ooo well since you're asking for breathless!AU prompts! Could we get some insight on Jango and Obi's relationship before Jango left as a supercommando? When Obi was a teenager and full of anger and called Jango a laserbrain? Because I would LOVE to see how Jango felt in that situation.
Mando’a:
buir/e — “parent/s”, gender neutral
mando’ad/e — lit. “true child/ren of Mandalore”, True Mandalorian/s (slang shortened to Haat'ad/e)
(pls accept this tiny offering. i miss this obi dearly.)
first parts here and here | Ao3
Ruusaan has Obi-Wan a year before Jango meets him, because the brat spends most of it half-dead in a hospital, and Jango doesn’t care that his buir sends him disappointed glances when he calls Obi-Wan the brat: Obi-Wan is a brat and Jango has the scorched remains of his favourite cape to prove it.
Before becoming Haat’ad, before Jaster found him, Jango had been the youngest in his family, so he knows for a fact that the brat’s vicious streak isn’t because he’s got a “youngest brother complex” or whatever the fuck Myles keeps trying to excuse him with. Wherever Ruusaan found the brat, feral children must be the norm, because Jango can’t fathom how else he had turned out like... that.
Jango swears he’s seen his eyes reflect light in the dark, so maybe he isn’t even fully human. That might explain a lot.
And for some reason, Jaster keeps shoving the two of them together, like he hopes some of Jango’s maturity and common sense will rub off on him. That’s an utterly lost cause, Jango thinks, when the brat hates Jedi almost more than the Haat Mando’ade hate Death Watch, and isn’t afraid to show it.
Which is maybe why Jango freezes in the doorway to the brat’s room instead of moving the fuck out of the way, when he walks in on the brat struggling into a binder and Obi-Wan launches his entire bed at him in panic. With his mind.
Obi-Wan refuses to apologise afterwards, but does take Jango to the infirmary so a professional can fix his face before he bleeds out from his broken nose and the sizable gash on his forehead. Jango, of course, learns to knock.
-
To Jango’s eternal consternation, the brat is actually quite adept at hand-to-hand and swordplay already, better than most his age, and certainly better than Jango had been at fourteen. Unfortunately, the brat knows this fact ticks him off, and is all too happy to shove it in his face at every opportunity, until most of their interactions devolve into scuffles that only pass for sparring for the first few blows before it becomes clear they are far more interested in beating the shit out of each other.
He seethes that the brat can get under his skin so fucking easily. He’s nineteen already, he has better fucking things to do than wrestling with tweens in the dirt, and he should be better than wrestling tweens in the dirt, but for some reason, Obi-Wan knows just what to say or do to piss him off.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so annoying if their buir’e weren’t so fucking amused by it.
-
After Jango leaves and comes back, their spars are actually just that, even if some part of Jango is still ticked off that Obi-Wan has somehow improved at the same rate he had as a teen. Which is to say, despite the years of experience he has on Obi-Wan, Jango ends most of these spars on the flat of his back, scowling up at a flushed and grinning brat.
He... supposes there are worse ways to lose.
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Regarding the tags on your WIP Walter x reader story:
Does he think it'll cure her? If there is *some* pity, is he hopeful for a cure, but it doesn't work? And that causes some tension between them? I mean, she'll now be immortal, so it does fix the issue of her life expectancy. If there's tension, why? Does she think he regrets choosing her? Does he feel bad it didn't *work* if that was the goal? Some other misunderstanding between them?
If the vampires in this story don't need to breathe, that might address the asthma initially, but the rest could stay? In my story, Walter cannot cry like a human, but he has lingering feelings of his body attempting to sob which results in panicked chest spasms. Maybe she still gets lingering feelings of her asthma, but no actual attack, but it causes everyone's attention to fall to her during events with the three families, and the others comment about her, again causing angst.
Are her legs visibly damaged from birth/severe illness (look up Toulouse-Lautrec syndrome/PYCD, Miyoshi Myopathy, Blount’s disease, etc) or even from lack of use (partial atrophy)? If someone were missing a finger and became a vampire, I wouldn't assume that it would suddenly reappear, so if those diseases or similar (even unspecified) are part of her disability, it makes sense that they wouldn't be fully cured by vampirism. The intense pain might be gone, but she would still have difficulties.
A question I'm really curious about - esp with it being from her POV - is did *she* think she'd be cured? What are her feelings and expectations when Walter chooses her? The anticipation on her wedding day - not only for her husband, but for her health as well - and after she's turned what does change with her body? We all feel inadequate when we compare ourselves to others, so what thoughts are running through her mind with regards to the Klopstock and Billington brides? How do they treat her? How do the rest of the families react to Walter's choice?
all the questions you asked are spoilers so-unfortunately i wont answer so at least SOME of the fic is fresh XDXD (also me-sending you so many peek so of the fic XD)
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dating the love and deepspace boys | domestic moments
featuring: rafayel, xavier, and zayne x gn!reader
(´• ω •`) ♡ modern au! can you guys tell raf is my favorite..?
rafayel
a year younger than you. lies to everyone (including you) that he’s actually two years your senior. you only found out he was younger than you when you met his parents, who have his birth certificate framed.
hates cats. despises them. they fill him with rage (fear). says he’s allergic (he’s lying).
“oh shit raf, this sucks! i guess you can’t move in with me.. i have cats”
“...you have cats?”
“yeah. 3.”
“i’m not allergic. i can move in tonight.”
chronically online. minoring in marine biology and majoring in annoying you. texts you over 200 times a day and if you don’t respond, he’s faking a horrible chronic illness. again. it’s amnesia on wednesdays, appendicitis on thursdays, chronic migraines on fridays… etc..
he has 2 followers on his private twitter. you and thomas.
over 700k followers on instagram for some reason? he sells paintings on depop (he says it's depop but you’re convinced he sells them for heinous prices on the black market)
cooks on occasion? has an apron that says kiss me im irish (he's not irish?) made you a tuna cupcake once??
pescatarian. not in the vegan/vegetarian way where he refuses to eat red meat but because he’s absolutely feral over fish. (is this cannibalism? he says its not)
lives in a 2 bedroom apartment with you but doesn’t use his bedroom. says your bed is comfier. turned his bedroom into a painting studio (IT’S for the black market you say!!) and sleeps with you.
“raf,” you sigh. “don’t you have.. homework or something?”
he sits between your legs, back against your chest as he scrolls through his phone.
“yeah,” he says. you flick the back of his head because you know he’s smirking. “it’s called assignment: you. due in two minutes.”
with his free hand, he reaches back mindlessly to grab yours. you sigh, fingers intertwining with his, a reflex as he leans his head back. his eyes meet yours and you can’t help but laugh.
“well?” you ask, brushing his hair out of his eyes as he squeezes your hand. “what are the assignment details?”
he chews on the bottom of his lip as he thinks, humming while his eyes wander across your face. he swings your interlocked hands in circles. it’s raining outside, the heater is on, and rafayel is warm like hot chocolate.
“what?” he says, his cheeks a tinge pink. “you’re looking at me like that again.” a pause. he turns, his head now buried in your chest.
“just studying my homework.” you say, hands instinctively wrapping around his back. the laundry machine is running in the background, rain is falling against the window, and you faintly hear your rice cooker dinging in the kitchen. home, you think, is with rafayel.
“i can hear your heartbeat.” he says, voice muffled. “it’s super fast. you like me or something?”
“i really like you.” you say, without skipping a beat. rafayel groans into your chest, sighing in discontent.
“no fair. i’m supposed to be the flirter.”
you press a kiss onto the top of his head and you feel his body melt into yours. the two of you fall into a warm silence, his breath steady as he traces paintings into your neck.
“raf?” you mumble, eyes drooping. he hums in response. “did you pass your assignment?”
he smiles. “with flying colors.”
xavier
chronic napper. (yapper?)
has 100 late assignments. failing all of his classes yet got into the top university in your country because he got a perfect score on his entrance exams. you thought he was a nepo baby (turns out he’s just.. smart?)
his procrastination rubs off on you… he is the WORST distraction and he knows it. so smug about it and uses it to his own advantage. will perch on top of you when you’re studying and kiss down your neck until you go to sleep with him.
lives in the apartment on top of yours but is at your house most days, if not all. you ask him to move in.
“am i not already.. living with you?”
“don’t you still have your apartment, though?”
“yeah..?”
is that good for the economy?? is it financially smart? not at all, but he’s too lazy to move out and put his apartment up for lease.
xavier sleeps with his legs entangled with yours and his arms wrapped tightly around your chest. the air conditioning hums in the background as you scroll mindlessly on your phone, dimming the brightness as you hear xavier stir.
“sorry xav, did i wake you up?” you ask. he doesn’t respond, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as he glares at your phone.
“xavier?” you question, swallowing a laugh at his ruffled hair and disheveled clothes.
“phone down.” he says, voice raspy with sleep and an octave lower than usual. you raise an eyebrow at him.
“can i get a pretty please in this economy?”
xavier’s eyes narrow as he snatches your phone away, snoozing the device and placing it on the nightstand next to you. his lips ghost your neck, pressing kisses against your skin as he mumbles incoherently in the dark of your bedroom.
“xavier-” you breathe, giggling at the sensation. “that tickles!”
he nips at your neck.
“bedtime. now.”
zayne
3 years older than you
he literally has his whole life together at 27 which scares you so much
“my credit card is your credit card” typa boyfriend
cooks. cleans. has a 9-5. you’re interning at the hospital that he works at (he’s head doctor!!)
you’re just a sweet little intern and zayne is the big bad monster!! everyone at work thinks he hates you because he’s extra strict on you. doesn’t give you any special treatment, ‘ignores’ you most days (but also slips meals into your locker and hands you heat packs on cold days in the hospital)
no one knows he’s dating you until one day someone sees you leaving in zaynes car.
“oh, you carpool with doctor zayne?”
“huh? no, we live together.”
“you WHAT???”
he’s a virgo……. erm……
the two of you get ready together in the morning. his guard is down when he’s sleepy and he’ll cling to you as he brushes his teeth and does his hair.
you wake up to the cold night breeze, blinking the sleep out of your eyes and shivering as you scan your surroundings. you yelp as you meet the attentive gaze of your boyfriend.
“huh? whuh? huh?” you splutter, squirming as zayne holds you tighter. he’s carrying you bridal style in his arms, his jacket around your shoulders as the two of you walk to his car. you see the bright lights of akso hospital fading away behind the two of you.
“it’s two am,” he says calmly, placing you down gently as he opens your car door for you. “you waited for my shift to end. again.”
you smile bashfully, rubbing the back of your head. “well, i didn’t wanna just leave you!”
zayne clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, eyebrows furrowed but gaze warm. he guides you into your seat, clicking your seatbelt in place.
“you can nap on the way home,” he says, closing the door and sliding into his side of the car.
the heater’s on already- courtesy of his super expensive electric car. he fastens his own seatbelt and hands you a hot tea and bread from the hospital vending machine.
“drink up. doctor’s orders.”
you grin before he leans over to press a kiss on your lips.
“thank you for waiting for me.”
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