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yourdoorisunlocked · 3 months

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What A Dish, What A Doll! - Part 1

𝐀/𝐍: This was originally supposed to be pretty dark, but my mind clearly had other plans since I ended up writing a fluffy little fic about our favorite radio man lmao. I’ll probably write up the angstier fic, too, if this one does well.

Also, the Reader is AFAB, since that’s what I’m comfortable writing for as a girl myself.

. . .

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟐,𝟏𝟏𝟓 𝐍𝐨 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

. . .

The door to Alastor’s manor creaked open for you, and with a grin you took the spare key he gave you from the lock and swung the door fully open to push yourself inside in an attempt to escape from the late winter chill.

It was a late January night, meaning the serene moonlight washed over the snowy landscape as early as 5:00 P.M., making it dangerous for a lady like yourself to be wandering the streets of New Orleans late at night.

But it had been months since you really had to worry about anything like that, since you had Alastor by your side to look out for you. Such a sweetheart to you, and a bit of a mama’s boy, too, judging by the pictures set atop the mantle just above the unlit fireplace.

The mere thought of your ever-enthusiastic smiling companion made you especially giddy as you kicked off your winter boots and shrugged your coat off your shoulders, placing it upon the antler-adorned coat rack and skipping past the staircase into the living room.

Flopping on the couch, you reached over for the radio while cuddling up with a blanket, excited to hear the well-awaited voice of the man who had altered the direction of your life – undoubtedly for the better – and you were practically kicking your feet like a flustered schoolgirl who had received your first confession as Alastor’s voice rang through the small device, loud and clear for you to hear.

“Good evening, New Orleans!” You couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiastic announcer’s voice that he normally used for his radio show, and the first time the two of you had met.

Though, Alastor was more relaxed around you nowadays, seeing no need to keep up the too-cheery facade his listeners had renowned and adored him for. You cherished moments when he was simply relaxed, content with a close-lipped smile and sitting beside you, whether it be reading, playing the piano with you, occasionally even pulling you into a spontaneous dance.

As you listened practically through the entire thing, you began to silently fantasize about your unpredictable yet darling radio host.

“Well, I’m afraid that’s all the time I have tonight, folks! I should be going, now. It's rather bad form to keep my doll waiting at home for me~,” He finished with a soft chuckle.

Blood rushed to your cheeks at that last little comment, practically cursing Alastor for his cheekiness, and he knew that you listened to his shows whenever you could.

"The au-diddly-dacity of that man..."

“Thank you for tuning in! See you next time~...”

The radio returned to static for a few seconds, before a jaunty little tune began to play through the speakers, and it just so happened to be one of your personal favorites, one that you, no matter what mood, nor what you were doing, couldn't help but jump up and dance to.

And, of course, Alastor knew you loved it.

You sighed with content as you relaxed into his couch cushions, sinking into the blanket that Alastor had laid out for you since he'd found you constantly falling asleep to his voice on the radio when he returned home from work.

A pang of guilt thundered against your chest as your heart strained at the stinging reminder of how much of a burden you really were to Alastor. He was a good man, who helped you out when you were in a tough spot, you should at least repay the favor, right?

I should at least do something nice for him... He's been so good to me, even inviting me over for dinner more times than I can count.

He was the one who offered me that job at the radio station, hell, he even let me off early so I could listen to his show!

With a huff, and a newfound sense of energy, you got to work around the house, tidying up and lighting the fireplace, sparking a candle or two, and keeping the radio playing all throughout the thirty minutes you had spent cleaning, imagining the look on Alastor’s face when he returned.

You had even started on dinner, making a nice pot of venison soup, since it seemed to be his favorite.

You pushed down the swell in your chest when you heard the doorbell ring, excitedly rushing over to a mirror and sweeping across your face and hair, making sure everything about you was in perfect shape.

You opened the door, craning your neck a good amount to make eye contact with dark chocolate eyes staring down at you intently, almost illuminated in the moonlight, set against smooth caramel skin beneath a fluff of mocha brown hair.

“Hel-!”

Alastor’s usual smile was smacked clean off his face at the sight of you standing before him, apron tied across your skirt with a few stains upon it, hair slightly amess but clearly put together.

"-Lo... My dear, what is the meaning of this?..." His tone seemed cheerful enough, if a bit bewildered as his eyes scanned your form once more, stopping upon the apron once again before returning his gaze to yours.

You looked so painfully, so heart throbbingly domestic that it nearly gave him a heart attack when he first opened the door. Such a submissive nature fed into other... primal desires of his that he wasn't fully prepared to delve into.

You smiled sheepishly up at him. "Why don't you come in? I've already started dinner," Alastor's trademark smile quirked his lips upward as he suddenly took your arm and headed inside, practically glowing as he headed straight for the kitchen.

"Oh, no, mister, you stay right there," you winked down at the radio host as you pulled him into a chair. "You've been working so late, let me handle dinner."

You truly piqued Alastor's interest when a familiar scent wafted past his nose, and he eyed you with surprise as you worked in the kitchen, pouring a hot, thick broth from the pot into a small bowl.

As you headed towards him, he tried his best not to absolutely melt in his seat as you served him with a smile, and he carefully took the steaming bowl from your hands.

Venison, hm? Well don’t mind if I-

AN: You know that one scene in Ratatouille where that critic takes a bite of his dish, and gets a flashback to when his mom used to cook for him? Imagine that but with Alastor.

“Is it good?” Your soft, almost worried voice brought him back to reality, and as he met your hopeful, imploring gaze, Alastor nearly choked on his food as heat crept up to his cheeks, burning against his face and ears.

For just a moment, I thought I saw...

With wide eyes, you rushed over to him with a napkin, patting his back and looking over him with concern as his coughing ceased, and he took the cloth with a grateful, slightly wobbly smile.

“Was it really that bad...?” Your confidence wavered slightly as you stared down at Alastor, realizing the sudden proximity as electricity raced up your spine and lit your cheeks aflame.

Half-lidded cocoa-brown eyes searched the very depths of your soul, before he shook his head and murmured, "No, quite the opposite. I'm... I'm actually quite thankful for this, tonight." Though, it couldn't have come at a worse possible time, when he was finally squashing any sort of emotions he felt for you into the dirt, only for you to make them froth and rise to the surface yet again.

Why, he hadn't realized how long it had been since anyone had done anything like this for him!

Ah, his dear mama...

He recalled the last dish she ever made for him. Her house-famous Jambalaya that he had adored so much. It even managed to put his father in a good mood.

"A-Al? Alastor? Are you alright...?"

He hadn't even noticed that tears were streaming down his slim cheeks until he felt small droplets falling upon his lap.

"Oh, nothing. This... This all just reminded me of someone..." He shook his head and took his circle-rimmed glasses off his pointed nose, rubbing the fogginess off the glass as the gears turned in your head.

You raised an eyebrow. "Who...?" You then caught a glimpse of the photos set above fireplace just past the couch that faced away from the kitchen. Of course!

Immediate regret washed over you as you fretted over Alastor, apologizing meekly as you attempted to clean up the soup in front of him, but you were stopped as he gripped your wrist.

"I'm so sorry! I never meant to be such a burden, I just really wanted to do something nice for you, s-since you're always-"

"No, please, this has been a delightful surprise, darling." You froze at the pet name, heat creeping over your cheeks and tinging your ears a bright pink as Alastor released his grip upon your hand.

"You have never, never felt like a burden to me. I promise you that," he slid his hand from your wrist to your hand in an act of comfort, but it only served to make your face glow even redder.

"Now I'd like to finish the dinner you made for me. If you don't mind, of course," his usual cheekiness had returned when he spotted your slightly flustered face, and you nodded and returned to your seat promptly.

Alastor, being ever the chatterbox, resurrected the flowing conversation between you two for a good hour, as he recalled stories from his childhood, keeping you entertained throughout your dinner. Your laughter filled the hallway, your smile both wounding and freeing his heart, while you sat, mesmerized at his captivating storytelling and how he spoke with his hands, practically alight as he drank in each expression you gave him.

"Would you care for a dance, darling?" Alastor spoke up suddenly, the contents of his bowl completely gone as you eyed it. You shyly agreed as he smiled gently and pulled you into the living room.

Soft caramel brown hands wrapped around yours as Alastor's slender fingers held you close in a surprisingly tight grip against him, and you could feel the rise and fall of his chest, along with his rapidly beating heart despite his suave demeanor as he slowly danced along with you to one of the songs that had begun playing on the radio beside the fireplace.

Nothing but your dear friend's soft humming along with the sounds of the radio filled the silence between you in the moment, and you began to relax in his grip as you lazily kept up with his slow steps.

Put your head on my shoulder~

A slow dance between you two, with an occasional twirl as Alastor nearly swept you off your feet swept the minutes away, until the moon was well past the horizon and twilight fell upon the sky.

As he spun you around once more, a sudden gust of air swept past the pair of you, nearly blowing out the candle beside you.

Hold me in your arms, baby...

Alastor's eyes widened at the sight of a petite, elderly woman standing beside the doorway into the kitchen, watching the two of you intently, until her form faded from the door with a shimmer of light and a gentle smile.

Squeeze me oh-so tight, show me...

He gulped softly at the sight of the angel while you stared into his eyes, completely fixated upon his surprised open-mouthed stare as his gaze flickered from behind you to your lips.

You barely missed his darkening expression as you both began to sway slowly once again.

Show me, that you love me, too~...

"Would you like to stay the night, darling?" For the first time in his life, Alastor seemed unsure, maybe even nervous, as his dark brows creased together and his charming smile twitched at the corners of his lips. You smiled and reached up to smooth out the crease with your fingers.

You had no idea how he warred with himself, knowing that he'd be practically signing his soul away simply to be in your company.

Put your lips next to mine, dear~...

But... Perhaps this would be worth it.

Perhaps moments like these, when time slowed, where you both could block out the rest of the world and simply bask in each other's company would be worth the risk.

Won't you kiss me once, baby~?

Alastor had decided, right then and there as you stared up at him with nothing but adoration.

He'd have you. He had to. He was damned either way, but he'd storm the pearly gates themselves if he failed to drag you down with him.

Just a kiss goodnight, maybe...?

But, with immense relief, Alastor realized wouldn't take much persuasion as your eyes seemed to twinkle beside the flickering candlelight, and a gentle yet teasing smile played at your lips.

You and I will fall in love...

"Yes, I'd like that very much, Alastor."

. . .

𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: Okay, I KNOW that 'Put Your Head On My Shoulder' was released in the 50s, BUT LET'S PRETEND IT WAS THE 20s, OKAY???

Anyway, I really enjoyed writing this first post, I might write a part two if the people want one. Maybe Alastor headcanons?? Who knows...

Let's just see how far this goes lmao.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #fluff #alastor x reader #alastor the radio demon #fanfic #writing #very inaccurate 1920s representation #this man is my new hyperfixation for the next couple of weeks so buckle up lmao #I will never shut up about alastor istg #expect more slow dancing scenes with him #it's like 12 am rn ya'll 💀#yourdoorisunlocked

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another-lost-mc · 8 months

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dream eater

belphegor x gn!reader | 0.6k | nsfw | non-con

c/w: somnophilia, slut-shaming, invasion of privacy, non-consensual use of mind altering magic.

Belphie hates it when you have nightmares, but he hates it when you have good dreams, too. Maybe it'd be different if you dreamt of him like this, but no, he would never be so lucky.

Tonight he stumbles into your dream by accident. It happens sometimes when you nap together in his bed. The mental defenses between you weaken under the weight of his arms wrapped around you and his forehead pressed against your chest when he snores. Now he's stuck in this dream world no-man's-land, a hellish landscape of his own making, and he watches some faceless demon fuck your brains out. It looks like he's got you bent over one of the cafeteria tables at RAD and your uniform is tugged down and out of the way enough for him to move his hand, and then his cock, between your legs.

Dreams turn you into a real cock tease, don't they? You hide your desires with shy smiles and bashful gestures when you're awake, but Belphie knows what you crave when you dream. He's been your friend all this time, why won't you ask him to fuck you already? You shouldn't go on disappointing dates with your classmates that don't know you as well as he does, and you don't have to ponder visiting one of his idiot brothers' beds either.

Belphie forces himself to consciousness and glances at your sleepy face. Your cheek is squished against the pillow and your lips are cute and pouty. You look so innocent and peaceful, no one would think you're dreaming of being used like some random demon's living fleshlight. He fumbles in the dark and manages to snake his hand between your bodies without waking you. Your sleep shorts are damp and your body twitches when he runs his fingers along your arousal. He sucks in a breath between his teeth when he feels how hot and wet you are.

Yeah, you're not that innocent, are you?

His hand lingers between your thighs for a moment and teases your sensitive skin a bit more before he reluctantly pulls away. He sucks his slick fingertips into his mouth and hums quietly while he considers his options. He's hard now too, but fucking you like this would be too easy. When he finally has you—and that'll be real soon, if he has anything to say about it—he wants you wide-awake and trembling beneath him so he can hear your pretty little noises when you come on his cock.

For now, he decides that you've had enough fun for one night. It's only a bit of harmless little magic—it won't hurt you a bit. Your dream suddenly vanishes into nothing, your mind going blank as he wipes the filthy images away so no trace of them lingers. He might not touch you anymore tonight, but perhaps he'll give you a little taste of himself instead. You won't even miss the dream he consumed like a hungry, angry void. When you wake up wet and aching in your little shorts, you'll blame it on the dream he gave you instead: beads of sweat trailing down his naked back as he smothers your body with his own, and the slick sounds of skin-on-skin, as he fucks you in the attic.

#obey me belphegor #obey me belphegor x reader #belphegor x reader #belphegor smut #obey me smut #obey me x reader #x reader #gn!reader #cw noncon #tw noncon

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comicaurora · 1 year

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are you scared of the whole AI art thing? What do you think about it?

"Scared" is the wrong word, I think. "Pissed" is probably more accurate. The technology underlying the concept is interesting, but its current form transparently functions by mining data from artists who didn't consent to have their work used like that. Arguments over whether it's "real art" or whatever aside, that is unethical and gross and a class-action lawsuit waiting to happen.

I think the people scared that this is going to replace actual living artists are severely overestimating the technology at play here and possibly don't understand computers very much.

The reason why computers are a fascinating mix of very smart and very stupid is because they are only good at doing exactly what they are told. Human thought, communication and creation is based on a process of flexible interpretation. Our brains take in patterns of light and sound and interpret them into shapes and figures and speech - a process that is imperfect, messy and susceptible to any number of disruptions from minor chemical alterations to major brain injuries. We read text and subtext and emotional undertones into what we hear, we extrapolate assumptions from the things we see. It's an extremely messy process with a lot of room for error, as evinced by miscommunications, corner-of-the-eye shadow people, "are you mad at me I feel like you're mad at me", getting hangry, assigning personalities to car taillights, audio processing disorders, and about a million other human idiosyncrasies.

Art, down to its bones, is about interpretation - the artist interpreting a slice of the world and the audience interpreting that art. This is why no two people experience the same story the same way, and why no two artists create the same work.

Computers, in contrast, are not messy. Or, to be more accurate, they aren't naturally messy. They do exactly what they are told. They have no context, no axioms, no common sense and no rules except what they're given. A human told to write a sentence over and over again and never being told to stop will eventually get bored or tired or hungry or pissed and stop. A computer told to 'while 1: printf("Hello World!")' will do it forever until the power goes out or someone notices and forces it to stop. A person told "hey man can you go to the store and get me a mango, and if they have apples get five" will acquire a mango and possibly five apples. A computer told the same instruction may well turn up with five mangos. A computer won't do anything if you forget to close a parenthesis or put in a semicolon somewhere in a thousand lines of code because it's doing exactly what it's told. The eternal frustration of computer science is figuring out why the stupid computer isn't doing what you told it to do, and the answer is always "you didn't tell it what to do right. Find the missing parenthesis. Don't capitalize that one variable."

An artist told to paint a fantastical landscape might paint beautiful mountains or flying cities or the high, arching curves of Saturn-style rings or ancient ruins or massive skeletons or any number of things. A computer told to render a fantastical landscape will, as I understand it, comb through a database it's been given by a human, find works a human or a human-trained algorithm tagged with "fantastical" "landscape" (or, if it's been made a little more complex, a word-web of other tags commonly added by a human to things tagged with "fantastical" and "landscape") and use a very impressive program created by a human to recombine them into a mashup of "fantastical" "landscapes" that may or may not parse correctly to the human who looks at it. The computer doesn't know. The computer isn't thinking. It's just doing what it's been told to do.

If we stop thinking of computers like people that are going to take our jobs and start thinking of them like tools that people use, the whole situation becomes a lot clearer. The technology isn't the problem. The people who baked in stolen datasets and the people who are using the tool to be dicks to artists are the problem. I'm not scared of the tech and I'm not scared of the people - I just wish they'd stop being dicks.

And even if we do reach the theoretical point where a computer can create art that actually stands up to scrutiny - you know, where the hands don't look like calamari plates and the eyes and teeth don't blur together and sharp delineating lines between clothing and skin don't just sort of dissolve into shadowy vagueness - I think that'll be the point we just shift into the "holy shit! two cakes!!" zone. 3D animation didn't make 2D animation obsolete. 4K screens didn't kill pixel art. The printing press didn't kill painting. Video only killed the radio star until podcasts brought them back. People enjoy lots of things.

#asks #not aurora #art stuff

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yuurei20 · 7 months

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Short translation from the second Twisted Wonderland novel: Cater and Yuuya

"'Ruggie is lying nearby. Yuuya wraps one of Ruggie’s arms around his shoulders and Grim attempts to take a share of Ruggie’s weight by grabbing onto his thin waist, but the limp body weighs them down.

‘He’s heavier than he looks…can’t we just leave ‘im?’

‘Not a chance,’ Yuuya responds, and with a shout of encouragement they manage to lift Ruggie between them.

In his efforts to catch up with Ace and Deuce Yuuya lifts his head, only to find himself locking eyes with Leona.

His leather vest, his shirt—all of it has melted together. Now, instead of his dorm uniform, Leona wears black, dripping blot that clings to him like a second skin.

Leona points a finger—dripping with blot—at Yuuya, and gives him an eerie smile.

‘You all leaving me behind? But I’ll get lonely.’

Sand rises like ocean waves around them, threatening to engulf them all.

‘Watch out!’ Grim diverts a direct hit with his wind magic, but the mass of sand from above rains down, crushing Yuuya beneath its weight.

Struggling to drag himself free from where he has collapsed, Yuuya hears Cater: ‘Are you two all right!?’

‘Yes, sort of…’ Yuuya coughs, dragging himself to his feet. His whole body is trembling.

Huge fissures begin to up around them. Having abandoned all reason, all limitations, Leona’s magic is splitting apart the earth and altering the very landscape.

Standing tall in the broken wasteland, the monster seems even larger than before. It gives a roar as though taking pride in its great power, and raises its sharp claws in the air.

Cater repels the monster’s attack with magic of his own, giving a wave to Ace and Deuce, who watch them with concern.

‘We’re all right here, so you two go help with the evacuation!’

Though they look back constantly the pair do run off to help, and when they are finally on their way, supporting injured students, Cater breathes a gentle sigh.

‘…aw, man, we were almost able to escape. How do we always end up in these scary situations? Cay-kun and Yuu-chan. I think we’re the two who are least suited for this kind of thing, too.’

As they watch the monster pawing at the dirt in frustration, Yuuya furrows his brows.

They will not be able to escape this barren, ruined land while carrying Ruggie, the focus of Leona’s ire.

The lion charges for them and Cater creates a transparent barrier, repelling it again. Such magic may be taking a considerable toll upon him: Yuuya can distinctly hear the gritting of his teeth.

Running towards them, Riddle adds another layer to Cater’s defensive barrier.

‘Cater. If you’re afraid, you are free to go.’

‘If I leave Riddle-kun behind, Trey-kun is going to be cross with me.’

Cater has just said that he and Yuuya are always getting into these situations, but Yuuya knows it isn’t true.

Unlike Yuuya himself, who has no magical power, Cater should have been able to evacuate on his own without too much difficulty.

But he won’t run.

Just like the mock Spelldrive game against Savanaclaw, just like Riddle’s overblot—he stayed. In the end, Cater looks out for those around him. That's what Yuuya thinks as he watches Cater, glistening with sweat.

He jokes that he fears Trey’s rage, but there is no regret on his smiling face.

‘I’m here with you until the end, Housewarden.’

‘Very well. That is what it means to be a Heartslabyul student, after all.'"

#twst translations #twstnovel2 #Cater Diamond #twisted wonderland #Kuroki Yuuya

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blue1amory · 7 months

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Think i need someone older || KR7

Pairing: Kimi Räikkönen x reader

Summary: you fell in love with Kimi and you ain’t afraid to let the entire world know with your new song

Request: yes

Formula 1 Masterlist

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Think I need someone older

Just a little bit colder

Take the weight off your shoulders

Think I need someone older

Developing a romantic attachment to a man of 43 years of age was a deviation from the anticipated trajectory of your life. However, this paradigm shift in your emotional landscape transpired through your association with Kimi Räikkönen. In the course of your relationship, Räikkönen served as an influential catalyst in altering your worldview, instilling a newfound zest for existence, and enabling you to relish life to its fullest potential in his company. This transformational experience has underscored the notion that, in various facets of existence, the accrual of wisdom and experience with age tends to augment the overall quality of one's journey.

Baby

Am I your little secret

I'm old enough to keep it

Certainly, the inception of your romantic entanglement with Kimi Räikkönen, when you were merely 18 years old, was not devoid of its initial tribulations. The genesis of your relationship was marred by a divisive sentiment among the fans, who, perhaps fueled by preconceived notions, castigated you with accusations of being a "gold digger." This unjust aspersion drew the ire of an ardent section of the racing aficionados.

Nonetheless, a transformative moment emerged from the crucible of adversity, catalyzed by a remarkable display of devotion. When Räikkönen found himself ensnared in the throes of a harrowing accident, your ardent sprint towards him on the racetrack evoked a profound shift in public sentiment. This singular act of courage, emblematic of your genuine affection, played a pivotal role in quelling the animosity harbored by detractors. The very fabric of antipathy began to unravel, allowing for a gradual reconciliation with the fans.

Simultaneously, the invasive intrusion of the paparazzi, constantly shadowing your relationship, posed its own set of challenges. In response to this relentless media scrutiny, a succinct yet remarkably effective defense mechanism emerged in the form of Räikkönen's characteristic phrase, "bwoah." This single word served as a deftly wielded tool, a simple utterance that acted as a shield against intrusive inquiries and unfounded speculation, preserving the sanctity of your private life.

Intriguingly, your commitment to discretion became emblematic of your relationship's underlying strength. Every nuance and facet of your journey together was meticulously safeguarded, cultivating an aura of enigmatic intimacy. Your collective ability to shield the intricacies of your romance from the prying eyes of the world underscored a profound connection built upon mutual trust and a shared understanding of the importance of maintaining personal boundaries in the public sphere.

Yeah, guys my age just aren't the same

I'm young and that's okay

The emergence of romantic affection for Kimi Räikkönen, rather than individuals within one's peer group, might indeed be rooted in a complex interplay of personal circumstances. The notion of "daddy issues" suggests a potential underpinning for this unconventional romantic inclination. It is conceivable that these familial dynamics, impacting one's emotional landscape and interpersonal preferences, played a role in the receptivity to Kimi Räikkönen's overture for a romantic rendezvous.

In the context of an individual's romantic choices, the decision to accept Räikkönen's invitation for a date could be construed as emblematic of a multifaceted interplay between personal history and present circumstances. It is plausible that past experiences and familial dynamics, typified by the aforementioned "daddy issues," contributed to a unique receptiveness to Räikkönen's advances. In essence, this choice may be reflective of a desire for an alternative dynamic in relationships, one perhaps divergent from conventional expectations associated with age compatibility.

However, it is imperative to exercise caution when ascribing causality to such matters, as human emotions and romantic preferences often stem from a myriad of factors. The complexities of human psychology and interpersonal relationships defy singular explanations, warranting a comprehensive understanding that acknowledges the interplay of diverse influences on matters of the heart.

Think I need someone older

Just a little bit colder

Take the weight off your shoulders

Think I need someone older

Subsequent to the stabilization of emotions and the subsiding of initial fervor, a strategic decision emerged to gradually unveil the contours of your romantic liaison to the public domain, as executed through Kimi Räikkönen's Instagram account. This calculated disclosure allowed for a window into the profundity of your affectionate attachment to the enigmatic Formula One driver, Kimi Räikkönen. A visual testament to your unwavering love, discernible in the depths of your eyes, was conveyed to a global audience through these curated snapshots of your shared moments.

The portrayal of your relationship assumed an iconic status, representing a narrative that transcended mere personal experience. It cast the dynamic between you and Kimi as a united front, facing the world in harmonious tandem. In the eyes of the duo, an implicit pact to confront life's challenges together had been forged, and this narrative underscored a prevailing "you two against the world" ethos that permeated your shared existence.

It is noteworthy that, beyond the immediate confines of your partnership, a burgeoning community of enthusiasts, captivated by your union, emerged. The phenomenon of "shipping," a manifestation of fan-generated adulation, found expression through the creation of fan accounts dedicated to chronicling public appearances where the two of you were sighted. These fan-driven platforms served to further solidify the mythos of your relationship, elevating it from a private affair to a cultural touchstone with a global following. In this manner, your connection transcended the confines of the personal to become a shared experience, emblematic of love and unity celebrated by a fervent community of admirers.

Darlin'

Hold me while you wipe my tears

Fallin'

You say I'm wise beyond my years

Maintaining a romantic relationship with Kimi Räikkönen proved to be a complex journey, marked by numerous challenges. The emotional toll was evident, as there were occasions when tears were shed due to personal insecurities and the negativity projected onto the relationship by external forces. Nevertheless, the presence of Kimi offered solace during these turbulent times. He assumed the role of a comforting figure, consistently prepared to assuage emotional distress by assuring you of your intrinsic beauty, discouraging the indulgence of tears for seemingly trivial matters.

In times of self-doubt and self-loathing, Kimi's unwavering support became a crucial pillar of the relationship. His commitment to bolstering your self-esteem transcended conventional measures. Even if it entailed the consumption of an entire bottle of vodka to dispel the doubts that plagued your self-image, Kimi remained resolute in his pursuit of ensuring that you embraced your body unconditionally. This unwavering commitment to fostering self-love and self-acceptance, even through unconventional means, underscored the depth of his dedication to your well-being and the relationship as a whole.

Yeah, guys my age just aren't the same

I'm young and that's okay

The disapproval of your parents regarding your relationship with an older man, Kimi, was a source of significant familial tension. In an attempt to divert your affections, they endeavored to arrange introductions with individuals of your own age group. However, these endeavors proved fruitless, as your unwavering commitment to your relationship with Kimi remained steadfast. The underlying rationale for your steadfastness may be attributed to your perception of a tangible future with Kimi, a vision conspicuously absent when contemplating potential partnerships with peers of your age.

It is conceivable that the discord between your parents and yourself, stemming from your relationship choices, led to a breakdown in communication, resulting in a cessation of contact between you and your parents. Nevertheless, unbeknownst to them, this newfound distance brought about a sense of contentment in your life. Dating Kimi facilitated a liberating sensation, akin to a burden being lifted from your shoulders. This emotional liberation translated into an increased sense of relaxation and an amplified feeling of being cherished and accepted, which you had not previously experienced to the same extent in your prior dating experiences.

Think I need someone older

Just a little bit colder

Take the weight off your shoulders

Think I need someone older

Upon the revelation of your relationship with Kimi Räikkönen to the public, a portion of individuals chose to distance themselves from you, citing your union as a source of disgrace. Nevertheless, these disparaging remarks and criticisms failed to sway your resolve, primarily due to the unwavering support and acceptance you found within Kimi's circle of Formula One acquaintances. These friends extended their hospitality and camaraderie to you without reservation, abstaining from any negative commentary, whether in your presence or behind your back.

The Formula One associates of Kimi proved to be a pillar of emotional solace during a period marked by public scrutiny and judgment. Their capacity to overlook external opinions and embrace you as a vital addition to Kimi's life underscored their genuine happiness at witnessing Kimi's newfound contentment. The visible improvements in Kimi's demeanor, characterized by increased smiles and enhanced sociability, were apparent to his Formula One comrades, leading them to acknowledge the positive impact you had on his life. This collective perspective precluded any animosity or ill will towards you, as your role in enhancing Kimi's well-being was celebrated and appreciated within the close-knit Formula One community.

I know I'm younger

As your lover

But I've always wanted a man

For the summer

Age is a number

My dear, I know you'll understand

A predominant source of your insecurities within the context of your relationship with Kimi Räikkönen was the substantial age gap that existed between you, with Kimi being 43 years old and yourself merely 18, resulting in a notable age differential of 25 years. This age disparity undoubtedly contributed to a sense of self-doubt and apprehension, as it represented a conspicuous difference in life experiences, worldviews, and stages of personal development between the two of you.

Furthermore, your self-critique extended to moments when you found yourself engaging in rapid and seemingly unnecessary discourse, fostering self-disdain for such perceived behavior. Additionally, instances of playfulness towards Kimi would trigger self-criticism within you. However, it is noteworthy that through open and constructive dialogue between both parties, you successfully addressed and resolved these sources of internal strife. This dialogue allowed both you and Kimi to articulate your respective viewpoints and opinions, fostering understanding and mutual acceptance.

A significant outcome of these discussions was the establishment of a communication rule, which mandated the transparent sharing of thoughts and concerns when something weighed on either of your minds. This rule served as a mechanism for the healthy expression of thoughts and emotions within the relationship, ultimately promoting a greater sense of understanding and harmony between you and Kimi.

Think I need someone older

The profound bond between Kimi Räikkönen's parents, Paula and Matti, and yourself bore the semblance of a familial connection that transcended conventional in-law relationships. The depth of their affection for you was palpable, fostering a sense of belonging and acceptance that extended beyond mere formality. In Kimi's eyes, this genuine connection was a source of contentment and satisfaction, as he cherished the harmonious relationship that had developed between you and his parents.

Kimi's proactive efforts to facilitate interactions between you and his parents reflected his eagerness to nurture this bond. Whenever his demanding racing schedule allowed, he would arrange gatherings to enable all parties to spend quality time together. These occasions were not only a testament to his affection for you but also a demonstration of his desire to cultivate a meaningful connection between you and his family.

Even during those periods when Kimi was engrossed in his racing commitments and physical distance prevented your presence, either Paula or Matti would make the effort to reach out to you, providing assistance and unwavering support. The profound admiration and appreciation you held for Kimi's parents were unmistakable, as they consistently demonstrated a caring and supportive presence in your life. Their role as surrogate parents had a profound impact on you, solidifying their place in your heart and evoking a profound sense of gratitude.

Think I need someone older

Just a little bit colder

Take the weight off your shoulders

Think I need someone older

The permanence and unwavering commitment within your relationship with Kimi Räikkönen became evident through your steadfast determination to maintain the status quo. This enduring connection between the two of you bore the hallmark of a soulmate relationship, one that seemed preordained in the grand tapestry of life's journey. Despite occasional challenges and moments of disconnect when Kimi could metaphorically be likened to a pen lacking the ink to write, your profound love for him remained unshaken.

The impending decision to formalize your union in matrimony, scheduled within the upcoming week, serves as a testament to the depth of your affection and devotion. The act of marrying Kimi reflects not only your love for him but also your unwavering belief in the enduring nature of your bond. This significant milestone in your relationship signifies a commitment to a shared future, further solidifying the profound connection that has bound you and Kimi together in a manner akin to soulmates destined to cross paths in this lifetime.

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yourusername: proud to announce my new song called ‘older’

Tagged: kimiräikkönen

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#kimi räikkonën #kimi raikkonen #kimi räikkönen #kimi räikkönen x reader #formula one #formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n

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rafamonzo · 1 year

Photo

From the series: “A man altered the landscape “

R.Tanaka

http://rafamonzo.tumblr.com / http://tanaka-clan.tumblr

#photography #black&white #a man altered the landscape #experimental landscape #experimental photography #altered landscape #altered images #lowlight

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alwayswonderingandwandering · 7 months

Text

uphill

#© victor s. brigola #brigola #uphill #square #road #pathway #offroad #gravel road #italy #italia #arni #green #man altered landscape #fuji x-pro 3

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fafnir19 · 2 months

Text

Flying like a bird – isn't that ecological?

I looked out the window, the engine's hum vibrating through my chest. The swelling excitement of my upcoming voluntary ecological year in Brazil was tinged with a hint of guilt. Guilt for the environmental impact my flight was causing, despite the carbon offsets I had diligently purchased. As a gay man committed to supporting minorities and environmental conservation, the contradiction weighed heavily on my mind. Suddenly, the airplane lurched, and a wave of red wine splattered me, the liquid soaking through my clothes. "Oh no! I'm so sorry!" Karen, the stewardess, exclaimed, her voice laced with panic. "It's okay," I reassured her, trying to suppress a chuckle at the absurdity of the situation. As I stood up, the wet fabric clinging uncomfortably to my skin, Karen offered a solution. "I can get you a new seat in first class, and also, here's a co-pilot's uniform to change into. It's the best I can do to make up for this mess." Grateful for the offer, I changed into the oversized uniform and made my way to the first-class cabin.

The extra legroom and plush seat were a welcome relief. As I settled in, the engine's roar filled the cabin, accompanied by the rustling of flight attendants bustling around. "Due to your new seat by the emergency exit, we'll need you to watch a special safety video," Karen informed me with a warm smile. I nodded, paying close attention to the lengthy safety demonstration that followed. My brow furrowed as I noticed the dated gender roles portrayed in the video, and the co-pilot's demeaning attitude toward the stewardesses. After the video finally concluded, I made a mental note to write a complaint to the airline. Karen approached me once more, offering a sweet welcome drink. The sugary liquid offered a momentary distraction from the unsettling video. As I sipped the drink, a sudden wave of exhaustion washed over me, and before long, I drifted into a deep slumber. In my dream, I found myself face to face with the obnoxious co-pilot from the safety video, and a surge of frustration bubbled within me. "Hey, you!" I yelled, my voice echoing through the dream landscape. "How dare you treat women like that! You're insufferable! You can't treat women like that!" The co-pilot smirked. "Why not? They love it. Just look at them." Even in my own dream, I was plagued by his presence. My dream began to warp and twist, and I suddenly saw myself in the co-pilot's uniform, strutting through the cabin with an air of entitlement.

I awoke to the gentle touch of Karen, who smiled warmly at me. "You look great in that uniform, ready for your shift as a co-pilot?" she asked. I was astonished to find that the co-pilot's uniform now fit me perfectly, accentuating my athletic build.

I followed Karen to the cockpit, feeling elated at the unexpected turn of events. Taking my place in the cockpit, I began assisting the pilot as we navigated through the skies.

"Where's the usual co-pilot?" John asked, glancing at me with a curious expression. "I thought we could use a change," Karen replied cryptically, her eyes twinkling mischievously. I was eager to prove my capabilities in this unexpected role. The responsibility felt exhilarating, and I relished every moment of it. This was a dream come true - a chance to live out my lifelong ambition of being a pilot.

Suddenly, John excused himself to use the restroom, leaving me alone in the cockpit.

"So, Karen, what's the story behind all this?" John inquired. Karen's laughter filled the space, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, there is a special safety video and a welcome drink that alters the minds and bodies of our ordinary passengers as we have a lack of co-pilots" Karen explained, a smirk playing on her lips. "It's a compromise between the union and the marketing department," Karen explained. "They want the co-pilots to be the epitome of masculinity and to appeal to a wealthy clientele. But it's all about appearances." John's eyebrows furrowed. "What do you mean?" "The union wants heterosexual men who can charm women in every location they land," Karen elaborated. "While the marketing department wants them to be attractive to gay passengers. They've settled on a strange blend of both." "In any case, he is a particularly sweet co-pilot," John remarked, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

Suddenly, an idea sparked within me, fueled by the of the safety video. I turned to John, my expression determined. "I need a break. There's someone in row 10 I want to upgrade." "Upgrade?" John raised an eyebrow, his expression mirroring a mix of surprise and amusement. "To the Mile High Club," I declared boldly, the words escaping my lips before I could fully process the audacity of my request. John's laughter echoed through the cockpit, the sound mingling with the steady hum of the engines. "Well, well, looks like our sweet co-pilot is ready to make his mark."

As I sauntered down the aisle, I couldn't contain my laughter at the thought of what was to come. Reaching row 10, I leaned in close to the passenger, my smooth voice sending shivers down her spine as I effortlessly charmed her. "Excuse me," I began, suppressing the upheaval of conflicting emotions. "I have a special upgrade for you." The woman's eyes widened in surprise, her gaze flitting between me and the open door to the lavatory. "An upgrade?" "To the Mile High Club," I clarified, my voice tinged with certainty. The young woman's laughter mixed with mine as she eagerly accepted my invitation, a mischievous glint in her eye. We disappeared into the lavatory, our hushed giggles mingling with the steady rhythm of the airplane as we indulged in our risqué endeavor. Moments later, I re-emerged, the satisfied grin on my face indicating the successful initiation of the newest member into the Mile High Club. Returning to the cockpit, I took my place with a buoyant energy, the satisfaction of a successful mission evident in my demeanor.

Karen and John exchanged knowing smiles, understanding the mischievous spark in my eyes. "Done with your break already? You work fast," Karen teased, unable to contain her amusement. "I had to make sure our newest member received a warm welcome," I replied with a playful wink.

The plane landed smoothly in Rio de Janeiro and I couldn't shake the surreal feeling of my dream. After I got out, Karen handed me a business card with a mischievous smile. “If you are interested, the airline is happy to offer you pilot training,” she said. With shaking hands and full of excitement, I accepted the card. I ended my voluntary ecological year before it even started and began my pilot training.

#male tf #male transformation #personality change #musclegrowth #gay to straight #woke to coservative #hypnosis #mind control

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theidiotwhowritesthings · 9 months

Text

INEVITABLE [8]

din djarin x female!reader

warnings: language, violence, death, injury, mentions of blood, angst

word count: 5,135

Summary: It was like fate or destiny had planned from the beginning for you to be on the run from the law. With the words ‘I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold’ adorning your rib cage you always wondered what was worse: Knowing you were bound to being wanted or realizing your soulmate was a cursed bounty hunter. You had a mission to finish and no bounty hunter, soulmate or not, was going to stop you.

[a/n: i'd like to point out that i got this out TWO DAYS sooner than i thought i would. am i patting myself on my back? yes, yes i am. again though, i am sorry it's taken me forever to update this one.]

[previous][next]

08: BUT YOU'RE STILL A TRAITOR

"the true pain of betrayal is that so often our love lingers on even after the damage is done. it is to both carry a wound we cannot bear and yet cannot find the heart to close. to be betrayed by one we have trusted and loved is to be drawn tight between love and devastation, and not know which way to turn." -beau taplin

Thyreps’s moon was never meant to house living creatures. That’s the conclusion you came to as you and Din braced against the whipping winds. Grogu had stayed behind with Ari and Din had tried to get you to stay back as well— a prospect you told him was not going to happen by any means. That left you struggling to cross the barren plain trying to keep sulfurous sand from burning your eyes. Din had wrapped an arm around you and chose to walk a step forward. It made it so the beskar coated man was working as a human shield against the winds. It felt odd to have him nearly wrapped around you, but you couldn’t deny the benefits. Sand wasn’t battering against your skin, and something about the weight of his arm filled your belly with butterflies. You chose to ignore the latter.

Din yelled something, you barely heard his voice, and shook your head, “What?!” He tried once more. You pointed to your ears. “Din, I can’t—”

He suddenly altered the path you were both following and the dim light filtering through the sandy wind darkened as Din dragged you into the mouth of a cave. You felt your entire body relax at the shelter.

“I said we need to wait here.” Din pulled his arm back. “Going any further in the storm isn’t going to help us. We can pick up when it dies down.”

“You won’t hear me complaining.” You shook your limbs and clothes as black sand fell around you like a halo. Din reached forward and he brushed your shoulders and back to help knock the residual sand particles off of you. “Must be nice in all the beskar right now.”

Din shook his head, “Not really.” He tugged at the collar covering his neck and you spotted the same black sand falling from the folds. “It somehow got down my shirt. I can feel it.”

“Do you need to take some armor off and shake it out?” You asked and thumbed over your shoulder. “I can keep watch.”

Din hesitated, only for a beat, before giving you a curt nod. “Thank you. I’d appreciate it.”

You turned around to give the Mandalorian his privacy and stared out at the dreary landscape. You couldn’t see far out over the plains due to how dense and wild the winds were. At least sitting where you were, the sound wasn’t so overwhelming. You could actually hear the hiss of Din removing his helmet and his muted movements as he tried to rid himself of sand just as you had been.

“Sand, uh, it’s just the worst, isn’t it?” You called out. It was the only thing you could think to say in the moment and you realized it had been a desperate attempt to hear him speak sans helmet.

“Yeah.” Din grunted and you took in a quiet, sharp breath at the sound of his smooth voice unhindered by modulation. You liked the way he sounded at baseline. It hadn’t even dawned on you how much you might like his spoken word raw and unfiltered as it was now. “As many times as I’ve been on Tatooine, I’ve never had this much sand collected in my gear.”

“The wind is intense.” You commented. The fact that the conversation was focused on the weather seemed rather silly to you, but you’d continue this small, pointless talk for hours if it meant getting to hear more of him. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Have you?”

Din hummed, “Hoth is pretty bad sometimes, but at least there it’s just snow and ice.”

“That sounds just as bad if not worse than sand.”

“It isn’t. Trust me.”

Finally, you heard the hiss of his helmet being locked back into place and he called out for you that it would be fine for you to turn back around. Din leaned against the cave wall with one knee drawn up and an arm resting on it. You wandered over and sat against the same side as him only a few feet away. Far enough that you weren’t touching him, but close enough that you could if you just reached out to him.

“How long do you think we’ll be stuck here?” You asked.

“Hopefully only for a couple hours.” Din shrugged. “I’m not too familiar with this place’s weather habits. I had hoped to go the rest of my life without stepping foot on this kriffing moon.”

You shot him a sheepish grin, “Sorry I got you dragged here then.”

“No, no.” Din stiffened and shook his head. “I didn’t mean⏤ I don’t mind it now. This is actually nice.” He paused then cleared his throat. “Not the storm or being stuck in a cave. I just meant, I find it… easy to be with you. Socially speaking, of course.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at how flustered he had gotten himself worked up, “Don’t worry, bucket head. I think spending time with you is easy too.”

For a moment, the two of you sat in a comfortable silence just listening to the howling wind. It lasted until a thought occurred to you and the words fell out of your mouth before you had the forethought to stop them.

“What’s it like not having a soulmate?” You asked. Din’s head snapped to meet yours and you only realized then that it could be deemed a ‘sensitive’ topic to some. You shot him a sheepish smile. “Sorry. I just remembered you said you didn’t have one and I got curious.”

“No, it’s okay.” Din replied. “I don’t mind the question. It just caught me off guard.” You waited patiently for him to speak once more because you could tell he was lost in his thoughts. A small chuckle slipped from your lips. It was funny you knew that so easily. You hadn’t spent all that much time with the Mandalorian in hindsight, but you understood his silences. Finally, Din spoke up, “I have a soulmate.”

Your eyes widened in alarm. “What?”

“I… I didn’t mean to lie to you.” Din replied. “Saying I didn’t have one came easier than admitting the truth.”

“Did you lose them?” Your voice took a softer tone. You had your own issues with the concept of soulmates, but you wouldn’t wish that kind of loss on anyone. One of the girls you had been stuck under Viktor’s thumb with had met her soulmate and lost her. The Twi'lek woman said it felt like a piece of her had been demolished— as if an actual portion of her soul had been burned to ash and all that remained was a gaping hole in her chest as a reminder of what was once hers.

Din paused. “In a way.” He shook his head. “I lost them before I ever met them.” Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He clarified, “I decided a long time ago that I was better off without a soulmate. I never gave it a chance.”

“We’re more alike than I thought.” You said with a forced chuckle. The knowledge that Din had a soulmate sat bitter in your belly. It shouldn’t. You had no claim on him. He was your first real friend outside of your life as a slave and that held significance to you. That must have been the reason why a weird jealously crawled up your spine.

“Mirdala runi.” Din said, calling your attention back to him. He had shifted closer you realized, so the two of you were side by side. “I want to talk about—” He came to an abrupt pause and you watched his entire frame stiffen as he stared out the mouth of the cave behind you. You called his name, but it was drowned out by the sound of blaster fire. “Down!”

Din had grabbed you with ease and shoved you to the ground with his heavy body covering your entire body. His beskar plated form enveloped every inch of you and you could hear his quiet, modulated grunts as flashing red bolts of blaster fire pinged off his armor.

You began to pat at his sides, barely able to move with how firmly he had you pinned with his body, but you found his blaster and pointed it blindly to the mouth of the cave to fire a covering shot. It must have been enough to slow the onslaught of incoming fire because Din shoved up and rushed for the mouth of the cave. You flipped over onto your belly, pausing in your firing, in time to see Din draw the hilt of his saber. It came to life with an eerie dark glow. He had mentioned he carried the dark saber which honestly hadn’t meant much to you at the time, but now you could see why it had the pomp and circumstance it did.

You jumped to your feet and rushed back out into the storm to help as you could. The wind made it difficult to see, but you could make out Din tearing through three smugglers. Blaster fire opened behind you and just barely clipped your arm— burning through the sleeve of your jacket and singeing your skin under it.

With a cry of pain, you whirled and fired Din’s blaster. It took you a moment to see the smuggler with sand stinging at your eyes, but when you did you fired a bolt directly into his chest. Another smuggler was approaching, you spotted him struggling through the winds searching for his friend, and without preamble you lifted your weapon and fired at them as well.

Hands clamped down on your shoulders and you screamed in alarm. Din’s voice in your ear immediately calmed your panic. “It’s me. Are you alright? I heard you cry out.”

“I’m fine.” You shook your head and called out over the howling wind. “But I have sand in my eyes. I can’t see shit.”

“Bury your face into my shoulder.”

You didn’t understand his instruction until Din suddenly scooped you up into his arms. Instinctively, your arms wrapped around his neck, your wound screaming pain, but you listened to his previous orders and buried your face into his shoulder. Even with your face down, you still closed your eyes in hopes to relieve a bit of the stinging. Din began to walk, you could feel the swaying of motion, and you assumed he was taking you back to the cave. Moments later, the hissing of an airlock caught you off guard.

Din set you inside a covered land speeder designed for the terrain. He closed the door behind you and momentarily you were reprieved of the sound of the wind. With stinging eyes, you watched Din walk around the vehicle before sliding into the driver’s side. When you were both settled, Din turned to you.

“Jacket. Off.” He grunted.

He must have seen the blackened hole in your jacket. While you struggled to shrug out of it, Din tore off his gloves. Half out of your jacket you paused in surprise and stared at his hands. His naturally tan hands were large and you could see calluses on his palms. It wasn’t until he was pulling you closer that you snapped out of it.

“It really is fine.” You commented.

Din shuffled around the space until he grasped what must have been a canteen. He unscrewed it, sloshing it a bit, then held it up to your face. “Smell. Is it water or something else?”

You took a whiff and caught no real scent. “Water, I think. It’s definitely not alcohol or anything.”

“Good.” Din’s hands suddenly settled on the side of your face and the contact made your breath hitch. “Tilt your chin up.” As he said the command, he used his hand to help you do so. When Din was satisfied with the angle of your head, he held the canteen up. “Try to keep your eyes open I need to wash them out.”

“Do they look that bad?” You asked.

“Keep your eyes open.” He simply repeated.

Din began to splash the water over your eyes and you hissed at the worsened stinging. The gritty feeling that had lingered under your eyelids began to wash away and with it so did the burning. Din set aside the empty canteen and you let your head fall back to a neutral position. Before you could wipe at the wetness on your face, Din cupped your face and used his fingers to carefully wipe away the sand particles that clung to your damp skin.

You stared into the t-shape of his dark visor and found yourself wishing you could see his eyes. His warm hands on your skin brought a comfort you had never felt. Nobody save for Viktor had held you like this before, and this was entirely different. Viktor would hold your face in his hands and peer down at you with a possessive ownership. His grip had felt suffocating. You couldn’t even see Din’s eyes yet you knew that wasn’t the case here. His grip was soft. He cradled you like something precious to hold⏤ tenderly, as if you would shatter if he was not too careful.

“Din…” You said in a voice softer than you meant.

“I’m sorry.” He replied quickly, almost like a knee jerk reaction, but he didn’t release you.

“For what?”

Din paused for what felt like an abnormally long time, “I…” He shook his head a bit. “I don’t know.” Your lips twitched up as a laugh bubbled out from your chest. At the sound, Din’s hands seemed to marginally tighten around your face. You felt his thumb drag over your cheekbone. It left a trail of fire against your skin as he drew lines down to where the curve of your bottom lip sat. You sucked in a short, quiet breath at the firm feel of his thumb tracing your lower lip back and forth. If you didn’t know better, you’d say Din was trying to memorize the shapes of your face with his touch alone. “You’re beautiful, ner mirdala runi.”

The compliment caught you off guard entirely, but you couldn’t deny the warmth that filled your chest at hearing it in his voice.

“I know I shouldn’t say that, but…” Din’s voice trailed away.

“Why not?” You asked. “Why shouldn’t you say that?” Din didn’t reply, and you continued to just gaze into the endless void that was his visor. You swallowed the lump in your throat, your mouth suddenly very dry, and then added, “Because… Hearing it from you, I… I don’t quite mind it.”

You had spent a lifetime being objectified by men and women you crossed paths with. Years being ogled at by Viktor. There hadn’t been a moment of it you didn’t hate. But, just like the act of holding your face in his hands, Din was different. The words, when they fell from his lips, felt like a comfort. It wasn’t about a claim or a method of seduction. He said it like a man in awe⏤ like a man in the midst of worship on his knees before a deity.

“I… I want⏤ I need to talk to you about something.” Din said suddenly. He paused then shook his head. His hand fell from your face and you missed the touch almost immediately. “But we should finish this mission first.”

“Um, okay.” You nodded curiously. As much as you wanted to know what was on his mind, or where that had been leading, you acknowledged that he made a good point. The longer the two of you stayed on this maker forsaken rock the more danger you’d be in.

Din turned in his seat and began to flip switches and buttons on the dash to start up the speeder. You settled in your own seat and kept an eye out the front window searching the horizon for any sign of danger. It didn’t take long to get to what must have been the raider’s base and Din drove the speeder into a makeshift garage.

“I don’t see anyone.” You said. “Do you think we got them all out in the storm?”

“I doubt it.” He hummed. “Stay alert.”

The two of you climbed out of the speeder and began to search the stockpile for what it was that Ari had asked for. You weren’t entirely sure what you were looking for, but you read the crate labels aloud for Din to judge while he searched his own side. You spotted a label that used the word ‘core’ which was a good sign. You cracked open the lid to see a series of blue glass orbs sitting in a stack of soft crate filling.

“Hey, Din.” You called out. “I might’ve found them.”

Din hurried over and tugged you away from the box with a nod. “Yeah. That's it.” He pushed you to stand behind me. “I’ll load them up. I don’t want you to touch them.”

You resisted the urge to remind him that if one of those volatile orbs did get activated and go off, standing behind him wasn’t going to save you. Beskar or not. Din locked the crate and picked up the box, which was longer than it was tall, and carried it over to pack into the back of the speeder. Din motioned for you to climb back into the vehicle, and you glanced around before doing so. This seemed much too easy. The second the thought drifted through your head, you cursed yourself for allowing it to come to life. Din climbed into the driver’s seat and you forced your mind to any other topic. The last thing you wanted to do was jinx the two of you on the home stretch.

The Razor Crest was in view and you began to feel hopeful. You were so close to accomplishing your goal. More than just finishing your personal mission, for the first time in ages you were thinking of what happened afterwards. You wondered if Din would let you continue to travel with him and Grogu. It felt silly and foolish to actually place trust in someone you hadn’t known for very long, your life experience told you it was a bad idea, but from the beginning Din had felt different.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a sudden flash of red. It took only a second for you to register the familiar sight of blaster fire, but that second was a second too long. The speeder’s front right tire exploded and Din turned the steering wheel hard to offset it, but the speeder hit uneven terrain and then the rough winds aided in flipping the speeder over.

It happened quickly after that. You blinked and suddenly you were hanging upside down in your seat. Another blink and your world was spinning as the speeder flipped head over tail repeatedly. Luckily, the vehicle landed upright and your seat belt had managed to keep you tied to your seat relatively safely.

“Are you alright!?” Din yelled. His hands were ripping off your seat belt frantically. You didn’t necessarily feel injured, which was a miracle in itself, but you were still dazed. You offered a small nod, and Din wrapped his arm around you to drag you out of the speeder.

It took a moment to realize Din wasn’t sticking around for a fight. He was dragging you through the whipping winds as far away from the speeder as he could. “Din! Din, the cores!” You cried out. “We need to⏤”

“We need to get further. Can you run??” Din cried.

You glanced over your shoulder and could see the shadowy shapes of whatever raider who had fired at you digging through the smoking carcass of the speeder. “Din⏤” You began again, but Din grunted and scooped you up and began to run. He activated his jet pack, using it to speed over the terrain rather than in the air, but the winds were working against you. “Wait⏤”

Behind the two of you, the deafening sound of an explosion took you off guard. The cores. The volatile cores. Fire filled the air, and even from the distance you were at the blast still knocked you and Din to the ground. The second the two of you hit the ground, Din lost his grip on you. You groaned against the ground. Sand filled your mouth, mingling with the metallic taste of blood from where you had bit down on your tongue, and your ears were ringing so loud that you couldn’t even hear the sounds of the roaring wind.

Shakily, you pushed up onto your elbows and sucked in a shaking breath. Gloved hands wrapped around your arms and helped pick you up. “Thanks!” You yelled, all the sound still muted. “Din?” Your eyes were narrowed to try and block out the sand in the air. The Mandalorian was wavering in front of you. You reached out to grasp his arm and that’s when you noticed it. A large, twisted shard of metal from the speeder had pierced Din in the side⏤ right under the edge of beskar armor on his back. The ringing in your ears faded just in time for you to hear a groan of agony, even over the winds, before Din collapsed in front of you. “Din!?”

In a panic, you tried to visualize his wound, but with the sand storm you could see nothing. You hooked your arms under his and began to drag him toward the Razor Crest. Between the weight of his broad body and the heavy beskar he wore, it was a slow process. With every pull of him, visceral fear crawled up your spine and latched itself into your mind. The last time you felt fear like this you had been kneeling over the dying body of your best friend⏤ a man that Viktor had killed in front of you just because your friend had the audacity to care for you. Not again. Please, Maker, no. You couldn’t lose another person. Not like this.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you managed to drag Din up the Razor Crest’s ramp and into the cargo hold. You wasted no further time and began to strip Din of his beskar. You’d leave his helmet on, but you need the area around the wound to open so you could work. You scrambled to grab Din’s first aid kit and dove back to the ground. Your hands were moving on autopilot. After giving him an e-bacta injection, and then pulling out the shard to fill the wound with the bacta gel, you knew you were overdoing it. Rather safe than sorry though.

It was only after the fourth application of the bacta gel did he stop bleeding. Din laid on the ground motionless, but his breathing was even and his heartbeat was steady. You fell back on your ass and sucked in a shaky breath of your own. Your hands were trembling, stained with his blood, and it felt like all your nerves were frayed.

“It’s okay. He’s okay.” You whispered under your breath to try and convince yourself of the fact. Still, he needed better medical care than you could provide. You pushed to stand, closed the ramp, and then climbed up to the cockpit to get the Razor Crest off the ground. You were by no means a pilot, and in these kinds of winds it was even more difficult, but you managed to get up and off the damned rock. Once in space, all you had to do was set Ari’s address into the system and the ship did the rest.

Being in motion made you feel better. You were on your way to a city that would have an actual Healer. Someone who could ensure Din’s injuries wouldn’t leave him with permanent harm. You rose and hurried back down to the cargo hold. He looked miserable lying on the cargo hold half undone. You cleaned your hands, then took a clean rag to begin to clean his skin. You hoped that wiping away his blood would make you feel better about his state.

This was the most skin you had ever seen of him and it felt like a violation. Once you got him cleaned up enough, you'd lay a blanket on top of him to preserve his decency. Midway through cleaning, your eyes landed on a string of scribbled words against his skin. His soul mark. A part of you urged you to look away. Soul marks were personal, and he had never given you permission to look at this. Hell, he had only just admitted that he had one. However, familiar words gave you pause.

You read it once. Twice. Three times.

‘Would you really arrest your soulmate?’

It felt like someone had picked up the twisted metal shard from the speeder and shoved it through your chest. A storm of various emotions swirled in your mind and suffocated you. Liar. You were crying, and you didn’t even register it until you tasted salty tears trail down your face and reach your lips. He lied to you. You scrambled back from his body and tried to suck in air. You couldn’t breathe. Din lied to you, and you couldn’t breathe. Your lungs were pulling in air, but none of it was satisfying.

Liar, liar, liar.

Anger was burning through your veins, but it wasn’t at Din. No. It was toward yourself. This was your fault. You knew better than to trust someone.

When Din’s eyes blinked open, the first sound he was able to produce was a groan. His body ached. Every inch of him was sore and miserable. The last thing he remembered were the cores going off. Din had tried to get you far enough away to avoid the blast site but based on his injury he had failed. You. Maker, please let him be the only one hurt. He tried to shift, to rise, but it occurred to him that half of his aching came from the way his arms were twisted behind him.

Din lifted his head. He was on the Razor Crest, in the cargo hold, and he was sitting up against the ladder up to the cockpit. A beat of confusion passed before he tried to move again and realized his hands were locked behind him and wrapped around the metal of the ladder. Dank ferrik. Had the raiders caught them?

He glanced around and his eyes landed on you. You were sitting on the floor by the closed ramp door. Din released a sigh of relief. You looked relatively unharmed, and you weren’t tied up as he was. Wait. He shook his head, “Mirdala runi, what…” His groggy mind was beginning to connect dots that had been vaguely floating around in his mind. He had been injured. Din remembered the hot pain of metal tearing through his skin. His beskar chest piece had been removed and his flight suit peeled away. A blanket rested on his shoulder covering him up, but under the blanket his entire torso was bare. His torso was bare. Oh no. “Wait, please, I⏤”

“Stop.” You said in the coldest voice he had heard from you.

Even in the beginning, when you were nothing but snark and sarcasm you still had warmth in your voice. Din felt his chest ache. “Please, just let me explain.”

“Explain what? That you played me for a fool?” You asked.

“No, I⏤”

“That you lied to me this entire time?”

“Please⏤”

“I trusted you.” You snapped. The words were filled with agony, broken and hoarse, and it felt like he had been stabbed all over again. Regret, shame, and guilt filled every atom of his body. You shook your head, “Why would you⏤” Your voice cracked and you forced yourself to stop. Din leaned forward, but his restraints held him back. You pushed to stand and shook your head. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care.”

He could feel you slipping away. He could feel himself losing you. And though he knew it was well deserved after his lie to you, Din still couldn't fathom it. He called out again to you, “It was a mistake. I wanted to tell you the truth. I⏤ I tried to tell you.” Din thrashed against the restraints. It caused his injury to flare and burn, but he had to get free. “I should’ve told you ages ago, I know that.”

You walked over to the control panel and opened the ramp. Light filled the cargo hold and Din recognized the tarmac of Thyreps. No, no, no. You were going to slip away. Worse, he knew where you would go. You were going to find Viktor and the thought of you facing those monsters without any backup filled his soul with ice water.

“Don’t go.” Din was thrashing more desperately now. “You can hate me. You deserve to hate me. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but please let me help you. Don’t go alone. Please!” You paused in place and Din thought maybe, just maybe, his pleading was getting through to you. Suddenly, you began to walk toward him and for a brief second Din felt a flutter of hope in his chest. You crouched down in front of him. “Ner mirdala runi, gedet'ye.”

You reached forward and he felt your fingers brush against the words fate drew on his skin. Din sucked in a sharp breath at the sensation. Goosebumps raised on his skin. You traced the words with the tip of your finger. The feel of it was addicting. “What does that mean? What you’ve been calling me.”

“My clever soul.” Din answered softly.

You chuckled, but the sound was one of devastation. With you this close to him, Din could see how red your eyes were from crying. You pulled your hand away from his skin and Din tried to follow only to be stopped by his restraints once more. “Apparently, I wasn’t clever enough to see through this charade.”

“No, please, don’t⏤”

“You were right, Din.” You said with a voice of finality. “You're better off without a soulmate, and so am I. Consider me dead and gone. Don’t come after me.”

You shoved up to stand and without another word or a backward glance you walked out of his ship and out of his life. Din screamed after you. He roared until his throat was hoarse, and he knew the metal of the restraints were digging into his skin and rubbing it raw but he didn’t care. Din was devastated, and he only had himself to blame.

mando'a translations:

Ner mirdala runi: My Clever Soul Gedet'ye: Please

TAGLIST (closed):

@onceinamando @hrtsforpascal @lil-dragon-draws @harriedandharassed @aheadfullofsteverogers @elfamosotoga @the-anchored-sailor-girl @garbo-lesbo @moonlqghts @stokeholdsblog @morks-watermelon @http-onie @chonkercatto @xalphafox @pedrojoe @zarahbronstein @cockscombkingdom @ale0m @shelbyteller @fallinallinmendes @grandtheoristpeach @perilous-pasta @love-the-abyss @kneelforloki @insomniac-nerd-posts-things @marvelouslytrekking @lady-winchester @liadamerondjarin @vampseddie @guccistardust @smexy-bucky-waifu @mayaaaaah @theway-thisis @keepingitlokiii @catharinaroxastova @andreasworlsboring101 @theclassicvinyldragon @your-slutty-gf @i-cant-write-for-shit @ponyboys-sunsets @honeybug-victoria @godesspsyche @cookielovesbook-akie @adoringanakin

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #reader insert #mando x reader #mando x you #female reader #soulmate au

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twizzyburger · 2 months

Text

Redemption

you work for us now

part 2!

tags!❀

Captor!König x Engineer!F/NB!Reader

The intimidating figure strides by the closet, casting a long shadow that slowly fades. With each step he takes away, you let out a silent, held breath, the noise dampened by the enclosure of your hiding spot. The atmosphere within the closet is oppressive, but the sense of ease from his exit eases the previous tension. However, the lasting dread keeps you keenly conscious of the delicate line between secrecy and exposure in this perilous moment.

With bated breath, you pause for a few precious seconds, straining your senses to detect any lingering threat. The air hangs heavy with tension as you ensure that the room has succumbed to an eerie silence. Satisfied, you carefully step out of your hiding place, your movements deliberate and hushed. The room now bears the scars of intrusion, and you navigate its altered landscape cautiously, wary of any remnants of the recent disturbance that might still linger in the shadows.

You sighed and tried to calm your nerves, but an unexpected force violently seizes you with massive hands, shattering the illusion of security. Startled, you find yourself abruptly face-to-face with the imposing man. His eyes, filled with a menacing glare, bore into yours, the intensity of his gaze sending a chill down your spine as he loomed over you.

You heard a sharp click as the man swiftly and efficiently secures handcuffs around your wrists, leaving you restrained and powerless. Without hesitation, he seizes some of your meticulously crafted blueprints, a tangible piece of your intellectual arsenal. In an unwavering display of strength, he drags you along, each step echoing with the harsh reality of captivity. Desperate to resist, you dig your heels into the ground, attempting to anchor yourself against his forceful pull. Yet, your attempts prove futile as he persists, dragging you with a roughness that amplifies the helplessness of your situation.

Reaching the main door of the base, the man swiftly brandishes his gun, its cold metal pressed against your head. A wave of dread washes over you as the gun's muzzle meets your temple. In the stark silence that follows, the ominous weight of the firearm against your head becomes an unbearable presence. Before you can comprehend the gravity of the situation, the world fades into darkness as an unseen force meets your head, and consciousness slips away in a disorienting blur, leaving you ensnared in the clutches of unconsciousness.

@/Dwisez on Twitter!

As you awaken to a pulsating ache in your head, you discover yourself in a compact, poorly illuminated room. The minimalistic furniture provides scant solace, with a petite metal bed taking up most of the room, its slender mattress providing only modest relief. Gradually becoming more aware, you discern something disquieting—a chain links you to another chain on the floor, significantly limiting your movements and your liberty.

The door creaks open, and a chilling presence fills the room as the man strides in. His tall frame, towering well over 6 feet, dominates the limited space, casting a formidable shadow. Each thud of his massive boots reverberates through the air, creating an aura of menace. The man's physique is an intimidating spectacle — broad shoulders, a chest like an armored fortress, and his muscles ripple beneath the fabric of his uniform, a testament to raw power.

The hood obscures much of his face, leaving only a hint of his strong jawline and a pair of piercing, ice-cold eyes that gleam with an unsettling determination. As he bends down slightly to meet your level, the dim light casts eerie shadows across his features, emphasizing the formidable figure he cuts.

The man grabs a chair and positions it in front of you, his massive frame making the furniture seem inconsequential. As he settles into the seat, the chair creaks under the weight of his imposing stature. It becomes immediately apparent that even the furniture struggles to accommodate the sheer size and strength of this formidable figure. The ominous silence hangs thick in the air as the man, too big for the chair, fixes his piercing gaze upon you, his presence suffocating and radiating an unsettling dominance in the cold and confined room.

He pulls out a set of blueprints from his pocket and, with a commanding gesture, indicates your logo emblazoned on the corner of the design. "This belongs to you... Ja?" he declares, his voice exuding a commanding authority that allows for no dispute.

Maintaining a stoic silence, you resist the urge to speak as the man scrutinizes your reaction. Unfazed, he snaps his fingers in your face, forcibly regaining your attention. Hesitantly, you nod in acknowledgment, your compliance met with a subtle but ominous smile from the man. The weight of the situation presses down on you as the cold atmosphere intensifies, leaving you uncertain about the ominous path that lies ahead.

"Good... these weapons... very good," he remarks, his tone acknowledging the formidable capabilities of your creations. The man shifts in his seat, a certain satisfaction lingering in the air. However, the mood darkens as he continues, "It's killed hundreds of my men..." The weight of his words hangs heavily in the room, underscoring the gravity of your involvement in a lethal conflict. The cold and eerie atmosphere seems to tighten, leaving you entangled in a web of ominous consequences spun by your own ingenuity.

"You work for SpecGru?" he questions, the hood casting a shadow over his scrutinizing gaze. Without uttering a word, you nod hesitantly, confirming your affiliation. The acknowledgment seems to satisfy the man, and the air in the room remains charged with an unspoken tension.

"Are you sure?" he questions again, a subtle menace underlying his words. Without waiting for an answer, he takes out a gun and holds it to your head, the cold metal pressing against your temple. The room seems to shrink as the weight of the firearm amplifies the gravity of the situation. A palpable silence envelopes the space, leaving you at the mercy of the man's unpredictable intentions, caught in the chilling crossroads between compliance and defiance.

You shake your head in response to his query, a silent plea for mercy. In the dim light, you catch a glimpse of his eyes curving into a sinister smile once again. The tension in the room remains thick, a palpable force that tightens around you. The cold reality of your predicament settles in as you navigate the precarious dance with the man who holds both your fate and a lethal weapon in his hands.

He takes your hand roughly, a gesture that feels more like a grip than a handshake. With a firm shake, he declares,

"Welcome to KorTac."

The words hang in the air, the weight of their implications lingering. The cold, ominous atmosphere persists, and you find yourself reluctantly ushered into a world fraught with uncertainty and danger as a reluctant member of this organization.

#cod mw2 #x reader #call of duty #cod #fanfic #fanfiction #konig #mw2 konig #konig cod #konig x reader #colonel könig #könig mw2 #könig x reader #könig cod #könig call of duty #könig #mw2 #kortac

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