#i'm not sure if this all makes sense but it's what i got at this hour :' )

[stargatesg-1obsessed]

As someone who has only started writing this year, I feel this. I feel the pressure of feeling like I have to write just as good as some of my really good writer mutals or like the books i read, but in reality, they've been doing it for years, and I've just started. I don't need to be as good as them because I'm just going to end up critising myself for being a beginner writer and not having all the talent straight away, and that's just stupid.

All the feedback I've gotten on my fanfics has been wonderful. They're all really lovely people, and they're supportive even if the writing sucks because that's just what you do. It someone's writing is bad, don't point it out. If it bothers you that much, don't read it! I personally would much rather have one less hit on a fic than have someone be hateful in the comments. There is just no need for it. If you want to give them some tips, go for it. But don't be rude about it, especially when that person isn't a writer but is still judging them.

The whole point of fanfic is to have your own creative freedom, with the characters you love. And if your writing isn't as good as someone else's, or it doesn't sound as good as a book you've read, it doesn't matter!! All writers have off days, even the really talented ones with really popular books/fics. No one should critise you for your writing. They don't have the right. The only time it is semi acceptable is when you ask someone to beta a fic for you. And even then, it's not for critising. It's for helping out with any mistakes, typos, ooc dialogue, etc etc. You're not there to judge them, you're there to help them.

So please, if you see a fic with writing, that could be better, either support them, or just don't say anything. Because I know that writers need criticism sometimes, but what we really need is support. And if there is something you want to point out, say something simple like; "Loved this fic! Really loved how the characters interacted!! :D Although I think I saw a little typo towards the end when it says "the entire planet," I think you meant to put "the entire plane,". But it's not that big a deal, and we all make mistakes :))".

That's based on a comment I got from someone on AO3 who helped me out majorly with a typo. It changed the entire sentence and didn't make any sense otherwise. And they really saved me there.

But if you're going to say something rude like; "at the end, when you put "the entire plane," instead of what I think you meant to put which is "the entire planet," it really messed up the fic and it makes no sense." Then just don't point it out because I'm sure someone else with kinder words will.

Fanfic writers don't need to be as good as professional authors!!! Just have fun and create what you want, and what makes you happy. Don't be scared to post something because it's practise. We all do it, and we'll all improve if we have practising. Don't let someone else's harsh words stop you for doing what brings you joy.

At some point "fanfic can be as good as professional writing" became "fanfic should be as good as professional writing" and that's caused major damage to fandom spaces.

[stxrslut]

BEG FOR IT 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

pairing; ceo!rafe x pa!reader

summary; getting in trouble with your boss is never good in any sense, but with the particular personality that rafe cameron has, you know you're in deep shit, no matter how completely accidental or unintentional your mistake was

content; abuse of power, boot humping, dacryphilia, humiliation

authors note; none

there are better situations to be in than yours, that’s for sure. walking towards the office of your boss, you wonder why you ever even decided that the business world would be a good place for you to step foot anywhere near, no matter how small or insignificant your role in it really is. 

making a decision that could put this whole corporation at risk without even running it by anyone was never your intention, never your intention at all. it was a mere accident, you thought it was something random and unimportant you were doing, until mr cameron called you.

on the phone his voice had reeked of suppressed rage, even though he was quiet and calm, and he didn't use too many aggressive words, you could tell, you could tell because his voice had inadvertently struck the fear of god in you. 

his office is on the very top floor, which allows for plenty of thinking time on the elevator ride up, forty five seconds to be exact. in that forty five seconds you decide that you are willing to do absolutely anything to keep your job. the elevator stops and you step out, making your way to his office.

“come in,” he says in a composed sentence, but the fear is still there when you hear it. you push the heavy door and step inside. his desk is alone in the middle of the room, a large cushioned chair seats him behind it. there are large windows that span from floor to ceiling across the whole back of the room. there are a couple of hallways at the sides that lead to other meeting rooms, and youre also aware of a small private living quarter, though, even as a personal assistant, youve never had the liberty of entering them.

mr cameron is sitting in his chair, supposedly signing paperwork. he doesn’t look up when you come in, “you know what you did,” he murmurs lowly, face not faltering from that hard icy expression youre so intimidated by.

you immediately resort to being pathetic. “I'm so sorry sir! i didn't know i swear, i didn't know what i was doing.” you step forward, speaking quickly and panicking obviously. “I will never do it again! from now on i will double check everything, i promise.” his eyes finally flick up to you and he raises an eyebrow before leaning back in his chair. 

“you have put this company at risk,” he begins calmly, “if I wasn't as high in my field as I am, this would be an unsolvable issue, we would be done.” he informs you. you feel like your heart might drop out of your ass. 

“well it is solvable right, so it's okay?” you say tentatively. you need this job, he knows you need this job, there's absolutely no disguising it to him that you’re desperate. “please dont fire me, I'll do anything.” 

he watches you, like he's studying your facial expression and trying to read your thoughts. “you'll do anything?” he raises an eyebrow in a questioning look. that one sentence you uttered has now opened a whole new world of possibilities to him.

you nod quickly, “yeah! I'll take overtime or– or I could run more of your errands… uhm.. i could start bringing you lunch every day, i can–” he cuts you off by silently raising a hand and shaking his head.

“those are all things that you are already expected to do.” he says, “to keep your job you would have to do something… outside of your contract.” his tone changes, and you suddenly realise that he wants you to do something twisted.

you can think of the type of thing. and god, it would be a terrible thing for you to do. it goes completely against any moral you’ve ever had, to do a sexual favour in order to keep your job. it's twisted, if it ever got out your career would be ruined everywhere. but your career is already ruined if you don't do it. you can't afford to lose your job.

“what… what do you need me to do?” you swallow thickly, the shame already swallowing you whole at the implication of the actions you may be about to perform. you become aware of the unlocked door, what if somebody walked in right now, you would be fucked.

“come here and kneel.” he speaks curtly, pushing his chair back so there's space in front of him. you’re practically shaking with trepidation as you ever so slowly kneel down in front of him. your skirt rides up as you do, leaving you almost uncovered, completely visible if he was just a little bit lower down.

you expect him to say something, give you a command, but he doesn't. what he does is unexpected. he puts his foot forward. that's it. he extends his leg and places his foot right in front of you. shiny black dress shoes that look practically new, not a single scuff on them.

you frown in pure confusion. you are completely taken aback. what is he even expecting you to do? he knows that you don't understand and so he leans forward to clarify, “sit on it, grind on it.” your face twists in unexplainable emotion. “and then beg me for your job.” 

you feel every moment of pride youve ever had slip away as you rise up and shuffle forward so that one leg is on either side of his foot. then a tear slips down your cheek as you slowly lower down to place your panty covered pussy onto his shoe.

it's a sudden sensation, the laces are rough against your sensitive area. you don't like it, but oh, the pressure does incite an involuntary sensation of pleasure there. you can't help it, it's only natural. mr cameron knows it too.

your movements are shaky as you start to push your hips up and down, subsequently grinding down on his shoe. you wobble a little, not knowing if you should grab his leg for support and so you play it safe and don't. 

“you’re not begging.” he tells you, his tone so unbothered that it makes you wonder how many times he may have had someone do this for him. you take a moment to bring yourself to look at him, but the moment you do the pathetic words begin to roll off your tongue like they're the only ones you know.

“p-please. let me keep my job.” you cry, “I have debts, I'll never- uh- I'll never be able to live without this pay.” your voice is all broken apart, every time there is a twinge of pleasure down there you have to let out an uncontrollable sound. “I'll never make this mistake again mr cameron.” 

oh it goes on for minutes. long, shameful, disgusting minutes. you don't stop talking, begging, grovelling. your words only become more incoherent though, as the pleasure grows, you have no choice but to hold him for support.

your movements become erratic and he watches you. a sick smirk is planted on his face as he watches. It brings him a sick sort of pleasure to see you so desperate. he takes pride in the way he's taken advantage of you, he doesn't care how horrid or immoral it is. 

it escalates more when that knot forms in your stomach. you can't keep begging, you are overtaken by pleasure. for a few seconds you nearly forget about the situation you’re in and then the pleasure comes to an end.

your head snaps up to him immediately. you decide it's safe to stand back up again and so you do. “sir..” you say tentatively, hoping, praying even that he will now at least consider letting you keep the job.

he is silent for a moment before he looks up, “i have an errand for you to run.” 

you nod immediately, happy at the insinuation that you still have some sort of duty, despite what you have just been made to do for it, “of course sir, what do you need.” 

“take my shoes to be polished.” 

[bucktommyscones]

Post 8x5 fic because Lou said so. (Not really, but kind of.) This got a little hornier than I'm sure we would have gotten, but you know, when in Rome. Also, isn't it great how the season ended with this ep? What an awfully short season. Oh well.

"No."

Tommy can't see him from where he's navigating them back to Evan's place, but he just knows he's pouting. After nearly six months, his Evan senses are always tingling.

"Oh come on," Evan whines. "Just pull over into an overlook or something. Bet I can get you off in no time."

Tommy snorts a laugh. "I'm sorry, is that supposed to make me want to do it? I thought you had a better sense of my abilities than that, Boil Boy."

Evan considers this and Tommy can see his grin out of his peripheral vision. He should look ridiculous with those damn things on his face, but he looks like an adorable brat, which is as per usual these days.

"Okay, that didn't come out right."

"No one's coming any time soon," Tommy says, turning on his signal to change lanes.

Evan snickers. "Fine, fine. No public sex for us. I get it. Can I get you out of that suit and get your dick in my mouth when we get to my place?"

Tommy reaches over and pinches his thigh, gratified when Evan jumps a little.

"Hey! Rude."

"Why are you so horny all of a sudden?"

"All of a sudden? I thought you knew me by now, Tommy."

Tommy laughs again. "Okay, okay."

"Besides," Evan says, and if Tommy isn't mistaken, his voice sounds...hesitant? "I just want to thank you. You know, for driving three hours from home to go to a dead outlaw's funeral."

Tommy feels himself melt. "You don't have to thank me. I enjoyed it."

"You did?" Evan sounds surprised.

"Seeing you in your element all cute and earnest? Getting to spend time with you? I'll do it any time."

Evan runs a hand through the hair on the back of Tommy's head, affectionate and warm. He loves it when Evan does that.

"How can you possibly think I'm cute right now?" Evan wonders and this is not the first time he's asked.

"I always think you're cute. Even when you're gross."

Evan's laugh is infectious and Tommy laughs with him. He leans forward in his seat and smacks a kiss to Tommy's cheek. "I like you, Tommy Kinard."

"I like you too, Evan Buckley," Tommy says. "Chinese on the way home?"

"Sounds good," Evan confirms. "Wanna make out on the couch and watch a movie? Then I can get your dick in my mouth?"

Tommy grins because watching a movie always turns into something else. "You're on."

tag list:

@desert--moonchild @sazzynatural, @multishippinghussy, @mmso-notlikethat, @esendoran

@sunnywithachanceofbi, @sleepywinchesters, @buck-up-buckley, @manifestingchaoticvibes, @corvid-cryptidd

@lbltpsmspenguin, @theotherbuckley, @cliophilyra, @actuallyitsellie, @thecarrott

@talktonytome, @misstommykinard, @the-omniscient-narrator, @bobbinsnash, @a-mel0n

@hyperfocusthusly, @mayorjack, @marvelousbuckley, @swagmaster9k

@byunbuckjunmy, @rutathenurse, @sluttytommykinard, @bidisasterevankinard

[the-shiftshop]

TSS Shorts: Swap Curse 1

Nate's POV

"F-Fuck!" It was what slipped out of my mouth after feeling a sudden jolt in my body.

I opened my eyes to see myself in Michael's body once again, shirtless. The moment I made sense of what's going on, his hand was pawing on his cock. I felt stickiness inside his boxers.

God fucking damn it. I told him to stop jerking off. He knew all damn well that every time we cum, we swap body in an instant.

Michael's phone started ringing. It's him calling through my phone. I picked it up and hear my own voice.

"Nate! Oh god. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to."

"What are you thinking!" I said, putting a hand on my forehead. "I was driving! You could've got me killed!"

"No, you're fine. But I really didn't mean to. I was having a wet dream and, God, it's been a long time since I jerked off after we agreed not to swap again, but my body needed release." He explained.

"Fine. Just make sure to drive my body home safe. You're lucky I just got out of night shift." I get up from the bed, grabbed a towel and went in the bathroom. "Just hoping we get to swap back tomorrow once this swap duration passes"

Michael kept apologizing before we end the call. We really can't do anything about this except live with it.

I went in the shower to wash myself off. I felt sore, or at least his body is sore. Probably from his workout last night.

But, damn, did I miss Michael's body. Maybe enjoying his body while the swap lasts for a day won't sound so bad.

[ieatratsforbreakfast]

oh my god this whole fucking thread is images, get ready for it

[ID:

First image: a tweet from @/autismlor that says "Sorry for being so inactive on this account, the Taylor hyperfixation kinda died a little once I started getting laid Imao" underneath in the replies they say "People bookmarking this are you gonna come back after you get laid and report if it happens to you too or"

Second image: a tweet from @/meanlore that says "honestly ever since i got on the right meds it's been really hard for me to care about taylor swift being gay" then in the replies they say "(lamotrigine for anyone wondering !!)"

Third image: an instagram post from @/btsarmy222777 the photo is a pink and purple gradient with the text "SORRY I HAVEN'T BEEN POSTING ON HERE A LOT GUYS I STARTED TAKING A MOOD STABILIZER AND NOW I'M NOT OBSESSED WITH BTS ANYMORE" in white. The caption reads "Still love them though 💜" (purple heart emoji.)

Fourth image: a tweet from @/larryslittlefrk that says "sorry for being so inactive lately, just wanted to give you all total transparency 💕" (double pink heart emoji) with a screenshot of a notes app entry attached. The note is titled 🚨 (siren emoji) life update 🚨 (siren emoji). The text below it reads "hey guys! Life update!!! So they found a bunch of mold in my dorm vent and since l've been home and on antibiotics I noticed how much better I am really feeling and also feel like I can think more clearly now, and with a heavy heart I have to admit I think being a no stunt Larry was probably the mold talking. Not really sure why any part of that makes sense, especially Louis's fake kid and them both hiring beards for 10 years when they pick their own managers now... guess black mold can really affect your brain hahaha! anyways i'm so grateful for the friends i've made through this community and i hope all of you reach the same clarity as i have ❤️ (red heart emoji) get your vents checked everyone!"

Fifth image: an instagram post from @/jamesmcavoyupdates. The image is a photo of James Mcavoy standing on what looks to be a gate. The caption reads "im done with this account. Thank you for all the laughs but i have no motivation to keep updating on James. this account was initially to help me let my feelings out and sometimes rant but my antidepressants have started working and they helped me realize i actually do not like James mcavoy as much as i thought i did. If you were looking forward to my updates i apologize you will have to find another account to follow as i am no longer suffering from mental illness. Xx ❤️ (red heart emoji)"

/end ID]

[monzamash]

★ bargain bin — lewis hamilton

ville d'amour lewis hamilton x you rating — 18+ (sex, coarse language) —requested by anon; "sex in front of a big window where anyone could glance up and spot them (maybe in vegas??) ps. i love your blog so much!!!"

the city of love.

it had been a dream weekend — every moment laced in adoration and soft touches. that's how it always was with lewis. he treasured you and made sure everything was perfect when he had you alone. you ached for these fleeting moments of serenity, clutching them in your grip for as long as possible, knowing any minute it could be over. —a phone call from his manager bringing you back to reality so you appreciated every second spent with your favourite person in your favourite city. 

paris was the place you felt the most alive. the twinkling skyline, the delectable dinners, sprawling cafes that had your name written all over them. you adored the history and tradition of it all, and made sure the city of love lived up to its name. and so did lewis. 

“you feel incredible, baby,” he growled into your ear, hips rocking at a languidly gentle pace. 

“feels so good, lew…”

you were floating on cloud nine — breathy and covered in a thin layer of sweat. the two of you had been like this for hours, edging and teasing until you begged for him to be inside you. it was almost always like this, lengthy and passionate. sex with lewis was to be savoured like a sweet delicacy.

lewis knew you loved to indulge him by the way you clenched around his girth, fingernails deliciously dragging down his muscular, tattooed back. he was a glorious lover, knowing all your little pressure points. he had a sixth sense about what you liked and how you liked it before you even knew. so when he tortuously pulled out, leaving you empty and pouting, he couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“up,” he motioned, large hands clutching your tender hips.

it took all of your strength to pull yourself from the cloud-like mattress, doused in pillows and smelling of lewis’ sweet cologne and sex — you wished you could bottle up the scent for those lonely nights. once you found balance, you carefully tiptoed over to where he was waiting, unsteady on your feet but lewis caught you.

“i’ve got you, baby girl. here, hold onto this…” he placed your hand on the shallow sill that lined the large floor to ceiling windows and you gasped at how cold it was to the touch.

outside was a breath-taking view of the eiffel tower, perfectly lit up against the dark, cloudy sky. it stood taller than every other building around it, proudly and stoically. a pillar of culture, a symbol of victory and freedom— the beginning of a new frontier. its symbolism reminded you a lot of the challenges lewis had faced in his career, fighting for what he believed to be important, giving voice to those without one. always staunch in his beliefs, unwavering and kind. 

“this view is beautiful,” you murmured as lewis traced his lips across your exposed shoulders and neck, admiring the beauty right in front of him while you looked beyond the horizon. 

“you’re beautiful,” he whispered in return, “every time you see the eiffel tower, i want you to think about how good i'm about to make you feel right now.” 

a surge of excitement shot down your spine at his promise as he reached around and softly stroked your swollen clit, warming you up again. you could feel his thick cock brushing against your ass, hard and no doubt pulsating at the thought of fucking you against this window, so exposed and on display. lewis loved the idea of people watching, his exhibitionist streak showing its hand early in your relationship. 

“need you inside me again, baby,” you moaned and reached around for him, but before you could make a move, your hands were pinned to the window pane. 

lewis shuffled your body forward until your breasts were pressed firmly against the glass —the chill from the cool night caressed your nipples and sent a wave of pleasure to your core. he kicked your feet apart slightly and spread your cheeks before sending a long string of spit down your backside and slipping into your warmth. 

“fuuuuck,” you groaned, forehead dipping against the window from the fullness. 

“need everyone to see how fucking sexy you look when you come all over my cock —need it so, so bad,” lewis panted almost desperately, eyes narrowed and focused on the way his cock disappeared into your slick hole. 

“fuck me harder…” you softly whimpered, fingertips white from the pressure placed against the glass. 

you could hear the devilish chuckle from the beautiful man serving you insurmountable pleasure on a silver platter, “better hold on then, baby girl.”

a/n — was going to post this tomorrow morning but fuck itttt! can't believe this is my first time writing for lewis, i enjoyed it so much!

shop the sale event here #end of (f1) season sale!! —see what other customers are buying ✨

[quantum1mmortality]

The crew & using toys on their S/O in bed please with a cherry on top??

First time writing the whole crew kinda nervous 🤭🤭 I'm not writing Swansea tho I will NOT be writing nsfw of a married man

Tw/cw; Afab!reader, winners love winning in Anyas hcs (use of the term pillow princess), jorkinit jumpscare

Not proofread

Curly

I'm actually not sure if he'd be into toys

I've literally only written for Curly so I'd say I'm a Curly expert, and I just don't think he'd be into toys

He'd use a vibrator on you every now and then, but he'd just use it to tease you and make you beg for him.

He'd probably use cock rings. I am a firm believer Curly would use cock rings. Not all the time, but if he's had a really stressful day at work, he's wanting an extra hard hitting orgasm.

Omg not a toy but APHRODISIACS!!! This man would go crazy for some aphrodisiacs, whether he's taking it or you are.

Now I wanna write a wedding night one shot with Curly and aphrodisiacs thanks a lot anon 😔😔😔 I've got enough shit to write already

Anya

I don't care what any of you say this woman is a pillow princess

YOU'D be using toys on HER

She'd also be a cryer but that's not the point

She'd have a drawer dedicated to sex toys. She's trying to get into med school, she's CONSTANTLY stressed, how else is she supposed to release some of that stress? Don't judge her.

She wouldn't be into straps or dildos, she'd be into shit that vibrates. Vibrators obviously, rose toys, anything that stimulates the clit honestly

I lied she is into dildos this woman is a sucker for a RABBIT!!! Like I said, if it vibrates, she wants it.

Her favorite combo is the rose toy/vibrator + pussy licking. She cums so fast, then gets embarrassed, then begs for more. Praise her a bunch and she'll be able to go a few more rounds

BONUS CONTENT!!; she has a Christina and Princess Albertina, no further comments

Daisuke

Oh yeah, he's using toys.

He has a tongue piercing and sometimes he'll swap it out for a bar that vibrates but y'all aren't ready for that convo

He's gonna use the basic toys, nothing we haven't gone over yet. Vibrators, rose toys, cock rings, ect. He's just trying to figure out what he likes for right now, and he likes all of them

In missionary, he'd hold either a vibrator or rose up to your clit while he fucks you. Kind of uncomfortable as a position, but if it gets you off, it's worth it to him.

Not sure if this is considered a toy but he'd be interested in sounding. He's definitely had you try it on him once or twice, and he never lasts for more than a minute 😭 poor boy

He's just trying new things out. He's new to having a committed relationship, so anything you'd be into, he'd be willing to try. He'd let you peg him if you wanted, but don't ask me to write that.

My pegging days are over

Jonathan

The kinkiest cunt that ever cursed this god forsaken ship

Toys are a must have for him. On you, not him. He only likes using them on you, because it gives him a sense of power over you.

He'd be one of those assholes that would put a bluetooth vibrator in your panties and wait till you're in public to turn it on the highest setting. Like an asshole

Jizzdaddy would have a lot of toys. He'd have one of those robotic dildo setups that like.. idk does the thrusting how the fuck do I explain this????

You guys get what I mean if you've ever been on a porn site you've seen one

Anyway, he'd have one of those setups and watch it fuck you. Ass up, head down, grasping at whatever you could since HIS sadistic ass turned it up to the highest speed.

Eventually hed get pissed off and fuck you himself, claiming that you love the toy more than you love him 😔 the allegations are true but he doesn't have to know that

He'd also use plugs on you. In public, too. He doesn't care. If you humiliate yourself, that's your fault, not his.

vibrators are used during sex, nothing new. But it's the same situation as before. Claiming you love the toy more than him, so he stops using it.

Sometimes he'll just give in though and decide he doesn't care, and wants to tease you more than anything. Highest speed it can go, or the slowest. No in-between. He'll have you begging one way or another.

Chat I hate writing rough characters someone request ooc soft Joshua hcs so I can write him like I do Curly 🙏🙏🙏

A/N; Anya makes me wanna kiss girls

[ellecdc]

Hi Elle! I'm here to hibernate, and I was thinking maybe a poly!rosekiller (you've got me hooked on Barty and Evan) or whatever pairing you think works best, love all our boys, with either:

“they’ve slept for like twelve straight hours. should i be worried?"

Or

“hey, i think it’s time to go to bed.”

Because I am both. Chronically.

If you don't respond it's totally cool, you're such an amazing writer and so many people love your stuff I totally understand not being able to respond, lovely girl!

P.S remember to drink water :)

thanks so much for the prompt, doll!! and thanks for being here with me; I'm happy to be celebrating with you <3

the winter games

poly!rosekiller x fem!reader who's asleep and Barty's afraid of [702 words]

CW: immature boyfriends, muggle/modern au, Barty hit someone with his car but it was chill and also not pictured, mentions of dicks but not described

Evan swore his eyes were beginning to cross when his paperwork was interrupted by the sound of a hastily whispered “Rosie!” 

Evan looked up to see Barty standing in the doorway to his office. Well, it was more like to see Barty’s shoulders and head floating about halfway up the door frame as he leaned around it without actually stepping in. 

“What is it, bee?” He drawled as he turned back towards his work.

“I need help.”

“With what?” 

“Hiding a body.” Barty deadpanned. 

Evan let out a tired sigh and looked up at him. “Again, Barty?” 

“With Y/N, Rosie! And for the last time, that cyclist I hit was fine; he bounced right back up and smacked the hood of my car. He certainly wasn’t too hurt to cuss at me.” 

“What’s wrong with your Treasure?” Evan asked - diverting yet another grumbling at how inconvenient hitting another man with his car was for Barty - as he organized his sheets into a neat stack. He may have called you Barty’s Treasure, but you were his sugar, and Barty seemed to think you needed his help so Evan was inclined to help you. 

“She’s asleep.” Barty said simply - troublesome cyclists forgotten - causing Evan to pause.

“I hardly see what the problem with that is, Barty.”

Barty stomped his foot and rolled his eyes as if it were Evan who was being rather meddlesome and vague. “She’s asleep in the kitchen.”

Oh…that was the problem. 

Sure enough, covered in an array of flour, sprinkles, and icing, you were resting your head on one folded arm with a piping bag sitting dejectedly in your opposite hand; a small stream of red icing pooling out the bottom. Sound asleep. 

You’d refused Barty’s help earlier in the evening, stating that he wouldn’t do as good a job and you wanted your holiday cookies to be perfect. Evan didn’t particularly blame you for that, but he did feel rather guilty that you couldn’t trust your boyfriend to not pipe dicks on all of your sugar cookies when your back was turned. 

“You didn’t want to wake her up?” Evan surmised as he gently took the piping bag from your hand. 

“Listen, I love her with my entire being, but I’m kind of afraid of her.”

Evan couldn’t help but huff a laugh at that. “Fine, can you clean this up then?” He asked, gesturing vaguely to the state of the kitchen as he came up behind you and leaned over your frame. 

“Sugar.” He murmured as he gently rubbed at your shoulders. “Come on, doll.”

An incoherent sound of discontent escaped your lips as you tried to rise; Evan’s weight above you kept you from sitting up too quickly. 

“Hey, I think it’s time for bed.”

“But, th’cookies-”

“Will be here in the morning.” Evan argued as he allowed you to sit up slowly. “Barty’ll even help you with them.”

“No he can’t, Ev. He’ll ruin them.”

“He will not because whilst he’s helping you, I will be supervising Barty.”

He felt something warm in his chest as he watched you struggle to wake up; brain working overtime to make sense of your surroundings and to make sense of what Evan was trying to tell you. 

“We’ll get it done in the morning, yeah? Together.” He offered gently.

“Yeah…” You let out with a sigh after a beat, Barty letting out a sigh of relief of his own from behind him. 

“Go get in your pyjamas, pretty girl.” Evan instructed as he helped you stand, pressing a kiss to your hair and patting your hip in dismissal before watching you plod off in the direction of the bedroom.

“Ev, can’t I just-”

“No.”

“Just one.”

“I said no, Bee.” Evan pressed more forcefully. 

“I hardly see what the issue with one festive dick is.” Barty grumbled as the two of them followed you towards the bedroom. “What if I save that one and then we give it to Reg?” 

That gave Evan pause. 

“One.”

“Thank you!”

“What’s happening?” Your voice sounded from somewhere in the washroom, causing both boys to freeze outside of it.

“Nothing.” They chorused; one of them in the form of a question and the other in the form of a delighted cheer.

[lover-of-mine]

Hi, welcome to Buck just had his oh moment and the color theory of it all.

Usual shoutout to @stagefoureddiediaz because being mind meld with her is what's getting me here lol

First, I'm gonna break my own rule and give too much power to the showrunners, I know I keep saying not to, but hear me out. Buck, Bothered and Bewildered is on Buck's pov, right? That was made clear by the episode and then confirmed in interviews that that was the vision, and well, Tim also said that that scene was from Buck's pov, it's all about Buck's reaction and how he will go crazy about this because he's abandonment issues personified, that is also confirmed with the way we don't see what Eddie is doing until he tells Buck, we are learning things at the same time as Buck is.

Okay, well, why am I going back to 704? Well, Buck's fear of losing Eddie (I don't care what Buck says, he wanted Eddie's attention) made him go completely batshit crazy last time. But it also triggered something really important: Buck's bisexuality. And they just repeated that trigger, but this time with Buck choosing to walk in.

They repeated the bt first kiss structure but with Buck making the choices that create that change. The bt kiss, Buck is working on some bills, Tommy shows up, Buck is spiraling because of Eddie, Tommy kisses him, Buck has the bisexual realization. The 808 scene, Eddie is working on the houses, Buck shows up, he's spiraling about Tommy, Eddie reveals something, and Buck is snapped into the realization. Important thing to notice is that Buck still doesn't fully understand the depth of what his relationship with Tommy showed him about himself, so Buck still might not understand the impact of what his abandonment issues just told him while he was sitting on Eddie's couch. And it's all on Buck's pov.

But Anna, you said color theory.

I'm getting there. Because, well, the bt kiss is blue and red.

Same as 808. So we are evoking the same feeling, especially because of Buck's short sleeves and the buttons (and not a white shirt under this like he had all season lol)

And thinking about the blue and yellow coding Buck's bi arc, he worked his way to lighter blues. He starts with the navy blue colors until that lighter teal tone from the coming out scene.

It's also interesting that in the scenes that are about Eddie in a sense, when he's talking to Maddie and he got it right about it being about Eddie, and the coming out scene being about their friendship, are lighter colors along with Buck matching his background. We don't have the yellow elements but we have that cohesion on the frame composition. (I guess the 606 hoodie also counts since blue and green theory but I don't want to make another image now).

If you're new here, the theory is that Buck worked his way to his blue from darker colors, his blue being the color he is wearing during the coming out scene (and Eddie will find his yellow, but we are not talking about Eddie).

We are back in the darker blue but the composition of the scene is lighter. Buck is literally in front of the light as he is talking to Eddie in the kitchen, and it's the middle of the day.

He matches the background, the couch, the Texas frame, the lighting is also a lot colder than it usually is in Eddie's house. And it's also very important that he is on the couch, because yay couch theory.

But Anna how does any of this prove anything?

Well, Buck is working his way back to his blue while in the darker colors, because while he got the bisexuality part right, Tommy wasn't the right person, and he's finally back in the light, we don't have the dimmed light and the obstruction of his face created by the shadow, dare I saw Buck is finally starting to see things clearer.

But why am I so sure? The shirt he was wearing today?

Same color but in a darker shade than his blue.

Buck is back on the discovery feeling that comes with the darker blue but this time he's in the correct hue, he just needs to get to the right shade, and he just figured something out.

Abandonment issues personified just had his oh moment about Eddie at the thought of losing him permanently, sitting on Eddie's couch while wearing his blue.

Other things to notice, Buck knocked but walked in before Eddie could get to the door, he used his key and the knocking was just to let Eddie know he was there, Buck is the one who suggests moving to the couch and the couch ties it back to the couch theory and the 601 dinner, dare I say that even Buck offering to bake for Eddie and the cooking aspect of it all, and the idea that the couch is home and home is a person and for Buck that's Eddie.

Something else is the way that we finally see someone eating whatever it is Buck is stress baking. Madney don't eat at the loft and the chief interrupts them at the firehouse. Eddie on the other hand is DIGGING into those. And food in 911, in media in general, is about connection, and is very pointedly about love here, and the whole stress baking is great because the kitchen is Buck's safe space, he cooks for people he loves, we see that from when Maddie comes back, to the pointed way he gets take out for his parents in 610, to the lasagna, making chilly with Bobby, cooking for the house on 709 and getting Bobby's approval. And the fact that we are getting Eddie eating what Buck's nervous state is creating while allowing Buck to just go through his kitchen to make more because he is not about to not accept every part of Buck Buck offers him is important.

The fact that Eddie isn't objecting to Buck rummaging around his kitchen is also important in the way the show uses Eddie's house in a meta way, kinda like the way the show uses the loft to match Buck's spirits in a sense, how the kitchen is his heart and for family, how the living room ends up being for guests and it's made pointed about the couch his mother bought "for his guests", Eddie's kitchen and the whole way it's the space Eddie allows himself to be vulnerable but there's the thing of honesty, the core of who Eddie is is tied to the kitchen, and the fact that he's just letting Buck move around like it's his kitchen ads a lot. Buck is the only person who walked into the house through the back door, Buck has a key, Buck has been in every room (except the bathroom but I think they are saving that for buddie canon), that's home for him too and Eddie never thinks to question and Buck never thinks to doubt it ("this is Eddie's house, I'm not really a guest").

Anyway, Buck oh moment real. Buddie 8b real. Color theory got me so high I'm wondering this is what doing hard drugs feels like. I think this is all I have to say. I might come back, who knows? I don't.

If you read this I love you.

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[purinfelix]

from your last post could i request pedri? from “about you” by the 1975 where perhaps reader and pedri had a past relationship all throughout high school and when pedri left for barcelona they lost contact / broke up but years later they reunite somehow? When they do it’s like a “i thought you’d forget about me by now” to “how could i forget about you?” maybe angst to fluff! sorry that was so long … i hope it made sense lol <33

did you think i'd have forgotten? ✶⋆.˚ - pedri gonzalez

w/c: 600 a/n: this is one of my fav songs of all time so tysm for this (and for giving a specific request HAHA) i got quite a few for this song but i liked this idea the most and thought it fit the best - hope u enjoy anon !! <3333

this is part of my 1k event - check out the rules here!!

He still looked exactly the same.

Or at least, from what you could make as your train sped past where he was standing on the platform - though you were pretty sure you could still faintly his features, that dark black hair, the crinkle in the corner of his eyes as he laughed.

It was all exactly the same.

And maybe it was the realisation, that feeling of noticing someone familiar in a place like this - or something deeper within you that you dared not to question - that pushed you to speed off the train at the last minute when this wasn't even your stop. Maybe it was this that made you walk, then jog, then sprint towards what you recognised as his figure in the distance.

But it was also the reminder of what happened between you two, all those years ago, that brought your sprint to a screeching halt. And what would be the chances of you running into your ex-boyfriend here, at a random station, far away from your hometown or the country he had left you to move to? How could you face him, after all that?

"Y/N, is that you?" Too late.

"Pedri?" you called out, your tone confused even though you had made up your mind about it being him long before he had.

"Woah, hi, what are you doing here!"

"I could ask you the same thing," you laugh, a little awkwardly.

"I'm here for a match, we're playing a local team."

"Oh, right," you smile, of course, "I study here."

There's a slight pause, in which you can see Pedri's expression turn into one of surprise. "I didn't know that."

"I mean, why would you?" You regret the words as soon as they leave your mouth, but it's too late since his face is already donning an apologetic look.

"Right, sorry," he mumbles, shoving his hands in his pockets as he looks at the floor. "What are you studying?" he says after a while of silence.

"Nursing," you say matter-of-factly.

"Of course, you'll be great at that," he says, offering a warm smile.

It's clear he's eager to make this exchange as normal as possible, and you'd probably be obliged to let him. But it's hard to be normal given what happened between the two of you, when this is the first time you've spoken to him in years.

"It's nice to see you," he says after another moment of silence.

"Same for you," you laugh shyly trying to avoid eye contact, "I figured you'd forgotten about me by now."

"How could I forget about you?" When you look into his eyes again, you're taken aback by how well his expression reflects his words - his brows tilted slightly up in the inner corners, a tender confusion at the fact that you'd think he'd dare to forget about you.

"Well, you know with how famous you are and everything, I see how they chant your names when you play," you begin to ramble, eager to explain yourself.

"Well, I'd hardly consider myself fam- wait, you watch my games?"

"Well, yeah," you sigh shyly, feeling your cheeks glow pink at the sight of his smirk. The two of you stand there, looking at each other for a while, exchanging sly glances - and it feels, just for a moment, like you're the same high schoolers who were in a puppy-love relationship.

"Are you doing anything now?" he asks you.

"Well, I was on my way to class but I'm probably late for that now."

"Do you want to grab some coffee? I want you to show me what's good around here," he smiles, "oh, and catch me up on how you're doing."

You feel your cheeks begin to ache from how wide you're smiling.

"I'd like that," you nod, "I'd like that a lot."

[604to647]

The Might of the Realm

8.9K / Din Djarin x Princess!Reader

Summary: Din Djarin, General to your father’s army, finds himself in the gladiator arena of a foreign planet fighting for the success of your diplomatic mission.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please). Established secret relationship (they are stupid in love), Mando'a nicknames (mesh'la, cyar'ika, cyare), the helmet comes off but reader is blindfolded, bath sex, fingering, unprotected PiV (Star Wars is made up and in space, so we pretend it's fine). A wee bit of angst if you squint.

A/N: Written for @beefrobeefcal's The Glandolorian challenge! This is the same AU that I imagined for my Kiss It Better drabble, with the same Princess!reader: set post Season 3, Carson Teva has dispatched Din to a New Republic stronghold planet to train and strengthen their armies; he becomes their General and falls in love with the realm's princess. I imagine this story to take place before Kiss It Better, when they are still sneaking around 🥰.

Many moons before another General (🤭) came on the scene, I outlined a long story for this AU that I'm not sure I'll ever write, so kindly forgive my self indulgent word count - I really took advantage of this challenge for a chance to write these two 🥰 Struggled a bit with the Dieter Bravo reference, but I think I found something that works (Thank you to @morallyinept for your invaluable character dialogue database!) Also got inspired by someone's Gladiator II premier look and snuck in one (1) The Princess Bride reference 🤭 / Dividers by @saradika-graphics

“No.”

“Princess, it will be fine.”

“I said ‘no’, Din.  We came to pay our respects to the new rule and to affirm that our established trade routes through Flavin 5’s space will remain intact.  We did not come to be participate in some archaic gladiatorial fighting match to assert dominance.”

Even through the blankness of Din’s visor you can tell he’s amused by your hiss of a retort but is holding back his reaction.  His stoic and impassive demeanor normally reserved for others, you know that if he’s being less than fully direct with you it’s for one of two reasons: 1) he doesn’t want to lie or 2) he doesn’t want to risk your ire.  You suppose it’s the latter in this case, and that thought alone is reason enough for you to calm your emotional response to this predicament and reassess.

Taking a deep breath, you rest one hand on your hip and mimic a stance you’ve seen your fearsome General make many times; with your other you gesture at Din to present his argument for voluntarily sending your guard, the top lieutenants of the army he commands, into a battle arena on foreign soil.

“Mesh’la, I know your instinct is to protect your people, but you know as well as I that our troops, and especially the men who have been deemed fit to accompany you on this diplomatic mission, are more than capable of handling themselves in any combat situation.”

Din almost chuckles at the way you tilt your pretty head ready to interrupt, his feisty cyar’ika; he continues hurriedly, but with the calm confidence he knows you respond to, “You diligently studied Flavian traditions and history before embarking on this trip – you yourself taught me all I know of these people.  Despite the new ruling family’s decision to resurrect this ancient custom, what is your sense of these people?  Do they seem barbaric?  Cruel for cruelty’s sake?  This isn’t the Petranaki arena on Geonosis.”

You would roll your eyes at Din’s perfectly level-headed analysis, if you didn’t consider his strategic and tactical mind one of his most attractive qualities; Din’s shrewd ability to consider all angles of any situation is one of your army’s greatest strengths, and one that never fails to weaken you at the knees.  He’s taking this situation as seriously as you need him to, and so, you consider your answer carefully - working through your thoughts out aloud, “No, they are not a cruel people – and you’re right, these gladiatorial games were never about execution or spectacle like they were on Geonosis.  The ancient Flavian events were meant to bring the people, no matter class or station, together to be entertained, usually in celebration.”

“Do you think that tradition is being respected?  Or do you suspect some hidden agenda?”

You remunerate on this, thinking back to the new Flavian royal family you met earlier today, “No.  I believe them to be sincere.  Their purpose in resurrecting this historic custom is, I think, to build a connection with their people.  Participating in the gladiator match would be a show a respect for the Flavian people and a celebration of the new royal family.”  You take a deep breath, “So, we should participate.”

“I agree completely, Princess.”

This time you do roll your eyes at Din, but there’s no arrogance in your expression, “Fine.  But Din, just because there’s no ill intent does not mean there isn’t risk.  We don’t know what to expect from such a fight – there hasn’t been one like it held in centuries.  Who knows what opponents our men would face in the arena?”

“No matter who or what our troops are pitted against tomorrow, Princess, there is no doubt in my mind that they will be able to handle it.”

Nodding thoughtfully, you have to agree, Din did train them himself after all, “I believe it.  Especially since they will have their fearless General there to lead them.”

“No.”

“Din, it will be fine.”

“I said ‘no’, mesh’la.  I cannot leave you unprotected and without guard in the Royal Box,” huffs Din.

Stepping into Din’s space, you lay your hands on the shiny beskar that sits across his expansive chest, swearing you can feel it vibrate beneath your gentle palm from his thundering heartbeat; tipping yourself towards the great warrior before you, you feel his big, gloved hands move to your waist to steady you just as you knew they would.  Giving Din your most innocuous expression, you coo, “There is no need for me to have a protective guard if we deem the Flavian royals to be of honourable intent; if it is safe enough for our soldiers to participate in the gladiatorial games, then it is safe enough for me to be alone in the Royal Box.”

Din’s smile at your cleverness and persuasive tactics is hidden beneath his helmet, but he’s yet not ready to show you he’s given in so he remains as silent and cold as the armour he wears.

You use this opportunity to loop one arm around your hulking General’s neck to bring him closer to you still, your free hand takes one of his from your waist and brings it up to his helmet in a silent request.  The familiar click of Din’s helmet unlocking is the only invitation you need - using your nose to lift the brim of his helmet slightly above his strong jaw so you can find his plush lips with your own, you feel the hint of a smile against your pout before you deepen the kiss.  Opening to let Din lick into your mouth, you melt against the hard metal that represents everything he is to you: extraordinary, flawless, indestructible.

And such a good kisser, letting loose a soft whimper you nearly miss Din chuckle something against your lips.

“What’s that, General?” you sigh dreamily.

“I said, Princess, I saw what you did there, and that was NOT the way,” chastising with no actual bite, Din lowers and relocks his helmet.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” flashing him that breath stealing smile of yours that always makes him forget himself, “I’m only following the logic you already agreed to.  Grogu and I will be fine watching you showcase the might of our realm from the safety of our spectator seats tomorrow.”

“Grogu will be with me in the fighting area.”

“No.”

“Cyar’ika, he will be fine.”

“He’s just a baby, Din!”

“And a Mandalorian apprentice.  You’ve seen what a formidable fighter he’s already grown to be.”

And so on, and so forth – the two of you, the General and his Princess, spiritedly discussing and debating matters that affect your realm.  The thought crosses your mind, not for the first time, that when you ascend the throne after your father you will need a ruling partner who challenges you like this: one who makes you wiser and forces you to expand your horizons, but trusts your compassion and tender heart, and who you trust to keep you and your kingdom safe.  And as you always do when this thought naturally lends itself to an image of Din by your side, tall and proud as your King consort, you push it away as far as you can.  It hurts too much to imagine something that seems to materialize so clearly and happily, as if it could actually become a reality, when you know it could never be.

The crowd in the arena is deafening.  Already amped from the opening entertainment acts, they’re now cheering loud, calling for the main event.

Sitting front row in the Royal Box, you scan over the floor of the arena – knowing that it’s unlikely, but still hoping for a flash of silver beskar from behind one of the gates that line the sides of the arena floor, behind which lay the holding areas for the gladiator fighters selected for today’s match.  Once or twice, you think you spy the sunlight catch something shiny from beneath the stands, but before you can look more closely, someone from the Flavian royal family will engage your attention.  Though your mind never strays far from Din and his, your men, you cannot forget yourself or your role - your purpose for being in this arena today: you’re here to secure the continued prosperity your kingdom and strengthen your realm’s relationship with a long-standing ally. 

If you’re honest, despite the trepidation that sits heavily atop your heart, you cannot help but be affected by the electricity of your environment.  The stadium thrums and pulses with the excitement of thousands of Flavian citizens who have come out in the hot sun to partake in today’s festivities – you see children of all ages waving noisemakers and colourful flags, men and women young and old already cheering for who they anticipate to be today’s victors.  Based on the chatter in your tent, the news of your General fighting today has spread like wildfire through the city – very few Flavians have ever seen a Mandalorian, never mind have the privilege of seeing one fight; today was going to be a day they remember for the rest of their lives.  As for your companions in the Royal Box, you’re happy to see that your and Din’s assessment had been accurate – there is no underlying bloodlust or malevolent show of power associated with these fights, everything is only in good fun; your royal cohorts are all in splendid moods, showing genuine enthusiasm akin to the original spirit of the same games put on by their ancestors.

You’re just chatting amiably with the new Flavian king about having some of the wonderful Flavian wine and fruit you’ve enjoyed in the tent sent up to your room later, when a fanfare of trumpets echoes throughout the stadium announcing the start of today’s fight.  The crowd quiets to a soft buzzing as the amphitheatre’s speakers announce the entrance of your fighters; the volume rises again as the audience goes wild when the might of your realm runs in through the gladiator’s entrance.  You can’t help but beam, chest bursting with pride at the impression they make on the Flavian crowd – a big, broad Mandalorian General, towering in his stance and intimidating in his majestic armour, flanked by your guard: five of the strongest, most formidable soldiers from your father’s army. 

You spy Grogu before the Flavian royals do, but it’s only because you know where to look.  A perch for him has been attached to the side of his father’s jet pack so he can remain secure at Din’s shoulder during combat, but have the flexibility to jump off and join the fray if needed.  The instant the Flavian prince spots him, he excitedly points him out to the others – and you take great pride in informing your hosts that they, in fact, have the honour of seeing two Mandalorians today.

With only a few moments before their opponents arrive in the arena, you take a closer look at your fighting contingent – they have been outfitted with Flavian weapons (swords, blasters, electro shields), the standard issue armament of your kingdom they normally carry nowhere in sight; the only exception is of course Din, who carries the gladiatorial weapons like the others and all of his usual weaponry – you chuckle to yourself, imagining the poor Flavian weapons master who tried to strip a Mandalorian of his religion.

A loud voice announcing the incoming fighters for Flavin 5 jerks you back to the scene before you.  The crowd thunders as a squadron of battle droids nearly a hundred strong marches into the arena, each carrying varying sized blasters or blaster rifles in addition to their own swords, a few wielding double ended electro staffs.  You barely have time to fret over how outnumbered Din and your troops are before the king is rising in his seat and giving the ceremonial hand gesture for the fight to begin.

You hear your General shout quick, decisive commands and his trusty men move swiftly into the desired formation, electro shields lit up and expanded in one coordinated movement.  They advance as a team, strong and sure, every aim of their blasters true – each man practiced at covering the comrades at their sides as the droids begin shooting back.

When your men are close enough to the front line of the remaining droids, the intimidating battle cry you hear emanating from Din’s helmet is repeated in response at tenfold the volume by his men, a signal to shift fluidly into a tiered offensive formation that you recognize from watching their training on the palace grounds at home.

The legion moves with precision and speed, the crouched soldiers providing the impenetrable shielding needed by the men who stand tall as a precision sniper team that can’t be touched; your Mandalorian the tallest, unphased by the droid fire that bounces harmlessly off his beskar armour.

The formation is far more effective than the static positions of the droids and in almost no time at all, your fighters have driven the remaining thirty or so droids back towards the entrance gate.  Answering another roared order, your contingent springs apart with an unrivalled ferocity to attack the remaining droids via direct combat.

Din cuts down mechanical fighter after mechanical fighter, mowing through the defensive lines of the Flavian droids that have none of his agility and lighting quick reflexes, bolstered by his trusted troops at his back who move with the confidence of men who have been trained by the best, used to fighting with the best.

Grogu has left his father, jumping from his perch onto and over droids with lightening speed - they shoot at him with their blasters only to miss their fast-moving green target every time and take each other out instead.

You watch their every move with bated breath – every bolt that connects with your realm’s armour quickens your breath, the clashing sounds of weapon on weapon too loud in your ears, and each hit or wound sustained by one of your men jolts a phantom pain through your own body.

When the last droid soldier falls, your men, your man, stand victorious at the epicenter of the arena; bloodied, exhausted to the point that the heaving of their chest plates can be seen from the Royal Box… but all standing.

You can hardly believe it - your heart exploding with pride, tears nearly springing from your eyes in relief.  Looking to your hosts, you half expect them to congratulate you and acknowledge the victory of your fighters, but instead, you see them still engaged with the scene before them, eyes trained on the arena floor.

They smile with genuine excitement and anticipation, and your eyes snap back to Din and your soldiers at the sound of the brassy, melodic fanfare now being played throughout the stadium.  The crowd rises to its feet with an ear-splitting roar as the orchestral horns continue to crescendo, announcing the coming of something.

You glance at the Flavian prince, his face alight with boyish joy – he’s excited in an almost childish way and when he sees you looking at him, he beams and points to one of the gates that’s now opening, voice elated, “Cliff beasts!”

Cliff beasts?!? You stand from your seat and rush to the edge of the balcony, gripping the railing and leaning as far as you can so you can see what new challenger is about to enter the arena.  You gasp when you see it – a woolly beast larger than Din and his men combined, trotting out into the arena on four stubby but powerful legs.  A magnificent horn, the length of which must span at least half of the creature’s massive body protrudes from its snout, thick and battle ready. 

A mudhorn??  Of all the beasts to have entered the arena, what where the chances it would be the beast of Din’s clan signet?  For a moment, you’re alarmed that maybe there have been unseen machinations at play and you’ve been blind to it all – that you’ve somehow failed in your diplomatic duties, failing your kingdom, your men, Din. 

You study the Flavian prince who’s now proclaiming to his father, the king, “These cliff beasts are so large!”  The two of them are enthusiastically waving and gesturing to the other attendees in the Royal Box, their chatter is of wonderment and genuine amazement at the sight of this creature that they’ve never before beheld on their planet - you conclude, with relief, that it has to be a coincidence.  Wait, what did he mean – these? 

Peering down into the arena again you see a second, smaller mudhorn ambling behind the first.  A parent and its child!  Your heart tightens, imagining how scared the two creatures have to be and how fiercely the adult will fight in order to protect its young.  You catch Din’s visor pointed up at you from the arena floor and you know that he understands the distressed expression of your face perfectly.

Immediately, your General gathers his men and lays out his strategy – unknowable to the crowds of the arena, but you can read Din clear as day: he won’t cause harm to another living creature if he doesn’t have to.

Din and his soldiers slowly fan out, purposefully ignoring the young calf while surrounding the adult mudhorn.  As expected, the mudhorn charges in attack.  Trying to blink as little as possible for fear of missing anything, you watch wide-eyed as your men deftly leap and roll out of the path of the stampeding animal.  When the mudhorn stops and turns back towards the perceived threat to its young, the soldiers surround it again – rocking on the balls of their feet ready to evade its charge again.  They aren’t always as lucky or fast enough – you cry out in anguish whenever the Mudhorn makes contact, sending your guard flying, landing with a sickening thud on the arena floor from the force of the impact.  The crowd gasps in worry, cheering louder than ever when your men get up to rejoin their brethren in repeating the same maneuver over and over.

Din’s plan is working, the mudhorn is getting tired. 

Part of you is relieved, the other hopes that its fatigue doesn’t make the creature desperate; though your men are still standing, you don’t know if any of them can sustain more injury to their bodies – an increasing danger that only grows as Din and your soldiers begin tightening the proverbial noose.  You spy Din protracting his fibercord whip from his vambrace by hand only seconds before he does what you suddenly realize he’s going to do.  The mudhorn is pawing at the ground, exhausted and angry while your men surround it, now each only about an arm’s length away, when Din uses a jetpack blast to leap onto its back - throwing the whipcord around its horn and pulling back on his makeshift reins.  The other men scatter and the crowd screams as your General rides the wildly bucking animal around the arena.  At their General’s direction, your men are now divided between two tasks: half shoot at the galloping beast that unwillingly bears their fearless leader and his son, their blaster bolts a distraction but doing little to the mudhorn’s tough hide; the remaining men tasked with capturing and restraining the calf – the seemingly easier task. 

Heart nearly in your throat, you watch as Grogu climbs down the front of his father’s arm and onto the mudhorn, quickly crawling to the top of its head where the massive horn joins the creature’s skull.  With one of his little green hands holding onto the cord his father holds taut and the other placed directly on the mudhorn’s woolly head, you see Grogu close his eyes in concentration.  Gradually, the mudhorn’s steps slow and its movements around the arena become unsteady, then wobbly, before it finally teeters and crashes onto its side fast asleep.  Din jumps off just in time to avoid being crushed by the animal’s huge body - Grogu does a dramatic flip into the air at the same time and lands perfectly in his father’s waiting arms.  The crowd roars its approval. 

The Flavian royals next to you are on their feet, clapping and cheering with astonishment and admiration – congratulating you on the victory of your men and thanking you for the fantastic show you’ve provided them today.  Clasping your hands in appreciation, they heartedly assure you that the documents confirming your planet’s trade routes will be completed and delivered to you tomorrow. 

You express your appreciation before turning your attention back towards the arena, heart full - relieved and proud of the men still on the fighting floor.  You have to admit they make quite the sight waving to the cheering crowds while standing next to a sleeping mudhorn, two of your lieutenants holding a makeshift leash with a smaller mudhorn standing docile at its end.  To the admiring masses, the large beast was subdued by these men, the might of your realm, but you know the truth.  You blow a little kiss to Grogu who pretends to catch it in his little hand before waving back, happy but somewhat tired.

Even with his helmet on you can read Din’s expression as he looks up to the Royal Box.  Where is my kiss, mesh’la?

You smile back a playful smirk just for the unseen eyes behind the dark T-visor.  Later.

You pace in the large, ornamental suite that your hosts have graciously provided – it’s beautiful, a true testament to Flavian luxury and craftsmanship, but you have no attention to spare for its finery.  Not when you’re straining your ears to listen for footsteps coming down the hall, eyes continuing to dart towards your door as if for some reason you may have missed hearing them come.

“Princess…”

Your lady’s maids, Olivia and Serine, pace right along with you, following your tracks around the grand room.  They’re as exhausted as you are, but you know their hearts to be as determined as your own; you give them the most indulgent look you can muster and any plea to ask you to rest dies on their lips.  The three of you continue to take turns listening intently for the telltale sounds of a soldiers’ march.

Finally, you hear something.  Faint but purposeful footsteps walking in synchronicity – the herald of well-trained soldiers with an intended destination.  Perked, you look to your faithful companions with renewed vigor and sprint to your door, flinging it open without grace and hurrying into the dimly lit hallway.

They’re still far enough down the hall that you have some time, even with your hastened steps, to study how your men appear to be faring; you know that when you ask, they will insist they are fine so not to worry you.

Two of your country’s finest are limping slightly, one of your lieutenants and a captain.  Your other lieutenant is walking fine, but he has a nasty gash on his forearm, dripped, half dried blood wrapping around his wrist like a terrible bracelet.  The armour of your realm that the legion proudly wears has taken a beating, covered in evidence of today’s bout – marked, dirty and bloodied, but none of the men themselves appear to be grievously injured.

But it’s the man at the front of the pack that you study the most sincerely.  Din’s gait is not too unfamiliar for you to suspect he’s hiding any serious injury - he would know better than that.  After the battle on the Fields of Planoor he had learned not to conceal his injuries from you, that you were so familiar with his body and the way it moves, you would know something was wrong without a single word from him.  As Din stalks towards your group, you can feel the hot gaze from behind his visor assessing you just as you assess him; your General holds himself a bit straighter, his massive frame puffing in pride.  He bears no sign of serious injury, a little sigh of relief escapes your lips as you continue to run down the hall, Olivia and Serine hot on your heels.  But his back is probably killing him.

The men stop to a coordinated halt as you reach them; their weapons sheathed, they each raise their left fists to their chests and bow, “Princess.”

You wave your hands in a graceful but frantic manner, dismissing this need for formality, “Please.  Are you okay?  Is everyone alright?”

Reaching for Grogu, your heart settles a little when he climbs down from his secured perch on his father’s shoulder and leaps into your arms.  Fussing over him, you check his fuzzy green ears and sweet face for injuries; when you run your hands over his limbs and body to do the same, he coos and giggles as if being tickled.  Resting your palm against the security of the beskar rondel he wears beneath his tunic, you exhale in contented relief and place a long kiss to his head.  He’s okay.

Those same words are now being echoed out loud in the low modulated rasp of the voice you trust most in this galaxy, “He’s okay, Princess.  Not a scratch on him, the little womp rat.  The Lieutenant could do with some fresh dressings for his arm, but the rest of us are fine – a bit banged up and tired, but nothing a warm bath and a good night’s rest can’t fix.”

Knowing that Din’s helmet will give nothing away, you study the faces of your countrymen, trying to ascertain if their beloved General is downplaying the damage for your sake.  Finding no deception in their eyes, and knowing that they know you would know, you relent, “Have you eaten?”

“We were given sustenance after our victory.”

You raise your eyebrow at this, suspecting that Din’s words answer only for his men, but not necessarily himself.  Nodding, you give your final charge for the evening, “Olivia, Serine, please kindly see our brave soldiers to their rooms, run their baths and tend to them as needed.”

Your ladies-in-waiting curtsey in assent at your words and intuitively, Olivia extends her arms for Grogu – there are no secrets between you and your closest companions.  Din nods at her and she takes her favourite little green playmate into her arms, happy to help clean him and put him to bed tonight while his father is otherwise occupied.

Din turns to face his men – similarly, there are no secrets between the General and his most trusted squadron, men who love their princess with an unyielding loyalty that rivals only his own.  Your father’s soldiers salute their esteemed leader, bidding their Princess and General goodnight before following Olivia and Serine to their assigned quarters.

Silently, you take Din’s hand and lead him back down the hallway to your room, careful not to hurry should he be much battered and sore, though the urgency in your chest is nearly bubbling over.  Your concern appears to have been unfounded because as soon as the door to your room shuts, Din sweeps you into his arms with a force that takes your breath away - crushing you to his chest so tightly that you can feel him deflate beneath the hard beskar as he exhales his own long held sigh of relief.

You chuckle, “You would have thought that I was the one fighting cliff beasts in the arena today.”

“Cliff beasts?” Din tilts his head quizzically at you.

“I’ll tell you later.  Right now, let’s get you out of your armour,” your fingers slide under his pauldrons, feeling for the familiar release mechanism.

“Cyar’ika, if you wanted to have your way with me, you only had to ask - you didn’t need to send me into a fight arena with a mudhorn,” jokes Din, wincing slightly from the stretch of his muscles as they contract and relax with the weight of his armour being lifted from his aching body.

You cluck your tongue in playful disapproval, even as you continue to make quick work of removing the rest of Din’s armour.  With now practiced precision, you lift off his chest plates and the attachment frame, unhook his jetpack, unclip his cape, slide off his vambraces, unstrap his thigh plates, unlace his boots, unbuckle his belt, unzip his flight suit.  The ceremony of this process is one you will never tire of, nor is its significance lost on you. 

Din, a Mandalorian, willingly lets you touch his armour and remove it from his body – trusting your delicate hands with his most precious property: the physical embodiment of his honour and creed, the very symbol of his people.  Not only that, but he allows you to strip him of protection and reveal his vulnerability to you, exposing him and his softness – he exists as the man beneath the beskar for you and you only.  You’re the most privileged being in the galaxy – the weight of Din’s trust in you is something you will never take for granted.

When Din stands before you in only his boxers and helmet, you begin your study of his body in earnest.  Dancing your fingers across his hard and tanned chest, you trace old scars in order to separate them from new marks; palming his torso and checking his thick arms with the same careful hands.  Rounding your warrior, you continue your roaming examination over his muscular back and listen intently for any change in Din’s breathing when you press down on his tense shoulders – relieved when you hear him groan in satisfaction instead of pain.  As you’re lightly scraping your nails over his wide thighs you hear the telltale unclicking of Din’s helmet – he beckons you.

Rising to meet his lowering face, you use your thumbs to lift the brim of Din’s helmet slightly, always keeping your eyes closed so you don’t see any of his face – not for the world would you betray Din’s trust.  Mouth finding his easily, you kiss Din gingerly – unsure of what injuries he may have sustained beneath his helmet; lightly pecking his soft pout and pressing restrained affection to the corner of his mouth.

“I’m not going to break, cyare,” Din grins as if he’s reading your mind.

Snapping down his helmet with a bit more force than necessary, you peer up into the black horizonal stripe of his visor and sniffle, “I can see some big bruises starting to form over your abdomen and on the back of your thighs.  And the muscles of your arms and back are overstrained and need to loosen or you’re going to be more sore tomorrow than you already will be.”  The emotions you held in all day now start to spill over your lash line; dropping your head, you cry softly at the toll today’s events have taken on your strong man’s body and how he bears it without complaint.  Contrite and indebted that he sustained these injuries at the behest of your kingdom - your behest, for you. 

Din gathers you in his arms and pulls you flush to his chest, tilting back his helmet again he kisses you lovingly, devotedly – with every stroke of his tongue, every nibble of your lips, he reminds you that it is not only his duty, but his honour to serve your kingdom, to serve you.  He would do anything for you, without you ever having to bid it.  It is not in him to deny you anything, his heart’s desire is to give you everything.

“I love you, Princess.”

“I love you, General.”

Not without some difficulty, you pull yourself out of Din’s embrace and lead him to the suite’s fresher, running the taps of the large tub and scenting the water with fragrant, healing oils.

“I can do that, mesh’la,” one of Din’s large meaty hands covers yours as you test the temperature of the water.

Shaking your head shyly, you bring that hand up to your lips and kiss its calloused knuckles, “Please. Let me serve you, Din.”

“That is not befitting of a princess.”

“I am not like other princesses.”

Tilting your chin up with two of his thick fingers, you can feel the smile behind Din’s next words, “No, you are not.  There is no one like you in the galaxy.”

“And I’m yours.”

The helmet, never having been relocked, is lifted again and Din sweeps you into a passionate, hungry kiss, different than the reassuring and devoted kisses of earlier – deeper, greedier.

“Get in the tub, Din,” you murmur against his lips while you can, before you forget your task and give yourself over to him completely.

Chuckling, Din can only acquiesce whenever he hears a direct request from your mouth – he never hears you command him as his sovereign, only ever as his love.  No matter – he would obey either way.  Stripping off his boxers, helmet still on, Din slips into the steamy water of the deep soaker tub, letting out a heady groan at the way all his muscles relax in reaction to the sudden heat against his rough skin. 

With a soft footedness that still surprises Din, so used to picking up every little sound with his helmet’s acoustic sensors, you reappear suddenly with a small tray table bearing various Flavian fruits and wine for Din and a thin silk scarf for you.

“I know you didn’t eat after the match,” you say matter-of-factly when Din tilts his helmet in question.  Neither did you.

“Will you join me, cyar’ika?”

“Of course, my love,” you begin to disrobe, perfectly understanding the double meaning of your General’s question.

Though he’s seen and worshipped your naked form more times that you can count, there’s always something about being unable to see the eyes that devour you which makes you shy.  Able to detect the rise in temperature of your face, your bashfulness amuses Din to no end – if only you could see his own expression; every time Din sees you bare before him is like the first time, he thinks you might even laugh at the slack jawed, awestruck expression hidden by his helmet – if Mandalorians were to believe in a literal afterlife, then Din could well be deemed a heretic for he’s sure he’s already seen heaven.

Stepping in the tub, careful not to trip over Din’s strong legs, you settle on your knees in the water near his feet; taking the wash towel from the side of the tub, you lather it up with your own luxurious cleanser, the scent of which you know Din loves and begin to wash his body.  With great care and affection, you wash and massage Din’s feet, calves and thick thighs, the two of you quietly chatting about your individual perspectives on what transpired in the arena today as you move up his body with your loving touch.

Din groans when you wash his groin area, and you smirk and pretend to throw him a look of disapproval even as you stroke his fast-hardening cock with the washcloth.

“Cyare…” he strains.

“Hmmmm?” Humming, you shimmy to straddle his lap and innocently begin to wash his hard chest and tree trunk arms.

“You’re teasing…”

“Not at all, I’m cleaning,” you giggle.  Rising onto your knees, you lean over Din’s mountainous shoulder to clean his back, dangling your wet, supple breasts right at helmet visor level.  Definitely teasing. 

Two can play at this game. Din’s modulator muffles his snicker as he makes sure you’re entirely engrossed in your task of scrubbing his back, concentrating adorably so that you don’t notice when his big paws reach for your chest, groping and kneading the pillowy flesh with hardly any warning.

You squeal and grind down on Din’s cock - in retaliation he zeros in on your already pert nipples, rough fingers roll and pinch, flick and tug your pretty peaks until you forget your work and bury your face into his shoulder, completely lost to the pleasure that only the General can give you.

“Din,” your voice a soft whimper, needy yet still regal and melodic, “… you have to…”

“What do I have to do, Princess?”

His teasing tone makes you gush; this man knows exactly what he’s doing – you try to claw back some semblance of control over the situation, “You need to let me tend to any injuries you may have sustained under your helmet.  And let me wash your hair.”

“Oh, do I?” 

Nodding in earnest with your eyebrows raised, “Yes, and then you have to rest.  Your body needs it.”

“My body needs you, mesh’la.”

Leaning back, your eyes follow the trail of your fingers as they rake down the smooth skin of Din’s broad chest, slowing over the various long-healed scars whose tales of origin you know by heart, you prepare yourself to argue your way.  But the truth is, you don’t want your way – you need Din, too.  Here on Flavin 5, there is no fear of getting caught, no need for hurried kisses or fleeting touches – the two of you have time.  Time to enjoy one another.  Time to let your hearts run rampant with affection and want.

Tomorrow morning is the last morning you can wake lazily in Din’s arms, like any other couple waking to just another day in the rest of your lives together.  Tomorrow you will return home and your love for your steady warrior will once again need to be tucked away close to your heart, safe from the prying eyes of the kingdom. 

So, you don’t argue.

“Injuries first, General.”

“I have none, Princess.”  You can feel Din’s shit eating grin radiating from behind the beskar.

Grinding down a little on Din’s hardening length as a warning, “I should like to see for myself, thanks.”

“Of course, mesh’la.  I would see you satisfied.”  Though still smirking, it’s with enormous feeling that Din picks up the scarf from the side table and with his practiced hand, covers your eyes; wrapping the silk around your head twice before tying it securely.  He doesn’t ask you if you can see, knowing that if you could you would volunteer it.  Sitting prettily with your hands clasped together, you wait for the welcomed sound of Din’s helmet being lifted and set down where you scarf previously lay.

Heart full, your hands reach out to gently touch Din’s face, fingers tracing over the most intimate part of the man you love.  His jaw relaxes as you stroke though his facial hair and his plush lips curl as your thumb brushes over them.  Din’s strong nose feels unbroken, thank goodness – your gentle kiss to the tip earns you a breathy chuckle that tickles your throat.  Mapping the strong lines of his forehead, you discover your first wound at Din’s hairline – the soft curls of his brown (or so you’re told) hair already matted and sticking with dried blood.  When your fingers caress Din’s temple, you find a small superficial cut by his left eye, and your heart tightens further upon feeling a nastier slice on the apple of his cheek.  Even without seeing and Din giving away no hint of tenderness at your touch, you’re sure there are bruises starting to form on the face you love.

Though you’ve never seen it, you know Din’s face – positive that you could pick it out of a crowd as surely as you could your own in a mirror.  It’s the face of the strongest warrior you’ve ever known, one whose honour and integrity is as unbreakable as the beskar armour that covers his body.  A protector who fights without fail to defend the weak, uphold justice, and push back against tyranny and corruption – no matter how hard something may be or the risk to his own self, the man who bears this face will never back down, always standing up for what’s right.  It’s the face of a man who loves fiercely – loves his Creed, his people, his duty, his son, his woman.  You.  You know the face of this man, the man who owns your heart, your body, your soul - wholly and completely.

You wash this face, carefully cleaning your discoveries.  Then, before you wash his hair, you cradle Din’s head delicately and check for bumps and scrapes, sighing in relief when you find none.  Lathering up a generous amount of your shampoo, you distribute it through Din’s curls, massaging his scalp as he groans in approval.  Your smile at the sound could melt even the steeliest warrior’s heart, Din is sure – it melts his.

When his hair is rinsed and face pat dry, salve applied to his wounds, you attempt to get Din to eat from the food on the tray.

“After, Princess,” Din’s voice somehow lower than when it’s filtered through his modulator.

“After what?” you pretend to be confused.

“After I have what I’m truly hungry for,” you can feel the sides of his face lift beneath your hands as the curve of his mouth pulls up into a wicked grin.

You flash him what you think is a mirroring smirk, “And what is that, General?”

Din takes an excruciating long time trailing his fingers featherlike down the column of your throat as an answer.  His massive hand skate over your naked breasts, pinky pretending to be caught on your pert nipple before catching up with its brethren that have moved on to tickling your soft tummy.  When his hand finally dips below the water, it’s no more hurried, no less teasing – knuckling down the front of you, his hand so big and wide, his thumb and baby finger stretch to slowly stroke along the apex of your thighs at the same time with no additional effort at all.  You quiver at your warrior’s languid and gentle touch – that these same hands are trained for weapons and brutality is not lost on you; how lucky are you to be able to feel them as they are now, so close to where you need them, reverent and worshipful.  Hands meant for building up and protecting, instead of tearing down and destroying - and yet you know them capable of both - and moreover, that they can and will do both to you. 

Leaning forward to press your lips tenderly to Din’s, you whisper, “Promise you’ll eat after?”

He knows the condition of the ask is empty - you need him as much as he does you, both of you hungry for more than the food your empty stomachs growl for.  The worry you felt for your Mandalorian every second he was in the arena today has morphed into a blazing desire now that you have him secure once again in your loving arms; even when he was facing blaster fire or the murderous glare of a mudhorn today, Din’s thoughts never strayed far from the moment he could return to your warm embrace.

But he plays along, because he knows you need to hear it, “I promise, cyare.” And then, because your well being is always as much on the forefront of his mind as his is yours, Din adds, “As long as you eat with me.”

“Promise.  Now touch me please, Din,” you’re trembling, not just from want but need, a need for the reassurance that he’s here safe, that the violence you saw in the arena did not touch him.

Even if he had not pledged his fealty to your kingdom, Din would submit to your request, to you – if it were up to him, he would spend the remainder of his days catering to your every whim, carrying out your will, doing anything and everything necessary to ensure your happiness.

He parts your folds with his fingers, finding you slick and ready for him.  As Din glides his thick digits along your seam, your soft moans fill the steamy room, “Ohhh Din, yes right there, please.”

“Such a polite little princess, isn’t she?” hums Din, loving how responsive you always are for him.  He kisses down your neck, nipping at your shoulder as you come to a rest against his chest.  You’re shuddering from the way he’s stroking your pussy, swirling infuriatingly at your needy hole but never dipping inside, teasing you with long broad swipes up to your clit.

Pressing his thumb against your already slippery nub, Din takes advantage of your lack of sight and surprises you by dipping his head down to take one of your breasts in his mouth at the same time – you cry out from this sudden double attack, body trying to run.

The old bounty hunter in him activated, Din chuckles and increases the pressure of his hand on your pulsing clit, and with his free hand, he holds you firm by the nape of your neck - face now buried deep in your cleavage, biting and sucking every bit of soft flesh his mouth can find.  Rolling your pert nipple between his teeth, he seals his lips over the sensitive peak and murmurs, “I got you, mesh’la.  Let me make you feel good.”

At his sure words, you immediately relax and willingly giving yourself over to your warrior, sighing in surrender as he worships you with his fingers and his mouth.  This is the only time that you allow yourself to be covetous of what is not rightfully yours – Din’s face you may know without having ever seen, but the lascivious sight of what he looks like when he loses himself in your pleasure remains a mystery.  You secretly long to see it – wishing to know how dark his eyes burn, how his lips wet and plump, how his brow might furrow or relax in reaction to your whines and whimpers. 

If you were his riduur – no.  No, you can’t let yourself go down that path of longing, it only ends in heartbreak. 

As if he can sense that your mind has started to wander, Din slips two of his thick fingers deep in your heat and curls them, beckoning you back to him.  You fly right back into the moment and to the space of devotion that he holds just for you, gasping for air at the stretch of his welcomed intrusion.

“Need to get you ready for my cock, cyare,” purrs your Mandalorian, bringing you back fully and binding your heart to his in the here and now.

Nodding almost mindlessly, you crash your mouth to Din’s.  The kiss is desperate, needy for so many reasons – your tongues licking and chasing, dancing to the song of perfect pleasure that strums along the electric current that connects you.  Din feverishly conducts the symphony of your body – grand upward motions of his fingers in your cunt send waves of bliss that crescendo through your core; the sweeping of his lips against yours keeps you in tempo with his own urgency; his rolling downward gestures on your clit coils the band below your belly tighter and tighter.

No one can play you like Din can – beneath the beskar armour he’s a master musician, lover.  Like the weapons he so deftly wields and handles, your body is an instrument he knows intimately – every shift, slight change or tensing is noted and adjusted for so he can optimize performance, maximize your pleasure.  Din knows you’re going to come before you do by the key in which your breath hitches, the cadence of your fluttering walls.

“Come for me, Princess,” he growls, biting down on your plush bottom lip.  Now it’s your turn to obey – you come with an arch of your back and a chorus sung to your General’s name, Din, Din, Din, Din.

Here you can be as loud for as long as you want and Din can fuck you through your high for as long as you need, withdrawing his fingers and licking them clean only when your cunt is complacent enough to release him, “Always taste so sweet, cyar’ika.”  You sigh at the filthy sounds of another forbidden sight you long, lust for.

Lips finding his again, you taste yourself on Din’s tongue and tease, “I thought we were eating after.”

This time it’s Din’s turn to act coy, repeating your question from earlier with a knowing smirk against your pout, “After what?”

In response, you reach between your bodies and even without the benefit of sight, easily find Din’s hard, throbbing cock.  Stroking his length with your delicate hands, you lift to line him up with your entrance and wordlessly sink down, “After you come, General.”

“As you wish, Princess,” Din groans at the way your pussy hugs him.  When you feel him shift beneath you to plant his feet on the bottom of the tub, you stop Din with a hand on his wide chest and shake your head, “You’re tired and your body needs rest, my love.  Let me do the work.”

Big, loving hands come up to cradle your head and a playful but reverent tone accompanies Din’s protest, “A General’s duty is to serve his Princess.”  You tilt into his paw and nuzzle; your Mandalorian’s affectionate touch and the feeling of fullness combine in making you compliant.  Leaning in close you ghost over Din’s lips, “Together then.”

Half awestruck, half groaning in agreement, Din slides his hands back down your soft body to come to a rest on your waist, holding you gentle and secure, “Together.”

It’s easy to find the perfect rhythm, your bodies already so in tune with one another.  Din’s slow upward thrusts meet your lighter bounces halfway, causing the water of your bath to ripple and splash against the sides of the tub.  It’s tender and patient until it isn’t – with no communication other than your soft whinnying and Din’s grunts and heavy breathing, your tempo and intensity remain matched, building together. 

Always together.  How you love being together with your Mandalorian.  How you love him.

You press yourself to Din, the rise and fall of his chest grounding you as your hips work in tandem with his.  Arms snaking around his neck, you cling to the General as your joint movements become more fervent and passionate, the water now choppy from your lovemaking.

Together.  Everything is better when you’re together.  You were able to get through today, together.

Love, relief and gratitude flood your pleasure wracked body as you crawl up Din’s broad mountain frame to find his lips.  Latching your mouth to your Mandalorian’s, you kiss him heady and desperate.  Every press of your plush and swollen pout thankful for his survival, of today’s fight and of all the fights that came before today so that he could come into your life.  A thank you to maybe that same mystical force that gives Grogu his unexplainable powers, for making the man that fills you so full at the moment the warrior, the father, the man is.  Thankful that he loves you.  For all of him.

Din meets every brush of your lips with the same devotion, somehow able to read the emotion behind your eyes without seeing them - the same way you’re able to read him even when he’s hidden behind his helmet.  He himself grateful for bringing his son and your countrymen back to you safe, for being the one to give you what you needed for the success of your mission.  A thank you to that same power than runs in his son’s veins and makes him a warrior far stronger than Din could ever be, for bringing him to you.  Grateful that a woman as regal, compassionate, and kind as you saw past his hard armoured exterior to the man beneath and holds him in your esteem.  And in your heart.

“Ni kar'tayl darasuum gar,” Din growls with a deep rumble of his chest that echoes off the walls.  I love you.

“Ni kar'tayl darasuum gar,” you cry back in the perfect pronunciation that Din taught you.  I love you.

Neither of you able to hold back your love for one another nor the crest of your bodies any longer – coming together, lyrical song sung loud and shameless.  The Princess and the General have nothing to hide here, tonight.

Later, after you’ve each eaten and drank your fill the Falvian fruits and wine, and you’ve massaged and kneaded Din’s sore muscles until you’re satisfied with the way his aches have melted away, Din guides you, still blindfolded, out of the cooled bath to the bed.

With Din protectively hovering over your naked body ready to take you again, you realize that as thankful as you’ve been feeling, you haven’t actually acknowledged those sentiments out loud to the man to whom you owe everything, “Thank you, Din.  Thank you for being the might of the realm.”

Though he knows you cannot see them, Din’s eyes fill with a love he hopes he can properly convey in other ways, “No need to thank me, cyar’ika, it will always be my honour to fight for you.  You must know - you are the might of the realm.  The realm prospers and remains strong because its Princess is brave, smart, good.  You’re everything, mesh’la.  You’re my might – I can only do the things I can because I do them for you.  I would do anything for you.”

You feel the scarf you wear across your eyes dampen as it absorbs your tears, “I know, Din.”  Happy, content, you welcome your General between your legs once more; and with the rare luxury of time and freedom that the two of you have been gifted tonight, you know it won’t be the last time.

[crobones]

I know Evan's love is toxic. He loves his friends so much that, when they divulge how bad they're feeling - about themselves, about the world around them, about whatever situation they're all stuck in - as opposed to processing these feelings and moving through them to learn and grow, he's like "Nope! Nonstarter, you're amazing and we all love you."

He mentioned it on day one. "There's nothing pleasant in rest." It is a survival tactic. Self-preservation in never staying in one place too long.

But the thing about processing emotions fully is you have to kind of just... sit in it. You need to acknowledge how you feel, understand that dealing with it cannot be avoided or rushed, and take a second to just... stew in it. You can't speedrun every issue in life. And you can't mentslly look at a feeling, point at it, name it, put it to the side, and move on. That's just sweeping the mess under the rug instead of actually cleaning it up.

He's getting close to actually learning how to process emotions, and you can see that when he talks to Sam. But he experienced feeling good all of one time, and decided he never wanted to feel any of his previous sadness ever again. It's an unfortunate trauma response - you tell a person some shit that happened to you and expect them to compartmentalize it just like you did. "Yeah, I got stabbed, but it's fine. Don't worry about it."

It's K's conversation with Tabby about Evan. But, unfortunately, K saw this behaviour in Evan and decided they could fix it for him. But now they realize that that isn't feasible. You can't clean a person's house for them - it's their personal and intimate space and you don't know where everything goes and what's more important to them. Not to mention, it takes away their agency. They dint get to learn how to deal with shit if you just fix it for them.

That's what Evan's doing. Tape shapes aside, he doesn't clean the emotional bullshit, he dumps it all into boxes, throws label on it, and puts it nearly on the pile of a thousand other boxes.

And when Jammer, or Sam, or K gets personal and lets him into their house, well. He wants to be useful. He's looking at the mess, thinks it's a non-issue, throws it in a box for them, and starts a pile. But, they shouldn't worry, he can listen to them describe what the mess is, and he'll put a label on the box for them.

Am I making sense? All of this is dismissive asshole behaviour, but they all know it's well intentioned. They do love each other. The first time he experienced a positive interpersonal interaction, he didn't want to give it up.

Now that they're back, he knows the adventure will come to an end, and that terrifies him. But he's been so task-oriented all his life, any time there's emotions to deal with, he boxes it and puts it aside.

I NEED HIM TO TURN HEEL. IF HE WANTS THE ADVENTURE TO GO ON FOREVER, I'M SURE HE COULD EASILY BECOME THE BAD GUY THEY NEED TO STICK AROUND; TO KEEP THE JOURNEY GOING. BREAK THAT FUCKING WELL, EVAN. NO HESITATION, NO EASING THE WORLD INTO IT - SMASH IT TO BITS ON SIGHT. SUBMIT THE WORLD TO CHAOS.

And what has Sam done every time? She's talked some fucking sense into them. And, well. She's already got a direct line to Evan's most intimate self. They've been in each other's head, they've had their souls entwined with one another. He sees her as the best wizard in the world. What better way to stop Evan from diving head first into the role he's always been afraid of becoming, than making him come to heel and to get his shit together?

[metallicames]

New fic with 2000's James! Hope you like it 🥰

@nausicaamusiclover20 you for the perfect translation❣️

I missed you

Description: You and James had a baby two months ago, you're slowly getting back into your routine and you feel the need to start making love with James again and it seems almost like the first time.

WARNINGS: smut, explicit content, sex, oral sex, dirty talking.

Two months have passed since Elijah was born—two difficult, but at the same time, beautiful and intense months. James has proven to be an amazing father. Since he got sober, he feels like a different person—caring, attentive, present, and reliable. I find myself falling even more in love with him. Slowly, I'm getting back into my routine. It feels good to focus on myself again, but part of me still aches every time I leave Elijah. I never thought I'd be the kind of mom who struggles with being apart from her baby, but every time I head to the gym or prepare for my upcoming runway show, there's a knot in my stomach. I’m so proud of what I do, but I can't help but feel torn.

In three months, I have a big runway show, and I've started going to the gym again. Today is one of those days, and I’m heading home after my workout, eager to see Elijah and James again.

I push the door open, the familiar scent of home welcoming me. I can already hear the soft hum of James's guitar drifting down the hallway. My heart skips a beat, and I find myself walking toward Elijah’s room almost instinctively.

When I step inside, I pause, watching them. James is sitting in the armchair by the crib, guitar in hand, his strong fingers gently strumming a slow, peaceful melody. Elijah is peacefully asleep in his crib, his tiny chest rising and falling in rhythm with the song. I can’t help but smile, my chest swelling with love.

James’s presence is such a contrast to the serene room around Elijah. His broad shoulders and tattooed arms look so out of place here, surrounded by the soft colors and delicate decor, but somehow, it makes everything feel even more right. He looks so relaxed, so at peace. It’s as if the world outside doesn’t exist in these moments, and all that matters is the tiny soul asleep in the crib and the man playing music to him.

I stay still, watching them, my heart full. It’s been months since we’ve had time alone, and I can feel the distance between us melting away, the desire for him creeping back in. But there's also something else—a sense of longing for the connection we've both been craving. It’s been so long since we've had time to ourselves, just the two of us.

I bite my lip, torn between my love for Elijah and the pull of James. I’m not sure I’m ready for everything to change, but seeing him like this, so attentive, so gentle—it stirs something deep inside me.

Finally, I take a step closer, my footsteps soft on the carpet, and I lean in to kiss the top of Elijah's head before turning my attention to James.

“You’re always full of surprises,” I whisper, my voice soft, teasing.

“I thought I’d try something different today,” he says with a grin, putting the guitar down gently. “Elijah seemed to like it.”

I smile, my heart melting. I lean in, letting my fingers brush against his, a small touch that sends warmth through me. “He did. I think he’s just as in love with you as I am.”

James’s hand tightens around mine, pulling me in closer. For a moment, it’s just us, standing there in the quiet of the nursery, the world outside forgotten.

A shiver runs down my spine. It’s been months since we’ve touched, and I can feel the longing desire  inside me. The distance between us has become unbearable, and I know it’s finally time to reconnect, to feel his touch again, to make love.

I watch Elijah sleeping peacefully in his crib, careful not to disturb him. I don’t dare touch him, not wanting to wake him up. My heart is racing as I turn toward James, and I can’t help but move toward him. I reach up and run my fingers through his short, tousled hair, the touch soft and gentle, before pressing my lips to his in a slow kiss. I pull away slowly, my gaze locking with his, and then kiss him again, this time deepening it, my tongue slipping past his lips with a careful, lingering motion.

His hand moves to my face, cupping my jaw and the side of my neck. His grip is firm, but there’s tenderness in the way he holds me, his fingers pressing slightly against my skin. He tightens his hold just a little, sending a shiver through my body.

"I want you..." I whisper, my voice breathless as my lips hover close to his ear.

I feel him stiffen slightly, his gaze lighting up with a fire that matches my own. He had promised to wait for me, to wait until I was ready. I know he’s been patient, but I can see in his eyes the same longing that’s been growing inside me. The months of silence, of distance—it’s been agony for both of us.

"Are you ready?" he asks, his voice low and full of concern, but there's a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. His eyes search mine, making sure I’m comfortable, that this is what I really want. "Do you feel okay?"

I meet his gaze, nodding softly. "I’m ready," I whisper. "I feel… right with you."

His smirk deepens, and he nods, his eyes darkening with approval. Then, as if to answer my unspoken invitation, he leans in and kisses me again, this time with more urgency. The kiss starts slow, sweet, but quickly becomes more passionate, his lips moving against mine with a deep hunger. His hands roam to my back, pulling me closer, the heat between us building as we kiss.

After a few moments, I pull back just enough to breathe, my chest rising and falling rapidly. My fingers trail down his chest, and I look up at him with a small smile. "Let’s go to the bedroom, "I suggest, my voice thick with desire.

He gives me a slight nod, but I hesitate, glancing back toward Elijah. "Wait" I say, stepping back for a moment. I grab the walkie-talkie from the shelf by the door and hand it to him. "Just in case he wakes up…"

James takes the walkie-talkie with a smirk still playing on his lips, his eyes locked on mine. "We’ll be quick" he says, the teasing tone in his voice making it clear he's eager, but patient.

I feel strangely nervous, almost as if it’s the first time. Maybe it’s the fear that something has changed, that it won’t be the same as before. If that’s the case, it would hit me hard because making love with James has always been one of the things I love most in the world. I try to hide the anxiety by kissing him hungrily, my hands finding their way to his chest, slipping under his shirt. The warmth of his toned chest makes me crave him even more.

As we move toward the bedroom, my heart is pounding in my chest. I try to push away the doubts creeping in—wondering if everything will be as it once was. What if things have changed? What if the passion we shared is gone, lost in the months of silence and distance? The thought makes me uneasy, but I try to shove it aside, focusing instead on the feel of his lips on mine, the warmth of his body against mine. I don’t want to think about anything else right now—just him.

James pushes me gently toward the bed, and I sit down, looking up at him. I can see the hunger in his eyes, the same fire that’s burning in me. Without breaking eye contact, I reach down to undo his belt, biting my lower lip as I pull at the buckle, feeling the tension build with every second.

"How badly do you want it?" he asks, his voice teasing, but laced with desire.

"Too much..." I answer, my hands pulling down the zipper of his jeans, my breath quickening with anticipation.

I pull down his pants and boxers, my gaze lingering on him for a moment. I can feel the weight of his eyes on me, and the air between us feels thick with desire. I can’t resist reaching out, my hands trembling slightly as I take his dick, slowly stroking it while I licked it, waching him intensely. His hand comes to the back of my head, gently guiding me closer. His breath quickens, and I can hear the low sounds of his pleasure. I take my time, moving deliberately, savoring the moment, savoring him.

"Stop…" he whispers, his voice rough. "I’m already close..."

I slow down, feeling the change in the air between us. I pull back just a little, giving him space to breathe, to collect himself. My fingers brush my lips, and I look at him, my chest rising and falling with each breath.  His eyes are dark, deep, full of desire. He pulls off my shirt, and for a moment, I feel exposed and vulnerable. My body has changed—my breasts are fuller from breastfeeding—and although I’ve almost regained my shape, I still don’t feel completely at ease. But when I see the way he looks at me, I feel a shiver run through me. His gaze moves slowly over every inch of my body, as if he’s memorizing me, in awe of the way I’ve changed.

He unhooked my bra while kissing me with slow, passionate intensity. The bra falls to the floor, and with one hand, he gently touches my breast. He knows I’m sensitive, so he’s careful, making sure his touch is soft, almost reverent. His fingers leave a trail of warmth that makes my head spin. I want him so much, more than I can put into words. I could throw myself at him in an instant, but he holds back, wanting to take his time, wanting to be gentle with me. His care only makes me want him more.

I lie back, pulling him down toward me, kissing him with a hunger I can’t suppress. I bite his lips softly, savoring every moment, intoxicated by his scent, his warmth. It’s like everything around us fades away, and I’m lost in him.

James pulls back just slightly, his eyes searching mine before he carefully pulls off my jeans and panties, his touch never rushing, always slow and deliberate. 

"You're beautiful... like a goddess," he says, his voice almost breathless. His compliment makes me blush, and I look at him, pleased, as I whisper, "Come here."

He quickly pulls off his shirt, his eyes never leaving mine. The intensity between us grows, and I feel a spark of anticipation.

His hand moves slowly toward my body,  touching my clit, sending a wave of pleasure through me. I arch my back instinctively, the pleasure building with every soft, deliberate touch. He kisses my chest, taking his time, pressing his face into me as if savoring every moment. His movements are slow, thoughtful, as though he’s memorizing each of my reactions.

I can feel myself becoming restless, my body craving more. It’s like a fire burning in me, one I can’t control.

"James, please... I need you," I say, my voice tinged with desperation, my body responding to his touch, moving beneath him.

He looks at me with a smile, positioning himself between us, his gaze full of longing. As he kisses me, he slowly pushes himself into me and I feel a rush of warmth and closeness. My breath catches in my throat, and I can’t make a sound, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. I open my mouth slightly, a deep sigh escaping as I hold him closer, feeling his arms enveloping me.

“God... I’ve missed you so much,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice thick with emotion. I feel the weight of his body above me, the pressure grounding me, but there’s something comforting in it—like we’re both exactly where we’re meant to be. But it becomes more passionate as I feel his lower abdomen rubbing in my clit at every thrust.  and I can’t help but respond to him, my hands gripping his back, my body aching to feel every part of him.

I know he’s holding back, trying not to rush, making sure I’m okay, and it makes me crave him more. I whisper his name, urging him on, knowing that right now, we both need this—need each other.

“Harder… James… give it to me harder,” I urge, my voice trembling with desire.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you,” he asks, concerned in his voice.

Without saying a word, I place my hand on his butt, guiding him closer to me, urging him deeper. He understands the message  and his arms move around me, pulling me in, his hands gently supporting the back of my head. He begins to thrust harder, with a new intensity, each motion slow but deep, bringing a wave of pleasure with every thrust. I let myself fully surrender to the sensation, each movement leaving me breathless. 

James is completely immersed in the moment now. His lips leave mine, his forehead resting softly against my shoulder as he continues thrusting, as though nothing else matters but the connection between us. I can feel him shaking, his breath quickening, and the way his body reacts tells me everything I need to know.

“Keep going,” I whisper, lost in the feeling of him, feeling the intensity building between us.

He reaches the peak, pulling away and leaning over me, his breath shallow as he cums all over my body, his expression of pleasure sending a rush of excitement through me. The warmth of him leaves me breathless, and his uneven breaths only heighten the intensity of the moment, sending me into a daze of sensation.

"I love you..." I whisper softly.

"I love you too, Y/N..." he responds, his breath heavy.

I look down at my abdomen and burst into laughter.

"Oops..." he says, laughing as he runs a hand through his hair.

He gets up and heads to the bathroom. When he returns, he has a damp towel, and he gently wipes it over my body, the sensation soothing. As he reaches my lower abdomen, I realize I still crave him. I want to feel more. As he moves the towel down, he pauses at my lower abdomen, almost as if he can read my thoughts. He starts kissing me, moving lower, and suddenly a wave of anxiety hits me. I’m afraid my body isn’t the same, that he won’t find me attractive anymore. Instinctively, I close my legs.

He looks at me, confusion in his eyes. "Hey... it’s me."

"I know, but..." I trail off, unsure of how to explain.

"You're perfect... relax," he says, his tone soft and reassuring as he continues to kiss me gently.

I take a deep breath, closing my eyes, feeling him gently part my legs, kissing my clit. Slowly, I start to relax, and I realize my fears were unfounded. He loves my body just as much, if not more, than before. From this moment, his mouth and tongue move with perfect rhythm, knowing exactly how to stimulate every right spot. I know he loves giving me pleasure, and I can tell he would never stop. As he picks up the pace, a wave of shivers runs through my body, almost like an electric shock with every touch.

"Oh my God, James... you’re going to make me c..." I gasp, my hand tangled in his hair as I start trembling beneath him.

From time to time, he lets out a low, almost primal groan, sending another jolt of pleasure through me, making the sensation even more intense. At one point, he takes my ankle and places my foot on his shoulder, and I raise the other one to mirror the position, giving him more room to move. He kisses deeper, the sensation of his touch making me dizzy. His intensity drives me wild, and I can feel how deeply he desires me, how every action, every movement reminds me that I belong to him.

I can no longer control my moans, my body trembling with each wave of sensation. I arch my back, turning my head back as the pleasure builds. Just before reaching the edge, I glance down, seeing James, his skin glistening with sweat, completely naked between my legs. The sight of him, the way he moves against the mattress, only intensifies the feeling.

"J-Jamie... oh my God... I’m... I’m coming," I gasp, my body contorting as I grip the pillow with one hand. He wraps his arm around my leg, and with the final movements, he brings me to a powerful, overwhelming release. It’s intense, freeing, and everything I’ve been craving.

The sensation is so overwhelming and prolonged that I can barely catch my breath. I loosen my grip on his hair, and I notice that he’s still grinding against the mattress, his face so close to me. His soft groans soon give way to his own exhaustion, and he finally stills, breathing heavily. 

"Jesus Christ!" he exclaims, almost breathless.

"What happened?" you ask, amused, as you run your fingers through his hair and pull your feet off his shoulders.

"It’s that I... I came while I was eating you out . This is the effect you have on me," he says, his head resting on your lower abdomen, his breathing heavy and irregular. You smile, gently stroking his temple. He slowly sits up and lies next to you. You turn onto your side to watch him, admiring him quietly.

"Never doubt your body again, understood?" His voice is firm, his gaze intense, almost as if he's trying to make me believe in myself just as much as he believes in me.

I nod, my heart racing, and lean in to kiss him. The moment our lips touch, I feel a tear escape, rolling down my cheek.

He pulls away just enough to look at me, his expression filled with concern. "Why are you crying now?"

I try to steady my breath, the emotions swirling within me. "I don’t know... it's just... I’ve missed you so much, and with everything... my hormones are all over the place. There’s just so much I feel... I can’t even explain it all," I confess, my voice trembling with vulnerability.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, he gently pulls me closer, wrapping his arms tightly around me, as if trying to protect me from all the worries I’ve been carrying. His warmth grounds me, and I can’t help but close my eyes and bury my face in the crook of his neck.

He presses a soft kiss to my forehead, and I feel his chest rise and fall as he inhales deeply. “I love you,” he whispers, the words coming so naturally, like they’re the most important thing he’s ever said.

I melt into his embrace, feeling his arms around me, holding me in a way that tells me I’m safe. The steady beat of his heart beneath my ear calms the storm inside me, and for a moment, everything feels right.

[dovalore]

did you know? he's the guy that sells houses

design thoughts under cut

he got hit by the kittification beam, i'm afraid it's terminal

another design! this means i get to share the song that inspired it

he's not wearing a suit because i wanted to have fun with his attire and the actual suit kinda bores me, he's got a retro futuristic suit now!

i did try and keep the colours and placements somewhat similar so it's not as different as it could be, plus the monochrome works out when the rest of him is super vibrant

speaking of, i'm not entirely sure what he looks like without his suit, probably just really green

glorp was like, the starting point, but another cat that came into play was mew because y'know, cute little space cat, best mythical pokemon in existence

his antennae glow in the dark, so do his irises. actually, a fair amount of him glows in the dark (green bits on gloves, star on chest, purple bits on his tail and boots)

eyelashes? whiskers? why not both? he's an alien after all, i added them in pretty early on in my initial sketch because i wanted his head area to have a little more visual interest and it kinda made sense since the eyes on his skin already kinda float off his head

smooth to the touch (though whether it's because you're making contact with fur or skin is up for debate because i don't know either)

not really pictured: quasar is tall as fuck because his body is so damn long

theoretical champion design thought: he'd have rocket boots! complete with boosters at the bottom to help with jumps

his design is meant to compliment peekaboo's! together, they are peesar (pronounced pizza)

that's not the reason i chose the name, it's the title of a song and i was like... sure that's spacey enough let's roll with it even though there's not much else that came from there for him

[gotta-winwin]

(🎄) ... mirth and good cheer - xmas special teaser

⭐ starring: vernon

🎄preview: vernon used to fly back to new york every christmas for one reason only: his childhood best friend. christmas used to be his and y/n’s thing, until he got seemingly too busy to ever return. now, as y/n departs to korea for the first time, she can’t help but wonder if her and vernon would ever cross paths again. vernon, unbeknownst to her, has been wondering the exact same thing. as the boys set up their christmas tree in their dorm, he does his best to ignore how hints of y/n still seemed to linger throughout the holiday air. 

tw/cw: idol!vernon x nonidol!reader, childhood friends to lovers, estranged friends, slight miscommunication, fluff, slight angst, best christmas romcom vibes, features svt members, stubborn!reader, equallystubborn!vernon, use of y/n, flips between past and present day

🐻‍❄️ release date: christmas day

☁️ masterlist & a/n: dropping a vernon x reader fic for our xmas special! doesn't vernon just scream childhood bestie to lover (੭˃ᴗ˂)੭ i just know i'm going to have sm fun writing this cuz the dynamic is so interesting! its already giving christmas romcom vibes and omg you guys are not ready.

11 DAYS FROM CHRISTMAS 2024:

“That’s not how it’s supposed to work.” Mingyu slapped Vernon’s hand away from the tree they were decorating. “It’s supposed to be symmetrical, not whatever you’re doing.”

Vernon had to admit he wasn’t really paying attention. Their dorm auntie, the one who came around once a week to clean up the place, had baked them gingerbread men as a Christmas gift, and the smell felt like it had seeped into the walls of their dorm. It was a nostalgic smell, one that took him back to his childhood, new york and-

“Vernon?” Mingyu waved a hand in front of his face. “Are you even listening right now?”

He blinked, brought back from his thoughts. “Sorry, hyung. What?”

Mingyu could only let out a deep sigh, moving to place the bauble where he intended it to be. “You’re like this every Christmas. If you miss her so much, why don’t you just fly back?”

Vernon didn’t really know why he wasn’t flying back. He certainly could be, they were off work for the holidays and a plane ticket back wasn’t hard to find. He would be doing himself a favor, putting himself out of misery and finally seeing his childhood best friend. The thing was, he wasn’t really sure if Y/N wanted to see him. He shrugged. “I don’t miss her.” It was a lie and everyone in the room knew it. 

CHRISTMAS DAY 2003: 

Everyone who knew either of them would say they were smart kids for their age. Both only five, they whispered secrets to each other like little middle schoolers would on the playground. 

“My parents say I’m going to Korea.” Vernon whispered to Y/N as they watched a christmas movie. “Forever.” Vernon always had a dramatic, theatrical side to him, even as a child.

Y/N could only frown. “Forever? Why?” She couldn’t imagine her best friend moving anywhere without her. “Am I going too?” 

Vernon mirrored her frown on his own face. “I don’t know.” Sensing her sadness, he reached over and gave her a hug. “I’ll visit every year.” He promised. 

“Every christmas.” Y/N insisted. She had always loved christmas above all else. “So we can watch movies again.”

Vernon agreed. “Okay. Every christmas. It’ll be like-” He paused, his young mind searching for the word. “Tradition.” He smiled at her, proud of the big word. 

“Promise?” Y/N stared at him with wide eyes, reaching out with her pinky, extended. “Pinky promise me.” 

Vernon grasped her pinky with his, shaking it firmly. He felt like a grown up, making one of those important business deals. “I promise.” Turning back to the screen, he let out a whine when he realized they had missed the best part. “We missed the part where the grinch screams down the mountain.” He complained. “I wanted to watch that part.”

Y/N got up, searching for the remote. “I’ll turn it back.” 

Their dynamic never changed, even as they grew older. Vernon walked through life, Y/N following behind him with eyes filled with admiration, gently nudging the boy whenever he got distracted and began walking off-track. It stayed that way even with the distance, until one Christmas, Y/N woke up and Vernon had not returned. 

CHRISTMAS DAY 2016:

“Mom?” Y/N called as she walked slowly down the stairs. She had returned home from university for the holidays and was confused when Vernon wasn’t at his usual spot to welcome her home. “Where’s Vernon?” He was usually back from Korea by now.

She didn’t like the look of pity her mother was giving her. “He didn’t tell you, honey? He’s been so busy with work, looks like he can’t fly back to join us for christmas this year.”

She felt her heart sink. She had been looking forward to spending time with him, even if it was just a couple of days out of the year. “Oh.” Of course, she understood. His work was important and she was sure the kpop industry couldn’t be easy. “That’s okay. I guess he must’ve been too busy to tell me.” 

--

“What are you still doing here?” Joshua frowned at Vernon, who was lying down on his bed. “Shouldn’t you be in New York by now?” He was used to Vernon flying back to New York every christmas since they had met. 

Vernon let out a huff. “Not going back this year, Josh.” 

“Why not?” His friend pressed, confused. Vernon was usually so excited to go back. “Isn’t your friend going to be sad?”

“I can’t miss any more practice before our comeback. One Christmas should be fine.” Vernon explained, although his voice betrayed his disappointment. He had been looking forward to going back home, to be able to see Y/N again. He thought to himself that one christmas couldn’t hurt, right?

One christmas missed turned into two. Then four. Then the timing felt too long and awkward and Vernon just never got the confidence to ever go back.

10 DAYS FROM CHRISTMAS 2024: 

Korea was beautiful underneath a sheet of snow. Y/N had landed last night, having made up her mind to give living in Korea a try. Ever since graduating university and landing a job as a screenwriter, her friends and family had always urged her to try working for the Korean film scene. 

She supposed she had always just avoided the country because of Vernon.

Her new job writing for some K-drama started after New Years. She thought maybe spending Christmas in a new place would bring back the mirth and good cheer the holiday used to give her, but she knew she was here for a different reason. A selfish and pathetic one. It burned her, that a part of her still wished to bump into Vernon after all these years. She knew he was doing well, SEVENTEEN was soaring through new heights and she had kept tabs on his ongoing success. It was the only way she kept going: his large internet presence sometimes made it feel like he never even left at all.

It hurt her the most that he could be doing so well without ever seeing her again.

Rounding the corner to the coffee shop, she rubbed her raw hands to regain heat. Ordering, she was relieved to find out she could still hold a conversation in Korean. It had gone rusty, the only people she ever used Korean with back home was Vernon’s dad and sister. 

“Hello?” Someone from behind her tapped her on the shoulder. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

[nucleos]

Lucanis post locking in the romance quest/date idea

I really liked lucanis as a romantic character who isn't particularly good at romantic gestures but is way better when he just follows his instincts anyway sooo heres my idea for a post locking in the romance quest for Lucanis before his final act quest that would improve the romance a lot, bioware steal this idea for a dlc or update you have my permission.

----

Lucanis finds Rook in the kitchen as they come in, strides up to them very proud talking about a date. He's planned a date! Well, Bellara planned a date, he apprehensively admits, but he's excited and he's sure it'll be perfect and he'll meet Rook at the restaurant in Treviso whenever they are ready. He's got that cool confidence you see him with all the time.

When you get to the date, the camera pans you into the scene from above, and you are in the most gaudy romantic restaurant imaginable, I'm talking candles all around the area, rose petals on the floor and bouquets littering the room, it's A LOT. Rook and Lucanis are sat across from each other but between them is a massive food center piece that completely blocks them from seeing each other. Next to the table is a loud obnoxious music troupe serenading the couple before them much to both their dismay. Rook is befuddled trying to make small talk but can't see or hear past the things around them, whilst Lucanis is rubbing his brow frustrated and embarrassed. Amidst the madness, their entrees arrive and they look awful, they question what it is for a second, before Lucanis lets out a long sad sigh, Rook asks if he's okay and he waves his hand before looking down, making a comment to himself about how he really just wanted this date to be special. Rook hears this even though they aren't meant to, and tries to reassure him but alternatively decided to take initiative and suggest they ditch, making up an excuse, and exiting this wild scene and go for a walk around Treviso. He quickly agrees and they run out of the resteraunt ducking away from the loudness. The energy outside the restaurant is immediately less tense if still a bit awkward at first. They just small talk, laughing about it being Bellara's idea, talking about Lucanis's previous underwhelming attempts at romance he's had with others. He brings up the story about giving a knife to a person he tried to romance prior and being rejected, not really trusting his sense of romance. Rook reassures him and they both begin to ease. They go through the market, commenting on the things around them, Lucanis talking about his childhood in Treviso, Rook commenting similarly about her upbringing (faction/race character dialogue). They get to the flower stand and Lucanis picks one out after asking what Rook's favorite is. As they continue to get more invested in conversation, talking about his previous attempts at romancing Rook, mentioning his locking in scene being told it was underwhelming by the other teammates, what it's like dealing with Spite, maybe Spite throwing some insults at Lucanis for how terribly the date went at the beginning, commenting on what Rook smells like or something similar. As they begin to get past the market, the conversation begins to almost draw to an end, mentioning how late it is, with Rook looking up, saying how they think the skyline in Treviso is so beautiful. Lucanis clearly thinks to himself for a moment and then says he knows all the best viewing spots if they want to see? offering his hand and Rook agrees. He leads them to the spot, up spiral staircases across flat roofs, small moments of tripping and giggling, mentioning Rooks surprising lack of dexterity, until they end up in a secluded rooftop balcony area, with little flowers hang down from the tiles above it, dimly lit against the glittering Treviso skyline. Rook is taken aback, amazed by what they see before them, Lucanis starts pointing out some of the things he mentioned earlier in the market. This moment lingers until they realize they haven't stopped holding hands, a little stuttering, an awkward shuffle between the two until the moment silence is broken by a violin and guitar player playing on the street below. Lucanis asks if Rook would like to dance, they accept. It's a bit clumsy at first, little chuckles and misstep but they steady into it, a steady swaying (big ol obvious metaphor for the date). Lucanis mentions learning to dance for seduction and assassin reasons, Rook asking if that's what he'd been doing all evening (sarcastic mask dialogue). Moment is rosie, warm, and Lucanis asks if he could be honest for a moment.

He begins to talk about how since he was young he wasn't the charmer like his cousin, he was only ever sure of the dagger in his hand, the hand of someone else feeling too delicate, and it being proven to him time and time again as something he could break, that feeling intensifying even more so since acquiring Spite, with these moments being too fragile and too beautiful for him to be allowed to hold. So, afraid to break them, he denied them, drowned them, thought that after the ossuary he would remain sunk under the ocean, that he would go down with these burdens, and let himself be enveloped by the water. But in these moments in front of Rook, someone who actively is striving to make the world around them better, faces the world every day, unafraid to find the good in it whilst against all the bad, he wonders... what it would feel like. Wonders what? Rook asks. To just... give in, he replies in whispers. He is inches away from their face at this point in time, his forehead against theirs. Rook makes a close whispered remark, like an I'm here. You're safe. I've got you, type line (I'm not a writer). He moves forward, leans into a soft but long kiss between them. The warmth of the moment swelling as the music plays around them. He pulls away slowly, his eyes meeting theirs, hazy and full of warmth. Rook smiles at him coyly, ''and how does it feel?", they ask. Lucanis releases a deep breath smiling back at Rook.

"Like coming up for air".

The camera floats up towards the skyline as the couple continues to dance and the scene fades to black.

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yeah. im not a writer idk how to fancy this up at all, or make it less cheesy but thats my idea