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smhalltheurlsaretaken · 3 months

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~all creatures great and small~ (amazing illustration by the awesome @david-talks-sw)

“And just what exactly is it that you’ve been doing?”

Obi-Wan had to stop himself from giving his fellow Councillor—and friend—a rather pronounced eyeroll.

“You tell me,” he said without taking his eyes off his clamoring little herd, feeling rather proud of himself. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Mace came up to his side and crossed his arms, looking decidedly unimpressed. He looked at Obi-Wan, then at his rambunctious little friends and their merrymaking, then back at Obi-Wan again.

“It looks like you have been avoiding meetings all morning.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help the small smirk that tugged at his mouth. He carefully put his hands in his large sleeves.

“Have I?” He knew he wouldn’t be able to stop laughing if he saw Mace’s no doubt exasperated face, so he kept carefully looking onward. “You should have called me.”

“You know I did,” Mace griped, valiantly ignoring the racket and still boring holes in the side of Obi-Wan’s face.

If it came to a contest of wills, Obi-Wan knew he’d be hard pressed to match Mace’s stubbornness. He turned to face him, and inevitably let out a huffed chuckle. Mace looked annoyed alright, but he could do nothing about the twinkle in his deep eyes.

“You,” Mace insisted, no doubt trying to maintain what he probably hoped to be a convincingly stern demeanor, “have spent all day corrupting our next generation instead of going over mission reports.”

“Really, Mace—”

A yellow blur careening between the two of them nearly knocked them off their feet. A beige, more bipedal one rushed right after it, bumping into them both with equal speed if not equal force.

“Sorry Masters!” the youngling yelled over her shoulder without stopping.

Obi-Wan had to cough into his fist to keep from cackling.

“Obi-Wan.” Mace said.

“She apologized,” Obi-Wan pointed out with a brilliant smile.

“You still haven’t.”

“What for?”

Mace’s control finally cracked, and he thrust an accusing finger at Obi-Wan’s innocent face, ready to give into a rare display of unrestrained aggravation. Obi-Wan quickly batted it away and beat him to the punch.

“It’s a perfectly good way of teaching the younglings patience and control!”

Mace blinked at him, his mouth left hanging open, his finger still up and now pointing somewhere over to the right. He turned slowly, and surveyed the bustling courtyard in bemusement. The half-dozen or so pufferpigs that Obi-Wan had let loose there were being corralled by three times as many eager younglings, clone cadets and Padawans, and the animals all felt entitled to express the full range of their feelings on the matter in a loud and enthusiastic fashion. Little Mari Amithest was still running after the particularly rowdy creature that had mistaken Obi-Wan and Mace for Rodian bowling pins.

Mace’s eyebrows climbed to previously undiscovered heights.

“What part of this,” he gestured incredulously, “is controlled?”

“None of the pigs have puffed yet,” Obi-Wan explained seriously.

Mace’s eyebrows were now on their way into orbit. A moment passed. Then, his expression of astonishment seamlessly melted into curiosity.

“They haven’t?” he asked, considering the whole bunch with renewed interest.

“I told you, it’s a proven method,” Obi-Wan insisted, vindicated. He pointed to the far corner of the courtyard, where Katooni was showing some of the younger children how to feed a happy looking unpuffed puffer. “My Padawan has taught that one to do tricks.”

The squealing puffer was hopping from one foot to the other before avidly sweeping treats from the children’s outstretched hands.

Mace was now looking suitably impressed. More careful study of Mari’s chase was making it apparent that the animal she was after was not distressed in any way, but was—rather mischievously—trying to run off with her sash clutched in its stout trunk.

“You shouldn’t let emotions cloud your perception,” Obi-Wan reminded him in a serious voice.

“Hm,” Mace conceded magnanimously, impervious to the teasing.

The twinkle of carefully contained amusement that had been present in his eyes from the start had won over all other sentiments. A wet snort had the two Masters look down at the adventurous pufferpig that had made its way over to them. The amicable beast was fixing them with soulful blue eyes, candidly inoffensive. Its stubby tail was wagging quite politely. Mace distractedly bent down to pet the expectant critter on its broad, squishy face.

“It wants to smell your lightsaber,” Obi-Wan warned. “They like crystals.”

Mace straightened and put a hand on his hilt.

“The Mining Guild didn’t pick them up yesterday?” he inquired. “That was on the agenda.”

Obi-Wan shrugged.

“They tried, but for some reason all the identity chips turned out to be unreadable. There’s no way to prove who these fellows belong to.”

Mace gave him a flat look.

“Hondo stole them from a Republic transport.”

“There’s all sorts of things on Republic transports,” Obi-Wan reasonably pointed out.

“The transport was chartered by the Mining Guild.”

“Hondo wiped the manifest during his hijacking. There’s just no way to know.”

“Your Padawan was there to escort the Mining Guild representatives.”

“Some mysteries can never hope to be solved.”

The pufferpig had taken to bonking its head against their legs affectionately. Mace, bowing to the undeniable strength of Obi-Wan’s ironclad argumentation, very seriously gave the tenacious quadruped another pat.

“They’re not staying,” he reminded Obi-Wan firmly.

“Obviously not,” Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “The Temple would be a terrible environment for them.”

His friend narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“And you’re not making me spend my time finding them a place.”

“Honestly, Mace.” Obi-Wan gave the affable puffer a gentle shove, and it obediently trotted away to a nearby group of younglings and clone cadets who were already entertaining one of its siblings. Obi-Wan wiped his hands on his pants. “Naboo has very responsible educational farms.”

“Does it,” Mace said mildly.

“Including a recently opened one in the Lake District.”

Unashamedly petty enjoyment rang in the Force.

“Don’t come to me when Skywalker tries to send them back.”

“Who says I’ll pick up when he does?”

Obi-Wan loved Anakin, dearly. Still, he hadn’t yet quite forgiven his old Padawan for retiring—running away—before they could make him shoulder his share of the sacred responsibility of wrangling the Temple’s significantly increased youngling population. It was Luke and Leia’s birthday soon anyway.

“You’re stooping to deviousness,” Mace said, carefully neutral.

Obi-Wan gave him a wry look.

“Never. Revenge is not the Jedi way,” he said just as calmly.

“It’s them you’re supposed to be teaching,” Mace said with a short nod towards the unruly bunch. “He’s had his turn.”

Speaking of teaching…

“Oh my,” Obi-Wan said smugly, pointing to a boy who had taken to carefully levitating a surprisingly compliant—if a little alarmed—pufferpig, “that wouldn’t happen to be Caleb, would it?”

His fellow Council member was now pinching the bridge of his nose, his other hand planted on his hip.

“I must say, that young man is certainly very skilled at forming connections with animals. Depa must be very proud.”

“Just don’t,” Mace groaned. He whipped out his communicator. “He’s supposed to be meditating with Yoda right now.”

“That explains it,” Obi-Wan said.

Master Yoda was slowly ambling into the courtyard, looking quite pleased with what he was seeing. He poked misbehaving younglings with his cane as he walked, chuckling to himself when they yelped and hastily reached with the Force to make sure the pufferpigs stayed relaxed. The pufferpigs themselves were only curious, and in a sufficiently playful mood that the younglings’ offended squeaking was not enough to agitate them. Caleb had set down his floating puffer with all possible speed—and great care—at the sight of the venerable elder, and made ample and readily accepted apologies to the perplexed animal in the form of scritches.

Mace slowly put away his communicator. He pursed his lips.

“Obi-Wan,” he said slowly, “next time, just have them practice making friends with the stray tookas.”

That’s how his master had done it, and Mace had never had any problems with connecting with animals, large and small.

“Pufferpigs are much more even-tempered.”

It was all Mace could do not to facepalm. Giving up, he shot Obi-Wan one last dry look.

“Just do your damn paperwork.”

Obi-Wan watched him stride away, dignified and imposing. Of course, since he wasn’t exactly paying attention to his surroundings, with how focused he was on pretending he was above this whole situation, he didn’t notice Mari’s wayward puffer on a direct collision course with his legs. The poor creature, who hadn’t noticed Mace either, let out a terrified screech and promptly puffed.

The entire courtyard froze, watching with fascination as the inflated pufferpig bounced twice and slowly rolled to a halt. It made a sorry little squeak.

Resignedly, Mace closed his eyes and set to work on gently calming down the pufferpig with the Force.

The children loudly cheered.

#ficlet #mace windu #obi-wan kenobi #star wars #no order 66 #jedi order #jedi temple #my writing #yoda #caleb dume #katooni #loose sequel to my fic “villains and knaves”#Hondo stole the pufferpigs to sell them obi-wan confiscated them and now he’s not giving them back to the mining guild meanies

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goobersplat · 23 days

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I’m trying to document as much of Sqwishland “history” (???) as I can by finding photos of them. I loved these things as a kid and the thought of other people remembering them too makes me happy : )

Sources: 1/2/3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8

Image ID under cut its long lol

(Image ID: Eight photos of Sqwishland squishy animal vending machine toys on backing cards.

1) A lion, a penguin, an elephant, a pig, and a cow squishy on a backing card that says “Zoo Mania.”

2) A lobster, a clam, a seal, a crab, and a puffer fish on a backing card that says “sea mania 2”

3) A koala, a panda, a lion, a hippo, and a panda on a backing card that says “jungle mania.

4) A goat, an otter, an alligator, a sheep, and a snake squishy on a backing card that says “squishland swamp.”

5) A toad, a lizard, a turtle, an otter, a chameleon, a snake, a platypus, and a possum on a backing card that says “Squishland giant swamp”

6) A clownfish, an octopus, a dolphin, a sea horse, and an orca on a backing card with text that says “sea mania giant.”

7) A penguin, a snow fox, a polar bear, a moose, and a narwhal on a backing card that says “Squishland polar collection.)

8) Four Sqwishland backing cards. 1. “Forest” with a Fox, a beaver, a rabbit, a raccoon, and a deer. 2. “Jungle: glow in the dark.” with a parrot, a monkey, a panda, a koala, and an elephant. 3. “Jungle: glow in the dark” again with an elephant, a cow, a panda, a horse, a hippo, a monkey, a koala, and a lion. 4. “Farm” with a pig, a bull, a rooster, a cow, and a sheep.

End ID)

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sillygooseassociation · 1 year

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Lucky Charm

Request: Would you write about surprising Ted with lingerie or in one of his shirts or jerseys when he gets home from travelling? 😈

Description: You welcome Ted home from his win against Liverpool, a welcome he will excitedly accept.

Warning: smut, oral (f receiving)

Pairing: Ted Lasso x reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Ted’s head snapped up as soon as his chin hit his chest, letting out a squeak as he startles awake. Beard closes his book, using a finger to keep his spot, “What’s up, coach?” Ted rubs his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he takes a deep breath, “Nothin’ coach. Just don’t wanna fall asleep so close to home, y’know?” The right-hand man nods in understanding, opening his book once again as Ted glances out the window, watching the fields turn into buildings as they enter the city.

Jumping a little at the buzz of his phone, Ted scoffs at himself and how tired he feels, though his exhaustion doesn’t last long when he opens his messages.

Y/N 😍❤️: Congrats on your win, Coach Lasso. Hope you’re not too celebrated out xxx [image attached]

Ted checks over his shoulder at lightning speed when he opens the accompanying image, not wanting to withstand any teasing but also not okay with anyone seeing his girl. He knows the photo isn’t the most revealing, all parts are covered, yet he would have to watch pigs fly during a cold day in hell while it rains cats and dogs before he lets any eyes but his own view that sacred photo.

Looking back down once he knows the coast is clear, Ted’s eyes widen as his face reddens and his pants tighten slightly. With the sheets of your shared bed as the background, the posed photo focuses on your body from the neck down, a Richmond jersey hugging your body, stopping just below where your hips meet your bare legs. Ted takes in a deep breath, staring at the expanse of your thighs before tracing back up to the jersey, hardening even more at the knowledge that the back of your jersey has his last name plastered on it.

After an eon of a bouncing leg, a stared-at phone, and a leaking head, Ted, who normally waited for all the players to exit the bus before he did, ran off the vehicle, backpack on his shoulder as he yelled something about an upset stomach and seeing the team on Monday.

One more eon later (each “eon” being about 15 minutes in reality), Ted fished his keys out of his pocket before struggling to get his key in the lock, his hands shaking with excitement. Toeing his shoes off at the door and hanging up his puffer, Ted breathes out a sigh of relief as he heads to the bedroom, eager for release after 30 minutes of his cock leaking and not softening at all.

Opening the door, Ted lets out a low groan at the sight of you in the middle of the bed, hand under the bottom of the jersey as you squeeze your eyes shut, small gasps leaving your lips, “You getting yourself ready for me, beautiful?”

Opening your eyes to see Ted moving towards the bed, discarding his clothes as he nears, a wide smile shows on your face, “I’m always ready for you coach Lasso.” Ted moans in contentment at the title, taking off his pants so he is left in only his underwear, standing at the bottom of the bed. You lift yourself onto your knees, staring at him as you remove your hand, bringing up your glistening fingers so that it is in between you two, “Should I take care of this or would you like to?”

Ted takes one more step forward, knees hitting the side of the mattress as his hand grasps your wrist, bringing your hand to his mouth as he takes your three fingers in his mouth, sucking on them as he maintains eye contact with you before closing his eyes and throwing his head back as he lets out a guttural moan. You take the opportunity to inch closer, throwing yourself into his chest as you wrap your arms around his torso, leaving a kiss on his Adam’s apple. Licking from the base of his neck to below his ear, you breathily give him your congratulations, “Very nice job on your win today, baby.”

Looking back at you, Ted’s eyes are blown with lust as he rakes in the image of you in his jersey, “Thanks, darling. Only happened because of my lucky charm.” You wrap your arms around his neck as he pushes you up the bed, laying you down on your back as he slots himself in between your legs, “Your lucky charm?”

Ted nods affirmatively, lowering himself so he is at eye level with your dripping core that he sees as he pushes the jersey up, eliciting a moan from him, “Yeah, my lucky charm. The love of my life watching me from home while wearing my jersey, and apparently nothing else”. You let out a whine at the combination of his words and his hot breath as he blows on your swollen clit.

“Now let me thank my lucky charm, ‘lright?” Before you can even respond, Ted licks up your slit slowly before latching onto your nub, sucking rhythmically as you let out a string of whines. Moving your hands down to tug at Ted’s hair, you brace your feet on the bed as you thrust up. Chuckling at your eagerness, Ted looks up at you through his hooded eyelids, “Give me a second sweetheart, let me taste ya before I give you what you want.”

You nod desperately, wanting any kind of relief but also anxious to see the throbbing cock that had made a wet spot on the front of Ted’s briefs. Ted curls two of his fingers into you before his tongue follows, lapping up as much of your juice as you can. He groans in delight, his mustache tickling your clit as it is on high alert, pushing you close to the edge. “T-Ted, Imma…” Ted pulls away barely from your pussy, his thumb rubbing your clit at the perfect pace, “I know sugar, let go for me. Come all over my mouth, it’s just how I want ya.”

With Ted’s reaffirming words and resumed attack on your core as his thumb continues on your clit, you reach your peak while you let out a loud moan, pulling at Ted’s hair. As you come back down earth, you feel Ted cleaning you up with his tongue, not a single drop left behind as he hums Richmond’s chant to himself.

He pushes himself up so he’s level with your face, emphatically kissing you, bringing a moan from you at the taste of yourself on his lips. You quickly reach down, tugging his briefs down before he wiggles out of them and kicks them to the ground. You grasp him, rubbing your thumb over the tip, “Want you in me, coach.”

Ted groans deeply before nodding, latching onto your neck to leave a mark as he positions his dick right above your entrance. You move to take off the jersey before Ted stops you, grabbing your hands as he puts his weight on his knees, not yet entering you, “Hey there now. Wanna keep my lucky charm just as it is. Gonna fuck you as you wear my name, get a taste of what it’ll be like when I marry ya, okay sweetness?”

Ted was thanking every god above that he didn’t fall asleep on the bus back to Richmond.

#smut smut smut #ted lasso #ted lasso fanfiction #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fic #ted lasso x reader #ted lasso smut #ted lasso x reader smut #jason sudeikis #jsuds

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somedaylazysomeday · 2 months

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Bitten - Part Four

You finally give into your desires and contact Commander Wolffe.

Commander Wolffe x fem!reader

Rating: Mature. Minors, please do not interact.

Word Count: 5,200

Warnings: Discussions of BDSM contracts, including rules, punishments, safewords, hard and soft limits, etc. Mentions of sex toys and masturbation.

Previous | Next | Masterlist

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Weeks.

It had been weeks since you had slept with Wolffe a second time and you hadn’t stopped thinking about the time you had spent together.

You were intrigued by his proposal, of course. You couldn’t say that a relationship like that had ever been something you had pictured yourself having… but you also couldn’t deny that you found the power exchange intoxicating.

In fact, the only reason you had allowed weeks to pass since the last time you had seen Wolffe was because the Wolfpack had been off-planet for most of that time. Ieri kept you up-to-date on their movements.

At first, you had been concerned about the pretty Zeltron’s relationship with Wolffe, but you had learned that Ieri and Wolffe were friends. It was rather like seeing a nexu befriending a puffer pig, but it was adorable. It was also a relief to find out that there was no attraction between them. Ieri did not care for BDSM relationships and preferred females besides. In particular, she cared for your friend Gemma, which you also found adorable.

When Ieri told you that the Wolfpack was back on Coruscant, you took a moment to check in with yourself. This was a big decision. Wolffe had told you clearly that, if you contacted him again after the last time you had slept together, you would meet up with the intention of setting up something more permanent.

You decided to take a few days to consider it. Then, when you got antsy, you decided that two days would be long enough. And when your most reliable vibrator proved unequal to the task of keeping you sated, you admitted the truth to yourself: you wanted this. You wanted Wolffe.

When you commed the number Ieri had given you after your first meeting with Wolffe, your heart was pounding, but your hands were steady. You had opted for a written comm message to cut down on the risk of sounding scared or overeager: Hey. Want to meet up?

It was short, simple, and thirsty as hell. You had remembered to sign it, thankfully, since you had never commed him before. You had thought about explaining where you had met him to further jog his memory, but you ultimately decided against it. If he had forgotten about you or had that many people in rotation, you probably didn’t want to be with him anyway.

Probably.

Despite your carefully crafted message, Wolffe didn’t reply immediately. You assured yourself that he was probably busy, but when he hadn’t answered fifteen minutes later, you sent a quick comm message to Ieri: Did Wolffe change his frequency?

Not that I know of. He can take a while to write back, though. Be patient!

You took a deep breath, trying your best to follow that impossible advice when another message came through: Does this mean you two will be hooking up again? ;)

Despite the speed with which you closed out that message chain, you laughed at Ieri’s unsubtle urging for you to date the handsome commander. She had been the one to introduce the two of you - though it was from a distance - and had never been shy about the fact that she thought you should be together on a regular basis. She said you were good for each other.

The comlink buzzed again and you smiled wryly as you lifted it once more. Instead of another teasing prod from Ieri, this one was a brief message from Wolffe. It listed a time, date, and address.

It was difficult to think past the roaring in your ears, but you managed to calculate that you were apparently meeting with Wolffe the following afternoon.

Another buzz.

If you haven’t done your research, here is a place to start.

You reread the message twice before a collection of Holonet links started to ping through. The first one was an overview of BDSM and power-exchange relationships. Then an explanation of BDSM contracts. Then a ranking of power-exchange relationship levels, from bedroom-only to around-the-chrono.

More links and more articles and more ideas you had never considered. Information poured in until you started to feel overwhelmed. You had conducted research of your own, and had considered it fairly intense, but you were starting to suspect that you had barely scratched the surface.

By the time you finally let your datapad rest on your beside table, it was the early hours of the morning. You didn’t feel guilty about taking the day off, even when you told your concerned supervisor that you were sick. It wouldn’t have been appropriate to tell them that you were sick with anticipation and nerves, positively trembling at the idea of taking on a new challenge. It also wouldn’t have been a good idea to work on only a few hours of sleep.

You slept far longer than you would have otherwise, but it was fitful, interrupted by dreams and stray thoughts. More than once, you woke up to dampness between your thighs as your body pulsed with desperation.

Just before it was time to leave to meet Wolffe, you showered. Your vibrator seemed far more effective now that you had a new universe of ideas to fuel your fantasies, but you hoped most of your orgasms in the near future would be more involved than pumping a slick piece of silicon between your legs.

When you were freshly clean and fully wrung out, you hailed a transport to ferry you to the address Wolffe had commed you. It wasn’t a club, as you had expected. Instead, it seemed to be an upscale bar with such a subtle logo that you struggled to make it out against the neon glare of the surrounding businesses: The Edge. Appropriate, you mused as you ventured toward the door. It did have an excellent view of the industrial sector’s canyon-like construction.

“You’re on time,” a rough voice told you. Every nerve you had thrilled at the familiar sound, and you eagerly turned to meet Wolffe’s brown and silver gaze. “Good girl.”

Oooh. That, you had to fight not to react to. You managed, but had a feeling it was less effective than you wanted with the way Wolffe’s lips tipped into a smile.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” you said instead. “I’ve never been here.”

Wolffe’s smile grew slightly. “I know you haven’t. Follow me.”

Your brow was still crinkled in confusion as you trailed behind Wolffe. He held the door for you, letting you lead the way into The Edge’s atrium. It was elegant, all dark leather and subtle stone, but nothing that explained the secret sort of smirk on the receptionist’s face.

“We’ll be dining here,” Wolffe announced.

The receptionist tipped their head. “Fourth floor, as you know.”

That seemed like an odd thing to say, but Wolffe immediately proved them right by going directly to an elevator that was half-hidden by a stunning Nabooian painted screen.

“So…” you started, when you were shut in the hushed closeness of the elevator. “I guess you come here a lot.”

“I do,” Wolffe agreed, pressing the button for the fourth floor. He gave you a curious look. “Does that bother you?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

If Wolffe had intended to answer that, he didn’t manage to do so before you arrived at the restaurant. It was probably lucky that he had you step out of the elevator first, because you weren’t sure you could be trusted to keep up, otherwise. The restaurant was just as subtly classy as the atrium had been, but that elegance was enhanced by an assortment of enticing smells.

The host greeted Wolffe by full name and title. “Commander Wolffe, wonderful to see you. Your usual table has been prepared.”

When Wolffe nodded, the host gathered two menus and wove a complicated path into the depths of the restaurant. He set the menus down on a secluded table in a back corner of the space. It was a booth… or half of one, anyway. The single bench seat faced a floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the bustle of Coruscant. It was shaded and tinted enough that the brightness wasn’t overwhelming, but offered a fantastic view for anyone who cared to look.

“Your server will be with you shortly,” the host told you both with a smile. “Enjoy.”

Had he waggled his eyebrows at you? That seemed daring, but maybe he could sense the dirty thoughts tumbling through your mind. You couldn’t help it, being so close to Wolffe.

You only got closer as you sat down together. The booth was fairly spacious, but it was only one cushion and Wolffe had some of the broadest shoulders you had ever seen. It didn’t help that being so close to him at a table forcibly reminded you of your first meeting, when he had brought you to a knee-trembling orgasm simply by having you grind against his thigh armor.

“Pick something to eat,” Wolffe told you, pushing a menu in your direction. “We’ll start our conversation after we order.”

You stared at the options. They all sounded delicious, but your stomach was tight with nerves. You had decided on a salad to keep your body from rebelling entirely. When your server appeared, you placed your order first, then watched in amazement as Wolffe ordered two dishes and an extra cut of meat. You had heard the clone troopers talking about how their advanced metabolisms left them perpetually hungry, but you rarely had cause to see it in action.

When you were alone once more, Wolffe fixed you with a measuring look. “Did you read what I sent?”

“And everything else I could find,” you admitted. “There’s a lot more to this than I thought there would be.”

Wolffe nodded. “Did you decide what you want to do?”

You stared at him, feeling suddenly unsure. Did he want you to just start listing the things you wanted him to do to you? That seemed abrupt. “I- What exactly…”

“Let me clarify that,” Wolffe interrupted. “Do you want to be in a power-exchange relationship? If you learned more about it and decided that it’s too much, we can just have lunch.”

“No, I want to do this!” you insisted, relieved that he had been asking something more surface-level. “I was just surprised it was so… customizable.”

Wolffe fought a smile as you watched. Eventually, he said, “Very customizable. In fact, that’s what we’re going to talk about today. You read the articles I sent about contracts?”

You nodded. “I even made some notes.”

“That’s good,” Wolffe said, setting a datapad on the surface of the table. “Get them out and we’ll incorporate them into the contract. I’ll send you my template so you can read along while we discuss terms.”

You were building a contract now? Despite your shock, you were thrilled by the idea, and fumbled a bit as you pulled out your own datapad.

As soon as you were settled, Wolffe got started: “I’m a dominant, though you probably know that from our time together. I’m looking for a submissive.”

He didn’t continue, and the silence stretched uncomfortably. Eventually, you said, “Well, you already know I’m fine letting you take the lead.”

“For right now, let’s pretend we don’t know much about each other,” he suggested. “If we lay everything out now, there won’t be any surprises later. I don’t want you to feel like you’ve been tricked into anything you’re not really interested in. Agreed?”

You nodded.

“I’m dominant, not a switch. I am in control. Period. I may be willing to let you take the lead every so often, but that would be a reward for something big you did. I need to know you’re good with taking orders and surrendering power to me on a regular basis.”

“That appeals to me,” you agreed, trying not to sound overeager. “I can’t say I have a lot of experience with relationships like this one, but I really enjoyed being with you. I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

Wolffe’s eyes darkened, but he made a note on the datapad and moved on. “Good. You know I work with the GAR, so I can be off-planet for weeks at a time. Knowing that, I think it would be best if we don’t have a full-time power-exchange relationship.”

“That sounds like it wouldn’t be feasible. Plus…” You paused, choosing your words carefully. “I’m interested in this, but I don’t know if I would want to jump into such an intense relationship for my first one. It seems like it might be overwhelming.”

“It probably would be, and I’m glad you’re setting limits.” Wolffe made another note. “This one is non-negotiable: I only do exclusive contracts. If you are going to be my submissive, you are mine. I’m yours in exchange. If I’m off-planet during a mission, neither of us are sleeping with anyone else. If we aren’t spending time together, we’re still exclusive. Any breach of this clause - on either side - would mean immediate dissolution of the contract. Can you agree to that?”

“I can,” you said, but frowned. “How would that be determined? I don’t want to sign myself up for constantly defending myself and trying to convince you that I’m not sleeping around behind your back.”

“Excellent question,” Wolffe conceded. “I operate on a policy of full honesty. That’s the only way power-exchange relationships can be successful. We both need to be able to trust that the other is being honest about everything from a new position to a potential breaking of the contract. Is that acceptable?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent.” Wolffe’s shoulders lost some of the tension that had appeared over the last few minutes. “Have you given any thought to how much power exchanging you’re interested in? We can keep it only in the bedroom, or extend it into everyday life - as much or little as you want.”

“I think I want some stuff to carry outside of the bedroom.” It had been something you had thought about quite a bit. You weren’t interested in a full power-exchange lifestyle at this point, but you did find the idea of giving up some control interesting. “Is there anything we can do long-distance? Sorry if that doesn’t make sense-”

Wolffe interrupted your self-conscious rambling. “There are things we can do. When we get to that section, I’ll bring them up. Do you have a specific time frame in mind?”

“To get started?” you asked. “I was thinking… now. Or as soon as possible.”

“I meant to end this relationship,” Wolffe amended, watching you steadily. There was no pressure in his eyes, no push to give a certain answer. “Some people only want to do this for a certain amount of time, especially with an exclusivity clause involved.”

You nodded slowly. “I didn’t have anything in mind. Is this something we can discuss later? Or can I bring up a change when I need to?”

“We’ll regularly discuss our terms,” he assured you. “At least once every few months, we’ll read through the contract, discuss any changes that need to be made, and make sure everything is rewritten to both of our satisfaction. For now, we can leave the duration of our relationship open-ended.”

Before you could add anything else, the server came back, dropping off your food and drinks with a small smile. When you had declined anything else, you and Wolffe were left alone. You turned to find him setting both of your datapads aside, stacking them on the farthest corner of the table.

“We can keep working while we eat,” you told him.

“No,” Wolffe refused. It didn’t seem to be up for debate, but he lightened his tone as he said, “I would like for you to focus on your food. Taste every bite, feel it fill your stomach. Eat deliberately.”

You nodded, feeling like you had been issued a challenge. For the next few minutes, you concentrated on your salad, making sure that every bite contained every component of the dish. You chewed carefully, letting the flavors mingle and combine on your tongue.

When your plate was noticeably emptier, Wolffe nudged a smaller dish over to you. It was roasted ronto, sliced into bite-sized pieces. “Have some of this, too.”

You glanced at him, startled. He lifted a brow. “If you don’t eat meat, I’ll find a replacement, but I would prefer if you had some protein in your lunch. That will keep you from being hungry later.”

“I don’t want to eat the food you ordered for yourself,” you protested. The ronto did smell fairly mouth-watering.

“I ordered it for you,” Wolffe said, casually. “I listened what you chose and adjusted my plan to fit yours.”

You took some roasted ronto without further argument.

When you had finished, Wolffe sat back and crossed his arms, nodding at the table. “Stack our plates and silverware. Neaten the table up for the server and we’ll have room to continue our conversation.”

This felt like another test, but you were keenly aware that this was what you were signing yourself up for with the contract. You did as Wolffe had said, even going so far as to sweep a few stray crumbs into a napkin that you deposited on the topmost dish.

“Good,” Wolffe said, the approval plain in his rumbling voice. It warmed you, but not as much as his next point: “If we were established, I would reward that initiative. Maybe not in a way you requested, but in a way I knew you would enjoy.”

You shifted in your seat, barely managing to not ask him if he could make an exception.

“I would like for our relationship to be one between a dominant and a submissive rather than a master and slave,” Wolffe said, passing you your datapad while he tapped his own. “But if you had your heart set on master/slave, we could discuss options.”

“I… actually don’t see much of a difference,” you admitted.

Wolffe nodded. “Easy enough. Dominant and submissive means that I’ll be taking control of our sexual encounters and a few times outside of the bedroom. Master and slave relationships include the master taking complete control, and the slave focuses on serving the master. There are usually more overt signs of ownership and a longer ‘breaking in’ period.”

“Dominant and submissive sounds better to me.”

“Perfect. I want you to call me ‘commander’ or ‘sir’ when we’re doing a scene. I prefer to use the color system when we’re talking during anything intense. Green is ‘keep going’, yellow is ‘go slow’ or ‘I’m not sure’, and red is ‘I don’t like this’. You’re more than welcome to use the colors at any time, of course, but I’ll be checking in with you constantly if we’re getting into anything more intense. I’m open to trying something different if you have another option. Do you have a particular safeword in mind?”

“‘Sir’ or ‘commander’ in the bedroom. Colors work fine.” You weren’t taking as many notes as Wolffe, but you still jotted down the basics of what he had said as you worked on your answers. “I don’t have a safeword picked out, but maybe… Kashyyyk?”

“Kashyyyk,” Wolffe repeated, writing it down when you nodded. A faint smile played around his mouth. “I’ll try to avoid any Wookiee-themed scenes, then.”

“Glad to hear it, but I’m also fascinated by that being an option,” you teased.

“Everything’s an option, sweetheart,” Wolffe told you, a gleam in his mismatched eyes. “Which brings us to our next topic: hard and soft limits.”

You nodded, pulling your datapad closer. This was one of the few things you had written down before. “For hard limits, I don’t want permanent marks, I don’t enjoy being choked, and I won’t eat or lick anything disgusting. Scat play is off the table for me entirely, and I don’t like verbal abuse.”

“Noted,” Wolffe said, doing exactly that. “Is there a line for verbal abuse, or do you object to negative terms entirely?”

After a moment to think about it, you shook your head. “I think derogatory names and terms are a soft limit, as long as they don’t go too far.”

“We can add more to the list later if we try things and you don’t like them. I would prefer you try new challenges once before we add them to the limits list, but I’ll never make you do something you object to.” Wolffe took a sip from his glass. “Any other hard limits you have?”

“Um… I won’t call anyone ‘daddy’,” you stipulated, looking him in the eyes as you said it. It was one of the few things you weren’t willing to consider at all. It simply wasn’t for you.

Wolffe entered that into the contract. “And other soft limits?”

“Sharing, play that’s more pain than pleasure, and being tied up for an extended period of time,” you rattled off.

“I can address some of those right now,” Wolffe told you. “I don’t share except in very special circumstances. Even then, you would be the first person I discussed it with. If you’re not interested, that’s the end of it. Pain play is an acquired taste and must be done carefully. The same thing applies to long-term restraints. If you decide you want to try either, we’ll be careful to make it as safe as possible to reduce the risk of nerve damage.”

That all sounded reasonable to you, so you entered it into your datapad. “Do you want to tell me your hard limits?”

Wolffe glanced at you, seeming a little startled. “Since I’ll be designing our scenes, they shouldn’t be an issue. If we get close to any of my limits, I will warn you.”

“Fair enough,” you agreed. “What’s next?”

“One of the ways we can keep the relationship going while I’m off-planet is by coming up with a list of rules and rituals,” Wolffe said. “Do you have anything in mind?”

Fortunately, this was another topic you had made notes on. “I want one of your shirts to sleep in while you’re gone.”

Wolffe’s eyes darkened. “Sweetheart, I’m tempted to give you that one for free. But I’m too selfish for that, and my first request is a big one: I want to dictate when you come.”

Your face heated dramatically at that, even as the same thing happened between your thighs. However, as hot as you found the concept, there was something in the idea that didn’t sit right with you. Arguing his first rule hadn’t been your intention, but you were already shaking your head. “No. I’m sorry, but I can’t be exclusive with you gone so often and only come when you tell me I can.”

Part of you had been worried that Wolffe would say your agreement was void, but he changed demands smoothly and easily. “Then I want you to tell me when you do come.”

You relaxed slightly. “I can do that.”

“Are you sure?” he pressed. “I’ll want to know details: when, where, how, how it made you feel, what you thought about while you touched yourself… Can you agree to all of that?”

“Yes, I can.” You issued your next rule: “I want for us to go out together every time you come home from a mission. I want to know the man I’m sleeping with.”

Wolffe nodded slowly. “One stipulation: clones aren’t paid a salary, so there are only certain places we can go.”

“I’ll agree to that if you’ll agree to let me pay if we decide to go somewhere different.”

There was an internal battle being waged, and you were fascinated to see which side won. Eventually, Wolffe’s jaw flexed and he growled, “Fine.”

The clear disapproval in his voice made you feel victorious. Sweetly, you said, “You can go ahead with your next rule.”

The flash of satisfaction on Wolffe’s face is the first hint you got that you may have overplayed your hand. “I want to choose your underwear when I’m gone. I’ll pick it out before I leave.”

“I get to veto when I’m on my cycle,” you countered.

“Fine.” Wolffe crossed his arms, looking smug. “But I want holoimage proof that you’re wearing what I’ve picked out.”

Your lips parted at that. You weren’t against the idea, but… “You’ll be in a war zone.”

“Not always,” he assured you. “I have a private comlink, encrypted better than anything else in the GAR. If I can safely receive messages, I’ll send you a code word and you’ll send me every picture you’ve taken for the days I’ve been out of contact.”

“If you can guarantee that no one else will see them, I agree.”

Wolffe nodded, the motion tight. “I don’t share, remember? I will be the only one to see those holos.”

“Then yes,” you said, already dreading the images you would have to take. “For my next rule, I want you to tell me if you touch yourself looking at one of my holos. And which one it is.”

Wolffe paused. “I have no problem with that, but I need you to understand that it’s non-traditional for a sub to have that much power over her dom. I’m agreeing as a concession to get what I want, but if I get any hint of you trying to top from the bottom, I’ll have to punish you. Do you know what that means?”

You had come across the term during your research and, thankfully, had made a mental note of it. “It’s when a submissive tries to take control of a situation or scene.”

“And why is that bad?”

“Because…” You frowned, having not expected him to push for deeper understanding. “Because it means the sub isn’t being submissive?”

“Yes, but it is a sign of a deeper problem,” Wolffe told you. “It means you don’t trust your dominant to take care of you. A lack of trust destroys the bond you’re forming, which can destroy your relationship. That’s why topping from the bottom usually gets the harshest punishments.”

Was it a bad sign that your body tightened at the mention of punishment? It had to be, and yet…

“My last rule is that I want you to wear something of mine.”

“Your shirt, right?” you asked.

“Along with that. I mean something more permanent.” Wolffe gave you a considering look. “Did you read about the concept of collaring?”

You balked. “I… Yes, but I don’t know if I’m comfortable with the idea of wearing a collar. It seems… demeaning.”

“That’s the point,” Wolffe said, clearly trying to fight his amusement. “A collar is a mark of ownership, and ‘demeaning’ acts are a major part of most power-exchange relationships.”

“I don’t think I can get away with wearing a collar around in my everyday life.”

Wolffe’s expression cleared. “It won’t be a physical collar. Not with how subtle and controlled we want our relationship to be. More like a piece of jewelry you don’t take off. Something that makes you think of me when you see it. Something that people in the community might recognize, but no one in the outside galaxy would.”

“Oh.” It sounded far less threatening when he phrased it that way. “I can agree to that.”

“Good,” Wolffe said, jotting down a few more notes. “I’ll find a few choices and get your input. You should expect to be collared before my next mission off-planet. We probably won’t actually fuck until you’re wearing it.”

You nodded, disappointed by the news that you couldn’t expect to find relief anytime soon. The conversation as a whole made the relationship seem far more real than it had. Before this, everything you had discussed could be about someone other than you. Some fantasy version of yourself, who wasn’t scared or particular, who wasn’t hurt by a recent rejection, who chased her pleasure wherever she might find it. You wanted to be that version of yourself, and if this was the way to do it? It seemed you could live with that.

“Those are all of the rules I could think of,” you told him, taking a large gulp of your drink. It wasn’t alcoholic, but you hoped it would help steady you. “Any more for you?”

“I think we have a good foundation to build on,” Wolffe said, scanning over what he had written down so far. “The only thing left to discuss is what punishments we agree on.”

Your body tightened, and you shifted in your seat. “I did some research, but I wasn’t sure where to start. How bad is a punishment supposed to be?”

“Ideally, a punishment should be something at least slightly enjoyable that does no permanent damage, but can be made more intense if the situation calls for it.” Wolffe slid his datapad over to you. “I wrote down some ideas for punishments that fit those parameters. Most of them can be done over a distance, so we can make sure the punishments come close to when they’re earned.”

You took the datapad - pausing for a moment to appreciate Wolffe’s neat handwriting - and scanned down the list.

Orgasm denial

Ben Wa balls

One set for training, one for pleasure, one for punishment

Anal plug

Nipple clamps

Temperature play punishments

Freezing a toy or using hot wax

Remote-controlled toys

Some to be worn in public

Wearing your best stoic expression, you gave a considering nod. Some of the ideas on Wolffe’s list were intense or intimidating, but you couldn’t deny that all of them piqued your interest. That seemed the most elegant way of saying that your breathing had picked up and your panties were soaked through.

You nudged the datapad back to Wolffe. “I would be willing to try all of those punishments.”

“Good girl,” Wolffe encouraged. You wondered if he knew the way that pulled even more of a response from your body. “If we have to do a punishment while I’m off-planet, I’ll need holo proof of you being punished. Can you do that for me?”

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

“Then all that’s left to do is sign,” Wolffe said, making final updates to the contract. “Do you want some time to look over it and make adjustments of your own? I can give you a few days.”

“Days?” you echoed, dismayed. “No, I was reading along while we discussed. I didn’t see anything I object to. At least, not right now.”

“If you’re sure…” Wolffe said doubtfully. He only seemed mollified when you gave a firm nod. “Then I need your signature on this line. I’ll send you the final copy after I sign.”

Could he see the way your fingers trembled as you scrawled your name on the line he had indicated? You hoped not. Either way, he didn’t comment as he signed his own name beneath yours.

“Now what?” you asked, cursing the breathiness in your voice.

“Now…” Wolffe said, carefully setting the datapad aside. When that was done, he leveled a predatory look at you. “We can celebrate our new arrangement. Tell me, sweetheart: are you wet for me?”

---

Author's Note - As usual, you can expect a second (spicy) chapter tomorrow.

Thanks for reading!

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kollector-of-stims · 10 months

Text

Yet another updated stim toy collection since I've gotten a good little bit of them recently! This time named and organized by groups under the cut!

🌈Stretchy stims:

• scented stretchlerz

• sand-filled carrot and banana

• stretchy realistic banana

• monkey noodles

• stretchy textured caterpillars

🌈Various tactile stims:

• boinks

• wacky tracks

• tangles

• fidget cubes/pads/dodecahedron

• fidget spinners

• textured suction cup strip

�� magnetic rings

• infinity cube

• mini slinkies

• curly things

• bikechain fidget

• other various things I forgot the name of

🌈Various stim/stress balls:

• orbeez-filled strawberry

• sensory fx elements

• "hydrated" and "dehydrated" dna balls

• nee doh popping ball

• nee doh squishy fruits

•glow-in-the-dark sticky squishy dinos

• pig and dino splat balls

• blue textured snow ball

• orbeez-filled lightbulb

• narwhal and berry cat sqweezie petz

• animal dumpling stress balls

🌈Pop-its:

• Various shaped pop-its

• a pop-it pearl

• unicorn pop-it ball

• pop-it stick 'em pals cow

🌈Articulated stims:

• Articulated slug, shark, eel, and unicorn

• mini articulated worm

• watchitude octo (articulated octopus)

🌈Squishies/soft things (not all of them but the ones I use the most):

• Mallow Mallow cat and cow

• squishy tardigrade

• amazing squishee penguin

• squishy stress gear owl and pufferfish

• a cheap squishy ball from the dollar store (my first ever stim toy!)

🌈Textures:

•big eye squish confetti balls

• silicone brush

• puffer stegosaurus

• mini koosh ball

• prickle balls

•small prickle hedgehog

🌈Auditory/ASMR stims:

• sensory fx asmr crackle and squish eggs

• crunchy blankets from kittens vs gherkins

•sensory fx suction cup octopus

• pop tubes

• sensory fx asmr pods (exclusive carrying case pods)

• sensory fx bots

🌈Putties:

•silly putty

•crazy Aaron's thinking putty (super scarab in the purple container)

🌈Visual stims:

• tsunameez egg

• tsunameez baggies

• liquid motion bubbler

• sensory fx asmr bot

• sensory fx fidget stick

🌈Various stims in one:

• fidgetz sushi

• squirkies

• sensory fx pods

🌈Weighted/etc stims/didn't know how to categorize:

• weighted sand-filled lizards

• magic mixlings mini blind bag toys

• rainbow dash fashem

• squishy ball cat toy

• manta ray puzzle erasers

• starfish puzzle eraser

• kinder bike toy

• smooth pendant

• handmade swirly polymer clay pendant

• curly cat toy

• cats vs pickles & kittens vs gherkins plush(ies) (I have many more)

🌈Stims I forgot to add in the post because I always forget to include things but NOT THIS TIME:

• sensory fx stick

• suction cup squeeze toy

• stretchy slug

• chicken mochi squishy

• mini fidgetz pop-it

• clip-on mini train pop-it

• piece of a sensory fx asmr fidget cube

• bubble stuffed squishy friends shark

• small squishy guinea pig toy

• balloon with rice inside it

🌟Feel free to ask about any stim toy you have questions about! Also if you want, let me know if you have any of these same things!!🌟

#stim #stim toy collection #mine #stim toys #fidget toys #stim toy tour #stim toy collection update #autism #neurodivergent

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fanonical · 8 months

Text

#The Sims #The Sims 2 #The Sims 3 #The Sims 4

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skiesofrosie · 14 days

Text

his heart, in the silence - eugene roe

genre: fluff, angst

a different pov to all is fair, but matters of the heart.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Eugene Roe has never known love through words.

Perhaps, born of the way he's never heard his father bid I love you to his mother aloud; at least not in his presence. But that's not to say their home is one of somber silence.

His father breathes adoration for his wife; a woman who rambles just enough for all three of them at painstaking family gatherings. Love is the way Ed Roe wakes up at exactly 5:45 a.m. everyday, using the extra fifteen minutes, all hazy-eyed and dark circles, to brew two mugs of black coffee, before slipping back into bed and gently prodding the household lioness for a morning in solitude. He lets his lips curve into a smile when he kisses her forehead in greeting after work, eyes falling shut in in relief and shoulders loosening when he wraps around her warmth in the dim kitchen light.

No, his father doesn't need to say anything at all.

Eugene likes to think he follows his footsteps pretty well, saving up pennies from the granny across the street who paid him to mow her lawn in junior high (though, he insists he'd do it for free), to buy chocolate bars or flowers for his crush. He'd leave them on her desk with no indication it was his doing, just an act to see her light up and smile. The easy part is doing—offering to wait for her at the bus stop right at dawn, taking her to the drive in, or studying late nights at the library.

But when romance mounts into the moment of confession, the fact that he blubbers like a puffer fish always manages to send him tumbling right off the peak.

(He's still bitter that she ends up accepting another boy's hand to the junior high dance, right in front of him.)

So for the most part, he allows himself to feel but refrains from acting on it, and even more rarely so speaks. He convinces himself that someone as comfortable with silence will barge through his doors, take reign of the whirlwind and stomp it beneath her foot, offering a glimmer of peace.

But Amy Calloway doesn't barge through his front door. She taps him quietly on the shoulder after noting the red cross on his sleeve, finding a comrade in Easy Company.

Christ, is the one thing that flashes in his mind. Eyes of tranquil blue bore shyly into his own, a contrast to the steadiness in her voice.

"Hi! Eugene Roe? I'm a new medic with the company."

He blames the way he stutters on the fact that Sobel is about to kick their asses up to Currahee, and not because of how heavenly beautiful she is. Almost like a flower, petals fluttering through the dirt and rough edges in Camp Toccoa.

But she's patient, undeterred by the long stretches of silence at the lunch table. She travels through his mind by peeling gently at his layers, instead of trying to stab his heart with a fork right out of his chest. The only time it takes immense effort to dwindle boisterous excitement is when she catches him reading Hemingway on his bed, overly enthused poking to find out what his favorite books are.

She's thoughtful too, sacrificing sleep to help him memorize medical terminology when she notices his ridiculously poor memory. Ever since clocking in on his addiction to chewy treats, she makes sure to leave a packet of licorice twists on his bedside when her mother mails her a treasure tove of candy.

She’s not like his own mother, hardly chatty enough to speak for the both of them. But perhaps, that’s a good thing, because it wears him down into starting conversation first.

“Do you,” Eugene starts, “do you ever get fucking tired of this?”

She pauses her movement; wrapping a bandage around her hand back in their bunk after nearly slicing it at training with a scalpel. “What, of waking up at 5am and crawling through pig guts at some point until 10pm?”

He rolls his eyes, quirking his lips ever so slightly, but it falls just as quickly. “Do you wish, you would’ve stayed out of the war. Keep yourself from having to keep people alive?”

“I don’t spend too much time thinking of the what ifs doc. It only weighs you down, when you start thinking of the life you could be living, but can’t anyway.”

“Kinda disagree.” He mulls over her words, “yeah…I disagree.”

“Okay…” she slows, continuing to wrap her bandage. At his silence, she perks up, tampering down a teasing laugh as he looks at his bed as if it’s offended him.

“Gene, I’m waiting for an explanation.”

He flinches a little. Bending down to grab a new set of clothes from his chest, he ponders over his words, before replying.

“I just think,” he says, “that I wouldn’t make it through, if i didn’t let myself…dream, a little bit, of what my real life, outside of all of this would look like. Remember who i am.”

“We’ve got a little dreamer in ya, doc?” She teases, but her eyes soften. “I don’t think there’s anyone who’s gotta grip on who they are, better than you. You’re a trooper.”

Blood rushes to his ears to send a traitorous flush down his neck.

It's easy to like Amy Calloway, because she lets him just be. She doesn't ask for more than what he's ready to offer. A soothing breeze to the scorching heat, every time he catches wind of her laugh it prompts his lips to twitch into a smile. He's comfortable, taking his time to muster up the courage to really say something about what he feels for her.

But time, is a fragile concept in the face of a full-blown war. It will not wait for those who are too careful in their tracks.

They find solace in each other's company, moments of stillness against jarring machine guns and screeching soldiers. But, while it means the world to Eugene, Amy's heart is slated for something more.

Because while he seeks the quiet, she chases the fire.

He realizes that the easy smiles and giggles that drift through their words, are no match for the way that Joe Liebgott, a reckless man, crackles in all his fire and brings the sun to her eyes. And despite their unwillingness to admit anything to each other, Eugene can see the way a rascal like him softens tremendously at her touch, finding his world in the humility she stands her ground with.

"Gene!" Amy calls out, seated by Liebgott's bed in the Toccoa medical wing, with a teasing lilt. "Do you know this man reads classics? Like, he knows how to read more than a picture book?"

The man in question pinches his eyebrows, mildly offended, saying, "what the fuck is wrong with Dick Tracy?" But Joe knows it's all in good fun, failing to hide the amusement tugging at his lips.

Eugene manages a single nod to Joe, trying to pay no mind to the way they're clearly winding down from exuberant fits of cackles. But, he can't help search his memories to figure out if she's ever laughed that freely and loudly in front of him. The last time she'd asked him about his favorite books, he offered no more than their titles and author names, out of pure, dumb shyness.

"How's that ankle, Liebgott?"

Lieb sighs, leaning his head against the wall. "Pain in the fucking ass. Can't believe it. We're not even in Europe yet, and I'm already supposed to be glued to this fuckin' bed."

Amy snorts. "Yeah, well, maybe if you didn't try to beat me to the top of Currahee, just accepted defeat—"

"Fuckin' defeat?! I fell, that doesn't say shit," he protests.

"Just your big inflated ego—"

"As if you don't have one!"

"When clearly, I'm just the better runner—"

Liebgott cuts her off by tossing a pillow to her head. For all their relentless bickering (though it's mostly one-sided, mostly from Joe), there's always the affection that morphs their words into shared laughter, and levity in their eyes. Eugene sees the way she slowly begins to lean more and more into his side, Lieb already finding himself planted as close as physically possible to Amy from the bed. There's an intimacy in the nuance, the way she tends to let her gaze linger a little too long into Joe's as they look at each other with matching, tender smiles.

Eugene takes his leave then, because he suspects if he stays there any longer, he'd be able to hear his own heart break in his lone, deafening silence.

"Gene, wait up!" Amy frowns at his departure, rising to her feet.

But he doesn't turn around, sparing only a glance and a wave.

Because for Eugene Roe, love after all, means saying nothing at all.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

i'll give him a happy ending one day.

xx Sal

#band of brothers #eugene roe x oc #eugene roe #joe liebgott #amy calloway

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