Latest Posts by bboh032 - Page 3

He is Kenobi

Met hozier & he told my Irish speaking friend that his favorite Gaelic word is Bóín Dé literally meaning ‘God’s tiny cow’ or, in English, ‘ladybug.’ Just thought you should all know.

The fact that Hozier could have made the absolute sexiest most innuendo-filled song ever for the Lust song but he instead wrote "I don't care that you have screwed up my life and afterlife I would do it over and over again just to hold you" hoooooly shit man.

requested by wrathfulsun

girl dinner

"There is just one person inside my head. One person I can't stop thinking about. It's you." - "Testone", 2016 by Andrea Salvatori

Hey ...

Can I have a request for pedro × reader ?

The reader is sad about something and can't sleep pedro finds her in the balcony all alone with her thoughts in the middle of the night

threw this together to try to get out of my writers block, hope you enjoy love! sorry it's a bit on the shorter side :)

The night had gone seemingly well - or so he'd thought. Nothing was particularly out of the ordinary anyways. Dinner had been delicious, the wine you'd shared sweet, and you'd both wound down with a few episodes of a new show in bed before he'd curled up under the covers and let the drowsiness have him.

He'd just assumed you'd dozed off soon after he'd kissed you goodnight. But when he woke up at 2am to a cold bed, he realized he's been mistaken.

It put a knot in his stomach as soon as his eyes adjusted and he realized that his senses weren't failing him - you really weren't there beside him.

"Baby?" He called, voice still raspy.

The knot grew into a pit when he saw that the bathroom light wasn't on either.

"Amor?" He tried again - no answer.

His heartbeat picked up as he stood up from the bed, pace quickening as he realized that the bedroom door was cracked. He pushed it aside quickly, eyes scanning the house for any sign of you.

He let out a breath when he found it - the silhouette of his yellow Lakers shirt outside on the balcony, outlined through the glass doors. He'd recognize you in a crowded room, even with you turned away towards the city the way you were.

He was quiet and slow as he approached, sliding the door carefully out of the way.

"Amor? It's me." His voice was gentle but you jumped anyways, breath catching in your chest before you recognized him and relaxed.

You opened your mouth to say something, but you couldn't find anything quite right. Everything felt heavy - your mind, your chest, your eyes. So when Pedro made his way in front of you, crouched down to meet your gaze and asked if you were alright, you couldn't answer. All you did was shake your head no, and let the burning in your eyes you'd been fighting finally spill over.

He didn't need anything more than that. Without any hesitation he looped one arm under your knees and another behind your back, lifting you up and switching places so you were settled on his lap in the chair, curled up against him. He didn't move his arms, just used them to hold you close to him, to tuck you up against his bare chest.

His cheek was rough against your forehead, but it settled you, grounded you each time you felt it move as he spoke sweet nothings that flowed down to you, calming your heart beat by beat. I've got you amor. You're safe. It's alright. I'm right here. You can let it out. I love you. Te amo. I love you.

The tears stopped some time later, and to Pedro's relief you sat up and looked at him, giving him the chance to wipe some of the remnants away with his thumbs along your cheekbones.

"Que pasa mi amor?" He murmured sweetly - when you were finally able to look at him the genuine concern in his eyes was almost your undoing all over again. The love was so blatant, and you felt so undeserving that it was overwhelming. How could he really be yours? And how could you handle him being so far away? But you couldn't put that on him - it was too much. Too heavy.

"It's nothing baby, I'm okay."

He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, letting his fingers linger. You relaxed, resting your cheek in his palm.

"I can't help you if you don't let me in amor. Please," he whispered. "Let me in. Tell me, let me hold some of it."

You would never understand how he always knew exactly what to say to unlock the flood gates. But somehow he always had the key. And so you started to tell him. And you couldn't stop. And with every sad confession came tears and jumbled sentences and points missed and you didn't care, because Pedro was there, listening to every word and holding your hand as you played with his fingers to distract yourself as you spoke, released everything that had been keeping your mind running in circles all night long, exhausting you.

"... and it feels better when you're here, it feels like I can breathe but I know you're going to be gone soon and I'm so happy for you and I know you'll come visit and I can go visit but I don't know how I'm going to be okay with you so far away for so long when I love you this much and I just - I just -"

Those words in particular caught Pedro's ear, caused him to sit up a bit straighter.

"Sweetheart, I don't leave for filming for another two months."

"I know, I know I sound crazy, we have so much time but I can't stop thinking about what it's going to be like when you aren't here."

"Hey, c'mere. C'mere." He readjusted, moving your legs until you were straddling him. He took your face in his hands, waiting until you looked at him. "You aren't crazy. I've been thinking about it too. About how hard it's gonna be."

The shock of that pulled you out of your spiral a bit.

"You have?"

"Of course I have. I don't want to leave you here alone when I got to the gym, much less for six months of filming. I want to be where you are, simple as that."

The sincerity of his words hit you like a ton of bricks. "Yeah?" was all you could muster, and it made him chuckle.

"Yeah, mi amor." He laughed, kissing your nose. "So on that note I was thinking, maybe you could just come with me. If you wanted. We could get an apartment instead of my trailer, for the weekends, and -"

"You'd do that?"

He blinked at you, surprised. "Of course I would. But I understand that's a lot to ask of you. So obviously take all the time you need to think about it, and we can figure out the details."

It was your turn to laugh. As if you even needed to consider it.

"What?" He questioned. You answered him with a kiss, hoping it would convey everything you needed to say. When you finally broke free a few minutes later, your lack of sleep and aftermath of adrenaline had worn off. He didn't need to ask if you were okay - he could feel it. You yawned, leaning your head against Pedro's broad shoulder and melting into him.

He held you for a few moments, relishing in the feeling of you fully trusting him before he kissed your temple and coaxed you up just enough for him to get his hands under your thighs so he could carry you to bed. You didn't stray far - once he climbed under the covers you returned to him, curling up against his chest, head clear for the first time in weeks as his kissed your forehead and pulled you closer, holding you through the night.

okay… hear me out

pedro pascal as manny from ice age

like come on??? manny saves a child and keeps it safe…

sound familiar?

it’s the perfect role

which would you choose?

I dont understand gay artists who dont draw body hair like chest hair isnt the crown jewel of a man. like having a proper forest of hair on a chest, thick enough to run your hands through and detangle with your fingers and place your head against a man's hairy bosom and fall into the most peaceful of slumbers and. what was i saying.

i went to a tiny counterserve diner once and accidentally poured sugar instead of salt all over my hashbrowns and was eating them sadly anyways. the waitress took them away and started making me another one and I tried to protest, but she just snorted and said "we're not catholic here". now every time i'm doing something painful out of obligation i think about how that is not repenting, this body is not a catholic establishment, there is no nobility in suffering.

time to give him more kids

That de-escalated quickly

Beautiful Boy | The Mandalorian

✧ Now husband and wife, Din finally takes off the helmet and you see his face for the first time.

word count: 914 | rating: general audiences | content warnings: just fluff!

originally posted on march 14, 2022 on starlightdjarin

© catcastle on ao3 and @dearest-readers on tumblr

You haven’t been married for long. In fact, no more than a beat has passed since you exchanged the Mandalorian vows in the cockpit of the Crest. 

"Mhi solus tome.”  We are one when together.

“Mhi solus dar'tome.” We are one when parted.

“Mhi me'dinui an.” We will share all. 

“Mhi ba'juri verde." We will raise warriors. 

This is the start of your new life with your husband. Din Djarin. There was once a time when you never thought you’d know his birth name. Now, he is about to reveal his face to you. Maker, he’s nervous. And he has every right to be. Even though you’ve told him time and time again that it doesn’t matter what he looks like. After all, it wasn’t his face you fell in love with. 

You fell in love with his gruff exterior and stoic disposition. With his tender heart and broken soul. You softened his edges and reminded him it was okay to smile. You fell in love with the way he slowly let Grogu take up space in his heart. You fell in love with the way he covered you with his cape when you were cold in the cockpit. So, no. It doesn’t matter what he looks like. 

You rest your palms on Din’s armored thighs and he squeezes your hands gently. You can hear him trying to take a large, controlled breath. You know he’s anxious. You know he’s worried you won’t like what you see. 

“I love you, Din. What you look like will never change that.” 

“I know, cyar’ika,” Din sighs. “I love you. It’s just been—” 

“I know. You don’t have to take it off now. You never have to take it off if you don’t want to.” 

Din shakes his head. “No, I want to. I want to look at you through my own eyes. I’ve gotten to admire the slope of your nose and the crinkles around your eyes when you laugh at something not even remotely funny. The least I can do is show you my ugly mug.” 

Great, now you’re nervous. What if he really is unattractive? With any kind of love, there has to be some level of attraction. Oh, dear Maker, please just let him be decently handsome. It doesn’t matter. You tell yourself again. 

Din lets go of your hands and places them on either side of his helmet. “Ready?” He’s not sure if he’s asking you or himself. 

You nod. “So ready.” 

The helmet hisses and Din slowly lifts it up. With every inch of skin you see, your heart quivers ferociously. 

Scruff. Dark brown, maybe black facial hair. There’s a sprinkling of grey in it, too. 

Lips. Pink, plump, perfectly kissable. 

Nose. Aquiline and beautifully angled. 

Eyes. Hooded and crinkled at the edges. Brown, you note. Nervous and tired, but kind. 

Forehead. Creased with uncertainty. 

Hair. Dark, just like his beard. Tousled and loosely curled. You want to run your fingers through it. 

You haven’t said a single thing to your husband. You’ve just been staring, drinking him in. But your silence is worrying. Are you speechless because you don’t like the way he looks? Does he look old? Is it his patchy beard? 

No, it’s none of the above. You’re not silent because you don’t like what you see. You’re silent because you’ve found yourself deeper in love than you were before. You didn’t think that was possible. You didn’t think looks would matter that much. But looking at Din’s face, getting the full picture of who he is, it makes you love drunk. It makes you woozy. It makes you crave him. This is your man. Your beautiful boy.

You tentatively bring your hand up to Din’s face. “Can I?” 

Din nods. As soon as your hand touches his cheek, he closes his eyes and leans into you. It’s like a thousand little sparks lit up beneath his skin and spread down to his toes. It’s fiery and intense, but also warm and comforting. It’s been so long since someone else has touched him. He wants to feel you everywhere. Anywhere. He wants your bare bodies pressed together, legs intertwined and nose nuzzled in your neck. 

You’re tracing a line down his nose to memorize the curved line. Maker, you love him so much. “Din, take a deep breath,” you whisper. 

He tries to, but he’s overwhelmed by all of the things he wants to do with you. Such as kissing you. You’re his riduur and he hasn’t even kissed you yet! He cups your cheeks just as you’re holding his and he brings his lips to yours. You jolt in surprise but easily melt into him. It’s everything and nothing at all what you expected it to be. You didn’t expect the scruff to tickle the skin around your lips. You didn’t expect how soft his lips would be. Or how juvenile the kiss seems. Unpracticed and a bit messy, but full of love and affection. “Din,” you mumble against him. 

“Hmm?” He hums. He has no intentions of ever removing his lips from yours. 

“You’re perfect, Din,” the praise goes right into his mouth. It stirs something in his tummy. Desire. “So kriffing handsome.” 

Kissing Din, you realize, is everything you’ve been missing from your relationship. You have become one. You will still be one when he is away. You will share everything you have. And you absolutely cannot wait to start making and raising little warriors.

thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed it, please like and reblog— it really helps writers and creators out.

masterlist

sometimes babygirl is an almost 48 year old chilean actor

@snakes.n.roses on Instagram ♡

The ✨️Genders✨️ of the Pedro Pascal Cinematic Universe:

Asshole (affectionate)

Babygirl (derogatory)

Babygirl (affectionate)

Slut

pedro pascal looking for a new role

ID: a screenshot from a Uquiz where the instructions say to “Pick One: Cowboys, Dads, Sluts.” End ID.

slowly transferring my twitter art to tumblr…..slowly…..

I’m posting this because it’s one of my favorite things Pedro has done for promotion

rushed to make this as soon as I finished the episode

pov you are the armorer

textless version under cut

Check out my ongoing comic Crow Time. It has crows, and also neat pantheons of epic beasties.

𝐑𝐢𝐭𝐞

pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

word count: 1k

warnings: Smuttt. Needy Din- maskless Din is a sub, fight with the wall. Body worship (face… worship?). P in V sex- emphasis more on the P on V sex). Not proof read.

summary: Traditions form after Din removes the mask.

It’s freezing cold to the touch, the sharp edges of his helmet practically slicing your fingers open as you tentatively lift the beskar from his face. You feel his aquiline nose catch on the foam padding on the inside. You utter a sorry.

Din’s palms splay over your hips where you straddle him in the minute cot, leather biting lightly against your bare skin where he digs his fingers in. His eyelashes flutter as the edge of his helmet is pulled up, and he’s exposed to the harsh, untempered lights inside the Razor Crest. Din turns his face to the side, unable to look you in the eye. Even now, after all this time, he’s still momentarily apprehensive about displaying his face to you.

“Hold still for me,” you whisper, so quiet that you’re sure that your own heartbeat muffles your order, drowning your words out with its pulse. It’s thrumming wildly against your sternum, still thrilled by the sight of Din’s eyes on you.

Mercenary, Bounty Hunter, Mandalorian- Mandalore. All of Din’s titles melt away like beskar in an armourer’s kiln when you’re alone. The alloy drips and runs and cools, melding the warrior a far simpler and benign title- yours.

Din’s breath stalls in his lungs as you begin your ritual, his eyes cast to the durasteel hangar ceiling as he feels you press your lips to his with a gentle urgency. One kiss, then another, and another. You barely give him a moment to register your affections, his own lips lagging behind in their response.

“Mhmm~” You hum, but it bleeds into a whine as you settle your bare cunt over the length of Din’s cock. His groan dies behind gritted teeth as you sweep your hips over the length of him, soaking the velvety skin with your slick.

His chestplate is freezing against your breasts as you lean over him, having given him no time to undress when you threw him back against the cot and took what you wanted. Your nipples are hard against the cold Beskar-steel, dragging back and forth slightly as your hips rock against the curve of his dick. It makes you ache for him even more.

Focusing a slow, steady rhythm with your hips, you allow your lips to wander. They trace his jawline, sharp as the spear he carries with him. Din tilts his head back for you, gasping out your name as you bite the skin stretched across the bone. You nip playfully, focusing your attention on the patchy parts of his jaw, where the hair is sparse.

“C-Cyar'ika,” Din groans, his voice pitchy over the wet sounds of his cock sweeping through your folds. The head bumps your clit, and you whine against the curve of his jaw, your chin pressed to his pulse point.

Din Djarin is the prettiest man you’d ever met. His expressions, however, were even more enticing. Hidden behind a mask for his entire adult life, Din never learnt to neutralise his face. It made him emotive, especially in bed.

As you kiss the tip of his nose, you watch as his eyebrows pinch together, then arch up slightly as you let the weeping tip of his cock nudge at your entrance. You settle on it lightly, let the head sink inside before pulling up again quickly, barely allowing him a moment to relish the tight heat. He lets out a groan of frustration, desperation, as you drag your lips over the arch of his aquiline nose.

God, you love his nose. You praise it, its beauty, worship the way it makes you feel when you grind down on it. Humming softly, you can’t help but grin into the kisses you offer as his jaw falls slack, moaning out your name.

“Stars,” he groans out louder, with a sudden urgency that startles you, “Please, I need- I need to feel you.”

Din’s voice without the modulator is impassioned, cracking slightly on a whine as he begs you for mercy. For relief. A vulnerable tone he barely affords you unless you take control. The leather of his gloves digs into the meat of your ass, palms shifting your hips forward to pull your weeping pussy across his length.

Refusing to give into his demands, you continue your affections. You press soft kisses above his eyebrows, then each of his closed eyelids. His eyes- they took your breath away, stealing your attention when he first removed his helmet for you. You’d heard the tales of ‘brown eyes’, but they did little to emphasise their beauty. Deep, rich, laced with Din’s heavily guarded emotions that he’d veiled with beskar.

“You’re impatient,” you finally point out in a breathy whisper, lungs working a little harder as you feel something delicious settle at the base of your spine. Din looks like he could cry, desperation kicking in as he jerks his hips up against yours.

“I am deprived,” he murmurs back, an edge to his tone. The Child had clung to him for days following his last bounty job- he hadn’t had time alone with you for at least a week despite doing everything he could- stolen kisses in the cockpit, even attempting to shut Grogu in his bassinet. Somehow, he always managed to stumble into the room at the most inopportune time, much to his father’s utter dismay.

Sitting up, one of your palms settles on Din’s breastplate, you push strands of his unkempt curls from his damp forehead. Din, as renowned and feared a bounty hunter he is, also keens for you, vulnerable and achy for your affections. He chases your hand, leaning his face into your touch as you care for him.

Rewarding his openness, you reach between your thighs to take his cock in your palm. Din lets out a slight hiss, sucking between his teeth as you work his cock slowly. The drag of your palm against his sensitive flesh has him bucking his hips again, pressing the crown of his head back into the pillow.

“Din,” you whisper his name, watching him squeeze his eyes shut and centre his focus on the swirling arousal that builds quickly.

“Please.”

Pressing a gentle kiss to Din’s lips, swollen from your previous affections, you sink down onto his aching cock.

“Fuuuuck, Cyar'ik-aah-“

END

@hoeneey @howaboutcastiel @welcometostayingawake @syrma-sensei @ethanhoewke @polaroidpetal @foxilayde @bookfrog242 @wh0reforbucknasty @zakizigekwe @ahookedheroespureheart @buckys-other-punk @anxious-sappho @alexloveskili @captainrexstan @knights-power @southcrnbelle @niallsbunny @hold-our-destiny @vermillionwinter @stormkobra-5 @erenbissexual @alwritey-aphrodite @maggotzombie @deadpige0n @bakerstreethound @whatthehekko @cottagebunny9 @bit-dodgy-innit @peachyproserpina @pedrosprincess

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I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ll never take this show seriously- there will always be a shit post.

In The Dark

Rating: 18+, Explicit Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader Wordcount: +2K Summary: “We almost died” sex. Warnings: Some violence. Some smut. Some smut in a cave.

His hands shake as he hovers over you, leather knuckles running over the split skin of your cheek. Your eyes blink open - blurred vision - soot in the corners of your lids. Your lip is swelling. The air is ripe with the carcass of fire, the oxygen turned chemical and grim. 

“Din,” you whisper and it’s terrified, ragged and torn up. He touches you, keeps just touching, skating his palms over your skull, your chest as he checks for gashes or fractures. “Din,” you repeat when you try to sit up. 

“Stay still. I need to - I need to check you over. Your head hit the ground pretty hard.” Even with the modulator, even through the cool and indifferent coating, his voice sounds distressed - notched on a tremble. That was close - that was inches - seconds - 

He murmurs your name as he lifts you up to scan your back, to search for anything. He presses his fingers to your temple and you flinch, a sharp, throbbing sting exploding forth. When he pulls his hand away, there’s blood on his gloves. He sighs, his enormous, hunched form deflating beside you. 

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A Grinding Stop

Din Djarin x F!Reader

Here is it on AO3

Rated: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 1.2k+

Summary: Din rents a room at an inn and you take advantage of the big bed. 

Warnings: smut, fluff, pwp, grinding, non-penetrative sex, pet names, dirty talk, woman on top, helmetless Din, no y/n.

A/N: Merry Christmas loves! This fic has absolutely nothing to do with Chirstmas but I’ve been having absolutely depraved thots about our beloved Tin Can Man for the past several days and I had to share. I’ve been thinking about grinding on him and how hot he’d look laying underneath you. This was originally just gonna be a quick headcanon post but it turned into a short fic. There is pretty much no plot here, just smut. Please enjoy! 

He’s splayed out beneath you, looking up at you with those beautiful brown eyes like a challenge. He’d let you win. You knew that — he knew that. But here you are, straddling his slender hips, with your fingers intertwined in his, pinning his hands above his head. He could easily turn the tables on you — he could flip you over, and hold you down, and make you beg for him until you couldn’t take it anymore. He could do all of that but he doesn’t. No, he likes the feeling of your weight above him, pressing him into the mattress, and he wants to see where this goes. 

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