#galaxy brain just tells me to do things and i play along it's....... it's fine

[wellntruly]

M*A*S*H - Season 8, misc. notes

Welcome to March M*A*S*H-ness, the season in which I finish M*A*S*H

Here are some reduced notes from S8, I hadn’t forgotten! No approach this time, just whatever made the cut.

Oh you know actually there is a theme it's thighs???

— — —

Start of this season gotta be the collective skinniest this cast has ever been, babes what was going on in 1979! Mike Farrell has always been a sapling, but Loretta Swit seems to have gotten even tinier this year, Alan Alda rushed into a frame partly undressed looking markedly thinner than the last time I saw him, and when Gary Burghoff comes back?! Positively a shadow of himself!

The other notable thing is that their doctors coats are now fully "blush." [Elliott Gould voice] It’s fine by me.

I appreciate that we simply all dislike Zale

The slipshod “Previously On”s they do for the two-parters finally worth it for the implication that Hawkeye hurting his finger is going to be just as emotionally impactful as anything else going on.

Sitting Awards. And in the pink shirt.

The company clerk job going from Radar to Klinger is like a reverse Henry Blake to Sherman Potter, huh. I confess to being a little stressed.

Ohhh okay okay, I can see it, oh boy okay I can see how we pull this off: Klinger CAN be a good clerk, he just has to be a totally different kind: a renegade little rascal. Radar is like a London cabbie with the Knowledge: knows the entire map of the war and every rule and person in it. Klinger can be an improv artist, a con artist, schemes upon schemes. Oho, I would like this! Ed. note: hey I was pretty much on the money!

Okay don’t make me cry….. ah too late

Hoooooooooooo all of Hawkeye’s boyfriends simply have to kiss Radar and tell him to pass it along, huh. WHAT a way to reference when Trapper left…. !

Hey gang we’re still crying! :(

The most impactful way they could do this bit with BJ’s toddler thinking Radar was her dad is if it isn’t commented on again, we just have this wordless moment where he’s so visibly stricken by the fact that his child doesn’t know who he is.

Ah never mind, it’s the whole episode.

Y’know, when drunk BJ smashed up the still and hit Hawkeye, I thought well this is a lot to deal with, but it’s him later sobbing to him, quote: “I’m so torn up with envy I almost hate him! And I feel the same way about Trapper, and I never even met him. But he built that still with you, and…” that had me staring wild-eyed, repeating a strangled “Pause pause pause pausepause” while my hands search blind & desperate for the remote to give me a fucking MOment---

Just, the DARK GALAXY BRAIN, M*A*S*H, to go hey, how about BJ got violent because he’s jealous of your ex

...God the absolute nuclear event this episode would have caused if it aired during the Internet….we all would have aged 10 years.

“Well what else am I good at? Being a malcontent? Silliness? Booze?” The three Graces.

“Colonel, you wanted to see us?” “Not really, but it’s the only way I can talk to you.” Hahaha, Potter like, I’ve seen enough.

Whoa! Transition alert! I don’t even know how to describe this, it was like an in-camera PowerPoint wipe? Jaunty!

BJ grabbing his hands to get him to stop doing CPR, and Hawkeye just letting him hold them while he gets his own breath back. See, and now you do this…and I just…..!

Ah, I know exactly what you mean, Father. Hawkeye would ‘make a fine priest’ in the sense that he could write a good sermon. And he could write a good sermon in the sense that Danny Boyle, M. Night Shyamalan, Martin Scorsese—they were all on their way to seminary school before veering off into filmmaking. Because: they liked the storytelling. They liked getting at meaning, at feeling, through words delivered a certain way. Commanding an audience, and trying to get them to understand. Who does this apply to most in camp?

Line delivery of the episode once again goes to David Ogden Stiers, for “What is your name?”

I want to be playing poker in the sunshine with Klinger, Hawkeye, BJ, and Margaret with her sleeves pushed up her shoulders.

The way Klinger comfortingly trilled a little “Brrrr” to freezing Hawkeye as he pulls a blanket around his shoulders has gone right to the cockles of my heart. You sweet weirdo I love you!

INCREDIBLY dynamic of them to take five minutes from us for the commercial break, I yelped

Oh, SOLID Potter impression, Jamie Farr!

I like whenever they make grim jokes about this being a “police action,” not a war. Can you believe we were doing this shit all the way back in the ‘50s…. Potter, in his lil lilting gravely grandpa voice: “Believe me, boys and girls: this is a war.”

Father Mulcahy’s sad war song: it moved this reporter

Big ups to Kellye teasing Hawkeye behind the bar at Rosie’s in the most gender way possible

“Hawkeye, you’re really cute, and probably a wonderful dancer—” thanks, Scully

What does PDQ mean, Potter

Hawkeye is spelling “theremin” in Scrabble

With Radar leaving, Charles has probably taken the mantle of funniest character on this show per minute. He kills me. <3 His silly presh baby chatter, then segueing into “I talked to everyone in camp, which, by the way is a first for me—”

To everyone else they’re Class A’s, to Pierce they’re “Sunday go-to-court-martial clothes”

Uuuugh the loosened ties and unbuttoned cuffs of an off-duty Class A….

Are they using the Officer’s Club a lot more this season, or is this just me

Image set idea: every group shot where Hawkeye is half horizontal on some surface half asleep

Loretta Swit wins first actor on this show to feel for an elevated temperature correctly: back of the hand

Sometimes I wanna get at Alan Alda with Glossier ‘Boy Brow’ and just see what happens. I mean by all rights this man should have eyebrows

Wait, it’s MAXWELL Klinger. Maxwell Q! Quentin? Quincy? Quinn??

I like night in the camp when everything is quiet

Kind of appreciate that by this point putting Captain Pierce in charge is just routine. It’s only the third time but Potter’s like, it’ll be the charm. And then he’s right, it’s entirely uneventful.

I know I’ve cried at the last two episodes in a row and yet already can’t remember much of them. Truly this season is so odd.

The return of Alan Alda’s actual dad, and the emergence of Loretta Swit’s BIG HAIR. A lot to take in in one episode.

Oh and naturally EVERYONE’S FREEZING, ALANNN

That was his bROTHER????!?! Other Alda????!!

I mean we really need to bring the drag back because so far Klinger’s whole experience as the new company clerk has been essentially “god forbid women do anything”

At least Sidney’s here :)

I’m already so into the COLD & DREAMS episode and we haven’t even hit the DREAMS

AH HERE ARE THE DREAMS

Oh Klinger that’s brilliant. Warm up the blood against the bodies it wants to be back in.

The sense of spatial arrangement and time and perspective all so mutable…it’s really, really good. Most cinematic dreams are fantastical but overall too sequential—this nails that “and now this is happening” quality.

The bit where as Father Mulcahy nods off this soldier's words become nonsense?? So neat and so effectively rendered!!! Huge commendations to this actor’s seamless transition, god I loved the sensation of watching this.

Ohhhh this is not what I though Hawkeye’s nightmare would be like, and ho-ly shit

Very rare that you actually see someone in the real life swallow convulsively—5 narrative fiction points to Alan. No you know what: 7

Smitten with her deep voice. I have as the kids say, a crush.

“This is BJ, the doctor that put you back together, and this is Hawkeye, who uh, seems to be falling apart.” She’s so clever and so fun, hell yeah Mike.

WAIT “LET ME SHOW YOU MY ETCHINGS” HAS BEEN A JOKE SINCE AT LEAST 1980?? What is this from!!!!! I thought my theatrical design friends made this up in 2009!! Update: WOW! We’ve just all been making this same inside joke no one knows the origin of for over 100 years!!

I know I’ve had two hot toddies but all I want is to spend the night with Margaret and Aggie and just talk into the night while lotioning our arms, maybe flirt a little, who knows

Charles: “Klinger, as the poets would say: [lowers three inches] hubba hubba.” This episode is the most fun I’ve had all season.

Huh. Oh huh. It’s Hawkeye’s comment about how the war threw Aggie and Scottie together and now they care about each other, that cracks it for BJ. Now he can pin his feelings on the war. You gave him an out—both a way to reframe it and a tool to end it. I half-think you knew what you were doing, too.

“Everyone knows the civilian M.D.s pack away the dineros.” Excuse me?? Is ‘De Niro’ a homonym for money?? Is his name Bobby Money???? Update: Spanish for an old Roman coin. Incredible.

Just started chanting “Math! Math! Math!” through a mouthful of cake. Okay, average of 7 bowel resections a week, for 546 total = 78 weeks. Hawkeye has been there 1 and a half years. In Season 5, it was already 2 years. This has been: the Jeremy Bearimy Corner.

Potter: “Pierce, you’re like an unbroken colt, and all I can do is give you reign until you wear yourself out.” Help that’s astute.

Okay I still need to figure out what PDQ means, Sherm….. Oh hey it means “as quickly as possible,” but why...? PRETTY DAMNED QUICK ! Fuck this is going in my vocab immediately.

BJ grinning to himself at learning Hawkeye has squirreled a Jeep away somewhere as part of his “payment,” and receiving a warm conspiratorial grin in return, then later slyly stealing another Jeep for him—this is what I love.

Aaah yay they’re doing it again! Charles was eventually proven to be wrong and immediately starts apologizing and complimenting them and shaking their hands. This is very consistent!

Whaaaat we never shoot the tent from this angle??

Whaaahahahahaat is THIS ANGLE ALSO

Get your camera out from between his legs, this man is a father!!

Oh and in closing, the numbers on this season: - 3 episodes written & directed by Alan Alda - 2 episodes where they’re all so cold - Venn diagram is a completely contained circle

In the third one he wrote & directed Hawkeye still ends up under a blanket being doused in ice, and another he just directed someone else's script—and put everyone in jackets and turtlenecks. I still don’t know what this means, but by god it sure is important. To me.

— — —

Season Viewguides

These

[lorelaithesecondarchive]

georgiov replied to your post: WHERE TO FIND ZANZA! MAIN BLOG:  HIGHER ACTIVITY....

zanza ily but what the fuck

galaxy brain told me that fifteen blogs would be work better than just four??  and tbh for some reason galaxy brain was Right bc this already feels a thousand times nicer than Complete Chaos on one blog.  now it’s Complete Chaos,  but with the ability to pretend it isn’t and hide on any number of blogs if i’m not feeling one it’s fine.  in theory it’s gonna be fine.  in practical application?  well,  we’ll see i guess.

[troquantary]

Edward Cullen: That Boy Ain’t Right

So I was doing a reread of @therealvinelle 's collection of Twilight metas, as one does, and in "Edward, Denial, and a Human Girlfriend" she mentions that she doesn't believe Edward is sane. I thought, "ha, yeah, he's definitely not," and also, "but wait, what does that mean exactly, please say more about that." But since she's already inundated with asks, I've decided to use my own head-muscle and explore this idea. (TL;DR: I start out more or less organized, synthesize some points Vinelle has made across several posts (and have hopefully linked to them all where relevant but please tell me if not), touch a little on narcissism, then take a hard left into the negative effects of being a telepath.)

Just a couple things to note at the outset, though. Theses have been written already (probably) about Edward as an abuser. Edward being insane doesn't negate that at all; he's definitely an asshole and just...a disaster of a human being. (I find it more funny than anything, but YMMV.) I'm also going to try to avoid talking specifically about mental illness and how it relates (or doesn't relate) to abusive behavior -- that's territory I'm not really equipped to discuss, like at all. My starting point is "Edward has a deeply warped perception of reality," not "Edward has X disorder."

So: deeply warped perception of reality. The evidence? Goes behind a cut, because my one character trait is Verbose.

Vinelle provides a great example of it in the post linked above, which I'll just quote because she does words good: "[Edward] keeps acting like his romance with Bella is a romantic tragedy, and all the cast of Twilight are actors on a stage making it as sublime as possible." Edward's the one to pursue Bella, but he does so with the full belief, from the very beginning, that it will never last; Bella will "outgrow" him, go on her human way, and he can spend the rest of eternity brooding magnificently over his too-short romantic bliss. [Insert premature ejaculation joke.] Turning her is never an option, even though Alice, Noted Psychic, says that romancing Bella will either end with her dead (exsanguinated) or dead (vampire).

This framing, where he's a dark anti-hero in love with -- but never tainting! -- the pure maiden and eventually leaving her in a grand, tragic sacrifice to preserve her soul? It's fucking bonkers. Bella isn't a person to him in this scenario. As Vinelle points out, Bella's never really a person to him at all; he falls in love with his own mental construct, cherry-picking from what he observes of her behavior and her responses to his 20 (thousand) Questions to convince himself that she is the ideal woman.

Bella's not the only one who gets the projection/cardboard-cutout treatment. Edward sees everything and everyone through a highly particular, personalized lens. He filters his entire reality, which we all do to an extent, but the thing with Edward is that he starts with his conclusions and then only pays attention to the evidence that supports those conclusions. Often that evidence consists of what he admits in New Moon are only "surface" thoughts -- but recognizing that limitation doesn't keep him from taking those thoughts as representative of what people are. Edward then becomes absolutely convinced by his own "reasoning" and won't be swayed from what he has decided is Objectively True. It's obvious with Bella; it's also painfully obvious with Rosalie. (Vinelle explains this and brings up Edward's raging Madonna/Whore complex in the same post, so refer to that again -- she's right.)

He also catastrophizes. Everything. Bella's just vibing in her room, rereading Wuthering Heights for the 87th time? She's gonna be hit by a meteor, better sneak into her room while she sleeps. Bella's going to the beach with the filthy mundanes their human classmates? She's gonna fall in the ocean. Jasper's cannibal pals are stopping by for a visit, but know not to hunt in the area? DISASTER, DEFCON 1, ALSO FUCK YOU JASPER FOR EVEN EXISTING IN MY AND BELLA'S SPHERE YOU UNSPEAKABLE BURDEN. Edward must believe that Bella is vulnerable and in near-constant peril, to support the reality he has created in which he is the villain turned protector and maybe?? hero??? (!!!) for his beloved. So when the actual, James-shaped danger arrives, he goes berserk, snarling and flipping his shit and generally not helping the situation. His fantasy demands that Bella remain human, so instead of doing the very thing Alice, Noted Psychic, assures him will neutralize the threat (and not just a threat to Bella, either, but to Bella's family and any other human James might decide to include in the "game"), he vetoes it immediately, no discussion. Bella Must Not Turn, and he sticks to those guns despite James nearly reducing her to ground beef, despite leaving Bella catatonic with depression (but human! success!) in New Moon, despite Aro's order and his family's vote and, let's not forget, Bella's clearly and repeatedly stated desire to be a vampire. It's going to happen. But he doesn't accept it until Renesmee busts out of Bella like the Kool-Aid man and the poor girl's heart finally, unequivocally stops.

Sane people don't behave this way. I don't want to slap labels on Edward, but I can't help but note that he comes across as highly narcissistic. He's the only real person in his universe, the lone player among us NPCs. That probably has a lot to do with him being frozen in the mindset and maturity of a seventeen-year-old boy, but I think it's also just...him, on some fundamental level. His failure to connect with others and recognize them as full, independent beings with their own wants and priorities isn't like Bella's failure -- she's badly depressed. Edward is...something else, and I get the sense that his sanity has been steadily deteriorating over time. And a cursory google of narcissistic traits turns up some familiar-looking stuff. He's self-loathing, yes, but also grandiose; he hates himself for the monster he is (and hates most vampires besides Esme and Carlisle for their monstrosity, too) but still feels superior to humans, to the extent that he felt entitled to human blood and resented Carlisle for depriving him of his "proper" diet. He eventually returns to Carlisle, but he's far from content -- the beginning of Midnight Sun finds him in a state of ennui, bored and dismissive of (if not outright disgusted by) everyone around him, that has apparently persisted for years and years. He doesn't play the piano, he doesn't compose, he doesn't enjoy anything...at least until Bella comes along and then he becomes obsessed to a disturbing degree with her and his new, romantic tragedy spin on reality.

[Next-day edit: I’m not sure where else to fit this in, but the way Edward casually contemplates violence against people who have, at best, mildly annoyed him is...chilling. I have a hard time writing off his strategizing how to murder the entire Biology class as a result of bloodlust -- it’s so calculated, nothing like the blackout state of thirst Emmett describes when he encountered his own “singer,” and that is probably the default for when a vampire is extremely thirsty. But even ignoring the Biology class incident, Edward still does things like consider, with disturbing frequency, how he might grievously injure or kill Mike Newton, all because...Edward considers him his romantic rival (despite Bella barely giving the kid the time of day). He thinks about slapping Mike through a wall, which might be an amusing slapstick image, except as a vampire Edward’s actually capable of turning this boy’s skeleton to a fine powder. So it’s, y’know, kind of sick when you think about it.

But even worse than that, when Bella tells Edward about how she flirted with Jacob to get at that sweet, sweet vampire lore, Edward chuckles and then, after dropping Bella home, flippantly observes that now that the treaty’s broken, why not genocide? I’m not even kidding, it’s right there in Midnight Sun; he seriously thinks about the fact that he’d be technically justified now in wiping out the entire tribe because a teenager tried to impress a girl with a spooky story. That is fucked. Remember, Edward was there with Carlisle when the treaty was first established. He knows how remarkable it is that they even came to a truce in the first place, that it was only ever possible because Carlisle is...well, Carlisle, and that it marks a pretty significant moment in supernatural history. He doesn’t care; he doesn’t respect it, or he’d never think something like “Ha ha, if I went and killed them all, I wouldn’t even be wrong. I mean, I won’t do it, but I’m just saying, I wouldn’t be wrong.”

Again: not the thought process or behavior of a sane person. (Or a person that respects life in general -- sorry Carlisle, big L.)]

Finally, whether he's a narcissist or not, I think the fact that Edward has constant, unavoidable access to everyone's thoughts is a powerful contributing factor to his instability. He can tune out the mental noise to an extent, but he can't stop it -- so he comes to rely on it like another sense. This causes issues with disconnect and lack of empathy, of course, but there's another facet to this shit diamond: he's basically experiencing a ceaseless flow of intrusive thoughts. His narration in Midnight Sun suggests that he "hears" the words people think, can "see" what they visualize in their mind's eye, and can sense the emotional "tone" and intensity of their thoughts. Therefore, perceiving Jasper's thirst through his thoughts makes Edward more aware of his own, "doubling" the discomfort. This would be a lot to deal with even from just his immediate coven members, but Edward gets all of this pouring into his head like a firehose on a day-to-day basis because the Cullens live right alongside humans. I know Meyerpires have galaxy brains or whatever, but that's a ton to process.

Besides the compounding effect on his own thirst when he "feels" the thirst of others, Meyer never suggests that Edward has difficulty separating his own thoughts from other people's; even when he was newly turned, he recognized Carlisle's "voice" in his head as Carlisle's. That would create a whole different host of issues around identity, but it looks like Edward's escaped that particular torment. However, I can easily imagine that what he does experience is just shy of unbearable nonetheless, with an eroding effect on his sanity over decades. He can't sleep to escape it; he's on a dishwater diet and probably (like the rest of his family) experiencing a perpetual, low-grade physical discomfort due to his thirst never being fully satisfied; and he's around far more people than is the norm for vampires -- even discounting all the humans, his own coven is unusually large -- meaning more noise.

Honestly, it would be weirder if he were all there, considering.

And even though I feel like I lost a sense of structure around where I started ranting about telepathy, I've written like 1.5k words about Edward fucking Cullen and I think that's enough for one post.

[etherealino]

date? — l. minho

synopsis: you haven’t been on a date for months and your godsent rommate decides to take you out.

content/genre: roommate!minho x reader, based off of joey and rachel in friends s8xe12 bcs im still bitter that they never ended up with each other. purely fluff !!

warning(s): um, me being lame. other than that, none. unproof read. hehe

wc: 1.7k

note: there’s going to part 2 and maybe full length fic after part two. this is fully self indulgent bcs,,, come on, who doesn’t want a joey tribbiani?

and they were friends. m.list — next.

minho looks at you with wide eyes, blinking a few times with amusement on his face. “wow, you surely planned my date, huh.” minho teases as you close your hands together, shyly looking at him. minho thinks about it—it’s actually not that bad. he could take his date out, go to that diner that you were saying and dance with them since just like you said, the diner has a dance floor, a vintage themed one. it sounds a bit more you but he loves it.

“it’s been months since i went out on a date.” you said as you looked at your roommate with a smile. when minho asks why, you sigh, “i’ve got college, if i don’t have college, i have my extracurricular stuff and if i don’t extracurricular stuff, i’m on my bed too tired to do anything. it’s just.. i’ve been so busy, i don’t have time for it.”

“ever since..” minho trails off and you shake your head. hyunjin, minho’s best friend is your ex-boyfriend. whe you found out they were best friends, you thought you wouldn’t have a nice relationship with minho but no, this angel right beside you never let you felt like he was siding with hyunjin. minho doesn’t care, he wants to be able to talk to his roommate about everything.

“you’ve caught me couple of times with a date after that.” you remind and minho nods.

“you know what? what don’t i take you out?”

you laugh at what minho says, looking at him but he only stares at you with his eyebrow raised. “oh, you’re serious?” you ask and minho nods. “no, minho, you don’t have to. plus, i have a lot to do later.”

“like what? didn’t you finish everything this morning?” minho asks.

“how’d you know i finished everything earlier?” you asked.

“i go through your journal to know your schedule.” minho says and you look at him with wide eyes. “i don’t read your brain dump stuff. i accidentally did one time and when i realized it was private, i moved on.”

you have to admit, minho was sweet about that.

“but don’t you have a date tonight?” you ask and minho shakes his head.

“that’s not until tomorrow.” minho informs and you nod. “so, date?”

“i don’t know, min.” you shrug and minho smiles at you in a teasing way.

“we’ll go dancing.” minho says and you laugh, pushing his face back gently.

“alright, fine. we’ll go.” you said and minho smiles. you don’t know why, but you are excited about it. you sigh, smiling as you get back to your book.

“minho! could you get that?” you ask from your room as your hear knocking on the apartment, but minho doesn’t answer and a second wave of knocking comes. you come out of your room, fully dressed up for your date with minho as you walk up to the door, opening it to see none other then your roommate with a smile on his face. he winks at you and you chuckle. “i thought you were in your room.”

minho pulls his hand from behind holding a small boquet of your favorite flowers. “hey! my favorite! aw, thank you, minho.” you said as you took it, smelling it and taking it inside to put it on a vase.

“nice place you got here.” minho plays as he steps inside the apartment to which you laugh. “hey, three cats! nice, didn’t know you love cats.”

“well, they’re actually my roommate’s.” you answer, playing along with a smile as you place the vase nicely beside the sink.

“oh, really?” minho nods, approving of your so called roommate—so basically, he’s approving of himself. “i would like to meet him sometime.”

you hum in agreement, “but i have to warn you. he is very protective of me. so, you should watch yourself.” you say as you walk towards your room to get your coat.

minho lets out hum, smiling. “ah, so, this roommate of yours who is very nice considering he has three cats—is he good looking?” minho asks, wiggling his eyebrows as you close the door of your room.

“oh, yes, he is! one of a kind beauty.” you answered as you put your coat on. “but odd enough, even though he’s one of the prettiest face i’ve ever seen walk on this planet, his cats love me more than him.”

“hey! hey! hey!” minho protests, scowling as he looks at you. “they don’t. why are yout rying to ruin this?”

you laugh, looping your arm around his as you both exit your apartment. when you both got into diner which was more formal than minho expected (really perfect for dating like the old times), you both sat on a booth as the waiter got your orders.

“hey, by the way, changbin stopped by earlier to—”

“hey, what are you doing?” minho laughs lightly. “this a date, okay? two people getting to know each other. no roommate stuff, hm?”

“hm,” you hum with a smile. “okay, so, tell me! what is lee minho like on a date?”

“what do you mean?” minho asks.

“like, does he have a signature move?” you explain, smiling. “i mean, we both know you’re very flirty and all, but what is lee minho like on a date? come on, tell me.”

minho smiles, “alright,” he mumbles, “i always make sure my date would have a drink or eat that would leave a stain on their lip.”

“why?” you ask as some of your orders were placed on your table. minho’s eyes lighten up as he sees the cake he ordered. he pushes the creamy cake towards you and smiles.

“wanna try some?” minho offers and you shrug, taking a fork to have a bite of the cake. then just like minho planned, it left some of the crumbs on the corners of your mouth. when minho sees you reaching out for tissues, he beats you to it, saying, “i’ll get that for you.” minho smiles as he dabs the tissue on the corner of your mouth, slowly until his hand was placed on your cheek, thumb rubbing circles on your skin. you look back into his eyes, getting lost in the galaxies of his eyes as he stared into your soul, making you lean in—

“hey!” you exclaimed, snapping out of your trance as you remembered that you asked minho’s move. minho giggles, winking at you as you laugh. “nice. just your style, actions over words.”

“how about you?” minho asks and you hum, smiling.

“so, what’s your major again?” you ask and minho raises an eyebrow, making you gesture with your hand for him to just answer.

“computer science.”

“what?” you ask, leaning in closer.

“computer science.”

“again.” you say, leaning closer as you rest your hand on minho’s thigh and he sighs.

“y/n, i’m your roommate, you know my—” minho cuts himself off as you tilt your head towards him. minho stares into your eyes, a bit taken back when your eyes land on minho’s lips.

“okay, that’s—” minho laughs as he pulls away and you grin at him, laughing lightly. “nice, y/n. nice.” you shrug, laughing. the night went on and just like minho promised, he danced with you on the space given as he requested a slow song. minho rests his jaw against the side of your head with his arm wrapped around you and the other hand holding yours against his chest. minho frowns, feeling tingly as he hold you close against him.

“you know,” minho begins as he closes the door of the apartment behind him. “this is the best date i’ve ever had.” minho confesses with a grin on his face. you look at him, removing your coat.

“me, too.” you said with a pout but a smille still comes on your face. “thank you so much for doing this. you really didn’t have to, min.” 

minho chuckles, removing his own coat. “so, does y/l/n y/n have any final moves at the end of the night?” minho asks as he hangs his coat on the rack.

“you first.” you smile.

“i really don’t.” minho says, shrugging. “i just look them deep in the eyes, cup their cheeks and go in for a slow kiss. and then i pull away, smile wide and drag my hands down their arms until i reach their hands, grab them, lift it up to my lips and kiss their knuckles.”

you smile softly. “that’s actually sweet.” minho gestures to you, silently saying it’s your turn. “okay,” you mumble, walking towards him as you hold his hands in each of yours. “you know that thing you asked me about this one time when i had a date and i told you that i just like playing with their fingers?”

“yeah,”

“well,” you start by lifting your hands that grab minho’s as you face your palms up, minho’s hands on top of yours as you slowly pull your hands away but your fingers gently playing with his as you twist your hands, intertwining your fingers with his. “i play with their hands for a bit.” you explain. “and then, i slide my hands up to their arms until it stops by their shoulders—ooh, look what you just did?” you ask and minho looks at his arms that he might have unconsciously wrapped them around your middle. “and then i place my hands on their jaws, caress their face for a bit with my thumb. then put my hands on their hair, playing with it,” you say, taking it in action. “and that’s when i kiss them.”

you smile, looking up into minho’s eyes to see them staring right back at you.

a sigh leaves your lips, slowly pulling away. “i know, it doesn’t seem like—”

“no, no, no, it would work.” minho says, chuckling lightly. you grin, opening your arms for him as he embraces you, wrapping his arms around your middle.

“thank you so much.” you say as you rock both of you side by side. “i had so much fun.” you giggle and you pull away, kissing his cheek. “good night, honey.”

“good night.” minho smiles as you fully pull away, arm extending as you walk away, slowly letting go of minho’s hand. minho watches you as you enter your room, frowning as he put his hand over his heart as if trying to calm his heart down from the interaction he had with you. why the hell was he feeling so happy and tingly? why is his heart beating so fast?

come say hi, my loves !!

[boimgfrog]

hey @pantoranprincess​ i uh. i wrote it <3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29139768

full fic under the cut

The two men were seated at a table, enjoying lunch despite the… cozy size of Luke’s office. Conversation flowed easily, albeit mostly one-sided.

               “anyways, that’s when I saw Obi-Wan, my first master-” Luke paused, noticing Din’s helmet tilt slightly at the name, “you do know who Obi-Wan was, right?”

               Din froze, not expecting the Jedi to pick up on his confusion, “the name sounds familiar… Bo-Katan mentioned him once,” he took a sip from his straw, “said he was a sister-seducing- man-whore? Was he some kind of escort?”

               He waited as his words washed over Luke. The jedi blinked twice, a smile flickering past his lips.

               “yes,” Luke nodded, “he was, excellent job,” he spooned more soup into his own bowl, hiding his smile behind its large spoon.

               “and he was your master?” Din asked, tilting his head forward.

               “mhmm,” Luke set the spoon back into the bowl, matching din’s gaze through his lashes, “taught me everything he knew,”

               Din coughed, turning his attention back towards his lunch. he sipped at it, ignoring the blush that crept under his helmet.

The jedi huffed, eyes twinkling. Something told Din that maybe, just maybe, he’d lied about the Obi-wan thing.

                                                          -><-

The back of Luke’s head hit the ground, pulling a wheeze from his body. Above him, Din stood poised, cradling a very fussy green toddler. He extended a hand toward the fallen jedi, but Luke waved him off, leaning up on his elbows.

“’s nothing, no offense but,” he gestured to Grogu, who had calmed down some, “he’s no Vader, I’ll be fine,” this time, he accepted Din’s hand, hardly dwelling on how easily he pulled him up.

“Vader?” Din asked, shifting the baby to his hip, and pocketing the darksaber he’d previously been using.

Luke looked up at the Mandalorian, tilting his head with a smile, “Darth Vader? The emperor’s right-hand man?”

Din’s helmet betrayed to hint of recognition. Unbelievable. No way, there’s no way he was this clueless.

“big cape, scary helmet? Red lightsaber?” Luke tried, wracking his brain.

“oh, you mean like the guy on those old recruitment posters?”

“those- the recruitment posters?”

Din nodded, “I’d see ‘em plastered up in bars and stuff, back before the empire fell,”

Recruitment posters. Din, one of the best bounty hunters Luke had ever met, king of Mandalore himself, had only heard of Darth Vader via recruitment posters. Luke felt his chest flutter. He nodded along with whatever Din said next, mind elsewhere. If he hadn’t heard of Darth Vader… what else had he managed to miss?

                                                         -><-

“Din!” Luke called from down the hallway, footsteps tripping as he ran inside Din’s ship, “Din! My sister’s here,” he said, knocking on the solid metal hull, “She wants to meet you!” his voice made it sound like an important event, though Din could hardly see why exchanging niceties with the sister of a backwater jedi warranted such flare.

“mm,” Din pulled back the door, peering down at Luke who was bouncing on his toes, “why?”

Luke ignored him, grabbing Din by his gloved hand, and dragging him towards his office, “this could be a big opportunity for you,” he rattled on, eyes shining beneath his mess of dust-streaked hair, “it’s good for you to make connections like this, given your newly-found title-”

“connections?” Din interrupted, “what do you mean?”

Luke spared a confused glance back at the Mandalorian, still steadily walking him towards his sister, “my sister? Leia Organa?”

Din offered up no response, but Luke was enamored by it nonetheless. He could understand not knowing much about galactic history, after all, he was under the impression that Din lead a particularly... sheltered childhood. But things that were happening now? The new republic?

“she was the princess of Alderaan? She helps lead the New Republic?”

“Alderaan...” Din paused, “that’s the one that blew up, right?”

“yes,” Luke dropped Din’s hand, unhooking the tarp that shielded his office from view, “yes, it’s the one that blew up,”

“mm,” Din hummed thoughtfully, “is she a jedi too?”

“sort of, I’ve been helping her train,” Luke said, checking his hair in the gleam of Din’s helmet.

“must’ve been why they blew up Alderaan then,” Din held still, “they were trying to kill her before she got too powerful,”

Luke’s hands stilled. He stared up into the Mandalorian’s visor, “huh,” he said, unable to stop his lips from twitching, “maybe so,” Luke turned around, brushing the tarp aside for Din to enter, hiding his smile behind the fabric.

                                                          -><-

It was almost cute, how little Din seemed to know about the galaxy he lived in. it didn’t really matter, of course. Most of it was just history lessons, nothing that would seriously impede him on a mission or in battle. And he wasn’t stupid by any means. He could speak more languages than Luke could count on his hands, flesh and robotic, and had flight skills that could rival even the most trained X-wing pilot. Still, it was hard not to feel fond when the Mandalorian only just now realized that Luke and Leia were twins.

“how was I supposed to know!”

“Din, starlight, our father would’ve been found out the second one of us was born, how exactly did you think he managed to swerve the jedi code to have another baby?”

“listen-” Din huffed, biting back his argument when he saw how ecstatic Luke was over this whole ordeal. Luke only nodded along expectantly, crossing one leg over the other. He was nothing if not encouraging.

“to be fair,” Din started, scowling at Luke’s twinkling smile, “she’s a princess, and you grew up on Tatooine,” he huffed, “and you never mentioned your dad was a jedi,” he added quickly, hoping Luke would miss it in his euphoria. No such luck.

“Din,” Luke stood up, reaching to cradle the Mandalorian’s helmet in his hands, “Anakin Skywalker? Did you think that was a coincidence?”

“it’s a big galaxy, there’s like half a billion ‘Djarin’s out there,” Din answered, but the bite had left his voice. It was hard to be frustrated when Luke was so close, all soft smiles and saying “Din” like it was a prayer.

Din leaned into the jedi’s touch. He’d blame it on the weight of his helmet later, and Luke would play along, teasingly offering to hold the helmet if it ever got too heavy. It was only ever teasing though. Luke never asked for more than Din was willing to give.

                                                         -><-

 They were pressed together, Din’s arm wrapped lazily around Luke’s waist, the jedi’s head leaning against his cold, armored shoulder. The beaches on Luke’s planet were nothing special, but the sunsets, oh the sunsets were spectacular. Grogu had been poking at Luke’s brain all day, playing memories of beach days on coruscant and building sandcastles with the crechemasters, until Luke finally caved and suited the baby up for a day in the water, inviting Din along.

Grogu had the time of his life, taking turns force-throwing sand at his dad and splashing his master until they joined in the fun. After a full day of entertaining the little gremlin, though, the two men had decided to impose Nap Time on the kiddo, sprawling out together on one of the many beach towels Luke had brought. (“you didn’t grow up on Tatooine, Din. Trust me, sand gets everywhere”)

The baby was fast asleep against Din’s armor, wrapped up so his head didn’t get bruised by the beskar.

“this was nice, huh?” Luke asked, shifting to look up at the Mandalorian. His eyes brushed over the thin stripe of exposed facial hair before he pulled his gaze away, embarrassed. Even the smallest of glimpses got his heart racing. Ridiculous, honestly.

“mhmm,” Din absentmindedly rubbed circles on Grogu’s back with his thumb, “could’ve done without all the sand in my armor, though,”

Luke laughed, “ugh I know,” he shifted again, pulling his arms from the poncho he was wearing, “I always get so much sand and dust in my hand, it’s the worst,”

Din tilted his helmet, “in your hand?”

“yeah,” Luke fiddled with his glove, pulling it off before tugging on one of his fingers, revealing the intricate system of wires, “you didn’t know?”

Din knew he was staring, and he knew that wasn’t polite but he just- “you’re… part droid?”

Luke laughed at that, a full, hearty laugh, one that had him gasping for air and rolling on his back. Din reached for his hand, holding it up so that it didn’t hit the sand as Luke fell back.

“yes,” Luke said, catching his breath, “I suppose that’s one way to put it,” he flicked his finger again, closing the wiring hatch. Din hadn’t removed his hand, so Luke twisted their fingers together, “you really didn’t know?”

“how was I supposed to?”

“the lifting things six times my weight didn’t tip you off?”

Din sputtered, “you’re a jedi??? You lift things six times your weight all the time???”

That got Luke laughing again, eyes twinkling in the setting sun. He was teasing Din, yes, but he was also so, so deeply fond of him. This, Luke asking questions, Din answering truthfully even though it made him look silly, this was everything to Luke. Luke trusted the Mandalorian, of course he did, and this made Luke feel like Din trusted him as well. just the thought alone was enough to make the Jedi smile wider, letting his head fall against the Mandalorian’s shoulder once more.

                                                           -><-

Luke paced around Din’s ship. It was bigger than his last one, and somehow even harder to navigate.

“Din, where’s your holoprojector?” Luke had promised to tell Leia when they were getting close, and they’d be closing in on Coruscant within the hour.

“don’t have one,” came the response from the dashboard, stopping Luke in his tracks.

“don’t- do you at least have a data pad?” no holoprojector? Maybe Din was poorer than Luke thought.

“yeah,” Din shuffled around for a moment, before handing Luke a beat-up data pad that was at least a century old.

“Din this thing is ancient,” he said, frowning at the actual layer of crust on the screen, “does it even have holonet?”

“nope,”

“wh-“ Luke was dumbfounded, “how do you get your news? What if something big happens??”

“if I need to know it, someone will tell me,” Din said as if it was the most obvious thing in the galaxy, but the thought left Luke reeling.

“Din, starlight, you didn’t know who Darth Vader was,”

“I did so-”

“yeah, from recruitment posters-”

“it still counts-”

“no it doesn’t-”

They fought like that for a moment, back and forth, until it dawned on Luke.

“holy stars,” he said, cutting Din’s rant short, “Din, is this why you didn’t know about Obi-Wan? And Anakin being my father? And Leia and the new republic?” Luke sat down in the co-pilot’s seat, scooping up Grogu and setting him in his lap.

Din grumbled, turning his attention back to hyperspace, “it wasn’t important,”

“starlight it was Darth Vader-”

The two started arguing again, bickering in that old married couple kind of way. Luke couldn’t help but smile at the situation. All this time, all these silly little accidents and conversations, all because the Mandalorian hadn’t bothered to install a holoprojector in his ship. It was amazing, really.

“I don’t see what the big deal is, you don’t know anything about Mandalorian culture,”

“Din no one knows anything about Mandalorian culture,”

Din slumped in his seat, hands gripping loosely at the steering controls. Luke leaned forward, bumping the Mandalorian’s with his head until Din faced him, pressing their foreheads together softly.

“hey,” Luke said in hushed tones, “for the record, I thought it was kinda hot,”

Din let out a breathy laugh, pulling back slightly to look in the jedi’s eyes.

“that says more about you than it does me, Skywalker,”

Luke matched his laugh, Din joining in before resting his forehead against Luke’s again. They were gonna get an earful from Leia when they landed without a party to welcome them, but for now they would simply rest, all shiny armor and gentle curls, bathed in the glow of hyperspace.

[vrisrezis]

[Based on the series "Valentine's Day"] The reader\crush spent the whole day trying to give one of the Matsu chocolate, which he\she personally prepared for him, but something prevented him\her from doing it, and only in the evening, when the brothers are completely disappointed, the reader runs up to them, approaches the determined Matsu, talks about what he had to go through to catch up with him, and gives the chocolate

The Matsuno brothers ' reaction to this?

You were not being dramatic! You were literally going through hell and back for this man!

To tripping over people’s feet, to having to deal with random snakes being thrown at you, tripping on rocks, sticks, a giant spider being aimed towards your face! Bees chasing you! You name it! Nature wanted you dead today.

But that didn’t stop you from seeing your matsu.

Maybe it was a sign from god, totoko said. But you didn’t care! Sign from god or not, that matsu was as good as yours! You were not giving up.

••••••

When you finally approached Osomatsu, he seemed down. Truth is, the male was hoping you’d approach him with something. He was starting to feel.. so stupid. He’s left all these signs he liked you, all the flirting, even wrapping an arm around your shoulder and hugging you! You even flirted back sometimes. He felt so stupid.. thinking you could ever like him. He likes to think he’s the confident type but maybe he was in over his head..

As he sees you though, his sadness and disappointment flickers away like a light, and he immediately smiles, smiling even more when you give him the chocolate. As you tell him the crazy story, he laughs, fully believing you, enjoying the story as he eats the chocolate you made him.

After that, he asks if you wanna spend the rest of that day together, and of course you say yes.

Karamatsu knew he was being clear about his feelings. His flirting, along with his claims of loving you more than the galaxy, he knew you knew. Which is why it bothered him that you two weren’t dating. Even moreso, when he didn’t get the chance to give you his chocolate. He’s been through it. Life hated him today, he’s been hitting his head with various things, to acorns to literal tree branches. This poor man can’t catch a break.

But as you finally catch up to him, he can tell you’ve been through a ordeal of your own.

As you explain your story to him, he’s quick to explain his own, as the two of you complain and laugh together.

He ends up blushing as you give him the chocolate. “How kind of you to give this to a sinful man like me.. but!! I have one for you too my flower!”

Choromatsu knows he shouldn’t expect anything from you, after all.. he never really did anything to show he liked you other than act like a virgin so… but that didn’t stop his disappointment. Of course he’d be disappointed that his crush didn’t give him anything. That was a feeling he would feel regardless, it’s not like he made u a chocolate or planned on confessing or anything, but the feeling was there despite that.

However, he was surprised to hear you call him, and he turned around with a blush as you told him your story, giving him the chocolate. He couldn’t even focus on the story, just the fact you were actually giving him this, the fact you actually liked him too.

His entire face was red, as he stared at you mouth agape. He didn’t even know what to say at that moment. “I- uhm… do you wanna… g-go out..? Eat… uhm..” he was losing his words, but you understood what he was asking, “yes”

Ichimatsu also never planned on getting you anything, he didn’t plan to confess, none of it. A part of him felt so disappointed though. He wishes he could just grow some balls and confess he has a dumb crush like an adult but he can’t, it’s too damn hard. If he could confess then he would have already. He got too nervous, this was more than a stupid crush to him, he was enamored with you.

When you called for him, he was a bit surprised to see you. Honestly, he figured you’d be with that guy you said you liked.

It’s then that you admitted your feelings, admitted your story and why you haven’t been able to see him till now. The story was peculiar to say the least. He couldn’t help but smile. He feels bold for once, kissing you on the cheek, but he feels shy once again after doing so, his entire face goes red.

“W-wanna date.. or something..?” He asks rather awkwardly. Berating himself for not coming up with a better way to ask.

He’s so thankful you agree though, with that laugh of yours.

Jyushimatsu feels like he’s made it pretty clear he likes you? Since he literally told you? And literally asked you out and you said yeah.. so ? He was confused why he didn’t see you the whole day. He was a bit bummed out, since he got you a sunflower and a chocolate.

He felt so happy when he saw you though despite your appearance. He was quick to hug you and give you the chocolate and sunflower, his usual smile widening when you gave him the chocolate.

He laughed at your story, telling you it was fine. Then asking if you wanted to play baseball with him, or if you wanted to do something special instead for today.

Todomatsu knew he was being straight forward! He flirted with you all the time..? There was no mistaking it, you knew he liked you. Maybe this was your way of telling him you didn’t like him..? Was there somebody else? Was it atsushi? He wondered, jealousy clogging his brain until he heard your yell for him. He couldn’t help but feel happy to hear your voice and it annoyed him. He should be angry right now!

But the moment he turns to look at you, he feels his cheeks get hot all of a sudden.

He feels any anger he had dissipate as you explain your story to him, and it’s then he notices the chocolate in your hand as you give it to him. He smiles, grabbing your hand. “Cmon cutie! This was sweet and all, but take me on a real date!”

[ao3theskyisblue]

How to Woo a Texan

For @bellakitse who prompted this nearly a year ago and I had the audacity to put it off for this long 😅 Thank you for the title prompt, I hope you enjoy! 

Summary:

He was suddenly brought back to the time when he was 5 years old, gazing at the white lilies in that antique vase every morning. How he hadn’t understood why his mother carried an aura so bright and yet so soft at the same time every time she looked at them.

Oh. There you are. I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.

***

Or, snapshots through time of their relationship with a splash of feelings

Read on AO3

Ever since he could remember, there was always a fresh vase of white lilies that sat comfortably on the side of the kitchen counter. A 5-year-old Carlos, who was finally old enough to climb down the stairs himself (though his parents seemed to disagree) had always tried to wake up early to try and catch whoever it was that was responsible for them. They always magically appeared like clockwork every Monday morning at 7am.

Neatly trimmed, placed, and lasted a week before a brand-new batch would appear the next Monday.

He hadn’t wanted to think too much about them, but there were times that he caught his mother looking at the flowers with a soft look in her eyes. Sometimes she would brush her fingers along the petals, and other times she would lean down to delicately smell them, an ever-present smile gracing her lips.

He asked her about it once, the words coming out faster than his brain could tell him to stop.

“Mama, where those come from?” He asks one morning, lips puckered in a light pout when he realized he didn’t catch whoever it was that put them there again. His mother turned around from where she was washing some grapes to look in his direction, only to widen her eyes in horror.

“Carlitos! What have I told you about climbing onto places taller than you?” His mother scolded, rushing over to stop him from climbing onto the kitchen counter so he could reach the vase easier. She wrapped her arms gently around his waist, and he didn’t fight it when she sat him on a dining room chair.

“But I wanted to see flowers!” Carlos pointed towards the vase, and his mother turned her head to where he was looking, a slow smile spreading across her lips. She reached over to take out one of the flowers slowly, before displaying it in front of him.

“You mean the white lilies?” His mother asked, nodding at him when he looked at her questioningly. He took the flowers gently in his hands, running his fingers along the petals. They felt like any other flower he’s touched in the schoolyard, and they didn’t have a particularly distinct scent. At least, not that he could tell.

So, what was so special about these flowers?

He was about to ask, but his mother beat him to it. “Your dad is a little bit of a romantic. He wakes up early to get these from the farmer’s market every Monday morning.” And there it is again. That smile he always sees on his mother whenever his dad is mentioned, a smile that made her look so bright and happy.

There was something he didn’t understand though.

“What’s a ro…romand-romantic? Is it like…like Roman empire?” Carlos frowned, not quite remembering that book his teacher had been reading a few weeks ago but he was sure he heard ‘Roman’ somewhere. His mother shook her head, laughing fondly. He watched her get up from her kneeling position to sit on the dining chair beside him, her hands resting on his knees.

“You’re probably a little too young to understand this fully,” Carlos wrinkled his nose at that, because no, he wasn’t too “young,” he could recite the alphabet just fine forwards and backward and knew all his times tables.

His mother gave him a knowing look as if she knew what he was thinking. “Those were the flowers your father gave me when he first told me he loved me, and ever since then, he gets them every week- rain or shine. Just to see a smile on my face when I open the door for him.” His mother’s smile is radiant, and he sees her peeking at the flowers again affectionately, as if just looking at them rings in a new bout of happiness all over again.

“So…” Carlos trails off, a million thoughts circling his mind. “Love means flowers?” His mother chuckles at that, patting his leg fondly.

“It could be, but everyone expresses love differently.” His mother says, before reaching up a hand to place over his heart. He looks at her, at the warmth in her eyes as her next words resonate within his mind.

 “Love can be big things, and it can be little things. It can be complicated, and it can be easy. You’ll find your own definition of it one day, and your dad and I will be with you every step of the way.”

***

“I can’t wait to sleep for a decade.” Carlos groaned, toeing off his shoes before stumbling across the entranceway towards the stairs, regretting not building an escalator instead when he had the chance. A strong arm wrapped around his waist, and a bright laugh that never failed to make his heart skip a beat echoed in his ear.

“That’s a coma, sweetheart, not quite something I support. Experience, and all that.” TK mused, squeezing the skin just above his hip in admonishment and making him jolt. He turned a glare to his boyfriend, who was just looking at him innocently.

“You’re not funny,” Carlos grumbled as they slowly made their way up the stairs. Technically, TK was practically dragging him up the steps since he could hardly register where each step began and ended but minor details.

He didn’t need to look up to know that TK’s eyes were shining with amusement, lips curled in a wide smile with its edges softened by affection. “I’m actually very funny, you’re just grumpy when you’re tired. And on the verge of a fever.”

“Am not.” Carlos huffed petulantly, which probably just further proved TK’s point, but the latter wisely chose not to comment on it. They reached the last step and Carlos made a beeline for his bed, flopping down face-first into the soft sheets, legs dangling off the edge, humming appreciatively.

Soft and warm, perfect after a horrendously long shift with a persisting headache.

He didn’t bother moving when hands gently lifted the rest of his body to lie on the bed, the very same hands then reaching underneath him to try and undo his belt.

“You’re going to have to do all the work,” Carlos mumbled; eyes still shut tight. TK snorted, the hand stopping their administrations to swat his thigh lightly.

“I’m trying to make sure you sleep more comfortably. I’ve done my fair share of passing out in uniform and the morning after is never pretty.” TK has successfully removed his belt now, and Carlos half-heartedly lifted his hips to help him tug the pants down. “In fact, there was one particularly memorable moment where I almost stabbed myself in the leg with a belt buckle.”

Carlos was suddenly a little more awake than before, mustering the last bit of his strength to look at TK incredulously, turning over on his back. He ignored his head protesting loudly at the movement.

“I’m going to need a full version of that story when my brain can process more than 5 words a minute.”

TK shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “You’ll never hear it because you’ll forget this ever happened when you wake up.” He finished yanking his pants off and moved to fold them neatly in half over a hanger and placing it on the door hook. Carlos watched him through hooded eyes, absently going along with the motion of changing his shirt before shifting up to lay his head on the pillow.

“So, sleep-related injuries from passing out in work clothes. Another thing to cross off your bucket list.” Carlos gladly accepted the swat on his leg at that.  

“One more word about this and I will go sleep on the couch,” TK warned jokingly, walking to the closet and pushing aside some of their clothing. They haven’t made it official yet, but Carlos already had a key – a permanent one, not a spare one that TK currently donned – prepared hidden in his gun safe waiting to be given, and the closet once only filled with his clothes began filling up with their clothes.

“Wha’re you doin’?” He asked blearily, already feeling himself pouting at the lack of warm boyfriend next to him.

“Looking for-ah, here it is.”

TK pulled out another blanket, the one that his mother had knitted for him when he was younger, and the only thing he could tolerate to be wrapped around whenever he was feeling under the weather.

Well, one of the only things.

He watched as TK gently tucked the blanket around him, seeing the familiar smile that lights up his face whenever he sees the design stitched on – a Gemini sign that stood out proudly among a sea of stars. He remembers mapping out imaginary constellations with his fingertips when he was younger, dreaming of what the stars would feel like underneath his touch – if the galaxy could be grasped within the palms of his hands.

“You mentioned the last time that your body temperature tends to go haywire when you aren’t feeling well, and that this was the only blanket you could tolerate,” TK says softly, and Carlos closes his eyes as the back of a cool hand felt his forehead.

“When did I say that?” Carlos mumbled, the haze of sleep threatening to take over, but he pushed himself to stay awake to hear the answer. TK shuffled some things around in the bed before sitting down, back against the headboard. Carlos didn’t hesitate to roll over towards him, wrapping an arm around his waist and tucking his face into his stomach, nuzzling into the soft warmth. He heard a fond chuckle, and smiled when featherlight fingers gently stroked his hair.

“I’ll tell you later. You should get some rest.” TK leaned down to kiss his forehead, the awkward angle not deterring him the slightest as he pressed another kiss to his cheek.

“You don’t have to stay.” The words came out a little garbled, and Carlos wasn’t sure if TK had heard him at all. He didn’t want to make TK stay with him when he could literally be doing anything else other than sitting with him while he slept off the fever. His arm seemed to protest at that thought, though it could also be his exhaustion at play when he didn’t pull it away from its spot around TK’s mid-section.

There was a pause, before the blanket was tucked around him even tighter, an arm wrapping around him to pull him in further.

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

A million butterflies danced to that, fluttering about inside him as he tried to tamper down his quickening heartbeat. He couldn’t stop the lovesick smile even if he wanted to, tilting his head down to try and hide it.

“Plus, who’s going to wring cold towels and change them for you when you wake up? And make sure you actually eat something? Gotta put my paramedic privileges to work somehow.” Carlos grumbled incoherent words at that. Just because he was a living zombie when he was sick, and his whole body ached so badly he could sometimes hardly make it out of bed, let alone make anything to eat…

He’s been taking care of himself alone for years. And realistically, he knew he would be fine if left to his own devices.

“I’ll wait on you, hand and foot.” The words were light, teasing, reminding him of the heated debate they had the other night. There had been some history program playing in the background, and both of them had made varying sounds of contemplation when that particular phrase was said, sparking their usual bickering over the true meaning behind those seemingly innocent words.

This time, the words also carried a pleasantly heavy weight that settled in Carlos’ chest.

He was suddenly brought back to the time when he was 5 years old, gazing at the white lilies in that antique vase every morning. How he hadn’t understood why his mother carried an aura so bright and yet so soft at the same time every time she looked at them.

He could feel a stinging building up behind his closed eyes, his feelings always a tad bit of a mess when he was sick. They’ve already said the words, and the fact that they loved each other was ingrained in his mind and heart.

But there were also times like this, when Carlos wanted to grab the nearest jar and store the overwhelming love that was spilling out ardently. He wondered if the jar would feel as warm as he felt, what colour it would be, or if there would be enough space to fit it all.

It was times like these, that he would think,

Oh. There you are.

I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.

 ***

One of the things they’ve agreed upon in the early stages of their relationship, was that TK was not to be allowed anywhere near the kitchen or sharp cooking utensils unless there was appropriate adult supervision and two (working) fire extinguishers within five feet. There were one too many incidences where Carlos could practically feel his heart ripping out of his chest and plopping onto the floor, stripping decades off his life.

So, when he comes home to wondrous spices assaulting his senses, he briefly wonders if he accidentally opened the wrong door.

He had been pulling a double when one of his co-worker’s wife went into labour, and he had messaged TK earlier about not knowing when exactly he’d make it home. He had expected to come home to dim lights and silence, thinking his boyfriend would have already gone to bed but he was taken off guard at the lights shining brightly in the kitchen and the soft background music playing from his speakers.

The sound of the door clicking shut behind him alerted TK of his presence, and he was greeted with a smile that had his eyes crinkle happily at the sides.

“Hey, you.” His arms automatically spread apart to wrap around his boyfriend, laughing breathlessly at the way TK practically launched himself at him, trailing kisses up his neck.

“Missed me?” Carlos teased, leaning in for a few quick kisses before tucking his face in the crook of TK’s neck, his favourite spot to just breathe and take his boyfriend in after a long day. There was a heavy sigh in response, before he was met with a pair of eyes he never tired of losing himself in.

“It’s nothing new. I start missing you the second you leave our bed in the morning.” TK admits quietly, biting his lower lip nervously as if he hadn’t exactly meant to say that out loud. Carlos feels the familiar warmth spreading through him, and reaches up to gently pry his bottom lip free. He leans in to gently kiss the tip of his nose.

“Something smells amazing.” A welcome subject change, one that Carlos knows TK is grateful for, and he watches as his lips spread into a slow smile. Tugging on his hand, TK leads him towards the kitchen counter where various bowls of food were laid out.

“Everyone at the station has been giving me lessons. I thought Nancy was scary during training, it’s nothing compared to how she commands the kitchen. Even Paul was terrified but impressed.” TK was laughing as he continued on with a particularly hilarious incident that he repeatedly insisted was not his fault, but Carlos couldn’t help but be distracted by something scraping against his palm.

He looked down to see bandages covering the majority of TK’s fingers, looking like he had just left a particularly bad boxing match. All of his fingers had some sort of wrapping on it, most of them at the tips reaching just above the second knuckle, and a bulkier one on his right ring finger.

He looked back up to see TK smiling brightly without a care in the world, as if his hands weren’t completely covered with the scars of his labour. Not a single finger had been spared, and Carlos swallowed back the lump growing in his throat at how happy his boyfriend looked.

“Grace even swung by to indulge me in her family’s secret chilli recipe. We kind of went all out today in the kitchen, and everyone had enough to feed their entire family and their neighbours,” TK chuckled at the memory, picking up said bowl of chilli and holding it out to Carlos, a carefree grin painted across his lips. “I told them you were pulling a double, and how I wanted to take care of the cooking for tonight. They were more than happy to give me tips.”  

Carlos stared at the bowl in front of him, then at TK’s radiant smile, blinking against the mist clouding up his vision. The whiteness of the bandages contrasted sharply against the brown wooden bowl, and he had an overwhelming urge to kiss each and every single one.

Some days, the love he feels for the man before him is overpowering, sparking life in every single motion and touch. Other days, it’s warm and light, just like the perfect summer breeze flowing by in passing, or the sight of the sunrise ascending over the horizon. The gentle waves splashing by his ankles in a soothing beat.

Today, he’s filled with an ache he can’t quite describe. It’s an ache that he wants engraved into his very bones – an ache that he wants to re-live for a long, long time.

He wondered if it was possible to be numbed by pure happiness, not knowing where the tingling feeling in his body started or ended.  

Blinking a couple of times to anchor himself to the present, Carlos looked up to see TK’s worried gaze trained on him, the bowl of chilli sitting back on the kitchen counter.

Had he zoned off for too long?

“Judd, Mateo and Marjan sampled everything to make sure they were edible.” TK bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. His hands were twitching imperceptibly, as if he was itching to wring them together but remembered the bandages at the last second. The almost frantic look in his eyes made Carlos shake out of his stupor, and he reaches forward the cup the back of TK’s neck with one hand, running his thumb soothingly along his nape.

“Baby, this is…” Carlos trails off, the ache in him pulsating the more he looked at the culinary production around them.

He feels truly lucky to have TK in his life, and the rest of his found family with the 126. It startles him sometimes, how he’s been living fine on his own for twenty-six years before TK came into his life, but now that he’s gotten a taste of what it was like to have an extra splash of colour, he wants to continue painting the world with all the newfound hues.

“Extra? Over the top? Too much?” TK rambled, and Carlos shook his head, meeting his gaze straight-on.

“Amazing.”

He knows he sounds a little breathless, but TK seems to lighten at that, his nervous smiling relaxing.  He silently obeys as TK gently guides him to one of the dining room chairs, arranging him around a little so that he was sitting, facing the gleamingly empty (for now) tableware.

“What would you like to indulge in first, my liege?” TK says playfully, hands kneading into Carlos’ shoulders to relieve the tension from a long day at work. He could feel himself grinning, reaching up a hand to cover one of TK’s, his thumb brushing against the bandages.

“You have been watching way too many historical dramas.” He mused, humming in approval as nimble fingers dug deeper into muscle, alleviating the residual tautness.

“There are only so many episodes of Grey’s I can handle watching without yelling at the medical inaccuracies. House is alright, but the way he treats patients would give him a lifetime of lawsuits he would never be able to climb out of. That in itself could be a whole series.” TK snorts, leaning back to plate some of the food. Carlos tipped his head back to watch him, already feeling his stomach yearning for everything his boyfriend was currently stashing onto his plate.

“I thought the point of watching those shows as a first responder is to enjoy the imperfections.” Carlos smiles fondly as TK lets out a quiet curse when a small piece of potato rolls off the plate, reaching out to grab a napkin to quickly wipe the spot on the counter.

“Pot meet kettle. You forget I watch Chicago PD with you, babe. I’m pretty sure I could recite the entirety of the Austin PD manual and 10-codes off the top of my head just from your heartfelt soliloquies every time they do anything.” TK shot him an unimpressed look, though the wide grin gave away his amusement.

He could feel himself pouting, not liking how true that was. “Yeah? Then what’s a 10-39 then?” Carlos raised an eyebrow, knowing he asked the wrong question when a predatory grin split across his boyfriend’s face.

“Something we both have abused in our professional duties,” TK smirked, walking over to place his plate in front of him before settling down at the seat across from him with his own plate, unconsciously linking their ankles together underneath the table.

“Uh, no. I haven’t. I think I would have noticed.” Carlos furrowed his eyebrows, growing more confused at TK’s quiet laughter.

“When I complained about traffic in Austin? And you very sweetly asked for a second round and offered to drive me to work with the light bars and sirens? Ring a bell?” TK wiggled his eyebrows, and Carlos makes a sound of protest.

“That doesn’t count!”

“You still offered. Which definitely counts.” TK chooses that moment to pick up a piece of lettuce to stuff in his mouth, effectively ending the conversation. Carlos rolls his eyes.

“That’s just cutting corners.” He huffs, stabbing into one of the potatoes purposefully, ignoring TK’s foot knocking against him. Conversation lulls for a while, and the more Carlos digs into the hearty meal before him, the more his skin tingles, kindled with warmth.

He reaches forward to squeeze TK’s hand, who in turn looks up at him curiously.

“Thank you. For all of this. It’s… I really appreciate it.” Carlos stutters, the overwhelming wave of emotion sweeping over him again as TK simply gives him that smile. The one smile that always seemed to be reserved for him – a smile he felt privileged to witness, and the smile he wanted to see every day for the rest of their lives.

“I can’t take all the credit,” TK’s smile is fond, no doubt remembering all the antics the entirety of the 126 were subject to earlier that day. “It was a team effort – I’m just glad it turned out alright with minor mishaps.” There was a sheepish look on his face, and Carlos notices how he’s picking at the heavier bandage on his right ring finger. He reaches across the table to take the hand gently in his, lifting it up to tenderly press his lips against it while their gazes were still locked on each other. There was a hint of pink that coloured TK’s cheeks at the gesture, making him smile against the hand still pressed to his lips.

“Minor mishaps, huh?” He remarks absently, but doesn’t push any further. TK curls his hand tighter to squeeze his before pulling back slowly.

“I added some more things to our Netflix queue. Want to call it a night and continue to preach about inaccuracies in medical and police dramas with me?” TK tilts his head invitingly, his eyes shining with mirth, and Carlos just wants everything with him.  

“I’ll get the popcorn.”

 ***

Leave work at the door.

That’s what his father had always done when he was growing up. All talk of casework, of work stress, were almost always shed like a layer of skin when he came home, a wide smile present on his lips as he lifted him up into a hug and gave his unruly curls a fond ruffle.

Which was why he was currently still at the station at 10:34pm, finishing up the unexpected paperwork that couldn’t wait when they had been called in to a tip just before his shift ended.

Sighing in both exhaustion and frustration, Carlos glared at the offending words in front of him, his pen tapping restlessly against the table as he chewed on his lower lip.

He had promised his little boy that he would make it home tonight to finally watch the new Disney movie together as a family, maybe even build a pillow fort. Now, that promise felt like a scar etched upon his heart bleeding through his every thought as he tried to focus on the papers in front of him.

Their schedules would start being asynchronous again tomorrow, and although it made it easier so that one of them could always be with their son when the other was on a shift, Carlos missed his husband. He missed coming home to more than just a passing kiss as the other left for their shift, he missed going to bed with a warm body to wrap around him, he missed seeing that smile he’s loved more and more every single day for the past seven years for longer than five seconds.

They tried to have at least one evening a week to just be husbands, to spend time with their son together as a unit, but the case he had been working on for months finally had a breakthrough and they hadn’t gotten proper family time for close to a month.

It was times like these that he didn’t get the usual satisfaction of seeing the nameplate Detective Carlos Strand-Reyes on his desk.

“That’s a very impressive scowl you have going on there, detective.”

Carlos almost falls out of his spinning chair at the amused voice speaking lowly in his ear and spun around abruptly to see TK grinning at him, their three-year-old son Micah in his arms giggling happily.

“Papa!” Micah’s ecstatic voice echoes through the almost-empty precinct, and Carlos immediately catches him in his arms when his son practically launches himself into them.

“Micah! TK, what –” Carlos was a little lost for words, but tampers down the confusion when Micah squishes his cheeks between his tiny hands, grinning broadly. He was sure if his partner hadn’t left to grab them another coffee, she would be taking pictures to last her a lifetime.

“Have gift!” Micah declares proudly, his legs shuffling excitedly as he sat down more comfortably in his lap, and Carlos tips his head up for a quick kiss with his husband before looking at TK questioningly.

“Our son didn’t like how you would be spending movie night alone doing work,” Carlos couldn’t help a laugh at TK’s terrible impression of their son. “So, we decided that since you couldn’t come to us, we would bring family to you.” TK’s expression softened at the end, and Carlos could see how his eyes were taking him in fully, his own eyes doing the same.

He notices his partner arriving back to the precinct then, pausing in the doorway of their shared office. Her eyes lit up with understanding, sending him a quick wink before mouthing out a ‘more for me,’ and gestured to the two coffee cups in her hands. She lifted one of the cups as if in cheers, and quietly slinked away to take a break elsewhere.

Carlos mentally noted to send her a gift basket sometime.

“But you were looking forward to watching the movie.” Carlos looks at his son, and Micah frowned up at him, looking at him like he had suddenly grown two heads.

“Moo’ night is moo’ night ‘cause we all there. Papa, daddy, me. Two…two…” Micah furrowed his eyebrows as he tries to remember the word and TK gently cuts in.

“Together, sweetheart.”

“Together!” Micah repeats louder, and Carlos kind of wants to cry.

TK lifts up a plastic bag between them, and he knows exactly what’s in there when Micah’s eyes light up mischievously.

“Really, Strand?” Carlos deadpans, a smile twitching on his lips at TK’s indignant pout. “A sugar rush near midnight?”

“It’s Strand-Reyes. I didn’t marry you in the pouring rain with a broken foot just for you to neglect the second half of my name. And some occasions require processed sugar no matter what time it is.” TK says softly, and Carlos is momentarily taken back to that memorable day five years ago, where everything that could have gone wrong actually did go wrong, as if testing their brush with fate.

But in the end, love won. Which meant come hell or high water, they would be standing on that altar, no matter how many hours they had to stay at the hospital afterward in lieu of their planned honeymoon.  

When he looks up into TK’s eyes, he could tell his husband had been thinking the same thing, and they shared a private smile.

“It’s chocolate.” TK grins, wiggling the bag enticingly as if his favourite flavour would make him cave, when he in fact had already caved a long, long, time ago.

“What a coincidence. I have French vanilla.” Carlos smiles as TK looks at him knowingly. He had let it slip once that he always kept a batch of French vanilla ice cream, TK’s favourite, in his private minifridge in the office ever since that night a couple of weeks into his new detective role when TK had come into the precinct soaked to the bone and on the verge of tears.

The news was never kind, and his fiancé had to find out through the grapevine that there had been a nasty altercation with the case he had been assigned to and immediately ran out of their house to search for him when he didn’t answer his cell phone. It was somehow the only thing they had at the precinct that day, and TK had stayed beside him for the rest of his shift, occasionally taking bites of the ice cream and cuddling close.

Now, the particular flavour of ice cream served more as both of their comfort food whenever they wanted to feel each other’s presence during a long shift, and sometimes just seeing the familiar packaging immerses him in comfort.

“Papa get break?” Micah’s question pulls him out of his thoughts, and he kisses the top of their son’s curls, smiling affectionately.

“It’s a good thing I have spoons, then.” Carlos pulls out the drawer meant for miscellaneous things, and takes out three plastic spoons from their packaging. He also reaches into the fridge to take out the container of ice cream, with TK doing the same with the two chocolate flavoured ones in the plastic bag. His husband passes one container to each of them, graciously accepting the one in Carlos’ hands extended to him before hopping on to sit on his desk.

“Papa happy?” Micah asked between spoonfuls, and Carlos hugs him tighter against him, leaning his cheek against the back of his head. He looks up at TK who’s watching them fondly, and he has a sudden urge to hug them tightly and never let go. He leaves that for when they all finish their midnight treats, instead reaching out to squeeze TK’s leg and kiss his son’s cheek, feeling lighter than air.

“I’m always happy when I’m with the two of you.”

 ***

Years of laughter, hours of tears. Days of contemplation, millions of joyous occasions.

And you were in every single one of them.

 “We are getting too old for this.”

TK makes a sound of disbelief, turning to shoot him a glare that’s just as piercing as they had been in their younger days, his green eyes sparkling with life.

“Says you, Mr. I’m-seventy-four-but-can-still-lift-double-your-weight. Age shaming will not be a thing that gets between us.” TK scowls, and Carlos laughs at the way the wrinkles that came with age and years of laughter and joy deepened. His husband’s hair was now almost completely grey, matching his own, and yet…

Tyler Kennedy Strand-Reyes was just as beautiful as the day he first laid eyes on him.

“My hips are already protesting, and you haven’t even asked me to stand yet.” Carlos mused, laughing as TK extended his hand to him then, looking down at him in exasperation. The dim light from the fireplace lit up his husband’s features in flashes of brief memoirs, with each passing of the flame’s light echoing a different time in their life.

“And when have you ever said ‘no’ to me?” TK raises an eyebrow, his fingers wiggling in front of him, and Carlos touches the palms of their hands together, admiring how well they fit together, even after all these years.

“Plenty of times,” Carlos responds, even as he gets up all the same. Like two pieces of matching puzzles, they fit together effortlessly. The lulling chords to a song whose name was just at the tip of his tongue was playing softly in the background.

“And your hips move just fine,” TK murmurs in his ear teasingly, and Carlos could feel the wide smile against his neck as he laughs.

They sway together, both of them lost in their own worlds. Carlos closes his eyes as he latches on to this moment just like all of their many others through the time they’ve spent together.

“Feeling wooed yet, babe?” Carlos couldn’t hold back a shiver at the warm current of air brushing past his ear, squeezing TK’s hip at the knowing smile pressed against his shoulder. It never ceases to amaze him how far they’ve come since the beginning, never once letting go of each other’s hands, facing anything life threw at them as a team.

All these years, and Carlos still remembered the night that forever altered their futures crystal clear. Two imperfect souls, meeting in the middle. Willing to share each other’s worlds, learn each other’s purpose, and choosing to love through it all.  

Shifting back slightly so that he could look into TK’s eyes, the beautiful green orbs that never failed to be filled to the brim with adoration since that night under the stars, Carlos smiles.

“TK, baby,” He reaches up a hand, cupping his husband’s cheek and feeling his heart stutter when he didn’t hesitate to lean into his hold. Tilting his head to gently press their foreheads together, Carlos revels in the tender warmth of their bubble of intimacy.

It’s with shining eyes as he continues.

 “You’ve been wooing me our entire lives.”

[lordabovehelpme]

Hello can do you something with Mando being in love with a reader who loves music and is very goofy (like Peter Quill from Guardians of the Galaxy) and they dance to the song I'm Not in Love from 10cc? I'm soft for your fics 🥺

I’m Not in Love- Din Djarin x Reader 

A/n: okay this was super cute to write, thank you for requesting you darn lovely anon. 

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you from outer space, because your body is out of this world!” Throwing the stoic beskar the best smirk you can, you wiggle your eyebrows.

His visor slowly turns to meet your eyes. “Is that really the best you have?”

Frowning, you cross your arms. “Maybe.” You pick up the child and he coos at you. “Usually it works.” A scoff breaks from his helmet. “Fine, well I am bored.”

“Go clean the blasters.”

“No, that’s boring and not fun. I am going to dance.” Grabbing your datapad, you throw on one of your favorite playlists. Beat It by Michael Jackson plays first. When the upbeat music starts to flood the small cockpit, you start to move your hips around. Throwing your arms over your head you move along with the rhythm. “Come dance with me.”

“I’m good.”

“No, you’re not.” Grabbing his hands, he lets you pull him from his chair. Placing him across from you in the tiny cockpit space you start dancing again. The Mandalorian just stands there. “Come on, we need more room.”

Pulling him with you down the ladder, you turn the volume up in the hull. Laughing, you start to move around, swaying your hips. Quietly singing the lyrics you reach for the beskar, holding his hands in yours and moving them along with your movements.

“Mando, please, dance with me.” You give him pleading eyes. “You’ll have so much fun.”

Sighing, the Mandalorian starts to sway from foot to foot. You giggle and pull him closer to you.

“Here, I’ll help you.” You place your hands on his hips and start pushing them in tune with your own. “It’s easy.”

While you’re moving him around, he can’t take his eyes off you. His face lifts into a smile when you focus yourself on making him dance. Your eyebrows squeeze together, creating a crease in your forehead. He wants so bad to run his lips over that line.

A coo is made by his feet, looking down the child has his arms outstretched. You laugh and pick him up, swaying with him in your arms. His heart swells at the sight. You meet his eyes and he nearly melts, the passion that twinkles in your own matches the sparks flowing through his veins.

Your laughter is like a melody sent from above, he wishes he could never stop listening to it. His cheeks are starting to hurt from smiling so much at you.

Both your bodies stop swaying when the song comes to an end, anticipation for the next tune. But, when the next song does start, you grab his shoulders and pull him right up against you. “This is a slow dance song.” Setting the child down, you place both your hands around his neck.

He nods, not quite sure if his heart can handle it. His own hands find purchase around your waist, just above the curve of your hips.

I’m not in love.

So don’t forget it.

It’s just a silly phase I’m going through.

You rest your head on his chest and you feel him relax. Your bodies move as one, swaying slowly back and forth. His own head moves to rest on your own.

And just because

I call you up

Don't get me wrong, don’t think you’ve got it made.

I’m not in love.

“Cyar’ika?” It surprises him more than you when he asks.

“Yeah?”

He doesn’t know what he wants to ask you. No, he does know. He wants to know if you feel the same pull; if you see the same glow around him that he sees around you. He wants to know if you get sad whenever he leaves, or if you smile wherever you think of him.

“Do you…” He has no words to describe what he wants.

“Goodness, have I made the great Mandalorian speechless?”

It’s true. He usually always knows exactly what to say and yet his brain can not even form one sentence right now. Do you know how much power you hold over him? Do you know how when you smile his heart skips a beat? Do you know how he loves you?

That's it. That's the word, he realizes. He loves you. It seems like such a simple word for something so extraordinary. No, that can’t be right. He is a Mandalorian, a fighter, a warrior, not a lover.

“Mando, what’s got your panties in a twist?”

He wished it was easy to tell you. For it to be some little thing that you can make better as you always do.

“Cyare…” You nod up at him, urging him to continue. “I love you.”

You both stop your movements as the song continues to play.

“How ironic. The song literally is about not loving someone, and yet here we are.”

He doesn’t know what you mean. His already mush brain is not able to analyze what you mean.

“I love you too you big Tin Can.”

That seems to light a fire in his body, his mind goes back to work, replaying your words over and over again.

“Close your eyes.”

“What!?”

“Close them Mesh’la.”

Giving him an apprehensive glance, you finally close your eyes. You feel his arms pull away from you and a puff of air flows down from above you. Before you know it, plush lips meet your own.

His heart has stopped. One of your hands grips his hair and he nearly moans. His own hands trail over your body, your perfect body. Lips move together at a lively and energetic pace. Neither of you wanting to stop.

Your mind is screaming for air but your heart is screaming for him.

His lungs feel as if they will collapse, but he fights it. This is everything he has ever wanted, he is not going to stop any time soon.

After a few more minutes, you have to pull away. You giggle as you start to sway, too lightheaded for your own good.

His heart swells at the sight of him leaving you giddy. He grabs your hips, pulling you into him.

I’m not in love.

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Okay, so this literally made my heart COMBUST. 

I hope you guys like it!

Love, Lordy.

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

Day 12: It Evaded Me - Poe Dameron

Day 12: It Evaded Me - Poe Dameron 

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader 

Rating: 18 +

This was a challenging prompt to write for just because of the wording but I am really happy with the way this has turned out.

Once again, thank you for reblogging, commenting, and liking. It means a lot to me that people are reading and enjoying my writing. :) 

November Writing Challenge Masterlist 

Day 11: Walk the Dog- William ‘Ironhead’ Miller 

You had been working on base for several weeks before you had first met him, the poster boy for the resistance, Poe Dameron. You were a transfer mechanic on a temporary assignment, assigned to Black Squadron. More specifically Black One, Poe Dameron's personal x-wing. The ship was hard to miss with its distinctive black and orange coloring it stood out among the others, just like the man himself. He was passionate (arrogant), outspoken (egotistical), and always (ALWAYS) messing up his damn ship. Which meant more work for you. 

This led to some colorful conversations between the two of you. It was getting so bad that after he came back last time you both had to sit down with the General and have a talk. You couldn’t stand the man honestly. It was like he was trying to get under your skin, and the worst part was you let him. 

“How’s my ship sparky?” came the smug voice you hated. 

“I told you stop calling me that,” you sighed, “we promised the General that we were going to be professional from now on and you make it really fucking hard when you call me...that.” It had been a late night attempting the repairs on Poe’s X-wing, the ship was in horrible condition after a run in with some ties. You were replacing a power coupling when you had gotten shocked. Poe had been unfortunately nearby and saw the whole thing causing thus beginning of your trouble with the cocky pilot. 

“Yeah, yea sorry about that,” he brushes off your comment, “but seriously how's my ship?” 

You groaned, “honestly? It’s a mess fly boy, how do you always manage to make such a mess and still manage to not die?” 

“I am the best pilot in the resistance, or hadn’t you heard?” he gives you that smirk and you honestly don’t know if you want to punch him or kiss him. 

Whoa...what the hell was that thought?! You shake your head to hopefully restart your brain into working again. Poe Dameron, hate him, horrible person, get it right. 

“You ok there?” Poe asks and for a moment you trick yourself into thinking he actually sounds concerned. 

“I’m fine,” you huff, “I just can’t stand to be near you for too long, I’m worried some of your ego may rub off on me like some disease,” you brush your clothes off for affect. 

You're too busy brushing yourself off. You miss the slight droop in his smile before he puts back on his poster boy face. “Well I won’t bother you anymore then, take care of my ship I’m leaving tomorrow for a mission.” 

“You're leaving again already? You just got back,” the words are out of your mouth before you can even process what you just said. 

Poe looks just as surprised, “yeah, I need to go retrieve some parts on Yavin for the General and I’m going to stay a couple extra days and visit my dad.” 

“Oh...ok...but, you’re taking the x-wing? Why don’t you take one of the larger transports since you will be bringing back supplies?”

“I am.” 

“Then...then why are you out here talking to me about your ship if you're not even taking it tomorrow?” your voice is quiet. 

Several emotions cross over his face before he masks them all with indifference, “I just want to make sure you don’t skimp on my ship while I’m gone.” 

Like a snap of your fingers, the ass is back, “Whatever Dameron, get the hell out of here and let me work. And leave BB-8, I could use his help.” 

The droid has been quiet during the whole exchange and rolls over to you. While Dameron was a nightmare his droid was the sweetest in the entire galaxy. You wave Poe off and he just turns away and leaves. 

You sit down and sigh, putting your head in your hands. Poe always left you with feelings you couldn’t understand. He could be so pleasant and then just...not in the blink of an eye. You feel the body of the droid press gently to your knee in comfort and you rest your hand on his dome head. “Is he always like this?” you ask the droid. 

Beep beep boop beep 

“Only with me? Well that’s a comfort,” you rub your fingers gently into your temples. 

Beep boop beep beep 

Your head snaps up and you look at the droid incredulous, “He what? Can you repeat that?” 

Beep boop beep beep 

You can’t help but burst out laughing, holding onto your sides as you almost slide off the crate your sitting on. “He...he likes me?! Oh BB-8 I didn’t realize you were programmed to tell jokes!” 

Beep Beep

“No, no BB-8 he does not like me, and I’m sorry buddy but I don’t like him like that either,” you pat him gently before going back to the x-wing leaving the conversation unfinished. 

The next morning, you wake up and shower. Walking to the mess hall to grab a quick breakfast before going back to the chaos of the x-wing. When you're just about to enter the mess hall you're quickly crowded back into one of the stone pillars holding up the structure. “Where the hell did you put them?” Poe Dameron asks, getting in your face. 

You push him away from you but he’s like a statue, unyielding. “What are you talking about?” you shout. His hand quickly comes over your mouth and you bite him. He yelps before pulling his hand back shaking it. 

“Will you quiet down! The General is in the mess and I don’t want her to hear us.” 

“Then don’t put your dirty hands over my mouth, I don’t know where the hell those have been!” you hiss at him. 

“Ok, okay….now back to my question, where did you put the keys to my transport?” 

“How the hell would I know where the keys are?!” you try to keep your voice down, “I’m a mechanic not your mother!” 

“Shhhhh!” he whispers at you before pulling you away from the mess hall and the warmth of your breakfast. You try to rip your arm out of his, to no avail.

“Where the hell are you taking me?” you ask. He doesn’t answer, just keeps pulling you back towards the personal quarters. 

When you reach his room, he pulls you inside before closing the door behind you, dropping your arm. “Ok, tell her exactly what you told me?” he gestures to BB-8. 

Beep Beep Boop Beep Beep 

Poe shakes his head before dropping to one knee in front of the droid, “You lied? Buddy, why would you lie to me?” 

Beep Boop Boop Beep 

“What do you mean you have something to show me BB-8? Show me what?” you ask kneeing beside Poe in front of the droid. You know it’s impossible but the droid almost looks like a delinquent child in front of his parents. 

BB-8 looks back and forth between the two of you before he begins to play a holographic recording. On the scene is Poe sitting down on his couch with his guitar strumming gently. 

“Turn it off,” Poe whispers horrified, “BB-8 turn it off right now.” 

The droid ignores him and continues to play the recording. Poe rises from his knee and begins pacing behind you running his hands through his curls. Your eyes are glued to the recording. 

“Why does she get under my skin so much buddy? It’s like...no it can’t be. I mean yes, she’s beautiful...smart...and god when she is covered in engine grease it’s one of the sexiest images in the verse….shit I...I like her don’t I?” Hologram Poe puts down the guitar before running his hands through his hair. 

BB-8 ends the recording and you don’t move for several minutes. Replaying the scene over and over again in your mind. You slowly rise to your feet and turn not sure what you're going to see. Behind you Poe Dameron, the hero of the resistance is staring at you a mixture of fear and hope on his face. 

You take a few hesitant steps toward him, he remains rooted to the ground. You reach out one hand tentatively toward him before placing it gently on his cheek, his head moves slowly into the embrace. “You like me?” you whisper. 

He nods slowly, “yeah…I wanted to deny it, it evaded me for so long. 

You nod slowly, running your hand down his neck, to his arm, and down to his hand. You hold his much larger hand in your own. He takes a step closer to you. “But you haven’t told me, how do you feel?” his words are low and deep and you feel the heat pooling between your legs. 

“....I think....you are one of the most infuriating men in the galaxy...but you're also kind, loyal, and the best pilot in the resistance, even if your reckless with your ship. I would be lying if I told you I haven’t been feeling something too.” 

He steps one step closer, and you feel his breath on your lips, “so what do we do now?” he whispers, you feel the ghost of his lips on your own. 

“This,” he whispers before moving the rest of the way and kissing you. His lips are soft and warm and his kisses are sweeter than any honey. He doesn’t push too far and your hands slowly reach up to bury into his curls. You open your mouth to sigh, and he slides his tongue into your mouth and you smile into the kiss. When you break apart for air he presses his forehead gently to your own. His smile matching your own. 

“That was...everything I thought it would be and more,” he tells you whispering. 

You press your lips to his lightly and he groans against your mouth when you begin to move your body against his own. He pulls back slightly, “as much as I want this, and god do I want this, I really need to find those keys and get going.” 

You pout slightly and he laughs pulling you in for several more small kisses. Both of you draw your attention to the small droid who is beeping happily. You both furrow your brow at him before he pops open a compartment on his body and out pops the keys on the ground. You both drop open your mouths before bursting into laughter. 

“I think your droid has been playing matchmaker,” you giggle at Poe. 

“Well if that’s one of the new upgrades they installed, I think it’s the best one yet!” he laughs with you. 

“Come along Commander, it’s time we get you off to your mission, we will have plenty more time to talk when you get back,” you go to move towards the door when his hand gently grabs your wrist. 

You look at him with questioning eyes, “I know I said this before….but I really like you….Sparky.” The grin that fills his face leaves with that same feeling you had yesterday, you want to either punch him or kiss him. But, this time you choose the latter, and you do. 

Day 13: Water Flowed - Llewyn Davis 

[illfoandillfie]

Easy As A-B-C

Pairing: Professor!Gwilym Lee x Reader

Summery:  Professor Lee is getting sick of marking papers, you offer an alternative. One where he doesn't need to think at all.

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected sex, bimbofication (without hypnosis), oral sex (m and f receiving), hand job, light dom/sub dynamic, dom!reader, sub!Gwil, overstimulation, maybe a little bit of hair pulling

Words: 4,537

A/N: This was massively massively inspired by my love @dracoladon​ and her Drarry fic Lucid (seriously, go read it because she’s a much better writer than me and also sex dumb Draco is hhhhhhh). Reading it made me want to write more himbo fics but without all the hypnosis stuff thats in my Future Management series. Then I got talking to @peachydeacon​ about himbo!Rog which led to talking about himbo!Gwil and this fic is the result of our discussion lmao. It was also partly inspired by a post on a porn blog that popped up on my dash but I can’t link to that because tumblrs dumb. 

Also, it is a professor gwil fic but set after reader has graduated so it’s all above board lmao

Blurb Advent: Day 24

Taglist:  @vee-ndetta @atomic-watermelon @kellypenac @labessieisallama​ @deakyclicks​ @jennyggggrrr​ @drowseoftaylor​ @hannafuckingsucks​ @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming​ @queenmylovely​ @ilovequeenmorethanyou​ @johndeaconshands​ @borhapbois​ @stardust-galaxies​ @cherries-n-rocknroll​ @rogersslave​ @scorpiogemini 

Gwilym looked unreasonably hot while he was grading papers, his brow knitted, wearing a look of serious concentration made all the more noticeable by the reading glasses sliding down his nose. His loose tie and the undone top buttons of his business shirt lent him a casually dishevelled air, and that wasn’t even mentioning the way he absentmindedly twisted his pen between his fingers as he read and reread sentences he was struggling to understand, occasionally pausing to underline something or write a note in the margins. It all painted a very sexy image, the kind of serious sexy only a professor could achieve, though this sexiness was nowhere near new. You’d found his manner oddly arousing even when he’d been your professor. Of course, that had been a few years ago and well before you’d had your chance encounter in the local second hand bookstore that led you to ask him out. He’d stuttered out something about never having even thought of you as more than his student and “really I feel almost as if I’ll get in trouble for the conversation as soon as I get back to campus.” But the awkwardness soon changed when you confessed to having had a minor crush on him back in the day and having since hoped to run into him. He seemed more open to the idea of dinner with you after that and, if you were being honest, more cocky too, but cocky in a decidedly dignified and charming way. Anyway, one thing led to another and now here you were somewhere close to a year and half later and you were struggling not to stare at Gwil as he graded papers and looked professor-ally disarrayed and hot.

You knew it was something to do with the Romantic era poets that the students had to write about because he’d read a question out to you earlier to get your opinion of if it was confusingly worded. “No, I don’t think so,” “Then why in god’s name do none of my students get it?” he looked about ready to hit his head against the desk until he passed out but he returned to the topmost paper with a sigh and ruffled hair from where he’d run his hand through it. That’s when you’d started trying not to stare. A tall order when all you could think about was dragging Gwil to the bedroom and ravishing him enough to make him forget all about John Keats and poetry and the English language itself. Not that that was exactly hard. No, Gwilym had a tendency to get a little dazed and confused when you really gave it to him. Sex drunk you’d decided to call it. A transformation that you quite delighted in witnessing and causing. Gwil was sharp as a tack usually, always ready with some obscure fact or quote from literature. It was part of what made him such a good teacher, his memory for all things bookish, as well as his approachable (if a little stern) demeanour and his determination to get the best from his students. But it wasn’t hard to shut down his brain, cloud his memory and entirely befuddle him. One time you’d snuck into the bathroom at the restaurant you’d gone to for dinner and poor Gwilym had become so spaced out he’d spilt half a glass of wine in his lap and then walked into the glass door as you left, even with you leading him by the hand. You supposed that what they said about great power and responsibility was true. All the same, it was a fun power to wield and you knew that, with the right sort of attention, you could have Gwilym babbling incomprehensible gibberish with no memory of what a poem even was, which was surely something he’d appreciate right about now.

You blinked yourself from your reverie as, finally, Gwil set his glasses aside and rose from his seat, groaning as he stretched out the stiffness in his back. He rolled his neck back and forth, your eyes following, before letting his shoulders drop and moving to sit next to you on the couch. “I can’t do it anymore, I can’t read another word about Byron or I’ll loose it.” He sighed, draping an arm around your shoulders and leaning into your neck. “Byron? I remember that assignment. Everyone hated you for it,” His breath was warm against your skin as he spoke, sending a tingle down your spine, “Well if this year’s lot is anything to go by, the feeling was probably mutual,” “Mmm, I remember one girl saying she was going to shove her copy of Don Juan up your arse if she didn’t pass,” He lifted his head again and laughed, “And yet my rectum remains Byron fee and no other injuries befell me, so either I taught you enough to get by or you were all a bunch of cowards,” “Bit of both probably. And why would this year’s be any different, huh?” “I don’t know, you haven’t read any of their attempts at cohesive analysis. Some of them are just throwing out terms like allusion and anapestic and personification all willy-nilly, clearly without properly understanding them. ” “I think you’re being too harsh on them. They’re first years after all and it’s not always easy to understand all that poncy poetical bullshit. Plus, you know it all already so of course everyone else seems stupid to you,” “Maybe,” he conceded, though it seemed to take some effort. “Honestly, someone should put you in their position, see how well you go with it,” “Yeah? And who would do something like that?” Gwilym laughed as you shifted to straddle his lap, accepting the kiss you offered, “You?” “Maybe I will. Spell personification for me,” “You know it’s not high school English, right. We don’t do pop quizzes on spelling and grammar.” “I know you don’t, but this is my subject and I’m testing spelling. Besides,” you let your hand drop between you, brushing lightly over the front of his pants, “I promise it’ll be fun.” Gwil gave a half-hearted eye roll, “P-E-R-S-O-N-I-F-I-C-A-T-I-O-N, personification. D’you want me to use it in a sentence too?” You knew he’d get it right. Gwil always had been good at spelling off the top of his head which you supposed was a side effect of all his reading and the years devoted to the written word. But it was still a little annoying. Mostly because he was being a bit of a tool about the whole thing, but it didn’t help that you’d grown quite wet thinking about how you’d like to have him, like to turn him into the fucked out airhead you’d seen before. You shook your head and tutted at him as if he got it wrong. “No, that’s definitely it. I’ve just read it about a hundred times, I know I’m right. P-E-R-S-O-N-I-F-I-C-A-T-I-O-N,” he spelt it faster that time, trying to prove that you were wrong. “Try allusion for me,” “A-L-L-U-S-I-O-N,” Right again. You sighed as if you were disappointed. Gwilym raised his eyebrows but said nothing. “What about caesura?” “C-E-A-S-U-R-A,” The mistake was an easy one to make, two letters flipped around the wrong way, and you could tell he knew it was wrong as soon as he’d said it. He was surprised when you leant forward to kiss him again, cupping his jaw with one hand as you dropped the other and slowly pulled down the zip on his work pants. “But I fucked up,” he said softly, eyes still closed as you pulled away a few centimetres. You just smiled as you thought of a new word, “Anapestic,” It was another word Gwil had mentioned as seeing in his student’s essays so you knew it would be fresh in his mind and he proved as much when he spelt it, “A-N-A-P-E-S-T-I-C,” He was right of course, so you tutted and pulled your hand away from his crotch, grabbing his chin with your other and forcing him to look at you, “You can do better than that.” His features shifted at the sudden loss of contact, the look of concentration returned once more. If anything, your much closer proximity to the expression made him seem all the more hot but you resisted the urge to give in and drag him to the bedroom, curious if he’d catch onto your little game now and, equally so, to see if he’d play along, “Try Onomatopoeia.” A longer word gave him more chances to get things wrong but would his pride and his brain allow that? Apparently so. “O-N-O-M-” Gwil paused and thought for a second, his eyes narrowed as his looked at you, “O-N-O-M-A-T-O-P-I-A,” the last three letters were said with such deliberate diction that you knew he’d figured it out. “Good boy,” you said, letting your hands slip inside his undone pants to massage his dick. His hips jolted at the contact and he let his hands fall to your arse, squeezing. “What about, dactyl?” His reply was instant, unthinking, and totally correct, “D-A-C-T-Y-L,” You clicked your tongue condescendingly as you once again removed your hands from him. “Fuck,” “Well that’s what happens when you get things wrong, honey, and such an easy one too,” “I didn’t get it wro- fine, give me another,” You smiled, unable to hide how delighted you were that he was interested in following your rules, even if it was just his competitive streak rearing its head to show that he could out smart you, “Assonance,” Gwilym spelt the word slowly and carefully, making sure to only say one ‘s’ and to leave off the ‘e’. And you made sure to reward him for it, shuffling backwards on his lap so you could shimmy his pants down his thighs and wrap your hand around his cock. He raised an eyebrow at you but otherwise made no comment as he leant back in his seat to enjoy the attention. “Romanticism,” Once again Gwilym was careful with his spelling, intentionally replacing the ‘c’ with a double ‘s’ but that was the kind of behaviour you wanted to encourage so you kept stroking him off, twisting your wrist, dragging your thumb over his flushed tip. It must have felt good with the way he was sighing, shifting his shoulders as if to move his whole body closer to yours. “So clever baby, what about,” you paused, dredging up memories of poetry analysis and the words you used to have burned into your brain but which you’d not had much use for recently, “Enjambment” “Ummm, E-N,” Gwil hummed as you leant over him and let a trail of spit drip onto his cock, using your hand to spread it over his length, “Enjamb-ment, uh, E-N-J-A- no E, no A, M-E-N-T,” You leant into his ear and spoke softly, “That’s right, being so good for me, so clever. What should I do next though? Ride you? Or maybe suck you off? Or just keep doing this?” “Uh,” Gwilym shook his head a little as if to clear it, “mouth? Please?” “Of course, baby. If you can spell dissonance for me.” You were quietly confident that he’d get the spelling wrong, already noticing the first sign of his impending brainlessness, extra filler words where he’d normally not need them. It was funny though, usually he wouldn’t reach that stage until he was much closer to nutting. “D-I-S” he rushed through the first three letters and then stopped, biting his lip, “T-um, A-N-E-N-C-E.” You were sure the errors in that word were less intentional than the previous few and, as promised, slipped off his lap and settled yourself between his legs, pulling his pants off so he could spread them wider for you. You held eye contact as you let your tongue trail along the underside of his cock, tracing along a vein, though you couldn’t help but smile as he groaned above you. “Can you spell Decasyllable for me?” you asked before closing your lips around the head of his cock. “What? Oh, um, D-E-C-K- fuck,” he broke off as you swirled your tongue around his tip. “Fuck’s not a letter, baby,” you sank down on him again, bobbing a little lower. “I know, um, Deck-syllable, D-E-C-K-A-S-Y-B-L-E, I think. Is that right?” In answer you hummed and took him a little deeper, pushing his shirt up towards his chest. Gwilym took the hint and pulled it off before he grabbed your hair, leaning his head against the back of the couch. For a moment you just focused on sucking him off, listening to his shallow breathing and whiny groans. But you weren’t finished with your game yet.

“Epigraph?” you asked before bobbing down on him again, pushing yourself to take him deeper still. Gwilym remained silent as you gagged and pulled back from him again to breath freely. “Well?” “What did you say?” “Epigraph. Can you spell that?” He nodded as you resumed your bobbing, his hand grabbing at your hair, “E-P-P-E-G-R-A-F-F.” You hummed around him and his hips bucked up, pushing him further down your throat for a second. “No, don’t stop,” he whined under his breath as once again you let him fall from between your lips. “Sorry baby,” you wrapped your hand around his base and switched back to jerking him off, “you’re so hard though and I know you want to earn your orgasm like a good boy,” Gwilym nodded. “Okay, so spell meter,” “M- oh, I don’t know,” “You do know, baby, you just gotta try. Meter,” He scrunched his face up in thought, “M-E-E-T-R,” “See, I said you knew it, and you did it so well!” Gwilym gave you a dopey smile, looking proud at your praise, “I did?” His mouth dropped open with the movement of your hand. “Of course baby! You got it completely right because you’re so clever. What about sonnet, do you think you can do that one for me?” He nodded enthusiastically, “S-N-E-T,” “Very good! Okay, three more and I’ll let you cum,” “Okay!” “Okay, what about,” you thought for a moment, watching your hand pumping over his shaft as you trailed your fingernails lightly over his thigh, “Spell rhyme,” “Ummm,” Gwilym bit his lip in thought, soft grunting noises rising in his throat in time with your strokes. “It’s a bit of a tricky one,” “Yeah.” “And it’s hard to concentrate isn’t it?” “Mmhmm, so hard to con-ten-tate,” he thought for a little longer as you slowed your hand, “rrr- R-I-M,” “So clever baby! Okay canto,” “Oh! Ummm,” Gwilym pouted and whined as you unexpectedly drew the tip of your tongue around his head, “I don’ know,” “No?” He shook his head, eyebrows furrowed. “Okay what about, poem?” Gwilym seemed to have reached the last dregs of his knowledge, grunting in frustration as he shook his head again.” “You sure you don’t know?” He bucked his hips up into your hand as he shook his head again. “Alright, I’ll give you an easy one then. Spell your name for me, spell Gwilym,” Gwil’s eyes lit up at the suggestion but his face quickly slipped into a frown again, the expression getting more pronounced with every passing second he didn’t say anything. He sought out your face, his eyes brimming with frustrated tears, “I don’t…” his fists balled up as he looked to you for help. “You don’t remember?” He shook his head once more, a tear shaking loose and rolling down his cheek, “you said it was easy.” “It’s okay if you don’t know,” “Really?” he sniffled. “Of course it’s okay. You’re not supposed to know things.” “I’m not?” “Awww, of course not baby. That’s why I’m here, to know things, and you’re just here to make me happy.” Gwilym sighed and leaned back against the couch, smiling again. “Do you want to give it a try for me?” “Umm,” he whined as you slowed your strokes “It would make me very happy,” “Okay, umm…G? L? ummmm, M?” “You’re so clever, baby!” Gwilym giggled proudly and grinned at you as you adjusted your grip on his cock. “You’re my good, smart boy, aren’t you baby?” “Mmhmm,” he bucked his hips towards you as you took him into your mouth again. “Feels go-od,” he mumbled, almost panting with how close he was. You dragged the hand that rested on his thigh up to cup his balls as you sucked on his tip until he moaned and came, spilling his seed over your tongue.

You kept working your hand along his length, even after you’d pulled your mouth from him. “Was that a good orgasm baby? Did it make you feel good?” He nodded, pouting a little as you kept wanking him, “good oggsam,” It took all your effort not to laugh at that, biting on the inside of your cheek to keep from letting so much as a chuckle slip. Very few things delighted you as much as when Gwil forgot how to talk properly. “You know,” you said as you finally let his cock free, “sometimes when people have orgasms they feel euphoric. Do you feel euphoric?” “Mmhmm, you-porik.” “Clever boy. Do you want to help me feel euphoric?” “How?” “With your mouth,” “Oh! Okay!” You braced yourself against his knees as you stood, leaning forward to give Gwil a small kiss on the lips. He closed his eyes and smiled up at you contentedly as you shimmied out of your own clothes, dropping them all to the floor. “You going to let me lie down?” you asked, tapping Gwil on the shoulder. He looked around confusedly for a moment before his eyes settled on you, growing wider as he realised how naked you were. Without warning he surged forward, his hands grabbing your arse as he nuzzled his face in the valley between your breasts. If it were up to Gwil he would have stayed there all day but you had need for him elsewhere so you yanked his head back by his hair, earning a small noise of displeasure. “Don’t complain, baby. You want to make me feel euphoric, right?” “Mmhmm,” he hummed earnestly. “And how do you think you could do that?” “I don’t know,” “Maybe, cunnilingus?” “cun-un-un-un-gus,” “Exactly,” you directed his gaze down to your pussy, failing to hide your amused grin. But he was too far gone to notice, happily slipping to his knees in front of you. Telling him to wait for a second, you climbed onto the couch and spread your legs, beckoning him between them once you were comfortable.

He hadn’t been able to say the word but that didn’t mean he wasn’t skilled at the act. A string of soft hums and throaty sounds rose to your lips as he licked your cunt, the scratchy sensation of his beard only amplifying the soft, wet, warmth of his tongue.   “Can you, oh, can you spell poem for me baby?” Gwilym hummed and then started naming letters, his mouth still pressed against your cunt as if he didn’t realise he couldn’t talk and suck at the same time. You didn’t bother to stop him when he said too many letters or correct him when all of them were wrong. You just let his breath wash over you, his tongue flicking against your clit with each new letter, eliciting longer moans and sighs from you. “Fuck Gwil,” you panted, “keep going,” “Keep going,” he repeated, his voice muffled as he dragged his tongue all the way down your slit and then back up again, making you whine. You jolted when he reached your clit again and pressed against his head, keeping him close to you, your other hand trailing up your chest to tweak your nipples and knead your breasts. Occasionally you’d give him an instruction – “faster please,” or “do that again,” or “fuck Gwil, right there,” – and he’d repeat the words back to you, softened and often a little slurred together or mispronounced, before doing as he was asked, drawing you closer to release. He was pleased whenever another groan or mewl slipped from your lips, responding to them with sounds of his own as if he were savouring a particularly delicious meal. It seemed he’d taken what you’d said about making you happy to heart, though some of his whines might have had more to do with his cock, hard again and straining to be touched as his attention remained focused on you. “I’m c-lose ba-by,” you grunted as Gwilym pressed his mouth to your lower lips, as if to give you a soft chaste kiss, only to begin shaking his head side to side, rubbing his face against your cunt. “loase,” he muttered to himself, trailing his tongue back up to your clit, making you grind your hips up into him. It was impossible to keep your mouth shut in the face of such a feeling, wantonly moaning as you felt your orgasm bubbling to the surface. Gwilym hummed against you in response to a particularly loud moan which managed to be your undoing, your knees trying to clamp shut around his head as he continued to suck at your clit.

When you calmed enough to let go of his hair and loosen your thighs from around his ears, Gwilym looked up at you. His face was shiny and wet but he seemed to have regained some of his usual awareness. His eyes weren’t quite as vacant and his smile less dopey than it had been. “Feel good?” he asked, sounding almost normal except for a slight lightness in his tone. “Very good baby,” you leaned forward and kissed him full on the lips, tasting yourself as he opened his mouth and accepted your tongue. Slowly you dropped your hand between you, finding his cock again, not quite done with your brainless toy. He grunted against your lips and bucked into your hand as you stopped his return to sense. “Isn’t this fun?” you said softly as you pulled back, holding Gwil by the chin to stop him from trying to follow. “Yeah, fun,” a smile slowly tugging at his lips, “what is?” “Not needing to think, baby,” “Oh! Yes,” he laughed. “You’re too pretty to have a brain anyway, aren’t you? Much better off letting it leak out of your head,” “Mmhmm, much,” “And do you know what good, dumb boys get?” “No?” “They get fucked. Would you like that?” “Yes yes yes,” “Alright, lie back for me,” you chuckled, giving his cock a final stroke. Gwilym settled on the carpet on his back, grinning as you straddled his lap. Silently he held out his hand, all but two of his fingers folded against his palm. “No, I don’t need your fingers sweetie,” you said, giving the tips of his two fingers a light kiss, “as dextrous as they are and as much as I enjoy them, I think I’m okay skipping straight to your cock,” He nodded, letting you place his hand down on the floor again. You watched his face as you slowly sank down onto him, once again the picture of cunt drunk bliss with glazed eyes and his lip between his teeth. He smiled as you leaned down to kiss him, rolling your hips against his slowly. As you tongues entwined again, Gwilym framed your waist with his hands, slowly dragging them up your sides and onto your chest. He cupped each of your breasts in one of his palms, squeezing softly as you rocked forward and back. “Better than Byron isn’t this?” you asked, pushing yourself up a bit, but not so far you couldn’t kiss him again. “Wha’s Byron?” You laughed, “Y’know I think this might be the dumbest I’ve seen you. Can’t believe all it took was a rigged spelling test. He obviously didn’t understand, staring blankly back at you.

What he did understand was that you were moving further away from him and he whined as you pushed yourself to sit higher again, bracing your hands on his chest as you used your knees to raise and lower yourself. It still wasn’t enough though so you shifted again before too long, placing a hand behind you to grab Gwil’s leg. You leant back on it changing the angle of Gwilym’s cock, and felt his hands drop from your chest, no longer able to reach as easily. They came to rest on your leg, his fingertips digging into your skin as you rode him, keening as you felt the start of your orgasm building in the pit of your stomach. “Fuck Gwil, fill me so well, feels so good,” “My dex-ik-tus cock?” You couldn’t help but laugh, taken by surprise at his misunderstanding and mispronunciation of dextrous, but you nodded in agreement too, repeating your sentiments about how good it felt. “Wanna make me feel even better?” “How?” You sat forward again and reached for his hand, pulling it to your clit. Gwilym took the hint, messily rubbing as you bounced on his cock, but his whines and moans only grew as you rode him. “You’re close?” “Mmhmm,” You were on the verge of asking if he could hold it when he came with a groan, pulsing inside you. But you didn’t stop. “I’m close too, baby, so I’m gonna keep fucking you, okay?” He nodded, eyes fixed on you. “Good boy.” You panted, grabbing his wrist to hold his hand at your clit and adjusting your rhythm. Each time you sank back down onto him you did it harder, slamming his cock into you as deep as you could manage, groaning with each one. Your orgasm was frustratingly close but Gwilym was becoming steadily more sensitive as his subsided, wincing more with each of your thrusts. The winces turned to whimpers which turned to whines as you whispered that you were so close. “Almost baby, almost,” “Please. Hur’s,” “Nearly, just. One. More,” you threw your head back with a moan as you finally found your release, Gwil whining when you pulsed around him, a fresh tear running from the corner of his eye onto the carpet as he squirmed under you.

“Sorry, baby,” you said softly as you carefully dismounted him. He hummed as you kissed him again, leaving an extra kiss against the tip of his nose. “Did so well, such a good boy for me,” “Yeah?” “Mmhmm, so good,” He gave you a slightly watery smile and let you pull him into a cuddle, sighing contentedly when you brushed your fingers through his hair. You stayed like that for a while, knowing that later you’d regret lying on the floor for so long but unable to find the energy to move or the willpower to tell Gwilym you had to let him go. He gradually lost the fucked out expression, becoming more aware of his surroundings and more capable of clear speech. “How are you feeling?” you asked when you realised he’d blinked away the last of his sex drunk vacancy. “Better than before. Little tired but much more relaxed and very satisfied. And, before you ask, yes that’s satisfied and yes I can spell it if you want,” “I believe you.”

[cptnbvcks]

Ok but, what if Din doesn't even know he has a big dick...? Cuz like, is not like Mandalorian recruits are comparing their shit in the locker room or anything

OMFlI ST EN…. i wrote all this out and it got Too Long and Not Very Detailed and i had to stop so here’s a half baked near-fic length drabble about mando having some big meat enjoy

- imagine it’s finally time. you two have been dancing around each other like two peacocks, stewing in mutual pining ever since you joined him on the razor crest. space is lonely and this ship is cramped and it finally gets to the point where if you don’t do something about this elephant in the room one of you might actually go feral. 

- so he has you, finally, sitting up on your elbows ontop of his hastily thrown cloak on the floor of the ship with clothes ripped open and your tits spilling out from the vicious tear he’s made through the thin tunic’s neckline. you can feel him watching you, and you can hear him undressing himself because you’re useless without your sight. and you want to see but he’s set the deal in concrete — blindfolds or complete darkness. he could fuck you with the armor on, but it seems a little too formal for the occasion. so blindfolds it was. 

- you reach to touch him. to touch any part of him. you want to keep feeling the warmth of his skin everywhere. he’s so warm; warmer than the beskar, softer too. he grabs your hand and guides your blind path and you realize he’s closer than you expected, nuder that you expected. 

- your mouth goes dry as he presses your hands over his chest and you feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat. you spread your fingers, testing his skin like you’re amazed it even exists. 

- “it’s alright,” he reassures, his voice dragging low in his throat and you shiver at the clarity. every octave hits your ears and you can imagine his mouth now as he speaks, “touch me, it’s okay.” 

- you think it’s a little crazy at the fact that that’s what makes you blush. not the fact that you’re laying here, tits out and one thin scrap of fabric away from being totally naked, unable to see if he’s looking at your face or your chest. but the jagged vulnerability of his voice, the falter in the usual authoritativeness of it — it makes you blush.

- your hands slip lower and you can hear the way he inhales deep. his chest is smooth and you follow the soft lines of his muscles until your fingertips begin to encounter a soft trail of coarse hairs. his breath falters and you’re almost struck by the sudden awareness of how different his breathing sounds without the warp of the helmet’s modulator. 

- your own breaths start to fall in tandem and his hand is still around your wrist and you didn’t realize you had hesitated until his voice breaks in the darkness again, “it’s okay.” is he convincing you, or himself? you’re not very sure because it’s his hand that takes the lead and guides your touch where he needs it. 

- maybe you’re just imagining things now; making stuff up in your head because you can’t see what you’re doing. but how could your mind be playing tricks on you when you can feel the thickness of his shaft pressing beskar-hard against your palm as he wraps your fingers around him. he’s heavy in your hand and you can only just barely feel the tip of your longest finger against the tip of your thumb. by the maker, there’s no way.

- your jaw hangs loose and the mandalorian takes that as an invitation to lean forward and kiss your upper lip, sighing softly into your mouth as though he hasn’t just put the thickest cock of your life in your hands. 

- your brow furrows behind the blindfold and you let out a soft disbelieving noise and now you really wonder if you’re going crazy when he starts guiding your hand along his length, tightening your grip as he slowly herds you down onto your back. he spreads you beneath him with your legs spread against his thighs and suddenly your cunt feels really fucking vulnerable right about now.

- your heart hammers hard in your chest and you count the seconds until your fingers finally feel the soft ridge of his cock’s head, already leaking pre-cum into your palm as the bounty hunter thrusts eagerly into your touch. holy fucking shit. where does he think he’s putting that?

- “m-mando—” you really want to lie to yourself that everything’s fine. that you’re just exaggerating in your head because you can’t fucking see. but when he pushes your hand back down on the bed and for just a second you’re lost in the dark without his guidance.

- then you feel the head of his cock. thick and smooth and it jolts you back to your senses when it catches against your clit. he groans and he’s pushing down, guiding himself where he needs to be, and you can’t fucking see and he’s hardly got the tip of his dick in you and—

- holy fuck.

- “wait— wait, mando—” 

- he stops immediately and you hear the tension in his voice as your walls squeeze around the first inch of his cock. his head is low against your shoulder as he breaths raggedly, swallowing around the dryness in his throat, “wh-whats wrong?”

- “i-i need more. i’m not ready yet. you won’t—” 

- your words disintegrate when he pulls back out, his cock brushing up against your clit again and your thighs try to squeeze shut around his waist. he cups a hand over your pussy, slipping two fingers in with ease and you can hear the wet sound of his fingers as he works them into you until you squirm. 

- you think you’re stalling for time and you think he knows it too. 

- “you’re wet enough. why the hesitation?” 

- his voice is strung out, gravelly the way it always was when he woke in the mornings, and fuck his voice is foreign but the words are so familiar when he speaks them. his thumb’s pressing fast circles into that aching bundle of nerves and his fingers curl and you know he feels you get even wetter. you know he’s watching you from somewhere above; you can feel his exhales on your cheek. 

- “too big—” you half wheeze out, “maker, you barely fit in my hand.” 

- “you have very small hands.” 

- you know that was supposed to be a joke and maybe you would have laughed if you weren’t seriously concerned that your hands were totally average sized and his cock wasn’t. 

- you open your mouth to retort something while you still have the brain function to, granted his fingers are pulling every coherent thought out of your head. a small thought ebbs in the back of your head; low simmer and quietly urgent and you reach for the tail end of that thought before mando can finger fuck it right out of your head. 

- his words. there was something… humble about it. what man in this edge of the galaxy would combat a woman telling him his cock was too big to fit? 

- “wait,” your hand is on his chest and you feel his nipple beneath your palm, “has—has no one ever told you that?”

- his fingers still inside of you and you wonder if you hit a cord somehow. it didn’t feel like you had stoked his pride but rather hit something a little more vulnerable. “can we talk about this later?” 

- you bite your lip and wonder what could be hiding behind his defensiveness. 

- you slip your hand back down his chest again, familiar with the path now as you reach down and grab his cock again, pulling him to you as he takes the hint and slides his fingers out of your heat. he touches your hip and you feel the wet smear of your own juices against your skin. he’s right — you were wet enough. 

- you guide him back to you, “fine,” you concede, “but— slow. go slow.” 

part 2 if u care: talking to mando about his big dick issues while getting deep dicked

[detroitbydark]

Every Dog Has His Day

Characters: Hound/OC

Summary: Insecurities abound for Coruscant’s favorite late night DJ.

Warnings: None

A/N: So Hound is a golden retriever in clone armor and I would kill for him. All the love to my girls @skdubbs​ and @crimson-dxwn​ who deal with me while Ido this. 

-----

“Mister, can I pet your dog?”

Hound looks down at the small child squinting up at him; he’s got a gap where his front teeth should be and the ‘mister’ comes out more like a ‘mither’. The kids’ moms stand a pace behind him, one smiling brightly while the other glances nervously from Hound to Grizzer. 

“Is it ok with your folks?” He’d been to his fair share of PR in services since being transferred to Coruscant. He glances at both women. He receives a nod from the more laid back of the two.

“Grizzer, sheber.” The massiff throws his hind quarters down with such force that both he and the nervous mother laugh. Grizzer’s tail wags a mile a minute as he takes it upon himself to lay on his belly and crawl slowly toward the child.

“He’s a good boy as long as you're not a bad guy” Hound says squatting down. The little boy's eyes get wide as Hound tips his bucket forward, stage whispering. “You listen to your moms, right?”

The kid nods rapidly. Hound laughs, lets relief fill his voice. “Oh good, you should be safe then.”

 Grizzer eats up the attention, laying his big head in the child’s lap. Soon three other children join in. Hound talks to their parents, every now and then glancing at his partner. The massiff has turned from a well trained soldier to a glob of mush under the fawning of the children.

 This was just another part of the job. Public relations was a big deal. Clones got a bad rap. Every now and then, a few troopers on leave trying to drown bad memories of the war would get on the wrong side of the law and throw the whole damn clone army back two paces in the public opinion polls, and it was the job of troopers like Hound and the rest of the Guard go try to be poster boys for the rest of them. At times like this it wasn’t hard. 

“Hound. Time to break it up. I need you to do a sweep of the central pavilion.” Commander Fox’s voice rings clearly in his bucket.

“Roger that, Commander” he says before turning to address the small gathered group, “alright now, Grizzer and I have to be getting back to work.” A small chorus of ‘Awwws’ makes him chuckle.  The massiff looks at him as to say the same.

“Come on, buddy. Borarir.” Hound gives the command for work and Grizzer perks up, giving an excited yip as he darts to Hounds side in a tight heel. “Tell your new friends bye,” Hound encourages and Grizzer gives a loud woof that has all the kids -and a few of their parents- laughing.

Hound’s head goes on a swivel as soon as they turn away. “Time to get serious now,” he instructs the animal at his side. Grizz gives him a look. “I know. I know,” hound says, reaching down to pet his head, “you don’t need to be told twice.”

The massiff huffs and his nose falls to the duracrete. Fete weeks were always crazy and with the rise they’d been seeing in terrorist activities, Commander Fox had wanted everyone on high alert.

Since being transferred to Coruscant, Hound has grown to love the craziness of Fete weeks and while New Year Fete week was his favorite, he enjoyed the Festival of Life nearly as much. Someday he hoped to experience it as a spectator and not the security.  

They skirt along the perimeter of the pavilion, where a local band was warming up. The smell of fest food from the stand of carts across the way has both Hound and Grizzer aiming their noses toward the various booths of sweet fruits, spit roasted meats, and honeyed pastries.

“Let’s make one good pass and I’ll treat you to some nerf-“

Grizzer woofs quietly.

“Fine” Hound clarifies, “I’ll treat us to some nerf.”

Toward the end of their loop Hound comms an all-clear to his nearby colleagues.  He'd do another loop in an hour or so but for now he'd wait and watch. 

The band has started playing finally and Grizzer puts himself in a heel as the pair sit and listen for a spell. The different radio stations have booths set up, slinging merch and freebies at passing fete goers. Hound’s eyes scan looking for IRR’s booth. He doesn’t recognize the guy signing autographs, but he does remember the head of pastel purple hair fondly. 

“That’s her bud,” he says, glancing down quickly at the massiff at his side, “Told you she was real pretty, didn’t I?”

Grizzer scents the air in the direction of the IRR booth.

Nuna Skii is off to the side unpacking boxes of this and that and setting it out on the table for passers-by. 

“I should go say hi,” he says after a minute to psych himself up. He clicks his tongue lightly and Grizzer falls in at his side as he walks towards the tables. A holoboard has been set up with the names and times each personality will be signing autographs. Hound frowns when he scans the board and doesn’t see Nuna’s name listed. The others were ok, he guessed, but who would want anyone but Nuna Skii’s signature?

“Oh my maker! What a cute baby!” Hound glances up in time to see Nuna dip down onto her knees as Grizzer leans in and gives her a wet kiss. She giggles as the massiff leans his heavily armored body against her.

“Grizz!” he scolds, and the mas’ looks up at him with a pleased look on his muzzle. 

“Oh it’s you! Hound!” Nuna tries to stand but Grizzer places a meaty paw on her shoulder. She laughs as she rubs under his jaw. “This cutie belongs to you?”

“You could say that. We’re partners.”

Hound tries not to feel jealous as Grizzer's face is held between her small hands and she coos to him. “Big tough guard mas’. Such a sweet boy, aren’t you?” He'd give good credits right now to swap places.

“You really think he’s cute?” Hound asks as Grizzer finally lets her stand and lays down between the pair of them, head resting over one of Hound’s boots.

“What? Of course!” Her smile is bright and her deep brown eyes sparkle as she talks. “I mean, I guess there’s no accounting for taste. I had this great uncle who kept a strill named…” Nuna rubs the back of her head, “I haven’t thought about that in years,” she laughs, “I think he called it Mird? Anyway, I loved that little thing and let me tell you, Strill are certainly never going to be on the top of any list of traditionally beautiful creatures.”

Hound knows he’s staring, but she’s chattering on and he can’t help himself. When she mentions the name of the strill something pings in his memory banks but he can’t quite place it. Before he has a chance she asks him a question.

“I’m sorry,” he offers, “what was that again?”

“I was asking if you heard my shout out last week?” She’s glancing down toward Grizzer almost bashfully. When she looks back up she has her lower lip trapped between her teeth and a smile lighting up her features. Hound’s brain turns to mush. “I hope it wasn’t too much?”

Too much? He’d felt like the man for days afterwards. He’d gotten a shout out on Nuna Skii’s show and all his vode knew it. 

“No it was great. Thanks.” He tries to play it cool, like it hadn’t been the single greatest thing that had happened in the last standard rotation.

“Cool.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.” They look at each other silently for a moment before they both laugh awkwardly. Grizzer’s muzzle swings from one human toward the other, a wondering tilt to his head.

“So...uh… you’re not signing autographs later?” Hound gestures to the holoboard. Nuna waves him off.

“Oh, I don’t do the whole autograph thing. I like to keep the fantasy alive.”

He cocks his head curiously. In all honesty, he’d had more fantasies since he’d met her on the side of the skylane than he’d ever had before. It was one thing to think of his favorite voice in the galaxy as an unattainable holomodel, but to actually meet her and see that she was the cute girl next door. It added a whole new level to his personal time. Now he  thought less about long slender legs wrapped around his hips and more about gripping on to soft, warm thighs. Less about pristine make-up and perfect hair and more about the way he’d noticed her pale brown eyes crinkle at the corners as she smiled. 

And her voice. He imagined she’d use that on-air voice just for him. It made his toes curl in his boots just thinking about it.

“My fans have a certain image of me in their heads. I don’t want to ruin it.” 

He wants to tell her to shift it. The image she was throwing off now was absolutely grade A but he hesitates and the moment is gone.

“So, uh, do you like food?” He cringes as the words come out of his mouth, “I mean, I was gonna get a few nerf skewers.” He clenches his hand into a fist at his side so he doesn’t start rubbing the back of his helmet. There really was no reason his palms should be sweating like they were. “I could grab you one if you want or,” he shrugs, “you could walk over there with us, maybe.”

That same bashful smile lights her face as she glances at the booth around her and back over to the personality signing autographs.

“I mean, if you can’t, that’s ok too. I was just thinking.” Hound wants to kick himself. Any game he had was completely lost the second he’d started talking to her. “If you're busy, maybe I could just get your comm and we could do it another time.”

Grizzer whines at his feet.  Nuna looks down. “Aww is the poor guy starving?”

No, he wasn't, Hound thinks. The mooch had his rations and half of Hounds just an hour before. He was embarrassed for his master. 

“Yeah, that must be it.”

“Well we should get him something to eat, right Grizz?”

Under his bucket, Hound can’t fight the grin. Grizzer barks happily as he rises to his feet and stretches his spiny back into the air. “I guess that settles it. You, me, and the massiff makes three” he jokes lamely.

——

“You look smug?” Tully gives Nuna a questioning look. 

“I’m not smug.” Nuna hums along to the song playing in her headphones. “What’s the name of that band from Corellia? The one with the Nikto drummer?”

“Nunz, what’s with the smile?” Tully doesn’t answer her question.

“I think it’s something in Ryl-“

“Nuna!”

Nuna can’t fight the grin on her face. “Fine. I just had a good day is all.”

Tully looks unimpressed with her answer. “You spent all day slinging merch at a fete. It was hot. You didn’t sleep. You hate not sleeping. I’m going to ask you again-“

The thought of telling her friend and coworker about Hound had crossed Nuna’s mind, but she’d quickly pushed it away. It had just been a fun little distraction from an otherwise boring day. Nothing much else to say about it. They’d both been working and decided to share lunch together. He had a cute partner and, really, had she been expected not to snuggle with a cuddly mas’ when given the opportunity? The look on Tully’s face says she’s not going to give up. Nuna throws her a bone.

“I maybe had lunch with someone today but it was nothing. Really. I mean it was just a guy being super nice.” The words spill from her mouth like bolts from a repeating blaster. Tully stares for a second, then two.

“You had a date? At the fete? While you were working?”

“What? No! Absolutely not. I took my lunch break and had company, that's all.” 

The Pantoran crosses her arms over her chest and tips her chin before glancing up at her friend. “Who paid?”

Uh-uh. They were not going there. “It was not a date, Tull.” She did not date that was strictly a thing of the distant past- light years ago, even.

“Who paid?” Tully asks again, undeterred.

“I-“

“He paid! Maker, girl! You had a date! Who is he? Why didn’t you mention him before? I mean, I thought we were friends. Spill!”

Thankfully, Nuna finds herself saved by the chrono. The commercial break is ending as she turns away from the steady gaze of her friend.

“We’re not done talking about this,” Tully warns as Nuna mashes the button to her mic. 

“Nuna Skii getting you through the night. You know what’s better than a boy in blue?” The switch in persona is instant, years of practice allowing her to skip into sexy DJ mode without thought, “The answer is absolutely nothing. That last one was going out to the boys of the 501st. May your aim be true and your stims be strong.”

“I know I saw some of you lovelies enjoying the Festival of Life today. Why don’t you give me a call and tell me what you thought? I am oh so lonely tonight. Wanna keep me company?” She pitches her voice low. Tully rolls her eyes. The comm lines light up. The producer signals for line 2 with a quick flash of her hand.

“Nuna,” the first call starts, “we’re with the 234th and we’re your biggest fans!” There’s the sound of whooping in the background.

“You are too sweet,” Nuna coos, “anything I can play for you?”

“Uhh… something durasteel?”

“I got you, handsome. Thanks for listening!”

Nuna starts hunting down the next song as she switches callers to the next line Tully’s vetted. 

“This is Nuna,” she purrs in greeting.

“Nuna? This is Sergeant Sinker with the 116th Wolffe Pack.” 

“Well a-woo to you Sergeant Sinker. Were you home for fete week?”

Voices rise up in the background. Nuna stifles a giggle as she hears her caller yelling at a Boost and a Comet. 

“We’re still off world. We just wanted to say we love your show and see if you could give our Commander a shoutout?”

“Well isn’t that the absolute sweetest? I think you've called in before, right? You know, I always have love for the 116th and that very surly Commander Wolffe of yours-“

“Nuna Marry me!” The voice sounds far away and is followed by the sound that she can only assume is wrestling for the comm before it clicks off.

“I’m not accepting any proposals today darlings. Why don’t we listen to that request and a quick commercial break?”

Nuna wonders if Hound is listening. She’s surprised that she hopes he is.

“So spill it, girl.” Tully doesn’t waste time as the music starts playing and the mic cuts off. Nuna sighs. Apparently she wasn’t going to forget so quickly.

“He paid,” she admits, trying to ignore the smugness she hears in Tully’s voice.

“So you had a date. Was that so hard to admit?”

Nuna still refuses to call it a date because she hadn’t dated in ages and a pretty smile and a flashy set of armor and kama weren’t about to change that. She scrolls through a datapad playlist but she can feel her friends' eyes boring into her.

“You know you're allowed to put yourself out there. Most of them are fekking disgusting but there’s a few good ones.” Tully’s voice softens. “They’re not all him.”

This conversation was not happening now and certainly not without a bottle of wine. She was not going to think about Alistar again. His days of living rent free in her head were over. Except… they weren’t.

 She’d loved having lunch with Hound and Grizzer - it had been the highlight of her week so far- but each time he’d complimented her, each time he’d asked questions like he was interested and wanted to know, she thought of her ex and the way he’d weaseled his way into her life with all the same ploys. It didn’t matter that they looked nothing alike, sounded nothing alike. She was officially damaged goods and there was just no getting past that, at least not anytime soon.

When Nuna doesn’t acknowledge her, Tully turns to screening calls versus dealing with her moody DJ. Nuna listens to the screaming durasteel coming through her headphones. I wasn’t her genre of choice but a lot of battalions seemed to have a thing for it. Who was she to argue? 

“Nunz?” 

Nuna looks up to find Tully staring. “What?”

“You got a call?”

“One I should take on air?”

Tully’s brows skim her forehead. “Oh yeah. This one’s a doozy.”

Shaking her head, Nuna moves back to the mic, counting down to the end of the song. “Live in 3… 2… 1…. hey ladies and gents I’m back. How was that for some durasteel huh? Hope it keeps your engines revved and juices flowing. Going to the comm lines we’ve got a call from…” Nuna watches Tully mouth the name. “Grizzer?”

A series of barks erupts through Nuna’s ear phones before she can respond. Tully is disintegrating into laughter as Nuna stares wide-eyed at the mic ahead of her. 

“Grizzer said he was glad he got to spend time with you today,” a smooth voice begins when the barking ends.

Nuna stumbles for a second but catches herself. “Is this- this his translator?” She teases, trying to stay in character.

“Yes, ma’am.” Hound’s warm voice rumbles through the comm and Nuna has the distinct feeling of butterflies fluttering around in her chest.

The line goes quiet for half a second and another volley of barks and a single yip respond.

“He’d like to see you again soon. He thinks you're the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. Wants to take you out for dinner. Promises he’ll bring his chaperone with him.”

Nuna catches Tully’s eye. “Can you believe this guy?” she mouths.

“Is that him?!” The pink-haired Pantoran hisses.

Nuna shakes her hands in front of her face, as if waving away her nerves.

“Is that so?” Her mind is working overtime. In the two years she’s been on air in Coruscant she’s fielded a lot of requests for dates and more than a few marriage proposals, but this is the first of its kind. She’s not really sure how to respond. 

She flirts five nights a week on her show but those are faceless -often nameless- people. She’s met Hound. She’s been dazzled by his earnest smile, felt compelled to answer every silly getting to know you question he’d thrown her way this afternoon. Hound was different because he seemed to want to get to know her - short, round, plain Nuna. 

He couldn’t be for real.

“I hate to break it to you Grizzer,” she can hear the massiff panting over the comm, “but I only date men with thumbs and a nice head of hair.”

Tully gives her a hard look. Yeah, she was going to hear about this later.

“Oh, well.” She can hear the sudden uncertainty in Hound's voice and a soft whine from the massiff. “I suppose he’ll catch you around then.”

She wants to tell him that she certainly hopes so because deep down she does, but it doesn’t fit with her persona. Instead she cuts the line and moves on with the show.

She’d gotten good at that. Slam those emotions deep down, lock ‘em up and throw that key away. No one could hurt you if they couldn’t get to you.

“So, anyone following the Limmie League?”

[theotheroccassionalfanficwriter]

Most Beloved Demon

Summary: It all started with a simple chat. A mere idle thought you had about one of the human customs in matchmaking that you shared in with the rest of the brothers because you were once again scheming to have another date with Mammon. And then you had to make another group chat without him because God, Jesus, and Mary showed you the way and it was a birthday party extravaganza for Mammon.

Tags: Galaxy Brained Reader, Oblivious Mammon, Idiots in Love, Happy Birthday Mammon, Sweets, Reader is Horny for Mammon, Kissing as a distraction

Rating: Rated E for explicit cock sucking and fucking at a dark alleyway

A/N: A late birthday fic for Mammon because I’ve just finished prelims for law school and boy am I worried

--

It had started, like with all things that shook the House of Lamentation, at a fine peaceful day. You were lounging in your room, feeling slightly neglected that Mammon wasn’t cuddling with you which meant that you couldn’t accidentally brush against his cock while cuddling or send him a signal that you were totally down to be fucked by him anytime anywhere. You’ve exhausted all means of entertainment, you were done doing your Diavolo-sanctioned prank on Lucifer, exhausted  Asmo’s patience on your Mammon-less day, taunted Belphie on his apparent failure to keep you dead, entertained yourself by treating Beel as a food disposal unit and conducting “science experiments”, teaching Satan about human curses, and of course harassed Levi’s in-game character and made him drop 20 levels because he talked shit about your in-game wifey who was Mammon. Not that he knew.

Which meant that you were so bored, and there was no Mammon who could distract you, or you could seduce to a very fun and sexy game of strip billiards. Which ultimately meant you’d either have to trek to the Castle and bother Diavolo to play with you or go over at the Purgatory Hall and rope Solomon into revealing if Merlin is real. In the middle of your contemplation, your phone vibrated and a quick glance at it showed Barbatos’ message which read:

It would be more fruitful if you remained where you are.

You blinked and obediently shelved your plan of bothering Solomon and instead sent a message to the group chat:

🐑 : You know, in the human world in one culture birth dates are a great way of measuring compatibility between two people

You sat back and waited for everyone’s reply. Then the messages came flooding in and you smirked in satisfaction as you saw Mammon take the bait you’ve dangled, you idly watched them bicker, pouring gasoline whenever or dousing it water. Your laptop was ready to calculate and the moment Asmo shared his birthday you brought out the results and gleefully watched the mayhem about to ensue.

🐑 : Amazing! Asmo we have an 88% Compatibility~!

Sure enough, Asmo would never miss out a chance to mess with everyone else and so the two of you were able to successfully get everyone to do the compatibility test with you. The moment Mammon gave you his birthday you had foolishly remained oblivious to the date. Mind still focusing on the compatibility rate.

🐑 : Mammon~ We’ve got the highest compatibility rate~! 91%! 

🐑 : By the way the method I used is the one for calculating marriage compatibility.

And then you glanced back to the calculator and registered the date he had given. 

“September 10?” You mumbled as you glanced at the calendar and then back to Mammon’s apparent birthday.

Your eyes widened in realization just as the door to your room slammed open and your very cute and most beloved demon came in with a wild blush on his face. You blinked at his winter outfit and then decided that Devildom was much to cold for your delicate human body. Mammon, who was attuned to the ebb and flow of your libido made quick work of his and your clothes and the two of you wrestled under the sheets.

After 10 rounds of you alternating between begging Mammon to cum inside you and asking to suck his dick, you were giving him sweet and lazy kisses on his neck, giving him hickeys all the while engaging in your shared favorite hobby cock warming. Mammon had been flustered, at the start, with how into his kinks you were up until he realized that you were really just into him and made him melt.

Now he was used and utterly spoiled with your clingy disposition after sex. He would give you sweet kisses or alternate with teasing you a little bit and letting you decide if you wanted to go for another round. Right now though, his mind was preoccupied with the words that you had said. Mammon might have just been dating you for less than a year but even so he already knew you like the back of his hand.

So he definitely knew that you had some sort of ulterior motive for bringing that part with the marriage. And Mammon wasn’t sure if he wanted you to be like that to him. He knew himself and he knew that if you were really willing to enter into marriage with him...that there was no way he’d let you get away and neither would you let him. Mammon had already seen the depths of your love for him, had come to accept that you would always hold him above all.

And the best and worst of it was that he was the same.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked him voice soft and hoarse.

Mammon smirked as he remembered how you looked utterly bliss out after having your mouth fucked. He shifts and you moan as you end up beneath him. You feel his cum drip from your pussy and looked at him in anticipation.

“Ya really are a slut for me” Mammon teased you, thrusting into you a little bit.

“It’s because I love you...” You encircled your arms on his neck and tug him down for a sweet kiss. You smile as Mammon begins another round of sex, he fucks you languidly, enjoying this moment where the two of you simple enjoyed existing. Whispering sweet words of love and the knowledge that both of you had found each other.

When all is said and done, you spooned him, holding him tight and close to your chest and he holds you equally tight and tells you,

“...I want to spend my birthday with you...”

“As you wish” You kissed him good night.

-

In extreme contrast with your passionate and gentle night of slumber with Mammon was the birthday plan meeting you were currently holding secretly. You had, in very character of you, used one of the favors Barbatos owed you to have him send Mammon on an errand that would last long enough for all of you to plan his birthday.

Lucifer had shot down all your suggestions of gifting Mammon a Casino, a Mansion and Villa in the human realm, buying him a gold mine, and gifting him a civil registry that listed him as your husband in devildom and the human realm.

Satan had, in a rare moment of cooperation with Lucifer, also shot down all your party suggestions of champagne towers, booking the entire Ristorante Six, Booking the entire Fall, and giving Mammon a surprise wedding.

All of you had eventually decided to just give Mammon a sentimental and heartfelt gift of experience. With a strict order from Lucifer to not let you pick a stationary set that was used for weddings.

Which meant that you had made plans with them to buy it two days later, when you knew that Mammon had a photo shoot and thus you had no date with him scheduled that day. And because your Father-in-Law was still holding a grudge over that time you beat him up at the Mcdonald’s back parking lot, Mammon’s shoot got rescheduled and you ended up bumping to him just when you, Asmo, and Satan had bought the supplies.

“...Why?” He asked looking hurt and dejected that you had turned him down to spend time with Asmo and Satan.

“It’s now what you think!” You hurriedly replied.

“Hey, don’t sound like a husband that just got caught” Satan frowned as he stealthily hid the paper bag that held the stationary set and golden wax seal the three of you had bought.

“Satan’s right you know?” Asmo chimed, “The three of us were just window shopping.”

Asmo signaled you to distract Mammon and you nodded. So in a moment of sheer brilliance you led Mammon to a darkened and secluded alleyway. Pushed him in the wall and kissed him deeply before he could protest. All of his anger and hurt melted away as you fervently kissed him, one of your hand palming on his cock as you twined your tongue with his. 

You stop and let Mammon see the sloppy evidence of the make out session you had just initiated. Far more filthy and intense than your accidentally on purpose mistake of fumbling the seduction spell during the exam.

“I’m not going to forgive you so easily!”

You said nothing to that and instead dropped to your knees as your finger traced the seam of his zipper. Mammon cursed and muttered an invisibility and warding spell. You unzipped his pants with your teeth, kissing his hardened cock through the fabric of his brief. You glanced at him and smiled at him devilishly before you took his cock into your mouth and began giving him the best blow job of his entire demonic and angelic life combined.

You, who was always horny on main for your demon boyfriend, was giving it your all in sucking his dick putting into good use all the techniques your succubi and incubi friends had given you. Your alternated between deep throating yourself with his thick and long cock and giving him a hand job as your tongue licked his balls and then his cock. You enjoyed the thick veins on Mammon’s dick along with the undeniable blunt ridges that you had grown familiar with. 

“Fuck!” Mammon cursed as he decided he had enough of your teasing and fucked your mouth, dirty talk falling easily out of his mouth as he praised you, “You’re always such a slut for my dick aren’t ya? look at you turning your mouth into a pussy for me to use any time I want.”

You tried to convey your pleasure with your eyes, agreeing with everything Mammon said and that had only served to increase his pleasure. He took great joy at seeing you on your knees and begging him with your eyes as you lost your self to heat and lust. Hands gripping on Mammon’s clothes, your mouth and his cock making lewd noises as your saliva dripped on the corners of your mouth.

Mammon took out his cock from your mouth and you whined at the lost, his hand still gripping your hair and you were looking at him with a betrayed look while his free hand was pumping his dick.

“Mammon~”

“You really want me to make you swallow or do you want me to fuck you here in this alley for as long as I want?”

You blinked and looked at him with a dazed look, Mammon’s smirk growing wide as he let your hair go and watched you unzip your mini shorts, letting it drop to the ground and presenting your enticing hole to Mammon.

“What a good slut” Mammon praised you as he used his wet dick and spit as lube before teasing your opening. 

“Ma-nnn..darling! I want your dick in me already!” You cried softly as Mammon teased you while you could only look longingly at his erect dick and let your mouth water.

“Then say the magic words” He teased you as he bit you on your neck.

“Please breed this good and obedient slut with your thick and lovely seed!” You begged him in between moans and shudders of pleasure that went through your body. Mammon stuttered for a moment before he regained his wits and did as you asked.

His cock entered you easily, “Your hole really was meant to take my cock” he let you get used to the feeling before he began moving slowly, watching the soft jiggling of your chest with each thrust he made. His hands were holding both of your wrists you could only moan as Mammon ruthlessly grazed your spot with his hard dick.

“If anyone could see you right now they’d think you were getting paid for this,” Mammon grinned darkly, “But then again, you were only ever a slut for me aren’t you? Opening your legs for me anytime I ask, easily taking my cock into your mouth.”

“I-it’s becau-! I love you!” You panted as you felt Mammon hit your spot.

Mammon knew you loved him but it really was different hearing how you were only like this because you loved him. He smiled at you and sweetly kissed you on your mouth as he carried you in his arms. 

“Ma--” You cut off by his dick thrusting in you deeper. You were vaguely aware that your shorts had already slipped off your leg and your underwear was already ruined.

“I love you too” Mammon said as he vigorously fucked your hole and you could only hold on tightly on his shoulders as you stopped bothering to lower your voice. 

The sounds of wet flesh slapping, along with your lustful moans filled the darkened alley. You weren’t aware of the passage of time, nor did you care about the fact that there were often footsteps that would stop at the mouth of the alley. All you cared about was the feeling of Mammon fucking you and the undeniable smell of his come covering your body.

All your clothes had ended up on the ground, you were naked while Mammon still had his clothes on, not that you mind since there was something erotic about the picture it presented to any voyeur that was brave enough to risk Mammon’s ire. Your legs had grown weak after the 15th round and you were only dazedly looking at air as Mammon fucked you from behind, his previous comes dripping down your hole and between your legs. Some had formed a puddle directly on the ground beneath your hole.

Your neck and shoulders were filled with love bites, and most of your skin was sticky with dried cum. You felt Mammon slow down on his thrust and then the familiar wet heat of his cum filled your inside.

You looked at him in question, watching him observe his masterful lewd work that was you.

“Already?” You asked him slightly frowning.

Mammon only looked at you helplessly fond and doting before he began to dress you up, fingers teasing your overstimulated nerves but keeping it at that, “We still need to go home in time for the curfew.”

You pouted but nonetheless let him do as he pleased, though you did squirm a little bit as he zip up your shorts and teasing you once more by rubbing his hand on your crotch through the fabric.

Soaking the crotch are with the mixture of his and your cum. You whined at him, “Can’t we continue at a love hotel?”

Mammon said nothing beyond a teasing smile as he lad you out of the alley, you were limping slightly as you leaned completely on his side and steadfastly ignored the looks the demons were giving you nor did you pay any mind on the undeniable dribble of cum that was between your legs.

What mattered was that Mammon had forgotten about the events earlier and you were getting railed again once both of you got home.

--

The next morning you woke up on Mammon’s arms and experienced the feeling of being a pampered wife who got railed so good. Mammon had sat you on his lap and fed you as you weakly laid on his chest and ignored the judgmental looks Lucifer was giving you. Chances were, he had already found out about the semi-public sex you and Mammon did. 

But you were well-fed and satiated so you put it on the back of your mind as you planned to get things done for Mammon’s surprise. So the time you spent away from Mammon, physically since you were sending him sexy pics and basically having sext with him, was allotted for writing the letters for him. Special ones that would last for years even when you would no longer be alive.

You carefully wrote each letter and made sure that in each and everyone of it had all your overflowing love for him. You wrote him a letter for every conceivable event that you could thought of, until it went from emotions he would feel into situations he would get in until it became for his everyday life.

With each letter you wrote, you couldn’t help but be envious of the people he’d get to meet after you were gone. The selfish part of you that wanted to remain inside his heart for as long as he lived. You could only sigh at your helplessness, there was no guarantee that you would live forever and that you could be with him till he died.

You didn’t know if he would remember you clearly or slowly fade away from his memories. So you decided to give him this indelible words that carried your most fervent wish of being able to stay by his side for eternity.

You wrote and wrote, pouring all of the words that you could never say and to cowardly to speak aloud and instead let it hang on the air. In between the moments when Mammon would catch your eye and you’d look at him and see his love that overflows, in the brief moments of silence where you would hold onto him tightly afraid of him leaving you, in those dark days that you almost lost him and still foolishly unaware that you had come to love him.

The words you kept inside you flowed from your heart and mind and into the tips of your fingers, as you wrote page after page of love letters for Mammon. You let the papers dry and lovingly folded it into the golden envelopes and sealed it with a red wax seal that held your initials.

You placed it inside your jewelry box and hid it. 

The door to your room opened and you turned around, seeing Mammon you couldn’t help but smile widely as you called for his name.

You rushed to hug him and Mammon peppered your face with kisses. You let yourself soak up the warmth of his love and decided to no longer think of the distant future that you feared the most.

--

Mammon had always known that you loved him the most in the entire world. It was hard not to, when you were always out rightly favoring him, always treating him so much better than the others and you would always tell it to him. There was no room for doubt when it came to your love. 

And Mammon loved you as well, your flaws and everything because it was what made you human. You weren’t a saint or a holy mother, he didn’t care about your cruel streak that only ever existed in defense of him and his brothers nor did he mind the days you would stick to him relentlessly as if you were afraid he would be gone. He didn’t mind your moments of jealousy, the instances when you’d cut someone with your words.

You had left a mark on his heart that would never fade away, you had made him yours in the way no one would be able to do so. He smiled at the pieces of memory you had left him, proof of your existence in a world that changed much too fast and much too slow for someone like him.

Your bones had withered and turned into dust, you were no longer by his side, all three realms was co-existing peacefully, you lasted long enough to see Diavolo’s dreams to bear fruit, you stayed long enough to hold your great grand children in your arms but even so it still wasn’t enough for him. His greedy heart that was only ever content with you in his arms. But even so Mammon could still remember your voice, the inflections on the words you spoke, the way your eyes glittered with happiness upon seeing his face.

He looked at the wrinkled and yellowed letter you had left him. The last among the letters you wrote for him since the first birthday you had celebrated with him. -

Dear Mammon,

If you’re reading this letter then that would mean I’m no longer by your side. Somehow even with the centuries I’ve spent with you, the thought that I am no longer by your side still makes me cry. You’ve influenced me too much that I became greedy of you. 

Have you eaten yet? Are you sleeping well? Are you taking care of yourself?

Don’t mope around anymore, by time you reached this letter centuries would have passed since I died. I know I said I can’t accept you having someone else after me and I was happy that you went along with my selfish wish but even so...I don’t want you to miss out on another great love. I’m already happy with all the years you’ve given me even if it was just a fraction of what you lived and you will live.

I’m really scared that you’d forget me easily and I still want to live longer and be by your side I love you so much that I’m afraid what would happen to you once I’m gone. Mammon, my most beloved demon, I’m sorry I had to leave you first. But even so I’m selfishly happy that I would never know what a world without you would be. I’m weak and cowardly even so you loved this part of me that desperately held onto you, you loved me even if you knew that between the two of us I’ve forgotten how to live without you.

I knew you like the back of my hand, so familiar and foreign at the same time. In all the years I’ve spent writing you letters filled with words that I could never say aloud, I’ve come to accept that I only knew of love because of you. It’s a scary thought, knowing that if I hadn’t meet you...I wouldn’t have given love a chance. I would have live my years not knowing the warmth of your embrace or peace that your presence brought to me. 

Thank you for giving me a family that I love and loves me in return, I was so happy when I bore you our third child. Do you remember? I cried that time because he looked so much liked you, he had your eyes and your nose, and then he had your laugh and smile. Our eldest daughter was so happy then, finally having a human passing brother. Number 2 was so pouty that day but even so I was happy with our little family.

There’s a lot of things I want to write to you in this final letter but my hands are already shaking. Our Little Ds of Greed are scampering around right now while I’m writing this. I can’t help but laugh a little bit, my heart feels a bit sour. You’re sleeping soundly right now by my side and I love you so much, that even if my lungs hurt and my body aches so much I want to spend the last moments of my life telling you how much I love you.

I love your smile. I love your laugh. I love the way you’d get into trouble and come to me for help. I love the days you’d let me chase away your nightmares. I love how you patiently waited for me to return to your side. I love how you always tell me you love in the little ways. I love how you never let me wake up in a cold empty bed. I love you. I love you from the moment you ran towards me. I love you until now.

I love you in this life, and if there is a next life for me, I’ll love you there as well. I love you in every world there is that I exist with you. I love you in all infinite possibilities of this universe and the next.

I love you, my Mammon. And I will begone but even if I am no longer by your side I would still love you. I would love you even if my mind and heart forgets because whatever it was that our souls are made of, yours and mine are the same.

So live well and fall in love with the world again, my cherished and inevitable downfall.

Yours in Eden.

[rina-writes]

Tattoo

Summary: You have been thinking of getting a tattoo for sometime and inspiration strikes on a spontaneous date with your boyfriend Ethan, who supports with your tattoo from design to after care.

Warnings: The Fluffiest of Fluff

A/N: Figured it was a good time to post fluffy!E before the vid tomorrow. <3

You always went back and forth on getting a tattoo.  When you were much younger, it wasn’t your thing.  Why would you mark you body with something permanent?  You changed your clothes 15 times before going out because your shirts didn’t look right with your boobs.  How would you decide on a tattoo?

As you got older, you realized that tattoo’s shouldn’t only be viewed as something you wanted to represent you for the rest of your life.  They could be moments, like remembering a first road trip or the album art of the band of the first concert you attended. Tattoos could be used to mark the story of your life.  

Ethan, your boyfriend, was part of your inspiration to get tattoos.  You started dating around his first couple tattoos, back when you were still unsure about them.  Seeing his leg sleeve grow, especially the tattoos that represented memories you both shared, made you want to do something special. You especially enjoyed tracing his tattoos with your fingers and laying soft kisses on them during your intimate moments.  He would often play with your hair absentmindedly, enjoying the attention. You wanted to share this interaction in reverse as well.

After months of research, you couldn’t find a tattoo that spoke to you.  Ethan always urged you that sometimes you just need inspiration from the world, not from Instagram or Pinterest.  You took it with a grain of salt eyeing some of the sillier tattoos on his leg.  The fears of younger self came rushing back to you about making a mistake.

Then, one night, Ethan had this wild idea to go camping. 

Uh huh, Ethan Dolan, camping, outside, willingly, without his twin brother.  You kept checking his temperature the entire drive to the campsite. Ethan laughed, holding your wrist firmly, but not too tight as to hurt you.  He looked at you, allowing the Tesla to take over the drive and leaned in to peck your lips.

“Trust me, when we get there, you’ll understand.” He said to you.

“I dunno...” You said, hesitantly, smiling as you pulled your wrist from his grasp to hold his hand. Your fingers interlocked and he brought the back of your hand up to kiss the back of it.  He didn’t break eye contact and you chuckled.

“Now you’re just showing off.” You said, gesturing to the auto pilot with your free hand.

Ethan shrugged smugly, giving your hand another squeeze before fiddling with music playing the car.

By the time you arrived, the sun was about to set in a couple hours. You recognized the area from pictures Ethan had showed you from a video where he and Grayson went camping without technology.   Unlike Grayson, Ethan had no intention of roughing which was easy to tell thanks to his glamping setup.  Your tent was luxurious, way too big for two people and Ethan had brought enough blankets and pillows that they could be a fort all on it’s own. For dinner, he had made vegan meatballs with spaghetti and tomato sauce. He also made pancakes that he tried to pass of as crepes for dessert.

“It’s all I can make...” Ethan confessed, looking away embarrassed as he placed the pot of sauce on the logs of the campfire, next to the meatballs wrapped in aluminum fall.

“Thankfully, it’s my favorite.” You said, sitting in the spot next to him, checking on the meatballs to make sure they didn’t burn.

It was so quiet and spacious.  After eating and chatting, you took a break before dessert to explore.  Ethan led you up and down a few paths, holding your hand at the steepest points.  You watched the sunset from a high point, your breath taken away.  After taking a few nature shots and photos of each other, Ethan leaned in for kiss.  His hand rested on the back of your neck and you deepened the kiss by getting close enough to sit in his lap. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as your lips massaged his, gradually getting more rough. His tongue tapped at your lips and you parted them to grant him access, both of you now breathing deeply to keep from breaking the kiss.  While it only seemed to seconds, you could see the sky was starting to lose it’s orange hue.

“We should head down,” You said breathlessly, breaking the kiss.

Ethan pulled back only slightly, your foreheads still chuckling, his hazel eyes looking chocolate brown in the dark as he stared deeply at you.

“You’re right.” He smiled, “We can do plenty more of that later.”

You giggled and he extended his hand to help you stand up with him.  The descend was a lot scarier with less light.  You were clinging on to him, but you were also aware he was scared and clinging out to you.  It was the blind leading the blind with a chorus of “What was that?” “Where are you?” “I’m scared.” and just pure screaming.  By the time you reached the bottom, following the light and smell for the weakening fire at your campsite, you were both laughing with relief.

You enjoyed your “crepes” with fruits that Ethan had packed in a cooler along with the cold beverages you had to drink. While you were chatting, you noticed, Ethan look up at the sky.  You were about to follow suit when he grabbed your chin. He turned you to look at him and your breath caught in your throat.  Every now and then, your mind was catapulted back to when you first started dating. When your brain was still processing all of his handsome features, his cut jaw, his full brows, his large expressive eyes, his pink lips, his shinning smile, his soft, brown locks...everything that made him breathtaking.  With the campfire light shining his face, it all seemed to look brand new again and you loved it.

“Don’t look yet, I want to show you something.”  He said, and you nodded.

He could have said anything to you at that moment and you would have nodded.  Ethan chuckled.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” He asked, biting his lip softly.

“No reason...” You smiled, pecking his lips.  “So, what do you want to show me?”

“Let’s clean up first.” Ethan said, gesturing to the stuff around you both.  

You both divided and conquered cleaning up the campsite.  The final step was to put on the fire.  You decided to take on the task while Ethan got the flashlight ready to go back to your tent.  You turned off the flashlights to not attract bugs as you entered.  Despite the tent being large enough that you could stand, you both somehow managed to trip over each other.  With lots of laughs and fake bickering, you finally closed the tent and turned the flashlight on.

“No turn it off.” Ethan said, not wanting to ruin the surprise.

“Oh okay...” You said hesitantly, laying back on one of the larger cushions.  You turned off the flashlight.  “Come here and cuddle me.” 

“I will, I promise.” Ethan said, his voice at a distance that told you he was still standing up.  You heard him unzipping something and you saw that he was moving the top of the tent.  There was a plastic covering on top, similar to a sun roof on a car.  From your position, you swear you could see the whole galaxy.  The rich deep purple and blues of the sky speckled with diamonds filled you. It felt like your heart was going to burst. Ethan crouched down and gently patted the cushioned floor for you. He finally found your arm and laid down next to you pulling you closer to him.  As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, Ethan studied your face as you stared incessantly at the sky like a kid watching cartoons.

“Are you crying?” His voice had a teasing tone, but he was whispering like he does when you cuddle at home.

“A little...” You admitted, snuggling into him. “This is so beautiful. Thank you.”

“I thought this would be a great way to show you how I feel when I look at you every day.” Ethan said, unable to make direct eye contact.

“God, E that was so corny.” You teased, but still inching closer for a kiss.

“Yeah...I know.” He agreed before closing the space between you to continue you where you left off on the mountain.

A couple of weeks later and you were at the tattoo parlor.  You had decided on your tattoo based on your camping night together.  You couldn’t stop thinking about those stars, and how they looked from that little sky roof.  You wanted to get a similar view, but add to it, with some trees lining the area around the sky.  After a few consultations with the tattoo artist, you decided a rectangle shaped “frame” on the side of your ribs designed to show a starry night in a pine tree forest.   The coloring was going to be black and white, so it had a spooky element that Ethan really liked as well.  Now, was the moment of truth. 

As you signed the waiver, Taylor, your tattoo artist, smiled at you. They looked exactly how you wanted your first tattoo artist to look, friendly, edgy, and have really cool rainbow hair and even more rainbow tattoos.

“Are you sure about this?” They teased. “I mean...this is a pretty intense tattoo for your first.”

Ethan, who’s leg was bouncing up and down next to you, perked up at the words. “Taylor, is right, Y/N.  The ribs really hurt.  You should go for somewhere with more cushion.”

“I want the ribs.” You said, standing up with more confidence than you actually had. 

“Alrighty,” Taylor said, “Come over when you’re ready.  I’ll show you one final stencil and we will get this party going.”

Ethan stood up, giving your butt a light squeeze.  Your eyes widened and you looked around to make sure no one saw.

“What do you think you’re doing, mister?” You asked, turning to wrap your arms around Ethan’s neck.

“Checking which places have the nicest cushion for this tattoo.” He grinned before kissing your forehead. “Jokes aside, I’ll be here when you need me.”

“I’ll be fine.” You assured him.

You were not fine.  You were so close to crying, but your dignity wouldn’t let you.  There were certain spots that hurt more than others, and your jagged breathing always revealed which ones the tattoo gun had just hit.  Ethan was beside you the entire time.  He was constantly giving you water, wiping your forehead, holding your head, kissing the top of your head and coaching you through it.

“It looks so sick, babe.” Ethan said, as he walked over to see how the tattoo was coming along. “You’re gonna love it. I’m actually pretty jealous.” 

You let out a hum, which you had been doing for awhile now. 

“You alright, hun?” Taylor asked, looking at you.  “If you want, we can stop and finish another time.”

You shook your head quickly. “I...wanna...finish.” You huffed out.

“She’s a tough one, Tay.” Ethan grinned, making Taylor smile as well.

“I can tell.” Taylor said, before focusing back on their work.

Ethan sat down on your other side, dipping his head to look at you since your head was bent down. He rested his forehead gently on yours and you moved your head closer to him, taking in his scent.

“It really looks amazing, Y/N. Reminds me of that night.” Ethan said, his voice soft and full of nostalgia. “But, it’s also so you. I’m so proud of you, baby. Your first tat.” 

You hummed again, trying to smile.  He continued to pat your head and speak to you softly.  Soon, Taylor announced you were done.  They helped you stand up, Ethan steadying you from behind.  You turned in the mirror and your eyes started to water.  It was everything you hoped for.  It looked great with your skin tone, even with the redness for the fresh tattoo.  

“I’d hug you, but you know...” You laughed softly. 

“We can hip bump on the other side.” Taylor suggested and you left as you turned to hip bump them.  

Taylor wrapped you up and Ethan helped you to adjust your clothes.  He practically carried you to the car.  He didn’t want to hurt you, so he was very careful with you the entire time.  He convinced you to spend the first half of your healing process at his place so he could take care of you.  You agreed, mostly because you were so exhausted and the thought of sleeping in his large bed and soft sheets was appealing.  He helped you to take off your clothes and clean up before helping you into bed for a nap.

Ethan spoiled you during your recovery.  He helped you in and out of bed, waiting on you hand and foot.  You loved the attention. Even when being intimate, Ethan was incredibly careful of your tattoo.  When your tattoo was a lot more healed, you almost wished you had a bit more time with Nurse Ethan. 

“It looks amazing, babe.” Ethan said, when he walked in on you getting dressed.  You were in your bra and shorts, about to put on a t-shirt. “Come here.” He said, pulling you to the bed.  He sat down and motioned for you to lay across his lap as he traced your tattoo with his fingers.  This was exactly how you imagined it, no it was better.  Your eyes began to feel heavy and you closed them, while Ethan continued to admire your tattoo.

“I love you, baby.” Ethan said, kissing your side.

“I love you too, E.”

[shabre-legacy]

snuggling in a blanket fort for Leikael Sorcha Shabre

Sorry this took so long, and also sorry it’s a little rough, my brain has been difficult but it’s done!

The song at the beginning is “Would Anyone Care” by Citizen Soldier

“Would anyone care? Would anyone cry, if I finally stepped off of this ledge tonight? Would anything change? Would you all be just fine? Cause I need a reason to not throw the fight. It just might save my life.” 

Corso sighed as he heard the strains of the song come from under the door to his and Leikael’s room. Well technically, it was only Leikael’s since she had partial ownership of this Nar Shaddaa apartment. Though he had moved into her quarters on the ship a few weeks back and she’d made it clear that the arrangement included the apartment. They’d arrived the day before and while the rest of the crew wanted to hit the cantina’s and markets, Kael had locked herself in her room and hadn’t left. It had been a terrible coincidence, running into what was left of the crew that had grabbed her on Tatooine, and a crew that had turned on her on Mek-Sha (he hadn’t known who they were then or they wouldn’t still be breathing) at the same time. Then getting some tragic news about some of the Solar Flare crews they’d been working with recently as soon as they got back to the ship. He wasn’t surprised that the usually tough as nails captain was falling apart. But he couldn’t stand seeing her like this. He’d sat with her all night. He was the only one she wanted to talk about what had happened with. He’d only stepped out to get some food for them since the apartment only had really old ration bars that were probably just dust by now. It seemed like she’d gotten worse in just the few minutes that he’d been gone. 

As he placed the food on the counter and started pulling out a few plates. His girl really needed to eat, it had been what, two days now, since he’d last seen her eat anything that wasn’t soaked in alcohol. He listened for any other sounds. It didn’t seem like there was anyone else in the apartment. 

What could he do though? He’d spent the night holding her, comforting her, trying to help, but it hadn’t seemed to have any effect. The experiences just dragging up old memories and old pain from earlier times in her life. By the Force, thinking about her past hurt him! And he hadn’t even been the one to live it! She’d lived through so much, endured so much, had her childhood shattered and erased far too young and her suffering just seemed to continue. He couldn’t seem to stop it from haunting her, no matter how much he wanted to. Her childhood, it had ended far too early, but it was the last time she felt life was safe. That gave him an idea. It possibly wasn’t the best he’d ever had, but it was something he hadn’t tried yet. 

If he remembered correctly, and he was certain he did, she hadn’t had anything resembling a childhood since she was six, so maybe a piece of that would help her. He needed supplies though. He tucked the food in the reheater to stay warm and slipped into the room where Leikael lay curled under a single blanket, staring blankly ahead, her eyes still red and drying tear tracks on her cheeks. Another one of those painfully sad songs started. His heart nearly broke at the sight of the woman he loved more than anything in the galaxy looking so sad and scared and alone. He sat next to her and brushed the hair from her face, leaning down to place a gentle kiss to her forehead. She instantly curled around him, hiding her face and trapping him where he was. She was a tactile woman, touch was something that meant so much to her and while she was careful with it, he’d found she seemed to never get enough. 

“I thought of something that might help you feel a little better darling. Do you think you could try and eat?”

Leikael watched as Corso filled his arms with all the blankets from their room and most of the pillows and walked out of the room. He’d sat with her for a few minutes before pulling out his datapad and telling her he was getting rooms at one of the Cantina’s for the crew and letting them know. He’d told her he’d only be another minute, slipped out of her arms and started grabbing the soft things in the room. She heard what sounded like furniture being moved in the other room, the one with a big terminal for holovids from the sounds of things. It was an investment that she’d been happy about when she and Nat had finally had enough credits to buy anything after getting this place. If she had any energy left, she’d be curious about what he was up to, but she was just so tired, tired and useless and pathetic and everything hurt. It’d be so easy to just walk out of the apartment, but even the room seemed so big, and she was so tired. She let the music play on and lost herself in the melodies. The lyrics filled with as much pain as she felt. 

She wasn’t sure how long she’d zoned out for when she felt a hand gently touch her lower arm. She blinked back to awareness and as she did, Corso smiled down at her before sliding his arms underneath her and picking her up along with her blanket. He carried her across the apartment to the holovid room as she’d taken to calling it. 

There, in the middle of the room where there was usually a variety of furniture was a strange structure made of the back of a couch, many blankets and what appeared to be the chairs from around the table in the kitchen. “What is that?”

Corso blinked down at her for a moment before gently setting her on her feet and helping to hold her up as he guided her towards the thing in the room. “It’s a blanket fort. Didn’t you build these with your sisters when you were a kid?”

“They weren’t this big. It was usually a blanket over a table” She stared in confusion. How had he managed to get the blankets to stay up?

“Well, that wouldn’t fit us, now would it.” He smiled at her, and crouched down crawling through a small entrance that he’d somehow fit into the design. As she got to the interior, she looked around. The space was small and contained, but cozy and not constricting. The floor was covered in pillows and blankets except for a small table on which sat two plates, some bottles of water and a pile of various snacks. Corso had settled himself in the middle of the fort leaning back completely relaxed, an arms reach away from the food and the remote for the terminal, which had been moved onto the ground and into the blanket fort. He opened his arms and her heart hurt. She’d been a mess for almost two days straight, she was tired and hurt and nothing like herself. She’d dealt with panic attacks and pushed him away, and all he did was open up more, give more to try and help her. She silently thanked the Force for sending him into her life as she dragged herself over to him and collapsed into his arms. He held her quietly for a few moments, before helping her sit up against him and handing her the plate with the smaller portion and pushing a button on the remote. “Way I see it, you haven’t had a chance to relax with a good old blanket fort and movie night in years. This is one me and my sister would watch all the time as kids. Mama would help us build the Fort and sometimes, we were able to persuade her to sit and watch movies with us.” She stared at the food, not wanting to eat, but as the colorful movie with it’s soft and sweet soundtrack began playing and Corso wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to rest against his chest, tucked under blankets and surrounded by the warmth and the soft lights. The hurt felt a little further away and she was able to take a few bites. 

Corso tucked his chin over her head and gently squeezed, his beautiful, deep voice softly singing along with the opening song of the movie that held so much meaning for him, she felt herself drifting off softly. He lifted the plate and returned it to the table as she curled tighter against him and his arms wrapped around her again. The movie played as they held each other, the comfort blocking out all the pain that the galaxy had heaped upon them, at least for a few hours. They had each other, and cuddles and blanket forts, and for tonight, that was just enough.

[bedlamsbard]

@comentter asked about the TCW series finale

Sorry if I don't remember, but did you ever talk about the last 2 episodes of TCW? I only remember the motion capture thing from the first 2 of the arc. I was annoyed at the changes to the story they previously established in the novel and Rebels (which included Rex and Ahsoka splitting up) and for some reason I can't figure out, it didn't feel like a real ending to me...

I don’t think I’ve talked about it past expressing my annoyance about using Sam Jackson!Mace and Hayden Christensen!Anakin during Ahsoka’s vision. (WHICH I AM VERY ANNOYED ABOUT.)

I don’t have particularly strong feelings about Shattered/Victory & Death -- I think they’re two of the better episodes of S7, but I think S7 is honestly the weakest of all TCW as far as theme and story arc go.  They are also, unfortunately, probably the most aggravating case in S7 of throwing out previously established canon from Johnston’s Ahsoka novel and from Rebels.  And like, there’s not really all that much to throw out! So you mostly have to work to do it!

(Under a cut because this got long and honestly I probably forgot stuff since I haven’t rewatched in a while.)

The big difference is, obviously, the change in location from Mandalore (I believe the novel either strongly implies or outright states it’s in the middle of the battle?) to the ship.  Putting aside Filoni’s comments from SWCE a few years ago about Ahsoka teaming up with giant wolves (I think it’s extremely likely that that was wistful thinking and concept art on his part, rather than George Lucas’s actual plan), the advantage of putting Order 66 on a star destroyer in hyperspace is that it’s about as confined a space as you can get with no escape.  And that works pretty well in the actual episodes -- it’s a nice callback to “Brain Invaders,” as well, though I’m not sure it was done deliberately.  It also limits the number of moving parts available, so rather than having to worry about Mandalorians on both sides (and civilians...would have liked to see those in the Siege eps...that’s a different rant), all that the audience has to worry about are Ahsoka (and Rex, later on), the clones, and the wild card, Maul. Which admittedly is done very well -- like, the way the clones turn on Ahsoka?  Terrifying!  I don’t think they really played into the claustrophobic atmosphere of being trapped on a ship in hyperspace with no way out enough; I actually do think Brain Invaders and A Test of Strength, and even the flashback scenes in Jedi Fallen Order, did it better.  (Not even ONE scene of crawling through the vents? are you even Star Wars?)  On the one hand, it’s been done before, do you really have to do it again?  On the other...y’all made the decision to do this.

I actually hate that Ahsoka has the ~vision of Anakin’s fall -- it’s very jarring, it makes no continuity sense (in all honesty, it’s the sort of thing I’d expect from the ST, so maybe in that context it does make continuity sense, lol), and I think to some extent that it weakens her later reaction to Vader/Anakin?  Also, as I’ve said before I’m very, very aural and pretty sensitive to character voices: the decision to use Jackson!Mace and Christensen!Anakin, even with Hayden transitioning into Matt Lanter, threw me out so badly that the scene lost all emotional impact.  This is a me problem.  Most people I know were just happy that Hayden was getting acknowledged.  Which is honestly not a great storytelling method, we want to tell the story and not acknowledge other actors. But again: this is a me problem.

I really do love the rising sense of tension from the beginning of the episode to the actual Order 66 moment.  It’s just genuinely terrifying, since the audience knows what’s coming all along.

Maul -- *flips hand*  I love Maul.  I think these two eps did a really good job at showing how terrifying Maul can be, even without a lightsaber -- especially without a lightsaber, rather.  I was a little hesitant initially about Maul being able to destroy the hyperdrive with the Force alone, but after thinking about it for a day or so (back when the ep aired, last May) I was fine with it.  I think Maul’s the one character for whom that kind of sheer power is believable, going back to his TCW debut -- if you ever look at spider-Maul closely (and Sam and Dave talk about this in the commentary to that arc), you’ll notice that some of the pieces of metal on his spider body aren’t actually attached, they’re hovering nearby; he’s holding his spider body together with the Force itself.

Rex. The other big departure from canon, because of his “we all had a choice / I didn’t betray my Jedi” comments in Rebels.  From a storytelling POV, this is the most dramatic possible route to go, and it makes sense that they did it.  I think it was either @alexkablob or @mylordshesacactus who said back when that it works well that Rex can’t shake off the command from the chip, that none of the clones are immune to it, because otherwise it looks like none of the other clones cared as much about their Jedi as Rex did about Ahsoka.  I do genuinely wonder if back in the original plan for the remaining two seasons of TCW, there was a scene where Rex had his chip removed, given that comment from Rebels. (And I’ve talked before about changes made from the ~original TCW scripts used for the Rebels backstory to the actual S7 and Mando, though admittedly in that context it was about Ahsoka.)  If originally the plan was for the Order 66 sequence to take place on Mandalore, then that suggests the unlikelihood (though not impossiblity) of Rex and Ahsoka removing his chip.  Given the arcs that we actually got in S7 there was no place to do it...I really do wonder what was in some of the scripts that have been talked about elsewhere but didn’t make the cut for S7.

(God, the one I actually really wanted was the Rex and Artoo’s Excellent Adventure one, I’ll be bitter about this forever.)

I assume Ahsoka and Rex split up afterwards -- the fake grave from Ahsoka was kind of weird to me, tbh, so I’m fine with them not going that way, but.  *shrug*  It is what it is.

The end is...fine. Like, emotional!  I had an emotion! They wanted me to have an emotion! My TCW and Ahsoka feelings have been broken for a while now so my emotions definitely were not what they would have been even two or three years ago.  (And I mean this by when the ep actually aired, not what my emotions are now; they haven’t really changed that much.  Well, my resentment grew, but it is what it is.)

I think...I just recently saw again the comment from Filoni about this, so it’s on my mind -- one of the major problems with S7 across the board, and honestly highlighted in the finale (which, again, is great), is that according to Filoni, TCW was always about Rex and Ahsoka, so S7 had to be about Rex, then about Ahsoka, then about Rex and Ahsoka, together.

TCW is not about Rex and Ahsoka.

That’s not to say that Rex and Ahsoka aren’t main characters, because manifestly they are, but the previous six seasons of TCW are not about Rex and Ahsoka.  At its core, TCW is about Anakin Skywalker, in the same way that the PT is about Anakin Skywalker (and the OT, to a different extent); TCW’s big strength compared to the films, however, has always been that it has the space to go beyond Anakin’s immediate story and deal with everything else going on in the galaxy, some of which overlaps with Anakin and some of which doesn’t.  The choice to make S7 three four-episode arcs has the side effect of narrowing the universe and limiting the stories told -- S6 is, I think, only one ep longer but feels like it’s a full season, because it’s a mixed bag of arcs of varying lengths, with a number of different foci.  Some of the claustrophobic feel of the focus on Rex and Ahsoka works for the finale because of the actual setting of the episodes, on the very claustrophobic ship, but on the other hand...thematically the whole season feels off because Filoni’s interests are very different from Lucas’s (and while we all love to give Filoni credit for everything in TCW, Lucas was showrunning it and all the really weird and controversial stuff in TCW, including Ahsoka, Satine, Mortis, and Maul, all came straight from George Lucas).  The finale feels aggressively narrow as a result -- which on the one hand, works, because yeah, it’s kind of neat and makes sense that Rex and Ahsoka don’t know anything else about what’s going on in the larger galaxy or if anyone else is alive.  On the other hand, it...doesn’t work.  (For me, obvs! Your mileage will vary!)