#I Really Love His Bad Temper | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yamujiburo · 23 days

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Why I Love Hanamusa

I get this question very frequently but have never given a really in depth, definitive answer. All just kinda implied through my comics and spread out asks. So here's this I guess! Long post ahead:

First, as a Pokémon fan in her mid 20s, I love seeing a ship where the characters are both in their mid/late 20s. Already, they’re much more relatable to me and my current experiences. Most Pokémon ships are between preteens, which can be cute but ultimately don’t interest me as much as they used to when I was a kid myself. Not enough to get super invested in and draw a lot of fanart for anyways haha.

I’ll also start by saying that canon doesn’t always influence whether or not I’ll ship something. I’m much more drawn to potential. Could the characters work together? Do their personalities work together in a nice way? I feel like this so much of fanon is anyways. Especially with queer relationships because they’re rarely depicted in the first place. A lot of the context for these ships is usually up to the fans to piece together or make up in general. And that’s the fun part to me!

Jessie and Delia have only met in the anime a handful of times. Any interaction they’ve had has either been pleasant, or just a typical Team Rocket interaction, with Delia dismissing them/not seeing them as a threat. Already a great jumping off point for me since, truly, they don’t have any actual beef or true, ill feelings towards each other. It’s not TOO out of the realm of possibility for them to potentially fall for each other. “But Jessie chased Delia’s son around trying to steal his Pokémon!” That’s where that dismissive and aloof attitude that Delia has comes into play. I’ll go more into Delia’s whole deal a bit later but I do think this aspect of her personality is a large reason why this ship can work. It’s not that she doesn’t care that Jessie has a bad past, but she can tell that, on the inside, Jessie’s a good person. And, in a scenario where Jessie is trying to become a better person, is forgiving enough to give her a shot. I feel like this is such a solid foundation for a ship. A character who has done wrong but is trying to be better and another character who is willing to help them be better. A classic dynamic!

It’s not just one-sided though; where Jessie is the only one benefitting and learning from the relationship. I believe Delia could get a lot out of being with someone like Jessie. To understand why, I think it’s important to know these characters’ respective backstories.

Jessie is an orphan/foster child who grew up in poverty. Her mother Miyamoto (from The Birth of Mewtwo) was a Team Rocket operative herself, who went on a mission to find Mew. In order to do this, she had to leave Jessie when she was just a toddler. Unfortunately, Miyamoto went MIA on her mission leaving Jessie to more or less fend for herself. Jessie went through life with zero stability, evident by her MANY different careers and constant moving around. It’s implied in the show that she went from foster home to foster home, and later in life tried being an idol, weather girl, florist, wine connoisseur, actress, most notably a nurse and finally a Team Rocket field agent. And even while in Team Rocket, she, James and Meowth were always doing odd jobs to get by. We see that Jessie used to be a sweet kid, and even adult, but the world and her circumstances repeatedly did her dirty, leading her to become the character we know today. Hot tempered, mean, selfish, etc. But despite this, her soft side does still shine through for the people and Pokémon she cares about. She is incredibly loyal.

Delia, unbeknownst to a lot of fans, also had a rough past (see Pocket Monsters: The Animation). Like Jessie, she had a lot of dreams and aspirations like wanting to be a model and even a trainer. But when she was 10, her mother didn’t let her, telling her that she had to stay home and learn to run the family restaurant (she’s an only child). Delia’s father left her and her mother to be a trainer, and never returned. When she was 18, she married Ash’s father and became pregnant shortly after. But right after Ash was born, he also set off to be a Pokémon trainer. And soon after that, her mother passed away, leaving Delia with just the restaurant and baby Ash. This gives so much context to Delia’s attitude in the show. We see that Delia is pained whenever Ash leaves on a journey, but she never shows that pain to anyone. ESPECIALLY Ash. She’s very quick to shoo him off when he shows any sign of wanting to go on another journey and even when he returns home, she acts more excited to see Pikachu than him almost every time. Without all this backstory, it’s easy to just read this as a funny gag, BUT with context, I think it really shows how quickly Delia shuts down and detaches in order to not confront her own feelings. She’s afraid of losing people and getting hurt again.

All that said, I think Jessie and Delia provide each other with EXACTLY what the other needs.

Aside from becoming rich and famous, Jessie’s biggest aspiration is to get married. In my opinion, this is more so an underlying want for love and stability. There is no one more stable in the show than Delia. Delia’s lived in Pallet her whole life, she’s worked at the same restaurant since she was young and she is always there when Ash comes back home. She has all the love, patience and stability Jessie needs and craves. While forgiving, Delia’s not stupid and can keep Jessie in check. Delia’s also just an angel, which I feel, would make Jessie want to be better. And on top of all this, on more of a surface level, Delia’s a chef and excellent cook. She shows love through cooking and Jessie, who grew up poor, regularly starving and eating snow, happily receives that love. Jessie’s able to live a happy and healthy life with someone like Delia.

Delia, as stated, is very stable. Likely pretty monotonous and solitary, especially living in such a small town like Pallet. This isn’t a bad thing but it’s a little sad when you consider that Delia also had dreams of traveling, being a model and a trainer. She had to give up so many dreams in order to fulfill her duties as a restaurant owner and mother. And even now, when Ash is off on his journey, she feels the need to always be home and be that stable pillar, leaving behind any ambitions she had, thinking it’s too late for her (she’s only 29 btw). But then along comes Jessie, dangerous, passionate, an absolute firecracker. Someone who’s whole life has been about chasing dreams and either, never giving up on them or finding a new dream to chase. Upon learning about Delia’s past aspirations, I could see Jessie pushing her towards them, letting her know that life’s too short and she has nothing to lose from trying. On top of this, Jessie’s also loyal. She, James and Meowth are depicted as doing anything for anyone who gives them food or shows them kindness. Delia does both so there’s no way Jessie would leave her. This fulfills an essential need for Delia, who is afraid of the people in her life leaving her.

There’s so much potential for mutual growth and learning between these two and I adore that. They compliment each other, they help each other and they bring out the best qualities in one another.

I’m not really sure how to end this and I could truly talk about them even more but I don’t want this to be tooooo long haha. OH I could end it with maybe the most funny aspect of this ship that I've brushed over and also what drew me to it in the first place. Jessie. As Ash’s stepmom. THE END.

#hanamusa #hanamusashipping

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softlyspector · 1 year

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Significant

Summary: Din has been calling you riduur for months. You finally find out what it means, and get a little more than you bargained for.

Pairing: Din Djarin x gn!Reader

Word Count: ~5.1k

Warnings: pining, absolute FOOLS in love, bit of grumpy x sunshine, lil angsty, possibly incorrect lore, fluff, lots of Mando'a (translations for the Mando'a at the end)

A/N: Happy Mandalorian Eve!! This is based on a short drabble I wrote, which you can find here! It's not necessary to read it first, though of course I recommend it! The reader and Din have been traveling together for a long time, and after removing his armor in front of the reader for the first time began calling them riduur.

“Riduur.”

It may as well be your name, the way you turn at the sound of that word.

“Din,” you return, adjusting the child’s little sleeve which had fallen down past his hand.

“Are you ready?” He asks as he tilts his head to the side.

You smile and turn back to Grogu. “Dad’s impatient today, isn’t he?” The child coos up at you, lifting tiny arms, ready to be picked up. “Yeah, he is.”

“I’m not impatient,” Din grumbles lowly.

You raise a brow at that and lift Grogu into your arms. “You’re always impatient, Mando.” His head jerks to the side at your assessment.

You have to bite back a laugh. In truth, he is incredibly patient. Most of the time, and especially when it came to you and Grogu. The only time you’ve seen him truly lose his temper was with the Jawas, and really, that couldn’t be helped.

The child reaches for Din when you turn back to him, and the Mandalorian immediately holds out his arms to take him from you. You deposit the little green baby there before grabbing your shawl. “Yes, we’re ready,” you finally answer.

The baby gets tucked into the pouch at Din’s hip, before he descends the ship’s ramp out into the desert air that awaits you.

You roll your eyes gently.

Not impatient, but not entirely patient either.

You follow, wrapping the light material around your shoulders.

It’s subtle, but he does wait for you, his pace slower than if he were alone. His right elbow ticks out a fraction, and you smile before cupping your hand there. He would never ask you to take his arm, still the offer is usually there if he can accommodate it.

He relaxes a little when you fit your hand against his bicep. “Supplies only,” he reminds you, ever practical.

“Supplies only,” you agree. “Unless I see something for Grogu.”

“The child is becoming spoiled,” he complains lightly. “We won’t have enough room in the ship soon.”

You shrug and tighten your grip on his arm. You like the way he says we. So, you return with, “That’s just because our child deserves the best.”

Din’s spine straightens a fraction and his shoulders tilt back.

He’s somehow both stoic and incredibly bad at hiding his emotions. You can tell, just by the slope of his shoulders or the exact angle of the helmet or the precise way he stands or walks, exactly what and how he’s feeling.

Or, maybe you’ve just spent too much time around him.

Maybe, you just know him too well.

And right now, he’s swollen with pride. Though you don’t know if it's because you’ve complimented the way he takes care of the child or if it were something else. Something in the way you said our.

It’s not long before you reach the market, and Din sighs as soon as it comes into view. It’s much larger than the ones you normally frequent, a riot of color and sound that you both know you won’t be able to resist. The town seems to be in the midst of some kind of festival.

The smell of fried food greets you before you’ve even breached the perimeter of the town, and your mouth waters. Something better than rations awaited you there.

Din is single minded though, and you know he’ll immediately make for the most boring of the stalls and shops.

Supplies only, after all, is what you’d come for.

“Mando,” you remove your hand from his arm and he immediately halts at the loss of your touch and turns to you. “I’m going to go look around.”

He stares at you, helmet tilting down. He doesn’t like telling you no, and knows it wouldn’t matter if he did anyways. But, he worries and so it takes a moment for him to reply. “Don’t go far,” he advises. “Do you have a comlink?”

“Yes.”

“A weapon?”

You pretend to search your person, “Hm, what’s that again?”

“Riduur,” he reprimands your teasing.

That word makes the inside of your skin light up pleasantly. Riduur. If only you knew what it meant.

You’ve started to assume it means something similar to cyare or cyar'ika. But he’d had no problem telling you what those words meant. Darling and sweetheart and beloved. He’d had no problem telling you he was calling you beloved.

But he no longer calls you cyare or cyar'ika. Since the first time he’d called you riduur, the day he removed his armor in front of you for the first time, he’d solely begun calling you riduur.

Even your name is becoming a rarity from his lips.

“Udesii! Yes,” you cross your arms. “You know I took care of myself for a very long time without you and nothing ever happened. I’ll be okay.”

Din doesn’t answer, just sighs and gives a curt nod and marches off towards a shop selling medical supplies.

The dramatics of it all makes you giggle. You like teasing him, especially because he thinks he hides how flustered you make him well.

Although you enjoy traveling with the Mandalorian, alone time has become a complete rarity. You were always with Din, or watching your little green menace.

You eat your way through a couple of different stalls selling food, bundling up second and third servings to keep for Din and Grogu.

Din wouldn’t think to get anything beyond rations. Both you and the child like a little more variety, where Din treats the act of eating like a maintenance routine.

You drift past stalls hawking trinkets and jewelry, fending off the sellers as you crunch something sweet and sour you’d picked up at the last food stall, not entirely sure what it is.

Textiles are next, bolts of cloth you run your fingers over but mourn not being able to afford. Still, it's nice to browse, nice to feel normal. The Mandalorian isn’t hunting someone for once, and you aren’t trapped in the interior of the ship, stale recycled dry air burning your nostrils.

A little supply stop has become a little welcome relief. It’s giving you the chance to stretch your legs, to explore.

Still, your mind drifts back to Din, the way he calls you something he would not name to you.

You’ve searched before, in other markets, on other worlds, for the answer to your question. What does that word mean and why won’t Din tell you?

You’d tried to convince him once or twice, with gentle words whispered in his ear, when the helmet was off and your hands were pressed against his skin, the contours of his face still a mystery to you.

Once, you’d felt the skin of his cheeks go hot beneath your hands when you told him he used his tongue so prettily, couldn’t he use it to tell you what riduur meant?

He’d mumbled something else in Mando’a but had not explained himself.

You can understand most of that he says now, but because he’s the only other speaker, you have to rely on him to tell you what new words and phrases mean.

Because the Mandalorians are such an insular people, you never come across any other speakers you could ask. There are no dictionaries to Basic that you could download and peruse.

It’s frustrating, especially since the word seems to be laden with something heavy. Din says it with reverence, with a softness that doesn't cut through the rest of his words. His voice is softer when he speaks Mando’a anyways, but that word is held with a reverence on his tongue, like it’s precious.

The only other time you had heard him use that tone was when he once called Grogu ad’ika, which meant child.

You’ve almost given up on knowing, resigned to that fact that you may never know and he may never tell you.

Whatever it means, you’re sure it's important. You just don’t know why.

The market is loud, boisterous and colorful. Music floats through the air, shouts and laughter.

It’s nice, it makes you smile and you wish you’d taken the child with you because you’re sure he’d have much more fun with you than with Din picking out rolls of bandage and rations and pulse rifle cartridges if he can find someone that has some.

You stop suddenly in your tracks when you hear a conversation in a language you immediately recognize, the familiar syllables cutting through the afternoon chatter.

You spin and find two men in robes speaking gently to each other in Mando’a. Before you can stop yourself, your feet have already carried you to their table where they sit sipping cups of caf.

“Su cuy'gar,” you greet. They both look surprised, glancing at each other and then back at you. “Sorry to bother you. You speak Mando’a?”

One smiles, “Yes. Of the few outsiders that do, I think.”

“Were you foundlings?” It’s the only way, you think, that they could have learned it.

“Once,” the older of the two says. “This one learned it at a university.”

You can’t help the curiosity that burns through you, “At a university? Really?”

“Only the very barest basics. From a woman being courted by a Mandalorian,” he dismisses with a wave of his hand. “That was a long time ago. Really I learned from him.” He gestures between himself and the other man.

You shake yourself, “I’ve just never met another aruetii that does.” Let alone two of them, you think dizzily. Two outsiders who spoke Mando’a.

“And how did you learn?”

“My…” you trail off.

Your what? You aren’t sure what exactly Din is to you, or what you are to him. You never have been. He treats you like you’re more precious than beskar, yet everything between you remains undefined.

“My traveling companion. He’s a Mandalorian.” You swallow, “I wonder if you could tell me if you know what a certain word means? It’s one I’ve been curious about.” You don’t want to tell them that you’re seeking it out because it's something he calls you. That feels too private, too close to the chest. “He said it once and I’ve been trying to figure it out ever since.”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“It would wound my pride. He’s already taught me so much. He overestimates my fluency.”

They laugh and the man who was once a foundling says, “Yes, ask us then.”

“Riduur,” you say, carefully pronouncing it so they don’t mistake it for another word. “Riduur,” you repeat with more confidence.

The men glance at each other, brows raised. “Well, it has several meanings,” the more grizzled of the two says, “But I suppose it's all the same in the end. Spouse would be the most overarching translation. Partner, wife, and husband all work too.”

For a moment, you can’t breathe, you’re sure your heart has come to a leaping halt in your chest. “Truly? Riduur?” You say it again, just to make sure. They laugh and nod and you decide to have your meltdown away from their table. “Well, thank you for clearing that up. Sorry again to bother you.”

You turn away from them, a roaring in your ears. Your heart stutters in your chest. Riduur. He’s been calling you his partner, his spouse, for months? That word so softly spoken to you - to tease you, to call for you, whispered to you in the dark, said over and over, more than your own name. It meant partner, spouse, wife, husband?

Something inside you lights up with pride. The shape of it is warm, firm in the clasp of your lungs. Riduur. It’s a living, breathing kind of word, one that takes up space inside you. One you’re proud to bear the weight of, the title of.

Spouse, you think, doesn’t carry the same gravitas as riduur. There’s something heavier and deeper in the word that a translation couldn’t really carry over into Basic.

You start back down the road, smiling to yourself, but only make it several paces when Din steps up beside you silently from between two stalls. “Dank farrik,” you gasp, stumbling back. “Where did you come from? You scared me.”

He doesn’t answer you, doesn’t even tilt his head towards you. You may as well have not spoken at all.

“Mando?”

Still, he doesn’t answer you.

You raise a brow but don’t say anything else as he herds you gently out of the market, desert dust swirling around your calves. Eventually, when you reach the edge of the town, he asks, “Did you find everything you need?” His voice is flat, rough.

“Yes, I got some food for you and Grogu to try. A little feast for you tonight, since it won’t hold.”

He merely grunts and you frown. “Is something wrong?” You glance over your shoulder. “Did something happen? Are we being followed?”

You glance around his legs at the baby, still securely in the brown canvas bag, who’s peering up at both of you with anxious eyes, big ears drooping.

“No.” He answers curtly.

The walk back to the ship is silent, and tense, and you aren’t sure why.

It’s only when you’re in the safety of the mouth of the ship’s ramp, with the baby in your arms, that your irritation spills over. “Are you upset with me? I didn’t wander. I stayed close and had a weapon and -,”

Din’s hands go to his hips, helm tilting at an angle as he regards you. His voice is agitated when he finally speaks. You expect him to tell you that you wandered too far, that he commed you and you hadn’t picked it up, that you’d unknowingly wandered into danger. And you expect to have to tell him once again that it's all fine, that you are fine, that you’d traveled without him for years and things always turned out alright.

Instead, he says, “You should not call yourself an aruetii. That is not what you are.”

For a moment, it doesn’t register with you what he’s talking about, that he’d clearly overheard your conversation with the Mando’a speakers, likely eavesdropped on it.

All you are, for a few seconds, is confused. “But…I am an aruetii. I am not a Mandalorian.”

Din’s shoulders go stiff at your words. “That does not make you an outsider. You…you are far from an outsider,” he growls and suddenly spins away from you, his footfalls heavy and loud when he stomps across the hull.

He climbs the ladder to the cockpit and disappears, leaving both you and the baby alone, still standing on the ramp up to the ship. “He’s angry with me,” you say in disbelief, glancing down at the child in your arms, not really understanding why. “We’ll let him cool off,” you decide, bouncing the child against your waist. “Hungry?”

The baby coos and you smile, worry biting into you as you settle with him in the mouth of the ship. The sun is setting on the sand, the air warm, casting red shadows over the world. There’s nothing around you but sand in any direction you glance, aside from the town from which you’d come on the horizon.

In the distance, fireworks from the town explode in the sky. You point them out to Grogu, gently feeding him bites of food that you’d gotten at the market. He makes a sound that you suppose is a giggle, big eyes focused on the colors dissipating in the sky. He holds a tiny hand up, like he’d like it to fly to him.

You curl a hand over his. “None of that,” you say with a laugh. “Those are meant for the stars, not you.”

He goes back to eating, already distracted.

A weight settles over your chest.

If Din heard you call yourself aruetii then he knows that you now know what riduur means.

Maybe that was the true source of his irritation, that you’d gone behind his back to figure out what it meant when he clearly hadn’t wanted you to know.

You rub the tip of Grogu’s ear between your fingers and sigh.

Any warm feelings you’d had are gone.

Riduur.

He’s been calling you that for months. But he hadn’t wanted you to know that he was calling you his partner. For some reason it stings.

The Mandalorian is not cruel, not the type to play with another’s feelings. But, nonetheless, it feels like he might have been. Teasing you in a way you couldn’t begin to guess at. Or, like he could pretend without actually attaching himself to you, and you’d be none the wiser.

You shake those thoughts away, listening to the music echoing over the sands.

When Grogu falls asleep and the sun is just disappearing behind the horizon, you secure the ramp of the ship and carry the baby up into the cockpit.

Din sits silently in the pilot’s chair, and doesn’t look at you as you tuck the child into the floating pod.

You fidget with his blanket, not sure what to say.

“I’m sorry,” he breaks the silence first. “Ni ceta.”

“Din,” you perch next to him in the co-pilot’s seat. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have gone poking around where I don’t belong. I’m sorry.”

His head tilts toward you, the visor impenetrable. You swallow when he doesn’t answer, an inexplicable lump forming in the back of your throat. “Don’t belong?”

“I shouldn’t have asked them what riduur meant. You didn’t want me to know.”

Din stands and holds out a hand to you. You take it carefully and let him pull you to your feet. “That is not why I-,” he stops. “Do you really not know?”

“Know what?”

“I should have been…honest about the name I’ve given you.” He tilts his head and releases your hands. “I’m upset because-,” the Mandalorian pauses and seems to consider his next words for a long moment. Finally, he sighs and simply repeats, “You’re not an aruetii. By definition you can’t be.”

You stare at him for a long moment, before shaking your head. “I don’t understand.”

He huffs, helm ticking to the side again. “Would you call Grogu an outsider?”

“Of course not,” you answer, horrified. “No.”

“And why is that? He’s not a Mandalorian either.”

You don’t have to think about it, shaking your head before he’s even finished speaking. “He’s your child.”

Din steps forward, close to you, but doesn’t say anything. “Our child,” he corrects eventually. “I am upset because you don’t seem to know you are a part of our clan. Even after knowing what I’ve been calling you. Riduur, ner riduur, for months. You still don’t know.”

Oh. Oh.

“Osi'kyr,” you murmur softly. “How could I know that, Din?”

He stands silent and still before you, so still you aren’t sure he’s breathing. “I thought it was clear,” he says stiffly. “I thought it was clear I was courting you.”

Something pleasantly warm settles in among your heart and lungs. “Maybe you should explain your customs to me more thoroughly,” you joke lightly.

He doesn’t laugh, shoulders tense, hands curled in anxious fists.

“So why not tell me what the word means?” It seems a bit past courting to you, to call someone riduur. It seems to you he’s already chosen you.

He shifts from foot to foot, the movement somehow laden with vulnerability and worry. “If you did not…want the same - I’m not sure I could bear that.”

You stare at him, not entirely sure what to say to that. “So, what,” you start, “you expected me to one day just realize you considered me your-,”

“I would have told you,” he interrupts quickly. “One day.”

“Told me-,”

“What riduur means,” he corrects. “And asked if you’d like to be that.” Din takes your hands again, “Just know that you are part of this clan, whatever your answer is.” His voice is so sincere, it breaks your heart a little. “Whether you want to be attached to me or not, you have a place in this clan. You are not an aruetii.”

You tilt your head at the same time he does, the nonverbal cues you both habit in reflecting between you. “I’m just a bit confused. Was that your idea of a proposal?” You smile so he knows you’re teasing him.

Din gives a long suffering sigh. “Mandalorians do not propose.”

“Oh. So what do you do then?” You lift a brow, sliding your hands to his wrists so you can work on tugging one glove off at a time.

“We make an agreement,” he says, not trying to stop you. His voice is hoarse. “We make vows.”

You don’t look up, tucking the gloves in your belt before tracing your fingers along the veins in his wrists, the lines of his palms. “Oh. And did you make vows to me that I wasn’t aware of?”

You’re still joking, but Din takes your words to heart. He shakes one hand loose from yours and presses it beneath your jaw, tipping your head gently back. “I did. I make vows to you everyday.”

All the air seems to get sucked out of the ship. You gape at him, mouth opening and closing without any sound coming out as you struggle to find words. He chuckles, low and breathy beneath the helmet. You imagine he must be smiling. “Now you see how you make me feel. Like I can’t breathe.”

You finally manage to take a breath, lifting your chin away from his fingers, threads of embarrassment beating under your skin at his teasing. “You could have told me, you know.”

“It was too large a risk. I wouldn’t risk you.”

Maybe you should hesitate in your next words.

But you don’t.

You’ve never been surer in something.

“Din,” you step close to him. “I would take those vows.”

“They…they are heavy vows. Not meant to be taken lightly. They’re bonding vows.”

He thinks you don’t get it, that you still don’t understand. “I understand what kind of vows they are. What are the vows?” You step even closer, the heat of his body seeping into yours.

He smells like sun, like spices from the market and oil on beskar. It makes you dizzy, the usual scent of him is much cooler. Evergreen and pine.

The cockpit is dark, the very last dregs of light on the horizon gone. The contours of the helm are shadowed, the flicker of lights from the control panels reflecting in blinking lights over the visor.

There is no hesitation in his voice when he finally speaks.

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.”

You mouth the words, doing your best to translate them.

But he’s spoken too quickly, and you only understand part of it. He waits for you to ask for him to translate, giving you a moment to attempt it instead of immediately telling you.

“I only understand part…We are one together and-,”

“We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors,” he says easily. “We are - we are all of those things already. I have kept the promise I made.”

Your throat is dry, and you can’t think about how that’s true. “We’re raising warriors?” You attempt a joke.

“Would you not call the child a warrior?”

“I would,” you agree. “I would also still take those vows, now knowing their meaning.”

There’s a long pause in which you can feel the Mandalorian’s stare. His gaze is intense, assessing, hot against your skin. You patiently look back, waiting. “You don’t have to.”

“You think I don’t want to.”

He huffs, “I…don’t want you to believe you have to make vows to me. You are a part of our clan no matter what.”

“Would you still call me riduur?”

“If you allowed it,” he takes a breath. “Yes.”

The lip of the helm drifts up and you can sense he’s no longer looking at you, embarrassed. “Din.” His head snaps back down. “I know I am not an outsider.” You wait for him to digest those words. “I know this is my clan now. I still would like to make these vows to you.”

He reaches up and presses his palms to either side of your jaw, the crown of the helmet pressing softly against your forehead for just a moment when he dips his head. “If you’re sure, repeat after me. We’ll say them together.”

“Elek,” you agree.

“Mhi solus tome,” he starts, reverence and disbelief lodged in his voice.

In the distance, more fireworks explode in the sky. The colors reflect in the glass of the ship’s front window, sparking over the reflective helmet. “Mhi solus tome,” you say slowly, careful to pronounce each word exactly right.

You’d never imagined yourself as someone who would get married, and certainly not like this.

But that was before you knew Din. And all this feels to you is right. It’s both sudden and not.

This was meant to happen. All your years with the Mandalorian lead towards this.

You repeat the rest of the vows after him, slow and deliberate.

When the final syllable rolls off your tongue, a muted kind of joy overcomes you. You’ve been a part of it for a long time, but you feel it now, the belonging to a clan and people.

Din releases you and leans back. His chest rises and falls quickly.

You close your eyes and reach for the edge of his helmet.

You want to kiss him at the very least.

But when your fingers skim over the release, he captures your wrists in one hand. You let go and Din reaches up with his opposite hand to take it off himself.

You expect him to kiss you right away, but he doesn’t. You can only feel the lingering touch of his gaze.

“Open your eyes.”

“What? No-,” you begin to protest.

“Yes. You can now, riduur.” The word rumbles out of him proudly, heavy in his mouth.

You tilt your head and frown. “Are you-,”

“This is the Way.” His voice warbles, just a little.

“Are you sure?” You get the entire question out this time.

Now it’s his turn to tease you. “No,” he says dryly. “I’ll change my mind after you open your eyes.”

“Ha ha,” you deadpan. “You’re very funny.”

“Open them.”

You think you might be more nervous than him to see his face. You honestly never thought you would get to, and you had long ago made peace with that. It didn’t matter to you what he looked like, you knew his heart and that was more than enough.

You’ve tried to picture him before, from tracing your fingers over his face, but the image is only half formed and without detail. It felt wrong, somehow, too, to try to picture the face of someone who deliberately hid it.

Slowly, you peek your eyes open at him. Whatever you had pictured is nothing compared to the man you find yourself gazing at.

A sense of vertigo sweeps through you, because it's almost like looking at a stranger.

You have to resist the urge, for just a moment, to tear yourself away from him.

His hair is darker in color than you thought it would be, but just as feathery and lightly curled as you imagined. Din’s eyes are dark, a deep brown that you’d like to spend lifetimes memorizing, falling inside. You were right too, from your explorations of his face with your hands, about the shape of his nose, his mustache, the patchy beard. You’d pictured his eyes all wrong, the shape of jaw.

One thing you couldn’t have guessed at is the naked expressiveness in his eyes.

It makes sense though, he’s spent a lifetime without the need to school his features into anything other than exactly what he was feeling.

You wonder how many times he’s looked at you with such longing, and you never knew.

He says your name, a question mark tagged onto the end of it, his voice wrecked and strange without the modulator muffling his voice.

The sound of his voice rips the upside down feeling away. It’s his voice, it’s him. Not some handsome stranger.

Your eyes flit up from where your gaze had lingered on his lips, the pink shape of his mouth against golden skin. “I was right.”

He frowns, eyes soft and worried. It shocks you again, just how open his emotions read in his eyes. “About what?”

“I knew you were pretty. You are pretty,” you tease, pressing yourself against him, the hard contours of him biting into you. You fist your hands into the fabric at his sides. “Mesh’la.”

Din frowns at you. “I told you that means beautiful, didn’t I?” His voice is playful and doesn’t match his expression.

You nod and don’t answer, reaching up to cup your hand against his cheek. Din’s arm settles easily around your waist, dragging you closer, the weight of his helm in his hand heavy against your hip. Normally, you’d let him close the distance between you but you can’t quite manage to let him now, gazing instead at the planes of his face. “Mesh’la,” you tell him. “Ner riduur.”

“That’s my line.”

“Not anymore,” you tease. “Husband.”

You tip your chin into his and wait for him to meet you there.

He gives a slight smile before leaning into you. “Not husband. Riduur.”

“Right,” you agree, because really, it isn’t quite the same. It can’t be. “Ner riduur.”

The kiss lingers long on your lips. He’s savoring you, a warm passion that doesn’t quite extend into heat. Din’s tongue meets yours briefly, the groan it tugs from his mouth sending flashes of lightning all the way down to your toes.

The fireworks outside are no rival for the feelings clawing up the back of your throat.

You want to tell him you love him, but you think he already knows.

He breaks away to set his helmet down. When he turns back to you, his hands roam over you, free in their movement, tugging at the band of your trousers.

You can’t stop staring at him, suddenly overwhelmed, drinking in the sight of him, the naked expression of him, everything he’s thinking spread over his face like a well loved language.

All you’d wanted was to know the name he gifted you, instead - this.

You map your hand over his face, tracing the divot between his brows, the curve of one sharp cheekbone. “I never thought I would see your face,” you whisper.

Those soft, vulnerable eyes meet yours, arm wrapping around you again, as his bare forehead presses to yours, “And I always knew you would.”

Thank you for reading! Please let me know your thoughts!

If you want more of Din and his riduur, Significant-verse drabbles can be found here!

Translations:

Riduur - spouse, partner, wife, husband

Ner riduur - my spouse, partner, wife, husband

Cyare - beloved

Cyar'ika - darling, sweetheart

Udesii - Relax, take it easy

Ad’ika - little one, baby

Su cuy'gar - Hello

Aruetii - outsider, foreigner, traitor

Ni ceta - an apology, rare

Osi'kyr - exclamation of surprise

Elek - yes

Mesh’la - beautiful

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #significant verse

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v3lvieraven · 3 months

Text

𝐁𝐢𝐠 𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐳𝐞

(Riddle, Floyd, Leona, Malleus, Lillia)

Synopsis- reader tends to give really big and tight squeezes similar to Floyd whenever they hug/cuddle/get excited

Warnings- cursing, mood swings (Floyd), accidentally pushing away (riddle)

𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞

•he collared you for the first time

•this didn’t really do shit though considering you have zero magic.

•takes him a second to realize then un-collars you!

•After a few times of him lying through his teeth about not liking it, you figured you should stop.

•But those squeeze times had found their way into his schedule, literally.

•so when you stop squeezing him it messes his schedule up! Which is absolutely unacceptable.

•usually he wouldn’t straight up tell you his feelings but his poor poor organized schedule was falling apart! And all because you stopped the squeezing.

•“Why aren’t you doing the squeeze thing anymore?”

•You opened your mouth to answer but seeing his unusually upset expression you kept it shut

•With a shake of your head you bring him into your arms with a big squeeze.

•”Awww you like my squeezes!”

•”shh… you have three hours to make up to me”

•that meaning he made you squeeze him in bed for three hours (after his already busy schedule)

𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐝

•he fell in love the moment you squeezed him.

•obviously it wasn’t as tight as he does it.

•but he still loves it nonetheless!

•he definitely pouts whenever you arnt squeezing him. Which makes it very inconvenient for Jade and you.

•he’s very clingy though, but if he saw you squeeze someone else, even if it was in a friend way. He gets so jealous!

•when you went to give him a squeeze a few hours after he saw it, he probably would yell at you.

•He has really bad mood swings so it’s not surprising but it didn’t hurt any less.

•depending on your personality this could go two ways-

•first way: you give him space

•he would be more aggressive towards everyone at first.

•Azul and Jade had begged you to calm him down but you stood your ground.

•not wanting to cross his boundaries.

•but after he gets his anger out one way or another, he realizes he royally fucked up.

•Definitely starts crying and finds you, drags you into a bed, and squeezes you. VERY HARD.

•ends in you either passing out or he falls asleep.

•second way: you wait like thirty minutes and give him another squeeze

•after about thirty minutes he should have probably calmed down

•other than his pout and occasional muttering he is actually holding onto you for dear life.

•both ways he bites you tho.

𝐋𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐚

•HE IS LOVIN IT

•When you found him in the botanical garden asleep you thought this was the perfect time to cuddle with him

•momentarily forgetting about your habit

•it woke him up, he probably hisses at you, even when he realizes it’s you.

•Almost shoved you off until he notices that he really likes this.

•often orders Ruggie to escort you to him whenever he is in a bad mood or a squeeze mood.

•I’m gonna be honest I actually can’t imagine if he were to get mad at you for squeezing him, ironic considering his temper

•like Floyd he can and will bite you to get what he wants.

•he flops on top of you often and demands it with light insults.

•Maybe you should try squeezing him whenever he overblots that might work.

•soon finds out he can’t really sleep without the pressure around him.

•one night when you were on a small trip somewhere he couldn’t sleep, so he tried to squeeze himself with his tail.

𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐮𝐬

•craves it more than anything.

•please don’t stop. He will actually cry.

•he’s really touch staved, so whenever you show up and squeeze him, he returns the gesture

•thinks of it as a human way of expressing love

•which it is to you.

•he’s so adorable, you can’t understand why anyone is Afraid of him. Of course he can be scary but not to you

•He also cries when you do squeeze him, but out of happiness. So either way, if you do or don’t, he will still probably cry.

•Sebek scolds you a lot because you started this and now he often gets really mad and causes thunderstorms.

•sneaks into your dorm and kicks grim off the bed and onto the couch

•poor grim :(

•Sometimes when he’s had a particularly bad day and he needs to unwind he will come to you. Which usually ends up with him letting out some of his more dragon features.

•Not fully though, unless you are okay with him destroying a bit of your dorm house.

•overall he loves you dearly, wouldn’t trade this for anything at all.

•please keep going!

𝐋𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚

•he teases you all the time for it.

•the first time though he was genuinely surprised but wiped that expression off his face VERY quickly

•he sleeps upside down so sometimes he will ask you if you wanna stay upside down with him and do your thing

•most of the time your squeezing sessions will turn into play fight or tickle session instead

•he gets really giddy when it happens

•don’t be fooled though, he will threaten anyone you squeeze.

•also might curse them or something but you don’t need to know that!

•He’s smitten for you though, and even when it sometimes doesn’t feel like it because of his playful demeanor, he truly appreciates these moments with you

•might sometimes mutter things under his breath before he falls asleep in your arms.

• “don’t let me go..”

• “your squeezes are mine…”

•he means the second one in all seriousness though.

•this is one of the most vulnerable times when he is too sleepy to keep his silly facade

•not saying he isn’t silly naturally, but sometimes he covers up his problems with his cuteness or calm demeanor.

•He’s usually not as silly when he’s not with you, but again, sometimes he uses it to cover that he is hurting

•so please don’t call the things he is saying at the moment “silly” because he means them with his whole heart.

•just keep squeezing and reassuring him, and he will open up!

Note- totally not based off the fact I squeeze ppl when I hug/cuddle

#twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland fluff #twisted wonderland #lillia vanrouge #leona kingscholar #twst #riddle rosehearts #floyd leech #malleus draconia #malleus x reader #leona kingsholar x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #floyd leech x reader #Lillia vanrouge x Reader

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polakina · 10 months

Text

que maravilla, que bonita

pairing: miguel o'hara x reader

rating: explicit

outline: too busy with keeping everything and everyone in order, Miguel had neglected the person closest to him, and decided to show you how sorry he was

warnings: smut, fluff, oral (fem recieving), squirting, rough sex, you get fucked on the desk, fingering, blood, biting, scratching, blood kink

requests are open! hope you enjoy, petals <3

masterlist

A bad temper was an understatement for this man. Since Miles had come and thrown a wrench in Miguel’s life, it had been harder on everyone. You, not so much. But when Miguel came home every night, you could see it was taking a toll on him. Watching the kid, making sure Miles didn’t fuck anything up. Preserving the timeline and canon events made him frustrated, irritated. You wanted to help, but could not think of the right approach.

He was sat at the desk, mumbling to himself incoherently. You walked up behind him, placing your hands on his shoulders. He tensed up almost immediately, not realising you were even there. The lack of spidey sense really messed with him sometimes.

“Mi corazon,” he grumbled, turning his head slightly towards you, placing a hand over yours and allowing his body to relax. “You’re up late. What are you doing here?” He spun his seat around and you stood between his legs, his hands resting on your waist, drifting down to your thighs.

“You’ve been busy working. I missed you, that’s all,” you whispered, looking down as his thumbs circled patterns into your skin. “Wanted to make sure you were alright.”

He sighed, knowing he’d been neglectful these past few days. He pulled you closer, resting his head on your stomach. “Lo siento, mi amor.” He looked up at you with red eyes, a flicker of brown still amongst them. You just smiled down, shaking your head.

“It’s alright, Miguel,” you assured, running your hands through his hair, along the back of his neck. You kissed the top of his head, and his arms wrapped tighter around you, pulling you closer into his body.

Before you knew it, he had lifted you up in one swift movement. You instinctively wrapped your legs around him as he kicked the chair out of the way and set you on the desk gently. “What are you doing?” You asked, speaking nothing above a whisper. He did not speak at first, caressing your cheek, before slowly letting his hand fall to your shoulder, pushing the strap of your shirt down your arm.

“I have neglected you too long, my love,” he said, his fingers drifting down your sternum slowly, feeling your heart race a little faster with each subtle movement. “I must make up for lost time, should I not?” He looked down at you, a glint of mischief in his eye. His nails were like claws, dragging down your clothes and seamlessly splitting them in two, letting the fabric fall to the floor below. He took you in with his eyes, irises flashing red and brown and everything in between. “Que maravilla. Que bonita.”

He knelt before you, kissing your lower abdomen while looking up at you with lustful eyes. Then he dove in, gently at first. His tongue dragging along your pussy slowly, mouth watering at your taste he had craved for so long. Retracting his talons as to not injure you, he wrapped his hands around your thighs, caging his head between them.

Your head fell back, your mouth dropping open as you felt him grow more forceful, more passionate. You let yourself lie back against the cool glass of the desk, back arching from the magic he was working between your legs. He sucked and licked your clit, sending shockwaves through your entire body.

“Miguel,” you breathed, back arching as he teased your clit.

“Sí, amor?” He smiled coyly, looking back up at you with wicked intent. “What is it?” He rested his cheek against your inner thigh, his finger teasing your slit and making you shudder.

“Please,” you whimpered. “I need you. Now.”

But he didn’t move. He just smirked. “No, honey. I’m taking my time with you. Don’t want your enjoyment ending too quickly now, do we? We both know I don’t falter like that.” His fingers travelled south towards your dripping entrance, teasing lightly before pushing one of his fingers inside you. You gasped softly at how just his finger could fill you, God only knows how you’d handle his dick.

He put his mouth back to work, simultaneously pleasuring you with his fingers to draw you to your inevitable high. You loved that it always felt the exact same. Just as perfect, just as mind bending and toe curling as every time before. Your mind went foggy and your eyes rolled back as you melted into his touch.

Your hand wrapped through his hair, gripping him tightly as a second finger pumped in and out of your dripping hole. Your wetness smeared the glass you were laid on, staining the translucent surface.

Miguel could feel you getting close. He didn’t need spidey senses to know that. Your shortness in breath, your grip on his hair growing ever so tight, your legs tensing around him, you were on the edge. Just where he liked you to be.

Feeling your legs begin to shake, and your body tense, you were on the precipice of a feeling only Miguel could ever give you. You moaned out his name, his name continuously falling from your lips as you felt your stomach coil in the most incredible way possible. Until he stopped, removing his fingers from you and standing up straight. Your head lifted off the table, hair strewn across your face and eyes slightly glossed over. “What-what are you doing?”

He smirked, his hands moving to his belt, swiftly unbuckling it in an easy motion. He hadn’t even bothered to wipe the glistening residue of you from his chin. “You think I’m just using my fingers on you, mi vida? You know me better than that,” he wrapped a hand around your waist and pulled you to your feet, spinning you around so that the fronts of your thighs were pressed against the desk. “And I’ve missed you. And I know you’ve missed me,” his hand pushed gently on your lower back until you bent over for him slightly. You felt him press up behind you, your breath faltering as you felt his cock brush against your ass. “You’re frustrated from me being distant, and I’m frustrated with all this work. But…fuck,” he teased the tip of his cock into your dripping pussy, words failing him as he realised how much he had missed this. “We both need this. I need you.”

You nodded and moaned loudly as he pushed in further, filling you up entirely. He felt so good inside you that your head started to spin. You gripped the edge of the desk, holding yourself up with the strength you had left while he gripped onto your waist. Starting slow, Miguel tried to control himself and his urges as he fucked you softly, watching as his cock moved in and out of you. But the sounds of your moans and the way you were calling out his name in your soft voice made him want to pound you into this desk until the glass shattered.

Feeling his thrusts begin to quicken, pushing harder and faster into you, you felt your high coming all too quickly. The desk shook with Miguel’s force, and if not for him gripping your waist to keep you still, you would have been launched over this desk in a matter of seconds.

Miguel gritted his teeth, the pleasure he felt of your pussy tightening around his dick, your juices flooding him as he pounded in and out of you. He began to lose control, his fangs slipping out, his talons protruding and pushing against your skin. Blood was drawn and you hissed, but it didn’t feel nearly as bad as you expected. It actually felt kind of good. But he slowed his movements for a moment, realising his talons cut into your skin and immediately retracted them. “Mierda,” he cursed. “I’m sorry, mi amor.”

You shook your head, craving that feeling once more. “No, don’t apologise, Miguel. And don’t put your talons away, or your fangs,” you breathed out, pushing yourself back against him. His eyebrows raised in surprise, but he smiled, his fangs showing and his talons sharp and long as they dug back into your skin. He thrusted into you once more, hard, passionate. You felt the sting as they penetrated your skin, blood dripping down your thighs to the floor. You let your body fall against the glass, breasts pressing against the desk as the cool surface felt so nice against your warm skin.

But you didnt stay pressed against the glass for long, as Miguel’s hand wrapped in your hair, gently, but firmly. You pushed yourself up with your hands, and he held you hair, tilting your head to the sky, feeling his breath on your neck. “Darling, if I’d have known you wanted me to use my talons, I would have started this a long time ago,” he grinned, kissing your shoulder, the tips of his fangs brushing against your skin.

He continued to fuck you hard, your nails pressing hard against the glass as you cried out in a mixture of pleasure and pain. His fangs continued to graze your shoulder as he gritted his teeth. You mustered up all strength for words to come out of your mouth.

“Miguel, mi amor,” you breathed out. His ears perked as he listened. “I didn’t say you should use just your talons.”

Then something switched inside Miguel. It’s as though he almost went feral. His hand gripped your hair tighter, almost to the point it was painful. But you saw it through, a knot tightening within you, sure to snap at any moment. Miguel panted in your ear, it almost sounded as though he was growling. An animalistic urge took over him.

His thrusts slowed to a steady pace, but they were more powerful, hitting deeper inside you than before. Your mouth fell open and all you could do was moan his name to the open empty room, your voice echoing off the walls. You felt his fangs dig into the skin of your shoulder, digging deeper and deeper until they drew blood. You felt the warm liquid run down your chest and your back, but you never stopped him. His grip loosened on your hair and you could look down to see the bite in your shoulder, and the accumulation of blood that had stained your naked body. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t turn you on a little.

“Come on, bonita,” Miguel groaned in your ear. “I know you’re close. Come for me, baby.” And you were close. So close. Your fingers curled into a fist as you clenched it tight, nails digging into your palms.

“Fuck, Miguel,” you breathed quietly, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you felt yourself clench around his cock. The knot within you tightened mroe and more until you felt a sharp snap inside your abdomen. But it felt different to the previous times, a different sensation taking over you. It grew even stronger when Miguel’s free hand wrapped around the front of you, toying with your clit, circling it in just the perfect motion to send you over the edge, practically screaming his name. He didn’t let up with his fingers, continuing to play with your pussy while still fucking you from behind, just as forcefully as he had been the whole time. The man had stamina like you’d never seen, and sometimes you could barely keep up.

Your orgasm washed over you, powerfully overtaking your body, igniting flames in your veins until your vision blurred. But something else washed over you too. It felt strange, nothing you’d felt before. You cried out, entirely overwhelmed in pleasure as liquid hit the table, gushing out in a spray. It took you a moment to realise where they came from.

Miguel’s orgasm came not moments later after yours, coating your insides, leaking out of your pussy and dripping down his cock. He panted heavily, resting his forehead on your shoulder and wrapping his arm around your waist, his hand soaked from you. “I didn’t know you could do that, mi amor,” he chuckled, kissing your neck softly.

Your eyes were wide once you realised what you’d done. “Neither did I, love. Neither did I.” He could tell by the tone of your voice that you seemed slightly embarrassed of yourself, noting the rosiness of your cheeks and the heated flush on your ears. It was something he’d picked up over the years, mentally noting your tells.

“It’s fine, darling. It’s actually pretty amazing,” he smiled against your neck. “I definitely want to see you do it again.”

You turned to face him, leaning against the desk and feeling how wet the glass actually was as it touched your thighs. “Well, use your talons and fangs again, and you just might.” You leaned up, kissing him softly and his hand cradled your cheek, the other on your waist, holding you close.

“Round two?” He whispered, smirking as he pressed his forehead against yours.

You could only laugh. “As long as it’s somewhere dryer.”

“Deal.”

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