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no-droids · 3 years

Text

Beginner’s Luck

Part Twelve of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 14.6K

Warnings: 👀👀👀 SMUT. Oral sex (male receiving), cockwarming, sexual acts in public, the use of blasters and other canon-typical weaponry

A/N: Twas the night before Mando season 2, and all through the house—NO IM JUST KIDDING SDKSFKSVS anyways I am so sorry for not being here for basically all of last month but I could not miss this incredibly momentous occasion for anything. Merry season 2 my lovely baby yoditos

***

“Well,” a modulated voice gruffs expectantly from behind you, clearly tired of waiting. “Turn around, let me see.”

“No. I look ridiculous,” you sulk from the corner of the hull, refusing to do as he says. You thought this was stupid from the very beginning and openly told him so, but you’re also a complete pushover for him with just enough backbone to be frustrated when you inevitably give in. “And don’t you ‘sweet girl’ me, it’s not gonna work this time.”

“Sweet girl,” Din’s deep voice lulls through the helmet, raspy and soft.

Fucking fine, if he’s gonna twist your arm about it. You spin around with a deep frown and a chrome visor stares back at you as you waddle forwards, and you don’t even need to look at the kid cradled in his forearm to know he’s smiling toothily as you clunk and rattle. Once you’re standing directly in front of them both, you blow the stray hair out of your eyes and plant your hands on your hips, just waiting for the inevitable response.

Only, you don’t get practically any response at all from him. He stays perfectly still and says absolutely nothing, and though the baby’s mouth falls open with happiness and he reaches for you, he doesn’t make a sound either.

“I told you,” you grumble after a few moments of pained silence. “I look ridiculous.”

Still, nothing. You purse your lips, shifting from side to side uncomfortably, and eventually your suspicion grows and festers until it finally bursts forth. Oh for the love of Maker—

“I know you’re laughing under there,” you accuse with a growl. He doesn’t move a single muscle but you don’t buy it, not for a single fucking second.

Then suddenly the helmet glances away from you and stares purposefully at the wall of the hull as the kid starts giggling, and you knew it. You fucking knew he was laughing.

“You look great,” comes tightly through the modulator after a moment, and you pull your lip up into a snarl, vindicated in your findings but not happy about it.

“Is that how this is supposed to protect me?” You wave your arms, hearing them squeak and clank like you’re a droid that hasn’t been maintenanced in centuries. The rough metal jerks up and smacks your chin with the shoulder movement and you grimace. “Make the bad guys laugh themselves to death?”

“It's bad,” Din finally turns back to you and admits with zero shame, and your cheeks burn at how stupid you must look right now. “Way too big.”

“Too big?” You blink at him. “That’s your criticism?”

When he presented it to you, your first impression was some sort of brown paint—but no. It’s fucking… rust. It’s damaged and scraped up and it looks like it’s been through the ringer and back, and not in a way that gives it character. There’s almost a literal hole in the fucking chestpiece and it’s dented so much that it actually creates more than enough space for your breasts, what the fuck happened—?

“You’re telling me you went from this—” You ask pointedly, knocking your knuckles against the ill-fitting piece of metal and feeling it wobble against your chest, “—to that—” you tap the pristine, gleaming armor strapped to his body that easily costs more than probably quadruple your entire life, “—without any go-betweens? It’s missing one of the shoulders, Din.”

He ignores you, flipping the chestpiece over your head with his free hand and letting the metallic clatter of it meeting the floor behind you ring out through the hull. “I’d hoped at least something would fit,” comes his filtered sigh. “This planet isn’t nice.”

That sobers you up a bit, and you feel your heart thump painfully. “Are we on Corellia?” You ask without thinking.

“No,” he tells you immediately, quelling your panic while pulling off your one singular pauldron. “Tatooine.”

You’ve never heard of it, but from the grave undertone of his voice, you know the drill. Different setting, same kind of people. Smugglers, rogues, criminals—the type he’s used to being around and knows exactly what to expect out of them. You always feel safe when he’s with you, but when he leaves?

“Oh,” you say, because you don’t really have anything else. It’s quiet for a little bit, but then he continues on before you can come up with something to fill the sudden uncertainty on your end.

“I know someone here,” Din murmurs, bending his knees and sinking down to start undoing and pulling the shoddy thigh braces off your legs. “Someone… nice. It’ll be safe as long as nobody sees me leaving or coming back, and the kid would be happy to see her.”

Your eyebrows pull inwards, something… unfamiliar settling inside you. Din doesn’t have friends, he’s made it clear that he doesn’t really like anyone that he knows well enough to introduce you to. Even when he’s lowered himself in front of you and is technically undressing you, you feel a spark of… no, not jealousy, that’s crazy. But for real, who is he talking about?

“Why can’t me and the baby just lay low somewhere remote like normal?” You ask instead, but he shakes his head.

“No such thing,” he grunts, pulling off the other thigh brace. “Tuskans or Jawas will find you even in the middle of the Dune Sea.”

“I like Jawas,” you blurt, having had many positive experiences trading with the little creatures on Arvala-7, but his helmet immediately tilts up to pin you in place and you shut up, feeling the tangible unamusement radiating from the thin blade of the visor even when the kid starts giggling again. “I mean I… don’t like Jawas?”

Din sighs and rises back up to his full height, finally handing the baby over to you now that you’re not weighed down by that ridiculous getup anymore. “You can either stay with her while I get the quarry or run the risk of pirates finding you drifting above the atmosphere,” he reasons bluntly, not mincing words. “But it’s not a good idea to be stuck on the surface without protection, someone will find you.”

You bite your lip, hugging the kid closer to your chest for a second. “Okay, that’s fine,” you murmur quietly after a moment. “We can stay with your… friend.”

You clear your throat and move to let him pass by to get to the cockpit, except Din doesn’t take a single step. You blink up at him and after what feels like an eternity of no response, the helmet slowly tilts sideways at you and… oops.

Was that not subtle? You didn’t know what to call her, genuinely, that’s why you hesitated. You didn’t want to use the word acquaintance, it felt too detached for the fact that he said the kid would be happy to see her again. That’s what’s called a friend, right?

Maker, why are you being so weird about this?

Thankfully, you end up getting away with it. After a few painful seconds of looking at every single thing in the hull besides him and humming a song you make up on the spot, Din slowly walks past and disappears up into the cockpit. You take a deep breath and gently rub the baby’s ears between your fingers as the Crest powers up with a ferocious rumble beneath your feet.

***

It’s bright. Fuck, it’s so bright here. You hold the kid to your chest with one hand and shield your eyes with the other as the ramp slowly descends, dust immediately kicking up around it. Din’s palm is resting against your lower back and his thumb gently brushes back and forth, but your heart decides to drop the very moment his hand does, and as soon as the ramp clanks against the landing platform, he’s striding down into the blazing hot desert sun without you.

Something in your chest squeezes and whispers to you that he probably doesn’t want to touch you when he’s about to see an old friend again, so you wait a few seconds of space before descending down the ramp behind him, not really knowing how you feel right now. But you’ve barely taken a single step to follow when a woman’s voice screeches out from across a vast distance. “Oh no, no no no—don’t you even think about it!”

Din slows to a halt at the end of the ramp and gives whoever it is a small nod, nothing beyond it, and if you weren’t purposefully looking at him for cues right now, you’d probably miss the greeting entirely. You stand on your tippy-toes from behind his cape as a fiery little middle-aged lady in a mechanic’s jumpsuit marches up to him with an attitude that more than makes up for the height difference.

“You’re not allowed here anymore,” she pokes his chestplate brazenly with one hand and props the other on her hip, clearly not excited to see him. “Not after the ruckus you caused last time, no sir, not on my watch.”

“That won’t happen again,” he gruffs shortly, not providing a single thing beyond it, and you blink. What… what happened last time?

“It sure won’t!” The strange woman agrees shrilly, crossing her arms and widening her eyes until she looks a bit like she’s been out in the suns too long. “I’m still recovering, Mando!”

“I compensated you,” he reminds her, a quiet edge of frustration beginning to creep into his voice.

She suddenly narrows her expression at him, going from manic desert lady to sharp and discerning skeptic within a split second. “How much do you think my life is worth?”

Din takes forever to respond, seeming to either be choosing his words very carefully or grinding his teeth under the beskar in frustration. Probably both. “I brought my ki—”

“You bring trouble!” She bursts out, stomping her foot on the dusty landing platform and holding her ground. “I don’t care how cute your little one is, go park your ship on some other poor soul’s hangar bay!”

He doesn’t say anything back, staying completely silent while you stand there awkwardly and wait for his response, and it’s almost like you… forgot. How quiet Din can be, how unnervingly little he can choose to offer to conversations until he deems the information absolutely necessary to provide. He allows you to forget that reserved nature of his. He talks to you. He never used to at the beginning, but somewhere along the way it just became increasingly common to hear his voice, both with a high-pass filter and blissfully without. Now though, there’s just too long of a weirdly tense pause in the reunion for you to handle without doing something about it.

So you step out from behind him with the child in your arms, giving her an apologetic smile with as much friendliness as you can possibly put into an expression.

“Hello,” you greet her gently, musically, lifting the baby’s hand to give her a companionable three-fingered wave from the both of you while he coos. “I promise I’m not trouble, but he did bring me along this time.”

Din and the woman simultaneously turn to look at you; her like you’re just as strange and jarring of a sight to see on this planet as the tiny unnamed boy in your arms and him like your voice by itself is enough to loosen his shoulders. Though neither one of them ultimately respond to you, you can tell by the way his fists unclench that you’ve at least helped him relax, even if the frizzy-haired lazy otherwise ignores your introduction entirely.

“Now just what in Maker’s name are you doing with a poor little stowaway like that?” She faces him and pokes his armor again. “You runnin’ a charity out of that battered piece of junk you call a ship?”

“Three hundred credits to let them stay with you for a week,” he turns back to tell her, cutting directly to the chase. Alright, so you don’t really understand their relationship at all at this point. He said she was nice? And yet he’s already bribing her that handsomely?

“Five hundred,” she immediately shoots back, and your heart sinks. Fuck, there’s no way. There’s no way he would spend that much, you’re going to have to find somewhere else to stay.

But… he doesn’t respond. Which you now remember with a jolt of surprise, means confirmation. Not wasting words agreeing, he’d say something back to her if he had an issue. Maker, five hundred credits. You’re starting to wonder if he’s really able to make any money at all doing this, or if the job is just… fitting for him, so he continues to do it. He’s spending more and more credits on you every single time you turn around, and while you don’t feel great about it, you know Din well enough to know he’s stable and independent enough to make the decisions he wants to make.

So you just stand there and hold the baby to your chest, unsure of your place, while Din eventually turns around to face you.

Sometimes, if you’re being honest, you almost find yourself wanting to… do soft things with him that you know you shouldn’t while other people are around. Granted, he’s never told you not to, but the last thing you want to do is undermine his reputation by unintentionally revealing his gentler side. You want to give him a hug and maybe hand him the baby to say goodbye, but you don’t know if that’s how he wants to present himself to company right now. Unfortunately, that ends up translating into you just looking at him and awkwardly waiting to see what he does. Your feelings won’t be hurt if he just takes off without another word now that you know that that’s his intent—you promise, they weren’t hurt the first fifty or so times he’s done it. You understand him, it’s alright, he doesn’t need to—

But then he leans in and lowers his voice until only you can hear it.

“I’ll be back soon,” he tells you, and you feel warmth creep into your chest.

You understand him. Which is why you feel like you could almost burst with how much he didn’t have to say that but chose to do so anyway. You already have a solid time frame—a week—which is more information than you usually get, and it’s such a small thing. It’s insane; if you made a list, you’d have 1) talking to you, 2) knowing his first name, and 3) seeing a glimpse of his forehead as your top reasons why he might care just as much about you as you care for him. That’s insane.

He takes a second to reach a glove out and rub the baby’s ear as he makes his adorable little baby noises up at him, before the helmet tilts back up just slightly to look at you.

“Be safe,” he waits for you to whisper back.

And you think now is finally the time to go, right? Except he waits just a few precious seconds more, just holding there, silently. Maker, you don’t want to miss him, why is he doing this to you? You’re trying to play it cool, see-you-later’s have been commonplace between you for nearing a full year now, so why does it feel like now is the first time he truly doesn’t want to go?

You hold the kid with one hand and start to reach for him the split second he turns to walk away, and you quickly drop it as the dry wind snaps through his cape. He leaves and doesn’t look back.

Still, you watch him disappear, until eventually you’re reminded of your host’s presence with the tap of a wrench against your shoulder.

“Hope you know your way around a hyperdrive,” the woman says with a smirk. Maker, Din didn’t even give you her name, you’re going to have to ask. “Gotta repair at least two of ‘em by sundown.”

You catch the hefty tool with your free hand and turn to her. “Pre-Imperial or post? Never done a restoration, but I’m a quick learner.”

She blinks at you like that was probably the last thing she expected you to say, but you give her the same friendly smile from before and look towards the entrance of the hangar for the ships needing maintenance.

***

So Peli is… a character.

She’s quick and entertaining and whip-smart, but you worry that if she had a whip, she might actually use it. She’s nice—she is, but she damn near works you to the bone once you prove yourself capable. You don’t think she expected the extent of your practical knowledge of mechanics, she went into it assuming you were going to be useless and did a hard U-turn that very first night. You both worked together to fix two malfunctioning hyperdrives by sundown, just like she told you she needed, but then she looked vaguely surprised and nobody showed to pick up until two days later.

The second day is more hectic, and the third day is worse. You cradle the kid on your hip while you work one-handed, smudged grease all over your forehead and sweat sticking your hair to your neck. Using Peli’s sonic shower never leaves you feeling clean no matter how many times a day you find yourself wanting to wash the dust and grime from your body, the same way yours used to back on Arvala-7, and you immediately get why her dark hair seems so frizzy and dry whenever you step out of the stall and catch sight of the similar rat’s nest on your head in the small mirror. Hypersonic waves dry it out more than the blazing hot suns on this planet—you look the same exact way you’ve looked for decades and while you don’t mind hard work, you can’t stand the complete lack of water on this forsaken rock.

Din was right, though. She is nice, but in a way that she never wants anybody else to find out about. She cooks you food every night but expects you to clean the whole kitchen after, she lets you have free reign over the caf maker as long as you remember to make enough for her, and she allows you and the kid to pass out on the beat-up sofa in one of the secluded back rooms for the time being. On more than one occasion, when she assigns you chores that require two hands and a steady focus to complete, you overhear her babytalk behind the control panel as she bounces the kid in one arm and plays with his ears. It fills your chest with a quiet, subtle kind of warmth, and you understand why Din trusts her with him.

At least you stay busy—which, understatement. She works you so hard that eventually she starts handing you tasks that don’t really seem… pressing. Replacing the spherical joints on her three pit droids, hand-scrubbing the grime off the pots and pans she uses to cook the same two meals everyday, polishing the dusty windows overlooking the landing platform even though they’re caked over with dirt not even an hour later. You realize soon enough that she doesn’t have nearly the workload here as she claims, periodically catching her playing cards with the droids while you’re busting your ass doing chores once all the real work has clearly been accomplished, but you’re not upset. You like being busy, it’s how you’ve lived most of your life. However, at some point, you actually end up running out of things to do. After that, it’s like she has to actively look for tasks she still needs completed.

One morning you find her in the parked Crest, ripping open the guidance systems paneling and talking to herself. You sip your caf and watch silently from the landing bay, hair pulled up in a messy bun and the baby on your hip as the suns rise on your shoulders and she mutters, whole sheets of metal being tossed out from the insides of the Razor Crest.

You've also learned she responds incredibly well to the prospect of credits, so you don’t spend too much time wondering what her goal is—find something in the ship for you to fix and then charge Mando extra for the materials whenever he comes back.

Hilarious though, as if there’s anything in your ship that actually needs fixing.

You spin around with a sigh and walk back into the hangar, knowing today will probably be the first slow day in awhile.

***

A few hours later, you’re invited to play a game of Sabacc for the first time in your life.

There are so many rules—so many suits and names to keep track of, so many values to memorize, only to be forced to choose one card after every round to keep just in case the rest of them happen to shuffle at random, which occurs at least once or twice every game. There’s too much luck involved to figure out any sort of strategy; you feel like sometimes you’re hopelessly lost and end up winning anyways or you wager nearly your entire stack of bolts on a perfect hand and then you lose the entire thing regardless.

It’s an unpredictable nightmare. But it’s something to do, and you’ve learned that playing just as stupidly as you bet allows you to easily stay in the game. The baby sits in your lap and plays with one of your rusty metal gambling pieces while your leg bounces, and Peli grumbles under her breath once it appears you get ahead of her in winnings.

“Beginner’s luck,” she tells her favorite pit droid quietly, who focuses its singular eye at you in a way that somehow feels unfriendly and nods on a brand new swivel, courtesy of yours truly.

You don’t argue, because there’s no point. The whole fucking thing is luck, but there’s no point. You know enough about this game to know that you might give something away if you speak, so you keep your mouth shut and let her fill the void. You know how to stay silent, you’ve learned from the best. Wordlessly drawing a card from the deck and tucking it in between two others of the same value, you decide to trade one of your other cards at complete random and hope it all just works out.

“Ship looks like it’s brand spankin’ new on the inside,” Peli mutters into her mug out of nowhere, and you pause for a moment, before silently nodding at the offhanded comment and trying not to show how pleased you are by it. “Was falling apart the last time I saw it.”

You keep bouncing the kid on your knee and fan out the cards in front of you, hoping his big black eyes aren’t reflective enough to reveal your hand. “I have a lot of free time.”

“I can tell,” she acknowledges, crossing her legs and leaning back into her chair. Peli sets the mug down and sighs. “You’re a good mechanic. I’d offer you a job here, but something tells me you wouldn’t even consider it.”

Now, you do smile. But it’s a hidden one. A fond one. One you find impossible to fight when you’re reminded of him. You miss him and ache for him and all those collectively angsty things, yes—but mostly you’re just… able to find a bone-deep solace in even thinking about him. Your heart tightens, but it’s far less constricting than it is a comfort, a firm embrace. It surrounds you in its safety; Din’s mere existence is your protection, wrapping around you the same way the beskar protects him. Nothing can touch you. You’re safe, from all the things you used to fear and all the new things you’ve learned to fear.

No, you’d never consider it. This planet is too much like Arvala-7, just slightly more populated and dangerous. You love the baby. You love him. You’d never consider it.

“Don’t you get bored?” She asks you with a raised eyebrow, and your smile admittedly drops the slightest bit. “Just waiting around for him to come back?”

You don’t have to think about your answer. Of course you do. If you’re being honest, it does feel a bit like your life is split between worlds—one with him, and one without. Whenever he’s not here, you’re thinking about how much you want him to come back, and whenever he is here, you’re thinking about how much you don’t want him to go. You’ve never experienced anything like that before. There were a few local farmers scattered far across the arid landscape of the place you used to call home, and three of your neighbors all had kids around your age. So you experimented when you were younger, since you never had much else to do in your spare time, but you never loved any of them. You’d always go back home and continue to do chores, continue to look up at the sky and wonder what you were missing.

“Yes,” you admit quietly.

But what you don’t tell her is that in exchange, you get to see the galaxy. You get to have experiences you’ve only dreamed about, take care of the cutest little baby you’ve ever seen and become part of a family. You don’t know of anything you could want more. Adventure, companionship, pleasure, and fulfillment. Sure, you get restless, and sure, you don’t necessarily feel good about the fact that Din seems to be your driving force even when he’s away, but you know independence. You know what it means to live for yourself. You’ve done it long enough that you’ll never forget how to, you’ve experienced it more than enough to know you’re happy about throwing yourself off the cliff and falling into something different. As much as it’s new and terrifying, it’s better. Now you have other people to live for, too.

You marvel at the change—not just from a year ago, but from a handful of months ago. He used to terrify you. You used to keep your mouth purposefully shut around him because you were scared of overstaying your welcome and being dropped off somewhere equally as remote as the place you grew up. Never could you have imagined that the fiercest guardian the galaxy has ever seen would decide you’re also worth protecting.

No, you figure, you just need to… find something in addition. Something else to also commit to, give yourself something to do. You can practice the new self-defense maneuvers he taught you, that’s a good idea. But maybe you can also…

You eventually decide to prompt Peli in a change in conversation. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“What do you want now?” She takes another sip of her caf as if you’ve been bothering her about this all day long, and… well, it’s times like these that you wish you had a helmet, too, if only so you could roll your eyes.

“I’ve got a few pieces of rusted metal in the Crest,” you eventually tell her, careful with your phrasing and not sure how much you want to reveal. “They’re in bad shape, but I want to keep them. Could I use some of your tools here to hammer out some of the dents, dissolve whatever crud is on the surface? I saw you have a forge back there that’s barely been used, just need the metal hot enough to be pliable without sacrificing its integrity.”

She furrows her eyebrows at you. “But I still need your help with…”

You wait, but she’s got nothing and you both know it. Still, you keep a pointed silence and wait for it, wondering if this’ll actually work. This is what Din does, right? Just refuse to say anything and make the other person crumble under the crushing quiet? Miraculously, it proves to be successful—you watch her flounder for a response, her will wavering the longer you sit there and stare expectantly at her.

“Fine,” Peli finally acquiesces, and you grin. “But only if you win this round. What d’you got?”

You set down your cards to reveal your hand. A perfect twenty-three if you’ve been counting right, unbeatable unless she or any of the droids managed to get the same, and you know it didn’t happen as soon as she takes a few seconds for mental math and then scoffs.

“Beginner’s luck,” you tell her kindly, pushing all your winnings back over to her side of the table with one hand and scooping the kid up with the other, before turning around and heading towards the Crest in search of Din’s old armor.

***

It’s late afternoon on day five and you’re on your back on a creeper seat, sweat dripping down your neck as you reach up to fiddle with the engine of a T-16, a Skyhopper similar to one you built yourself on Arvala-7. They're not space-faring vehicles, they’re only capable of reaching the upper troposphere, but owning one allowed you to develop solid flight skills without ever truly being able to leave. Honestly, you don’t think you’ve ever despised a ship more.

You know you’ve got engine grease all over and you feel like you’re boiling in your own sweat, but you’re almost done. After this, you’ll be able to go back to working on your side project.

As soon as you’d been granted Peli’s direct permission to do so, you mixed the chemicals necessary to eat away at everything besides the basic structure underneath, and then spent all day yesterday manipulating the metal to better fit someone your size and shape. You slaved over the wickedly hot forge and developed a whole new muscle in your arm from hammering and reheating, hammering and reheating. You had to repair the way the chestpiece was tapered into a concave point by folding the thin metal back in on itself multiple times, strengthening it without flattening it back into its original shape too much, and then you ended up melting down some of the extra material from the needlessly large shoulder and thigh pieces to fill in the gaps.

Granted, you still have a ways to go on replacing the crushed magnetics box that was falling off the chestpiece and filing down the rough scrapes and sharp edges, but you’re now left with almost a full set of armor that’s a uniform dull silver in color and molds way better to your general figure than before. You’re not a blacksmith or armorer by any stretch of the imagination, but you’re good with your hands and did what you could in the time allotted. It looks better than you ever thought it would, and without access to Peli’s enormous collection of tools and machinery, you know it would’ve been better off in the trash.

Still, you have to finish this engine first before you can rip apart the control unit wiring on the armor to see how the whole set fits together and what else needs to be repaired. You’ve been working on it for a few hours before you hear the door to the hangar open. Yet, when you don’t immediately hear Peli’s voice calling out to you, or anyone else’s voice for that matter, your heart thuds in your chest with sudden excitement.

“You’re back early,” you tell the engine suspended over your head, knowing he must’ve already thrown the quarry into the Crest parked outside before coming to see you. Right on time, footsteps approach and then a boot carefully catches the flat platform between your legs, slowly rolling your seat out from under the ship until the rest of the sunlit hangar is revealed to you.

You know you must look a hot mess right now. Your hair is a disaster and there’s not a clean spot to be found on your body—sweat glistens and pools along every curve you have and you’re probably drenching the spare jumpsuit Peli let you borrow, but Maker, there he is. Every time you see him is like the first time all over again, except this time the Mandalorian is looming like a giant over you, the helmet tilted down and silently taking you in.

Instead of settling you, his daunting presence gets you hotter than dual suns in the sky ever could. Fuck, he hasn’t said a word to greet you, and yet you’re already wondering if you can entice him to shove you back under here and join you.

You slowly push yourself upright and he steps back just enough to allow it, but not an inch more than that. You have to crane your neck up to keep looking at him, and he stands close enough over you that you wouldn’t have to reach far at all if you wanted to touch him.

And it’s crazy to think that… you absolutely could touch him, if you wanted. He radiates danger, he hunts and tracks for his continued survival, he’s probably got fresh blood staining the dark fabric of his cape and he’s so fucking intimidating—and if you wanted to, you could touch him.

Maybe you can partially blame your sore muscles as to why you immediately drop your head back down, but mostly you just want to stare at a part of his body that happens to align perfectly at eye level. And fuck, nothing stops you from looking. He doesn’t help you up, but he also doesn’t move so you can haul yourself to your feet, either. He just holds perfectly still with his body standing tall over yours, content to stay exactly like this while your hand slowly reaches out to wrap around one of his ankles.

He’s so warm, his muscles flex strong under your palm as you let it drift upwards, biting your lip as you flick your gaze back up to the chrome visor and then down again to the apex of his thighs. Your other hand comes up to scale the beskar strapped to his leg and you roll yourself forward slightly, wondering if he’d let you…

The black fabric stretching over his crotch just barely touches your fingertips before his hand is suddenly whipping out and grabbing hold of your wrist.

You gasp and jerk your head up to look at him, somehow equally hoping that you’re both in trouble and not in it at the same time. Din’s abruptly chest raises with a large, labored inhale, as if he wasn’t breathing at all that entire time, as if he just now remembered the setting, the fact that he’s not alone on the Crest with you right now. Peli and the kid have to be somewhere in the hangar, you know that, but…

“We’re leaving tonight,” he breathes out through the modulator, and you have absolutely no fucking problem with that at all. “But… shit, but…”

“But…?” You prompt, wanting nothing more than to let your hands reach back up to his pants again, but you settle for slowly dragging one palm up his forearm as his grip on your wrist tightens.

“Fuck, I wanted to take you somewhere first,” he groans like your feather-soft touch is actually hurting him, his hands suddenly dropping yours and pushing you away to clench into fists at his sides. “Maker—why do you always f-fucking do this to me…”

You raise an eyebrow at him this time, the curiosity starting to mix with the heat simmering down low, the kind that you'd feel even on a frozen wasteland of a planet as long as you were with him. All at once, you decide to channel him and his trademarked silence, enthralled by the incredibly slim chance that it will work equally as well on its creator.

“…Distract me,” he finally growls out an answer to the question you never asked him, sounding frustrated with you for reasons you still haven’t figured out, and your mouth is drier than the desert outside. Oh stars, you feel… fucking powerful. “From everything,” he goes on, talking honestly and openly, more words given to you in thirty seconds than he’s probably offered to anyone all week long. “Fuck, I feel like I can barely do fucking anything anymore, I’m losing my fucking mind.”

Your heart slams in your chest, wondering if he possibly feels the exact same way about you as you feel about him. Missing you whenever he’s gone, dreading the moment he needs to leave again whenever he’s with you. The thought alone is enough to set off fireworks through your veins, pumping hope and excitement from your fingers to your toes.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe out, biting your lip in a way that doesn’t look or feel sorry at all.

“No, you’re not,” Din grunts, before reaching out and hauling you to your feet, and even if there wasn’t a flat seat under you with wheels, it’d still be awkward and uncoordinated as fuck. “Shit. I… I need to clean up. Grab your things, go tell…”

Din trails off after a second, suddenly sounding at a complete loss. You catch your footing and stare at him as he falters. “Uh. Go tell…” He gestures with a sense of finality to the control room, as if he’s actually successfully communicating with you by doing so. “Her. That we’re leaving tonight.”

“What?” You ask him, thoroughly fucking confused. “What are you saying right now?”

“The woman,” he clarifies, clearing his throat. “The mechanic, with the… droids. Tell her I’ll pay her before we leave, but we’re g—”

“Peli?” You blurt, completely flabbergasted at this point. “Did you forget her name, Mando?”

“I…” he shakes his head slightly at you, like you should already know him better than that. “Never asked.”

“But you—?” You blink at him. “But you said she was your friend?”

“You said she was my friend,” he immediately points out, with—oh Maker, just biting accuracy. It wasn’t necessarily a jab or anything, but you still feel dizzy with how fucking spot on he is about it. Yikes, you absolutely did say that. You forgot.

“Oh…” you mumble, at a stunning loss for a response. “Ha. Oh. Yeah, huh.”

There’s too many beats of awkward silence after that, probably because he’s just so blown away by your way with words that he’s just attempting to analyze the wisdom. Stars, you’re making a complete fool of yourself in front of him, aren’t you?

“Were you jealous?” He suddenly asks, and you jerk upright, your heart kicking up to a gallop in your chest at the question.

“I’ll go tell Peli we’re leaving soon,” you quickly agree and go to scurry away in abrupt panic, but he catches your wrist and hauls you back before you can get far. You run into him with a gasp and immediately start to repeat your explanation for why you very suddenly need to depart, but the tips of Din’s fingers catch your chin and force you to look up at him.

“Hey,” he cuts your rambling short with a hushed murmur and the pad of his thumb brushes down your jaw. “Tell me the truth.”

You don’t have an answer that won’t be incriminating, and you don’t think you can get the delivery right on a lie, not to him and especially not when he’s got you so cornered. So you just keep completely silent and look up at him like a scolded child would. Innocent, wide-eyed and scared shitless about the unknown consequences of your actions.

His helmet slowly tilts as he studies you, watching you look up at him for help. His fingers gradually spread out across your jaw, flattening under the curve of your throat but so gentle, so careful that you’re almost worried he actually is mad.

“I’m sorry,” you immediately offer before he can say anything, your eyebrows pulling up in the middle. “I’m so sorry, it’s just—I just…”

His thumb carefully stretches up to brush your bottom lip, and you… Mind blank, no thoughts. Stars, you’ve got fucking nothing.

“I’ve got nothing,” you admit, giving up before you can even try. “There’s no reason. I was jealous. It’s stupid and I wasn’t going to say anything because I know it’s stupid, and I shouldn’t feel possessive over you but I do, and it’s stupid. I don’t want anyone else to know you the way I know you, and I’m really sorry if that makes you feel weird, I don’t want you to feel like you can’t have—”

Your chin lifts slightly with the gentlest movement of his hand and the subtle pressure is enough to cut your mindless oversharing off. Din’s voice lowers until it’s throaty and quiet.

“See that wall?” He asks, keeping the visor pinned to you while carefully turning his hand to the right, and your whole head easily follows the movement as he guides it. You have to blink your eyes into focus a few times, but then you immediately see what he’s talking about. It’s a partition separating the welding room from the rest of the hangar. He waits until you nod in the cradle of his palm, before leaning in and murmuring to you. “If we were alone, I’d take you around behind it and show you exactly how that makes me feel.”

You pull back from him with a startled gasp just as a voice calls out from the entrance of the hangar. “Well, look who finally decided to come back!”

Din slowly drops his arms and stares at you for just long enough to make you seriously worry that he’s going to say fuck it all and do it anyways, before finally turning around and greeting Peli with another silent nod.

She plants one hand on her hip once she’s standing right in front of him, cradling the kid on with her other arm, and you have to take a second to collect yourself now that you’re not at the direct center of his attention anymore. “Sure did take you long enough, didn’t it?”

“I’m two days early,” he grunts in his immediate defense, but it’s like she doesn’t hear him.

“You’re leaving soon I hope,” she drawls while handing the baby over to him, who makes an adorable little happy squeak at seeing his dad again. “You owe me five hundred credits.”

“It was five hundred for the full week,” he reminds her, and… he has a point. Though it was never part of the agreement, you wonder if she’ll be willing to accept less compensation for having the burden of your company be lifted early.

“Five days count as a full week, far as I’m concerned,” she shoots back, and your heart suddenly sinks when Din’s shoulders tighten and he doesn’t respond.

“Peli…” you sigh from behind him before you even realize you’ve spoken aloud.

Your host quickly sidesteps your bodyguard to eye you dubiously, and at the same time, you also jolt and wonder what your goal is here exactly. You’re ultimately just attempting to diffuse any tension sparking between them, you figure, knowing you’re probably the best mediator here. She looks at you up and down for a long time, hard and judging, before the baby babbles something wordlessly and she sighs.

“I suppose we can just call it even,” she finally huffs, turning back to him. “You’re lucky your girlfriend earned her keep, Mando.”

And then your jaw drops. Holy shit, is she serious? You assumed Peli valued credits above almost anything else, you never expected her to just… turn down the entire offer like that, so willingly. Clearly Din didn’t either, because you both just stand there for a moment in front of her in a baffled silence.

Also… girlfriend?

Is that what you are to him? Admittedly you haven’t talked to him about what to call your relationship, but then again, you’re a practical person and you never really saw a specific need to do so. You care about him, he cares about you—what else is important? You don’t need a title to recognize your value to him, and for some odd reason, calling yourself his “girlfriend” just feels like you’re a teenager again. If you were actually looking for a different word to use instead, you wouldn’t be able to find it, but you know that one just feels… not enough. Not old enough, not encompassing enough, not complex enough. It’s an elementary school version of what this is. And to refer to someone like Din as your boyfriend? Maker, just saying it aloud would probably make his eye twitch.

“Uh.” He stands there awkwardly, and you’re so blown away by both the sentiment and specific verbiage she used that you’re practically useless at this point. Shit, what’s beyond girlfriend, you wonder? Lover? No, not good enough. Partner? No. No, not wife, definitely fucking not— “Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Peli waves him away and spins around to leave, but not before throwing one final thing over her shoulder. “That ain’t an open invitation to come back, by the way.”

All of a sudden, you just can’t stop yourself from breaking out into a wide grin, tucking your chin in hopes that she won’t see it with her back turned and decide to pounce on the display of weakness. The three of you watch her stride out of the room and immediately bark an order at one of her droids to get back to work, who starts looking around in desperate search of something to do, and Din’s palm finds its usual place on your lower back as she disappears.

“What a nice lady,” you offer to him, and he gives you a wordless grumble in response.

***

So it’s a couple hours later and you think the kid might actually have the right idea this time.

You find yourself wishing you had a little hover pod of your own that followed Din around, one you could close the lid on and hide in while blaster fire whistles through the air around you like the baby is currently doing. You’re trying to listen to instructions—you’re trying, but there’s a lot going on here. Voices chatting, guns firing, targets being pinged, a lively little band playing in the cantina next door.

When Din first led you through Mos Eisley and inside this specific adobe hut, if you’re being completely honest, you had hoped for food. A comparatively large restaurant, perhaps? Peli didn’t starve you by any stretch of the imagination, but her dinners were the exact same every single night, and you’ve learned to thrive on new things. While you didn’t necessarily think he was going to take you on a… a date, or anything, you certainly didn’t expect him to take you to a shooting range.

Well. Now that you think about it, this might actually be a date.

Luckily you’re hidden away in the furthest firing partition from the door, but even without the near-constant barrage of gunfire to your left, the distractions are still plentiful. The kid actually reached down and pressed the button to close his crib himself as soon as the bright beams of plasma started zooming past and reflecting in his large black eyes, and oh how you wish that were you. You don’t necessarily feel like you’re in danger or anything, but you’ve also never seen so many guns in one place before and you’re worried you’re accidentally going to hurt someone else.

So far Din has taught you the fundamentals for any firearm—always keep the safety on until you’re ready to fire, never point at anything unless you’re a hundred percent willing to shoot it, yada yada yada—and also the safety fundamentals for blasters specifically. So, making sure there’s no leaks in the gas cylinder when you first load it, never letting a strong magnet get near the power pack, checking the surface of your target for deflection curves if you want to prevent a ricochet, or maybe in his case, inspire one. He’s taught you your stance, he’s taught you how to read your sights, now all that’s left is just to… shoot.

Your arms raise up in front of you and the metal feels too heavy and awkward in your hands, and you have to hold the handle in your left and creep your right index finger all the up the side of the barrel until you feel the indented safety switch. It clicks and you reset your grip to slowly ease your finger onto the trigger, staring down the sight, right at the bullseye. Din is standing directly behind you next to the kid’s tightly closed hovering pod, arms crossed and just waiting for you to pull it.

Come on beginner’s luck, come on beginner’s luck—

You fire, and… well. You don’t think you’ve ever seen a shot miss its target that spectacularly in your entire life. You’re almost surprised the beam of plasma didn’t somehow ricochet back into the booth you’re both standing in, that’s how spectacularly you missed.

“Try again.”

There’s no amusement in his voice, nothing mocking about it. Pure monotone under the helmet, as if he was just naturally expecting that to happen.

No, you think in frustration. You want to surprise him again, impress him with how quickly you can pick things up, turn him on like last time. You just fucking know that would get to him—seeing you easily hit the target dead center with his own blaster, you know that would get to him.

You adjust your aim and fire a few more times. Miss, miss, wild miss, miss. Fuck, so many distractions, plasma flying in the corner of your vision and an increasingly heavy gaze from behind you. Another miss, a miss, yeesh that’s a miss—

Alright, so you're just embarrassing yourself at this point.

“I think it’s broken,” you shrug in defeat, taking a second to find the safety switch and toggle it before going to set the gun down on the raised adobe platform separating the line of booths from the targets—but then Din suddenly snatches the blaster from your grip and extends his arm over your shoulder, firing off six rounds in rapid succession so wickedly fast that you jump backwards into his rock solid chest in surprise. He doesn’t give an inch under the collision and even wraps his forearm tight around your tummy as he hits the bullseye with such deadly accurate precision that even the char marks and the line of smoke left wafting from the target’s center are razor-thin.

“Works just fine,” he grunts, setting the weapon back down again before urging you forward a bit. “Go ahead, give it another shot.”

But you’re on a remarkable delay, just trying to process his sheer speed, how fluid and seamless the entire fucking motion was. Fucking Maker, blink and you’d miss the whole thing. He waited to grab the gun from you until you turned the safety on, but then… then how did he fire it so insanely fucking fast? That’s like five different things he had to do with one single hand within a split second…?

“I turned the safety on,” you blink down at the blaster, clearly just trying to process.

“Yeah,” he agrees blankly, as if he’s unsure as to what specifically you’re so stuck on right now.

“So how did you toggle so fas—?”

He picks it from the shelf gracefully and lightning quick—as if he just can’t help but go that speed around his weapon—and then he twists it on its side, flexing his wrist back until the barrel is pointed upwards and you can clearly see his index finger extend all the way up to the safety switch, flipping it up and down while his middle finger rests over the trigger guard.

“How in the f…?” You mutter, lifting your hand up next to his and positioning your fingers in the exact same L shape, only the tip of your index finger barely stretches an inch shy of the switch. “Psh,” you huff, dropping your arm back down again. “Design flaw.”

“For you,” he acknowledges, using the trigger guard to flip it back to its proper position in his hand like fucking spinning it like that is just the easiest and most natural way to handle the deadly weapon. “This gun was made for me, it’s a feature. Yours would be smaller and lighter, have the safety towards the back of the chamber instead of along the barrel.”

The words and the casual display of ability cause a rush of stirring excitement to burst forth inside you, suddenly giddy at the very thought.

“Wait,” you draw the word out with a grin, leaning back into him and gently nudging him with your elbow to make sure he knows you’re only mostly joking. “You gonna buy me a blaster, Mando? I did earn my keep this week, didn’t I?”

“Have to find one that fits a big enough sight first,” he mutters while setting the gun down on the table, and you scoff at him as his hands come to rest on your hips. They squeeze and try to guide you forwards once again. “Prove that you can at least hit the target with mine and we’ll see.”

“You only get to make fun of me if you give me a real answer,” you rule, planting your feet and refusing to budge.

“Okay, but we both know I’ll make fun of you anyways,” he sighs, and you have to dig your heels in and push back into him to keep yourself rooted to the spot.

“You’re not being a very encouraging teacher,” you accuse without trying to hide your grin. “In fact I feel very discouraged right now and I think that y—”

But then Din suddenly tips his helmet closer to your ear and lowers his voice, cutting you off. “Did you know that gifting someone a weapon is considered a proposal of marriage on Mandalore?”

Your smile quickly drops and you gasp, wholly startled at the implication and immediately trying to spin around to look at him. “Holy shit, are you serious?”

“No,” comes his modulated grunt, tightening his hold and keeping you firmly facing forwards. “Of course not. Pick up the gun.”

Okay.

Okay, so that one gets you.

You immediately start giggling, painfully aware that this isn’t the time or place for it, but that one actually fucking got you. Din easily guides and parks your gullible ass in front of the window carved out of dried mud before picking up the blaster himself and forcing you to hold it with your loose hands, grumbling under his breath.

Shit, okay, focus. Focus, you can do this. You clear the laughter from your throat and suddenly get deadly serious, staring your target down like it’s personally gone out of its way to ruin your entire life. The blaster feels cold in your palms but not when Din’s hands wrap warm and tight around the back of yours, letting you hold the gun how it’s most comfortable for you before gently settling his fingers down over yours. His chestpiece presses tight against your shoulder blades when he guides the gun up and out, and his arms are long enough to extend yours fully even though he’s behind you and still has some bend to his elbows. He uses his feet to kick your ankles apart until they’re shoulder-width and then you both carefully find the trigger together.

He’s quiet and slow about it and the whole thing is one giant fucking turn-on. Maker, chill out. Chill out, he’s teaching you how to shoot. This is important stuff, there are people around, chill out…

Din takes a moment to aim the barrel and his hold is so fucking steady, so unwavering and strong. You wonder if it’d be too obvious if you pushed your hips back a little, you might be able to feel his—

“Fire,” Din murmurs next to your ear, and you pull the trigger without a second thought.

The bright red plasma beam launches from the end of the blaster and hits the target dead center. You gasp, pulling the trigger again, and unsurprisingly, it’s another perfect shot.

He suddenly lets go of your arms and takes a small step back, but the second he removes his body from yours, the rounds start bouncing wildly off the edges of the target. Your eyebrows furrow and you try to emulate how you think the angle felt before, but you can’t find it anymore and you’re just failing spectacularly.

When you decide to pause for a second, Din steps up close behind you and wraps his arms around you once more. You can feel the exact moment he’s locked in his aim, and you fire wordlessly as soon as you know it’s going to hit. Bullseye, right on the nose.

This time, he lifts just his hands away from yours, staying perfectly still otherwise and you swear you don’t move a single fucking muscle in your entire body before pulling the trigger, but it still hits the far corner of the target.

“It’s broken,” you shrug once again, and Din drops his helmet to your shoulder with a sigh. “This gun was made for you, which means there’s obviously some mod you have installed that reads biometrics and ruins the shot no matter how good it—”

“Not even close, but that’s not a bad idea,” he tells you, watching you click the safety on and set the uncooperative blaster down. “I can’t figure out what you’re doing wrong. Are you just distracted?”

Uh, fuck yeah you are. So much is going on and more than that, he’s here and he’s just… fuck, you know what he meant when he said he felt like he was losing his mind. He’s your biggest distraction, all the time. He’s still standing so close to you and the baby is still isolated and tucked away in his hovering sphere, and you take a moment to think about it.

Yes, it’s… it’s possible that you may learn better by example than anything else.

“Can I watch you do it?” You ask him, and Din shrugs before reaching around you and quickly grabbing the blaster from its mud shelf. “Wait—” you tell him while he raises and extends his arm over your shoulder, and then you wiggle sideways as much as possible in the small booth to squeeze around behind him. He doesn’t say anything as you swap places with him and scoot up behind him, but you can tell by his body language that he’s confused. You wonder if he liked that position and watching you shoot his gun, even if you’re complete shit at it.

He stands in front of you for a second and you give him an encouraging, “Okay,” to let him know you’re ready, but then the helmet turns back to look at the target like he’s still unsure as to what you want specifically. You keep your mouth shut and let him figure it out. You meant what you said—you want to watch him shoot. You want to watch him where he’s infamous, watch him do what he’s best at and let completely loose in front of you.

As if it finally clicks for him, Din turns to face the target and suddenly throws the blaster into his left hand while reaching down and pushing a button hidden under the hollow platform with his right. You have to lean around his broad shoulders to watch the target slide backwards on its track easily triple the distance before squeaking and slamming to a stop. Din stretches his non-dominant hand out and subtly tilts his helmet before firing six times, easily hitting the bullseye with just as much accuracy as before, and you frown when you notice the only shots that have actually hit the target so far have all been dead center.

He sets the gun down and stands there for a second, staring across the range like it’s nothing at all to him and it’s… remarkable. Not that he’s a wicked shot, you’ve known that the second you laid eyes on his armor all those months ago. No, it’s just… you would think this is where he’d thrive, if anywhere. The entire place is full of smugglers, raiders, scavengers, mercenaries—occupations that define themselves by their grit. They’re talking as much as they’re shooting, conversing in languages you’ve never heard but suspect Din easily understands. But instead of fitting in, he’s just… there. He doesn’t look comfortable, but he also doesn’t look uncomfortable, either. He doesn’t look like he’s having any fun at all.

None of this is considered a hobby to him, you suddenly realize. It’s not fun because he’s too good at it. This is life. This is going back to school for the most basic fundamentals of a job he’s excelled at for decades—it’s not interesting, he’s gaining absolutely nothing from practicing.

You try to think of the last time you’ve seen him truly in his element. You think back on all the different settings—he looked out of place on Canto Bight, got into fights on Corellia, hated Coruscant, seemed stressed on Nevarro, and even on Naboo, even in the middle of paradise, he looked unsure if he actually deserved to be there with you. Now here on Tatooine, where he has real people that he trusts, where he’s surrounded by like-minded individuals shooting his favorite things in the world, it’s like he’s still not able to fully let go.

Is it just you, you wonder? Does he stand out more just because you’re the one looking?

No, you think. No. You have seen him relax. You’ve seen him laugh before, you’ve seen him be himself with you.

But… only with you. A hardened bounty hunter that much prefers the company of a young woman and an infant to literally anyone else in the galaxy.

Fuck. Why does that turn you on so fucking much? It’s the display of prowess, the sheer skill he’s developed, how fucking deadly he is—and how you’ve felt him use that trigger finger to trace slow circles around your clit. The Mandalorian standing with his blaster raised has probably been the last thing too many people have ever seen in their lifetimes, and yet watching from this angle just makes you feel protected, guarded, and… so fucking horny for him.

“Do it again,” you eventually murmur, touching both your palms to his back this time just to feel it. You want to feel him shoot, you want to feel his muscles move with it. You want to touch how mechanically he’s able to aim, you want to know if he’s loose or tense when he fires, you just want to… feel it.

Din grabs the gun and as he extends his arms out, you slide your hands up his back to rest under his shoulders. He’s so broad, he feels so warm and strong, and his trigger releases are so steady that nothing above his wrists move.

Shit, before he’s even finished setting the blaster back down again, you’re already scooting up behind him as close as possible and carefully slithering your arms around his waist, hugging your body tight to his back. Din stays completely still while your mouth presses against the fabric of his cape and your hands begin to slowly slide down his stomach.

He doesn’t say a damn thing, which makes it even hotter for some reason. There’s no warning he gives you, no low growl of your name or sweet girl being dragged through the modulator. He stays completely silent and holds there while blasters continue to fire from stalls to your left, and it gives you the thrill of your lifetime. Big strong man holding perfectly still for you to touch in the middle of a crowded room.

Your hand slips under his waistband and sink down low until you can trail your fingertips along his cock, hidden from sight beneath the edge of the clay shelf. The small sound you make at feeling it already firm and at attention for you gets lost in the noise of the shooting range, but you wrap your palm around it and give it a good, slow pull upwards, feeling Din’s back expand with a breath from the sensation.

“Do it again,” you whisper into his shoulder blade, slowly playing with his cock in his pants with one hand while keeping the other wrapped tight around his abdomen.

Din immediately snatches the blaster off the platform and fires it the very moment he takes aim, and you can feel his cock pulse in your palm as he lets off the shots. Dead center, as always, but he clunks the metal back down with a bit more force this time and then lingers his fingertips at the sloped edge of it for a second, as if he’s considering whether or not he should hold onto it.

You’re already wet between your legs, but it gets worse the longer he allows you to keep doing this. His skin is furnace-hot and he throbs for you, and you trail your thumb up to check—oh, Maker, he’s leaking for you, too. You drag the pad of your thumb over the tip and gently rub the wetness along the curve of his head, before easing back down to give the shaft another slow pull.

A quiet puff of air comes through the vocal filter, but that’s all you audibly get out of him. Still, it’s more than enough to fill you with a wicked heat and a desperate desire for more. So you bite your lip and glance around just to double-check that nobody else has wandered over behind you and the kid is still tucked away in his crib, probably passed out in the secluded darkness at this point. And then you barely take a split-second to consider it before your knees are bending and you’re slowly sinking down the length of his body.

Din is a fucking statue. He doesn’t do anything to allow your wiggling underneath the raised platform anymore than he widens his stance to prevent it. Once you’re on your knees in front of him in the dim isolation of your hiding spot though, he takes a single step forward and pins his waist to the hardened clay above your head, and a thrill skitters through you at being completely walled in on all four sides.

You reach up to hook your fingertips in his hem of his trousers and begin pulling them down, so tight and achy between your legs that you want to shove your hand down between them already. You don’t though, not yet, because you need two hands to be extra careful in getting his cock out. You don’t even want the fabric of his pants to touch it, you want your mouth to be the only sensation he knows here.

At the very last second, you decide to pull the waistband down far enough to let his balls rest outside the confining clothing, getting increasingly hotter at the thought that this isn’t going to be sneaky and dirty, even if you’re in public. Din’s wide stance and the floor-length cape hide you perfectly from any prying eyes behind his back, so it’s going to be soft and it’s going to be slow and he’s going to be comfortable while you go down on him.

Your mouth is already watering, so you bend down just slightly and lift your chin to gently drag your tongue along the smooth skin of his balls before anything else. Honestly—you don’t think he’s expecting you to go there first, because his whole body suddenly jerks at the velvet soft sensation between his legs and you let out a low hum in response. He can’t reach you down here unless he tries to, so you scoot your knees up a little bit and just decide to go for it. This way he won’t be able to get it confused, he won’t pull you out from under here halfway through when you suck on his balls before anything else. This is what you want from him, what’s right here in your mouth.

You switch to the other one and Din twitches with a filtered breath, the skin already tightening up and responding gorgeously under your tongue. His hand hovers somewhere near the raised platform above your head, fingers curling in his leather gloves and caught right between stopping you and letting you continue. While he allows it, you ease your way up and make it just tantalizing enough to make him ache without providing any real stimulation, slowly trailing your tongue up the length of his cock and pressing plush lips to the flared head.

Din exhales a shakily while you take your time, tasting the precum as his body produces it, just kissing and licking and purposefully refusing to touch him with anything besides your mouth. Without being able to see the rest of him from this angle, you're left to your own devices—you’re so gentle and soft about the pleasure that you start to separate the man from the throbbing erection you’re currently playing with. You begin to enjoy yourself without thinking too much about the struggle he must be withstanding right now, you moan softly against his heated skin even though you know you’re being a tease at the worst possible moment, but no matter how you decide to take your time with it, Din continues to allow it. He endures. Silent, perfectly still, until you eventually decide to wrap your lips around the head of his cock and flutter your tongue up underneath it.

But then he jumps and your eyes open when a deep, unkind voice from the stall to your left calls out, “Hey, Mando! Gonna fuckin’ shoot or just stand there, huh?”

You can hear his immediate frustration in the blaster scraping against the shelf over your head, and you moan softly around his cock the second you feel him tense and start firing. The smooth skin pulses on your tongue and you slide your fingers around the backs of his knees, opening your throat and slowly taking him deeper.

And, for a man that has repeatedly fired six perfect shots every single time he picks up his gun, he falters after just three this time.

The heat of your mouth must be too overwhelming. Too fucking good, too detrimental to his focus and composure to even perform the most basic tasks he typically excels at. Like a seasoned mathematician that suddenly struggles to count to ten, a renowned author that can’t recite their ABC’s—Mando can’t even fire a weapon right now and it’s all because of you.

He has to keep trying though, he has to make an actual effort now that you both know someone nearby is paying at least some sort of attention to his performance. The sound of more plasma arcing through the air over your head slowly disappears into the background in a way that it never could while you were the one firing—you’re completely hidden and safe down here, you can moan low in your throat while keeping your hands around his knees and begin to bob your head without another thought or worry whatsoever. Handling it is all on him. He just needs to stay quiet, be still, and shoot his gun. It should be the simplest thing in the galaxy for him, right?

Wrong. So wrong. You hear the way the bolts are pinging off the sides of the target now, you listen to him grunt and let off a few more shots that also sound like they miss. Your soft palate lifts and you’re practically drenching yourself at how wide he stretches your throat while you take him down as far as you can, and there’s a moment where you’re holding there and you think about doing something about the dull ache throbbing between your legs. But once you pull off him for air and automatically touch your drooling tongue to your palm, you decide this is what you want more.

Your slick hand wraps around his cock and starts to slowly jerk him off while your mouth moves down to attach to his balls once more, your touch gliding strong and wet along his entire length. Din almost doubles over into the platform, his hips stuttering up for the first time at the hard stimulation you’re finally giving him. His skin swells and tightens in your mouth—you can feel the tension locking his thighs down, you can hear the shots above you start to decrease in frequency, and you know he’s already close.

So you move back up to suck on the head of his cock again and slowly swirl your tongue around it, continuing to use your hand to pull steady and firm on the rest of his shaft, and you just close your eyes and wait for him to give you what you want. His firing soon stops altogether and you squeeze your finger between your thighs and press hard against your clit, just needing to relieve some of the ache. You keep doing that, you keep drawing circles with your tongue while slowly jerking the rest of him off into your mouth, and at some point, it all just becomes too much for him.

“Shit,” Din gasps, along with the sudden sound of metal skittering against the clay above you, and your eyes pop open in surprise. “Ah, sh—shhhhh—”

Maker, did he just drop his fucking gun?

You start to pull back, but then suddenly a trembling hand shoots down and clutches tight under your throat, hooking hard behind your jaw to make sure you stay right there.

His cock starts throbbing and he shudders, slamming his other palm on the shelf and cumming hard in your mouth. You’re already swallowing before he even gives you anything but Maker, you’re fucking desperate for it that your hand moves to curl your fingers against the exposed skin at his hips as if that’ll somehow help you get it sooner. The first taste of him comes as soon as you dig in and drag your nails down his flesh, and Din is helpless to do anything else besides clutch your jaw tight and gasp raggedly while emptying himself down your throat.

He shakes and shudders and you don’t spill a single drop, clutching his hips and pulling him close to keep him in your mouth, and as he slowly comes down from that plateau, you lick every inch of him clean. His fingers gradually lose their rigidity around your jaw and eventually, his fingers drop down to press gently against your throat while his hips pull back.

He slips from your mouth and you wipe the wetness from your chin, staring up at his cock wistfully and almost wanting to keep going. Is that fucked up, you wonder? What would he think?

He hasn’t moved yet, why isn’t he moving? Your job is clearly finished here, no matter what kind of way you may feel about that. The coast must not be clear, you have to assume. Perhaps someone is wandering around behind him, maybe he’s still being cautious about the nosy person next door—all you know is that you can tell he wants to move but he isn’t, which likely means he can’t. You know his cock must be so unbelievably sensitive right now, but he’s not easing his body back far enough away from the shelf to tuck it into his pants. He’s keeping it right in front of your face and expecting you to stay there until he deems it appropriate for you to get up.

The longer you wait for him to step back and let you out from under here, the more your need sparks and grows. What would he think? That you’re so desperate for his cock that you still want it in your mouth even when it’s soft and spent? Maker, he’d be fucking right on the money.

At some point, you can’t stop yourself. You lean back up to slowly take his soft cock back in your mouth, and Din nearly spasms while you slip your hand under your waistband and widen your knees.

You don’t do anything spectacular to it—you’re not that cruel—but you do hold him on the heat of your tongue and keep him there, fluttering your eyes closed as your finger finally touches your clit. Air puffs shakily through your nostrils and you think Din is actually shaking harder than you are, his body fighting oversensitivity while yours starts the race towards bliss. He doesn’t stop you but it also feels like he’s purposefully trying not to, like everything in him is rebelling against the wet heat of your mouth but knowing you’re only doing this because you’re so painfully turned on. You’re doing this because you need it, in spite of the electric shocks of wicked sensation it seems to be inspiring in him.

Your finger speeds up and you start gently sucking on the warm, giving flesh, and his hand trembles as it grabs at your hair. Fuck, you don’t care if he thinks you’re desperate—you want him to recognize it, you want him to know exactly how much you love his cock—

That thought sends a dark thrill down your spine and pleasure burns bright and needy where you’re still rubbing your clit, dropping your hips and rolling them forwards against your hand. And oh, your only lament is that you wish he was the one doing this. You wish Din was building your pleasure instead of letting you use his body in search of your own, you wish it was his hand working between your legs and about to shove you over that ledge, but then again. Something about this whole fucking scene is just so… undignified. Debased. And you’re getting off on it, quicker than you ever thought possible.

When you cum, you’re good and you don’t make a single sound when you cum. You squeeze your eyes shut and your entire body jolts with every single shattering wave of ecstasy, and Din tugs a handful of your hair and slowly rocks his hips once, twice, fucking your mouth while you endure wildfire burning through your veins. By the time you finish convulsing on the fucking floor of a Tatooinian gun range, you know you can go for another and probably get it equally as quick as that one, but Din is already pulling his cock out of your mouth and shoving it back into his pants. You’re like jelly as your elbow is immediately caught in his arm and you’re hauled up from your hiding spot, dazed and disoriented.

The chrome visor stares you down and you want to shrink in on yourself, thinking he’s going to take your happy ass back to the Crest. You should be in trouble, you know you should be in trouble. Leaving the recesses of your dark cubby and coming face to face with your surroundings brings a brand new clarity to light—you totally should not have done any of that. He was trying to teach you, for Maker’s sake. He was taking the time to show you the valuable knowledge he’s gained regarding weaponry and self-defense. Fuck, you even told him on Naboo that you wanted to shoot a gun, and he brought you here to do just that.

Except then he just spins you around and picks up the blaster from the adobe ledge in front of you, placing it firmly in your hands.

“Okay,” he pants quietly next to your ear, breathing hard and shallow through the helmet. “Now you should be able to focus, right?”

Fuck… Fuck, is he serious? You can barely hold the damn thing, you’re shaking so hard. How does this work again? What does this do?

“Wh-What?” You croak—fuck, your voice is gone. “I… I can’t—”

“Try,” he encourages, helping your comparatively tiny hands flip off the safety but other than that, stepping back and leaving you to it. Completely and hopelessly lost, you weakly twist around to watch him stand next to the kid’s closed metallic shield. “Hit the target,” Din reiterates with a nod, trying to catch his breath. “You can do it.”

You look back out with unfocused eyes to see it still all the way on the far end of its track, and there’s just absolutely no fucking way. “I… can’t.”

“Hit the target and we can go home,” he tells you, and while you don’t exactly know what home is anymore, something tells you it’s somewhere in hyperspace. A resting baby, a metal floor, a pitch black hull, and your cheek pressed against a warm chest.

It sounds… wonderful.

Inspiring a newfound kind of desire in you, you lift your arms as best you can and work so, so hard to keep them steady. The target is in your sights and you do your absolute best—fuck, you really do, but you pull the trigger and the shot sadly bounces off the edge.

You drop your hands, already defeated and drained. “I can’t.”

“Hit the target and I’ll buy you a blaster,” he ups the ante, and you instantly lift your dead arms again. Fuck, come on, come on, you can do this.

You shoot. Nope. So you shoot again. And then you shoot again, and again, minutely adjusting your wrists purely based on where the bright red plasma is landing and ignoring the scope entirely.

“A nice one,” he continues over the pew pew pew of you just continuing to fucking miss, fucking miserably, over and over again. “Expensive. Hand-crafted, one of a kind…”

Miss, miss, miss, and—no. Just, no. There’s only so much glaring failure you can take before you snap. You finally stop shooting and growl in frustration, going to slam the metal down on its resting place. “Mando, I ca—”

“Hit the target and I’ll marry you,” he says quietly, and you freeze just before impact.

… What? N… No…

Miraculously, you somehow manage to calmly switch the safety on and set the blaster down before turning back to see the helmet staring at you, unmoving.

You… you know it must just be a joke, right? Just a stupid extension to the one he made earlier, it must be. You blink dumbly at him and flick your gaze between the visor and two large black eyes staring at you from the crib, wondering if you glitched or if you’re just hallucinating.

“Uh…” you hear yourself say, even though you’ve got absolutely nothing, but Din doesn’t offer anything else to fill in the gaps of your startled misunderstanding. If you didn’t have such a wild fucking reaction to the words, you'd probably wonder if he actually said them or not—that’s how much he gives away. Silent, so unbelievably silent when you’re begging him to give you at least something. Is he messing with you again? Is he just that confident that you’re going to fail?

It takes forever for you to turn back around and face the target, but you eventually do when he refuses to elaborate. Your heart slams in your chest and you wonder what you’re doing even attempting this.

The moment you lift your trembling arms is the moment you know your heart is pounding too fast—your finger twitches with the wild rush of blood flow and you end up pulling the trigger way before you’re ready. You fire before you’ve checked your sights, you fire before you’ve taken any sort of aim whatsoever, you fire spontaneously enough to surprise even yourself and it—

—it hits dead center.

Your stomach drops and a jolt of some rabid feeling punches through you, you have no idea what it is. You whip around so fast that you get dizzy, seeing him standing there, completely still.

“That was just beginner’s luck,” you quickly reassure him, suddenly feeling faint. Holy shit, holy shit, what the fuck just happened? “Listen—hey, no, listen, I can’t get it again,” you explain shrilly to the utterly dead silence from him. “Look, watch this, double or nothing.”

You spin back around, well aware that absolutely nothing about what you just said or what just happened made any fucking sense at all. Beginner’s luck when you’ve been consistently awful at this, telling him repeatedly to listen when you’re very, very fucking aware he hasn’t said anything, double or nothing on a literal proposal as if double marriage is something that actually exists?

No. Shut up. Don’t even think that word, don’t think about fucking anything. Fire, fire without thinking, just lift the gun and pull the trigger—

You do, and oh. Oh, no.

“Uh?!” Your voice comes out on a squeak, now in a complete fucking panic. What the fuck? No fucking way. Perfect, perfect, the odds are fucking astronomical—another deadly accurate shot. “Ah, um, okay, scratch everything I said—th-third time’s a charm?”

Wide-eyed and having absolutely no clue what you’re doing at this point, you fail to see Din slowly turn his helmet down and to the right as he stands behind you. You go to lift your arms and pull the trigger, but then he suddenly reaches out lightning-quick and bumps your elbow upwards at the very last second.

The abrupt push causes your shot to be angled off course spectacularly and you can’t do anything but look up and gasp in horror, worried it’s going to ricochet off the ceiling and land somewhere this building isn’t architecturally designed to absorb. There’s just enough time to wildly wonder why the fuck he did that—

—but then, like pure magic before your eyes… the beam of plasma adjusts itself in midair.

It fucking bends. Across the length of your entire firing lane, it curves in a downward trajectory and hits the target with absolutely impossible physics.

Your jaw fucking drops and you whip your body around in dumb shock to see Din staring hard at the closed shield next to him.

… that’s not closed.

The baby tilts his head at you and coos happily, one ear tipping up while the other tips down, and you’re completely blown away. Not only at the entirely unexpected demon-power display, but what specifically he was hoping to get out of it. You’re still stuck, blinking down at the adorable little goof with abilities you’ll never understand.

Only, a hand suddenly grabs yours and drags you back to yourself.

“We need to leave,” Din says quietly, switching the lid shut on the hovering crib and pushing it towards the booth’s exit while tugging you along behind him. “I don’t know how many people saw that, we need to leave.”

Sure enough, voices in the next partition over start picking up, likely the only ones in here who had a good enough angle to watch the physically unthinkable shot somehow meet its target, and your adrenaline quickly begins pumping while you keep your head down and power-walk your ass to the door. You don’t know the kind of consequences that could potentially arise from others witnessing the kid’s literal sorcery, but you know you’d rather not take the chance. The voices start growing louder as you three make your quick escape, beginning to ask others around them if they just saw that, but you’re already out of the rectangular adobe structure and long gone by the time anybody steps out of their panels to hear the uproarious accusations of cheating beginning to fly.

***

Stay tuned for the next part!

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin #din djarin x you #star wars #fanfic #reader insert #no-droids

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heyheyloki · 3 years

Text

All Because Of You

Summary: The reader goes to find Castiel before the angels get to him.

Castiel x M!Reader

Castiel being human, losing his grace, was perhaps one of the most interesting yet hardest thing you had faced yet. Forget God. Forget Lucifer. Castiel human topped all of those for a simple reason. Now, it was incredibly hard to keep down your own human feelings that had stirred up for him a long time ago, and plus, yanno, all the Angels and Demons on the hunt for this one Angel who rebelled against Heaven and all that.

It's been a few days since you left the bunker to go look for Castiel. Sure, Dean and Sam weren't happy, but you knew you couldn't wait any longer for them. It's been weeks since Castiel went on the run and sitting around doing nothing but worrying about him was not good for your mind. You needed to see him, protect him, and make sure he was safe and by your side.

It took a three days to get to Detroit, the last place anyone saw Castiel or 'Clarence', as he called himself. You got the led from a group of homeless individuals that talked to Cas before he picked up a ride in on a truck that was heading to Detroit. This was probably the hardest part of the search. Lucky for you, growing up with the Winchester boys helped when it came to this kind of situation. Still, with all your skills, it was Detriot. A large city with many people, but the people may be your advantage.

"Excuse me," you hummed out to a man who was currently making burgers on the side of the road. The only thing that led you talking to him was Castiel's vessals love for red meat. Now that he was human, Jimmy was probably talking to him a lot more now. "Have you seen a dark haired, blue hair man around here? He would have probably acted a bit out of it?"

"Uh," the man thought for a moment. "Nah, sorry, no one really comes to mind."

"It's alright, thank you." You sighed, parting from the man and getting back on the move.

You took the rest of the day nonstop looking for Castiel with no leads whatsoever. Person after person either said they didn't remember someone like that, or saw so many people that day that it was impossible to even try to remember one man. This race against the clock was getting harder and harder, and frankly, it was getting irritating. All you wished for was Castiel to be safe. He could be hungry, or homeless--but safe was all you wanted cause in the end you knew you could fix both of this issues--all of his issues-- if you just found him.

As you were deep within your mind to try and make up a new way to find the fallen angel, the rain that touched your skin shoved you back into reality. Your eyes gazed as the raindrops that wet your skin before looking up at the dark clouds that surrounded you. A deep sigh filled with worry released from your lips before taking a few steps forwards. Perhaps those few steps were all you needed. Well, that and the rain. When you took those steps you heard a noise, one that would capture almost anyone’s attention. You paused, stood still before turning your head down an ally that seemed to be behind a restaurant.

Down the dark and rainy ally was a man who wrapped himself with this black hoodie he wore. His hair was soaked, not to mention his clothes, but that freezing cold look in his eyes broke your heart beyond anything you've felt before. The darkness obscured the man's face until you took a few steps down the ally. At first you were going to offer the man some food and direct him to a nearby shelter, but the minute he quickly shot his head up to see who was approaching him, everything changed. No matter how much time apart you have from him, you can never forget his face but you noticed that the first thing to go about a person was their voice. You thought that was the saddest thing to ever exist but when you heard it call out to you of all people, remembering his voice again was like seeing him for the first time all over again.

"[Name]?" Castiel croaked out.

You didn't speak but instead nodded to confirm it was you, and not a part of his imagination.

With the weather, you didn't waste any time to get both Castiel and you some shelter. A few minutes of pretending to be someone else and using another's money got you a relatively small but sufficient apartment for the time being.

When Castiel entered the apartment was dark given the time of day, but you quickly turned on the lights after you shut and locked the front door.

"Wow, it’s beautiful." Castiel commented as he looked around.

"It's an apartment that cost a 2,000 dollar deposit, it better be beautiful." You replied as you began to lock and shut all the entrances which included the windows as well.

Castiel kept his eyes on you as you did so, but when he noticed you were finished with your task he asked, "How did you find me?"

You turned to him and placed your hands into your pockets. "Oh, yanno, all my hunter skills went into work and here I am."

"Why aren't Sam and Dean with you?" He asked curiously.

You sighed at the question before taking a seat on the sofa that was provided with the apartment. "I didn't want to wait around. They thought it was dangerous, and it probably was but I don't know, I just couldn't stand being in that bunker wondering if you’re alive or dead."

Castiel's head went down for a moment, his own human mind now spinning with thoughts he wondered if he would ever have if he was still an angel.

"I apologize for worrying you." He suddenly said in more quiet tone. "That was never my intention."

"I know." You smiled before patting down the space next to you. "Come sit and lemme see what you got there."

Castiel's head went on a tilt before he remembered the wound he had on his left upper arm he got from fighting one of the many angels that were out on the hunt for him. The former angel complied with the request, mostly because of his trust and fondness of you.

When he sat down, you turned towards him and began to unbutton his white shirt after he took off the soaked hoodie. Castiel watched your attentively as you did so. The way your hands played with his shirt and the focus that was seeped deep into your eyes as you did so. Once his shirt was open, you gazed back up and into his eyes. He watched a faint smile, a comforting one, stretched across your lips before slipping the shirt off his shoulders and exposing his entire upper body.

Your eyes shot to the bloody rage he used around his arm, mostly just to stop the bleeding. Worry of an infection took place in your mind, but luckily that didn't seem to be the case.

"Look at you," you whispered. The words catching Castiel's attention quicker than ever before. "You're lucky this isn't infected."

"I suppose so." He replied under his breath as he continued to watch you, never once looking away.

You hovered your finger over the wound that was slanted across his bicep. The fact that it hadn't healed wedging itself into your mind making you say, "You really are human."

"Yes." Castiel said. "The whole experience has been very tiring."

You laughed at that, the chuckle that came from your chest making the former angel experience something that he hasn't before. Sure, he got chills from the cold or rain, but never from a simple laugh.

Next, you began to examine the wound. Overall, it seemed to be healing fine but you really wanted to clean up the dried blood that pooled around the actual cut. So, you grabbed a cotton pad and dabbed some rubbing alcohol on the surface.

"This may sting a bit," you warned Cas before gently patting it against the wound. You watched his face scrunch up a bit as he got used to the stinging sensation. Though, in the end it seemed like he took the pain rather well.

You smiled as you placed the pad on the table next you, your hands picking up some proper bandages before commenting, "You took that better than Dean. You getting used to being human?"

"Ah, it's all new to me. Hunger. Cold." He explained, his eyes meeting yours as he said, "This feeling of being alone."

You stared at Cas for a moment. Yes, he was still the same, and yet so much about him was different. He was learning how to understand human emotions, and after all this time it just took being human to truly get it. To you, it explained how truly complex human emotions were. Something about this Cas pained you in more than words could explain, and for some reason the desire to comfort him was absolutely overwhelming.

"You aren’t alone anymore." You said. Your mind focusing on one action, and one alone. You knew it would disappear until you acted on it, so, you carefully leaned in and gave the man a gentle kiss upon his cheek. The stubble he grew while away tickling your skin. When you backed up, you gave a kind smile and said, "I won't let you be alone, I promise."

Castiel remained silent, yet his eyes remained connected with yours until something clicked in his mind and they darted right down to your soft, vulnerable lips. He would be lying if he said he never studied them before, but right now the urge he wanted to act on for so long was stronger than ever. When he noticed you doing the same, something snapped. Castiel didn't waste any time to lean in and connect his lips with yours. At first, something told him not to rush or else you'd get scared away. So, he waited for you to make the next move and when he felt your lips sensually move against his, his next move was to do the same. At first, he really had no idea how to go about kissing and all he wanted to do was to impress you in the best way he could. So, he mimicked you, but if you had your eyes open and noticed his furrowed brows, you would instinctively tell he had absolutely no idea what was going on. All he knew was that with you, it felt better than he could have ever imagined.

Exploring your body was perhaps one of the best things he had gotten to experience as a human. Everything was so overwhelming in a way that he never would have dreamed. Though, perhaps the best thing about the entire thing was that it was with you. The way your squirmed underneath him, the sounds you made when he pleasured you, not to mention the way you made him feel was something he wouldn't trade up for the world to the point where he felt almost saddened when his body tired out on you.

Both of you laid on your backs, the sheets covering up to your abdomens, with this dazed looks in your eyes. Still, with that look something in your human mind wanted him to say something. Say anything.

You turned your head to him, his gaze still aimed up. "Well? Say something."

Castiel took in a deep breath, his eyes darting around as you noticed him try to think of something until he said, "There aren't words."

You stared at him before turning on your side, your body still facing him. "So, it was okay?"

This was the time Castiel turned to make eye contact with you. His injured arm raised, the palm of his hand against the back of his head. He stared at you for a moment before saying with a small smile, "Very much so."

You smiled a bit to yourself until you noticed his face go from happy to concerned, which prompted you to get a bit more serious for him. After all, you didn't want to make him feel embarrassed.

"Um.." he mumbled out. His eyes darting down and up again in a nervous fashion as he asked, "What I did, that was, uh.. correct?"

You couldn't help a large smile to snake itself across your lips as you nodded with a soft, "Very much so."

"Good," he said with a look that mirrored yours. And the smile he shined was almost designed to make you even more infatuated with him. And that laugh after--God that laugh--hearing it was everything to you.

You stared at him for a moment before calling his name. His head turning to you as your prompted yourself up and into his chest. He couldn't exactly make eye contact with you, but just having you right next to him, especially in this state, was more than he could ask for.

"Before, my promise? I'd like to add on to it." You suddenly said. The words confusing Castiel greatly, after all, the promise you made to him before was like music to his ears. What more could you say that could make him even more of a fool for a human like you?

"You don't have to." Cas said.

"But I want to." You cut him off and took a deep breath. You turned your head a bit, snuggling into him more and giving him a soft, loving kiss on his chest before saying, "I promise to protect you. To the end of the line because you mean more than family to me."

Castiel didn't waste anytime to take his arm around you, holding you closer if that was even possible. The words you spoke probably meant more to him than anything he's heard in his life. After all, with you, it was like you changed him from the inside out in ways that he never even imagined when he first met you.

"I promise as well, [Name]."

#castiel #castiel x reader #castiel x male reader #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural male reader #castiel fluff #castiel fic #spn fanfiction

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infernal-fire · 3 years

Text

five types of love.

what to expect: smut, swearing, friends w/ benefits arrangement, mention of Imposter syndrome, fluff, angst, heartbreak, overstimulation, implied creampie, rough sex

a/n: a little warning; you will be choosing your ending - there is a happy one and a sad one. a huge shoutout to @mollygetssherlockcoffee and @angrybirdcr for talking to me about the fic and offering such amazing advice! and @tuiccim was so damn lovely, even offered to beta this (though all mistakes are my own).

summary: you once heard that there were eight types of love. you only knew of five; the five that caused you to fall for one, blue-eyed menace.

Ludus: uncommitted, casual love that can attribute to a flirtatious and fun conquest. Not to be mistaken for Eros.

“I think we’re forgetting the reason why the mission failed in the first place. If the older fellow took a suggestion once in a-”

“-Tony, you know damn well that there were civilians in there.”

Steve and Tony glared at each other from across the briefing room. The tension in the room was exorbitant, but then again, it had been that way since Bucky joined the team.

“This is exactly why we need the new girl. You super-soldiers and billionaires are getting tangled up in each others’ asses and forgetting about what it’s like for the normal people,” Rhodey sighed.

“The last thing we need is another trainee fucking up orders,” Tony snorted and began messing with his tech. The projector flipped through random screens, FRIDAY most likely filtering out the irrelevant news.

“If you have a problem, maybe you should say it to his face,” Steve seethed, now standing up to match Tony’s stance. Usually, this type of jab at Bucky wouldn’t rile him up, but the super-soldier was at his wit’s end following the events of the latest mission.

Beside him, Bucky lightly tugged on his friend’s hand, signalling him to disengage.

“You’re with them?” Tony incredulously questioned Rhodey.

“I’m with the idea of calming this room down.”

“Besides, she’s already been prepped for her first mission,” Natasha piped up. “We’re supposed to have a sit-down in 5 minutes... that is, if you boys can get your shit together.”

The room broke out into a chorus of muttering and everyone settled in their seats again. Captain strode to the front of the room and pulled up his game plan, fiddling with the map FRIDAY was projecting.

You, on the other hand, could not decide how to act in front of the Avengers: Laidback? They wouldn’t take you seriously. Know-it-all? No, that was Stark’s play. Timid Tiffany? If you wanted to seem secretly conceited? Sure. That would work for now.

When Vision floated out to bring you in, you didn’t even flinch at the unforeseen phasing. Impressed at your lack of a reaction, Vision faltered before ever-so-courteously introducing himself.

Could this sentient being laugh of his own volition? You gave him your name and dramatically curtsied to test your theory; he could laugh, and you were pleasantly surprised to find that it was not at all robotic.

You felt the room intently eye you as you ambled to your seat beside one, blue-eyed menace. You half-expected the team to introduce themselves, but who were you kidding - anyone could hear the argument from three corridors away. There was no point in pretending like they wanted you here, but that wouldn’t deter you.

You glanced at your neighbour, met with the pleasant face of the one and only. James Buchanan Barnes was known to be a handsome devil, but the reputation of the Winter Soldier often precedes him; that, unfortunately, does not stop you from eyeing him.

When he caught your stare, you scolded yourself. You’re such a creep.

When he smirked at your ogling, you praised yourself. Oh, hello there.

This is gonna be fun.

Eros: sexual, passionate love that is fueled by lust.

It didn’t happen after the first mission; he had the decency to wait until the fourth mission to knock on your door.

You had been putting away the last of your belongings, finally adjusting to the grandiose living conditions the Avengers Tower provided.

As soon as you unlocked your knob, the door flung open; Bucky's stare was partially inhibited by his hooded eyes. He hadn’t always looked at you like that.

Like what?

With unadulterated craving.

That day, he strode in like he owned the place. You didn’t expect the shove that caused you to land on your bed with an oomph. Bucky wasted no time, climbing onto your form, straddling you. By the time you understood what was happening, a single finger was pressed into your lips.

“Either tell me you don’t want this right fucking now,” he leaned in, close to your face, “or shut the fuck up and let me use you.”

You whimpered in response.

“Not good enough.”

“Use me.”

That’s all the affirmation he needed.

You pushed off the bed to try and meet his lips but he firmly pinned you down by your shoulders. Bucky reached into your panties and circled your clit without hesitation. It only took some swivelling, his intense gaze and the unexpected plunge of his fingers in your channel to make you see stars. Bucky had made you come before kissing you.

When he finally slotted his lips against yours, it was nothing short of all-consuming; you hadn’t even realized the absence of clothes on your body. Had it been ten minutes? Or thirty? It was hard to tell when you were being ravaged by another.

He made you come twice more: once with his fingers’ repeated dipping and pressing into the soft, spongy part of your cunt. The second time was with the talented sucking and flicking of his tongue. Technically, it was the third time.

None of your past partners had been this steadfast in their duty to pleasure you. You were already putty in his hands, ready to be moulded according to his needs. Part of you was ready to tap out, unable to fathom the likelihood of coming over his cock again, but the better half of you needed it.

In your orgasmic haze, you failed to notice that his clothes were being discarded - if you did, it would have given you the opportunity to gawk at the body that you so desperately wanted to see shirtless. When you finally registered his naked person, your hand involuntarily traced the connection between the metal arm and flesh. He threw his head back and groaned before kissing you again.

He pulled off, just enough to get a good look.

“Look at you, all fucked out. I didn’t even put my cock in.”

He pumped his shaft with fervour before pushing the blunt head against your slit. You winced at his attempt to put it in.

“Made you cum three times and you’re still too fucking tight,” he muttered and ran his length up and down your folds. Once he had accumulated enough slick he tried again, this time, successful.

You moaned as he slowly sunk in and buried his cock to its absolute limit. If the walls of your pussy had a voice, it would be absolutely hoarse. You also realized that he only bestowed the three orgasms in hopes of reprieving the pain of the stretch. Without the preparation, he might have torn you in half.

When he began moving, the only thing that was slow or soft about him was his lips against your skin. The thrusts were punishing; if it wasn’t obvious that he was angry before, this made it clear as day.

You screamed and moaned, alternating between keening and arching your back; the pleas did nothing to falter his furious pace. The smacking of your skin was only heightened by the slick that your cunt produced in attempts to accommodate his length. Every time he pulled out, his balls were connected to your sex with a string of come.

If someone told you that you could come five times within forty minutes, you would have face painted and dressed them up like a clown.

Now you laid in bed, being used like a rag doll, begging Bucky to stop you from coming a sixth time that session. It was usually the dirty talk that got you off, but he hadn’t said anything aside from the occasional ‘shut up’ or ‘shhh’. His movements alone had you convulsing around his length.

His thrusts didn’t get sloppy. Rather, they increased in force, as his cock sought space beyond your cervix. You tried to scream, but all that came out was more broken tears and cries. At last, he let out a pornographic moan as his load flooded your insides. Sure, you had let past boyfriends come in you, but you never actually felt the liquid shoot up inside you, until today.

Following the pop sound that his cock made as it pulled out, you whined again. You could feel your heartbeat throb down there.

He flipped you onto your stomach and smacked your ass, laughing at the way you sobbed in pain before disappearing from your room altogether.

He was gone as fast as he showed up.

And he ruined everyone else for you.

In all fairness... you asked for it.

Philia: the deep, virtuous love that is formed in a good friendship. Lovers share a strong bond when Eros and Philia feed into each other.

What started as a release from the frustrations that accrue on the battlefield turned into a deep connection that neither of you had anticipated. Sex had only been used as a tool in the act of psychological detachment until that day.

It was a failed date of some sort: either you had been stood up or the guy was a total moron. You could wrack your brain for the memory, but in any matter, it was all irrelevant now.

You were upset, not just at your lack of a love life, but at the imposter syndrome that had weaselled its way into your liveliness. Feeling like you weren’t enough was catching up to your daily life and even Bucky had noticed the hesitation during your post-mission escapades.

Before you knew it, your hand was knocking on Bucky’s door at the ripe hour of 1 AM.

You heard the muffled thumps of his footsteps and considered booking it out of there, but before you made up your mind, the door opened. As you had predicted, Bucky was wide-awake.

“What?”

You had wanted to sass him for his tone but decided against it since you were the one who interrupted his 1 AM activities. You shook your head from the clouds and mumbled incoherently, starting to walk away. The coldness of his metal arm abruptly gripped your wrist.

“Are you okay?”

You hated that question. You could be doing so good, holding in the burden of a horrible week, but the moment someone asks you that question, the dam would disintegrate into dust, only to be washed away by the inevitable waterworks.

The sob you let out didn’t loosen his hold. He let you cry and watched as you tried to wipe away the unrelenting tears, still refusing to close the gap between your bodies. Finally, you shuffled into his arms where he bear-hugged you, cupping the back of your neck and holding it to the junction of his neck.

"You smell nice,” you sniffled.

He lightly chuckled before dragging you into his room and seating you on the bed. He ordered you to stay there and rummaged around his cupboard before pulling out a bottle with red liquid sloshing around.

“You keep that in your room?” you snickered, wiping your nose with the back of your hand, before blanching at your state. Hell, he had seen you naked, how you look right now is the least of your concerns.

“In case of emergencies,” he winked. “This seems like a real emergency.”

A fresh wave of tears pooled in your waterline as you peered at your hands that were picking at each other.

“I don’t have wine glasses, so we can just chug.”

Bucky stuck out the bottle and you grasped it firmly before gulping one-fourth of it. That’s all the coaxing it took to get you to spill.

You don’t even remember what you talked about, but before either of you realized, 3 AM blinked on the digital clock that hung above the bed frame. You were almost asleep, now resting on Bucky’s lap while he occasionally hummed or offered his two cents. Right before you drifted off, the super-soldier lifted you, placing you under a cover. He climbed in from the other side, one hand cupping your face, the other snaking around your waist.

“Thanks, Buck.”

“It’s gonna be okay. You’re okay,” he whispered.

Your eyes drooped but swiftly opened as Bucky leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. His lips barely touched yours, grazing their presence, but you moved, tenderly catching them. He returned the movement, the delicacy of his actions reflected in the softness of his eyes.

You pulled away and the two of you wordlessly bore into each other’s eyes. At last, you succumbed to the fatigue, as did he; both of you resting in the others’ possession.

Mania: an unhealthy, obsessive love that plagues the mind.

It was the third time Bucky didn’t show up at your door after a mission. Three missions, each of them ending in something that would have indubitably pissed him off - after all, they were HYDRA bases. That’s when you first suspected it.

The second was when you noted his intentional avoidance of your presence. Whether it be the kitchen, the gym or the hallways, the stealthy ex-assassin didn’t have trouble actively dodging you. Initially, you chalked it up to wanting space or simply taking a break.

Then you heard it.

Why was it that your gut told you to go right then? All this time you had been biding, yet it was at this precise moment that your hunch asked you to speak to him. It could’ve been the duration of the month that it took you to prepare yourself, but it had to be now. You raised your hand, prepping to knock on the door, but stopped.

Your hand froze mid-air. The elegant laugh of another girl sounded behind the door. It was faint, the noise slightly suppressed by the wall between you.

It could be anyone.

But it wasn’t. Your intuition, the one that told you to come here right now, was wise enough to know that this wasn’t just anyone. It was her.

You cupped your mouth to stop the sob that threatened to liberate itself from the confines of your constricted airway. You fell forward, onto your knees, as if to pray to the gods to not let it happen. But it already did. You let go of your mouth, gasping for air from holding your breath all this time.

Shoulders sagged and spine bent, you stalked back to your room like a zombie. Face devoid of all emotion, you fell onto the corner of your bed and crumpled into a ball. For twelve hours, you laid there. Sometimes sleeping, other times letting the tears leak out of the corners of your eyes. Memories of his fingers weaving through your own, the pleasures that chilled you to the bone. Most of all, the way you held his head to your chest as he whimpered about the nightmares that invaded his nights. It felt like those things happened to someone else. Nothing more than a distant memory.

Your heart clenched, tugging on the heartstring that you once thought was connected to him.

It was as if he knew you stood outside his door that day. There was an unspoken agreement to never speak of it. Yes, yes, don’t ever speak of it. The dam that you built so carefully will come crashing down. He stopped avoiding you, but you wished he didn’t; it was crueller to be reminded, easier to pretend he didn’t exist.

Be honest with yourself.

You didn’t pretend like he didn’t exist.

In fact, the first thought after waking up? Bucky. Last thought before going to sleep? My Buck. Every time he wasn’t around? James Buchanan Barnes.

Please, don’t act like every waking moment isn’t spent loving him. Because deep down, you know what’s true.

He never did introduce the mystery girl to anyone at the Tower, but you knew his disappearance after missions could be credited to her. Did he take out his anger on her as he did to you? Or were you nothing more than a toy?

Guilt was one of the few emotions you could make out from the rare occasions you caught his stare. Longing was there too, but you couldn’t be sure that you weren’t projecting. Months went by, waiting for thoughts of him to abandon your disturbed mind. The time never came.

As promised, he ruined anyone else for you.

Pragma: the type of love that endures all shortcomings. Committed relationships that stay in love have an element of significant Pragma to them.

a happy ending.

That relationship may have ended but it didn’t mean he would come back to you.

He did come back. But he wasn’t yours. Bucky made that clear when two more relationships ensued the last. Each time, the buffer period between them was filled by you.

His back-up plan. That’s what you had been reduced to.

After the third time he brought a new girl, you’d think you would be used to it, maybe even uncaring. Unfortunately, the opposite would always prevail.

Steve caught your fist and tutted, commenting on the bad form. You stopped, shook your shoulders and began hopping on the balls of your feet again. Jab, jab. Swing. At first, you’d imagine the faces of those girls. Nowadays, it was easier to envision the pads Steve held as his best friend’s face.

“Bucky’s girl broke up with him.”

“Oh,” you made out, focus slightly wavering.

“You know what happened?”

“Are you asking me ‘cause you wanna know or because you already know?”

“I already know,” he sighed, lowering the hand pads.

He exhaled your name, shaking his and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “When are you two gonna stop playing around?”

“I really don’t understand, Steve.”

“You know why she broke up with him?” You blinked, tongue poking the inside of your cheek in anticipation of an answer.

“He moaned your name during sex.”

“God, that’s so corny,” you huffed, now beginning to make your way out of the boxing ring.

“So what, you’re gonna do nothing? Keep letting him use you?” Steve jogged to catch up to you.

“No,” you faced him, “I’m not letting him use me as a fallback anymore. I’m putting an end to it.”

Steve pursed his lips and shot you and exasperated look before shaking his head. “Don’t let something good go to waste.”

It used to be something good.

You wondered if you could hold up the promise you had just declared to Steve; in the past, you failed every time he showed up at your door. Bucky knew exactly how to play into your emotions, how to say the right things every time. And just like that, the next morning you’d end up in his arms. That stops today.

Determined, you practically punched the button to go up on the elevator and impatiently tapped your foot. As the doors slid closed, you took one look at yourself and turned away, fighting the urge to fix your appearance for him. The doors opened again and you check the floor number, ready to step out, but stopped at the sound of your name. His ex. You almost ran off, unwilling to put up with an angry ex, but she called on you again. You sheepishly stood there, as if you were the one who did something wrong, until she stepped in and pressed the button to go to the lobby.

The silence stretched on, much like your patience. Does she even know who you are?

“We were both fooling ourselves.”

You turn to check if she was speaking to you. Her stare was unwavering and she maintained eye contact that almost made you squirm.

“We both love different people.” She smiled, an obvious melancholy tainting her face. You stood there, absolutely clueless as to how you should respond.

“It’s too late for me, but it’s not for the two of you. Just... don’t let him go. He’s one of the good ones.”

You turned again, now looking down at the ground. Even if she expected you to say something back, it was impossible, at this point. Your mind was in shambles, everything she said contradicting the choice you made five minutes ago.

After what seemed like an eternity, the doors opened and she stepped out. She turned one last time and nodded as if you knew what to do now.

Bucky’s door was unlocked. You called out his name, barely above a whisper and sauntered with hesitation lining your every step. Nothing. Empty. He wasn’t there.

It was a sign. You almost ignored the advice his ex gave, ready to walk into his room and end things. Your shoulder slumped as if your bore the weight of the world on them as you slunk back to your room. Now it would take another outburst or another month to prepare yourself to talk to him again.

As the days went by, you barely saw him around. It reminded you of the times he intentionally ignored you, except this time, you weren’t sure it was intentional. When you did see him, it was clear that he wasn’t doing good; his beard was unkept and scraggly, the bags under his eyes heavier than any trauma he carried. You pretended as though you didn’t notice and went about your routine.

1 AM

A knock sounded at your door. You knew who it was, how could you not, but hoped it wasn’t him anyway. The encounter would most likely end with tears or sex and you didn’t favour either outcome.

You waited a minute. Maybe he would leave if he assumed you were asleep. The knock sounded again.

You cracked the door open. Whatever you were expecting, surely, it wasn’t this. Eyes red and puffy, it was clear he had been crying and most definitely not sleeping.

He held up a wine bottle, and chuckled pathetically at himself.

“Maybe this is bad idea,” he sniffled and wiped his nose with the sleeve of his left arm.

It didn’t feel right to say anything. Rather, you opened the door wider and beckoned for him to step in.

“Emergency?” you asked with a little smile. God, you were so close to crying and he hasn’t even said anything.

“Oh yeah. Big emergency.”

He sat on your bed and felt the sheets, trying to remember the feeling of it on his knees. The days he would buck into you while you clutched them like a vice. The soldier pursed his lips and watched as you settled beside him.

“You don’t have to talk... if you don’t want to,” you said. Your voice cracked and you almost smacked yourself for being so weak around him.

“But I do. I should talk. I have so much to say... Can I explain?” He turned to face you, reaching out for your hands, holding them in his own. You didn’t say anything, opting to return his request with a pleading look in your eyes. He knew what the look meant: just don’t break my heart. Again. He took a deep breath in acknowledgement, trying to form the words that would help you understand.

“I can’t believe I hurt you. I swear, I didn’t know I was doing it, at first.” You mustered your best unbelieving look, almost scoffing for good measure. “No, really,” he hastily added.

A few tears streamed down your face and you frantically tried to wipe them. Bucky took one look at you before he began breaking down, tears slipping down his face.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to cry... I just- I don’t understand? I thought things were good?” you questioned. You had given up on trying to wipe your tears, as did he.

“I wasn’t supposed to fall for you. And by the time I realized, we were so far in. Then I found a distraction... and I really thought I was over you,” he paused, wondering if he should continue or not. You showed no sign of speaking up, so he went on.

“I didn’t think you cared. I didn’t think you felt the same way. I was so convinced that you wouldn’t blink twice but then... but, I-... I heard you at the door that day. I wanted to kick her out and hold you, but I-...”

“But you what? You what, Bucky?”

“I thought it was too late for us. I thought I ruined everything.”

“Then why are you here now?”

“Don’t be mad,” he murmured, retracting his hands and fiddling with his fingers.

“I don’t think anyone can ever replace what we had. Maybe... still have? Because you’re it for me. I’m sorry it took me this long to realize that. I was on the brink of losing myself.” He looked up at you, eyes brimming with a new wave of tears. He mumbled your name weakly, croaking out a please at the end.

You curled in on yourself and fell into his arms, hoping that was enough of a answer.

“I can’t promise you that everything will be back to normal by tomorrow morning... but with some time, I can learn to trust you again.”

Above you, Bucky hurriedly nodded. At the state he’s in right now, you suspected that you could ask him to sell his soul and he would agree.

“And if you ever break my heart again-,”

“-I would die before that happens,” he finished for you, kissing the top of your head for good measure.

“I love you,” you whimpered, “so fucking much.”

“I love you too. I really love you too,” he affirmed and encased you with his arms again.

Though there had been some rough patches on the road to happiness, with Bucky by your side, you felt as though you could make it through anything; for that, is the power of pragmatic love.

an unfortunate ending.

The tears that would’ve been shed during the ceremony have dried on your pillowcase about five hours ago. Now, you sat beside the team, waiting for her to walk down the aisle.

Bucky looked nervous, as if he were reconsidering his life decisions. The little devil on your shoulder was holding onto every little thing he did: the wrinkle of his forehead, his repeated tugging on the suit and his flustered glancing around. Oh lord, and when he accidentally locked eyes with you? You may have bitten your lip and looked away in contempt but the shoulder-devil was as persistent as ever.

He secretly still wants you.

Shut up.

He wants to call it off.

Get a life.

At last, the lucky girl stood at the end of the winding path and you couldn’t help but sneak a look at the groom. His tension and nervousness crumbled at the sight of her; it was difficult not to feel happy that he had found the one that made him feel this way.

It may have been him for you, but that notion was long forgotten, a nuisance of memory at most. Your love for him, regardless of the storms it has endured, is no longer respected or wanted by either party.

If he loves her, why does he come to you when things get bad?

You shook your head at that, having no answer for the nature of his secret infidelity. It was nothing more than taking out his frustrations on you - much like the old days.

Your reminiscing was cut short when a voice asked everyone to rise for the bride. You stood and straightened out your outfit, flicking off the little white petal that clung to your maroon dress. A hand grasped your own, and you turned to see Steve smile reassuringly. You squeeze his hand in appreciation and turned your attention to the white-clad figure walking down the aisle.

And that’s all you remember. You wish you could recall the rest of the wedding. You really do. Too preoccupied with what was going to happen after the event, you disassociated from the ordeal altogether. No matter how hard you grilled yourself, nothing would come to mind - dissociative amnesia only occurs as a protective coping mechanism during traumatic events; was that what Bucky’s wedding was to you?

What type of question is that?

For once, you agreed with the little red beast that sat on your shoulder. Long ago, the first time you saw someone else Bucky’s arms, the devil pierced the pitchfork right through the angel’s heart. These days, it was all you could think of.

After the bride and groom exchanged ‘I do’s’, you willed yourself to stay a while longer. Your only companion, Steve, slow danced with you in silence, knowing that whatever he says would be of no consolation. Bucky did have half a mind to ask you for a dance, but he saw you leave. You didn’t think anyone did. He waited for you to turn and look at him one last time, but you never did. It’s okay, he thought. I didn’t deserve her anyway.

No one saw you after that.

On your bed, Steve found a single note that didn’t explain anything more than what he already knew. If anything, it simply affirmed that you were gone for good. Your things packed up, no trace of a person ever having lived there. Even if he pulled some strings, it would take years to find you again.

After all, you had already been lost for quite some time.

hey folks. i know this seems a little desperate-sounding but i would really appreciate reblogs and would absolutely love to hear your thoughts on the story. what was you favourite part? which part made you feel some way? i really love knowing these things. love each and every single one of you.

Masterlist

Shoot me a message or fill out the form in my bio to be added to my tag list!

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan fic #sebastian stan character #bucky barnes #bucky fic #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you

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resinatingbeauty · 3 years

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~•The Essentials For Your General Magick Cabinet •~

I create intuitively chosen mystery ensembles inspire by the occult, witchcraft, and mythology where many of my own handcrafted creations fill the box in my Etsy shop, thus, I often am asked by those new to Witchcraft or who are beginning to explore different aspects of their spiritually to include 'the essentials', or whatever it is I think would benefit someone who is just delving into the world of new age spirituality and witchery.

It doesn't matter what books you read or blogs you may follow, there always seems to be some inconsistencies here and there regarding what tools are 'essential' for a beginner. Sure, there's a lot regarding the altar and shrine set up, but what if you do not have the space to dedicate to an altar? What if you prefer to perform your craft on the fly, or find yourself leaning toward secular practices rather than devoting yourself to deity worship?

The handful of tools and supplies I have put together here covers pretty much any ordinary practice that would take place in any spell or ritual and give you an inexpensive basis from which you may build upon as you continue learning, practicing, and exploring what ignites your spark and helps to recover your light. :)

•White Candles or Tea Lights (And Matches or a Lighter)- One may enter any Family Dollar or Dollar Tree and find multipacks or single white candles or tea lights in abundance. Many spells call for a specific colored candle to be used that corresponds with the purpose or intentions to be expressed or manifested. This extends beyond what is known as 'candle magick' and falls into a category I personally just learned was called 'sympathetic magick'- which is a fancy word for choosing spell or ritual tools, components, and supplies that have some kind of symbolic or intrinsic association to what you desire. The act of creating the right atmosphere for manifesting your will is a type of magick unto itself that can extend well beyond an altar or shrine. Picking the corresponding moon phase, time of day and day of the week, herbs, oils, and candle colors are all forms of sympathetic magick, with candle color probably being the easiest aspect to understand and acquire. White Candles may be substituted for any colored candle that a spell or ritual may call for, as white is considered the absence of color, you may imprint upon it whatever color you desire it to be. This kills the need for a large stash of chime candles or votives of all different colors. Sure, it's nice to have the appropriate color a spell calls for and having such in your possession does help conjure the atmosphere whoever created the spell intended to conjure, but in a pinch, any white candle or tea light with something to light them with will work just as well as that pink or red candle for your love spell or whatever it may be you are attempting.

•Clear Quartz Crystals- Clear Quartz only recently became semi-scarce due to over mining and demand, though one may still purchase Clear Quartz crystal points in bulk for around $10-15 for a 100 gram bag on Amazon and beyond, where if you prefer raw stones over tumbled and polished, you may be able to get them even cheaper. Clear Quartz is believed to be the 'Master Healer' by Reiki Masters, as it possesses many different healing properties in addition to cleansing, grounding, and aligning the chakras. In witchcraft, Clear Quartz is used in many different rituals as it is an amplifier of energy that can enhance the efficacy and success rate of spells and manifestations aside from amplifying the energy of any and all other components and crystals around it. Clear Quartz may be readily substituted for any crystal, should a crystal be called for in any sense, and its abundance in nature and online make it an essential choice for having on hand for everything from creating Charging or Moon Water, creating crystal grids, talismans, spell jars, mojo / Gris Gris bags, or simply placing in your home or on your altar to help facilitate whatever you may be attempting to conjure or manifest at any time.

•Olive Oil- it's no joke that essential oils, especially those that are organic or completely natural and high quality are quite expensive. If one were to purchase even just the handful of essential oils commonly mentioned in most witchy books, occult texts, and herbalist grimoires, you would be looking at a good $30-$60 investment for the basics. Olive Oil, on the other hand, may not be particularly cheap at the grocery store, but when you consider the amount you get for the price compared to the .33fl oz bottles of essential oils, you are getting quite a bargain and a tool that may be substituted for any particular oil something may ask you to use, including for dressing / anointing candles and ritual tools. The ancient Greeks and Romans often used Olive Oil as an offering to the Gods, and it has long been considered a sacred nectar in many different religions. If you already have a selection of essential oils, you may use Olive Oil as a carrier oil to make them last longer by diluting them and rebottling them or to make your own essential oil blends and ritual oils. Olive Oil is naturally pure and will allow your oil blends to work with most diffusers and burners while providing a hypoallergenic carrier option should you wish to apply any to your skin.

•Salt- So many things salt may be used for and so many reasons to keep a stash of salt around set aside for spiritual endeavours. Sea Salt in particular is a component of many spells, rituals, potions, and magickal concoctions. It is representative of the element of Earth and is associated with many simple practices you can easily integrate into your daily rituals for cleansing, banishing, and protection. Using salt for cleansing offers a no-burn, inexpensive, sensitivity friendly option for the modern witch that can be purchased on the cheap virtually anywhere that sells things.

•Sage- The next few items are more essential for the diligent witch putting together their toolbox, as one can avoid the herbal aspects of witchcraft entirely if they desire to with many more modern texts not blending the old world concepts of herbalism/ old world medicine being akin to magick. Sage is often burned for cleansing purposes, either in smudge or incense form, but it may also be substituted for any herb a spell may call for, provided you are not trying to concoct a definitive product or recipe as a result. Sage may be easily grown within your own home- I myself have a common Sage plant I grow indoors and have been reading the benefits ever since I purchased the starter from a small nursery in Kentucky, as I never seem to have any luck sprouting seeds myself. Sage may be added to spell jars and the like as easily as one would add a handful of crushed Clear Quartz for the added benefit of maintaining a cleansed vessel for manifestation. Sage incense may also be substituted the same way.

•Roses- Roses and Rose Petals have always been associated with love spells and love potions, but many do not realize that Roses have a positive energy so profound, that vibrates on so many levels, that they may be adapted to serve virtually any purpose in any spell or spiritual practice, not just spells associated with love, romance, or sexuality.

•A Bell or Bells- Whether you wish to drop the money on an intricate antique or visit your local consignment store or dollar store and pick up some used school bells or jingle bells, the bell and bells are probably the most underrated tool a witch can utilize, like, ever. Bells have a long multicultural history of providing blessings of prosperity, protection, and good luck, with many beliefs rooted around the belief that the ringing of a bell resonates throughout the fabric of the cosmos, reverberating across space and time. Percussive instruments, as bells are, are often used for cleansing rituals and spiritual healing. It is often stated that ringing a bell 'resets' the atmosphere and energy around you, effectively banishing negativity and providing a blank slate for conjuring new energy and any other spiritual activities. Don't balk at the bells!

If you're the creative type, you may create what are known as 'Witch's Bells,' often made from wreaths or braided twine, beaded rings, etc with three or more bells attached meant to be hung off the doorknob of the entrance to your space or they may be made as a handheld tool to be used for regular rituals. These are then blessed or enchanted in some way that depends on the practitioner and the purpose they wish them to serve.

What about those of us that have limited storage space? Or those that may not be able to light candles or incense due to living arrangements or allergies? This is where myself and many others can step in and offer you a hand. In my own shop, I offer hand crafted and personalized / customized spell kits created for your specific needs that will provide you all the materials for any specific spell or ritual you desire. There are other sellers that offer similar options, some that are personalized and others more general, but if you are looking for something more 'disposable' to be at your disposal at any given time, this may be worth looking into.

My own spell kits range anywhere from $12-$35 depending on what it is you request and the materials you require. As I cater to all skill levels and handicaps in terms of what one can feasibly perform or utilize in any given situation, if you do happen to have a particular spell in mind but have no idea how to proceed in your current situation,I will be more than happy to consult with you and hand select or create a spell kit with detailed instructions and tools to aid you on your spiritual journey, regardless of your destination. As I take great pleasure in assisting others in manifesting their dreams and desires, I will always work with you and put your needs above your budget.

Just some food for thought for those of you who have been blindly purchasing items for spells or spiritual endeavours to have on hand 'just in case' and to remind everyone that magick and successful manifestation is less about the 'stuff' and very much about your intentions when using it to conjure energy and become the catalyst for change, however you proceed to do so.

Wishing everyone a blessed weekend and throwing a friendly reminder out there that the current sale that has been ongoing in the shop will be ending soon- this will be the last until next month so please take advantage if you have had your eye on something. I will be retiring some older designs at the end of September 2021 for recreation / re imagining and to pursue new and better concepts to take other's places. These designs will go on one last farewell sale during the month for a good 25%-50% off until they are sold out. As always, I appreciate everyone's support of my Craft and crafts. It has been a pleasure to work with and get to know so many amazing people! A dream come true to do this full time!

-Samantha

Owner, Designer, Creator, Chaos Witch & Spiritualist 20+ Years Practice

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demonologistfucker · 3 years

Text

Free Angel GN! Angel MC x Obey Me, Part 1

Summary: You are the third Angel to be welcome in Diavolo’s exchange program. This is the first time in your life that you are free from any Angelic codes, and you’re interested to indulge. You can’t explore hell alone though, so you’ll be given the Avatar of Wrath as a guardian.

This is my writing out the AU i had for my own mc, but as an MC insert. This first chapter is SFW, but if I continue, there will be NSFW smutty chapters. This Angel wants to have some fun in hell, and is Poly so ✨

Word Count: 3459

“Are you excited?” Simeon looked down to Luke. Who was fussing over his own clothes. Making sure everything was neat and presentable.

“Of course not,” Luke huffed. “This is going to be the worst year.”

“I don’t know about that,” MC grinned as they rocked back onto their heels. “We’re going to learn quite a lot.” So much about the Devildom had been kept away from the angels. MC was created by God after the revolution. All they had ever been told was what to fear about the devils and their land. However, MC knew there were gaps in the story. Noticed the longing that flared in Simeon’s eyes whenever The Morningstar and his family were brought up. Which is why, as the magic circle began to glow, MC felt a great excitement. Luke watched the magic circle glow with wide eyes. While Simeon continued on as if nothing was changing.

“Try to keep an open mind, Luke. The Devildom is not all bad.” Simeon patted Luke’s head. “You might even make some friends.” just as the magic circle completed. Reality spluttered for a second, and then everything was dark.

“Absolutely not!” Luke’s shrill voice was all that MC could sense. Then they tasted the air, cool and tinged with sulfur. “Make friends with Demons? I could never!” Luke prattled on while his eyes adjusted. After several blinks, MC could see the palace they stood in. The grandeur was almost repulsive. Gold trim and deep red walls. It was the beauty of wealth and statues.

“I hope you’ll be able to make friends during your stay.” A deep voice said from behind. MC spun around, and then had to crane their head upward to see who was there. His broad smile was so warm that it clashed with the royal regalia the man was dressed in. The red jacket with a medallion on the shoulder. MC scrunched their nose, wondering why Hell would choose to continue earths obsession with war decoration. “Thank you for joining us.” The Man continued, and he bowed his head to the Angels. “I am Lord Diavolo, Prince of the Devildom. As well as the head of the exchange program.”

“Thank you for having us,” Simeon smiles as he walks over to the prince. Without hesitation, the two embrace in a familiar hug.

“I’m just so happy the program worked.” Diavolo rubs the back of his neck. “The humans will be coming this evening. So I’ll be able to help you all settle in and still make it for the humans.” Simeon and Diavolo continued to talk about details. Mainly the excitement over the humans. While Luke looked on with a fury.

“I can’t believe Simeon is being so familiar with the Demon Lord.” Luke crossed his arms. “We cannot befriend the enemy.”

“Yah.. Enemy.” Mc can feel something tighten in their stomach. Instead of processing that, the angel turns to look about the palace a little more. Now that they knew what the Prince looked like. Some portraits on the walls made more sense. The one that caught the angel’s eye was of a young Diavolo. He stood alone in a field of red. A skull of a dragon under his foot, and a toy left in the distant background. It had been commissioned to show the great power Diavolo had ever as a child. Unintentionally, it spoke some truth. A small child alone in a field. Left with death at his feet.

“I won’t be able to be around much in your day to day, I’m afraid.” Diavolo was now standing to face the whole group. So MC turned their attention back to the conversation. “But I do want to do my best to keep your stay in my realm as comfortable as possible. If there is anything we can do, please let us know.”

“Is there a way we can go back?” Luke asks with great seriousness.

“Luke!” Simeon gasps.

“That is what would make me most comfortable,” Luke huffs and crosses his arms.

“Luke, you can’t just-.” Simeon rubs the space between his brow.

“It’s fine,” Diavolo shrugs it off. “We all process homesickness in our own way. The spell to move between heaven and hell is a powerful one. So we truly won't be able to do this till next year, but if there is anything else we can do. Do ask and I will try to accommodate. Lucifer should be here soon, and he will bring you to your dormitories. As well as go down the basic rules of staying here.”

“Rules?” Mc asks, finally speaking up.

“Not much but briefly - Michael requested that you three still follow your codes, but there is no way for them to actually check.” Diavolo puts a hand on his chest. “One of our realms defining features is that your god’s awareness cannot reach here. So the rules you must follow are the rules of the devildom and whatever you personally value. Our rules you’ll find are much more lax.” Luke gasps in horror, but excitement only brewed within MC.

Two men in uniform walk into the Palace hall. One walks directly to Lord Diavolo’s side. Dark hair falling into a shock of green that followed framed half his face. They were stiff and despite the collected look. MC could see the anxiety running through their spine. The other kept a distance from the Angels. A cool dark look, judging each of them openly.

“My Lord we must be going.”

“I don’t have any more time?” Diavolo’s face falls.

“No, your next meeting has already begun.” They kept their voice rather calm, but their eyebrow twitched.

“Alright,” Diavolo sighs, but turns back to the angels quickly. “I truly hope you enjoy your stay in the Devildom. It’s an honor to have you here.” With that, Diavolo is ushered away.

“Now who could that brooding gentleman be,” Simeon was once again walking up to the strange demon. Though the man looked as disagreeable as before. He did let Simeon hug him. Only adjusting his jacket the moment he was free.

“You know who I am,”

“I am asking for the children,” Simeon looks back to Luke and MC. While Luke gets all huffy about their age. MC is truly an adult by the fact that they can just roll their eyes and get over it.

“My name is Lucifer,” He bow slightly to the three angels. “Avatar of Pride, and right hand to Lord Diavolo. When you need his help, come to me.” Lucifer sharpens his gaze on MC. “Diavolo is very busy, and I would prefer you to bother me than him.” Then his glare moved to Luke. Who paled and shuffled towards Simeon. “Now, if you will follow me. I’ll lead you to your housing for the year.” Lucifer walked briskly out of the Palace. “ Compared to the celestial realm, the Devildom functions much more like earth. The city is based on a money exchange. We will provide a small allowance once a month, but if you want to indulge, you’ll have to get a job.” Lucifer says all of this while walking briskly out of the Palace. Luke grumbles about nearly having to run, and MC has to fight back a laugh. “If you stay within the Devildom your life will be remarkably like that on earth. With a key distinction that there will be demons who lust for your blood every so often, and there is no sun.” Lucifer swung open the front door of the palace. Exposing the dark courtyard beyond, and the block void of the sky. Illuminated on the horizon was The Devildom. The glowing sector of Hell where Demons and spirits lived their personal lives. It glowed beautifully, and illuminated the Palace like a setting sun.

Normally, this effect was made greater by the fact that the courtyards had no lights. If one was to see, it was their own gift, or from the light of the city. The angels broke this by having their own innate glow. Casting warm shadows against the cool nature of hell. Lucifer glanced at the glow with mild annoyance. Normally, the walk from the palace to the road was his moment of peace. Now each step he was reminded about the great task this year would be.

“To help with the exchange, we have enrolled you three in the local university. There you can learn about how the systems of hell truly function, as well as our magical training programs. We have some of the most skilled magic users training with us.” Part of Diavolo’s plan was to show what Hell was truly worth. The eons didn’t pass without change, and under Diavolo that change was being brought to its most refined point. Lucifer himself had led many of the projects to start translating Hell’s data into deeper means of understanding… Books with narrative instead of strings of numbers or archaic runes.

“So you won’t be making us torture humans?” Luke snaps.

“Only if you want to.” Lucifer doesn’t even look back to Luke. He knew enough about the little angel to know it would start on a rant if provoked. He was already battling a headache and couldn’t stand the thought of being lectured by a child.

“I could never!” Luke brings his hand to his chest.

“Then you won’t.”

“What will we be learning then?” MC asks.

“Standard education for someone new to our system. History of the Devildom, Grimm economics, Devildom literature, Alchemy and potions 101, art, athletics,” Lucifer twirls a hand around. “The basics,”

“Oh that sounds… Fun” MC grimaces.

“Did you come here to have fun?” Lucifer glances back at the angel.

“So what if I did?” MC tries to be defensive, but can’t help cracking into a smile. It was rather funny seeing the confused look on Lucifer’s face.

“MC! We are not here to have fun, we have to learn and do as much research for our arch-”

“I know Luke,” MC groans. “We’re allowed to have Some fun.”

“Indeed,” Lucifer nods. “None of the classes should take all your time, so you’ll be able to have your own time. If you want to explore the Devildom please go in pairs. While you have Diavolo’s blessing, not all demons listen to authority. There is no promising what a rogue demon would do to a lone angel.”

MC scrunches up their face, which makes Simeon laugh. Meanwhile, Luke is actually trembling.

“Oh Luke, you look like a scared puppy.” Simeon tries to keep his voice sympathetic, but the hint of laughter is clear.

“A little chihuahua,” Lucifer smiles.

“I am not a chihuahua!” Luke shrieks!

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Purgatory Hall was a lot more comfortable than MC had expected. The interior was surprisingly bright and cozy. Though still favoring the overly ornate and plush. MC was wandering aimlessly through the halls. Luke was still hurt from the chihuahua incident by the time they were done getting situated. So Simeon had taken Luke out to get something sweet to make up for it. While at the time, MC had said they wanted to stay here and explore the house. They were now realizing that was a foolish choice. After looking in the rooms once, MC was more than satisfied with exploring the house. So now they were draped across the couch. Flipping idly through their D.D.D. When MC opens the messages to pulls up Lucifer.

“You said I shouldn’t go out by myself. Simeon and Luke are often a pair without me. I could just risk it?” Dots appear quickly.

“No, let me find you a guide.”

Lucifer leaned back. Thinking about which of his brothers, he wants to make baby sit an angel. No one who might find it enjoyable like Asmo or Beel. He already planned on having Mammon for the human...

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

“Satan, would you be a guide for one of the Angel exchange students?”

“Are you actually asking me?” Satan looks over the top of his reading glasses.” Or are you just telling me in a passive manner.”

“It’s not passive,” Lucifer crosses his arms.” Answer my question.”

“No,” Satan leaned back into his chair. Lifting his book up to block Lucifer from view.

“You are just saying that because I am asking you.”

“Yes,” Satan smiles.

“Which is why I am going to make you do it.” Lucifer smiles back. “I think it will be an informative experience for you.”

“Informative?” Satan can feel the fires in his stomach boiling over, but his keeps his composure calm. It was centuries of practice. “As if I don’t hear enough about the celestial realm from you?”

“You hear our side of it, and now you can learn another.” Lucifer looks so sure of his convictions that it made Satan want to lift his chair and throw it through a wall. Instead, he took a deep breath for seven seconds and let it out in ten.

“How do you intend on making me do this?” Satan propped his elbow on the armchair, and then his head in his hand.

“I will tell Diavolo you refused to use your strength and knowledge to help his exchange program. If the angels are to learn the best qualities of Hell. Who is better informed than you? No harm would come to that angel with you near.” Lucifer has pride in many things. Not just himself, and that was one of his worst qualities. The way he looked at Satan with such knowing. Then how it could vanish into cold apathy. “It’s lazy work, really. You could have an audiobook in your ear if you truly needed it.”

Satan looked from Lucifer and down to the floor. Then he switched which way he was leaning in the chair. Fidgeting as he thought. Trying to find a way to accept that he will have to do this. Without having to agree with Lucifer.

“Fine, I don’t want to be lectured by Diavolo as well as you.” Satan begins to read his book again. “When do I start?”

“Now, they want to explore.” Lucifer’s face was full of mirth. If Satan showed that he was irritated, that would only play into what He wanted. So Satan sighed as he picked up the bookmark and wedges it in.

“The angels will be living in Purgatory hall, correct?” At least Satan could show he’d be competent in the task.

“Indeed. MC is an Angel a little younger than you and will not know what to expect in the Devildom.”

“That we’re not all monsters or that monster’s still exist?” Satan slowly took of his glasses. Cleaning the lenses before tucking them away.

“Bit of both. Which you’re a perfect example of. ” Lucifer ignore the scowl that rips across Satan’s face. Instead, tapping his watch. “They asked me for a guide an hour ago, so I would appreciate it if we could hurry up.” Satan stands up and again takes a deep breath. Then many more. A deep breath each step of the way to purgatory hall. Asmo was hanging out in the hallway, but the moment they saw Satan. Asmo found an excuse to leave.

It was right up to the moment that Satan knocked on the door. That’s when he took one final breath and let the tension fall from his shoulders. Suddenly the portrait of composure with a grace in his eye. The door opened easily, and there stood MC. Satan was shocked to see that, despite being an angel. They had changed out of any holy robes and into something more comfortable. There wasn’t the annoying level of arrogance Satan had come to expect. Off to a good start, it would seem.

“Hello, My name is Satan. Lucifer sent me to be your guide.” Satan bowed slightly and smiled brightly as he stood up. His green eyes were glowing with genuine warmth.

“Oh, awesome,” MC rocked back on their heels. “I don’t really know where to go. I just want to see… stuff?” MC shrugs and smiles sheepishly. Satan felt something new in his chest. This Angel was genuinely curious about the Devildom.

“I know lots of lovely spots. Do you want some history or a bit of culture?” Satan raises a brow. Looking at MC as if they were co conspirators on some great plan. MC’s heart pick up the pace.

“Why not both?”

“Good choice,” Satan offers an elbow to the Angel. With flushed cheeks, the Angel accepts. “A friend of mine commissioned a new branch in the museum nearby. It’s full of artifacts that were destroyed by invades. Now in the Devildom we can restore the artifacts and get first-hand facts on the culture.”

“An accurate history or ones written by victors?”

“Accurate, of course,” Satan looks almost offended. “We are not on any side of humanities battles.”

“You like their military regalia.”

“I don’t. Those in charge think it’s pretty.” Satan rolls his eyes. “One part of hell is under strict authority, and another is nearly pure anarchy.”

“Anarchy with demons must get interesting.” MC tries not to giggle. “I have the image of Demons fighting to create and making utter chaos.”

“You’re close, just throw in some packs working together, and rogues wandering around the city trying to push their chaos were ever. The principles of anarchy aren’t too bad, actually. I’ve read the literature, but in practice with magic beings, too many hot heads can ruin it for the rest.”

“There’s so many rules in Heaven,” MC sighs and rocks their head back. “Anarchy sounds terrifying, but also refreshing? If that makes sense.”

“It does,” Satan nods. “What sort of rules does heaven have?”

“Well, the rules of angels and people are different.” Satan nods instead of saying, Obviously. “For angels, we literally have a mandated outfit. Can’t wear anything but the one holy look. We cannot stray remotely close to any sins, and must keep peace at all times. Which isn’t difficult with 1000 of human souls all wanting their own ideal conflicting paradise.” MC tenses with the anger, and then lets it slide out. “Sorry about that-”

“Don’t apologize,” Satan squeezes the Angel’s arm a little. “You got more than the right to be annoyed with such treatment. Speak what you feel.” MC looks up at Satan with bright eyes.

“If I have to sing in another chores for God, I will scream.”

“You should! Screaming is cathartic.” The talk the whole way to the museum and through it. Both have more than enough to say, and genuinely want to hear the other. Satan has carefully made opinions and seems to be educated in every topic under the sun. The Niches of thing MC thinks of Satan can keep up with. He also seems to have causes at least half of the wars which destroyed the artifacts now on display. “Alexander was rather easy to manipulate,” Satan hums. “Just had to bat my eyes at him and ask if that’s what he really wanted. He would be up for anything after that.” Satan can’t keep back his mischievous grin.

“Did you… Seduce Alexander the Great?”

“And helped kill him.” Satan smiles proudly. “He was an asshole, but fun to play with it.” Now Satan looks off with a distance in his eyes. Clearly lost in the past, where he could saunter about Rome. Arm and Arm with a brutal conquer.

“How often do you accompany brutal killers?” MC asks with a sharp look.

“This is where our working on opposite sides could come to a point,” Satan chuckles. “I am the avatar of wrath. I accompany most of the greatest killers. Push them to indulge just a bit more. If not me, one of my many underlings is probably there.”

“Funny,” MC says with a rather serious face. “I haven’t been given a title yet, but I spent the last century working with the angels in the peace department.”

“Oh that is some hard work,” Satan looks over to the Angel. MC had been prepared for Satan to look annoyed, but instead he looked more impressed. “Humans are so easy to manipulate with their emotions. Peace is going against their instincts.” By now, Satan and MC had entered the museum. Other demons milled about. Quickly commenting on the pieces of history elegantly on display. The explanations that come with each piece are at best wordy paragraphs. At worst, there is an essay attached. MC is saved from any reading by having Satan in toe. He knows all the information backwards and forwards, and the fact he’s more curious about the Angel. Saves MC from having to sit through lecture after lecture. Satan pauses to breath, and to hear the Angel’s own thoughts.

----- Rest of the museum date will be finished if people show interest in it.

A/N: Thank you for reading! If you have any requests for what Angel MC get’s up to feel free to ask! If people actually like this I’ll writing more parts consistently. If not more will just come as I feel like it.

#my writing #gn!mc #Gn!Mc x obey me #gn!MC x Satan #obey me!#Angel MC!#Angel MC! Obey me #fanfiction #writing #Obey me! Satan #Obey me! Lucifer #Obey me! Simeon #Obey me! Luke #Obey me! Diavolo

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r3almellow · 3 years

Text

Pregnancy Headcanons/Scenario: Gavin

I hope you don’t mind, but I just decided to make this into a pregnancy headcanon post! I figured it would be easier to explain what our Bird Cop would do and how he’d handle things overall.

Warning: Pregnancy

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How you tell him

You became suspicious after not being able to keep certain foods down the sudden fatigue and a week into you missing your period.

It was only a matter of time before you got pregnant. There were a lot of times when both of you were so caught up in the heat of the moment and neglected to use protection.

The minute you find out, you’re coming up with different ways to tell him.

You’ve gone from thinking about buying matching leather biker jackets one with “Biker Dad” and the other “Biker Baby” embroidered on the back to telling him over dinner at a nice restaurant.

So many ideas, but you settled for something simple. Buying two house plants to add to your homes collection. Both were succulents that matched with the one he currently owned, Greenie, but had their own unique traits.

You excitedly show him the new plants when he gets home from work.

“I even came up with names!” You point to one that was predominantly green with a pink outline. “This one is Cutie because I thought it looked cute.” Then you point to the smallest one and suddenly the anxiety within you starts to bubble.

“And this one is Baby.” He looks at you confused. “Baby?”

“B-baby...” You say again this time shifting awkwardly, not as confident as you had been before. “Because its so small...”

He repeats the word once more as if trying to understand its meaning and as the seconds go by the anxiety builds further. Maybe you weren’t straightforward enough in your efforts to surprise him.

As if a lightbulb dings in his mind, his face lights up and suddenly you’re in his arms, enveloped in the tightest of hugs.

If there was any doubt in your mind that Gavin wasn’t going to accept you or the baby, that gets thrown out the window. He’s beyond happy because this is all he’s ever wanted.

Having a family with you was only something he believed could only be achieved in a dream.

“I’m going to be a... We’re going to be... You have no idea how happy I am. I promise I’ll..” He trails off as if to catch himself and pulls out of the hug. His elated expression turning serious.

“I-I mean...if you want to. Whatever you want to do I’ll stand by you.” No surprise that Gavin puts your needs and happiness before his own.

You can only smile up at him with misty eyes. “I want to have this baby with you.”

During the pregnancy

Spoils the hell out of you! Whatever you want, he’ll get it. No matter how far or what time it is, your man will go through hell and back to make sure you’re satisfied.

Want chocolate covered gummy bears with cinnamon sprinkled all over them, but the only store that’s open at 3AM is halfway across town? Say no more.

Even when you don’t want to bother him, Gavin will take it upon himself to get even the smallest of things for you.

Will go to all of your appointments and parenting classes even if it means taking on less missions. Don’t even try to convince him to do otherwise. If he has to choose between you and work, it’ll be you every time.

If, for whatever reason, he can’t be with you for a doctor appointment, he sends Minor in his place.

You do have an electric guardian angel watching over you as well, so even when Gavin’s away you’re not entirely alone.

As the months go on, Gavin will become very protective of you and refuses to let you lift a finger.

He cooks all the dinners when he’s home and does all the housework. Won’t even let you pick up a broom.

Massages! Tons of massages! The minute you start complaining about your feet or back, his hands are ready.

Work? While he won’t stop you from working until way later into your pregnancy, he will try to convince you to take on a lesser workload.

He maaaaaay take a quick trip over to LFG to talk to your investor, just so the man knows not to stress you out. Don’t worry he’s just gonna talk to him.

Handles your mood swings surprisingly well. Half of the time its because he does whatever you want and the other half is because he hates seeing you cry or upset.

Only a handful of times has he been strict about certain things that could potentially harm you. Not even your cutest of pouts can change his mind when he wants to protect you and the baby.

Has a few parenting books lying around and will be a bit embarrassed if you gush about how hard he’s trying to prepare.

Once your stomach starts growing and you start to feel insecure about your appearance, Gavin will do all he can do reassure you that you are the most beautiful woman on the planet and that he’s lucky to be in the presence of someone so perfect.

For every part of you that you highlight as being unattractive he’ll kiss it.

You don’t like how big your breasts have gotten? You hate the sight of your stretchmarks or how your shirts can no longer cover your protruding stomach? Expect a barrage of kisses your way.

Gavin will fight every doubt you have so he can make his girl feel beautiful.

Speaking of your body, Gavin would be a liar if he said he didn’t love the changes happening to your body for his own selfish reasons.

You going up two bra sizes has been nothing but a blessing in Gavin’s eyes. Of course you’ve always been perfect to him, but you know...

Has offered to massage your breasts whenever you talk about them being too sensitive. Most of the time you take him up on that offer knowing full well that he wants more than just to ease you of your discomfort.

Not that you’re complaining because the way your sexual appetite has opened since being pregnant and having a man who wants to do nothing but please you like the service top he is?! You’re in heaven!

By the time you’re in your 3rd trimester its hard for you to do the simplest of things, so expect Gavin to offer his services.

Even showering has become difficult so he’s more than happy to help while you’re riddled with embarrassment.

“This is so embarrassing...”

“What’s there to be embarrassed about. It’s not like I haven’t see any of this before.”

There will be times when Gavin will feel nervous about parenting. He won’t bring such feelings to your attention, but if you pick up on it make sure to shower him with words of encouragement.

“You’re a good man, Gavin, and I know you’ll be a great father.” “Starting a family with someone who is as loving and caring as you, I can honestly say I’m lucky.” “Our baby is going to have parents who will love them unconditionally.” “They’ll love you just as much as I do.” “Just think, all the other parents will be so jealous over how amazing our kid will be. They’ll have your looks and sense of duty and my...well....everything else!”

If you’re not already married, at some point he’ll ask you to marry him, but will assure you that you being pregnant isn’t the reason he’s asking. This has been something he’s been thinking about for a while now. Your pregnancy just pushes him to actually take the step.

He probably already had a ring picked out way before all of this.

And don’t worry, he’s not just going to ask all casual-like. He’ll put a lot of thought into how and when to ask you. Who knows, maybe your little bundle of joy will be present by the time the wedding actually happens.

The weeks leading up to your due date his job has been very accommodating, giving him work that doesn’t require him to be too far from you and is mostly him directing his subordinates from a safe distance (as per your request).

Labor

When your water breaks you’re in the car with your prepacked hospital bag and make it to the hospital in record time.

Gavin is a nervous wreck, but he doesn’t let it show. This isn’t about him. This is about you and this new life you were about to bring into the world.

Of course he’ll be with you the whole time. The whole twelve to thirteen hours you spend in labor he doesn’t move an inch unless its to give the doctor space.

Gavin wants to see it all and be of help to you in anyway possible. If the doctor asked him to deliver the baby he’d do it in a heartbeat.

When its time, Gavin is all in and does his best to provide you comfort in anyway he can.

Seeing you cry and breathing heavily as the doctor instructs you to push and not being able to take the pain away is hard for him.

All he can do is hold your hand, every so often kissing the back of it and giving you words of encouragement.

“You’re doing great, beautiful.” “Breathe. Just like that.” “I know...just keep breathing and push, okay?”

You can curse him out if you want or squeeze his hand reducing it to nothing but a compressed remnant of what use to be; he doesn’t care. Use him to relieve you of the pain.

By the end of it all, Gavin is in complete awe.

From the way you look up at him with tears streaming down your face completely drenched in sweat to the sounds of the crying child as the nurses remove the excess fluids to you holding them in your arms, Gavin’s heart is full.

He can feel his eyes burn with tears threatening to fall at the sight of the love of his life and baby. The mother and child. His family.

And when he gets to hold the baby, Gavin is shaking with nerves, but not enough to disturb the child laying peacefully in his arms.

The baby will look up at Gavin with eyes that mimic their father’s golden ones before they slowly drift to sleep.

“They feel safe with you.” You’ll say tiredly as the nurses tend to you. “How can you tell?”

“Because being in your arms is the safest place in the world.”

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Been sitting on this bad boy for a while now! Hope you all enjoyed the read and if you want more MLQC stuff make sure to check out my masterpost!

#mr love #mr love gavin #mlqc #mr love queens choice #mlqc gavin #gavin #mldd #mr love dream date

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lunarianillusion · 3 years

Text

A change in fate

a maribat fanfic

Chapter 09

When the final school bell of the day finally rang Marinette and her pack practically bolted from the building, before the braindead could catch them. When outside she told the others to go on ahead without out her, telling them she would meet them back at the hotel, and that she had to quickly grab something from her room. Chloe was a bit hesitant since the toxic shepherd and her herd were still lurking, but Marinette reassured her as best as she could making her lead the other three away.

The omega made quick work of avoiding her parents, not caring for what they possibly could have said in her migraine induced morning, and up to her room. After slipping in through the trap door the hidden kwami’s all came out of hiding. All very happy to see that the young guardian had recovered from the past morning.

The omega smiled softly at the little gods that cared for her wellbeing. She was truly happy to have found away to release the kwami’s from the box confines. Giving them a small piece of freedom, they needed. She hoped to give them true freedom one day, but for now they needed to focus.

“It is time for step two,” The noirette said, gaining the complete attention from all the little gods. Then they turned to one and other a silent conversation among the concepts of the world and gave each other a firm nod of agreement. “We are all ready to proceed young guardian,” Longg spoke firmly with the slightest hint of longing. She could tell and could not blame him for wishing to meet with his possible soul bearer, but she could not trust the dragon’s soul bearer just yet.

The guardian’s blue eyes turned to onto the light turquoise kwami nearby. “Are you ready?” The snake gave her a small grin. “I am.” “You better take good care of her, understood,” Pollen buzzed while giving Sass a fireless glare. To which he chuckled in return and gave his fellow god words of assurance, as Marinette grabbed the small box holding his miraculous.

After procuring the miraculous of change, along a thick binder filled with Lie-la’s inconsistencies and fever dreams, the omega hero made her way over the grand hotel. Upon arrival Marinette encountered Chloe’s loyal butler. He informed her that monsieur Bourgeois was in search of his daughter and so advised the dark-haired girl to take the long route to the nest. As to not alert the dumb mayor that Chloe now has taking more of a residence in her secret room.

Over the time that Chloe has used opportunity to redeem herself to others, she had become aware of how toxic her family was and had been distancing from her parents whenever she needed room to breathe. The staff had been happy to provide her with a special place for the blond within the hotel. One of the rooms had been modeled into a one room apartment specially decorated for the young alpha and kept off the books so that her father would not find it. When they showed her the room Chloe had burst into a sea of overjoyed tears, having been giving confirmation that she was indeed became a better person in the eyes of others. That had been such a relief for the girl and a great boost to her confidence.

Giving the beta butler her thanks, the omega made the long round way to Chloe’s second room that gained the title of the nest over the past months. Upon arrival and entry, the blue-eyed omega was met with the homely interior of the apartment, that made it feel as though you just walked into a hunter’s cabin in the mountains. To the right was the sitting/living area with a large half circle couch and two armchairs standing around a round red wood coffee table. A large flat screen tv hung from the wall infront of the sitting area, with several drawers under it filled with the girls collection of DVDs and blue ray’s. To the left was the kitchen area with a wooden bar counter that separated the kitchen from the hall and living area, around it stood four wooden fashionably cushioned barstools. In the back, past the doors that led to the bathroom and workspace, was a window seat bed that had been transformed into a large nest. Made from a mismatch of blankets, pillows and some articles of close from the two female occupants. A large deep dark red canopy hung from the ceiling that gave the two a feeling of a save close offed space, for whenever the one of the two took shelter here for the rut or heat.

The smile on Marinette’s face came naturally as she past the rooms threshold. This was a place of safety for her, something that her old home could never again be. How she often wished she could live here but her ‘parents’ would kick up a fuss and she really did not need the extra headache’s.

Her eyes drifted around counting all of the current occupants in the den. Nathaniel and Marc sat snuggled together upon de couch, enthusiastically discussing their new comic idea, Chloe was in the back near the nest looking for something in one of the large bookcases lining the wall and Tim was in the kitchen making the holy elixir, COFFEE. “Can you make me a cup too, Tim,” the female omega called out gaining her packs attention. Though Chloe was the only one that gave a verbal response in the form of a pained groan and calling her an addict. She ignored her friend in favour of focussing on the steaming cup of coffee that the dark haired prepared for her. She gave him a grateful smile and a small thanks as she took a seat at the kitchen counter and dropped her thick binder with a thud onto the wooden surface.

She took a careful sip from her given ambrosia and then pulled on her business face. “So now that we have all gathered, shall we get started on the downfall of the delusional spider and her plague of insects.” The crystal blue eyes glanced around the room once more and taking in the malicious smiles of her pack. “Oh yes, let’s get started,” the blond female nearly cackled as she pulled out to binders of her own. Yes, they were ready for the hunt.

And so started of several hours of compiling all the tall tales that had past Rossi’s lips from the lady blog, their phones and school camera’s, curtesy of Tim’s hacking skills. But as people will agree after a certain amount of time one gets side-tracked, especially if you have a petty alpha female wanting revenge. Surprisingly the two male omegas’ were very much on board with the pettiness.

“But wouldn’t she simply blame Marinette,” Chloe interjected. She and the male omegas having a thorough discussion over how to trick Lie-la into spraying herself with skunk musk. They discussed it for over an hour.

“Not unless she believed it to be a gift for Marinette,” Marc began to supply, making Chloe pull a face. “She would say she was so thankful for the gift while just taking it,” The jade eyed male continued. “But either me or Tim or me would say it was for Mari,” Nathaniel took over, “She in a fit her supposed supremacy will spray herself and then come to the horrid realization of the disgusting odour. This will work in our favour two ways. One Lie-la will smell just as horrid as her soul is,” “And two, because they will think we ‘tried to do this on Mari’ we can get in the flies good graces and here about any possible plots to hurt our leader and prepare for that accordingly.” Marc finished, devious smiles on both his and boyfriend’s faces.

“You two are bloody devils,” The blond alpha started, eyes filled with wondered surprise before beginning to laugh gleefully. “And I love it!” she exclaimed as Marinette and Timothy were just finishing up all the processed evidence that they had gathered. Next time they were going to look into things Lie-la had done before she had come to Dupoit. But for now, it was pack bonding time.

“I AM DISCUSTED, I AM REVOLTED, I DEDICATED MY INTIRE LIFE TO THE ARTS AND THIS IS THE THANKS I GET!!!!!!” Nathaniel roared as he hurled his sketchbook.

“Nath please cal-”

“NO Marc he is right. They gods have deceived us. COLOUR IS A LIE!!!” Marinette exclaimed as she threw her sketchbook across the room. Whirling around she grabbed the redhead and raised her hand to the window. “OPEN THE WINDOW WE MUST FLY!!!”

“NNNOOOOO!!!!!!!”

“Mari, Tim, put the mugs down,”

The two in question raised the offending cups to their lips.

“I swear to the powers from the beyond, don’t you two dare drink that! That is your fifth cup in the past thirty minutes.”

The alpha omega duo took exaggerated sips from their cups, the sound penetrating the air. Within seconds the blond was chasing around her two coffee addicted friends around the room in a made chase screaming profanities every so often. The two coffee worshippers always two steps ahead of the girl with surprising agility, not letting a single drop of the elixir of life spill from their containers. Whilst Nathaniel and Marc watched the chaos from the couch unfold, sharing a bowl of popcorn.

After a long chase, that resulted in Chloe’s loss, the pack had nestled themselves on the couch and chairs around the tv. They had some action movie playing and were making all sorts of critics, on the fight scenes mostly. It made for a rather peaceful atmosphere.

Marc and Nathaniel were snuggled together within a wool blanket on one of the large armchairs. Chloe and Marinette had claimed the couch, their heads on opposite ends and legs tangled in the middle. Tim sat on the other chairs, his legs dangling over the side and hid eyes taking in more the people around him then the movie. Taking in every detail of the scene around him and committing it to memory as his senses were lulled by the peaceful atmosphere, making him feel safe.

As the late evening came Marc, Nathaniel and Tim went to their own homes, begrudgingly. Leaving Marinette and Chloe in the nest, for Mari had no interest in returning home for the night. And she also had a mission to fulfil.

The two having just finished the dishes, from the room served meal, sat curled up in the nest/bed area talking about the day events and other random thoughts. When, to Chloe’s surprise the noirette omega took on a far more serios exterior. Her blue eyes calculating and analysing the blond before her and her posture straight as an arrow and rigged. “What’s wrong Marinette?” the alpha asked, using her full first name instead of one of her nicknames.

Taking a small breath, to try and calm her nerves, Marinette spoke: “I need to ask a favor of you Chloe Bourgeois, something of great importance. But I need to know that I can fully trust you with what I am about to ask of you.” The mayor’s daughter opened her mouth to say that ofcourse she could trust her, but the darked haired held up her hand to stop her having not yet finished. “I know that I can trust you with anything that happens in our normal lives, but this is not something that can be considered normal and many things are at risk,” she took a moment to let the gravity of the situation sink in. “So, I need to know that I have your compete loyalty and that you will always have my back trough whatever may come. I need to know that you will not stab me in the back,” the last part had been whispered almost so quietly that Chloe might not have picked it up had she not given the omega her full attention.

The last words that were spoken stung the blond a bit, but she understood the meaning behind them more then anything. For those she had once considered her most trust pack members had turned their back on her for the stupid lies of a filthy leach that now trespassed on their territory. She understood the words very well. But Marinette asking this meant that she trusted Chloe so much that she was about to reveal possibly one of her most precious secrets to her friend. A swell of pride and determination flowed through the alpha as the implications of her request made itself clear in the former bully’s mind. And she swore not to let that trust in her go to waist. Chloe poised herself and stared straight into Marinette’s eyes conveying as much determination as the blond could muster through her gaze and scent.

“Marinette, you have given me so much even after all the years of torment I dragged you trough. You forgave me when I finally got my act together which was already more then I deserved, but you also let me join your pack and supported me as I tried to see what I needed to do to become a better person. You made me realize what I truly needed to be happy and because of that I have finally found who I want to be. I will never be able to fully for all that you have done for me. So, whatever secret you share with me I will take to the grave, whatever deed I must do no-one will lead it back to you. I will have your back in all the fights that are to come,” she took a deep breath, to keep her rage for those who did betray the omega at bay, but gaze filled with determination. “I swear I will never betray you for as long as I breath. That I assure you,” Chloe finished.

Marinette could feel her eyes tearing up, but she forced herself not to let any of the tears fall. No was not the time for tears. Even so, the words and emotion that the blond had expressed made Mari so happy and it took away all of her doubt. For no lie was uttered and the absolute devotion coming from her alpha friend sealed that fact.

Carefully she pulled out a dark octagon box with a red sigil painted on the lid. A box the omega knew Chloe recognised. She smiled at the wide eyes she got from her friend before dawning her hero persona. “Chloe Bourgeois this is the miraculous of the snake, that will grant you the power of change. I, Marinette Dupain-Cheng former hero known as Ladybug, current true holder of peafowl and guardian of the miraculous ask you to join me in the fight to end the terror of Hawkmoth. Will you accept?”

A long tense moment of silence followed after the proposition was finally spoken. Both party’s staring intently at the other, their minds whirling with uncoordinated thoughts and question, as fate awaited an answer.

Hesitantly Chloe broke the silence not with an answer to the question, but with a question of her own. “Am I worthy of a miraculous?” Her self-doubt shining through in the quiver of her voice.

Marinette’s demeaner softened at her friend a surge of reassurance washed over the omega, she made the right choice. “Yes Chloe, you are most definitely worthy of a miraculous,” Marinette assured, but could see that the blond was not fully convinced. “You said it yourself, you have taken the road to better yourself in both in your own eyes and the eyes of others. I and many others have been beside you watching you take that rocky road head on and witnessed the fruit it bore. From all the people you helped with charities and donations, from the kids in the hospital that smile so brightly every time you come to visit, form Trevor and Miranda who practically see you as their own daughter, from our friends that would come running at slightest of whispers of you being in danger. I assure you that you are worthy to wield a miraculous. So will you stand beside me as my partner and friend through the coming battles?”

As the finale words sunk in, Chloe felt her resolve strengthen. Whipping away the tears that had gathered in her eyes she gave her friend another look of determination, as she took the small box from Paris’s true hero hand. “I would be honoured,” the blond spoke receiving a grateful smile from the noirette in return.

Opening the box, a turquoise glowing orb circled around the alpha, making her reminisce of her first meeting with Pollen, before the orb took on the form of a snake like being. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Chloe. I am Sass, the kwami of change,” the snake kwami spoke. “The feeling is mutual,” Chloe replied sincerely as she took the miraculous from its confines and placed it around her wrist. The band camouflaging the moment it was clipped on. The twisting turquoise band turning into a single rose gold band with two swirls circling a sapphire rose with a few clear diamonds. As the miraculous settled the new kwami and wielder pair turned to the young guardian with Duusu now floating beside the omega.

“I will have you know that I have many questions for Dupain-Cheng,” the female alpha said without any heat behind her glare. Making Marinette give a small at her friend. “I would not expect anything less from you,” Mari sighed light heartily, before she turned a bit more serious once more. “But let me first tell you the full extend of what has been going on.”

Author note: This chapter was honestly hard to write, with the heart to heart between Chloe and Marinette being an especially hard point, but I hope you could still enjoy the chapter it and please tell me what you think of the story so far.

#timmari #timinette #maribat #chloe bourgeois #tim drake #marinette dupain cheng #nathaniel kurtzberg #marc anciel #kwami swap

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aikrus · 3 years

Text

What It Means To Be Dead (Tokoyami x Reader)

Fandom: Bnha Warnings: Mentions of Dying, depression, bullying, abuse, and strong language Words: 2k259 Requested By: Anon <3 Request: Hi I love your writing! Can I request one where Tokoyami )or anyone you'd like really,) finds a collection of old-ish diaries and letters while cleaning? The person's handwriting is very distinct and pretty (Think 1700's love letter find) but they never mention their name. As they read more of it they find newer entries where Aizawa is mentioned so they ask him about it only to find out the person who wrote them died almost 100 years ago and 'haunts' the school. (Sorry for long request) A/N: I deviated a little from the request, but I hope you like it!

The night had already came and claimed the land of UA for itself. Shadows overtook the courtyards, and darkness fell across the classrooms, but not everyone had retreated to the safety of their comforters which shielded them from the secrets which the black abyss held so dear.

After a draining day of learning and training, Tokoyami wanted nothing more than to go to sleep- sadly, it was his turn to clean the classroom. It was annoying and boring and he’d give anything to be able to go to sleep, but fair is fair and he wasn’t the tyrannical type.

And so, he washed the windows and wiped down the desks. He swept the floors and organized the textbooks, and he turned to put the broom back into the small closet in the corner of the classroom. With a heavy sigh, Fumikage realized he should probably tidy up the dirty, dust-filled, death trap that was called a broom closet.

Narrowing his eyes at the cobwebs, he started to knock them down with the end of the broomstick (Seriously praying to whatever god there is that no spider fell onto his feathers). The room was in worse condition on closer inspection, it looked like not a soul had thought to clean it since the school was built.

After taking the time to sweep the floors, wipe down the door and the counters, and organize the books, Tokoyami was beyond tired and ready to fall asleep in the still-somehow-dirty closet. No matter how many times he swung at the cobwebs, how many times he picked up the coats and books and papers on the floor, despite the effort he put into tidying up the smallish space, it still seemed to have a weird layer of age coating itself entirely.

The closet felt preserved in time, like the oldness it felt was not just in the items littered about, but in the very walls itself. The things it’s seen, the memories it held, something about the space simply felt... wrong.

He turned to a corner he hadn’t worked on, inwardly groaning at the amount of work he still had to do despite the time of night. With a huff, he began to organize the textbooks and pages of work sprawled around the space.

His hands fell upon and old leather book- very different in both appearance and age when compared to the marble notebooks that surrounded it. Leaning over, he saw ten to fifteen more of there journal like collections shoved deep into the corner of the room.

Tentatively, he peeled open the first book. Looking at the pages, it looked to be the diary of a girl- the beautiful handwriting looked like it belonged to someone who saw the beauty that exists within the written language, someone who stops to smell the flowers, a person who looks at sunsets and bakes goods to say they love you.

The ink that bled onto the early pages spoke of a student, a girl who wanted to be so much more, someone who wanted to save the world. He became enthralled by the speech patterns, the phrases and swirls of the letters drew him closer, enchanting his eyes to never leave the pages.

------

Soon the pages became all he could think about, even after he had to abandon the closet to race to bed. During class all he could think of was the feeling of the crisp paper under his touch. The voices of his friends seemed ugly, seemed to be missing the douse of honesty and beauty he had been exposed to, even when he was practicing all he could focus on was the experiences of the girl who wrote down all her inner thoughts.

It was like she haunted him, appearing everywhere he went. Like she poisoned him, infecting his thoughts and feelings. She became everything to him so soon, every word had him on edge, every sentence a beautiful stream of imagery that he would give nothing but to experiencing along side her, what he wouldn’t give to see the world through her eyes of love.

As the day ended, he had quiet easily convinced Sero that he should take over his night of cleaning. Sure the actual work was quiet annoying, but he would be rewarded with her sweet words, he had left the book in the corner in his rush to get back to his dorm; he regretted his oversight the moment he laid down.

“Tokoyami, wasn’t your cleaning duty last night?” Aizawa asked, his eyes lazy looking up from the papers he was grading to make contact with Fumikage’s red ones.

“Yes sir, it was. I volunteered to take over tonight as well,”

“Mhm, and is there a reason for this?” He raised his eyebrow, dragging his briefcase off the table with him.

“Cleaning helps me think,” this wasn’t a total lie, reading the journal will calm his raging thoughts of the mystery girl.

“Just don’t make a habit of it,” his teacher echoed, not having enough energy to further investigate a seemingly innocent interaction.

Tokoyami was much faster with cleaning that day, and he was even faster to sprint inside the broom closet. He grabbed the leather books and raced back to his room, already feeling the warmth her voice provided.

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

The passages started off innocent enough, complaints about school, fantasizing about a better life, just a teen writing down their emotions. It then morphed into the beauty in everything, words that didn’t release Fumikage’s eyes until they were tearing up from dryness.

Then, things took a darker turn. Dark thoughts disguised in poems, things others have said to her, representation of her pain in drawings scattered throughout the book. The beautiful world- though still majestic in its own way- turned dark and twisted.

It was painful to read, and yet he couldn’t look away. It was like the book became a part of him- no. It was like he became a part of the book, nothing more than the cracked parchment and spilled ink. It was dehumanizing, but he wouldn’t change his position for anything in the world.

His bed was taken over by the old pages, dating back over two hundred years ago. The writer was in the post-quirk awakening. The world had just discovered the glowing child right before she was born. She was one of the first quirk holders in the world- one of the first one hundred Japanese citizens to have a quirk.

The journals started when she was ten- though that book was the fifth one he read. After that discovery, he categorized them in chronological order to read along with the flow of time. She wrote of the manifestation of her quirk- her parents had been struck with terror when their daughter walked through the wall of their living room to get into her bedroom.

That was the first moment she realized how different she is. Her life never seemed to go back to the way it was before, not even after the initial shock of what she could do faded from her parents; because, there would always be a new shock, a new ability, and no one was prepared to help her.

He realized, reading more about how the quirkless treated her, that her life would have been much different is she had lived in his time. Hearing the slurs and bullying they put her through, he wishes she could see how much the world has changed- would she be happy or sad that her bully's became the minority and were mocked in their normal-ness or if she would be ashamed of the people like her.

He was very satisfied that the people who made her life so awful were getting a taste of their own medicine, but he did wonder if that made him a bad person. Tokoyami figures that it really didn’t matter, she was gone so her opinion would never be known.

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

“Death didn’t feel like I thought it would. Surprisingly, it was reminiscent of when I use my quirk to posses things or people. My body was there, on the floor, but I was floating above it. Much like I am when I leave my body before finding my target. The cold was instantly recognizable- like an abyss with no end.

The only difference I’ve noticed so far is the lack of body to return to, though I can enter it, it acts as an object. While I cannot move it, I can see out of it. It’s therapeutic in a way. Really, this must have been the best case scenario- I could see how everyone reacts, see who really cares about me.

It was hard at first, seeing all theses people, who I believed were simply pretending to care, braking down behind closed doors. It was only my sister- whom held no quirk- that cared. She did everything she could to make my funeral how I wanted it, and she preserved my bedroom the way I liked it. That was a nice gesture, it truly was.

Now my life has come to an end- my body buried under ground, never to be seen again- I can’t help but wonder what comes next. How long will I be held in this mortal world? Will others be like me, or will I be forced to live alone in the agonizing realization that comes with immortality? I guess I’ll simply have to wait and see,”

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

He had fallen asleep after reading the last passage in the ninth book- where she described how she stayed a student at UA even after death. The names she referenced had been lost in time- Pro-heroes that have long been dead and are now another name on the Hero Memorial wall.

She had possessed her home room teacher and walked to the headmaster- there she said what had happened. Her headmaster agreed to keep her on as a student, but only under the condition that she wouldn’t unnecessarily possess an unknowing student. It was fair- annoying but fair. They gave her her old desk and she worked along side everyone. When he woke up, the book had moved on its own.

There was a page opened- an elegant scipt sprawllled at the top but had been smuged since it was written- the only elligable part following what could be assumed to be a name: Phatom-- The Ghost Hero. The script was familiar, but it wasn’t the handwriting the rest of the journal was written in. Beneath it was a drawing of a girl- a girl more beautiful than anyone Fumikage had ever seen. It was a realistic depiction and it looked modern- it was only with that realization which led Tokoyomi to realize this journal wasn’t one he had seen before. Flipping through it, he hadn’t even noticed its sudden appearance. It was the newest one of them all- spanning for the last decade. He leaned back in his bed and began,

So I guess it’s been a while huh? Here are some general updates: Shouta from class 2-A is an idiot but I guess he’s kinda cute. We picked out hero names today, I wanted to just keep my name but he dubbed me Phantom.. I called him Eraserhead in return. I hope it sticks.

I’ve graduated from UA more than six times now- but I kinda like it. I do some professional hero work- especially info recall- but I’m worried about how the public will react to a ghost. It would definitely fuck with some peoples religious views.

It’s better this way. I’ve also decided to distance myself from Shinso- she and I got along great, but her twin brother has been acting weirdly around me for a while. His quirk is amazing, but I’ve seen plenty of unstable students pass through these halls and I know enough to keep my distance. Shouta doesn’t seem to agree- neither does Hizashi. I guess only time will tell.

As for manifesting my physical form- it’s a lot harder than I had hoped. I can become visual for three active minutes or ten minutes with no moving. I’m still not touchable, but I hope that will change with time. That’s all for now- I’ll try to check in soon.

He shook his head- surely those names must be common, but she was in UA and only so many coincidences can happen at one time. He wonders how she was now. Mostly, he wonders if she’s still at UA. They hadn’t announced her as a student, so was she a pro hero now?

Was it weird to still be in the body of a sixteen year old? There were so many issues with immortality- he wondered how she coped with it. These questions abused him throughout the morning. He thought of how lonely she must be, how it must be so awful to be all by herself.

He wondered why he cared so much- why had he developed such a strong scene of attachement to this girl? The fuzzy feeling in his chest when he saw the drawing of the girl had taken up his entire mind- he needed to know more.

As soon as he entered his familiar class room he marched straight up to his teachers desk with passion in his eyes- “Professor, can we talk after class? I have some questions I’d like to ask you,”

Aizawa glarred at the corner of the room, an annoyed frown tugging at his lips. This was gonna be a long day.

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

A/N

Sorry for dropping off the planet everyone! This has been in the drafts for a long time and finally gets to see the light of day. I’ve had some mental health issues (not related to this story don’t worry) and am working on myself. I fully intend to finish the Christmas countdown I committed to and this account is still active, but this will remain on the back burner until I am well on my way to recovery. Requests will remain open for the time being and I will continue to make progress. Thank you for the lovely anon’s in my inbox with constant support and requests, I appreciate all of you. Thank you all and I hope you enjoyed this work <3

#boku no hero #boku no hero academia #My Hero #my hero academia #tokoyami fumikage #bnha fumikage #tokoyami x reader #tokoyamifumikage #fumikage x reader #bnha reader insert #bnha x reader #tokoyami fluff

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trahottie · 3 years

Text

Trahearne x F!Commander

(Ao3) Ch 1 / ? - It is the eve of the Pact's final assault against Zhaitan. A morning unlike any other awaited them all and unspoken truths must be shared before it is too late. Marshal Trahearne and Commander Rhea struggle to reconcile with the meaning of their friendship as they realize they might never see each other ever again.

---

“You are dismissed. I no longer require your assistance for the rest of this evening.”

“Yes, sir.”

Trahearne watched his guards walk away. When there was enough distance between them, he turned on his heels and walked towards the airship ports. He made sure his path avoided as much attention from the night shift workers as possible.

It was past midnight, and the day’s duties were finally complete. At least as complete as they could be. There was never knowing whether you’ve done everything you possibly could have. Did you consider every single liability? Every single possible strategy? Was there something you have forgotten, overlooked, or simply didn’t think of?

Enough, Trahearne thought to himself. All that was left was to trust in his comrades and pray that Balthazar's strength will be with them all.

He was off to reward himself with much-needed respite. Trahearne was a few steps away from the airship dock entrance when the assigned guard greeted him with a quick salute and pulled a lever to open the gates.

“Thank you,” Trahearne said quietly, with a nod to the guard.

He let out a deep sigh as he walked along the narrow metal platforms leading up to one of the airships. For some reason even just being a little removed from the rest of the Fort helped him gain clarity of mind. It helped him breathe.

A few moments later he found himself at the tip of the Pact Glory’s bow. Whenever he could steal a few moments to himself, he would plant himself at whatever airship had the widest view of the ocean’s horizon. He heavily relied on this solitude to recharge his mind and body.

This hour of the day didn’t provide much of a view. Not that it entirely mattered. It was the space and quietness that were most important. Trahearne gripped the hand railings of the bow and closed his eyes while slowing and deepening his breath. He let his consciousness drift deep within.

When he felt the fringes of the Dream brush his mind, he let it swim deeper and faster until he began to recall the warmth of Mother’s light. Even though his vision was dark, it was as if he saw a glowing ember as well. He felt himself weigh a little less, as happy, distant memories of home began to trickle throughout his mind. It wasn’t long before Trahearne was deep within the ritual that helped protect his sanity for more than 20 years.

Trahearne’s eyes wavered open. “Caithe.” Over the years, he had developed a sixth sense for his sister’s movements.

“Good evening, brother”. Caithe said. As usual, she spoke softly, as if it were half a whisper, and her smooth, melodic voice seemed to slither through the air.

“How are you feeling?” Trahearne asked as he turned to face her while leaning against the railings.

“You know how I feel,” she said plainly while ambling about the bow, “I’m prepared for the uncertainty that lies await. As I always have. All these years I wondered when I may resume my Wyld Hunt, and here I am…” she turned to face Trahearne, her expression nigh unreadable as always, “But I don’t know how you feel, Brother. Ever since the Pact’s formation, I hear less and less from your heart”.

He sighed, and stared at his feet, “It can’t be helped. It is a challenge, separating my life as Marshal from my life as someone...well, as someone...”

Caithe’s lips curled into a smirk, "As someone what?”

Trahearne shrugged in exasperation. “I don’t know. Do you have an answer to such a question? You know what it is like living years and years, aimlessly grasping at your Wyld Hunt. After so long I've finally fulfilled mine, and yet here I am - still working, with the fate of the world resting on my command.”

“Of course. That is a loaded question. I simply…” she huffed a sigh. “You know I am not one for emotional farewells. But, while we are able... let us talk. As we did in the Grove," she said as she beckoned him to walk beside her along the ship’s perimeter.

A warm smile graced Trahearne’s lips as he joined her, “Ah, yes. Home. It is incredible how much has happened over the past two decades... and how much you’ve grown, dear sister.”

Caithe smiled one of her rare smiles. “You, as well. Who would’ve known our dear bookish scholar would one day lead an armada whilst wielding Caladbolg?”

He couldn’t resist a low chuckle. “I wonder at that fact every day”.

In a sudden change of tone, Caithe turned to face the ocean with a forlorn gaze. "I sent a letter to Faolain," she said softly.

"Faolain?" He asked with furrowed brows. "Even after all that you endured in the Twilight Arbor?"

"What can I say, brother," Caithe whispered with a helplessness that took him by surprise. "I can’t say I love her anymore, and I can say that I despise her for what she’s become and accomplished. But I might die tomorrow. For some reason I just needed to let her know. What we had between us is so deep and complicated, Trahearne…"

"Of course, I do not mean to judge," he said softly. "I only speak out of concern for your happiness. And please do not say things like that. I will see you, and we will return home to Mother together." Trahearne gently turned her to face him and held her hands.

"I know you do," Caithe said with a small smile, "and yes, I will believe that."

A moment passed between them.

"Happiness," she continued, contemplative. She withdrew her hands and instead held his. "What of yours? That is why I’ve come to you tonight, dear brother. Have you spoken to Rhea before she took to her quarters?"

"The Commander? Well, yes, of course, we-"

"I mean truly. A conversation. Not an intelligence briefing."

Trahearne let his head sink. “No... it has not been possible.” His gaze slowly met Caithe’s. He knew his sister’s ways, and she pivoted the conversation with as much precision as she did with her knives. There was a part of him that knew what she was hinting towards, but he drowned it out. He didn’t want to believe it.

“Trahearne. I know you. And I’ve come to know her. Please don’t try to lie or hide from me. Or Rhea. Now isn’t the time. ”

He buried his face into his hands. “Caithe, what are you suggesting...”

She took a step closer to him and spoke firmly, “Judging by your reaction, I am sure you know exactly what I am talking about.”

“I can’t... I can’t talk about this right now.” His hands combed through his hair out of frustration. It felt like the world was going to slowly collapse around him. For some reason making countless life or death decisions at the head of an army could not cause as much anxiety as this conversation was able to.

“Pull yourself together, brother," Caithe said softly, "And please, look at me.”

“By the Pale Tree, Caithe, after everything I’ve endured, if you can let me be cowardly at one thing, let it be this,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

Caithe wrapped her arms around him in a comforting embrace. Trahearne tensed, taken aback by his sister’s rare and spectacular show of affection. He then felt his shoulders loosen.

“Dear Brother... look at us. More than twenty years of fighting and struggling, and here, at last, we will fulfill our destiny. Do we not deserve our happiness? Can we not afford to be selfish for a little while?” She drew away and took his hands into her own. “For me... that part of my life has been tainted. Time will tell if I will recover and move on. But it is not too late for you, Trahearne.” She looked up at him with mournful eyes.

Trahearne gently withdrew from her and walked further down towards the tip of the bow. He chose another set of railings to lean over, shoulder hunched, head hanging. “If it was anyone else, I’d accuse them of playing a poor joke on me. But you," He looked at her helplessly, "how can you be so sure?”

Caithe let out a soft chuckle. “You know, it is quite obvious to other persons beyond myself.”

Trahearne felt his face drop. “You can’t be serious.”

“Fear not, brother! At most, it is a playful rumor that has not affected your soldiers’ respect for you both. If anything, some enjoy it. Perhaps it's a reminder that life and happiness persist despite shadow and despair.”

He nervously rubbed the back of his neck. “I can’t believe any of this. Everything about it is... absurd. I’m at a loss, Caithe.” He turned to her, his face struck with helplessness. “You know how I am with these things.

“Talk to me," she said as she joined him at the bow. "What is so absurd?”

He hunched over the railings once more, as if an endless list of items fell flat on his back with an insurmountable weight. “For one thing," he said, "She is of a noble human family. Caithe, can you imagine ?" He seethed with exasperation.

Caithe frowned, unimpressed with his first excuse. "And she left all of that to join the Vigil, become the Commander of the most important armada in Tyria, and has overcome the most supreme challenges this world could throw at a single person. You think she is one to be burdened by conventional appearances?"

Trahearne rubbed his brow. His sister wasn't going to let him off easy.

“It has always been..." he started more quietly, "... difficult to address this part of my life. Nearly every day of my life was devoted to this land of death, despair, and decay. What room do I have left for… for any of this?"

“You have had relationships," Caithe offered. "And with non-sylvari no less."

“Relationships is not the word I would give those encounters,” he said, wincing with embarrassment.

“I stand corrected. But this is different. I don’t need to articulate that to you, do I?”

"No. You do not. She is…" The sheer thought of her left him breathless for a moment. What felt like an eon passed before he can utter the words that could only attempt to describe Rhea. “A force of nature."

It was the only phrase he could conjure to capture what he thought of her. From her ferocity to her grace. From the softness of her beauty to the roughness of her scars. And the boundlessness of her curiosity and care for others, all of which stunned him time and time again over the many months they spent with one another as each other's sole confidante. It all rushed over him like a towering wave in the Unending Ocean.

“And yet so much more,” he whispered before burying his face into his hands. What was he even saying right now? You’re a marshal now, Trahearne. Not some foolish sapling. “Oh, Caithe…”

"I know, brother," Caithe whispered as she gently wrapped her arms around him in a comforting hold.

Trahearne returned her embrace as he lifted his mournful gaze towards the sky. His eyes followed the artful scatter of glittering stars until they fell upon the tallest parapets of Fort Trinity. He could tell a few of the lights in the bunkers were still turned on.

His lips parted as his chest twisted with longing for his dear friend. Was the Commander getting the rest that she needed? Or is she still awake? Is she afraid? Did she look to the ocean and the stars the way he did now, searching for some forsaken answer to the pain in his heart? How I wish I could be by your side to comfort you as I once did.

His heart burned with bittersweet melancholy as he recalled the day they first met.

"I don't know what to do," she whispered, her breath shaken. "We were supposed to figure it out together. Forgal knew so much about the Risen. He promised we would never let it get this bad." Rhea gasped for air, as more tears threatened to choke her breath. "Now it's just me. We were supposed to do this together, I don't, I don't know what to do..."

Rhea's words trailed off as she hunched over the ship's railing. Her shoulders trembled ever so slightly from the shudders of her suppressed tears. The sky never looked so dark as it did when the remaining survivors of Claw Island sailed towards Lions Arch in stunned silence.

Nevertheless, Trahearne fixed his gaze unto the young woman, brimming with a conviction he had not felt for a long time. The image of the Warmaster sprinting forward past droves of screaming Lionguard and headfirst towards the massive Risen Dragon that toppled nearly half of Claw Island was seared into his mind. She was ablaze in a burst of lightning, its brightness nearly rivaling her stunning act of defiance. It was ferocious. It was breathtaking. When was the last time he saw someone fight so relentlessly despite such devastating odds?

The calamity that was Orr and his Wyld Hunt long paralyzed Trahearne. Despite the confidence his colleagues held in his expertise, he could never escape how trapped he felt in his cycle of fatigue and uncertainty. He dared to admit he was resigned to a bitter, lonely lifetime of fruitless efforts. That was, until now. Suddenly, at this woman's side, the question of his future felt... different. Brighter, almost. The call to seize his Hunt burned with renewed vigor.

"Warmaster Rhea," Trahearne said firmly. "You can't do it alone. Because I won't allow you to."

Rhea tensed, her glassy hardened gaze turning towards Trahearne's.

"There is much I owe to Warmaster Forgal. The least I can do is stand by his protege and make sure she succeeds. And needless to say, I owe my life to the bravery you showed today." Trahearne held out his hand as a noble smile graced his lips. "Rhea, you can count on me to be by your side until Orr rises no more. You will never be alone."

Trahearne's eyes closed, resigned to the truth of his painful feelings. He wanted nothing more than to rush towards her bunker and tell her what he truly thought of her before she left him and stepped foot onto that airship. But how ridiculous would that be? Not only did she need no further distractions tonight, but how might the Commander recoil that someone like him could feel for her the way that he did?

And how I wish you could be thinking of me the way I am thinking of you...

He couldn’t even entertain the possibility that she might never come back. No, he thought. By the Pale Tree, this mission must succeed. If not for Tyria, then at least for him.

---

#trahearne #guild wars 2 #gw2 #sylvari #trammander #my writing

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earthlingschat · 3 years

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WHAT IS THE MOTHER WOUND?

“You will repeat the relationships you had with your dysfunctional parent (s) until you decide to heal yourself.” - @motherless.mothering

Earthlings Chat discussions are sacredly designed for mental, emotional & spiritual breakthrough, realization or discussion. My intentions for episodes of #EarthlingsChat are compassionate and open minded: I do not encourage anyone to bash or selfishly berate others, families, or anybody’s struggles or truths during or after watching this content. For free episodes of #earthlingsChat please feel free to follow & support the movement on my Instagram at: www.instagram.com/anikawilmore

May we look within and beyond, forgive, and remain strong willed & empowered.

Today I’m going to be discussing something that may hit close to home, but I am feeling it’s important I open up this conversation in a society that does not necessarily open up about topics of this nature due to shame, pain, embarrassment, a fear of judgement, or perhaps you’ve just chosen to stay quiet in your healing process, and that’s totally ok too. But I want to assure you, this is a safe place to be. You are not alone. Every human being on earth has their own whirlwind of issues going on, life is up, it’s down, and that is valid. I just wanted an opportunity to come together on this platform to support each other beyond the smoke, the mirrors, the smiles, the “I’ve got it made” mentality. So thank you for showing up. So, Mother’s Day is next weekend and this is a holiday we utilize to celebrate so many amazing mother’s who work incredibly hard to protect to provide and show unconditional support and love for their children: being a mother, married or single isn’t something that is a walk in the park: to be a mother is a responsibility, it’s a treasure, it’s a experience. I salute the ladies who do all they can for their children while having to also take care of themselves, a home, bills etc. But it’s a rarity we ever discuss mother’s who are not present, damaging, and even in some cases, more than you may realize, ultimately don’t enjoy being mother’s/never planned on becoming mother’s... Now let’s go ahead and dive into today’s topic: What exactly is the maternal/mother wound? In my own words, the mother’s wound originates from the mothers mother, who inherited this unhealed wound from her own mother’s mother, and her mother, which in turn can and will subconsciously impact our women’s sons and especially their daughters in many different ways/avenues. This wound may come to begin to bleed at the most influential and youngest age of a daughter or a son: the moment you are cut from your mother’s lifeline/umbilical cord.... clearly due to the fact that the mother’s entire being is after all, your delivery ferry into the physical earth plane. It is your intensely grand entrance into this experience we are all currently learning and constantly navigating. The wombman (explain this) is our first major influence. She is truly our very first provider, our first recognition of what life is. Definition of the WOMBman - is a spiritual connection between women and the womb. ... Wombman is the divine woman, the female, connecting with herself / oneself to the very core of her womb who is spiritually growing, retaining powerful knowledge and learning or awakening to recognizing her true essence. Becoming a mother allows you to obtain the power of the gift of holding life in her hands : this is a conquering, taxing journey. She is a mother, a sister, a cousin, an aunt.

I’ve created a scale of responses with a simple sequence of numbers: 1, 2, and 3: 1= Never/does not apply , 2= Sometimes , 3= Felt this way mostly/all the time. Feel free to share your answer as we go along, this is a safe space and any bullying or criticism of someone else you will be asked to leave or you will be removed.

Q/S. You felt as if you could never reach the standard set for you specifically by your mother.

Q/S. Your mother isn’t or wasn’t there for you on an emotional level.

Q/S. You’ve confided personal things to your mother you wouldn’t share with just anyone, only to later have it thrown back at you in a disagreement, manipulated and reconstrued just to really hurt your feelings.

Q/S. You yourself have set weak boundaries in friendships or relationships.

Q/S. You’ve always attempted to reach a level of perfectionism to gain your mother’s attention, approval or acceptance.

Q/S. You’ve had a hard time saying no to your mother on many, if not all occasions.

Q/S. Let’s say you happily ran a few errands for your mother, but you were truly not able to run the last due to a time confliction: If you do not/did not just do one favor for her, would she resort to an unnecessary level of anger....?

Now, I’d like you to begin to add up your answers to determine the final number. Please, feel free to keep the grand total to yourself to protect your privacy unless you’d really like to share your answers amongst us, but this is really just for you: The higher the number, the more I want you to recognize, and you are not obligated to agree.... That you may be in a toxic relationship with your mother. When does this separation, this neglect, this lack of compassion begin? The mother wound has been defined as an injury which was inflicted on a child’s psyche, a subconscious disruption. In many cases it varies as to how this wound gradually festers: it could be due to a mother being totally absent, a lack of unavailability, or perhaps even a complex amount of injuries unseen to the human eye that have been inflicted on the child for years and years. Perhaps favoritism of a child's sibling, an unspoken jealousy that is only shown through action or manipulation. This wound can also show up in your life as: avoiding conflict to keep the peace, feeling responsible for other people’s happiness, lack of love for yourself, mental health struggles (addiction, depression, anxiety), struggle to maintain boundaries, dismissing your own pain, I personally feel like many more people are going through this than we realize. Acknowledging your mother - wound is the first step into your personal path of healing. I feel like many of you may be going through this silently. This wound is not rare.... It’s very very deep rooted. & I’m here for you.

#earthlings chat #anika wilmore #education #toxic parents #mother wound #spiritual journey #breakthroughs #open mindedness #spiritual blog

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lazyyogi · 3 years

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Hi. It’s always an honor to hear your responses. I want to ask you if you believe in ego death and the concept of the dark night of the soul. I am 27 and went through an ego death when I was 19 (or maybe just a complete mental breakdown) but I lost all concept of my identity. I went through a pretty intense level of paranoia and almost schizophrenic-like symptoms - I was losing touch with reality in many ways, a reality that was structured, and I started feeling horrified at the darkness I was seeing and experiencing. I had been through trauma which led me to almost gaslight my own experience which may have lead me to this kind of depression. Years later, I have gotten a handle on things, moved towards healing, started to maybe see that I’m here for a reason that is connected how much compassion and empathy saves lives - but I had to basically start my life back from this deep place of loss and grief over almost a false self, a self which if I’m honest was something I wish I could go back to. at times still. I used to have an idea of who I “am/was” like this clear identity, now I think of myself and sometimes I see nothing, emptiness, or at worst, something truly ugly and wrong. I do have self hatred. I feel like I lost my mind at one point. I feel isolated and ashamed of my journey at times. After the ego death - I lost so many friends. So much I thought was real felt false and I’ve been building from there. I know that love is real, but sometimes reality and societal pressures make me horrified. I work a normal job, I attach to my personality to be successful, I know how to play the game pretty much - but I feel like something within me is hiding. Like I’m wearing a mask to get by but it’s not quite fitting. I don’t know if there’s a way to respond to this, but I wonder if you could provide any insight. Much love.

The ego never lived. How can it die?

There is a place of tension behind the eyes within the head. That is the space around which we fixate the concept of “I.” Whether that “I” has a rich and multidimensional identity or has only a blank, there is still that core sense of “I.”

You have glimpsed the emptiness of all phenomena (include that I-sense) and there’s no real going back after that. It may have triggered a manic episode or something, I don’t know the details of your experience.

Part of this may be why you feel like you are wearing a mask and playing a game. I feel that way too.

Let me tell you something that may grant you some relief: that mask and that game was never meant to fit you. All masks and games were never meant to fit you. And they wont, ever. This goes for everyone. But some people never notice or accept this and they just shrink themselves to fit the role.

The point isn’t to quit the game and throw away the mask. The point is that neither of those things are actual obstacles. They cause confusion but they aren’t actually standing in your way beyond that. Cut through the confusion and everything shifts.

What I would recommend is that you read the ebook titled Awake! and try the Two-Part Formula. I wrote a post about it here.

At this point, I don’t think you will be able to relax until you have an awakening. This is a very reliable method. Right now it’s like you have one foot out the door.

Given your past experience with paranoia and such, my advise is to take it slowly. Remember this fundamental Buddhist teaching:

Form is Emptiness Emptiness is Form. Form is Form Emptiness is Emptiness.

Let all of the human stuff just be human stuff. Don’t try to draw conclusions or twist the human stuff into something cosmic. Right there in Form is Emptiness. But also Form is Form and Emptiness is Emptiness. There is the conventional view and the absolute view. They are not separate but they are not the same either. You don’t have to understand it--it can’t be intellectually understood. Just let it be that way nonetheless.

Feel free to hit me up along the way and after you read the ebook. I’m happy to help.

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roleplayfinder · 3 years

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Looking for some sci-fi shenanigans!

Obligatory long post ahead warning: this post is quite long and I know it may be intimidating to some readers but please don’t let it put you off if you’d still like to rp with me :)

Hello ladies, gents and fellow rpers. After having a writing blast and seeing how I’ve got room for some more partners I’ve decided to come back in search of some partners who are interested in what I’m looking for.I’ve got a good ten or so odd years of rping experience under my belt but any potential partners do not necessarily have to have the same experience, they simply need to fit under these three things:

-third person only with correct spelling, grammar and punctuation.

- at least one small (no less than seven lines) paragraph per post as well as being willing to write more if the situation calls for it. Please do not contact me intending to give me only small paragraphs with each response as the above is simply the bare minimum I’ll accept if there’s not much going on in the rp that warrants a full paragraph.

-no one liners, one worders, script talk, poorly written sentences or just laziness in general.

This isn’t terribly much to ask for as picky as it sounds.

An important thing I shall mention is that NSFW (i don’t fade to black nor do I care when the smut happens. Just please don’t leave me once the smut has happened like lots of people seem to unfortunately do) and dark themes are a thing that occur in all my rp’s so I require you to at least be eighteen before you reach out to me. I will not accept anyone younger than 18 since I myself am in my early twenties. Underaged characters are also a no go as well. Please know that I’m in the eastern Australian time zone but almost any time zone Is compatible for me as I am awake at very odd hours. Another important thing I shall add is that you must be able to post at least once or more a day and if I don’t get any response after two weeks then I shall simply move on (only exception is if you notify me beforehand as to why you may not be able to post for a while. I’m not that vicious).

I only rp as male characters, as it’s simply my preference, I do MxM or FxM pairings. I will not double and I do not play multiple characters. I don’t do sub/dom dynamics when it comes to any aspect of the relationship. My characters are also non human (they’re aliens since this is a sci-fi rp after all) but what species your character is doesn’t matter to me at all as long as it’s not some god modded Mary Sue. Please remember that alien simply means a creature not from earth. Aliens can have fur, scales, feathers, etc, depending on where they come from. An alien with fur or scalies is not a furry or a scalie and please do not refer to them as such as it’s rude to label someone’s character as something they’re not. I will not write with someone who will insist that the theory of chimpanzees and humans unable to crossbreed should apply to hybrid characters regardless of whether they’re alien/alien or human/alien. This is fiction, not reality. Please also do not control my characters or dictate their actions. My characters are also premade and only have descriptions, I don’t do face claims or pics. I also do not care if you make a character up on the spot.

Please remember that this is a sci-fi rp and that I will not accept requests to do fandoms or any genre that doesn’t fit within the category of sci-fi. i will not accept a character that has no place in a sci-fi rp either like a dragon,harpy,demon, elf or some other fantasy creature.

All aboard the galactica!:

The galactica was a first class explorer ship led by only the greatest of military leaders and alliance figures. Many cadets dreamed of the day that they would one day either get to work onboard the ship whilst many more longed for the day that they’d be chosen as it’s next captain. To be the leader at the helm of the ship was considered the greatest honour and duty one could ever have befall them. Not everyone is content with having the responsibility of an entire fleet on their shoulders nor are the first few days, months or even years of being captain easy. To top it off, not everyone always agreed with the captains choice of their chosen protégé. As a wise man once said, one must be a follower before they could become a leader. When disaster strikes, will the remaining crew members be able to accept their new dynamic, or will it all fall to chaos?

(Important point of notice: I will be playing the character chosen to be the next captain of the galactica, you can either play as my character’s rival or a friend who has turned a bit cold from jealousy. I’m also open to you being the one who was chosen to be the next captain.)

Precious one:

It was supposed to be a simple job with a end goal that would benefit just about everyone: escort the snobbish prince/princess of lektora to their new home on their betrotheds home world and return home to malgor to have a secret celebration with the other knights, guards and castle staff about how they’d be free to live in peace once more whilst the king and queen were too busy praising themselves for all they’d accomplished in life. Sadly, not everyone seems to be happy about the two main planets of power coming together as one and an unknown party has sought to stop it. What was once a simple journey to and from one place has become a quest that will cause views and hearts to change with each passing day and moment as two people fight to survive and figure out what went wrong before it’s too late.

(Important point of notice: I do not mind who plays what. Just let me know who you’d like to be :))

Academy days:

the galaxy alliance and military defence force academy was one of the most respected training academies in the known galaxies. Men, women, aliens, humans and all of those who were in between went there to study, train and, one day if they passed the mentally, emotionally and physically gruelling years of tests, fly and be put in their own squadron. There were approximately six spots to fill on any team and the cadet who suited that spot the most would be given the title of pilot, squad leader, second in command, engineer, gunner and navigator. Each team was similar but unique in what they did. Not everyone gets along though and rivalries grow high during that delicate time between graduating and being put on a team. What happens when the top student and the lonesome outcast with a temper clashes?

(Important point of notice: I’m also open to this being a story about new recruits on a space ship who still have a fair few things to learn before they can consider themselves official crew members.)

First day on the job:

Everyone at the space academy remembers graduation day. The day where they became recognised as the very things they strived to be whether it’s a pilot, an engineer, mechanic, a simple Jack of all trades or even a commander if they worked hard enough. Everyone also remembers the few days after the big Moment as well. Days where one is expected to take to whatever rank they’ve had bestowed upon them almost immediately and the responsibilities that came with it as if they’d been born to do it from day one. Some things are easier said than done though, especially when trouble finds ways to manifest in forms that many would not suspect to be of any cause for concern.

(Important point of notice: I will be playing the newly graduated commander of a small crew. You are free to play as either a crew member of any rank or even a trouble making character like a criminal or something similar that gives my character a run for their money. Possibilities are endless)

Runaway royalty:

The life of a Royal was simple yet complex at the same time. They were weighed on hand and foot and never had to lift a finger to do anything provided there was a maid or servant nearby willing to do whatever task it was the royal had for them. They were expected to grow into decent, respectable leaders who could ruler a planet fairly without struggle. For many royals, they were content to follow this regularly repeating path of “destiny” that their ancestors had set them on. All but one it seems. What happens when a sheltered prince/princess takes their chance on the world beyond the walls of their castle for a chance to see the universe itself?

(Important point of notice: you will be playing the prince/princess. I’ll be playing the non Royal character they run into.)

Worlds apart:

War. War was a terrible thing that brought nations to their knees and saw many people lose their lives and freedom. Many people and aliens liked to think that all the major wars were over and done with, that they’d never have to relive the horrors that once fell upon them. To put it simply: if no one hears about bad happenings, then it’s not their problem that needs to be taken care of nor does it exist. Sadly, it does not seem to be the case for everyone. A stranger from a planet so far away that many do not believe it to exist turns up on the doorstep of an alien who is forced to realise that war could very well be just around the corner once more.

Forced:

“there’s no such thing as a bad person. Only bad choices.” Is a saying that is older than time itself. For many who are forced into a position where they have no other choice but to put their morals aside and do as they’re told, this is all too true. A space farer is captured by criminals and forced to choose between death or working as the criminals captain’s personal assistant. That means every order has to be obeyed and every rule must be followed or consequences will be dealt by force. As time passes and life go ons, the captured spacer starts to see his predicament in a different light.

(Important point of notice: I will be playing the captured spacer. You will be playing the captain.)

Forbidden romance:

aliens and humans are forbidden from associating with one another in any way that isn’t political. Whilst the two races have put aside enough of their differences to coexist in their own little pockets of space, not everyone is accepting of the idea that the two different species could live together as one, let alone ever simply just coexist peacefully together without insisting that alien planets and human planets are to be kept seperate. To trespass on the strictly human or alien occupied planets is a crime that few dare to commit. What starts out as a simple act of one sided rebellion and show of courage turns into an unanticipated adventure.

(Important point of notice, I shall be playing the alien. I’m open to this also being an alien X alien pairing.)

The hunter and the hunted:

bounty hunting was one of the few illegal professions in the galaxy that made any trouble you got into for participating in the act of killing or kidnapping someone for worth it depending on who it was you’d been given the task of tracking down. Many bounties were more profitable alive of course since it cut back on many of the legal troubles one could face if caught with a dead body. A galaxy renowned bounty hunter has been tasked with taking down one of the roughest and most wanted criminals known to man and alien with the orders to return them dead or alive. Will they succeed or fail like many before them have?

(Important point of notice: I shall be playing the criminal. You shall be playing the bounty hunter.)

Space criminals and the law:

humans and aliens have been living amongst each other side by side ever since humanity dared to venture beyond the Milky Way and made first contact with aliens. With the solar system no longer being man’s only playground other planets were quickly colonised under the new alliance between extraterrestrials and Homo sapiens. Whether you were an alien, human or a hybrid did not matter in the known galaxies. All that mattered was who you were. Not everyone took to the integration very well (there were numerous protests on both sides) but most people were willing to share in the hopes of peace. Not everyone had good intentions though……

Trouble in the alien kingdom:

the planet of (insert generic planet name here) was one of prosperity, hardship and wealth. The kingdom of (insert generic kingdom name here) was ruled by a king and a queen whose heir was betrothed to a rival planet in the hopes that a political marriage would prevent another war from happening. Only problem was that no one could see the rival planets true plans….all but one. Unfortunately no ones going to listen to a deranged commoner who probably may not even be telling the truth. What’s one to do when no one will listen?

Exile:

The wind howled as thunder crashed and shrieked all around the abandoned cargo ship. Rain pelted the metal hull, turning the ground into a cold, treacherously slippery and muddy shallow river. The ship itself had crashed into the planet countless centuries ago and was slowly being reclaimed by the environment. Plants grew from cracks in the floor as moss and vines decorated the walls. A figure sat miserably hunched in what was once the cockpit of the ship, their only shelter from the raging elements outside but not from the storm that raged inside of them. The figure leapt to their feet as the sounds of footsteps in the mud drew closer and they held their breath. Who would dare to venture out here on such a miserable night?

War of the worlds:

humans and aliens were never meant to coexist peacefully with one another. There was too much fear, Too much misinformation and too much bias on both sides for such a thing to have ever been successful. It was the humans fault that the war had started. They were the ones who’d shot down the alien ship that had been packed with specially chosen diplomats that represented each alien race known to the galaxies they dwelled in that had been on their way to earth to negotiate a truce and a plan for peace. They hadn’t even hesitated to shoot the ship full of aliens yet they’d been surprised when war had been declared on the spot. Two races. Two worlds so different yet the same fighting one another for what was either a mistake or intentional murder.

Rehab:

The UGWP alliance (unite the galaxies for the protection of all worlds and for peace alliance) portrayed themselves as calm, charismatic and kind men and women who held only the thoughts of a life together with all species living happily together. They advertised campaigns for inter species jobs, provided information to the public about human/alien interactions and encouraged diversity amongst planets. Their rehabilitation program for troublesome fellows was considered to be a god send to try and cut down on the amount of space related crimes. No one ever questioned what went on beyond the closed doors to the facility, if they did, the UGWP would have their darkest secrets revealed. Something they strove to keep under wraps. When the arrival of a particularly wild prisoner occurs, the threat of their first failure and first escaped prisoner is lurking around the corner.

(Important point of notice: in this rp idea I’d be playing said prisoner, I don’t mind if you choose to be one as well.)

Academy days:

Captured:

Space criminals have been around ever since advanced technology allowed others to travel and live in space as if they were living anywhere else. They’re often cunning, tricky to catch and more often than not are clever at disguising themselves whenever those wanted posters come up. It takes skill to be on the wrong side of space law and true talent to get away with it. The galaxy’s current most wanted man has finally been captured by an alliance captain and his crew. Will he beg for mercy? Will he be given a trial before being thrown into a cell to rot or will he be given a chance to turn himself around with some hard labour?

(Important point of notice: I’ll be playing the criminal for this one. You will be the alliance captain)

Enslaved:

imagine living the life of one of the most successful people on the run that could exist. Galaxies trembled at your name. You and your crew swam in wealth and the going was good. Mutiny, sadly and sometimes not sadly, exists on its own accord. One man reflected on this as he was forced to his feet. A collar attached to a chain and electromagnetic handcuffs prevented his escape as he stood for all those who cared to glance as they walked by in the market to see. No one wants to have their only life’s purpose to be to serve another……only sometimes people don’t get that choice.

(Important point of notice: I’ll be playing the slave/servant. You’ll be the master/mistress.)

Betrothed:

for as long as there has been civilisation and leaders, there has been arranged marriages. Arranged marriages, or betrothals as they were more often called, consisted of pairing two people together and making them get married in order to secure ties to another land or another planet. Political marriages benefited everyone but the married pair it always seemed. After all, you couldn’t possibly be happy being married to a complete and utter stranger? How does one who is betrothed build a life of love and prosperity when the one who bears the rings of their union is not the one who also bears their heart?

(Important point of notice: this can go two ways, either our characters are betrothed to each other or one character is betrothed. The idea has endless possibilities)

Invasion:

march 18th in the year of 6079 was the day that the aliens invaded earth. They’d been planning the take over for some time as they came prepared and easily took out Earth’s defence forces. No one knows exactly why the extraterrestrial beings from the outer worlds came to the humble blue and green planet the humans had existed on for millions of years nor did they seem to have any true intentions known other than conquering the planet and taking it for their own. This has led to the belief that all aliens must be the cruel monsters the humans stories have made them out to be. What happens when the actions of one alien puts that to the test?

(Important point of notice: I’m open to having this idea turned around and having the humans invade an alien world to take over.)

The chosen:

The galaxy alliance had chosen its newest crew to serve and protect the known galaxies. Five young cadets who’d graduated at the top of their classes and would hopefully mark the start of a new generation of spacers and heroes. The leader of the new crew has yet to be decided and tensions are high because of this. Can differences be put aside and acceptance shown? Or will nothing but chaos ensue?

The Walking wounded:

when one worked as a galaxy defence force member, they were on the frontline of everything. Every battle. Every loss. Every victory. Every struggle that the force went through they had to be there and follow the rules. You could not kill an unarmed person regardless of whether they were hostile or not. You could not turn down a plea for help even when there was reasons to suspect something was amiss. In simple terms: you simply couldn’t do anything that would make your morals be questioned. What happens when even the captain says to leave all those rules and everything you were taught by the door when faced with someone who seems to be the exception to the rule. What’s the right thing to do not by them but the entire galaxy?

Stowaway:

the galaxies were once a place of freedom and exploration. A place where you had no limits as to where you wanted to go. Now thanks to new laws, permits are required to access certain systems, quadrants and galaxies. Problem is, this permit is unobtainable by the average civilian so many have taken to learning the art of boarding another’s ship and hoping for the best. Discovery is more or less a matter of life and death. What happens when someone is unfortunate enough to be discovered?

Monster:

aliens. Aliens were terrifying beasts that were the monster in every bedtime story the humans told their children to keep them home at night. Many mothers wept when their sons and daughters applied to the space military in order to keep the extra terrestrial scum away from the galaxies they’d claimed as their own. When a human ship crashes on an alien world so far away from human civilisation it may as well not exist to the aliens and a crew member is found lost and alone by a wandering alien, will their fate be decided by a monster? Or a benevolent being?

(Important point of notice: I will be playing the alien in this scenario. I’m also open to the characters situations being swapped around so it’s the alien who crashes.)

On the run:

even on the most modern of planets, life on the lamb can be difficult. There’s authorities to avoid and even more rules to break in the game of survival. No one takes pity on those who have done wrong to the point that they have their face in the paper. Even if it’s not your fault will anyone give you shelter from the harsh cold winds of reality and a biased opinion. What happens when someone does take a chance on a poor wayfaring stranger? Will the wrong doer be turned in or given a new lease on life?

Disgraced:

when one entered the royal guard they took upon themselves an oath that bound them by blood and courage to the dedication of the protection of their king, queen and the kingdoms heirs. They were sworn to protect them from any harm whilst at the same time not allowed to use their position or power to hurt anyone else. When one breaks that oath, they are sent away in disgrace and branded as a traitor who must swear to never return. Life on the run changes people, sometimes for the better…..or for worse.

Space pirates and nobles:

space was a vast starry and endless sea that many voyaged across for the purpose of research, leisure or finding ones destiny. Like any real ocean, it was filled with dangers. The most feared of all was space pirates. Bands of blood thirsty cut throats and scandalous troublemakers whose sole pleasure in life was to steal, kill and take others prisoner against their will. Only pirates dare to do what other criminals would not. When a merchant ship is robbed by pirates what fate will befall the nobles onboard?

Healing wounds, growing love:

winter on the planet of malgor is one that is feared for its extreme weather. Snowstorms could appear out of nowhere and many a traveller had frozen to death whilst trying to make their way from one village to another. It was also a time where people were at their most vulnerable, relying on the winter harvest to feed every mouth that had been born and raised in the kingdom meant no mercy was spared for poor wayfaring strangers. When a kind soul finds a wounded outcast and decides to bring them home, they discover a threat that’s lurking just beyond the borders of their place of protection.

The knight and the heir:

royals could be spoilt. There was no denying that. A life of good food, wealth, the knowledge that they’d be pampered and weighed on hand and foot by servants was more than enough to turn even the most well mannered child into an insufferable brat. The knights tasked with the protection of the future royals knew this all too well. What happens when one particularly gruff, no nonsense knight refuses to bow to the whim of their future ruler and shows them what it means to be a true leader?

The last of a dying breed:

long ago, in a time when nobles, governments and space Pirates ruled the starry seas of space, there was a terrifying race of aliens that were considered to be the most dangerous creatures to have ever lived. When the great wars started up again due to rising tensions, the humans destroyed the planet these aliens lived on to ensure the battlefield was even. The aliens were furious at the death of an entire race and very quickly turned each and every human occupied planet into a warzone littered with their bases and encampments. Only in very small pockets of the universe does this war not exist. What happens when the last member of the species shows up on a small backwater planet?

(Important point of notice: I will be playing the alien who is the last of their kind, you are free to play as a human or the story can be made to suite a scenario where you are also an alien.)

Harden my heart:

once upon a time, there was two friends who were the best of friends that anyone could have ever seen. Two people who had each other’s backs through thick and thin. Two people who supported each other endlessly even if their morals weren’t entirely inline with each other’s. Two friends who swore to never leave each other’s sides. Alas with the time of great growing came changes, the two friends bond had severed and they’d gone their separate ways in life. What happens when they run into each other many years later?

(This idea is one open to brainstorming, anything is possible.)

captain on deck!:

captains weren’t meant to fall in love with their subordinates. They were supposed to be well refined leaders who only mingled with those of a similar status. They represented the people they worked for after all, therefore they had an image that had to be strictly maintained towards the public in order to not be disgraced in any form. Behind closed doors however…..feelings were allowed to be a little more free. Secret lovers were frowned upon but one could take the risk if they were careful. After all, the captains word was law.

yes sir!:

order.serve.fight.lead.mourn.sleep.eat.rethink your life choices and repeat. Such was the ways of a military lifestyle on a world where war seemed to be a permanent occurrence and the leaders of every world trying their best to outspite one another with their relentless attacks that it made one think of how they could improve the boring daily routine they endured each and every day. In the army, you have to be tough if you want to be a leader. You had to be charismatic, strong, cold, incapable of doing anything that would sway you to possibly turn the other cheek and let your comrades be hurt. However, even the most stoic and battle hardened leaders can get lonely despite the fact that attachments to ones comrades outside of anything but friendship are forbidden by an unspoken law.

I need you:

space is a cruel mistress to even those who are experienced with charting her waters. Space, although beautiful, is often the grave of many brave explorers, soldiers and other space faring strangers. When a stranger comes to scavenge parts from a newly crashed ship in the hopes of finding something useful, they come across a familiar face. Old feelings stir and clash with one another when the crash’s survivor awakens and finds out who their rescuer is.

Sooooo….. about those pairings. What has two stars next to it is what I’m going to play if we choose the scenario:

1: enemies to lovers or rivals.

2: **captured criminal** x prison guard or other prisoner.

3: two soldiers from seperate sides falling in love.

4: **academies bad boy/outcast** x top student

5: **low ranking ship crew member/second in command/captured space criminal** x captain.

6: **commoner/rogue/knight/street rat** x prince/princess/king/queen

7: **slave/servant** x master

8: army superior x **lower ranking soldier**

9: married person X unmarried person

10: stowaway x captain

11: nurse x **injured soldier**

12: human x **alien**

13: bully x **victim**

14: old lovers/friends finding each other again.

PLEASE DO NOT APPROACH ME IF:

1: YOU GHOST AT THE DROP OF A HAT.

2: YOU ARE NOT WILLING TO PUT EFFORT IN TO MEET MY REQUIREMENTS.

I’m open to discussing and potentially mixing these ideas up till we get something that we both like. If you want to learn more about a certain idea tell me the name and I shall expand on it.

The only platforms I rp on are discord and google hangouts, I no longer use telegram. I will not rp on any other platform other than the ones listed. If you do not have any of those then unfortunately we cannot rp. When you reach out to me requesting for an rp via one of the below platforms In the opening message tell me what idea you liked, why you liked it, give me a little introduction about you and you must put 123 somewhere in your message so that I know you’ve read all of my post, don’t just put “hi wanna rp”. Make it interesting.

My contacts

Discord: crankypurplespacecat#6187

My hangouts: [email protected]

I look forwards to meeting potential partners.

#eighteen and over #sci-fi #sci-fi roleplay #sci-fi rp #oc #oc roleplay #oc rp #submission

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