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dontbelasagnax · 10 months ago

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*curling like a cat against your ankles* Lasaganie, more Codywan headcanons?? 🥺👉👈 (only if you gave them/want to share of course. thank you, you’re amazing and I love you :3c)

I am late but I come bearing gifts in the shape of the codywan headcanons you asked for!!! And I love you too 🫶

- In a no order 66 setting, Obi-Wan has a caf mug that he considers to be Cody's. This would be normal except Obi-Wan bought it during the war and always meant to find the occasion to give it to him but never got around to it. That's to say he's exceedingly normal about this cup. Especially when Cody starts spending time around his apartment and Obi-Wan serves him caf in it. For the first time. Then all the other times as well. Feeling his heart crack open seeing Cody with His Designated Mug. A mug Obi-Wan's perhaps had too much time to place too much sentimental value onto. He's perfectly normal about it and doesn't act weird at all.

(more headcanons under the cut. it's a bit long)

- Cody is a hopeless romantic but won't ever admit it. He loves romance novels and holofilms. From trashy to highly acclaimed, sweet to stuffed with depravity, he enjoys them all. They're just a spot of escapism for him. A fantastical tale to distract himself from the toll of war when the night cycle is quiet and grief is loud. The stories are all so wildly outlandishly unrealistic to him. He's a clone. There's no future for him outside his role in the war effort.

And then one fateful campaign they're on their feet for a full tenday before they encounter an outcropping with flora and fauna that, finally, aren't actively trying to kill them and they are able to set up a tentative base of operation while planetside.

General Kenobi insists everyone rest while they can. Cody lost his bedroll to some sort of carnivorous plant along the way. General Kenobi acts like it's an affront to his very livelihood when Cody tries to sleep on the ground of their shared tent. Cody is tired. He doesn't have the energy to fight back on something so stupid. Which means they have to share a bedroll. His general's bedroll. Where they're physically incapable of both laying on the little mat unless they're plastered together. Cuddling.

It's the best sleep of his life.

...Exactly like how the romance novels describe it.

He's not dumb. He's been aware that he's in love with his general. He just thought the romance novels were all embellishing to a ridiculous degree and none of it was actually... realistic.

But if the romance novels are right about this, what else is just as magical in reality?

And maybe, just maybe, could there be some hope for a glimmer of a chance for him to pursue something else with Obi-Wan after the war, if they both make it that far?

- I am fully of the belief that, in a Tatooine husbands setting, the husband bit is a complete accident. Ben is stopping by for a quick pantry restock at the Pica Oaisis marketplace when it happens. He's lived at his hut long enough for the vendors here to have a familiarity with him so it's not exactly a surprise when one says to him, "Who's the shadow of a fella that's hangin' with you lately?" They mean well, he knows. And still, it's his business. He thinks his answer is quite crafty.

He says, "He's my partner," and leaves it at that. Partner could mean anything. Alas, either an older man living in an isolated hut with another older man implies a particular thing about their relationship or the vendors have a flair for the romantic because he quickly comes to discover on his next trips to the marketplace that he has a husband. Of all the assumptions one could make, it's certainly the most harmless and... he finds he likes it. Being seen as Cody's husband. It's all awfully embarrassing and he doesn't dare tell Cody any of it.

Cody discovers it for himself a few weeks later on a solo trip to the market to pick up some feed for Rooh.

"Here to do your husband's bidding?" a vendor asks and Cody blinks.

He blinks again. "Come again?" he says.

"Ben your husband; you're running his errand?"

His first instinct is to correct them, tell them he and Ben aren't married. But how would he even begin describe their relationship? After a few seconds deliberating he decides he's better off going with it. What harm could it do? Besides, on the ride home, he finds he kind of likes it.

And that's how they become husbands. Well, the beginning of it, anyhow.

#....🐀#codywan #ask box #lasagna rambles

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kkuzushi · 1 month ago

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May I request a Popular kid Scaramouche x Nerd reader (basically a power bottom scaramouche)

Also can I be 🐀anon

“ 𝐀 𝐅𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐝�� ”

✦ characters: powerbottom!Scaramouche x amab!reader

✦ cw: no nut November, college setting, academic rivals (sort of), handjob (receiving & giving), slight praising but mostly humiliation, riding

✦ word count: 2.549k

✦ notes: I’m inexperienced with writing power bottoms so this took some time, I hope I did it right despite being more used to sub-bottom characters. Welcome to my blog as well, 🐀 anon! <3

You sat cross-legged on the couch, your laptop opened and displaying an earlier announcement. The debate competition you had joined was held today and your opponent? It was no other than the confident and quick-witted Scaramouche. However he was no match to you as always—when it comes to academics, you were simply 1% better, and that’s on being humble.

In your dorm, there was another competition being held. A staring contest between you and Scaramouche, both engulfed in silence. He glared at you, most likely sulking in his defeat.

“Fine.” Scaramouche sighed, putting his hands up in mock surrender, “You won, enjoy while it lasts.” His voice was laced with irritation and amusement. It’s not like he’ll deny that you did good but he won’t admit you were better.

You smirked, crossing your arms, “I plan to.” You looked away once the silent staring ended, taking your laptop and switching to your spreadsheet. There’s still a lot to do before the day ends and you intend to be productive.

You pushed up your glasses to the bridge of your nose, getting ready to continue on your day. Working’s about to be more fun, after all, it’s not everyday you crush someone who’s so sure they’re better than you.

Scaramouche rolled his eyes, seeing you ignore his presence easily in turn of concentrating to your works again. “We’re not done, you know,” He says, pushing himself off the wooden chair he was sitting on.

You glance at him, with a raised eyebrow you replied, “We are, unless you want the principal to reannounce the winner.” Scaramouche glared at your smug smile, he decides to push it aside, this is just one of your few wins over him, no big deal.

He walks closer to you, getting too close for comfort. “Don’t get too cocky now or you might lose this one.”

You blink, “Lose what?”

Scaramouche grinned and quickly plucks your glasses off your face. “Scara–” You warned, your arm extending to take it back from his grasp but he was quicker, keeping it out of your reach.

“Since you made me lose–”

“I didn’t make you lose,” you interrupted.

He rolled his eyes, “Okay, let me rephrase that.” Scaramouche cleared his throat, “Since you won the debate, it’s only fair I win something, right?” He grinned, the curve of his lips reminding you of a mischievous cat.

You raised your eyebrow, crossing your arms, “You’re not making sense.” Before you could even add more to your statement, Scaramouche walked closer and pressed a hand on the cushions behind you, trapping you on the couch.

“A fair trade,” He muttered, “You win the debate, I win this.” To emphasize his point, his free hand pushed your laptop to the side as he straddled your lap. Your legs uncrossed out of instinct despite being caught off guard by his actions.

You moved back against the cushion, feeling rather awkward with the sudden proximity. “A seat on my lap, really?” You joked, but the glint in his eyes tells you there’s more to this.

Scaramouche’s grin widens, his legs closing in on you to further trap your body in between them. “Don’t play dumb. I’ve heard of this little challenge you’re participating.. NNN, was it?” He drawls, his hands tracing your chest.

Is he kidding? There’s no way a childish challenge like that was enough for him to feel satisfied.. I mean, it’s not like you’re taking it seriously, right?

“You don’t dare–”

“Oh but I do.”

Scaramouche chuckles, his hips starting to grind against your crotch. His movements were slow but precise, intended to tease you to your limits.

Your hands gripped his waist, forcing him to pause for a moment. “Stop that.. I have better things to do right now,” You breathed out, a clear sign of warning in your eyes.

Scaramouche almost considered your words but he just smirked, carrying on with his movements. “You expect me to believe that?” His face leans in closer, “You’re getting hard awfully fast.” Without waiting for a reply, he closed the distance and captured your lips in a deep kiss.

He can feel your arousal building right beneath him with every roll of his hips, just the mere thought of turning you on was enough to turn him on. Amidst the kiss, Scaramouche was already thinking of ways he can easily make you lose this no nutting game, and he got just the right idea for it.

The both of you pulled away from the kiss, a string of saliva connecting your mouths. The atmosphere in the room isn’t helping you at all, but then again, making out with Scaramouche means you’re already fucked.

The indigo haired brat was quick to get into action, his movements sharp as if he was determined to either make you lose or get to the real thing. Or both. In a blink of an eye, your pants were pulled to the floor, and next would be your garment which he was already fumbling with.

You gripped his wrists firmly, attempting to push him away. “You can't actually be going through with this,” you protested, voice sharp with disbelief.

But Scaramouche only laughed, the sound low and smug, his mischievous eyes glinting with confidence. Before you could protest any further, he twisted his wrists around to escape your grip. The realization hits you too late—he was completely serious about this.

And just like that, the tables turned, leaving you bare and vulnerable beneath Scaramouche. Your cock stood rigid, thankfully not yet leaking precum—after all, that would be quite the embarrassing sight for you, wouldn’t it? But the man before you is nothing if not stubborn, and there’s no chance he plans on taking it easy.

Scaramouche slowly wraps a hand on the base, stroking you to full erection. You bit your bottom lip, suppressing the noise of arousal that’s threatening to escape. You can’t let him win right at the beginning, it’ll inflate his insufferable ego.

His violet eyes observed you intensely, as if daring you to slip up, while his movements grew more deliberate. The room felt warmer with every second, your self-control being pushed to its limits under his relentless teasing. You couldn’t give in, not now—not with that smug grin of his silently declaring his impending victory.

Concealing your noises wasn’t enough to hide the evidence of your arousal, though, as a slick warmth began to drip down to his fingers. The sensation only served to spur Scaramouche on, his movements becoming smoother, aided by the telltale fluid that betrayed your resistance.

“Well, would you look at that..” He murmured, leaning in until his breath ghosted against your ears. The obscene sounds filled the air, wet squelches echoing louder than your restrained breaths. “Seems like all that fight of yours is slipping away,” he taunted, his thumb brushing over the angry tip of your cock.

Scaramouche props himself, nimble fingers working to unfasten his pants. Even with that infuriating smirk plastered on his face, it was impossible to miss the way his breaths had grown shallow, his eyes tainted with want despite the composed facade he’s been putting up.

“I’m not the only one turned on, huh?” You muttered, a teasing edge to your voice as your eyes glanced up to his. His smirk faltered, eyebrows furrowing as he shoved his pants off.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, I’m still in control here.” Scaramouche scoffed as he continued to strip himself. Finally, his own dick springs free from its confinements, hard and almost begging for attention. You stared for a while, temptation waring in your mind. Maybe you can turn the tables if you teased him enough.

As your gaze lingers on him, Scaramouche’s smirk deepens. The obvious look of hesitation and temptation in your eyes was another opportunity for him. “Careful, your stare might melt me,” he teased, his voice dripping with a playfulness.

He shifted, lowering his body to yours, the head of your cock resting in between his ass. “Touch it,” He grinned, grinding himself against your weeping dick. “You want to, don't you?” He adds, there was no mistaking that Scaramouche wasn’t exactly asking; he was commanding.

There goes your chance of regaining control. Your hand trembled slightly, the tension in the room thick as you fought the urge to give in. But Scaramouche wasn’t making it easy. His body was so close, his scent intoxicating, and the way he was looking at you made it hard to think straight.

Once your hand makes contact with his shaft, you feel the man twitch a little. With a quiet gulp, you start to stroke him like he did to you. He continues to grind himself against you, movement in sync with your palm.

Scaramouche’s grin widens as you obey his words, his breath becoming uneven with every passing second. His hands rested firmly on your shoulders, squeezing gently. “Just like that,” he praised, his voice breathless yet undeniably smug, as if he had you exactly where he wanted you.

Were you actually into this? The thought crossed your mind as Scaramouche’s commands and praises echoed in your ears. Pondering over it, the man above can feel your hand faltering, contemplation filling your face.

Scaramouche took the opportunity to lean in, his lips brushing softly against your ear. “Don’t stop now,” he whispered, his voice almost a challenge, one that made your pulse spike. “Unless you’re starting to want more?”

“I don’t–” He was quicker than your protest, a gasp leaving your lips as you feel something tight constrict your length. Scaramouche groaned as he lowered himself further on your cock, precum lubing his insides.

“Fuck– Scara, wait–”

“Gonna cum already?”

“No! That’s not–..”

It felt as though you could dissolve completely under the sheer heat of his inner walls, the tight warmth clinging to your cock already making you see stars. Despite teasing you, Scaramouche had his face buried in your neck and hands gripping your shoulders, hot breath hitting your skin as he adjusts to the intrusion inside him.

After a few moments of silence, Scaramouche began to move, riding you with slow precision. Wet, obscene sounds filling the room in an instant. Every glide of your cock inside him has you moaning, while he was watching you with a smirk.

The brat could see the subtle shifts in your expression—the way your body responded, betraying the calm front you forced to keep. He was in complete control of the situation now as he watched you squirm under his attention, every little shift sending a ripple of satisfaction through him.

“Don’t forget that NNN challenge of yours,” Scaramouche grinned above you. You almost forgot about that, the only thing you can focus on is his weight pressing down on you, tight entrance swallowing you whole.

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping lower, teasing you further, “Or perhaps you’re losing already?” He continued as your face flushed even deeper. “You’re halfway there, aren’t you?”

You looked him straight in the eye, lips barely moving as you gritted your teeth. “Fuck off,” You muttered, trying to sound nonchalant, though your voice betrayed the slight tremor of frustration. Your hips start to move with a mind of its own, shallowly thrusting up to Scaramouche, movements small yet evident to the man receiving it.

Scaramouche didn’t miss a thing, of course. Even the slightest twitch of your muscles told him everything he needed to know. You weren’t as composed as your earlier facade tried to show.

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “How cute,” he purred. “You can’t stop moving. You’re just giving in without even realizing it, aren’t you?”

Every part of you screamed to resist, to regain some semblance of control, but Scaramouche’s inner walls clung to your shaft, forbidding you to pull away or stop the rise and fall of his hips.

The indigo haired brat’s hands tightened their grip on your shoulders, his smirk never faltering as he tilted his head down to meet your gaze. “Are you finally enjoying this?” He drawled, enjoying his control over you.

He leaned in, lips brushing close to your ear. “How humiliating for you,” he added, his breath warm against your skin. His tone was laced with mockery, but the way he moved left no doubt that he was just as lost in the moment as you were.

Your thrusts were just helping him get his impending victory, but you couldn’t help it any longer. He was clenching around your cock on purpose, making sure you were losing your control without any fight.

Your hands gripped his waist as soon as he picked up the pace, “You’re twitching already?” He teased, voice dripping with condescension. His breath ghosted over your cheek as he whispered, voice soft but full of mocking intent, “Can’t take it anymore, can you?”

Precum starts to dribble out of his hole, the evidence of your crumbling resolve bringing him satisfaction. “Poor thing,” He added, a chuckle slipping through his lips, “and here I thought you’d have more restraint.”

Scaramouche’s chuckles quickly change into breathy sounds of pleasure as your cock hits his prostate dead on. His fingers tightened on your shoulders, grounding himself from the unexpected pleasure.

“So desperate..mnhh♡–” He managed to murmur between breaths, though the quiver in his voice betrayed his earlier dominance, the sensation overwhelming him, leaving him as lost in the moment as you were.

His head tilted back, eyes fluttering shut as another gasp broke through his control. “You’rengh–still pathetic..” He whispered, though the shiver in his tone made it clear he was no better.

“Hmn–ironic.” He glared at you for that. Your patience was wearing thin, and despite everything, your body couldn't stop reacting, your movements becoming more desperate. Consequences be damned, you’re teetering over the edge already. November comes around every year anyway, but coming inside Scaramouche might just be a once in a lifetime activity.

You were already where he wanted you to be right from the start, and for the last time, he smirked before losing himself in the overwhelming pleasure. A knot draws up in your abdomen, your thrusts growing erratic as you chase your climax.

"Don’t stop..hAngh–♡" Scaramouche gasped, voice breaking as you pushed your body into his, meeting his every move with urgency. “F-Faster–go faster!” he stammered, but the need for more was clear in his frantic pace.

With one final thrust, you released yourself inside him, ropes of cum spurting out as he came on your stomach at the same time.

The two of you collapsed into each other’s arms, chests heaving as you tried to catch your breaths after everything that transpired.

As the haze of pleasure began to fade, reality sank in like a cruel reminder. Shame and irritation bubbled in your mind as the thought hit you—you really lost No Nut November because Scaramouche rode you.

“This was.. so lame.” You groaned, burying your face in his shoulder.

Scaramouche heard your muttered complaint loud and clear, a raspy chuckle escaping his lips as he tilted his head to look at you. “Seeing you lose made it worth it.” But amidst his relentless teasing, you can feel him grinding on your cock, pushing your cum deeper inside him.

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