#and i dont think this dude matters to him enough even a fraction of the way it would take to forgive leaving them to die.

[t4tpumpkinduo]

and another thing. not to be guy who hates ctntduo but it makes insane crazy that fr ppl who take the utah ending as smthing good and not smthing absolutely horrific. they looveeee to imagine that cq just misses this dude sooooo much he loves him sooooo bad he'll cross state lines to fuck him bcs that's all he's good for. ok. like #1 cclingy defender wouldn't hunt him through the woods like an animal.

[krisdreaming]

Hello!! Requesting for headcanon reactions of Akaashi, Kageyama, Oikawa, and Iwaizmui with a S/O who made them lunch and surprises them, but the team dont know them??? 🥺👉🏻����🏻 thank you! 😍🥰🤩

Aww, this is so cute!! I made it a tiny bit more general it’s not necessarily lunch every time, but same idea! 

-

AKAASHI

You and Akaashi have barely been officially dating for a week, so you’ve never even been to one of his volleyball practices before, but your friends insisted that you should make him some onigiri and bring it to practice for him

They walk with you all the way to the gym to ensure that you don’t chicken out, but the moment you’re at the doors, they’re gone and so you stand there in front of the door for a few moments to work up the courage to open it

Finally, you reach out and open the door, poking just your head inside and looking around until you catch sight of Akaashi. You slowly step inside, cradling the little package in front of you, and the door slams behind you waaay louder than you thought it would. Suddenly, all eyes are on you

Akaashi does a double-take when he sees you, and you manage a tiny wobbly smile as you briefly consider turning around and sprinting all the way home

But then he’s walking toward you, and he’s a little sweaty but thankfully he doesn’t look annoyed that you’re here like you worried he might be. He’s actually smiling at you, and you can’t help but smile back.

“Hey,” He says when he reaches you, “Is everything alright?” There’s a hoot from somewhere behind him, and he turns back for half a second with a frown before he focuses on you again. There’s a buzz of chattering and tittering picking up amongst the team, and you can’t help but glance at them.

“Yeah, fine,” You nod, shoving the box to him, “I, uh, I made you some onigiri. For after practice. If you’re hungry.” You finally get it all out. 

“Really?” He blinks at you, and you nod, feeling your face heat up. “Wow, thank you.” He looks down at the box, a tiny smile on his face, then looks back at you. “This is nice.” He glances once more at the team, who isn’t bothering to hide their curiosity, before leaning forward and giving you a lightning-quick peck on the cheek.

“AKAASHIII!” That’s all it takes for the floodgates to open, “What the heck?!?! Introduce us!!!” “You didn’t tell us about this!”

“I guess I should introduce you to everyone,” He says sheepishly, and grabs your hand, leading you a few steps further into the gym. “Guys, this is Y/N. My s/o.”

It’s a little overwhelming, but the guys all seem excited to meet you, and the small, proud smile doesn’t leave Akaashi’s face the whole time he’s introducing you. Afterwards, he says, “Practice is almost over. If you wait a bit, I’ll walk you to the train station.” You smile. “Sounds great.”

For the rest of practice, while the managers make conversation with you, you can’t help but notice how often Akaashi glances your way.

KAGEYAMA

You fiddle with the wrapping of the bento you’d made for Kageyama. Last night when you were putting it together, it had seemed like a great idea, perfect, in fact. Now that you realize you’ll need to give it to him in front of the entire volleyball team, you’re starting to second guess.

The moment you step inside the gym, a few people notice you. Your boyfriend is not one of them. “Hey! Y/N!” Hinata shouts, waving his arms above his head in greeting. At the mention of your name, Kageyama whips his head around, and the moment his eyes land on you a blush begins to creep across his face

You lift your hand in a small wave, and after a few moments of hesitation and glancing around, he awkwardly returns the gesture. “Hi there!” Before he can even begin to make his way over to you, two of the second years pop up in front of you. “What can we do for ya?”

“Actually, I’m here to-” “Y/N,” Kageyama appears directly behind them and their jaws probably hit the floor. “Here, I made this for you,” You shove the bento toward him before you lose your nerve, and he reaches out to take it almost like an automatic reaction.

“Aww!!” One of the third years coos from somewhere behind you. “Now I’ve seen everything,” you hear Tsukishima from your class say in a half-whisper to Yamaguchi.

“Thank you.” By now, Kageyama is beet red, holding the bento box gingerly in front of himself like it’s a bomb that might blow up if he holds it the wrong way. Slowly, the rest of the team has given up on practicing and is forming a loose circle behind the two of you.

“Hello,” The one you think must be the captain says to you with a grin, “So, Kageyama, are you going to introduce us, or just let them stand there?” He chuckles.

“Ah,” Kageyama straightens up, and turns so he’s standing next to you, his arm just brushing yours. “Yeah, right. This is Y/N.” He glances at you, and you flash a quick smile, first to him, then to the rest of the team gathered around. “Um, my s/o.” He adds, quickly.

There’s a chorus of surprised sounds and greetings and some gentle teasing for Kageyama, and to your surprise, he has a small, pleased smile on his face. The gray-haired third year slugs him on the arm.

He glances at the captain, who gives him a slight nod, then at you. “We’re soon done, let me walk you to class afterwards.” You smile. “Sounds great.” He jogs back to the court but not before one final smile over his shoulder.

OIKAWA

With the playoffs coming up, you know the team has been practicing even harder than usual, and of course Oikawa especially. You haven’t been dating long, but it’s long enough to know how important it is to him, and how hard he works. You just want to help however you can, and for you, that means making him some healthy treats for after practice.

When you get there, he’s practicing his serves. You’ve seen them in games before, but seeing them more up close like this is another matter entirely. When the ball hits the court, you jump, and it’s that moment when a few of the third years notice you. 

Iwaizumi just smiles at you, because he’s the only person on the team that actually knows you and Oikawa are together. The other dark-haired one takes one look at you and the container in your hands and says, “Oikawa, there’s a fan here for you.” You nearly choke, and Oikawa rests the ball he’d been getting ready to serve on his hip and turns to look at you. From the looks of it, he almost chokes, too.

“Y/N?” He immediately jogs toward you, and slowly the rest of the team realizes you’re there.��“Hold on,” The lighter haired third year crows, “Mattsun, I think you’re wrong, no way that’s just a fan.” He snickers.

“What’re you doing here?” Oikawa asks, purposefully ignoring the whispers coming from behind him. You shoot him an apologetic smile. “I brought you a snack, for when you take a break.” You say, holding it out to him. “Oh,” He says, and for a few moments you aren’t sure what his reaction will be, or even if he’ll ask you to leave, but then he breaks into a smile.

“Aw, Y/N,” He takes it from you and peeks inside. “It looks perfect.” He grins. “Hey, have you met the team yet?” He turns to find the majority of them ogling the two of you. “No!” One of the second years supplies an answer.

"Fine, fine!’ He acts exasperated, but he’s grinning. “Really quick.” He runs through the team and introduces you to everyone. He rests his hands on his hips. “And now you’ve met the team. We need to get back to practice,” He gives them all a pointed look, “But I’ll text you later. Promise.” He grins and leans in for a quick peck. “Thank you,” He adds, more quietly, as he pulls away. He acts like he doesn’t hear the whistles.

“Bye!” You give him one last wave before you head out the door. Just as it starts to close, you hear, “Yo, you gonna share any of that, OIkawa?” “No way!”

IWAIZUMI

Clutching onto the convenience store bag, you stand outside the gym doors and hesitate. When Iwaizumi texted you that morning saying he’d overslept an hadn’t had time to grab anything for breakfast, you immediately knew you had to pick something up for him, but now you realize that giving it to him requires stopping by morning practice.

You’ve only been dating for a few weeks, and you’re not sure you’re ready to meet the entire volleyball team all at once. The only person you really know so far other than your boyfriend is Oikawa. Still, you have to give him the breakfast you’d bought, so you open the doors and step inside.

You pick out Iwaizumi almost right away, and you can’t help but smile to see him turn to one of his teammates with a grin and compliment their spike.

Almost as though he can sense your gaze on him, he glances your way next. His first reaction is one of surprise, but it soon turns into a smile as he lifts his hand in a wave. You return it.

“Iwa-chan, go say hi already!” Oikawa shouts from across the court, and that’s all it takes for the rest of the team to realize you’re there. It feels like every eye is on you by the time he reaches you.

“Good morning,” You say, lifting up the bag so he can see the contents. He peers inside, then looks at you. “What? This is for me?” You nod. “You need to eat breakfast,” You chide him gently.

“Iwaizumi, I think we need an explanation!” Someone bellows before he can respond. “You gonna leave us hanging?” Someone else chimes in, and Iwaizumi gives you an apologetic shrug.

“This is my s/o.” His hand is at your elbow for a fraction of a second. “Y/N.” He smiles at you as a chorus of “hi”s and “hello”s hits you. “Dude, when were you going to tell us?” Everyone has gathered into a loose semi-circle around the two of you, and you subconsciously step just a little closer to Iwaizumi.

“Ideally? Never.” He grumbles good-naturedly. “Rude!” “But he told me,” Oikawa informs them smugly. “I’m pretty good at keeping your secret, huh, Iwa-chan?”

“It’s not a secret,” He quickly retorts, “I just knew you’d make it a big deal, and I was right!” “But it is a big deal! Our little Iwaizumi, all grown up, going out on dates-” With that he gently takes your elbow and moves the two of you a little closer to the door.

“Sorry, they’re-” “I think they’re great,” You giggle, and his expression softens. “Okay. Ah, good. Anyway, I never thanked you for the food.” He takes the bag you’d almost forgotten you were holding. “So... thank you.” With a quick glance around, he leans in and presses a quick kiss to your cheek.

“Woo!” Someone shouts from across the court. He shakes his head. “I should get back.” He says apologetically. “I’ll see you at lunch?” “Definitely,” You grin.

[no-droids]

Brown Eyes

Part Nine of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 10.1K dont. just dont

Warnings: Smut, AS ALWAYS.  Canon typical violence, verbal references masochism/pain kink (NOT ACTUALLY EXPLORED IN THIS CHAPTER MY DUDES, JUST HINTED AT/DISCUSSED), slight degradation, exhibitionism, dom/sub dynamics, spanking, a bit of ass play (!!!), FLUUUUFFFFFF

***

“What?”

“Hm?”

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“What’s the hold up?”

“I’m just…”  The helmet looks you up and down, considering.  You scrunch your nose at him and rock back and forth on your feet impatiently as he sighs.  “It’s going to be like teaching a foundling to read.  I’m just trying to figure out where to even begin.”

“Because it’s so fucking pretty here, I’m just going to pretend you didn’t say that,” you say pointedly, looking around at the vast field of flowing grass surrounding the two of you and breathing in the warm, fresh air into your lungs.  “Your vibe is clashing, Din.”

“Because I don’t really know what that means, I’m also going to pretend you didn’t say that,” he returns, and the child’s giggles float up alongside the breeze as he chases after another, slightly smaller green reptile that you also currently have no name for.  He tilts the beskar thoughtfully at you, and you squint against the way the sun catches the visor directly in your eyes from this angle.  “What do you want to learn first?”

“I want to shoot a gun,” you blurt without thinking.

“Okay, hand-to-hand it is,” he nods firmly, and then pats his unarmored chest with one bare hand.  “Hit me.”

You blink down at the dark fabric stretched across his left pectoral, and then back up at the metallic visor staring back at you.

“Hit me,” he says again in response to your silence.  “Hard as you can.  Right here.”

“Are you sure?”  You ask, lifting your gaze up to him once more with a twist of your mouth, already out of your comfort zone.  “What if I hurt you?”

“Are you fucking kidding?”  He actually sounds… pissed off.  “Hit me.”

You immediately shove your hand up against his chest in response to the sharp order, and your palm makes a quiet slapping sound as it collides with what feels like solid rock concealed underneath black fabric.

Din says absolutely nothing.  Almost a… forced silence.  Like what he wants to say will very likely be vaguely mean and dismissive of your feelings, so he’s keeping his mouth firmly shut under the helmet.  He just pats his chest again, each one purposeful and distinct, easily making twice the amount of noise hitting himself as you did hitting him.

You ball your fist up this time and whack him with it, considerably harder this time and even making a solid thud against his pectoral, though he doesn’t even move a fraction under the blow.

“I am…” he tries to choose his words carefully after another moment of purposeful silence.  “…insulted.”

You grit your teeth and raise your arm up and back, swinging it out at him as hard as you physically can, but then the curve of his broad shoulder suddenly jerks back just before you can touch him and your fist is caught from the side with a gentle grip.

“Better.  You wound up that time, that gives you momentum.  But never come at someone like this,” he tells you, lifting your arm back up to the way it was before and then slowly hinging it down again against his chest.  “This is how you were going to hit.  See how your pinkie is taking the brunt of the punch when you come down at it from an angle like this?”  He pushes your fist against his chest a few times to demonstrate your pinkie squishing against the solid plane of muscle.  “No matter how hard you hit me, your hand is going to take that much force, too.  That attempt had about half the power you want, but you might’ve broken your finger if I let you make contact like that.”

“Half the power?”  You narrow your eyebrows at him.  “You’ll break my whole hand.”

Din angles your wrist straight and pushes your closed fist against his chest again, this time head-on instead of at a downward angle.  “Always try to use these first two knuckles to reinforce against the impact, they’re the strongest and best aligned with the bones in your wrist.  You should also physically brace yourself for it.  Flex your arm—create as much rigidity around your joints as you can, keep your fist clenched tight to maintain integrity of the soft tissues in your hand, and your body should protect itself against the blowback as long as you land right.  Try again.”

You diligently wind your fist up again and then go to snap your arm straight forward this time, but he steps up and catches your elbow before you can even move.  “Wait.  Look at this—see this chicken wing?”  He flaps your elbow back and forth while his other hand holds your fist in place next to your head.  “This is no good, this is where you’re losing half your power.  And having your arm up like this is making you open to rib and kidney shots.”

You squirm to the side when he taps the bend of his knuckle against your kidney, and the vulnerable spot is tender even though he barely uses any force.  “I’m winding up,” you inform him with a huff.

“You are,” Din acknowledges.  “But your movement is limited like this.  See where your elbow is compared to your center of gravity?”  He flaps it again, and your shoulder pulls uncomfortably when he pushes it back just a bit too far.  “You’re restricting yourself, look.  Your shoulder is in the way, this is as far as your body will let you go.  You’re also using up too much energy trying to swing your whole arm around just to make contact; it’s sloppy technique, it slows you down, and it’ll tire you out.  But, if you wind up like this—” Din lowers your elbow until it rests flat against your side, and then hinges it backwards instead of up near your head, “—see how much further away your elbow is from your body now?  Instead of swinging outwards, think of a slingshot forwards.  Use explosive, forward momentum that you generate from your shoulder—you’re aiming for a sharp, streamlined jab.  This way you conserve energy, produce twice as much power, and your arm now covers up all this important stuff under here,” he explains, trying to tap his knuckle against your side once more but being blocked by your forearm.  “Good?  Now go again.”

He lets you go and steps back, and this time you instinctually plant your foot behind you to give you a solid base foundation that’ll allow you more room to twist, your physics brain lighting up as soon as he said slingshot.  His helmet quickly drops to your stance and then immediately lifts back up to your face again.

You do exactly as he said—you wind back, keeping your arm tucked tight to your side, and then explode forward with a sharp spin of your shoulder and snap of your elbow, colliding your clenched fist into his chest as hard as you possibly can.

He grunts and takes two steps back.

You howl.

“FUUUUUCK!”  It gets lost in the giant field of grass as you clutch your fist, torn between cradling it to your chest like a baby and shaking it out violently at your side like… something distinctly not a baby.  You settle for just bending over and holding it tightly to your stomach, eyes clamped shut and screeching with such fervor that the back of your throat stings sharp with it.  “WHAT THE FUCKING—FUCKFUCKFUCK—!?”

“Good!”  Din encourages over your wailing.  “That was good!  How’d that feel?  Holy shit—that felt good.”

“What’s the point of hitting you when it hurts me and makes you feel good!?” You cry out over your shoulder, somewhere between genuine hatred and agony.

“That was perfect,” he tells you immediately, almost sounding vaguely… out of breath behind you?  “Don’t change a thing—that’s how you punch every single time from now on, okay?  That’s how hard you hit.  Fuck, that felt fucking good.”

The… something in his voice is enough to take your mind off your throbbing hand for just a second, quickly snapping upright and whirling around to face him with your eyebrows very, very narrowed.  He stands there in front of you and you continue to eye him with as much silent skepticism as you can express, until the both of you speak at the same time.

“What was that?”

“Let’s go again.”

Neither of you move, and you feel like your face is scrunched up as tiny as possible at him right now with dubiousness.

“Let’s go again,” Din suddenly grunts out, hooking an arm around your elbow and tugging you to face forward once more.

“Did that turn you on?”  You ask him bluntly, your battle wound completely forgotten by your side.

“I swear if you don’t—”

“You get hard when you get hurt?”  You ask dumbly, all sorts of lightbulbs suddenly illuminating in dusty, cobwebbed corners of your mind.  Maker, that would explain so much.  “Is that why you wanted a handjob immediately after I burned a knife wound shut on your back?”

“You wanna learn how to punch today or you wanna learn how to block?”  Comes through the helmet, thoroughly unamused at your antics, but you just break into a mischievous little grin in response and push just one more button of his, knowing he’s only mostly joking.

“I’ll punch you,” you purr.  “Hold your arms up, show me your ribs.”

There’s a split second of silence before he quickly snaps his fist to his chest once again, oh, but it’s enough.  Your shoulders do a little victory shimmy and have to bite your lip to keep from beaming at him, so unbelievably proud of yourself for being able to read him this well without seeing his face. 

But—for the very same reason, you also plant your foot behind you and wind your arm back once more, knowing you were already treading on thin ice.

“Am I gonna have to start calling you chicken wing?”  Din suddenly barks out, a split second into your forward launch.  You almost stumble into him with all the generated momentum and catch yourself just in time, eventually stepping back and resetting with a frustrated huff.  Purposefully tucking your arm tight into your side, you pull back once more.

He mmphs when you make equally hard contact in the very same spot but he doesn’t move this time, and you somehow forgot how horribly painful it is to slam your clenched fist directly against a solid object with all your strength—much less, the second time around.  You attempt to deaden your response as well, but he has the luxury of the helmet to shield his face.  Silencing your scream just makes yours contort unattractively in front of him while your eyes clamp shut and you clutch your wrist, trying to bite back the crippling pain.

“Other hand—use the other hand instead,” he tells you quickly.  “You have two of them.”

“I used to!”  You snarl through the way you can’t even flex it anymore, how your muscles aren’t working through the angry sparks of acute sensation jumping down your fingers.  “Your stupid fucking pecs just broke my good one!”

“Want me to kiss it?”  Din asks—quickly, almost like he can’t help himself, and the snarky tone of it through the modulator coupled with the throbbing pain makes you grit your teeth.

“I used to love your body,” you lift your head and growl up at him while you cradle your swollen claw.  “Why did you take that from me?”

“Give me your hand,” he says calmly, holding his palm out for you.

“No,” you spit, the pain making you stubborn and resistant to anything you don’t immediately offer yourself, but he’s not impressed.  Din easily catches your elbow and brings it up, his other hand gently lacing through your fingers even as you try in vain to pull it away.  “Stop it—”

He completely ignores you and looks back over his shoulder at the kid, dwarfed by the tall grass and continuing to hop around behind what will likely be his lunch, before the helmet turns back to you.  “Eyes closed.”

“This isn’t fucking funn—”

“Close your eyes,” he tells you once more.  “Don’t open them.”

You take a deep breath and grind your teeth, not wanting to be treated like a baby.  It irks you that he’s dedicating so much time and effort into just infantilizing you and your very real pain.  Though, the pain is so real that it makes it almost impossible to express the sentiment—it comes out sounding childishly short and bratty.  “It hurts.”

“I know,” is all he says, soft and lilting and quite possibly as gentle as you’ve ever heard him.  “Close your eyes, sweet girl.”

His tone of voice is the only thing that compels you to listen.  You finally do as he says and flutter your eyes shut, overly aware of the hard grimace on your face now that you can’t see anything.  One of his hands releases you while keeping your numb fingers laced between his, and then a few seconds pass, before you suddenly feel soft lips pressing against your knuckle.

You hiss and tighten up on instinct, more in fear of the pain than the pain itself, but he holds your hand steady as he carefully trails gentle presses of his lips against your knuckles.  After a moment, you breathe out shakily, your eyebrows lifting just slightly at the sensation—before his mouth opens and his warm tongue glides delicately across your sensitive skin.

You gasp and your fingers twitch in between his, suddenly able to move again.  They knock against cool metal as his tongue slowly drags down the valleys between your knuckles—but then Din abruptly drops your hand at the sudden sound of sunshine giggles coming from afar.  Your eyes pop open just as his helmet is yanked down over his jaw once more.

“Let’s…”  He clears his throat through the modulator, taking a small step back.  “Let’s go again.”

***

You collapse down into a pitiful little pile on the grass, trying to catch your breath.  This is ridiculous.  You somehow have tender bruises all over your body and yet you’re the only one who’s done any sort of hitting whatsoever.

“That’s fine, we can take a break,” Din says gruffly from above you, but you’re too tired to even comment on the sarcasm.  You just groan, flopping down flat on your back while he sits in the grass next to you and silently waits for you to start breathing normally again.

“I hate this,” you pant, resting your numb hands against your forehead and squinting against the late afternoon sun.  “I don’t like this.  My body hurts and I barely did anything.”

“You’re good at it,” Din is quick to respond, and the blunt sincerity in his voice takes you aback, making you glance over at him in shock.  “I know,” he nods once the beskar turns and he sees the look on your face, “I didn’t expect it either.”

His tendency to compliment you while simultaneously insulting you doesn’t go unnoticed, but if anything, you decide to take it as a testament to his honesty and comfort in your presence.  Clearly he’d have no issue telling you if you were terrible at this.

Instead of responding, you lace your fingers behind your head and continue to just lay there, closing your eyes against the warm sunshine.  It’s gorgeous here, you get why this planet is renown throughout the galaxy.  Perfect weather, stunningly green rolling hills for miles, the gentle breeze dancing through the tall grass, brilliant white clouds suspended against a beautiful blue backdrop.  The only thing that’s missing is—

“When can we go see the ocean?”  You blurt up at the sky, unable to stop the words before they’re out of your mouth.

“What ocean?”  Comes tiredly through the modulator, monotone and filtered as he shuffles into a more comfortable position.

“Any of them,” you immediately respond, shrugging your shoulders against the grass.  “The closest one.  I’m not picky.”

“…Naboo doesn’t have any oceans,” Din tells you blankly.

You startle slightly, jerking your head over at him.  “What?  But—but I saw it through the transparisteel when we dropped.  This whole planet is practically covered in water.”

“It is,” he agrees with a tilt of his helmet, following you with the visor as you finally scramble to sit yourself upright.  “But it’s all one big… body of water.  Locals call it the Abyss, it stretches across the entire planet through a system of underground caves and tunnels.  It only surfaces as rivers and lakes and swamplands, though.  No ocean.  Not really.”

“Oh.”  It’s blank, but it’s… lacking.  The sun glinting against metal gives you an excuse to subtly turn your head away from him, and you hold back your sigh of disappointment.

“What’s the matter?”  He grunts after a moment, somehow succeeding in sounding mildly disinterested while still bothering to ask.  He props his knee upright to rest his elbow on it, apparently able to read you better than ever as well.

“Nothing,” you say on instinct and shake your head, already knowing it’s dumb.  You’re being dumb, there’ll be other planets with oceans—you just haven’t had the opportunity to go to one yet.

Din doesn’t say anything after that, but he also keeps the helmet subtly turned towards you, like he’s just… waiting.  The quiet almost doesn’t sound quiet anymore, not when there’s such a loud unspoken question still lingering in it.

“It’s just,” you say after a moment, trying to smile, but it doesn’t feel real.  It’s nothing more than a movement your mouth makes and it feels at odds with the mild disappointment you’re trying to hide.  “I used to be a moisture farmer.  Back on Arvala-7, where we first met.”

His continued silence tells you nothing.  You don’t know whether he’s confused and you should elaborate, whether he understands and doesn’t need an explanation, whether he’s interested or disinterested.  Nothing.  So after another few more seconds of nothing, you decide to keep going.

“There's something about water that just… hits different when you spend your entire life on a planet without any,” you say quietly, picking at a few blades of grass by your knees instead of looking at him.  “When I was a little girl, I used to think it was as rare in the rest of the galaxy as it was where I was born.  A limited resource you had to farm from the atmosphere to drink, because it didn’t occur naturally in liquid form.  It was… valuable.  Delicate.  Crystal clear—never saw more than a few dozen gallons of it at a time.  Something to be cherished.  Something you’d never want to waste even just dipping your hand into, because the dirt on your skin would contaminate it.”

You smile once more, but this time it feels a little bit better.  “You know… the first shower I took on the Crest the day I left that Maker-forsaken planet was the first time I ever felt my hair get wet.  We only ever had sonic showers on Arvala-7.”  And stars, the memory of it makes you want to shudder.  Ultrasonic waves vibrating the dirt and sweat off your body sounds a lot more thorough than it actually is.  You never felt truly clean until you were soaking wet on the Crest with shampoo in your hair, giggling like a child in the fresher while you made yourself a soapy little beard.

It springboards into another memory—the moment you first reached for a towel after showering, catching a glimpse of your hands and startling at the sight of your wrinkled, pruny fingertips.  You’d never heard of such a phenomena before that point.  You thought you’d asked Kuiil about everything, but to be entirely fair, he might not have even realized it happened, not from the leathery texture of his xenospecies’ skin.  The questions he did answer for you were plenty though, and you suddenly remember something he said to you years ago that was so jarring and unexpected that it’s stuck with you to this day.

“Kuiil told me once that water was loud,” you suddenly hear yourself say, and though your soft laugh is nostalgic and sincere, you don’t know why, but you instantly tear up as soon as the words leave your mouth.  “Loud.  How could—could water be loud?  What… what noise would it make?”

You sniff and continue to pick at the grass, a bit more vigorously this time, purposefully keeping your eyes down and blinking quickly.  “He said… he said streams and brooks… b-bubble.  They bubble.  And rain… rain is like static—like white noise, but… natural.  Not generated by a machine.  He said the ocean is the loudest, though.  It roars.  It’s powerful.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat and glancing up, you try to distract yourself from the memory of your close friend by looking out at the wavy grass, trying to see if you can spot the kid being dwarfed by it.  You can’t, not from this low angle, but you can still hear him playing happily in the distance.

“I’ve seen all the others now, thanks to you,” you confess quietly.  “Rain, rivers, lakes—but I always wanted to see an ocean.  A big, scary one, where the sound would just be… deafening.  Water, tons of it, crashing up against rocks and filling the air with mist.  Used to dream about them.  Wanted to see something I used to think was rare fill my entire field of view.  Wanted to see something I always thought was precious turn into something formidable.”

Din continues staring silently at you through your peripheral while you keep picking at the grass absently.

“I just—I don’t know.”  You finally look over at him and sigh, smiling softly and shrugging your shoulders.  “I just always dreamed of a place where I could go, a place where I could open my eyes and all I’d be able to see—all I could hear—was water.”

You stop talking after that, having run out of things to say and realizing you probably shared a little too much without ever being prompted.  The sunlight is gentle and easy, however, and it encourages you to close your eyes and just breathe, letting silent, eternal gratitude to the man next to you fill you.  You’d never know any sun that isn’t harsh, you’d never know the greenness of the tall grass in this sprawling field had he not found you, given you a chance to tag along the galaxy with him and his carnivorous little sidekick.

The sun begins making you sleepy the more you sit here in the middle of paradise, eyes closed and tasting the gorgeous air in your lungs.  But eventually, Din stands up and steps in front of you, opening both of his bare palms towards the setting sky and bouncing them up and down a few times.  “Up.  Come on.  I’ll teach you how to throw an uppercut before nightfall.”

You groan but lift your hands in his direction all the same, trying not to wince while you make grabby fingers at him, your knuckles slightly bruised and red.  He sighs and wraps his hands purposefully around your elbows, urging you up as he takes a few steps backwards.

It’s awkward.  You’re still feeling lazy and droopy-eyed, and the cool shadow he casts makes you even more sleepy.  You think he’s going to help more than you have to pull yourself up, and he clearly thinks he’s there to be your platform instead of your forklift.  What results is just you being dragged uselessly by your arms in front of him, until your torso and legs are stretched in an uncomfortable J-shape on the ground and your forehead bumps into his lower tummy.

He stops and holds you there, before grunting out, “Use your feet.”

“Just let me fall,” you tell him, your lips brushing against the dark fabric while your shoulders and spine pull tight at this angle.  “Just leave me here like this.”

The sigh he makes above you feels like he puts his whole entire being into it.  Din leaves you propped up against him for a second while he grumbles and readjusts his hold further up near your shoulders, before he maneuvers you until you’re gently settling down on your knees in the grass.

You think (hope) he’s going to release you and let you take a nap, but then you gasp when he shifts and the toe of his boot suddenly wedges itself between your closed thighs.  He lifts up on your arms just slightly, enough to take the weight off your knees so he can swipe his foot out and kick one of them open, before plopping you back down again and letting you go.

Up until that point, you’d been good.  You were content with being boneless for him and seeing how he’d deal, but then he gracefully crouches down in front of you and wraps one powerful arm around your back, hugging you tight to his chest.  Din’s open thighs frame your kneeling figure and you can feel his cock pressed against your tummy from this angle, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

For some reason, he decides to take this next part slow.  Maybe it’s because he can probably feel the way your heart is starting to kick up against his unarmored chest right now, but he drags it out.  Broad shoulder dropping and his helmet finding a home in the crook of your neck, Din braces you to his chest with one arm while the other slithers down the curve of your ass and then under—his forearm pressing firmly between your cheeks and then his open palm flattening tight along the length of your pussy from behind.

You moan softly next to the helmet while he works the thick muscles in his thighs to gradually lift you both from the ground.  Maker, the tips of his fingers are curved hard against your slit through your pants while he rises, pulling you up until gravity causes your thighs to slowly meet around his hand and your legs to dangle.

The feat of strength turns you on just as much as his choice of positioning does.  Fuck, you know you’re not the lightest person in the galaxy, but Din carefully sets you down on your feet without even so much as a grunt of effort, his hand staying tucked tight between your legs for longer than necessary.  Biting your lip and pressing your face into his shoulder does nothing to stop the quiet whimper you make when he decides to grind his strong fingers up into you just a bit.

“Din,” you whisper, wanting to melt into him, but then he’s instantly ripping his hand away and taking a step back.

You nearly fall over at the sudden lack of support after relying solely on him for it for so long, but you don’t even have enough time to open your mouth in upset.  There’s just a split second before a green blur bursts through the tall grass with a squeal and trips over the baggy potato sack around his body.

It’s like it happens in slow motion.  You both watch as he flies forward, skidding more than once on the ground and then landing face-down on your shoe, the little thump on your foot feeling so adorably anticlimactic after all the buildup.

Nobody moves for a second, except for the way your eyes flicker up at the visor currently tilted towards the ground.  You can tell Din is just holding his breath, just waiting to see if—

A hiccup.  You see broad shoulders tighten under the dark fabric, and then a sudden piercing wail is released against your shoe.

“Shit,” Din curses, already scooping the little thing up and bouncing him slightly to pacify him.  You bite your lip against the way his ears flop from the movement and he screams even louder.  “Hey hey hey, stop.  Stop it.  Stop crying.”

“Uh oh!  Where’d your little friend go?”  You ask while Din immediately turns the kid around to face you, your voice pitched soft and high in your register as you step closer.  “Did you eat him already?”

He just shudders out a cry, probably an affirmative, his mouth dropping and his little teeth peeking through while he sobs and his giant eyes well with tears.

“Shit,” Din curses again, this time in defeat, but you won’t give up that easy.

“Hey—hey goose, wanna see me beat your daddy up?”  You ask, lightly booping the little bump of his nose.  “Huh?  Wanna see me fight?”  You pull your top lip up into a ridiculous little snarl and flex your arms threateningly, and the sobs suddenly stutter to a stop within a few breaths.  “Op, yep.  See—he knows I’ll kick your ass, Din, he just got scared.”

“Please,” the modulator pfftts quietly, but the kid just blinks at you while you keep growling.

“I’ll hurt him real bad,” you promise him, putting your fists up in front of you and bouncing your weight back and forth like a prized boxing champ.  “I’ll, uh…” your list of trash talk repertoire is admittedly rather short, and both of them wait in silence for you to figure it out, the bigger one a lot less entertained than his miniature counterpart.  “I’ll punch him just.  So hard.  So hard that… it’ll bruise.  Yeah—I’ll make him bleed underneath his skin.”

“No, this is good, keep going,” Din encourages after a moment of awkward silence.  “Maybe you’ll be able to find your way there at some point.”

You ignore him, bobbing and ducking and then popping him one good in the shoulder with an accompanying vocal sound effect—except you quickly jerk your hand away and shake your wrist out, staring up at the helmet like he deeply offended you and mouthing, “Ow.”

A smile.  The smallest ghost of one, but you see it on the kid’s teeny green mouth when you flick your eyes down to him.

So, Din spends the rest of the lingering daylight teaching you the proper uppercut technique while he cradles an adorable little bug-eyed baby in one arm.  You keep making faces at him while throwing your fist up against his dad’s extended, downturned palm, until he finally starts giggling again.

***

Whelp, turns out you’re a fucking idiot.  Or maybe just a selfish bitch, either way.  Not a good look.

You thought, from the way the lovely afternoon went, that you were getting better at reading Din.  Knowing when to joke around, when to keep pushing, and when to stop talking, all from just his body posture and tone of voice alone.  But you’re also an idiot, as you’ve already established.

As you three headed back to the Crest through the dusky twilight evening, you remember telling Din that if there weren’t any oceans on Naboo, then you’ll at least be able to sleep in a bed on this planet.  A real one, one with a—oh stars, an actual mattress.  The word alone sent shivers down your spine, and the baby cooed while blinking his eyes slowly, well on his way to being tuckered out from the long day outside.

You don’t remember Din directly responding, but then again, that isn’t really all that rare in the grand scheme.  Granted, he was arguably more talkative today than ever before, and he did get a little bit quieter after that, but still, you couldn’t have known.  Only an incredibly hyper-observant person would’ve noticed in the moment—you’re lucky you can even recall this much in hindsight.

Though, this next part should’ve been more of a direct giveaway.  Once you were in the Crest, he put his armor back on.

You still didn’t think.  It’s such a normal thing, the beskar fitting tight to magnetic plates around his shoulders, thighs, and chest.  It’s normal, he wears it all the time.  Having him walking around in broad daylight sans armor and gloves today was odd, that was the outlier.

He flew the vessel to the nearest town, a quaint little village on the edge of a gorgeously full forest.  The ride was as gentle as possible—you were feeling soft and decided to hold the baby as he drifted off instead of placing him in the quiet darkness of his cradle.  The ears tend to make things a bit awkward, but after months of practice with it, you’re now a pro at rocking the little guy to sleep in your arms.

Din’s continued silence didn’t bother you—or really even register, considering you were trying to be quiet as well.  He slung your go-bag around his shoulder and pressed a few buttons on his vambrace to set the kid’s sphere protocols to follow behind him, before pressing a gloved palm to your lower back and leading you down the ramp, the sleepy baby tucked tight into your arms.

There were people in the village mingling while you three walked down the cobblestone path to the nearest inn, giving your ragtag group double-takes as you passed.  The innkeeper, however, was blind.  Not only did you not receive the same terrified courtesy the barkeep on Canto Bight had afforded you before, but he was clearly used to spotting and swindling newcomers, sightless or not.

“Only room left’s a suite,” he drawled, the cloudy whites of his pupils hovering just between your left shoulder and Mando’s right pauldron.  “Five hundred credits a night.”

The color drained from your face, your heart doing a giant flip in your chest and completely fucking up the landing.  You turned to Mando to reassure him that absolutely nothing about this was necessary, but he was already dropping the ridiculous amount of credits on the desk without a single word.

That should’ve been the nail in the coffin, to be honest.  His immediate willingness to hand over that many credits without the slightest protest, grumble, or sigh was the kicker—that’s how you should’ve known something wasn’t right.  He didn’t even allow you to split the cost when you offered to reimburse him on the way to the room.

But again.  You’re an idiot, so.

At least the suite is gorgeous.  Slightly old-fashioned and moonlit enough to skip even flicking the lights on, illuminated by large open windows with views of the village streets and sprawling mountains and forest beyond.  Everything inside is either cream or white, so clean and soft, and being able to feel the breeze billowing through the gauzy curtains is just.  After months of traveling in that enclosed ship, it’s restorative.  Almost nothing in here is made of metal.

So it’s not until right now—almost immediately after you settled the kid down into the incredibly large guest bed and walked into the master bedroom to find Mando sitting perfectly still on the edge of the mattress—now something feels off.  He looks so out of place as you quietly snap the door shut behind you.  The enormous floor to ceiling window decorating the far side of the room bathes him in pale light, highlights the blaster marks and bits of dirt clinging to the beskar as he sits on the bed.

“You’re going to get the sheets all dirty,” you, an idiot, tell him, your voice barely above a murmur.  “Take off your—”

“I can’t,” he rushes, though he jumps up from the mattress all the same.  You snap your mouth shut and freeze.  “It’s safe here but it’s… it’s still not a good idea, not if I want to sleep.  Not with people around, and all these… windows.”

The words send you reeling.  You had no idea, you thought… “Oh.  I’m sorry, that—”

You immediately go silent, feeling absolutely fucking awful.  You didn’t think.  All you could think about was that bed underneath you, and you maybe… blindfolded in some way?  And then of course, him, in it—completely naked, helmet off, and laying next to you.

“You’re okay,” Mando tells you with a shrug, not sounding like… anything.  He looks like he’s about to say something else—his chestplate lifts with an inhale as he turns to you, but then seems to stop right as he’s about to speak.

“Shit—please sit on the bed, I don’t care if you’re dirty,” you quickly say, just as he blurts out, “You can still take your clothes off though.”

You blink at him for a second, not sure you heard him right.  “…What did y—”

“You can, uh.”  His voice is soft.  “I can… lay down.  On top of the sheets.  In my armor, just like this, and then you can take your clothes off and just.  Rub up on me a little bit.  If you want.”

A shudder quite suddenly rockets down your spine at the tone of his voice, the quiet, slightly hesitant murmur through the modulator.  The gulp you take is audible through the room, the only other sound being the closest trees rustling in the breeze outside.  The spread curtains dance with it, but they’re too sheer and light to make a noise.  “O-Okay.”

“Yeah?”  He asks lowly, and you quickly nod.

“Yeah,” you whisper, your body beginning to tingle, “sit—sit back down.”

He goes to move but then abruptly stops, and you hold your breath while you watch the visor jerk just a fraction to pin you in place.  Something instantly feels… different about him, a silent shift taking place within just a singular moment.  Like he all of a sudden realized that he didn’t actually like that very much.

Instead of acquiescing, Mando slowly steps in front of you, straightening up to his full height and absolutely dwarfing you with it, and your palms start to sweat.  Maker, when he speaks, it sends shivers down your body and the last thing you hear in his voice is hesitation.

“Take off your clothes,” he tells you, a dangerous edge to his soft tone.  The quiet dominance in it feels like the floor beneath you rumbles from it.

On instinct, your eyes flick over his shoulder to the open window and the village outside.  It’s barely been a few hours since sundown—townspeople are strolling down winding streets in the distance, ghostly moonlight mixes with the warm glow from large oil lamps lining the pubs and street corners.

You look back at him barely a split second later as he stands there in front of you, waiting.

You startle and immediately move to grab at the hem of your shirt, and your fingers unintentionally tremble as they start to pull it up. 

“Stop.”

His voice breaks through the silence, the modulated order halting your movements immediately.  You blink up at him, letting your shirt drop back down again, and Mando takes a second to look back at you, studying you from under the beskar.

“Go stand by the window,” he suddenly says, lazily tilting the helmet to gesture at it.

Your blood pounds in your ears during the still moments following, the thrill of it making you nearly go deaf for a second.  After you recover from the visceral heatwave that rockets through you, you slowly walk over to the window and then turn your back on the ballooning curtains to look at him.  The beskar is still pinned to you over his shoulder, though the rest of his body hasn’t moved.

“Turn around,” he tells you, and you shakily do as he says, rotating to face the open window.  You’re close enough to make out people’s expressions from here—friends mingling as they stroll down the sidewalk, their mouths moving but their voices and laughter muted at this distance.  An outdoor restaurant serving local cuisine to patrons and out-of-towners, a violinist and cellist performing a silent duet on the street corner.

There’s shuffling behind you.  The creak of the bedframe as he lowers himself on it and moves around, before eventually coming to a rest in what you assume is a comfortable position.

“You can keep going,” eventually comes his filtered voice from the bed.

Your eyelashes dip and flutter as more hot sparks of arousal kindle deep in your floor muscles.  Lifting your shirt up over your head has never felt like such high stakes before, but even as the fabric falls to the ground, your gaze continuously searches for anyone outside who may catch a glimpse.  Though, you’re not sure if it’s in dread or some kind of sick excitement.

The breeze hardens your nipples while you work at your pants, and the hair on your arms stands up when you remember who’s behind you, silently watching you get turned on by this.  Along with your underwear, your pants are pushed down your thighs, but instead of moving back from the pool around your ankles, you take a purposeful step forward towards the open window.

“Fuck—you dirty little thing,” you hear him breathe out, and a shiver rolls through you.  “Tell me how many people you can see right now, count them.”

You try your best, but give up halfway through and provide a rough estimate.  “F-Fifteen.”

“Scanner says seventeen from here,” Mando challenges lowly.  “Seventeen pairs of eyes that can look up any second and see your naked body.  Stripped bare, shaking, vulnerable.  Your gorgeous fucking tits.”

As hard as your teeth dig into your bottom lip at the rasp through the modulator, your nails dig into your palms even harder.  Still, you don’t move, and the open drapes flick and brush against your thighs as you hold there, the gentle wind doing absolutely nothing to cool your flushed skin down.

And oh, he waits.  He’s good about that, especially when he can probably read your infrared signature through the helmet right now.  You’re surprised you haven’t outright blinded him by how white-hot your body feels.  But after what feels like a small eternity, he eventually murmurs, “Come over here.”

Once you turn around and see the way he’s just laying back on the bed, relaxing and enchanted with the show, it’s a miracle you don’t trip on anything with how quickly you hurry towards him.  You’re already standing next to the edge of the mattress by the time you even register his body is subtly tilted so that his boots are hanging purposefully off the side of it.

Regardless of the hard dominance he’s exhibiting, the symbolic gesture somehow feels like it flips a switch inside you and lights up pure, aching adoration for him.  But against every instinct screaming at you to just scramble on top of him and show him how much you appreciate his thoughtfulness, you wait.  You wait for him to tell you what to do.

His glove lifts, comes up to gently touch the side of your face and cradle your jaw, and you have to clamp your hands together to stop yourself from reaching for him.

“Are you wet?”  Mando murmurs, sounding like his lips barely even brush against each other when they move under the beskar.  You don’t trust yourself to say anything without it turning into a desperate plea, so you just close your eyes and jerk your head in a nod, feeling your cheek graze against the leather on his palm with the movement.  It’s hard to swallow when your mouth feels so dry, and he lets you just suffer there and tremble for him a little while longer, letting out a quiet hum through the modulator as his thumb carefully rides the line of your cheekbone.

Maker, where does all this fucking patience come from?  Under normal circumstances, Mando is probably one of the most impatient people you’ve ever met, and yet.  It’s like he stores it all up.  Hoards it and refuses to dip into it most of the time—perfectly content to have a quick temper in most interactions, if only so that he can keep it handy for moments like this.  If only so he can have a seemingly endless supply of patience to sustain him while your average-sized stockpile is gradually and inevitably being depleted.

“You want to get up here with me?”  He asks quietly, and stars, that’s still not a directive, no matter how much it could casually imply one.  The ridiculous thing is—he never even told you this was expected of you.  Not once did he tell you to follow his words like they're gospel, not once did he say there was something wrong with speaking directly to him without prompting, or acting without explicit instruction.  He never even implied anything like that at all, but you still hold your body completely rigid as you jerk a nod against his palm once more.

Stars, it just isn’t fair.  He doesn’t look any different from how he looks every single day—there’s no patch of golden skin to tease you, beskar is covering him head to toe, but you’re hotter for him than you think you’ve ever been.  He’s stretched out long on the bed, a portion of him darkened by your silhouette but the rest bathed in gorgeous moonlight, breathing slow as he takes you in.  You stare silently at the visor, and for some reason, you—you’re quite suddenly struck with how gorgeous he could secretly be under there and you’ll just… you’ll never know.  You know his hair is thick and dark, you know the softness of his mouth, the sunkissed color of his skin, the prominent nose and straight teeth on the rare but blissful occasions he’d let you kiss him.  His eyes, though.  They could be any color.  Your credits have been on brown for a while, but the thought of you not knowing for sure… the thought of you actually having to ask him something like that is just—it makes you ache to touch him even more.  To give him something tangible at least, when you know the only way to ever have a true visual connection with him is with a dark visor between you.

You try to let the sentiment transfer through your needy expression, hoping he can read it from there.  His cock is hard—you can see it in your peripheral, pressing up against the dark fabric of his pants, but it’s like you’re the only one who notices.  He’s still admiring your face, or fuck, maybe he’s looking at your body—you can never tell for sure, but regardless, you stare purposefully at wherever you think his eyes ought to be, silently pleading with him and starting to get desperate.

Finally—fucking finally, the helmet rocks to the side just slightly, just the smallest tilt of his head towards his body, but the nonverbal invitation is enough.  Air you didn’t realize was even in your lungs suddenly whooshes out of you as you all but launch forwards onto the mattress to try and climb on top of him.

—Except, then his hand quickly drops from your face to press firm against your thighs, blocking the way your far leg tries to lift to swing over him in a straddle.  Disappointment crashes through you with an audible whimper and you start to panic a little bit as you shakily plant both knees back on the bed, wondering what you possibly did wrong.  Was it because he didn’t specifically say it was okay?  Was he just testing your obedience?

The beskar vambrace feels cool against your burning skin, and you try not to let the trembling of your body manifest itself in your breathing as Mando lazily drags his glove along your thighs.  Neither one of you says anything as he eventually trails his hand back and around, leather fingers coming to a rest between your legs while his thumb rides high, just under the curve of your ass.

And then he slowly starts pulling, before he gradually leads the leg closest to him up and over his body instead, until you’re settling into a straddle on top of his hips.  Backwards.

Everything in you shudders violently as both gloves gently trail up the length of your naked back, letting you brace your hands on the beskar strapped to his thighs and settle on top of him.

“Look at that,” he hums, letting his hands fall back down to the meat of your ass, grabbing handfuls of it and squeezing hard enough to make you bite back a gasp.  “Fucking pretty.  Pretty girl.  Stars, I fucking love looking at you, know that?”

The praise makes you mewl quietly and spread your knees even further, dropping your hips down until the underside of his cock presses up tight into your aching pussy.  You arch your back and walk your hands forward just a bit, just until you’re holding onto his knees and you have the right angle to start slowly rocking your body back and forth.

“Maker,” you whisper, your head tipping back while you drag your pussy against his pulsing erection, and his hands keep massaging your ass while the words start falling out of you now that you released the floodgate.  “Maker, I love your body.  So big, and—and strong.  Fucking hard, thick cock.  Fuck, I love your cock.  I love how fucking hard you get—”

“Bend over,” Mando breathes out behind you, his hands suddenly releasing fistfuls of your ass to grab around your hips and bring you to a stop.  “Fuck, keep talking like that, but show me your—just let me… let me look at it.”

Your heart slams against your sternum, your clit pulsing against the hard ridge of his cock, knowing exactly what he’s talking about.  Slowly, you bend your upper body over until your tummy lays flat along the cool beskar shielding his thighs and your tits are pressed against his kneecaps.  Your arms are long enough to rest your hands on his ankles like this, and your thighs are spread wide to keep your cunt pushed up against his cock.  But stars, you know he has a perfect view right now.  The slick lips of your pussy smearing against his dark pants, both holes on full display for him in the moonlight.

“Keep—Keep talking,” Mando reminds you after a moment, sounding painfully turned on while his cock jumps against your clit.  “Keep going.  Use it, get yourself off.  Let me watch.”

“Fuck, I love your cock,” you hear yourself repeat, breathless and needy as your hips start grinding down against him once more, the words coming from you without giving them any thought whatsoever.  He grunts and pushes it up for you, letting you get at it easier.  “I think about it all the time.  Think about the first time I felt it, how you were already rock fucking hard for me when I touched you.  You came so quick, right in my hand, in your pants—it was so fucking hot.”

“I’d had—” he grits out in his defense, “—shit, I’d had a… a rough day, and your hands were.  Fuck, s-soft, and—”

“Maybe,” you concede, biting your lip and closing your eyes against the swirling pleasure spreading hot through your body, the heat that burns you alive hearing the familiar warble through the modulator when he’s starting to lose himself in pleasure.  “Or maybe it was because you were half-conscious with a brand new scar on your back.”

His filtered groan rolls down your spine and his cock pulses hard against your cunt through the fabric of his pants, making you spasm in delight.  Fuck, your head drops down completely, just dragging yourself back and forth on top of him as you chase your orgasm like this.  Shameless—your ass flexing in front of him with every roll of your hips, your lower muscles fluttering with every drag against his cock.

“Fuck—fuck, let me touch your asshole,” Mando whispers suddenly, lifting himself up on one elbow and dragging the other hand up the curve of your cheek.  “Just—just a little bit, I won’t pu—”

“Oh stars above, fucking please,” you gasp against one of his legs, nearly jerking back against his hand as your pussy fucking leaks through his pants with it.  “I’ll let you do anything you want, you can—can put your thumb inside it—”

His other hand leaves you for a split second, and you think he’s taking his glove off, except then it swings down to crack hard against your ass, making you gasp and instantly go still for him on his lap.

The smooth leather covering the pad of his thumb carefully glides down your crevice, and you hold your breath until it finally brushes over the tight ring of muscle flexing for him.

“That all you’ll let me put in here?”  Mando asks quietly, and you let out a complete mess of a whimper, trying your best not to move under the bold touches.

You get another firm smack on the ass for being rendered mute for too long.  “Tell me,” he growls, rubbing his thumb against the vulnerable entrance while his cock throbs against your cunt.

“I’ll—I’ll let you do anything you want,” you moan once more, and stars, you can’t help it.  Your hips start to grind down against him even harder than before, and Mando curses as he slowly rides your movements with his hand.

“Dirty,” he grits out.  “Dirty girl.  You ever take it back here before?”  And stars, the way his cock drags against your pussy starts to make you lightheaded, how casually he’s talking about this while starting to circle his thumb around it and press firm against it.  Not hard enough to push inside, but enough to feel the natural resistance give just a bit.

“No,” you breathe, starting to pant while you work against him.  “Boys have tried.  But I’d let you.”

“Fuck,” he hisses, suddenly rocking his hips up against yours.  You nearly choke and your legs start to lock up, making your movements stunted.  “Fuck.  I bet you’d let me do it right fucking now, wouldn’t you?  Right here in front of this f-fucking window, where everyone can see?  Let me flip you over and stretch you out, and then fuck your tight little—virgi—”

“Maker, get your cock out,” you gasp, heat burning at your center and beginning to spread outwards.  It tingles hot through your lower abdomen and you start to get frantic, knowing you don’t have much time before your orgasm hits.  “Please, just let me ride it, let me cum on it—”

“No,” Mando immediately grunts, and you make a small sound of distress that quickly turns into a high-pitched mewl against his leg when the very tip of his thumb just barely breaches the haloed entrance.

“But—but I’m so wet,” you whisper, “oh stars, can’t you see it?  I’m dripping.  You could just slide it right in right now, I’d take it so fucking easy—”

He rips his hand away just long enough to smack your ass once again, hard enough to ring through the room and make you gasp.  “Quit.  You’ll take whatever the fuck you’re given and you’ll endure,” he snaps.  “Not here, not tonight.”

You bite back desperate protests.  He’d fuck you in a dark alleyway on Canto Bight but not here?  As if you haven’t already done so multiple times this evening, you immediately lament your stupid mouth and the thoughtless mattress comment.  You wish you could take it all back—you don’t care how nice this bed is, you want to sleep in anything he’ll fuck you in.  Nonetheless, your orgasm gallops forward and leaves your body struggling to keep up behind it—but Maker, you want so badly to feel him inside you when it finally hits.  You want to sink down on him and feel him break you open just as you start to cum.

“Oh fuck, please give me it,” you whine, sounding on the edge of delirium, the words pressed high and unintentional as your hands clutch at his legs.  “Oh Maker, please, please fuck me—fuck me in a real bed, please, just—fuck me right now and I swear I’ll sleep on fucking rocks for you every single night for the rest of m—”

A snarl rips through the modulator and he shoves your hips forward just enough, just enough to rip his waistband down—

You gasp in blinding relief and flip your head over your shoulder to watch, but then subtle movement catches in your peripheral.  You glance up just in time to see the doorknob slowly turning.

Thank your lucky stars you react on instinct alone, squealing and jumping off him before quickly shuffling under the covers.

“What the fu—” comes an enraged, filtered growl, metal clanking with how quickly he flips over to reach for you, but then he cuts off and the helmet whips to the door as it unlatches and slowly creaks open. 

The blankets are pulled tight under your chin as you shuffle down as far as possible, and though you can’t see the intruder from this angle, Mando is instantly reaching back to rip the pillow out from under the helmet and press it tight over his crotch, huffing out a sigh.

Soon, you’re able to spot one pointy little ear pop up, followed by the rest of the little gremlin scaling the treacherously tall comforter, pulling himself over the edge of the mattress with a determined three-finger hold and then doing a completely unnecessary little barrel roll once he’s on the level springtop.  The fact that it’s so fucking adorable just serves to irk you even more, and both of you silently watch the kid push himself up on two feet and then waddle slowly in between you two.

He finds a pillow he likes—one that happens to be placed directly in between you and his dad, before he settles himself down on it like a small bed on top of a much larger one.  The little stinker then flutters his abnormally giant eyes closed and seems to instantly fall back asleep.

There’s a few minutes where you just blink across from Mando, flicking your gaze between the chrome visor and the baby’s peaceful face.  Is this… is he serious right now?

“Were we being too loud?”  You eventually whisper, barely above a breath.  “Or is he just being purposefully annoying?”

He doesn’t answer you.  And, well, you suppose he has a point.  Regardless of why, it appears he's here now. 

You let out a slow breath and just try and relax, try and think beyond the flare of annoyance at the interruption, how close you were to feeling him fuck you into this mattress.  He’d still have the armor and helmet on, of course, but it would be just domestic enough to ruin you. 

But then again—you suppose this, if anything, is even more domestic.  Doing your best to calm your racing thoughts so you can eventually fall asleep directly across from him with his mildly aggravating, heartstealing little adopted kid snoring quietly between you.

Quite a while passes before you feel your eyelids growing heavy.  You spend almost the entire time studying every single inch of Mando while he faces you on the mattress.  The sharp angles and smooth curves of his helmet, concave in places but convex in others.  How fitting, you think.  To cover a man with a helmet just like him—sharp, smooth, contrasting, and deflective enough about what lies underneath to be reflective.

Then you find yourself thinking about what he’s hiding under it.  Once more.  You try to picture him, but it’s… it’s difficult.  You’re not used to translating things you’ve only touched into visual representations, it’s just not a skill you’ve ever needed to have handy.  And what about all the things you can’t, or haven’t been able to feel?  Freckles, or birthmarks?  Dimples?  Are his lashes long or short?  Do they stick out in a fringe when he clamps his eyes shut?  Does his nose scrunch up when he laughs?  Do his ears stick out?  Does he have wrinkles on his forehead, or around his eyes?

Maker, what color are they?

You continue to stare at the metal faceplate, blinking droopily at it but forcing yourself to stay awake just a bit longer.  Enjoy the feeling of the soft mattress underneath you while you still can, relaxing into the cool sheets and delaying your inevitable descent into dreams.  Savoring his extended presence here with you for as long as possible.

“Do you have brown eyes?”  You hear yourself murmur to him through the quiet darkness, lips barely touching and the words slurred from exhaustion.  You want to know.  You want to be able to color in the last paint-by-number of his face before you begin your work on the finer details.

Again, he doesn’t answer, and you figure he’s probably asleep.

[nova-is-a-writer-now]

The way you said “I love you”

Summary: All the times you and Zuko said I love you to eachother, sometimes without even actually saying it.

A/N: I was feeling a little uninspired while trying to write pt.4 of Fools, so I decided to write something else in the mean time. I saw someone did this and I found it so adorable I decided to do it too. Sadly I only saved the original post and not the hc that was inspired in it, so if you know who came up with this pls @ them so I can credit them.

Side note, I had more ideas for some of the other prompts but didn’t want to make this excessively long, so maybeeee I’ll make another one of these but we’ll see.

original post

-IF YOU HAVE ANY REQUESTS DONT HESITATE TO ASK-

As a hello

It was late on the night the gaang had finally agreed to let Zuko join them. They hadn’t been specially trustful or accepting of him, but they let him join, and that was what mattered to Zuko, he’ll work his way up to everything else.

He couldn’t sleep, thoughts about everything that had happened and everything that would happen running around in his mind. The stars above him glimmered in wonderful harmony, the time of the year where the sun would be more forgiving at day and the nights would gain a growing coolness to them came around.

Lost in his head, Zuko was startled when he heard you take a sit next to him. You were the only one in the group who Zuko didn’t know that well. He’d only seen you a handful of times before that night and couldn’t really tell on what ground he stood with you.

You handed him a blanket with one hand while you held your own around your back and over your shoulders with the other. “Didn’t want you to freeze to death on your first night.” You explained when you saw the confused look of his face.

“I’m a fire bender, I don’t get cold.” He replied taking only a couple of seconds to mentally slap himself for being rude. This being a good guy thing was gonna take some practice.

“Oh” you said, the realization of his words hitting you, feeling a little dumb for not thinking about it before.

“But thanks...anyways” Zuko tried to redeem himself, hoping he didn’t make a bad impression on the one person who didn’t hate him already.

“Yeah, no problem.” Your eyes drifted up to the stars too. They were prettier tonight, maybe it was because of how peaceful things felt for once. A deep sigh forced you to turn your attention back to the dark haired boy. “Are you ok?” You asked him, hoping he wouldn’t feel like you’re intruding.

“Yeah, just...worried. Katara still hates me, Sokka doesn’t trust me and Aang only keeps me around because he needs me. I’m not complaining, I just... don’t know how to show them I’ve changed.”

“I’m sure Katara is gonna come around eventually, she has too much of a big heart to stay mad at anyone for too long. Aang is the one that convinced everyone to let you join, so I think he does like you, and Sokka is...well, Sokka, I wouldn’t worry about it” you reassured him.

Zuko gave your words a thought. You were right, but things were still complicated. He looked at you and asked. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

You looked away from his gaze, his golden eyes were a bit intimidating if you were honest. “I...don’t know. I guess I just believe you when you say you’ve changed. I see good in you... I always have, even when we were running away from you. All of us have done things in the past we aren’t too proud of, some of them may be worse than others, but we’re all here now, and we’re all trying to do the right thing. I think that on its own makes you worthy of a second chance.”

Your words shocked Zuko. No one besides his uncle had been that kind to him in a long time. He felt hope inside, if someone as kind and good as you could forgive him, think that he could be redeemed, then he hoped everyone else would too. “I...thank you. I promise I won’t disappoint you... any of you.”

“You and I can start on a blank slate, as a matter of fact” you extended your hand to him. “Hi, I’m Y/N, very nice to meet you.”

Zuko chuckled very lightly at the weird way you had decided to show how it was a new beginning for the both of you, but played along. “I’m Zuko, it’s very nice to meet you too.”

When the broken glass litters the floor

It was your first day on the Ember Island’s house. Katara and you had been cooking with the groceries Sokka and Suki brought from the market. You two weren’t experts but you had gotten so much better by then. Katara decided to go outside with a basket of cabbages to feed Appa and told you to stay and check on the food so it wouldn’t burn.

No more than a few minutes passed before you heard Zuko coming inside from where he had been training with Aang. He took his shirt off at some point during the training, leaving his naked and muscular torso was exposed.

You tried your best not to stare but you couldn’t help the blush that took over your face when you looked up to his eyes and found him staring right back. His cheeks were blushed as well and you decided for your own sake to assume it was from the physical activity.

“Hey...um, do you mind pouring me a glass of water, please?” He asked softly, his voice a tad raspier from him being out of breath.

“Yeah sure.” You managed to say.

When you turned around to get a glass for him your arm bumped into a glass vase that was incredibly bad placed, throwing it off from where it had been resting. One of your feet was already lifted when the vase crashe onto the floor and into a million pieces, which made you nearly lose your balance and step right on the fragments. In a fraction of a second you felt Zuko’s hand grabbing your wrist and pulling you back, which made you very strongly land on his chest. His other hand instantly moved to the small of your back, as if he was scared you would fall without his support. 

His eyes met yours as you raised your head to look at him, your faces closer than they’d ever been before. Both of you held your breath for a few seconds before you broke the silence. “thank you.” You muttered softly not wanting to move a single muscle.

“You’re welcome” Zuko replied in the same tone, softening the grip on your wrist.

The moment would’ve lasted way longer had Katara not stormed into the kitchen after hearing the sound of breaking glass.

“I left you in the kitchen alone for ONE SECOND!”

Not said to me

Zuko had clearly been avoiding you the past couple of days. Was it the war that was starting to gain weight inside his head? Was it how close you two had started to get all of the sudden? Was it something you did? You didn’t know for sure, but you knew you didn’t like the feeling of it, at all.

He told everyone one morning he wasn’t feeling great, so he would stay inside instead of spending the day at the beach like the rest of you had planned. This was your chance to get him alone and try to talk.

You decided to make him a special tea recipe you’d picked up from Iroh at some point, he said it was a miracle when it came to curing illness. When you tried it you were surprised from how good it ended up tasting. You poured it into a teapot and grabbed a couple of cups, proceeding to take them upstairs where Zuko’s room was.

You were about to walk right in when you heard Sokka voice coming from inside, realizing the door was only half open.

“You can’t do nothing, dude. What kind of dumb ass plan is that?” He said whisper-screaming.

“I’m not telling her.” Zuko replied in a voice so low you almost couldn’t hear him.

“Why not? She clearly likes you back, you know that, I know that, and everyone else does too. The two of you are the only ones who keep acting like it isn’t obvious.”

You wonder who they could possibly be talking about, a small pit of jealousy forming inside of you.

“You don’t know that for sure, and I’m not losing Y/N’s friendship just cause I was dumb enough to crush on her. Trying to get over it is better than getting rejected and ruining everything, I like her too much to do that.” as soon as you heard your name your heart stopped.

Zuko... liked you. He liked you and was scared you didn’t like him back. How could he ever think that? Sometimes you felt like you were too obvious about it, but it was hard not to. It was his golden eyes, probably the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen, how they looked like growing flames when the sun hit them, the little dark spots around the rim of his irises, how they looked at you intensely like if when you talked everything else faded. It was the way he would throw his head back when he laughed, but only when you made him laugh really hard, how his face glowed with a youthful tint, like he was a normal teenager even though you were in the middle of a war, and how when he stopped laughing he had to take a deep breath before letting the laugh die down. It was the way he talked about his mom with such love and adoration, or how he talked about the future with a little bit of fear but mostly hope. It was the way he was always ready to run to you if you needed him to, making sure you were ok, protecting you. It was him, all of him, it had always been him.

You were shocked at the words you just heard but glad you’d heard them. Before either of them walked out and found you there, you walked back downstairs as quietly as you could, praying they wouldn’t hear the creaks of the stairs. Once you were back at the kitchen you decided to wait for Sokka to come down, he had to eventually, and you hoped he would leave Zuko alone when he did. It didn’t take him much longer to do so, to your relief coming down the stairs alone. He looked at you and smiled.

“Hey, Y/N. Watcha doing?”

“Making tea for Zuko, is he feeling any better?”

“Oh, no. He’s terrible, the poor thing. You should definitely go check on him.” He tried to say this without smiling so you would take him seriously but the corners of his mouth were already starting to curve up.

“Will do, thanks Sokka.” On the surface, you were thanking him for the information he was giving you, but deep down you were also thanking him for being the reason why you found out Zuko also liked you.

You walked back upstairs, not even thinking of bringing the tea up with you. You took in a deep breath before opening the door, and you when you did, you saw him laying there, eyes closed at first but opened quickly when he heard you come in.

“Y/N... hi.” He said sitting up.

“Hey, wanted to check up on you, Sokka said you were feeling terrible.” You told him knowing he would kill Sokka afterwards for sabotaging him.

“I’m not feeling terrible, I’m much better actually, but thanks for coming to check on me.” You took a sit on his bed, close enough to be able to do what you were planning your next move to be.

“I’m glad. We need you up and in your best shape right now.” You waited a few seconds trying to gather all the bravery you had inside before saying. “Zuko?”

“Yes?”

You didn’t warn him before closing the space that separated the two of you, one of your hands went up to cup his cheek while your lips pressed softly against his. You could tell he was shocked by how his body stiffened under your touch, your lips moved softly and slowly trying to figure out wether he wanted to kiss you or not. You were about to pull away when he started kissing you back. His own hand sliding up to your neck, holding you firmly while his lips devoured yours, like he had been waiting for this moment for way too long. When the two of you finally pulled apart to fill in your lungs again, your eyes connected with his, there was a new kind of light in them. A smile took over his lips when his eyes drifted back down to your lips.

“Were you eavesdropping when I was talking to Sokka?” He asked softly and teasingly.

“What in the world would make you think that?”

Over and over again, till it’s nothing but a senseless babble

You were under the covers in Zuko’s bed. Your eyes deeply staring into his, your fingers running up and down his jaw, sometimes getting distracted and playing with his hair. The moonlight leaked through the window and the only sounds that could be heard were the ones of trees swaying with the wind.

Zuko looked at you intensely and profoundly. He was sure you were a dream sometimes, something so perfect couldn’t be real, so he touched you to make sure you were actually there, and he held you gently but firmly to make sure that even if you were a dream, he wouldn’t lose you.

“We should sleep” you muttered in a whisper

“We should” he replied his lids already looking a little heavy.

“Good night, Zuko.” You planted a little short peck on his lips before starting to turn around.

“Good night, Y/N” he replied getting comfortable. “I love you.”

Your heart stopped at this words, a warm feeling started to crawl up your body and your eyes that were already closed opened abruptly.

You turned back around to find him staring at the ceiling, eyes wide open while holding his breath. “What did you just say?” You asked him.

“I-... I’m sorry it just...slipped.” He explained.

You knew he could be a little insecure sometimes, always thought he was unlovable so you had to constantly make sure he knew how much you liked him. This was one of those occasions. You crashed your lips against his roughly, pulling him so he would be on top of you. This kiss was a declaration, a promise and a revelation all at the same time, your lips moved hungrily and passionately trying to show him how much you loved him back.

Once you separated you looked at him sweetly and said “Say it again.”

“I love you.” Zuko was more sure of himself this time, a warm smile took over his face.

“Again, please.”

“I love you.”

“One more time.”

He took your face into your hands and kissed your forehead first. “I love you” then he went to your right cheek “I love you” and to the left “I love you” and to your nose “I love you” and finally took in a deep breath before looking to your lips “Y/N Y/L/N you have no idea how much I fucking love you” he kissed you again.

Maybe you couldn’t understand how much love he felt for you, how it burned inside of him like a wild fire, how when you were with him all his worries faded and the rest of the world was put on pause, maybe you’d never even grasp the way you were his first thought in the morning and his last at night, but he could try showing all of it to you with a kiss.

You pulled away to look at him one last time and said “I love you more, I will always love you more.”

[theskyexists]

Revolution of the Daleks

im actually really happy with this, Yaz not being able to let go. Ryan and Graham having practice. i could wish a million things had happened with Ryan (!) and Graham before but this is as good as it’s gonna get from this point

i like the way they’re trying to imitate the Doctor explicitly

‘this is hard, innit?”

‘have you had work done?’ ‘you can talk!’ (that sounded so Nine and Jack!!! hahahaa) edit: it was litearlly Ten and Jack

reference!

DOCTOR AND JACK HUG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Leo......is a very cynical representation of an amoral scientist.

How the hell is Trump-analogue the sane one here lolololol. but he’s dumb enough to leave incinerating the thing to Leo.

what an idiot - opening the casing. im not really into how the narrative is basically like: trump is right about stupid scientists! hah...

the banter between jack and the doctor is so good? imitation of the original product clearly but still GOOD

love how the Doctor instantly goes - i need to go see the fam

she was in space jail for decades (she doesn’t mention the decades)

THAT MOMENT OF MATERIALISATION WAS SO GOOD

noooooooooooooooo OUCH - ouch! YAZ!

‘im sorreh’

SHE DOESN’T MENTION HOW SHE’S BEEN LOCKED IN PRISON FOR FUCKING DECADES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

my god Doctor. give them some perspective PLEASE

Jack’s ‘whoops’ is hilarious if you consider his history with teh Doctor

Ryan - god i love Ryan.

Actually didn’t like Graham’s response to Jack. narratively, homophobic

absolutely despise the orange lettering

this episode really goes to show that Chibnall thinks structurally extremely slowly. he picks threads up from ages ago. and then he does do something decent with it. does this mean that the longer he keeps on the better it will get?

i think it’s pretty fuckin hilariously sad though that the companions are once again relegated to couriers - they note that they can’t do stuff on their own (even though the season finale last time gave them ‘Doctor-like’ sequences even if they never managed to impact the story of the Doctor herself - so i guess we’ve gone backwards in this arc) and then they CAN’T do stuff on their own and the Doctor comes in

it’s not the Doctor OR the companions Chibs. and if these companions are just incapable - make that a point! that would be a wonderful contrast to Clara

Woah Jack fuckin infodump

aahahhaa

i do love Yaz’s response. this seems to build up to some final DESERVED - i need to know MORE doctor - now.

‘oh she’s good’ - that’s such a RTD thing to say. chibs just directly copy-pasting a lot here. this is acceptable if he can give it new meaning. inverse meaning

why even drop two people off - whats the Doctor gonna do - nothing?

i actually like the new dalek design very much. oh confront Robertsen? i still can’t get used to the explicit task division set-up - even if this time it was used for characterisation

i - adore. this talk between Jack and Yaz. because it’s Yaz accessing so much shit from the Doctor’s past suddenly. and then it becomes extra clear that Jack’s and the Doctor’s connection was kinda romantic in whatever way - and it’s directly paralleled with Yaz. that romantic tragic attachment - doomed to hurt. (i.e. my fav)

god mandip gill is yeeting this out of the park. I LOVE IT. i love these lines. ‘we’re the lucky ones yaz’ - graham also told her something like this in demons of the punjab.

‘the joy, is worth the pain’ - is it? Jack thinks so - still! my god.that’s so tragic - so beautiful. so much rtd feel here.

jezus chibnall - fuckin sonic gun even???? ‘thanks, that’s it??’ hahahahaha. ok you did good. nobody’s ever impressed at it. LOL DAMN YAZ

‘they’re growing daleks’ - this secondary reveal doesn’t matter bc no reveal would have been a genuine reveal anyway

the new prime minister givin her speech and the doctor explaining daleks should have had snappier editing - specifically the music should not have gone back to simple british empire horns or whatever- but should have had an undertone of dalek in there

really! ALIEN REFERENCES! MY GOD CHIBNALL!!! everybody was thinking it but you did it.... i guess it’s done now. sexual politics wise i’d say Robertsen might have been a much better choice.

guns and explosives will solve everything!!!!!! oh chibnall

i love this lil talk between Ryan and teh Doctor - because it goes to show that the Doctor actually really cared. it would be fitting if they all left now actually lol - that would be nice and dramatic. Jodie is doing great on the acting here - i can FEEL the warning messages in her brains going AAAAAAAAAAA im losing this one!!!!

YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA Ryan - oh finally - finally this is coming out. calling her out, ‘how do you feel about that’‘  - the counsellor

‘things change, all the time, and they should, cos they have to’ - oh ffffff and ryan inverts things on her. oh i would have loved that if they’d done the extensive groundwork for it. now it just feels like a final death knell - the Doctor paternalised in classic Doctor words by her pseudo-son (but not really bc we never got it for real). couldn’t chibnall have left that for a dude actor ....

i love Jodie’s acting here my GOD. the mouth, the thin lips. The Doctor’s thinking - ah ive lost him - he doesn’t need me at all. ‘always’ this is Ryan’s motif actually. Yaz said the same thing about him.

LOL and Leo reveals himself only when the bombs have been planted and the Doctor’s arrived

lol ok that’s a pretty grisly reveal chibs, BUT would have been cooler if Yaz somehow found out herself and not through villain exposition. Robertsen really is VERY good comic relief here ‘this is a pr disaster’

that was actually a GOOD use of the Doctor going hmmm what’s wrong here and Yaz going well maybe this

ok but because chibnall has such dumb and obvious twists all the time it makes the Doctor always look dumb for slowly stumbling through a self-deprecating  explanation. the least authoritative doctor ever my god.... like she could feel the shock to her system coming and that’s why she was born so un-self-assured. hate that shit. not what i wanted

the recon dalek used ultra viiolet light to teleport. lol. but then the Doctor is too late to stop it. hmm a bit uh..........idk conflicted about all the poc getting exterminated at the border...is this irony???

so how is the Dalek electrocuting Leo with nothing but a shitty slime body? also don’t like that. especially because Robertsen is getting away scot free again probably

‘no weapons’ (what about the bombs - couldn’t jack have interjected with knowledge on that shit - before the daleks teleported mysteriously????) ‘no time to think’ - Doctor i thought it was established that you could think at 3000 miles per fraction of a second.

forget it. forget it forget it forget it. chibnall and I will never agree on this. if the Doctor hits rock bottom here - then it better be a companion that picks her back up. nope, she gets back up herself. best job they’ve done so far on that i admit but then they cut immediately to a leisurely discussion as people are getting gunned the fuck down in the streets.

ah, shes inviting the original fleet to destroy these daleks which are ‘corrupted’

why..................did they explain the whole plan before it happened. WHY. OH WHY! is Chibnall so structurally BORING!!!!!!!!!!!!

this would have WORKED as a GOOD twist if he’d made it an actual fucking TWIST. please chibs....let me at the scripts....please....

the stakes are also not well-established because none of the companions said: oh shit but we could barely get rid of ONE, now there’s thousands!

‘they shouldn’t know im here’ *materialises TARDIS right in front of hundreds of Daleks*

this whole scene between the two sets of Daleks would have been great if we hadn’t been spoiled

is................Robertsen gonna pay for his arrogance - ignoring the Doctor? or is the Doctor’s ineffective ‘get back here’ going to be the last we see of this. Betraying the Doctor?

Chibs if you dont make this guy pay i will give up

Ryan stepping up to save Earth. hmmhm.

Jack: w-wait are you okay with this?

Jack she’s been sending these idiots in without supervision for no reason for ages. she just did it with Yaz?? but its a nice era-contrast - even if the meaning is muddled

So i guess Jack’s just got hundreds of bombs on him? at all times?

who the fuck doctors the script

why............did Chibnall regress Graham’s and Ryan’s relationship into awkwardness in their final episode. that’s just plain sad.

inversely, NOW would have been good to know the second plan because then we would have known why the Daleks knowing about the Doctor is bad SPECIFICALLY

‘even if we blow up the ship, theres still SAS daleks marauding through earth’s skies’ she says, like she wasn’t supposed to have a plan to stop them ??????

‘right’ she said, walked off, and then didn’t think of a plan

‘orrr.... you’re gonna have to trust me on this one Yaz’

this is such a TERRIBLE and unsubtle and stupid way to segue into discussing the Doctor’s problems with disappearing

WHY IS CHIBNALL HAVING THEM SAVE ROBERTSEN - fuck this! FUCK THIS!

wow - that’s really shit of the Doctor - just telling a TARDIS to destroy itself completely......

really chibnall.....really you’re gonna let this man get away LIKE THIS. I’m done. i’m done. im sorry but this is not something to just PLAY with. letting a Trump guy get the better of the female Doctor not once, but twice? this makes me so sad. and im done. it’s just insult after insult. he just doesn’t GET it. this is too close to my heart. this is not a GAME. this is supposed to be a  fucking POWER FANTASY - and he can’t even fucking make it that. he can’t discuss the problems with power because he can’t even FATHOM the Doctor as a power fantasy in this form. fuck. this.

‘can you believe that’ - ‘yeah i can’

thanks - thanks for this political hopelessness on top of the real shit Chibnall. that’s not what Doctor Who is about - that’s the starting point - not the fucking end state

i know it’s supposed to be related to Ryan and how it’s quite subtly about making the world a better place politically bc it’s going to hell - and Robertsen is definitely coming back because chibnall just does that shit

but

if he wanted to do that he should have had Ryan and Robertsen have a confrontation this episode

a hug. a HUG. my god. so what was the absence of hugs all about then? now im grumpy about THAT. fck

this is good acting, good lines, good normal ending to Graham’s time in the TARDIS, it ties in just a little bit with his family arc. but it’s not particularly coherent - guess that;s life ?

‘it’s ok to be sad’ - cut to black. that was good

so the conclusion is that all they needed to be like the Doctor is a little gadget. this is deeply incoherent but it appeals to me anyway. and i dont really understand how Robertsen features into protecting the planet from aliens then

what is this weird Ryan speech lol. Tosin did incredibly good on making that seem halfway organic.

ok so Grace appearing made me tear up lol

[therewas-a-girl]

Ppl thinking oliver queen would have been better - liked/treated/his issues better respected - by fandom, if he had been a woman has me laughing at the… is it called paradox? Blatant nontruth of the statement?

Here are some easy examples of how this is not so:

Laurel lance (lol most heatedly hated character of arrow for a myriad for reasons, at least half of them sexist bullshit the other ¼ shipper bullshit; had some shit writing which is always taken as a character trait and for which SHE is blamed for; had a depression arc, is an addict, after all the times shes been kidnapped abused and beaten probably has some form of lingering effect from all the… u know… trauma + the emotional upheaval that has been her life for the last 10 years. And yet - still loathed and her issues are negated and belittled at every turn. Always misinterpreted, rarely afforded the luxury of viewer empathy; favorite fandom strawoman usually)

Sara lance (ptsd from all the fucked up shit the league put her through amd that she went through before that, which was very visible when she was on arrow. Probably dealt with some for of sexual harassment/threats of violence/violence when she was on the Amazo, which we never explicitly saw thank god. A good portion of Olicity fans dispise her cause ship reasons, same with lauriver fans. Who is the REAL black canary discourse is still going strong btw, which inevitably generates hate on either of the lance sisters side. Saras bisexuality is constantly erased or denied or treated as sth tintillating for the straight male gaze; she is slutshamed at every corner; ppl hardly can be bothered to remember that she was actually suicidal at one point, that she thought she was not worthy of love or capable of love or of being with someone - HUGE CHARACTER MOMENT HERE - when she broke up with oliver usually dismissed/forgotten cause felicity walks in the room so most of the olicity fandom - big portion of arrow fandom - 9 times out of 10 doesnt bother to remember that sara was talking about herself here)

- yes shipper tendencies matter, they shape character perceptions.

Bonus: thea queen (neglected by her mother, abused physically and emotionally by her monster father, has some serious issues with violence, probably ptsd-related avoidance for it, the mask, her old life. Has utterly detatched from a whole side of her personality and history, something that was intrinsic to her for 2 years, and yet nobody sees that as eyebrow-raising worthy for some reason cause that is what a tots normal person would do. The almost oliver-like split of the sides of her life/personality is mentione…. how many times in fandom? The metas are where? Maybe ive just missed them. Okay. Oh i almost forgot - was stabbed and just about died. But she got over that, right? Which has nothing to do with the bloodlust, by the way. Thats from the Pit. Trauma outlasts the bloodlust. And yet whenever she displays behaviour that is consistent with some kind of post-traumautic symptoms/behaviour… she is bitchy or ungrateful or whiny or being a child again. Literally do not know how to go on with this one)

Extra bonus: felicity smoak. How much felicity’s trauma was aknowleged = she has all kinds of traumatic shit happen to her, including but not limited to near-death experinces, and yet the effect this had on her is nearly nonexistent in big fandom spaces. Sunshine felicity yay! Supporting and taking care of oliver. Yay. Always the light to guide his way. Untarnished. Y. A. Y. (Feel my burning enthusiasm for this interpretation. But thats my preference and of no consequence here.) And the moment it was “officially” aknowleged that a ptsd arc would be explored with her (which is, imo, still a euphemism, or a gross misusage of this very serious illness /that they cant be bothered to portray right on a woman/) - the same ppl that say ‘olivers mental illness is disrespected cause he is male’ were all about (paraphrasing here) “olivers LONG LASTING and X YEAR LONG ptsd is as valid as felicitys NEWLY CONCOCTED/FRESHLY CREATED ptsd” …somehow managing to insult the both of them and imply that the years one lives with an illness give u a sort of precedence and ‘elder card’ in the club. ‘Empathy should go first HERE where its mooore…’ more what? I just dont know how to continue this. needed? Valid? I dont know man. I mean, by works of logic the obvious non-truth of the beginning statement of this post is encapsulated by this last example. But lets be thorough.

Look there are layers. Olivers character deals with shit writing sometimes and horrifying demonisation of his mental illness FROM THE WRITERS OF HIS OWN SHOW. And there is a shitton of ableism in fandom about him.

But if he’d been a woman… my dude… my guy… my pal…. experience shows fandom generally, not as separate ppl but as a block unit, (fandom currents? Fandom tendencies?) have *lower* empathy for women and their narratives (e.i. a lot **less** 29596k word metas about why he does the things he does, trying to explain away the writing holes would be floating around). Lower patience for their fuckups. Lower imagination for their inner lives and even lower willingness to search them out. The show itself would have a lower interest in exploring these issues, as they have shown it to be the tendency with female characters.

Oliver queen is human, he fucks up, he has a deep inner life and his trauma has far reaching shockwaves. All those are characteristics we assume him to have, as default, cause hes a WHITE MALE presented as straight. Who has to contend with bullshit ableism, sure, and fandome expectations colored by toxic masculinity, which canon doesnt even support. But he would have faaaar more prejudices to contend with if he were female. All those assumptions - of hidden logical reasons, depths, triggers etc - up there wouldnt even go halfway if hed been a woman, or not white or, god forbit, a woman of color.

(Dude can u imagine the shitstorm of slutshaming that would hit a female!oliver for sleeping with a *fraction* of the number of ppl oliver has slept with??? In canon he has always had emotional ties or reasons for sleeping with every single one of his partners whether fandom likes it or not, and STILL he is called a manwhore, as if he only thinks with his dick. Even oliver isnt afforded brains and emotions when it comes to sexual agency. It baffles me.

But im willing to bet that it would be worse if he were a woman because the reason for dumbing him down would go from ‘i want to belittle all these other relationships he has so that THIS ONE SHIP shines thru’, to straight up sexism and womens agency over their bodies and emotions. Case in point ppl were calling felicity a plethora of disgusting epithets for sleeping with ray (ONE MAN) when she was a FREE BEING WITH AN INDEPENDENT WILL tied to !!!nobody but herself!!!, just cause she didnt plant olivers name on her ladyparts from the moment she first saw him. (Lets also admit that shipper reasons are present here too but the difference is that in olivers case, his sexing up other ppl lowers olicity’s value cause hes not devoted enough and whatnot. In felicitys case, her sexing up other ppl lowers *felicity’s* ‘value’ because… do i rly need to explain why here? Hint - It ties back to the ‘pure felicity oliver’s light’ argument and the dehumanization of her character by making her the literal object of olivers salvation and therefore nullifying/ridiculing her choices if they make her path deviate from olivers.) Ppl are saying Laurel would be betraying tommys memory by loving oliver still - TOMMYS MEMORY. a man whos been dead for *four years* matters more than a live womans feelings. Just… christ…)