#obviously i have a love for tender engines

[shelli-gator]

HOOOO my turn!

1. Oh my beloved! The Midland Compound 1000 class, built for passenger work, and rather than building larger locos when demand increased, they would simply double head these babies.❤️❤️ Loved since 2013

2. S&DJR 7F 2-8-0 - strong and beautiful hard working steamers designed for heavy goods work. I'm charmed by their history and build, look at them! Another one of my longest standing loves 💙🥺

3. South African Class 26 4-8-4 'Red Devil' - Local is Lekker, look at this big boy! I see them when I drive past the harbour ❤️🇿🇦

4. GER Class Y14 - fondly called a 'maid of all work', I think it's so damn cool that they set the world record for building a whole steam Loco in 9 hours and 47 minutes. And they went on to live a long and healthy life!

5. L&YR Barton Wrights - fond of these guys thanks to my backstory for James. They would go on to be redesigned several times, and yet were never rebuilt to match the Aspinall Class 2 'Peacocks' that followed. Poor lads.

Alright people! I have a question for you all.

What locomotive (Steam/Diesel/Electric/Whatever) do you love like it's a favourite of yours, or love so much that it could almost be call an obsession?

(That's a bad thing btw)

For me it's the:

NBR H Class Atlantics

GWR 4000 Class

PRR T1

LNER A1/A3's

VR S Class

[matchaelette]

gif by @yoongi-bts

when jungkook is a vessel of love, and love is as beautiful as the poets said it was

summary: idol!jk and oc!ash, established relationship, the first time 'I love you' was spoken out aloud. the more earlier stages of their relationship. yearning, tenderness, fluff, it's all sickeningly full of love.

genre: fluff

warnings: none.

word count: 3.4k

notes: life updates. one: i'm back. obviously. two: jung hoseok is back and ksj 1 is coming (!!!) three: I am officially a uni student and majoring in civil engineering. classes start from the first week of december. four: I have decided to officially name this drabble series *drumrolls* the hopeless romantic series. so, without further ado, welcome back, our hopeless romantic couple!

you’re in love with jungkook.

no, you’re not allowed to say that.

fuck what you’re allowed and not allowed.

you’re desperately, helplessly, hopelessly in love with jeon jungkook. your gorgeous, gorgeous boy.

yours.

then why are you not allowed to be in love with him?

because you’ve been dating him for three months. three months.

only three months, since you decided to stop pining after him, decided it was enough, after god knows how long. three months since that decision led you to be extremely nonchalant around him, calm and collected to a point where it almost looked fake (you’re a terrible actor), and the next thing you knew, you were heavily making out with him in the chilly air of a fall night. calm and collected, indeed. three months since you learned that jungkook was pining for you in the same manner, if not more, and three freaking months since both of you decided to date, being head over heels for one other ever since.

it's too soon to say ‘I love you’. even if you know deep down that you were in love with him even before dating him– but there’s no way you’re treading that water. the realization of being in love with him right now is enough to freak you out. no, it’s definitely too soon to declare ‘I love you’.

because you don’t know whether jungkook feels the same way. although it’s not like you need or expect him to feel the same way you do. just because you’re in love with him doesn’t mean he has to be. you can happily wait until he’s ready and feels the same way.

you’re just scared that he doesn’t want to feel that way. that you’ll scare him away.

look at him. does he look like he feels the same as you?

jeon jungkook looks like a slow-motion daydream, standing in front of you. tight-fitting jeans, snug around the well-defined muscles of his thighs, and a black checkered shirt, sleeves rolled up, displaying the protruding veins of his arm. his curly hair covers the vein in his forehead, almost reaching down to his lips which were pouting in distress.

yeah, you don’t care how he feels. you’re in love with him.

but you are a graveyard of all the people you ever loved.

you can’t have jungkook join those ghosts of the past.

“this thing–”, the boy of your dream grumbles out loud in real life, breaking your thought train, “–hates me!”

oh, that.

“three hours now. we’ve been trying to fix it for three hours.”, you shake your head, frustrated. you’ve been out all day today and the last thing you wanted to do when you got back home was your laundry. but the lack of fresh clothes compelled you to do it anyway. and everything would’ve been fine had you not entered your laundry room to discover the whole floor flooded with water. panicked and disoriented, your first instinct was to call jungkook, despite it being past midnight. when your boyfriend heard what had happened, he immediately demanded you step aside and that he was already on his way over to your house.

now, it’s four in the morning and you’re both dripping wet, absolutely drained, standing in a puddle of water and soap. all you could do is to stare dejectedly at the washing machine. it was a losing battle.

“oh my god!”, jungkook cries out in indignation, “a minute ago it was sprinkling water in my face, now it’s sprinkling soapy water!”

“jungkook, move away”, you hurriedly pull your boyfriend away from your washing machine. he rebels under your grip, the patience he displayed half an hour ago was now transformed into rage.

how can someone be so cute when they’re mad?

“let me go, ash”, he points a threatening finger at the washing machine, “you wanted a fight, buddy? I’ll give you!”

“jungkook!”, you laugh and wrap your arms around his waist, “it already won! look at us!”

jungkook stares down at your attached bodies, soaked from top to bottom, while the washing machine looks like it is having a field trip.

“okay, I give up”, he sighs and rests his chin on the top of your head, “unless–”

“no unless.”

“hear me out first”, he smooches your hair, “you smell amazing by the way. anyways, unless– wait, what was I going to say? I was supposed to say something amazing.”

“I’m sure it was amazing, babe”, you chuckle with fondness, “but that thing is a lost cause. I’ll call maintenance in the morning. let’s take a shower and go to sleep, okay?”

“mhm. yeah”, he replies in affirmation but only tightens his arms around you.

“I’m sorry for calling you so late. I should’ve just– I don’t know. I mean, it was just a minor inconvenience. not a big deal. I don’t know why I freaked out–”

“princess, ssh”, jungkook coos, “you have a problem, you call me. doesn’t matter how small or big it is.”

“kook, I literally called you at one in the morning.”

“and I am very glad that I am the first person that crossed your mind. even though I couldn’t help you. I swear to god, this washing machine has a personal grudge against us.”

“thank you anyways”, you mumble against his chest.

“hey, this is what boyfriends are for.”

how is it possible not to love him?

you wake up to the humming of a honey-caramel voice in the distance.

you yawn and grab the crisply folded silk robe from the foot of your bed. the clothes haphazardly tossed on the ground last night were nowhere in sight, and neither was the person who did so. yet you could hear his hums, feel his warmth.

you smile.

the clock on the wall reflects a bright 11:10, and it’s safe to say that you’ve just woken up. after staying up with your rogue washing machine till four in the morning, you can’t really blame yourself. you feel very well-rested though, for the first time in a while.

jeon jungkook’s presence has that kind of power.

you make an effort to stay silent in your own house. your bare feet tiptoe against the icy floors, carrying you to the sweet melody you’re fairly certain is your boyfriend in the kitchen. and undoubtedly it is. jeon jungkook has his back turned towards you– white tee clinging to his physique, his hair damp and disheveled, singing softly to himself while doing the dishes.

you hold your breath and hug him from the back, resting your cheek against his spine.

jungkook, momentarily confused, laughs when he realizes it’s you.

“good morning princess.”

“good morning jungkook”, you inhale him in. he smells like peaches and baby soap. and fresh laundry. “you smell heavenly.”

“I just came out of the shower–”

 “–hey!”, you cut him short when he gently peels you off him, unexpectedly devoid of warmth, but jungkook hugs you back in an instant; your ear against his ribcage, his chin on the top of yours.

“mmm, that’s better”, you mumble, “did you do the laundry? you smell like detergent.”

 you can almost reach out and touch the outlines of his smile. “you couldn’t do it last night so I thought I’d take some work off your shoulders. I folded your clothes as well!”

“aww, you didn’t have to do– wait, the washing machine is fixed?”

“yeah, I called the repairmen in the morning and they said they were coming over. I was pretty surprised at how quickly they arrived.”

“what happened?”

“one of the pipes got leaked somehow. I think I also did some damage when I tried to fix it. but don’t worry, it’s as good as new.”

“not worrying”, you let go of jungkook and let muscle memory guide you to the coffee machine, “why did you wake up so early?”

 “it’s one p.m. in the afternoon. what’re you talking about?”, jungkook laughs.

“it’s one p.m.?!”, you choke on your coffee, “the clock– but it was eleven–”

“it’s out of battery. I got new ones though”, jungkook points at the bags sitting on your counter.

“you went grocery shopping? you spent an entire lifetime while I slept!”, jungkook chuckles at your awe, “tell me from the beginning. what did you do?”

“well, I called the repairmen as soon as I woke up and then I went to take a shower. they were here by the time I was done. I made us breakfast while they fixed your machine, went grocery shopping afterward, came back and did laundry, here I am now”, jungkook kisses your forehead, “all while someone slept like a baby.”

“oh my god. thank you so much.”

I love you.

“you’re welcome, babe”, he smiles, “I gotta leave now. but listen, I got you ice cream, popcorn and those salty chips you seem to love so much. call me if you need anything else.”

“huh? why though?”, you peer in confusion. you’re usually not very big on snacking. and jungkook knows that. unless it’s your–

“your period is supposed to start tomorrow, genius”, he rolls his eyes, “you don’t remember, do you?”

you clearly didn’t.

apparently, he did.

you tiptoe forward to hug jungkook, too stunned to form any coherent word. you hope jungkook doesn’t notice the tears filling your eyes but when he lifts your face to gently kiss your eyelids, you realize that he knew you were gonna cry.

yeah, I definitely love you.

“hello, jungkookie’s girlfriend!”

kim taehyungs’s visibly enthusiastic face beams at you through the screen of your phone. your initial reaction is to wave brightly at him, despite the slight confusion of whether you accidentally called him when you picked up the phone to facetime your boyfriend.

“hi, tae!”, you say heartily, “gosh, it’s been a while since I saw you.”

“and whose fault is that, huh?”, taehyung’s voice is a warm breeze on a spring evening, “jungkookie tells me you’ve been like… hella busy”

“I was. I mean, I am. it feels like I am always busy these days”, you sigh, “but never busy enough for you guys! how are you?”

“good. busy as well, but good.”

“kook told me last night. you guys work way too hard.”

“wait”, taehyung exploded into laughter, “jungkookie was at your place last night?”

“...yeah?”

“our manager was looking for him and jungkookie was going on and on about how he was in his room all night and manager hyung didn’t knock loudly enough!”

“oh my god, he wasn’t supposed to be at mine yesterday?”

“no, I mean, he was done working but he didn’t tell anyone before leaving the dorm!”

“that might be my fault”, guilt fills your eyes, “I was doing laundry last night and my washing machine started leaking water everywhere. I panicked and called kook. I’m sorry”

“hey, it’s okay, no harm was done”, taehyung looks amused, “so you were doing laundry at midnight? no wonder jungkookie is obsessed with you.”

“obsessed with me, huh?”, you smile playfully, concealing the tiny somersault your heart does.

“he literally never stops talking about you”, taehyung grins widely, “bro is whipped”

“hmm, I did call bro’s phone, right? or did I accidentally call you?”

“how do accidentally call taehyung instead of jungkook? one starts with t and one starts with j”, taehyung suddenly looks disgusted, “unless you saved him as something weird, in that case, I don’t wanna know–”

“kim taehyung.”

“or you can just tell me that you missed me, you know”, taehyung flips his phone camera and you spot a dancing jeon jungkook in the middle of a huge practice room, “but since the only person you care about is jungkookie–”

“kim taehyung–”

“–you called him, okay?”, you hear taehyung’s laughter, “I was playing games on his phone. he’s practicing extra today.

“practicing extra?”

“he said you guys made plans to hang out tomorrow.”

“we– we did”, you’re puzzled. jungkook continues to dance furiously, his quick and precise movements almost defying gravity, completely unaware of his surroundings, “wait, we planned to meet tomorrow because both of us had a clear schedule. why is he practicing extra today?”

“hobi hyung was asking him the same thing”, taehyung nods his head in mock disappointment, “we don’t really have a free schedule tomorrow. but he said that if you couldn’t meet tomorrow it’d be a while before you did. right?”

“y-yeah”, you blink.

“soooo, yeah. as I said, bro’s so whipped.”

oh god. be still my wild heart.

“this boy”, you finally exhale after a pause; feeling bad that he’s overworking himself to meet your needs, feeling grateful that it’s worth it to him.

“this boy, indeed. no, actually, we’re kinda proud of how amazingly we raised him.”

“you really, really did. ya’ll should give out parenting lessons.”

taehyung chuckles, “okay, I’ll give the phone to him.”

“tae, don’t”, you smile, quickly stopping him from calling jungkook, “just tell him to call me whenever he’s free, okay? I’ll be up.”

“okay, then. take rest, okay? don’t overwork yourself.”

“look who’s preaching”, you shoot him a stern look, “the kings of overworking themselves. take care, okay?”

taehyung laughs, “yeah. come over to the dorm whenever you’re free. we all miss you.”

“I will. bye!”

“kook– stop it–”, you say in between a few puffs of breath, “you’re– god– tickling me!”

“am I?”, jungkook wiggles his eyebrows, and smothers his face on the exposed skin of your tummy once again, causing you to almost choke with another round of laughter. the sensation of his lips against your tummy has the butterflies inside going frenzy, but a part of you is scared shitless that it has nothing to do with him and everything to do with yourself.

you want to laugh; you want to cry. you wanna twirl into a knot and fly up in the sky. jungkook has no idea of the power he has over you– his body molds into yours, one his hands have shaped, a design he has drawn, kissed it into a sculpture.

you love him, you love this human being staring at you from between your legs with all the love in this whole fucking universe, kind and whole and happy and real, jeon jungkook, you love him so fucking say it.

I love you. I love you so much that I can’t deny it any longer, the promise stays silent on your tongue.

you wanna cry.

at least, you think you do.

“your heartbeat is going crazy”, jungkook calms down once he’s done tickling you out of your wits. he moves between your thighs and presses his ear against your heart space while gently laying his head on your chest.

yeah, do you know that is because I love you and not because you tickled the living lights outta me?

“princess?”, he asks quietly.

say it.

“princess?”, jungkook raises his head and looks at you, mildly concerned “are you okay?”

say something.

instead, you stare at him. you stare at his eyes. if eyes are actually a mirror of people’s souls, jungkook’s eyes perfectly represent his– filled to the brim with tenderness, tranquility, and mirth. a few years ago, you had read somewhere that humans were created from the burned-out embers of stars. you never believed it. the same folks who start wars, spill blood, stealing lying deceiving and doing everything evil, cannot be created from something so divine.

however, jungkook, over and over again, contradicts that belief. you have no doubt he’s born out of stardust. and fiery comets, northern lights, solar eclipses, everything magic.

“why are you crying?!”, jungkook’s anxious voice snaps you out of your reverie. without realizing you find yourself getting pulled up to sit on his lap, straddling his thighs. “is it me? did I do something?”

“itsh nn-not”, you utter weakly but the words come out as a stifled sob. when jungkook doesn’t understand what you’re saying, he completely loses his composure. he lets go of you and attempts to pry himself away, fairly convinced that he must’ve done something stupid. but you dig your fingers in his arms, trying to communicate with your firm grip that he did nothing wrong. it’s you, you’re the stupid one.

it takes him a few more seconds to realize that you’re crying for something else altogether, and only then does he relax. he wraps his arms around you, letting you break down in his little protective bubble.

what is wrong with me? why does every feeling of mine come out as tears?

“it’s okay, it’s okay”, jungkook coos, “breathe. breathe with me.”

“inhale with me”, he holds eye contact and carefully guides your breath, “good. now exhale. in. and out. it’s okay. I love you. you’re okay, princess.”

and

everything

just

freezes

for a moment.

for a moment?

seems like a lifetime.

you never realize how many types of ‘I love you’s there are until they’re spoken out aloud. most ‘I love you’s are expressed as a confession, while there are some which are born out of panic. I love you. do you love me back? these ‘I love you’s are full of anxiety, and a desperate longing for reassurance, for arms that’ll keep them safe. some are born out of anger and frustration. I’m doing this for you, because I love you, why don’t you understand? then there are those which are born out of pure terror because I love you but I’m afraid that all I’ll ever do is hurt you.

jungkook’s ‘I love you’ sounded like it was nurtured, a flower that bloomed inside a long time ago. like a blanket woven from your favorite human on the entire planet and falling asleep with someone inside your heart no matter how alone you feel outside; a promise.

not that any of you were in the right state of mind to realize that.

you and jungkook realize at the same time. the words that have been spoken out to existence.

he stares at you; you stare at him. devastated, mouth hanging, eyes bulging. none of you breathing.

jungkook closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and opens them again.

“that was not a mistake”, his voice is deep and low. you hold your breath, afraid to miss a single sound that comes out of his mouth, “I do. I will if you allow me to. not that I can help it– I mean, even if you don’t allow it I can’t help myself. I love you. it’s not like I can just un-love you! wait, why do I need your permission anyway? it’s my feelings we’re talking about! okay, but it does concern you”, jungkook looks mortified, “but still, you don’t have to say it back. it’s great if you do but like, there’s no pressure. just don’t tell me to un-love you because that one is none of your business, oka–”

you kiss him. you kiss the living lights out of him. jungkook doesn’t even register what’s happening, he just accepts everything– the way your lips smashes against his, the way your tongue envelops his, finding you in every corner of his mouth, feeling you in every inch of his skin; a drunkard clinging onto every last drop of alcohol yet never having enough.

jungkook is literally panting when you let go of him.

 “I was crying because I am in love with you. I have been in love with you for a while now and I didn’t know how to say so”, you confess. only a few words are enough to make realization flash in his eyes. after all, he knows you. he knows you well enough to know everything, even the things he doesn’t.

“I must’ve been a saint in my past life to deserve this”, jungkook closes his eyes and rests his forehead against yours.

“I think this is your first life. you’re like the sugar in a cookie.”

“what? I thought I was the cookie!”, jungkook furrows his eyebrows, offended, “also, sugar isn’t good for you. what are you talking about?!”

you giggle in response.

“hey! take it back”, he overpowers you in a swift motion. he reels your bodies backward to hover over you, pinning your hands down on the mattress, smirking. “otherwise you’re gonna regret it.”

“regret? nah, I think I will enjoy it”, your smirk wipes off the one on his face.

“oh boy”, he sighs.

“jungkook?”

“yeah?”

“say it again”, you whisper.

“I love you.”

“again.”

“I love you.”

[notleclerc]

Too Hot

🤍Charles x Fem!Reader

🤍summary: in which the game „Too Hot“ challenges ones desires

🤍warning: getting a little steamy here but nothing to big

🤍a/n: I got inspired by @yuwuta with the JJK version and was like „ok slay lemme try it as well“ // English is not my first language so please have mercy on me🥺

In the heart of Monaco, where the streets echo with the roar of engines and the glitz of the Grand Prix, a different kind of heat simmers beneath the surface. It's not the scorching sun or the adrenaline of racing that sets hearts racing, but a playful game of Too Hot. And amidst the glamorous backdrop, you find yourself entangled in a steamy encounter with none other than Charles Leclerc.

Ever since Lando started to learn how to be a Dj, he‘s been throwing parties left and right, having only VVIP‘s in the club. Models, Actors, Athlete‘s - you name it. Obviously, that means the whole Grid is always welcome to join the fiesta. Charles, being the supportive friend he is, gets ready to dress up and waits for his girlfriend.

Y/n makes sure to wear a beautful red dress. God, that dress could make the devil go weak in his knees. Charles couldn‘t help but admire her.

„Tu es très belle, mon amour“ (you look beautiful my love)

he says, his voice tender with a soft look on his face.

You smile as you feel your cheeks getting warmer, giving yourself a natural blush. You give him a peck on his chin, as you are smaller even in heels.

„Merci Cha“ (thank you)

The two of you leave his appartement and go straight to his oh-so-famous Ferrari, the one that puts everyone in awe of its beauty (or the beauty driving it). The ride was smooth and no words were exchanged as the two of them enjoyed the calm and warmth.

It didn‘t take them long to reach the club, the music already indicating that Charles and Y/n were fashionably late. Charles hands his keys to a valet since he can‘t, for the love of god, park the car right. You tease him about it way too often.

„Et ils disent que les femmes ne peuvent pas se garer“ (and they say women can‘t park)

you say teasingly.

Charles chuckles and places his hand on your waist, guiding you towards the entrance. He made sure to get down to your ear and whispered softly

„Surveille ta bouche ou je le ferai pour toi, bébé“ (watch your mouth or i‘ll do it for you babe)

As you both enter, one with a smirk and the other with flushed cheeks, Lando greets the two of you with a wave from the DJ booth and makes sure to let you both know where the others are.

The party can begin.

As the night unfolds and the party reaches its peak, you catch sight of Charles across the room, his charismatic smile drawing you in like a magnet. You were dancing with the girlfriends of the drivers and having the time of your life. Your pulse quickens as Charles suddendly approaches, his confident stride sending a thrill down your spine.

"Hey there," he greets you with a charming grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Fancy a game of Too Hot?"

You're taken aback by the invitation, but the thrill of the challenge beckons you. "Sure, why not?" you reply, unable to resist the allure of his playful proposal. The two of you love challenges no matter what the situation is.

The rules are simple: two people kiss while keeping their hands to themselves, and the first to touch their partner loses. With a shared glance and a silent agreement, you both dive into the game, the tension between you palpable.

As your lips meet in a teasingly tender kiss, the world around you fades into obscurity, leaving only the electrifying connection between you and Charles. His touch is intoxicating, igniting a fire within you that blazes with each passing moment.

"Tu es un sacré compétiteur“ (You're quite the competitor)

Charles murmurs against your lips, his voice husky with desire.

„Mais je n'y vais pas de main morte avec toi, ma petite fleur“ (But I won't go easy on you, my little flower)

he adds playfully.

You respond with a playful challenge of your own, reveling in the thrill of the chase as you dance on the edge of temptation. Each kiss becomes a daring game of brinkmanship, testing the limits of self-control.

Time loses all meaning as you lose yourself in the heated exchange, the boundaries between reality and desire blurring into a tantalizing haze. The world outside ceases to exist as you and Charles become locked in a battle of wills, neither willing to concede defeat.

But as the game reaches its climax, a surge of longing courses through you, threatening to overwhelm your resolve. With a breathless gasp, you instinctively reach out, your hand brushing against Charles's cheek in a moment of unguarded passion.

"Je gagne“ (I win)

he whispers triumphantly, a smug grin playing on his lips as he leans in to claim victory with a searing kiss.

„Je te laisse gagner parce que c'est la seule fois où tu le fais“ (I let you win because that‘s the only time you do)

You teased him again and couldn‘t help but laugh, seeing his baffled face. He puts his hand on your cheeks and squeezes them together. He looks down at me and shakes his head softly with a certain intensity to his eyes.

„Tu veux vraiment jouer à la cochonne avec moi ? Tu sais ce que les sales gosses obtiennent de mon amour.“ (you really want to play dirty with me? You know what brats get my love)

He caresses your cheek with his thumb as he tilted his head.

Ne m'oblige pas à te faire ça, ma belle. (Don‘t make me do it to you sweetcheeks)

He goes back to squeeze your cheeks together and pulls you closer to him with a warning look in his ocean eyes. As the night draws to a close and the party fades into memory, you carry with you the lingering warmth of Charles's touch, a tantalizing reminder of a fiery encounter that ignited sparks in the heart of Monaco.

As for what happens after the party? Only the two of them and maybe the neighbour will know ;).

Now that escalted quickly👀 HAVE MERCY ON ME!! I don‘t know how to write intimate moments aka the humpy dumpty so please take this as a chance to let your mind run freely 🥹

Reblog, comments and likes are aprreciated

[hanlimz]

midnight thoughts: [heeseung + drunk words]

synopsis: real sweet, but you wish he was sober (alternatively, you take such good care of heeseung while he's drunk that he decides to tell you how he really feels). pairing: heeseung x gn!reader genre/warnings: hurt/comfort (?), f2l (ambiguous but still cute i promise) / EMETOPHOBIA TW (nothing happens but throwing up is mentioned, be cautious <3)!!!, drunk heeseung lol, tiny skz mention (my worlds colliding), um alcohol consumption (?), sunghoon is the dd don't worry there is no drunk driving! wc: 1.4k (el oh el)a/n: inspired by model student heeseung in the first couple en-o'clocks who is unreasonably attractive but also ? a dork . that is all. (love u hee stans this one's for u hope u're doing okay lately w ur man acting the way he is.)

[1:16AM] six shots of tequila and a raspberry smirnoff ice deep, and lee heeseung is gone. strong surges of heat rush to his cheeks to create a dizzying push and pull effect, rivulets of sweat are beginning to drip from his temples, and he's trying his best not to vomit up the fried chicken jake and sunghoon made him eat earlier. heeseung finds solace on the cool tiles of the kitchen floor; he clutches the crisp fabric of his white button down and attempts to will away the waves of nausea that are crashing against the walls of his stomach. breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth, heeseung's thoughts begin to drift back to a familiar place. he can almost feel the phantom sensation of your fingers carding through his hair; the tips of your fingers are refreshing and imbue him with a tranquility that he isn't often privy to.

"holy shit, dude—did we really let you get this fucked up?" heeseung vaguely registers jake's voice as two warm fingers reach under his jaw to check his pulse. inwardly, heeseung chuckles—leave it to biomedical engineering major, pre-anesthesiology track jake sim to presume death over everything else. glancing up, heeseung watches the genuine concern that flashes in the younger boy's gaze. "c'mon heeseung, we gotta get you home, bro. good god—[y/n] is actually gonna murder us …”

heeseung curls in on himself at the sound of your name, hiding away from the prodding of jake’s fingers into his upper arms. he wants to press his face into the crook of your neck, he aches to feel your hands cascading up and down the length of his spine, he yearns so desperately for a chance to indulge in a tender moment of unity with you. heeseung closes his eyes to relish in the way the memories seem to envelop him in a ghostly embrace, and he swears he only blinks once. the bass-boosted music and headache inducing strobe lights become mere background accompaniment to the movie playing behind his eyelids.

he swears he only blinks once, but the familiar aroma of your perfume begins to permeate his senses—bergamot and vanilla, his favorite. voices come into focus, his head starts to pound, and the reality of being splayed all over the backseat of sunghoon’s benz is setting in at the speed of falling molasses. "what the hell did you let him get into?" there's a certain venom in the question that bites at his jugular. he recognizes the cadence of your voice and the way you suck a sharp breath through your teeth with ease. "sigma kappa zeta is so out of hee's league—you couldn't have taken him to alpha tau zeta or tau chi tau or someplace that bang chan doesn't run?"

"he said he could handle it!" sunghoon counters.

you let an incredulous scoff escape your mouth as you berate the two boys in a hushed whisper, "and, you believed him? he obviously wanted to impress you idiots. god, i'm starting to think jongseong is the only one of you with a functioning brain ... "

"[y/n]!" jake exclaims, "so not chill."

"no—what's really not chill is tweedledumb and tweedledumber letting heeseung get wasted at his first frat party." you scold, voice cold as ice while jabbing an accusatory finger in their faces. jake and sunghoon hang their heads like dogs being told off for chewing up furniture; in any other situation, you might have had the inclination to chuckle, but you don't. "now, help him up to my couch and leave before i get even meaner."

everything is blurry as heeseung stumbles his way up the stairs to your apartment; sunghoon and jake are bickering with one another while supporting each side of his body—who is tweedledumb and who is tweedledumber, who let heeseung drink this much booze, who will have to recount tonight's escapades to jay, and who will have to give pity laughs to his impending dad jokes? they curse at one another until you mention the possibility of a noise complaint, and all the incessant chatter stops. in the midst of a spring night, only cricket song remains. heeseung focuses on the quiet chirping until the cool leather of your couch cushions begins to soothe the molten liquid that seems to course through his veins. goodbyes are exchanged and a door is closed somewhere far away, but heeseung's head is too heavy to lift.

he blinks again and opens his eyes to the rough fibers of an old washcloth running over the peaks and valleys of his face. the fabric brushes along the deep circles carved beneath his bloodshot eyes; concentration knits your forehead into a multitude of different creases, and heeseung can't help the pitiful chuckle that tumbles from his mouth. an airy sensation overtakes his being as he realizes that he's right where he had wanted to be all evening—with you. embarrassment still settles like an indestructible boulder in the pit of his stomach, however; shame's spindly talons sink into heeseung's flesh as he realizes just how much of a fool he's made out of himself.

"just—just wan'ed to be cool, [y/n]," heeseung slurs out, voice plagued with exhaustion. bringing his knees to his chest, heeseung attempts to keep his tears at bay. "just wan'ed to show you that i c'n be cool 'nd awesome 'nd sexy! but, now 'm just looking stupid on your couch ..."

placing the washcloth on the arm of the sofa, you move to rest heeseung's head in your lap. he gladly accepts the comforting gesture, cuddling into the soft cotton of sweatpants he realizes are his. combing your fingers through his roots and scratching at his scalp, you whisper, "for the record—i already think you're cool and awesome."

heeseung glances up at you, face swollen and eyes puffy. "really?" he asks, "so, you don't think i'm a stupid, un-sexy idiot that can't hold his liquor?"

"well, you can't hold your liquor," you muse with a hint of laughter in your voice, caressing the supple skin of his cheekbone, "but, no. i don't think you're a stupid, un-sexy idiot."

basking in the reality he was just confronted with, heeseung's drunken mind can only focus on one thing. his desperate need for clarification tempts him; desire's forked tongue beckons him towards the truth. the question repeats over and over again in his brain until it spills out—an unwilling victim of an inebriated perpetrator. "so ..." he drawls, attempting to wink but closing both eyes instead, "you think i'm sexy?"

and, you laugh. it's a euphoric sound—a beautiful melody reminiscent of spring picnics, gingham blankets, and the fragrant scent of blooming tulips. for a moment, heeseung loses himself in it; coherent thought escapes his grasp as he is overtaken by you. your touch, your warmth, the bleary image of your smile as it comes in and out of focus. you wash over heeseung in waves, an ocean of calm in a world that only seeks to burn; alluring siren song floods his mind as you call out to him over the sound of the blood pumping his ears. the cool tips of your fingers are beginning the quell the heat beneath heeseung's skin as consciousness begins to slip away from him, and a dopey grin is woven onto his lips.

"heeseung," you murmur, the ghost of a bout of giggles hiding behind your words. "hee, baby, you should really let me get up to grab you some advil."

the term tumbles from your mouth before you can help it, and you freeze. having revealed yourself, you're overcome by the desperate urge to run—but, heeseung has given you nowhere to go. his weight traps you, holding tight and pressing harder by the second. half of you wants to hear him say it back, while the other hopes for the couch cushions to swallow you whole. heeseung—though not a man of many surprises with his perfect grades, perfect attendance, perfect everything—manages to stun you tonight.

"wan' you t'call me that again, [y/n]," heeseung mumbles through sleep, "please."

"you want—" your voice catches in your throat, "you want me to call you baby?"

there's a beat of silence so long that you're almost sure heeseung has fallen victim to the salivating jaws of sleep, but he groans. the utterance is low and deep—dripping with what seems to be a concoction of mild annoyance, exasperation, and endearment. "'s all i've ever wanted, [y/n]," he replies, eyes closed and nose buried into your sweater, "you're all i've ever wanted."

another pause.

"okay," you say, meandering through the quiet for a moment, letting yourself wade towards him in this new sea of possibilities, "baby."

[thescarletnargacuga]

God, Scarlet, you have no idea how much I love your raceway au. True, I've never been a fan of racing and competitions, but I loved your fic from the first words.On the contrary, I was glad to see not only the official chapters, but also oneshote. This is encouraging, and I would like to ask for more raceway short fics if I were braver. I just always wanted to ask for something else at the raceway, but I couldn't get over the my fear. No, I'm serious. the showtime and and the different interactions of the characters with each other excite me. :D

And well, I would like to make a request..? I'm embarrassed to do this, but today is my birthday and I want this day to stop being bad so... I apologize in advance. Can I get some showtime raceway? I fucking love them. (Sorry for my bad English)

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY!🥳 Thank you for being brave and submitting an ask! If it helps in the future, you can submit anonymously! This will work as a direct continuation of Burger!

BURGERS AND TIES

A RACEWAY AU SHOWTIME ONESHOT

Raceway AU by me

WARNING: NONE!

~~~

Caine and Pomni were neck and neck around the final turn of the track, racing full speed towards the finish line for the third time. Both had steely determination to win, but with no items on the default track to use, it came down to kart maneuvers.

Their racing drew the attention of those inside, gathering on the lawn to watch the Caine and Pomni. They'd never seen someone race Caine before, none had dared try. He was the game's host, there was no way he could lose. It was surprising enough that Pomni was giving him a run for his money.

"WOO! GO POMNI!!" Ragatha cheered from the sidelines.

"YOU'VE GOT THIS, POMNI!!" Gummigoo shouted too.

Pomni couldn't hear her friends over the engine and wind but she could see them jumping up and down with excitement. Her heart leapt with joy from their support.

Pomni bumped Caine's kart in an attempt to throw him off on the final stretch. He steered into her in response. Their karts slammed together, sparks flying as they rapidly approached the finish line. The eye contact between them was intense, no longer looking forward on the straightaway.

Caine's code thrummed as the literal sparks between them flew. He was mesmerized by the way her hair flew in the wind, occasionally flitting over her eyes wildly. The sheer strength of her will to win would have struck fear into lesser men. To him, it was beauty incarnate.

Pomni felt a rush like no other. A digital adrenaline response that made her fearless under the gaze of a being as powerful as Caine. If anything, she found him endearing. Cute, even. He wasn't some overlord, but an eccentric showman eager for a good time. While his win-hungry gaze was piercing, there was a certain tenderness in it that made her heart flutter.

They blazed over the finish line together, slamming their brakes simultaneously to stop and check the leader board for which one of them won. The board pronounced the race a tie. Again.

Pomni and Caine groan and temporarily collapse in their karts, catching their breaths.

"How....how?" Caine repeated breathlessly.

"I don't know." Pomni responded, just as winded.

The others rushed Pomni, all talking and congratulating at once. Pomni shakily climbed out of her kart, nearly falling over from race rush withdrawal and being supported by Ragatha. "You did it! Holy smokes, you almost beat him!"

"Woo..." Pomni weakly cheered.

"Why don't you race like that all the time?" Jax inquired, brow raised. "If you did, you'd smoke everyone here but me." He chuckled.

"Oh, shut up. It obviously takes a lot out of her." Ragatha defended, holding onto Pomni.

Caine got his head straight, literally adjusting it, and floated out of his kart. "Well done, Pomni! That's the second time you've nearly beaten me at my own game. I must say, I'm impressed."

Gangle giggled, watching Pomni's reaction.

Pomni bashfully avoided everyone's stares. "Uh...heh, it's really not that big a deal-"

"Yes, it is!" Ragatha lightly shook Pomni, making her hat bells jingle. "You're incredible!"

"Thanks..." Pomni said with a shy smile.

"I don't mean to break up this lovely congratulation, but I do believe I have properly earned your attention." Caine crosses this arms lightly.

"Huh..? Oh, yeah." Pomni blanked at first but then remembered what she said. He had wanted to ask her something, but in her hangry frustration, challenged him to a race before he could explain himself. She broke away from Ragatha and stepped closer to Caine.

Caine looked at all the eyes on him and Pomni. He cleared his voice. "Please, excuse us." He put his hand on Pomni's shoulder and teleported away with her.

"They're totally gonna [%$!#]."

"JAX!!" Ragatha scolded with an angry fluster.

"For once, I agree with Jax." Zooble commented dryly.

"Z-!?" Ragatha choked.

"DID ANY OF YOU SEE THE WAY HE WAS LOOKING AT HER!? AAH-! MY HEART CAN'T EVEN!" Gangle shouted with utmost glee.

"Nah, mate. You're not the only one." Gummigoo chuckled. "That's one smitten bloke. It's hilarious."

"Ooh! Ants!" Kinger stared at the grass.

~

Caine and Pomni reappeared out of bounds, in the privacy of Caine's asset workshop. He reluctantly removed his hand from her.

"So, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?" Pomni asked.

"I was originally going to ask you your opinion on a new track idea I had but... Now I would like to ask you something else." He put his hands behind his back. One hand poised to snap.

"Oh?"

"Would you join me for lunch? I saw what you did to your burger and figured maybe....you're still interested in eating?"

A broad smile spread across Pomni's face. "Yeah, I am!"

"Excellent!" He snapped. A table with a red and white checkered cloth appeared behind him; along with plates of burgers and fries, and milkshakes. He backflipped over to the chair and pulled it out for her with his cane.

Pomni took the seat eagerly and dove into the food in front of her, taking huge bites of the perfect burger.

Caine didn't have a chair on his side. He sat in the air, legs crossed and stirred his milkshake idly. He wanted to give her a moment to her food before he struck up conversation.

Pomni looked at the burger in front of Caine and stared at him. She swallowed her mouthful. "You're not eating?"

Caine shrugged. "I've rarely done so, in an attempt to fit in, but it's a rather... awkward process." He pointed to the eyes inside his mouth. "These peepers tend to get in the way."

Pomni furrowed her brow in a curious expression. "Now I need to see that." She slurped on her milkshake.

Caine blinked in surprise. "Oh.. alright." He picked up the burger and his eyes flew out of his mouth and hovered over the top of his head as he bit down.

Pomni snorted and milkshake came out her nose. "You- you look like a Muppet!" She coughed and laughed at the same time at such a goofy sight.

Caine's shoulders shook with silent giggles as he quickly chomped down the burger. It disappeared from his mouth after only a few chews. His eyes went back to their original spots. "What I tell you? It looks weird." He couldn't help but smile at Pomni finding him so amusing.

Pomni wiped her face with her sleeve. The mess vanished, which she assumes was Caine's doing. "Thanks for this. I've really been craving a burger lately and wasn't really succeeding at eating one today for some reason." She dipped a fry in what was left of her milkshake.

Caine's smile warmed. "My pleasure, Pomni. You certainly earned it from me, that's for sure." He rested his chin on his hands. "Tell me, how have you kept up so well? I was really trying to beat you this time."

Pomni shrugged. "I don't know, really. I'm sure your kart is a lot faster than mine, but the karts are also kind of... weird. Maybe this isn't a secret and I'm just now noticing, but the karts seem to respond to the drivers in more ways than just pressing pedals and buttons."

"They respond to intent. It's part of the programming. The longer you race, the more your kart will be capable of because you'll sort of...bond, if you will. Once the kart has a feel for your racing style, it'll start responding before you do."

"So, the karts are sentient AI as well?"

"AI, yes. Sentient, no. Believe me, I've checked. The last thing I need are sentient karts running off with my racers."

"Why wasn't this mentioned earlier? Seems like an important thing to know about the karts."

"Gotta keep some things to the imagination, but I admire your curiosity, so I'm willing to answer your questions and explain things I would normally brush a side if brought up."

"You seem to make an awful lot of exceptions for me." Pomni squinted, a playful accusatory look in her eye.

Caine smirked, a light blush coloring the air around the sides of his face. "Gives me excuses to be around you. I enjoy your company."

"I enjoy your company, too." Heat rose to Pomni's cheeks. "So...to answer your question. I've been keeping up with you because I really, really want to- er, to win." The heat in her cheeks intensified.

"And you almost did. Dare I say... If you had ignored me, you probably would have. But you held my gaze." He rose and moved to her side of the table.

Pomni stood to meet him. He hovered close at her level. Pomni felt her heart race faster the closer he got. He took her hand and held it with both of his. She swallowed a dry lump in her throat, nerves threatening to choke her.

"Pomni...I would like to confess something, if you'll hear me out." Caine's code fluttered around like he swallowed an entire kaleidoscope of butterflies.

Pomni only nodded in response.

"I...don't know what I'm doing when it comes to human emotion, but I do know something with absolute certainty. I like you. A lot. Your smile, your laugh, your personality, your beauty... everything about you draws me in like a moth to a flame. I want to be around you all the time. I want to hear your stories, your joys, your fears, your fury. From what I have observed from the humans, these feelings are associated with romantic intent. So... I was wondering if..." Caine struggled to finish his sentence. The maddening butterflies in his code were going insane.

"Yes." Pomni said with a smile.

Everything stopped. It was like time in the game itself froze for half a second. Caine's hands trembled, squeezing hers lightly in an attempt to curb the shakes. "You're interested? In we- in us- uh-" He felt a blue screen coming on.

"Caine, you're sweet. You try so hard to get my attention, when you already have it." She gently held her free hand to the side of his lower jaw. "I was hesitant to say anything because...I was unsure too. You're brave to speak up first."

Caine nearly literally melted at her calling him brave. "Are you...sure? I don't want you to feel pressured into this. I really don't know what I'm doing, and I'm terrified..."

"Of messing up?" She gave a sympathetic look.

He nodded.

Pomni leaned in and kissed the side of his lower jaw opposite her hand. "That's a pretty human thing too. We'll figure it out."

Caine touched where she had kissed him. His blush brightly floating in front of his face. He gazes lovingly at her. "Yeah...we will."

~~~

A/N: as another treat for your birthday, I will let you know that the next fic to be released will be Chapter 10 of Raceway!

[lieutenantfloyd]

“No Rest For The Wicked” - T. Wolff

Formula 1 masterlist

Pairing: Toto Wolff x Team Principal!Reader

Summary: In the weeks before the start of the season, you, being recently appointed Team Principal, have been working harder than ever. During your shared lunch break, Toto notices how obviously worn out you are and insists you use his office sofa to catch up on some sleep.

Warnings: Gender neutral reader, mentions of overworking and not sleeping/eating enough, mutual romantic feelings, friends-to-lovers trope, very slight Implied age gap if you squint. Also, reader's team is fully up to you to choose! (Ferrari TP is my personal favorite).

a/n: Executive dysfunction has been kicking my ass for the two months but I finally finished something I’ve been wanting to write and am pretty happy with :)

- Prompt: A standing guard outside B's office as they take a short nap during lunch break so as to make sure nobody interrupts B's much needed rest. Taken from this post !!

With your new job title and the start of the Formula 1 season fast approaching, on or off the paddock you were who everyone on your team turned to. Meaning that you were practically on call at any and every hour of the day. Despite all the pressure and stress, you wouldn’t want to be doing anything else. Unfortunately, your life outside of work, including your social life and sleep schedule, had taken a massive hit.

Exiting yet another meeting, you bid goodbye to several of your team's engineers and head off down the hallway. As you walked you rolled your shoulder back and glanced down to check your watch. The shiny clock face informed you that It was just before one. By some miracle, your schedule had allowed you to meet up with Toto for lunch and had even granted you enough time to exchange your things in your office before heading over to the Mercedes garage. You quickened your pace and soon entered your office. You placed your usual work bag on your desk chair and grabbed your laptop, a water bottle, and a few snacks. Your plan was to work through lunch and hopefully catch a late dinner, but you knew Toto wouldn't let the hour pass without you eating something.

You had first met Toto when you were a tender footed engineer and he himself had only just been named team principal. Despite spending your careers in different (and often competing) garages, you and him were both grateful to find a genuine friend and confidante in your fast paced lifestyle.

Crossing the paddock, you entered Mercedes territory and landed in front of his office door in record time. The door was already cracked open, allowing you to enter without much fuss. You secured your grip on your belongings before quietly pushing the door fully open. Toto was on a business call as you arrived, but he made sure to send you a wink and a wave.

- Once fully inside, you staked your claim on a small part of the couch and the adjacent coffee table. You opened your laptop and began answering emails while grazing on the snacks you had brought along. You answered the first several with ease, but it wasn’t long before you were doing your best to fight the familiar sense of tiredness creeping in. Stretching, you pushed back against the couch and tried to refocus your eyes.

Another several minutes pass before you hear Toto end the call. Looking up from your laptop, you notice Toto shift his attention to you. He examined you for a long moment before sighing. A soft disapproval flashing across his eyes.

"You seem tired," he stated. Your heart panged as you catch the edge of concern in his voice. Despite your best wishes, you knew you couldn't lie to him. Even if you did, he knew you far too well to fall for it.

"I am, but it's nothing I can't handle." You said cautiously before turning back to your work. For as long as you knew him, you were confident he always had your best interests in mind. It was one of the many qualities you loved most about him. But this wasn't a conversation you wanted to have right now.

"Have you been getting enough rest?" His voice cut through your thoughts.

"Yep." You answered. But even to your ears, your words sounded unconvincing.

As expected, he raised a teasing, albeit unconvinced, eyebrow. Informing you of what you already knew; that he saw through your words instantly.

"No." You admitted with a huff. You were disappointed but unsurprised you relented so easily. He always did have that effect on you.

"That's what I thought."

You watched silently as he pushed away from the desk and stood. The room wasn't very large, so it only took his tall frame a few strides until he was standing in front of you. Seconds later, he plucked the laptop from your hands and made a dramatic show of saving your work and powering the computer off. Your eyes had initially widened at his actions, but you didn't protest.

You couldn’t help but laugh at how silly the situation was. You were a grown adult. (more or less) capable of taking care of yourself. But that’s just how your relationship with Toto was. Always looking out for each other. With that in mind, you knew better than to argue. He'd never relent, and frankly, you didn't have the energy to spare.

Setting the laptop back down, he spoke softly.

"I remember my first few seasons. You feel that you must dedicate yourself entirely to the team, but you're no help if you can barely keep your head up."

You simply nodded at his words. Your shoulders slumping automatically. A welcome symbol of defeat.

"If it was up to me, I'd send you home. But I know you don’t like to take my advice, so-” he paused just long enough to shrug off his coat.

It was less than a split second lapse, but damn your tired brain for forgetting to conceal the sharp draw of your breath at his action.

Likewise, further damn the terribly adoring look he shot your way.

You thought back blessedly to the moment early in your career when you learned to make mental notes and urgently committed a fresh one to memory: follow up on what the hell that meant the instant you’re thinking clearly again.

“-It's not much, but even just an hour of sleep on an office sofa is better than whatever you have, or haven’t, been doing." He finished, tossing you his coat-turned-makeshift blanket.

The moment your head touched the cushion, you knew he was right. To your fatigued body, the couch might as well have been a king-sized bed in the finest hotel.

And from Toto’s point of view, the scene at hand was just as pleasing.

It took an unreasonable amount of inner strength to subdue the fervor blossoming in his chest as he watched you shamelessly snuggle into his coat, roll onto your side, and let out a sigh of satisfaction. It also took a nearly equal amount of strength for him to step away from you.

"I'll be just outside the door if you need me," Toto said. But he wasn’t entirely sure if he was stating this fact for your benefit or for his own. You mumbled softly in apparent agreement, already well on your way to a much needed nap.

"And when you wake up, we can discuss dinner plans." He voiced under his breath, closing the door silently behind him.

[taiyooosworld]

Donald and Douglas infosheet!!

Dòmhnall 'Donald' McIntosh

The older brother but acts less mature.

190cm (maybe)

Around 26-28 years old.

Gets sick WAAY too easily

He can not have any other liquid other than water in his tender(?), rainwater? Nope, worst option, he's instantly sick for a week. Seawater? Nope, instantly sick. Just put the normal water in his tender please

History nerd

Did I say he gets sick easily?

He's sick almost 7 days a week or less

He's always sick, but always tries to hide it cause he thinks it's annoying that he gets sick easily

I mean like, not in a 'im so annoying bc I get sick easily' I mean 'GETTING SICK EASILY IS THE MOST ANNOYING ASS THING THIS UNIVERSE HAD GIVEN ME AS A QUIRK JUST GIVE ME A NORMAL IMMUNE SYSTEM PLEASE'

Forgets to take care of himself (ex. Forgetting to take his medicine or forgetting to eat), which is probably why

His quirk of being easily sick is based off of a NWR series and one of the episodes, aka Auld Faker on YouTube.

His weakness to illnesses is so bad that he has his own watertank to refill his tender on

Needs to wear glasses

Douglass 'Duggy' McIntosh

Younger twin but acts more mature.

190cm (maybe)

Same age as Donald,, obviously

Rarely gets sick (bro stood in the cold for around 6 hours in my au and all he got was a very light cold)

He used to be very arrogant in his teen years

Maths nerd

He probably loves snow

He likes eating snow

He takes care of his physical health a lot, which is how he recovers from sicknesses very easily

Uses a lot of home remedies which actually work for sicknesses

He force-feeds Donald into eating cause blud keeps forgetting

Probably listens to Mitski,,,

Kinda does not hang out in the cold now cause he values his life very much

Maths.

He tackles people down out of affection along with Donald

'Gentle twin' no he's the twin that'll smack you down with a slipper

Dyslexic

↑ he spells his name as 'Douglas' instead of 'Douglass' which is what his actual name is, that's why his nameplate is 'Douglas'

has pica syndrome (most engines have this in my au but not all)

[just-an-emily-existing]

Ok so this is definitely inspired by @mean-scarlet-deceiver so thx for that! I just wanted to rant about Duck's little resistance to being ordered about by the controllers but not engines and so on

Soooo lets start off with Duck, he’s obviously Great Western and very proud of it, he’s able to tackle pretty much anything given to him, except for the possible mistreatment of him by his controller(s). ⤵️

During the time he was sent over to Sodor, (Summer of 1955 according to the wiki) Dieselization was taking over everywhere, the U.K, America, you name it, and getting rid of Steamies was a huge trend, by scrapping or just straight up abandoning them (Cue Percy going on his “They don’t repair them” speech) and it really makes me wonder, was Duck ever mistreated or worse, going to be scrapped but was saved by STH just in time? Cuz we’ve seen that GWR isn’t afraid to get rid of their steam engines like Oliver. Which brings me to another point but I’ll do that in a sec. With Duck, he seems to admire his railway so much that he just pushes those beliefs onto his peers while Oliver doesn’t really talk about his railway much, probably traumatised from his whole scrap escape.

Engines like Duck on GWR we’re probably easy to get rid of since they were so compliant and obedient. But with Duck, yes he stand up for himself to his peers, but not to STH. When he asks Duck to go to Edward's station, he does nothing, only gives him a tearful, “As you wish sir…”. It shows that Duck is still not really a suck-up to his controller, but is definitely obedient and just takes it. When Diesel tries to call STH “The Fat Controller” Duck cuts him off and corrects him. It’s very interesting how Duck is so willing to stick up for his controller, maybe even if they’re not so kind to him.

But then again, in “Diesel does it again”, Duck goes on a little strike with Percy to tell him that they refuse to work with Diesel but still Duck seems to be scared, saying “Beg pardon” and saying sir a lot. He seems even more scared when the narrator says, “In a quiet, hurt voice” which gives me the assumption that he feels betrayed, maybe thinking like “Why did he do this, I thought he solved the problem?” Later in the episode, Duck and Percy say, “What will TFC say? He won’t like it!” Which Diesel retorts with “Who's going to tell him I wonder? Not some goody-two shoes like you!” Which makes Duck and Percy shut up for the rest of the episode until Diesel gets more defiant and STH gets rid of him anyway. It really shows how even STH engines can be swayed by characters like Diesel, or maybe other bullies that they’ve had to face. With Duck informing STH about how others would say he “waddles” probably so which is why he doesn’t take shit from others now.

All in all, Duck is a very interesting character when you get past the GWR loving side of him. He’s not all rules and order, he’s also a dreamer, wanting to explore other lands or a bit of a mischievous character, messing with Diesel when he first arrives or with Henry and his 6 tender. I wish they did more with Duck instead of going with “He loves the GWR”

But for characters like Oliver who’ve had a bad experience with his railway, he probably isn't too fond of them, and doesn’t really talk about them much, but one thing Oliver has that Duck doesn’t is being swayed by the opinions of others so much he gets too cocky and ends up in the turntable, which Duck probably made fun of him for years. Although Oliver may have been jaded by his railway, he was quickly humbled by the next. But Oliver and Duck are both kinda scared of their controllers, with Duck being obedient and Oliver being scared he'll get sent away again by STH after ripping Scruffy apart. There’s that sense of fear for those above you with them and I wish we got more on their background and why that fear is always there. Even thought Oliver probably wants nothing more to do with GWR, he's still painted in their colors after being saved. He seems happy but honestly if I was him, I would’ve chosen literally any other color than the one from the railway that was going to kill me.

I wonder if Oliver feels betrayed by his railway, does he still respect them, does he hate them? It just makes me wonder what are his feelings for them now? I’m sure Duck and Oliver get into fights about how the GWR is or isn’t as good as the other thinks. We’ve seen Oliver retort back to Duck with “The Great Western Way, I know! And you’re doing it the wrong way.” So unlike Duck, Oliver isn't afraid to give a little clap-back to his railway.

Oliver is also an interesting character, we never really know about his time on the GWR besides that he was going to be scrapped by them, and we never really get any more info about the GWR. We see characters like Mr. Percival who runs the Skarloey Railway and such, but never the GWR. It’s all up for the fans like me I guess

Anyway I think I’m done yapping so tysm to everyone who read this!

[rose-l-20]

Hello, how are you? I loved your headcanons about Night at the Museum, several of them have become canon in my mind as a fan. I don't know if you're taking requests, but could you do headcanons like you did for the other characters, but this time for Amelia Earhart? I feel like she needs more love from the fandom, and besides, she's one of my favorite characters in the franchise.

GENERAL HEADCANONS - AMELIA EARHART

Hey! I am wonderful now that my business diploma has finally ended, so I can get through the small handful of requests i have, and my own personal ideas! How are you you my love? Which headcanons did you like, I would love to know!

If you would like to request more characters, please refer to my NATM MASTERLIST for the characters, and send you requests.

SUMMARY: See request above!

WARNINGS: nothing too different from the first list I did, and again my opinions!😱 I am basing these headcanons on the movie character, not the actual Amelia Earhart as I am not 100% knowledgeable on her history and don't want to offend the dead. I genuinely found this hard even though I've seen the movie 10 billion times!.

Amelia had long hair growing up that people would compliment and gush over. One day she got sick of it, so she grabbed the closest pair of scissors and cut her hair to her collarbone.

When it comes to how she talks, Amelia went to a play with friends as a teenager, and a character spoke in this unique way. She used the voice when making jokes, then it just became her daily voice.

I don't usually like sexuality based headcanons to characters based on history (excluding Jed and Octavius😂), but as a young teen I took one look at her and went "oh that's a badass Bisexual woman".

Amelia knew from a young age that "house wife" wasn't going to happen. She knew she was worth more than that. This doesn't mean that she didn't want to experience love and the warmth of a significant other. so when meeting potential (male) partners, the first thing she would say is "If you're looking for someone to cook and clean for you, then don't waste your time sugar".

In her twenties, she saw a plane fly across the sky, and knew from the sound of the engine, that she was going to become the best pilot the world had ever seen!

Amelia had a short time of being alive from the tablet, meaning she didn't get to see how her life changed the world for women. if given the chance, I feel like she would've had a moment of emotional silence. Feeling proud of herself, proud of all the women who fought to get to this point in history.

Again, she was only alive for a night. but she, and the original exhibits got along within no time, which created the best comradery.

From a basic google search, She loved creating coinvent and stylish fashion, so I just know she altered her coat to have as many pockets as it could fit. You could say it is the retro version of Yelena Bulova from marvel's utility vest!

If she had enough time to see movies, hear music, and taste food from our era she would LOVE movies based on flying (obviously), but I also think she would love comedy.

Amelia can surprisingly handle high levels of spicy foods, with little to no reaction. If she were to try a true traditional Indian curry, she would be asking for 2nds, 3rds, and 4ths!

her music taste would 100% be female empowerment artists, with a hint of metal. basically anything that would be fantastic for a badass battle scene.

She is soooooooooooOOOOooooo stubborn, which we can see in the movie. It is her way or the highway sometimes, which she tries her hardest to not be that way but it's like second nature.

again from light research, she was a nurse at a point in her life. with this, and also how tender she was with Larry and the rest of the exhibits she gets joy from being nurturing to those around her.

---------

DONE! I am not 100% happy with these, but truly there wasn't much to go off of. I hope you're happy with them MARVELFOREVER352.

Have a good Friday and a relaxing weekend!

[romance-is-tragic]

Hey, Anna! I was just wondering if you could do a 'How the DC Legends would kiss y/n'. I'm working on a Leonard Snart fanfic and I'm having trouble describing how he would kiss/comfort my character who's going through a messy breakup.

Have a good day/night

Headcanons! How The DC Legends Would Kiss Fem! Y/N

Summary: See title. By the way, this is a select few characters from Season 1. Let us assume that this isn't the first kiss. Because I don't remember how to write first kisses.

A/N: I have been AWOL for several freaking years. Matters progressed. At some point during Covid, I kinda gave up on fanfiction because school got busy. But this was a cute little prompt I just had to pick up. (Totally not procrastinating on an essay here!) Took me fifteen minutes to do this. Not my best work, but I'm glad I got back into fanfiction. To everyone who still reads my younger self's work, thank you so much! Love you guys <3

PS. Thanks so much for asking @buckybarnesismylife! I'm glad you thought of me <3

Jefferson Jackson/Jax (Firestorm #2)

I see Season 1 Jax as... kinda shy? Kinda sweet? He likes you, he likes likes you, he likes likes you very much. But... PDA and whatnot, nope. He steals kisses from you when you're alone together.

Maybe he's in the engine room, tinkering. Or in the lab, doing... lab work. You're sitting to the side, reading a book, writing a poem, scrolling through Tumblr? Every so often, he gets up, places a kiss to your forehead, temple, cheek. You are this man's pomodoro technique.

And every so often, you pull him to you, place your lips against his. He's gentle. He cradles you close, a hand running through your hair. He draws it out. He enjoys it. You enjoy it. And when you pull away for air, a shy smile peeks through. And maybe even... a blush?

Leonard Snart (Captain Cold)

He is gentle with nobody but you. Yes, he's a slick sweet-talker, but with you, he's different. Softer. Maybe even sweeter. And he ain't afraid to show how much he likes you.

His kisses are casual. A kiss to your forehead as you sleep, a kiss to your shoulder as you work. Simple little kisses that send shivers down your spine. Now is that because of the cold gun, his frosty personality, or something else entirely? Who knows?

But his kisses are also very very not casual. Before missions, he holds you close. He feels the contours of your body under his hands. Such gentle hands, memorising every inch of your skin. A kiss to your forehead, on each eyelid, tip of your nose, then your lips. Long, hard, deep. A kiss to remember.

And after missions? Screw the kisses. He's just glad to know that you're alive. And well. And his. Okay, maybe some kisses. A lot of kisses.

Martin Stein (Firestorm #1)

He would not. Man is madly in love with Clarissa, and he would never dream of cheating on her. Shame on y'all for asking. (Did Martin ever cheat on Clarissa? It's been several years since I've seen the show... so... Someone tell me?)

Mick Rory (Heatwave)

I don't see Mick kissing anyone. Obviously, he is capable of affection, but it takes him time. He's more the huggy type? Maybe, just maybe, he places his lips against your temple as you sleep. He loves you. So so much. He's just scared to show it.

Ray Palmer (Atom)

Golden retriever vibes here. When this man likes you, he likes you. You tinker in the lab alongside him. The two of you work in comfortable quiet, the silence punctuated by the whisper of his kisses along your face, neck and shoulders. How this man ever gets work done, nobody knows.

But those are the casual kisses. On long languid afternoons, you lay in bed together, and he kisses you. Over and over and over. This man worships you and he lets you know. His hands pull you closer, he wraps you in his arms, and his kisses find their way to your lips. Over and over and over.

Sara Lance (White Canary)

Not typically the touchy feely type. When she kisses you, she means it. And they're not gentle either. They might start off gentle. Tender kisses against your lips, nips at your neck and collarbone. But then they get rough. Her lips working against yours, her tongue exploring your mouth. She pushes you into the wall, holds you there. You don't complain. Your hands find her hair, her hands find your waist. She kisses you ferociously, with an intensity you've never felt before. When she pulls away, your lips are chapped, bruised. Then the kisses get gentle again. Tender apologetic kisses against your swollen lips, across your eyelids and cheeks.

[luciddreamingstuff]

I Like Trains--

Just play the farm simulator game, just play the game, just play the game--

NO!

I heard a steam whistle sounding off when the train passed through and had to know what it looked like. And then I searched the internet for screenshots and found this lovely thing:

I've seen that type of locomotive before. So I did a wee bit of digging. Because even though it's missing what I assume (And hope or this is going to be awkward with the size of the locomotive) is the sand dome. Plus the tender and the actual pistons--

BUT THE POINT IS!

The Whyte notation, 4-6-0 (total number of leading wheels, driving wheels, and trailing wheels) is a real class of locomotive. a "T-12" Ten Wheeler class here in the US. Now the odd spacing of the driving wheels is strange yes. But take into account this class, specifically this type of engine was seen on Narrow gauge lines. (Going by Freedom Units 4 feet, 8 inches between the rails is standard gauge, narrow gauge is 3 feet, 6 inches).

The locomotive that first came to mind was the ones used on the Denver and Rio Grande Western, they had a few of these.

See? Same wheel arrangement and even lamp. Hell event he box above the piston is right.

Now as for why the spacing is like that, I scoured a few forums to try and get an answer and I got mixed results. This is the one that had a few ideas. But the bottom line came down to it being narrow gauge and you are dealing with tight curves and steep cliffs. Which means the Stardew Valley Railroad is in fact Narrow Gauge. And since it's in the mountains, it makes sense. After all, that is where Narrow Gauge here in the US was seen the most. Besides the mines of course.

This little not so mystery took me a total of five minutes. Probably helpful I've seen this type of locomotive in person and knew exactly where to start looking. Obviously I have yet to find any confirmation on if this is the locomotive the Stardew Valley one is based on. But I'm fairly certain it is. Also don't know if anyone else figured this out, couldn't find much on that.

Anyways--

[my-mt-heart]

Where's Daryl?

This was very difficult to write. It opened up a lot of old wounds for me, so if you read this, thank you. If my thoughts on this show haven’t been your cup of tea, that’ll most definitely be the case here as well, so maybe just move along. ***Trigger warning for discussion of childhood abuse***

For about a year and a half, Caryl fans asked Where's Carol? as a pointed reminder that the spinoff was always meant to be hers just as much as it was Daryl’s. Even though she's back now, her fans didn't always know she would be (nor did the EP's 🙄) so her absence during filming and promotion of the first season was a heavy burden to bear. The irony is, though “Daryl Dixon” sticks out like a sore thumb in that ridiculous font, he's the one who feels absent sometimes, as if important parts of his character development were lost when he washed ashore while other parts come and go as the plot demands.

Zabel talks about swapping Daryl's iconic vest for "old man" suspenders as a matter of pragmaticism i.e. they were the only clean clothes available. Norman says it was a choice he wanted for some unclear reason, but neither of them seem to consider the intelligence of their audience, particularly Carylers, to see it more symbolically. The costume change is our visual reminder that Daryl isn't himself. In some scenes he's chattier than he should be, far more trusting of strangers with personal details, and far more theatrical. Then in others, the differences are even more alarming. He calls a child cruel names, puts his hands on him, and feels conflicted about returning home to his family, to the woman he said he loved.

I mentally prepared myself for retcons, but the one I'm struggling with a lot right now, which I haven't seen anyone bring up yet, is the retcon of Daryl’s childhood abuse. Daryl tells Isabelle that he and Merle had to take apart engines and if they couldn't put them back together, their dad wouldn't let them have dinner. It's a milder version of the stories the scars on his back tell us, though I can buy Daryl omitting the worst of it like he did in the pilot. What I can't buy is Daryl saying his dad was "hardly ever" around and emphasizing it as the main source of his pain growing up. It feels contradictory for one thing. When we see Daryl's scars for the first time in S3 of the flagship show, it's implied Daryl was trapped in an environment that enabled his dad to physically hurt him often. Presumably that's why Merle felt guilty about leaving him behind. The revelation also seems like it's only intended to highlight the consequences of an absent father figure, explaining Daryl's fear of not making it home, but also justifying his "close" bond with Laurent. The best stories allow a character's emotions to drive the plot, but this just does the opposite, twisting Daryl's backstory to fit the current narrative.

Daryl's backstory made so many people root for him in the first place. It allowed Carol to see him when nobody else in the group could. It helped me process my own childhood trauma. The ways I got to watch him overcome his violent past gave me hope that masculinity could mean more than what I grew up around—more than anger, shouting, and swinging fists. Daryl taught me that men could still be tender, kind, and loving even if those closest to them in their childhood never showed them how. I imagine Daryl's representation has been important to boys and men too, specifically to those who were afraid to speak up about their abuse because of the stigma around it. The implications of this scene may not be easily noticeable to some, but they are to me, and I'm deeply offended by it.

I’ve talked at length on this blog about how it takes a village to make or break a show, though it’s usually the showrunner who has to answer for it. I've already mentioned that I do blame Zabel. His knowledge of French history has no value when he obviously didn’t bother to study Daryl’s history aside from reading old scripts and (maybe) watching the first couple seasons. That's incredibly irresponsible and terrifying for S2. I also blame AMC for their short-sightedness and their determination to save face no matter how much it costs them. I blame Gimple for his pettiness. I blame Greg Nicotero for his insensitivity to Melissa and her fans.

As for Norman, he's hinted very loudly that he wants credit for the show being "different," so in theory he should be prepared to take some of the blame too. I can't name all of the decisions he specifically made, but no matter what they were, I can blame him for not speaking up about the shipbaiting, Daryl's wavering loyalty, and the childhood abuse retcon, all things that hurt his character and hurt the fans. I genuinely don't know what else to think other than Norman didn't give either the consideration they deserve. The show has been treated like nothing more than a vanity project, and it’s unfortunate when you think about what he and AMC had to gain from the original Caryl spinoff.

I love the version of Daryl I knew before this whole mess, I love Carol, and I love the relationship between them. I want them to have the story they deserve in S2. At the moment, I don’t know how to reconcile that with the agony I feel over the damages to half of my two favorite characters. If Carol is going to cross the Atlantic ocean to find Daryl, I want him to be the man who threatened to punch holes in all the boats so she couldn’t leave and the man who told her he loved her before—ironically—leaving himself. I need to hear Daryl admit he hasn't been completely honest with the French characters, not because he was afraid of getting too close to them, but because he didn't want to face the pain of potentially living without Carol and TF. I need to hear him say that he can't be Laurent's father, which is okay because the kid has plenty of other family to take care of him. I need to hear him say, out loud, that he could never love another woman romantically because he's already in love with Carol. That's what I need to feel better about this story. That's where my investment is. I feel like Carol is safe in Melissa's hands, but I don't feel like I have anyone to rely on for Daryl. That’s a big problem because their stories are so intertwined. There’s no Daryl without Carol nor Carol without Daryl. If you ruin one of them, you risk ruining both of them, and that’s a possibility I really can’t bear.

[thesconesyard]

Another two hours, another five answers? Sure! More Scones otp answers:

11. What is their love language?

They just do things for each other. So what is that? Acts of service? Scotty just takes care of things that need to be fixed or done before McCoy thinks to ask, and McCoy just takes care of Scotty without thinking about it.

12. How Are there communication skills?

They read each other very well. They are that couple standing behind everyone communicating by just a brow lift or glance. They may each have times where they kind of shut down and aren’t ready to talk, but the other is patient and waits and they can talk through it like adults.

13. A little personal… but… Hot and Steamy or Soft and Tender?

Both, depending on the mood. Probably soft and tender more often (as they are growing older 😝 ) but after a stressful mission and Jim’s antics, a rush of adrenaline and the actual knowledge the other is safe could spice things up.

14. How did they first meet?

AOS gives us that moment where everyone is on the bridge (Can I get a towel?) but we don’t get that on TOS, so that’s more interesting to think about. (And even though I don’t watch it, who knows how or if SNW might make that happen.) But this is asking what I think, so, I think Scotty was on the ship first and McCoy joined later when Jim became captain. Through Jim they probably became aware of each other (obviously as senior staff) but probably didn’t think much about the other. Scotty probably showed up in medbay, injured of course, and McCoy fixed him up and they got talking, because how could Scotty get hurt and not make light jokes about it? And from there they probably connected a bit more at meals, after shifts, sharing a drink and Jim stories.

15. Why do they like each other?

Scotty loves McCoy’s huge heart, that he hides away under his grumpy and gruff exterior. He cares for everyone so much and so tenderly even if he is berating them, because he worries so much about everyone and it’s how he shows how he cares.

McCoy loves Scotty’s outgoing nature. He’s upbeat and makes everyone around him happier for them being near him. Even if he gets mad at his younger engineers, he wants to teach them how to be better next time.

[therealslimshakespeare]

Idk if it’s just me but I want Lu to have a very fulfilling professional life as well. Like she’s SO smart we can’t just ignore that!!

I was thinking this too haha. One of the first things I thought when I found out she was a flight engineer was woah a woman in stem before being a woman in stem was a thing. And I feel like maybe, because she’s wholesome and so tender-hearted, people don’t think of her this way, but I always imagined that she would have an impressive career after the war. Like how people are impressed at Gale’s endeavours with his PhD and such. Because one of my favorite things about her character is her duality, the way she can be so vulnerable and taken care of but is also so competent and capable. And I don’t know I guess that was always my hope for her character because I mean. This girl literally joined up to fight in a war at 16 years old and afterwards STILL chose to go to college because education is important to her. And obviously she wanted that degree for a reason. I’ve loved hearing about her with Benny and her kids and being a girls girl with Tilly and Ida because again! I love her duality. But this is something I’ve literally thought about her character since you first started to give more details about her. Maybe I just love to see BIPOC women being impressive idk. Not to say that being a mother and having an amazing marriage isn’t impressive of course! It’s just how I’ve always felt about her.

Oh, for sure, and all of this aligns with what I envisioned for her as well. And I’d love some of your headcannons about this. I think we’ve just gone on more about her motherhood because of how healing in some way that would be in direct relation to her trauma, also it’s fun to make head cannons about that due to the likelihood of the entire group being involved. So it’s getting more press, that way. ☺️

[keaalu]

Pendennis Castle (and friends)

I feel like I've been adopted by the spirit of Pendennis Castle. (Perhaps I lived there, in a former life, firing cannons for King Henry?)

Point being, the very first time I caught the Riviera Sleeper to Cornwall in 2017, the diesel loco that pulled the train was Pendennis Castle - and ever since then, the name keeps. Coming. Up. So I think I have slightly adopted it.

This holiday, I went to Falmouth and explored Pendennis Castle itself (“Castle On The Hill Castle”, haha). But more excitingly, look what I encountered in Didcot!

Pendennis Castle! (And holy moly she is a big beastie. And constantly LOUD, her chimney roaring away like a massive kettle you forgot to take off the boil.)

Granted, standing on the station next to her, she's obviously huge - I was STILL not as tall as her. But it’s only when you’re at ground level right alongside, staring up at at this towering piece of noisy engineering and realising that the top of your head doesn’t even come to the top of its wheel, that you realise what absolutely monumental vehicles these actually were. I had to stand on tiptoe to look into her cab.

She's at the coal stage here (above), about to have her tender refilled. The camera was on my eyeline. Even in these photos you can't really grasp how thunderingly enormous this old lady is. 120 tonnes! And even when she was not doing anything at all (her crew weren't even aboard), she was noisy.

Here's an even bigger one! This is King Edward II, who escaped the scrapyard by about 30 minutes and (I think) was in such a state it took longer to restore than it was in service. (I asked the tour guide and it's slightly shorter than the Flying Scotsman but heavier, at 135 tonnes, and more powerful. Apparently there was a bit of a pissing competition between GWR and LNER over who had the better engine, which resulted in these behemoths being designed. They had to do lots of weird things with it because otherwise it wouldn't have fitted through tunnels/alongside platforms/etc.)

Yeah. These are big beasts. (Even the dinky little tank engine they had outside weighed in at almost 23 tonnes.) If I get anywhere with this thing I'm noodling away at, I really want to try and carry that off.

It's quite sad, in a way, seeing them preserved and just sitting there - getting lots of love and polish, granted, but I wanted to see them escape onto the mainline and really run. Watching Pendennis Castle shuffle up and down her 750m of line was a bit like watching a racehorse pace around in a paddock.

Of course I was busy taking notes. (I didn't quite get brave enough to ask the volunteers "so if you were in the middle of nowhere, just an engine and crew, and you'd stopped for some reason, and the driver then had a heart attack, how would you get help?")

(Something something someone runs down the tracks to a lineside phone to call the signalmen to put a stop on the line, and the engine sits whistling the hell out of an SOS because he's not quite got the steam pressure back up to run, until a policeman comes along to help.)

In a final turn for the weird, this holiday, I was just getting ready to leave my hotel on the final day, and heard the toot of a steam train. That can't be a steam train, I said, it's a mainline railway station next door. But I hurried away anyway, and look what was sat in Bristol Temple Meads station! (I left the people in for scale. Even here, the loco is lighter than Pendennis - 72 tons vs 81 tons.)

She left literally not even a minute after I got to the platform, so that was a huge touch of luck. It's a special one-off service running on the mainline up to Shrewsbury. So this is on my list for next year!

(If there isn't already a character in TTTE called Dennis, WELL THERE SHOULD BE. Who used to work the tin mines and speaks Cornish so no-one fucking understands him.)

(The sleeper is my favourite way to travel on holiday. Go to sleep in London, wake up 250 miles away in Penzance!)

[davnittbraes]

The Fifth Step - Chapter Thirty-Eight

Part of The World Is Light, Embodied.

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6100

Warnings, etc.: smut, like hella descriptive but you should anticipate that by now, and FEELS, tender smutty feels, omg the FEELS, I just think it needs to be noted a few times given how much there is, a little bit of angst at the beginning but that clears up real quick, Fun with Mando’a™️, sweet moment of domesticity for our perfect little family 🥰

Notes: This is it. The end of The World Is Light, Embodied. I’ve added a note to the end of this chapter because I can’t contain myself (shocking, I know) and it ended up being way too long and wordy (also shocking) but in summary, I love you all.

Mando’a translations at the end of the chapter.

Please check out the Series Masterlist page for more info.

Ok. Deep breath. Go.

You’re hovering. 

You know it, there’s no real reason for you to still be here, leaning against the wall of the hold, watching the kid sleep. 

The hold of the ship is almost pitch-dark as the last few minutes of the day cycle tick away. Now that the kid is down, you should be moving through your usual nighttime routine - tidying up, reviewing what needs to be done tomorrow, getting yourself ready to slip into bed with Din once he’s done in the cockpit. 

But something stays your feet, holds your gaze fixed to the slight rise and fall of that little chest. 

An archetypal protectiveness, a need to have the kid in your line of sight, to know that he’s safe. 

Even now, when he’s snug in his hammock, snoring lightly, tiny clawed hand curled around his stuffed frog. 

A tightness in your chest tugs at your heart, making it skip against your ribs, events of today flashing across your thoughts. 

He came so close to…

And you…

Boots on the ladder draw you out of memories. 

Din steps off quietly, obviously taking the silence in the hold as proof that the kid is asleep. He moves toward you with that familiar confident grace, beskar glinting in the dim lighting, stopping when he’s close enough to rest a gloved hand on the small of your back. 

You lean into the touch, but it’s not enough, that tight feeling constricting your lungs and your body instinctively turns to slip your hands around his waist and pull yourself into his embrace, tuck your nose into the curve of his neck just as you’ve done countless times before. His hands glide over the span of your back, one pressing you to him and the other cupping the back of your neck.

Your muscles release, and you sink into the moment. The tight feeling strains, pulls, snaps and every emotion trapped within floods your system. 

Not like before, not in desperation, or anger, or fear. None of those emotions are present, here, safe and surrounded by everything you call home, held by one you love and who loves you. 

It’s a simple acknowledgement of the events of today, and those primal instincts, that drive to protect and survive that razed your veins with adrenaline and left you feeling unmoored. 

A recognition that experiencing those emotions is part of the life you live. A life you choose to live, because even if you are left drifting, uncertain, you will always come back.

Din will always guide you back home. 

He bears your weight easily as you lean into him, tears sliding down your cheeks, dampening the cloth of his cowl. 

It’s quiet, just the hum of the ship’s engines vibrating along the edge of silence. For a long moment, there’s only you and him, only the barely-there pulse of your heartbeats pressed close together, seeking each other through layers of cloth and beskar. 

The torrent of emotion slows eventually, lessens to a trickle that allows you to direct strength back to your limbs, pull back from Din to stand on your own two feet again. 

His hand on your neck slides around to cup your jaw, tilt your face as his hidden gaze takes you in. “You’re ok, kar’ta.”

There’s an insistence in his words, a strain in his modulated voice that brings fresh tears to your eyes. 

You nod once, smile weak but reassuring. “I’m ok.”

A sharp exhale crackles through the modulator then he’s moving, hands leaving you to grasp his helmet and pull it off and you get a glimpse of those eyes you’ve been wishing to see again all day before he’s kissing you. 

It’s soft and firm and frantic and steady all at the same time, his lips pressing so gently to yours while his hands grasp desperately at your waist, as if he’s afraid of hurting you and losing you at the same time. 

You press yourself full-length against his frame, shiver as the cool of his breastplate seeps through your shirt, and sift your fingers through his hair, cup the back of his head and return his kiss with resolution, conveying your silent reassurance. 

I’m ok.

The bone-deep tension he’d been holding releases in a tremor that runs through his body into yours and back again, reverberating, growing until both of you are trembling with the need to be as close to one another as possible. 

Everything blurs, the lines between you and him disappear, his actions become your own, and you can’t tell who’s hand reaches behind you to key shut the bunk door, who’s feet guide the other’s down the length of the hold, who’s voice murmurs pleading sounds against who’s skin.

It’s more than just physical want. It’s something else entirely, an intuition, pulling you together. Weaving through the air, your touch, your shared breath, your heartbeats, frantic for more. 

Pressing deeper, through emotion and thought and consciousness into the very core of your being.

It’s a single beat of a moment in time, only a few minutes at most, but it feels like eternity. 

In flashes, pieces of your individual physicality come back - the cold durasteel at your back as he presses you to the wall of the hold, the scrape of his teeth over your bottom lip while he kisses you deep, then the shift of your weight when you push back, turn and twist until you’re both moving again, heading for a destination only vaguely marked in your mind, somewhere soft and safe that you can fall into with him. 

You suddenly stumble, waver as your knee bumps into something - the edge of the bed.

A pause, then, a slowing of breaths and heartbeats, a calming of the frenetic energy. 

Din’s grip on your waist holds you steady as you rebalance, come back into yourself, look down at the dim shape of the bed in the dark of the hold. 

Was it only this morning you were slipping into wakefulness in this bed for the first time, awareness slowly pulling in sensations of warmth and safety and comfort, of Din?

When you’d sat on this bed, met his gaze and spoke words that bound you together in a way that transcends intimacy and connection?

A blink and you’re suddenly back there, in that moment, full of everything you’ve ever wanted but could never find hope for. 

You turn back to him, cup his face in your hands, trace the curve of his jaw with a thumb, push the memory of the words past your raw throat. “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar’tome.”

His fingers flex, smooth over your hips, his voice rasping with the echo of your own emotion. “Mhi solus darasuum.”

A faded moment from the past flickers across your thoughts. In this very place, when you had realized happiness wasn’t a distant concept, it was something you could have, if you let yourself have it. 

“How do you say ‘forever?’”

Pressing a kiss to his mouth, you stay close, let him feel your soft words. “We are one, forever.”

He returns the kiss with a small sigh. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” You let the smile curve your lips, let joy swell behind your ribs, every emotion close to the surface, ready to burst out at the smallest opportunity. 

“Can I… can I turn on the lights?” 

The words are hesitant, you immediately jump to reassure him. “Din, I will never ask you to, but I will always welcome the chance to see you.”

This time his kiss is firmer, a growing passion behind it that makes your head spin. Then he’s pulling back, pressing a command into his vambrace and the lights of the hold blink on and -

Pfassk. 

You’re reaching for him, fingers tracing his features. He closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, blinking them back open to meet your gaze and your heart stutters with a jolt of something so pure it must be joy. 

The words fall from you with a shake of a giggle. “You’re so kriffing pretty.”

A blush dusts his cheekbones, crease forming between his brows as the corner of his mouth pulls up in bemusement. “And that’s funny?”

“Kinda.” You let the giggle loose, smoothing back an errant curl from his forehead. “People think you’re some serious, scary Mandalorian but you’ve got those eyes and -“ your thumb dips to trace his bottom lip - “these lips that practically beg to be kissed and -“

He silences you with those lips on your own, the vibration of his own embarrassed laughter shifting his chest under your palms as you hook your fingers over the edge of his breastplate to pull him close again. 

A low sound rumbles in his throat, and he grasps your hands, guides them to the straps of the breastplate. Your breath hitches as he helps you unlock the clasps, a moan following quickly when his tongue coaxes your lips apart and slips inside. 

He repeats the motion with his pauldrons, moving your fingers with his, but you’re distracted, hands twitching, practically useless as his mouth takes yours, nipping and lapping and pulling. That frantic energy swirls through your core, pushing arousal to the forefront. 

The whimper that slips from you when he pulls back makes him still, look at you, gaze deep and all-consuming. Taking you in, from your clenching hands to the fast rise and fall of your chest, your swollen lips and eyes probably already hazy with want. 

An answering want flares in his own gaze. 

Then it’s a flurry of movement and he’s alternating between layering kisses on your mouth and the curve of your neck and removing his gear and armour. You try to help, fingers fumbling with the clasps and straps, focus wavering with each kiss that curls your toes in your boots until he’s slipping his flightsuit off his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor and tugging his underlayer shirt over his head and -

Crikking hells. 

Golden skin fills your vision, firm planes of muscle and the slight swell of his stomach and you can’t breathe, your entire body is frozen, thoughts trying to piece together the significance of this moment, of seeing this part of him you’ve never seen before, but all you can think is -

“Mesh’la.” You murmur the word as your hands glide over his chest, marvelling at the combined sensations of his skin under your palms and the sight of his muscles twitching beneath your fingertips. 

Need sears hot through your core. 

A rough whimper buzzes under your hands and he suddenly yanks you close, kissing you hard enough to make your knees bend with the force. 

Another shift and he’s pushing you back, down, a hand moving behind you to brace your weight as you fall onto the bed, his lips following yours. 

Your thighs part automatically, boot catching on the edge of the bed, and you groan in frustration, all of a sudden aware of every layer of clothing you’re still wearing, unnecessary barriers between your skin and his. 

He pulls back, and a thrill of arousal curls into the growing heat of your desire at the fierce intent in his expression. His movements are quick and precise, pulling your boots off and tossing them aside, slipping his fingers under the hem of your leggings and underwear and tugging them down your legs and away. 

Then he’s kneeling, not on the bed but on the floor, and his large hands grip your thighs, haul you to the edge of the mattress and push them apart. 

Oh kriff -

Anticipation shivers down your spine, cool air swirls over your pussy, arousal arcs up in reaction -

His eyes are so dark, a brown that’s almost black, drawing you into their depths and you can’t look away, pinned in place by that gaze as he lowers his mouth, as his plush lips part, as his tongue slips out to swipe over your clit. 

Crikking hells -

The moan that pushes from your chest sparks a flash of something in his eyes and he laps up the length of your cunt, tongue dipping inside to flick over your fluttering entrance, lap up your arousal already gathering there. 

Your fingers fist into the blankets at your sides, a breath-taking wave of pleasure rolling through you. “Din -“

He groans in response, presses a wet kiss to your clit before swirling the tip of his tongue around it, then pulling it between his lips, the brown of his irises darkening impossibly more and you can’t, it’s so much, feeling the swipe of his tongue over your clit and the gentle suck of his lips and seeing those eyes, deep and devouring, watching you lose yourself. 

You whimper, a wordless cry, your head falling back and eyes squeezing shut against the swarm of overwhelming pleasure radiating from your cunt, you hands tugging uselessly at the blankets as if they could keep you grounded and suddenly he’s shifting, his fingers twining through yours, gripping tight as his tongue slides down through your folds in a long, slow glide that sends a rush of slick from your core and sparks of blinding pleasure up your spine. 

Again, he laps thickly at your entrance before pulling your clit in between his lips and pressing -

Your back arches sharply, words stuttering gasps. “Yes oh pfassk so good feels so good -“

He hums low and the vibration resonates through your core, pushing your pleasure higher. His lips press, rolling your clit between them with a barely-there suck and -

Your entire body shudders, fingernails digging into the backs of his hands. 

Again and again, the press and pull -

Pleasure burns bright, building higher -

One of his hands leaves yours and a fingertip slides through your folds, presses to your entrance, and your hips instinctively rock forward, pushing it in with the motion -

He groans long and low as your cunt clenches around his finger, draws it in deep, and his tongue circles hot and firm over your clit and yes -

Lights flicker along the edge of your vision and your free hand dives into his hair as he slides another finger into your pussy. 

He starts a rhythm, a barely-thrust with a crook of his fingertips along your inner walls and a squeeze-pull of his lips on your clit and you cry out, nails digging into his scalp, pleasure building up and up, higher -

Your voice cracks, pleads. “Din I’m gonna -“

His growl rumbles through your core, shoves your pleasure to the edge and a pulse of his fingers on that spot inside you is enough -

Bright wet heat -

Your body shudders through the wave, cunt squeezing his fingers tight, clit throbbing under the wet pressure of his lips and tongue as you come. 

The drop punches the breath from your lungs, curves your back into your body with the force of it. 

He withdraws his fingers and grips your thigh, smearing slick along your skin as he drags his tongue over your entrance, moans into your still-fluttering cunt. 

You prop yourself up on an elbow, some urge driving you to look -

Crikking hells. 

Another small wave of pleasure courses through your limbs, trembles in your thighs, and he opens his eyes, gaze meeting yours as his glistening tongue laps up your slick, brows creased in utter indulgence. 

You’re falling, sinking into those dark brown depths and you need -

A sound full of raw desperation squeezes from your suddenly tight chest and he reacts immediately, rising up to press you back down into the mattress with a deep kiss that steals the end of your cry, fills your mouth with the taste of your own pleasure. It’s grounding, the weight of his chest on yours, but you need more -

Hooking your legs around his thighs you twist, push, and he rolls onto his back, hands curling around your waist to pull you with him. 

A warm throb of fresh arousal pulses in your core as you settle, straddling his hips, his cloth-covered cock pressing tight to your cunt. 

He grunts and rocks up, grinding his arousal along your wet heat. You bite your lip against the urge to close your eyes, sink into the delicious friction, keeping your gaze steady on his as your hands smooth down his chest. 

Broad expanse of glowing skin, accentuating undeniable strength, unmarred by the few scars that are evidence of his ability to withstand, to succeed. 

To survive and live. 

The skin of your back prickles with an awareness that sinks deep into your thoughts, pulling something you’ve been trying to understand for a long time to the surface. 

Your scars, those thick lines scattered across your back - they don’t mean what they used to. 

Now, they’re just another part of you that you want to share with him, the last of your secrets. 

You want him to see you. All of you. 

There’s no hesitance, only absolute certainty. 

You grasp the hem of your shirt, pull it up and over your head, toss it away. 

The hands on your thighs grip hard as he stills beneath you. Those beautiful brown eyes are fixed on yours, wide with something like awe. 

Your hands slip behind your back and unclasp your bra, and the cool air swirls over your bare skin, pulls your nipples tighter. 

He swallows hard, the rise and fall of his chest noticeable - he’s seen you like this before, but not quite, not without the security of your shirt covering your scars, and his voice holds his awareness of how important this moment is. “Tionas…”

You take his hands, bring them to your chest, press those long fingers over the swell of your breasts. “It’s ok.” A flash of memory, Mando’a words rise to the surface of your thoughts. “Gar haa’taylir ni, Din.”

His gaze softens, then he’s sitting up, one hand sliding around your back while the other cups your breast and his lips capture yours in a firm kiss. 

The glide of his warm hand over your naked back sends a shiver down your spine. Your hips roll with it, your cunt grinding over his cloth-covered cock and he groans into your mouth, thumb brushing over your nipple before pinching it between his fingers. 

Oh pfassk -

He shifts, lips leaving yours to trail along your collarbone, tongue flicking out over the curve of your breast. 

Your instinct is to let your head fall back, close your eyes, lose yourself in feeling but you can’t, your gaze fixed on the way his plush lips close around your nipple, how his large hand cups your other breast with restrained want, so obviously cautious not to squeeze too hard, how the curve of his jaw shifts as his tongue works over your breast. 

He nips lightly with his teeth and pleasure shivers through your body. 

Yes -

Your fingers dive into his hair, nails dig into his scalp and he grunts, nips again and the lightening-hot sensation arcs down your spine, hips rolling with its force, amplifying it as the head of his cock catches on your clit and sends tiny sparks across your hips. 

He laves at your nipple, hand on your back pushing to press it further into his mouth as he sucks gently, and it’s so good and your entire body shudders at the sudden weight of your need, cunt clenching around aching emptiness. 

Your fingers tug on his curls, unsure if you’re trying to bring him closer or pull him away so you can kiss that perfect mouth of his. 

Another roll of your hips, his cock twitches against your folds and he pulls off your breast, presses his forehead to your chest as a rush of your hot slick soaks his underlayer. “Fuck, I need to be inside you -“

You rock your hips into his again, panting at the drag of wet fabric over your sensitive clit. “Yes, please -“

His answering moan crackles along your damp skin and he pulls back, looks up at you and kriff he’s so beautiful, expression pulled tight with want and pupils blown wide, lips swollen with his efforts to pull pleasure from your body. 

Pfassk. You want him so bad it hurts.

And you want to give him all of you. 

His brows pull together in confusion as you shift off his lap, out of his embrace, until you cup his face in your hands. Pressing a soft kiss to his lips, you meet that dark, deep gaze. “I want you to make me feel you everywhere.”

Understanding blooms in his eyes as you slide up the bed, holding his gaze until you turn away, lay down, settle on your stomach into the well-worn blankets, curving your arms to pillow your head. 

Air ghosts over the heated skin of your naked back. 

He’s silent behind you, but his hands immediately settle on your hips, warm and reassuring. You can feel his gaze, tracing the scars cutting up the skin of your back, but no fear grips your heart, no shame curls in your stomach. 

It’s ok. You’re safe with him. 

A movement, he kneels between your thighs and you spread your legs further to accommodate him. 

His hands slowly shift, sliding up your sides, coming together over your shoulderblades. 

You close your eyes, arch into his touch. 

A soft kiss, the barely-there press of lips to the small of your back pulls a whimper from your throat. 

Another, and another, tracing your spine, up between his hands, blessing your scars with love and acceptance so profound it wraps around every memory you have of receiving them, of hiding them, and blurs the edges until the memories no longer hurt. 

He pauses at the nape of your neck, resting there, breath warm as it drifts down your back. 

No words break the silence, but they don’t have to. 

There are no words to suitable for this moment, anyway. 

His hands sweep down your back, and the bed shifts with his weight. 

You look over your shoulder to see him standing, hook his thumbs into the waistband of his underlayer pants and pull them down. 

A surge of want curls your toes, clenches your inner walls. 

Long legs, toned thighs -

Pfassk -

His cock, golden skin flushed at the tip, glinting with the wet proof of his arousal -

Your mouth waters, your clit throbs -

You’ve felt it, heavy in your palm, warm and smooth on your tongue, thick and full in your cunt but now you know -

Even his cock is pretty. 

He moves, kneeling back between your thighs and your gaze is caught by his again, that look of concentrated focus back on his features, and a rush of heat floods your core. 

You rise up on your elbows, reach back a hand to guide his mouth to yours, push every emotion - gratitude, awe, love, trust - into your kiss. 

He returns it, moan filling your mouth as you part your lips, glide your tongue along his. 

His chest presses to your back - pleasure goosebumps over your skin, feeling his bare warmth on yours - and you gasp, breaking the kiss to pull back and just look at him, wonder at the intimacy of this moment overwhelming your focus. 

The soft depth in his eyes tells you he feels it, too. 

A gentle kiss between your brows and then he braces himself on one hand, the other sliding down between your thighs to -

Kriff -

Your moan shifts to a whimper at the end, the head of his cock dipping through your slick folds feels so good and you need -

Arching your hips, you curl your fingers around his wrist, tugging lightly. “Please, Din, need you.”

A shift and -

Your mingled sounds of pleasure catch in the small space between you as his cock notches into your entrance, pushes inside -

Yes yes more -

The stretch bows your back and pulls  him deeper -

He sinks home with a low groan, free hand pressing over your collarbone, head falling to the crook of your neck. “So wet and warm, feels so good, fuck -“

Your inner walls flutter, cunt begging for friction, and he draws back, slow and steady, sending curls of pleasure through your core. “Yes like that -“

Thrust deep -

The head of his cock grinds over something that shoves a cry from your throat, ripples pleasure through your core. 

He does it again -

Again and again -

Your orgasm blossoms bright out of nowhere -

Oh pfassk -

You grip his wrist hard, head dropping to the blankets as pleasure blasts through your limbs. “Din I’m -“

Words choke off with the next thrust and you’re suddenly right there, at the edge, and it’s big and -

His hand slides to your shoulder, holds you in place as he thrusts quick one two three -

Bright wet heat -

Pleasure whites out your vision and squeezes the breath from your lungs and your cunt so tight around the thick of his cock -

Your arms give out under the weight of it but he holds you there, grip firm on your shoulder as he fucks you through it -

He buries deep, hips pressed tight to your ass, stilling, and finally the wave crashes over you, rolls through your body, tenses every muscle until it breaks. 

A last pulse of pleasure and you’re trembling, something like a sob muffled in the blankets against your lips as he eases you down. 

Your senses are scrambled, scattered, blurred with the aftershocks that keep quivering through you. 

Gradually they pull back together, focused on the singular point of his lips, soft and pressing gentle kisses along the span of your shoulders. 

You reach up, curl your fingers through his hair, turn your face to find those lips with your own. 

He kisses you so softly, and love pulses through the warm bright thing in your chest. 

His cock twitches against your sensitive inner walls, still hard and thick, deep in your cunt. 

The primal need to feel him, feel everything crawls through your senses and takes hold. 

Your teeth graze his plump bottom lip. “Need you, love. Fill me up with you. Gedet’ye.”

He hisses as you clench around him, hand shifting to press over your heartbeat, pull your weight back against him as he thrusts again, a sharp snap of his hips that ripples pleasure through your body. 

Crikking hells -

He picks up a rapid pace, one that jolts hot sharp pleasure into your core with each slap of his hips against your ass, each shove of his cock deep into your cunt. 

Pleasure builds up and up, more and more -

Yes yes yes -

Another thrust another again -

He pulls back just a bit, his free hand cups your face and you look up at him, your gaze meets his and -

Time stands still, thoughts flickering randomly through the pleasure haze. 

Deep brown, warm and full of something profound -

More than simple love -

Is love simple?

His thumb brushes over the curve of your cheek, through the moisture there -

Are you crying?

Yes, love is simple compared to this, this fullness, this sense of belonging. 

This sense of home. 

The peripheral of your vision catches the glow of his bare chest, shoulders, the soft fall of his hair, the play of muscles in his arms as he flexes his hips against yours again. 

Your world is filled with him. 

Senses fragment, each pulsing through your veins and pushing your pleasure higher. 

The warmth of him, bare skin pressed along your naked back -

Slick slide of his cock pushing apart your inner walls, slotting into the place imprinted with the shape of him -

Wet sounds of the suck of your cunt trying to pull him deeper -

Ache of your thighs as they flex, arch your body into his, silently begging for more, more -

It rips through you suddenly -

Your pleasure, bright hot -

He growls, brow creasing and eyelids fluttering and he thrusts hard again and again and -

Hot slick wet -

Your core floods with warmth, his and yours, pleasure combined -

So good -

Perfection -

Both of you pulled together, entwined. 

No more barriers, no more secrets. 

Souls laid bare and embraced with compassion, understanding. 

This moment anchors in place, frozen, and you know that even when time starts again, a part of you and a part of him will be here, always. 

The release crashes on you both, a drop that shudders through you and has you falling into the blankets, his body splayed over yours, warm weight pressing you into the mattress and surrounding your senses with him. 

A breath. A beat. 

Time moves slowly, lazily pulling you along. 

Pulses steady, pleasure-haze clears, contentment settles in. 

Din sighs gently, his chest shifting against your back and he kisses the curve of your shoulder. “Kar’ta isn’t enough. You’re more than my heart, ner runi.”

There’s a reverence in his voice that threatens to close your throat without you even knowing the meaning of his words. 

You turn enough to look at him, cup his face, trace the laugh lines around his eyes with a fingertip. “What does it mean?”

His eyes meet yours, warm and steady. “‘Ner’ is ‘my.’ And ‘runi’ is an old word, not used often anymore. But it’s the only one I know that comes close to what you are to me.” 

He leans down, kisses your lips, lingers there. “‘Runi.’ It means ‘soul.’”

The warm bright thing in your chest swells, presses against the inside of your ribs until it hurts. 

Tears sting the corners of your eyes as you push out words that have been quietly swirling at the back of your mind for a long time now. “How do you say ‘stars’ in Mando’a?”

A pause, his gaze flickering over your features. “Ka’ra.”

You kiss one of those bare patches along his jaw. “Do you remember -“ a hitch in your voice, those tears clenching your throat - “when we sat in that clearing, and I told you how much the night means to me? How I looked at the stars since I was a child?”

His gaze softens. “Of course, tionas.”

Your smile is automatic, an intrinsic response to the term of endearment. “Din, you’re what I looked for. In the night sky.”

A tremor runs through him, understanding widening those beautiful eyes. 

You stroke along the curve of his jaw, watching the path of your fingers. “In those dark places where there was light that my eyes couldn’t quite see. You were there. The home I was searching for. The stars I was meant for.”

Emotion shimmers over his gaze and you blink back your own, push the last words out. “You’re my stars, Din. Ner ka’ra.”

He kisses you, soft at first and then firm, with a familiarity that makes the warm bright thing in your chest expand, grow, encompassing your body and reaching for his. 

It’s a moment full of eternity. 

He pulls back, rests his forehead against yours and everything is in his dark gaze. “I was there, ner runi. And now I’m here, where I will always be. With you. Darasuum.”

“Mhi solus darasuum.” You echo back his words, full of an everything of your own. 

He smiles - blinding bright light - and then his lips are on yours. 

It’s perfect. It’s everything. 

His arms come around you, ease you onto your side, and you settle into the bed, back against his broad chest. 

You reach for his hand, thread your fingers through his and tuck it over your heart. “I like Mando’a, it’s a beautiful language. Will you teach me more?”

A pleased hum against your back. “What would you like to learn?”

The thrill of anticipation, playfulness, pulls a laugh from your chest. “I’m sure you can guess.”

He sighs, but there’s no weight to it, sound full of the same lightness you feel. “Shabla. Probably the crudest curse word. Don’t use it around other Mandalorians, it can be taken as an insult.”

“Noted. Can’t promise I won’t though, if we see Cranky Pants again.”

This time his sigh is exasperated, but still rooted in that effervescent joy running through your own veins. “Mir’sheb.”

*****

It’s late. There’s a heavy sort of silence laying thick in the air, the kind that can only be found in the depths of night, when every living thing around is at its quietest - limbs and muscles relaxed, heartbeats and lungs moving slow and steady. 

You open your eyes, blink against the pitch-dark of the hold. Something pulled you from sleep, but it wasn’t a sound, or a movement - it was something internal, an urge, a need. 

For what?

Din is sleeping beside you, arm heavy and warm across your waist, cheek resting on your shoulder, breath ghosting over your collarbone. All it takes is a subtle motion and your nose is buried in his sleep-mussed curls, lips pressed to the top of his head, breathing in the scent of him. 

You close your eyes, your thumb lightly stroking circles where your hand rests on the arm over your waist, silently ask the part of you that brought you into wakefulness. 

This?

Did you need to feel him, reassure yourself that he’s here with you? Thoughts flick back through the night, smile curving your lips as memories of beautiful brown eyes and golden skin and words laced with emotion float through your mind. 

Still, that strange compulsion doesn’t cease, swirling and incessant, making your legs twitch with the urge to move. 

Din shifts, breath stuttering, his arm tightening to pull you closer as if sensing your sudden desire to get up.  

Your heart flutters with the gesture, at his obvious inherent need to keep you close. But you can’t resist the call any longer.

Gently, you ease yourself out of his embrace, murmuring soft reassurances when he half-wakes, slip out of bed and dig for your shirt and underwear in the piles of clothing scattered over the floor. 

He sighs heavily, and the blankets rustle as he settles back in. 

You bite your lip, hold back the giggle that threatens to slip free. 

The fact his bounty hunter instincts didn’t instantly shift him from sleep to full awareness is a testament to how the events of yesterday - and your activities tonight - exhausted him. 

It’s sweet, endearing. 

And too kriffing cute. 

The durasteel is cold on your bare feet, your shirt barely keeping out the chill of the air, goosebumps prickling over your skin as you make your way down the length of the hold, letting your instinct take you where it will. 

You can’t really see much but memory moves you past obstacles, sidestepping storage crates and skirting around the corner until you find yourself coming to a stop in front of the kid’s bunk, keying open the door and turning on the light inside the small space. 

The flood of dim light barely illuminates the hold but you can clearly see big, amber eyes blinking at you, large pointed ears lifting with excitement. 

You smile, reach into the hammock and scoop him into your arms, pitching your voice low so as not to disturb the heavy quiet surrounding you. “Hey, kiddo. What are you doing up?”

The kid coos softly, tiny clawed hand curling into the cloth of your shirt, eyes bright and clear of any sleep fog. 

“Figured you’d be exhausted like your dad.” You huff a laugh. “Figured I’d be exhausted, too, actually. But here we are, huh?”

He babbles in the way you know means he’s happy, and it’s infectious, pulling another laugh from you. 

A barely-there sound behind you, the step of someone who can move with complete silence but doesn’t want to startle you. 

The kid squirms in your arms, lifting himself to look over your shoulder. You follow his gaze, pulse fluttering when the dim light glances off the familiar helmet, outlines the tall, broad frame dressed in black underlayer. 

Din slides a hand across your back, soothing, and tweaks the tip of the kid’s ear. “Everything ok?”

The sleep-rasp of his voice through the modulator sends a shiver down your spine, and his fingers trace it with obvious affection, palm settling in the small of your back. 

You look down at the kid, smile when those bright eyes turn back to you, wide and full of the same emotion pulsing through the warm bright thing in your chest. 

Leaning back against the steady warmth of him, you take a deep breath, let it out, and sink into the sense of home that surrounds you. “Yeah. Everything is perfect.”

*****

Mando’a translations

Tionas - question

Cyar’ika - sweetheart

Kar’ta - heart

Mesh’la - beautiful

*****

I’M NOT CRYING YOU’RE CRYING

Jk I’m definitely crying 😭

I want to take this opportunity to say thank you to everyone who reads this fic. The fact that you’re willing to give these characters some of your precious time is incredibly humbling as a writer.

Those of you who interacted with this fic with likes and empty reblogs - I want you to know that I saw every single one, got worried when you didn’t like or reblog it in the timeframe you usually did because I thought either I had completely bungled the chapter or something bad had happened to you. Please know you were seen and appreciated. 

Those of you who comment, dm and generally scream into the void with me about this fic - there are no words to describe how much you mean to me. Your comments are direct fuel for my motivation and I reread them when I’m at my lowest. 

I have more to say to those who supported this fic from the beginning through to its completion, but I’m saving that for another post, so for now just know that you have given me the strength to reach this point, where I’m writing a thank you at the end of the first novel I’ve ever completed after several failed attempts to do so throughout my life. Your contribution in the form of your unwavering support makes this as much your achievement as it is mine. I couldn’t have done it without you. Thank you ❤️

- Davnitt