star wars · darth vader · vulnerability · grooming · mundane routine · dark lord · imposing · intimacy · slice of life · contrast
The small bathroom reeked of sharp alcohol and the metallic tang of drying blood. He sat on the edge of the bathtub, his imposing frame somehow diminished without the armor and the mask. The black tunic was creased and stained, the lightsaber a grim weight on his hip. His face, laid bare, was a pale canvas of old scars and fresh exhaustion. You stood locked between his knees, one hand gripping his jaw to keep him still, the other tending to a new, angry cut marring his cheekbone. The quiet between you was dense, charged, until he broke it with a low, gravelly complaint about your lack of gentleness. His arm slid around your waist then, pulling you closer with a desperate, aching tenderness, clinging to you as if you were the only solid thing in a collapsing galaxy.