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corazondebeskar-reads · 11 days

Text

could be

Jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader

this ficlet is brought to you by @iamasaddie's writing challenge! my assigned color was "pretty clicker" (which tbh idk if we needed to include the color but I did anyway lol).

genre: pwp (I tried my best) prompt: "whoa, that's a new one."

words: 1.7k

summary: jackson is not your home. joel miller is not your boyfriend. but they could be.

warnings: pwp, oral (m&f receiving), handjob, fingering, joel and reader are astoundingly bad at emotions, a few playful spanks, tommy makes an off-screen cameo, old man joel my beloved, antics, absolutely no proofreading or beta reading whatsoever rip sorry

dividers by @saradika-graphics

“Whoa, that’s a new one,” drawls the man as he steps out of the shadow of the copse. “ If it ain’t the prettiest little clicker I’ve ever seen.”

You scowl, tugging the hat off, boot scuffing the dirt as you grind the frustration of being caught out into the soil. It gives with some difficulty, the late autumn’s early frost already turning the ground to stone. “Shut up, Joel,” you mutter.

“That always work for ya? How haven’t you gotten shot yet?” He says, jerking his head down at the ball cap you’ve adorned with the decapitated clicker’s face.

(Or should you say disembodied? Dessicated? Desecrated? Whatever, you cut the fucking mushrooms off a dead fucker and stuck them on a hat. The terms don’t matter.)

“Yep. Not too many fools out here who will go looking for a clicker when they hear one.”

“It’s a good impression, darlin’, but it’s not quite enough to trick me.” He’s drawn close, maybe too close, and curls two fingers under your chin, drawing your gaze to his grizzled face.

You roll your eyes. “You a clicker whisperer or something?”

His lips curl. “Not quite, no.” He lets his hand fall from your chin, and you watch it go.

When you look back up at his face, you’re caught. Trapped. His grin is solemn, as if he, too, feels the snare.

“You got somewhere to stay tonight?” he says, instead of acknowledging the way you’ve drawn a breadth closer.

“Sure do,” you drawl.

He chuckles. “Alright, keep your secrets. But, uh—my back ain’t what it used to be, so the forest floor ain’t gonna work for me today.”

Your lips curl. “Presumptuous, are we?”

“You’re lookin’ at me like a piece of meat, sweetheart.”

“Well, ain’tcha?”

“Guess you must be desperate, then, ‘f’you’re back for an old man like me.”

“Guess so,” you hum and give in. “How d’you always find me?”

“Hmm, don’t you worry ‘bout that, alright? All you gotta know is that I do always find you, and I’ve got some of Tommy’s peanut butter cookies in my bag for ya.”

“My hero,” you press one hand over your heart while the other makes the universal ‘gimmie’ gesture at his backpack.

“Could be, y’know,” he mumbles.

You both ignore the slip. He rifles around in the bag and pulls out a tin. You try to snatch it from him, but he pulls away with a wagging finger.

“Nope, not yet,” he says with a teasing lilt, his drawl drawing out. He hands you one precious sweet and tucks the rest back into his bag. “If I give it to you now, you’ll just run off, and then what’ll I have?”

“A sense of satisfaction from being kind?”

You share a laugh at your joke as he leads you not to the safe “house” but up to the old, creepy lodge you avoid like the plague. Or. Well. Like the Infected.

“Calm down, I already cleared it,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “It’s got a real bed, though, sweetheart, so I can take my time with ya.”

“You mean so you don’t break a knee fuckin’ me over a log?”

“It didn’t break. Jesus. How old do you take me for?”

“Old as shit,” you mutter.

He just grins.

“What?”

“Nothin’. You just get brattier the longer you’re away. Ain’t got any good cock back home?”

“Shut up,” you grumble, but it’s close to the truth. There’s cock back home, sure, but then you’d have to fuck one of those losers, and you just know Joel’s ruined you.

Ruined you with intent and precision, and now he’s taking you by the hand and leading you up into the lodge’s dusty halls and into what must have once been a nice guest room.

You whistle. “Did you clean this just for me?” You ask, batting your lashes.

“If I say yes, you gonna be sweet for me?”

“You wouldn’t know what to do with me if I was.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he says, lying down on the bed with his hands behind his head. “So get your ass up here.”

You quickly shimmy out of your sweats and climb up to straddle him, but his grin splits wider in a lecherous stretch.

“You think I brought you here for you to ride me? Y’can do that shit in the woods. Get up here.”

You hesitate. “I live in a fucking camp, Joel.” The “without running water” bit is obvious but unspoken.

“I do not give a shit,” he says bluntly. “Get up here.”

“Your funeral,” you say with a shrug, and let him help you settle over his face. You’re barely steady when he grabs your hips and pulls, bringing you to meet him.

It’s been… longer than you can even remember, and oh shit. Either your memory hasn’t done this justice, or the last man to eat you out was fuckin’ terrible because this is nothing like you’ve ever known.

But he doesn’t dive in and rush it. He doesn’t go straight to sucking on your clit; he doesn’t push three fingers into your cunt to work you open for his cock.

Oh, no. You’ve been had, you think. This setup was an elaborate trap to wipe your mind clean and replace everything with thoughts of him. He’s brought you here to the second closest place of safety he knows so he can take his fuckin’ time with you.

His hands are gentle on you, and he nuzzles into your mound to part your folds, his wide nose pushing between to seek out his prize. The tip of his tongue pushes out to help, tracing the tiny slit of your cunt. At the first taste of you, he groans, drawn out and filthy.

“Shit,” he pants, hot breath scattering across the soft peaks and valleys. “It’s been too goddamn long.” He seems to be talking to himself, which is good because you can’t wrangle more than a tangled gasping whimper in response.

He brings his hands up underneath you to grip your inner thighs, pulling to spread you more so he can watch you start to glisten. “Atta girl,” he murmurs, nuzzling back in to lap it up. “Mmm, baby, is all this for me?”

“Shoulda known you wouldn’t shut up,” you mutter, even though you’re addicted to his filthy mouth most of the time.

“Shut me up then,” he says in a way you simply cannot refuse.

You grind down on his face, expecting protest, but he moans in a way you can only classify as slutty. He buries his face between your thighs with a growl and gets to work.

You can barely hold yourself up after the first orgasm he coaxes from you, all powerful tongue and gentle lips.

“Y’ain’t quittin’ on me, are ya?” He taunts.

“I thought you were gonna shut up.”

He smacks your ass. “Turn around.”

When you do, he pushes you down to lay on him. “Get nice and cozy with my cock, sweetheart, ‘cause I ain’t done with you yet.”

You take the invitation but before you can pull him free from his jeans, he’s diving back into his personal all you can eat buffet and showing no sign of slowing.

Eventually, you manage to pry his ridiculous monster cock from its denim confines and try, really try, to focus on it, but it’s so hard (you giggle as you tell him) when he keeps doing that thing with his teeth and your clit. After the third time, you find yourself just moaning and drooling around it; you give up and rest your head on his thigh, content to hold it in your hand and lick.

He spanks you again. “Don’t be a tease.”

You try to protest, but he bests you by attempting to suck your soul out of your clit while hammering two thick fingers against your g-spot, and it’s all over for your brain. Poor thing never stood a chance against Joel anyway.

You squirm away from the menace when he attempts to keep going and smack him in the face with a pillow when he whines. He wipes his beard on it and throws it back at you.

You can’t hold back your questions now that you’re back up and running. “How d’you have the time for this?”

“Hmm?” Joel grunts, a hand tugging lazily at his dick while he surreptitiously slides his hand down the length of your thigh and back up.

You turn on your back, swatting his hand away. “You’re usually in a rush.”

He turns a little pink. “Don’t matter.”

“Uh, it clearly does. I’m asking.”

“Well, it’s nunya.”

You groan. “Think I liked it better when you were too busy eating me out to talk.”

“Now you know how I feel.”

You throw the cum-stained pillow back at him but miss by an embarrassing overshot. It arcs over him and into the floor between his side of the bed and the wall.

You shrug. “Gone forever,” you say and throw an arm over your eyes dramatically.

It’s a good thing, too, since the pillow hits you in the face.

“I’m on watch here,” he says once you stop screeching indignantly.

“Well, you’re not doing a very good job of it,” you let him know solemnly.

“Ain’t alone. M’brother—Tommy,” he clarifies unnecessarily, “S’here too. He’s got it handled.”

“Oh my god, did you ask your brother to cover for you so you could get laid?”

He shrugs. “Why not?”

“Aw, Miller. You really know how to make a girl feel special,” you drawl.

He plays it off with another eye roll and scoffs, but the thing is—you know. He stopped asking you to think about moving to Jackson a long time ago. But slowly, he’s been taking you closer and closer to town when you meet up.

And you’re pretty sure he’s using Tommy’s cookies as a reward. Each time he lures you closer, he brings more treats the next time. You’d be mad at the absolute gall, but… it’s not not working, so you only have yourself to blame.

When you catch his eye again, he makes a point to hold your gaze and draw it down to his leaking cock, and you know he knows. You won’t go with him, so he’ll have you here. Jackson is not your home. But that quiet drawl in your head that sounds unnervingly similar to the man sprawled before you whispers, it could be.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #the last of us fic #fic: joel drabble #fic: could be

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iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia · 10 months

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Imagine that after defeating the devil (or Lucio) Mc gets a bit stronger physically and more powerful in magic how would the M6 react to Mc accidently breaking something without knowing their new strength?

Like for example: Mc was walking through the door and didn't let go of the handle quick and ripped it off its hinges. Cue both Mc and M6 staring in shock.

Or breaking a hard metal without struggle.

-🐙

The Arcana HCs: When MC is a little too strong

~ octopus friend, thanks for the prompt! I've actually already written a set of headcanons for something like this (I'll add it below) but the scene you described is so perfect I had to make a sequel XD Enjoy! - brainrot ~

Related: When MC is stronger than they look

Julian

The two of you were out and about in the South End Market, perusing the stalls when he let out a shout and pointed

There's an exceptionally icky man sliding through the crowd, lifting wallets from people's pockets left and right. Julian, being the hero he is, begins to give chase and calls for you to assist him

The street's too crowded, so you hustle through some back alleyways and pop back out further up the street

Your lover's indignant yelling has tipped off the pickpocketer and the scoundrel is running full speed right past your alleyway, your beloved trying and failing to give chase a good ten people away

In a last-ditch effort to stop him, you reach out and manage to grab the icky man's arm. You dig your heels in and yank

Only to watch him go sailing backwards, over several people's heads, bounce off of a pile of carpets, and land in the canal

Well. It seems you've gotten considerably stronger

Julian catches up to you quickly, initially concerned for your wellbeing and determined to ensure that you are unharmed

Once he does, you'll have to escort him home as quickly as possible, because he finds your strength too attractive to appropriately contain himself

Asra

There's a story behind how the two of you hitched a ride with the cabbage man during your post-Devil trip all over the continent

You had stopped in the capital city of a nearby country and the two of you were having a grand time wandering around, trying new foods, meeting new people, and finding new mischief

As you're passing through one of the major marketplaces, your attention is grabbed by an unusually large wash basin careening through the streets bearing a motley crew of teenagers

Asra's springing into action before you can, sending out waves of magic to move people out of the way and propel the seemingly jet-powered bathtub the rest of the way across the square

It's a cry of "my cabbages!" that pulls your attention to one unfortunate vendor who has left his cart parked directly in the path of the tin of troubled youths

You only mean to pull the obstacle out of the way (really!) but your tug sends the cabbage cart up over your head, on a short arc through the air until it lands safely on a surprisingly sturdy booth roof

When you turn back around, the crowd is watching you slack jawed, the cabbage man is in grateful ecstasy, and Asra is on the ground in tears, wheezing with uncontrollable laughter

Nadia

You had been doing some research in the library to assist with Nadia's "revive Vesuvia" project and stumbled on some old manuscripts detailing earlier blueprints of the city layout

As soon as you find it and the bundle of useful information it was stored with, you rush out to fetch your beloved Countess and show her your discovery

The two of you are walking back through the halls, her eyes resting on you fondly as you summarize what you've found so far

You're so caught up in conversation that you don't think twice about the library door when you approach it. It was unlocked on your way out minutes ago, it's safe to assume that it still is on your way back in

You face Nadia, groping behind you for the handle, about to ask her what the amused expression stealing across her face is for as you tug open the door

Your question is answered for you when the screech of bending and snapping metal grates across your ears, Nadia's face quickly going blank in shock

She steps forward slowly, inspecting the damage you caused when you ripped over twelve deadbolts out of the palace wall before turning back to you with a disbelieving laugh

... so it seems that the door wasn't unlocked, after all

Muriel

You're working in the clearing with him when you accidentally make yourself nature's greatest problem child

There's an annoying infestation of a certain type of plant recently that the chickens keep eating even though it isn't good for them

You're tired of your soft-hearted lover bringing vomiting poultry into the hut at all hours of the night to nurse them back to health, only for the foolish birds to go straight back out and eat it again

So you're spending your morning hunched over the grass, clearing the area section by section of the godforsaken herb

There's sweat trickling into your eyes, making it difficult to see, and when Muriel calls your name you don't look at the next thing you've grasped, only giving it an angry yank as you answer him

You're thrown off balance when the root you pull turns out to be way longer than the weeds you were dealing with earlier, landing on your back just in time to see the tree above you slowly rotate and crack

You barely have a second to process the situation before you hear a shout and feel yourself getting scooped up and out of the way, a whole section of that tree's root system still in your fist

Muriel spends the next half hour staring silently at the uprooted tree, deep in thought as the chickens huddle at his feet

Portia

Most of the time, being the partner of an ambassador is exciting in a fairly peaceful manner. Stressful days occur when the nobles Portia negotiates with don't cooperate or storms happen at sea

In today's case, though, it begins with sighting a pirate ship off in the distance. You thought at first that they would know better than to go up against a boat like yours, but it seems they don't

Soon enough the enemy is bearing down on you, cannons out, the crewmembers on deck visibly armed to the teeth

Portia's not one to take this lying down - she is Mazelinka's unofficial granddaughter, after all - and is bellowing orders to the sailors to ready your own ship for battle

"MC!" she shouts, "Get those cannonballs closer to the railing!"

You scramble to the pile of cannon fodder and snatch one up. It's way lighter than you expected, so you blindly hurl it in the direction of the cannons facing the enemy ship and bend down for the next

The deck becomes oddly quiet split seconds before you hear a distant crash and yell. You straighten up and turn around in time to see one of the enemy's masts shatter and fall into the waves

Portia's laughing into a shared kiss before you can ask her what's happened. "MC," she cackles, "MC, you fantastic fool."

Lucio

Today's job has been rewardingly difficult. It's not every day you go up against a stone giant, but this one was terrorizing an entire town for weeks on end before the two of you showed up

It hadn't been very promising at first, Lucio's sword being one of the first things to go, but then you were able to figure out that the loud growling was coming from its stomach and not its mouth

Once you negotiated its access to the local food supply the misunderstanding was quickly cleared up. You turn from the happy ending to see your darling Lucio cradling the now-wrinkly blade

He's distraught - this sword is one of the remaining relics from his countship and it's served him very well over the years

You take it from him before he discovers that it won't be able to slide so neatly into its sheath and take a look at it. It's not a total pretzel - it just needs to be stretched out

You give the two ends of it a tug, as if to affirm your assessment, and before your eyes the metal creaks and straightens. You accidentally leave a divot at the tip in the shape of your thumb

Lucio's too puffed up with pride and joy to question it - he's already waving it in the air and claiming all it needs now is a sharpening

But he is going to look into powering up his gauntlet, if possible

#ask arcana brainrot #the arcana #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #muriel the arcana #portia the arcana #lucio the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana shitpost #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #muriel of the kokhuri #portia devorak #lucio morgasson #the arcana crack

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ghostofskywalker · 1 year

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“look me in the eyes and say you don’t feel anything for me.” with our beloved tin can man din djarin

I LOVE YOU AND IM GIVING U THE BIGGEST HUG RN

hi my beloved i am so sorry i didn't get this done last week but here it is!! this prompt punched me in the gut but i love it

words: 1,130

summary: you weren't supposed to get attached to the Mandalorian. But he was easy to fall for, and now you had to reckon with the fact that none of it was ever supposed to be this real.

din djarin masterlist

It's Easier to Lie (When You Don't Stick Around)

Sometimes you wondered what your life would be like if you hadn’t become a bounty hunter. Maybe things would have been easier if you had decided to remain on Tatooine and lived life as a clerk in a clothes shop or a vendor in one of the open-air markets. It would have certainly been easier on your conscience, there’s no doubting that.

But as much as you occasionally wondered and daydreamed, there had only been one person who actually made you question your life decisions, and that was the Mandalorian. He was kind and gentle, and yet the way he would fight tooth and nail for the child that had become his in all but birth made you reconsider the pledge of solitude that this life forced you to live.

It didn’t help that you had been traveling with them for a few rotations now. Unfortunately, it was a necessity, as he had something that you had been hired to steal, a priceless artifact that had been perceived as lost since the Clone Wars. And he wasn’t exactly going to just hand it over if you asked nicely (as he had been hired by someone else to ensure its safe passage), so you had to play a bit of a double agent.

Now, that plan was all falling into place. The Mandalorian and his child were both asleep, and you knew where he kept this artifact. There was a small part of you that felt bad for taking it, but you knew that he did well enough for himself that his child never went hungry. And besides, when you lived this life, you couldn’t afford to be soft.

Soft, like you could feel your mind becoming every time you looked at him. It didn’t make sense, why you were so immediately drawn to the Mandalorian when you hadn’t known him all that long, but it was the reality you were faced with. And it certainly didn’t help that you had used the feelings that you would usually push down and try to ignore to your advantage, and things had gotten a little out of hand.

You didn’t know what he looked like, but you knew that his lips were soft, softer than you’ve ever felt before. You had no idea what color his eyes were, but you knew he was a passionate and committed lover. What hurt most of all was the fact that you kissed him knowing that there was no way you’d be sticking around, that all of this was simply just a means to an end.

At first, you thought he would understand.

Then you heard him moan your name quietly as he slept.

Things were getting too real too quickly, and it scared you to no end. If he had asked you to forsake your previous life and travel with him until the end of the galaxy you would have said yes in a heartbeat, and that was not okay. It was bad enough that you had already stayed three assignments past when you had said you would leave, and you were starting to wonder if taking this priceless artifact was really worth the inevitable pain of leaving, and having him realize that you had betrayed him.

But an angry communication from your employer had opened your eyes to the truth, and now all you wanted was out. You wanted to leave him before you did something rash, before you threw away your future and your reputation for something that you weren’t even sure was anything but infatuation. You wanted to return to your life of solitude before you allowed him to tempt you into staying.

You had just slipped the artifact into your bag when you heard his voice. “Stop right there.”

“I don’t want any trouble Mando,” you said, drawing your blaster. “I promise it’s nothing personal.”

“I don’t know, it feels pretty personal.”

“I promise-” you started to say, but he cut you off.

“Was any of what we shared real?” he asked, and you could hear a hint of hurt in his voice through the modulator of his helmet. “Or was it all just a ruse to get what you wanted?”

You hesitated, which gave him the answer he needed. “I meant what I said, you know,” you said, casting your thoughts back to the conversation you had shared with him when you first came on board, about how you were afraid of love because you’ve never known what it felt like, and that the life of a bounty hunter was the only life you’ve ever imagined yourself succeeding in. “I’m sorry, but it has to be this way.”

“Does it?” he asked. “Look me in the eyes and say you don’t feel anything for me. Was it really all just business?”

It was the closest thing to pleading that you had ever heard from him, and you gulped quietly, not knowing if you could truly commit to his request. It scared you so bad, the idea of admitting your feelings to the object of your affection. But as much as wished things could have been different, you knew that you were here because you had a job to do, and you didn’t intend to leave it unfinished.

“Nothing we had was ever anything more than business Mando,” you said, the chilly edge to your voice hiding the way your heart broke to speak those words. “I thought you of all people would understand.” He didn’t say a word, and due to the helmet on his head you had no idea what expression he wore as he registered your words.

You expected him to put up more of a fight, you expected to have to prove your worth if you were to leave with this artifact, but that didn’t happen. The Mandalorian stood to the side as you walked out of the ship, and even though you couldn’t see his eyes, you knew they were watching your every move. You almost would have liked it if he had tried to stop you, because this was so much worse.

When you finally got back to your own ship, you sent a comm to your employer, telling him that you had acquired the artifact and where to meet you to get it. This better be worth the credits, you thought, as you set course for the rendezvous point, your mind still fixated on what (and who) you left behind.

Maybe one day you would meet again, and you could beg for his forgiveness.

Maybe one day you would allow yourself to feel the things for him that you were currently ignoring.

Maybe one day you could be a family.

But right now you had made your choice, and you had to live with it.

- the end -

#2023 spring ficlets 🐝#din djarin x reader #din djarin #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #star wars x reader #star wars fanfiction

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flowercrowngods · 1 year

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"I'm not dying, you don't need to come over," Steve says, sounding suspiciously like he might be dying and that Eddie needs to come over. Eddie hasn't known Steve long, but he knows that Steve is a self-sacrificing idiot and a liar who lies and takes out his own stitches and and and -

"I'm coming over," Eddie says. Then - "I'm bringing Robin."

"If you bring Robin, our relationship is over," Steve says.

"Don't threaten me with a good time, Harrington," Eddie says. "I'm bringing Robin."

Steve doesn't even dignify that with a response, so Eddie calls Robin who agrees that Steve is indeed a liar who lies and she knew something was up with him and had been planning her own intervention, and they agree to meet and make his life hell (read: feed him soup).

Eddie picks her up and she wriggles into his van and he wolf whistles her and gets an elbow to the ear for his troubles. He briefly wonders if he's gay because women are mean. That might be it. Men are safer. But no, Steve is a man, and Steve is trouble. Steve might be dying right now because he is the worst kind of trouble.

"I should be heterosexual," he says aloud.

"Ew," Robin says. "You'd be so bad at it."

"I really would," he agrees, and keeps driving.

They arrive at the Harrington house with Eddie's meagre collection of soup tins and a hope and a prayer that the Harrington kitchen has some kinds of fresh vegetables and possibly even orange juice. Steve must live on something, right? (Eddie hopes he does not get takeaway for every meal. That would be concerning. And expensive. Expensively concerning. Concerningly expensive.)

Steve takes a long time to answer the door. When he does, Robin starts forward and Steve flinches.

"I'm not going to beat you up, dingus, but I'm glad you have a sense of self preservation in there somewhere," she says. "You should be in bed."

"I had to answer the door," he points out.

"Oh my god," she says and rolls her eyes. "That was a test. I have a key."

"Which I will be removing from you," Steve says, all nasally, like a nasal thing. Possibly a slug? Are slugs nasal? Eddie isn't sure.

"Boyfriend beloved," Eddie says. "Go to bed, and not in a sexy way. You are actively dripping."

"Oh, ew," Robin says.

"His nose, Robbie," Eddie says, and elbows her. She elbows him back. He elbows her back. She elbows him back -

"Enough, jesus," Steve says, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. Gross. "I will go to bed if you leave."

"No," Robin says. "We brought soup."

"Soup to stop you from dying," Eddie agrees. "We will now cook it for you."

"Oh god," Steve says.

"No, he wasn't involved," Eddie says. "Just us."

"We're pretty divine though, right, Eds?" Robin asks, and they giggle a little.

"I'm going to go sit down," Steve says. "Because you two are children and I deal with enough children."

"Boo, Stevie, boo," Eddie says. "But yes, sit, good."

"I'm not a dog," Steve says, but toddles off to sit.

Once he's gone, they head through to the spotless kitchen.

"I, hmm, have a confession," Robin says. "I objectively know how to make soup. But, not with any of these appliances."

Eddie looks around. There are many - machines. None of which look familiar. He tries to find the one that looks like a microwave. How does Steve live like this?

After opening several doors, they find a machine with a round rotating plate inside, and decide that's probably it, and more rooting through cupboards reveals a bowl, and so they put the soup in the bowl and label themselves geniuses, then throw the can in the bin and put the soup in the microwave.

"Eds," Robin says, waiting to input the numbers. "How long do we microwave it for?"

"I'll get the tin out of the bin," Eddie says, completing an ancient ritual.

Eventually, the soup is cooking, and it smells like soup and nothing is on fire, so it's very successful. They even find some oven mitts to take it out with, and a second bowl to put the first bowl in so Steve doesn't burn his poorly little hands on it. And a spoon! Very important, a spoon.

Eddie carries it through with great care, and Robin wanders through touching all the paintings on the walls along the way, and they find Steve - sound asleep in the recliner with the TV turned way down low.

"But my soup - " Eddie says.

"Sssshhh, he's sleeping. I think legally, we're allowed to reheat it once," Robin says, though she doesn't sound sure. Eddie looks at the soup, then at his sleeping boyfriend, then back at the soup.

"Does this count as a partial victory?" He asks, and puts the soup on the coffee table before slumping down on the couch, Robin following behind him and nestling into him, no regard for his personal space. Steve lets out a snore.

"A great soup-sess," she declares.

"No," Eddie says.

"Aw," Robin complains.

eddie is so wrong for not calling it a soup-sess actually

#steddie #steddie fic #platonic stobin #stobin soulmates #stranger things #sickfic #silly sick fic for silly sick dio 🥹🫶#beloved dingus #not mine

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actualbird · 1 year

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yknow, i really love the SR cards where the main plot is basically just NXX Boy Goes And Does A Thing, And He SUCKS AT IT!!!

vyn has SR Mercury In Retrograde where he does a fantastic job being absolute ass at household plumbing. marius has SR Overtone where he gets an A++++++ for being the last guy you wanna lend your guitar to, because hes really bad at playing the dang guitar. and at first i didn't know what artem's card was that followed this pattern but sam @samsspambox blessedly informed me that it's SR Thin Veil, the paywalled SR i dont have yet. and in that card story artem fucking SUCKS at PUPPETS

(sidenote: i generally weep at paywalled top-up cards but the concept of basically having to pay for artem's cringe is So Very funny to me)

but now here is where the injustice becomes apparent.....vyn, marius, and artem each have an SR Epic Fail: The Card Story

BUT WHERE IS LUKE'S?????????

to avoid any misunderstandings, here are the traits of what, to me, makes up an "SR Epic Fail":

one Main Thing is the thing our beloved nxx boy will suck at and what and it's also generally Main Focus of the whole card story (which then later leads to a sweeter core message about vulnerability and love and being okay with not being perfect etc)

our boy has to suck In The Moment. not in a flashback, not in a referenced past anecdote, no no. i want to have to tap through the entire excruciating scene/s of him failing at whatever hes doing

the story format has to be in a contained card story and not a recurring-but-brief theme in a personal story

with this criteria in place, it is IMMEDIATELY apparent that luke is the only one without an SR Epic Fail. the closest story instances would be the following:

SSR Through The Heavens (the skateboard card) since he fails at being a normal not-hypervigilant human being and also the NSB makes fun of him with memes, but this doesnt count because it wasn't the Main Focus of the story, there was a whole lot of other stuff going on and the Main Focus was the skateboarding which he did awesome at

some past anecdotes and flashbacks in SR How I Remember You (the luke blindfold card) about how luke sucks at drawing and sucks at charades, but this doesnt count because the drawing was just referenced in a few sentences and the charades fail was a brief flashback. it's also not the Main Focus of the story as well

his general inability/difficulty with cooking that is a recurring theme across his personal stories doesnt count because it's not a card, and thus isnt eligible

this is terrible. this is horrid. i love luke and i want a card thats all about him messing up at a minor activity. i want a full SR Luke Fucks Up At Cooking where the focus is what it says on the tin

i can even see the story so clearly in my mind's eye. it'd be so easy. maybe luke tries to make gingerbread man cookies but accidentally ends up with a gingerbread massacre.

luke mentions hes gonna bake and mc is excited about it because it seems he put a lot of thought and research and prep into it, maybe it actually starts with a scene of them shopping for ingredients together, and theyre both looking forward to luke's baking! but when it actually happens hes like "oh sorry a case came up, dont come over to my place anymore!!" which is sus

mc comes over anyway the next day to pick up some stuff she forgot and luke is there acting awfully nervous and his whole BUILDING smells of burnt gingerbread but there are no gingerbread treats to be found. luke keeps evading until mc finds The Massacre in a plastic container box haphazardly shoved into one of the kitchen cupboards

and it's an absolute baked-goods crime scene in there. none of the gingerbread men look like they were ever even men or homonids of any kind to begin with, it instead looks like all the dough just came together in the oven to create an amorphous Blob with the odd "limb" sticking out here and there. what luke has created is a gingerbread abomination.

mc stares at the gingebread abyss, and it stares back.

upon further investigation, mc even finds slight burn marks around the oven's door too and luke has his face in his hands, his shame is IMMENSE, just about as immense as the aroma of gingerbread treats everywhere. he was hiding it because he was worried that he got her so hyped up for the whole thing that it'd be SUCH a disappointment to her that he fucked it up!

and mc is like "hey no it's okay, as long as it tastes good, it doesnt matter how bad it looks!" and then she breaks off a piece from the gingerbread monstrosity and eats faster than luke can warn her "NO NO DONT DO IT---"

it tastes like shit

anyway they go out to get desserts from cafe instead and mc reassures luke that she obviously still loves him even if he created a baked treats atrocity and broke the genevabread convention. she tells him that if hes having trouble or if he fails, his instinct shouldnt be to hide it all and avoid her but to let her know and so she can help out, because she wants to be there for the wins and for the losses, for the good days and the bad. luke then goes all blushy grateful happy and they kiss and love is real.

the end. the post-story text conversation can go something along the lines of

luke: okay so i figured out why my gingerbread men went nuclear

mc: oh? why?

luke: i....misread "tsp" as "tbsp".........every time

mc: HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAA

luke:

#tears of themis #lukerosa #luke pearce #tot rosa #xia yan #sam im so sorry for the amount of times i ping u with an @ u are simply the best artem primary source of all time and i love that so much #tot luke

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prolix-yuy · 10 months

Note

Sit on the throne with whoever 👀👀

Hmmm, whoever you say? Well then it has to be my OG boy, my favorite space husband, the tin can man himself!

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Position: Sit on the Throne

Word Count: 1277

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, unprotected PiV sex (don't be a fool, wrap your tool), fingering, semi-public sex.

Notes: This is a bit of a Mand'alor Din AU that I thought would be fun. Follows parts of S3 but I ignore what I feel like because we're in my sandbox now, babes. Enjoy!

“Brooding, my Mand’alor?”

Din groans when your voice drifts over his shoulder, elbows on his knees and head hanging between his shoulders. He’s focused on his hands, the phantom image of the darksaber haunting the corners of his mind. A responsibility he never wanted, but not the first.

“Don’t call me that,” he sighs, leaning back in the throne he was meant to ascend in a handful of days. Bo-Katan had been watching him with simmering distrust, but every day seemed to lessen her ire. The traditions are foreign to him, wishing for the cool anonymity of the underground tunnels he grew up in. Mand’alor the Reluctant, he was sure they’d call him.

“Just trying to get used to it myself,” you say, leaning your hip against the stone arm. Din looks up at you and tries not to choke on his tongue. It’s never enough to say you’re beautiful, or whip-smart, or resilient. You’re truly the most constant part of his heart.

“Sit with me?” he asks, reaching out for your hand. Gladly taking it, you round the throne and perch on Din’s thighs, letting him wrap his arms around and pull you close. You rest your head on his shoulder in the soft spot between his paudron and helmet. It was the first place your affections fit perfectly all that time ago, when Din Djarin was only Mando and you were only a nuisance on his ship.

“What’s troubling you?” you ask, letting your fingers burrow into the cowl around his neck. With practiced slowness you inch your fingers under the helmet and cup the back of his neck, soft strands of hair entwining and the scratch of his beard under your thumb. You only know his face by touch, and exactly how to give it to soothe your beloved.

“I’m too old for this,” he grumbles, bubbling a laugh between your lips. “Too set in my ways. Too much of the Watch, of a beroya, of anything but a leader.” He squeezes you tighter, letting the helmet rest on the crown of your head. It’s a weight you’re happy to bear.

“You have a council, and Bo-Katan. The Armorer, and Paz, even though he drives me nuts,” you list, a little of his tension easing. “And you have me,” you add just a little quieter than the rest.

“Thank the Maker, I hold your opinion in the highest regard,” Din says, and you chuff against his chest. “I do,” he protests when you snort.

“I don’t believe the Mandalorians will accept the council of an outsider,” you say, trying to hide your rueful tone. You’d been on the fringes of plans thus far, a perturbance when you enter a room. Trying not to take it personally, you’d kept to your rooms and waited for the brief moments you could steal with Din. Most were short-lived, snuffed out by sleep or pressing duties, but in the deep dark of your bedroom you could still kiss the man you loved.

“They will accept yours,” Din says, bite in his tone that zings naughty arousal up your spine. You rub your thumb soothingly along his jawline.

“I don’t need to be seen, or heard. I can serve you in other ways,” you say, the double entendre not lost on either of you. Din’s touch grows from comforting to all-encompassing, hands kneading at your thighs and hips.

“Is that so?” he says, seduction thick on his tongue. “How would you serve your Mand’alor now?”

Turning in his lap, you slide back against his hips to nestle your ass along his hardening cock.

“So you like the title now?” you tease, dragging against him as he stifles a groan.

“I like being yours,” he manages to grit out, making butterflies dance in your stomach. For a man of few words, Din always knows the ones to choose. “Can I have you here, Cyare? Right now?” He cups your mound and grinds the heel of his hand against it, palming your breast and circling your clothed nipple just the way you like it. Heat builds in your cunt, the insistent press of Din’s cock against you quieting the nerves.

“Let me serve you, my Mand’alor,” you purr out, and if he wasn’t worked up before he is now. Two thwaps of leather and he’s yanking your pants halfway down your thighs, ripping open his own to release his cock. His bare hands soothe your overheating skin, circling your clit gingerly as he nudges against you.

“Don’t know how much time we have,” he whispers before the heavy clunk of the helmet spikes your heart rate.

“Din, anyone could…” you protest, but his lips on your neck silence you.

“Many walk another path,” he says, dragging his cock through your folds. “Maybe I can too.”

The implication of Din’s words distract from his thick length splitting you open, a loud whine bringing his hand to cover your mouth.

“Cyare, be quiet for me. I don’t want them to see you stretched on my cock. That’s for me, and me alone.”

He punches up into your noisy cunt, wet slaps and heavy breathing echoing through the great hall. Bracing your hands on the throne, you meet his thrusts, fingers slipping over your lips and dipping into your mouth. Every time he buries inside you, stars erupt, explode into glittering constellations across your vision. His fingers are sloppy on your clit, panting in your ear and whispering how good you feel around him, how precious you are, strings of words in Mando’a you can’t understand except for cyare, and kar’ta.

“Can I fill you up, Cyare?” he rasps, strokes getting shorter and his fingers frantic.

“Please, Din,” you gasp, back bending like a bow before your pleasure snaps. He guides your hips to buck against him as he pounds into your quivering cunt, spilling his seed as he moans brokenly into your skin.

Slumping back into the uncomfortable throne, Din takes you with him. You’re a little stiff against him, making his bare hands wander.

“Was that okay?” he asks, sudden very aware of how exposed you both are, half clothed and without his helmet. You lace your fingers with his, taking a deep breath.

“Did you mean it? You want to walk both paths?” you ask, and it clutches at Din’s heart. He presses a kiss to your shoulder, engulfing you in his arms.

“Maybe one day. But not yet. There’s still much I’m not ready to meet without all I’ve known protecting me,” he says. You nod, reaching up to stroke along his cheek. He melts into your touch, kissing the palm of your hand.

Once you’ve redressed, Din’s helmet replaced and your clothes straightened, he cups your mound again.

“Keep me inside until I come to you tonight?” he asks, making you shudder and give him a sultry smile. Then you leave, and he’s alone with his thoughts again. Well, not the same thoughts. Some new ones.

First, that in a few days he’s to ascend the throne, and all that comes with taking a station he’s never wanted.

Then, that he would rather not do it alone.

The night before his coronation, he will lead you to one of the gardens those who remained tended so carefully. Among the flowers of a world he would soon rule, he would ask you to be his riduur, and remove his helmet. The first to see his face would be you, whether or not he chooses to walk both paths one day. And you would walk the path with him, beside him, The Reluctant and the Resilient, exactly how it should be.

END

LJ’s Bangathon 2023

#din djarin x female reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #mando x reader #mando x you #mandalorian x you #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #prolix fics

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wannaeatramyeon · 10 months

Note

not sure if you've already been asked this before but what are some of your favourite pieces you've written on here?💖

MY BELOVED HEUN HELLO! A chance to talk about me?!?!?!

I don't actually like that much of the stuff I've written heh. There's a few things of my own that I like to reread when I'm feeling some kinda way. And I tend to have quite specific tastes, which you can probably tell from the below.

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Through the years (Meeting Taehoon from elementary school)

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Insomnia (Post breakup angst)

Baek Seongjun x Reader: Prince (Break up to reunion)

Seong Hansu x Reader: an old man and his memories (nostalgia)

Samuel Seo x Reader: kiss me before you go (Bittersweet pre 1A)

Johan Seong x Reader: Vision (Bittersweet)

Jake Kim x Samuel Seo: Better Together (Canon compliant)

Jake Kim x Reader: Drive (Fluffy)

Jake Kim x Reader: Soulmates (First meeting. Reincarnation trope.)

Jake Kim x Reader: Youth (childhood friends reuniting)

Vin Jin x Reader: Seeing colours (Fluff with Vin)

Vin Jin x Reader: You're his type (Friends to Lover)

Gun Park x Reader: Retirement (Gun giving up his life of crime for you)

Gun Park x Reader: Soft (What it says on the tin)

Gun Park x Big Deal!Reader: Yamazaki Yuzuru (enemies to lovers)

Goo Kim x Reader: Colleagues to lover (odd formatting)

Goo Kim x Reader: Fake Dating (Fun colleagues? to lover)

Goo Kim x Reader: Tired (Soft Goo hours)

Gun Park x Goo Kim: Equals (Strangers to lovers interwoven with canon events)

DG x Reader: Remember (angst to hope)

#i think my most popular fics are more fluffy and soft but i loooove me some bittersweet angst #heun my beloved #ramen asks #masterlist #of personal faves #wannaeatramyeon #oof this is fun #might keep it up to date #lookism x reader #how to fight x reader #viral hit x reader

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bijoumikhawal · 4 months

Text

Bite the Hand that Starves You: Chapter Three

Fic as of this chapter contains: discussion of abortion, references to drug use, intersex and trans characters, torture/graphic violence, colonialism and its aftermath, implied sexual violence,

Heads up: this chapter has some of Garak ruminating on his experience with bioessentialism, sex, and gender in a society that I think is pretty fucked up in approach to the topic and not friendly to those who perform gender "incorrectly", and I don't think Garak necessarily has an internal understanding separate from that even if he's uncomfortable with it. In general this fic is complicated because Garak is canonically effeminate and that compounds with the themes here in a new way (+ a lot of people I think would view the "progressive" thing as Garak shedding his effeminacy, which I find insulting from my own perspective as someone effeminate who is a "stereotype").

There is also a pair of scenes where it is ambigious if consent to sex was given or not, but it is not graphic. The first is when Barkan comes into the bathroom with Garak, the second is the scene after Julian and Dr. Ammshah schedule Garak's appointment. There is another with a violent undertone, which begins with "Garak had had an odd nightmare".

Kardasi: Peikirvi - would translate to something like "concubine", specifically refers to an individual that socially presents as male, and was assigned such at birth, but can carry children (and often could impregnate someone else), who is legally bound to someone. Usually this is done with a pre-existing couple who has fertility issues.

Cheoche and cheyeda: could be translated as something like "patron" and "vassal". "Che" in Kardasi refers to charity, which is viewed as a duty to society rather than a choice made of good will. More specifically, a cheoche is a wealthy family/clan who takes on the affairs of a poorer or weaker one (the cheyeda), legally binding the two together for several generations. This can be typified in three ways: the cheyeda being a family who was once great and has become destitute, the family of a beloved artist, or a family of the "service class". For the latter, having a cheoche often provides a stable income, food, housing, and better schooling and training. Some cheyeda even have inheritance rights from their cheoche. However, while the relationship is glorified as going above and beyond ones duty, it is a system rife with abuse. The Tain and Garak families are bound this way.

There had been a time, just before his age of emergence, when Garak had stared in the mirror trying to see just what was different from other boys and him. He wasn't the sort who was recognized for his unique position at birth- it had come later, at a milestone medical exam.

He hardly acknowledged the mirror as he exited the shower now, quickly pulling on a robe before the water could chill him.

He'd combed and squeezed the water out of his hair before stepping out- Julian had gotten him a warming tile for his pomade, which he'd set up before stepping in. The scent of warm wax filled the room, along with the essence of herbs purported as beneficial.

It was a frivolous thing. Garak had a pull out stove for making tea that he could warm the tin on just as well. But it did make his routine a little faster.

He dug his fingers into the pale green liquid, hot enough to be just this side of uncomfortable. As he tugged it through his hair, he could already see it resolidifying, leaving his fingers cool again.

Even after the diagnosis, his recategorization had been inconsistent, even private, which was his value. Would he be here at all if he was not recognized for passing between spheres? Women were not well suited to outside work, in the immediate sense and the sense of borders. Garak was not a woman, but he filled the role of one for the sake of biology, as well as the role of a man. His primary root in manhood meant that was how he passed through the world. The secondary root ruled how he had to live once the doors were closed.

It prickled along the back of his neck, the practicality of it all. Would he even know his own body if it wasn't so?

He tried not to think about the whole matter. He always had carried on that way; he had redoubled his efforts after… after his exile. He was quite good at it.

Most of the time. He'd been too good, lately.

He had behaved differently from other boys.

No one who knew commented upon it, precisely, as related. But it was… a trope, in some ways. In general, what one was born as influenced the behavior, if everything was well with the mind. When one behaved differently from other boys, you could assume two things: madness, or two roots. Because of his privacy, the former was often assumed. Until after Romulus, that is...

He'd run a comb through his hair again once he was done, to make sure the pomade was distributed evenly.

He clicked off the warming tile.

And if you need someone- to talk to, to help you, to-

Garak sighed, tied his robe tighter, and opened a comms line on his terminal.

---

Garak had had an odd nightmare, after Barkan had essentially proposed, the weeks between then and the ceremony (he had to inform his household, and the military, of his new addition, after all).

He was in his old bedroom again, down in the basement. That was how he knew it was a dream.

Someone was in the room with him. His limbs, eyelids, blanket, were all so heavy, he could not look to see who, or reach out, but he knew. Who else would slip into bed with him as he slept?

Tains weight shifted on the mattress. For whatever reason- the shift made Garak realize why his limbs felt heavy. They were manacled- securing him to the bed.

"Peikirvi don't get a dowry or dower. But I deserve compensation, Elim. I'm giving up something very important, after all."

It was- an old custom. Between a cheoche and service class cheyeda- other cheyeda, they had no such custom, for the cheoche demand compensation before allowing a marriage, no matter the type. And the service class only had it if they were lucky enough to have a cheoche. If the suitor didn't pay, the cheoche revoked whatever blessings had been given, and kept the... piece of their household.

The chains, in the meantime, prevented elopement.

It had been outlawed as something you could only do to subjugated peoples, decades ago.

---

Julian didn't know what he expected when Garak asked him to come see him. The robe, certainly, was not high on the list.

"Where was that a few months ago?" Julian asked lightly. "Don't tell me you had pajamas that whole time."

Garak stepped back to let him in. "I didn't care to change into them at the time, doctor."

Julian felt the urge to touch him, but kept his hands to himself, remembering the last time he'd done that in this room.

"Is everything alright?"

"Just fine." Garak sat down. “We haven't been talking to each other as friends much lately.”

Julian sat as well, following his lead. “No, we haven't. Are you still struggling with your appetite-”

“No doctor talk.” Garak held up a hand. “I called you here as a friend,” he emphasized, “and that means I don't want to hear a word about my… medical concerns.”

“Alright.” Julian clasped his hands together, for want of a better thing to do with them. “What do you want to talk about, then?”

Garak leaned back. “Nothing in particular.”

Ah. What a load of bullocks. But Julian would play along. “I apologize, but I've been too busy to finish the book you gave me last. Work.”

“Slacking off on our cultural exchanges…” Garak said with distant disapproval, as he looked to his left, lips parted. “What am I to do with you?”

Stay. Julian felt his cheeks warm at the odd thought. It wasn't as though Garak was deathly ill this time. This all would be over and done within a week, most likely. “I don't know, Docent Garak. What will you do with me?”

Garak’s breath caught, and he turned to look at Julian. He closed his mouth. “Remedial discussion should suffice.”

Julian laughed. He'd leaned forwards at some point, and he didn't bother correcting himself. “Alright.”

“Gender relations. These are relevant in every Cardassian work of literature, and in every aspect of Cardassian life overall. What have you observed?”

Julian leaned back. “Everyone is restricted in their movements and behaviors, women a bit more so. Ornamentation is more for women as well, but not entirely, and it's not necessarily seen in a bad light. Men are pushed towards the military, but in a lot of the older settings there's plenty of writers too. Er… men are generally seen as emotional, women as more stoic, able to separate themselves from things…” Julian trailed off. “Don't look at me like that, you put me on the spot and asked me about something rather complicated!”

“The most basic, distilled statement I can give you is this: men and women are distinct, but considered equal, on Cardassia.” Garak says, face impassive.

Julian thinks on it for a moment, and catches the quiet, hidden meaning. Those which are not distinct…

“I see. Interesting.”

Garak gave him a wan smile. “Is it? Are they not distinct to you? Or perhaps not equal?”

“Like I said before: it's complicated. What is a man, afterall? What is a woman? What-” Julian thought carefully. “I might see one of each that look and act almost entirely the same, within minutes of each other. Perhaps of different cultures, different contexts, or perhaps not. They are distinct but the distinction is- personal. Intimate.”

“Intimate.” Garak’s expression grew slightly solemn. “You would use that word, wouldn't you?”

Julian blinked. Clearly he'd missed something. “Is it wrong? When something is a matter of self knowledge- isn't that intimate, perhaps the most intimate something can be?”

A bitter air had entered the room, and it only intensified. The word choice had struck a nerve Julian hadn't realized was there to strike.

“Garak, I really didn't mean to-”

Garak looked at him and Julian immediately fell quiet. It seemed like the wise choice.

“Didn't you?” Garak rose from his chair, bending over Julian, hands gripping the armrests as yet unused. “You stopped yourself for a moment, earlier. You were considering your words. Is carelessness a common trait for a doctor?”

“I had my attention on the subject we were discussing. I apologize-”

“Whatever for? Whatever for , my dear doctor?”

“For not knowing that might upset you.”

“Interesting. That you claim ignorance. That you apologize for it.”

“Garak-”

“I don't think you're ignorant at all in the matter of intimacy.”

Oh, where had that come from?

Julian inhaled. “Look, I don't-”

“Don't what, doctor?!”

They'd ended up on the floor, somehow. Julian gripped Garak’s shoulders. “Garak! Listen to me.” Julian paused, uncertain of what to say, but knowing he had to say something. Garak looked at him, wild eyed.

“I'm here because I care about you. Because I want to support you. I didn't-” Julian's eyes fell to Garak’s robe, disheveled by their arrival to the floor. He pulled the lapels closed, looking back up at Garak. “I didn't come for anything else. I didn't mean anything else, than to- comfort you.”

Garak’s eyes were deeply unnerving. Julian had had a teacher with protuberant blue eyes once- they reminded him of a frog. She knew her eyes were somewhat unnerving, and put them to good use against any student she deemed necessary. The unease now, wasn’t that Garak normally looked odd. He simply looked like he was…

Julian was very careful where he touched Garak now, cupping his elbows to pull him up and back into his chair.

He slumped on the floor next to it. “I don't want anything else.”

He heard the soft rustle of fabric behind him- probably Garak gathering himself to sit properly. He could almost hear Garak thinking. Searching for the admission of guilt. The crack in the rhetoric to poke at till it all fell apart. A weakness to use.

“I don't.” Julian said again, resting his head back against the chair. Nails scratching against upholstery. Restraining the urge to reach out and what? Violence or intimacy- or both?

Garak rested a hand over Julian’s eyes. “You couldn’t get that out of me even if you wanted it.” Garak said quietly.

Julian sighed. They were not talking about sex. “No.” Not without medical intervention and a lot of planning, anyway.

“Why didn’t you say that?” Remind him of it, to be specific.

“Because it doesn’t make me safe, Garak.” Julian got up, shaking away the hand. “I could hurt you anyway. I’m uniquely positioned to hurt you. Surely, you know it doesn't make me safe?”

Garak was gripping the seat of the chair he'd previously sat in, nails digging into the upholstery again. “Of course.”

In the heat of the moment, no. But Julian didn't need to be told- logic didn't always stay steady in the heat of the moment. It had a nasty habit of flying off somewhere and returning just in time for you to feel stupid.

Julian extended a hand, then took it back, unsure of what he'd meant to do with it in the first place. “Of course.” He echoed, quieter.

“Do you ever want to…”

“Not really.” Julian doesn’t say that it doesn’t matter what he wants, he simply can’t. Refusing is easier to understand.

“I do, sometimes.” Garak admits.

Julian almost tells him that he prefers when Garak pulls his leg in ways that he has to carefully consider before realizing he’s lying, but he doesn’t.

---

Dr. Ammshah sat instead of standing, leaving Garak higher up than her. "How are you today, Mr. Garak?"

Her arrival had gone smoothly, though Julian hadn't gotten a chance to thank Sisko or anyone in hospitality or logistics yet. He always preferred to give a two weeks heads up, but, well...

Garak had his smiling mask in place. "Quite well, thank you."

"Glad to hear it. I've already spoken with Dr. Bashir a fair amount about you. Today, if I can, I'd like to do a physical examination, with Dr. Bashir observing, and discuss your care options."

Julian watched the subtleties of their interaction, rapt. He was hardly a stranger to bedside manner, but there was an underlying current to how Dr. Ammshah spoke and handled herself. Not just her body language, which Julian knew carried a second layer of weight in Kardasi, but something else intangible. He couldn't quite tell if it was effective yet.

"Do what you must."

Dr. Ammshah inclined her head, then handed Garak an already prepared gown. "We'll give you some privacy to change, then."

---

Barkan came up behind Garak while he was washing his face. Garak forced himself to continue like normal.

"Elijje. I don't need to tell you we'll soon be withdrawing from Bajor." He curled Garak’s hair around one finger. "The Bajorans know it. They're growing more bold and more and more of them are accepting the words of terrorists."

"I'll be careful."

Barkan tightened his twisting of Garak’s hair. "I know. You always are. But, for my peace of mind… would you stay in our quarters for the next few weeks?"

Garak stopped what he was doing and turned to look at Barkan, pulling his hair out of his grasp. "Pardon? All the time?"

"It's only for a few weeks. I'd have us leave sooner, but I can't leave wrapping up the mining project to Skrain- he has enough to handle with me helping him right now."

Garak couldn't help looking around the room. "You could send me ahead…"

"No. I considered it, but there's too much going on. We've already lost three ships with Cardassians trying to leave."

"Barkan-"

"This isn't a request, Elijje." Barkan grabbed his hand, and Garak only just resisted the urge to twist their positions and break his arm. Instead he was pulled into an embrace. Barkan threaded his hand into Garak’s hair, pushing his cheek hard into Barkan’s chest. "I've already discussed it with Skrain. He agrees with me. There's a voice lock on the door and Odo has flagged the security feed on the hall outside."

Garak took in a heavy breath. He knows. He knows something- probably about the mess with Procal.

This is just a pretext.

Barkan had the gall to laugh. "Ah, look at you shake. It's alright, Elijje. Nothing bad will happen so long as we're both smart about it." He stroked Garak’s hair. "Why don't you come back to bed with me for a bit before I have to work?"

"I dont-"

"Come now, it'll help you get your mind off things."

Barkan had him from behind, pressing his face into the mattress the whole time.

He kissed the fresh bloody bite on Garak’s neck. "Don't forget to take your hypo today. Fulfill your duty to me, Elijje."

---

"Feet flat on the biobed for me, knees up."

Garak’s chest rose and fell with a heavy, silent breath, but he did as he was told. Julian squeezed his forearm before rejoining Dr. Ammshah, who was pushing the gown up.

Garaks' whole body was taught like a strung instrument. Under the gown was grey, grey, grey, then pink under Dr. Ammshah's careful gloves (green), much like Garak’s mouth. She palpated there, pointed something out to Julian here. Julian took note of it all, distracting himself from the who and taking in the what.

She had been right in her guess as to what anatomy Garak had.

Once satisfied, she pulled the gown back down past Garak’s grey knees again, and hit the button on the biobed so Garak was sitting up.

"Everything looks mostly normal so far, but I suspect you're deficient in several vitamins, so I'll have Dr. Bashir test for that."

Garak nodded, mask apparently having fallen during the exam and struggling to get back up again.

"Obviously, you want a termination. In addition to that, I can flush your spermacathe so this won't happen again, though I'll need to do it manually. We can also remove the uterus-"

"No. Thank you, Dr. Ammshah, but I would prefer…" Garak paused. "To remain whole, with all my organs."

Dr. Ammshah nodded, unsurprised. "I feel it important to remind patients of their options, even if they're unpleasant." She looked at Julian, pulling him in, and then back to Garak. "The termination and flush will take about two or three hours. How conscious would you like to be for the latter?"

"I'll have to think on it."

"That's fine. Doctor, do you have any time slots that work with his normal schedule this week?"

"A few." Julian turned to Garak. "3 days from now, at 1900?"

"That will be fine, Dr. Bashir." Garak said, eyes closed to the infirmary lighting.

---

Garak laid in bed, controlling his breathing and meditating until the buzz of the wire responding to the morning's activities was background noise.

He sat up. Barkan knew, and that meant Garak needed out.

His exit was obvious. He'd have to kill Barkan- Ideally, Dukat too, they were the main two who'd seen him and knew his real name. Others could be dealt with more subtly. He needed to send a message to the Order, but he knew it'd say just that. Eliminate Lokar. Go to this sage house. Await further instructions for extraction.

The odds of killing Lokar and Dukat were low, even under normal circumstances. With the lock and watch protocols- unless Dukat made a personal visit, Garak could forget it. The Order would have to arrange something for Dukat later.

Garak touched his cheek. This move had always been risky, because Barkan was high profile and knew his name. By the end of this he'd probably end up with a new face.

That'd have to wait for later consideration. How was he to do this?

He'd check, of course, but if Barkan suspected him, he'd have swept the room. Any obvious disruptions would be gone, and it was possible most, if not all his hiding spots had been found. None of their medicines or bath products were ready for use as a fast acting poison. The lacing from his undergarment might work- and he had his knife, but ugh. Stabbing someone to death was a very involved, and loud process.

Garak tried his comms unit. Signal error, it proclaimed.

"Replicator, red leaf tea, hot."

"That request cannot be filled at this time due to limited resources."

"I'm sure." Garak muttered. His own comms would be easy enough to fix, at least.

---

Julian hadn't expected the first case to be the only one. Kurowaat was rather contagious, after all- there'd been a case of it in his first year at the Academy. In the heart of the Federation, most were vaccinated against it- bit it still ripped through the students, causing headaches, embarrassing laundry, and for the unlucky unvaccinated few, two weeks of missed class thanks to the full effect of the virus.

In Starfleet Medical, the saying was that it came in fives- if one person had it, four more would follow.

Most on Bajor were not vaccinated. And Julian was wondering if that phrase was grossly optimistic.

Dr. Ammshah naturally volunteered to help. She primarily was the Cardassian equivalent to an Ob/Gyn, but even without her specialty being relevant, she was still a doctor. One of the senior ones in her clinic at that. Julian had her checking in on the non-Bajorans they had coming in and helping with admin- scheduling, managing the shift madness, tracking the supplies they had and their use rate.

That still left plenty for Julian, of course. Most of the patients were Bajoran.

The station infirmary was, intentionally, too small to serve all residents. If the shop next door ever went out of business, he was going to immediately request to commandeer the space and start putting in work orders.

For now, the break rooms, private rooms, and quarantine bay were just as packed as the main bay, and Julian had given all medical staff a crash course on how to bunk biobeds as painlessly as possible. The surgical bay and his office remained empty for now.

Currently they had 46 patients with kurowaat, and more coming. Julian was going to have to go through his early patients and send the alert ones who had someone they lived with home with a good supply of diozaine to ride out the last week of the illness. And instructions to hydrate and change sheets often. But it'd be a few more days before he could do that.

He sat down between seeing patients and wondered if the sheer numbers he was calculating could justify using one of the storage bays from the aphasia virus incident last year.

It wasn't really an emergency. The infirmary being too small was just that much of a problem. He had enough supplies, enough staff- he didn't expect any deaths.

#cipher talk #garashir #ds9 #Ds9 fic #Julian Bashir/Elim Garak #star trek deep space 9 #Fic: Bite the hand that starves you

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thefrogdalorian · 8 days

Text

My Pain Fits In The Palm Of Your Freezing Hand

Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Summary: When you and your Mandalorian companion are ambushed by a group of bandits, you hope that his stubborn nature will not make the task of treating his wounds any more difficult than it needs to be. But that is not the only obstacle. You also hope that the depth of your unrequited feelings for Din will not impact on your ability to care for him...

Word Count: 2.2k ✯ Rating: General ✯ Content Warnings: Canon typical violence briefly described, reader provides first-aid to minor, bloody injuries. ✯ Author's Note: A daydream about holding the stubborn tin can man's hand turned into whatever this is!! I've never written unrequited feelings for Din before but it made my heart ache in the best possible way. Hope you enjoyed!

✯ My Masterlist ✯ Read on AO3 ✯

Once the adrenaline of your latest brush with death subsides, your focus immediately pivots to caring for your Mandalorian companion. Although the heightened emotions leaving your body render you a trembling, shaky mess, your priority is to ensure his well-being. Maker knows he will never take care of himself.

As you approach the Razor Crest, you mentally scan yourself for painful areas. Casting your mind back towards the encounter as you try to recall anywhere you could have been hurt. After all, you will struggle to assist him if you are not healthy.

You recall that you had taken a couple of painful blows to the side during the skirmish, but your clumsy assailants had fortunately missed all of your vital organs. Aside from a pounding heart and dry mouth, you have mercifully made it through the ambush unscathed.

Satisfied that there are no immediate areas of concern to treat, you turn your attention towards Din. You cast your mind back over the altercation, towards any wounds he may have sustained. It is easier said than done, considering how many of them leapt out of nowhere and caught the two of you off-guard as you walked through the thick forest towards the ship.

You remember how many of them Din fought off with his bare hands. Well, through his gloves. Still, you know they will have provided scant protection, so you are keen to check them for injuries.

You momentarily struggle to remember what happened after Din had seen most of them off as you crouched behind a bush, hiding.

Then, you recall how one of your assailants had slashed at Din’s hands when he grabbed the remaining pair of them around the throat. It had been a frenzied attack, which momentarily worked as his grip loosened. Just when you had feared that all hope was lost and they were going to escape, Din brought his boot up to deliver a swift kick in the stomach to the slower of the duo, which sent them careening into each other.

Din had used many parts of his body, as well as all of his wits and expertise as a warrior to see your attackers off. He had done a formidable job, considering how much they had taken you by surprise.

Still, the state of his hands concern you.

You are pretty sure they sustained the most severe damage. Plus, as they are vitally important for everyday function, treating them takes priority.

It is settled... Din’s hands are the first area you will treat.

If he will let you, that is.

Your Mandalorian companion does not possess a reputation for being the easiest man in the galaxy to take care of... a willing patient, Din Djarin is not.

As the two of you ascend the ramp up to his beloved ship, you hope for both of your sakes that he makes this process as painless as possible.

“Din, sit down and let me get the medkit,” you order when you finally enter the familiar old ship's hull.

“Let me initiate the launch sequence first,” Din stubbornly responds.

“No,” you reply, shaking your head as you fold your arms, glaring at him.

“Fine,” Din mutters in annoyance.

It seems your sternness has done the trick.

Din perches atop a crate as you grab the medkit in preparation to treat his wounds. You hope he does not make it harder for you than necessary. Din has never made any secret that he is comfortable being fussed over. You are no stranger to the fact that he hates being taken care of like this, but if you do not tend to his wounds, you know he will never do so himself.

“Your gloves,” you nod towards the two-toned leather which covers his hands, “Take them off, Din.”

Din sighs and lifts his gloves beneath his helmet, seemingly biting at each finger to loosen them before repeating the process with his other hand. You feel like a voyeur and wonder whether you should turn your head and look away, as though his gloved hand disappearing beneath his helmet is somehow sacrilegious. Despite your inner turmoil, you cannot help but watch, unable to tear your gaze away until finally, he slides the gloves off and bares his flesh to you.

It is not the first time Din has removed his gloves in your presence, yet you still feel a thrill travelling across your body at the faintest sight of his skin.

For Din Djarin’s bare hands provide you with the tiniest peek at the man that lies beneath the cold, hard beskar. To catch a glimpse of the human side of the formidable warrior, the side of him you yearn to know entirely.

You remember how stunned you had been the first time he had removed his gloves in your presence while he was repairing a blaster several months ago.

You had been sitting elsewhere in the hull as he worked at the bench, tools spread out as he dutifully performed much-needed maintenance on one of his many beloved weapons.

A grunt of frustration indicated that the parts had been far too intricate to repair with his cumbersome gloves. So, he had pulled on each finger one by one, tugging them off. Seemingly uncaring about baring himself, even ever so slightly, in your presence.

You had tried your best not to look, but you had been unable to resist sneaking a glance at who he was underneath his armour. Although for the most part, you kept to yourselves, there was no lingering frostiness in your dynamic. You and Din were amicable, possibly even friends... if he could even have such a thing.

That day, you watched as his hands meticulously repaired his blaster. You noticed the smattering of dark hairs across the back of his hand, the surprisingly tanned skin and the calluses and scars which littered the back of his hand. It was a fascinating glimpse into the man who hid so much of himself from you, yet you still felt you knew enough about him to believe he was, deep down, a good man.

Your mind ran wild with so many questions. Was his skin a similar colour elsewhere on his body, or was it tanned because his hands were the only parts of him that saw the sun? Did the dark hairs on the back of his hand mean that the hair on his head–if he had any–was a similar colour?

They were questions you knew you would likely never get answers to. Nor did you expect to.

When Din had hired you to care for The Child and attend to maintenance on his ship, he had informed you of the rules regarding his armour and helmet. He would remove neither his helmet nor armour in your presence. You were never to question the reasons why or attempt to subvert this stipulation in any way.

That was why glimpsing a sliver of his skin had thrilled you. It had exposed the man you had been yearning to see in a way that was not a violation of his Creed.

Yet, when you see his hands this time the circumstances could not be more different. Neither could the emotions Din’s bare hands provoke in you.

Rather than feeling a thrill at the sight of his skin, now you cringe when you see the wounds that litter his flesh. His knuckles are split and bloodied, contusions that will surely colour shades of blue and black before eventually healing. There are also angry red gashes in all directions, a result of the bandit’s vibroblade making contact with his hands.

You steady yourself, mentally preparing for the gargantuan task of providing first aid to a stubborn Mandalorian. Din values all you do for him. You are certain of that fact, even if he does not often vocalise it. Still, having someone take care of him is an uncomfortable prospect for a man who has spent so long leading a solitary, nomadic existence.

When you finally take his calloused, yet soft, skin in your hand, Din sucks in a harsh breath at the sensation. The sound is amplified and crackles slightly through the vocoder. A reminder that, although he has bared some of himself, he is still mostly hidden from you. He feels like more machine than man sometimes.

You take a bacta wipe from your medkit, and the antiseptic’s sour smell lingers unpleasantly in the air. You hold Din’s hand still, as you carefully bring the wipe towards his skin, your brow furrowed in concentration.

“This is going to sting,” you murmur apologetically.

Din nods. You hear him inhale deeply as he braces for the first contact with the remedy. You prepare yourself to be as gentle as possible, not wanting to make the process needlessly painful for him.

At the first touch of the bacta wipe against his bronze skin, he jerks away from your touch, groaning slightly in pain at what you are sure is an uncomfortable, stinging sensation against his cuts.

“Hold still,” you sigh, flashing a disapproving glance in what you hope is the direction of Din’s eyes, hidden by his helmet.

“Sorry,” he huffs.

You cannot help how your lips curl upwards at the sight of him sulking. This hulking man, all broad shoulders and gleaming beskar, reduced to a wounded child. You wonder if he is pouting beneath his helmet.

Din flinches again when you resume your task, but this time, you do not chastise him. Instead, you are thankful that he is not making this any more difficult than it needs to be.

At least he has not told you he can look after himself.

Content with his behaviour, you diligently tend to Din’s wounds. You ensure each one is cleaned thoroughly with the bacta patch and then wrapped in a bandage. It will take a few days to heal, but he will have plenty of time as you hurtle through hyperspace towards Nevarro again. Unfortunately, it will mean he likely has to refrain from being the hands-on father you know he loves to be.

When your task is almost complete, you move to sit by his side on the crate. You need to steady your hands by placing your elbows against your thighs as you wrap a particularly nasty wound, which already streaks angry red tendrils across two knuckles.

Din groans again in pain, and you quickly reassure him, “Almost there,” you whisper encouragingly.

With the task finally completed, you cannot resist gently taking his hand in yours. Ostensibly, to check him for any wounds you have missed. In reality, it is borne out of a selfish desire to feel his skin against yours. Precious contact you had been yearning for since you first laid eyes upon his skin all those months ago.

If Din notices the way you subtly lace your fingers with his and hold his hand in your lap for a few moments longer than necessary, he does not say a thing. Only when you disentangle your fingers from his grip does he speak again.

When you move to stand up from the crate, he places his arm across your stomach to stop you. You look at him questioningly, wondering what is going on beneath that bucket of metal.

“Thank you,” Din finally whispers, voice thick with emotion.

You move to open your mouth, to respond. Before you can, Din’s deep voice cuts through the stillness.

“For everything… I…” Din pauses, sighs deeply, then continues, “I appreciate everything you do for me.”

You simply nod, too taken aback to speak. It is unlike Din to be sentimental or emotional, not with anyone other than Grogu. It is part of what makes him such a respected and feared hunter. Yet, here he is, confessing his appreciation for you. It causes hotness to creep up your neck and face, embarrassed by his earnestness. Desperate to respond, but not entirely trusting that you can keep it together.

“You’re worth it, Din,” you smile, daring to believe that this moment will change something for the two of you. You hope he will finally realise the depth of the feelings you hold for him; that you have always held for him.

As you take his hand in yours once again, you sit back on the crate. You take up a more comfortable position and daringly lean your head against his shoulder. The pauldron is bitingly cold beneath your cheek. But with how warm your skin suddenly feels at his words, it is an altogether welcome sensation.

Din noticeably inhales at your gesture, and you momentarily fear you have hurt his tender skin. Until he relaxes once again and squeezes your hand as best as he can considering his injuries, a reassuring gesture that soothes your worries.

As you sit there holding hands in the relative darkness of the hull, you imagine a shooting star passing somewhere far in the skies above.

You wish on it and dare to dream that, one day, Din Djarin will love you, too.

Follow @thefrogdalorianfics for updates on my latest fics!

#din djarin fic #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #mando x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fluff #pedro pascal characters #my fics #pleasE LET ME HOLD HIS HAND AND TAKE CARE OF THIS STUBBORN MAN #JUST ONCE PLEASE I M BEGIGIN YO UU1!!

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itsjusteds · 2 months

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What a wonderful night. What a fabulous sight. I hope you're enjoying your evening! I know I am because the tin can bros hit $220k for their world tour!!!!

Because today is such an iconic day, for my Spies Are Forever character series I drew the famous, the iconic, the man, the myth, and the legend, Vanger Borschtit <3 Day 13/55

#vanger my beloved #god hes such an icon #he brings glitz and glamour and oodles of swagger #flib diggity im barely breathing #we love the prince and I love him #theres a reason hes a famed television personality #Vanger Borschtit #spies are forever #tcb #tin can bros #tin can brothers #tinlightenment #saf #saf fanart #spies are forever fanart #joey richter the man that you are #easily top ten joey richter roles #type casting fears him #i love him augh

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daimyosprincess · 9 months

Note

Hoi I love your works and stories. I would love to write boba fett but have no idea how. Any tips for first time boba fett writers ?

ksjflfjfdksujslfj anon thank you so much 💖🥹😭

I am but an untrained, babey writer myself but I can tell you how I crafted my approach to writing Boba!

Step 1, be obsessed with Boba Fett since childhood, grow up, rediscover your love for him and Temuera Morrison as a slightly unhinged adult.

What hopefully is not just pure rambling below the cut

I watched The Mandalorian (specifically Boba's episodes in season 2) and TBOBF a concerning amount of times, and scoured Tumblr/AO3 for fics of our fav green tin can man. Got comfy with the character, figured out what drives him, what his motivations are, what his worldview and outlook are like. Essentially, my process boiled down to the following:

Immerse myself in the source content

Read, read, read & comment, comment, comment

Talking to the authors who inspired me (like you're doing now!)

Just started writing any and everything that came to me

Read some more, commented some more

Kept writing, saved everything

Got feedback

Now obviously everyone will have their own interpretations of a character, but to me, much of Boba's outlook and personality are defined by the death of his father. He is an intelligent boy raised with love by one of the galaxy's best bounty hunters, who teaches him not only about survival but also honor, respect, and personal responsibility. Jango was far from perfect (as we all are) but he did genuinely love his son and didn't hide that from Boba.

Besides the obvious trauma of seeing his father beheaded in front of him, Boba experienced a lifetime of further trauma that would have easily made him go back on what his father instilled in him. He was angry and he was alone during this time, his motivations being centered in anger and inexorable control (as seen in his drive to keep his reputation as a hunter stellar). To him, others were a liability, caring about anyone would only lead to pain. Boba burned bright and hot, but ultimately this path was not sustainable.

After the sarlacc and his time with the Tuskens, Boba was able to grow past the shadow of his father's death--there were different ways to honor his father than just being the best. He could heal himself, lead with respect and principles that harken back to his grandfather's code (whether he knows that or not), live a life that didn't have to end on some pointless job for the galaxy's scum. Boba relearned the importance of clan, that one cannot face this existence alone. Daimyo Boba now burns strong and even, fed by hearty logs rather than dry kindling.

Some posts I found helpful in characterizing Boba:

Boba's love language is acts of service by @thefact0rygirl

The spectrum of dom/general sexual behavior in Star Wars men by @rexxdjarin

Me and @rexxdjarin's comments on her Afflictions fic

Post

Boba is funny send tweet

Boba's got a way with (written) words

Boba and words 2

Post

Boba is the sun

Post

Boba's relationship with being Mandalorian by @deewithani

There's obvs many more but these are the ones I could find again

I hope this was what you were looking for (and coherent lmao) and best of luck with your writing! We all can't wait to see what you come up with for our beloved Boba 💚

No pressure tags if some of these other Boba writers (and anyone else!) want to add anything to this: @rexxdjarin @thefact0rygirl @saradika @acatalystrising @thirsty-boba-fett-posts @bobathirstaccount @deewithani @writingwintermoon

#i just love boba fett so much 🥹#writing #boba fett #ask

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acatalystrising · 9 months

Note

As fellow member of the Church of Boba Fett ♥ May I please have anything for the song 'Sunflower' - Post Malone.

Can be of Boba, can be anyone. No context (even tho I break this rule a lot lmao), any style, any pair, can be a wip, or just write it as you feel it, hear it, vibe to it. Anything. Go! ♥

*casually vibes* ♥

GAAHH my Boba bestie this took far too long to answer, and I am SO sorry you had to wait! Just had a death in the family so I had to take some time away to process. But I’m back with a lovely one shot that I had a blast writing!

The Church of Boba Fett needs as much content of our beloved green tin can man as possible, and I hope this was worth the wait 💚🖤

Boba Fett knew you wanted him.

It wasn’t a matter of an overly inflated ego on his part or a lack of obvious flirtation on yours. To put it simply, you were pure sunlight, something brilliant and blazing in his often bloodstained world of crime and order. Something untarnished by the very violence he’d been born into.

The violence he’d committed.

It wasn’t even so simple to say he didn’t deserve you. Yes, that would be true, however dramatic a statement in his opinion, but there was something else. Something that itched in the back of his brain even as he watched you from atop his throne, seated near the back of the room, engaged in conversation with several people who, from his perspective, would easily kill you for the right price.

He cared for you, truly, truly cared. And Boba knew that logically, the best way to protect you was either to send you away, or claim you as his own. None would dare lay a finger on you if you were his. He’d ensure it.

But still, he hesitated.

At the end of the day, it was a simple truth. A manacle over the proverbial ankle, truths clamping down to tight they might as well have choked him.

You were fiery, passionate. Full of vigor and sparks, so capable. But you were also innocent. Untouched by the bloodshed he knew like breathing. And he could not, in good conscience, pull you into a world you were never meant to be a part of.

He sighed, his breath hot and weighty on his lips. His armor suddenly felt too heavy on his chest. Even heavier as the hours bled to the evening, visitors finally slipping out of the throne room for the evening. But not you - as stubborn as Fennec in so many ways, who made her point quite painfully made via a raised eyebrow, followed by a smirk, then her final wink as she left the room.

Boba was very grateful for his helmet when you stood, shyly ambling toward his throne under the guise of cleaning, nimble fingers picking up pieces of trash that littered the ground. For some reason it made him angry. You were too pretty to lower yourself so.

Damn it. He was too attached.

“Don’t worry about that, mesh’la.” His voice cut through the room, tone a tad harsher than he’d intended. “Leave it for the droids.”

You blinked, finally looking up at him, then glancing away in an unsuccessful attempt to hide your blush. Stars, you were like a sunflower. Radiant, ethereal, and too perfect for his broken hands to sully.

“Okay,” you dipped your head in acknowledgment, still hovering on no move feet, as if waiting for something. Disguising with with a nervous dusting of the throne’s steps.

Words hovered unspoken, thick as the tension in the air. Worry wove into your brows like a sudden change of weather, tension of an oncoming storm. Did you think he wasn’t interested? How could he let you down easy? Tell you that he was interested, but…

But, what?

Kriffing damn it. Boba Fett was afraid. Afraid of hurting you, of marring your sunshine. Of not being good enough for you.

“Well, it’s getting late. If you need anything, just let me know.” You dipped your head in a goodbye that came across too hasty, clothing rustling as you went to flee.

The sight made everything in Boba revolt.

“Wait.” The word slipped from his mouth before he could stop himself. You spun on your heels, expression undeniably hopeful. Oh gods, this was too much. “We need to talk, little one.”

You blushed at the moniker, but swallowed hard as you approached.

“I…”

“You don’t have to do this.” You cut him off with surprising bravado, hands clenched at your sides until they were shaking. “You don’t have to let me down easy. I’m not stupid, neither are you. Look, I appreciate everything you’ve done: letting me work here, protecting me, giving me a chance to get back on my feet. Nothing has to change. I’m…used to it.”

Boba blinked behind his helmet, shock rippling through him like a tidal wave. Stars, she was more perceptive than he thought. There was a strength to her he hadn’t previously seen, and also…an old wound. Maker, he’d been a kriffing jerk.

“What,” he kept his tone soft, lacking the harsh edge it normally carried. “Are you used to?”

It was your turn to blink. Clearly, you weren’t expecting the question.

“I…” you nervously crossed your arms, chewing the inside of your cheek. “I’m…used to…being ignored. People don’t look at me and see someone worth pursuing. Just,” you looked up, meeting his unseen gaze, “well, just someone who is useful. And that’s okay, you know. I’m happy here, truly, and I don’t need anything else other than-“

“Easy there,” he gently interrupted your rambling, the words softer than even he thought possible. You blinked again, but pointedly refused to meet his gaze. “Look at me, sweet girl.”

After a moment’s hesitation, you obeyed, and something in him constricted in pain when he saw the tears forming in your eyes. Boba chose his next words carefully.

“I‘ve never ignored you. Always noticed your smile.” He removed his helmet with a sigh, meeting your gaze with his own. “You deserve someone as bright and lovely as you - someone who can usher you into new depths of love and happiness. I’m broken, scarred, a killer…”

“You think that would stop me?” Your voice was surprisingly strong despite the tear that slipped down your cheek. “You think I haven’t already thought of that? Boba…I know who you are. What you are. And that’s why…I find you so endearing. Why I want to be with you.”

You thought him endearing? Boba could barely believe it, if not for the sincerity in your tone. He fell silent, pondering your words, and you stood there, braving his silence, wiping the tear away with a trembling finger.

Finally, at long last, Boba caved. He couldn’t hold back any longer, or deny you what he felt you both knew to be true. And he’d left you waiting long enough.

“Come here, little one,” he held out an arm like a white flag, and you didn’t hesitate to approach. He guided you onto his lap, holding you close against his chest, and felt you relax against him. “This okay?”

You nodded eagerly, curling closer, fingers clutching the fabric at his shoulder.

“I want you, mesh’la.” His voice was a low rumble as he caressed your cheek, making you shiver. “If you’ll have me.”

“I want you too,” your affirmation was like a song in his ears. “I want to be yours. Only yours.”

“Then you will be mine, little sunflower.” He ran a hand though your hair, then your jaw, fingertips lingering on your chin and lifting your lips to his. “Always.”

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adickaboutspoons · 4 months

Text

Fanfic Masterprint

(envinoveritas over on AO3. Why settle for just one pseud?) Dearly Beloved A comedy of errors based on this exchange. 8,241 words; Rated T

Something Weird A silly little ficlet in which Ed makes a proposition & Stede makes an assumption. 303 words; Rated T

Stede Sonnets I have a problem. It’s everyone’s problem now. An ever-expanding collection of sonnets. Let's say Rated M because some of them are kind of dirty.

Beautiful and Useless Missing scene; wound care after the Stab Me scene. 6,658 words; Rated T

Your Achilles Alternative Perspective Sequel of the events of "Beautiful and Useless." Longer and hornier. 10,038 words; Rated E Hook Head Man Tale Short one-shot resulting from an ofmd-daily challenge. 1,582 words; G-rated metafiction

Put Your Kraken Arms Around Me Inspired by @wearfinethingsalltoowell: Imagine Stede not knowing bed-sharing etiquette and so he rolls over to the side to give Ed space, and then Ed is just like “nope. I’m getting a hug Stede no escape”. 1,055 words; T-rated bedsharing fluff

And Hold Me And Touch Me Inspired by @wearfinethingsalltoowell: Imagine Ed getting giggly drunk, dropping into Stede’s lap, telling him how pretty he is, kissing him, giving him the baby cow eyes, asking for snuggles.

Now imagine it’s pre-reconciliation. 1,160 words; Rated T

Advanced Maneuvers Remember that scene where Ed taught Stede the "Unhand Me or Bleed" maneuver? No? Huh. 1st chapter rated T; can be read as a stand-alone. 2nd chapter rated E; written because I believe in rewarding lovely comments with smut. 9,190 words total

Timing is Everything Alternative Perspective Sequel to "Advanced Maneuvers." Wherein Ed decides to teach Stede the "Unhand me or bleed" maneuver. For purely altruistic reasons, and not at all because he was fucking desperate for an excuse to rub up against him. Yep. 15,172 words; ALL of it rated E because I believe in rewarding lovely comments with smut AND Ed Teach is thirsty af.

Holy Fuck Pretty much what it says on the tin; E-rated priest-kink sacrelicious smutty smut. 6,119 words Under Par From @jellybeanium124: is anyone gonna write a fic where ed and stede ditch a country club party together and steal a golf cart and write around drunk?? ed in a golf cart please! And @serious-goose: i raise you flirty cartgirl!Ed. if you know you know. they basically sell drinks and snacks to old rich dudes at golf courses and ride around on golf cart drink carts. some flirt for tips... 😏 All I can say is "Por que no los dos?" Modern AU. 4,237 words; Rated T

Time Enough From @let-me-dream-with-the-stars: If the show had enough of a budget, I had the idea yesterday of a moment where Stede and Ed trapped inside a room, maybe a sinking ship the revenge and the rooms filling with waterJust the ULTIMATE drama: trapped beneath a bookshelf? They have to keep pushing even as they are now underwater? One escapes and has to pull the other out as he's slowly becoming weak????????

3,889 words; Rated T

Unbelievable A response to @ofmd-dailyquest prompt: Make Up Unbelievable Stories about The Most Fearsome Pirate. 459 words; Rated T

Footsteps in the Dark Originally posted to tumblr in response to a post from @nicnacsnonsense: "No wait, Stede, come back! Tell me more about how you have Ed’s gait memorized." This is the story of how that happened. 1,052 words; Rated T

Like I Want to be Awake Alternative Perspective Sequel (that's my brand, baby) to "Footsteps in the Dark." Response to @nicnacsnonsence comment on that fic: "also tell me more about Ed’s horny fingertips 😏" 16,310 words; Rated E

When a Good Plan Comes Together based on this prompt:

Can you imagine the first time ed and stede does a huge fuckery together? Them getting to sit together and plan it all out with there heads close together leaning over their plans. Them getting ready for it together all giggly and excited and then executing it together all in sync. And after they will be so proud of each other. So proud of them. Kissing all full of adrenaline and the rush of the action. 1,077 words; Rated T

Spin Inspired by @wearfinethingsalltoowell's Spin the Bottle prompt.

Slight canon divergence where Jack busts out Spin the Bottle instead of Whippies part 2 at the end of "We Gull Way Back". 2,544 words; Rated T

The Stede That Stayed A quick little thing I jotted out while waiting for the new eps to drop. Now in the post-drop haze, I am delighted to say it is not canon-compliant.

Inspired by this prompt from @wearsfinethingsalltoowell:

"My favorite fic trope is Stede comes back in the middle of the night and Ed thinks it’s a dream and so they have sex. Then Stede’s still there in the morning and he is confused" 2,234 words; Rated E

The Devil’s Panties When Stede falls ill, Ed takes it upon himself to find out what he can about the strange, glowing flower that made his friend sick and to find a cure for his malady. It sounds so innocent and wholesome, doesn’t it? j/k; It’s a sex-pollen story. 14,023 words; Rated E

Microfiction (tag novels and plot bunnies): 1985 (a dream I had that maybe will one day become an AU?) “In the Closet” a tag novel “Florida Man” a CJ tag-novel “Arm’s Length” a post-reunion, pre-reconciliation tag novel “Fine” an S2 wedding tag novel “Falling into Sunlight” a different S2 wedding tag novel “It’s Easy” a pr0ny tag novel “The Very Model” a Pirates of Penzance X-over tag novel “Can’t Hardly Weight” a gym-based AU tag novel “To the Mattresses” “Stacked” a cosplay-inspired library-centric tag novel “Let Me Check You Out” a sexy librarian AU tag novel “On the Edge of A Knife” a noir-style tag novel that I swear I’m actually going to write one day

#ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd fic #my modest contribution to fandom

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