#it's like it's straight from the mouth of luke skywalker

[lxstfathier]

Mean

Master! Luke Skywalker x Padawan! Reader

Summary: a simple lightsaber combat with master Luke turns into something else.

Warnings: soft dom Luke, oral sex (m! receiving), inappropriate use of the force, implied age-gap, established relationship (?).

A/N: a little late but here it is, the soft dom Luke fic requested by anon. i also used the padawan reader cuz some of y’all asked for more… and yes, i put that gif of Graham as Luke cuz he’s super hot too idc lmao. Hope you like this! 💗

It all started as something innocent. Just a simple lightsaber combat to train and have fun. Neither of you expected to end up all sweaty, high in adrenaline and with a sexual tension way too strong.

It’s almost unbearable. The only thing you want to do is go straight to your room, strip naked and rub your clit all night until you get rid of that annoying frustration.

But you’re really dumb if you think that master Luke is not hearing your thoughts. You’re being louder that usual, of course he can sense it easily, and those filthy fantasies of yours are enough to drive him wild.

So, before you decide to excuse yourself out of the situation, Luke uses the force to snatch your lightsaber from your hands, hiding the blade and letting the hilt hang from his belt, just like all those times where he punished you for misbehaving.

But you did nothing wrong this time! you’re being a good girl, why is he acting like that?. Both of you were enjoying the friendly combat, so that sudden change is difficult to understand. You don’t get it. You weren’t acting like a brat.

“On your knees” he demands. “Now”.

“W-what?”

“You heard me”

Of course he won’t repeat what he said, and you heard it clearly, so now you need to obey his commands, even if you think it’s unfair. Cause you know full well that, if you don’t do as he wants, your lightsaber will stay on his belt for a week and you’ll be forced to meditate instead of having fun with the other students.

Letting out a sigh, you get on your knees, right in front of Luke, immediately noticing the prominent bulge in his pants.

So that’s what has your master all moody and pent up? He needs your help to relieve some stress and frustration? oh, maker, he could have just asked instead of making you feel like brat.

However, you won’t deny him a little bit of pleasure, not when you’re also extremely horny and dripping wet between your thighs.

“Come on, pretty girl, you know what to do” Luke says, impatient to feel your touch, stepping closer until his crotch is almost rubbing against your face.

And of course you know, you’re no stranger to any of that, so you get to work, looking up at him with big doe eyes while running your hands up his thighs and abdomen, pushing the belt out of the way and moving his black robes aside.

Finally, when you pull down his pants and underwear, his hard cock springs out, swollen, leaking pre cum, and begging for attention.

You take his fat length in your hands, feeling how heavy it is, pumping it a few times before licking the pink tip, earning a soft moan from him that sounds like music to your ears.

But Luke is not in the mood for teasing, he wants more, so he bucks his hips forward, urging you to take him in your mouth. And you comply, doing exactly what he wants, sliding that big cock past your lips, inch by inch, until he’s buried all the way down to the base inside that pretty little mouth of yours.

Then you start moving, up and down in a steady pace, trying your best not to gag when he hits the back of your throat.

“Fuck yeah, just like that” Luke hisses, almost whimpering, grabbing a fistful of your hair to keep the rhythm.

A moan escapes from you, sending vibrations to his sensitive cock, and you can feel your slickness soaking your panties, practically humping the air, desperate for some friction.

You need attention too, and Luke knows it, so he uses the force to rub your clit in circular motions, torturously slow, sending waves of pleasure through your body, but not enough to make you cum, he wants to do that himself.

Tears fill your eyes when you take him as deep as you can, too lost in the moment to care about breathing, wanting nothing more than make him feel good.

And seeing you just like that, crying from the stimulation and his cock stuffed in your mouth, has Luke going absolutely crazy, on the verge of an orgasm.

He thrusts hard a few times, fucking your throat, soon finding his own release, a deep groan rumbling out of his chest as he spills inside your mouth, feeling him twitch while you milk him dry, making sure that not a single drop of his hot sticky seed is wasted.

Once he has rode out that euphoric sensation, you let his cock out of your mouth, finally catching a breath, cleaning the spit running down your lips and whining when he suddenly stops working on your clit.

For a moment you think that maybe he’ll leave you there, frustrated, and then go back to his duties as a jedi master. But what you don’t know is that he’s still hearing your thoughts, smirking at the fact that you’re so damn needy, and so so good for him, always willing to do anything.

“I’m not that mean, baby” Luke says, reaching down to put two fingers under your chin, forcing you to look directly at his pretty blue eyes. “Now lay down and spread those legs, cause i’m not done with you just yet…”

[madaboutmunson]

Wishin' And Hopin'

Telepathy (Prompt A2 ) Summary: In which Eddie realises he might have some residual power from The Upside-Down and plans to use it in the best way he knows how, to impress the guy he's had a crush on for months

Word Count: 2740 @eddiemunsonbingo

AO3 Link ******************************************************************

Healing from the aftermath of The Upside-Down was a struggle. There was no denying that, but two very awesome things happened due to that epic shit fest.

Larvae and Germs of the jury I present to you:

Exhibit A: Getting to spend a lot of alone time with one disgustingly handsome Steve Harrington, who basically looked after me like he was my sexy nurse.

Exhibit B: Some juvenile stage telepathy.

We’ll get back to that fine specimen of Exhibit A later.

Let us first deal with Exhibit B.

So, at first, it was just kinda weird. I was half-watching Wheel of Fortune with Wayne while brainstorming some campaign ideas, and I could hear him repeatedly shouting a word of the answer. Honestly, I love him, but repetition in the same monotonous tone was getting right on my last nerve, like a smoke alarm that needs new batteries. Except no beep, just  “World” over and fucking over. 

So, I, well, okay, not my finest moment, but I might have lost my cool and said a little loudly, “IT’S ON TOP OF THE WORLD!!”

He clutched his pearls and recoiled into his corner of the sofa, all wide-eyed and slack-jawed and had the cheek to say, “Jesus Christ, Eddie. Ya nearly sent me straight to the pearly gates!”

“I was helping you with the answer you were evidently struggling with!” 

“Eddie, there ain’t a single song that left the beauty of Karen Carpenter’s mouth that I don’t know. Just ‘cus I don’t blurt out the answer to ruin it for the whole trailer park!” “Ok! Alright! So I can’t say the full answer, but you can keep repeating one word of the answer repeatedly. Like that wasn’t going to annoy the fuck out of me. You’re deliberately bein’ an antagonistic asshole, Wayne!”

Then he just looked at me. Like how he looks at those Canadian geese when they get too close to him at the park, “Eddie, I didn't say a word.”

Now I rolled my eyes and gave it the whole raspberry award at his performance, which did almost have me going, by the way, but the way he just continued to stare at me and look me over like I’d just fallen out of the sky. I knew he wasn’t lyin’. That’s when I started to get scared. I thought I’d slipped into one of those Vecna vision things.

“What did you hear, Ed?”

“You were sayin’ ‘World’ over and over.”

“I was saying the answer, but not out loud, Ed. Just in my mind.”

“Ok, well, that’s ridiculous. How could I possibly hear what's going on in your mind?”

“Fuck if I know. What am I thinking now?”

“Are you serious right now? I’m on the edge of sanity here, and you are making out like I’m Luke Skywalker or some shit? That's it. I’m going to bed! You know Steve doesn't pull this shit when it’s his turn babysitting me!”

I grabbed my crutch and started hobbling over to my room, and he started up again, this time with ‘Discombobulated.’ 

I turn round, and he’s wide-eyed, staring at me, gulping down his beer. I was just about to give him a piece of my mind when he pulled the beer from his lips with a gasp and said, “Now, if I was drinkin’, there ain’t no way I coulda said that word. For the record, I can’t for the life o’ me say that word out loud anyways. But I can think it.”

“Fine, let's play your silly game, old timer. Do it again. This time with me watchin’ your lyin’ ass!”

He knocked back his beer again, and I was ready for his lame-ass ventriloquism when I heard him clear as a bell “Bill”. I hobble over to check he’s not talking out of the side of his mouth or some shit, but he wasn’t

“Bill?”

“Yeah! It's a miracle, Eddie! You can read minds!”

“OK, don’t alert the Pope just yet. It might be some creepy shit left over from that messed up place we were stuck in.”

“We should practice!” He said as he frantically pulled me back to the sofa.

“Who the hell is Bill, by the way?”

“It's not a he. It's a what. I was saying, ‘Remember to pay the telephone bill.’ “

So we tried all different things for a few hours every day for the next few nights when he wasn't at work, but all I could ever get was one word, which had to be quite an intense thought. Fleeting ones just didn't hit my radar. So I guess if my telepathy was a developing human, it would be in the butt shuffling to the almost crawling stage.

I tried it around town, and boy, do the people of Hawkins have a lot of fucking issues! Ha! The ones that look like a curse word would knock them dead are the worst of the lot!

So, the moment you’ve all been waiting for back to Exhibit A!

So naturally, when my rugged Florence Nightingale came a-callin’, I had to try it out. I am only human. Who wouldn’t wanna know what is going on in that pretty lil’ head of his underneath that voluminous mane?

So, I started with something small. I put on a scary movie. He jump-scares pretty easily for a guy who’s fought freakish things from other dimensions in melee range. When one of the characters went to the basement instead of out the door, I could hear a faint ‘always’.

“God, they always do that, don’t they? It’s so dumb, right?”

He turned to me with that ediblely cute half-smile and said, “Weird, I was just thinking that!”

“Great minds think alike, I guess? But we are kinda both watching the same thing.” 

His puppy dog eyes flick up to the ceiling because, apparently, that is where all the answers are for Steve. His thinking face, urgh, stunning! Don’t get me started! He gave a shrug, nodded and went back to watching the movie.

After a while, I got a much louder word, ‘Pizza.’

I can’t make it too obvious, so I try to get up and head to the kitchen, and he’s on it like butter on a biscuit, “You hungry? Sorry, Eddie, I should have made something before the movie. I won’t be long.” Then I got “Eat,” so I knew I was on the right track.

“Hey, uh, save you cookin’. Why don’t we order a pizza?”

“Pizza? I mean, yeah, I could go for it, but I thought you said last week you didn't wanna eat anything you couldn’t see prepared, in case the government put trackers in it?”

He was right; I did say that and meant it. But who in their right mind would deprive this stud muffin of his cheesy treat, huh? Not me, that's for sure, because I know what happens when Steve gets happy.

He smiles big, and his honey-flecked eyes cast down and back up, “Thanks, Ed. I’ve been thinking about one all week, but it's a waste on my own.”

“We lucky for you, Steve, you have the gift of my presence this evening, so you don’t have to worry about that, and if we don't finish any, I know Wayne will snaffle it when he gets back.”

Then he let out one of those sweet little laughs he does, and I had to wait for him to turn his back to me so I could clench my fists and wrinkle up my nose in some weird kinda cuteness aggression.

Then I heard ‘Hot.’

So when he asked me what kind I wanted, I said, “I dunno, I’m feeling like a little spice could really hit the spot tonight.”

That earned me a hip pop and a finger gun, wink combo before he turned back around to order, twirling the cable around his finger, and I got a picture-perfect view of that ass for a minute or so. 

Then, until the pizza turned up and the entire time we ate it, the word didn't change. ‘Hot’, that's all he’s thinking about.

I figured it might be too spicy for him, so I grabbed two yoohoos from the fridge and set one in front of him without asking this time.

“Oh, thanks, but I’m good Ed. I still got some beer left over.” 

I thought maybe he didn't wanna show that the spice was getting to him, but I left the drink there all the same.

The pizza is long transferred to the kitchen, and we were well into Steve’s movie of choice at this point, Ghostbusters. I can’t get much of anything for a while, but he seems fully absorbed in the film, laughing along and quoting some of the lines. I loved that movie, but I’d have given my other nipple to have Steve be my personal reenactor of the film for the rest of my days. 

I got up to take a leak, and I could hear ‘Hot’ again. So, on my way out of the bathroom, I collect a table fan, put it on the coffee table, and switch it on. The room didn't feel that warm to me, but I knew Steve ran like a furnace. You only had to be within a few inches of him to luxuriate in that fucking man-heat of his. 

Look, I know that's weird ok, but as someone who runs fucking cold, I’m into it, alright? So just keep your opinions to yourself.

My prize for cooling down my summery prince? A fucking confused frown! He took the remote and paused the movie, “Do you want me to get you some shorts or something rather than the fan? They tend to be a little quieter and less expensive to run.” He made a joke, and I laughed embarrassingly hard at it.

“You don’t feel warm in here?”

“No, man. Are you ok? You feeling ill?” Then his hands are on me. Well, okay, he was just checking how warm my forehead was, and my pulse, but facts are facts.

“No, I’m good, man. So good. I just thought you looked warm.” Then he blushes. It was as if someone had crushed red roses onto his cheeks. His pretty little pout dropped open, and for the first time in a long time, he actually looked awkward. I would have consoled him immediately, but I got distracted because he ran his hand through the side of his hair, and I wouldn’t miss a beat of that move, not even if my knees were on fire.

“Well, I’m not. I-I can explain that. I, um…yeah…I kinda tried some of Robin’s moisturiser on my skin because she said it made it look good, and it's probably just making me look shiny. I’ll just…yeah…I’m just gonna go wash my face.”

Then I got a new word, ‘Fuck’

And I still can’t tell you what possessed me to do so, but when he got up to leave, I grabbed his arm, “Don’t do that, man, you look great. It's, uh,  not shiny at all. Your skin is as perfect as it always looks. I just read you wrong, that's all.”

Then he’s staring at my hand, and that word comes back again ‘Hot.’

And then, okay, maybe because I’m touching him properly for the first time, not a nudge in the ribs or the brush of the back of my hand. Usually, he’s the one touching me for medical purposes, obviously, but I’m not a moron. I’ll fucking take that as a win. Thank you very much.

Or maybe it's the way he looked right in my eyes. I don't know, but I caved. I spilt my guts. The quality control between my brain and mouth had gone out to lunch.

“Then why do you keep thinking ‘hot’?”

His eyebrows nearly shot off his face, “What?”

“You! You keep thinking the word ‘hot’. I can kinda read thoughts, well, just words. Well, just word, actually.”

“You-you…What? You can read my thoughts?”

“No, it's not as advanced as that.” Then, I explained everything that me and Wayne had been practising.

“Shit, do I need to call everyone? Is it upside-down stuff?”

“I dunno, maybe, but I don’t feel unwell, and nothing else weird has happened. Wayne is still okay, and we’ve been trialling it for a while now.” That seemed to take him out of panic mode and into something more relaxed.

“Huh. So you can hear a word but don’t have the context, right.” Then he stops, squints, and tilts his head with a big smile, “That's why you ordered the Pizza. That's why you picked a spicy one, the drinks and the fan! Ok, ok, that makes sense now.”

“Yeah, sorry for not telling you. I just wanted to try it out, and maybe that was desperately underhanded of me, and I shouldn't have, but…”

“You wanted to impress me?” He raised his eyebrow at me, and honestly, the sofa could have consumed me whole, and I wouldn’t have noticed because then I was stalled, and the engine wouldn’t turn, “Eddie?”

“You just do so much for me, and most of the time, you guess what I want or need without any help, and I thought, maybe I could give that back to you, you know? I thought it would be cool.”

He could have killed me with the next smirk and head shake he gave me before shutting off the fan, settling back in his seat, and unpausing the movie. I felt like I’d gotten away with it and shuffled back, too.

A few minutes later, I heard ‘You.’

When I glanced at him, he was frowning hard at the TV screen. The word silenced as he turned to me with a beaming smile, “If you get it, tap my arm.”

“OK, sure. That could be fun.”

‘Are’ Tap.

‘So’ Tap

“Stupid?” I had blurted out at the same time as that word of the night came crashing back into my head

‘Hot’ ………….tap

Steve’s face fell, and he scrambled to get up, “Sorry Eddie. Shit. I just thought. You know what. I don't know what I thought, ok. I’m-yeah. Fuck! I’m just gonna go.”

I rushed to scramble after him, but I couldn’t seem to get my usual motormouth going because my whole brain was mush due to a demi-god calling me, ME,  hot! Fucking hell, fellow perverts, I tell you this. If, at that point, I had been an able-bodied man and hadn't been on a one-way journey to the floor. Steve Harrington would have been out that door, and I probably would never have seen him again. But I’m not, and he’s a fucking superhero, so naturally, he just caught me in his stupidly perfect sculpted arms that were trying desperately to break free from that uptight polo shirt he loves to wear.

“I-I-I-I thought you were gonna say stupid. I mean, think. I mean….you know what I mean. What I mean is I didn't mean what you said was stupid!

He just blinked at me as he set me to my feet, still holding me upright, looking over me, checking I was okay.

Then, instead of letting me go, he stared right into my eyes, and how I didn't end up back on the floor again, I don't know. I can only imagine it was because his goddamn thick, taught, tanned thighs were enough support for both of us.

‘Kiss,’ I heard and stood there like a gormless idiot.

‘Kiss’, and until that point, all the words I’d heard had been just a flat tone, but this one shouted in my head. So I put on my big boy pants and tapped his arm, even though my mouth felt like the desert.

“Now?” I croaked out, and he nodded in response.

So, I did what any red-blooded human would have done in my situation. I attempted to climb that man like a tree, failed, then with his assistance tried again and succeeded, and gave him the kiss I’d been storing up for months.

Now, now be good, fair readers. Avert your fucking eyes. The rest of that evening is all mine. Let’s just say he liked that kiss. 

A lot. 

He was very appreciative. 

Many times. 

So much, in fact, he’s still walking around our house mentally shouting for them five years later.

[meraki-yao]

RWRB Quotes that speak to me on this really fucking shitty day

Hey, have I told you lately that you're brave? I still remember what you said to that little girl in the hospital about Luke Skywalker:"He's proof that it doesn't matter where you come from or who your family is." Sweetheart, you're proof too.

It is, indeed, bullshit. It's all I can do not to pack a bag and be gone forever. Perhaps I could live in your room like a recluse. You could have food sent up for me, and I'll be lurking in disguise in a shadowy corner when you answer the door. It'll all be very dreadfully Jane Eyre

I'm afraid, though, I'm stuck here. Gran keeps asking Mum when I'm going to enlist, and did I know Philip had already served a year by the time he was my age. I do need to figure out what I'm going to do, because I'm certainly closing in on the end of what's an acceptable amount of time for a gap year. Please do keep me in your- what is it American politicians say?-thoughts and prayers

It drives me nuts sometimes that you don't get to have more say in your life. When I picture you happy, I see you with your own apartment somewhere outside of the palace and a desk where you can write anthologies of queer history. And I'm there, using up your shampoo and making you come to the grocery store with me and waking up in the same damn time zone with you every morning.

Have you ever had something go so horribly, horribly, unbelievably badly that you'd like to be loaded into a cannon and jettisoned into the merciless black maw of outer space?

I wonder sometimes what is the point of me, or anything. I should have just packed a bag like I said. I could be in your bed, languishing away until I perish, fat and sexually conquered, snuffed out in the spring of my youth. Here lies Prince Henry of Wales. He died as he lived: avoiding plans and sucking cock.

Specifically, we were discussing enlistment, Philip and Shaan and I, and I told Philip I'd rather not follow the traditional path and that I hardly think I'd be useful to anyone in the military. He asked why I was so intent on disrespecting the traditions of the men of this family, and I truly think I dissociated straight (ha) out of the conversation, because I opened my blasted mouth and said, "Because I'm not like the rest of the men of this family, beginning with the fact that I am very deeply gay, Philip."

Once Shaan managed to dislodge him from the chandelier, Philip had quite a few words for me, some of which were "confused or misguided" and "ensuring the perpetuity of the bloodline" and "respecting the legacy." Honestly, I don't recall much of it. Essentially, I gathered that he was not surprised to discover I am not the heterosexual heir I'm supposed to be, but rather surprised that I do not intend to keep pretending to be the heterosexual heir I'm supposed to be.

Sometimes I imagine moving to New York to take over launching Pez's youth shelter there. Just leaving. Not coming back. Maybe burning something down on the way out. It would be nice.

9. How hard you try

10. How hard you've always tried.

11. How determined you are to keep trying.

give yourself away sometimes, sweetheart. there's so much of you.

They all turn to look at him, and Alex feels a wave of something so much bigger than himself sweep over him, like when he was a child standing bowlegged in the Gulf of Mexico, rip-tide sucking at his feet. A sound escapes his throat uninvited, something that he barely even recognizes, and June has him first, then the rest of them, arms and arms and hands and hands, pulling him close and touching his face and moving him until he's on the floor, the goddamn terrible hideous antique rug that he hates, sitting on the floor and staring at the rug and the threads of the rug and hearing the Gulf rushing in his ears and thinking distantly that he's having a panic attack, and that's why he can't breathe, but he's just staring at the rug and he's having a panic attack and knowing why his lungs won't work doesn't make them work again.

He's faintly aware of being shifted into his room, to his bed, which is still covered in the godforsaken fucking newspapers, and someone guides him onto it, and he sits down and tries very, very hard to make a list in his head.

One.

One.

One

Once upon a time, there was a young Prince, who was born in a castle. And there had never been a prince quite like him: he was born with his heart on the outside of his body.

Whereas the other princes and noble children could withstand the slings and arrows of childhood, the Prince felt everything acutely. Everything seemed to touch and threaten his unprotected heart.

Oh for Christ sake Alex, for once! I wish you could see me for who I am and not who you want me to be! Sometimes, I don't think you know me at all!

I wasn't raised by a loving, supportive family like you were!

Nothing will ever happen to you.

I don't want your protection, I want your support.

[veryace-ficrecs]

Dinluke fic recs

This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)

three rules (back straight, head forward) by queen_rowenas - Rated T

Leia is helpless to watch as Senator Almen continues on as though nothing is wrong. “Mand’alor, may I introduce you to Senator Organa’s brother, Jedi Master Luke Skywalker.” She can feel all of her hard work crumbling, whatever trust she had formed with the Mandalorians shattering before her as the Mand’alor slowly stands to his feet. Great, she thinks numbly, Another galactic war on my hands. (Leia Organa has never been one to back down from a challenge. Although advising the new Mand’alor in his introduction to the Senate and also trying to keep her Jedi brother from causing an intergalactic incident could prove to be a bigger challenge than expected.)

It Was Always You by subtlehysteria - Rated G

He’s strong, powerful, his footwork far better than just your average person who occasionally skates for fun. As if that wasn’t enough, Luke watches in shock and awe as the man executes a neat triple toe loop, landing near-flawlessly with only a slight wobble. He doesn’t even register what’s happening, just sprints down the last set of stairs and rams into the barrier, hands raised to cup over his mouth and help project his voice. “HEY, YOU!” The man falters, head snapping to Luke. A single thick brow rises in question. “DO YOU WANNA BE MY PARTNER?” Luke yells. * Or, the one where Luke needs a new ice dancing partner and Din just happens to be in the right place at the right time.

begging for you to take my hand by luminouskywhiner - Rated T

Cara could laugh, but Din knew one thing for certain. Luke Skywalker was utterly and unfairly beautiful, and the most captivating person Din had ever met. If only he could manage to get more than three words out around him without the tips of his ears burning. ~ Alternatively titled; Din Djarin is a socially awkward and sleep deprived single father who falls in love with the prettiest pre-k teacher in the galaxy.

I'd like to hang out with you for my whole life by coffeecatsme - Rated T

The first time Din touches his helmet to Luke’s forehead, it's by complete accident. Or, 5 times Luke doesn't know Din kisses him and 1 time he does.

Crystal Tears by Insomniac_with_dreams - Not Rated

“This is going to be awkward,” Luke sighs down at the baby in his arms. R2 beeps besides him and Luke nods in agreement. “Nothing to do but go back.” His X-Wing is almost completely dismantled, sparking where wires hang limply. There is no way he’s getting off of this cruiser until it’s repaired. There aren't even any escape pods on board all of the docking bays empty. He hadn’t anticipated this, and now he was going to have to walk back to the bridge with the baby and explain himself to a heartbroken Mandalorian.

The Weight of Words by subtlehysteria - Rated E

Dim blue eyes stare up at him. Hair that might once have been rich with colour hangs limp and brittle around a gaunt face. A face with a split lip and a fading bruise on one cheekbone. A face that is blank of all emotion and yet simultaneously screams help. No, he doesn’t see danger. He sees only a man trying to meld with the wall and make his body as small as possible while staring down Din with a glare so cold that it could cause anyone’s blood to turn to ice. The man is dressed in thread-bare prison garb that hangs off his slight frame like oversized drapery and around his wrists is a pair of complex-looking cuffs. They’re the same ones Grogu had been shackled with, cuffs that somehow diminished his powers. If this man bears them too could that mean… Din crouches, bringing himself down to the man’s level. “Are you a Jedi?” * In an alternate universe where the name Luke Skywalker has long since been lost, Din Djarin discovers an unexpected prisoner aboard Gideon's ship, finding not only a potential teacher for Grogu but also the man who will change his life, and his heart, for the better.

First Star I See Tonight by snapdragonpop007 - Rated T

“You’re bleeding,” Luke murmured. “I’m...maybe not fine.” Din conceded. Luke gently held his face between his hands while giving Din a very bright, very angry smile. “You think?” -- Or, Din is heavily concussed after that whole darktrooper thing, and it takes him a second to recognize his husband.

i give to you by treescape - Rated G

“They’re lovely,” Luke said, and if the pleasure in his voice seemed genuine, his brow furrowed slightly in consternation. Din shrugged uncomfortably, because what was he supposed to do—bring a gift for the kids and nothing for their teacher? Or, Din's been accidentally courting Luke.

Where There's a Will There's a Way by xiaq - Rated M

Luke walks straight to Din and Din suddenly feels like he should be doing something with his hands. “Hi,” he says. “Hi,” Luke agrees, grinning. “So. I didn’t get your name, before. Grogu just calls you ‘Daddy’ in his head but I’m assuming I should call you something else.” Din chokes a little. ***** This is basically an Accidental Warlord Din Djarin fic in which Din plays the role of reluctant DILF leader with a heart of gold and Luke plays the role of initially distrusted twink who quickly becomes beloved by all (especially said warlord). The Mandalorians are like, "we've only had Luke Skywalker for a day and a half but if anything happened to him I would kill everyone in this room and then myself."

The Way in the Sky by ShyOwl - Rated T

The man, the Jedi, the individual who had been so calm and detached just moments ago now tripped back out of the elevator, cloak tangling around his feet, with a panicked look on his young face, “I forgot to tell you where we’re going!”

Yoda’s Academy for Li’l Padawans by MissDinahDarling - Rated T

Being a new student is hard. Being a new student whilst your socially awkward father avoids the school at all costs and your new teacher pines uselessly over a man he’s never met before is even worse. But by god, Grogu is gonna get through this.

unstoppable force, immovable fathers by godbinder - Rated E

“I just need a refuel,” Luke tells the droids, carefully throwing his legs over the edge of the cockpit to slide to the ground. Grogu coos softly, his hands opening and closing his three fingers. “Not a problem, we’ll have you—ready to go...” She trails off when she gets a look at the child, who begins babbling. The Force moves around her in happiness then surprise, shock, then something akin to anger sparking faster than a thermal detonator. Before he can open his mouth, in a move that would have left Han impressed, she has a blaster in hand and shot him in the face.

[stillsolo]

@vadershope cont. from [ x ]

"yeah, it's a cantina, i'm not surprised." Luke drawls, holding his drink up towards his lips. he looks so serious, though as he takes a drink- far too serious for this situation, because the whole thing makes him want to laugh. he's never seen Han so serious, either. like he's worried that the place is going to somehow contaminate Luke or influence him somehow. it's kinda funny, really. lips twitch upwards into the makings of a smile that he squashes down fairly quickly. he can't show Han that he thinks this is funny- he'll just get even more dramatic and then they'll be causing a scene.

"we're supposed to be undercover," he reminds him quietly, lips twitching again. "just take a drink of whatever it is that you ordered and shut up." Luke doesn't drink- he's never done it once in his life and you can probably tell by the way his mouth twists uncomfortably after every drink. he's definitely not used to this. he's not even sure why they thought Han and Luke were good for this mission- they've never done undercover like this before. something tells him if Han doesn't start drinking, they're going to blow their cover, and that's not going to go down well with the rest of the team.

             𝙼𝙾𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃𝚂  𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴  𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚂𝙴  𝙰𝙻𝚆𝙰𝚈𝚂  𝙷𝙰𝙳  𝙰  𝚆𝙰𝚈  𝙾𝙵  𝚃𝙷𝚁𝙾𝚆𝙸𝙽𝙶  𝚂𝙾𝙻𝙾  𝙾𝙵𝙵  𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷  𝙱𝚁𝚄𝚃𝙰𝙻  𝙲𝙻𝙰𝚁𝙸𝚃𝚈  ,   no matter how many years stacked up or how weathered he became.  it was a stark reminder for han that, despite everything they’d gone through together, all the shared experiences, battles fought, close calls, and shared victories, luke skywalker still knew next to nothing about the man sitting beside him.  luke had no idea about the dark, unsavory mess of han’s past, the life of crime he led as an orphaned street rat, how it began long before the kid probably even realized there was a galaxy beyond the sun-bleached monotony of tatooine.

the thought sent irritation digging deeper than he’d like to admit, probing into depths he wasn’t exactly keen to explore before it ultimately touched on something raw, like a wound that never quite closed over.   unresolved, it lingered still, always gnawing at him, taunting him —

han burst into raucous, incongruous laugher, the sort that seemed a touch too loud for the setting, and slung an arm around luke’s shoulders with a familiarity that was both reassuring and rather uncalled for.   he gave luke a hearty shake—more for effect than anything else—then pulled him closer to his side, tucking the kid into what he hoped was a less conspicuous position away from the prying eyes of the bar’s other patrons.

            ❝awh hells, kid, you crack me up!❞       his laughter, tapering and resonant as it warped through his whiskey glass, elicited a few curious glances from the patrons at the periphery—glances with varying degrees of intrigue lingering just long enough to quicken his pulse—but none from the group of shady bastards lurking in the back, where the overhead lights suffused into shadow.  whether they recognized luke for who he truly was or were simply sizing him up as potential company for the night was anyone’s guess, but han wasn’t about to gamble on either outcome.               not tonight.   not ever.

ducking his head, the captain leaned in close, his face angled toward gold-spun locks to obscure the movements of his mouth. his voice dropped to a low, wary murmur, ❝listen, farm boy.  lemme set the record straight—you’re the rookie here, not me.  i’ve been rubbin’ elbows with criminal scum for longer than you’ve been alive.  now, if you’re done with the pep talk, try not to get us caught, yeah?❞  with that, han straightened up, a crooked grin spreading like a practiced mask over his face, seamlessly maintaining the pretense of two people enjoying a night out together.

[showmethesneer]

AO3 Wrapped [Writer's Edition]

Taken from @pippinoftheshire

1. How many words have you written this year?

82,912 (😳 holy shit)

2. How many works did you publish this year?

13 plus an additional chapter to an older one

3. What work are you most proud of (regardless of hits/kudos)?

Beauty and Brains: A Night In The Capitol (The Hunger Games, Finnick Odair/Beetee Latier smut)

4. What work of yours has the most hits?

Rough Enough (The Witcher, Geralt/Jaskier smut)

5. What work of yours got more feedback than you expected?

Hands down, the best, most surprising comment I've ever gotten was on A Fire In The Belly (And Other Sensitive Organs) (The Witcher, Yennefer/Jaskier smut) but I got a couple "thank you for writing this" comments on Dance Little Liar (MCU, Bruce Banner/Natasha Romanov slow burn) that shocked me

6. Favourite title you used?

Lycan Subscribe (OUAT, Ruby Lucas/Belle French friends to lovers)

7. If you use song lyrics, which artist's songs did you pull from the most?

The Amazing Devil, usually cuz I write a lot of Jaskier fics

8. Pairing you wrote the most for this year?

Technically Geralt/Jaskier (The Witcher) with Rough Enough and A Fire In The Belly (And Other Sensitive Organs) but the pairing I wrote the longest fic (most words) for was Bruce/Natasha (MCU) in Dance Little Liar.

9. Favourite pairing you wrote for this year?

Asmodeus/Fizzarolli (Helluva Boss) with A Sensation

10. What work was the quickest to write?

Smart Mouth (Spiderman, Peter Parker/Ned Leeds smut)

11. What work took you the longest to write?

With pauses, Once Upon Your Dead Body (Stranger Things, Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson vampire smut) But straight through, Dance Little Liar (MCU, Bruce Banner/Natasha Romanov slow burn)

12. How many WIP's do you have in your docs for next year?

22

13. What's your longest work of the year?

Dance Little Liar (29,929 words) (MCU, Bruce Banner/Natasha Romanov slow burn)

14. What's your shortest work of the year?

Rock And Roll And Regret (832 words) (Daisy Jones and The Six, Billy Dunne/Daisy Jones angst)

15. What WIP are you taking into next year with you?

All of them, honestly. I'm probably most excited about rewriting Jane Eyre as Swan Queen (OUAT) smut

16. What's your most common "Additional Tags" tag?

Masturbation (5)

17. Your favourite character to write this year?

It's always Jaskier (The Witcher) but, this year specifically, Finnick Odair (The Hunger Games) and Fizzarolli (Helluva Boss) were really fucking therapeutic.

18. The character that gave you the most trouble writing this year?

Hugh Crain (The Haunting of Hill House) was pretty difficult to get a handle on despite the million times I've watched it

19. What's one pairing you want to explore next year?

Jaskier/Valdo Marx (The Witcher)

20. Which work of yours have you reread the most?

Either Beauty and Brains: A Night In The Capitol (The Hunger Games, Finnick Odair/Beetee Latier smut) or Lycan Subscribe (OUAT, Ruby Lucas/Belle French friends to lovers) because I'm probably most proud of those.

21. How many kudos in total did you get this year?

1,021 on fics published this year. I don't know how to calculate the kudos I got on older fics during this year.

22. Which work has the most comments?

Rough Enough (The Witcher, Geralt/Jaskier smut)

23. Did you do any collaborative works this year?

No, but someone wrote a sequel to one of my fics.

24. Did you write any gifts this year?

I wrote Rough Enough (The Witcher, Geralt/Jaskier smut) at my wife's suggestion/request. That's as close as I've gotten to writing a gift.

25. Did you receive any gifts this year?

I was gifted Old Stars Keep Shining, which was a sequel to my fic from last summer Star Maker (Star Wars, Poe Dameron/Luke Skywalker angsty smut)

26. What's your most common category?

M/M (8)

27. What do you listen to while writing?

I usually listen to The Amazing Devil when I'm writing Witcher fics. It differs when I write for other characters. I have a playlist for Ruby Lucas (OUAT) that's like wolf girl shit.

28. Favourite work you wrote this year?

I am so fucking proud of Beauty and Brains: A Night At The Capitol (The Hunger Games, Finnick Odair/Beetee Latier smut) i can't even tell you. Just.. please read it? If you never read any of my other fics ever, please read this one.

29. Favourite line/passage you wrote this year?

"He makes me feel like… I want to rip out all my internal organs," Yennefer confessed with a thoughtful intensity, "so he has room to ravage me. I want to be completely hollowed out. Carved out and empty. So that when he penetrates me, there’s nothing that can get in his way. So he fits. Completely. And never leaves."

from A Fire In The Belly (And Other Sensitive Organs) (The Witcher, Yennefer/Jaskier smut)

30. Biggest surprise while writing this year?

Maybe how inspired I was by the books I read this year. Especially when I wrote my Helluva Boss fic A Sensation. It was deeply inspired by The Body Keeps The Score.

[deada55]

His Life Will Find A Purpose (When the River Meets the Sea) - Chapter 6

crossposting: ao3

work summary: A nine-year old in Tomahawk, WI gets glaucoma surgery over Christmas break.

chapter summary: Pickles and the family spend a day Christmas shopping in a nearby town.

tws: m-slur, violence towards children

Outside a shopping center in Merrill, Pickles sat on a bench facing out towards a T-shaped intersection with one of the biggest, closest, lowest-hanging stoplights Pickles had ever seen. The doors of the little mall were slightly misaligned with where the main street opened up to an entire row of local shops and abandoned storefronts. All around, if it wasn’t frozen, it was wet. Snow trickled down in a soft powder while the salt on the sidewalks made chalky waterlines on everyone’s shoes. Pickles kept his scarf shrugged up over his mouth so his nose wouldn’t be so cold.

He took off his mittens and thumbed over the edges of Luke Skywalker’s plastic clothes in his pocket. He’d started keeping him in his right pocket as the surgery date got closer and closer… It felt like he had someone by his side, like an imaginary friend but less babyish, since he never tried to talk to any of his action figures. Hopefully, even if Santa fell through, he could expect more of them from his aunts and uncles. They bought the same sets sometimes, and if his mom didn’t notice, he got to keep both, gift receipts conveniently destroyed in the bathroom sink. Then, he’d have a backup. An empty pocket didn’t feel quite right anymore, and it’d stopped mattering “who” he brought with him, as long as he had someone.

Maybe a puppy wasn’t a bad wish after all. Someone to walk when he wanted a reason to leave for a couple hours, someone to play with when Seth didn’t want to… boys got dogs all the time, with great success, according to Old Yeller, Where The Red Fern Grows, and Rascal. Shit, how long had Lassie been around? It was like asking for a toy car! Everyone does it!

With his luck, if he did get a dog, it’d like Seth better. But as long as he could pet it, he’d be content. He scrunched his neck into his scarf when the wind changed direction and focused his eyes on the curb. Some romantic image of a wet cardboard box started to swirl around in his mind, wet on the bottom, sinking from the dampness, still but full of whimpering brown bodies with white spots and soft fur and that mushroomy-smelling puppy breath. 

Pickles watched the pavement so he wouldn’t get caught staring, and the nondescript black shoes his father wore looked like everyone else’s.

“Pickles, c’mon.” He looked up through a blowing flurry at his father who was sweating something foul through the neckline of his shirt. “Can’t recognize your dad? Let’s go.” 

He followed his father as he wove around the empty sidewalk until they reached a bar, where his steps were suddenly straight and stable as he climbed the step. It was busy for eleven o’ clock in the morning: a couple guys were playing backgammon in the corner in the only blue vinyl wing-back seats that weren’t showing their golden foam-stuffed cracks to the world. The painted aluminum condom machine against the wall really brought out the gingham tabletops through a thigh grey haze of cigarette smoke. A televised football game played throughout the bar with all the pep of a dirge.

“‘S warm in here,” he muttered, as he tugged on the shoulders of Pickles’ coat. Pickles had to help him with it, but he got it hung up on the coat rack on his own. He dug his naked hands into his empty pants pockets as Calvert led him over to the sticky, honey-colored bar top. He wasn’t cold, no, but he didn’t want to watch as his father half-missed his mouth when he drank. Quietly, Pickles nursed a Coke, which should have felt like a higher honor than it did. Seth usually got the coke, and Seth was the one who played downstairs in the living room after dinner.

A game was playing on the television, but Pickles couldn’t make sense of anything. The commentary sounded like it was in whatever language the people in National Geographic spoke… Portuguese or something. With a ballpoint pen and a napkin, he burnt time trying to draw the smallest checkerboard he could. After filling up two quadrants of the napkin, he tuned back in to the conversation in the bar.

“Hey, is that someone’s kid?”

A couple more people had trickled in while Pickles wasn’t looking, and his father whipped his head around with a smile as big and dramatic as a clown’s, but twice as repulsive. “No, sir! He’s a midget!” He barked out his laughter loud enough to pause the backgammon game, but the new guys retreated to a table and ordered a round of beer, dismissing Calvert. Pickles ducked his head so hopefully no one would see him blush, so he didn’t see his father give them the finger, or the way his eyes had gone all funny.

“Aw, look atcha,” of course his father noticed. “The only reason they see you is ‘cause your hair’s so… so…” He pressed his curled fingers to his lips, speaking through them without relaxing his face. “Distinct. Yeah. You look… extinguished.” Finally, he burped into his hand and Pickles stopped worrying if his father was going to be sick.

The game went into overtime, and one more napkin was completely filled, but it still ended up a draw. The bar started to fill as the early afternoon became a little more like a late afternoon, and the winter sun started to sink. The clock on the wall had stopped, but the bartender turned on the 6:00 news. 

“Dad, should we go find mom?”

“You think we should?”

Calvert looked at Pickles with raised eyebrows and a flattened mouth, but with a sigh through his nose, he dismounted the bar stool. “I guess so. Let’s go to the car.” The bartender coughed to get him to remember the tab, giving Pickles the perfect chance to throw his coat on before he could forget. He checked that he still had his inhaler and Luke Skywalker before they left, then again on on the step of the bar, and once more when they’d crossed the street… His father was walking a little straighter, but holding the contents of his pockets kept him from worrying.

He followed his Dad back towards the shopping center and it’s parking lot, but the longer they trailed around, dodging cars backing out, the weirder it got to see nothing at all that looked like their family car. Then again, all the cars looked the same, and they all blended into the paint of the shops and the… the treeline? Was it a building or the edge of a forest haunting the darkness below the sky?

“Pickles, do you see the damn car?”

“No, dad.”

“Shit, I guess you can’t. Well, me neither!” He whooped and caught Pickles by the shoulder, pulling him close to his side and giving him a hard squeeze. “Don’t worry. Your mama’s got the keys.” 

He brought Pickles under one of the lamps lighting the parking lot and waited fifteen minutes or so until their salt-stained Town & Country pulled up, shining like the back of a spoon covered in slushy, sooty ice. 

When Mom got mad, she got quiet, but when she was really mad, Seth wouldn’t move an inch. He was paralyzed in the backseat, training his eyes towards his shoes.

“Get in the damn car.” She cawed through a cracked passenger-side window.

While Dad shambled into the front seat, she raced out, slamming her seat belt buckle in the door. Before Pickles could touch the handle, she grabbed him by the elbow, dragged him around to the back of a car, and leaned him against the trunk. A fluffy fog streamed out of the exhaust pipe and blew back on both of their faces. 

His mom was taller than him, but she was taller than most everybody else's moms too, and she was bent practically at the waist to get to his eye level. Her hands gripped both of his biceps until it ached through his coat and his sweater.

"Listen to me. You have no idea how much trouble you're in. Do you think it's funny to walk off when I trusted you to stay put?"

"But Dad came-"

Her nostrils flared. "Don't you start. You shut your mouth and l-"

"Mom," Before he could stop himself, he tried again to tell her what happened.

"Stop! Stop talking!" She screeched over him, glasses reflecting into his face, until his lips clung to his teeth.

"Oh, don't you start. Don't you cry, Pickles, or I'll give you something to cry about when you get home. Do you know I spent all day buying you and Sethy your Christmas presents?" She cut her eyes over to the right as a car rolled past them, then resumed with a slower, more deliberate tone of voice.

"I spent all day buying your gifts and now all I want to do is throw them away. You’ve been like this all day long. You didn't want to wake up and come with us as a family,"

"Mom-"

"Pickles!" Her right hand snapped across his cheek. "Listen!"

Every crack in her Mary Kay makeup laid on top of a layer of frustration and disgust harder than stone.

There wasn't another mother waiting in the wings to save him, so he studied the mica glint of her blush in another car’s headlights.

"See-" she snarled, "See, what the problem is with you is that you're entitled. You don't know what work goes into all this shit and you don't care, either. You find what's wrong with it and nothing makes you happy, nothin’ ! You made me think I'm a bad mom— I told you where to be and you left, and here I am looking stupid trying to find you and your father. Shame on you!"

Molly stood up, shuffling her aching feet. "Wait until we get home. You're not done, mister. Get in the car, and I don't want to hear a sound from you."

As they joined the highway, the sun set and snow started to fly over the windshield. Like warp speed... but even warp speed didn't settle the awful feeling that he could've dropped dead without anyone batting an eyelash.

"Did all the shopping go well, hon?"

"Calvert, don't start with me."

"What, it didn't?"

Pickles watched Seth lean against the car door and pretend to be asleep.

  When they got home, he'd put on his stiff upper lip and his brave face only for his mother to tell him to put his coat and shoes away. No more shouting, no belts, no sitting on his hands... nothing. Dinner was "quick stew"— a concoction of barbecue sauce, ground beef, cut up hot dogs, and canned beans— eaten in silence by everyone but Seth, who ate a cheese sandwich (he was picky.) The evening snaked on like normal save for the exhaustion on his mother's face and the way his father fell asleep in his chair at 7:30, snoring and sucking back his tongue.

At eight, Pickles went upstairs to shower and put himself to bed. Part of Christmas was the promise of new pajamas, sorely needed now that his were all but unraveling. A part of the ringed collar had come undone, leaving a footlong trail of thread stuck to his chest or his shoulder, and the whole neckline periodically flipped up wrong against his skin at night, making him wake up scratching.

Last Christmas, the first night he put his pajamas on, the whole family sat around to watch Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer on TV. The magical part wasn't how Seth minded his own business or how Dad looked so satisfied as he sat in his chair sipping cognac, but the gentle weight of her arm resting on him as he laid over her knees.

The movie ceased to matter: he was hypnotized by the pillowy pink velour of her housecoat under his cheek and the way her hand stroking his back made his fingers too heavy to lift. Armed with new socks and new underwear, the whole world was reduced to the living room, lit only by the television set. As hard as he fought, he fell asleep amid the lusciousness, and in the delicate first hour of rest he heard the end of Rudolph and the start of Miracle on 34th Street ... The next morning ( the next morning! ) he woke up in bed, still tucked all the way in and more refreshed than he could remember being in all his life.

A year later, his pajamas had worn out some of their magic, but where Seth's had ridden up to his mid-calves, his had only ridden up an inch or two.

He went to take his medicine, but his inhaler was still in his coat downstairs. Quietly, he slipped through the dark house to get it, but like a moth to a flame, he cautiously walked into the beam of light coming from his parents' bedroom. On the way, he passed his snoring father... Inside, his mother was sat up on the corner of her bed with her Bible.

"Mom?"

She tilted her glasses down to see him better in the shadows and sucked her teeth.

"Come in."

He slowly walked in and stood in front of her, his toes curling in the unfamiliar shag carpet. The glisten of her night cream under her eyes and her lack of rouge distracted him... She looked more familiar, albeit less beautiful, this way. Her short, fine hair rested against her scalp, silky-soft and barely short enough to be called a bob. Without being teased, it looked like the hair of a little girl or a cosmopolitan model.

"So do you need something from me?"

His mouth ran ahead of him— thank goodness it knew what to say. "I'm sorry, Mom. I left the bench when-"

"Pickles," she held her hand up and snapped her bible shut. "You didn't do what I asked you to do. That's what you did. I'm not going to fight about it with you. That's what happened, and that’s why I was upset."

Glancing at the lace hem of her nightgown, he gave himself a moment to think, but came up with an empty head except for,

"I'm sorry."

She sighed and laid her bible to the left. "It's alright. Did you come downstairs to say goodnight?" He wasn't small enough for her to grab up, even though she was still taller than him sitting down. Without a directive, her hands sat in her lap.

"I had to get my inhaler from my coat."

"Oh." She knitted her fingers back together while Pickles started to look around the pink room. He couldn't really remember what all was in there. Whenever he infiltrated during the day, the room was dark, and he hadn't tried coming into her room at night since... at least since the spring, when he woke up in a puddle of his own vomit and faced a huffy, impatient mother on top of getting sick again, and again, and again.

She cleared her throat. “I know you’ve been asking your father to help you with your eye drops. Since he’s asleep,” The half-truth spilled out of her so easily, but she couldn’t call him a collapsed drunkard in front of his kid. Pickles should know: if he had any sense at all, like Seth, he’d have figured it out by now. 

“Do you want me to help you with your medicine tonight?”

“No, I can do it.” He could try. He’d tried a couple nights since he’d gotten it, and he could deliver it after a thirty minute struggle and all the concentration he could muster. Her shoulders dropped with disappointment.

"Well..." Molly rested her hand back onto her bible and started to turn away until she looked back and saw Pickles coming at her with his arms outstretched.

"Come here," she grunted, pulling him forward until he sat beside her on the bed. From the side, she wrapped her right arm around him and gave him a kiss on the forehead. Her fingers crept up to the nape of his neck, feeling out how long his hair had grown since she'd had it trimmed.

"Goodnight, Pickles."

"Love you, Mom." He ducked and hugged her around the torso, leaving her patting his upper arm and rubbing his back with a flat palm. It felt like reciting a script: her breath on the top of his head was only a writer’s note.

She said "Love you," right back like a line from a script, and her breath on the top of his head was only a writer’s note. Molly pressed her lips briefly where his softspot used to be and let him slip away.

[tennessoui]

*slides you the most beautiful piece of jewelry in the galaxy* please write more keeping up with the kenobis

i do accept bribes and i am also always ready to write more kuwsk

this is the lead up to the one where they get the dog, first mentioned in this post from---damn, a year ago.

(1k)

Luke has not let go of the drawing he and Leia made since that Open House when they’d showed the family portrait to Obi-Wan.

This is, actually, quite distressing for Obi-Wan, as it’s getting terribly wrinkled in Luke’s tiny baby hands, and there’s no polite and adult way to ask the child to please relinquish the drawing as he would quite like to get it framed so that nothing will ever be able to destroy the first time Obi-Wan Kenobi was included as part of a family in a child’s terrible stick-figure drawing.

“There’ll be more,” Anakin tells him one night, two glasses of wine in and looking at him with something unreadable in his face. “If it…if it doesn’t bother you, and you let them know you like it, they’ll do more. They probably won’t stop. You’re their Obi. You’re my—” he cuts himself off and takes a long, seemingly fortifying sip of the wine. “I don’t understand the big deal.”

Of course he doesn’t. He’s been a firm and unwavering part of his children’s lives since Padmé was pregnant. He has no idea how it feels, to come in late and distant, to not see the love coming before it’s knocked him over and out.

They put him in their family portrait painting. Him.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Obi-Wan finally says. “It’s…I want it.”

He doesn’t know why he tells Anakin that, and he doesn’t mean to say the words the way he does. Like it should be enough, his want. I want it, he says and he doesn’t mean to imply so please get it for me, but those unspoken words hang in the air between them.

Anakin finishes the glass of wine in his hand and sets it down on the side table, rubbing a hand over his mouth as he considers him. 

There are some moments, even after a year and a few months of living together, where Anakin will look at him and Obi-Wan will have no idea what he’s seeing or what he’s thinking.

It makes him feel strange, though now certainly isn’t the time to examine the feeling.

“You know why he’s carrying it around, right?” Anakin asks him. “Sleeping with it, trying to bathe with it, eating wi—”

“He’s trying to bathe with it?” Obi-Wan asks, shocked and offended. “If water gets on it, it’ll ruin it!”

Something about his words—perhaps his tone—makes Anakin break into a smile, one he rushes to hide behind his hand, one that makes his eyes crinkle up into slits, laughter lines fanning out from them.

The strange feeling in Obi-Wan’s stomach intensifies.

“If you really want it, I think I know how to get him to let it go,” he tells him, and Obi-Wan’s hand tightens on his glass.

It would be so nice to have, this drawing. He could hang it up in his office, straight across from his desk, so he can just…look up and see it.

It would be so nice to have proof—concrete proof—that he hasn’t simply…made everything up. That he really and truly is a part of this strange and endearing Skywalker family, as far as the children are concerned.

“I really want it,” he hears himself saying, pleading.

The flicker of a thought ghosts across his brain: he never pleaded for anything from Satine.

A strange truth, but a truth nonetheless.

“He wants a dog,” Anakin says plainly. “They both do. That’s the important part of the picture for them: the one missing part of their family.”

Obi-Wan blinks and then swears very loudly. He’d forgotten about the damn dog, so focused on his own inclusion.

But…he really does want the picture.

“We have a very big backyard,” Anakin points out. His tone has turned wheedling. Obi-Wan wonders if he knows the twins have adopted the same voice and use it whenever they want anything at all.

They must have learned from their father.

It’s highly effective.

“We don’t have any supplies for a dog,” Obi-Wan replies, but even he knows that he’s grasping at straws.

“That’s what stores are for, baby,” Anakin says and then snaps his mouth shut, looking as if Obi-Wan will take him into their very big backyard and shoot him for the slip up.

Instead he just laughs. Qui-Gon had come to visit last minute two weeks ago. Since he still thinks that Obi-Wan and Anakin are a loving couple, raising their children together and ostensibly having sex every time they send them off to kindergarten, they’d had to play the part. “It’s a hard mindset to get out of,” Obi-Wan agrees even though Anakin hasn’t said anything else since. “Darling.”

Anakin picks up his empty wine glass and tries to take a sip, face still red.

“Fuck it,” Obi-Wan declares and he doesn’t know what the tipping point is for him, what makes him capitulate. Perhaps he just really wants that goddamn painting. Perhaps the strange feeling in his chest has grown so heavy that it’s becoming impossible to ignore. “I’ll start looking into breeders. Perhaps something small? A corgi. Oh, one of those miniature poodles, I’ve always thought they looked friendly.”

“Breeders?” Anakin stares at him as if he’s talking nonsense. “Baby, no way. I’ll take Friday off, I know you only have the one morning lecture. We can pick the kids up early and go to the animal shelter.”

Obi-Wan stares back at him. “Alright,” he agrees faintly. “But…still small, right? Anakin? Anakin love?”

But Anakin has stood up with a laugh, heading back towards the kitchen, shoulders shaking from his mirth. He must simply put his wine glass in the sink instead of washing it properly, because he’s back within a few seconds and leaning against the archway to the dining room with a smile still hanging around the edges of his face. “Did the dog in the picture look small, Obi?” He asks him, eyes twinkling.

Obi-Wan has a very bad feeling about this whole business. Very bad indeed. 

[2stepadmiral]

Obi wan Kenobi spoiler alert for first two episodes.

Can we talk about Leia? Like, how we straight up got Obi Wan walking into his cell, all “I’m here to rescue you,” just like Luke? And at ten years old, Leia’s immediately just like, “who the kriff is this old guy?” Or how she continues making smart ass comments about his age (maybe grandfather, anyone)? Like, total New Hope vibes going on with Leia’s tendency to sass her captors and rescuers, even from a young age.

Most importantly, though, can we talk about all the traits she clearly got from Anakin and Padme? Running off to avoid stuffy political events and look at ships? Identifying ship classes by sight for fun? Insulting people who get on her nerves? A nonstop flow of sass aimed at Obi Wan almost immediately after meeting him? Having a little droid friend she keeps with her everywhere? Her natural troublemaker tendencies? Fierce courage and defense of the helpless (droids)? So much Anakin.

And what about her fierce willingness to fight their way out, manifesting as demanding that Obi Wan break out his lightsaber? Or her take charge attitude? Her reckless yet reasonable sounding courage? Her faith in the good of fellow beings? Her innate kindness? Her vicious stubborn streak? Pure Padme.

And above all, Obi Wan’s reaction to it all. At first, you can tell he’s irritated by Leia’s less helpful attitude, her refusal to listen to him without arguing and her constant stream of questions. Maybe some small, carefully contained part of him noted with fond recollection how irritating Anakin could be at times when he was that age. His constant indelicately phrased questions, his tendency to wander off, his growing willingness to mouth off. Maybe there were a few times where a smile of fond recollection nearly took shape before he forced himself to clamp down on the memory, moments before the guilt and regret overwhelmed him. For he couldn’t allow himself to think about Anakin then, for fear of breaking down at a crucial moment.

Even when he finally allowed himself to notice, with some carefully measured sorrow, how similar she was to Padme, even then, he couldn’t let himself see, let alone voice, how very much like Anakin Skywalker she is. Because allowing himself to see Anakin Skywalker in his daughter would only remind him again of how his best friend, his brother, the man he had once promised to make a Jedi and who he had once praised as a better Jedi than he could ever hope to be, had in a very real sense died.

[robin-obsessed]

THEY ALL SOUNDED SO SIMILAR TO THE ACTORS THAT IT'S INSANE

This is killing me

[lessthantwelveparsecs]

Get Back Up

Rating: G, No Warnings Apply.

He is lighter and heavier without the backpack. 

The trail is slick after a night of rain. His pace is punishing, but his breath is steady as he follows the familiar path through the bamboo thicket, along the stream, down to the marshes-

Grogu’s distinct footprints linger in the mud. He ignores them. 

The frogs have taken up temporary residence in the puddles. He ignores them, too. 

He ignores all the doubts that have plagued him since committing to goodbye, and tries to focus only on the rush of air in his lungs.

He can feel his pulse behind his eyes, hammering out an urgent rhythm as his gaze strays towards the heavens, searching for the spot where he last saw Red Five. 

Seek peace. Know peace. Be peace. 

This isn’t self-flagellation. It’s prayer. He’s trying. 

Don’t try. Do. 

Yoda’s lightsaber is looped to his belt. It will return to its former status as a shoto blade, which seems a real shame. The weapon of a Grand Master, relegated to a secondary piece of kit. Perhaps a symbol of his shortcomings, if he’s really honest with himself. His ill-suitedness for the monumental task ahead. 

You could have let him have it. 

“Yours to give away, the blade was not.” 

The disturbance is so unanticipated that he catches his toe on an errant root, and even the Force can’t save him. He’s on his knees in the fen, and it would almost be funny, if he weren’t so busy feeling sorry for himself. 

He spits scum from his mouth and turns his head slowly. Yes. He’s there. 

Thank the stars.

“Hello, Master,” he groans, gracelessly hefting himself out of the muck, only to put too much pressure on one palm and sink further into the peat. Yoda’s chuckling in that loose fan-belt way of his, and for the first time in a while, Luke feels like he’s earned a stiff drink.

_______________________________

“A strong foundation, this is.”

“Thank you, Master.”

They’re standing outside the temple. He knows he should invite Yoda inside, but without a student… It’s just cold stone. No heart. 

“More will come, Luke,” his Master comforts, as though he can sense the man’s worries. 

“Sure…Of course,” Luke agrees, nodding firmly, because it’s true. He believes it. He has to believe it. This is his purpose, now. To revive, to educate. He’s a creator, not a destroyer. 

Yoda’s gnarled walking stick catches him behind the knee, and he nearly loses his footing again. 

“Ow!” Luke whines as he steadies himself, “Hey, what was that for?!” 

The soft blue haze of his Master’s ghostly frame is already hobbling towards the door. 

“Come, come,” Yoda invites, waving him inside. “Time for a chat, I think.” 

Luke sighs in a way that is most unbecoming of a Jedi, but perfectly reasonable for a Skywalker, and follows him into the structure. The gathering space is empty, save for the red cloth that remains on the ground. It’s a wound he hasn’t sutured shut, threatening to go gangrenous. Yoda settles down beside the fabric, in the space Luke occupied just a few days prior. 

Luke kneels in Grogu’s place, and waits. 

And waits.

And waits.

“I’m sorry for trying to give away your lightsaber,” Luke finally opens, when the silence becomes too loud. He uncouples the blade from his hip and sets it between them. Yoda’s brows twist, and Luke can feel his judgment.

“A joke, that was,” The Grand Master explains, smirking. “Ill timed, perhaps. So serious, have you become!” 

“I thought you wanted me to be serious,” Luke grouses. 

“Hmmm,” Yoda rumbles. They’re back to staring at one another. 

Luke has the distinct urge to run his mouth. He refrains.

When he does speak, it’s to ask a question. The same question that has disturbed him since setting Grogu in his starfighter, closing a door they’d only just opened. 

“Did I do the right thing?” 

“Did you?” Yoda pushes back. 

“I think so,” Luke nods, his gaze dropping down to focus on the lightsaber between them. “I don’t know. I went with my gut. He didn’t hesitate at all, so I’m pretty sure-” 

Yoda’s laughing. 

Please, no more riddles. Just tell me straight.

“A test for Grogu, this was not. A test for you, it was.”

…Oh.

“Knowing when to let go, part of the journey is,” Yoda continues, “His well-being, you’ve placed before your goals. Selfless, compassionate, understanding; all qualities of a true Jedi. Sure, am I, that the Order is in good hands.” 

Luke relaxes ever so slightly under the praise.

“Well, that’s good,” he sniffs, “because right now, I’m all we’ve got.” 

“So sure, I wouldn’t be,” Yoda challenges. “Trust in the Force. A new student, you’ll find soon enough.” 

“Is there a place I should be looking?” Luke needles, hoping for a sliver of guidance. He’s ready to get back on track, to look to the future. To have something to focus on besides the cavernous void of Grogu’s absence. 

“Patience, Skywalker,” Yoda coaches. “Perhaps, to you, the apprentice will come.”

“No one knows the school is here. I’m planning to leave once Artoo brings back my ship.”

“Slow down,” Yoda gives him a final, encouraging smile. “Like the bamboo, you must be. Strong, and flexible. A kettle on to boil, you should put.” 

“I’m not really in the mood for tea,” Luke murmurs.

Without warning, his Master’s spirit flickers and fades back into the ether. 

“Ooooohhhhkay,” Luke huffs, a bit put out by the abruptness. “Thank you, Master. you’ve given me lots to think about.” 

He’s reaching for the miniature saber when a bright giggle tears through the Force. Luke tries to focus on the cold metal in his palm, and not the ghosts that linger in this sacred space. It’s time to move on, to clear his mind. To make room in his heart for a new student, who deserves his best, without the baggage of his regrets.

He shakes the dust off the crimson shroud, tucks the saber inside, and folds it into a perfect parcel. He’s nearly finished when he hears the laugh again; louder, this time. More substantive. Almost as if- 

The light shifts, eclipsed by a figure in the doorway. Luke turns to find the Mandalorian, silhouetted in sunlight, beskar gleaming. And tucked in the crook of his arm-

Trust the Force. 

Grogu’s reaching for him. That’s probably a good sign. 

“Hi,” the Mandalorian opens, without fanfare. “Can we talk?”

“...Sure,” Luke agrees. “Let me put the kettle on.”

--------------------

Find me on AO3: angiebodies

[thischapstickaddict]

NEEDING/GETTING 3?!?!?!

OKAY SO, there’s actually three files in that folder.

The first is a two-shot about Luke and Leia when they’re nineteen, meeting Han. I have a summary, and exactly two wishes from that fic.

The Force was strong in Luke and Leia.

Their father was a superstitious pilot at heart. He called them gremlins: trouble-makers in the Force. Unexplainable and unanswerable to any rule or logic.

They had nothing on the chaotic entity that was Han Solo.

Find a scenario where Leia has to introduce herself as “General Leia Amidala Organa Skywalker, Princess of Alderaan, Naboo, and Tatooine, Gremlin of the Force and Padawan of the Greatest Jedi” with a completely straight face, while Han mocks every title behind her back. 

Find a scene were I can have this exchange play out:

Anakin’s mouth swished across his face. “But he’s so much older than you,” he prodded in that tone that made Luke’s instincts sit up and look for trouble.

Leia did that half-growl, half-laugh noise that said she was looking for a fight. “Remind me: what’s the age gap between you and Uncle Ben again?”

--

The second is a one-shot with Ashoka and Barriss. It’s tiny so far, and is really me throwing my feelings about the crystal mining industry into a fic:

“Why did you ask for me?” Barriss asked as she parked the cruise car.

“Because I wanted to see you,” Ahsoka replied. It was mostly the truth--but she had also wanted to see if the Jedi would allow it.

Also, even more honestly, the traffic on Coruscant intimidated her. How did anyone manage that with confidence? Everything looked like one stalled engine away from chaos.

The next crystal vendor was tucked into a small corner shop, between a wine seller and fine food grocer and a manufacturing office. It was a quiet little place. She immediately found the first handy display, looking to confirm their origins.

Crystal mining was a bloody practice built on forced labor and plenty of blood. Unless pulled straight out of the earth by her own hands, she risked buying something that would be carrying at taint and trauma. Of whatever brutal methods brought it forth.

Some of those brutalities could be eased. Most could not.

She froze upon seeing the obsidian sphere. It called. Pulled her close. Not like the black adler, which instinctively called to her worst impulses.

No; the obsidian remembered her.

Barriss came up beside her. “What is it?”

“I...I excavated this,” she muttered. Touched the glass encasing it. Tried to press through the barrier to reach it. “I found it. Shaped it. Polished it. It cut me, more than once,” she turned her hand over, showing off a range of scars her fingers and palm boasted. “The old lady sold it before I could finish it.”

She looked at the price tag. And blanched. “That’s nearly ten times what she sold it for!”

“Can’t afford it?”

“Not even close.” She was in shock. Obsidian was powerful, yes. But hardly rare or overly-coveted. It was too brutal. If quartz was the stone that molded and fit against her best energies, her highest wishes, then obsidian was the rigid, unforgiving mirror. Unlike her wonderful white crystal, that amplified and expounded and aided whatever energies were given it, obsidian was unflinching.

The mirror stone; it showed her shadow self back to her without mercy. Intensive and inescapable. Protective, but only if she bent to it. She would never ask anything of obsidian the way she asked for light from sunstones or obfuscation from bull’s eyes or labradorite. She would only supplicate before it.

--

The third is Anakin and Mace’s first conversation, which I shamelessly ducked out of in the original fic. It’s still kinda rough, and is more dialogue than anything else:

***

“How are you feeling?” Obi-Wan’s face swam before Anakin, the only stable point in a fuzzed outline of reality. Warm palms pressed into his forehead, pushing back his sweat-matted hair. 

“Dehydrated,” Anakin replied with a rumble in his chest. His eyes were full of grit and his tongue was thick in his mouth. 

The twins were a pair of heat-soaked energy-balls at his side. 

He’d need to talk with Ahsoka later. He had felt it when she had slipped on the avalanche of Force work he had enmeshed himself in. He had frozen up, grabbing at her to make sure she wasn’t swallowed by the power he was unleashing. 

One of the other Jedi had talked her through it. 

Possessiveness and pride warred in him over that. 

“Leave us, Master Kenobi.” 

Mace Windu was a tower of a man. Anakin’s mother had told him stories about towers, when he was younger. Something about them coming down…

“I don’t think that’s wise.” 

Obi-Wan was more of a rulebreaker than Anakin first thought. He bit his tongue to keep from spoiling what was playing out. 

“Wise or no, I’d like to speak with Skywalker alone.” 

Anakin wasn’t as high-strung as he would have been an hour ago. He knew where his kids were. Ahsoka was warm and safe, if exhausted from sticking her hand right in the middle of his work. He knew Obi-Wan was right outside the door, likely trying to eavesdrop on whatever he could pick up. 

In fact, he felt downright mellow. 

“Skywalker,” Windu said, calling his attention. 

There was something there, he supposed. He had been quick to gauge how each individual Jedi felt about him by what name they conferred upon him. The more hostile ones stopped just short of Darth Vader. A few had opted for the more neutral “Good Sir” or the like. 

A small handful had called him Anakin. That surprised him; more so, it touched him in an uncertain, caring kind of way. He hadn’t thought to expect that acceptance from any Jedi besides Obi-Wan. 

Windu had found a comfortable the middle ground. 

The Jedi took him in from nose to knee. Lingered over his mechanical hand. Anakin glanced down at it, curled into a loose fist against his thigh. 

He didn’t think about it much. It was a part of him--he adapted to it long ago, and hadn’t worried about it in years. 

“I remember the day I lost my hand,” he said, conversationally. Cheerful, almost. Windu said nothing. 

“I was leading a battalion through Rixlon,” Anakin recalled. “Barren little place. A speck of nothing really, in the long term. Amazing how strategically important a speck of nothing can be in a war slog.” 

“I remember.”

“Came across this group of Galactic Army grunts. Didn’t think much of it—I’m not much of a soldier. More of a…well, more of a weapon, really.”

“I remember.”

“And then this Master Jedi cut my hand off.”

“I remember.”

Anakin looked back up at Windu. “Why’d you do that, Master Jedi?” 

Windu’s face was nearly stone. “It was a favor to you,” he said eventually. 

Anakin laughed--there was no humor in it. “Explain that to me,” he said with no small amount of venom in his voice. “Nice and slow. Just so I understand.” 

“I tried to disable you,” Windu replied without guile. Or shame. “You tried to kill me. Neither of us succeeded, it seems.” 

Anakin leaned forward. Let danger seep into the edges of his aura. “Wanna try again?” 

“I’ve explained myself enough. Does Obi-Wan know?” 

“He’s never asked about it. Or this,” Anakin said, touching the scar on the side of his face, running through his eyebrow and the apple of his cheek. 

“That wasn’t me,” Windu cut down. 

It hadn’t been. Anakin dropped his hand. 

“If you and Obi-Wan don’t talk about that, what do you talk about?”

“Most of the time, I’m just trying to get him to fuck me on the nearest flat surface,” Anakin replied, as obnoxious as possible and wanting to make Windu uncomfortable. He had plenty of practice wearing this particular role--it was its own kind of armor. And Anakin had plenty of weak points he was desperate to cover, all of them under the roof of the Jedi Temple.   

The all-too obvious pieces were there, just waiting to be put together: Windu had all the power in this conversation. The moment he mentioned Luke, Leia, or Ahsoka, he’d have Anakin at his mercy. He’d do anything to keep them safe. If Windu told him to get on his knees and grovel, he’d do it. If he ordered Anakin to cut off his other hand, he’d do it. If he demanded complete, unfiltered access into every recess and sacred space in Anakin’s mind, he’d do it. 

And that scared Anakin. He couldn’t defeat that fear, or banish it. So he had to use it.

But his attack went wide. Windu’s face didn’t break, and his aura was too controlled in the Force to give away anything--intrigue, disgust, desire. Nothing. 

“And after that?” 

“Meditation and conflict,” he said. “Which inevitably leads us back to sex. Works out pretty well for me, actually.”

“I didn’t kill you when I had the opportunity, Skywalker. And try as I might, I never regretted that decision. Do you know why?” 

“I’m too cute to kill.” 

That got Windu to roll his eyes. “I never killed you, because every time I meditated on your death I saw myself falling to the dark side. And you weren’t worth that.” 

“What does falling to the dark side look like to you?” 

“Like losing control. What does it look like to you?” 

“Like an authoritative rule.” 

Windu sat back. “Your children talk a great deal.” 

For the first time in their conversation, Anakin’s composure broke. It was a reflex beyond his control. His hand spasmed, his face broke.  

“Obi-Wan told me they would be safe,” he whispered. “He <i>swore</i>. I’m asking--fuck, I’m begging you not to make him a liar.” 

“No,” Windu commanded. “No, we are going to put this to bed right now, Skywalker. They will never be used as leverage against you. I swear to that right now. But that goes both ways--neither will they be a shield for you. You have things to answer for, and you cannot hide behind them to evade that.” 

“I would never--,” 

“Stop--this is what I mean. We need to speak about your children, and I need you to behave like their father. Not the man whose hand I cut off. Bringing them into the conversation does not give you license to lose your focus. Obi-Wan’s lessons should have taught you control. Find it now.” 

Anakin pulled on every scrap of patience he ever had. It wasn’t much. But his shoulders straightened. 

Windu nodded. “As I was saying, your children talk a great deal. For all of that, they manage to say very little. Like how they managed to find a planet that’s been lost to our Order for generations.”

Anakin shrugged, only slightly baffled. He trusted the Force. “I told them to find somewhere safe.” 

[jedimordsith]

A long excerpt that may or may not make the final cut for a Sweet on You installment. 

Mara rolled her eyes as he strode across the room toward her. “How did you live this long?” She groused, feigning annoyance and poking at his shields in the Force. “You have the self-preservation instincts a shaak." 

Luke obligingly dropped his shields, enfolding her in the warmth of his pleasure at her arrival and his happiness at finding the cake. “That’s why I have you,” he teased, stopped beside the bed. “To bail me out whenever I get in trouble, remember? Now come on, get off that thing so I can kiss you.” 

Mara raised an eyebrow and made a point of looking around. “You don’t want to be in bed with me? That’s a first.” 

Luke gave her a non-plussed look. “It’s not a bed, it’s a horror holo prop. Come on.” He held out a coaxing hand. 

Mara’s expression went incredulous and then slid straight into sly delight. “Why Master Skywalker,” she purred. “Are you afraid of a waterbed?”

“I’m not afraid of it,” he said stubbornly. “I just don’t like sleeping on surfaces that feel like they’re swimming with diangnas.” And, as she still hadn’t moved and wasn’t likely to if the cheeky mirth of her expression was any indication, he gave a firm tug in the Force, yanking her to the edge of the bed. 

Mara squawked in indignation but Luke was already sweeping her into his arms. He’d intended to carry her to the sofa, bridal style, but once she was off the bed Mara took charge. Wriggling around with the sort of balance and flexibility few people in the galaxy possessed, she wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. Her mouth found his in a hungry kiss and Luke returned it greedily. It had been too long since he’d seen her, had her lithe, strong body pressed to his. 

Cupping one hand at the nape of her neck and tucking the other beneath her, he carried her blindly across the room, relying on the Force to keep from falling over the caf table on the way to the sofa. Once there, he spilled them both onto the cushions, his body pinning hers beneath him as their hands and mouths roamed, renewing the connection between them and driving away the memories of long, lonely nights.  

Eventually, nuzzling at the hollow between Mara’s breasts, her ship-suit opened to the waist and her bra shoved down, the cups pushing her creamy mounds up enticingly, Luke accepted that he either needed to fully strip her and have his way with his lover’s beguiling body or he needed to back off and get to the bottom of the cake issue. Tempting as she was, his curiosity and need to make sure that she didn’t change her mind won out. 

With one last kiss to her soft skin, he shifted his weight a bit and popped his chin on her sternum. “Where’d you get the banja cake recipe?” 

“I don’t usually give away my sources.” Mara tucked her chin to peer down at him in mock disapproval. She carded a hand through his hair, making him hum. “But Handree Braman published it in his CardSafe cookbook.” A twinge of irritation escaped her. “I’d have used a more local recipe, but I couldn’t find any.” 

Luke chuckled and tucked one arm under his lover’s back, snuggling deeper in against her. “Lack of authenticity worked in your favor,” he assured her. “It was delicious.” 

“Mmm.” Mara dragged her short nails against his scalp, sending ripples of drugging pleasure through his system. 

Luke’s eyes fluttered half closed and he tipped his head, seeking more. 

“Self-preservation of a shaak and petting habits of a tooka,” Mara teased. Still, she obliged, working her nails lightly against the spot on the back of his head that he liked best. 

“Mm-hhm,” he agreed, unperturbed. “But I’m not —oh, do that again — I’m not going to be distracted Mara. I ate the cake. Tell me what I volunteered for.” 

“Public sex.” 

Still distracted by the delicious feel of Mara’s hands in his hair, it took Luke a moment to register what she’d said. One eye popped all the way open.

“What?”

[xwinterdreams-blog]

let me have your loyalty (and I will give you mine)

Kylo & Hux

Hux really wished he hadn’t gotten Ren started. It had been an innocent comment about the Republic’s ineptitude, but when it came to Ren, there was no such thing.

He’d been ranting for the past five minutes about how they would all be crushed under his powerful fist, which yes, Hux could certainly get on board with, but the monologuing was growing tedious.

Now they were on the subject of Luke Skywalker, which, how did they get there? Hux must have zoned out somewhere along the line, considering all the more important things he could be doing with his time than listening to this.

He sighed. Loudly.

“What?” Ren demanded impatiently, irritated as ever to be cut off when he was on a roll.

“Who cares about Luke Skywalker?” He asked, knowing it was a very bad idea to say such a thing to Ren, but he couldn’t find the wherewithal to care at that moment. “He’s a relic of a bygone era.”

Kylo Ren’s eyes flashed dangerously, and that was the only warning Hux received before Ren was in his face, so rapidly he’d barely been able to blink. “I do! I DO!” What his voice lacked in volume it made up for in sheer intensity. There was fury all over his face.

His face was hovering so close, Hux could see into his crystal clear hazel eyes, closer than he’d ever seen them before. He could see the rage shining out of them, but there was something deeper there as well. An old wound that suggested this wasn’t a case of Ren’s out of control ego as he had assumed, but a sensitive spot that Hux had pressed.

Riling Ren always gave him a vindictive little thrill, but as the moment lengthened, both of them breathing heavily for some reason, he felt something between them shift. A spark of electricity, a rush of danger, but not the kind where he feared some violent retribution.

He couldn’t say who moved first, it felt like they were both inexplicably drawn towards each other at the same moment. He might have suspected force energy at work if he hadn’t felt the desperate need to touch, to eliminate the space between them, coiling in his gut.

Their teeth clashed as their lips met violently, aggressively trying to dominate each other’s mouths but neither willing to cede any quarter to the other. Hux clutched at Ren’s cloak under his neck to hold him there, not that he appeared to be going anywhere as he wrapped his arms around Hux’s back, sliding his hands up until they gripped his shoulders tightly.

What was he doing? He’d completely taken leave of his senses, that much was quite certain. He could not be kissing Ren. He hated him. He was pretentious. And annoying. Hadn’t he just been thinking how much he wanted to get away from the man? Not this. Whatever this was. Hux had to admit, begrudgingly, that he certainly preferred the man when his mouth was occupied by endeavours other than posturing.

Even so, he would stop this, any moment now. It was highly unprofessional. They pulled away from each other as breathing became essential, which would have been the perfect moment to end this now. Except Ren was leaning in once again, trailing his lips over Hux’s neck, tongue darting out to trace symbols over his neck, seemingly zeroing in on all his most sensitive spots. How did he do that? Hux wasn’t even aware attention on his neck could create such pleasure.

This was very unfair. How was he supposed to think straight when Ren was being so very distracting? The man had no sense of propriety or any consideration for the fact that they were in a public space and could be interrupted at any moment. Ren’s hands slid down to grasp his ass, grinding his dick insistently against Hux’s hard on. He moaned, shamefully, not knowing whether to lean into his hands or his body, both felt sinfully good.

But enough was enough, he was more disciplined than this. He grasped Kylo’s jaw roughly, much more than necessary, but he wanted to punish him a little for his presumption. Shoving his face far enough away to get a good look at the man, his blood humming in his veins, Hux gave him a stern glare.

Ren stared back, eyes full of challenge.

“We’re not doing this. It’s very inappropriate.” A sly smile curved Ren’s lips, and he opened his mouth to speak but Hux shook his head. “No. If you desire a return to this… discussion, you will meet me in my quarters at 10. On the dot. Do not be late, or I will not answer. Understood?”

“Very bossy of you,” Ren remarked. “Perhaps I don’t want to be ordered around?“

Hux shrugged, affecting an uninterested stance. “These are my terms. If you cannot meet them, that is your choice. But I won’t have you thinking you can order me around, just because I’m inviting you to fuck me. You will be sorely disappointed, I’m afraid.”

Ren’s sly smile spread into a full on grin. “Very well, if that’s what you’re inviting me to do, I will be there at 10. On the dot.” His voice was mocking, but his desire was real. Hux didn’t care. He could mock all he liked. There was nothing wrong with a little punctuality. He was particular about his evening routine, and he would not have Ren disrupting it. Not even for the desire that was beckoning him to throw caution to the wind.

“Excellent,” he straightened his uniform jacket and nodded. “I must be off, I have many things to attend to.” He made to walk past Ren, but the insufferable man grabbed his arm on his way past.

“Yes, yes, you’re very important, General. Attend to your matters. But know this.” His voice lowered to a menacing degree. It didn’t scare Hux, but it did stop him in his tracks. Anticipating what was to come next. “I don’t believe you.”

Hux frowned. He didn’t understand what he was saying.

“You’re not so unaffected as you’d have me believe. You want me just as badly as I want you, and you’re using all the discipline at your disposal to schedule me into an appropriate hour.”

Hux felt his face twitch, but refused to comment. What could he say that would contradict the veracity of his claims? They were hardly untrue.

“Don’t worry, Hux. I’ll respect your precious punctuality, but I make no promises for what will transpire in your room. You may find you like it, following my lead.” And with that electrifying statement he stalked off, his robes swishing around him in a suitably dramatic fashion.

Hux rolled his eyes. Always had to have the last word, didn’t he? Unfortunately, he couldn’t say that he was entirely wrong. He would bristle against any attempt by Kylo Ren to order him around professionally, but after the way his stomach had clenched painfully, pleasurably, in response to Ren’s seductive words?

He could not deny it

------

Read the rest on AO3

[sinfulskywalker]

Any hcs of Vader giving Luke “The Talk” 😏?

You're damn straight I do.

NSFW

TW: mild infantilism/Possessiveness/Skywalker hijinks and language

Possessive!Vader

No, no, no, no. This isn't happening. Luke is a little boy still. Fourteen is too young to wonder of sex.

He limit's Luke's Holonet time because honestly where in the world would that boy get the idea of sex? It had to be those stupid Holodramas that only old women and apparently his son are infatuated with.

Luke is blushing and can't look at him in the eye as he hands him his permission slip. "I have to see a movie tomorrow on it. Can you just sign it and get it over with?"

No, Vader does not and will not sign it. He pulls his son out of The Imperial Academy and hires tutors instead. Luke gives him hell for it for weeks on end, claiming he misses his friends and he's bored having to listen to multiple old men bore the hell out of him.

He's going to keep Luke as ignorant as possible.

When Luke brings up the topic all Vader does is belittle him. Humiliation usually gets Luke to shut up. "You think you're ready to learn about sexual intercourse and yet you cannot reach the top shelf in the pantry? You're adorable." and "Aw, but why would you ever need to know of sex? You're going to be my little boy forever. Remember when you said you wanted to marry Daddy when you were four Lukey? I think you should just stay with Daddy forever so your heart isn't broken by some whore who tricked you into loving them."

Dad!Vader

"On the diagram given to you, son, you will see the male anatomy. This is completely normal for an expectation of what's to come when you develop and grow more in the years down the line. Now, bellow the waist, you'll see the penial-"

A snicker errupts. Vader stops talking to look up. Luke has his hand over his mouth as his shoulder shake. He can't hold his laughter to save his life.

"Please pay attention. In the Penial area, you'll notice the testicles-"

Now Luke is snickering, his pearly white teeth on display and tears rolling from the corners of his eyes. The Dark Lord Vader is infront of him saying words like testicles

"Son, if you aren't going to take this seriously then we shall have a conversation about your behavior." Vader crosses his arms. Luke tried to stop, he really did. Vader decides to move onto the female anatomy considering Luke is just giggling with the male slides he's providing.

That only proves to be worse when Luke starts hollering, "Holy Force, the size of those tits!" Vader finds it hard to resist the urge to facepalm.

Dad!Anakin

Anakin uses stuffed animals.

"One day two Banthas met. The boy bantha thought the girl bantha was so pretty that he decided to ask for a kiss. And so the boy Bantha kissed the girl Bantha. When the boy Bantha left to fight some bad guys with some wicked moves and tricks that stunned the evil Sith, The by Bantha came home a hero and noticed The girl Bantha had two little Baby Banthas with her to be a family. And that is how the boy Bantha became a Daddy and the girl a Mommy that's where babies come from."

Luke believes it. Leia calls him the dumbest Nerf Hearder in the Galaxy.

Luke then asks his father if it's okay for boys to like other boys. Anakin didn't faint. He didn't. Whatever Obi-Wan says is a lie, he didn't. But yes, Luke, he eventually tells him.

"Good because I wanted you to meet my boyfriend, Din."

Anakin faints again.

[ooops-i-arted]

I honestly think Luke’s writing isn’t necessarily because the writers really think he’d be a bad teacher, but because they feel they need to stick to sequel trilogy canon, which is too bad. Stuff has been retconned in Star Wars before; but I do understand where there would be hesitation to just straight up ignore three big Hollywood movies from your canon. If Luke was the teacher we all know he could be, things wouldn’t have gone the way they had in the sequels.

I guess.... I feel like TLJ and RoS have definitely not stood up to scrutiny, and TFA had potential but was too safe and derivative and its potential was wasted. I just think it's an incredibly bad decision to ruin Luke's character, and make the OT trio fail in general in the sequel trilogy. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Legends had varying quality, sure, but it kept consistency between series and did keep the heroes as heroes, even when they had flaws or struggles.

Anyone who saw Luke "there is still good in my father, the man I've barely met" Skywalker and thought "yeah, he would try to deny someone else knowing their father" is nuts, though.