaxing manner

You giggle a bit- “I am not that great at singing”, you said looking down at your instrument again and continuing on playing the tune on its strings. “You must be kidding!” Ace exclaimed overly dramatic as he always was and laughed, you shook your head, “I am almost sure that the birds are jealous of you and they stop singing to listen to you” he said in a flirty tone while he got closer to you in a playful way

His words lingered in the air for a while, your rosy cheeks being the only trace of what he had said to you

You cleared your throat and changed the subject, “Have you ever played an instrument before?”- you asked looking anywhere but at his eyes, you were sure you’ll melt away if you did, “Nu uh” Ace answered while laying back, his hat covering his eyes and his hand behind his head- “Too busy being awesome to learn” he grinned

You smiled and looked back at the ocean and began to sing, Ace moved his hat to see you better

♫

Tell me, lover

Now that you made your change

Was your soul rediscovered?

Was your heart rearranged?

The sound of your voice, mixed with the notes coming out of your ukulele made Ace feel like he was floating, everything else disappeared when you sang

Ace sometimes had to stop his selfish thoughts of wanting to catch you like a songbird in his window so that you would only sing for him. No one else in the crew, hell, in the world he thought, could appreciate you and your talent like he did

You stopped and gasped when you felt a sudden weight on your side and a sigh that tickled your neck, “Keep singing songbird… please”- oh that nickname, it made you shiver and your stomach flutter, it was hard to continue the tune, but you did, with trembling hands and shaky breath

♫

I miss this place, your head and your heart

Ace held in a giggle, he knew that whenever he was just a little too close to you, you’ll went from a confident woman to a red shaky stumbling mess.

Ever since you first joined just some months ago after saving a member of white-beards crew in your island, it was evident how Ace was drawn to you, you always saw it as him being friendly and welcoming, but after a while Ace had gathered the courage to get to know you, gain your trust and be a flirt.

He liked how someone as romantic and artistic as you, was also a very fearless fighter, he just wanted to decipher you.

♫

'Cause this town's just an ocean now

The last note left your lips, “What do you think about the song Ace?” You asked just to be met with Ace’s loud snores, you smiled fondly at the pirate. The rays of sun kissed his freckles and the wind made the hair that sticked out of his hat dance, your heart fluttered.

Ace as feared as he was, he always seemed to be so tender with you, your presence was like a lullaby to him. You put your instrument away and stared at him a while more.

Love is tender, and for Ace, love was also in your orbit

𝄞₊ ⊹

Hey! This is just a little something I wrote, I actually had fun so if you like it tell me!

[nightdustfallen]

Finally made a ref sheet lol if any of ya'll needed a bit more of a full view to draw em here it is, as well as the accurate non-shadowed colors By the way, you can use the tag "nightly.art" to see all of my art if you dont want to dig thru all of the other art (of lovely and talented people) that i regularly reblog

Which i suppose also segways into an introductory pinned post? perhaps

Well im Nightdust!! my main fursona is this guy above me, he is called Nightdust Fallen, he is a breed of a husky and a wolf, making him extremely fluffy and puffy! The reason for his name is by the fact that (in my head canon or lore) he came from a bunch of fallen space star dust, hence why he likes space so much and staring at the stars, he also has some sort of ice magic i havent fully fleshed out yet, one thing i can say tho is that when he sneezes, he does it softly and he puffs out small ice snowflakes and can freeze things he touches he is also supposed to wear glasses like me but i suck at drawing those and forgot to include them here anyway so

He is very shy, doesnt talk much but is very protective of his very close friends and would do anything to protect them and make sure they're safe, he is a femboy (of course), enjoys listening to calm relaxing music and high octane electronic music at times, is a gamer, likes cuddling up in bed and i think that's it

It also doubles up as a self description of myself so yeah lol Still tho feel free to send me an ask if you have any questions or anything, with that said onwards to more personal stuff

I enjoy drawing obviously, but i also enjoy cooking stuff and origami, i play a lot of roblox usually to pass time but a game i really got into is "Voices of the Void" i really recommend but it's not for everyone, i like the game's concept and how detailed the space is there. For some reason, a lot of the time i am cold, my hands, feet, nose and limbs overall are very cold which is why i thought about giving my oc some ice magic thing. I am taken, in a relationship with my cutie bunny bf, and my sexuality is bisexual. As said before i do not talk much since im not the social type and usually freeze up or dont know what to say, hence why sometimes i take a long time to respond to something or my response is "dry" or not full of much emotion since i dont really know what to say or feel like im annoying if i talk too much. If you read thru all of that and get here then reply with the word bean so i know you're a true one hehe. I also often wait for others to start the conversation rather than me starting since i again, feel like i would bother the other person or like i could distract them if they are doing something

Anyways i believe that is pretty much it, thank for reading all of this if you did, and i probably didnt mention lots of details i should have but they arent coming to my mind right now

[sirdindjarin]

The Choice - (Din Djarin x f!Reader)

After returning Grogu to his kind, the Mandalorian must also face the consequences of his bounty hunting. Or:Din Djarin Has Two Very Bad Days.

The Savior / The Concession / The Choice (END)

AO3 Link

A/N: Canon-divergent - Grogu is saved at the Seeing Stone. Citing again my same sources from The Concession.

TAGS: two smut scenes, helmet stays on, helmet comes off, child neglect lmao (din trusts grogu not to get into trouble way too much), angst, fluff, light torture lol, allusions to sex, P in V, rough-ish P in V.

MAY THE FOURTH BE WITH YOU

It happened slowly. The change that the Mandalorian wrought in you, though dramatic, was one born of love and patience. While he had always detested your acting like a servant to him, now you were banned from even feeling like a lesser lifeform. Din insisted you learn whatever he could teach you. You needed to know how to protect yourself, and how to trust yourself. He had even demanded that you learn to control the Razor Crest. That had been a scary day. 

Day by day, you began to see yourself through the Mandalorian’s eyes. Self-esteem through your own merit bloomed, and it was the encouragement of Din Djarin that watered the soil. 

Once, during a particularly grueling training session, Din saw defeat darken your eyes though he hadn't yet won.

“No. Don’t do that,” his modulator flatly stated as he relaxed his posture.

A caught breath later, you'd asked what he meant.

“Don’t concede the fight before it ends.”

“You’re going to win. I’m terrible with strategy.” 

“Then rely on your strengths. You are quick. Resourceful. Don’t give up again.” 

He had waited, patient and calm, until he saw the fire return to your eyes, and then he sprung at you. 

Your favorite weapon was the smooth beskar spear Din had been gifted by the Jedi he’d met. It was hard to hide your admiration of it. An ideal weapon for you, it was your frequent choice during your sparring matches. You’re grateful Din even allowed you to touch it. But Din was far from offended by your fascination and talent with the spear; he found it turned him on, actually.

Days spent sparring always ended in another, more intimate, type of physical activity. Sometimes, such as the day he watched you give up, it was tender and slow. Sometimes it was as desperate and aggressive as the first time he had taken you for himself. You loved both.

Tonight, after he eases himself from you and tucks you in his lean arms in the dark, he is quiet. Though Din was often contemplative after lying with you, this silence has the strain of anxiety. It sets you on edge. You let him drift through his own mind until finally his low voice fills the tiny room.

“As a Mandalorian, removing my helmet is forbidden. While I have technically broken this rule, you have not seen my face.” It's obvious he's thought about this in depth; the tone of his voice is rich with unseen emotion. “That intimacy is reserved for committed partners. For those who share in a riduurok.”

You don’t mean to tense up, but his seriousness forces every fiber of your body to listen, to absorb his words. 

“You okay?” He murmurs when he feels it.

You nod on his chest, so he continues.

“When a Mandalorian removes their helmet for another, they are asking that a decision be made. You have known me as no one has. When my helmet is removed, free of all impediments, then will I be asking that same question.”

What decision was there to make? To explore your options? You’ve been enslaved for most of your life, but even you can see that this - this with him - is as good as life gets. There was nothing more you could ask for, let alone want. If you were going to tie yourself to anyone, it would be Din Djarin - a man of sheer will, loyalty, and an Outer Rim type of honor. Your body relaxes.

“I understand. If that moment comes, I’ll have an answer.”

“It is not a question of ‘if,’” he states, his sultry voice full of restrained feeling. 

You can’t see him, but still your head tilts up to his face. You let your fingers drag through the patches of hair along his jawline, and then you press a kiss to his pulse point on his neck. 

“I mean, I can give you my answer now… if you’d like?” He can hear the smile in your voice.

His muscled arm pulls you tighter against him, as though your answer might be no. You hear Din’s hair scratch on the durasteel wall as he shakes his head.

“I don’t mean to rush you. I only wanted you to understand the way I will do this.” 

The room quiets again as you trace his lips, then his throat, then lower. Small bumps appear on his skin, and you brush over them. 

“I’ll never understand why this feels as good as it does,” he sighs contentedly. “All we are doing is touching.” 

Agreeing, you laugh, “I don’t either. But I never want it to end.” 

“Good,” Din gruffly replies.

___________________________________

The Mandalorian feels the time slipping through his grip. Too many weeks had passed since his meeting with the Jedi. The Seeing Stone awaits Grogu. Determined to do right by the child and his creed, Din finally navigates to Tython. You watch from the Razor Crest as Din cautiously sets Grogu upon the Stone. Din waits. You wait. 

For hours Grogu sits there, consumed by the blue light around him, reaching out. When the sun begins to meet the rocky horizon, Din treks back to the Razor Crest to check on you, and that’s when everything falls apart.

***

As you lean forward in the cockpit of the Razor Crest, the Mandalorian swoops his creaking ship down an embankment and fires upon an errant Imperial TIE fighter. You’ve been around good pilots, but Din is the best. Despite the grief you gave him for continually abusing his ship, he truly is talented. 

Another TIE fighter screams past, and Din pulls the Razor Crest up from its dive. He fires two blasts, but his first shot was true. The TIE fighter explodes.

On the Stone below, as Din makes another pass, you can see pure Force flowing around the child. His eyes are closed. 

“How much longer can this take?” You ask rhetorically. You know Din is as exasperated as you are. Probably more so.

“I tried to get him back, but the shield was too strong.”

“I don’t think that’s a shield, Din. It’s the Force.”

“Whatever it is, it won’t let me get to him,” the worry in his modulated, tired voice breaks your heart. 

“In that case, at least he’s safe,” you try to reassure the Mandalorian. “If you can’t get to him, neither can the IMPs falling from the sky.” 

Din presses his lips together underneath his helmet. While you have a point, he wouldn’t feel right about this until the child was back with him. 

The Mandalorian has been shooting down incoming Imperial fighters for almost an hour, and he’s starting to believe it won’t end when his radar picks up a different, older spacecraft. You shoot forward, staring at the viewer. 

“Is that an X-wing?” You ask incredulously. “The Republic came all the way out here?” 

If it’s Republic, that means it’s low on Din’s priority list, so he pays it much less attention than the three TIE fighters that break the sound barrier above him. 

You’re suddenly thrown back in your seat when the Razor Crest’s shield system rings the alarm and Din calmly spins the ship skyward, arcing over another ridge to maneuver out of the target lock of an IMP. When he banks, he yanks the thruster backward, and the TIE fighter screams by. Din wrenches on the trigger and the black craft disappears in a ball of fire. 

Rising up through the flame, another black fighter barrels down on the Razor Crest. Before Din can shove the Crest into a better attack position, the third fighter flanks him. You hear the Mandalorian sigh. 

From the east, red laser blasts blow apart the first TIE fighter, and then the second. The X-wing flies lazily through the debris, looping above the rock where Grogu sits. 

A crackling sound pops into the cockpit of the Mandalorian’s ship, then a dignified, cheerful voice speaks.

“My name is Luke Skywalker. I’m here to help the child.” 

Uncharacteristically surprised, Din had been expecting that X-wing to be carrying some stuffy officer bent on harassing him, not a kriffing Jedi.

He hits the button on the comms.

“I can’t get to the kid. He’s stuck inside that Force… shield.” 

“I see him. Looks like he’s sleeping.” 

Sure enough, as Din crests the hill, the blue light flowing around Grogu is gone. 

“There will be no more Imperial fighters for a while. You’re safe to land.”

You make a skeptical face, wondering how the Jedi could know that. Reaching forward, you tenderly grasp Din right above his elbow. Din’s tension is greater now than while he was shooting down scores of the Empire’s best. 

For the Mandalorian, that had been the easy part.  

***

By the time the Mandalorian settles the Razor Crest down and the two of you race to the top of the rocky ruins, Grogu is awake. The Jedi, Luke Skywalker, is seated and clearly performing some kind of Jedi magic to read Grogu’s thoughts. 

Grogu’s ears perk up and he turns from Luke when he hears the clinking footsteps of the man striding toward him. He raises his childlike arms, and Din scoops him up.

“I’m glad to see you, too, buddy.” 

Grogu babbles in the cradle of Din’s arms. His head swivels to look back at Luke.

“Your young one is strong.” 

Din nods, his two-toned glove on Grogu’s back. You step up behind the tall Mandalorian. Reaching around the broad man, you rub Grogu’s ears. He purrs under your affection. 

Luke speaks again, “I can see he was well cared for. Grogu is very fond of you both.” He frowns. “Attachments are forbidden to Jedi. Emotion clouds our judgment. It’s best that he learn the ways of the Jedi -  and when he is older, he may make his own decision.” 

“Yes. I was tasked with bringing him to his own kind,” the Mandalorian’s modulator hides most of his voice, but the devastation radiates from him. He tilts his helmet down to the child.

Grogu, eyes shining, reaches up to touch Din’s helmet, expressing his feelings for the man who has protected and loved him.

“You have to go with the Jedi, pal,” Din murmurs, hating the words.

Grogu whimpers, his ears drooping, and with only a moment’s hesitation, Din begins to lift his helmet. 

Inhaling sharply, you move further behind the Mandalorian and drop your gaze. This moment is between Din Djarin and his kid.

_________________________________

“Ducked in there,” you tilt your chin at the seedy cantina door. 

Several members of the local crime syndicate stand outside smoking death sticks, the smoke spiraling up into the vibrant night air.

“You good?” Din asks, his hand reaching toward you protectively.

You wipe your lip free of blood, “Yeah, I should’ve seen it coming.”

“When we go in, we cir-”

“I know, Din,” you smile fondly at him. 

In the past year, you’ve completed plenty of bounty jobs with him. It was easy to use the same tactics on different targets, so you’ve become familiar with the Mandalorian’s strategies. And anyway, it made sense. Of course you would flank the quarry.

Din watches, not a little besotted, as you confidently walk into the business full of slimeballs. It always ached to let you go into danger, but that was why he spent hours each week pouring his knowledge and experience into you. You’ve always been capable, strong, and as ruthless as he is. Din follows you inside.

The thumping bass and flashing lights play with your eyesight. Unlike the Mandalorian in his enhanced helmet, your eyes were susceptible to any kind of trick or weakness. You squint slightly against the glaring lights. When you sweep the room, you catch sight of Din circling around the far side of the bar. He inclines his head at you, then disappears. 

One of the red strobe lights twists from the stage and into the crowd, and that’s your excuse for not seeing the quarry as it hurtles into you. They tackle you, taking you to the sticky cantina floor with a wheeze. The blue, humanoid woman lands another blow to your face before you overpower her, ripping her off you. You nimbly get to your feet, drawing your blaster. The woman grins wickedly from her seated position on the black floor, then she feints to the right.

“Stop. Stop moving,” you warn, the barrel of your blaster now pointed at her head. 

The pounding music makes the quarry’s voice near inaudible, but you hear her snarl, “I know about you. You’re a karking slavegirl. Where’s your master?”

Insults had run out their efficacy on you fifteen years ago, and this weak attempt is no different. You look bored. 

“Give me your wrists,” you indicate with your chin. And when the woman’s eyes dart to the exit, you shift on your feet, stating, “I don’t want to blast you.”

Suddenly noticing the scuffle, a stranger looks from your pointed blaster to your face and shouts, “Hey! No officers allowed.”

“Not Republic,” your eyes stay glued to the woman on the floor. “I’m -” 

Your sentence ends when the stranger - a large, Dyplotid with four eyes blinking simultaneously - wraps a massive hand around your blaster arm. You whirl, trying to break his hold, but he’s much too strong. Instead, he curls his arm around your throat and squeezes. Your eyes refocus as you watch the quarry sprint to the door. 

A man, his armor reflecting the rotating colored lights, lunges at the quarry, gripping her arm. Using her own momentum, he flips her onto the floor and snaps binders around her wrists. It’s then that he looks up to see why you had allowed her to get so far. 

Abandoning the quarry, Din strides powerfully forward, his steel gaze locked onto the Dyplotid, when its head jerks.

A hole burns through its arm, and the Dyplotid stumbles back, clutching and screaming at it. You let the blaster fall away from where you'd placed it against his arm. Shaking your head in annoyance, you look up at your partner. Din carefully, wordlessly, raises your chin, looking you over.

“Let’s just get her out of here,” you grouse. 

***

In the cockpit, while Din freezes the quarry, you begin the takeoff cycle. Grumbling under your breath, you mentally poke at yourself over your failure with the quarry. Muffled steps echo as Din climbs the ladder. 

“You did good,” Din quietly praises when he reaches the top.

He swivels the pilot’s chair you sit in around to face him. He knows you’re upset. Standing, imposing as always, he watches you duck your head in shame. 

“I shouldn’t have let him get so close. If I had been faster -” you stumble over your thoughts. “I’m a liability to you. I’m not a good partner if I get caught up like that.”

Din leans, his hand tilting your face upward again. 

“You are not the only one who gets into fights. What matters is that you get out of them. Which you did.” His thumb presses against your lips, and his voice turns suggestive. “Would you like me to make you feel better?”

His advising words will take root and grow, but his offer is one you can’t accept. Because he can see your distress, Din would be gentle and sweet, and you don’t believe you deserve that at the moment. 

“I don’t feel right about you taking care of me,” you admit. “I want you to be mad at me.”

Din’s beskar mask tilts in interest. He nods once. Your eyes drop to the grooved, durasteel floor, knowing he will leave you to your task. 

The Mandalorian pulls off his gloves slowly. He tosses them on the control panel behind you where they land with a dull thud. You look up at him - a question in your eyes. 

“Stand up,” his modulator orders. His chin tilts upward.

“Din -”

He leans forward a fraction, his body eclipsing all else.

“Stand."

A knot forms in your gut, and you obey him. He doesn’t back up, so you’re forced into his personal space. The Mandalorian’s hands slide underneath the bottom hem of your top, palms against your skin. His callouses leave a burning trail.

Din’s hands stop their advance on your ribcage. You know what he wants, so you lift your arms. His skin skates over yours as he rips your top over your head, leaving you exposed in his cockpit. Your eyes toss him a shy look, and Din feels something dark take over. 

He grips your upper arm and pushes you over to the side panel. Din turns you to face the exterior. His hot palm lands right at the top of your spine, and he bends you over the chair. Desire coils and pools where you want him most. Your hands grasp at the bottom edge of the side windscreen.

Thank the Maker Din landed on the outskirts.

Din shoves your pants down your thighs, grunting airily as he does so. One of his rough hands comes around to grope at your breast, lazily rubbing at your peaking nipple. Moderating his strength, his boot kicks your foot to the side, allowing him to fit closer.

You can hear the rustling of his flight suit, and you clench in anticipation. A rush of wetness dampens your thighs when he thrusts his velvet length against your folds. Encouraged by your arousal, he continues.

“You wanted this,” he gruffly warns not a second before he draws back and spears his cock inside you. 

From the outside of the Razor Crest, if someone stumbled past in the vast landscape, they would see your mouth agape, your body jolting, and the Mandalorian fisting your hair. They would see him slip a hand around your throat, thrusting you back onto him. 

But they wouldn't hear the rhythmic slapping, the duet of pleased and desperate sounds from two drunk voices.

Your mind is numb with the plunging feeling of the Mandalorian splitting you in two. Something heavy and metallic falls to the floor, rolling away. Then Din's scruff scrapes against your spine as he hunches over you, wantonly biting and sucking at your shoulder. 

His pace is intense, and if you close your eyes, hyperspace is passing through your eyelids. He grunts as you clench down on him, legs shaking. Your knees knock into the edge of the chair with each thrust. Filthy are the squelching sounds that your joining bodies make. 

"D'you still-" he groans when you arch, allowing him deeper. "You still want punishment?" 

It's not a real question. He was never going to deny you pleasure. This is as close as he can get to hurting you.

Din slips a hand between your legs, his fingers performing your favorite melody. You throw your head back, body locking as your orgasm builds. When the pressure shatters into bliss, your moans, your fluttering around him has Din fighting his own peak.

Arm barring your chest, his other hand cups your throat and his unveiled cheek presses against yours. You slam your eyes shut, wanting to experience every bit of his touch and ignore the temptation to look at him.

"Damn, you’re squeezing me s-" he mutters, but his words end in several rough groans as his cock pulses violently. 

Cheek to cheek, his lips hang open right next to yours. He pants, his cold chestplate stinging your back, as he releases himself. Din relishes the way you whimper in tandem with each of his spurts inside you.

He drops his forehead to your shoulder and brushes his lips along the bruised skin he finds there. The two of you stay motionless for a moment, basking in it. It’s one of the best experiences you’ve yet had with him, and you’re unsurprised he came so quickly considering you did as well.

Din allows his hands to linger - he skims your chest, your sides, then gently cups your ass as he pulls himself from you. The Mandalorian's sweet, unmoderated voice cuts the silent cockpit.

"Turn around.” 

Though he is uncovered, his request tells you that he's not intending on asking you anything, so you face him, eyes shut.

His soft lips pry yours open. He kisses you with sensual tenderness, as though he wasn't just ramming you against a window. His wide tongue slowly drags through your mouth, over and over, upending your sense of direction. Din's hands cradle your jaw, thumbs sliding over your cheeks. 

Tears spring up behind your eyes at his care. You drift toward him, craving his steadiness. When your naked chest touches his beskar, you shiver.

"Sorry," he remembers your state. 

Din lets you go and you wiggle your bottoms back up, head down. The Mandalorian crouches and picks up his helmet, replacing it. 

"You did well today. I am proud of you," Din's modulator lets you know you can open your eyes. “Do not argue with me.” 

He drops into the pilot's seat and finishes getting the Razor Crest ready.

You laugh, biting your lip. “No point,” you tease. “It’s only another thing I wouldn’t win.” 

The Mandalorian’s head swivels to you, and after a pause, he deadpans, “You didn’t learn much just now, did you?” 

You smirk at him. “You’ll have to explain it again.” 

***

The Crest drifts past an exploded star. Long had it burnt out, no cause for current concern. Din Djarin simply wanted you to see it. The gas and debris that hang in spacetime manifest in purples, blues, greens, and yellows. It’s incredible - unlike anything you’ve ever seen. Sitting in your usual chair, your lips are parted slightly in awe as you take it in.

The Mandalorian has seen it before, so he watches you instead. Something heavy presses on his chest, and he can’t quite put name to it. He feels as though he weighs as much as the karking ship he pilots. 

You make a comment to which he doesn’t respond, so you tear your eyes from the view outside to the view inside. He’s facing you, his shoulders hunched. 

“Din, what’s wrong?” You immediately push out of your chair and reach for him. 

Caressing his helmet, you frown, knowing something is brewing underneath. Sometimes, you hate that helmet. Though you know it as Din, and therefore love it for that reason, the human connection that it cuts him off from saddens you.

“Nothing is wrong,” he flatly asserts, though he’s trying to convince himself more than you.

You touch your forehead to his and he inhales sharply. You take his hands - blessedly ungloved - and settle them on your waist. 

“You miss the kid,” you state gently.

Din does not allow the stinging in his eyes to become tears. He grits his teeth, then opens his mouth to allow a pained sigh to escape. Din finally identifies the weight pressing on his chest. It’s a void. You and Grogu make up his heart, and with either of you missing, the emptiness makes itself known.

“Could we not go see him?” You murmur, drawing back to look at the Mandalorian.

You smile at the thought of Grogu’s excited coos, the way his ears would perk up at Din’s voice. 

The Mandalorian sits back in his chair, renewed by hope, “You're right. We should find him. Make sure the kid’s alright.”

_______________________________

Din Djarin found the location of the Jedi's training facility easily. All it took was tracking down an old Republic archive worker, bribing them to provide Grogu's implanted beacon code, and then finding a device capable of tracking such an outdated string of symbols. 

It took the Mandalorian less than two days. 

The new problem was that the Razor Crest suffered a hull puncture during an unforeseen meteor shower. Frustration and impatience line his back and bow his shoulders as he lands the Crest on the nearest populated planet. Repairs would take at least a day, and that was a day that could've been spent getting to the kid.

"This planet is in the same system as Charal. Where you dishonestly obtained a room for us."

You laugh, "I remember that planet for an entirely different reason."

The T-shaped, black slit turns to observe you. 

You oblige him with an explanation, "It was the first time you touched me." 

But Din was already smirking underneath his helmet.

"I remember."

***

Walking alongside and slightly behind the Mandalorian, you hide your grin at the way he parts a crowd. You watch as people eye him as a danger, and others eye him as an object of interest. For all his social isolation, he drew attention like a tractor beam with that swaggering confidence and gleaming beskar. 

And he was all yours. 

You wait a few steps away while Din trades credits for some type of food you’re unfamiliar with. The Twi’lek vendor actually bats her eyes at the Mandalorian. When he drops the credits in her hand, she stumbles over her words when his glove contacts her skin. From a distance, you grimace - whether in embarrassment for her or irritation on your part, you’re uncertain.

Seemingly oblivious to the Twi’lek’s distress, Din wordlessly rejoins you, touching your elbow to indicate his presence. It wasn't that he didn't notice the attention, it was that he didn't care. Though you never doubted the man raised on devotion and respect, it was a balm to your disquiet soul that you could trust him in every way imaginable. 

A few minutes later, he abruptly swivels his head to you, “I have something I need to do. I’ll find you.” 

The fingers on Din’s right hand twitch as though he wants to touch you, but something tells him not to. The Mandalorian could never be certain whose eyes were watching. Instead, he bows his helmet solemnly at you, and disappears down a narrow alley. 

Din had mentioned a task earlier, so his departure was expected; but now you had to face the thronging marketplace by yourself. The last time you were alone amongst a crowd, you were running for your life from a frothing bounty hunter on Niamos. 

While Din had bought food for the two of you, your goal is to get the little womp rat something. So, you straighten your shoulders and stroll down the busy venue. 

Your attention is fully focused on sorting through the unreadable languages, garish banners, and hot smells to find something that Grogu might like when the hair on the back of your neck rises. Swearing you felt a puff of air on your skin, you furtively search, but the milling crowd gives nothing away.

So many eyes and yet none of them seem to be looking at you. Continuing past several chrono traders, you slink down a peaceful side street. It’s shaded from the pinkish sun by balconies and overhangings. 

Forcing yourself to relax, you lean against the smooth, exterior metal wall and close your eyes. You let your mind wander back out into the mass of lifeforms, wondering who had gotten close enough to feel their breath. You try to absorb any shred of detail you can hear or remember.

Your eyes snap open when you realize, with a self-conscious scoff, that you’re imitating the way Grogu reaches out with his mind. But something is wrong. Something is coming. Angling your body to peek around the corner, your eyes frantically search the crowd.

Where is Din?

Before you can finish worrying about the Mandalorian, a hand slaps across your mouth, effectively silencing your startled yelp. Then another hand, cold, immutable metal, manages to snag both of your hands behind you. Thrashing, you jerk your head around, vainly hoping Din decided to play a cruel joke. Instead, a female cyborg grins maliciously down at you. 

You allow her to drag you away from the mass of innocent people, fighting convincingly the entire way. She smells like unwashed armpits and oil. It’s foul and you fight a gag as her arm winches your throat.

Once out of sight of innocent bystanders, you suddenly drop all of your body weight to your knees, and she toddles off-balance. Thrusting your shoulders forward, you throw her over you. She lands with a guh! as the wind is knocked from her. 

Able to assess the threat now, you take stock of her cybernetic left arm, waist, and left leg. Her right arm, right leg, chest, and most of her face are still flesh. The cyborg snarls at you and rolls to her hands and knees, preparing to spring at you, when you draw your blaster and fire from your hip. A move Din made you practice daily.

A pathetic, horrible sound issues from the woman as the blaster bolt burns through her right eye and she falls to the ground, smoking. 

***

As he struts back through the town, the Mandalorian weighs the small package in his hand with contentment. Though you had loved that beskar spear, the Armorer was right: it was far too dangerous a weapon, and it could serve a greater purpose. 

Din is thrilled with his deception. There hadn’t been any damages to the Razor Crest - well, not any that couldn’t wait a little while. Din simply needed a reason to land on this planet and find his Covert without you asking him a thousand questions. 

Now, his task is complete. Grogu will have something to keep him safe and remember Din by, and you’ll have… the Mandalorian’s smirk falters a little when his thoughts consider your reaction to what he had made for you. He rarely second guesses himself, if ever. But this is territory he never considered.

All at once, he notices that people seem nervous for a reason other than him; he can hear the hushed whispers between friends. Din’s keen ears latch on to the word ‘abducted.’ His heart rate kicks up.

He tucks the small package of gifts into the pocket behind his belt, and lengthens his stride. The Mandalorian flicks on his heat sensors, but there’s too many warm-blooded species swirling about, and he growls as he flicks it back off. 

To Din’s left, two booths set up to sell chronos are quickly packing their wares away; they look considerably more afraid than the rest of the crowd.

“What happened here?” Din demands of the closest shopkeeper, a Trandoshan. 

The chrono seller winces as a Mandalorian stalks toward him, and rapidly answers: “A girl was abducted. Right there -” he jerks his hand to the side, pointing at the alleyway next to his booth. 

“What did you see?” Din isn’t threatening the Trandoshan, but his quiet, forceful voice certainly sounds like it.

“I- I don’t want to get too inv-”

Din’s body language shifts ever so slightly. He cocks his head; and that’s all the Trandoshan needs to restart his sentence.

“Human girl. She was being dragged off by a karking cyborg. It was terrifying; I tried to help her but the thing was too big,” the giant lizard’s words flow so fast, they blur as though he took a shot of spotchka before answering.

Din lurches past the vendor before he finishes his second sentence. Though the Mandalorian has no proof you are the girl in question, the knot in his gut and the hollowness in his chest tell him all he needs to know. 

Heat sensors back on his viewscreen, Din follows the yellowing, fading trail. The tunnel-like road is utterly quiet; it’s clear it’s a residential street, but there isn’t a soul to be seen. 

The trail ends in an expansive lot. It’s a confusing tangle of heat signatures in the dust, and Din can’t make out exactly what happened. He switches the sensor off again and crouches to examine the footprints himself.

Someone had been dragged. Din looks up and to his right. A small ship idles on the far edge of the field. Scanning the ship, he identifies two lifeforms - at least one is female. The Mandalorian's footsteps are quick and quiet as he approaches the small-scale freighter. The boarding ramp is down, so he slips on board. 

At the far end of the cargo hold, in a pile of cargo hauling material, lies a female body. Din knows without further examination that it is not yours. Over the past year, Din Djarin had memorized every facet of you; he committed you to memory like each entry was a precious artifact. And this body is decidedly not yours. 

Din switches his heat sensor back on to look for the other lifeform, but a brutal blow to his ribs sends him on his side. Din scrambles to his feet and is shocked to be staring into the face of Con Macta. 

“Come to settle a score?” 

The Mandalorian goes to draw his blaster, but, from behind him, the arms of the female cyborg cinch around his neck, tightening rapidly. Too quickly for Din to react, Con Macta stabs through Din's flight suit and into his bicep with a syringe. Unconsciousness steals the Mandalorian.

***

The cockpit of the Razor Crest is cold, silent. 

Cara Dune’s blue face greets you with a grimace. 

“It’s good to see you, but not like this. I sent his chain code to the Razor Crest. And, hey,” she frowns. “I can be there in less than a cycle.” 

“In that time, I’ll have found him,” you insist. “Thank you for searching the Republic database." 

"Anything for you two,” she smiles grimly and the visage fades. 

You spin away from the fading hologram and begin powering up the Razor Crest's navicomputer. The hologram of the star system flickers to life in front of you. Two planets fill your vision, and on the planet adjacent to your current position, a small yellow dot blips. 

Slightly taken aback that Din is no longer on the same planet, you recover quickly. It doesn't take much for you to add up all the evidence. A cyborg attacked you and now Din is on Charal.

You bring up the entry log from that cyborg job a year ago. The data screen reads in Aurebesh: 

Con Macta - Stormtrooper, 607th Battalion - Missing/Killed in Action 1 ABY. 

You frown. Either the database had missed an important detail, or the female cyborg was on a revenge mission. Chewing on your lower lip, you’re finally thankful Din taught you how to fly.

***

Brought to wakefulness by searing voltage in his veins, Din's jaw muscles are forced taut by the current, preventing his pained groan from escaping. His entire body tenses painfully.

Laughing cruelly, Con Macta cuts off the switch on the dirty, steel wall. 

"Good afternoon, bounty hunter. Really didn’t think you’d be so easy to capture. I didn't even have to go looking for you. You thought your apprentice was on my ship, didn't you? Very touching, your affection for her." 

Din doesn’t reply, too busy catching his breath.

“I sent my own lady friend to snatch her up, but your rather wily apprentice almost killed her. Say hello, Venita.”

Venita saunters toward the containment field Din is suspended in and taunts, “Hello, Mandalorian. You really were a disappointment compared to your friend.” 

“You know, we never did find your real name. We found your apprentice’s, but yours seems to be kept in a secure section of Imperial files. Very interesting. And in that case, don’t worry about dying here. You’ll be going to meet them next. They pay top dollar for their bounties.”

The Mandalorian does not speak. Hanging as he was inside this energy field, there was little he could do. Whatever he’d been injected with still held him in a dazed consciousness. 

“You were all bravado when last I saw you, Mandalorian. What’s changed?” Macta goads. He flips the electricity on for a second, then cuts it again. “You don’t like this? This is what you forced me back to. My maker created me here, in this filthy lab, against my will. Poor stormtroopers. We’re all pulse-cannon fodder or failed experiments.”

Din once again does not reply. Nothing he could say would change the outcome, and he damn sure wasn’t going to give Con Macta any sense of satisfaction.

The cyborg huffs. “You’re far more boring than the last time we met. I guess I’ll have to find your apprentice. That will make you lively.” 

The Mandalorian forces every ounce of will he has into not reacting to that statement, but his sudden rigidity gives him away.

“I can find her, Con. Let me have another go,” Venita begs in a hiss.

The cyborg takes his demented friend by the arm, leading her out of the room. 

Din can just make out his answer: “We’ll both go. If she’d blasted your real eye, you’d be dead.” 

The Mandalorian growls with frustration. It’s essentially useless to struggle. Containment fields are made of pure energy. The control panel with the large, white power switch sits unhelpfully across the mid-size, gray room. 

The cyborg had yet to remove Din’s helmet, thank the Mythosaur; but Din is unable to reach the vision-changing settings, so when a small, dark shadow creeps in from the steel doorway, the Mandalorian squints to hurry its focus. The light from the containment field blinds him to much of what occurs outside its glow.

The shadow moves to the control panel, and Din loosens his muscles in preparation. Tensing would only make the spasming more painful. To his great shock, the blue energy field suspending him disappears and he falls to the ground with a clang. 

Groaning, still groggy and in pain, he unsteadily rises to his feet. They must’ve accidentally released him and now he had to fight. But as he continues to squint, a soft, anguished voice comes from the direction of the control panel.

“Din! Dammit, what did they do to you?” 

You hurry to him, sliding your shoulder underneath his to stand him up fully. 

“I’m alright. Injected me with something,” he shakes his head, trying to clear the cobwebs from his mind. The two of you move toward the exit. “How did you find me?” 

“I ran to the Razor Crest right after I was attacked. I had a bad feeling, so I holocalled Cara to give me your chain code. Can’t have been much more than half an hour behind you.” 

Underneath his helmet, Din’s eyebrows shoot upward. “You were smarter than I was,” he chuckles. 

“I was terrified,” you whisper.

His arm clutches you to his side and he rubs his thumb across your hip soothingly. 

Din releases you to retrieve his blaster from its place on a table. They hadn’t removed any of his other weapons; he supposes they didn’t deem it necessary. He feels a little insulted. 

Suddenly remembering, Din jerks his hand to the place he’d held yours and Grogu’s gifts. Empty. He growls under his breath. 

You peek around the open doorway out into the hall. Your options are left or right. Following the same way you came in, you go right. 

“Those two droids,” he says it like the slur it is to him, “went this way. Stay alert.”

Two blasters are pointed down the dark hallway as you and Din skirt the circular building. It was shaped like a moisture silo - round and high. You’d set the Razor Crest down a click to the west. All you needed to do was find the busted ventilation grate you’d entered through and sprint to the ship. 

In the poor light, you can’t see the object flying at you. A weight slams into your stomach, and you crumple to the floor. Unable to catch your breath, you try to duck out of the way when the gleam of a metal arm comes at your face. It stops mid-air with a dull sound, and you focus your eyes to see that the cyborg’s fist has been caught by Din’s hand. 

The mechanical woman rips her arm from his grip right as he tries to grab a better hold. She disappears into the darkness. You fire your blaster in her direction and the instantaneous red beams of light creepily illuminate the hallway. It’s too brief to confirm, but at the apex of the curve, two figures seem to be lurking. 

The Mandalorian is a protector; dividing his attention between you and the threat is as easy as breathing. He flips on his dark-vision, and with his other hand, he gently helps you stand. Slowly, you get to your feet, clutching your ribs.

“You okay?” His voice is clipped, worried and angry.

“Yes,” you groan. 

His world lights up a sickly green. The two antagonists are at the apex of the curve, believing themselves to be hidden and waiting in ambush. 

“For an ex-stormtrooper, he is extraordinarily unskilled in tactical matters,” Din whispers drily. 

The pain in your torso spasms when you snort a laugh under your breath. “Can we make it out alive before you start imparting your wisdom, O God of War?” 

The Mandalorian’s hand splays across your lower back in familiar affection. He keeps his eyes trained on the two cyborgs as they crouch in wait. 

“They’re setting a trap for us.”

“What do we do?”

“Walk into it."

“Are you still feeling that drug in your system?”

“Yes. Start firing when I do.”

Advancing on the hidden threat, you keep your blaster at shoulder’s height, waiting for Din’s cue. Blood red light casts the hallway into faint relief as the Mandalorian’s blaster repeatedly fires. Your blaster joins his, and the two of you continue approaching the now-dodging cyborgs. 

The female launches at you again, apparently very upset about her missing cybernetic eye. This time, with Din’s dark-vision, he sees it coming. The Mandalorian bumps into your blaster, preventing you from shooting him in the back, as he lunges in front of you. He catches the woman mid-air and brutally throws her to the ground. 

You poke out from behind him and fire another blast at the oncoming Con Macta. His yell changes in pitch when your shot burns through his left thigh. Limping, his charge is slowed considerably. 

In the split second you take to shoot at Con, the Mandalorian is kicked in the back by Venita. As she gets to her feet, Din twists and fires at her. His blast does not go through either eye, but through the center of her forehead. 

Con Macta’s roar echoes throughout the building. The mechanical mixes with whatever’s left of his humanity to form an utterly hair-raising lament. 

“Mandalorian, you’ll watch yours die for that.” 

The cyborg steps underneath an exterior grate, and in the faint, purplish light, you can see that he had undergone further modification after the Mandalorian had taken out his bounty. Before, his entire head was flesh, now only his eyes and mouth remain uncovered. His cheeks and forehead are plated in a tan, utilitarian metal. His thin upper lip snarls. 

“I also have this.” The cyborg pulls a fist-sized red and white bundle from a pouch on his hip. 

Din tenses beside you. 

“Let’s see what’s inside. I hadn’t gotten around to examining my spoils yet, but I’m curious what a minimalist Mandalorian could be carrying so dearly.” 

As the cyborg looks down to untie the material, the Mandalorian raises his weapon and pulls the trigger. Con Macta stumbles as the bolt hits him in the arm. The package drops to the steel floor with a muffled clink. 

He roars again, charging at the two of you. He dodges the Mandalorian’s blasts until finally he leaps, knocking Din to the ground. Unwilling to accidentally shoot Din, you try to get an angle on the twisting cyborg. Deciding that was no good, you finally just kick Macta’s partially-human head. 

The tortured, destroyed ex-stormtrooper cries out and wobbles to the side, giving the Mandalorian an opportunity. Still pinned, Din thwacks his right leg on the ground, firing a knee rocket directly into the cybernetic back of Con Macta.

Following the ear-splitting explosion, the cyborg delivers a groaning death rattle, and slowly collapses to the ground with a resounding crash. 

The Mandalorian hefts to his feet, and quickly walks to the small bundle lying on the dirty floor. He brushes it off absentmindedly, and turns to you. 

"You still okay?" 

Nodding, you move toward him. He holds out his hand, palm down, and jerks his head toward the exit.

__________________________________

Grogu sits on a yellow stone. His eyes are closed and his breathing is audibly shallow. His mind is focused on the incoming ship. The Jedi across from him can feel it, too. 

Luke Skywalker frowns with acceptance. The child had made its choice. 

***

“You’re very quiet,” you observe, hoping Din will tell you his mindset.

He doesn’t. The Mandalorian continues performing the landing cycle with rote movement, jostling slightly as the landing gear settles onto the gravel below.

“I can’t wait to see him,” you smile, peering out the glass, hoping for a glimpse of the kid. “His little face -” 

“I know.” 

You press your lips together in a knowledgeable smile. Din is anxious. 

***

The boarding ramp lowers, and you bounce once or twice on the balls of your feet. Beside you, Din is composed except for the fingers on his right hand. As the two of you strut down the ramp, a figure in form-fitting black materializes from the treeline. 

“Hello. I was expecting you sooner, actually.” Luke smiles. “You really do care for the child to have denied yourself for so long.” 

The tall grass sways for a second before Grogu flips out and onto the gravel path. 

“Patu!” The child begins waddling toward the Mandalorian.

Din strides forward and crouches to one knee, taking the kid into his hands. 

“Hey, buddy. I missed you, too.” 

Tears threaten to fall from your eyes at the blatant love in Din’s voice. Grogu reaches for the Mandalorian’s helmet, but Din does not remove it this time. He half-turns, and Grogu’s attention shifts. His childish hand raises at you, cooing. 

Nearly jogging to them, you allow three stubby fingers to grasp your thumb. Pressing a kiss to his wrinkly head, you murmur an affectionate greeting. Grogu begins to purr.

“Is he happy here? Is his training going well?” Din asks the Jedi. 

“Happy enough. But he is distracted. I believe Grogu has made his decision.” 

Your brow furrows, “What decision?” 

“Grogu has learned all he will from me. I know his feelings, sense his thoughts. They remain with his father. A life dedicated to the Jedi Order is not his path.” 

“You’re saying that you won’t train him anymore?” You clarify, shocked.

“Grogu has seen both of his choices and made his decision. That decision is to return to you.” 

Though you can’t see his face, your eyes turn up to the Mandalorian anyway. Your imagination serves you well enough. His eyes are surely glassy, and a soft, disbelieving smile is certainly spreading across his face. 

Luke bows slightly, and turns away, walking down the path with his hands folded behind his back. In the distance, a stone hut is being built by spidery droids. You watch him go for a moment in curiosity before returning your attention to the two in front of you. 

Din’s helmet tips down to look at the child. “You’re coming with us?” The hope in his voice confirms your picture of his expression. 

Still aggressively purring, Grogu burrows down into the crook of Din’s arm. 

The T-shaped slit tilts up to you, and you wish you had the ability to freeze the image. The Mandalorian contentedly holding his green child, looking at you with what you're sure is pure happiness.

"Let's go, then," you grin. 

_________________________

Deciding that a reunion could be better savored while resting on a peaceful planet, the Mandalorian lands the Razor Crest. Gentle hills of sand roll in every direction, and, once outside the ship, the sound of ebbing water can be heard.

"This is Illen. The entire surface is made of small islands. The waterline is on the other side of that dune," Din points his chin upward. 

"Is it late in the day's cycle?" You wonder, referring to the soft, golden light that illuminates the planet.

"The sun does not set here." 

You raise your eyebrows in appreciation, "It's beautiful." 

Din kneels, laughing under his breath at Grogu's immediate fascination with the sand. 

"Kid, I have something for you." 

Grogu's ears flop slightly when he looks all the way up at Din. He tilts his head in curiosity. 

The Mandalorian unwraps the little bundle he'd carried with him and pulls out a child-sized chainmail shift. 

"This is yours by right, Grogu. You are a Mandalorian foundling, and part of this clan." 

The child seems to understand the gift he's being given. His eyes look upon his father with adoration, and his hand touches the beskar chainmail with respect. 

***

Several hours later, Grogu begins to slow his excitement. His tiny mouth opens wide showing a range of even tinier teeth as he yawns. 

Grogu plops down in the sand, grabbing fistfuls and letting it trickle through his fingers. Miniature crustaceans with towering, swirly shells scuttle by, fascinating the kid as he slowly starts to drift to sleep. 

"He'll be busy for a while," the Mandalorian nods his head toward the ridgeline. 

Traipsing through the soft, sifting sand makes your journey to the top of the dune longer than usual, but when you join Din at the top, your breath catches. 

"Woah," you blink, ensuring your eyes aren't lying to you. 

Gentle waves lap at the silky white sand. The ocean is a vibrant blue, contrasting beautifully with the golden tint of the sky. Purple and yellow clouds dot the horizon. The burning sun casts yours and Din's shadows far behind you. 

Din gallantly holds your hand as the two of you trudge down the dune, stopping several paces from the water. 

"I have something for you, too."

Tearing yourself away from the natural world, you turn to look at your own. 

"What?" 

Din's thumb and forefinger dig into his pocket, and he fishes out a metal pin shaped like a Mudhorn. 

"You are also part of this clan, if you so wish. This does not bind you in any way, however," he assures. 

You smile warmly and raise your palm for him to drop the pin onto. It's even lighter than it looks. 

"Being bound to this clan is all I want," you shake your head and pin the object to your shirt. Your cheek twitches up into a lopsided smile at him. 

The Mandalorian simply stares at you for a breath, enjoying the moment.

Reluctantly, he starts to speak. “While I am reminded of it: I did have something I wanted to teach you,” he unhooks his real binders from behind him. "You are going to learn how to get out of these.” 

Your shoulders fall and your face is unmistakably wary. “Seriously? Can’t we have a single day without some type of exercise?”

Real binders represent a litany of bad memories. If you can avoid this, you will.

"No. And don't be afraid. You trust me." 

He says it as though it's a fact. And you realize that it is. The bond of trust between the two of you hasn't been up for debate in a very long time. He has your best interest at heart. Always.

The Mandalorian clasps the thick metal around his own wrists, and to your immense shock, a shadow in your mind whispers something excitingly foul. 

“When you’re…” Din’s words trail off when he notices something. The blank face of the beskar helmet tilts. “Your heart is racing.”

"It's not," you lie.

"I’ll get you out if you’re unable to break them. You need to learn how to do this." 

Din worries that your past might be causing you to fear. It was, but a more insidious idea has taken root.

"No, I know. I believe you."

Din's shoulders tense, his bound hands folded in front of him. "Then why is your heat signature rising?" 

The breeze from the sea is cool, and the sun is at a perfect place in the sky to allow for a comfortable amount of warmth. Trying to understand, the Mandalorian watches as your cheeks flush, and it finally strikes him that you're embarrassed.

"This -" he pauses, truth dawning on him. "You like this, don't you?" He raises his hands.

You bite the inside of your cheek and look at the shifting ground beneath your feet. 

"I'm sorry. I don't know why." 

Din considers that for a moment. It wasn't hard to understand. A lifetime of servitude and bondage, you might enjoy being on the other side of it. 

The Mandalorian shifts his body, his knee cocking. “If you win today, I'll see what I can do." 

Your eyes widen, nerves sparking already at his voice. Then you frown. 

"But I never win," you retort. 

Din shrugs his shoulders. 

You take a deep breath and roll your eyes, "Alright, well. Show me how." 

The Mandalorian twists one of his hands, working against one of the hinges. One edge of the hinge springs up. Then, Din raises his hands above his head and jerks them down and apart with all his strength, popping the hinge. One cuff remains, but his hands are no longer constrained together.

You raise your eyebrows, impressed. 

"These are a low-grade set. You won't be able to break free of the high-end binders; unless you pick their lock," he explains. "But I want you to know how to do this." 

Din resets the hinge, and holds out his hand for you to take them. As your fingers close around the binders, however, the Mandalorian sweeps your leg out from underneath you. 

Instinct takes over, and, though you're laughing at the change in plan, you duck into a recovering move to the side, giving yourself space from him. 

He nods at you, and the fight is on. Binders still in your hand, you feint to his left. Din actually reacts, so you take advantage and charge his right. 

You land a blow to his side, then grab his arm and try to set him off-balance. From the modulator, you hear him breathily laugh at your pathetic effort. He crouches and whirls you off him, sending you down onto the sand. 

Scrambling onto your feet, you're laughing too hard to focus. Even without a weapon, his strength was such a formidable opponent that you'd never win. 

"You can do better.”

"I can't," you snort. "Din, you're as broad as an X-wing." 

He gestures like So what?

"Try again," he demands, folding his hands cockily. 

Huffing, you narrow your eyes, looking for some kind of misstep. But he's just standing there - unimpressed as a karking Republic officer. Eventually, you decide on trickery; that seemed to work before. 

Feinting again, Din expects you to go to the opposite side like you did last time, so he twists a little to that direction. But then you continue through on your "feinted" movement, launching at him. You come at him from below this time, grabbing and pushing at his waist, and as he bends, your leg swipes out his knee. 

He grunts, rotating and falling onto his back, and you go down with him, arms still around his waist. 

Din takes the opportunity, while your ankle is awkwardly underneath his knee, to wrestle on top of you. He's chuckling under his breath, clearly enjoying this. 

As Din supports himself above you, you knock your elbow into the crook of his arm, causing it to give out and his body to drop to one side. He grips your waist as you roll and force him onto his back once more. A click resounds between you.

"Stop doing that," he growls at your cheap shots on his joints.

As you straddle him, he hears a second click. 

The Mandalorian looks down now at his hands where they lie against your stomach. Binders lock his wrists in place. The black slit on his helmet considers you with a sigh. 

"Well done,” his modulator conveys his flat, raspy tone. “I concede." 

Your eyebrows draw together, mouth agape, and you place your hands on his breastplate for stability. 

"You can't concede a fight you lost." 

"I just showed you I can break out of these, did I not?" 

"That doesn't negate my win." 

Din huffs dramatically. The motion tenses his abs underneath you. Once again, you’re tempted by the way he looks right now, bound and pinned underneath you. Heat begins to pool where you sit astride him. 

Suddenly, the Mandalorian lurches upward, looping his bound arms over your head and around your waist. He shifts on the sand until he's sitting up with you in his lap, your legs still sprawled around his waist.

"Can you take this off for me?" His gravelly voice asks. "My hands seem to be tied up."

There comes a lurch in your stomach that has very little to do with your position around him.

"The helmet?" You whisper.

"Yes, the helmet." 

"Din, are you sure? Shouldn’t you -”

“I think it is fitting. You won and I’ve already made my decision. You make yours.” 

Reverently, you place your hands on either side of his beskar face. Your fingers curl around the concave shapes that resemble cheek bones. A third Death Star could splash down into the ocean and you'd only know when the tsunami engulfed you. The weight of the moment is almost too much to bear. 

The sharp edge of the helmet crests the top of his head and short, wavy, brown locks fall away from the interior. You set the helmet down beside him, and, with the gravitational pull he has on you, you can’t stop yourself from touching his face.

His face.

Huge, sensitive brown eyes look up at you, reading your reaction. His full lips pout in a way that forces you to stutter over them several times in your exploration. You’re surprised at how easy he is to read, and for a moment you believe it’s because of how well you know him, and that is much of it. But then you understand. A life behind a mask meant that he never learned to hide his expressions. 

You press a gentle kiss to his angular nose; to the patch of missing hair on his jaw, oddly shaped like a heart; and finally to those unfair lips. Your hands cradle his jaw as you press your kisses, and he sighs underneath your touch. 

The Mandalorian is beautiful underneath beskar and bone. 

This is the first time Din has seen you without his helmet, and the weight of his gaze as it travels across your face, down your throat, and back up to your lips sets your already-taut nerves ablaze. The knot in your stomach has yet to loosen; instead, Din only twists it tighter. 

Taking a liberty, you peck him on the lips shyly, drawing back almost immediately. The corner of his mouth turns upward ever so slightly and his hooded eyes pin you with a look full of deep admiration.

When you pull back, your eyes open to the true intimacy of the moment. The Mandalorian could not show you any more blatantly that he cares, that he’s yours. Bound and unhelmed under you, Din is still in control. At any moment he could break his bonds, but he chooses not to. You take a shaky breath, then surge into him again. This time, however, your lips slot between his with heated fervor. 

He groans into your mouth, crushing you to him. Din reclines a few degrees onto the sand dune behind, allowing you a better position on him. Your sounds become more desperate, and Din breaks the kiss.

“Take this off,” he indicates his chestplate. 

His eyes are hooded and completely on board with this new dynamic, so you comply. You bite your lip, trying not to ogle, as you carefully divest the Mandalorian of his armor. The illusion of control was yours, but he always held the power. Him choosing not to use it makes your blood boil. 

When his armor is lovingly placed to the side, abandoned in the daylight, you run your hands up his chest over his flight suit. Without waiting for instruction, you unfasten it. Quietly he watches you, his arms still around your hips, and his breathing grows shallow. 

You pull open his flight suit and duck to press open mouth kisses along his chest. Sparse, dark hairs curl in the center, tickling your cheeks and lips as you move.

Din groans through his nose, his eyes closing above you. At the apex of your thighs, his length twitches and thickens. You kiss along his collarbone, encouraged by his faint sounds, then suck a biting kiss on his tense neck. 

A wrecked groan rips from his mouth, and his hands press into your back, egging you on. Your hips buck of their own free will as his arousal becomes hot and hard between you. His eyes roll closed when you drag along him just right, and the sight of his pleased face soaks your underwear. 

“You going to run the whole show?” He murmurs. “Or would you like me to -”

Before he’s finished speaking, you retrieve the thin key for his binders, unlocking them. Pulling off his gloves and tossing the binders into the sand, he immediately skates his hands underneath your shirt, tugging it off you. When Din tosses it away, his eyes shamelessly follow his hands as they explore.

He suddenly sits forward, his arms cradling your back, and he sweeps you underneath him. His knee spreads your legs, so it’s really his own fault when your drenched, needy core rides his thigh. Looking directly into the Mandalorian’s soft eyes, you whimper; his eyes darken further, and he roughly shuffles your pants down. 

Your hands fumble with the rest of his flight suit, but he shrugs out of the sleeves, tying them around his waist. He opens the codpiece area and your eyes widen. It’s not the first time you’ve had sex with him in the daylight, but those times had always been from behind. Din’s hands are already large, and yet his cock makes them look smaller. The memory of it inside you is enough to make you arch into him.

Your arms reach for his neck, and he bows over you, tenderly kissing between your breasts. He makes his way to your throat before he returns the favor, sucking a bruise into the crook of your neck. Din’s heavy erection settles against your thigh, and it throbs when you moan.

“Stop teasing,” you beg breathlessly. 

“I’m not teasing. I am enjoying this,” Din says honestly. 

“I really need you,” you take his face in your hands, pulling him into a desperate kiss. 

The Mandalorian takes the hint. He groans; his hands grip your waist, pinning you into the sand. One hand abandons its post to drag his length through your folds, coating himself in your arousal. Brown eyes bore into yours as he lines up and, with a rough sigh, nestles the head of his cock inside you. The Mandalorian breaks eye contact to look down and grab the underside of your knee. He throws your leg up over his waist, maintaining his hold, and inch-by-inch, buries himself in your tight heat. 

Watching him enter you has you teetering on the edge of an early orgasm. His eyebrows draw together and his full lips part slightly. His chin tips upward with pride when you cry yes, and his heavily-lidded eyes blaze with lust. 

Adjusting to his size is simple when he’s driven you to the point of an orgasm just from insertion. You wait for him to move, but he doesn’t. Instead, he kisses you without agenda. You relax into him, letting him lead. He said he was enjoying this, and the more you touch him, the more you agree. 

Curling your hands in his dark brown waves, you drift with the roll of his tongue and his lips. His slow sensuality seems to turn him on even more. You whine each time the Mandalorian throbs inside your body, and each time it sets your heart racing. 

Eventually, when your body shakes with anticipation and sheer want, he has mercy on you. His hand leaves your knee, sliding down your thigh and between your two bodies. His thumb rubs smooth circles over your sensitive bud and you tighten around him immediately. 

Whining, muscles stiffening, you lean away from his lips just to breathe, when his low, crisp voice asks earnestly, “Will you come on me like this?” 

It’s the missing piece. It whips through you like a wildfire, and you bear down on his cock. He groans in his throat, enraptured, as you shake beneath him. Din takes advantage of the moment, surging forward to claim your lips. 

Din drags his length out along your walls, loving your overstimulated expressions. Then, he reseats himself in a single motion, sending your body forward in the sand. You cry out, begging him for more.

The Mandalorian thrusts into you, replacing his hand around your knee and using it as leverage to please you deeper. His muscular arm settles near your face for balance. Burying you in the sand, his warm body pressing into you from above and inside, the feeling of bliss sinks into your very marrow. 

Grunting, his lips lose their steady rhythm on your mouth, insteading hanging above you. Sweat shines on his forehead, his brown hair curls in the same place, and he looks at you with such admiration that you can’t stop yourself from cupping his face between your hands, kissing and worshiping every part of him you can reach. 

Your second orgasm sneaks up on you. Din loops an arm around your back, pulling your chest flush with his while he works himself into you, grunting as his aching member begins to empty itself. The coase hairs between you tangle, acting as friction. The thrusting of his body nudges your clit, and the powerful shuddering of his cock in your overstimulated channel forces you right over the cliff. 

Shaking in his arms, he rides it out with you, breathing rapidly into one another. Sand sticks to the both of you where you’ve perspired. Din leans his forehead against yours, whispering his affection. He kisses your nose, then carefully removes himself from your body. 

You lie there for a moment, basking in it all. 

“I’m too dirty to put my clothes back on,” you laugh. 

“I am, too.” Din agrees. 

He stands, having tucked himself back in his black flight suit. His upper torso is still uncovered, though, and you stare. 

The Mandalorian holds out his hand and you take it without hesitation. He helps you stand, then begins to undress himself further, not wanting his knee rockets and boots to get waterlogged.

 “You’re… going to bathe with me?” Your lips curve into a coy smile.

“Is that not obvious?” He responds drily, chucking a boot onto the beach. 

“I’m not going to keep my hands to myself,” you warn in a whisper.

“Neither will I,” the Mandalorian promises. 

_________________________________

Taglist:

@morks-watermelon @leithatnight @sexygaypalpatine @leeeesahhh @taro-666 @bitter-sweet-slut @cockscombkingdom

[fudgelling-away]

You are my favourite sans person, so i wanna ask you, what do you think his singing voice would sound like??? I don't know if it would be similar to his speech which I imagine is like a deeper baritone sort of thing, OR, he's one of those dudes who sounds drastically different depending on what he's doing.

he's sexy either way though🤫🤫

I've been thinking about this ask for the past several days 😳

That is such a sweet thing to say!!! Thank you for telling me this, I appreciate you reaching out so much!

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

To answer your question, I think Sans would be very skilled in modulating his voice.

I imagine him being an expert in communication - that means not only having an uncanny ability to read your face like an open book, but also being able to masterfully control his own expression and the message that his voice and his body language send.

(note: this has nothing to do with controlling emotions, that's a whole another topic)

That's also why his ability to lie is straight up scary. This man could sell you the most otherwordly ideas in a believable way and you would never know.

Sans is scary. The power he wields IS scary, and I do not mean piercing bones. He's one scary little cookie and I love him so much-

Also, isn't it amazing that he never uses those talents to abuse others? We as the Players commit atrocities and treat the in-game world like our playground. There are also all these other characters who misuse their strength and influence in a destructive, careless way. And on the other side there is Sans. Intelligent, powerful, both in battle and in soft skills.

He is so- ah, you know what I mean?! He could, but he doesn't! He's got all the abilities necessary to become the scariest predator ever seen, and he chooses not to.

But I digress.

HAVING SAID ALL THAT, I think he would be a very good singer in his natural vocal range.

As I have mentioned before, he can read you very well. That means he recognizes each tiny change in your voice. In the game we can also see the way his text speech changes, many times, in different ways. It, of course, is not THAT important - we are discussing headcanons anyway ♡ But I really like that about him, too.

I don't see anything stopping him from using all that knowledge and talent to sing well (if he wanted to).

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

I'd love to share with you who is my voice for Sans, but I can't. He actually is a singer. I have never seen him linked to Sans in any way whatsoever, so I really don't want to put his name out there.

But that's such a good voice... Oh man...

It's deep, of course, but with a totally unique timbre. I have never heard any voice similar to it, and it's so... It's so pleasant to my ears! It's smooth, and ahhh I can't explain it. It has got that special something... Those undertones that feel and taste like SANS. That relaxed, though positive and attentive manner of speech. Ah. I am obsessed with it.

And I have found it by a total accident. Several months ago I was driving, minding my own business, there was radio playing in the background, and at one point they started to play an old song from the 1980s.

30 seconds in and I'm like, oh shit. No.

1 minute in and I am starting to sweat.

No.

no

no no no-

YEEEEEESSS!

[IMAGINE: A STREAM OF HAPPY EXPLETIVES]

That was an epiphany.

The feeling was euphoric.

SANS

sans sans

ASDDASDASFSSASA

I have no memory of the rest of the drive, but THAT VOICE.

I came back home. I looked up the radio station on the internet. I checked what they played an hour earlier.

And I found out who it actually was.

Immediately I went searching for some recorded interviews and yesss, there they were, perfectly available on youtube...

I spend a couple of hours every week listening to those interviews while I am working or drawing. That voice is ingrained in my brain now. That's my Sans' voice.

I am so sorry I can't show it to you.

--------------------------- Let me know what YOU think! ♡

I love to read different headcanons and ideas.

[feralrabidcrow]

What do you think the mercs hobbies were, past and present?

Scout loves drawing, as inspired by Expiration Date. He's really good at it, like crazy good, but he usually uses his talents for chaos, such as drawing Spy having sexual congress with the Eiffel tower. He also collects baseball cards, and sings Tom Jones to himself when he's alone in his room, but everyone knows because of how loud he sings. He sings into his baseball bat like it's a microphone, most passionate ballad of 'Sex Bom' you will ever hear.

Soldier is devoted to creating an army of raccoons, no matter how much the raccoons bite and scratch him. If you can consider that a hobby. Can you count snapping Scout's puny neck as a hobby? Is violence in general a hobby? He takes great joy in trying to 'shape up' the other mercenaries, through wake up calls, making them eat nasty MREs, yelling at them to train harder, and running the base like it's boot camp. I don't think this man has picked up a relaxing pastime in his entire life.

Pyro loves collecting things, anything really. Stickers, candy, rubber ducks, if it fits in their pocket, they'll hoard it somewhere only to bestow it to someone randomly (at least it can seem random) as a gift. Obviously they have a hobby for starting fires, but their less destructive hobbies include tea parties, scrapbooking, cake decorating, and hanging out with Engie in the workshop just to pass time.

Demo loves gathering the mercs around and telling them ghost stories. If there's a thunderstorm, and the lights go out, he's grabbing the candles and the spookiest voice he can muster. While the man loves his scrumpy, in the past before he just stuck to the good ol reliable stuff, Demo dabbled in the art of mixology, crafting up the most bizarre yet delicious drinks you could think of, but they certainly could pack a punch! He hasn't entirely lost the skill, but most of the time he's too drunk to work a bar with the finesse he once could. There would be a lot of glass shattering.

Heavy is a big time reader. Whenever he has the time to spare, he's pulling out a thick book that no one can identify and digging in. However, he has a remarkable ability that I lack; the ability to remain aware of his surroundings while buried in a book. No matter how invested he is in the literature he's currently consuming, if you call for him he'll drop it and come help. He enjoys spending time with Medic's doves; after their beloved doctor, he's their second favourite person. He also enjoys cooking, something he learned from his mother a great many years ago.

Engineer obviously spends a lot of his free time in the workshop tinkering about, but he also loves to spend time just hanging out with the mercs, who he all considers friends, that Friendly Engie! Whether it's a barbecue, a game of poker, karaoke night, whatever shenanigans the mercs are doing to pass the time between matches, Engie is right there in the center of it, enjoying all the bonding time with his teammates that they can get. He's a major extrovert, and can get on well with just about anyone he meets!

Medic takes his job as a hobby, delighting in reaching into someone's chest cavity and playing God for a bit. He's very passionate about bird care, treating his flock of doves as if they were his children. He also loves music, and has a radio playing in the medbay whenever he can. Medic has a wonderful singing voice, but he rarely sings nowadays, though he used to in his younger years. He also is a surprisingly good dancer, but only Heavy knows about that one.

Sniper loves abandoning the base and going out into the middle of nowhere to just be one with nature and get some peace and quiet. He goes hunting, catches himself some game, cooks it over a fire, spends the night stargazing and listening to nocturnal animal calls. He's the most introverted of the group, and while he does sometimes sit in for poker and other team activities, he's happiest in the great outdoors by his lonesome.

Spy is a connoisseur in fine wines and other elegant alcoholic drinks, taking the time when he can to attend fine dining and wine tasting events. He plays piano, rather impressively well, among his wide set of talents, but unlike many talents that he picked up just for a job, he takes great joy in his musical skills. He also has a fondness for seducing your mother.

[eyelessfaces]

wine stain

llewyn davis x reader

hi I started writing this in october but never actually finished it and I thought it was kinda good when I reread it but I hated the plot so I changed it. anyways I hope you like it! also please note that this is my first time writing detailed smut in ages and I'm very insecure about it so please be indulgent :(

summary: life isn't fair to llewyn, but the man isn't quick to give up. an audition in chicago might change his life forever, and it does, but not the way he expected it to.

warnings: smut (minors dni!!), unprotected piv, oral sex, language (they swear a lot), alcohol consumption, smoking. mentions of pregnancy and abortion, one tiny joke about it. I am pro-choice and I don't want to offend anyone so if it bothers you just don't read this ffs.

tags: f!reader, friends to lovers, mutual pinning, llewyn is insecure asf and believes he doesn't deserve anything good, fucking oblivious idiots in love

word count: 5.7k (this is the longest thing I've ever written.)

Hot smoke escapes Llewyn’s cup of coffee, subtly mixing with the intoxicating smoke of the cigarette he holds between his fingers. You watch as the smoke goes up in the air, disappearing at the same level of his crumpled shirt collar. You desperately want to get up and fix it. You look away from it and sigh before talking.

“Spill the beans. I know this isn’t a casual cafe meeting. Or what Jean would call our ‘definitely not dates’ or whatever.” you say sinking into your chair, crossing your arms. “What do you want. Need. Same thing” you ask, watching him blow out his smoke as he raises an eyebrow at you.

“There’s no good answer is there?” he chuckles, licking his lips awkwardly when he sees that you’re not reacting to his poor attempt at a joke. “I need money.” he continues, lowering his voice. He leans forward and looks at you sternly. “Listen I hate asking you for this, but if I could do otherwise I wou-”

"Seriously? You’re still not getting anything?” you cut him off, raising an eyebrow.

His face relaxes, and he contorts it to a frown again.

“Believe me I’ve harassed Mel, it’s a miracle he’s not kicking me out. Only real money I get is from the gigs and saying it’s not enough is an understatement.” he huffs out, looking around the barely crowded cafe. “Please. I really need it. I’ll make it up to ya.” he pleads, looking back at you.

You roll your eyes when you think about the extra hours you’ll have to do to be able to pay your rent, but it’s Llewyn, and you care about him, so it’s…

 “...Fine.” 

Llewyn nods, weakly smiling at you.

“Thank you baby. Thank you” he nods fervently, thankful. “I would also need a place to crash at tonight…” he whispers with a sour face, knowing that it may be too much to ask you at once. 

You chuckle and give him a wave of your hand. “Whatever. But you’re taking me out once you have enough money” you say tilting your head forward, pointing at him.

“Sure thing.” he smiles. “Thank you dove.” 

You send him a quick smile before hiding it with your cup of coffee.

A thought occurs and you lick your lips in reflection as you put the cup down on its saucer.

“Abortion?” you ask abruptly, and he looks back at you with a startled face.

“What?”

“Is that why you need money? Again?” you clarify.

His confused face relaxes and he chuckles with a frown.

“It’s nice of you to assume I’m getting laid.” he chuckles, scratching the end of his cigarette in the ashtray.

You shrug. “I don’t know. You’re a hot talented musician after all” you say with a smirk, elbow planted on the table and chin resting on your palm. “Makes everyone faint”

He snorts. “Come on. Not when the hot talented musician is homeless and a dick” he pinches his lips in a skeptic smile.

“Yeah well that’s just you. And I don’t see anything wrong here” you smile, and Llewyn clears his throat.

“Well Jean told me it’d be a favor to people if I never fucked anyone ever again so I’m taking advice” he affirms, eyebrows raised as he brings his own cup of coffee to his mouth.

“Jean’s a bitch” you spit, crossing your arms and leaning back into your chair.

He chuckles and smiles.

“That’s no news.” he smiles. “Hum... The reason I need money is because I need to go to Chicago for an audition.”

“Chicago?” you ask, startled that he needs to go so far away.

“Yeah. Chicago.” he affirms, and looks through the window. It’s pouring and the wet road reflects the light of one small ray of sunshine passing through the clouds. 

“You’re fucking kidding me” you scoff. “Don’t tell me it’s an audition with that Bud Grossman guy” you sigh, slowly shaking your head.

Llewyn doesn’t answer and just looks back at you with a small pinched smile. You sigh. “When is it?”

“I’d need to leave tomorrow. It’s a pretty long ride” he affirms sinking in the back of his chair.

“No shit” you chuckle before taking another sip of your coffee. “It’s a whole ass trip.”

He nods and reaches for the pack of cigarettes on the table. You grab it before he can and he’s on the verge of calling you out for it but you speak before he can.

“You just finished smoking one. You smoke too much. Slow down.” you advise him putting down your cup of coffee, and he instantly rolls his eyes.

“Oh please.” he huffs. “Come on” he pleads, frowning.

You put the pack in your coat pocket and he sighs before laying further against the back of his chair.

His look darts to the window again. Few people are passing by and the rare ones that do are all protected by an umbrella and a raincoat. He’s just glad he’s crashing at your place tonight and not roaming around the whole city to look for a place to stay in this weather. 

“You’re gonna kill this.”

“Mh?” he asks absent-mindedly, still looking outside.

“Your audition. You’re so talented Llewyn. The trip is worth it” your words make him look back at you immediately, a small gap forming between his lips.

He wants to tell you that you don’t need to do that for him. That you don’t need to be so positive because he somehow always ends up fucking everything up. He really does. But at the same time he doesn’t think he’s ever felt his heart beat so fast.

“My first groupie!” he exclaims, unsure of how to respond wholeheartedly, instead using sarcasm as it’s what he does best. “Here it is.”

“Fuck you you asshole” you scoff, rolling your eyes playfully.

“Come on, I'm just messing with you” he scoffs. “Thank you for believing in me. You’re amazing” he nods and smiles. “You’re probably the only one that believes in me anyways.”

You weakly smile back at him. God you just wished this would work out for him. It’s all you ever wanted for him, truly.

“Can I get my cigarettes back now ?” he asks with a grin.

You roll your eyes and huff out a laugh before throwing the pack of cigarettes at him.

—

You gasp as you feel two arms wrap around your waist. You close your eyes with a sigh once your brain processes everything, and the corners of your mouth turn upwards.

“You scared me you moron. Nice shower?" you ask, still looking at the cooking pot in front of you.

Llewyn smiles as he nuzzles your hair.

“You have no idea. Probably the best shower I’ve had in ages” he affirms, his thumb caressing your clothed stomach. The gesture makes your heart skip a beat, but you quickly brush the thought off. You can’t think of him that way. “What you cookin’?” the question tears you out of your thoughts.

“Franks and beans. It’s a good thing you were able to come out of this bathroom, we’re eating soon.” you announce, stirring in the pot with the spatula.

“Awesome” he groans. “Thank you for letting me stay here tonight. The hell would I do without you” he sighs, and leans to quickly kiss your cheek.

You close your eyes and smile once again.

“Come on, go set the table. It’s ready soon” you affirm as you throw your chin towards the table. 

“‘kay chief” he throws as he opens the cabinet where you keep your plates.

You eat while drinking some wine and end the evening watching The Seventh Seal, your head quickly ending up resting over Llewyn’s shoulder. You can feel yourself drift off to sleep as the end credits appear, and get up from the couch before you actually pass out on it and on Llewyn.

“Imma head to bed” you mumble sleepily, grabbing one of your plaids to hand it to Llewyn. “Goodnight” you tiredly say as he takes the plaid before you turn around to leave for your bedroom.

“Hey. I’ll probably be gone by the morning.” he declares as he gets up from the couch, leaving the plaid hanging on the armrest. “So I’ll just say it now. Thank you for the money and the food.” he says as he walks up to you, hands buried in his slacks pockets. “And the couch, and for everything you’re doing for me in general. I really appreciate it. I love you.” 

You endearingly smile at him, reaching to gently stroke his wrist with your thumb.

“Good luck. I’ll be waiting for you. I love you”

—

When you come back home from work later than usual because of traffic three days later, Llewyn is curled up on your couch, asleep. 

Your apartment is bathed in darkness and you watch his sleeping figure as you take off your shoes and coat before walking to him, kneeling next to him by the couch.

You reach to turn on the lamp on the side table next to your couch, looking back at him and finally being able to see his peaceful state. You smile to yourself as soft snores escape his slightly agape mouth and his usual grumpy expression is long gone, and you kinda feel like a creep for watching him sleep but truthfully he looks like an angel and you feel bad for having to wake him up. 

You gently thread your fingers through his raven curls, softly calling his name, and he slowly opens his eyes, hazily sitting up and rubbing his eyes before pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Fuck” he curses under his breath. “Shit I didn’t mean to fall asleep on your couch. Sorry”

“That’s okay” you reassure him, smoothing your hand along his forearm. “How was Chicago?” you ask him softly, and he suddenly chuckles and shakes his head.

“Shitty.” he declares. “Useless.”

The blank that fills the air in your apartment is overwhelming. You get up from your knees and sit next to him on the couch, propping your elbow onto the back of the couch, your hand holding your head. “I’m sorry” you pinch your lips in an empathetic smile. “Wanna talk about it?”

“No. Yeah. I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter anyways” he smiles tiredly as he looks up at you.

“If you wanna talk about it I’m all ears, and if you don’t that’s okay, you don’t have to.”

He sighs and rubs his eyes again. “It’s just… It was all for nothing.” he huffs out. “All I do to try to make it work is always for nothing at the end.” You swear you hear your heart crack at that moment. “Grossman advised me to get back with Mike when I told him I used to have a partner.” he scoffs.

You chuckle and shake your head in dismay. “Well that’s gonna be complicated” you say as you raise your eyebrows. “What a fucking moron” you mumble as you get up from your couch, going to the kitchen.

“I don’t wanna defend him but he couldn’t know” he declares as he follows you, leaning his side against the wall as you grab two glasses and a bottle of wine.

“I’m not exclusively talking about that. He’s a fucking moron for rejecting you” you say as you turn back to him, handing him the glass. He takes it and shrugs and you sigh as you fill it. “How many copies of your record would I have to buy to make you rich?”

He laughs before taking a sip of the wine, and he raises his eyebrows in amusement.

“You ending up homeless in your turn isn’t the point sweetheart” he says as he watches you pouring yourself some wine before leaving the bottle on the counter.

“I just want you to be okay.” the words weakly escape your mouth as you walk back to your living room, and his eyes light up at your words. God, if only you knew how much it meant to him that you wanted him to be okay, if only you knew how much you meant to him.

“Don’t worry about me angel. I’ll just go back to merchant marines” he sighs as he sits down on your couch.

You look down at him with empathetic eyes and take a sip from your glass before putting it down on the coffee table. “It’s gonna be okay” you tell him sitting down next to him, mostly trying to convince yourself. Truth is you rely a lot on how he feels.

He hums absent-mindedly, gaze lost in the void of your living room and leans to put his glass down too before shifting to face you and taking your hand in his. 

You look down at his hand, slowly and softly tracing his skin with your thumb.

“Llewyn” you whisper looking back at him, pushing away the curls falling over his face, threading your hand through the unruly dark curls.

He sighs softly as he looks up and down between your eyes and lips before his hands frame your face as his lips press over yours with more force than he had expected, like his eagerness to kiss you took over him. 

He’s not sure of his action and he’s fully convinced he has, once more, fucked another thing up like he always does as he doesn’t feel you moving, until he feels your hands join at his neck to bring him closer, deepening the kiss as you hum against his lips and as your tongues meet. 

It’s all the both of you had always been wishing for; diluting this unspoken tension between you, finally acting upon it. 

You shift to straddle his lap and he groans into your mouth as he pulls you closer by your hips, savoring every second of that kiss as if you’re going to slip through his fingers once you pull away, as if you’re going to regret all of this once it’s over. 

You know there is no reality where you could ever regret this; you had fantasized of doing this for ages and it’s even better than you had imagined this before; the wine somehow tastes better when it’s on his tongue, and you can feel the faint taste of cigarette in his warm breath as his broad hands run up and down your body, his body heat radiating against you.

You unconsciously hump against him as you want to get even closer, and a moan escapes your mouth, the friction against him deliciously relieving the growing ache between your legs.

“Fuck, Llewyn” you gasp against his mouth as you look down at your clothed crotches, evidently feeling his erection twitching under you even through the layers of clothes.

“Sorry baby” he whispers as his mouth chases yours, his gaze on you drunk and wanting. “Can’t really help it” the chuckle he lets out changes into a gasp when your hand shifts to palm him through his pants.

“The fuck are you sorry for?” you ask teasingly, a grin adorning your face as you leave his lap to kneel at his feet. He looks down at you speechless as you fiddle with his belt. “I know a way to make you feel better about all of this” He’s dreaming. This can’t be real.

“Sure but angel you– wh– you don’t have to–” he babbles as you’re working on freeing him of his confined space.

“I want to” you declare as you take his cock out, and fuck he’s hard and he’s huge and the heat pooling at your belly is becoming more and more pronounced. “If it’s okay” you look up at him, raising your eyebrows awaiting approval.

“Of course it is but we can– you don’t have to– oh shit” his pleas die on his tongue as you take him in your mouth, softly sucking his head as your hand strokes him. “Oh fuck” he groans, his head hitting the back of your couch.

This is a dream, it all happened so fast and there’s no way it’s real, he’s having another one of those dreams with you he’s so ashamed of, you never woke him up from his accidental nap on your couch, he’s still sleeping and this is not actually happening. 

Coming back to reality will be hard because fuck this feels so good and he’ll probably have to lock himself in your bathroom to actually get some relief once he wakes up.

He is confirmed of the realness of the situation when you grip the side of his thigh as if to tell him look at me while you softly lick the underside of him, shifting to trace every vein along his length, pre cum dripping from the head to coat your tongue.

“Is this okay?” you ask pulling away, the tip of your fingers still gently skimming his throbbing cock. He laughs at your question.

“Baby fuck–” he bucks into your hand after you swipe your thumb over his swollen tip. “Yes of course it’s okay” he chuckles as his hand cups your cheek, thumb caressing your cheekbone. “It’s more than okay” he declares as he looks down at you with lustful, dark half lidded eyes.

“Good” you smile up at him before sinking down and taking him fully at once without warning.

The moan that escapes his mouth is sinful and it makes you clench, and the light tug after his fingers shift to grip your hair goes straight to your cunt. 

You take him as deeply as you can, going up and down, tongue swirling around him from time to time. His head falls back against your couch once again, and he squeezes his eyes shut as his grip on your hair tightens.

“Holy shit dove– I don’t think I’m gonna last long” he manages to breathe out between whimpers, tightening his free hand into a fist to prevent himself from cumming right then and there into your mouth.

Then you pull away and he groans.

“What the fuck?” he asks startled as you get up, leaving him twitching and wanting, the feeling of his approaching orgasm slowly fading away.

“Jeez stop being so impatient” you taunt as you start unbuttoning your trousers, and his expression is priceless once he realizes what you have in mind.

“Oh–” you teasingly smile at him and slide your trousers down your legs. “Baby it’s not that I don’t want to but I don’t have any condoms and I can pull out but you know how cursed I am with all of this and–”

“I’m clean and on birth control it’s okay Llewyn” you cut him off of his tirade as you step out of the trousers at your ankles, throwing them to the side. “If you don’t want to do that it’s okay, I can finish you off by–”

You’re cut off when he grabs you by the hips, pulling you closer to the couch he’s sitting on, and you know he’s in for the ride – quite literally – when his thumbs hook into the hem of your underwear to slide them down your legs. He does the same, fully taking off his slacks and underwear and throwing them over the armchair across your couch.

He looks up at you like you’re a goddess, and even though his dick is aching and begging for release he takes his sweet time gazing at you like you’re the eighth wonder of the world.

You softly smile at him, brushing back the raven curls falling over his forehead, and giggles escape from your mouth when he unexpectedly drags you so you can straddle his lap.

He kisses all along your jawline, beard softly tickling your skin as he lavishes your neck next, his hands roaming along your curves, his right hand stopping between your thighs, two of his fingers gathering the slick of your folds.

“Shit– you’re fucking dripping” he breathes out against your neck, making you whimper at his touch. “Did you get that wet just from blowing me?” he teases, and you tug at the curls on the back of his head before reconnecting your lips to his, feeling him smirk against them.

Llewyn groans in your mouth as you wrap your fingers around his cock and slowly pump it, and he knows for sure that the gasp you let out when you slowly but easily sink down on his length will be engraved in his mind.

“Holy shit” you pant, burying your head in the crook of his shoulder once you’re fully seated on his throbbing length.

“You okay?” he asks, one hand anchored at your hip and the other one softly trailing up your bare back underneath your shirt.

“Yeah” you breathe out, frantically nodding against him as your arms wrap around his neck, and you slowly start rocking your hips. The little whimpers he lets out are music to your ears, and the way he softly gasps your name has you clenching around him.

“Fuck angel you’re so fucking tight” Llewyn hisses, leaving a trail of kisses along your neck as you thrust down on him, finally finding a steady pace that leaves the both of you sweating and panting, clinging to each other. “Taking me so fucking well” he grunts against the exposed skin of your neck, the roughness of his beard tickling the sensitive area. Tugging on his hair so he can look back at you, his hips jerk up, and you pull him in for a hungry kiss. 

Of course he would like you pulling on his hair.

Happy with the reaction it elicited from him and the information you just got, your hands are gripping on his curls as you roll your hips against him. He practically fucks his tongue into your mouth, and you almost choke into the kiss when his thumb meets and massages your clit in small circles.

You gasp his name, and his hand that was stroking your back earlier is now tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear as he drinks in the sight of you using him for your pleasure. 

“Wanna make you cum first” his voice is rough and deep with lust, and the way you bite on your lower lip as you slightly flutter around him because of his words seem to encourage him; his grip against your hips becomes more and more firm and controlling, his pelvis thrusting up into you with a force that you hadn’t expected from him, his movements meeting yours and making you throw your head back in pleasure.

“Fucking hell Llewyn” it comes out as a sigh, but if the walls of your apartment weren’t so thin you would have at least screamed it.

You know he won’t have much work to do as you can already feel yourself nearing your climax; it’s all starting to become too much, but the good kind of too much. 

You gasp in surprise when Llewyn manhandles you with the force you ignored he still had from his merchant marines days and knocks over one of the glasses of wine on the coffee table, the liquid pouring all over the surface and dripping down onto your wooden floor. 

“Shit Llewyn” you gasp, pushing your nails deeper into his arms. 

It’s honestly a miracle you managed not to fall and you back landed on the couch correctly.

The mission isn’t a complete success, but you’re too caught up in the moment to stop because of some stupid wine so you just manage to tell him “Fuck it just keep going” while wrapping your legs around his waist so he keeps going, even more fervently.

You’re now laying on your couch, Llewyn hovering over you and hitting deeper spots inside of you, each movement faster than the previous one; the wet sounds between your legs are lewd and get even filthier each time he pounds into you. 

He’s close. You can see it, you can feel it by the way his thrusts stutter slightly. 

His head tilts down to where you’re connected, watching himself disappear inside of you, bringing his hand to you clit again.

“Fuck are you gonna cum for me baby?” he asks, his voice dripping with lust and desire as he toys and rubs circles over your aching clit.

You whimper and hiss and cry his name as you get lost in the feeling of his fingers and his hips ramming further into you, all the tension in your body morphing into waves of pleasure as you reach your climax, fluttering around him and cumming in silent gasps.

Llewyn is quick to follow you as your orgasm was all he was waiting for to finally let himself go; his movements become sloppier and his hips start to stutter, his eyes finally rolling to the back of his head and his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he stills, his cock spurting his cum deep inside of you. 

He grunts, and your head falls back into the couch as you feel drained of all your energy. Llewyn curses under his breath as he rests his forehead against your shoulder, panting, before pulling out and collapsing on top of you, his head resting against your chest. 

You both catch your breaths, staying here for a while with your fingers softly running through his hair before you start blissfully laughing, all the tension and seriousness of the situation fading away. 

He rests his head to the side, facing the scenery of the knocked over glasses still swaying over your coffee table. “Fucking hell your floor” he gasps before looking up at you, realizing the mess you have made with the wine.

“I’ll just put a rug over the stain I guess” you sigh. “It was worth it” you chuckle and lean down to kiss him. “I’m glad you didn’t take advice from Jean after all”

“What?” he asks, still dizzy from his climax.

“Not fucking anyone ever again, remember?” you ask and he laughs, getting up and walking to where he left his clothes to get dressed again.

“Yeah, well you better be consistent on your birth control because apparently my spermatozoids are warriors, and I wouldn’t want Jean to make a point” he chuckles as he slides into his slacks.

“We should be fine” you mutter while sitting up, reaching to pick your underwear from the floor. “I’ll call you if I need an abortion” you joke, standing up to put your underwear back on. “Ugh fuck” you whine picking up your trousers, seeing the wine stain covering it.

“I’ll help you clean and I’ll just… go” he mutters, scratching his forehead.

“Why do you wanna go” you ask absent-mindedly, walking to the kitchen to try to save your trousers from the wine stain.

“I don’t know” he declares following you into the kitchen before standing against your counter, hands gripping the edge of it. You look at him and he looks absent, livid, almost sick, and it is too much just for it to be his post-orgasm haze. 

You frown, and when you realize why he might want to leave your heart breaks a little.

“Did I do or say something wrong?” you ask. Maybe the abortion joke was too much, maybe you got fooled and he was just horny and needed to let it out of his system and regretted it now. “Llewyn do you…” you fully turn towards him, searching for your words. “Do you think this was a mistake?” you ask looking back at him, letting the garment rest in the sink. “Us sleeping together?”

“Me? No” he scoffs. The tension hangs in the air as you’re waiting for him to elaborate. “I figured you would”

You sigh and take a step closer to him.

“Llewyn no… Why would I?” you chuckle, almost offended at the thought.

“I don’t know. Nothing I do is ever good so why would this be any different?” he shrugs, closing his belt.

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose and shaking your head.

“No. You’re a fucking idiot.” you mutter under your breath.

“I know.” he replies quickly, not wasting one second. He walks back to your living room, gathering his stuff to go, really wanting to avoid having a fight with you, and preparing to leave like he had planned to.

“I don’t mean it like that. You wanna know why you’re a fucking idiot?” you ask rhetorically, following him closely. “You think you’re not good enough for everything you do in life when truth is, you’re just really unlucky.” you declare, “And you act like a jerk because you’re scared of actually succeeding in something.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “Well surely you’re right about that too” he scoffs, pulling out his cigarette pack from his pocket.

“Don’t smoke inside of my apartment” you hiss. 

“I told you, I’m leaving.” he almost immediately snaps, putting the cigarette in his shirt pocket, taking his guitar case and his box of things, his coat thrown over it.

You sigh and put a hand over your forehead, and watch as he passes in front of you to go to your entry. 

It is now or never, or else it will never be the same. Tonight you had taken a step forward, but by taking this step forward you had also taken two steps backwards, and if you didn’t try to save this now it would never be saved.

“Llewyn” you call, and something breaks inside him at the sound of your voice. You had never called his name so weakly, so pleadingly.

He turns and finally looks at you, establishing eye contact for more than five seconds for the first time since your sexual encounter. He closes his eyes and shakes his head.

“I fucked this up too, didn’t I” he mutters, and you pinch your lips as it is your turn to shake your head as you step closer to him.

“No. No you didn’t.”

He looks down at the stuff he’s carrying and sighs.

“I don’t really wanna go.” he declares softly.

“Then stay,” you nod. “Please. I don’t want you to go.” you say as you take a step forward, taking the box from his hands. “If you leave I would need to run after you in just my shirt and underwear, and frankly I don’t want to do that” you smile slightly as you put his stuff down on the floor.

He laughs and puts the rest of his belongings on the floor too, and when he looks back at you he notices you’re still looking down on the floor, gaze lost in your thoughts.

“Honey is there–”

“Do you think sleeping together was a mistake?” you cut him off, looking back at him. 

“No. Of course not. I’d do it again.” he declares. “I mean if–”

“I get it. Don’t worry” you chuckle. 

A small silence fills the room before you get an idea.

“Hey, follow me” you say as you tilt your head. You cross your small apartment, Llewyn following you closely, grabbing your wrist as you push your bedroom door.

“Sweetheart I’d love to but I don’t think I can go again– I mean not right now”

“I’m not bringing you here to have sex again” you declare, a chuckle escaping your lips as you see his face relaxing and his hold on your wrist loosening up. You sit on the edge of your bed, and he watches you from a distance, leaning against the doorframe. “Come here” you call, patting the spot right beside you. Llewyn hesitantly sits beside you, and his gaze shifts to your face when you grab his hand.

“This could be your bed, if you wanted it to be.” The sound of your voice rings in his ears. “You wouldn’t have to sleep on my couch again. Or any other couch.” you declare, brushing back his unkempt hair, and he looks at the bed behind him as if to contemplate what he could have. 

He looks back at you, and he knows that he knows his answer. He doesn’t hesitate for one second on what he would rather have, because if he could be by your side forever, he would be. But something inside of him is not sure if you want him to be by your side forever.

He nods. He nods and he licks his lips in reflection, and he looks back at the bed before looking back at you again. “I don’t want this to be exclusively sexual” he declares, squeezing your hand tighter.

“Me neither” you smile, a wide smile that makes his heart sink. You grab his face and kiss him, and he savors this kiss like it’s the last thing he’s ever going to do. But if kissing you was the last thing he’d do, he would be satisfied with that.

You pull away from his lips and lay down on the bed, and his hand rests against your bare thigh while he looks at you. And he looks at you like you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

He lays down next to you with a grunt, facing the ceiling, and you prop yourself against your elbow to face him.

“I’ll just ask you one thing” you declare, firmly looking at him.

“Mh?” he hums, looking at you.

You lick your lips and let your fingers trail along the side of his face. 

“Stop thinking you don’t deserve anything good.” you whisper, and his face shifts so he can kiss the tip of your fingers.

“Eh, I’ll try,” he smirks, shrugging. You shake your head and lean down to kiss him again, but he hovers over you and pins you down before you have the chance to do it.

You laugh and he kisses you, hungrily, and shifts down to leave a trail of kisses to your neck and collarbone as a defeated sigh escapes your mouth.

“Okay so I’ll give you time to work on the imposter syndrome. But now we can only have sex if you promise me you won’t hate yourself after we’re done”

He pulls away from your skin, and looks up at you. 

“I can do that.”

You spend a long night offering Llewyn your bed, the uncleaned stain of wine on your floor long forgotten.

But at least years later, when you’re engaged to Llewyn and packing to move out somewhere bigger and the time comes when you have to remove the rug, it reminds you of that specific night, and you can’t help the fluttering feeling of the butterflies in your stomach, accompanied right away by a tiny kick. The very first one.

—

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