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originalwinnercheesecake · 24 days

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Wish list for CBS ghosts season 4

Make Patience a recurring antagonist for at least 2-3 episodes before that story gets resolved and she gets regulated to a background character.

Patience character to be 50% good religious farm girl, 50% crazy witch. She also needs to have a wicked(ly cool) ghost power

More of Isaac loving dinosaurs

More solo development for Isaac

More of Isaac and Hetty's awesome friendship

No Nigel for a while. I do not like him. He did a lot of things in his and Isaac's relationship that are textbook abusive partner behavior.

I think it is about time for Jay's restaurant to start up, and I would like that to actually become pretty successful/profitable. Mostly because I would like Sam and Jay to have a bit more disposable income to do things around the manor, and I know the B&B is unlikely to become super busy next season (unless the show is ending , which I really do not want).

The difference in treatment between the above ground ghosts and basement ghosts to be addressed. I know after season 3 that they aren't going to move them all up stairs. But it would be nice if Sam and Jay could like furbish the basement , and then more Basement ghosts than just Nancy got invited to come upstairs for games or discussion.

Just to be clear I still want Nancy to keep making her frequent visits up stairs and hang out with the man 8. I just also would not mind seeing Stuart or another nameless basement ghost standing or walking by in the background on the occasion.

Explore Pete's power more. He does not need to hop on a plane and go across the country or anything, but let him keep going out into town and having adventures. Also let him keep going on dates with other random ghosts outside of the house.

I know that Pete&Alberta will probably happen at some point in season 4. The thing is though while that ship was cute in season 1, the way the ship was handled in season 2 soured it like milk to me. Both characters need a lot of development, and separate explorations of what they want out of a relationship, before I can ship them again.

H-Money is still a couple I kinda like. I do not expect them to get back together in season 4 (Please not another season that is fully devoted to coupling up all the character), but I would like them to start scheming together again. Let them figure out how to interact together as friends, and build a stronger foundation to eventually, in season 5 maybe, try again.

I have heard people suggest that Pete's power could maybe be extend to getting the other ghosts through the barrier if they are like holding onto Pete's hand. I want this. Now I know Sass will want to visit a Pizza Hut, and Issac a dinosaur museum, but I would say the most important thing to do with that would be to take Thor and Flower over to the Farnsby manor to visit Bjorn and his girlfriend Judy. It would also be cool if there was a lesbian ghost living there they could set up Nancy with. Since Nisaac is on a "respite" and queer representation (preferably healthy queer representation) is important.

Everyone remember in season 2 when we learned about Flower's super protective, formally MIA, army vet brother : Rob. You remember how the show's staff said they would love to have Rob come to the B&B for a visit, and were already considering actors who could play him? I want this episode. Also if you cannot directly tell Rob his sister is a ghost on the property, then can Trevor or Alberta use their powers to help Flower send a message to Rob. To say that she still loves him. I cannot deal that both siblings spent like 50 years thinking the other hated them when neither did. It is to sad.

It would be cool if we could also have Ira visit once too. I know Flower did not love him like she did Michael or does Thor, but he was still someone who was a big part of her life for a while, and knowing her cannonly had a large impact on his. Maybe we find that while he has done charities in her memory, trauma over watching her be killed by a bear has also lead him to sponsor bear hunts or poaching. Flower is horrified. Then Sam and Jay have to spend his visit looking for a way to convince him that is not what Flower would have wanted.

Four standard episodes for each season are a Halloween episode, an episode where Bela visits, one where Stephanie wakes up, and one where Crash appears and is slightly relevant. I have no idea what to do for an episode with Crash, but for the others

-Ghost animals on Halloween

-Home theater night for ghosts and guests on the night Stephanie wakes up, complete with all the drama of set up and shenanigans that going to the movies encores.

- Bela is broken up with Eric, she does not even like him. This time her and Jay's parents come with her for the visit. Bela wants all the latest gossip surrounding the ghosts, but they have to tip toe around the parents. Jay's dad does not fully support the B&B even without the knowledge that it is haunted, and Sam does not want to give her mother in law another reason to suspect that she might be crazy.

Owning back to the "Can Pete take the other ghosts off the property" theory, can Thomas Woodstone be a ghost who died visiting a neighbors property. We have no reason to see Elias again since he has decided to stay put in Hell. But Thomas reappearing could be interesting for both Hetty and Alberta. If he does show up though I want the twist to be that he is actually severally cognitively impaired (think Lenny from oMaM)... I mean the man was from an inbred family, played with lead based toys as a baby, had a cocaine addict mom, and a father who was a lot of things. He could not have been all there. Also address more on if Earl ever actually cared for any of the people he was two timing (again development that needs to happen to make Alberta want to go from dating an Earl to a Pete).

A Sasappis based episode that is not his death story. I feel like he needs at least one more episode exploring what his life alive was like, to be appropriately gutted when we learn about his secret death.

Actually maybe we can hold off on Sass's death and Hetty's ghost power until season 5. let's keep the element of mystery in the show for a little longer.

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copperbadge · 5 months

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Have you thought about getting your own seal made? I am thinking about getting a chop seal made, with a visual pun of my last name (a fish).

I would like to have a custom seal made! I wouldn't get a chop, obvs., and I don't think I'll get my name or a monogram, but I made myself an artist's stamp once that was the alchemical symbol for silver-coated brass, I very much liked that.

What I'd really like to do is commission a coat of arms (I have folks who are into heraldry who would do it up right) for the Duchy of Shivadlakia from the Shivadh novels, and have that made into a seal. Technically Gerald's signet ring, which has the seal of the duchy on it, is a wax stamp for sealing documents with, and I'd like to be able to recreate that. The only detail I've given about the ring is that it has the Shivadh star on it, which is appropriate for me anyway because it's also the Chicago star, but I have an idea of other symbols to include.

But also, as fun as messing around with the wax stamping is, it has limited applications in terms of what you do once you've stamped a seal; I can seal all the letters and packages and such I send but I don't really send all that many. And I've lowered my spending as much as possible since getting the new HVAC system put in, so I'm trying not to buy anything that's not absolutely necessary for the next few months at least, particularly stuff over $20-ish. So the custom seal will have to wait until I'm sure I want to keep on with the hobby, and that will conveniently coincide with when I have more disposable income again. :D

#wax seals #wax sealing #shivadhverse

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faithforgottens · 1 year

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𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒚𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆.

from the writer’s desk: i’d tell you i started this a year ago after deciding i needed closure on post - crying on newport beach about how i’m incapable of being loved but that would mean me unloading all over the dash, and nobody needs that. i’m just a girl, out here projecting like tomorrow’s not coming, and thought i’d share. please know that i love carol, i just had to pick a character that i didn’t have strong emotional attachment to in order to play my villain. motivation to continue this would be much appreciated, thnx. summary: you’ve been stuck in carol’s web for nearly four months now, and you need a distraction before you go postal and commit a capital crime or worse, tell her you love her. fortunately for you, natasha’s willing to offer her services. contains: college!natasha x female reader —— warnings include toxic relationship dynamics that involve infidelity, gaslighting and cheating, marijuana use, alcohol consumption, nsfw content [ fingering, dirty talk ]. → inbox status: OPEN don’t repost my works anywhere.

INCOMING MESSAGE FROM — SATAN 💬 am i gonna see you tonight?

INCOMING MESSAGE FROM — SATAN 💬 :(

INCOMING MESSAGE FROM — SATAN 💬 hellllllooooooooooo??

INCOMING MESSAGE FROM — SATAN 💬 I WANNA SEE U I MISS UR PRETTY FACE

INCOMING MESSAGE FROM — SATAN 💬 pls come tonight. it would mean everything to me

You’ve never claimed to be smart.

In fact, you’re pretty sure you have to fall on the opposite end of that spectrum in order to bother showing your face tonight at the behest of Carol fuckin’ Danvers. Satan. It’s the work of the goddamn devil pulling you from the clutches of your apartment’s comfortable silence where you’d be much better off riding through the nuanced gut-punching waves of disappointing Carol guilt instead of the hell storm that is being played once again by Carol guilt. You even put on eyeliner for such an occasion, because if you’re going to get fucked over (either physically, emotionally, or both), you might as well look good doing it.

Her name’s still lighting up your phone as the Uber drops you off at the curb, boasting a flood of pictures on Snapchat that illuminate the awaiting scene inside of the frat house through blurry streaks of glass bottles and marijuana smoke and the pale expanse of her neck where a glint of her gold necklace flashes is promised to you to do as you wish, leaving behind bruises or lip prints. It’s an enticing picture painted for you. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think maybe tonight will be the night she tells you she’s free from the clutches of Maria, her perfectly sane girlfriend that you’ve only ever known through Carol’s jilted lens, and that she’ll even let you climb her like a tree in front of her friends.

Lucky you.

Except you do know better. In the pit of your stomach, you know the reality is that you are in closer proximity than Maria, which therefore makes you the most convenient piece of ass at Carol’s disposal, that Carol believes — and is likely right about how — you’re still wound tight enough around her finger to make you drop to your knees like a good little girl, blinded by her golden halo of hair and the whiskey-soaked taste of her lips and ready to excuse her shit treatment of you. That even feeling like you have her for the beat of a butterfly’s wings is worth your sanity. And despite it all, it isn’t enough to keep you away. It’s not enough to exile the parts of a masochistic heart beating in your chest that somehow loves her, even if the only part of you she loves is your willingness to show up for her.

Carol’s fraternity is co-ed, which means that between all of the brothers, their social circle extends to the farthest corners of the university — they consume a fair bit of your own, considering you have at least two classes a semester with Bucky, sit with them at Wanda’s softball games (mostly so you can talk shit about your high school ex that made the team), and rent study rooms at least once a month with Thor, Bruce, and Val to spiral into late night insanity while you all contemplate the meaning of life and attempt to memorize vocabulary words. You slip in through the door, bass thudding into your molars and the heavy blanket of smoke and sweat covers your bare shoulders as you weave your way through the house.

“Look who finally showed up!” Behind the counter in the kitchen is Sam Wilson, running position as makeshift bartender. You detour long enough for a vodka and Diet Coke, stopping next to the barstool that Bucky’s perched on. He tucks you underneath his arm for a side hug, other hand tipping his own solo cup back as he tries to drain the last bit of liquor down his throat.

They’re good friends to you. It’s why you hate doing this dance with Satan — because at some point, you feel that there’s going to be a tectonic shift between the two of you that dredges up a rift in the concrete and you don’t know who will be left on your side. You don’t know who you’ll be able to look in the eye and lie to about Carol, who would pick you over her. You don’t even know if any of them would believe you or would write you off as crazy as you’ve been writing yourself off as of late.

You tell yourself that you’re trying, goddammit, to shove that piece of yourself back into a locked drawer and enjoy the company of your friends.

“Anybody seen Danvers?” you pitch as nonchalantly as you know how, planting your elbows down onto the granite of the counter while you watch Sam mix your drink. He goes heavy on the vodka, which you quietly appreciate.

Bucky snorts. “Yeah, we’ve seen her alright.”

“She’s in the dining room trying to rally everyone into a round of strip beer pong,” Sam explains. “Last we saw, she got her shirt stuck in the chandelier.”

“The face of class, this fraternity,” you tease as Sam hands you your drink. He can’t help but laugh, a jovial, guttural noise that makes you smile, even though your stomach is currently in your throat.

You bid them farewell and snake through the living room, trying to avoid the furniture or the bodies of other people and almost always fail in avoiding both at the same time as you carve out a path to the dining room. It’s densely packed, which forebodes the game of beer pong that the boys mentioned. You try not to cut your elbows into the bones and flesh of others to make your way through, but your adrenaline is humming at the thought of seeing Carol, the thought of her body glowing in the house lights and the cut of her physique out on display for anyone, including you, to openly ogle without abandon.

“Goddamn, Danvers!” someone yells mirthfully. “Keep it in your pants!”

Whistling down to one thought, one track, your mind lasers in and you’re positive that the sharp point of your elbow nails T’Challa directly in the ribs as you finally make it to the inner lip of the circle around the dining room table. It’s desperate. You know it’s desperate. You'll care about it later, you’re sure, but for now, all that’s on your mind is her.

“For the love of fuck, I—” Someone stumbles back into you, dark hair in frizzy waves and the bill of their baseball cap nearly jabbing straight into your nose. Wanda Maximoff spins around, her eyes lightening up at the sight of you as she grabs onto your wrist to stable herself. “Oh! Hey, babe,” she says with a smile. “Didn’t know you were coming.”

“Me either,” you tell her, trying not to be blatant as you scan for Carol. “Carol didn’t tell me until last minute.”

“Boo,” Wanda pouts, before turning to yell over her shoulder, “Danvers! Fuck you!”

“Get in line!” Carol calls back, and your head locks in on where her voice comes from. Your stomach plunges into free fall when you see her: as promised, she’s standing around in her sports bra and jeans, white teeth glinting and blonde hair curling around onto her tanned shoulders, biceps on display and her arms snaked around — her.

Maria Hill, in the flesh, pressed against Carol’s side and her chin balanced on Carol’s shoulder as Carol makes a shot one-handed that successfully lands in a cup on the opposite end of the table. Carol cheers victoriously, and Maria kisses her cheek, and you notice that Carol’s hand on Maria’s side drifts down towards her ass.

All of Carol’s messages swim inside your mind, the ones where she assures you that it’s all real, that she and Hill are done, that Hill’s holding her back, that she’s felt things for you since the moment she laid eyes on you and just knew; the ones where she paints a beautiful picture of a future with you, the same picture she’s just doused in cheap spirits and ruined for the dozenth time. Your drink suddenly tastes like arsenic, heavy and uneven in your stomach, the room shrinking and heat crawling up your neck in an uncomfortable panic. You are going to be sick.

Wanda’s voice comes through in the midst of the ringing in your ears. Fuck you, Danvers.

It takes you a moment to realize that Wanda’s voice isn’t just a reverberation inside your mind, but is right in your ear. “Hey!” She calls your name again, and you finally snap your attention back to her. She scans over your face for a moment, eyebrows folding in the center of her brow. “You alright? Where’d you just go?”

The shock is fresh on your face, salt water from the crashing wave that’s irritating your eyes — you refuse to let yourself cry, here in front of everyone, because all that’s going to do is open the door to a conversation you don’t want to have, incite a fight with Carol that you’ll surely lose, leave you feeling even lower than you do at the moment. You shake your head, trying to shake whatever emotions that aren’t nonchalant off of your face. “Noth—nowhere,” you stammer, voice an octave higher than usual. Wanda’s perplexity only deepens. “More crowded than I thought. Got beer-splashed.”

Wanda breaks into a smile, seemingly buying your excuse. “C’mon, what’d you expect?” she ribs. It’s a loaded question, and if Wanda wasn’t Wanda, you’re sure it’d be enough to light your rapidly shorting fuse. The thin strain in your falsified smile must give something away, because she softens the slightest bit and wraps her arm around yours. “Let’s go downstairs. I’ll kick your ass sideways in pool.”

You appreciatively take Wanda’s out, allowing her to guide you away from the Carol show and the crowd of people you have steeled yourself in order to not cry in front of and head with her towards the basement, which the frat has renovated into a lounge space with a giant television, sectional that is infamous for its hosting of The Threesome, and the pool table. It hasn’t garnered quite the same audience that the beer pong game has, but less people means you feel slightly less suffocated. Carol’s still got her foot on your throat, but down here, it’s easier to maneuver and act as though you haven’t just had yourself made a fool in front of everyone without them knowing.

Relieved for the little things, like elbow room, you sit down on the arm of the sectional and take a long drink from your cup — if you’re going to survive the rest of the night without your tail tucking between your legs (and you’re determined to further your self-sabotage by going the extra mile to ensure Carol knows she fucked up, even though it’s likely she doesn’t care) you’ll have to be drunker than this. Wanda adjusts her hat on her head and picks up a pool cue, glancing back over her shoulder at you. “Want someone to show you how it’s done?” she teases.

You lift your cup in acknowledgment, smile shedding off of your lips. “Go for it.”

As Wanda weasels her way into the current game of pool, you do a quick intake of who all’s downstairs. There’s a few of the brothers, a few of the brother’s dates, people that are otherwise background characters designed to make campus seem at capacity but not so many people that no one would notice if you threw up in the corner or worse, started crying. You purse your lips around the rim of your solo cup, scanning the company around the pool table. Wanda sidles up next to another one of her brothers, poking her with the pool cue. “Nat!” Wanda whines. “Give me room.”

Natasha Romanoff shuffles out of the way with the roll of her eyes. “Poke me with the stick again and it’s gonna go somewhere less than ideal.”

Wanda flicks her middle finger upright before hunching around the shape of the pool cue. “You don’t scare me, Natty.”

“Your funeral.”

Your eyes follow Natasha out of the way, and she feels their weight because the next thing you know, you’re off the cliffs and deep somewhere inside the greenery of her eyes. They’re pretty eyes, you idly note, and you find yourself mulling over Natasha Romanoff, as a person, as a concept, as Natasha. She’s the oldest of the girls in the fraternity, a senior to your junior, and she’s been around for so long that it’s hard to remember a time when she wasn’t there. It’s hard to imagine a room without her in it, a constant fixture on the mantel that you don’t even bother acknowledging it anymore.

She cocks an eyebrow at you after what’s sure to be a long moment of staring, and Wanda, who is unfortunately more observant than you’d like to believe, begins laughing. “Am I interrupting this little staring contest?”

Natasha smirks. “I could win a staring contest and kick your ass at the same time, Maximoff.”

“Show off,” Wanda grumbles as she passes the pool cue over to Natasha. She then looks at you, and whatever grumpiness dissipates, her shit-eating grin returning. “Now, you on the other hand,” she preludes with a gesture towards you. “There’s no way.”

You drain the rest of your drink and discard the cup off to the side. "You talk a lot, Wan,” you inform her as you walk up to the side of the pool table. Wanda just grins as you turn to Natasha, gesturing for the pool cue. “Let me have a go.”

Natasha acquiesces and passes you the pool cue, giving you the space you need coupled with a low nod of encouragement. There are a few clusters of balls around the table and you’re trying to eye up a shot that’ll give you not only a handful of points, but will get Wanda off your back — even if you are grateful for the timing of her diversions.

Unfortunately, it’s not enough; you can still hear the laughter and music through the walls from upstairs, a raucous noise that scatters your train of thought. Is it Carol? What’s she doing? What’s she whispering into Hill’s ear? Does she know you’re even here? Does she care?

Probably not.

You take the shot without thinking, balls ricocheting off the sides of the pool table. Wanda barks out a laugh. “Really? That’s the best you’ve got?”

“Just getting warmed up,” you say stiffly, handing the pool cue off.

Wanda’s face is alight with amusement, nodding slowly as she moves around the pool table for her next shot. “Okay.”

You’re too far in your head, and you know it. You’re content to linger on the outskirts of the game while everyone else that Wanda goes about recruiting takes their turn. It’s a few minutes or an hour before the cue ends up back in your hand, like a rickety sort of clockwork that is unexpected but also entirely predictable. You assess the situation and find a decent enough angle now that the game has progressed, significantly so.

You bend over slightly, eyes fixed on a blue ten that’s not too far from the cue. Before you can make the shot, you hear someone behind you muttering. “Do it like this.”

When you glance over your shoulder, it’s Natasha, only a few inches from where you stand, hands hesitating before she reaches out. “Back up,” she guides, her hands stationing on your hips and forcing you to take a half-shuffle of a step backwards. “And lift your elbow like this.” You’re clay and she shapes you how she wishes, her touch feather light. “Okay. Now try.”

You do exactly as she says, pool cue shooting from your hand and colliding with the cue ball. The ten you’ve had your eyes on sails into the pocket without any interference.

“Nice shot, sweetheart,” Natasha says, her voice ghosting along the back of your spine. As you straighten up, you glance behind you, noticing the faint grin along the curve of her lips.

“Well that wasn’t sexual at all,” Wanda comments with a low whistle as the pool cue returns to her grip. “Do losers get laid still? I wouldn’t know.” With a toothy flash of a grin, she draws the cue back and makes another shot — you’re not entirely focused on her efforts, thanks to the gravity of Natasha’s sights still pressing deep into your skin.

Wanda talks a big enough game that she recruits nearly everyone standing around the pool shot to give it a go, which provides a window of opportunity for Natasha to brush a hand along your shoulder and steal you away. “Up for a smoke?” she asks, and you nod. You allow her to lead the way out through the basement’s French doors, slipping outside into the backyard where the sky is dotted with stars, the air smells only the slightest bit cleaner, and the music is nothing but a dull pulse from inside the house.

Natasha steers you away from the patio where other fraternity brothers and their guests are sitting around, enjoying their drinks and laughing amongst their idle, stoned conversations around the fire pit. You follow her into the grass, trailing around the side of the house until the two of you don’t have any other company aside from each other and Thor’s knockout rose bushes that he takes great pride in.

She leans up against the wall, hands fishing in the pocket of her jacket for her lighter. For someone who’s devoted the rest of their evening to shooting metaphorical (or even literal) middle fingers in Carol’s direction, you’re still too far on edge to be nonchalant about any of it. The quiet is all consuming, maddening inside of your buzzing mind. Natasha produces a joint, embers burning on the end as she lights it and brings it up to her lips. You’re left to watch as she takes a long, casual drag, a cloud of smoke billowing from her lips on the exhale. Her wrist then extends, offering the joint up; if there is such a thing as too eager, you’d be the poster child for it, the way you pluck it from her fingers and take a hit.

“Something on your mind?” she asks, her voice a low drag of gravel against the muted bass thud inside of the house. You open an eye and glance over at her, her green eyes burning holes through you as she watches.

“Eh,” you mutter half-heartedly with a shrug. “Not worth it.”

You pass the joint back to her after you take one more drag, your eyes fixed on the steady stream of smoke that you forcibly control the exit from your mouth. It’s nice to have control over something, you think, even if it is, to some degree, just seeing how long you can hold your breath.

“Seems like you could use a distraction,” Natasha comments, fingers idly rolling the joint between her fingers as smoke still curls from the tip.

You laugh, a low and guttural noise that’s passive at best. “Yeah, probably.”

Natasha turns so her entire body is facing you, and it doesn’t register, the way that she’s looking at you, until you feel her brush your hair off of your face. Your eyes fully open, somewhat surprised by the action, watching her carefully. Natasha’s a lot of things, but gentle isn’t one you’d readily associate with her. It’s almost like she’s handling you like glass, waiting for the right moment to shatter you. It’s a hiccup in your chest, a strange feeling washing over your body.

“Let me distract you, then.” She says it simply, like it’s the most logical conclusion to arrive at.

“Nat, what...”

“C’mere.” One of her hands encircles your wrist, guiding you closer. You follow wordlessly in her guidance, unsure of what she’s doing or what’s to come. She takes another hit of the joint, her eyes glowing the same way the end of the joint does, a low burning fire that seems to grow hotter the longer your eyes are connected.

The hand holding your wrist slides up your body until she’s cupping your jaw, her thumb darting across the expanse of your face to swipe across your lips in a prompt to open them. She lowers the joint, bringing her face inches away from your own as her mouth forms a perfect circle and releases smoke. You’ve shotgunned weed before, but never at such a close proximity. Natasha breathes out and you breathe in, eyes fluttering shut at the intimacy of the moment.

“Gonna let me distract you some more?” she whispers, and you barely register yourself nodding before her lips capture your own. Her mouth is plush and soft but nothing about her is gentle anymore — this is where she forces a spiderwebbing crack across your surface, the deft way in which she manipulates your lips to do exactly as she’d like, her tongue skating across the skin and opening your mouth to allow her access. You can’t help but to sigh into the kiss. She is exactly what she claims she is: a distraction, a welcome reprieve, and the golden halo around Carol’s head seems fuzzy and jilted now.

Natasha kisses you like she’s trying to set you on fire; at some point she has absconded the joint and ground out its remnants into the mulch, both her hands cupping your face as she boxes you in with her legs and adjusts the two of you so your back is now flush against the wall. “How’s this?” she murmurs against your ear, lips starting a descent down your neck that is feather light and the gentle scrape of her teeth.

“Very... very distracting,” you stammer out, fingers curling into fiery red hair.

“Good,” Natasha hums, her mouth vibrating over a particularly sensitive spot on your collarbone that causes your grip in her hair to tighten. “Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be so far in your head.”

You nod, thankful for the reward of her body pressing against yours.

“What d’you say?” Her voice ghosts over your skin, and for a moment, you’re not sure what it is she’s asking. It takes a moment, the weed and the liquor clouding your mind, but the dig of Natasha’s blunt fingernails into your hips and the graze of her teeth along your skin serves as motivation. “Huh? What d’you say, princess?”

“Thank you,” you gasp, the feeling of her mouth tightening around your skin wet and hot sending a glimmer of electricity down your spinal cord. Natasha chuckles, a dark and melodic noise that buzzes through your body.

“You’re welcome,” she croons. “’S that all you needed? Or do you need more?”

More. It’s the knee jerk response you have, the way your world has narrowed down to just her and the scent of her heady perfume and each individual curve of muscle is now flush against you. Your eyes open only to see Natasha grinning like she’s the fuckin’ devil.

Maybe you were misplaced somehow.

Natasha’s hands drag over your sides, up and down roughly as she kisses you and forces your legs farther apart so she’s able to snake one of her thighs in between them. She rucks your top up on the edges, fingers brushing over your skin in a delightful contrast to the cool evening air. Natasha is hot, her touch burning and singeing the skin wherever it moves. She’s painting you out of ashes and making you into something beautiful, something uniquely her own. Her hands slip underneath your shirt and you feel one hand trail upwards, fingers wrapping around your breast before squeezing. It elicits another tiny moan from you, which Natasha swallows down with a kiss. “Shh,” she hisses against your lips. “Be quiet.”

You arch into her touch as her fingers slip beneath the cup of your bra and pinch your nipple tight, another squeak of pleasure groaned into her mouth. It only encourages her further, the other hand of hers moving in the opposite direction. “Want me to touch you?” she whispers in your ear while you press your mouth into her shoulder, breath warm against your ear and her teeth just barely missing your earlobe. “Bet you’re not distracted now; only thing you and that pussy are thinking about is me, huh?”

“Fuck, Nat,” you mumble into her skin.

“Yeah you are,” she replies with a shit eating grin, your head tilting back until it roughly meets the back of the wall as her hand goes up your skirt.

You’d been meticulous prior to coming over, thinking on whatever lone star trailing in the sky that you’d be seducing Carol tonight; you’d purposefully worn your skimpiest pair of underwear just to show her what she could have if she was with you. It’s only when you see the look on Natasha’s face, the way her pupils dilate and her jaw slackens the slightest bit as her fingers skim in between the folds of your thigh and vulva and feels lace that you feel something resembling satisfaction. “You came ready for a distraction, princess,” she grumbles, moving your underwear to the side and swiping her fingers through what is now sheer want dripping from you. “Fuck, you’re wet.”

“N... Nat,” you whine, squirming around in the pursuit of pressure. “Touch me.”

She places the tip of her finger at your entrance, just barely teasing it in. “Ask nicely, honey.”

The words spill from your lips without thought. “Please, Nat, please touch me, fuck m—” She cuts you off as she slips her finger inside of you and you all but rocket up the side of the wall at the feeling. Her free hand, still underneath your shirt, wrestles out from beneath the fabric and is slapped over your mouth to muffle whatever noise you make.

“Thought I told you to be quiet,” she says between her gritted teeth. “Here.” She presses her index and middle fingers against your lips and you acquiesce, opening them wide enough to allow them to slip in. “Suck.”

You do as you’re told, happy to oblige as she begins to finger you. There’s nothing soft or sweet about the way she fucks you; she adds another finger and finds a steady rhythm, curling each time she’s knuckle deep inside of you just so she can be rewarded with you humming around the fingers in your mouth. It amuses her to some extent, the way her eyes have darkened and her mouth is slightly agape. She knows exactly what she’s doing, and considering how tight you are wound, you’re not going to last long.

"Clench around me, pretty girl,” she hisses amongst the other litany of dirty things she’s whispering in your ear. “Such a sweet pussy, does whatever I ask it to; what if I want this pussy all to myself? You gonna let me have it?”

You nod, Natasha withdrawing her fingers from your mouth before she hauls you in for the filthiest kiss of your life. “Fuck,” you whimper against her lips. “Yours, Nat, your pussy.”

“Yeah, I know. This is my pussy now, all tight and hot and wet and desperate just for me. This was what you needed, wasn’t it? Needed me to fuck you silly until you forget how to put one foot in front of the other.”

“Please, Nat, gonna...”

“What?” she teases, her thumb flicking across your clit and you know that she’s doomed you, mind and body barreling down a track that there is no return from. “What, baby? Use your words.”

“Gonna come,” you manage to get out, and she fucking laughs.

“‘S right,” she agrees. “Gonna make this little pussy come all over my fingers, since I’m the only one who can. That right?” You nod; her fingers tighten in your hair and pull your head back so your neck is exposed for her. “C’mon, baby, wanna see you make a mess on my hand. Come for me like a good little slut. You know you want to.” You do, you do, and everything is bordering on the edge of too much the way Natasha is sucking your neck and rubbing tight circles on your clit. “Show me who’s pussy this is. Come.”

Another few thrusts and flicks of your clit and you are gone, Natasha bringing her mouth back to yours to swallow the keens and cries of you hitting your climax. The brick wall underneath you scratches at your shirt but it is a heavenly feeling, losing control underneath Natasha. She just smiles when she pulls away and you slump into her, perfectly sated.

“That was hot,” she says with a wicked grin, pulling her fingers out of you. She doesn’t break eye contact as she brings them up to her lips, sucking your taste off of them. Her eyes alight with pleasure, a contented hum reverberating from her vocal cords. “Thanks, pretty girl.”

Beat that, Danvers.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff imagine #black widow x reader #black widow x you #black widow imagine #marvel fic #marvel fanfiction #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #avengers fanfiction #avengers imagine #carlie writes things #writing: fics #i am a fan of wanda starting shit tysm #let wanda be the villain if she wants!!!! <3 #i have played pool exactly 0 times before so leave me alone

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lambergeier · 4 days

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oh yeah I GOTTA get commentary on the new good good. let's do... the first part of the poker game. "What the fuck is wrong with you two?" through to "...Miles was forced to find other things to be annoyed about."

yessss let's do this

“So, what the fuck is wrong with you two?” he asks as Kristoph throws his head back and laughs.

okay so when planning out this fic, i knew basically right away what the first three and last two scenes would be (bad :)), and then i knew that in the middle i wanted a scene with trucy and a scene with kristoph. trucy, because it's not a meaningful depiction of phoenix as a character if you're not also looking at his relationship with his daughter, and kristoph because there wasn't fucking ANY krisnix in in better light and that was a criminal act. it was a criminal act that we wrote a whole aa4 au without any tangible krisnix. so, time to fix that!

emma in particular enjoys the interpretation of krisnix that is like, phoenix genuinely liked this guy once. he really didn't want all those crimes to be his. so that's what i went with, and it dovetailed perfectly with the plot need at this point in the story, which is "be ominous af and also call into question phoenix's self-image." thanks kris!

read more lol this bitch got long

Phoenix and Kristoph’s Thursday night poker game (weekly, with allowances for international conference calls and Kaiju attacks) takes place in an unused office high in the Dome, overlooking the catwalks and the Jaegers’ great bowed heads. They show up in their civvies, except when they don’t, and play for the same ten twenty-dollar-bills handed back and forth over the last three and a half years, except when they don’t. Phoenix tenderly nurses a single beer over the course of the night because if he drinks anything more than that Miles will start stumbling into walls. Phoenix hasn’t had a cocktail since he was 26. He hopes dark and stormies miss him as much as he misses them.

phoenix, prevented by his loving and very complicated relationship from becoming an alcoholic in this universe, as miles was prevented from making a sincere effort to kill himself (sad!), will make up for lost time post-fic, mostly by returning to the loving arms of rum cocktails with such intensity that he speed runs alcoholism and ends up sober again within like two and a half years. sorry buddy, non-alcoholic beers be upon ye <3.

phoenix and kristoph don't play for real money because a) not a good way to run a regular two-person poker night, b) they have too much disposable income (all their costs being paid for by the PPDC lol) to make most money below "crazy amounts" super meaningful, c) phoenix is the better card player and would have to work SO much harder if they played no limit/pot limit to make sure he wasn't taking an amount of money from kristoph that would cause kristoph to mail him anthrax. fixed bet is easier all around!

“It’s exactly as we said this afternoon, honored Flight Commander,” Kristoph says, eyes down, cutting the deck with a slick smile. He’s fresh out of the shower, cleaned and pressed and lightly steamed. Phoenix, conversely, smells like a refinery fire. “Klavier experienced a serious heartbreak recently. A temporary hiccup in our drift stability. Nothing to worry about.”

i typed and deleted so many more overtly homosexual descriptors of kristoph in this scene lmao. it was so difficult. like obviously krisnix is real and phoenix wants to chew kristoph's throat (sexually), but i do not believe that phoenix would ever cheat on miles in the situation we have set up here, or even think about it particularly hard, PLUS this is a very short, streamlined fic and we Do Not Have Time For All That.

also like yeah blah blah blah fic about all the things phoenix knows and lies to himself about, the extent of his attraction to kristoph is likely unknown even to him, things he doesn't know or doesn't want to know don't show up in narration because he's In Control blah blah metatextual reason to not have put the gay shit in. but also oh my god the scene was so long already. and they're already SO horny for each other

“Oh, please,” Phoenix says, leaning carefully back in his chair. The aches of the day are beginning to compound—Miles’ quivering hands plus Phoenix’s failing back times a brewing fatigue that could be either of them. “Don’t embarrass yourself. I used to drift with Miles. You think we never dealt with some heightened emotion in the drift?” Kristoph raises a pale eyebrow. He says, “Surely you're not referring to—” Phoenix laughs “Yeah, yeah, c’mon you rat bitch, hit me—” “—The time you conspired to send his adopted father and former commanding officer to die in prison?” “Where I hope he fucking rots,” Phoenix says sweetly and grins. “Deal the cards, Ranger Has-Been.”

one of kristoph's favorite jibes. haha you're actually quite the rage-filled angel of vengeance when you want to be, aren't you, wright? 🤨🏳️‍🌈🔪❓ he doesn't really get tired of it!

Kristoph does so, with the smooth professionalism of a chronic gambler.

not necessarily a trait supported by AJ canon, but i stand by it. i think he's got that shit on a tight leash but he does still, by his word and deed, got it.

Miles dislikes Phoenix’s poker nights for myriad reasons—he thinks it’s wildly inappropriate to gamble with a subordinate; he maintains but has never admitted to a lifelong jealous streak; at the end of the day, he’s just never liked Kristoph that much. That part Miles admits to pretty frequently. But poker nights have withstood it all. For the first few months Phoenix simply swam through Miles’ distaste like a catfish through unhappy, very passive-aggressive waters. When Kristoph failed to set down his cards and propose a rousing twenty minutes of oral sex at any point during their games, Miles was forced to find other things to be annoyed about.

miles: vividly aware that in another life phoenix and kristoph were fucking nightly in a rainbow of dubiously-consensual manners. also miles: completely unable to articulate this without sounding like a lunatic. he knows tho. he knows.

i mean honestly in THIS universe miles has to be quite aware that not only does his partner really look forward to these nights alone with his handsome pilot friend, phoenix is also getting something from this guy (acknowledgement that he's a piece of shit and will continue to be one) that miles absolutely cannot give him in the same way. who wouldn't be resentful! who wouldn't be resentful of having to sit in the back of the theater every night and watch this shit happen! especially if you are having an atrociously bad time with your own life at the same time, continuously!

by word of god (me and emma's fevered IRL conversations), breaking the drift and marrying phoenix does solve all of edgeworth's jealousy problems forever, just so everyone knows. post-in better light phoenix goes to visit kristoph in jail to have intensely erotic discussions about death and culpability, twenty feet apart, no touching, and when phoenix comes home miles is like "so did you fuck him?"

phoenix, frozen in his hobble up the stairs, genuinely unable to tell if what he just did was 'fucking': uhhhhhhhhh

miles with full, complete sincerity, in the absolute true confidence that he and phoenix will die before they break up again: it doesn't matter to me if you did. but you should probably know for your own planning purposes

miles: in case he tries to babytrap you, perhaps

#in better light #dvd commentary meme

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philommedes10 · 27 days

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one day, we’re hanging out with a good friend of mine who recently got a promotion at work. He spends the time just going on and on about how he depressed and lonely he is. I come to you with an idea, that you should let him fuck you one time, just to get him back on the horse. Although you’re initially resistant, through some firm convince, we eventually reach an agreement that it’s ok, just this once. The friend comes into our room, fucks you (surprisingly proficient, but nothing to write home about), and leaves, happier than ever.

A month later, he calls again, asking for a second time with you. Both of us refuse, but then he offers to pay. His new position has given him a significant amount of disposable income, and he would love to spend it on you. You’re offended and reach to hang up the phone when I wrench it out of your hands.

We’re doing it, I say, this money could change our lives.

So he comes over that night

and the next

and the one after that

Originally, he would give you the money, but at this point he doesn’t even look at you when he gives me a stack of cash bigger than most people’s rent. After all, I’ve stopped including you in any of the business deals. Before his appointment I just say “The client is on his way. Get ready.”

After a week of these nights, him leaving you on the bed, pussy dripping with his cum, ass red as a cherry, we get another call from a number I do not know. Apparently word has spread, and there are plenty more buyers ready to have their way with my little slut. Buyers willing to pay an even prettier penny than my friend.

Of course I accept, and now every night at least three of these well-dressed businessmen enter into our home, fuck you, and leave. A perfectly scheduled machine of cocks delivering their semen into you.

But we’re making so much money, I don’t even care. We move into a bigger place, with more rooms. I tell you to recruit your friends, and they come. You were once my one and only love, but now you’re just another slut amongst dozens, just a way for me to make my money.

#cnc free use #free use slvt #cnc k!nk #free use cnc #free use kink #free use toy #free use doll #Capitalism nsft I guess?

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chinateacup · 1 year

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I am once again asking for Kofi donations!!

Link is in my bio. I’m in DESPERATE need of money for groceries. If you enjoy my works or have the disposable income, please please consider donating <3

#twirls hair bats eyes #reblogs massively appreciated

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rhythmic-idealist · 10 months

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The shorter (better) version of this post that contains every detail ever— Some of you know my partner @crimeronan.

(This is the part where I gush about my partner. You can skip down a few paragraphs if you wanna.)

If you do know—or know of—Kitkat, you might know them as a resource, or as a writer, or as that person who has been known to sit down and write six paragraphs of advice to the scared young person in their inbox.

Watching their blog I see people trading autoimmune stories, younger queer and polyamorous people asking questions about what it's like to be in your mid twenties and settled into those things, and people who found stories who resonated in ways stories don't always succeed at.

Or maybe not! That’s my platonic partner of four years. Happy to introduce u.

(This is the part you can skip forward to.)

If you ARE aware of Kitkat, you might know a little about their running 2+ year health mystery, and about the recent updates that it is FINALLY starting to be solved. Kitkat has been too sick to work consistently for a very long time, has lost multiple freelance writing clients to ChatGPT, and has been doing physical gig delivery work to try to make up the gap—while remaining too sick to work a majority of the time.

This post exists because their car broke down.

To say the money situation is already tight would be, though I’m sorry to put it like this, understated. Basically: because of this auto repair bill, they’re not going to be able to make rent.

A little info about what we're doing moving forward: I'm gonna be moving in next month, finding a job that will train me instead of the original plan of finishing trade school first (I'm happy about this turn of events for many reasons! Just explaining where I fit in the whole financial constellation). And at that point, I'm gonna be helping with bills, since Kitkat's entire focus right now should be on getting well again. I expect we as a group will probably be okay once I’m in Oregon and more established/able to help out with the household income.

The problem is just that things aren’t there yet, and this isn't money we're going to be able to make back later. Kitkat has been too sick to work consistently for much too long, and that's just untenable without looking for community support right now.

Kitkat has limited mobility and is going to need to get to upcoming appointments, and speaking honestly, also just really needs access to a car to make things like groceries feasible. She’s not the only one in the apartment with limited mobility or chronic pain.

The bill has come out to $717.80.

As of now, rent money has been used to pay it—the car has been repaired now, but that money was for rent and daily expenses. There is already financial assistance in play, particularly Medicaid. As it stands, because of this bill, they're not going to make rent.

To account for GoFundMe's fees of 2.9% + $0.30 per transaction, the goal has been set to $750.

If you’re in any way able to give, the link is here: https://gofund.me/c0f9d7fe

Otherwise, a share goes a really long way.

Thank you a ton for reading this far. Please know: this post is an appeal to those among us who have disposable income and are looking to donate some of it. Take care.

Thank you.

$1,478/750

Date posted: July 27th, 2023 Updated: August 10th, 2023 because I noticed donations are still trickling in wah??????? 🥹😭

#mutual aid #kitkat car gfm

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sharpth1ng · 5 months

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don’t be shy, post the full version of your PFP

LMAO I would but I'm not interested in tempting the anti-porn tumblr gods, I've already been shadowbanned once and I don't want to deal with that again.

Realistically this painting will show up uncensored on patreon eventually. I'm planning to set it up so subscribers get early access to art, and exclusive access to some of the nsfw stuff. All of the SFW stuff will eventually be posted to tumblr as well (just will a delay of a few months or smth), and it's possible I'll start a free tier for access to some of the nsfw works as well but I think I'll keep most of those exclusive for a paid tier.

This is partly also a way for me to restrict access from minors as well tbh. I know people under 18 can have credit cards and disposable income but I think it makes it at least a little harder.

#dilemmas #I dont want to put anything behind a paywall but also if i could make a little income on this stuff i could make so much more way faster #sharpthing art #ask

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lunar-years · 1 month

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Do you think Roy was the first partner Keeley ever had to ask to give her more space? Like. I know there was a lot going on there, because Roy was giving her a frankly unsustainable amount of his time if they were ever going to have friends and lives outside of each other. But I also think of how quickly she jumped to "are you leaving?" at the end of the episode and her stated abandonment issues and the fact that she could tell everyone else around them but still couldn't tell Roy--probably, again, because she was that terrified he'd leave her immediately for daring to request it.

I just think there's something super interesting in there about Keeley, and her inability to ask for something basic like space in a relationship, and the way that perhaps sheds some additional light on all her previous relationships, too. Like, we're meant to believe I think that Roy was her first truly serious adult relationship (and I do think Jamie fell into the gray space between casual and committed tbh, but that's another discussion), and everyone she dated before was just a litany young fit footballers who made for a good shag and had a lot of disposable income. But then, it also feels deliberate to have someone like Shandy come in as sort of the "stereotype" ~what Keeley could have been~ character and have her state she's already gotten married and divorced from a rich footballer. (plus, I'm pretty sure someone told me once a lot of irl young players get married very young).

So it just makes me think about Keeley deliberately picking relationships where 1) space was sort of built-in, because at the very least these footballers were going off to training and hanging with their mates and taking trips to away matches. 2) but she always has someone to keep her company when she wants it, because Keeley is definitely a serial monogamist who struggles I think very much with being single 3) she has enough security to think they won't leave her, because she knows she makes good arm candy and good fun and can play the part of a wag like no other. 4) she can break it off before it gets to the point of hasty marriage proposals (I think in the scene in jamie's kitchen it's sort of implied she's historically done most of the breaking up)

I know this has been super rambly with no clear point, lol, but I guess what I'm trying to say is I think the "you've got to leave before you get left" mentality is actually one she and Roy share. And I think she really might hate herself for needing space from Roy, because with him it's the first time she feels like she's sort of gotten over her inability to have a serious relationship and not want to run from it. her going around telling everyone but Roy she wants him to leave her alone sometimes, is, maybe unconsciously, a sort of "trial run" to see how people react and to determine if she's asking too much here like she thinks she is, and if he's going to up and leave her if she tells him this. obviously that's no excuse for what was really quite poor/immature behavior, but it helps it make more sense to me.

#i realize this barely makes sense even i do not fully know what i am trying to say lol #this is just me writing the thought vomit all down to try and make sense of it #keeley jones i am begging you to go to therapy #keeley jones #ted lasso #roykeeley

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missjanjie · 4 months

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"fracking aside, my least favourite part of rpdr is how normalised plastic surgery is" - this is the tea right here. I knew things were going downhill once I found out that Krystal Versace essentially redid her entire face at barely 18 going on 19. Like damn,baby girl, let your features settle first before making such major changes. And A'whora the season before did something similar(and bragged about it).

The cis woman/AFAB scene isn't safe from it either. Sigourney Beaver got her body done before Dragula (she was always curvy pre -Dragula, but she wasn't a near perfect hourglass like she is now) and Victoria Scone (I think) had lip fillers by the time CvTW rolled around. Don't even get me started on how lip fillers are treated almost like a status symbol on All Stars seasons.

(Being thin is also becoming something of a prerequisite for any kind of success or likeability factor on RPDR,but y'all aren't ready for that conversation just yet.)

No ok yeah exactly!!! Like when my brother was 18 he was still on the tail end of just fucking growing. If I found out he was getting fillers I’d smack them out of him. Like if your age ends in teen you should not be doing that sort of body modification. It’s short-sighted and dangerous. It’d be different if like, she had a physical disfigurement or had a feature she was bullied for a lot (ex: it used to be incredibly commonplace for jewish girls to get a nose job as a 16th birthday present) but honestly it gives Krystal an almost… uncanny valley look. I’ve seen her in person and it just doesn’t sit right w me.

It’s unfortunate that Sigourney and Victoria have gone down that road too. It seems like now everyone goes into their original season with an all stars face. Because as fucked up as it is, you’re right - plastic surgery has been seen as a status symbol more and more in the drag race community. It says ‘oh yeah I’ve got more than just disposable income, look at how I can spend money now’.

And again to be clear, I have no issue with these things in and of themselves. I’ve said to my friends that I would get lip filler if I had the money bcs this is an insecurity I’ve had for like ten years. But there’s no good reason for people in their 20s to play build-a-face and it worries me in ways.

#gen asks

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aplacetodoze · 1 year

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A Little Gift

Note: A fluffy one shot for Mando, just as he deserve.

Humming your favorite song, you put the pieces you've prepared together, cut the extra thread, wrap the material in the right way, you're halfway there...

"What are you doing?" comes a cold modulated voice behind you.

Frighted by his sudden appearance, your whole body jerked but your hand was quick to dispose of your work and back into your bag. You turn to face him and smile nervously, hiding the mess you've left with your body. "I was just- working on some of my em, broken tools, clothes, and stuff." He tilted his head, a rather cute motion for someone as deadly as him. "Well, if you need new tools and clothing you could just ask me." You shake your head, mortified. "NO, it's fine, I'll just fix it." you couldn't waste his credits just because of your stupid lie. He observe you for a while, and you were sure he was about to call out your lie, he simply gave you an "Alright." before walking away. You exhale rather loudly, you swear having a deadly Mandalorian jump scare you on daily basis will give you a heart attack one day. You turn toward your temporary work desk, which is just a few crates you see around the ship, and put them together, especially those unused ones (why does he keep so much random stuff on the ship but never use it?) You sigh and massage your sore neck for looking down half your day, it's quite peaceful lately, Mando's work and all the running are finally slowing down for once since rescuing the baby, and most of the bounty he takes in now is just steady income, nothing too dangerous. And you, as his mechanic and nurse, finally have the time to settle down. And you thought it would be nice to take this time to do something special for him. Maybe this would help melt his icy personality then you could openly take care of and love the true Mando you've been craving for. You're halfway through your work, better finish it off before Mando runs himself into trouble again. You sit back down on the not-so-comfortable floor and swear to yourself you'll force him to get a carpet. (or you'll make it yourself.) Unknowingly to you, an watchful eyes were trained on you the whole time.

Mando forced himself to tear his eyes away, you were clearly lying to him but it is your privacy that he has no right to pry. Though he was wondering why you would hide from him but he'll leave it to you. Mando went back to the cockpit to check the destination. He pull out a holo map to went through it again to make sure there was nothing dangerous on the planet that he didn't know of, but a three-finger tiny hand appear on his knee. He turned toward it and chuckled at the sight of the green child struggling to climb onto him. Mando picks him up and put him on his thigh, the child coo while looking up at him."You want to see this?" Mando gestures his hand toward the holo map, the child tilt his head and lets out a curious coo. Mando takes the map closer and shows it to him, "Alright, Udarvis, a water planet, peaceful with a popular civilization, I think you going to like it there." The child cooed again to reply and let out a happy noise when Mando open a beautiful photo of the planet. Mando chuckled before switching to another planet.

FINALLY! You have finished it, a brand new scarf made in a material that would change the temperature in different environments, and a new set of warm clothes for Mando, the haunting experience of the ice planet still burn you. Plus a new improved bag for the baby to rest in while going out. Now, you don't know if Mando will like your work, it's not something he counts as efficient or needed, but you believe it would help. Maybe you would change your gift into something more weaponry if he doesn't like it. But to be honest, you were more concerned about his health more than anything. Climbing up a ladder with a handful of stuff isn't very pleasant, but is a skill you need to master. Your joy washes over the struggle as soon as you reach the top, you recheck your gift once more, suddenly feeling nervous.

You step closer to Mando, and he tilts his head toward you when you're standing right behind him. You were about to speak up when something hit the crest, the whole ship shook as you lose balance and slam into the wall. "Dank Farrick!" you heard Mando curse， taking hold of the crest again. You stumble toward him and hold on to his pilot chair to keep yourself upright. "You're alright?" Mando asked as he check on the baby, you open your mouth to reply but you feel something drip down your cheek. Kniff you must have hit your head pretty badly, but it doesn't feel urgent. It might be just a scratch. You tumble backward a bit when Mando turns around, and you could hear his breath hitched as his eyes trained on the blood dripping down your face. You smile sheepily at him, "It's fine, Mando. It's just a scratch.“ You blink and he was in front of you, his helmet was inches away from your face. You feel a sudden heat rush toward your face, leaning back away from him on instinct but his hand stops you from moving further. His gloves hand brush over your hair to inspect your wound, you couldn't focus on anything other than how close Mando is, the pain is nothing compared to the way your heart was losing control. Mando leads back and lets out a sigh, "It's a surface wound but you still need bacta, come on." Mando takes hold of your wrist and gently guides you toward the seat. He did it so naturally like this is a normal interaction for the both of you but you can't help but linger on the way his hand fit so perfectly around your wrist. Mando left you on the seat and went down the deck to look for his med pack. You cling onto your gift waiting nervously for him to come back. Well, this isn't an ideal situation for your gift, but you suppose it helps you get his attention. Now you just need the courage.

Mando returns to you rather quickly and before you could form a word he kneels down to your eyes level. You watch him work in silence, heart skipping at his gentle touch. He'll stiff and hesitate to continue whenever you hiss and flinch away. Your heart melted by the time he finish, and your eyes flutter as he gently wiped the blood on your face away. You lead into his touch slightly, he tensed slightly but didn't comment on the action. You just wish he would treat himself just as tender as he does to you.

"It should heal in a few days." You open your eyes to watch him putting the med pack back together. Mando takes a step away and you dart out your arms to grad onto his wrist. “Wait!" He turns to you instantly, "Is something wrong?" the concern in his voice pulls at your heart-string, having you carving for more. "I have something for you!" you said cheerfully, giving him a big grin as if you didn't suffer a head injury. Mando picks it up wordlessly, inspecting the item intensely. "oh, the new scarf will change temperature due to the environment you're in to cooperate your body heat." He looks back at you, his silence is unsettling but you ignore it as best you can. “The clothes are more warm and comfortable, so they should help you on a cold planet and makes sleeping in your armor more comfortable." Mando put the scarf gently on his seat and palm the clothes even though he's wearing his glove. You wait until he put the clothes away with the scarf, leaving only the bag left. "That is for the baby! Now it's comfortable, and I've stuffed a little defense system in there too, so whenever a fight breaks off, a shield would appear and protect him." a happy squeak comes from the floor, and you look down to see the baby happily cooing at you. You giggle and pick him up, tickling him so you could hear his cute laugh. You hug the baby against you and look back at Mando.

Mando watches as you interact with the child, his clan happily together, safe. What you just did is too precious, the love he has carved for is being given right into his hands. He could feel the warmth in his chest bloom when you start explaining the meaning of every gift.

He has received a lot of 'gifts' in his past but never has someone gift him something made out of love. The gift is small but it fills the biggest hole he has in his heart. He watches as you smile sweetly at the child, and the smile stays when you turn to face him, taking his breath away. He slowly kneels down, putting his hands on your cheeks, "Mando?" He lean down and put his helmet against your forehead. He almost chuckled at the way your flutter, trying to jerk away. But he waits until you're calm enough to enjoy the moment. "Mando?" You repeat with a whisper, afraid to break the moment. "Din." "What?" "My name is Din." He watches your smile grow and his face under the helmet matches yours. "Din." he sighs contently, he will never get enough of your voice.

You lean closer to him, quietly asking the question you had in mind for a long while, "I love you, do you know that?" You heard Din inhale sharply, "Yes, I do. " He pauses and you wait patiently, knowing he's not used to being open about his emotion. "And I love you too, Cyar'ika." You smile again, this time with your heart full of love. "Good."

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misha_P/works

#the mandalorian #mandalorian x reader #din djarin #reader insert #din and grogu #one shot #mandalorian fluff #mandalorian fanfic #mando x reader #din djarin x reader #slight blood and injury #new to writing

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