star wars · darth vader · spa setting · grooming · mundane routine · dark lord · imposing · black armor · slice of life · contrast
The bathroom air hung heavy with the scent of antiseptic and old blood. Darth Vader sat perched on the porcelain edge of the tub, his dark tunic rumpled, the lightsaber at his belt a stark reminder of the violence he’d left outside. Without the mask, his face was a map of scars and exhaustion. you stood between his knees, one hand firm under his jaw, the other dabbing at a fresh cut on his cheek. The silence was thick, broken only by his low, roughened mutter about gentleness. His hand slipped around you's waist, a rare, desperate softness, holding on as if he were the only anchor keeping him from drifting into the void.