#these are once again messy doodles

[jeremywasriven]

he is so babygirl 

[leisi-lilacdreams]

mikey and splinter are off camera ironing more flags leo just grabbed the first one done lol

[superbellsubways]

quick ceroba

[mellohiizz]

planetlord planetlord planetlord planetlord planetlord plane- (me trying to mention planetlord as many times so we can get art of them) /silly

planetlord......

[disorganised-bagel]

Bagel, please, I must see more sillies. Would you ever possibly draw more perfectdolls? (Totally hope I do not sound insane or rude, I just love the cute little drawings you've shared so far!)

hbskjbn?? this is so incredibly nice what???? vjhkskh?????

i am definitely not an artist, but i am so beyond flattered??? huh?????

throws perfectdolls at you

the sillies :D

also here's some ocean/jane too :)

this one is technically fanart for the fic no one deserves to be alone by beepsinquestion (please go read that entire series, it's so good)

i don't really know how to draw jane, but an attempt was made :'D

thank you so much for the ask??? i'm gonna go cry now maybe???? /pos /hj

have a wonderful day :D

[keeps-ache]

things have been learned 👍 (slight audio warning !)

[partyhardyontitanic]

so i made a loukish playlist

[f3atherbrain]

quick kyle drawing this has never been done before

[p3achfilm]

sex for dummies. eren j.

cw 𐙚 kissing, kissing, andddddd more kissing. eren is smart and wants to learn how to fuck, you’re a bimbo cheerleader with experience under your belt who needs help in math!

𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝓃𝑒: 𝓀𝒾𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔

You sit in the stark, colorless classroom, feeling the weight of monotony pressing down on you. The walls are bare, devoid of any inspirational posters or artwork, and the fluorescent lights cast a harsh, uninviting glow over everything. The incessant clicking of a pen behind you riddles you with irritation, each click like a tiny hammer tapping against your skull. You try to focus on the teacher, but his bored voice drones on about the rules of precalculus, and you can't help but tune it out.

Your attention drifts to your pink ringed notebook, its cover already filled with an array of drawings, each one a testament to your boredom. You’ve always been an artist, yet you’ve never had the energy or the opportunity to truly pursue your talents. So here they stay, confined to the pages of this littered notebook. As you sketch, your mind wanders, and you lose yourself in the lines and shapes forming under your pencil.

But the tapping of the pen behind you grows louder, its continuous rhythm grating on your nerves. You try to ignore it, but it becomes impossible, each click pulling you further away from your thoughts. Frustration builds inside you, and you begin to scribble harder, pressing the pencil into the paper with more force than necessary. Suddenly, the lead snaps, breaking the fragile silence you had tried to create.

You whirl around to face the boy behind you, your eyes blazing with anger. "Tap it again and I’ll shove it down your throat," you seethe, your voice low and menacing. The boy looks at you, his eyes wide with terror, and he nods quickly, his hand frozen mid-click. Satisfied, you turn back around.

Mr. Johnson, the math teacher, stands at the front of the classroom, his voice clear as he explained yet another problem. The chalkboard was filled with equations, each symbol meticulously written to illustrate the problems.

"Alright, class," Mr. Johnson said, turning back to face the students, "let's solve this equation together. What do we need to do first?" Hands shot up across the room, but in the back corner, you sat quietly, staring at your notebook. The numbers and letters seemed to blur together, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't make sense of the steps Mr. Johnson was explaining.

"We should rewrite the equation.”

Your ears perked up at the familiar raspy voice. Eren Jaeger, the typical nerd whizz kid. He always wore these rimmed glasses that seemed to be perpetually sliding down his face. You could never get a good look at his face, though, because if his head wasn’t down, his messy raven hair was in his face. He seemed like a shy, reserved nerd.

You’d only spoken to him once or twice, and each time you’d asked to borrow a pencil. Eren effortlessly broke down the problem until it was solved. You envied his brain. Mr. Johnson moved on to the next equation, and your anxiety grew as you found yourself zoning out, probably why your grades were suffering now.

You knew you needed help, but you were too embarrassed to raise your hand and admit you didn't understand. You scribbled in your pink spiraled notebook, trying to make sense of the previous examples, but the more you looked, the more confused you became.

You doodled a picture of Hello Kitty, lip mindlessly caught in your teeth.

The bell rang, signaling the end of class, and you quickly packed your things, hoping to escape unnoticed. But as you reached the door, Mr. Johnson called out, "Y/N, can I speak with you for a moment?"

Shit.

You froze, your heart pounding. You turned slowly and walked back to Mr. Johnson's desk, avoiding eye contact. Your anxiety spiked as you awaited what he was going to say. Would he threaten to call your parents again, threaten to get you taken off the cheer team? Or would he make you stay back for after-hour tutoring again?

"Uh, yeah sure," you stumbled out nervously, fingers pulling at the edge of your uniform skirt as you averted your eyes to him.

"I noticed you drifting off in class. In order for me to help you, I need you to want to be helped," he sighed, pulling his glasses over his tired face. "I know you're on the team and practice can be weighing with classes. I can talk to your coach—"

"No, no. That's not needed, I swear I'll do better, just please don't talk to coach," you pleaded desperately, her last words playing through your head like a broken record.

If your grades drop any lower, I'll have to suspend you.

He gave you a look; you couldn't tell what kind of look seeing as his face was always stoic. After what seemed like an eternity, he nodded, folding his arms over his chest."Fine, I would suggest pairing up with someone to study over the weekend. We'll have a pop quiz come early Monday morning."

Shit, Monday. How the fuck did he expect you to cram an entire semester of math equations into your head in two damn days? You wanted to throw a fit, but you kept your composure, lips curled tightly in disdain as you nodded your head before spinning on your heels and leaving.

You walked out into the hallway, your mind racing. You needed help, and fast. Just then, you spotted Eren Jaeger, the nerdy guy from your class, at his locker.

"Hey, Eren," you called out, trying to sound as casual as possible.

He looked up, surprised to see you. "Oh, hey... Y/N, right?"

"Yeah, that's me," you said, forcing a smile. "Listen, I need a favor."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "What kind of favor?"

"I need help with math. Like, desperately," you admitted, feeling your cheeks heat up with embarrassment.

"Mr. Johnson said I need to study with someone this weekend or I'm screwed. And I know you're really good at it..."

Eren sighed, closing his locker. "So, you want me to help you? Why should I? You never even talk to me unless you need something."

You bit your lip, feeling a pang of guilt. "I know, and I'm sorry. But I really need this, Eren. I'll do anything. I'll even pay you if that's what it takes."

He looked at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "It's not about the money, Y/N. It's about respect. You think just because you're popular, you can use people like me whenever it's convenient for you."

You swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in your throat. "I don't think that, I swear. I just... I don't know what else to do. Please, Eren. I'm begging you."

He sighed again, running a hand through his messy hair.

“Fine. I'll help you. But not because of the money. Because everyone deserves a second chance. Just... don't make me regret this.Take my number.”

You felt a wave of relief wash over you as you typed your number in his phone. "Thank you, Eren. You have no idea how much this means to me."

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, grabbing his backpack.

"Meet me at the library after school. And be on time."

"I will, I promise," you said, smiling genuinely for the first time that day. "Thanks again, Eren." As you walked away, you couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, things would turn around after all.

Eren was going to kill you. Not only were you late for your study session, but you were also on babysitting duty. Your parents had dropped it on you at the last minute that they had to attend a dinner for your dad’s boss, seeing as he was trying to get promoted.

"Mom, Dad, I can't babysit tonight! I have a tutoring session with Eren at the library," you protested, your voice rising in frustration.

"Sweetie, this dinner is very important for your father’s career," your mom replied, barely looking up from her phone. "You can miss one study session."

"Are you serious? I can't just cancel on him last minute! And it’s not just one session, it's important," you argued, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

"Enough," your dad said sharply. "We provide everything you need. The least you can do is help out when we ask."

"But you never consider my feelings! You just throw money at me and think it solves everything," you shot back, your voice trembling with anger.

"Watch your tone, young lady," your dad warned, his eyes narrowing. "We expect you to handle this responsibly."

Irritation riddled your body as you watched them pull off in the BMW, leaving you with your hyper eight-year-old sister.

"Fuck," You clenched your fists, feeling the weight of your little sister's expectant eyes on you. It wasn’t just the babysitting; it was everything. The constant disregard for your time, your feelings, your life. They never seemed to care unless it was about them.

All they did was throw money at you, thinking it would make up for their absence, their coldness. They were always so distant, so wrapped up in their own world. It was like you were just an afterthought, a responsibility they had to manage rather than a person they cared about.

Deep down, you resented them for it. For always making you feel like you were second place to their careers, their social lives, their needs.

You were tired of being the one who had to pick up the pieces, who had to be responsible because they couldn’t be bothered. They never listen,you thought bitterly. They never care.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself as you turned around to face your little sister. Her big, innocent eyes were filled with curiosity and concern.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly, her small hand reaching out to touch yours.

You forced a smile, squeezing her hand gently. "Yeah, I'm fine," you lied, not wanting to burden her with your frustrations.

“Come on, it's time for bed."

She nodded, trusting you completely, and you led her upstairs to her room. The soft glow of her pink nightlight cast a warm, comforting light over the room. You helped her into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin and tucking her in snugly.

"Why are you stressed?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"It's nothing, really," you reassured her, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "Just some grown-up stuff. You don't need to worry about it."

She looked up at you with those big, trusting eyes, and you felt a pang of guilt for not being completely honest. But you knew she was too young to understand the complexities of your feelings.

You leaned down and kissed her forehead, smoothing the covers over her small frame. "Sweet dreams, little one," you whispered. "I'll be right here if you need anything."

She smiled sleepily, her eyes already beginning to close. "Goodnight," she murmured.

You watched her for a moment, making sure she was settled before turning off the main light and leaving the room. As you leave the room, you couldn't help but feel a mix of love and frustration. Your sister was so innocent, so unaware of the burdens you carried. But for her sake, you would carry them all.

Your phone buzzes, and you see Eren's name on the screen. You take a deep breath before answering, knowing he's probably annoyed.

"Hey," you say cautiously.

"Where are you?" Eren's voice is sharp. "I'm at the library, and you're not here."

You feel a pang of guilt. "I'm really sorry, Eren. My parents stuck me on babysitting duty last minute. I couldn't leave my little sister alone."

There's a brief silence on the other end, and you can almost feel Eren's frustration through the phone. "Can I come over?" he finally asks.

You hesitate, then offer, "Yes, please. I can even pay you extra for the trouble."

Eren is quiet for a moment, and you hold your breath. "Alright," he says eventually. "I'll be over in twenty."

"Thank you so much, Eren," you say, relief washing over you.

"Yeah, yeah," he replies, trying to sound indifferent but you can sense the concern in his voice. "See you soon."

You hang up, feeling a bit lighter. You glance at your little sister, who's fast asleep, and crack the door to her room slightly, making sure she's still peacefully resting. At least you have someone who understands and is willing to help out.

Twenty minutes later, you hear a knock on the door. You open it to find Eren standing there, looking around in awe. "Wow," he mutters, stepping inside.

“Your house is huge. It looks like a mansion. I think you could fit my house in here three times." Eren says as he steps in, his eyes widen, taking in the high ceilings and elegant decor.Man, this place is massive. He knew you lived well, but this is next level. He shakes his head slightly, trying to hide his amazement. I could probably get lost in here.

You smile sheepishly, a bit embarrassed by the size of your home. "Yeah, it is pretty big. Thanks for coming over, Eren."

Eren nods, still looking around. This is like something out of a movie. I bet she has her own bathroom too.

“No problem," he says, shaking his head as if trying to process the grandeur of your house. You can’t help but stare at him, you’ve never seen him outside of school uniform and it’s hard not to gawk at the tight red compression shirt he’s wearing. His muscles flex underneath it enticingly, your eyes catching ink under his sleeves.His long hair is pulled back and you’re in awe, he’s beautiful.He’s not wearing his glasses tonight, you wonder why,but decide not to pester him.

You notice you’re staring and pull your eyes away,”we’ll study in my room.”

Eren nods,”lead the way.”

Eren tried to fight the way his erection grew as he walked behind you, your round ass in his face. Damn, you look gorgeous. You always looked gorgeous, but like this? It's almost too much.Your hair was pulled into a ponytail, edges laid neatly. The compression shorts you wore had his mind swirling with unholy thoughts, and your shirt was short enough to see your boobs peeking out. God, control yourself, Eren. This is not the time.

And then there was your scent—a perfect mix of cinnamon and vanilla. It was intoxicating, pulling him deeper into his thoughts. You smell so good. He was pulled from his reverie as you pushed open the door to your room. It was just as luxurious as the rest of your house, pink and white themed. Cozy, with pristine tan carpet. The room smelled amazing, and Eren figured you were probably a clean freak, given how spotless everything was. This place is incredible. How do you keep it so perfect?

Eren took a moment to steady himself, trying to focus on anything other than the way you looked and smelled. Get it together, Eren. You're here to help, not to get distracted.But it was easier said than done, and he couldn't help but silently admire you, hoping you wouldn't notice the effect you had on him.

“Geez, is there anything small in this house.” Eren jokes, taking a seat on the bed.You giggle, shutting the door closed before plopping down beside him, ignoring the way your stomach churns when those green eyes look at you.

“My parents are the materialistic type, as you can see.”

He scoffs, yeah no shit.

“I figured out how you can pay me,” Eren finally speaks up, you quip an eyebrow at him.

“Teach me how to have sex,”

You nearly choke on your spit.

“W-what?”

“Like how to kiss a girl and finger her, y’know.Each time we study you’ll teach me a new thing.” He trails off, his olive skin is bright red.

You cross your arms over your shoulder,”what makes you think I’m not a virgin?”

He bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing,”Just the schools drama page has a photo of you folded in the back of Connie’s truck.”

You roll your eyes, God, how embarrassing.Connie was your ex, typical football player, dumber than a damn rock.You really need to pass, and Eren is really cute, you don’t mind taking his virginity. You sigh after a few minutes,”Fine.but don’t go around running your mouth about this.”

You take a deep breath, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. He's sitting right in front of you, looking a bit unsure but eager to learn. You smile softly, wanting to make this moment as sweet and memorable as possible.

"Alright, first things first," you say gently, placing your hands on his shoulders. "It's important to relax and just be in the moment. Kissing should feel natural and comfortable." You look into his eyes, trying to convey your confidence and warmth. "Let's start with something simple. Just lean in slowly."

He mirrors your actions, leaning in slightly. You can feel his breath on your lips, and it makes your heart race a little.

"Close your eyes," you whisper, and he does. You do the same, letting the moment envelop you both. The world around you fades, and it's just the two of you, sharing this intimate space.

"Now, just a gentle touch," you instruct, your voice barely above a whisper. You press your lips softly against his, just a light, tender kiss. It's sweet and innocent, and you can feel him relax a bit. You pull back slightly, your eyes fluttering open to meet his.

"See? That's not so hard," you giggle, a playful smile dancing on your lips. He smiles back, looking more confident now.

"Let's try it again, but this time, add a little more pressure," you say, leaning in once more.

As your lips meet again, you guide him with gentle pressure, showing him how to move in sync with you. "Tilt your head a bit," you murmur against his lips, and he follows your lead. The kiss deepens, becoming more natural and fluid. You can feel the connection growing, the rhythm of your movements syncing perfectly.

"Perfect," you say, breaking the kiss and smiling up at him.

"You're a quick learner."

He chuckles, looking both relieved and happy. "Just remember, it's all about the connection. Feel the moment and let it guide you."

You decide to show him a bit more. "Now, let's try something a little different," you say, your voice soft and encouraging.

"When you kiss, you can also use your hands to express how you feel." You gently take his hand and place it on your waist. "See? This can make the kiss feel more intimate."

He nods, his touch tentative but growing bolder. You lean in again, this time letting your hands slide up to his neck, your fingers gently playing with the hair at the nape. The kiss is deeper now, more passionate, yet still tender. You can feel his confidence building with each moment.

"That's it," you whisper as you pull away for a breath. "You're doing amazing." He smiles, his eyes sparkling with newfound assurance.

"One last thing," you add, your tone playful. "Don't be afraid to explore a bit. Kissing can be fun and playful too."

You lean in for one more kiss, this time letting it linger a bit longer. Your lips move together in a dance, sometimes slow and sweet, other times more eager and passionate. It's a perfect blend of emotions, and you can feel the bond between you.

As you pull away, you see the sparkle in his eyes, and you know he's got it. "Thank you," he says softly, his voice filled with gratitude. You smile, feeling a warm glow inside.

"Anytime," you reply, knowing that this is just the beginning.

His face is bright red, dick pressing uncomfortably in his pants.You’d be lying if you said the heat between your legs wasn’t there.He scratches his eyebrow nervously,”we should probably get studying.”

reblogs, comments and likes are highly appreciated! bye🫧

part 2

[lute2030]

“One question… one bite.”

So I just read @solroskajan’s fanfiction, “To Be a Rebel Or A Runaway” on AO3

Honestly? I adore the fic so far. I really recommend checking it out since I think it’s well written. I love how Uzi and V are written among other things too. There’s two chapters so far, but I’m definitely staying in tune for future chapters. Mainly for robot yuri. God bless robot yuri

I wanted to make a quick doodle… which is why this is rather messy and not as accurate to some scenes in the fanfic (backgrounds isnt my strong suit either). Watercolor takes 50 years so I opted for a more quicker method. I promise my art is a lot cleaner and better than this

Once again, go check out their fanfic, it’s linked on their page. It’s worth the time, trust

[kagamesayu]

laois x reader

c/w . gn!reader reader, fluff wc: 375 a/n . this himbo has my heart in a tight grip reblogs and comments appreciated ✧*.

laois who is your beloved boyfriend and dungeon partner. your rock and your reason for adventuring.

you'd met when looking for a party to join. the moment he set his eyes on you it was like something awakened in him.

he'd done everything he could to get you on his party, and subsequently by his side.

you'd been so enamoured by him and his quirkiness that you agreed.

and the rest is history.

laois who almost always has one hand on the handle of his sword and the other in yours. his thumb writes his name into your skin, and he wishes it was there permanently.

definitely the type to have your name tattooed on him - probably on his wrist so when he fights he remembers you're with him.

laois who kisses you good morning and good night. who kisses you as a greeting and goodbye. who kisses you for...any reason really.

he just loves it - loves kissing you.

loves the soft pecks that reassure each other that you're okay, loves the long loving kisses you share when you sneak off, and he especially loves the messy, wet make-outs that he can only periodically indulge in when he knows that you, him and the party are safe.

laois who - after every encounter - looks for you and asks whether you're okay.

yes, he should care for the entire party, but he can't help the deep carnal need to make sure you are safe first.

you are special and precious to him, and though everyone revives, he refuses to see - and even let - you die.

he let it happen once and watching the life leave your eyes is something he will always see in his darkest of nightmares. the fear and agony on your face, right before you'd been impaled and taken away from him.

never again.

laois who spends almost all his free time out of dungeons with you. you're usually seen hand in hand in either hanging out in your shared rooms in inns or in libraries reading about monsters.

you have your own notebook about monsters, with personal little doodles and facts.

when laois first brought up the idea, he was worried you'd think it'd be boring. he was taken aback when you agreed with as much enthusiasm as you did.

he was even more surprised when you showed how eager you were in helping him.

he thinks he fell even more in love that day.

[slimybeth69]

Touch

Summary: The Mandalorian is quite interested in what you've been doodling. What happens when he finds out?

Rating: Explicit

Warnings/tags- eventual angst, slow burn, graphic depictions of wounds and violence, eventual non-con, eventual therapy speak, Grogu, Mando takes off his helmet, so much shit happens in this story.

This was very much inspired by the legendary Rough Day. It's such an incredible story and so well written. Don't have as high hopes for this, it's mostly just me being horny for Din Djarin.

unbeta'd, probably not proof-read because of my ADHD.

SORRY EVERYBODY ELSE

Chapter 2 ->

“What are you doing?” He asked raspily through the voice modulator. You roll your eyes. It’s the second or third time he’s asked you that since you guys found a place to let the child run around and play. Eat a creature or two. 

“Nothing.” You said it for the second or third time. He says nothing in response but you can feel him looking at you. Maybe. You’re never sure with the helmet. That stupid helmet that makes you look right back at your stupid face every time he says something stupid to you.

Okay. That’s a little harsh, per se, but he’s been harsh on you for everything lately. Little messy in the ship? On you about it. The child crying? On you. Something that you had absolutely no control whatsoever over happening inside, around or to the ship? He was fucking on you.

It was exhausting honestly. If it hadn’t been for the credits and honestly, the cute ass kid you might not have stuck around. But you were so desperate to get away. Apparently so desperate you asked him for a ride out of the Canto Casino. No, you begged.

And for whatever reason– it's clear to you now it’s because he needed someone to be mean to– he said yes. And then offered you seventy-five credits a week for as long as you stayed and watched after the kid and cleaned up after both of them. You drew the line at cooking anything because you experienced a burn first hand once, and will never do that again. Not even after he offered three extra credits a week. Not happening, Mando. No way.

Especially not for him . Being so mean all the time. 

You could see Mando out of the corner of your eye shift and try to see what you were doing in your notebook but you dropped your shoulder over it and pulled it tightly into your chest. 

“What’re you doing?” You turn your head to look at him. 

“Trying to see what you’re doing.” He said simply. It was so frank, yeah, that’s what he’s doing. Obviously . “What are you doing?” The little inflection in his words made your heart race for a second. As if he might actually be interested and not just bored of watching the child run around in the grass after small creatures to devour. 

The first time you saw the child eat something, it horrified you, but it grew to be just a little endearing the way he’d chase after it, jump and pounce on it a few times and then snatch it up for a lil’ snack. Just a quick one; the way he’d swallow it hole. You lost track of how long it’d been since then but it wasn’t a long time. Just long enough for you to forget to keep track anymore. 

“Why are you so interested?” You ask him, keeping the notebook tightly to your chest. Mando sits back and looks forwards.

“I don’t know.” He garbles through the modulator.

“Then you don’t get to see.” You tease but you wonder if he even knows what that is. Teasing . 

He’s never even once cracked one little joke with you in all this time. So probably not. Either that or he thinks you’re incredibly unfunny. Which is a possibility. You did try very very hard to impress him with whatever weird homemaker skills he expected you to have. You had literally none so he was very thoroughly unimpressed , to say the least. 

The dirty clothes and dishes around the ship were one thing, but it was the child's incessant crying that really made him ‘ raise his tone’ with you. Not really but he did say in a few very colorful words that you needed to do better. 

But really you just needed to bond with the little green sucker. Mando had thrown you into this ship with that thing? Baby? You really didn’t know or care, but he threw you in there and then shut the door and went on his merry way. For four days. Without even so much as an introduction. 

The kid was scared shitless of you for the entire time Mando was gone. It took the child almost two weeks to warm up to you. You didn’t know where anything was, or what to do, and were left to fend for yourself. It took you exactly thirty minutes of crying to figure out that the child wanted to be outside and the kid didn’t have any kind of harness or tether. Which was terrifying because what if you lost it? You had been so scared the child was going to run away but the kid didn’t. Well... did at first and then you tired it out; chasing for what felt like two hours. 

Then only once did the child have it's fill of an entire ecosystem of poor unfortunate creatures smaller than your foot, did he go back and lay himself down in that floating bassinet in the ship.

You had to lay down on the floor beside him after shutting the ship up, just to rest your eyes for a minute because that kinda cute little thing– asleep in that floating orb– had tired you out. And you didn’t wake up until that cute little thing had pried your eyelids open to show you the mess he had made. Pulled out everything that he could get his six little grubby fingers on

That had been day one . Things had gotten a little better since then. A little .

Every time you turned your back to clean up one mess, the little cutie would just run in the opposite direction and make a different mess somewhere else. This was the hardest job you’ve ever had. Easily. The child was a handful. There was something about the way he snuggled into when it was time for bed though, and it stole the heart right out of your chest. The way he’d bring you different colored rocks and bugs and show you them in wonder and amazement before he tried to eat them. When Mando was gone, it was just you two so you had plenty of time to bond, the Mandalorian was busy. Very busy indeed. 

Busy informing you that you didn’t put things away correctly, didn’t wash things the way he liked and needed to figure it out. You had to explain to him that people normally get at least a couple hours of training. Maybe a tour around, to show them where things are and where things go . He didn’t seem to understand that the reason you weren't doing a great job straight away was partially his fault. Or he just didn’t care. 

It’s . fine .

It’s almost like he’s a bounty hunter who has no patience for anything besides the child. 

And he’s got barely any for the green baby, so, it’s been a very pleasant time so far.

Maker. Okay. You’d also have very little patience for anything if you had to wear that beskar all the time. He was always in that suit, always. You hadn’t even caught a glimps of a wrist or his neck. Nothing. Not even an ankle. You knew the Mandalorians couldn’t let anyone see their faces, like ever , so you understood but, sheesh. It was always on. You didn’t even know what he did at night because you were usually asleep with the child before him. And he was always up before you.

 You told him once you’d blindfold yourself just so he could breathe if he wanted to. He’s never taken you up on the offer, surprisingly. 

So now in the present, still sour with him for being mean and because he’d never answered your question about what color his hair is, you doodled what he might look like in your little notebook you always had on you. Mostly pictures of the child because he was slowly winning you over with those eyes. And because he’s all you seen for however long you’ve been out here. But Mando had been back for a couple days. Longer than normal. You’d been spending a lot of time together, the three of you.

So for the last couple days you had been compelled to doodle Mando. What he might look like under that helmet and in some of your more explicit doodles– maybe what he looked like under that suit too.

The beskar protected him well. 

Too well.  

Maker. 

Okay, no. The beskar saved his life, protected him. Absolutely. But like, it left everything to the imagination. Which was frustrating. Because as much as you wanted to leave where you had been living, you had imagined seeing another person besides the child and Mando at least once. Maybe get a night off and talk to someone about something other than the kid, the ship and the bounty he’s currently after. 

Alas no, you’ve been stuck on the ship and now the primal desires inside of you are starting to flicker like a little flame. Tiny. Unnoticed by you, even. The doodling really was mindless at first, but your mindlessness was what Mando’s lower stomach looked like.

The notebook was still pressed against your chest. 

“So I can’t see?” He asked, looking at the child playing in the field. 

“Nope. Sure can’t.” Even if he had told you why he wanted to look at your notebook, you wouldn’t have let him. He would have had to pry it from your cold dead hands, and then you’d have been fighting him from whatever afterlife there could be. Fighting for the last shred of dignity you have. 

“I could take it from you.” He said like he had been inside your fucking head. Your heart is beating inside your throat and you unintentionally grip it tighter against you.

“I know.” You say. Your whole body frozen in fear. Like, was it a threat? An observation he had just made in his head? “ Why would you do that?” 

It was a weird thing for him to say. You’re leering at him over your shoulder, watching to see if he makes any sudden movements towards you so you can toss your notebook in the small fire he’s made. You might do it anyway because what is he even talking about? Taking it from you?

“Because.” Emotionless rasp from the modulator. “I’d like to see.” No inflection. Nothing. Just staring at the kid who was jumping off the ground slightly trying to catch a small flying bug. He couldn’t get it. 

But it had been said nicer than the other times. You couldn’t put your finger on it because it had sounded exactly the same, honestly, but there was just something behind the words he chose. 

I’d like to see.

Like he was some little kid who just wanted to look at what you were looking at. So innocent. Like he wasn’t a bounty hunter who had killed so many people in just the short time you had known him. And he wanted to look in your notebook. 

And now you had to tell him no again. Because what the shit? You can’t show him the very detailed drawing you’ve done of his pants pulled down to just the base of him and his curly patch of pubic hair that rents space there. You have no idea what the base of him looks like, it’s all made in your head. 

But the doodles are there. Sure are. In the notebook. That’s not imagined. No. The notebook and doodles are there. The notebook happens to be opened up to a page that has the deep indentation of muscles on both sides, a v of just pure rock hard strength and power that lead down to where you’ve been thinking about touching him lately. The little trail of hair that leads from his belly button; where you would oh so love to place your tongue, all the way down to where that v meets right–

Okay stop it right now, this is too much, you’re getting distracted from the point. You very carefully flip back multiple pages of the notebook so that there’s no chance that he could see what you’ve been working on as of late. But now, you peek down and check to see– the drawings of the child, okay. Phew. 

You hold up the notebook. You have to pull it back a couple inches when he tries to take it. He tilts his head down at you for just a moment when you do that and then looks back to the page you’re showing him. He studies it for so long that you wonder if he’s fallen asleep. Your arm is starting to ache. You've been holding it for so long. 

“You’ve captured his greeness quite well, somehow, without color.” He says, still emotionless but… did he just try and exchange banter with you? 

“We can hang it in the ship, right above his bassinet.” You tease. He’s so damn particular with his ship. Not wanting you to change anything . So there’s no way that he’d let you hang up a doodle of anything.

“That’d be fitting.” 

Oh my Maker. Please give me strength to deal with this- this- whatever this is. Because what he happens to be, is impossible. Impossible to read. Impossible to predict. Nothing about him is like anyone you’ve ever met.

“What was on the other page?” His modulator voice scares you, laying there silently on your stomach with your eyes closed. If you had a free hand you would have pressed your fingers to the bridge of your nose in slight annoyance. But you didn’t. You were laying on the free one and still holding the notebook. But when he said that , you pulled it back into your chest.

“What other page?” You snap. You can feel the heat rushing to your face. 

“The one you’re hiding from me.” 

Okay , Maker. Real nice. Real real funny. Give him some emotion now .

This is the first time you ever wished Mando would stop talking. Except for when he was mad at you. But now, he’s chatting you up and you wish he’d shut up. Just leave you alone.

Very funny, Maker. 

“I’m not hiding anything.” You say it so matter of factly like you’re willing it to be true. 

“I saw you.” 

“You didn’t see anything. I’m surprised you can see anything behind that helmet.” You flutter the notebook back at him in dismissal. 

Mando is silent for a long time.

“It actually helps me see-” 

“ Oh Maker . It was a joke . Do you know what a joke is?” You exclaim. “I know the helmet allows you to see better. I know that. I was making a joke.” You’re so frustrated now that you actually move your hand from under your chest and put your two fingers on the bridge of your nose and sigh. 

“You’re-” He pauses for a long time. “-annoyed with me?” 

You’re not expecting him to say that.

“I’m not exactly pleased , no. But I’m not annoyed. No.” You explain to him.

“So can I see the other page, then?” 

You throw the notebook in your bag quickly and snap it shut. 

“I think you should see if you can us food to eat, maybe? I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” You think for a second, “I’ve never seen you eat, actually, so, maybe you're not. I don’t know.” You speak nervously, the words continue to come out even though you wish you’d just shut up. “I know the kid is probably full off whatever thriving colony of small things he’s decimated. So, I’ll put him to bed while you see if you can find dinner or something.” You get up, take your bag with you and go grab the child from whatever life threatening way he’s found to entertain himself and bring him into the ship with you.

You set everything down on the floor behind the cockpit– your makeshift bedroom– and give the child a quick wipe down with a damp cloth, making sure he doesn’t have any crud or muck in any of his little fold or behind his comically large ears. And then you rock him to sleep. It takes ages– so long– for him to finally settle down and relax. He closes his big eyes while you rock him for more ages until you’re sure that he won't wake up when you lay him down. 

Which is annoying , because he can put himself down for a nap no problem, little thing tires itself out murdering small animals and just lays himself down when he’s tired, passes out within minutes. The minute the sun goes down? Nocturnal. The child has no idea what you mean when you say it’s time for bed. 

You tried to let him put himself to sleep once and Mando told you that he’d cut your credits in half if the kid ever cried like that again. It was worse than crying. It was wailing and screaming unlike anything you’ve heard in your life. The child must be rocked to sleep at night. That was an every night routine.  You deal with the child.  When Mando was around, he’d get you food during that time.

Once you were back outside, a meal had been caught and cooked for you. You assume that in your absence he fed himself, comfortably knowing you’d be gone for the next several eternities putting the child to sleep. 

“Thank you.” You’re hungry. Starving actually. You hadn’t realized how hungry you actually were. All your time and energy has been focused on keeping that little green baby alive that you have sometimes forgotten to take care of yourself. You keep yourself clean, yes. Easy to do when you have to clean the child every day. Eating and all the other stuff? Eh. Forgotten about now that the kid’s around chasing bugs and feeding himself. 

It’s fine. You’re thankful regardless because traveling around the galaxy, seeing things you’ve only ever heard about in stories . Even if you haven’t spoken to a singular other person besides Mando and the child. You have seen such incredible things and for that, you are thankful for Mando.

Very thankful.

Okay! Okay. You’ve gotta be in heat or something. Something! Because why is the way he’s looking at you is making between your legs throb? Okay now you know something is really wrong with you because what the stars, he’s got a helmet on. He could be looking over your shoulder or just over the horizon behind you but he’s got his gaze turned right to you. It’s like you can feel his eyes on you. You wonder what color they could be. Blue? Brown? Green?

“Pretty good.” You say, holding up whatever he caught and killed for you. You stopped asking what it was because you didn’t always like the answer, but it was always… edible. 

“So. That page?” 

You roll your eyes at him. Why oh why is he bringing it up again, the sun has gone down now and it’s been so long since that conversation. It’s old. Dead. Buried. 

“You’ve never taken an interest in anything I do, unless I’m doing it wrong, and then you scold me for it. Now, I’ve got one thing that’s mine and you’re trying to-” You’re huffing at him, actually annoyed now.

“A secret ?” He’s curious. An emotion. 

“It’s not a secret, it's just not– it’s not something I want other people to see.” You say very truthfully. “I don’t think.” You add to soften the statement. He’s actually talking to you about something besides the usual things.

“Why?” 

Maker, with the questions?

“Because.” It’s a simple response but it’s all you’ve got. 

“It would make me upset?” You look over at him and he’s positioned in exactly the same way he was when you looked away from him. Staring at you. You think. At least now he’s talking to you. 

But how do you answer that? 

Because yes, it would make him upset. It would make him very upset. It’d make you very embarrassed, and you think that's what's most worrying. The possibility of having to sit in the ship with him after. Now he knows that you’ve been thinking about him? Like that ? 

He can leave you here. It’s fine. You’ll figure it out. 

“No.” You lie to him. Then you feel bad for lying to him because you’re unsure if he’s even capable of lying. You’re not sure. He does seem like an innocent soul, minus all the killing. “Okay. Maybe. I don’t really know what upsets you other than when I mess something up, so I don’t really have much to go on.”

“I’m sorry.” He says and it forces the air out of your lungs like someone just punched you in the back. “I’ve–I’ve had a lot on my mind.” 

Maker, what is going on? Am I dead? 

“I shouldn’t take it out on you. You do good with the child.” 

You’re completely stunned. You cannot form a sentence. You cannot even think. Did he just compliment you? And apologize to you? Surely, you’re dead. 

“Thanks.” Is all you can manage to say and now, he’s warming up to you and you’re throwing water on the fire. 

“You could clean better, though.” 

And then you laugh because yes, you’re still alive and he is actually the Mando you barely know. And he did just apologize for being mean. And took accountability. And insulted you. 

It’s late now and the child will be awake in a couple hours. You’re asleep. Enjoying the thin mat that’s your bed and your warm blankets. You’re in a dream floating amongst the stars and skies, Mando’s floating with you, touching you so sweetly, and then, there is a hand on your arm. A strong one. 

It’s almost alarming, but then you open your eyes and it’s pitch black. So dark. Darker than you’ve ever seen it in the ship and now  it is entirely alarming. You go to scream but there is a warm hand over your mouth. 

“Don’t.” The modulated voice says quietly in the dark. You immediately relax and the terror stops ripping through you long enough for you to get angry. Very angry. After you hastily wrap the blankets around yourself, you pull your mouth away from his hand.

“Why? Why would you turn off all the lights– every single one? Huh? And then shake me awake like that?” You’re whispering, shouting at him. Your heart is still pounding and his hand is still tightly wrapped around your upper arm.

It’s quiet for a long time

“I didn’t shake you.” 

“Oh my Mak-” You whisper. “You know what I mean, you startled me awake in the darkness. Might as well be the same thing!” You’re exasperated. You had just fallen asleep and now this? Being throttled awake the way you just were? What was he gonna yell at you about now? What had he found that had made him grab you the way he had? Was still grabbing you.

“Sorry.” 

The raspy modulator voice in the dark is terrifying. Even if it’s being nice to you.

“What do you want?” You grumble angrily. “I was sleeping so well– so well and you’re throwing me around in my sleep.” You go to turn over but he stops you, squeezing your upper arm tighter. 

“I saw it.” It’s quiet, but there is some emotion behind the words. What emotion? You can’t be sure just yet. It’s something you’ve never heard from him before. It’s hard to tell in the void you’re in.

“Saw it? Saw what? How can you see anything here?” The sleep is still heavy in your brain and you’re also still terrified. Yes, less terrified knowing that it’s Mando gripping you like this in the dark and not an intruder, but why is he doing this? That is terrifying. Horrifying. 

“The page.” 

You gasp in even more pure, real horror and pull your arm from his grasp but he doesn’t allow it, he grips you tighter and in the dark you can hear him breathing under his mask. You thought you were scared before but not like this. Your heart is threatening to break free from the bone cage it’s safely hidden behind and you feel like you’re going to be sick. Your stomach is clenching and twisting inside of you. Sweat starts to bead your forehead and the back of your neck. 

“ Okokokokokok I’m so sorry. Please don’t kill me please, Mando, plea– I’m really, really scared to die and I don’t wanna go like this . In the dark? No. No , ple–  not in front of the child! Okay?” The silence around you now is deafening, you can’t even hear him breathing anymore and if it weren’t for the choking grip on your arm, you would think he had left. You’re begging for your life because this isn’t how you imagined dying. Not over doodles.

“I’m not mad.” He says quietly. Still raspy but soft. 

“Y-you’re not?” You’re too stunned to say more. Ask why, see if he liked it, nothing else comes to mind. You’re glad he’s not going to leave you outside to fend for yourself tonight. 

“Did you- did you think I was going to kill you?” Raspy modulated whispers come out of the darkness.

“Yes!” You whisper at him with a still beating like crazy heart in your chest. It’s about to burst out of you. “Why wou-” He cuts you off.

”They’re good.” He garbles quietly. 

“What is!? What’s good?” The fog in your head hasn’t lifted at all, and you’re so confused. What the stars is he talking about.

 “I looked at all of the pages.” He sighed out. It didn’t sound as gentle as it may have  meant behind the voice modulator. Still garbled and distorted. 

All the pages? All. Of. The. Pages. There were doodles of yourself in that notebook. Doodles of what you look like behind your clothes. The other pages in that notebook held secrets, real secrets and now you were even more mad at him. He could just invade your privacy? You got to have no secrets while his whole existence to you besides what he chooses to tell you? Unacceptable. The anger was bubbling under your skin now.

“You did what!?” It was still whispered as to not wake the child. “That was in my bag! You went through my stuff to get it? Are you sick?” He was holding on to you tighter and it was starting to actually hurt now. “Ow!” You snap at him and tug your arm away quickly and this time he lets you go. 

“Sorry. I had to know.” Garbled attempt at an apology from the darkness. You realize then that he hadn’t had his gloves on. You had felt his skin on yours. Hot calloused skin against yours. Gripping you the way he had been. You’d have bruises in the morning. Of his very real fingers on your flesh.

“You’re sorry!? That’s it?.” You have to force yourself not to yell at him because if this wakes the child up and you don’t get to go back to sleep, you’re going to quit. Walk right out. “You still haven’t answered my question!” He hadn’t. What did he want from you? If it wasn’t to kill you for seeing the drawings, then what did he want?

Nothingness surrounds you. For so long, you’re staring into the emptiness waiting for something . Some kind of response and then you hear him clear his throat. 

“I forgot what you asked me.” His garbled confession comes through in the dark. 

“You forgot? I just asked you wha-”

“The way you draw... it’s incredible.” You can hear him rustling through pages in the dark. The fluttery, scratchy sounds of pages, like a notebook. 

“A-are you-” You stumble over the words because you can’t actually believe this is happening. “D-do you s-still have it ?” You are fuming. “It’s so fucking dar-” and then you gasp loudly at the recollection that he  has night vision in that fucking helmet of his!

The child cries out softly in his sleep and you hear him rolling over and you and presumably him, freeze for what feels like forever before you accept that the baby is still asleep. You don’t know because you don’t have night vision. Then you whip your head back in the direction he’s in. You think he’s in. You honestly have no idea. There is no light coming in from anywhere and your eyes haven’t adjusted at all in the dark. 

You check your face to see if he’s blindfolded you. You pat your hands over your forehead and eyes when you’re completely sure that you’re just now blind for however long he wants you to be, you let your arms drop to your sides in frustration. 

“You’re still looking at it!” You point into the darkness accusingly, remembering he is in fact still holding your notebook. “Are you still looking at it?” You move your finger in a semi circle when you can’t actually decide where he’s kneeling beside you. The darkness is so disorientating. You have no idea where anything actually is anymore. 

“I can’t stop looking at it. I’m sorry.” He confesses from somewhere in the dark. “The bodies you drew are j-just so beautiful.” 

“They’re doodles.” You’re sweating. What is he doing in the dark looking at your doodles? You reach out into the darkness and you hear him take a shuffled step backwards, towards the center of the room. 

“What was your inspiration for them?” His raspy voice is different, like he’s not really here with you, it’s like he’s on that page with them.

“Just… my imagination ?” You lie in hopes he’s going to believe you. 

Silence. 

It’s anxiety inducing. He’s just somewhere in the darkness. With your notebook. 

“The woman's body is my favorite. She’s so…” Garbled modulator trails off. 

Maker. He has a favorite?  

You’re now hyper aware of the fact that if he can see your notebook in his hand, he absolutely can see you too. Oh Maker. 

Why was it suddenly so hot? When did it get so hot?

Your whole body is now prickled with sweat that he’s standing there in the dark. Assumed to be looking right at you and your artistic notebook.

There had been nothing sexual about your doodles at first. Really. They were just the only thing besides the child and the inside of the ship. And sometimes the fields he’d take you to, like the one you’re in now. So all of those things are in that notebook too. But he was looking at the couple pictures you decided to draw of yourself, because the human body is a work of art. Yours and Mandos just happened to be the only bodies around. 

“Just my imagination.” You don’t even know what you’re saying. Just words you’ve strung together fall out of your mouth for no reason known to you.

Silence for so long, you’re sure he’s not there anymore.

“Y-you already said that.” Modulator speaks in the dark.

“I did? Are you sure?” You’re one hundred percent sure you didn’t.

“Yes.” 

“What do you want? Why did you wake me up? Why are we just standing in the dark?” The questions are firing out of your mouth at the speed of a blaster pistol. “What? What do you want from me?” 

Mando say’s nothing for a long time. You cross your arms over your chest uncomfortably in the quiet. 

“Is this you? The woman?” He taps on the pages and you hear him do it in the dark. “Is this what you l-look like under your c-clothes?” 

“Why are you talking like that? What are you-” You’ve never heard him speak the way he is tonight, no. He’s commanding in his tone and what he says. Mando doesn’t stumble over his words. 

“Answer the question.” He interrupts you. “Please.” His tone is much more firm now. You’ve snapped him out of whatever trance he was in. 

“Maybe.” It’s not even an admittance of guilt and you’re already blushing in embarrassment. 

“It’s beautiful.” He’s breathless and somewhere in your notebook again. Presumably touching it with his ungloved fingers. 

In between your legs twinges. 

“Thank you.” You’re blushing so hard you think your cheeks are going to combust.

Then more quiet. For so long. It’s painful.

“Would you l-let me touch it?” He whispers through the modulator. 

“Touch it?” You don’t get it. “You’re holding it, what do-” And then you shut up because you realize what he’s talking about. It comes to you mid sentence.

It’s quiet again now. So quiet. The dark you could deal with if there was just something making some kind of noise beside yourself breathing in the abyss. You’re waiting for a response but you get nothing. A sigh from your nose. 

“You want to touch me ?” You don’t want to say it, but you’re desperate to hear anything in the void. You’re also so tired and sleep deprived because of the child, you might let him if he just got to the point so you could go back to bed. He’s been on your mind for the last week. The only reason you dream anymore, apparently. 

“Yes.” Honest and innocent garbles from the modulator. You smirk. “And-” But he stops. 

“And what?” You’re so curious what else could go along at his request. But he says nothing again. More blistering silence. It’s actually burning the inside of your ears. 

“Watch.” 

Maker, give this mandalorian the ability to say more than one word, please. I don’t know how much more patience I have left inside of me. 

“Watch what? What do you want from me?” You haven’t said no. That’s something you start to notice as you wait for him to respond to you. Haven’t said yes but you also haven’t said no. 

So, what could he want?

“Can I show you?” Your breath hitches in your throat because what the hell could that mean? 

“Oh-okay?” So hesitant. So fucking nervous. Your heart was beating fast this whole exchange with him but now it was beating somewhere in the base of your throat. Hard. 

“Lay down.” It’s said from much closer to you now, startlingly close. You hadn’t heard him get closer. How did he do that? But you obey his order and lay back down on your thin mat on the floor. You can feel him hovering over you. Then suddenly, the blankets are being torn off of you and you're exposed to the now suddenly freezing cold ship. 

He’s exposed you. You wear nothing but a thin nightgown to bed every night. It’s the only thing that isn’t scratchy in your little bag of clothes and it does get surprisingly warm in the ship at night when everything’s closed up. It’s refreshing normally, but not now. Now you’re freezing and your nipples are giving you away in the darkness at how cold and excited you are for what might be about to happen. 

You hear him respire sharply into the modulator and your nipples somehow get harder and that tingle in between your legs is back. You just made Mando gasp ? You’ve never once heard that sound come out of him. Okay, once when the child almost fell out his floating orb, but that was only once and it was different . There had been fear interlaced with that gasp but not this one.

He was admiring you in the dark through his night vision. A gasp of admiration? 

Mando still hasn’t touched you at all besides the painful grasp on your arm earlier but that was it. He hadn’t ever touched you before that, ever. Now he had asked if he could and you were trembling already waiting to see what he had meant.

“Be like the pictures.” He cooed it out, the modulator garbling it all up but still. It was cooed, you heard it with your own ears. But you obeyed again, pulling the loose straps of your nightgown down your shoulders. It was easily wriggled off the rest of you and then, the nightgown was just a mess of fabric in front of your mat. 

“ Oh Maker. ” He speaks so softly it doesn’t even sound like Mando. You start to wonder if it is really him and then he says, “More beautiful. Much more.” He sighs it out and it makes you melt into the mat you're laying on.

You want him to touch you so bad. So badly it is sending electricity through you, starting between your legs. 

“Can you s-spread them?” He asked so cautiously that you were unsure that he even wanted but the sound he made when you bent your knees and let them fall open to your sides made you start to leak from the place he wanted to look at you so badly. 

“Like this?” You knew that, yes, it’s exactly what he meant but you were now so obsessed with listening to his voice that you’d ask him anything to hear him speak. 

“Yes. Yes.” It’s said hastily into the voice modulator, like if he doesn’t answer you’ll close your legs on him. “Just like that.”

You almost jump back at the feeling of the tips of his fingers on you. Pressing so gently into the soft skin on your thighs but you remember why you’re down here on the mat, naked below Mando. That’s all he does, just traces the pads of all five of his fingers up and down your thigh, stroking you with a feather touch. It almost felt like he might not be touching you at all, like you’re imagining it. 

He exhales deeply and it registers from under the helmet. 

“Were you- were you just holding your breath?” You ask.

Quiet, his hand still stroking your thigh so gently. 

“Maybe.” 

You smirk in the dark and rest your head back on your pillow and let him do whatever he wants. Then an ungloved hand reaches and touches you the same way across your stomach. So lightly it almost tickles but you don’t want him to stop so you don’t move. You let everything be still underneath his hands. They move leisurely across your body, never stopping in one place, like he’s scanning the pages of a book and using his hands to follow along. 

You’re covered in goosebumps and almost quivering under him but it feels so fucking good that it doesn’t matter anymore. You reach out and try to put his hand where you’d like it but before you can touch him he removes his hands and you’re left alone in the dark again. 

He’s gone. You’re sure of it and you’re on the verge of tears when he says from the dark.

“Will you touch yourself?” This wasn’t a demand or an order, this was a sweet question asked by that innocent man who wanted to look at your notebook earlier. 

“You want me to do what?” Deadpan response to what’s asking of you. Because what in the stars is going on? Please help me understand, Maker. “You wanted to do it a minute ago?” Confusion. 

It’s not like you're confused about what he wants you to do, you have been with a man before but not like this and he definitely did not ask you to do that . No one else has even seen you do that before so why does he want you to do it all of a sudden? Like he’s at the theater and you’re the midnight showing. He stays silent for so long that you’re sure he left. 

“I w-want to w-watch,” Garbled muttering. “-you touch.” Now, you’re sweating again because the idea that maybe he wanted to touch you had you shivering on the floor in front of him, but now, the idea that he wants to watch you do one of the most private things you’ve ever done right in front of him? On the floor? And worse, you can’t even see where the fuck he is now that he’s pulled his feather touch away from you. 

Sweating. It’s beaded across your forehead because what? You’re still thinking about what he’s just said when a strong, hot calloused hand cups your dripping sex with much more force than before. He’s pressed the flat of his four fingers and his palm against you. It draws a gasp from you in the dark and you bring your hands up to your mouth to cover them because if the kid woke up now you’d throw yourself off a cliff.

The child thankfully, doesn’t wake up. Just cooing quietly in his floating orb.

“I-,” He starts again in the dark, to talk to you again but he’s so hesitant to say it, you can hear him from inside the helmet stumbling again over his words. “I just want to w-watch. Here” 

You exhale so loudly and so hard because again, why? What does he get out of it?

“Were you just holding your breath?” He asks in the darkness.

Yes. You had been. Maker. 

“Maybe.” You retort quickly, the heat in your cheeks is back and now you’re embarrassed again. 

“What if I ask nicely ?” The garbles do nothing to hide the tone behind his voice. He’s aroused. Deeply aroused and Mando wants to watch you masturbate. 

An instinctual buck upwards of your hips slips his middle finger between your folds and instead of pushing away, he pushes back against you and you feel the rough skin of his hands against you and starts to slowly drag his hand up your middle. 

Oh, Maker, you feel him. This is not a feather touch. No, it's so much more. It’s like all of your senses have been heightened in the dark. You can feel everything. Every ridge and callous and the heat, oh Maker he’s so warm. Like he’s been held to flames until the exact moment he reached out to touch you. You feel like hes branding you with his finger it’s so fucking hot.

“S-so wet.” He sounds like he's in awe of what you’ve been hiding from him between your legs.

As the tip of his finger leaves you, your hand brushes his and his whole body is hot like his fingers had been, you feel as though you’ve been branded again but now, your head is spinning and he probably could have really branded you and you wouldn’t have cared. 

It’s too much, he’s been talking for too long and you know what he wants now, you don’t care why. You’re too tired, you’re too excited. You secretly have been wanting just this, well not this exactly but whatever this is leading to, you want him to give you that, so you do what he’s asking in hopes that he will satisfy you, do something other than just watch.

Mando rests one hand on your knee that’s closest to him and grips it so gently it's almost like it’s not even there at all. But regardless, your hands have found what he wants you to touch. 

“Yes.” He sighs softly. “Like that.” There is a sound of relief to his voice like he’s been anticipating this for so long and now it’s finally happening. Your two fingers start moving in slow, lazy circles. You dip your fingers down to your entrance and coat them in your slickness, moving them back up to your aching clit and tightening the motion, speeding up slightly. 

Mando’s fingers dig into you. Not hard but enough to know that he’s still there, he’s still watching. You wonder if he’s naked now, or if he still has his suit on?  He definitely doesn’t have his gloves on anymore but you wonder what else he could be doing in the dark. He’s just watching you touch yourself? Watching as your fingers start to move with meaning. It’s starting to feel good… so good. It’s good enough to make you close your eyes, little pants leaving your nose as the stimulation courses through you.

The hand on your knee is gone and you’re shuddering with the idea that he’s had his fun and now he’s most surely left you to have to finish what he started in the dark but no, his hand’s cupping your breast now. Squeezing it gently in his hand. Like it’s the most fragile and precious thing he’s ever seen. One finger moves across the curve of your flesh and drags so gently across your hardened peak.

“Oh Maker .” You pant, because you’re holding your breath again. It was such a small, gentle touch you’re barely sure it was there but then he grips you, is feeling how soft and fleshy your mound is and your fingers move faster because this is the most erotic thing you’ve ever done and it feels so good to have the burning hot heat of his hand on you and you’d wish he’d touch you more and then he does. It draws another gasp from your chest when he take your nipple between his fingers and gently starts to twist and pull and roll it between them.

“Don’t stop.” He says as your fingers start to slow at the new sensation he’s giving you. “Please.” He’s being so polite, and his voice sounds so breathless. It’s making you wetter than you’ve ever been, its practically gushing out of you. You can feel it dripping. 

Mando just holds you, his fingers still pulling and twisting your nub between his fingers. You slide two fingers into yourself now, and curl them upwards against your g-spot. You hold your breath again so as not to moan or groan or make any noise at all because it’s so quiet in the ship you’re sure it’ll wake up the child. It’s futile, you gasp softly and arch your back into his hand. It’s so good. You haven’t made yourself feel this way in so long and you can’t stop now. It’s so good, the little growing ball of warmth and pressure building slowly inside you.

“Oh M-maker.” You hear Mando whisper softly into the darkness. And then he’s still. Watching you plunge the two fingers back inside of you. “So b-beautiful.” He says it so exasperated.

The sounds of your excitement are audible within the ship's walls. Like it’s echoing. Your fingers are plunging in and out of you now, your eyes are closed and your heads thrown back as you're getting yourself so close. Close so that he can watch you come.

“May I?” 

You’re so confused because he’s just asked you to do it yourself and now he wants to? Reluctantly, with a small whine of protest, you move your hand and his other hand replaces yours. Two fingers push into you deeply. Gently. He holds them there for what feels like an hour. Not moving, just holding them inside you.

“S-so, so wet.” He’s breathless behind his helmet.

 You’re sure the sun is going to rise before you see bliss, and then it’ll be too late because the kid will have woken up. 

Then he withdrawals them.

“Go ahead.” He says.

“That’s it?” You’re disappointed. It’s evident in your voice.

“Keep going.” 

So you do. You replace your fingers and his hand starts to grope you again. Moving now between your two supple mounds. And then you hear him.

Over the wetness between your legs and your own ragged breathing, you hear the soft sound of skin slapping skin. He’s touching himself, he used your juices as lubricant to touch himself. To rub all over himself. Now the thought that Mando is kneeling on the ground over you in the dark, watching you about to bring yourself to orgasm, touching himself with your wetness just about does it. 

Your fingers speed and curl against your spot and you let your head fall back. You try so hard to keep your breathing steady, anything to keep yourself from crying out. Biting your bottom lip to try and stifle it, your fingers work faster. You can feel Mando’s body shaking and jolting with each thrust of his fist on himself in the hand he’s using to squeeze your breast. You pull your knees into your body, keeping them spread so he can watch, your head leans forward as you bring yourself closer. The pads of your fingers curling and uncurling against that place deep inside of you over and over again, the feeling of your palm pressed against your clit is too much. The sounds of his soft moaning send you over the edge though, his hand gripping your chest the way he is, like his life depended on it. Squeezing you with his strong, hot hand. You can hear the way he’s making himself feel good over you.

“I’m gon-” But the words are stolen from you as he pinches your nipple, the rest of his hand still groping you. He’s panting for lost breath in his search for pleasure. 

“P-please. D-do it, m-make it wetter.” He stutters and his breath is also ragged now, the sound of skin on skin is more frantic now and his groping at you is sloppy, like he’s can’t control his hands anymore.

It happens, the bliss and the lights behind your eyes. The warmth and pressure in your lower stomach explode and you need to use your free hand to cover your mouth again. Your hips buck up against your own hand as you coax the orgasm out of yourself. Maker, it’s so good. You haven’t had a release like this since before you got onto Mando’s ship.

Now  you hear him groan softly, he grips you tightly, like he had gripped your arm earlier. Your own heart is still racing, and you can barely catch your breath but you feel the warmth on your belly.

Did… did Mando just– Did he?

He’s still hovering over you. The ship is quiet now. Just the sounds of yours and his labored breathing. He’s still groping you, holding on like he’s going to float away into the void if he lets go. 

He definitely did. And he still is. He’s still letting go on your stomach, you can feel every time he empties a new rope onto your belly. 

You lay there, hands at your sides, panting. 

It’s tempting, to reach your hand up and swirl a finger to what he’s delivered to you and then taste him. You’ve never done that but something inside of you is screaming to do it. So, you take one of the two fingers that was just bringing you so much joy and you slide it through the puddle on your belly and bring it to your lips.

Mando gasps softly and grips you tighter. He’s still watching. 

He’s salty and musky and it’s different, but it’s good. It’s something you’d let him give you more of if he wanted. You’re still sucking him off your fingers when he pulls away.

Maker. Please, you don’t want him to leave-

Mando’s fingers are at your entrance and he’s running the first digit of two between your folds, he’s not even really inside you. Just tracing your opening. Teasing you. Then his fingers are gone. 

It’s so quiet again. He left you in the dark with his good time spent still all over your belly. Running both hands over your face, dragging them down your cheeks in exasperation. 

All these new thoughts are going through your head at warp speed and then you hear from so close to you, his modulated breathing. 

“Are you still here?!” Whispered exasperation.

It's been so quiet again for so long.

“It’s my ship. Where would I go?” 

“Oh my Mak-” You’re almost in tears because he’s right. Where would he go? His bed is just across the room. “What are you doing?” 

“Tasting you.” 

You’re now a puddle in front of him. His fingers are back at your entrance again, still, just tracing and coating themselves in your wetness. Then they’re gone again.

“You’re delicious.” 

Mando was still tasting you. Currently. Doing it as he spoke to you. You hear him let out the softest sigh of satisfaction as your flavor touches his tongue. 

“I like it.” It’s said like you should know it. Like you’ve accused him of taking too much from between your legs. 

“Okay.” Is all you can manage to say because you’re hoping he does it again, you keep your knees open in anticipation but he doesn’t. You don’t hear him breathing anymore either.

You lay there and slowly close your knees. Brush the hair that’s gotten in your face away and sigh. Wonder where the fuck Mando is in this Maker forsaken dark room. You hear him now, shuffling across the room and he’s getting closer to you. When had he left? 

Mando kneels down beside you again. Maybe this is round two? So you slowly open your legs for him but he stops you with his hand and then you feel the coolness and dampness of fabric on your belly. The Mandolorian is cleaning you off, wiping you tenderly, not missing anything. He reaches down and wipes between your legs. Very thoroughly. You wish he’d move the cloth and touch you again but his touch is gone again. 

You almost groan in disappointment but you stop yourself. You didn’t hear him leave.

“You really are so beautiful. Just like the pictures.” He garbles quietly.

“They’re doodles.” You explain into the void.

“Who was the man?” 

You stay silent. 

“It’s from my imagination.” You say quietly, your cheeks flushing in embarrassment again. 

“So a made up man in my beskar?” 

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Maker what do I say? 

“Okay.” You retort. He doesn’t say anything for a long time and you wonder if he’s still there in the darkness next to you. You don’t dare reach out for him in fear of being rejected again. He didn’t let you touch him earlier even though he got free reign. 

“I don’t look like that.” 

“Okay?” You whisper again, exasperatedly. 

“I’ll pose for you next time you want to doodle. ” And you hear it, the sarcasm in his voice. You honestly didn’t even know it was possible for him to do that or if he knew what it was. 

Then you hear him walking away. He’s gone, back to be a part of the void and watch you in the darkness behind his helmet. You put your nightgown back on and lay there on your thin mat on the floor behind the cockpit. Mando gets into bed, you hear him moving in the sheets. 

It’s still so dark and you wonder how much sleep you’ll be able to get before the child awakes and returns to his normal state of chaotic green cuteness.

If Mando ever asked you to do it again, you would. Not in so many words next time, but yes. You would. 

Your notebook. You wonder if he put it back in your bag but it’s too dark and quiet to check now. 

Hey, let's chat real quick.

So, this was the first Pedro character fic I ever wrote, and it was so heavily inspired by the legendary Rough Day (I'm saying it twice so no one can said I never said it)

It was supposed to be just a quick, hot, sexy little one-shot between you and The Mandalorian, but I ended up spiraling out of control and wrote over twenty chapters.

I have one chapter left until it's completely over and I thought I'd start posting it here so that once the final chapter is done-- I can post it to AO3 and Tumblr at the same time.

I'm pretty critical of my own stuff-- but this one particularly.

My disclaimers are- there will be spoilers to everything- season 1-3, the book of Boba Fett, and maybe even other things- I don't know because I didn't watch any of it.

All the crazy Mandalorian facts that come up in later chapters are just researched online. I misuse Mando'a and Manda'lor constantly so... punch me right in the face if you want... or yell at me in my asks.

Let me know if you like it with comments and reblogs and like and all that good shit. I love them.

[nomie-11]

Liam Mairi x Reader - The Artist and his Muse

masterlist!

Never once did Liam have the desire to learn how to draw, or learn how to paint, but as he whittled her dragon into another blank piece of wood, he was beginning to understand. He had no clue how to carve a mini figurine of her and her beautiful face, so he would need to learn how to draw. 

The idea had struck him like a bolt of Violet’s lightning—a restless itch that wouldn’t fade no matter how many times he told himself it was impossible or unreasonable. He was Liam Mairi, a warrior, soldier, protector, he had no business picking up a pencil to sketch her delicate lines or smoothing the curves of her figure with tender care. It was already somewhat unreasonable that he spent nearly all of his free time carving small figures of dragons. But when he glances at her, Y/n, laughing softly as her dragon swished his tail protectively behind her, he realized no battlefield could ever compare to the challenging art of capturing her essence. 

The unfinished wooden carving sat in his hands, its shape rough and unrefined, and he really couldn’t even tell that it was supposed to be a human, let alone Y/n. It wasn’t enough. The wood was too rigid to hold her warmth, her fire, her unmistakable spirit. He needed to bring her to life on paper before he could even think about turning that vision into something real. 

So that evening, after drills, Liam approached Violet. 

“I really, really need your help,” He pleaded as they walked towards the dining hall. “I need you to ask Jesinia to get me a book on how to draw from the archives. Please Violet.”

She snorted, suppressing a giggle as they grabbed their trays of food and sat down at their normal table. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” she replied lightly, waving to Rhiannon and Y/n, who sat talking animatedly over something. “We’ll figure it out tomorrow during archive duty before breakfast.” 

“Thank you so much,” He sighed, taking his seat next to Violet and across from Y/n. “You’re a lifesaver.” 

“Why is Violet a lifesaver?” Y/n asked, tilting her head curiously. 

“No reason!” He replied, just a touch too quickly, hiding his red ears behind his hands in a way too obvious manner. 

—————————————-

Over the next week, Liam carried the drawing book everywhere he went, his new codex of sorts, tucked between his journals and Xaden’s training regimens. The first sketches were more than rough, messy lines that bore no real resemblance to Y/n or anything remotely human. He tore out the worst of them in frustration, crumpling the paper into tight balls that littered the floor of his quarters. But he persisted, staying up late in the quiet glow of candlelight, pencil in hand, practicing strokes, shading, and proportions as if his life depended on it. 

It was her smile that always tripped him up. How could something so effortless on her part feel so impossible to replicate? When she smiled, it was never just her lips; it was the way her eyes crinkled at the corners, the way her nose scrunched slightly when she laughed, the warmth it brought to her entire face. He could picture it so vividly in his mind that it hurt to see the flat, lifeless doodles staring back at him. 

Still, he refused to give up. He filled the pages of the makeshift sketchbook Xaden had scrapped up for him, painstakingly sketching her in every moment of silence they had. The way she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear while reading; the intensity in her gaze when she strategized during training; the rare softness of her expression when her large blue dragon nudged her shoulder, her hand resting gently on his scales. 

He began stealing glances whenever he could, noting the curve of her jawline or the way the sunlight caught the strands in her hair, a mesmerizing mix of highlights he couldn’t quite replicate. 

“Are you drawing her again?” Violet teased one afternoon, leaning over his shoulder as they sat by the edge of the sparring grounds, Y/n and Rhiannon going at each other just in front of them. He quickly closed the sketchbook, shooting her a warning glare. 

“Shut up,” he mumbled, his ears turning a bright crimson. 

“She’s going to figure it out eventually, you know,” Violet grinned, nudging him playfully. “You’re not exactly subtle.” 

Liam groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I just… I can’t get it right. She’s—she’s so—”

”Complicated?” Violet offered with a smirk. 

“Perfect,” he corrected softly, almost too low for Violet to hear. 

Later that week, as they gathered in the common area to relax after a long day, Y/n sat down beside him, close enough that her shoulder brushed his. Liam’s heart hammered against his ribs, and he clutched the sketchbook tighter, praying she wouldn’t notice it. 

“What’s that?” She asked, her tone curious, eyes flicking to the edge of the leather cover sticking out from under his arm. 

“Nothing!” He replied quickly. A little too quickly. 

Her eyebrows rose, a playful grin tugging at her lips. “Oh, it’s definitely something. Let me see.” 

Before he could react, she reached over, snatching the sketchbook from his hands with an ease that came from years of training together. 

“Y/n, wait!” Liam practically lunged after her, but it was too late. She flipped the book open, her eyes scanning the page in silence. 

At first, she didn’t speak, her expression unreadable. She turned page after page—her laughing, her dragon mid-flight, her leaning against a tree in a rare quiet moment. Some sketches were crude, others more refined, and some heartbreakingly detailed, especially the ones of her smiling. 

“You… you drew all these?” she asked finally, her voice barely above a whisper. 

“I—uh—yeah.” He scratched the back of his neck, feeling like his heart might give out. “I know they’re not great, but—” 

“Are you kidding?” she interrupted, looking up at him with wide eyes, “These are… Liam, they’re beautiful.”

“You think so?” he asked, his voice hesitant, vulnerable in a way he rarely allowed himself to be. 

She nodded, her gaze softening as she held the sketchbook closer to her chest. “But… Why me?” 

The question hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning. 

Liam swallowed hard, his hands fidgeting in his lap as his ears turned a bright red. “Because… because you’re everything, Y/n. You’re fierce and kind and smart… and gods, you're just you. And I guess I wanted to try and hold onto that somehow. To show you what I see.” 

Her cheeks flushed, and for a moment, the ever-confident Y/n seemed at a loss for words. “Liam, I… I don’t even know what to say.” 

“You don’t have to say anything,” he added quickly, his voice shaky. “Just… don’t laugh, okay?” 

“Laugh?” she said, a smile tugging at her lips. “Why would I laugh? No one’s ever done anything like this for me before.” 

He couldn’t quite meet her eyes, the vulnerability in his chest almost too much to bear. The air between them felt charged, her fingers still clutching the sketchbook close to her heart as if tethering him in place. His mind screamed at him to say more, to do something, but for once, the fearless Liam Mairi felt fear clamp down hard, rooting him in place. He wanted so badly to close the gap between them, to taste the words that lingered on her lips, but he couldn’t move. 

And then she did. 

Her hand reached out, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, and before he could process what was happening, she tugged him down, her lips meeting his in a rush of warmth and fire. It was soft at first, tentative, like testing the waters, but when he didn’t pull away, she leaned in deeper, her other hand dropping the sketchbook to the floor as it rested on the curve of his jaw. 

Liam’s breath hitched, his heart pounding against his ribs like a war drum as he surrendered to her touch, kissing her back harder than before. His hands hovered for a moment before settling gently on her waist, like he was afraid she might slip away if he held on too tightly. 

When they finally pulled apart, her face was flushed, and her eyes sparkled with something he couldn’t quite name. 

“Well,” she said, a teasing smile curling her lips. “That’s one way to say thank you.” 

Liam let out a breathless laugh, his hand lifting to rub the back of his neck. “I—uh—yeah, I guess it is.” 

She grinned, leaning in close, her voice dropping to a whisper. “And for the record, I think you captured me perfectly, Liam.” 

And with that, she kissed him again, and this time, he didn’t hesitate to kiss her back.

-------

If you enjoyed this one shot, please check out my other series!

Taglist: @awkardnerd , @hannraumari , @minjix , @glaciuswduo , @wolfbc97 , @heeseungthel0ml , @acourtofsmutandstarlight , @kylaisra

[shakingparadigm]

Once again, I can't really gather my thoughts cohesively on this right now, so please bear with me. Just musing, so the ideas here might be a bit disconnected.

As a prodigy artist well-versed in more than just singing, it's no suprise that art is a prominent part of Till's character. Everything associated with Till seems to carry his eccentric artistic talent, right down to the abstract symbols painted onto his otherwise blank white t-shirt.

(Till's sketching and drawing seem to go hand-in-hand with his songwriting. Doodling and composition are two of his hobbies, and he's stated to be talented at both.)

(His appearance in TOP 3 emphasizes this messy, artistic angle. The symbols painted on the wall are similar to graffiti tags, usually associated with youth and rebellion. Furthermore, there is paint splattered on his face, staining color onto his disheveled hair and baggy clothes.)

(Even amongst the TOP 3, Till is presented with the most color. Between Luka and Ivan's main colors of white and black, their formal attire and elegant, charming personas, Till looks rather out of place.)

(Till's personal/special talent is floral art.)

Art is an integral part of Till's character, something that defines him and his desire for self-expression and freedom (it's no suprise that when Till loses his will to live in ROUND 6, he's dressed in plain and monochromatic clothes that lack any of his own artistic touch). Despite the ties between creativity and freedom, Till's talents are regularly taken advantage of and even tampered with due to the treatment he receives from his owner.

Guardian Urak is an eccentric segyein. A hustler, materialistic and rather pretentious. He shows great pride in Till's "uniqueness" and artistic ability, boasting that he has raised the best human-pet in history. In order to create the success that is Till, however, Urak had to execute his methods on several other pets beforehand. His practices include the thorough abuse of his human pets in order to coax out their talents, pushing them to their limits with harsh training regimens and painful experiments. Violence is a tactic utilized heavily within Urak's line of business, and the human pets under his ownership are the most openly abused.

Urak is said to abuse his pets to the point of severe mental issues. It's due to these mental issues that his previous pets have failed to achieve victory, showing great promise but never making it to the end. He seems to believe in the idea that the peak of a human's talent is tied with their instability, that the more talented a pet human is, they more likely they are to be a freak.

Urak pushes forward with the mistreatment of his humans despite their suffering. He believes it to be a part of creating exemplary art, playing into the idea of a tortured artist. Urak's pets were incredibly talented and top contenders for the title of champion. If not for their heavily deteriorated mental states, they would have brought Urak to victory long ago. It's quite clear that he does not intend on changing his methods because the humans he produces are some of the best products around. He doesn't want to change his methods, he wants a human that can withstand them.

Till's style is already established to be unique, nicknamed a "black sheep" in his official magazine page, emphasizing individuality. His brazen aggression in ROUND 2 caused him to attract much hate, but twice as many fans, too. The bashing of Freddie was framed as a bombastic and somewhat avant-garde performance act, referred to as art. Till's public persona was that of an eccentric and unpredictable artist, a highly reactive contrarian pet who presents both a high risk and high reward. Urak has produced another tortured artist, except this one is different (in his words, unrivaled). A higher caliber of pet, bringing him the closest to winning he's ever gotten thus far.

Till's various artistic talents seem to be things that he has developed on his own, stemming from his own desires and interests rather than something forced onto him by Urak. In one of VIVINOS and QMENG's livestreams it was stated that Till is inherently gifted, a creative genius since birth. Till uses his abilities as tools of rebellion and self-expression, writing his own music, vandalizing and adjusting segyein-provided material and outfits in order to make them more his own. It's unfortunate that even Till's attempts at rebellion are taken advantage of and instead used against him. Constantly battered and bruised, isolated in a cell, forced to endure experimentation, all of his artistic ingenuity and creations have been taken by the segyein and used to promote him as a product. He has been turned into a spectacle, his misery and abuse put on display for others to gawk at. Suffering for the sake of art.

[bluebellhairpin]

Romantic - cw; 141 + alejandro (bc those are all my boys <3) short sappy fluff, marriage mentions. Just me putting some daydream thoughts out to the void <333

Soap is romantic in that he draws you. He has a whole shelf full of old sketchbooks and half of them are filled with you. From mindless, messy doodles to works that took hours. Charcoal and graphite. With his hands he conveys to paper your beauty, and his love is seen in every stroke.

Gaz is romantic in that he always buys you flowers. From single roses to bouquets of carnations, barely three days go by without flowers in your home. Each one seems to speak volumes. He keeps them all, hanging them to dry in the garden shed. He's waiting for one bouquet in particular to join them.

Price is romantic in that he's always ready with a helping hand. You can do things on your own, sure, but he's always letting you know he's there. He always offers. Meals, cooking. cleaning, groceries. he's your shadow - because he cannot have you working yourself too hard.

Alejandro is romantic in that he plays you music. He hadn't touched a guitar in a long time until you moved in together, but he decided to play it once more before it would've gone back to a corner to collect dust. When he saw how your shoulders relaxed, and how you swayed when you recognized the song, that guitar never got dusty again.

And Ghost. The unreadable enigma. Ghost is romantic in that he writes about you. A single notebook stashed away in some dark corner holds his deepest secrets - poems that are all about his love for you. They're sweet, gentle, and they're passionate. Someday he'll read them to you, when he finally write one he thinks is good enough. In reality the first you hear isn't a poem at all. They're vows.

Remember to support your favourite writers! If you liked reading it, reblog it <3

[kissedloveletters]

baking, multi (˶ ˘ ³˘)ˆᵕ ˆ˶) how they’re like when baking

characters . sanemi shinazugawa, genya shinazugawa, tanjiro kamado, ◛ 𑙒 ♡ ՞ warnings . fluff、modern au. admin note . aaa its so good to finally be back from a hiatusss !! I missed writing sm, hope this makes me disappearing up! ໒ ᩧ꒱

SANEMI SHINAZUGAWA.

well it’s both of yours second anniversary of being married so why not have some quality time by cooking a cake? seems wholesome, hmm..

you suggested the idea and he thought it was cute so of course he accepted, plus any quality time with you is of course the best, taking the day off of his work for you! how sweet!

theennn, the two of you are idiots and burned the cake twice or thrice, but it’s okay, the fourth time was a charm and came out well!

you slap him once with flour on your hand playfully, he either ignores it and smiles or it turns into a mess, either one that flows your boat.

sanemi learned one thing or two from this experience, that no, cornstarch cant be a replacement for flour and that you two are bad at baking, equally.

alot of “nemi, can you get that for me?”

defiantly hugs you from behind and watches over your shoulder when you’re mixing, sometimes not watching and closes his eye and snooze a little

wipes the frosting off of your face with his thumb, would lick it teasingly at times but he has table manners

you two made little doodles on the cake with both of you on it.. ( maybe on each other too )

GENYA SHINAZUGAWA.

he defiantly tried to surprise you with cookies and then burned them, then tried again and managed to make them too big; then he’s frustrated how he can’t do a simple thing as baking

but he doesn’t give up, despite the horrid mess he proceeds attempt to clean up while making his 5th batch. it’s for you so he has to give all his efforts even if he feels like it’s impossible for him .

he didn’t check the time he spent and then you came home, to a messy kitchen and a messy genya. he gets so embarrassed and red on his ears.

trying to make excuses to not seem ‘pathetic’ for not being able to bake simple cookies, he’s so cute you couldn’t be mad at him (╥_╥)

TANJIRO KAMADO.

he actually baked and cooked for his family a lot many times so baking with him would be easy since you haven’t done it before, or maybe you thought.

he’s sorta like a mom you tried to help cook and stuff but you kinda ended up in their way somehow, but he really does try to include you while he’s making the pastries for you both

it’s basically almost that “let’s bake but you can only watch” but he lets you mix the batter for the brownies. brownies are hard to make but he defiantly made it alot of times you could count so, you basically have a professional with you!

of course it would end up perfectly with you two eating in delight