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cophene · 1 year

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006 || ☆ ⁺ « SPARE A BIT OF SWEET TALK.

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pairing : vento aureo x gn reader summary : with virtually nothing left in their credit account, a gang of space thieves turn to the richest man in the galaxy to give them a job worth millions. too bad those never come easy, even with stand abilities and pretty-faced crew notes : sci-fi au, multi-chapter fic, sfw, doesn’t follow canon plot word count : 3.2k+

★˚⋆ EVEN THOUGH YOU KNEW IT would be there, you couldn’t help patting your pocket to make sure the card with your elector was inside. Anything stored inside Party Rock Anthem’s cards were undetectable to scanners and sensors and the like. It made bringing weapons and contraband into places a breeze, and escaping with diamond necklaces and gold cigarillo cases downright fun. Perhaps the only downside was that any damage sustained by the card would also translate to the object on it. If you dented this card with the elector, the elector would get dented as well. You were also the only person who could retrieve things from your cards, so if anything ever happened, your crew would lose everything Party Rock Anthem stored.

Huh. That was kinda dangerous. Maybe you shouldn’t be keeping so much stuff then. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d lost something because you’d forgotten about it. You’d held onto tons of accessories and trinkets for Trish, only for them to disappear because your brain wouldn’t remember them.

It wasn’t like you would ever forget a diamond-studded cricket ball or your own gun, though, so that was what mattered.

You lowered your cap over your eyes as two women stepped onto the mag belt ahead of you. They chattered loudly; long, semi-transparent plastic skirts flapping at their ankles. You couldn’t help but overhear their conversation, staccato bursts escaping their mouths.

“It’s literally just a turtle. I don’t know why everyone’s getting so hot and bothered by it.”

“It’s worth, like, thousands of creds.”

“Well, if that Lady was going to buy it, why didn’t she? Why is she raising a stink when they were going to sell it anyway?”

“Flack if I know. Passione should sell that turtle to me. I could pay generously, if you know what I mean.”

“That is literally so gross but so true. My mom thinks I’m obsessed with them. Whenever they come up on the news? Stars, just end me.”

“The captain is so cute. They’re my favourite after the pilot. They must all be so flacking rich. If they asked me to join the crew, I’d leap.”

You had to pinch yourself to keep from laughing. These girls were cute. You wondered how they would react if they knew the captain of the Passione was standing just a few feet away. Mista’s already gargantuan ego would burst if he heard this.

Such underhanded fame had been irritating in the beginning. As your crew began to catch the attention of the media and more and more people began recognizing your faces, it seemed like pulling off jobs would become impossible. It wouldn’t be until after that you started to use the Passione’s notoriety to your advantage, throwing in false leads and leaning on the support of sympathetic citizens. So called “outlaws” had always been appealing to the public. Challenging the status quo and upstaging the rich were things all average schmucks across the galaxy secretly wished for. Your crew was sticking up a middle finger to the rich on their behalf, and so of course they had to like you a little bit.

The girls’ chatter receded to the back of your mind. Your gaze slid to the ship slots on either side of you, admiring the shine of the newer ship models. The Passione had looked like that once. You had been obsessed with keeping her that way, but at some point, the daily polishes and tune-ups slid down the priorities. The guilt just wouldn’t stop coming, wouldn’t it? The Passione was pretty much a member of the crew herself, and look how beaten you’d allowed her to become. It was a fitting metaphor for the state of your other crew members too, and how great of a captain you were.

Sometimes you wondered why your ragtag team didn’t just leave, go their separate ways. The luxury that might have accompanied joining your crew was long gone. These days it was all near-misses and cranky nobles and barely enough credits for food.

How the mighty and all that.

“Excuse me, ladies. May I ask you a few questions?”

You looked up at the new male voice and immediately averted your gaze. As surreptitiously as you could, you backed away from the two girls, bracing a hand against the wall and slipping into a side entryway as you passed it. The little corridor it led into was used to weave between slots on the Ferry and for emergency evacuations. Not wasting a second, you quick-footed along the space, skipping over mag belts to cut through the Ferry using the corridor as a shortcut.

Galactic Authority uniforms were annoyingly conspicuous. In an era where fashion was outrageous and aggressive, the GA’s were still using the uniforms they’d come up with during the institution's conception over a century ago. Common officers wore black jackets, pants and boots, with a matching military beret decorated with an eight-pointed star. The edges of the jacket and cuffs were done in white. Perhaps the only modern touch were the cute little star buttons securing the jacket and the Elector holster at their thigh. (Trish’s words, not yours.) GA’s moved through crowds like metal people—stiff and indomitable. Fear didn’t knife your heart when you saw these guys anymore. Mostly it was just impatience mixed in irritation that they were still trying to catch you.

You quickened your pace, leaping over one last mag belt onto the escalators leading up to the Ferry master’s office. This was probably what Narancia’s jumbled message had been about. He had been caught up by GA’s. It was easy enough to worm your way out of their grip those times they got close, but Narancia couldn’t lie for flack. His pretty purple eyes would give away everything.

You shoved your jumpsuit sleeves up to your elbows, baring the scar down your arm, and twisted your cap at a rakish angle. As you passed through the doors of the office, your eyes darted around, hoping you would find one.

There.

A squat little cleaning bot was polishing at a stubborn spot in the corner, its little brush-arms whirring. You grabbed it, saying a silent apology before bashing it hard against the wall. It let out a pathetic beep and you smashed it again for good measure. When you turned it around, its display was cracked. Its glowing blue eyes flickered, almost as though it were blinking at you in indignation. Manhandling it farther, your fingers worked at its back panel, getting it open and flicking the switch over to Severe Cleaning.

Sorry, little guy.

You tucked the cleaning bot under your arm, making a beeline for the Ferry’s front desk. As you feared, Narancia was leaning against it a little too casually, putting up a front for the GA officer questioning him.

No. Not just any officer.

Flack, Narancia. You just had to stick around.

“I been damn-near looking through this entire ship tryna find you.” You exaggerated your Lower Space accent so that it was practically a twang. You muscled into the space between Narancia and the officer, pretending not to notice the GA. “Look at this flacking piece of junk you lugged in. I told you it wasn’t good enough to use!”

Narancia widened his eyes at you, relief evident on his face. “Well, I’m sorry it don’t work,” he said, sharpening his accent as well. “Had to make do, you feel?” At least he’d remembered to disguise himself, hiding his dark hair under a cap and wearing a pair of dark-tinted eyeglasses.

“Shoulda paid a little more attention, huh?” you said pointedly.

“Well, I knew you’d come around eventually.”

The officer cleared his throat, the way you’d known he would. At this point, you could read Inspector Assiwpe like a holopad.

Calling him Inspector Asswipe was doing him a disservice. It was too spiteful, too vulgar a name for the man standing in front of you. Which was exactly why you and the crew used it. If you went around calling him “Inspector Leone Abbacchio” you might actually start respecting the guy, and you couldn’t have that.

He looked good today, you had to admit that. He filled out his uniform nicely—his a little fancier than the lackeys. A belt cinched his waist over the uniform jacket, the GA’s crest its buckle. A band of white ran down either of his pant legs, flaring in wide ribbon ends just above the top of his polished boots. A black overcoat and scarf completed the ensemble, along with a silver earring that glinted in one of his ears. You could just make out the outline of his shoulder holster underneath his coat—just like one of Mista’s. You knew it looked like Mista’s because, well, Abbacchio was the one he had stolen it from.

Abbacchio’s eyes flashed when he met your gaze, and judging by the way his purple-tinted lips tightened just a fraction, your maintenance crew disguise wasn’t quite working on him.

Not that you gave a flack. Bullshitting Abbacchio was half the fun of being a space thief.

You widen your eyes as if only just now noticing Inspector Asswipe. “Gah! A real GA! What’s going on here?!”

“Do you work on the Ferry?” he asked curtly.

“Sure do! Been here since I was a kid!”

Abbacchio narrowed his eyes. You could tell your amped-up accent was grating at his nerves. “I’m Inspector Leone Abbacchio from the Galactic Authorities. A dangerous crew of space thieves has been reported boarding the Ferry. I’m here under orders to question the personnel on board.”

“Space thieves?! On the Ferry? Never!”

“I should think so. Regardless, I need both of you to answer questions. It would seem your friend here doesn’t remember when you started working here.”

Narancia smiled sheepishly. “Nine, ten years. It’s all the same, isn’t it, Inspector?”

“Perhaps. Except you told me that you’re nineteen. If you started work ten years ago, you would’ve seven years under minimum work age.”

Narancia’s smile went brittle. You caught colour flushing the back of his neck. Catching the crook of Narancia’s arm, you made sure to pinch him before pulling him back. “Aw, you don’t need to question us, Inspector,” you drawled. “We’ve just been cleaning, same as always. I actually really need my mate over here to help me with this bot so we don’t get canned.”

“What is your name?” Abbacchio said. “I’d like to see your ident chips, both of you.”

“The bot is real flacked, sir,” said Narancia primly. “We gotta fix it right away.”

Inspector Asswipe hardened his voice. “Ident chips. Now.”

“We don’t know anything, sir,” you insisted. The cleaning bot wriggled under your other arm, beeping unhappily. “You should ask the higher-ups. There’s hundreds of ships here, how do you expect us to keep track of them all?”

“The Passione’s tiny,” added Narancia. “We wouldn’t know it if we saw it.”

You winced at the discrepancy the same second Asswipe noticed it.

“I didn’t mention anything about the Passione,” Abbacchio said. He was scowling at you now, a tiny line appearing between his eyebrows. It was a regrettably familiar expression. You often saw it in your sleep.

He brought a hand up behind his ear, tapping his earpiece. “I’d like to request backup on the Ferry’s office.”

Narancia darted a look at you. Your first instinct was to start blasting, but you had a bad track record on the Ferry and if there was another incident, you could bid adieu to Ferry rides.

So that was what the cleaning bot was for.

You released the bot and it shot forward like a rabid animal. Severe Cleaning was no joke. The bot rushed toward Abbacchio, descending upon his uniform with such force that it managed to propel itself up his legs a few inches. Its brushes whirred so fast you could barely see them. Indomitable though he was, even Inspector Asswipe leapt back at the ferocious cleaning bot. He let out a yelp when its brushes started shredding his pants, and you were tempted to pull out your holopad to record his priceless oh-flack face.

“Haul ass,” you said to Narancia, and leapt down the escalator. You wove back through the little maintenance corridors to the Passione. Abbacchio’s reinforcements would be on your ass in no time.

“It’s almost like you go looking for Inspector Asswipe sometimes,” you huffed over your shoulder.

“I didn’t mean to. Went to talk to the Ferry master like you said and I just happened to run into him.”

“He probably wouldn’t haven’t noticed if you hadn’t said anything about your work experience.”

“Aw, don’t be mad about that, Cap. You know I’m bad with numbers.”

“Don’t I,” you muttered. Narancia could barely add two numbers together but when it came to relative distances and calculating vectors for ship travel, he could crunch the numbers faster than Fugo. You would never understand it.

“They went over here!” You picked up the pace as about dozen pairs of feet clattered after you and Narancia. You peeled out of the corridors and hopped onto the mag belts instead.

“Do you know how much time is left until our slot number is called?” Narancia asked you.

You frowned, thinking. “Uh, not anytime soon? Why?”

“We can’t wait around here or Asswipe will get us,” said Narancia. “We’re going to fly out of the Ferry on our own.”

You nearly tripped over your own feet. “What? How—” You cut yourself short. You supposed it would be possible. The Ferry was docked and you would only have to fly a short distance to get to Sale and Zucchero’s shop.

“Exactly, Cap.” Narancia pulled you into a small alcove to wait for the GA’s to pass. He pulled out his holopad and pressed Fugo’s contact. What sounded like a whoosh of fire and harsh coughing answered the call.

“Fugo, how’s the ship looking?”

“You didn’t hear the sound of the engine dying? That last bit of flying did her in. We’ll have to ask Sale and Zucchero to tow us to the shop once we’re off the Hub.”

You and Narancia pressed yourself deeper into the alcove as the GA’s stomped past. “Well, flack, you’re not gonna like what I have to say,” whispered Narancia.

“What happened?”

“Officer Asswipe found Narancia out,” you said. “He and his goons are combing through the Ferry as we speak.”

Fugo swore colourfully. For a former Upper Space noble, he had quite the vulgar vocabulary.

“We’ll hide on another ship,” Fugo decided. “I’m pretty sure I saw a freighter close to ours. Their crew won’t mind too much, I don’t think.”

Narancia brought the holopad closer to his face. “No time. We can just fly outta this joint on our own.”

“Did you miss the part where I said our engine died? We’re not flacking going anywhere!”

“The Cap and I are going to jack into one of the towing buggies they have here,” Narancia said. Excitedly, you noted. “It should have enough juice to propel us to the Sale and Zucchero’s. They tow those big-ass freighters, don’t they?”

“That is not going to work! Those things don’t have nearly enough power to go a distance like that. Cap, did you agree to this?”

You hadn’t, but your mind was quickly changing now that you could hear the guards coming back and the Ferry’s emergency alarm blaring. The speakers overhead chimed.

“At this time, we ask that all ships pause in their departure preparations. Slot departures have been momentarily suspended as the Galactic Authorities have requested a search of the Ferry to locate a few persons of interest. We ask that you remain where you are and cooperate with Authorities. We apologize for the inconvenience.”

“It’s either that or get hauled in by Inspector Asswipe,” you said. “Get the Passione unmoored and everything ready for flight. Narancia and I are getting the buggy and then we’re out.”

Narancia hung up before Fugo could protest. He grinned devilishly at you. “Alright, Cap. I was wondering when the obligatory cop chase would happen.”

“Talk to me after we get out of here.”

At least the GA’s prowling around kept the mag belts clear. You and Narancia sprinted down them to the A slots. With your caps pulled low, no one looked twice, probably assuming you were rushing to deal with the delay. Predictably, the A slots were cluttered with Upper Space nobles standing around their shiny ships, trying to hide how disgruntled they were as GA’s questioned them. The buggies had been pushed to the side, round little vehicles with hooks on the end hovering an inch off the floor. They wouldn’t be locked. It was just a matter of getting them back to the T block.

“Over there,” Narancia whispered, nodding at a trio of maintenance workers that were hooking up a buggy to a snazzy pleasure cruiser. The owner must have been cleared already.

You looked over your shoulder to make sure everyone was occupied before striding over. In your pocket, you touched your elector card and took it out, glancing at Narancia. You stunned the guy in front of you at the same time Narancia did his, catching him before he could hit the ground. The two workers were propped in the corner of an empty slot and by the time the third one turned around, Narancia had stunned her and carried her off to be with her buddies.

“Piece of cake,” said Narancia, reaching to remove the buggy hook.

“Is my cruiser ready to leave yet?” A snub-nosed noble poked his head out of his cruiser. He hadn’t noticed anything, the idiot.

“Yep, we’re leaving now,” said Narancia in a squeaky voice, smoothly replacing the hook. The noble pursed his lips, settling himself back inside. Narancia snatched the hook off and the two of you climbed into the buggy. You took a second to consider the scene. A buggy going in the opposite direction of the A slot would attract attention regardless of what you did.

Might as well floor it then. You said as much to your pilot and he wasted no time. He floored the gas pedal and you peeled away from the pleasure cruiser at a whopping twenty kilometres per hour.

“What the flack is this?” Narancia stomped on the gas pedal a few times. The buggy rumbled unhappily but didn’t speed up. A particularly overzealous stomp sent the buggy skittering into the wall of a slot, prompting the nobles and GA’s there to look up. It took them a second to register what was happening before they ran after you, banging on the side of the buggy.

“Narancia, the plan is flopping,” you said, twisting in your seat to look around the buggy. There had to be a turbo-speed button somewhere.

Narancia wrenched the steering wheel, mirthlessly bruising the GA’s chasing them against the wall. “Yeah, I know it is. Hold this for a sec.”

You grabbed the steering wheel from your seat. Narancia slid down to the underside of the buggy’s console. He pried open a panel hidden underneath and raised his holopad to it. The console beeped and Narancia popped back into his seat. “That should do it.”

This time, Narancia stomping on the gas was enough to push you back in your seat. The speedometer went haywire as the buggy went speeds it had never thought possible. You thought you heard a thud as the jaws of the GA’s behind you hit the floor.

“That man Fugo is something else.” Narancia grinned manically.

You clenched your armrests. “What did you do?”

“Put in a code Fugo wrote for me to overwrite the buggy’s internal computer. Any baby that can move can move over a hundred kilometers an hour. You just need to tell them to.”

Also known as a bit of sweet talk from Narancia Ghirga.

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#kismetva #jjba #jjba x reader #jjba fanfic #golden wind #golden wind x reader #vento aureo #vento aureo x reader #gender neutral reader #sci fi au

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dinner-djarin · 2 years

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Fighting Sleep (Mando x Reader)

gif by @sith-archives

Part 2 (part 1 here) to a story I wrote literally ages ago. The slump I've fallen into is literally insane. But writing this, and reading it over felt so good. I miss this. And hopefully posting this makes me want to revisit writing again.

Warnings: Literally just fluff.

Word count: 1.2k

Days always seem to start the same. Wake up. Caf. Actually wake up. Get dressed. Check on the kid. (Check on Mando). Make sure the navicomputer is set on course. Keep searching the galaxy for Maker knows who.

Training with Mando would continue anytime you could find a spare couple of minutes. And when the kid had gotten enough entertainment from you getting your ass kicked, you’d all decide to call it a night.

The days begin to blend. One after another, following the same repetition. You were starting to forget what an amazing opportunity the Maker had placed in your lap.

Back home, you led a different life, much more dreary and stagnant. At least here you were seeing worlds you had never dreamed of. Exploring places with a make-shift kind of family, and learning so much along the way.

But one night, things took a turn.

After “beating” Mando in combat a handful of times - significantly less than the amount of times he got the best of you - you figure it was probably time to get some rest. But before you could suggest the idea, Mando offered an alternative. Although admittedly it did take you several seconds to fully compute the phrase that escaped his modulator.

“Have a drink with me.”

The words scrambled in your brain as you fought the urge to respond with some stupid retort. In fact the first words you could string together were “But… helmet?”.

Thank the Maker that they stayed inside your head

You already felt drunk from the power of over-thinking, but you learned your lesson long ago when it came to Mando: Even if he didn’t know exactly how to handle social interactions, his intentions were always in the right place, and you never wanted to miss an opportunity to encourage him to open up to you.

With a quiet nod and a gentle smile you slowly approached the table as Mando reached into a hidden crevice in his armory.

Whatever came next was a blur.

Somehow you found yourself sitting back to back with Mando in the hull of his ship. With his outer layer shed, you could feel the defined muscles that lined his body. It should have shocked you more that Mando was willing to be so exposed around you. It should have been inconceivable that he would sit with you, helmet off, letting you hear the full extent of his baritone voice, removed from the modulation of the helmet.

And for a minute, it did. It was shocking and inconceivable. But once you got there, once you felt this body against yours, once you heard his true voice for the first time, it didn’t feel like anything at all. It felt like breathing. Like air passing into your body without thought. Natural and easy and comfortable.

The entwined mixture of your laughs filled the hull of the ship gorgeously, bouncing off the walls and meeting back in your ear. The more you drank, the more laughs were shared. As you grew intoxicated, you were lost in the sounds and feelings that overwhelmed whatever remained of your senses. It felt like home. For the first time since leaving your birth planet, you felt like everything in the universe made sense.

You dropped your head back against his shoulder with a sigh, looking up at the ceiling and swimming in thoughts. It was a motion that shouldn’t have been allowed. You were too close to him, too close to seeing his face and ruining everything that he believed in, ruining everything you built. But as you relaxed into him, nothing changed. He didn’t flinch, or pull away. He sat still, maybe holding his breath, you couldn’t tell, but he let you be there, teetering on the edge of betrayal. In a second, one tilt of the head, you could destroy it all. You could demolish his Creed, rip apart his life, and turn your friendship into dust. But you didn’t. And he knew you wouldn’t. Even if he held his breath, just in case.

The words kept flowing between you. Stories and memories you had almost forgotten. Pieces of each other you were sure no one else in the entire galaxy knew about, they came right to the surface, revealing and exposing, and making your two hardened souls that much more vulnerable. You couldn’t help it, and neither could he. But somehow, thoughts you barely allowed yourself to endure were suddenly poured right out into the open, spilling from your mouth with no resistance, and meeting none from Mando either.

You hummed along to each other's words, confirming to each other that you were both still listening, even if you couldn't see one another. But soon, your hums were drawn out. They were slow and slurred, and feeling heavier, just as your eyelids and - shortly after - the rest of your body seemed to feel too. As your body felt limp with lack of sleep, the Mandalorian smiled. The rare sighting was lost to the galaxy. No one would know he ever did it, but the effects of it were instantaneous, causing something deep within him to stir, something he wasn’t expecting, or something he was, but wasn’t ready to feel.

As your head began to fall off his shoulder, Mando twisted his body to catch yours before it hit the ground. Softly he guided your head into his lap, and after setting it down, he reached gently over towards his helmet. Before he could reach it, he heard you stir. As you shifted, he sat deadly still. With your eyes still closed, you mumbled, “what’s going on?”

After letting out a small laugh - with barely enough force to be considered so - he responded, “You’re going to sleep.”

“No I’m not,” you grumble, sounding frustrated with the fact that your own body would betray you at such a moment as this.

“Oh, I see. Then you’re fighting sleep?” he teased, smiling down at you this time, almost hoping you could look back up to him to see it.

“Noooo,” you moan into his thigh, the vibrations of which tease something in him, a small payback for his cheek to you.

“I think so,” he says calmly, moving to hook his arms around your weak form, lifting you off the ground with almost too much ease for what anyone might expect.

The change hardly goes noticed by you, although somehow your arms instinctually wrapped around his neck as your face cradled into his neck.

Mando paused for a moment. The contact on his skin was an inferno. He couldn’t recall the last time someone was this close to him. Your face was inches away from his own. Your hands were dangerously close to being entangled in his hair. Your nails grazed the skin on his neck causing a devilishly sweet sensation. But before the thoughts and feelings overtook him, before he allowed himself to think about waking you, and letting you see him, throwing away everything he believed in for more of what you barely knew you were doing to him, he stepped forward. He kept moving, until you were placed safely in the comfort of his - or your - bed. The one bed you shared, that he barely used. The bed he wanted to climb into, and feel more of your body against his, in his hands, on his skin. He placed you there, and as you curled up into the blankets he saw - for a second - a life he had never allowed himself to think about. The chance to have happiness he had long denied himself. The type of life that he knew he never could have.

As you fought off sleep, he fought off those thoughts

Well, I've written something. Crazy, I know. Let me pray that I get the drive to continue. Because honestly I really like this. And I've been reading more recently so I've been getting the urge to write more, but idk there's just something holding me back. So if you read this tell me you love it please because I crave validation. Thanks!

taglist: @peppywitch @tobealostwanderer @thecraftyartist @ajeff855 @greatcircle79 @janebby @cobb--vanth @hellotherebonky @thisshipwillsail316 @damerondala @hypnoash @sherryberryx @ivyhuntressxo

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #mando #mando x you #mando fanfiction #pedro pascal #din djarin #din djarin x reader #baby yoda #star wars #mando fic #mandalorian #mando fluff

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gar-trek · 3 years

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please share what you have to say about food cubes!!

I was feeling a little apprehensive about releasing the TOS Food Document™ because it is so damn long…. But since you asked anon

DISCLAIMER:

This is focused solely on food as it appears in the original series. Whatever explanation of food synthesizer/replicator that may come in later series does to apply here. I am also not a Star Trek expert. I’m sure there is some super fan out there who knows everything there is to know about food in TOS, but that person is not me. This is just my thoughts as I’ve observed instances where food is shown or mentioned in TOS. If my thought process is flawed, or I make some claims that don’t really make sense, I am sorry. The food canon is very complicated and vague, so this is me just trying my best to make sense of it. I’d also like to mention I did not explicitly cover the meal scene in What Are Little Girls Made Of? Or the ice cream scene from And The Children Shall Lead, but I do make reference to them. I’m sure there are other food scenes I didn’t get to cover here, so if I’m missing a few pieces, I’m sorry.

Anyway… let’s get into it!

The original series, food, and other things that keep me up at night

I don’t care about continuity or plot holes in Star Trek: The Original Series, and if I did, I think the show would become rather unwatchable. It’s not about what happens to get us from plot point A to B, but more important that we do get there (ie, who cares how or why Spock’s brain has been removed from his body, it’s more important that we do get it back inside).

This being said, there is one aspect to TOS that baffles me to no end, and its something I just cannot overlook: the food. Food, the entire concept of it as it appears in TOS haunts me. Each time they show or mention food it makes less and less sense. It’s a never-ending nightmare and I spend every day trying to understand what goes on in the Enterprise Cafeteria. Today I would like to explore a couple food instances on TOS, and hopefully make a little sense of what is happening.

The first chilling incident: The Man Trap (S1E2) - Rand is a thief

In this episode, we see Yeoman Rand on her way to deliver Sulu his meal. She is carrying a tray of colored food cubes (which is what I will be referring to them as here, because there is no official name) and what we can assume to be some kind of alien variant of celery (earth celery with some red crap stuck on top). While waiting for the turbo lift, Rand eats one of the celery sticks intended for Sulu. My question is why. Like literally why does this happen. Sulu never mentions it (maybe he doesn’t notice). She never mentions it to him, which means we can assume she doesn’t want him to know. So why is Rand stealing food? Does she not get enough to eat? Is the limits for how much you get to eat on the Enterprise that strict you need to turn to thievery to get a proper meal? and if that the case, she’s shorting Sulu on his allotted food. In this same scene, we see Ensign Green (who is really a salt-sucking monster) make a grab for the tray as if he too is going to steal Sulu’d food. However, Rand slaps his hand away and asks “who do you think you are?”, a hypocritical statement considering Rand is also in the act of stealing food. So Rand, I must pose the same question to you. This scene has no resolution, so any interpretation is up to the viewer. Whether you think Rand's actions make her a girlboss or a thief, is up to you, however, one thing is undeniably true: Rand eats food off other people's plates.

Other food-related things of note in this episode is that Sulu sprinkles salt on the celery sticks. This means they are either bland or that's just his personal taste. Also, when Rand gives him his tray, he says “may the great bird of the galaxy bless your planet” and this has nothing really to do with food, I just thought it was kind of badass.

(Sulu’s food tray with 3 celery instead of 4 because Rand ate one)

Incident two: Charlie X (S1E3) - synthetic meatloaf

In Charlie X, we see Captain Kirk make this comment in passing:

“Today on earth it is Thanksgiving, if the crew has to eat synthetic meatloaf I want it to look like turkey.”

This statement leaves us with a couple undeniable truths:

1. Meatloaf is a meal option on the Enterprise.

2. It is synthetic, meaning the meatloaf may not contain any meat at all.

3. It is not shaped like turkey, but it is possible to do so.

if the meatloaf served on the Enterprise is synthetic, then it very well could be made out of the same stuff the colored food cubes are made out of. Also, (and this is pure speculation so take it with a grain of salt) since we never hear anyone refer to the colored food cubes by name, they could literally be the “synthetic meatloaf” that Kirk is referring to here. In this case, the term synthetic meatloaf would not mean a synthetic version of the popular American dish meatloaf but instead loafs of synthetic meat. Since we do not know exactly what synthetic meat looks like, it very well could be brightly colored cubes.

In either case, Kirk is asking them to turn synthetic food from one shape to another. We understand this is possible through the food synthesizer, however, if all the food they eat on the Enterprise is synthetic anyway, then why did Kirk specifically mention synthetic meatloaf in the shape of turkey? would the turkey not instead be made out of synthetic turkey? why must the synthetic turkey be made specifically out of meatloaf? isn’t every single food that comes out of the food synthesizer made out of the same thing? It would have made more sense for Kirk to say “it's thanksgiving so can you made the food synthesizers produce turnkey?”. However, Kirk is like, a really cool guy, so it is possible that the meatloaf comment is just a fun joke. Either way, we know that synthetic meatloaf is a standard menu item on the enterprise, yet we have never seen anyone consume it.

Incident 3: The Corbomite Maneuver (S1E11) - Green leaves

In this episode, Kirk goes in for a physical, and Doctor McCoy reports that the captain is 2 pounds overweight. In response to this, the Doctor changes the captain's dietary card to help him lose a little wight (🙄). We later see the captain served a “dietary salad” in place of his usual meals. The existence of dietary salad is interesting for many reasons. Most importantly, we understand that dietary salad is somehow better for you than what is usually served on the Enterprise. It most likely has a lower caloric intake than say, colored food cubes. However, as discussed before, most if not all the food on the Enterprise is synthetic. If the food is created, and not naturally made, then one can assume its caloric value can be controlled. Would it not be possible to make a lower-calorie version of colored food cubes? one would assume that the cubes are made to have the perfect amount of nutrients to satisfy yet keep humans a healthy weight if they are in fact a form of synthetic man-made food. How would the captain overeat, if portions are pre-determined by dietary cards? Is Kirk somehow going rouge and consuming food that is not created by the food synthesizer (the captain's secret cookie stockpile??).

The existence of this salad also begs another question: is it synthetic as well, or are they growing fresh salad on the Enterprise? We do know that they are able to grow things on the ship, however, there has never been any discussion of growing crops specifically for consumption. If this is the case though, it may explain why we often see crew members eating celery sticks. Perhaps things like celery sticks and dietary salads are grown on the Enterprise, but all other food is synthetically created. In which case, who’s job is it to harvest food and prepare it for meals? Did Rand have to put that dietary salad together all on her own?

One more interesting point about the Salad: When Kirk first receives it, he asks

“what in the devil is this? Green leaves?”

which prompts Rand to explain that it’s a salad. It is very possible that Kirk genuinely has no idea what a salad is. He may have never had one, nor heard of the food in his entire life. Later we see him eat the salad with his hands, which further proves the point that captain kirk doesn't know what salad is. Why captain Kirk would somehow have no knowledge of salad is up to speculation.

Incident 4: The conscience of the king (S1E14) - Cry over spilled milk

In this episode, Lieutenant Riley is served colored food cubes and a glass of what appears to be milk. There isn’t much of significance here, other than the fact we know it is possible to get a glass of milk with your meal on the Enterprise. Unlike Sulu, Riley doesn’t have any celery sticks but seems to have a larger serving of colored food cubes as compensation. We also learn that milk is served in a large glass, something that seems very impractical on a starship.

Riley proves my point moments later when he spills milk on a control panel and shatters the glass. This begs the question, who is going to clean that up?

Incident 5: Tomorrow is Yesterday (S1E20) - Chicken noodle soup

In this episode, the Enterprise accidentally beams a 60′s army man abroad their ship (for the second time). This random chad ensign asks the man if he’s hungry because he’s a troll I guess and he wanted to flex their cool future food machine. The army captain guy is like sure, I could go for some chicken soup right now (a very natural response to being beamed onto a spaceship for the first time). Chad ensign has like three cards in front of him, and I guess one of them just happens to be chicken soup because he puts it in the machine and the soup appears. Grant it, we never actually get to see the soup with out own eyes, but the army captain does seem to be pretty convinced that it is chicken soup just by the smell. This opens up a couple possibilities:

-The food synthesizer can make almost anything you want, and the card is maybe like a very broad category, like a dinner card, and when you put it in you can pick any dinner food you’d like.

-The food synthesizer can only make what is specific to each card, and the ensign just got extremely lucky and happened to have a card that was the exact food the army captain wanted.

More evidence, which we will go over later, points more towards the theory that one card is equal to one specific type of food. In this case, it is unclear how the synthesizer food cards are distributed, or how you get your pick of what food you would like. It is also more likely that options would be limited. This does make sense, however, it makes this scene very confusing, as, as I’ve pointed out, the ensign had a very limited number of cards, but exactly what the captain had asked for. Pure luck? what mind game was that Chad ensign trying to play with the poor man who was abducted from earth... we will never know.

One more very interesting thing is established here: The transporter room has a food synthesizer. Why this is is purely up to speculation. In my mind, having a food synthesizer in the transporter room would be like having a full kitchen where you park your car. Seems pretty useless, but maybe the guys in the transporter room requested easy access to snacks? Why the transporter room would get this special privilege is again, up to speculation.

Incident 6: Space Seed (S1E23) - Dinner with Khan

In Space Seed a special dinner is put together to welcome Khan onto the Enterprise. We see that they are being served colored food cubes and celery sticks. Doctor McCoy walks into the dining room and comments about how the display is “very impressive”. However, this seems like a very unusual comment considering we are shown the only food we have ever seen consumed on the Enterprise. What exactly makes this food “impressive” as compared to other celery sticks and colored food cubes? Is there some way to tell this particular food is better that we don’t know about, but is obvious to everyone on the Enterprise?

There is also a chance that Doctor McCoy is just very easily impressed with food, and upon seeing any food spread he is likely to comment in wonder. Note the way Scotty is looking at McCoy. His face is a mixture of confusion, judgment, and pity. Perhaps Scotty is thinking to himself “bruh, it’s literally just colored food cubes chill out man,”. There is no explanation as to why Scotty is giving McCoy such a look, so this very well could be the case. Even though it is a silly explanation, I don’t think it should be ruled out that one of McCoy’s personality traits is being overly excited about food of any kind.

Incident 7: Journey to Babel (S2E10) Party food

Much like in Space Seed, in this episode, we get to see a meal put together for a special occasion. All the diplomates are getting down at a mixer where a spread of food has been provided. These snacks seem very similar to colored food cubes, however I do think they differ. They may be the same type of food, but different in some way. In which case colored food cubes is an overarching category of food, and here we see two different types. The smaller more brightly colored cubes can be put in drinks, though if this is what you are supposed to do with them, or just the preference of that one alien species I do not know. Though I must point out, we have seen colored food cubes served in brown sauce in What are Little Girls Made Of? (S1E8) so it is not completely unheard of to have your colored food cubes served soggy.

The other type of colored food cubes we see are a lot larger and more pair shaped (in reality, they probably were just skinned pairs dipped in food coloring, but for this essay, it’s important that we completely ignore the fact there is another life outside of Star Trek). Now to me, these are very interesting, because the dull color and apparent texture are a lit more similar to standard colored food cubes we have seen thus far. I would even go o far to say that this is the same exact food, just sans the cubed shape. So really, standard colored food cubes are just the cubed version of whatever this food is. This, again, is just speculation, but it does point us to the fact that colored food cubes are not naturally cubed (I’m going somewhere with this is promise)

Incident 8: The Trouble With Tribbles (S2E15) The trouble with Chicken sandwichs

Here we see Kirk attempting to order a chicken sandwich and coffee. What he gets instead is a plate full of tribbles, hilarity ensues. I think this scene is interesting because we can add to our list of food items that are on the menu at the enterprise cafeteria: chicken sandwich. However, this is another food item we do not see. There is no way of knowing if the Enterprise's version of a chicken sandwich is what we would imagine a chicken sandwich to be. Much like the meatloaf and the soup, because we do not see it, there is no way of knowing if the food exists in the way that we as 21st-century people understand it. The events of TOS take place more than 200 years in our future, so to speculate that food could change a lot during that time isn’t a stretch. I don’t know, just some food for thought (lol)

Incident 9: By Any Other Name (S2E22) Living deliciously

In this episode, an alien taking the form of a human enjoys some colored food cubes. He makes a comment about how they are good they are while enthusiastically eating his food. This is a very important moment because it tells us that colored food cubes do taste good. In fact, they taste really good. Just before he eats, the alien comments on how humans could just take pills that give them all their nutrient needs and give up food completely (think the Jetsons cartoon). On the Enterprise, they do not eat just to live, but because they enjoy their food as well. This tells us that colored food cubes are at the very least, worth eating, and at the best, very delicious.

One more interesting thing: Spock is eating some kind of soup while everyone else enjoys colored food cubes. This could be a Vulcan preference, however, we know that Spock is vegetarian. This could be alluding to the fact that Colored Food Cubes are made out of meat.

Conclusion:

Yes, I asked a lot more questions than I answered. There are some things that make absolutely no sense to me, primarily, the food synthesizer and diet cards. Some evidence points to the fact that the food synthesizer can make practically anything (see Tomorrow is Yesterday, And the Children Shall Lead). However, one dietary card is equal to one specific food, which would mean they would have to produce a lot of these dietary cards if there is many meal options. How these cards are distributed, and what their limitations are, we do not know. And although we do not know the limits of what the food synthesizer can create, we do know these food have been served on the enterprise at least at one point:

-colored food cubes (variety)

-celery

-synthetic meatloaf

-synthetic turkey (Thanksgiving Special)

-Dietary Salad

-Milk

-Chicken Soup

-Chicken Sandwich

-Mystery Soup

-Ice cream (variety of flavors)

All of this food (except for maybe the dietary salad and celery) are synoptically created, so what they are actually made up of, I cannot say.

And finally, I would like to make a point about the colored food cubes. I think upon first inspection one would assume colored food cubes is a dish created specifically for space travel (think the food created for modern-day astronauts to consume in space). However, we learned that there is possibly a variety of colored food cube dishes. Since there is such a wide variety of food on the Enterprise, why would they also need to create a food specifically for space travel? I think that colored food cubes are actually a common dish, not intended specifically for space travel. Perhaps it was an alien food that got popular on earth, maybe it was a dish developed later in Earth's history by humans. I can only speculate, but I do think it is more than just boring space food. Everyone seems to have a preference for it, so I think it’s a dish you can eat over and over again and not get sick of. What colored food cubes taste like is completely up to speculation, but I would assume they are a savory food, considering we often see people enjoying them for their main meal.

I still have more to say, but for the sake of everyone, I’ll end it there. This was a lot of thought dumping, so if some of the things I said made no sense at all, I’m sorry. I’d love to hear some of your thoughts on TOS food! please share with me what you think colored food cubes would taste like :)

#star trek #tos #star trek tos #the original series #anon reveal yourself so i can kiss you #please #whole ass ted talk #sorry this is so long #colored food cubes #kirk #james t kirk #spock #bones #leonard mccoy #journey to babel #space seed #yeoman rand #sulu #hikaru sulu

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mandoinevarro · 4 years

Text

WILL BUY STOLEN GOODS FOR LOWER PRICE

Rule Maker, Rule Breaker: Chapter 1

Words: 8.4k

Rating: E

Warnings: shooting, non-descriptive death, SMUT, fingering, mentions of masturbation, AND masturbation now that I remember, penetration, creampie! just general filth, gambling?

a/n: SO literally nobody asked for this, but I decided to turn NO REFUNDS into the prologue of a short series (you don’t really need to read NO REFUNDS, it’s only for context.) Anywayyys heavy feelings, heavy plot, heavy smut. Have fun.

……………

Maker, you need to start cheating. That way you wouldn’t be in the middle of a staring contest with your cards, like you can change their colorful drawings and numbers if you only glare hard enough. You’ve never been particularly good at sabacc, but a little luck wouldn’t hurt, especially since this is the third round in a row you lose. Duma deals the last couple of cards across the coal black table and stacks the deck, signaling the start of the game.

Well, you suppose it doesn’t really matter; you doubt your sabacc buddies have better hands. These days, everyone in Nevarro is short on luck. Luck and food and water. Others are less pessimistic: As soon as Greef Karga glances at his hand he leans back on the carcass of a cantina booth and slaps his belly. “Ha!” he bellows, “by the end of this round, you filthy gutter womp rats will have to borrow from your womp rat mothers to pay me.”

“Quit bluffing, Karga. We know you don’t have shit,” Cara mutters. She picks up her cards and pulls a face like she bit on lemon, but still the veteran goes all in, pushes forward a couple of stabilizing coils, an identity beacon you could’ve sold at a decent price some months ago and—maker—even a pouch of nova crystal dust. Nobody here is stupid enough to gamble with food, but you’re surprised that even nova has lost its worth and been demoted to casino chip status. “This place smells like shit.”

“Bad bluff, piss-poor trash talk too,” you taunt. “Looks like all that time doing business with Imperials smoothed your brain, Karga.”

“Ex-Imperials,” he corrects. The ex-Guild leader slides a few more credits to the center of his ex-cantina’s table. “We live in a jolly Republic now, didn’t you hear? You’ve been liberated.”

“Fuck ‘em.” Duma turns her head, spits on the melted floor. “Can’t eat liberation, can I?” She throws a few more worthless credits onto the growing pile of nothing. At least, for now, it’s nothing. Credits and ship parts and every other type of currency haven’t meant anything but props in Nevarro for five months, when the siege began. That whole mess with troopers and Greef and Cara was bound to bring some repercussions—aside from making Karga’s cantina look like a volcano erupted inside. For five months, Imperial forces have surrounded the planet, and for five months, food and resources haven’t been allowed inside. They won’t let up, rumor has it, until they find the culprit: one particular Mandalorian with a valuable asset. They think he’s still hiding somewhere in the planet, but you know better. You watched the Razor Crest’s fly off-orbit and leave everything behind. Everything and everyone.

“This place smells like shit,” Cara repeats.

“Not shit,” replies Duma, “ash.” She picks up a card from the deck with long fingers. “You never did explain how that Mandalorian managed to torch this place.”

Cara’s sabacc face melts. Her fingers tighten and bend her cards as she exchanges a complicit look with Greef. “Never said it was Mando.”

“Who else? I was there in the first shootout. That hunter was fierce.” Duma dons a wolfish smile, because this is how she always wins: She plays with people, not cards. In fact, she abandons her hand face-down on the table and—oh no—gives you a once-over. “You knew him well, didn’t you?” You almost want to show her your garbage hand so she doesn’t bother trying to throw you off your inexistent game.

“Swung by the store a couple of times,” you answer as casually as you can manage and pretend the most interesting book is written on your cards. “But we weren’t exactly chummy, if that’s what you’re asking.” Creeping warmth attacks your face and there’s no stopping it. Shit.

“Funny, could swear I saw him leaving your store more than a couple of times.” You feel Duma’s eyes piercing into your forehead. “Pretty late at night, too.”

“Is that so?” Cara pipes with a lopsided grin.

“I thought you two were…friends,” Duma adds.

“Yeah, well,” you mutter, “you thought wrong.” Friends don’t leave friends to their luck in the middle of a fucking siege. It’s the same prickly thought that’s plagued you since you watched the Mandalorian take off triumphantly. It’s a stupid feeling. He was under no obligation to take you with him. You didn’t lie to Duma, you two weren’t friends. You couldn’t even call what you had a fling, even those require some degree of making-love-below-the-stars, quoting-passages-of-Naboo-Nights-to-each-other romance. Flings are shooting stars. No, your…thing, whatever it was, did not belong to the heavens. It was earthy. Human. It was counting credits and arguing about fuel prices or old modulators. It had weight—too much, apparently, to escape gravitational pull and fly away with him on the Crest. It was doomed to planets, both feet planted on the ground.

Still, you remember times when earthy was good. There was never anything airy or celestial in the way he’d take you. The shoved clothes, the harsh grunts, the rough hands, the pleasure, it was all palpable and primitive; earthy was dirty. Your furtive encounters had beating heart of their own, and there was always hard evidence left behind in case either of you ever needed a reminder: marks on the skin, ripped clothes, stained bedsheets. The bruises he left always took too long to heal, as if his touch enhanced your mortality, made you more human. Stars, those moments are what you miss the most. Five months is a long time to be neglected of touch—six, actually: five months since the siege, six since he last came to you. Earthy expires.

It’s not like there’s nobody in the planet willing to help you soothe your needs; quite the opposite, actually. Lately, it seems like handjobs are the new Nevarran handshake. Just last week you caught Cara feeling up some pretty market girl in an alley. You saw her, she saw you, you rolled your eyes, she grinned and got back to work. You were almost offended. Everybody’s screwing their time through the siege, while you’re left with nothing but reruns of filthy memories with the Mandalorian. You just know nobody but Mando will do. You replay your moments with him like a sad, mental porno on the nights you spend trying to get yourself off. Trying and failing, like having to put out a fire by spitting on it, because the only person in the galaxy with a hose is too busy playing hero lightyears away.

“Last round. Place your bets,” Karga announces and pushes a few more trinkets forward. Cara follows, and you pat around your pockets for something to lose. It’s all just rusted metal anyways. Only…shit, the last three games drained you. And Duma reads it on your face like you’ve got “BROKE” written all over your forehead.

“All out, huh?” She reaches down the table for her bag and drops a beskar pauldron on the table with a thud. A Mandalorian pauldron.

Cara purses her lips and balls a fist, but Greef shoots her a warning look. As if cantina brawls could make this place look worse.

“Still can’t believe you didn’t take anything that day,” Duma continues, shaking her head. “Regret it?”

“I’ll regret it,” you answer and go fish, as if a new card—the right card—could fix a life’s worth of bad luck, “when you learn how to chew beskar.” That earns you a signature “Ha!” from Karga and a cocked eyebrow from Duma. She can arch her eyebrows all she wants, but that much is also true. You don’t regret leaving the Mandalorian covert empty-handed.

You were the first on scene that day. After the smoke cleared, the remaining imps left to lick their wounds, and the Crest flew away, you went to check on Karga’s child, his pride and joy. You were met with a gruesome scene. The cantina, Nevarro’s most sacred landmark, had been reduced to its black skeleton, third-degree burns all over, gone. It sounds dramatic, but the cantina used to be the closest thing to a place of worship on this planet. God Booze was dead.

You kicked around the bar’s guts, until you found a gaping mouth on a wall, leading down, down, down into Nevarro’s entrails. Finding purgatory would’ve surprised you less than what you stumbled upon: an underground tunnel, an abandoned covert, and a sinister, unguarded pile of Mandalorian armor. Stars, it would’ve been so easy. You could’ve hoarded the spoils and stashed them away for better days. That amount of beskar could’ve bought you a one-way ticket out of this dumpster and an early retirement. But when you lifted a helmet, it stared back. It was blue and definitely not his, but Mando was all you could think of while you studied the helmet’s unique curves and creases. You heard his exasperated sighs when you got on his nerves, his moans when you’d touch him. And you just couldn’t do it. You sat back and watched as this skughole’s scavengers crept into the tunnels to pillage. Easy as that, everyone in Nevarro but you and Cara now has a beskar toy or two. Soon enough, this planet will house the wealthiest corpses in the galaxy if the siege is not lifted before reserves run out.

Karga clears his throat. “Well, ladies first. Let’s see those cards.”

Duma ignores him. “You know,” she tells you, “I’ve more beskar than I know what to do with. I’ll trade you a vembrance for a couple of ration packs.”

“And what am I supposed to do with a Mandalorian vembrance, play dress up?”

“The cards,” Greef urges.

“You’ll be rich.”

You snort. “The rich don’t starve.”

“Give me a break, we both know you’ve got portions to spare.”

Elbows on the table, you lean forward and closer to Duma. She sniffs weakness like a Corellian hound, and if you falter she’ll sink her fangs. “I’m not interested in your fucking loot.”

“Cause it’s stolen? You never had a problem with that before.” She mimics your move and leans closer. Karga fiddles with a coinage of calamari flan, like you’re both Canto Bight slot machines and he’s trying to decide where to put his money. “What, did you grow morals all of a sudden? Or maybe, you’re too worried of what your Mandalorian friend would think.” You flinch. She smirks. “Oh my, what would the disgraced hunter, code-breaker, cult member say—”

The tiny noise of Karga’s coinage clinking on the table is not enough to distract you from the verbal beating Duma is laying on you. But his voice—like he got the air knocked out of him—is enough to grab your attention when he murmurs, “Ask him yourself.”

Cara, Duma, and you turn to Greef Karga, who stares saucer-eyed at the window. All three of your heads move simultaneously, guided by the line of his eyesight. Outside the window, on the deserted street, stands a trooper barking orders. It’s one of those in all-black armor, the extra trigger-happy ones with a side of god complex because they think the change of color magically makes their aim less shitty. His blaster is drawn (surprise, surprise), and on the receiving end of its barrel…

Maker’s fucking mercy.

You don’t even see the blaster shot, only smoke snaking out of a hole on the shiny breastplate. The trooper plummets to the ground like his puppeteer cut off his strings: no last steps, no resistance. Now, anyone else would’ve walked away from what’s clearly worm food without a second look, but one does not become the best bounty hunter in the parsec by taking chances. A mountain of unpainted beskar looms over the corpse and kicks the blaster off the imp’s limp hand. The Mandalorian sheathes his own weapon—that blaster you’ve tweaked and polished so many times you know it as the palm of your hand—and scans the perimeter for danger.

You don’t tell your legs to move, but they don’t need the command. You find yourself trailing behind Cara, Duma, and Greef, rushing for the door. Outside, all four of you stumble and stop on your tracks to blink stupidly at the Mandalorian, the way children stare wide-eyed at soldiers on military parades. But this warrior stands grander than any Republic or Imperial officer you’ve ever seen. He’s clad head to toe in silver beskar—except for one armorless thigh that makes his other leg look even bulkier. His old armor, the one you used to shine and buff, is gone. This one you’ve only seen from afar, on that day he crashed the imps’ safehouse, and later when the battle broke out. You know it’s him, but in this new getup it’s easy to doubt. Maybe he’s a stranger. Maybe he won’t recognize you.

The Mandalorian studies each of you one by one, his hand near the blaster in case he spots any enemy faces. The hand twitches when he sees Duma—she doesn’t have the cleanest reputation around here—but she’s shocked and unarmed, so his arm relaxes. To Greef and Cara he gives short nods that they return.

And then you. He actually takes a step back when he spots you, like you pushed him square on the chest. The helmet lingers on you and tilts, shamelessly rakes over every feature like he’s memorizing you. You hold your breath. It reminds you of the day you met, that weight on your chest from knowing you’ve been seen. That’s how you know it really is Mando: Whenever he stares at you, you feel it in your bones.

You realize the moment’s dragged out for too long when Karga clears his throat. The spell breaks.

You and Mando look bashfully away from each other. You squint up at the clouds, your hands stiff on your waist in a forced, generic, looks like rain! pose. He turns to his boss (ex-boss? enemy? You never asked for an update on Mando’s most recent status in the Guild) and mutters a short, “Karga.” To Cara he’s warmer, offers a comradely clasp of hands and a pat on the shoulder. “Good to see you again.”

“You too,” Cara drawls, as she stares suspiciously between you and Mando. You squint harder at the clouds. “Didn’t expect you back during a siege, though.”

“I have to…” he spies a furtive glance at Duma and lowers his voice, “I’ve something to do here.”

Duma rolls her eyes and clasps her bag across her chest. “Don’t worry, Mando. I’ll leave you girls to catch up on the hot goss.” She strides into the cantina (probably to bag the bets, the asshole), and goes back outside.

She points at the window of a crumbling building. “Careful with snitches.”

You glance back to the window. Nothing. Jerk. Duma’s not above a made you look moment, apparently. You turn back to her but she’s already disappearing into an alley.

Cara waits until she’s gone to grab the Mandalorian by the arm. “Mando, where’s the…” she glances at you and hesitates. You fold your arms and raise your eyebrows at the veteran. If she expects you to leave graciously like Duma she’s got another thing coming. You’re actually very, very interested on the Mandalorian’s hot goss. Especially it comes with an explanation as to why he left you stranded here. Even though he doesn’t owe you one. Technically. “Y’know,” she finally says and drops her hand. “The asset.”

“On the ship. I need to get back.”

“You, my friend, need to lay low,” Greef says with a raised index. “Every imp in Nevarro will be looking for you. Maker—” he spreads his arms “—they already are! And someone must have heard the blaster shot. You have ten minutes or so until an Imperial squadron gets here. The, uh, asset will be fine.”

“The asset,” Cara exclaims, “is a ch—is…is delicate. He can’t just leave it on the Crest!”

Mando interrupts their game of taboo. “Cara,” he starts, “you go to the ship and check on…the asset. Please. I landed where I did last time. I…I’ll lay low in the covert.”

“About that,” Greef mumbles. He looks at Cara for support, but she steps back and raises both hands: You say it. Greef sighs. “They…they found the tunnels, Mando.”

The helmet crooks slowly to study Karga. “Who’s they?”

“Everyone. Half of Nevarro is living down there, you…you can’t go back.”

Silence.

You imagine all four of you go through the same checklist: Even if Cara didn’t already have a top-secret assignment with whatever the asset is, she doesn’t have a place of her own yet. Every week, she crashes on one of her sweethearts’ couches. On their beds, more likely. There’s no way Karga is letting him near his house, not after what happened at the cantina. That leaves…

“Stay with me,” you blurt before you can really think it through.

≈

The cramped storage room you call a home sits a story above your store. It’s four walls and only the essentials: a bed, an armchair, a table, a stove, and the only detached room is the refresher. It’s enough for you. But the Mandalorian looks like he squeezed into a dollhouse when you usher him inside and close the door behind you. He stands in the middle of the room, all fighter’s bulk and grandiose armor, like he’s afraid he’ll break something if he moves. As if he’s never been here before, which couldn’t be further from the truth. The apartment may be small, but it’s so filled with memories you could turn it into a museum of your dirty escapades with him. And if you look to your right, you’ll see the armchair where he sat while I went down on him on a stormy night.

“So,” you say and lean against the front door, “business or pleasure?”

He moves to stand to the side of the window opposite the front door and his glove moves the old washed out curtain to the side to peer into the street. The sun is setting, and the last streaks of light paint the beskar with warped yellow-orange streaks that stay as still as an undisturbed pond. So this is how he wants the evening to go: quietly and with a reasonable amount of distance between you. Disappointment knots in your stomach.

“Business.”

You open your mouth to cut into the silence, but you’re all out of words. Maybe you’ve lost your touch. It used to be so easy to tease him, but now…a heaviness seems to weigh down on his shoulders, some heightened sense of duty. But also determination: He stands taller now, prouder, like he woke up one day and knew exactly what he needed to do and why. Whatever that purpose is, you’re pretty sure it doesn’t involve you. You’re a detour, and not even the fun kind, judging by the space between you. Maker, this man used to pounce on you. Has the siege really battered you up that much?

“Been busy?” The sudden question startles you. He’s never been one to break the ice, that was usually your job.

“Sure.” Nope, not at all. “Store and all.” You closed the store three months ago. Turns out nobody buys equipment for their ships when they can’t fly past the atmosphere. “Plus, somebody needs to keep Karga distracted from his mourning. You owe him a cantina.”

“He told I did that?”

“Just a guess.” You move a couple of steps forward, like you’re approaching a nervous lothcat. When he doesn’t move away, you sit on the armchair, a little closer to him. “You like that flamethrower too much.”

“That what you four were doing in there?” The helmet moves to the side so he can spy deeper down the street. Always careful. “Assessing my damage?”

“No, just sabacc. Different kind of damage.” He’s making small talk. The Mandalorian, whom you’ve overheard have conversations solely based on grunts and sighs, is chatting with you. He’s not just answering out of politeness, he’s prompting you to go on, to keep running your mouth. That’s something he said once between thrusts, perched over you right on this floor: Keep running your mouth, see what happens. The memory warms your neck. Maker, not the point. The point is, before, he always said you had a smart mouth. Sometimes he’d chastise you for it, other times he’d encourage it. And you used to have the suspicion (or, let’s face it: fantasy) that he actually liked it. That somewhere hidden, beyond his pride and honor’s jurisdiction, he enjoyed the teasing and the banter, the challenge of having to deal with you. Better yet: More than once it crossed your mind that he got off on it, too. It’s been a long time, but some of that might remain. Maybe you’ll take his advice: keep running your mouth, see what happens.

You sit straighter, arch your back a bit just in case he’s watching. “You interrupted a round with your little stunt.”

“Yeah?” The helmet doesn’t move, but his hand runs up the curtain, considering. “Sorry. I bet you were winning.”

That makes you smile. It’s a dig at you. Far and wide across Nevarro, your uncanny ability to lose every single game of sabacc you play baffles locals and foragers alike. Yes, you know you suck, but the game amuses you anyways. You like the trash talk, the double-guessing, the bluff-calling. So much so that you forget to actually play. But what’s important is he’s teasing you, and that’s more than charted territory with him, a match you have a shot at winning. Okay. Game on.

“I was, actually.”

He huffs. “Don’t believe you.”

“Then I don’t believe you’re here on business.” Pause for effect. You can almost see a question mark form in a cloud above the helmet. You lean forward and lick your lips, lower your voice. “I think you missed me.”

You’re used to the helmet’s features remaining impassive, so you don’t look for clues on there anymore. Mando’s hands are more telling. You want to believe you actually see his fingers twitch and clutch the curtain a little tighter, that he takes too long to answer. That’s what trying to read him is all about—blind-guessing and wishful thinking.

“Don’t know about that. Six months and two weeks without your cons, I’m almost rich.”

Down to the week, huh? “Okay, if you want to make it about money we’ll bet on it. Twenty credits says you missed me.”

“Last time I was here you weren’t a compulsive gambler. Store’s doing that bad?”

“Last time you were here,” you coo, “there was a lot less talking involved.” You stare into the visor, and pray he can’t see the desperate hope in your eyes.

Your prayers are answered. In a way. Mando ignores you, doesn’t even look at you. You hear your clumsy attempt at seduction buzz around him like a one-winged bee, crash into the unmoving, unmoved Mandalorian, and fall to the floor in a pointed-lined spiral. You’re so embarrassed you want to step on it. Well, that settles it. Six months is apparently enough for a Mandalorian to lose interest.

“And store’s doing fine,” you lie to try and sway the conversation away from that lame innuendo that missed its mark. He really just wants to talk, then. No big deal. It’s fine. “Nobody gambles for money anyways.”

“Then why?”

You shrug. “Why do you hunt?” He’s never told you, but you saw him chase down a bounty once. He was ruthless, sweating adrenaline and with far too much stamina to only be chasing a bag of credits. “For the risk. The thrill.”

He lets your words float for a second. “You get a thrill out of losing?”

You roll your eyes. “I only lose cause everybody knows my bluff.” That is, except you. “You need to know someone to know their bluff. Greef and the others already know me too well. You, on the other hand.” You smile. “If you and I played, I’d get to keep so much of your stuff you’d think I’m half Jawa.”

And, only then, he seems to tense. That stupid throwaway line is what makes his spine grow visibly rigid and his hand drop from the curtain to his belt, where the leather of his glove creaks with how tightly he clutches the buckle. White and blue streetlights that reflect on his armor glide around like it’s water instead of beskar, and they’re your only indication that he’s shifted slightly. Slowly, so slowly you expect his neck to creak like a door, the Mandalorian turns away from the window to look at you. He holds there quietly, and you feel ants running down your back…stars, you’re nervous. For the first time in a while, he makes you genuinely anxious.

“You’re saying I don’t know you?” he rasps under the helmet. No, not really, but if it gets a reaction out of him…

“All I’m saying,” you start, summoning all your strength to keep your voice from faltering, “is you’ve been gone too long.” You try to make it sound a bit playful, but the words come out tasting bitter when you remember the sharp little edge that’s been digging on your side. He left you here, it whispers, he left you here and didn’t bother looking back. But a heavy boot suddenly drops forward and you’re forced to stop nursing your grudge to try and predict what Mando’s next move will be.

With every step he takes, you’re instinctively swallowed deeper into your armchair, until he’s looming over you. Stars above, the sheer size of him is enough to block out most of the artificial light coming in, and you’re left to squint in the blue twilight. Maker, you don’t remember him this big, this intimidating. Five months ago you would’ve smirked and opened your legs wide. C’mon, I don’t bite unless you ask, you would’ve teased, but now…now you think maybe you are the one who doesn’t know him anymore.

But some things never change, and having him so near still makes your thighs press together. If anything, this new foreignness, the inherent threat of a bounty hunter in your home that never quite poked the right nerve before now pulls on your most sensitive areas. It propels your heartbeat on a sprint. His arm moves, and—oh, you want him to touch you.

Visor trained on you, Mando points to the floor instead. “You hide your credits here.” To illustrate (or just to rub it in that he knows) his boot presses down on the loose tile and shifts from side to side. The sharp sound it makes irritates you less than knowing he found the fox clever hiding spot you used to pat yourself on the back for. “You don’t keep them in the store because it’s too easy to break into. The security panel downstairs is broken, but the one up here works fine.”

You can almost hear his proud smirk under the helmet. There’s a reserved side to him, sure, but bastard can be arrogant when he wants to. And no, you have no idea how he found the spot, but you’re not about to admit it.

“Congrats, boy scout. You can spot a busted panel and you have flat feet. Want a badge?” Your irritation brings back some of your old snark, but you still flinch when he moves closer and his legs brush against your knees.

“You also keep expensive parts inside the stuffing of this—” he takes a tiny step forward and frames your knees with his legs “—armchair.” Your blood freezes at his words, but it abruptly runs hot as the city’s lava river when you realize how close he stands now. His legs press against the armchair and there’s nowhere to go. You’re cornered.

A leather glove moves close and you hold your breath, before you realize he’s only toying with the tips of your hair. But his fingers dig deeper, tangle on thicker strands and, without warning, give a short but firm tug. It’s a tiny pull, but maker’s mercy, you feel your core pulse. And then, before you can regain some lucidity, his fingers dip lower, where the tips trace a slow line down your nape. He draws featherlight circles on that spot between your neck and your shoulder that he knows makes your toes curl, and—stars, it’s just been too long—you whimper.

“Still so sensitive here,” he whispers.

Once, this shielded man knew his way around your body like it belonged to him. You thought that part of him was lost, that he forgot, that he’d truly been gone too long. Those fears dissipate when his palm curls around the back of your neck to hold your gaze on him, while the thumb of his other hand brushes your lips. You know the drill—you open your mouth and give the orange tip some kitten licks. Mando huffs: You can do better than that. Maker, it should be a red flag, how quickly you comply. That urgent need to please him that had never, ever felt so crucial. An O forms in your lips before you can stop them, and his thumb pushes down on your tongue deep and deeper. You should play hard, make him earn it, bite him. But his finger starts to retreat and you panic—no, he can’t change his mind, not now. You seal your lips, trap him inside your mouth and suck. But his grip on the back of your neck grows beskar stiff, and he forcefully removes his finger…only to glide the spit over your lips. Just like that first time.

The visor looms closer to your face, and you catch a ruptured sigh, the pleasured kind that these four walls know so well. If Mando wasn’t holding you down, your chest would balloon with satisfaction and you’d float. His thumb trails down your throat, wetting its path and no doubt feeling the vibration when you chuckle. He cocks his head to the side in a silent question.

“You owe me twenty credits,” you explain, your breath clouding the helmet’s surface. “You did miss me.”

Mando crouches lower, where his helmet brushes your nose, and gropes the tops of your thighs with those wide palms you’ve been dreaming about for weeks.

“Yeah? You like bets?” You’ve never heard his voice so coarse, scratchy like week-long stubble. Did he change the settings of his modulator? Or is it just rash, pent-up need? “Then thirty credits says you’re fucking soaked.” His fingers butterfly higher up your thighs, almost at the apex. Your legs jerk.

“That’s cheating,” you gasp.

He takes one glove off and settles the covered hand on your hip, while the other disappears between your legs until—stars—he cups your core through your pants. You mewl and he hums when he feels the hot, damp fabric.

“I still win.” He presses the heel of his palm right into your clit and grinds it back and forth. Oh, if you thought you were wet before. The pressure, the friction, him—it all scalds you from head to toe like a fever, but you chase it, greedily push your hips into his palm. His fingers flatten along your slit and grope you tighter. “Gonna pay me? Doesn’t have to be credits.” He pushes viciously into you with that wide, hard palm, preening at the little gasps that escape you. Whimpering, you let your eyes fall shut and focus on something sprouting in your belly. Stars, you’re close—how the fuck are you so close already? It must be all the repressed desire, all that time. Fuck, you’re close—

The Mandalorian halts. You’re eyes flash open to see him straighten and step back, take his other glove off to stuff it snug between his belt and his hip, and remain still as a building. Still catching your breath, you study him head to toe, scanning for a sign of what went wrong. He’s clutching his belt, his stance is too smug. This isn’t him fighting temptation, he’s toying with you. Maker help him, you’re going to kill him. Some corner in your brain reasons that it’s kinda fair, as payback for all the times you messed with him. But in the forefront of your mind pulses the climax he just denied you, cast aside and angry.

Before you know what you’re doing, you push yourself off the armchair. “You—”

Mando beats you to it. A hand on your shoulder and a vembrance across your chest, he lunges forward and slams your back against a wall. He hovers over you, tightly pressed against your body. A fleshy, hard bulge covered by his pants throbs against your belly. Of course. You forgot how much he likes it when you look like prey; how much he enjoys the hunt, whether he admits it or not. The hand on your shoulder trails down to cup your breast. You squeeze your eyes shut and let out a shaky exhale.

“You need it bad,” he breathes as his fingers massage your chest. The movement shifts the fabric of your tunic, brushing it against your nipple. You roll your hips to try and stimulate him, to show you’re not the only one worked up. His erection twitches and you smile.

“You—mmm—you’re projecting.” You grind again to prove your point, but he catches on to what you’re implying and retaliates by shoving his hand inside your cleavage. Stars, you have to punch down the moan surges up your throat when he pinches your nipple.

“You missed this,” Mando hisses, and whether he’s trying to convince you or himself, you don’t know. What you do know is he’s plotting to settle this stupid inkling of a bet in his favor. He wants you to admit you missed him so he doesn’t have to. You know, because it’s exactly what you are trying to do.

You sneak your hand down his torso, aiming for the hem of his pants—but before you can get even with him, he crushes his hips against yours and traps your palm between them. And he’s not done—he wedges his thigh between your legs and rubs it up and down, drags your clit just right. Your mouth gapes in a silent moan as white hot pleasure lights up your spine. You want to get away from it but, maker, his forearm is still stiff against your chest. Even when you grab the vembrance with your free hand it doesn’t budge. You’re trapped between him and the wall.

“Can take care of m-myself just fine,” you croak as a last attempt to hold on to your dignity. “At least when I’m alone I don’t have to fake any orgasms.”

Yeah, it’s a low blow. A dirty fucking lie too, but desperate times call for desperate measures and all. Good news is it gets you a reaction—he immediately stops moving, as if your words punched him off balance. Bad news is you hit a nerve—his breathing becomes harsh like a bull’s, so much so that you expect clouds of smoke to come out from under the helmet. The Mandalorian creeps closer to your face and his forearm digs deeper into your chest. There’s a promise of danger in the dark visor that makes your pulse race, and a primitive instinct blasts emergency sirens. Maker, this won’t end well for you.

Just as you’re about to backtrack and whisper you didn’t mean it, Mando lets go of you—only for a split second, before he grasps your shoulders and turns you around to push your front into the wall. You jerk back on instinct, but he flattens a palm between your shoulder blades and squishes you right back against it.

The helmet rests right next to your ear when Mando growls, “You expect me to believe that?” His hands drop to your hips as he replaces the pressure on your back with his chest. His body weight holds you in place, and he rocks the hard outline of his erection along your ass. “That I don’t make you cum, you little fucking—” You curl your back as much as his body allows so he can stroke himself tighter against you. He groans and kneads your cheeks, moves the flesh in tandem with his thrusts. “I shouldn’t let you tonight, t-teach you a lesson.”

The mere suggestion feels devastating enough to let a pathetic whine tumble from your lips. Before, you could’ve turned this into a game, held out a little longer just to watch him break first. But you’re too pent up, too desperate, too sick of waiting. Your fingers hook on the hem of your trousers and push them down. Mid-movement, he traps both of your wrists in one hand and keeps them pressed against your lower back, while the other one gets your pants the rest of the way down, underwear too. You barely have enough time to step out of them before his free hand reaches between the apex of your thighs. You’re sticky, leaking around his fingers, and pushing back against his crotch like you’ll drop dead if he doesn’t fuck you.

“Fucking wet, fuck…” he mutters. His fingers follow the heat and your pussy clenches around nothing. Stars, if he just moved higher, a little higher where you’re hot and soaked and throbbing for him. But he takes his sweet time, molds the inside of your thighs like clay, pulls the flesh, squishes it together, until you’re writhing against him and leaking down your leg. Your vision blurs. “Can—can I…?” He lets his index finish the sentence, teasing at the edges of your outer lips.

Even with the side of your face against the wall, you manage to nod. “Yeah,” you breathe.

Two fingers slide around your folds and you gasp. Mando moves slowly, collecting your arousal and coating his fingers. Your breath catches when the tips finally push into your entrance—only a fraction before they slide back out, so the rest of his palm can cup along your cunt and drag more slick behind it. He’s strategically avoiding your clit, though, and with both arms behind your back and at his mercy, you can’t reach for it yourself. Fuck, you…you only need to hold on a bit more, he’ll get bored of his game soon enough. That’s it, just a little longer. You waited six months, no way he’s making you beg after a few minutes of teasing.

The Mandalorian eventually pulls his fingers away from your thighs and curses under his breath. You hear the familiar rustling of fabric and a divine zip that fills your eyes with tears of relief. Fucking finally. You brace yourself and relax your pelvic floor in preparation, but it’s barely necessary—you’re so ready for it. Your cunt is open and weeping, he can just slide it in. All this time, with nothing substantial inside you, your lower muscles pump and twist painfully with demanding want. Even with his size and in this position, you’re so turned on he might even be able to bottom out. Fuck, he doesn’t have to move much, a few good pumps and he’ll have you cumming, easy. Stars, what’s taking so damn long—

A modulated, battered moan and a wet noise make you turn your head over your shoulder and look for the source. The low light makes it difficult to make out shapes, but there’s no mistaking what you find below you. Hand wrapped solid around his cock, Mando is jerking himself off. With your cum as lubricant. While he treats you like a piece of furniture he’s only gripping for support. A chemical cocktail of lust mixed with fury spikes your blood.

“Is…wh-what are…what the fuck do you think y-you’re…”

“Say it,” he spits between his teeth, “say you f-fucking need me.”

No, no fucking way. As much as the words burn on your tongue and your clit tugs and begs, you’re not saying it. He left, not you. You waited for him. You turn your head as far back as your neck allows without snapping a ligament and look straight into the visor. And pointedly curl your lips inside your mouth, sealed.

Your act of rebellion lasts a good ten seconds.

“You’re so fucking difficult,” he snarls. He stops tugging on his cock, and for a moment you hope he might indulge you, push into you and stop the masochist torment you’ve talked yourselves into. But when it comes to Mando and you, it’s never that easy. Still not releasing your wrists, he grabs the base of his cock, glistening with your stolen juices, and rubs it up and down the swell of your uncovered ass. You gasp, let your lips part and your gaze fall to where he’s rubbing up against you and refusing to push inside.

He's not going to last long. Swollen and a strangled purple, the head of his cock dribbles warm precum and smears it on your lower back. The veins on his length throb against your ass, and stars, they’d feel so much better inside you. The Mandalorian’s grunts and groans ring more frustrated than lost in pleasure; it’s not enough for him either. He’s torturing you and himself just to prove a point, while you refuse to speak the magic words just to keep your pride. Desperate tears threaten to spill, but you shut your eyes to push them back. Either of you could put an end to it, right now. Maker, it’s on the tip of your tongue: I need you. Spit it out, end it. I need you, Mando, I need you, do whatever you want with me. It doesn’t matter that you abandoned me in this shithole, that you discarded me like faulty equipment, that you didn’t even have the decency to tell me—

The thrusting stops. When you open your eyes, you find the visor fixed on you, cocked slightly to the side, like there’s writing on your face. Mando’s grip on your wrist softens, his frustrated panting slows. Maybe he sees the unshed tears, or maybe your face really is that transparent, because he takes pity on you. Gentle palms on your shoulders, he turns you around to face him.

Night has fallen. Fragments of fluorescent light pour inside through your worn out curtains and give the helmet a fuzzy silver halo. The rest of the armor is shiny black, smudges of light here and there. His head moves around the features of your face, one by one, taking its time. Showdown’s over. He’s not playing a game anymore, not trying to get you to break, he’s just…studying you. Staring his fill of you farewell-style, even though he just came back. It hits you that you don’t know how long he’s staying this time. You open your mouth to ask, but stop yourself in time. If he leaves, he leaves. He doesn’t owe you any explanations.

But when he curls an arm around your waist and holds you against the wall and his cold breastplate, it doesn’t feel like goodbye. It feels like old times—pre-siege, pre-battle, pre-everything—when he confidently grabs your left thigh, sinks his fingers into the plump flesh, and hooks it on his lower back. You drape your arms around his shoulders and hold him closer. You’ve always liked the bulk of him against you, it makes everything feel more real. Buried on the crook of your neck, you hear him sigh when he lets go of your thigh and blindly searches your cunt. With your leg around his back you’re completely open for him, so it takes him no time to find your bud. He presses against it and rubs it in slow but tight circles that make your legs cramp.

You push down on him, demanding more. He groans and complies, inserts one finger and continues rubbing on your clit with his thumb. Maker, this has no right to be so good. He’s doing pretty much the same you’ve done to yourself these past months, but with Mando there are never any ghost sensations, no what ifs. It’s all here and now, and you swear you feel the pleasure of his fingers picking up speed in every corner of your body. He has you moaning and rocking your hips, dripping down his hand, and when he starts rubbing you harder and tighter, you finally whine a tiny, “Please.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t need to ask what you want, but he moves his helmet to look at you square in the face, check if you mean it. You stare droopy-eyed into the visor and nod: yesyesyesyes. Mando groans and grips you tighter. Maker, he’s right, you need it—need the bruises, need his cock, need all of him.

“Fuck,” he breathes. His hand leaves you to grab his cock and guide it to your entrance. He moves it around your lips and brushes his tip against your clit as he looks for your hole in the dark. It doesn’t take long for the head to poke right outside where it needs to go. “Fuck, I don’t—don’t think I can hold back, don’t want to hurt you—”

“Stars, please,” you whine, “I want it rough.” You want it more than rough. After six months, you want it fucking depraved, but neither of you is going to last long enough to make it elaborate. Maker, you don’t care. Right now, you don’t care for risky positions or clever techniques, you want him.

He groans and pushes inside—only the head, still testing, but your walls immediately grip him tightly to hinder any attempts to move away. That’s not what you should’ve been worried about. Fingers tight around your waist, Mando pulls you down as he pushes up. Stars. The brutal thrust reaches the end of you and then some more. Fuckfuckfuck. The dull bam of your skull hitting the wall is suddenly drowned by a slicker, filthier sound coming from between your legs. His length begins to pull out, your pussy complains the whole way, and you can almost hear the Mandalorian gritting his teeth through the sweet torture of feeling you squeeze around him…and thrust back up—harder. He likes the pace and sticks to it—fast, rough, deep, repeat—while you make sounds like you’re choking on air. Stars, it has been long. Long enough to partially forget his size, his fucking girth, currently filling you to the brim and punching high little sounds from your throat.

“Mmmando,” you sob.

Mando groans in response, snakes a hand down to your clit and rubs with the same wild abandon as his pounding. Maker, your memory was never this fucking good. No matter how many details you recalled, there’s nothing compared to the real, human meat of his cock pulsing urgently inside you, hitting your cervix, making you whine. Nothing like his fingers around your waist, or knowing there’ll be bruises tomorrow. The pleasure has teeth, carries a painful bite, but it’s exactly what you need. That tangible grit in his thrusts and his fingers is the missing piece. Your muscles start cramping, you pull him tighter against you—Maker, right there, you can feel it. It reaches your head and makes you dizzy, sheds light on some hidden, shameful words.

“Mando, I…”

“I—fuck—I n-needed this,” he grunts and brings his hand down to feel where his cock is inching out of you, like he has to double check it’s actually happening. Thrust. “Used—used to d-dream about you.” Thrust. Three fingers now push into your clit and draw frantic shapes. You clench your jaw, feel the hot tide in your belly rise faster. Thrust. “Wake up so f-fucking hard—cum in my pants.” Thrust—thrust—thrust.

Maybe it’s his words, maybe the rough pace, but something holds a flame to the dynamite building inside you and it explodes. Maker, your head’s going to burst. You moan long and deep into the spot Mando’s ear might be. Your legs shake, your arms cramp. Months’ worth of frustration gush hot and wet around him, as he babbles encouragement: There you go, just like that, make it fucking good. Your walls are still fluttering, your ears are still ringing, you haven’t even ridden out the last of your climax when his hips pick up the pace.

“Let me—let me cum inside,” the warrior pants, “let me f-fill this cunt…I—I haven’t since—fuck, I didn’t—”

“Yes,” you gasp, “yes, please, Mando, cum, cum inside—”

There’s no space left between you, but Mando finds a way to squish you tighter against him as he pounds into you for a few last moments, until you hear a strangled grunt, and a half-forgotten warmth pools inside you. The extra lubrication drives his last thrust as deep as your body allows. A few more lazy thrusts inside you, short and stunted as you take his load inside you, before he stops. A warm string trails down your leg, and—stars, he’s leaking out. How much did he cum that it didn’t fit inside you? Fuck.

You take turns panting, whimpering, listening to each other’s heartbeats slow to a semi-normal pace. The Mandalorian moves away from the crook of your neck to meet your glossy eyes. He doesn’t say anything, but you think will. You can almost hear his mouth opening, words boiling and rising in bubbles up his throat—

Zium!

It’s your imagination. It’s your ears ringing from that orgasm, your mind making stuff up. But. You could swear you saw a red flash glade right past your cheek. And from the way Mando’s helmet cocks to the side, you know he saw it too. You turn your heads in unison, to see smoke coming out of a hole a breath away from your ear. It takes both of you too long to put two and two together, and—before he can pull out—more of those red flashes are raining down on you.

…………

Edit: Chapter 2 let’s goooooooo

Taglist: @rosetophighlander @hellomothermoon @newyorksins @leo-moon @benedrylcumbersnatch

#the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian #din djarin smut #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando smut #mando x reader #mando x you #star wars smut

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writers-worst-nightmare · 3 years

Note

say could I have you take on how Juno, Legoshi and Sheila reaction lets say human are from a totally different galaxy and they came to the Beastar world and Juno, Legoshi and Ellen know that on the human world there are animals like them but not them and thy befriended a human S/O who is from an animal sanctuary so S/O too them to the sanctuary and thy see all the feral animals and S/O takes them to see their wolf buddy and thy meet a big white wolf with yellow eyes that looked intimidating but S/O Gives the big white wolf lots of pets and says "This is Tina she was the runt of the litter and was rejected by her mother so I raised her and look how big she has grown"

Juno, Legoshi, and Sheila reacting to having a human s/o who is from another galaxy but that isn’t important to the story because there is a hot wolf:

A/N: this was a LITTLE confusing but after a lot of hard work and a Mother Mother playlist I figured out what you meant (again, if I got this request wrong just like re-send It or explain it. My little brain cells are srsly being fried)

Request are always open!

Warning(s): N/A (please correct me if wrong though)

JUNO:

- when you first arrived she already was pretty shocked and honestly just clung to Legoshi

- but when she saw YOU

- oh God I hope you are ready to get spammed with a bunch of questions

- I will DIE on the head canon that Juno LOVES to learn about new things and ask a bunch of questions whenever a new topic is introduced to her

- like I think that would just be super cute and funny

- idk honestly

- when you explained everything to her she realized as fast as she could and was actually the one who suggested they went to the place where you worked at

- I know what it is but I have dyslexia and it is like SUPER hard for me to spell it out I am so so so so sooo sorry

- once you took her to the place she was honestly afraid

- I mean, she wasn’t far from the animals there themselves either

- so whenever you said that you where going to take them to the wolf section Juno got REALLY nervous

- she feels self conscious as she walks over there, feeling her energy going down the drain as she stares at the wolves in front of her

- then you guys got to the biggest wolf their probably (although she didn’t pay attention to size that much)

- she was pretty afraid

- this was a white wolf so she was already small compared to them

- but when she saw HER

- the strong teeth of the wolf that looked like he could bite her head off without even trying to

- and don’t even get her STARTED about the yellow blazing eyes that looked like a warning on it’s own to not go NEAR that wolf

- she hid behind you as everyone went up to the wolf

"This is Tina she was the runt of the litter and was rejected by her mother so I raised her and look how big she has grown"

- you said as you bent down and petted the white wolf on the head

- Tina wagged her tail and lolled out his head slightly to the left

- you bent down and scratched the wolves ears, the wold looked away in embarrassment but still secretly wanting more

- she instantly felt bad that she thought Tina was a big bad wolf

- and honestly she felt selfish

- I mean if anybody looked at Juno they would guess that she is feisty because she was a wolf

- and because of that she did not have a lot of friends,

- so she went up to Tina and head butted with her

- Tina looked taken back for a moment before a big goofy smile played on the wolves face

- the piercing and once cold yellow eyes seemed less of a warning and more of a welcome sign that you would see on somebodies door mate

- Tina and Juno stood their for a while before Juno howled out loud as in a celebration of welcoming somebody in the pack

- Tina jumped up and down with excitement before joining in

- You also got the hint and joined in as well

LEGOSHI:

- “Is there a book about this..?”

- Legoshi would whisper as you drag him to the place you work at

- let’s say you took everyone to meet Tina (omg why did that autocorrect to Tian so many times) different times so the white wold didn’t get stressed

- Legoshi isn’t one to judge on looks so in his spare time, while everyone was looking at the birds and other animals he did some research for the white wolf

- he learned quiet a few interesting things

- a lot he didn’t need to know, but still it was nice to read it

- another head canon that I will die on is that Legoshi likes to research

- like he does research in his free time, he does research when he is suppose to be doing homework

- he does research EVERYWHERE AND ANYWHERE

- that and reading classics

- BUT THIS IS NOT THE TIME TO TALK ABOUT THAT NOW IS IT!?!?

- he found out the best ways to approach a white wolf and how to get the old acquainted with you

- so best be prepared when you called Legoshi’s name for him to see the wolf, he wasn’t that surprised when he saw how Tina looked

- I mean, she looked like any other regular wolf

- however—even he had to admit—the wolf did look more scarier in person then in pictures

- and the yellow gleaming eyes didn’t help either

"This is Tina she was the runt of the litter and was rejected by her mother so I raised her and look how big she has grown"

- you explained as you gave Tina some pets

- Legoshi nodded his head then literally plopped on the ground

- he read somewhere to keep your distance and look them in the eyes

- Legoshi tried to look this wolf in the eyes, but he couldn’t

- leave him alone, best boi tried :(

- Tina had to come to Legoshi and give him a few licks

- Legoshi would laugh breathlessly

- and that was the first time you saw Legoshi smile

- he usually never smiled because of his sharp teeth but now, his has kind of forgotten that he was wolf

- You smiled warmly as the two greeted each other with smiles and hugs and affection

- Legoshi’s head would be basically exploding he wouldn’t know what to do

- and what he ended up doing

- was crying

- for the first time, it hit him like a train,

- what hit him like a train? You might ask

- well it is…

- that nobody could love him if he didn’t open up and expose his trauma

- he has closed his doors and kept up his walls for so many people

- but this wolf, this wold, didn‘t know anything about boundaries

- all Tina knew was hunt, eat, sleep, love, repeat

- and that

- that made Legoshi cry tears of joy

- this wolf would never face the dangers that the world had to offer because she was with you

- and that was all it took for Legoshi to cry while smiling

SHEILA:

- I honestly have no idea what to do for her, she is such a side character oml

- POOR GIRL WAS SO CONFUSED

- “won’t there be like…herbavore’s there…?”

- she would ask as she shifts her feet in discomfort

- “not for now…although I do plan to open it to both herbavore’s and carnivore’s!��

- you cheerfully boasted as the cheetah looked at you through narrowed eyes

- “I don’t think we should mix with the—“

- “for the love of God, shut the hell up!”

- she gets very worried when she goes through the butterfly section in fear of hurting the precious creatures

- you had to calm her down and actually go through the steps with her on how to not hurt a butterfly

- she mostly spent her time with the cheetah‘s and butterfly’s so she got a little pouty when you said it was time for her to meet the wolf

- I mean she didn’t even LIKE wolves so why did she have to put up with one!?

- but when she got into the area her blood ran cold

- right in front of her was the largest white wolf she had ever seen with menacing yellow eyes and long sharp teeth and matching razor sharp claws that could most certainly kill a butterfly AND her with no effort whatsoever

"This is Tina she was the runt of the litter and was rejected by her mother so I raised her and look how big she has grown"

- you stated as you started scratching Tina’s ears

- Sheila calmed down almost instantly when she heard the soft whimpers and the way Tina positioned her head so she wouldn’t accidentally bite your hand off

- that was actually really nice of Tina

- so once you got done petting Tina Sheila started to gently soak Tina’s back

- the swipes where soft and filled with meaning behind every stroke

- she ended up sleeping with the friendly giant on her lap like she was a puppy

- and you of course took pictures so the Drama Club could see that Their amazing club meme bear had a soft spot for Tina too

- and it got on the first page of the News

#juno x reader #juno beastars #legoshi beastars #beastars legoshi #legoshi x reader #beastars legosi #legosi #sheila x reader #beastars #beastars oc #beastars x reader #beastars headcanon #legoshi #legosi beastars #Cheetah has a soft spot omg #this took longer than expected

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hornime · 3 years

Text

CUM IS THICKER THAN WATER | BOKUTO KOUTAROU X GN!READER

warnings: 18+, ACTUAL crack

a/n: sometimes my brain comes up with something and i don't question it because i'm too scared to think about how i came to that idea. this is one of those times.

it'd been a day and a half without water. you'd been wandering aimlessly through the desert—how and why you were there, even you didn't know—desperate for salvation. you prayed to every god: jesus, zeus, ariana grande, even the tiny green frog guy from star wars (who you weren't sure was a god but he talked funny and could fly so he probably was), hoping that one of them would bestow a blessing from the heavens (or a galaxy far, far away) and show you mercy.

but of course, there was no answer.

you were alone in this desolate wasteland, surrounded with nothing but sand and an inevitable future of death. just when you'd lost all hope, an off-key rendition of 'i'm sexy and i know it' echoed across the barren sand dunes, bringing a strange sense of hope to your famished body. someone else was here!

you scrambled forward, running as fast as you could, your limbs reinvigorated with a fuel of optimism that sent your blood pumping wildly throughout your veins. you silently thanked every deity you'd prayed to, especially that little green guy from star wars who you'd remembered was named kermit, while fighting your way through the dusty air and towards that horrible singing.

as you reached the highest peak of the sand dune, your mouth dropped open: right before you was a beautiful man with huge tits pecs, an absolutely jacked chest, and the thickest, juiciest thighs you'd ever seen in your entire life. your eyes bulged as you realized that he was completely naked, his gigantic cock and big breeder balls swaying with every step he took.

he was a tall drink of water. and man, were you thirsty.

"excuse me." you cringed at the raspiness of your voice. it was barely a whisper but it still hurt to speak; it felt as if your throat was made of sandpaper.

somehow, he heard you and turned towards your pitiful excuse of a cry for help. large, golden eyes found yours and he almost blinded you with a big smile. "hey, hey, hey! i'm bokuto! thought i'd see more people at this beach, but its good to know that i'm not the only one here!"

you laughed, but it sounded a lot more like coughing up a hairball. i sure hope this guy is joking.

"why're you laughing?" he bounded up to you, and you realized just how tall he was. big man. you also realized that he wasn't holding anything: no food and no water. what the actual shit. "i'm serious! there's no water for miles!"

okay, so he's not joking. "this isn't a beach," you explained, as patiently as you could. "it's a desert."

he furrowed his eyebrows and pouted; it would've been cute if you weren't literally going to die. "huh, you don't say. no wonder there aren't any lifeguards."

"yeah, mhm," you said dismissively, looking around his body to see if he had a bottle stuck up his ass or something. "so... you got any water?"

"water?" he gave you a look of pure confusion. "why would i bring water to the beach?"

"why wouldn't you—never mind. so you have no water. great." you covered your face with your hands and groaned. "i'm going to die here," you muttered. "i'm going to die here with this stupid, naked guy who—"

a lightbulb suddenly went off in your head. you had a plan.

"don't know why you're calling me stupid when you're the one who asked if i brought water to the beach," bokuto mumbled to himself, waving his hands. "it's a beach! there's already water! now if i'd known this beach was a desert..."

your behavior took a full 360 as you formulated your next steps: you smiled as seductively as you could at bokuto, ignoring the way your dry lips screamed in agony. you gave him a once-over with the sexiest eyes you could manage, and resisted the urge to slap him silly when you saw him still talking to himself, completely ignoring you.

"hey bo," you purred. "your balls look kinda heavy. need some help with them?"

he brought his attention back to you. "dude, i know, right? they're so fucking heavy i just wanna empty them. but there's nothing tight or wet enough for me to get off. and i know you're thinking 'just suck your own dick!'"—you, in fact, were not thinking that—"but it's a lot harder than you think! trust me, i've tried."

you failed to get the thought of him bending over to try and lick his own dick out of your head, but quickly remembered what you were here for. if you couldn't get water, you'd get the next best thing.

"well, i have something tight and wet," you spoke lowly, running a hand over his bare chest.

his eyes widened. "you have a pocket pussy?"

you silently opened and closed your mouth in shock. "uh, no. sorry." you shifted back to your salacious facade. "but i do have a throat."

"damn it," bokuto grumbled. "shoulda brought my pocket pussy." he gave you a side-eyed look and complained just loud enough for you to hear: "who comes to the desert without a pocket pussy?"

you cleared your throat, growing more and more agitated. this was nothing like the pornos you'd seen: this guy was way too dense. "i said, 'i do have a throat.'"

"i don't care if you have a throat or not! i need a pocket pussy!"

"that's it," you growled to yourself, getting onto your knees in front of him. you tilted your head up, your fiery and determined eyes boring holes into his baffled ones. "i'm giving you a blowjob. cum in my mouth."

bokuto was barely able to squeak out an "okay" before you were on him, mouth open wide to guide his shaft in. you'd definitely underestimated his size—he wasn't even halfway in and you were already choking—but you fought the instinct to breathe, desperate to make him cum as fast as possible so you could get some much-need liquid into your system.

you popped his cock out of your mouth and turned to licking at the tip, moaning at the temporary hydration his pre-cum gave you. you lubricated his length with the little saliva you were able to produce before taking him down your throat again.

"fuck," he groaned. "you're really eager, huh? they didn't say anything about sloppy blowjobs in the beach brochure they gave me."

you decided against a snarky response along the lines of "we're not at the beach you absolute idiot", instead continuing to bob your head up and down his cock. your hands traveled up his thighs to fondle his balls, and you hummed in contentment as you felt them tighten under your fingertips.

"oh god, 'm gonna cum," he whined. "gonna cum so hard."

leaning your head back, you whispered a sultry "cum in my mouth" before suckling on his tip, running your tongue along his slit. bokuto let out a high-pitched sound as his abs clenched, streaks of white cum filling your mouth.

you swallowed it greedily, the thick and salty liquid a perverse form of relief—literally the only thing keeping you from dying of dehydration.

"aw man," bokuto panted, coming down from his orgasm. "that made me thirsty." he snapped his fingers and, to your horror, a bottle of water appeared in his hand. he screwed the cap off, throwing it somewhere to the side, before bringing the bottle to his lips and gulping down the liquid.

"what the fuck!" you yelled, outraged, getting to your feet. "you could summon water this whole fucking time?"

he finished the bottle, crumpling it into a small ball of plastic, before snapping his fingers again and making it disappear. "yeah? i'm a god."

you took a deep breath, digging your nails into your palms to avoid actually choking him until he was blue in the face. "so you're telling me you could've just made some fucking water appear? i didn't need to give you a blowjob?"

he looked at you curiously. "...yes? wait, you gave me a blowjob because you were thirsty? you know that balls don't produce water right?"

you scoffed exasperatedly, chest heaving with short breaths. "what the fuck," you whispered to yourself, pulling at your hair like a crazy person. "what the fuck is going on? what the fuck is happening? am i going insane? am i losing my mind?"

"woah, woah, woah." bokuto hesitantly put a palm on your back. "you need water right?" he snapped his fingers, producing a gallon of water. "here, take it! a gift from me to you."

too tired to curse him out for being such an oblivious dumbass, you grabbed the carton and practically inhaled the water, letting it run sloppily over your face and down your body. you felt as if life was returning through your pores.

"thanks."

"no problem!" he smiled, and you figured that you wouldn't kill him for two reasons: one, he was a god apparently, so he wouldn't die. two, he did just save your life. "now, i've got to find where this beach is!" he raised his hand with the intention to snap his fingers.

"wait!" you closed your fingers around his wrist. "could you get me out of here?"

"like, out of this desert?" you nodded your head vigorously. "well sure! why didn't you say so?"

yeah, you through bitterly. why didn't i say so?

#i think i need therapy LMAO #LIKE WHAT WAS THIS #i really had to reach into the cesspools of my brain and i don't think i'll be doing that again #but if anyone has any crack ideas lmk LOL this was fun #bokuto smut #bokuto x reader #bokuto x you #bokuto crack #bokuto #haikyuu crack #haikyuu smut #kinky.inky #i guess

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shyficwriter · 3 years

Text

Temporary Home: Chapter 11

Guardians of the Galaxy fanfic | Reader x Guardians (With Yondu and Kraglin!) Guest starring Nick Fury and Maria Hill

Summary: Fury comes for another weekly check-in and Reader gets in trouble. He also brings along a doctor, will he have good or bad news for Rocket?

Previous Chapter here | Next Chapter Here Or click here to: Start From Beginning

Author’s Note: A -l o n g b o i- of a chapter. Also, for my records, this is day 14 of the Guardians living with reader.

Word Count: 7,756

You wake up early, partially due to the pain in your arm, but mostly because you knew Fury would likely be coming today and you wanted to try and get to town and back before he arrived.

After a light breakfast you start to go out back door to retrieve the box the raccoon corpse was in, but Peter, who had also just finished eating and who suspected exactly what you're doing, jumped up and said he'll help you get the box.

You roll your eyes, and you're about to tell him you are fine to do it yourself when you hear knock at door. You assume it's Fury, but you want to be careful. You look out window, prepared to tell Peter to keep the others out of sight, when you notice two SHIELD vehicles behind your own, and that they hadn't been cloaked like Fury's was last time.

"It's Fury," you tell Peter, and he goes to fetch a few of the others who weren't already in the kitchen, mostly Rocket, because he expected they would want to see him after you said you'd be contacting SHIELD about the raccoon fight and whether Rocket had his shots.

Feeling slightly relieved that it was just Fury and that he hadn't decided to test you this time, you answer the door to see not only Fury and Agent Hill, but another man.

Fury gives a quick greeting and introduces the man as a doctor they brought along to test the dead raccoon. Apparently they came prepared after your message to Maria the previous night. You offer to go unlock shed but Fury says he needs you to stay there, and to give the doctor the keys. You are surprised, but obey, assuming he just wants briefed on what happened last night.

You hand the doctor the keys and he disappears back out the front door while you lead Fury and Maria into the kitchen where the others are just as Peter comes back down the stairs with Drax and Rocket.

As suspected, Fury asks first about what happened with the raccoon incident.

Rocket rolls his eyes and grumbles, "Nothing."

Drax speaks up. He tells Fury that he and you heard the commotion outside, saw Rocket getting attacked, and then you shot the offending animal.

Fury nods. "I see. I trust you've already looked him over, but our doctor will be doing so again before he administers the booster. According to our records Rocket was given a rabies vaccination, but you can never be too careful."

"Good." you reply, nodding your head in relief.

Rocket just hopped up on the counter to sit with his arms crossed indignantly, not looking forward to being examined for something he had already been checked for, but surprisingly he chose not to be a child about it.

"How long before we know if the raccoon was infected or not?" asked Kraglin.

Agent Hill answered. "The test takes about two hours. We brought a lab van so the test could be preformed on site that way we'd know as soon as possible."

Leave it to SHIELD to come prepared for literally everything.

"We also brought another couple weeks worth of rations. NOVA expects you all to be here for awhile more." This earned unhappy muttered grumblings from Rocket, but the others kept their mouth shut. They were never under the impression the negotiations would be done quickly. Maria continued, "So if a few of you want to help carry the boxes in..." she gestured towards the kitchen door. She said it politely, but it wasn't exactly a request. She wasn't a maid.

You nodded and started to head toward the door when Fury said. "Agent, stop."

You stopped, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. "Sir?"

Peter, Drax, and Kraglin, who had stood and were also about to follow Agent Hill (and tell you specifically not to go, for obvious reasons), also stopped, surprised by Fury's tone. He almost sounded a bit like he was scolding you despite his tone being even.

"Please remove your sweater."

The sweater he was referring to was actually an old knit cardigan. You had taken to wearing it the past few days due both to a string of overcast and therefore chillier days, and well, for said obvious reasons. "I'm sorry, what?" you ask.

"Your jacket. Take it off."

You swallow. You had a sneaking suspicion why he would ask you that. He had an annoying habit of somehow knowing everything. "If it's all the same, I'd rather not-"

"Remove your jacket, agent. Or do you need Agent Hill to assist you?" It was clear that he wasn't going to take no for an answer.

You try to hide a grimace as you did what you were told, doing your best not to wince as you pulled your sweater off your good arm first and then the injured arm. Silently you wondered who had squealed on you. A small gasp from Mantis was heard when she saw what your sweater had been hiding, and you could feel the eyes of the others also on you as Fury gave you an unamused look and Agent Hill's eyes widened sightly. Even Rocket looked a bit surprised. He wasn't expecting it to look that bad.

Purple and green bruising stained your arm, radiating out from your elbow and stretching from your bicep to maybe 5 inches shy of your wrist.

"The doctor is also here to check over your injury as well." Fury said. Looking to Gamora he thanked her for informing them of your injury before turning back to scold you for not having mentioned it to them or having seen a doctor for it. He also threw in that you should be wearing a sling and resting your arm instead of 'acting like a dumbass who thinks they don't need to take care of themselves.'

"Sir, it's fine. I-"

"I'm trusting you to protect these people. How are you going to do that if you cripple yourself by neglecting injuries?" he scolded.

You shot an unhappy look to Gamora, but you could tell she wasn't sorry. You also caught almost smug looks from Yondu and Peter before turning back to Fury.

"How did it happen?" asked Maria. Gamora had told her that it had happened, that you refused help, and that you put it back in place yourself, but she hadn't told her how it happened. Seeing the aftermath of the injury now herself had made her curious.

"Slipped," you say before anyone can speak up for you. "Clumsy me," you add sarcastically.

Peter raised an eyebrow and shared glances with Kraglin and Yondu, surprised that you seemed to be covering for him. However, he didn't correct you, assuming you gave that answer for a reason, and after all, it wasn't totally a lie, more just... not the whole truth.

That explanation was apparently good enough for Fury and Maria because she nodded at the guys for them to follow as Fury laid into you again.

***

Maria opened the back hatch of the SUV, revealing crates of rations to be taken inside.

Lifting up one of the crates, Peter tried to make conversation, mentioning how Fury seemed surprisingly mad at you for not seeking out a doctor for your injury.

Sure, he could understand your boss telling you that you were dumb for neglecting an injury and scolding you for being stupid, but Fury's anger seemed different than he would have expected. Almost like he genuinely cared that you had gotten hurt. He couldn't remember any of his mother's bosses caring that much. If anything, if she had gotten hurt or sick, they would have preferred that she pretended she hadn't and just worked through it. Then again, he always did think most of her bosses were mean. Maybe she just had bad luck?

"Yeah, well, this wouldn't be the first time she's hidden an injury." Maria admitted. "I imagine he's getting a bit tired of it."

Kraglin took a crate from Maria. "She do that often?" he asked, surprised that anyone would just routinely hide when they've been hurt for seemingly no reason.

"It's not a super frequent occurrence, but she does have a bad habit of not saying when she's hurt. Once she got stabbed on the job in Hong Kong... we only found out when another agent walked in on her trying to stitch herself up in the hotel afterwards." She stacked a crate on top of the one Drax was already holding and shut the hatch before bending down to pick up the last crate she had set on the ground for herself. "Then there was a time when we were on a job together in Romania. We had been captured and held hostage for two days. I noticed she started looking worse and worse as time went on. I thought she was just getting sick, but then she passed out during the last interrogation attempt before SHEILD busted in the door with backup." She started walking back towards the house with the men. "I found out after they got her to medical that the day after we got sent out she came down with appendicitis and instead of telling someone that something was wrong and getting medical treatment, she apparently decided it was better to just cut out her own appendix- still don't know how she managed that without anyone noticing." Maria sounded like she clearly disapproved of your prior actions. "Anyway, with no way to keep it clean while we were being held prisoner, she had developed an infection. She was put on suspension for that one. I've got more, but I think you get the drift."

The three men's eyes were wide as they followed Agent Hill back to the house.

"That's insane." Peter said. "Why would anyone do that?"

"Beats me. She didn't always used to be that way, but now we use her as an example for what you shouldn't do with the new recruits."

"What do you think changed? Could she have suffered a brain injury that made her dumb?" Drax asked.

Peter shifted his crate so he could open the door and scolded Drax for being rude. As they walked into the hall Maria said, "No head injury that I'm aware of, she just kinda changed after-"

She never got to finish that sentence, for they entered the kitchen to hear you angrily say to Fury, "You can't be serious."

The four made their way towards the pantry with their crates, cautiously eyeing the situation so as to not appear nosy. Well, except for Drax, who was just flat out staring.

You were staring angrily at a stern-faced Fury while Gamora looked at the two of you, uneasiness in her eyes. Yondu and Rocket had looks of almost smug satisfaction playing on their faces, while Mantis and Groot appeared confused and intrigued.

"Serious as a heart attack." Fury answered. "After the doctor examines you and gives his orders, she-" he pointed to Gamora, "is going to report back to me if you break them, since clearly she has more sense than you."

"Sir, I don't need a babysitter-"

"Act like a baby, you get a sitter." Fury responded, cutting you off. "Adults know better than to just ignore serious injuries, Agent. Or do I need to remind you of the stunt you pulled in Romania?"

Gamora looked uncomfortable, and she wasn't even the one being scolded, though now she did wonder what you had done in Romania, wherever that was. Yondu was also curious, as Fury's statement confirmed you had done this more than once.

You sighed indignantly, "Sir I-"

"Enough. Unless you want to tell me you intend to defy orders, I suggest you keep any excuses to yourself. If I hear anything about you neglecting the doctor's orders, your ass will be assigned to a desk so fast your head will spin. Are we clear?"

Your eyes widened. Desk duty?! He couldn't do that to you. "What? Sir?! You can't do that-" you say, your voice almost pleading with a hint of indignation.

He says again, more firmly, "Are we clear?" Not only could he, he most definitely would. You thought being assigned to stay home was bad? Try being stuck in a cubicle for the next foreseeable future.

"Yes, sir." you say begrudgingly.

"Good."

Rocket started chuckling, pleased to see you get dressed down by your boss. In your own home, no less. Then he got an idea. "Hey, Agent." he said in a mocking tone.

You turn to glare at him. "What?" you respond irritably.

"Why don't you tell me where that new bed in my room came from?" He was wearing a shit eating grin, and you weren't sure why he'd bring it up right now.

You roll your eyes. "How should I know? Bed faeries? Piss off."

Rocket grinned wider. "Really? 'Cause I've got a feeling you aren't allowed to lie to your director, so if he were to ask..."

Fury, not in the mood, flatly repeated what he had said on the last visit, "I'm not here to get involved with your petty squabbles." adding, "I couldn't care less what this was about."

Rocket almost looked disappointed, and you relieved, before Agent Hill said, "Well, he might not care, but we'll be here for the next two hours waiting on results anyway... and technically I do outrank you..." Her smile wasn't malicious, it was clear that her intent was only some good-natured ribbing to her fellow agent who seemingly didn't like to admit that she'd done something nice for the asshole raccoon. Trying to lighten the mood.

You give Maria a look that says, 'Are you fucking kidding?'

Rocket looked delighted, and a few of the others looked pleasantly intrigued by your expression. By now everyone had pretty much gathered that you had made Rocket the bed, but you never would say as much. It'd be interesting if you'd actually admit it, or suffer whatever consequence lying to a superior might entail if they would choose to enforce it.

Fury, however, rolled his eye and told Maria he was going to have a word with the doctor. His way of saying that this issue wasn't worth his time, but he also wasn't going to stop whatever happened next.

Maria didn't force you to come clean about the bed. Not at first anyway. She did, however, exercise her power to keep you in line. Meaning, if you didn't do like you were told and just sit and wait for the doctor while the guys finished emptying the crates into the pantry and returned the crates to the vehicle, she'd make veiled threats to ask where the bed came from.

You knew she was only having a bit of fun, but you still stared daggers at her.

***

After a bit Fury returned with the doctor, who greeted you again by handing you the keys to your shed, stating that he locked it back up. He also informed that part of the the rabies test involved freezing the samples for 45 minutes, so he would examine you and Rocket in the meantime.

You went to motion for Rocket to go first, but Fury prodded the doctor in your direction, giving you a look that you knew better than to argue with. Rocket stuck his tongue out at you and remained sitting, satisfied, on the counter. Out of most everyone's sight, though, his tail twitched.

You were tense, but on your best behavior the whole time the doctor examined your injured arm, not wishing for Fury to come up with another punishment for your disobedience.

The doctor pulled a device out of a briefcase that turned out to be a fancy portable X-ray device to make sure there were no fractures. Luckily there weren't any.

The outcome was determined that you were very lucky. Somehow you had managed to set the bones back in place well enough on your own without accidentally breaking the radial heads in the 're-entry' process, something the doctor said he'd wouldn't have expected for a self-reset, but then again, most don't attempt to reset this type of injury on their own either. You were given a mild scolding by the doctor for not putting the arm in a sling so the ligaments could heal, however, and he said you were very lucky it didn't re-dislocate. You internally groaned as "I told you so's" peeped from behind you.

The doctor placed your arm in a strange hinged brace with a strap that made it sort of like a sling with the instructions that you were required to wear it with the strap for a week. Afterwards you could remove the strap, but you would still need to wear the brace for at least another two or three weeks. You were also placed on a weight restriction of only 5 pounds for your injured arm. Great...

You didn't say anything, only nodded, having gotten the message that it wasn't in your best interest to argue if you didn't want another tongue-lashing from Fury.

When the doctor was done with you he moved onto Rocket, who's ears momentarily flattened when he saw the doctor was now approaching him, but he quickly recovered, begrudgingly allowing himself to be examined.

As expected, the doctor found nothing of concern, barely even a scratch, which he was sure to clarify that Rocket likely wouldn't have contracted rabies from even if the animal does test positive.

The doctor turned to his coat pocket and pulled out a pre-loaded syringe of pinkish liquid, declaring to Rocket that it was the vaccine booster as he pulled off the cap.

Peter saw Rocket stiffen and finally noticed the twitching of his tail, and decided to be merciful and distract him. "Hey, Trash Panda,"

Rocket turned his head to Peter as the doctor grabbed his arm. "I don't answer to that, Star-Munch."

"You just did." Peter laughed.

Rocket growled at him before turning back to the doctor and asking him to hurry up so he could bite a chunk out of Peter's face.

"Already done," stated the doctor, capping the now empty needle and slipping it into a plastic bag before returning it to his pocket.

Rocket raised his eyebrows, forgetting his previous anger towards Peter. "Oh." His tail ceased its twitching. He hadn't felt a thing.

Peter didn't return to taunting and just let him forget. Mission accomplished.

Now done, the doctor announced he'd be going back to the lab-van to check on the samples, leaving you to sit awkwardly with your boss, co-worker, and the rest of the Guardians.

You look to the ceiling and sigh before saying, "Well I suppose I should offer you some tea if you're going to be here awhile."

Maria nodded that she'd take some and no sooner than you go to stand does Peter speak up and say, "Let me help-"

You give him a seething look that actually makes him recoil. "Unless you know how to make tea, fuck off. And even if you do, still fuck off. I don't need both arms to make fecking tea and I don't need your help. I'm not an infant." Your tone was even, but the venom was still there. A bit harsh, perhaps, but it sent the desired message. The whole situation was making you very cranky and maybe they shouldn't push it. At least for awhile until you had a chance to decompress.

Fury, however, shot you a disapproving look before you turned to put the kettle on, though he didn't say anything. He had pretty much expected this is how you might react.

The next half hour was mostly sipping tea and awkward attempts at conversation as everyone waited for the doctor to finish the test.

Yondu wasn't much interested in trying to make conversation, though he was surprised to find he didn't mind the tea. He was watching as you fiddled with your cup. You were quiet, and he thought you seemed nervous. Could you be nervous about the test results on that animal? Why? All evidence pointed to Rocket being completely fine, he hadn't been bitten, and that's what you said they had to worry about, right?

When the doctor finally returned he had good news. The raccoon had tested negative.

Yondu watched you visibly relax and it made him wonder if there was something you hadn't told them.

He was right. You were worried about the possibility of the raccoon's blood or saliva having found its way into one of the scratches or, more grossly, Rocket's mouth or eyes. If the raccoon had been infected, you knew those would be other possible ways Rocket still could have contracted the virus. You hadn't told the others because you hadn't wanted them to worry, but doing this only then made you worry. Not just because you didn't want to see even an asshole like Rocket die like that, but because you had told the others he'd be fine if he wasn't bitten, and that hadn't fully been the truth. It was a weight off your shoulders to hear that the test came back negative.

With that news Fury, Agent Hill, and the doctor were finally all able to leave. Fury stood and made eye-contact with Gamora. "Remember what I said, she steps out of line, disobeys the doctor's orders, you report back to us. Understood?"

Gamora nodded uneasily. She hadn't expected to be put on the spot and honestly wasn't looking forward to her assigned task, sure that it would only serve to piss you off.

Fury looked at you now. "Understood, Agent?"

You exhale irritably and say, "Yes, sir."

"Good. We'll be seeing you again next week."

You led them to the front door to let them out, but right before she walked out Maria turned to you with a smile and said, "Oh, almost forgot. Where did that new bed in Rocket's room come from?" She said it louder than necessary, no doubt to make sure that the others could hear the question being asked.

"Dammit, Maria!" you scold.

Fury now turned with a smirk, seemingly finally finding humor in the situation. "You know what. I changed my mind. I'd also like to know. Agent?"

You look to the ceiling with a pitiful look. Maria had only been joking, there wouldn't be any real consequences for refusing to tell her. Fury, however, was your boss, and if he wanted to be a dick about it, he could. Apparently your recent stunt with your injury had pressed his 'asshole' button. "I built it." you mutter.

Fury spoke in a tone louder than necessary, just to mess with you. "Sorry, Agent, I didn't catch that."

You glare at him and only speak up a little bit. "Said I built it, sir."

Fury chuckled, and spoke again in the louder-than-necessary voice, "Ah, you built the bed! What a nice thing to do, Agent!"

Rocket could be heard from the kitchen cheering, "I frickin knew it!"

You glared at your boss and coworker. "I hate you both so much."

Fury chuckled. "Goodbye, Agent."

"Goodbye, sir." you reply, promptly shutting the door.

You turn to see Rocket standing smugly in the kitchen doorway. Peter and Kraglin were standing behind him, appearing amused.

"Not a word." you say, barely looking at them as you made for the stairs.

Rocket laughed. "Oh, I was just going to ask if I should give my regards to you, or the faeries."

"Can't hear you!" you call back as you walk up the stairs.

"Come on now, that was a nice thing ya did!" Kraglin said, his tone teasing.

"Not listening!" you cry back as you climb higher, fully aware you were acting a bit like a child, but not caring in your pursuit to get away.

They heard your door shut and Kraglin turned to Peter to say, "She's an odd one, ain't she?"

"Yep."

***

Gamora felt uneasy. After conversing with the others about you, she had contacted Agent Hill on the communication device SHIELD had given them in case any issues arose. They were naturally concerned with how you kept to your room after the injury, and a few therefore worried that the injury was worse than you let on.

They could have just let you be, after you made it clear that you wouldn't accept their help, but after they saw you risk further injury to save their friend, she and Peter collectively decided they'd risk overstepping and contact SHIELD. You helped one of them, they'd help you. Even if you didn't want it, they felt you needed it.

What they hadn't expected was for Fury to be angry about it and, as a result, assign Gamora as your warden.

She talked with Peter in private, discussing what she should do about the situation. She didn't see the situation going well. You barely knew each other and you could be... well, stubborn might be an understatement. Eventually they agreed there was only one thing to be done. Just do it.

Or, at least make it look like she had every intention of carrying through without pissing you off to much. Sometimes people needed a little tough love for their own good, but Gamora knew if they crossed the line into overbearing things could go south real quick, and she didn't want to risk finding the tipping point that would make you make them leave. Being assigned someone to report back on you if you misbehaved was probably humiliating enough without them pushing it.

Now if they could only get Rocket on board.

You stayed in your room most of the day, but when you did come out to eat or to stretch your legs Rocket would throw teases at you, saying that you better stay in line if you didn't want Gamora to tell on you, and throwing taunts about the punishment Fury had threatened you with if you disobeyed the doctor's orders.

To their surprise, however, you just ignored him. You literally just didn't acknowledge him. Just walked about your business, and returned to your room without even a glance in his direction.

Then they realized it was only because you couldn't hear him. You had your earbuds in. Probably for the best, really.

Gamora's uneasiness eventually turned into relief when it became clear that you didn't hold a major grudge against her for squealing on you or her assignment from Fury. Based on your reaction earlier she had been worried that you'd focus your ire on her, but for whatever reason, you didn't seem to.

It was true, you didn't hold a grudge against her. Well, not after you had a chance to cool down about the situation, that is. Listening to music always made you feel better, so it helped your mood that you had kept your earbuds in for most of the day, (and let's be honest, it saved Rocket's ass too.) You took some time to reflect. Except for a period when you went for a walk to decompress, you stayed in your room and just thought about the situation. From what you had seen of Gamora, she probably only thought she was helping. Why she wanted to, you couldn't guess, but you just assumed she did. Fury was probably just trying to teach you a lesson, and you resolved to not let it get to you. You'd play the game, be good, and then he'd eventually get off your back. Easy.

After spending most of the day reflecting, you didn't feel as cranky as you had that morning. Yup, good old music and walking had done it's job to help your mood...

You hadn't made the connection that each of the three times Mantis came to your shared room to check on you, and would take your hand or place hers on your arm to ask how you were feeling, you felt a little more contented. You just assumed she was feeling affectionate and that you enjoyed her company.

Both of those were true, but Mantis had also been working her magic a little, wanting to see you cheer up but doing it in tiny doses so as to not ruin the practical joke Yondu had said would be real funny later if she didn't tell you about her abilities. She didn't know when the joke would be over, but she also didn't want to ruin it and disappoint her new friend.

Later that night you decided to break out a bottle of whiskey from the cellar. Try to get a buzz going. You brought it into the kitchen, asking those already at the table if they wanted any. Well, it was more like telling them that they knew where the glasses were if they wanted some, but still, an offer is an offer.

You sat down and poured yourself a glass as Peter grabbed a glass each for him and Gamora, and Kraglin fetched one for himself and Yondu.

Gamora was the first to speak. "I just wanted to aplogi-"

"No."

"What?"

"It's awkward enough without the apology. It's done. I'm sure you thought you were being helpful or something, but it's done."

Gamora raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Well I-"

You sigh. "Look, if it makes you feel better, you're forgiven or whatever, but I don't want to talk about it. 'Kay?" you down your glass and pour another. "Don't kill my buzz before it's even started."

Peter started to speak up. "Well I feel Krags and I at least-"

You cut him off as well. "Same goes for you. We're not going to talk about it right now. It's done."

"Oh...kay..." Peter said, taking a sip. He attempted small talk after a bit. "So... how did you come about working for SHIELD?"

You sipped and shrugged before setting your glass down. "My dad was an agent, and I guess I followed in his footsteps." you say, toying with your glass. Eager to turn the conversation away from you, you asked, "How'd you lot go about becoming 'Guardians of the Galaxy'?"

That question had the desired effect. Peter started off the story by telling you how it actually all started with them getting thrown in prison over a stone and then breaking out of said prison together to locate said powerful stone that some dick called Ronan was going to use to wipe out an entire planet.

About a quarter the way through the story the rest of the Guardians came and the same offer was extended to them before you stood up and announced you should probably grab another bottle as the one you brought up was nearly empty.

Rocket piped up, "So where ya hide it anyway?"

You looked at him, confused and a little tipsy. Cocking your head you asked, "What?"

"The booze. You always seem to pull it out of thin air. Figured you were hiding it."

You blink at him while Peter scolded him for being dumb, a sentiment you now currently shared. You laugh and look at Gamora, who looked embarrassed by her friend. "Is he always this dumb?" Not waiting for an answer you turn back to Rocket. "It ain't hidden. Dipshit." You turn away to resume your task.

Rocket, offended that you would call him dumb, said, "If you ain't hiding it, why haven't we ever seen where you keep it."

Now Kraglin was giving him looks. Even if you were hiding it, it was your shit. You were already giving them a place to stay, you didn't owe them booze too. The rest were sure Rocket was just trying to get a rise from you, but the secondhand embarrassment was real.

You rolled your eyes but kept walking. It was most likely the alcohol, but you were actually finding humor in his stupidity. "It's in the cellar, space case. I won't stop you from tagging along. Make sure your mother signs the permission slip." With that you slipped out the kitchen door.

The guardians exchanged glances at your comment and Peter, who remembered school and field trips, said, "That was a joke. You wouldn't get it." He then stood up and said, "Might as well take the chance to see something new since we don't know how long we'll be stuck here." He then looked to Rocket and asked if he was coming, since technically the invitation had been extended to him.

Rocket, who had been clearly hoping for, or at least expecting, a fight, awkwardly followed in the direction you had left. Mantis and Groot stated they wanted to go see the cellar too, but the others opted to stay behind.

Seeing that four of them had actually decided to take up your mock-offer to come to the cellar, you waited for them to catch up. You honestly didn't care if they went into the cellar, as long as Groot didn't go down there to play, and you made a point to ask Peter to tell him that you didn't mind him coming down with the rest of you tonight, but he was under no circumstances to come down there to play as he could get hurt.

Rocket translated instead, seeming irritated that you had given the message to Peter instead of him, and you open the door start to walking down the stairs, the others trailing behind.

The cellar wasn't anything spectacular. The stairs were a bit creaky with age, and it was dusty and dim even with the light on. The walls were stone strung with cobwebs and the floor was made up of old red brick.

You reached the ground and led them to some shelves on the wall across from the boiler, to grab the whiskey. On the other wall next to the shelves was an old wooden door, but other than that, a few cans of paint, and another set of shelves on the far end of the cellar, it was largely empty. You didn't keep much down there due to the damp.

You turned back to face them once you grabbed a bottle and asked if Rocket was satisfied. You didn't recieve an answer, not like you had expected one anyway. Gesturing back to the whiskey you said to Peter that it was down here if they wanted it. You didn't care as long as they didn't get sloppy drunk and start wrecking shit on the regular.

Peter nodded and the four took in the sight of the cellar. Mantis looked like she regretted her decision to come down, and said it was a little creepy, and Groot seemed to share her opinion. Good. Would mean he wouldn't care to come play down there. Peter and Rocket, however, looked at the shelf behind you in surprise. There was... more whiskey than they had anticipated. A lot more.

"Not that it's any of my business, but why do you have so much whiskey down here?"

You turned back to the shelf. Remembering the reason combined with your tipsy state made you giggle as you answered honestly. "Decided to order a small case awhile back just to have a bit around. Might have ordered it drunk and messed up the size of the order... just a bit..."

'A bit' was an understatement. The whiskey didn't sit on just one shelf, but rather the whiskey took up a whole shelving unit. You had only meant to order one case. A case would have been maybe six bottles. Somehow you ended up ordering six cases, and of course there were no refunds. So, into the cellar with a few other assorted bottles it went. You didn't do any online shopping while drunk after that again.

Peter chuckled at your honesty and noticed the wooden door for the first time. He debated asking about it, it seemed oddly placed considering the layout of the house above, but Mantis beat him to it.

"Where does that door go?" she asked, pointing to it.

You look to the door and then back to them. "Closet," you say, before widening your eyes in mock realization to tease Rocket. "Oh right, better prove it before that one gets all suspicious again!"

Rocket narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms, not thrilled with you making him the butt of a joke as you opened the door to reveal a small, dark closet, maybe a meter deep and just as wide. Pipe wrenches hung on hooks off the door, and inside was a bucket, a broom, and a shovel resting against a wall of shallow shelves which were empty aside from a few random tools and a couple lanterns.

You closed the door after a moment and to Peter's surprise you handed him the whiskey bottle you had retrieved and grabbed another. "Might as well grab two, save me a trip if we run out again," you explain before shooing them all up the stairs.

Once back in the kitchen you re-took your seat and poured yourself another glass before sliding the bottle towards the middle of the table for someone else to grab. "Alright, I believe you were telling a story now?" you say to Peter as he also sat down, seeming surprised you were still interested.

And you were. It was quite an interesting story and you had to admit it captured your attention quite well.

Before you knew it an hour had passed and the second bottle was finished between seven of you when they'd finished telling it. Mantis didn't like the taste and Groot wasn't permitted to have any, though fortunately he didn't seem to mind. Just sipped on some juice you had gotten up to pour for him and Mantis and played about on the table adorably as Peter told the story.

The Ronan guy had gotten the stone, but Peter and his team still won anyway, having managed to get the stone away from him. You had giggled when you realized that Peter had more or less described that they had used 'the power of friendship' to hold onto the stone, though he didn't seem as keen on that comparison. You were also surprised to learn that the little Groot before you wasn't the original Groot, but rather more like the original's son, and that Kraglin and Yondu weren't part of the team yet in this story, but actually the leaders of an almost adversary group of space pirates that had agreed to work with Peter with the promise of obtaining the stone for themselves. You wanted to ask about that, how they came about joining Peter's team and where the rest of their crew was, Ravagers you believed they were called, but before you could Yondu interjected.

"Yeah, I'd almost forgot about that switcharoo ya pulled with the stone, boy." Yondu said to Peter, who, now several drinks in, included that bit of the story despite the former captain and first mate sitting right at the table with him.

Peter chuckled nervously in response, and said in jest, "Well, you got a cool troll doll out of it, that's something, right?"

You snorted a short laugh out your nose at that, making the others turn to you in surprise. Aside from a few questions, you had been more or less quiet the whole time until now. "Troll doll?" you say, clearly tipsy, behind your hand. The thought was ludicrous to you. Of all the things, a troll doll.

Peter grinned, pleased to see you found it funny. "It was the only thing I had on hand that would fit in the orb." He admitted, giggling.

Gamora's eyes crinkled as she looked at Peter. She hadn't had nearly as much drink as him, but she still found his giggly nature and his ability to tell a story to be endearing. This was probably the most she had let herself relax since they arrived.

Kraglin lightheartedly punched Peter in the shoulder. He'd been angry when the "switcharoo" incident happened, but he'd since been given enough reason to get over it.

"You goofy cunt," you chuckled at Peter, standing from the table and grabbing the empty bottle to bin it.

Peter raised an eyebrow and cocked his head at you as you walked toward the bin. Had you just called him a 'cunt'?

The others shared surprised contemplative looks and Kraglin said, "I think that was a compliment?" He was unsure, but you hadn't exactly said it in a derogatory way, so perhaps it was?

You overheard him and said from the bin, "Eh. Close enough." You spared one final giggly glance towards the group before leaving the kitchen to use the bathroom.

Peter shrugged, correctly assuming that he shouldn't be offended and stood to put his now-empty glass in the sink before re-joining the table with the others.

They sat chatting for a bit longer, before they thought they heard the soft sounds of singing coming from the sitting room. Exchanging glances, Peter and Gamora decided to go check it out.

***

You didn't return to the kitchen after you finished your business. The story was finished and you were in a better mood than you had been that morning so you just made your way to the sitting room to relax in your rocking chair before your buzz could wear off.

You had been there just a few minutes with your eyes falling closed when the sensation of something crawling up your leg startled you. You jump slightly only to see it was Groot crawling into your lap. You then relaxed. Cute little bugger looked sleepy, and for whatever reason, decided he would crawl up into the rocking chair with you. You didn't mind, and even if you did, you were getting a little too sleepy to feel like wasting energy making him move.

He climbed up on your slinged arm, too light for the action to cause you any pain, and curled up as you rocked away.

You weren't sure what possessed you, likely the whiskey, but you started to softy sing him a lullaby. One you remembered your grandmother singing you to sleep with when you were little.

***

Gamora peeked in the doorway and stopped, seeing you in the rocking chair, though you didn't see her. The rocking chair faced the bookshelf on the opposite wall, putting your gaze perpendicular to her own.

You were the source of the singing, and it didn't take long for her to notice Groot curled up sleeping against you and to deduce that what you were singing was a lullaby.

The others had come to see as well, but Gamora motioned for them to be quiet and didn't let them get past the doorway, afraid that you would stop if you knew you had an audience.

"What is it?" Drax asked.

"I think she's singing a lullaby to Groot." Peter answered, turning to peek back through the doorway for a moment before stepping aside to let Drax see. Drax smiled warmly at the sight and motioned Mantis to take his spot.

Kraglin chuckled and whispered over to an equally amused Yondu, "Well ain't that precious."

"So what?" asked Rocket, annoyed that everyone was gathered by the doorway instead of entering. He was, however, definitely not jealous that Groot would have taken to you well enough to let you sing a lullaby to him. He was also definitely not irritated about the fact that Groot had aparently just fallen right asleep in your lap, when he had been having to deal with Groot fitting to go to sleep most nights due to being someplace new.

Gamora looked to him. "It's sweet."

"She ain't sweet, it's all an act. She don't really care."

"So it was an act when she shot that raccoon and saved your ass?" asked Peter, rolling his eyes at his furry friend.

Rocket threw up his arms in frustration, unwilling to admit the possibility of being wrong. "Probably! She don't really care about us. We're just an assignment to her. And I didn't need her help anyway."

Peter rolled his eyes again, and that's when they noticed the singing had stopped. They were too busy arguing to notice it had been getting softer and softer. Gamora peeked in again and saw that you had fallen asleep, and she whispered back to the group as such.

"Good. I'm putting Groot to bed." Rocket said, pushing through the others before they could say anything.

"Rocket!" Gamora hissed, finally entering the room herself along with Peter.

Rocket ignored her as he approached the rocking chair. Who did you think you were anyway, singing lullabies to Groot? You weren't his mother. He was the one raising Groot, he didn't need some Terran dickhead stepping in and playing 'mommy.' Rocket let his frustration get the better of his sense and instead of gently climbing to retrieve Groot, or asking someone else once he realized he wouldn't quite be able to reach, he decided to be an asshole and jump right into your lap, startling both you and Groot awake in the process.

"Ow! The hell?" you said groggily, rubbing your eyes.

"Oh, sorry. Did I wake you?" Rocket said mockingly before walking off with a confused and groggy Groot.

The others gave him disapproving looks as they dispersed, not wanting to crowd the doorway any longer.

"You're a real asshole, ya know that?" Kraglin said before heading towards the stairs with Yondu. Rocket just ignored him.

Mantis, who also decided she would go to bed, said to Rocket as they climbed, "You're wrong, you know. She does care. I've felt it."

Rocket just rolled his eyes and said, "Whatever," before bounding up the rest of the stairs and to his room to put Groot down to sleep.

Peter and Gamora had decided to head back into the kitchen with Drax to clean up the forgotten empty glasses on the table, so by the time you got up and decided to head to bed yourself the hall was empty.

Too tired to do anything else, you decided to just go to bed. As you made your way up the stairs you remembered taking the others to the cellar and showing them what was behind the door, and wondered if you should consider getting a lock, just in case Groot disobeyed and decided to go play down there anyway.

They didn't need to find out what was behind the back wall of that closet.

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renaerys · 3 years

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PPG One-Shot: Spelling Bee (Brick/Blossom)

Happy birthday to @genovah! She is always inspiring me to come up with more PPG content, a true hero. I’m back with another entry in the ongoing Shooketh, Not Stirred high school AU Reds series for your entertainment. As always, this can be read alone, but it happens in the same universe as part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, and part 5. This is also posted on my AO3.

Summary: Brick and Blossom hunker down in the library to study for the upcoming regional spelling bee.

***Reblogs are extremely appreciated, since this probably won’t show up in the tags due to cursing. Thank you! <3

xxx

In fairness, Brick had come to the library during his free period with the pure intention to learn. And he was certainly learning something. But somewhere between sliding into his seat opposite Blossom and watching her lips move around insouciant as if it were a strawberry slathered in ganache, his purity was torn from his weak, teenage boy fingers and there was absolutely no going back.

“Brick, are you listening to me?” She touched his hand across the table.

“Yup.”

“Did you need me to repeat the word?”

“Yup.”

“In-SOO-see-uhnt.” She sounded it out slowly, and hand to god, that dominating SOO went straight to his cock.

This, of course, was fine.

“Origin?” he asked.

She twirled her hair around her finger and puckered her lips. “French.”

Fuck.

“I…”

Blossom mistook his increasingly horny stupor for plain old stupor and sighed. “Are you even trying? Because if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were completely fine with Darla Dimpleton going to regionals instead of one of us.”

“I am not fine with that.”

Darla Dimpleton was an unassuming, unthreatening nobody with the personality of plain oatmeal. Brick would never have even bothered to learn her name had she not committed the cardinal sin of scoring so much extra credit while everyone else was busy having lives that she stole the number one GPA right from under him. Which meant she stole it from under Blossom too. Which meant Brick was no longer a respectable silver medal to Blossom’s gold, but currently ranked third and therefor merely happy to be on the podium at all (and for the record, no one has ever been happy merely to be on the podium, just like no one has ever been happy winning Most Improved: you sucked, and now you suck a little less. Except this time, you actually suck more because Darla fucking Dimpleton decided to Quaker Oats her way to the top of this rat race that doesn’t actually matter, but it’s the principle of the thing, i.e., the only thing that matters.).

All of this to say, Darla Dimpleton was the Worst™ and she was one hundred percent going down.

“Are you sure? Because you’re being awfully cavalier about this. Some might even call you insouciant.”

It was a testament to Brick’s powerful fondness for winning and being seen doing it that he spelled insouciant in one Darla Dimpleton-shaped cock blocking breath.

Blossom smiled like she knew something. “Much better.”

Yeah, she knows a lot of things.

The problem with dating, Brick was convinced, was that suddenly the mundane became extraordinary. Everyday experiences that he had previously taken for granted—flying around Townsville, enjoying a cup of coffee, thwarting his sometimes murderous demonic overlord from distributing incriminating polaroids, that sort of thing—were suddenly exciting, thrilling even. Because now he got to do those things with Blossom, and Blossom was cool in a smarmy, elitist sort of way that both softened his heart and hardened his dick all at the same time, and that was kind of A Lot to deal with at 9 a.m. on a Tuesday.

“All right, do me,” Blossom said, and Brick coughed so badly his aforementioned weak, teenage boy fingers shook to stifle himself.

Mercy, he thought, probably. But all his blood was rushing south and it was going to take a supernatural willpower to get through these words so that one of them could beat the upstart porridge peasant to this year’s regional spelling bee.

“You’re the boss,” he said, because it was true, and also because he liked the way she looked at him when he said it. Like he was now the ganache-coated strawberry in this overextended metaphor that he was too laden with Homeric concupiscence being in her general proximity to unpack.

Concupiscence, there’s a ten dollar word for you, you horny genius.

He made a mental note to brag to Blossom about this later.

“Okay, let’s see…” Brick made a show of organizing the flashcards so that she wouldn’t see him discreetly re-situate his pants under the table. “Your word is cymotrichous.”

Blossom tapped her lips, and Brick found himself sympathizing with the Puritans in their absolute befuddlement over the libidinous effect of women having lips. Witchcraft, surely. “Could you use it in a sentence for me?”

Compelled entirely by black magic and therefor not responsible for his imminently questionable choices, Brick obliged her with: “Thinking about how I’d rather run my fingers through your cymotrichous hair for the rest of free period instead of sit here spelling words no one’s ever heard of.”

Blossom, who he was dead certain was extremely thirsty for him and had been for years long before they ever reconciled their rivalry, leaned over the desk separating them. Her hair, long and loose and indeed quite wavy today, was tempting. “Brick, are you flirting with me?”

It was a well-known fact of being a Weak-Fingered, Teenage Boy that one must never reveal such weakness, especially not in front of one’s girlfriend. On the other hand, co-opting said weakness and rebranding it as the suave truth was galaxy brain levels of flirting. And Brick, as has already been established, was a horny genius. “Yup.” He leaned in to meet her, and he twirled her hair between his fingers because they were weak for her, indeed. “How am I doing?”

Blossom, too determined to let her thirst deter her from her goal of sweet, academic retribution and bragging rights, tapped a finger to his lips. “Great. But we have so many words to spell, and only thirty minutes left to do them all. So get shuffling, stud.”

Well, he could work with that. One thing that made his relationship with Blossom work very well was their insatiable competitiveness. Whether they were whaling on each other over an empty parking lot, debating the efficacy of post-its as a note-taking device, or combining their powers to Captain Planet a cornmeal know-it-all back down the leaderboard where she belonged, they were relentless glory chasers. And the greater the challenge, the more they enjoyed the experience and each other.

Blossom spelled her word perfectly, by the way. She stretched out the o-u-s at the end in a bewitching little whisper as she pulled away and her hair slipped through his fingers. That moment when the light changes and the temperature shifts and you’re weightless in a state of existential anticipation of something monumental about to happen, but not quite? That happened. Thirty minutes to explore the shape of that anticipation was enough time to taste it but not enough to savor it. Which, Brick supposed, was about to make this the best thirty minutes he was likely going to get all week.

“Are you ready?” Blossom watched him from behind the card she’d drawn. She had a glint in her eyes that told him she was smiling behind that card.

“Anytime.”

“Your word is eudaemonic.”

That fucking gorgeous ooh again.

“Define it.”

Blossom flushed as though he had just ordered her to bend over. She bit her lip (it must have been a ten Hail Mary’s kind of day when the Witch-Finder General caught a flesh and blood woman doing that with her improbably sorcerous lips) and grinned. “It means producing happiness. Based on the idea of happiness as the proper end of conduct.”

Producing happiness, which is proper, much like how Blossom came off as proper and even prim around adults, when really she was the most fun, most confident, most person he’d ever met, especially when she was spelling in that chiffon top (son of a bitch, that was a great top on her), and the only conduct he was interested in was of the happiest kind.

“Oh.” His throat clenched, and then his stomach twisted, and then his pants grew little too tight again in a full-body chain reaction that began and ended with a fierce determination not to give in first even though it would mean release because release would be meaningless without this etymological tête-à-tête.

Don’t think about tête-à-têtes.

Seventeenth century, noun, borrowed from the French meaning literally “head to head” (please, please stop hurting yourself like this).

“Brick?”

Brick cleared his throat. “Yup. Got it. E-u-d…”

Crisis averted, Brick picked the next card and promptly choked on his own tongue. Blossom made a show like she was concerned and are you all right? and please drink some water. Brick drank her water, which of course she had had her anatomically heretical lips on earlier, which was just fantastic for him. Tuesday fucking morning.

Milieu was her word.

“Milieu, hmm.” Blossom’s smile was spellbinding, which was a pun because he punned when he panicked. “Origin?”

You bitch, he thought, and be cool, and also, witchcraft.

Brick leaned back in his chair, slipped his trembling hands in his pockets, and squeezed every ounce of anything you can do I can do better into a winsome grin. “French.”

Blossom’s adult-facing façade cracked like an egg, and he got a glimpse of the raw delight she felt for this game, for the words, and for him for making it happen. For cultivating the electric milieu, if you will, currently driving them both into a state of impassioned, competitive euphoria at 9:42 a.m. in the library.

“Right, um…” She stumbled over her words, and Brick had to restrain himself from crowing for joy and risk the rheumy-eyed librarian coming to scold them.

By the time they got through another set of words, they were each visibly frustrated and doubly turned on by the other’s masochistic resolve not to throw in the towel.

“Okay, ready for another round?”

She wasn’t even trying to hide her intentions now, and that was just fine with Brick. “Of course.”

One more.

If it was another French word, he was fucking done.

“Really?” Blossom truly had ice in her veins for the way she was able to school her face then. He couldn’t read her, and that was very bad.

If it’s another fucking French word…

He could be over the desk and on her faster than you could say concupiscence.

“Okay.” Blossom set down the flashcard she’d drawn and folded her hands on the table. She looked him dead in the eye licked her lips. “Succedaneum.”

The bookshelf shook but Brick’s fingers didn’t as they pinned Blossom’s over a Dewey Decimal-stamped spine and he kissed her with all the horny passion of a teenage genius who would make a note to thank the devil for giving women lips. One of his better ideas.

xxx

“Hey, has anyone seen Blossom? I’ve sent her, like, four texts!” Bubbles shoved her phone, open to the ignored texts in question, in her sister’s face. “She was supposed to help me with Chem homework.”

Buttercup ducked. “No, and watch where you’re swinging that thing.”

“I saw her earlier,” Boomer said. “She was with Brick coming out of first period.”

“Oh, yeah.” Mike slung his arm around Boomer’s shoulders. “Don’t they both have a free period right now?”

Buttercup rolled her eyes. “What a scam. Whoever decided to give the A-students free periods while the rest of us mere mortals gotta slave away is a straight-up Supervillain.”

Boomer snapped his fingers. “Hey, I just remembered! They both decided to compete for the spot at the regional spelling bee this year. I bet that’s what they’re doing.”

“God, that’s the saddest thing I have ever heard in my life. That’s a new low even for Blossom.”

“I heard there’s a cash prize for the regional winner,” Bubbles said. “It’s like twenty thousand bucks! Remember, everyone in school signed up and we had to have that assembly to narrow it down?”

“Twenty thou— How the tits did I miss that?!”

“I mean, it was all over the school,” Mike said. “We signed up too.”

“What? And no one thought to tell me I could’ve won the lottery?”

Boomer chuckled. “Dude, come on. You wouldn’t have stood a chance in hell against Darla Dimpleton.”

“Who?”

Bubbles cast Boomer a not worth it look, and he just sighed. “So, if they’re studying for the spelling bee, do you think they’re in the library?”

At that moment, Butch came bursting down the hall a little too fast to be human. Open lockers rattled on their hinges as he passed, and a Sophomore girl’s binder went flying, scattering looseleaf papers everywhere. Buttercup looked ready to punch him in the dick for breaking the no powers in school rule. “Guys, you’re gonna shit!”

“Calm down before you blow a load, Jesus Christ.” Buttercup yanked him back down to the floor so he wouldn’t spontaneously float.

Sensibly, Boomer asked, “Why?”

“‘Cause Brick and Blossom are making out in the library right now!”

Mike cringed. “Oh, come on.”

“The hell they are,” Buttercup said.

Bubbles smiled. “Good for them.”

“I’m serious! There were books everywhere, and the noise—”

“Oh look, there goes my dignity. Better catch it before it gets away. C’mon, moron.” Buttercup dragged Butch down the hall over his protests. “What were you even doing in the library? I didn’t think you knew where it was…”

“Like that could ever happen,” Mike said. “Those two wouldn’t waste a minute of study time if it means beating out the competition.”

Boomer did not look so convinced. “I don’t know. I mean, they’re officially, for real dating now,”—“Finally!” Mike interjected—“so it’s not that unbelievable.”

The bell for the next period rang. Bubbles groaned thinking of stewing for an hour of Chem. At least she shared that class with Boomer and would not have to suffer alone. They parted from Mike and walked together through the throng of students rushing to get to their next period.

“Hey, do you think…”

“I mean…” Boomer shrugged.

They rounded the corner and nearly ran into Blossom dashing to her next class with a rushed “Got your texts talk later bye!” before she disappeared into the crowd.

Bubbles whirled on Boomer. “Did you see her buttons—”

“Completely uneven—”

The late bell rang and made them jump. Among the last stragglers, they both dashed a bit too fast to get to class and made it to their seats just as Mr. Micelli finished writing a problem on the board.

Boomer winked when she caught his eye a couple desks away from hers, and it took everything she had not to laugh.

“Good for her,” Bubbles said to herself.

“You are late,” Mr. Micelli said.

Everyone turned to watch Brick sink into his seat, his short hair totally askew and looking healthily flushed for a Tuesday morning.

Boomer burst out laughing and needed a whole minute to calm down.

He’d tell her later that the detention was worth it.

xxx

Witchcraft! 👁️👄👁️✨

#powerpuff girls #blossick #ppg reds #ppg blossom #ppg brick #ppg shook #powerpuff girls fanfic #february fic prompts #this probably won't show up in the tag due to cursing #so reblogs are super appreciated!!

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oh-boy-me · 3 years

Note

I just read both the australia and museum post and the chaos levels are top tier, but like imagine the chaos that ensues if lord diavolo discovers about amusment parks and immediately just buys tickets to disneyland. Lucifer is basically the dad trying not to loose his children(lord diavolo included). Lord diavolo wanting to ride a loopy rollercoaster and just having the time of his life! (Also I highkey see diavolo ordering lucifer to make a disneyland in devildom tbh) Also mouse ear headbands!

This..... this took forever

Hey there anon! Sorry it took literally a year to answer this! If you’re still into Obey Me, I hope this was a pleasant surprise.

Also for the first time ever a scenario post is being put under the cut for length purposes. This scenario is 2.6k words Jesus

Please note that the last time I went to Disney was in 2015, so anything that’s newer than that is taken from the extensive reading of Disney advice blogs I read in preparation for this post. Anything older than that is likely from experience.

Also, I tried my best to keep this spoiler free for the attractions that can be affected by it.

So the Devildom DOES have the concept of amusement parks. I slept on this ask for so long that we’ve learned about Devil’s Coast. It seems to be more akin to a smaller-scale theme park, though. Small-ish. I’m used to NYC idk what constitutes as small.

Something like Disney World is on such a larger scale!! When Diavolo heard about that, he knew they had to go.

They are going to Disney World in Orlando because it’s the only one I’ve been to.

Lucifer is REALLY getting tired of these field trips, but there would be no weird animals, and there would be no sobering lessons on global extinction events at a family-friendly amusement park. He. He can handle this.

Solomon has actually been banned from all Walt Disney theme parks. We’re talking blacklist-level banned. He’s barred from ever entering any Disney park ever again. However, this was back in 1976, so this must be, like, his son or something, right? There’s no way this is the same guy. Thought the security guard who let him in.

What did Solomon do to get banned? When asked, he only gave a curious hum. “Yeah, I wonder.”

The place is split into four parks, so they’ll spend one day in each.

Barbatos continued to flex his power as the only one in the group with a brain cell, being sure to get them all fast passes. He even set time back just for the passes while they were booking the rides they wanted to cut the lines for, so if they don’t get used he’s going to be very snippy.

Also for convenience sake this is taking place in an AU where everything is the same but COVID doesn’t exist to shut down some rides and attractions.

Day 1: Hollywood Studios

MC and Simeon basically have to coerce Lucifer into letting everyone run free instead of making them all line up with a walking rope all day. He relents on the condition that everyone checks in periodically so he can at least know they haven’t killed anyone.

Nobody will check in except for maybe Beelzebub and those at Purgatory Hall.

Levi immediately gathered his fellow Star Wars fans (which basically meant calling over Mammon Belphie and Asmo and then pulling in two unsuspecting people suddenly given the title of “Star Wars fan”), and made a beeline for Galaxy’s Edge. There’s a LOT to do there and damn it if he wasn’t going to hit all of it.

First up for their group is the interactive Millennium Falcon Smuggler’s Run. They fail the mission. Levi’s pretty pissed, but everyone agrees that it was fun nonetheless. They really felt like they were doing a mission in the Falcon! Plus, the gameplay element was totally up the alley of most of this group. Simeon does feel a little nauseous from Luke’s jerky steering, though.

Did you know that Diavolo loves Toy Story? He does. He’s very much enjoying the Slinky roller coaster with Barbatos.

Barbatos would rather be spending time at the shows and performances, but oh no god forbid we don’t get an autograph from Doc McStuffins. Lucifer please come find him and save him.

Lucifer somehow wandered into the Frozen Sing-Along Celebration. He wants out. Barbatos please come find him and save him.

In general, Lucifer isn’t a fan of these sorts of places, so honestly he’s just hiding from the others and waiting for today to be over. Barbatos told him that there are parks that don’t revolve around rides and characters, and he’s holding out for those.

Luckily for them Diavolo wants to do LITERALLY everything, and that does include the shows, so Barbatos and Lucifer can have at least some fun today

Levi, Asmo, and Beel are about to start their relay for getting character autographs when Satan shows up out of nowhere and starts dragging everyone over to the Tower of Terror. Solomon bars all attempts to flee on a certain Avatar of Greed’s side.

The line to the Tower is so long, and honestly? Satan feels like the ride didn’t live up to the literal hour they waited to get on. Like yeah it was fun, but way too short.

He voices those thoughts, and Levi, who Satan knows is afraid of heights, is pretty fucking livid and drags him to Rock n Rollercoaster as revenge. Satan hates roller coasters.

As for the others, Asmo and Luke have a lot of fun on the thrill rides. Mammon and Simeon do not. Beel is a little spooked by them but still manages to have fun, while Belphie and Solomon think they’re alright.

Eventually, Simeon gets too sick to move, and they assign him to Luke. They say it’s because he’s too short to ride some of the rides (even though he’s literally not, screw you guys.)

Barbatos messes with time a lil bit so they can enjoy the Fantasmic Show and Fireworks to wrap the day up.

Levi is very jealous of Diavolo’s Doc McStuffins autograph. Somehow Asmo has Buzz Lightyear’s number.

Day 2: Animal Kingdom

Satan is vibrating

He literally instantly sprints to the Kilimanjaro Safari. And good for him; that’s something best done while the sun isn’t high up. The whole gang actually agrees to check that one out, and while Satan isn’t thrilled to be within 50 feet of Lucifer, he’s glad Simeon is there because he remembers how his presence lured animals out in Australia.

Simeon also finds himself pulled along the trails by Satan and parents watch in horror as a gorilla gives him a friendly pat on the back.

If you didn’t know, Animal Kingdom is divided into the two continents of Asia and Africa, as well as the secret eighth continent Avatar (2009). Diavolo heard great things about the Flight of Passage ride, but he totally forgot to tell Barbatos about it, so they’re stuck on a three hour wait line now.

Levi takes Luke on the Everest roller coaster because Simeon saw it in the distance and looked like he was about to cry. Levi wouldn’t shut up about how the yeti effect needs to be fixed and Solomon had to explain that the effect literally couldn’t support itself.

Simeon, having escaped a roller coaster for the first and only time on this trip, grabs lunch with Lucifer and Solomon and they enjoy the Lion King performance together. Solomon’s the only one of them who’s seen the movie, but the others still found it fun. Solomon keeps making up random plot points that don’t exist, though. Remember when Simba was captured by pirates?

Mammon found the Bugs Life show very scary. Normally Asmo would laugh at him, but he’s afraid of any bug he’s never seen before and at least Mammon was afraid of the things that were supposed to get you. They agree that bugs are still not their friends.

Satan has many things to say about the Dinosaur ride and most of them aren’t good. Belphie thought it was pretty ok, though. Lucifer can’t believe there was a sobering lesson on a global extinction event at this family-friendly amusement park.

Diavolo is still in line. Barbatos abandons him. He accompanies Luke to the kiddie fossil thing and actually finds it more tolerable. Oh yeah that’s the other secret ninth continent, Dinoland.

Beel and Belphie spend most of the day together at the various petting zoos. Belphie comes back knowing more than he ever wanted to about conservation. He thought Rafiki’s Planet Watch was going to be about watching other planets, not this one!

Asmo gets very interested in the costumes of the performers, as well as the parrots in the bird show. He could probably make some really colorful designs with those as inspiration.

Nearby, Mammon runs into Kevin and squawks in surprise. The zoo staff spend the next two hours trying to find the bird that escaped.

Diavolo says the ride was worth it, don’t worry.

Honestly this park has a lot of stuff that wouldn’t translate well to a funny scenario post so this part might be a little short compared to the others. I can only talk about a zoo for so long.

Anyone remember the Honey I Shrunk the Kids 4D show? Apparently it closed in 2016 to make room for more Star Wars stuff.

Anyway, at the center of it all there’s the Tree of Life, which is really pretty all day. Lucifer is thrilled to have a decently obvious meet-up place, too. They get to catch the brief awakening show at night.

They’re very bummed to learn the Rivers of Light show isn’t happening anymore, so Levi pulls it up on his phone so they can watch it in spirit.

Then Satan learns about the Wilderness Explorers badges and the others spend the rest of the time preventing too much collateral damage over the fact that nobody told him.

Day 3: Epcot

Finally, Lucifer thinks. Boo, Luke thinks.

Beel didn’t expect this park to be that interesting to him (he’s much more into the wonder and immersion of Hollywood Studios and Magic Kingdom), but then he learned about the restaurants. China, Norway, France, Mexico, Germany, Morocco, Italy, Japan, Canada--Canada? Huh. Canada. There’s so many different restaurants from so many cuisines to try, and yeah he knows that it’s definitely not the same as going to the place and it’s overpriced (sorry Lucifer), but it’s all right there. He makes certain to take MC on a deluxe Epcot restaurant tour.

Oh yeah MC. That’s the first time we’ve heard from them in a while. They’re doing whatever you want them to I guess.

Levi buys so much from the Japanese gift shops that he has to go back to the hotel for a bit to drop his bags off.

Satan and Diavolo aren’t much better, but their stashes are more varied.

Also, Diavolo found Mouse Gear, and bought everyone a pair of ears. Lucifer says that everyone has to keep them on because it’s what Lord Diavolo wants, but he is by far the most upset about them. Mammon snaps a picture and Lucifer throws his DDD into the lake.

Asmo and Belphie decide they’re gonna take it easy this day, and they nab Solomon and Barbatos for some exhibition hopping.

Luke finds Mission Space and please father no Simeon thought he was safe he thought he was safe here no please

Aside from that, though, Luke honestly finds this part of the park boring. He’d have been more interested in these attractions elsewhere, but as a kid he’s in Disney for roller coasters and Mickey Mouse.

Simeon is very grateful that Luke doesn’t have much that he wants to do, because it means that he can enjoy the Gran Fiesta and Living with the Land boat rides and have a single moment where he doesn’t feel like he’s about to be sick. He’s not even afraid of the rides; he just gets motion sick easily.

Asmo makes sure to see the Chinese acrobat show, and Mammon catches that with the show-hopping gang since there isn’t much he wants to do here either.

Epcot has alcohol and Solomon hasn’t been able to drink in ages so he really wants to spend some time doing that with MC. No demons allowed, thank you very much. He doesn’t hold his liquor as well as he’d like you to believe, but he just gets really talkative when drunk so it’s ok.

Epcot is a nice day to take a breather and Lucifer and Barbatos definitely needed a breather before tomorrow.

Day 4: Magic Kingdom

This is the day Diavolo has been waiting for. The crème de la crop, the best park for kids and kids in a future king of the Devildom’s body.

Also I feel like now is a good time to mention that this probably isn’t a reasonable order of events because I don’t remember the map layout of these places idk Disney city planning

This time. This time, Levi, Asmo and Beel are gonna get those autographs, dammit. Levi doesn’t even know who half of these characters are but hell if he’s not getting their autograph.

Mammon actually really loves the mascots too, but he’s embarrassed about it so he’ll only try to get one if he can use the guise of MC wanting one. MC, please help him out

Belphie isn’t big on rides, but he does have a soft spot for the more retro ones like Dumbo and Seven Dwarves. And like I said before, Beel loves Magic Kingdom for its wonder. So Belphie is perfectly happy being led (read: piggybacked) around by Beel today, because their favorite attractions match up pretty well here.

Actually, Beel’s favorite Disney movie is Lilo and Stitch, but. RIP Stitch’s Great Escape ride 2004-2018

Diavolo and Lucifer take a moment to enjoy the Carousel of Progress, and they reflect on how much the Human World is always changing and how much about it they still don’t know. It really does make them think, like. Grandma found the VR games at Christmas! The Devildom doesn’t have grandmas!

Mammon is terrified of the Haunted Mansion ride, and Satan has literally never felt so much schadenfreude in his life.

Mammon’s afraid of most rides to be fair, but he likes water rides, so Levi eventually takes pity on him and they go on Splash Mountain together more than once.

The Peter Pan ride broke down

Luke wanted to go on Space Mountain and Simeon was the only one around, so. RIP Simeon ????-2021

Diavolo was That Guy. If you know, you know.

Beel accidentally spun the teacups way too fast. Not even Solomon got out of that one unscathed.

Following that, Solomon manages to drag Barbatos onto the Jungle Cruise while Lucifer is busy. What is Lucifer busy with? Riding the Buzz Lightyear shooting ride over and over until he hits every single target and gets a perfect score at a Disney ride, something that is normal to want and possible to achieve. Anyway, Barbatos finds it really charming and Solomon finds it a nice break that he didn’t know he needed.

While looking for a food place that sells water for a reasonable price, a kid runs up to Asmo asking for a picture and autograph. He’s kind of confused, but goes along with it to make the kid happy.

Turns out, Asmo’s so naturally charming that they mistook him for a prince. Other groups see that family and follow suit. Mammon eventually catches wind of it and shows up to charge a fee. The parents are pretty sure Disney doesn’t charge fees like that, but their kids really want a pic with Asmo so they hand over the two bucks. (“Oh it’s so low” come on Mammon’s not a dick to children.)

And that’s the story of how Mammon and Asmo ended up in Disney Jail. You’re very much not allowed to pretend to be a cast member and then charge money for it. Lucifer has to bail them out as their “guardian,” and as punishment they aren’t allowed to opt out of It’s a Small World.

Small World isn’t that bad imho, and those like Diavolo, Satan, Simeon, and Levi would like it a lot. But Lucifer has been playing parent all day, Belphie does not like the noise, and Solomon has literally been on this ride at least fifty times. Very mixed feelings on this one, but it feels fitting to end with that and a fireworks show.

All in all though this wasn’t the worst trip Lucifer’s been on (cue everyone applauding for some reason).

Barbatos by far had the least fun of them all because for four days he was stuck in a park where the mascot is a fucking rodent and he wasn’t allowed to annihilate Mickey Mouse where he stood

“Disneyland Devildom when” “Lord Diavolo, no”

Masterlist

#obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me luke #obey me simeon #obey me solomon #my favorite park is def epcot and my favorite ride is def splash mountain #also my sister helped me out by reminding me about animal kingdom but most of her photos were of random birds

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dameronology · 3 years

Text

asystole {obi-wan kenobi x reader}

summary: ‘the trouble is the way you stick, to any part of me that remains in tact/but if i pull the plug, it isn’t only me i’m holding back’ - asystole, hayley williams (a.k.a ‘the one where you’re the bane of obi-wan’s life, even as a force ghost’)

warnings: mentions of death, swearing, angst, and me not having a single fucking clue how force ghosts work

this was originally based on a random idea i had and also encouragement from kara/@hellotherekenobi who requested a prompt that i completely forgot to include but...we move. also, i would highly highly recommend listening to the above song just because it’s a real tear jerker and i lOVE it

enjoy

- jazz

Loss, for Obi-Wan, was not a stranger. It was an old acquaintance, constantly lingering beside him -- not quite there, but not gone either. He could always feel its presence, a constant and painful reminder of everyone he’d lost. He could probably count them all one hand but that didn’t make it any better. Loss was loss, whether it were two people or ten. Even if his grief had stopped and started with the passing of his master all those years ago, it was still something he felt in its wholeness and in its entirety. Because that’s all Obi-Wan could do: feel. It was everything or nothing. Zero percent or one hundred.

And with you, he wished it were nothing. He wished that your sudden absence from his life was something he didn’t have to feel in every fibre of his being. It was hard enough to acknowledge and even more painful to comprehend. You were the one person he’d always just assumed would be there forever. How foolish it now seemed, he was very much aware. Everybody died -- Qui-Gon Jinn was a testament to that; as was Satine Kryze and quite literally every other person in the galaxy who’d had the pleasure of being reminded of their mortality. It was just that this was...it was you. You weren’t immortal by any means but maker, you had acted like it. The way you went about life with an air of recklessness and discontent for the rules, making even the hardest of missions into an adventure. His life had been a thousand times better since you’d come running - nay, stumbling - into it. You’d blown his entire world to bits and pieced it back together with tiny, intricate bits of yours. Filled it with chaos and laughter and a light he hadn’t felt since the days of his youth.

Perhaps most importantly, you’d looked after one another. He would stay by your side 24/7 to make sure you kept your head screwed on your shoulders, and you would pester him to drink water and remember to eat. He would remind you when you had important missions and meetings, and in return, you’d proof-read his paper work. He remembered the first time he’d fallen asleep beside you, to wake up with a blanket wrapped around him and his boots pulled off. It was so clear in his head because it was the first time someone had ever done anything for him without asking. It became something you did often, and though he never said it, it was something he kept so close to his heart.

Obi-Wan wasn’t a fool. He knew you weren’t going to be around forever - he just didn’t realise that not forever was going to be a whole lot sooner that he’d anticipated. He used to make jokes about how your recklessness would one day lead to your demise. The idea of it made him feel sick now. He’d been right the entire time. He didn’t want it to be real.

None of it felt real. The whole conversation he’d had with Mace Windu about you not making it felt like a distant nightmare, something he’d tried so hard to wake up from, only to find that he was wide awake the entire fucking time. Night terrors were bad, but reality was arguably worse.

It didn’t feel right at first, to see your chambers still filled with your stuff and your lightsaber still resting on your nightstand. Obi had been the one to put it there when you’d been taken to the infirmary, thinking you would have asked for it when you woke up - but you didn’t. It went hand-in-hand with the robes he’d hung up on your door and the get well soon, moron card he’d brought you.

Then, they emptied your room. Took your clothes and your books and every other worldly possession you had. Your name was removed from the door to your quarters and added to the list of Jedi who had died in combat on the stone in the Temple gardens. Aside from that, any sign that you had ever walked the halls or burst into council meetings at the last minute was gone. You lived on only in his memories, your lopsided smile ingrained into his mind and contagious laugh echoing constantly in his brain.

Throwing himself into work was the only option for Obi-Wan. He already took on a thousand things at once, but without you to help bare the weight, it became a million. If he was busy, he didn’t have time to think -- about you, or how fucking fragile everything was, or about all the ways he could have saved you. You’d slipped through his fingers, even when he’d be holding on so tightly. It wasn’t his fault. It was just...life.

A few weeks passed, and Obi-Wan continued to push himself. Everybody noticed it -- how suddenly busy he was, how quiet he’d become, how tired he looks. Blue eyes had grown exhausted with grief and regret, strawberry blonde hair becoming longer and unrulier than was characteristic for him. When you’d died, you’d taken a tiny piece of him with you. An important part. Maybe that part had been you.

It was on a cold Tuesday evening that he heard the four words. Sat out on the balcony of his quarters, watching Coruscant and life pass by in a blur ahead of him, a tangle of traffic and noise and a million sounds that he couldn’t quite decipher. The sky was a navy blue, cast with the tiny little glints and dots of distant planets. All worlds that you’d once promised to explore

‘You look like shit.’

He thought he’d imagined it at first. In fact, it wouldn’t have been the first time in the last few weeks that the sound of your voice in his head had felt clear enough to be real. Imagining things - hallucinations and echoes of the long gone - was simply part of the grieving process. A process he’d gone through countless times before.

The sudden appearance of you in the corner of his eye jolted him like an electric shock. Perhaps not that far off of the emotional equivalent of being hit by a bus. Or a light freighter. Or...all of those things at once.

You were ethereal. When he’d last seen you, you’d been...tired. Now, you were smiling and radiating some sort of energy that could only be described as quintessentially you. There was not a chance in hell that a grief-induced hallucination could be so life-like, so crystal clear. Plus, why would he have imagined you like this, slightly transparent and with a blue glow surrounding you? A fitting colour for your final form, he figured.

‘Shocked to see me?’ Your drawl continued. ‘Because if you think you’re shocked, let me tell you. One second I was napping and the next I was a fucking Force ghost. Could you imagine?’

Obi-Wan smiled softly. ‘I don’t think I could.’

‘I can float through walls, though.’ You grinned. ‘How cool is that?’

‘It’s...that’s very cool.’ He replied. ‘I don’t suppose you can hug Force ghosts?’

Obi-Wan reached his palm out towards you - slowly but surely, as though he were scared you were going to fade away all over again if he touched you. You mimicked his actions, faded blue fingertips just moments away from his. When they finally touched, they didn’t. You felt nothing. He felt a rush of cold, as though somebody had poured a bucket of cold water over him.

He didn’t fully understand the concept of Force ghosts. Studied them, sure. Understood them? Not quite. There weren’t enough Jedi texts in the galaxy to fully capture the complexity of what made somebody come back. Often, they were linked to acts of heroism, or stemming from action taken when the person was still alive. That didn’t seem like you though. You weren’t the sort of person to try to fiddle with jinxes and hijinkery that would allow you to come back once you were dead - at least not purposefully. There was certainly every chance you did it accidentally.

‘Guess not.’ You murmured. ‘Sorry ‘bout that.’

The icy feeling only grew closer as you took a seat beside him. It was funny, because he thought that if he’d had the chance to reunite with you, that it would have been more emotional than this. Something filled with more feeling and grandeur. Instead, you’d just appeared, and acted as though you’d never been gone in the first place. Obi-Wan preferred it that way.

‘I’ve missed you.’ He continued to stare blankly ahead.

When you died, there were a thousand things he’d come up with that he’d wished he’d said. They ranged from comments about the weather to grand declarations of...how much you meant to him. All things he would never dare say to your face, and that’s probably why he came up with them. Because he would never get the chance to say them. And now, here you were, right beside him, and he had a second opportunity to get that closure -- but the words didn’t quite come. They stayed on the tip of his tongue, there, but not quite there. Even if this wasn’t quite the version of you that he imagined himself telling them to, it was still undeniably you.

‘I should hope so.’ You tried to nudge him with your elbow, but it was just another icy jab. ‘I would say that I missed you too, but I don’t know where I’ve been.’

‘What happened between then and now?’ Obi asked. ‘Between that and this?’

‘Okay, first of all - you can say my death. Coming up with a thousand other words for it won’t undo it.’ You said. ‘And...I don’t know. I just remember blaster fire, then some darkness, and then I was here.’

‘Did it hurt?’

‘Well it didn’t tickle.’ You replied ‘It was quick, if that’s any comfort.’

‘I suppose it is.’ He murmured.

‘You’re being uncharacteristically quiet.’ You observed. ‘I can go away if you want. I’m not sure how this whole thing works but if you want me to leave, I can go and scare Dex-’

‘- that’s the last thing I want.’ He cut you off. ‘I just..I’ve spent the last few weeks trying not to acknowledge that you’re truly gone and it’s a little hard to do that when you’re quite literally a ghost.’

‘I’m not really gone though, am I?’ You said. ‘I’m still here. Not as I’d like to be, but I’m here.’

‘So as long as you’re around to irritate me and make snide comments, you’re here.’ He smiled. ‘Whether that’s in the flesh or...in the blue.’

‘I’m sorry it happened.’ You gently sighed. ‘Not sorry that I died for the greater good but sorry it was so..sudden.’

‘It’s not your fault.’ He wanted to reach across, to take your hand in his or run it down your arm - but he couldn’t. He couldn’t deal with another rush of cold in place of what used to be warm flesh. ‘It was still undeniably your most half-witted decision to date but you saved a lot of people, so I won’t hold it against you.’

‘Oh, how kind.’ You snorted. ‘I bet you’ve secretly enjoyed the peace and quiet, Kenobi.’

‘I miss it already.’

Obi-Wan woke up the next morning, still on the balcony. The air was cold -- as evidenced by his violent shivers -- and the sky had changed from navy, to a turquoise-tainted pink. The city below was moderately quiet, signalling that it was still pretty early. The only sounds were coming from traffic in the distance and the occasional whoosh of a passing jet in the sky above. He stayed like that for a moment, azure eyes clouded with some kind of apprehension as he watched the clouds slowly pass, not a care in the world for the fact it was fucking freezing.

Last night had been real, even if there was no sign of your presence. Actually, that wasn’t quite true -- the robes he’d discarded before your appearance had been thrown over him like a blanket. They did little to protect him from the cold air, but it was a confirmation that you had been there. He wasn’t sure when you’d left - or how - but he was the only one on the balcony.

There were a lot of questions floating about in his head. Why were you only turning up now after weeks? Why had you materialised by him? Why were you here at all? You were finally free, free to do literally whatever you wanted, and you’d wound up by his side. There were millions and millions of places in the galaxy and somehow, his balcony was the one where you’d wanted to be.

After showering and shaving, Obi-Wan found himself heading towards the classroom of the best Jedi he knew: Yoda. If anyone was going to know anything about Force ghosts, it was him. He’d have to make sure not to let slip exactly what he was talking about - your relationship with him was far more attached than the code allowed, after all - in a more general sense, he must have had something to offer. It wasn’t the kind of thing they taught in Jedi training. If anything, it was the opposite. The lesson was don’t become attached enough to someone so that they haunt you! - and it was one at which he’d failed quite miserably.

‘Master Kenobi.’ Yoda sat in the middle of the classroom, meditating. He didn’t have to open his eyes to know who it was. ‘Of assistance, may I be?’

‘Good morning.’ Obi-Wan greeted him with a bow. ‘I have some questions, and I was hoping you might be able to help me.’

‘Do go on. Help, I might be able to.’

‘Right.’ He cleared his throat, awkwardly taking a seat beside him. ‘What do you know about Force ghosts?’

‘Lots. Specific, you must be.’

‘Say you had a dear friend, and they died.’ He began. ‘Then they came back a little while as a Force ghost.’

‘Come back, they don’t.’ Yoda opened one eye, glancing over at him. ‘Never gone, they were. The Force takes time to manifest.’

‘So...the ghost version of them is still them?’

‘Very much so.’ He said. ‘Why, there are many reasons. Many Jedi study for a long time to materialise as ghosts after passing.’

‘What if they didn’t?’

‘Then unfinished business, they have.’ He replied. ‘When a Jedi dies, their Force connections do too. If they are left unbroken, exist as a ghost they will.’

Well, that explained it.

‘Right.’ He murmured. ‘Last question, I promise - how long does that connection usually last?’

‘Months to years, it may be.’ He explained. ‘On their unfinished business, the connection depends.’

‘That makes sense.’ Obi-Wan nodded. ‘Thank you, Master Yoda.’

The little green creature simply nodded in response, turning his attention back to his meditation. He didn’t ask questions -- what was the point? He’d been around hundreds of years, and dealt with hundreds of similar things in that time. Truth be told, he didn’t have all the answers. He was just good at acting like it.

Obi-Wan pondered on the conversation for the rest of the day.

There were a lot of things that could have constituted your unfinished business. The list was endless, especially given how suddenly you’d passed. Nobody knew you better than Obi-Wan, but even he struggled to decipher it. You weren’t the sort of person who would hang around for no good reason. It had to be something important -- something so pressing that you quite literally couldn’t pass away in its entirety without dealing with it. Part of him was worried that he didn’t know at all; you were always sneaking about, always doing something that you shouldn’t have been. That left a long list of possibilities.

But Yoda had directly mentioned Force connections, right? Maybe he’d meant it in a general way, but Obi would have been a complete dumb-ass to think that the Jedi didn’t know what was going on. If the situation didn’t tell him, his seeming ability to know everything about everyone certainly would have. You were the only person he could have possibly been talking about.

It was something he knew he had to bring up, and so he made the mental promise to himself. The best time would have been that night, when he saw you again. If he saw you again. He trusted you to return. You knew better now than to disappear forever without saying goodbye.

And he’d been right. That evening, after he’d exchanged goodbyes with Anakin, Obi-Wan found himself wandering out to the balcony. Sure enough, you were leant against the railings, back turned to him as you peered down at the city below. The air was cold again -- maybe because it was Winter, but also maybe because of you -- and the harsh winds blew back your hair. He wanted to reach out and feel it, to feel you, but he couldn’t. A man whose love language was physical touch was sure to suffer when the person he wanted most was a fucking entity.

‘You’re late.’ You glanced over your shoulder at him. ‘Don’t your meetings normally end at six?’

‘Anakin wanted to talk about something.’ He replied. ‘So is this your life now? Waiting for me to come home?’

You snorted. ‘Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve been at the diner all day moving stuff around to confuse Dex.’

‘That’s mean.’

‘And what would you do if you were a Force ghost?’

Wait for you. Follow you.

‘Explore.’ He lied, leaning against the balcony beside you. ‘I spoke to Yoda today about...this.’

‘Mmm?’

‘He said that people who usually come back either purposefully prepared for it when they were still alive.’

‘Or?’

‘How do you know there’s an or?’

‘Because I sometimes struggled to turn on my lightsaber. You think I’m skilled enough to do this shit on purpose, Kenobi?’

‘You’re…’ brilliantly intelligent, easily the smartest person I know, ‘...clever. Don’t put yourself down.’

‘Just cut to the point.’

‘Right.’ Obi-Wan cleared his throat. ‘He said that, or that they had unfinished business. Force connections still strong enough to keep them here.’

‘So, you and me?’

‘What?’

‘Our Force connection.’ You said it as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. ‘You do know what we have one, right?’

‘I...I figured we were always just...close.’

‘No, you dipshit.’ You shook your head with a laugh. ‘They can develop between best friends. It’s a little rare, but we’re both so strong with the Force that it just happens naturally.’

‘That makes sense.’ he turned to look out at the city. ‘I didn’t really have a best friend before you.’

You looked over at him, a smile playing on your lips. ‘Yeah, me neither.’

Obi-Wan quickly fell into a routine, post-you. Not post-you completely, because he still saw you every evening, but that had helped push him towards the transition. He adjusted to only seeing you after work - not in the mornings or during the day or every waking second like it used to be. Nothing was how it used to be. Not even close. You were no longer beside him during meets or climbing into bed next to him when you had nightmares. There were no more missions with you or late nights filled with paperwork and laughter.

That was the problem.

You were here, but you weren’t really. The ghost he saw every night had your eyes and your laugh and your personality, but it wasn’t really you. Obi-Wan couldn’t touch you; he couldn’t feel you in the same way he used to. It was like having a conversation with a figment of his imagination -- conversations of false hope and plans that would never come to fruition. Because you could banter and you could laugh and you act like things weren’t completely fucking different, but they were. You were a ghost. A ghost of yourself, a ghost of the past, a ghost of what used to be.

It had helped the pain at first. Eased the dread of knowing that you weren’t ever going to be back, not properly. Obi-Wan had appreciated that. It made grieving a lot easier when you were technically still there to tease and jester him through the process. Knowing that his friendship was the reason you couldn’t fully let go of existing had both made it better and worse. Better, because it meant you cared for him as deeply as he did for you. Worse, because it was so open-ended. At what point would you be satisfied enough to finally let go? Would he get to say goodbye, or would you just be here forever?

That was the problem, Obi-Wan had come to find.

He was hopelessly in love with you - though that much was obvious - and he couldn’t deal with only having some of you. He wanted all of you, or he wanted none of you. Only being able to talk to a blue apparition of you just wasn’t enough. It was just a constant reminder that the person he loved most in the universe was gone, and that he’d never fully have you. He was kicking himself for that one. What if he’d said something to you when you were still alive? Declared his love for when he could still physically reach out to you?

That was the thought plaguing his mind every night. With you beside him, a cold aura radiating towards him as you sat with your legs hugged to your chest. It had been a few weeks since your first appearance, and your nights together ranged from deep conversations to comfortable silence. The latter was always worse, because Obi-Wan constantly found himself teetering on the edge of saying something. It was hard, because despite everything, he found you to be more enchanting and peaceful than ever. More entrancing.

‘Can I tell you something?’ He asked.

‘Sure thing.’ You peered over at him. ‘You look worried. Is it serious?’

He paused for a moment. ‘Depends how you take it, I suppose.’

‘Try me.’

‘There are…’ he faltered again. ‘There are some things I regret not telling you when you were still here.’

‘I am here.’ You reminded him.

‘No, I know that.’ He found himself unable to look at you. ‘I mean when you were here here.’

‘What’s the difference, Obi?’

‘Remember when you used to come to my bedroom at 2AM because you’d had a bad dream?’ He asked. ‘Or when you’d throw yourself into my arms after we’d been separated on long missions?’

‘Yeah.’

He absent-mindedly reached a hand out towards you; it went straight through you, a rush of cold shooting down his arm. ‘I can’t do that anymore.’

‘You can still talk to me.’ You urged. ‘You can still be with me-’

‘- not in the way I want.’ Not in the way I need.

‘What do you mean?’ You gently pushed.

‘You don’t need me to explain it.’ He finally looked at you, blue eyes shrouded with an emotion you couldn’t quite decipher.

‘Obi-Wan, what do you think has been keeping me here?’ You asked.

You knew. Of course you fucking knew. Try as he might to be mysterious and suave, but you could read him like a book -- and it was a shock to you that he hadn’t seen your feelings either. They were clear as day to both of you, and yet it had been easier to ignore them for the sake of your friendship, and for the sake of the code. You both always figured that you could deal with them at a later date, because that’s when you’d had a later.

‘Just say it.’ You murmured. ‘Say that you love me too and I’ll go-’

‘- I don’t want you to go.’ He cut you off. ‘Because then you’re gone forever.’

‘And then you can move on.’ You smiled. Neither of you knew that ghosts could cry until now.

This was the closest he would ever get to having you now. He could have just sucked it up and dealt with it, and kept you by his side in your ominous form - but would that have been fair on you? To keep you around, just because he was so full of regret over things unsaid and so full of fear over grieving? None of this was fair, on him or on you.

‘I can’t say it.’ Obi-Wan murmured. ‘Not yet.’

‘It’s okay.’ You gave him a watery smile. ‘I know.’

Neither of you said anything else - maybe you didn’t want to, or maybe you were scared to. The fact you’d finally acknowledged the bantha in the room after years, finally admitting that love had been the driving force behind what made your friendship so good, for so long. The irony was that when you’d died, he’d wanted nothing more than for you to come back in some form. Now, he realised that it was holding him back from moving on -- and he couldn’t do that until he’d let you go. But he couldn’t do that either.

Unbeknownst to Obi-Wan, his words had been a confession. Albeit a thinly veiled one, but a confession nonetheless. It had confirmed to you the only thing you’d wanted to know before you’d passed: that he loved you back. That was all you needed. It was all you’d ever needed.

Eventually, the Jedi beside you grew sleepy. That’s how it usually went every night -- you’d talk, he’d fall asleep beside you, and you’d cover him with a blanket and slip out to wherever it was that Force ghosts went at night. He never asked, for fear of it ruining the mystery. Obi-Wan knew that he wasn’t the only person you saw, but it was a nice thought, and one he didn’t want to taint. At least you took more mercy on him than you did with Dex, who slowly thought he was going insane at all the random objects suddenly being moved around.

When you heard him gently snoring, you stood up. Obi-Wan looked peaceful, as though he’d finally gotten something of his chest - even though he hadn’t realised he’d done it. He hadn’t realised that it had been enough.

You leant down beside him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. For the first time since you’d appeared, you could finally feel his skin against yours - no cold jolts, no body parts suddenly disappearing through the other. Just your lips against his; warm and...human.

‘Good night, Obi-Wan.’ You ran a hand through his hair, before standing up and stepping back. ‘I love you. I’ll always love you.’

He felt it. He was asleep, but he felt your lips on his and your hand in his hair, and he’d secretly smiled to himself, not entirely realising what was going on. He’d thought it was a dream, or that he was simply imagining that you could finally touch him as though you were a human, and no longer a cold, blue ghost.

Because you weren’t. You were no longer a ghost.

Obi-Wan didn’t realise till he rose the next morning, a blanket tossed over him and the feeling of your lips still lingering on his, even hours later. He even dared to smile for a moment, before the knowledge of what he’d done hit him. He’d given you what you wanted - an unintentional confession of love. The thing you needed to finally cut off your Force connection. The only thing still tethering you to this world.

You were gone, but at least he’d finally gotten what he wanted. You. Even if it was only for a few moments.

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